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“You should be asleep right now.”
Kim Dokja smiles helplessly.
“When have I ever done what’s good for me?”
Yoo Joonghyuk scoffs and grinds the toe of his shoe into the floor. He’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to look at Kim Dokja right now. A single lock of hair falls forward over his left eye, obstructing his vision enough that he doesn’t see the pair of shoes approaching him.
Kim Dokja reaches out and snags a finger under the curl, quietly examining the length of it.
“What are you doing?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, eyebrows pulling together into a frown.
“You need a haircut,” Kim Dokja declared. “Lack of vision could get dangerous during the next scenario.”
For some reason, it is Yoo Joonghyuk who follows Kim Dokja through the barren hallways of the Industrial Complex. The path that Kim Dokja takes is far from efficient, and he definitely gets lost after they take the stairs down to the second floor. But, Kim Dokja doesn’t ask for directions, so Yoo Joonghyuk simply follows him quietly. It’s too far into the night for anyone to be awake right now, even the spiteful incarnations looking to get a leg up on their group. And so, they roam freely.
After a much longer walk than necessary, they settle in an empty bathroom. Muted yellow tiles line the walls and floor. There’s a single sink and a dirty mirror. A fluorescent light hangs from the ceiling. It's probably reminiscent of Yoo Joonghyuk’s school days, if he hadn’t already purged unnecessary memories like those from his mind. Kim Dokja instructs him to take off his jacket and turtleneck, then proceeds to turn his back to give Yoo Joonghyuk some privacy. Yoo Joonghyuk finds the gesture of politeness a bit unusual, but quickly shrugs out of the top half of his clothing anyway. Kim Dokja mutters something to himself, briefly exits the room, then returns with a chair, a comb and a pair of scissors.
“The Dokkaebi Bag has really expanded in the past few years,” Kim Dokja’s eyes sparkle a bit as he examines the pair of scissors in his hand. Yoo Joonghyuk shakes off the shiver running down his spine then sits on the chair that was placed in front of the bathroom’s mirror.
Kim Dokja very pointedly looks away from Yoo Joonghyuk’s body as he wraps a towel around his bare shoulders. Yoo Joonghyuk glances up at Kim Dokja’s reflection in the mirror. It hadn’t registered in his brain until now, but Kim Dokja was also without his customary coat. Basketball shorts sat low on his hips while a white t-shirt hung from his shoulders. The smallest sliver of Kim Dokja’s lower stomach is exposed every time he lifts his arms past a ninety-degree angle. There was something intimate about seeing Kim Dokja in such casual clothing, and Yoo Joonghyuk wanted to engrave the image of Kim Dokja’s lean frame, practically swimming in the oversized clothing, into the deepest parts of his mind. He wanted to keep it for himself, like the most precious of secrets.
Kim Dokja cracks the window then wraps his lips around the filter of a cigarette.
“That’s bad luck,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupts, before Kim Dokja can guide the other end into the flame of his lighter.
A knowing look comes over Kim Dokja’s face as he seems to notice that his lighter is white.
“I never took you to be a superstitious person, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“I’m not,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies, shifting his weight to his left leg then digging his hand into the front pocket of his pants. “Here.”
He stretches an arm out in Kim Dokja’s direction, pressing down on the spark wheel of his own lighter and sending it flickering to life. Kim Dokja dips down to hold the end of his cigarette in the flame, inhaling gently. Yoo Joonghyuk studies the way that his expression relaxes as the ember glows brighter.
“I didn’t think that you smoked,” Kim Dokja says.
“I don’t.”
Though he’s packed away any memories from then, Yoo Joonghyuk knows that there once existed a time when a lighter was a valuable survival tool.
“Okay,” Kim Dokja sighs, finally picking up the scissors. “The usual?”
Yoo Joonghyuk nods after a moment, suddenly overcome with uncertainty.
“Are you qualified for this?”
“Not at all,” Kim Dokja grins wider than Yoo Joonghyuk has seen anyone smile in a long time, and snips off a piece of his hair.
Yoo Joonghyuk has always hated the smell of cigarettes, but for some reason, he doesn’t mind the woody scent when it’s mixed with Kim Dokja’s. Around him, it reminds Yoo Joonghyuk less of a burnt fog and more of a warm haze.
