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Kim Dokja isn’t sure how he got himself into this situation, but certainly, he will not complain.
Because when Yoo Joonghyuk says “get in'' while looming over you, holding the bathroom door open after a hard-fought battle, you do what he asks. And so, with a questioning glance and a fatigued body, Kim Dokja complies wordlessly. He slips past Yoo Joonghyuk’s threatening mass and the door closes behind him.
“Take it off.”
Kim Dokja swivels around, mouth hanging agape, startled. Yoo Joonghyuk reaches for his white coat.
“What? No.” He protectively wraps his arms around his body, half-heartedly preventing all of the dubious scenarios shifting through his head.
“...”
“Are you a pervert?”
“Kim Dokja.”
His face burns. Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes pin him to his spot. He understands. He doesn’t want to, but he does and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
“Let me.” It’s soft and low, and in Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice it’s like honey to Kim Dokja’s ears. Kim Dokja discovers he is nodding before he gets the chance to curse the man out–weak to the protagonist’s charm. He only has himself to blame for what is to come as he swallows back the sourness.
Yoo Joonghyuk steps forward, his large fingers wrap around the hem of Kim Dokja’s dirtied shirt, and lift up. In response, Kim Dokja lifts his arms silently, allowing the fabric to easily slip over his head as Yoo Joonghyuk’s knuckles skim the surface of his skin. The shirt is gently set to the side.
Soon enough the same fingers settle into Kim Dokja’s belt loops. His heart stutters and oddly he already feels completely exposed. His hands find purchase on Yoo Joonghyuk’s, halting their movements.
“You too,” he says embarrassed. Under Yoo Joonghyuk’s scrutiny he looks away. He can’t believe the words he just uttered, really Dokja?
Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands slip out from under Kim Dokja’s and in one swift motion, Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest is bare in front of him, shirt thrown to the side, slipping unceremoniously into the bowl of the sink. The juxtaposition in care startles Kim Dokja out of his fatigued daze.
Somehow, this is worse. He allows himself to look at the protagonist in front of him, scars and burns glare against his skin—probably akin to how his own skin looks. The dips of Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest move as he steadily breathes. In and out and then in again. It’s a bit frightening–the intimacy of it all. Kim Dokja snaps his head away. Suddenly, he’s completely drained all over again, his brain lethargic and slow.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s stare traces over his face, patiently trying to catch the reader’s eyes. Warm hands cup Kim Dokja’s cheeks and he is forced to turn to look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Deep brown eyes fall into his own. Slowly, the hands slip away, fingers grazing his soft jaw line. They trace lower and lower until yet again they rest in Kim Dokja’s belt loops, inching for his belt. And, that’s probably too much, right?
「The Fourth Wall has absorbed some of your shock.」And yet, Kim Dokja still makes an embarrassingly strangled noise from somewhere deep in his throat, panic curling into itself. As if mocking him, the blue box stays floating above.
“Now what is your problem?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks.
Kim Dokja glares at his companion. What is his problem? “You can’t just do this.”
“Do what?”
“This!” Kim Dokja frantically gestures to Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands, exasperated. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The protagonist's eyebrows scrunch up. “I am taking care of you.”
Kim Dokja takes a step back, affronted. He is a grown adult and can ‘take care’ of himself, surviving this long proves just that. Yoo Joonghyuk’s reach follows, ghosting against his wrist, silently asking. He swallows hard.
“You won’t be gentle with yourself.”
“I will,” he protests. The audacity .
“Kim Dokja.”
“Hey, don’t say my name and assume you’ll get away with everything.”
“Dokja.”
If Kim Dokja hadn’t spent his whole life learning about Yoo Joonghyuk, he would have mistaken his tone for pleading. Yoo Joonghyuk does not plead. Weakly, he chokes out, “hey…”
Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him, a deep frown etched into his beautiful face, eyes almost pitiful. In this small chilly bathroom decorated in white and pink, inches from each other, they feel removed from reality. Like Yoo Joonghyuk dug a hole in space and buried them both there.
“I…. You Bastard.” Kim Dokja breaks eye contact. “I promise I won’t hurt myself.”
His companion does not look convinced, his browline creasing dramatically. Almost as if more concerned.
“You never keep your promises.”
Kim Dokja gives him a wobbly smile. “Of course I do.”
“You don't ,” Yoo Joonghyuk growls.
