Chapter Text
“Absolutely not.”
Kim Dokja nearly slams his glass of water back on the table. Han Sooyoung has to be fucking joking. There is no way he’s going to—
“What the fuck do you mean ‘absolutely not’? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get you an interview?”
“I am not working there.”
“Last I checked, Kim Dokja, you didn’t have any options until I gave you one.”
Kim Dokja tries not to scowl. Instead, he crosses his arms and leans back in his seat, eyes closed in an attempt to shut out Han Sooyoung’s droning. The sounds of bustling and cups colliding, the sweep of plates, and voices, voices, voices, in the restaurant help him. Somewhat.
“What’s wrong with working for the N’Gai Group?” Another voice cuts in, deep but with a tone of blessed naivete that Kim Dokja sorely wishes he won’t have to break. Lee Hyunsung, as Jung Heewon’s boyfriend, is an honorary member of their little group.
Which also means that there’s a lot of things about Kim Dokja that he doesn’t know.
“It’s the CEO, isn’t it?” Jung Heewon, the Girlfriend, interjects, taking a sip from her cup. “What’s wrong with the CEO, Dokja-yah?” The mocking tone in her voice is so palpable even Lee Hyunsung looks over. Kim Dokja’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to become one with the chair he sits on. Or, better yet, drop down a hole that might miraculously open underneath him.
Unfortunately, Lady Luck is not on his side today when Han Sooyoung says, “He hates his guts.”
“... Does Kim Dokja-ssi know N’Gai Group’s CEO?” Lee Hyunsung asks, blinking. “Did he do something to you?” Now he’s fixing that big, earnest gaze on Kim Dokja, who has to look away before he gets unintentionally guilt-tripped into explaining the whole damn story. Which, by the way, isn’t as tragic as Han Sooyoung (or Jung Heewon) will make it out to be if they’re the ones telling it.
“We just… know each other. I don’t hate him,” he clarifies, shooting a pointed look Han Sooyoung’s way. “It’s just… awkward, you know? Meeting him again.”
He tries to ignore the faint look of betrayal on Lee Hyunsung’s face when the big man asks, “Why haven’t I heard of this?” He’s leaning forward, big palms planted on the table. They’re an alpha-alpha pair, him and Jung Heewon. Kim Dokja thinks they’re a good couple. Compatible. And it’s like Lee Hyunsung doesn’t have a single violent bone in his body (Kim Dokja likes to think that it’s because Jung Heewon took all of it). In his very valid opinion, Kim Dokja thinks that Jung Heewon could afford to lose some of her brutish nature in exchange for some of Lee Hyunsung’s temper. Even if he is built like a terrifying bear.
“Uh,” Kim Dokja says, intelligently. “It’s just… You never asked.”
“You never asked,” Han Sooyoung parrots mockingly, rolling her eyes as her features scrunch up into an ugly (but comical) expression that has Kim Dokja wishing he could just smack her in public. Bitch. The author waves her hand dismissively in some vague direction. “It’s a very personal story, Hyunsung. He holds it very close to his heart, see—he just won’t admit it.”
“It’s not close to my heart, Han Sooyoung,” Kim Dokja snaps. “It’s just… personal.” Pursing his lips, Kim Dokja takes to fiddling with the handle of the cup of water placed before him on the shiny wooden table, brows slightly furrowed in thought. “He just… We didn’t part on very good terms.”
“How old were you when you met?” Lee Hyunsung’s eyes are alight with a quiet interest, curiosity piqued. Still, though, there’s an air of caution to his words, as though the alpha is afraid of prodding too far and accidentally offending Kim Dokja. What is he, some animal? The kind that runs away at the first sign of danger?
… Maybe Lee Hyunsung was right to treat him with caution.
“I was sixteen,” Kim Dokja says, trying not to think about how they met. Tries, so desperately, not to see the slight furrow of Yoo Joonghyuk’s brows as he bent down slightly to look Kim Dokja in the eye, the way the sunlight pouring in through the glass doors of the hospital behind the alpha formed a gentle halo around his silhouette.
His scent was an impressionable one. Kim Dokja would say it smelled like forests and a campfire, comforting and charismatic, but really, nowadays he’s more inclined to say that it smells like someone thought it would be clever to mix up some wild scents and royally fuck up the end-product.
Kim Dokja, as one can see, is doing a dashing job of trying to forget Yoo Joonghyuk by remembering him.