“How long has it been?” Kim Dokja asks, and Yoo Joonghyuk responds without missing a beat.
“Three years.”
Three years, three months and six- no, seven days. He’s only keeping track so he can expense Kim Dokja for every day he’s paid to keep Midday Tryst up and running, obviously.
“Not since I left. Since you last had a haircut,” Kim Dokja clarifies, clearing his throat. He grabs a section of hair and pulls it parallel to Yoo Joonghyuk’s scalp, snipping off the ends with precise motions.
“Oh,” Yoo Joonghyuk tries to think back to the last opportunity he had for something as leisurely as getting a haircut, but comes back blank. “I’m not sure.”
Kim Dokja mumbles something about ‘stupid perfect protagonist hair’. As usual, Yoo Joonghyuk chooses to disregard his ramblings.
Yoo Joonghyuk feels a lot less weight on the back of his neck by the time Kim Dokja is burning through the last centimeter of his cigarette. He flicks the roach out of the window when he’s done with it, finally turning all of his attention to Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair.
“If you waited a few more months you probably could have tied it back into a ponytail,” Kim Dokja remarks, parting his hair at the crown of his head.
“Mia would have hated that.”
Kim Dokja’s lips quirk up at the sides, in a smile much different from any that Yoo Joonghyuk has seen before. It’s much more tender than his usual expressions of happiness, it’s the private kind of smile that is kept locked away for the most intimate of moments.
Yoo Joonghyuk has been searching for his gaze in the reflection since he started this haircut, but Kim Dokja has kept his eyes pointed down at Yoo Joonghyuk’s scalp almost the entire time.
“You like it longer at the sides and shorter at the back of your neck?” Kim Dokja asks, but it doesn’t really sound like a question.
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies, but he’s pretty sure that Kim Dokja didn’t need the confirmation.
Kim Dokja works his way to the front of his hair, confidently chopping centimeters off of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair. It’s a quiet affair, and Yoo Joonghyuk finds himself relaxing to the rhythmic snipping noise of the scissors against the strands of his hair.
Though he was the one to discover that Kim Dokja was awake while he was patrolling the Industrial Complex, he wasn’t on watch tonight. It wasn’t a matter of trust, Yoo Joonghyuk knows that Jung Heewon is more than capable enough on her own. It was a matter of a fear that has blossomed inside of him for the first time this round. The fear of losing Kim Dokja again.
“Close your eyes,” Kim Dokja instructs, brushing Yoo Joonghyuk’s bangs down over his forehead. The hair nearly reached his cupid’s bow.
Yoo Joonghyuk obeys, because even if he didn’t particularly care for the state of his hair, he would prefer not to have Kim Dokja accidentally gauge his eye out with the pair of shears that the man was gripping so eagerly.
“How did you learn to do this?” he mumbles, careful not to move his head too much and ruin Kim Dokja’s work.
“I’ve lived alone since I was seventeen,” Kim Dokja explains. “I read an old cosmetology textbook at the library one day to try and save some money.”
Yoo Joonghyuk feels the cool blade brush his cheek momentarily, before another chunk of his hair falls to the ground.
“I’m almost done,” Kim Dokja says. Something inside Yoo Joonghyuk shrivels up in disappointment.
Kim Dokja’s fingers work their way through Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair, fluffing and brushing the waves in all the right directions. Eventually, he reaches the nape of Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck, and Kim Dokja continues to run his fingers up and down the patch of skin mindlessly.
Finally, after a few long seconds, Yoo Joonghyuk is finally able to catch his eyes in the mirror. Kim Dokja digs his nails right into Yoo Joonghuk’s scalp. Yoo Joonghyuk glares, but stops immediately once he feels the pressure of Kim Dokja’s hands on his skin subsiding.
Though he doesn’t show it outwardly, Yoo Joonghyuk scrambles. He needs a minute longer. That’s all.
“My bangs are uneven,” he tries.
“Your bangs are always uneven,” Kim Dokja replies. “That’s just how your hair looks.”
“Fix them,” Yoo Joonghyuk demands.