“Ahah… this promise is easy to keep, Yoo Joonghyuk. Look, just turn around–yeah like that. Thank you. And I’ll take the rest off by myself and then you can turn around.”
His companion doesn’t answer but the broad back facing Kim Dokja is enough. His eyes trace even more scars, scattered from his shoulder down to his torso and the dip starting at the top of his pants. Some are red and angry, others old and white.
He begins to unbuckle his pants, the sound unbearably loud. Luckily, Yoo Joonghyuk must have gained some of his senses back as he leans over to turn on the bath, the rushing water muffling the sound of Kim Dokja’s clothes.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m ready.”
Yoo Joonghyuk turns back around, looking him up and down. He frowns at the boxers still clinging to Kim Dokja’s thighs.
“Absolutely not,” he protests, reading Yoo Joonghyuk. “This is as far as it goes.”
Thankfully, for Kim Dokja’s last strand of sanity, his companion complies.
“Now get into the bath.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looks confused but follows the order, stepping into the bath water and lowering himself. He looks expectantly up at Kim Dokja.
“You really are a pervert, don’t look,” he scolds. Again, Yoo Joonghyuk does as he is told, averting his eyes. Kim Dokja takes in a deep, steading breath and finally rids himself of his boxers. Cautiously he steps into the bath with Yoo Joonghyuk, settling himself behind the man.
Yoo Joonghyuk throws him an indecipherable look over his shoulder, not looking pleased. Yeah, as if Kim Dokja would actually allow his companion to take care of him.
“I’m washing your hair,” he supplies
“Kim Dokja…” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice is warning.
He slaps his shoulder, “Turn back around or you’ll get soap in your eyes,” and then softly, “Just let me do this, you oaf.”
He squirts a generous amount of shampoo into his hand and rubs it around, frothing the suds. Hesitantly his fingers slip into Yoo Joonghyuk’s dirty hair, covered in debris and matted with a dark unknown substance–most likely blood. He gets to work, moving back and forth against Yoo Joonghyuk’s head, the man malleable under Kim Dokja’s touch, following every motion. A rhythm is set, seconds bleed into indefinite time allowing the men to relax.
Steadily, Kim Dokja works out the grime, the dust discoloring the shampoo suds and Kim Dokja’s nails. He plucks at the matted mass of hair, picking it apart until Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair is back to it’s smooth, neat self. He does another scrub over his head just for good measure, fingers sinking back into the locks and massaging Yoo Joonghyuk’s scalp. A low hum radiates through the bathroom as the protagonist appears to melt into the sensation.
The suds overrule and start to drip down Yoo Joonghyuk’s forehead. As stealthily as he can, Kim Dokja swipes at the soap trails and congratulates himself on the quick save. His hands retreat from his companion’s hair as he assesses what to do next.
“Do we have…” He’s not sure what he’s looking for but Yoo Joonghyuk grunts and points in a vague direction. His movements are lethargic and Kim Dokja stiffles an endered smile. He turns to where Yoo Joonghyuk pointed, searching, eyes landing on a metal cup sitting on the tub edge. He tsks. “Thanks.”
Scooping clean bath water into the cup, Kim Dokja begins to rinse Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair. It’s a meticulous process that would have been easier with experience, too bad for Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja keeps a hand on his forehead and tilts his head to the side, keeping the suds away. He’s proud of his first attempt. His fingers work their way into Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair again, thoroughly washing away all of the suds and dirt. Ultimately the bath water begins to grow more murky.
Kim Dokja appraises his work. Nine out of ten, he thinks, priding himself on a job well-done. Secretly, the protagonist’s eyes sting.
“Okay, now I’m–”
“No.” Yoo Joonhyuk snaps his head around, surprising Kim Dokja. Again, their eyes meet, this time closer than before. “Turn around.”
“Yah, Yoo Joonghyuk–”
“Turn. Around.”
Kim Dokja squeaks and obeys, frightened for his well-being. The water sloshes around as they reposition themselves, Kim Dokja sitting between Yoo Joonghyuk’s legs. He tenses up, suddenly alert, the quiet rhythm they had created shatters.
“Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk, maybe–” Kim Dokja chokes on his words when a large palm lays flat on his back. It drags down his spine, meticulous and caring, fingers dancing like sparks from a flame–the hand is certainly warm enough. Kim Dokja has to repress a shudder. It falls off around his mid-back as Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, reaching past Kim Dokja to grab a cloth from the side of the tub. He lathers it with soap and starts rubbing the reader’s shoulders, diligent circles working through his own dirt and grime, easily slipping over the tears in his skin from the long battle. It stings only minutely.