“He… Ah,” he pauses, hesitating, before reminding himself that it would be rude to just cut himself off like that. Besides, Lee Hyunsung asked him the question—and it isn’t like Kim Dokja is that much of a coward. “We met when I was just discharged from the hospital.” Kim Dokja focuses, very intently, on a drop of water sliding down the cup’s surface. “... He was nice to me.”
Lee Hyunsung frowns, then, head tilted; it vaguely reminds Kim Dokja of a curious dog. “Then why do you hate him?”
“I don’t hate him,” Kim Dokja corrects, with a sort of calm he doesn’t really feel. “We… Like I said, we didn’t part on very good terms.”
“Why?”
“Uh…” Kim Dokja shrugs, holds up his hands. “It just… happened that way.”
Jung Heewon reaches over to pat her boyfriend on the shoulder, a soothing gesture that prompts Lee Hyunsung to turn and give her a quizzical look. If Kim Dokja’s imagination works hard enough, he’s sure he’ll see a multitude of question marks floating around the alpha’s head. “Hyunsung-ah,” she begins. “If it helps, Sooyoung and I don’t know much either.”
“Then how do you know he hates him?”
“Hyunsung-ah,” Han Sooyoung interjects, sighing in what might just be pity. “We know just a little more about it than you do.”
Well, it’s not like he can just say it. Sure, Kim Dokja’s basically a shameless bastard, but even shameless bastards have their limits. As it is, the girls already have enough blackmail material on him.
“Anyway.” Kim Dokja turns his head over to Han Sooyoung. “Find somewhere else.”
“Oh, fuck off with that, will you?” Han Sooyoung rolls her eyes; Kim Dokja narrowly misses her swat. “Seriously, this is the opportunity of a fucking lifetime. The pay’ll be good if you get the job, and the building is huge—you might not run into him at all. And, anyway, it’s a much better job than your previous one.”
Kim Dokja opens his mouth to refute—
And then promptly closes it.
Shit, Kim Dokja thinks. She’s right.
“Fine,” he relents, finally, rubbing at the collar around his neck. It’s clearly an old one, with faint signs of wear and tear, but it’s a good one. “I’ll think about it, how about that?”
This decision soon becomes his second biggest mistake.
If you asked Kim Dokja what he used to think of them, he would have told you, “we were perfect together.”
If you asked him what he thought of them now, though, he would tell you that he thought they were a mistake. They should never have met. If Kim Dokja could go back to when he was sixteen, fresh out of the hospital, he would have taken himself by the shoulders and shaken himself. He would have said, “Don’t talk to Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Because Yoo Joonghyuk, to him, was—is—one of his biggest mistakes.
But, Kim Dokja of the past, naive and unknowing of the future, would have laughed in his adult self’s face. “Why would I talk to anyone?” He’d ask, wrapped in bandages and sickly pale, thin from more than just malnourishment. “Who would talk to me?”
Who would care?
And, if you asked him later on, after he’d met him, he’d wonder, “Why would I think that? Why would we be perfect? He’s so much older than me, and he’s just being nice, that’s all…”
No, Kim Dokja would think. No, because you’re already attached to him.
The thing about Yoo Joonghyuk is that he’s an alpha. He’s the ideal alpha, with the looks and money to boot. Kim Dokja, even after a whole decade, can’t find it in him to forget his face. Thick, dark locks of wavy hair falling before sharp eyes, glimmering like dark jewels under the sunlight. Sometimes, if the sun caught it just right, they might almost look gold. Sculpted features, neither too sharp nor too soft, yet the very epitome of a man.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked like a sculpture, the magnum opus of a loving artist’s hand. He was beautiful. He was like a god.
To Kim Dokja, he practically was one.
Yoo Joonghyuk, in some ways, was his saviour. He’d saved him, because that’s what saviours do. He’d been Kim Dokja’s hero, and, for as long as he’d known him (at the time), he’d thought he was just... different. He took care of him. He made sure he ate. He listened to him, even when Kim Dokja had nothing to say.
Yes. Yoo Joonghyuk was Kim Dokja’s first love.
But then he left, and suddenly, he wasn’t different anymore. He wasn’t a saviour, an angel wreathed in light. He wasn’t a god. He was just human, an alpha, someone who only took care of Kim Dokja out of pity.
In the end, Kim Dokja thought Yoo Joonghyuk was just like all the others.
