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Surprisingly, Kim Dokja awakes to the bewildering feeling of a feline’s butt pressed against his face.
Last time he checked, neither he nor Yoo Joonghyuk consented to the arrangement of adopting a pet (‘The children are enough liability’ , Yoo Joonghyuk said begrudgingly once, while Han Sooyoung obnoxiously self-inserted into the conversation with a ‘Doesn’t that monkey king constellation of yours qualify as one already?’ )
But then, his eyes crack open at the rather peculiar shape of the cat’s bottom—perfectly round, fur way too soft it reminds him less of an animal and more of a… cloud?
The mysterious blob of soft fur in question, much to his dismay, continues to brush itself against his cheek, nuzzling into a drowsy and confused Kim Dokja; causing him to stir with a questioning croak at the back of his throat.
His movements seem to furthermore cause a ripple effect to the arms clung around his waist, the body behind his own also stirring.
Yoo Joonghyuk, being a light sleeper—the only thing that’s light about him—by nature, squirms lightly from where his face is buried into the back of Kim Dokja’s neck, arms that are yet awake enough to be aware of their own strength tightening their grip possessively around Kim Dokja’s already frail waist.
The latter whines softly at the air being squeezed out of his lungs, and rules this behaviour out as the regressor’s primal survival instinct. Either that, or he’s just extremely clingy; a newfound fact added to Kim Dokja’s long list of Yoo Joonghyuk’s undiscovered traits.
Just as Kim Dokja is about to turn around to dismiss the transpiration of hallucinative warmth on his cheeks, the object in question cries out. Kim Dokja immediately yelps in surprise at the volume.
“Abaat!”
Right. Come to think of it, they do have a pet—just not in a traditional form, so to speak.
“Good morning, Biyoo-ah,” greets a still groggy Kim Dokja in all of his sleep-induced, raspy glory, both eyes now wide open to regard a floating ball of snow white fur, nose to nose against him.
The dokkaebi’s eyes are spotless obsidian orbs that are currently twinkling way too brightly for a lethargic Sunday morning. “What’s the matter, mhm?”
Her little horn protrudes into the mess that is Kim Dokja’s bed hair; some of his strands sticking out stoutly enough to be considered horns themselves. The perfect roundness of Biyoo’s stature as she continues to nuzzle against his face gives Kim Dokja a perfect fish-eye view of the little dokkaebi.
He seriously thought Biyoo couldn’t get any rounder; he was wrong.
“Baat!” responds Biyoo in code, trying to make herself small by snuggling into the hollow beneath his chin. The sensation slightly tickles him, and his chest shakes subtly with laughter.
It must’ve been their innate connection; Kim Dokja still being a surrogate father of sorts for the little creature—that allows him to decipher the dokkaebi’s limited vocabulary with astounding clarity.
She wants to cuddle.
“Really? This early?” Kim Dokja chuckles, palms reaching up to stroke Biyoo’s sides whilst trying to avoid her horn’s adventure of almost going up his nostrils several times. “You haven’t started broadcasting yet, I hope? Or else I’d hear Uriel’s spazzing indirect messages by now.”
The dokkaebi responds with a purr that sounds too feline-like and a small shake of her entire figure. That means no in Biyoo.
Kim Dokja nods in acknowledgment, before adding, “You know I can’t say no to you, but this stone-faced bastard behind me here normally doesn’t like it when he has to share my undivided attention.”
Then, like an enigma, Yoo Joonghyuk begins grumbling on cue. It makes Kim Dokja jump a bit, turning his head to see a pair of daunting eyes staring at the fluff ball tuck under his chin; clearly having been awake for some time.
Yoo Joonghyuk meets his eyes, and Kim Dokja can tell that he certainly doesn’t look impressed by the presence of an uninvited guest on their bed.
His strong eyebrows knot into a series of creases and furrows until they’re also a unanimous line, and it makes Kim Dokja giggle, leaning in to press the scrunched up space a kiss. “Good morning.”
This significantly retracts the amount of lines on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face to some degree; his frown subdues, only humming in response and sealing Kim Dokja’s lips in a quick morning peck.
And that was to the extent of a morning Yoo Joonghyuk’s niceties. “What is this illiterate cloud ball doing here?”
As always, his lover sticks to his signature trait of colourful insults, but Kim Dokja seems to be the only one amused.
Underneath his chin, Biyoo starts wiggling wrathfully, her horn scratching lines into the lower half of Kim Dokja’s face in the process.
What follows is a series of very displeased ‘ Baat! Baat, abaat baat baat! ’ that has Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowing to slits and Kim Dokja hunching like a shrimp from laughter.