Kim Dokja sighs and finds himself leaning backwards into the heat and comfort of his companion. The cloth works at his back, rubbing up and down. Under his shoulder blades, around his waist, down his torso. It’s therapeutic. A calming sense of ease washes over Kim Dokja and he allows himself to drift, eyelids falling closed. A feeling he hadn’t let himself indulge in since the scenarios began rising in his chest. As he unconsciously slips back into Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace, strong arms wrap around him and begin to scrub at his arms, dipping around his elbows and circling his own small muscles. Content, Kim Dokja completely surrenders his body to his companion.
The cleaning continues. Yoo Joonghyuk tenderly raises Kim Dokja’s wrists, padding at his palm with the cloth. He wipes between fingers and rubs at callouses, slowly reworking the same pattern on the other hand. The cloth travels around Kim Dokja’s clavicle, gently swipes at his cheeks, and flows in the smooth expanse of his chest.
The grime of warfare is meticulously wiped away until Yoo Joonghyuk is fully satisfied with a clean, put-together squid in his arms. Once his hair dries no one outside of Kim Company will be able to know that Kim Dokja has just left the battlefield. Just how he prefers it.
Kim Dokja’s head is cradled by the juncture between Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder and neck, chin pointing up to the ceiling, and cheek pressed deeply into Yoo Joonghyuk’s skin. He huffs.
He squishes the reader’s shoulder and bends into his ear, “Kim Dokja, are you falling asleep?”
With another pinch filled with mirth, Kim Dokja flinches and pulls himself away, sloshing the bath water.
“Wha…” his voice petters off as he looks at Yoo Joonghyuk. Swiftly he turns back around.
“Let’s go, Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk stands from the bath, water dripping off of him and rivets running down his body. He steps out and wraps a towel around his body. A hand is offered to Kim Dokja. Shyly, Kim Dokja accepts and he is pulled out of the bath, shivering at the sudden change in temperature. A towel is thrown over his head before he has the chance to overthink the both of them standing naked, wet. It’s rubbed furiously around the crown of his head, hands sometimes catching on his ears and bending them downwards. Kim Dokja suspects this is some type of petty revenge disguised as generously drying his hair.
“Stop,” he whines. His hands shoot up to swat at air. “I’m not a dog. Do I look like a dog?”
The towel is removed from his head, and he peers up at the protagonist. Brooding as always, Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes are narrow and his brows pinched. Kim Dokja’s sure his hair looks like a frazzled mess.
“No.” Yoo Joonghyuk turns around as he plops the towel back on top of Kim Dokja’s head. It flops over and he catches it in his arms. “Dry yourself off.”
He likes this turn of events. He hadn’t thought about the after of whatever the hell just transpired in the bath, but this was better than anything his traitorous mind would have supplied him with. Quickly he follows Yoo Joonghyuk’s lead and blots himself down with the plush towel. The next time he looks up, Yoo Joonghyuk’s broad back is still to him, but the protagonist is fully dressed. Kim Dokja looks at his surroundings and locks onto his discarded clothing. He makes a move for the pile but is rudely interrupted.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk commands.
“Hey, you pervert–”
Something hits him in the face. He stumbles back and his shins hit the lip of the tub, plummeting him down backwards. He finds his lower-half reemerged in the filthy water and with more spots on his body where new bruises were sure to form. Godammit . His body ached, the wear and tear of exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“You Bastard,” Kim Dokja curses at his companion. He struggles to pull himself out, slipping on the wet surface. He feels like a newborn deer with toothpick legs. “Fuck.”
A hand meets him halfway and again he takes it, this time thoroughly humiliated to accept. He is wrapped back into a towel, fully dried off and stepping into fresh clothes (clothes he is suspicious were the cause of his fall) in a matter of moments. Regrettably with Yoo Joonghyuk’s help. He can’t stop the nauseating feeling in his gut and the heat crawling across his face.
Fortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t comment, instead whisking Kim Dokja out of the bathroom, a light grasp on his wrist. He shuffles them into his bedroom and unexpectedly Kim Dokja finds himself on Yoo Joonghyuk’s bed, covered by a reclaimed duvet and a warm arm, curled into his protagonist.