And so, Yoo Joonghyuk became Kim Dokja’s biggest mistake.
Look.
Kim Dokja doesn’t like owing Han Sooyoung things—hates accepting any gifts at all, really—but even he knows how big this favour is. From his new, tailored suit to the building now looming ominously before him, Kim Dokja knows for a fact that it wasn’t easy for the alpha to get him this job. He wonders, briefly, if she’d revealed his secondary gender. He doubts he would have gotten the spot if she did, after all, but he decides against prying too much. The less he knows, the better.
All he has to do now is bullshit his way through this interview and pray for the best and that he doesn’t fuck it up.
Kim Dokja is good at two things: lying and bullshitting. What he isn’t good at, though, is being honest. But who the fuck honestly answers every question anyway? It’s like answering one of those questions at school; just slap on the textbook answers and you’ll get the marks whether you agree with them or not. Sure, a work interview and an exam question isn’t exactly the same, but Kim Dokja didn’t practice his bullshitting skills in school for years for nothing.
So why, then, can’t he just enter the fucking building already?
It’s basically a skyscraper at this rate—an unofficial landmark in his city. It stands tall and proud, its design sleek with tinted glass windows and workers bustling in and out of its doors. Kim Dokja, for a brief moment, is struck with an abrupt sense of estrangement. What is he doing here?
In what he hopes is a subtle motion, Kim Dokja adjusts the collar of his dress shirt to hide the other collar beneath—the one that protects his neck from any unsavoury alphas. Kim Dokja doesn’t know what will happen if his identity is revealed before he even gets to the interviewer, but he doesn’t intend to find out. For all he knows, he might get kicked out before he even sets foot in there.
“Are you looking for someone?”
Kim Dokja turns around so quickly he nearly goes dizzy.
Blinking himself back into reality, his eyes focus on a pretty face with light, brown hair cascading down a set of poised shoulders, brows furrowed in concern. Kim Dokja blinks, gathering his wits about himself, before he realises that the lady is speaking to him.
“Actually,” he says, voice coming out thick and awkward on his tongue. Kim Dokja pauses, clears his throat, before he continues, “I’m, ah, here for an interview…?”
The woman’s eyes brighten in realisation, lips curling upwards in one gentle motion to unfurl a warm smile that Kim Dokja finds himself more unsettled by than anything, though he’s sure that the intention is one of comfort. “Oh, of course,” she says. “I can lead you there if you’d like; that way, you won’t get lost.”
“Oh, uh…” Well. She did offer, and Kim Dokja’s never been one to turn down help when he knows he desperately needs it. The last thing he needs now is to be blacklisted for tardiness. “Yes, please. Thanks for the trouble.”
The woman nods her head, then gestures for him to follow. Like a lost puppy, Kim Dokja follows in her footsteps obediently. Her name, he learns, is Yoo Sangah, and she’s been working here for two years. She’s got a pretty good position, too, and judging from the way multiple people turn to greet her (and are greeted in turn) with bright, bright smiles, she’s popular and well-liked.
The first thing he really notices, though, is her lack of scent.
Kim Dokja’d found himself standing next to her on the lift, and it had been packed enough that Yoo Sangah had to step closer to him than he would normally allow if not for the circumstances, murmuring a soft apology. He’d caught a whiff of a very faint scent—not eye-catching, not really. Not spicy or strong and charismatic the way an alpha’s might be, nor sweet and soft the way an omega’s usually is—it was the scent of a beta.
Which is just fine by Kim Dokja. He’d prefer a beta over an alpha any day.
“Here we are,” Yoo Sangah says, her soft, gentle voice cutting through Kim Dokja’s train of thought. Before him is a polished, wooden door of dark oak, its handle one of gold. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone else around to do the interview today—” somehow, that makes Kim Dokja even more nervous “—so you should be able to head right in. Just knock and announce your arrival, and the hiring manager will handle the rest.”
It’s only when Yoo Sangah is halfway down the hall that Kim Dokja remembers himself. Hastily, he calls out to her, hoping his nervousness isn’t as audible in his words as it is visible in the way his hands tremble ever-so-slightly, tucked in the pockets of his very expensive suit pants. “Thank you.”
Yoo Sangah turns around, as if surprised, before her mouth spreads into another gentle, reassuring sort of smile. “Good luck, Kim Dokja-ssi,” she says. “I think you’ll do great.”
