Chapter Text
It was late.
It wasn't like he needed sleep properly anymore, being a constellation, but Kim Dokja quietly considered whether or not sleep deprivation was still a thing that could affect him as he watched the tiny body fast asleep in its crib. Perhaps it was just the stress of the added responsibility that was affecting him in ways he didn't expect: affecting all of them, really, if he was honest. Though Han Sooyoung was much the same as him, she still got tired, and Yoo Joonghyuk was as human as the rest of their company, with his exhaustion shown clear on his face after his turn doing night feedings and changes.
He didn't feel tired now, though, despite the darkness of the room illuminated only faintly by the lights outside the complex and the early morning hour. Neither was it the soft whimpers of the child, in need of food or comfort, that lured him from the comfort of the bed he shared with both of his lovers-- no, the infant was silent. Tonight a quiet anxiety gripped his chest, intermingled with something soft and warm and desperate, as he watched the rise and fall of the back of the child before him.
He loved this child.
Kim Dokja loved many things. He was slowly beginning to realize that many of those things loved him as well, as unlikely as that seemed. He loved the story, in every iteration, and the one he worked so hard to see to the end. He loved the characters, who became real, despite all odds. He loved Han Sooyoung, who gave everything she had to save him, again and again. He loved Yoo Joonghyuk, who did save him, in every possible way.
... He loved this child, born of everything that happened, everything he's loved, his two closest and most trusted companions. He loved the beginning of this new story written once more by his favorite author; this time, for more than just him, and this time, not only as a reader.
He was terrified of how this story would progress. How his interference would change things. Perhaps he would taint it, ruin it, bring it down. Perhaps this child would grow to hate him, as it should. Actually, it would simply be better if he wasn't--
"Dokja."
He turned at the whisper of his name to see Han Sooyoung leaning around the doorframe; once she had his attention she came in to settle beside him. Her hair was ruffled and she was still in her pajamas-- one of Joonghyuk's shirts-- so she must have just woken up. Leaning over the edge of the crib, she peered at her child, then curiously up to Dokja, brows raised. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the room, but she looked tired... well, it was technically her turn to do 'nightshift', as she called it.
"Were you worried?" she whispered. "Doesn't he sleep too well for his age? I was about to wake him up to eat, since Lee Seolhwa says he's just a bit small, so--"
"... Sooyoung-ah," Dokja said, softly, "he looks like Yoo Joonghyuk, doesn't he?"
Sooyoung blinked, then looked back down. There was no denying that there was surely some resemblance, in the soft, dark and wavy hair that covered his head in tiny wisps. Though it was really all he had to go off of, honestly; at this stage the baby was barely more than pudgy rolls and soft cheeks. With a soft hum, she reached into the crib to delicately stroke her fingers over his head, and after a moment of apparent careful consideration, she agreed wi--
"Nah."
... huh?
He looked back at her to see her staring at him intently. "... What's that supposed to mean?" He managed to ask, once his shock subsided.
"Exactly how it sounds, idiot," she whispered, straightening up with a smile. "He looks more like you, I think? Well, not to be too cliché, but call it a woman's intuition, haha."
"No-- but," Dokja started again, a little at a loss, his chest beginning to go tight, "but Yoo Joonghyuk is--"
"Dokja."
"He deserves--"
"Dokja."
At the slight hiss of warning in her voice and the disappearance of her smile, he went quiet. A beat of silence passed between them before Sooyoung released a heavy sigh, smoothing a hand through her ruffled hair.
"... it isn't a matter of deserving or not," she eventually said. "I didn't have have a baby out of some fucked up guilt for what I wrote, you know? The kid isn't part of the story. Yoo Joonghyuk isn't part of the story, anymore. This is never going to replace the son he had. This is never going to make up for the shit I put him through. This isn't going to help him grieve what he had, all those years ago, and you forcing the issue isn't going to make it better either. It's up to him to decide how he feels."
Dokja looked away from her eyes, uncomfortable with the emotional turn this inadvertently took-- what he wouldn't give for the 4th Wall right now-- but soon found his gaze drawn back. Sooyoung's hands on his cheeks dragged him down to her level, so she could put put their foreheads together.
"I did this because I'm fucking selfish," she whispered. "Because I wanted this with the two of you, because I love you. And I love our son."
"... Our son," Dokja murmured back, slightly dazed.
"Your son."
He was quiet for a long moment, before he lifted his hands to curl gently over Sooyoung's and squeeze. He couldn't name the emotion swirling with the fear in his chest. Didn't want to try. It felt as if anything he could say right now would shatter this fragile moment.
Fortunately, it seemed like Sooyoung had caught onto this, or simply just knew him that well, because after a moment she gave his hair a tug and pulled back again. "Go to bed," she said with playful dismissiveness, turning to the crib to carefully lift her-- their-- his son up. "You're just going to get in the way, so go keep Joonghyuk company so he doesn't come bothering me too. Besides, it's late."
Dokja hesitated a moment to watch her-- a strange view, this woman with a child-- before finally returning to their bedroom.
Yoo Joonghyuk was awake and sitting upright, and looked up when Dokja entered, his eyes tired but his expression soft. "Kim Dokja," he said.
"It's nothing," Dokja said, preemptively, "I couldn't sleep. I was checking--"
He paused as Joonghyuk spread out an arm, gesturing him into the space left beside him, and simply said, "Come."
There was a brief pause before Dokja's shoulders went slack, abruptly exhausted, and he crawled into the offered space to be gathered up against his lover's chest, warm and secure. Joonghyuk settled back down and tugged the quilt over them, nose buried in Dokja's hair, and he let the heavy, intimately familiar beat of Joonghyuk's heart lull him to sleep.