Without removing his left hand from Yoo Joonghyuk’s nape, Kim Dokja walks back around to examine the front of his hair.
“It looks fine to me,” Kim Dokja sighs.
Yoo Joonghyuk can smell the lingering tobacco on his breath. He places his right hand on the nape of Kim Dokja’s neck, dragging his fingers tenderly down onto the back of his neck.
Kim Dokja’s eyes snap to his, “What are you doing?”
“It really seemed like you were having a lot of fun, Kim Dokja. I wanted to give it a try.”
Beneath eyes lacked the dark shadows that usually sat like bruises on his skin. An airy sense of relief fills Yoo Joonghyuk’s heart knowing that rest has been kind to Kim Dokja. His complexion remained fair, though his cheekbones seemed to sit a bit higher. He must have lost weight.
Now, it was Yoo Joonghyuk’s turn to dig his fingernails into Dokja’s skin.
“Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Yoo Joonghyuk releases his grip, but tugs on a piece of Dokja’s hair, making his head tilt. It reminded him vaguely of the an expression that Breaking the Sky Master could make. Kim Dokja brushed Yoo Joonghyuk’s bangs back onto his forehead with his free hand.
“You’re back,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathes. He still hasn’t been able to fully process the idea in his mind. His years of grief felt like the tiniest of ashes compared to the flame that engulfed his spirit when he clashed swords with Kim Dokja several days ago.
“I’m back,” Kim Dokja confirms. “I’m sorry that it took so long.”
Finally, finally, Kim Dokja closes his eyes. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t hesitate to pull his face closer and smash their lips together.
Yoo Joonghyuk can feel the inexperience in Kim Dokja’s movements, in the way that he hesitates to cling onto Yoo Joonghyuk the hopeless way that Yoo Joonghyuk is holding onto him. He pulls back.
“You can’t leave again,” Yoo Joonghyuk tells him.
Kim Dokja nods, a bit awestruck.
Yoo Joonghyuk leans in again, head tilted, nose pressed flat into Kim Dokja’s cheek as he tries to taste every last millimeter of his lips. He swallows the low groan that slips out of Kim Dokja when he licks into his mouth, a gratifying feeling settling in his stomach when Kim Dokja finally tangles his other hand in Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair.
The feeling of Kim Dokja’s mouth on his is like being stuck like lightning on a day with clear skies. Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands move down Kim Dokja’s back, palms grazing his shoulder blades then settling on the curve of his waist. Yoo Joonghyuk was desperate, to feel him, to memorize the texture of every last curve and scar under his fingertips.
Yoo Joonghyuk stands up slowly, allowing the towel wrapped around his shoulders to fall to the ground with the long discarded hair trimmings. His lips never leave Kim Dokja’s, who has risen to stand on the balls of his feet to compensate for the difference in their height. Yoo Joonghyuk takes advantage of Kim Dokja’s momentary imbalance and takes a step forward, and another, and another until he has Dokja pressed against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. Kim Dokja’s fingers are warm, splayed over his abs and digging into the flesh on his bicep.
Yoo Joonghyuk grazes his teeth along Kim Dokja’s bottom lip, tilting his head further to press chaste kisses under the narrow curve of his jaw and down his throat.
“I won’t leave,” Kim Dokja says, breathless. “I’ll stay right here.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips curve into a smile against the vibrations of his voice. He places his chin on top of Kim Dokja’s head and pulls him in, holding the man like a promise. Yoo Joonghyuk did not choose this love, he would have prefered to lay his heart to rest in the wastelands. He’s experienced holding onto the castle in the air, feeling his own conviction wear down until it fell through the gaps of his fingers. For Kim Dokja, he chooses to forsake it all.
“You should go back to your room,” Yoo Joonghyuk finally says. “Han Sooyoung will drug us both if she realizes that you’re gone.”
This time, Yoo Joonghyuk provides Kim Dokja with directions on how to quickly reach the top of the fortress. He then hunts down a broom and dustpan to take care of all the hair on the floor. He catches a glance of his own reflection as he’s tugging his shirt back over his head, and pauses briefly to inspect his new look.
Huh, Kim Dokja didn’t do too terrible of a job.