Kim Dokja sorely hopes she’s right.
He got the job.
It’s not like Kim Dokja didn’t do it with not getting the job in mind, but that had been a terrifying experience. The lady who had been in charge of his interview reminded him vaguely of a very strict math teacher he’d had in highschool who seemed vaguely disappointed in, like, everything.
It’s just surprising, he thinks, that he managed to land a job in the N’Gai Group. The group that owns at least half of the businesses and buildings in Kim Dokja’s city—with even global branches—and run by a man who has, apparently, been given the unofficial title of Most Wanted Bachelor in the fucking World.
Even the fact that he’s a divorcee can’t stop the media from slobbering all over him. Kim Dokja tends to just skip those articles; the less he sees of him, the better.
But, yes. He got the damn job. He’s nothing but a regular employee, but he figures it’s a step up from his job at his previous company, with a salary just barely above minimum wage.
“I got it,” Kim Dokja says into the phone as soon as Han Sooyoung picks up, his heart still pounding from the confirmation message. “I’m starting tomorrow.”
On the other end, he hears Han Sooyoung huff. “Of course you got the job,” Han Sooyoung snaps. “I wouldn’t have gotten you a job you couldn’t do.”
“You almost make it sound like you have confidence in me, Sooyoung-ssi,” Kim Dokja responds, eyebrows raised as he relaxes into his couch, head tilted backwards to rest on top of the pillow, gaze drawn to his ceiling. “It’s nice to hear you believe in me for once.”
“You make me sound like such a shit friend,” comes the quip. Kim Dokja can almost hear her rolling her eyes. And her smile. There’s the faint sound of typing, and Kim Dokja realises she must be working. Being a CEO must be tough, Kim Dokja thinks. And yet, here Han Sooyoung is, answering his call despite her busy schedule. “I, at least, had some faith in your bullshitting ability if your skills weren’t enough, rest assured.”
“Wow.” A hand comes to rest upon his chest, a feigned tone of exaggerated hurt in his voice as he tries not to roll his eyes this time. “I’m so honoured you have such faith in my bullshitting.”
“Yeah, yeah. You didn’t run into him, did you?” On the other end, the sound of typing pauses. For a moment, only silence hangs between the two of them. Kim Dokja almost doesn’t answer, but—
“I didn’t,” he says, trying not to let too much relief seep into his voice (and failing miserably). “He… I didn’t see him at all.”
“You know,” Han Sooyoung starts, in that serious tone of voice that tells Kim Dokja that, whatever she’s going to say, he’s probably not going to like it. “I still don’t get why you hate him so much.”
“I don’t hate him, Han Sooyoung.”
“You act like you damn well do.”
“I don’t. It’s just awkward.”
“Sssuuuuree,” Han Sooyoung says, in a manner that suggests that she isn’t convinced at all. There’s another bout of silence between them as the alpha waits for Kim Dokja to potentially elaborate, but he never does.
“Fine, don’t tell me then.” Kim Dokja hears an exasperated sigh before Han Sooyoung follows up with another question instead. “Have you told Jung Heewon yet?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell her after this,” Kim Dokja responds. His hand—the one not holding his phone—picks at the fabric of his couch. “I just… I’m… I figured,” the omega tries, desperately grasping for the honesty he rarely ever digs out. “That I should call you first to thank you for getting me the job.”
Han Sooyoung snorts. “Well, duh,” she says, and Kim Dokja resists the urge to punt her even if she isn’t physicallythere with him. “You’re welcome, Kim Dokja.”
And then, before he ends their call, Han Sooyoung says, “I knew you could do it.”
Kim Dokja doesn’t say anything in response; instead, the call ends with a dull beep, and Kim Dokja once more sinks into silence. The sunlight slowly fades away, gold and orange and fiery colours making way for blue and purple and the dark, dark hues of the evening.
Kim Dokja’s pitiful dinner tastes just a little better that night.
“Kim Dokja-ssi! You did it!”
Surprised, Kim Dokja looks up from his workspace to meet gentle, caramel eyes. Yoo Sangah waves at him and slides in next to him, and Kim Dokja can only make way. The suit he’s wearing today is one of lower quality than the one he wore to the interview, but it’s good enough. At least, it’s about the same quality as the suits that everyone else is wearing. Most of the desks around him are empty—it’s lunch break for most of them, after all.