“Don’t be so mean. She just wants cuddles,” says Kim Dokja after catching his breath, the dokkaebi now settled back to being cradled in his arms. He gently strokes the crown of her head, patting the soft fur.
If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that the very thing in his hands might just be a cloud cushion. “Surely you can share a bit of my tending to, Joonghyuk-ah.”
“No,” comes the resolute reply from the regressor, tone bordering threatening as he continues his one-sided staredown at a perfectly contented (oblivious or intentionally ignorant) Biyoo cooing away in his arms. “She can wait until later.”
Biyoo grimaces with another strongly-worded ‘Baat!’ from where she’s buried in Kim Dokja’s chest—or as strongly-worded as a singular vocabulary can get. “She said no time like the present,” he translates in stride, watching as Yoo Joonghyuk’s face comically darkens.
“She also threatens to broadcast your socks and underwear drawer,” he throws in, for good infuriating measure, irrespective of what Biyoo actually said. With his parental authority, he’s earned the right to some artistic license.
From behind him, the protagonist doesn’t give a response, just burying his nose further down Kim Dokja’s neckline until he comes to direct contact with Biyoo’s horn.
Then, with his nose, Yoo Joonghyuk roughly nudges the top of the dokkaebi’s head. The action reminds him of a bulldozer. “Move. Kim Dokja is mine to cuddle.”
“Abaat baat!” Biyoo shrieks back, popping her little face up and out of Kim Dokja’s chest. Then, a tiny sparkle of probability zaps the tip of Yoo Joonghyuk’s nose, and he recoils with a swear.
The visual image of a floating cloud only the size of Yoo Joonghyuk’s head trying to assert herself as a menace—not only to any man, but to a man approximately fourteen times her own size—is incredibly hysterical as it is endearing to Kim Dokja.
“Stop it now, you two. I have two hands—enough to hold the both of you,” declares Kim Dokja when he feels Yoo Joonghyuk trashing from behind him, about to evict the poor dokkaebi from his grasp.
Kim Dokja leans away only just in time, turning around to face a fuming Yoo Joonghyuk, red as an angry bull.
He settles Biyoo in between their entangled bodies, letting her nestle in the warmth blanketing from both sides. Then, he himself scoots into Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest; yet not before pulling his lover in by the chin and locking their lips in a fond kiss of apology.
They stay that way for a minute, Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip on his waist retracting to warm hands sliding underneath his—or rather, previously Yoo Joonghyuk’s—oversized dress shirt. Apology accepted, it seems.
Kim Dokja sighs happily into the kiss, carding his fingers through the regressor’s equally unruly morning hair.
It’s only for the third presence currently separating their bodies that made Kim Dokja mindful enough to not take the kiss further. He doesn’t want to put Biyoo through her own equivalent of watching her parents make out.
Yoo Joonghyuk looks a bit sullen when he pulls away, but his hands continue to stroke the dip of his lower back in a gentle caress. Up until dating the man, Kim Dokja never thought to put ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ and ‘gentle’ in the same sentence. Now proves to be a different story.
Another thing added to the list of his protagonist’s undiscovered traits.
Kim Dokja recognises the look that settles into his now half-lidded eyes; tender, staring at Kim Dokja like he’s lost love and hope in his thousands of lifetimes, just to find them in him.
It makes him break and reform back into a smile that lights up his entire visage; a smile exclusive for his favourite person in the world.
He is almost sure the same looks are reflected in his very own eyes whenever he gazes at the regressor. It makes Kim Dokja’s chest expand with a sensation of blooming warmth. So this is what it’s like—to love and be loved in return, to give a piece of yourself and be awarded with another extension of the person you love most, now also forever a part of you.
A different type of warmth, external, also rubs against his chest, and Kim Dokja looks down to be met with a fast asleep Biyoo soundly snoring. His chest constricts at the adorable sight; once Biyoo closes her eyes, her entire face disappears. Her tiny form expands and shrinks with every intake of breath. Not only does she feel like a cloud cushion, currently she also looks the part.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to give myself ten minutes of completely undisturbed, absolutely peaceful eye-shut,” he whispers against Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips, to which the protagonist replies with a kiss pressed to his chin and strong legs tangled over his, shrouding Kim Dokja in.
“Sleep now. I’ll watch over you two.”
Kim Dokja giggles softly at the meaning his words seem to imply—like a father keeping a night watch of his family while they are sleeping.
Then he lays, head underneath Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck, bodies snugly entangled, Biyoo sandwiched between their chests—and just before his eyes drift close once again, Kim Dokja blearily realises:
This must be what having a family feels like.