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The bar is bathed in warm light, contrasting the winter darkness outside. It’s not crowded, but it’s still busy; chatter and laughter bounces off the walls, glasses clinking against glasses and empty bottles clattering hollow against tables.
It’s places like this that Kim Dokja enjoys the most. The sense of community, the comfort of blending into the crowd. He likes the subway and cafes and busy intersections for the same reason. The knowledge that everybody in the room will go home to their own individual lives, that there will never again be a moment in time when all these people are gathered together, that just this once, their lives are interconnected, infinite threads of fate crossing if only for a moment. It isn’t often, but sometimes, Kim Dokja is grateful that he’s survived as long as he has, if only to experience this.
Or maybe it’s the alcohol. He always gets sappy when he’s tipsy.
“Pay attention!” Han Sooyoung snaps her fingers in front of Kim Dokja’s face, making him wrinkle his nose. “The apostle is speaking!”
“I still don’t understand why you call yourself that when you’re drunk.”
“Pay attention,” she repeats. “I tell you every time. Drinking raises the limits of my perception. My hangover deja-vu is almost always correct.”
“You can’t still be hung up on that time—”
“Is that true?” asks Yoo Sangah, the only one of Kim Dokja’s actual coworkers that’s left from their after-work drinking party.
Han Sooyoung puffs with pride. She slaps a hand over Kim Dokja’s mouth before he can finish his sentence, standing up to be able to reach across the table. He relents with a roll of his eyes as she says, “On more than one occasion—” Kim Dokja raises two fingers, which Han Sooyoung whacks with her free hand before continuing, “after a long night of celebratory drinking, I dreamt that there would be an accident on the street outside my apartment in the morning, and I was right!”
Yoo Sangah gasps. “Really? How awful!”
Kim Dokja licks Han Sooyoung’s hand. She yanks it away with a surprised curse, giving him the opportunity to add, “What she means is, her neighbor dropped her groceries. She’s bitter about it because a cute girl helped pick them up the first time and now they’re dating and she has to listen to them through the walls—”
“Oh-kay, Kim Dokja, you’re once again the biggest asshole of the night, you can stop trying to earn it now!” Han Sooyoung pinches his arm sharply, and he yelps, feigning an expression of betrayal.
Yoo Sangah giggles. “You two seem very close. It’s sweet.”
Han Sooyoung stares at the other woman for a moment as if entranced before she drops back into her seat. It almost makes Kim Dokja laugh. The two act like they can’t stand each other when they’re sober, but after a few drinks, the truth makes itself known. They’re both stubborn and strong-willed to the point that they bicker relentlessly when pretenses are up. From an outside perspective, people would assume that they can’t stand each other, but Kim Dokja knows better. They admire the other’s tenacity, and they’re both drawn to a challenge, and they find that in each other.
It’s why he always invites Han Sooyoung to after-work drinks: it’s the best time to tease them about their mutual crushes.
As if startled by her own actions, Han Sooyoung jerks her gaze away from Yoo Sangah. It could be the alcohol, but he decides to spare her this time. He can always embarrass her about it later.
It takes one quirk of Han Sooyoung’s eyebrow for him to regret that decision. Oh, that’s her scheming face. Never a good sign.
She kicks his shin under the table. Instead of a tap to get his attention, it’s forceful, and he’s about to complain when she nods at something behind him and Yoo Sangah, toward the bar.
“When’s the last time you got laid, Dokja-ya?”
“Oh my god.” Kim Dokja holds his hand up to shield his face from view. “No comment.”
“C’mon, let’s end that dry spell! Look, look!” She kicks him again. Thankfully, she’s tactful enough to keep her hand close to the table when she points to the person she’s talking about. “He’s your type!”
Kim Dokja does not turn around.
Yoo Sangah does. “Oh, him? On the left?” She giggles. She’s a giggly drunk. “He looks so mopey. Is that your type, Kim Dokja?”
“Brooding, long-suffering, nursing a scotch like he wants to kill everyone in the room and then himself,” Han Sooyoung says. “Dressed like the jaded protagonist of an anime about the tragedy of time loops and unrequited love.”