“Yoo Sangah-ssi,” Kim Dokja greets, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “It’s nice to meet you again.” Pale fingers fiddle with the white collar of his shirt before he lets them fall back onto his lap. “You’re not going out for your lunch break?”
“I already had mine; I eat fast.” Yoo Sangah peers over towards Kim Dokja’s workspace, eyes alight with curiosity. Kim Dokja simply lets her, leaning away when she gets too close. “What about you? I don’t see any—”
“I, ah, didn’t eat,” Kim Dokja interrupts, before she can finish her sentence. And then, when Yoo Sangah opens her mouth again, the ravenette simply waves his hands in dismissal. “It’s fine, Yoo Sangah-ssi. I’m used to not eating—at this time, at this time—so there’s really no need to worry for me.”
Yoo Sangah frowns, but doesn’t prod any further. Instead, she seems to catch sight of something behind him. Her eyes seem to widen in surprise, before she scrambles to her feet in record time.
Kim Dokja allows himself a few silent moments of suspense before he sighs and turns around to face whatever it is that’s got the beta so stiff—
Ah.
Ah.
Kim Dokja lets his gaze slide right over him, sinking into his seat. Damn, why isn’t this office chair bigger? It would be nice if he could just—
“Kim Dokja?”
You don’t see me. You don’t see me. You don’t—
Dammit, wasn’t this stupid building big enough to basically guarantee that they wouldn’t cross paths?
Footsteps are the first thing that fill Kim Dokja’s ears, followed by an all-too-familiar scent. Cologne gone wrong, Kim Dokja. Cologne gone wrong.
A warm campfire, the smell of a forest and an alpha’s charismatic, strong musk. Kim Dokja swallows, peeps at Yoo Sangah from the corner of his eye; she doesn’t seem to be affected by his scent. Well, he supposes that’s to be expected. She’s not an omega.
She’s not like him.
Kim Dokja thinks that’s a good thing. He’s a very dull existence.
The footsteps stop; that stupid, unforgettable scent wafts completely over him, and Kim Dokja is abruptly reminded of a warm embrace, strong arms wrapped securely around him as a comforting hand strokes down his back—
No, no, no.
He makes the mistake of looking up. Of course he does—isn’t Kim Dokja’s life filled with mistake after mistake? Maybe Kim Dokja’s first mistake was existing.
Maybe that’s it.
He looks fucking perfect.
Strong, thick eyebrows; full lips; a sculpted face made finer with time. Yoo Joonghyuk’s build is as perfect as he can be, and Kim Dokja nearly forgets that this man is—probably—thirty-eight. Time has been everything but unkind to him; his suit hugs the sharp curves of his body perfectly, from his broad-but-not-too-broad shoulders to the dip of his waist, his shapely legs. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t look his age at all.
“Do I know you?” Is Kim Dokja’s first response, to which Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze hardens. It’s a good thing, he tells himself. It’s a good thing.
The scent around him takes on a bitter twang, surprising him. Even Yoo Sangah blinks in surprise, brought out of her surprised reverie by the abrupt change in scent. It’s only then that Yoo Joonghyuk seems to remember her presence. He glances her way, frowning, and Yoo Sangah only nods her head in acknowledgement, hands folded before her body as she dips slightly into a bow. “Yoo Daepyo-nim.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nods his head once in response before he takes a single step back. Again, Kim Dokja’s eyes meet his, and it’s almost as if the world is taking in a breath of anticipation.
“You tell me,” Yoo Joonghyuk answers, eyes unfathomable and deep, deep. Kim Dokja tries not to look into them for too long—it feels like they’ll suck him in if he does and send him spiraling into the depths of the unknown. And Kim Dokja hates the unknown; all it’s ever done is bring him pain.
Yoo Joonghyuk was one of those unknowns.
Kim Dokja doesn’t plan on repeating his mistakes.
So he smiles. He smiles a smile that’s more teeth than anything, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he turns back to his work in hopes of making it look like he’s busy, when he isn’t. Not really, anyway. “No, Daepyo-nim.”
“Hyung, hyung, I read a really good story today—can I talk about it? Is… Is that alright with you?”
“Mm.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever met at all.”
“Your name. What is it?”
“Oh, it’s… Kim Dokja.”
“Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“Can I call you hyung?”
“Mm.”
“Joonghyuk-hyung!”
“... Dokja.”