“That’s not my—” Kim Dokja starts to lie.
“The tall, dark, and handsome trope!” Yoo Sangah interrupts, giggling again. “He really is handsome. Here, Kim Dokja, if you really won’t look, I’ll describe him for you—he has angular features, a sculpted profile, sharp jawline… His eyes look dark, but it could just be the lighting. His hair is curly, but it looks disheveled in a purposeful way. His shoulders are broad. It looks like he does some sort of martial art. Maybe kendo, based on his muscle mass? He’s attractive, but he doesn’t look like he could carry an interesting conversation.”
You just described nearly all the things you find attractive about Han Sooyoung, Kim Dokja wants to say. Unfortunately, the description of a man that is very much his type has distracted him. He tries to be satisfied with just the visualization, but he’s still so tempted to turn around and see for himself. That, however, would mean that Han Sooyoung would consider herself the winner of this conversation (there always has to be a winner, and it always has to be her), and Kim Dokja will not allow her to win one with a total knockout. He’s gotta get a few points for his side somehow. So he grits his teeth and frowns at her as if she doesn’t deserve a reply.
Finally, Han Sooyoung sighs. “Alright. Fifty thousand won.”
This perks Kim Dokja up. He may have lost this round, but hey, fifty thousand won is fifty thousand won.
“I will give you fifty thousand won to flirt with that guy.”
“Define flirting,” Kim Dokja says. His hands are folded on the table in front of him. This is not the first time Han Sooyoung has bribed him into embarrassing himself, and they’ve both learned to bargain. He can’t let her win be too easy.
“Flirt like you already know he wants to take you home,” Han Sooyoung replies. She’s smirking. “At least three minutes. Keep trying if he ignores you.”
“If he says no outright?”
“No money.”
“Damn, high difficulty level.” Kim Dokja thinks. “If I get his number?”
“Another fifty.”
“Another fifty…” He taps his finger on the table. “What if I give him mine?”
“Depends on his reaction,” she says. “Yoo Sangah and I will base additional winnings based on the likelihood of him chasing you down for a back-alley make-out session.”
“Sounds fair.” Kim Dokja downs the last of the liquid confidence in his cup. “You’re on. Kiss your cash goodbye.” He stands up, adjusts his collar, undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, and turns around.
It doesn’t take longer than a moment for him to scope out his target. When he does, his steps falter. The alcohol wears thin, and he strongly considers sitting back down and taking the loss. He’s nowhere near this guy’s league. Nobody in the entire bar even comes close. He’s everything the girls said and more. He radiates intensity in a scary, don’t-fuck-with-me way, and goddamn is that hot. It’s no wonder Yoo Sangah was surprised that this guy is his type. Kim Dokja, the perpetual side-character salaryman, does not look like he’d be attracted to a man who looks like he would beat him up for getting too close. Kim Dokja looks like he’d go after the character that dies first in the apocalypse, not the one that emerges victorious wiping his enemy’s blood from his cheek.
Kim Dokja’s imagination is moving at light speed, trying to keep him from fully realizing what he’s about to do. Once reality hits, it’s all over. Kim Dokja pries his eyes away, but not far—they land on the man sitting a barstool away. He’d also fit the ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ vibe, in Yoo Sangah’s words, wearing a bulky leather jacket over huge shoulders, thick black hair tied behind his neck. He seems dangerous in a different sense, if the scarring on the knuckles of the hand that holds his glass is anything to go by. His eyes give Kim Dokja a slow, deliberate once-over as he approaches, lingering somewhere near his hips. When Kim Dokja drops himself onto the open barstool between the two, he makes sure to face his target directly, with his back fully to the scarred-knuckled man as he rests his elbows on the bar.
Jaded Protagonist doesn’t look at him.
In his peripheral vision, Kim Dokja can see Han Sooyoung holding up her phone to show him the timer, which she hasn’t started yet. She holds a finger over the red button. “Get on with it!” she mouths.
“I’ll buy you a drink if he won’t,” says the guy behind Kim Dokja, before he can 'get on with it.'
Kim Dokja turns around in surprise. “Oh, uh, no. I’m good.” Will this count toward the three minutes? He still has no idea what he’s going to say to the person he walked up here for.
“Aw, c’mon, loosen up,” croons the guy. “I can do more for you than Pretty Boy over there.”
The difficulty of the bet is increasing by the second as Kim Dokja forces himself not to stomp away in annoyance. He’s too average-looking to have to deal with this sort of unwanted attention, and he doesn’t have the experience to brush it off. Maybe if he goes along with it?
“How ‘bout I buy you a shot?”
A quick glance to the girls reveals that Han Sooyoung has started the timer. Apparently she’s being lenient with which Tall, Dark, and Handsome counts toward the bet. The noise of the bar might be too loud for them to be able to make out the discomfort of the conversation.
“Fine,” Kim Dokja says, exasperated, just to get the guy off his back. As the guy waves over the bartender, Kim Dokja turns to shoot the girls an expression which he hopes reads as This shouldn’t be happening to me right now!, but is dismayed to see Han Sooyoung’s conspiratorial grin. She taps her phone. He’s silently cursing her out across the bar, and he doesn’t notice the shot until Other Guy presses the glass into his hand, his touch lingering. Kim Dokja huffs before he faces the bar again and grabs the shot. The guy’s hand is sweaty. He’s leaning closer than he was before, invading Kim Dokja’s space. His breath smells like cinnamon whiskey and cigarettes.
With this shot, I will no longer accept any bet from Han Sooyoung. I’ve learned my lesson, Kim Dokja vows internally, lifting his arm.
He freezes in place when an arm wraps around his waist. Jaded Protagonist, having been previously unmoving, is standing up, specifically to step closer to Kim Dokja. He looms over Kim Dokja’s shoulder, directing the entirety of his don’t-fuck-with-me aura at Other Guy.
“Don’t drink that,” he says. His voice is deep, smokey. Kim Dokja wants to drown in it. “You. Idiot. Don’t you know better than to turn away from a creep who’s buying you a drink?”
Hang on. Is he the idiot? “Huh?” Kim Dokja glances down at the shot. When he looks up, Other Guy is glaring. “Wait, did you—?”
“Fuckin’ bastard,” grumbles Other Guy. With one more once-over, he stands up and slouches out of the bar.
Kim Dokja is stunned. He watches the guy leave, and then stares up at his original target. 'Protagonist’ is right, he thinks, this guy is actually my hero... even if he did call me an idiot. His hero takes the shot glass from his hand and dumps it into the well behind the bar with a sour expression.
“Um,” he says eloquently. The piercing gaze falls to him, and Kim Dokja suddenly feels very warm. “Thanks. I think my night would’ve sucked if not for you. Uh, I’m Dokja. Er, Kim Dokja.”
The other’s expression is unchanging. The silence feels daunting. Kim Dokja is about to slip away with an apology, the bet disregarded, when his hero speaks again. “How are you getting home?”
The question catches Kim Dokja off guard. “Well, I walked here, so…”
His hero scowls. “Alone?”
Kim Dokja glances to his companions. Han Sooyoung is whispering something to Yoo Sangah and delights when she giggles. “Seems that way,” he mumbles.
The scowl deepens. He glares at the door. It looks like he’s trying to choose between two equally unsavory options. Another uncomfortable silence stretches between them. Kim Dokja tries not to think about how large the hand on his waist is and fails miserably. Finally, with a sigh so heavy it’s nearly a growl, Protagonist digs into his pocket and slams a bill on the counter.
“You shouldn’t walk. I’ll get you a cab.”
“Wh—no!” Kim Dokja bursts, louder than he means to. It earns him a glare that he wills himself not to shrink away from. “Then I’ll have to pay you back.”
A mixture of incredulity and amusement flashes across the guy’s expression so quickly that Kim Dokja almost misses it. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
Kim Dokja shrugs. “I don’t like owing people.”
This time, he’s ready for the unwavering stare, and he meets it dead-on, forcing himself not to flinch even when he feels the warmth of the other’s breath on his face.
Then, suddenly, the other scoffs. It’s harsh at first, but Kim Dokja sees the ever-so-slight upward tilt of his lips. “Fine.” He uses the hand that’s still around his waist(!) to pull Kim Dokja to his feet. “Get your coat. I’ll walk you home.”
What? Wait. “What?”
“Or you could take your chances. Maybe that guy isn’t waiting for you outside the door.”
Kim Dokja wants to retort, but he reconsiders. Would he actually wait outside the door? Is that something that real people do? He thought that was just a trope to add drama to a romance novel. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be walked home by a handsome stranger. Honestly, just walking home next to him would be pretty great.
(And maybe he’ll be able to get an extra couple thousand from Han Sooyoung.)
“Point taken,” Kim Dokja says airily, doing his best not to look too excited. “My coat’s over there. I’ll tell my friends I’m leaving and meet you outside.”
Unsurprisingly, Protagonist doesn’t listen to him, following a few steps behind Kim Dokja. When Kim Dokja stops at the table, he can feel the brush of the long black jacket as the other stands closer than necessary.
Han Sooyoung’s eyes are wide, her brows raised, her lips pursed like she’s stifling one of her usual shit-eating grins. A cat might make the same expression if left unsupervised at a fish market. Yoo Sangah has corrected her posture, her water glass in hand, glancing between the two men with a curious expression. Kim Dokja has a feeling that he will not be living this down.
He picks up his jacket from the back of his seat, and he busies himself with checking all the pockets as he says, “I’m going to be heading home early. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Han Sooyoung’s smile breaks free. “Who’s your friend, Dokja-ya?”
“Uh, he’s just—” Oh, god. He’s gone this whole time without knowing the guy’s name. He had assumed that he wouldn’t get to know it.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Protagonist interrupts.
“Mhm, mhm,” she says. Her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re trusting a stranger you met three minutes ago to take you home, huh?”
Ah, there she is. Han Sooyoung may act like she doesn’t care, but when it comes down to it, she’s one of the most protective people in Kim Dokja’s life. If she’d known there’d be a chance of this outcome, she likely wouldn’t have egged Kim Dokja into the situation in the first place.
“It’s fine,” he says hurriedly. “He actually—”
“I’ll keep him safe.”
Heat rushes to Kim Dokja’s cheeks, and he wonders if it’s too late to back out. He pulls on his jacket as an excuse to duck his head, struggling with one sleeve. Yoo Joonghyuk huffs like it’s personally insulting to have to wait for him to put on his jacket properly and holds out the sleeve for him to slip his arm into.
Yoo Sangah giggles.
“Enjoy your date,” Kim Dokja manages to quip in an attempt to save the last of his dignity.
It works: Han Sooyoung startles, and Yoo Sangah flushes. He grins at them both before he turns on his heel to leave, feeling Yoo Joonghyuk close behind. He might lose some of his winnings for that last comment, but it was worth it just to see their faces.
Unfortunately, exiting the bar proves Yoo Joonghyuk right. They’ve started in the direction of Kim Dokja’s apartment when he catches a glimpse of The Creep as he passes the first alley. As if he’d noticed Kim Dokja tense, Yoo Joonghyuk replaces the arm that had fallen from Kim Dokja’s waist and draws him backward so he can press Kim Dokja to his side, just as The Creep moves toward him. The sight of Yoo Joonghyuk forces him to stop in his tracks, lip curling up in a scowl. Kim Dokja avoids his eyes, staring pointedly ahead until they’re past the alley.
So people really do wait outside bars like that. Kim Dokja has a newfound appreciation for Jung Heewon. She’s told him stories of having to chase men away from the place she bartends for, including some that have attempted to follow her home. Kim Dokja never thought it’d be something he’d have to deal with. He knows that the likelihood of anything happening is slim, but anxiety still rests bitter and heavy on the back of his tongue. People don’t carry knives anymore, right? And certainly not guns?
“You should’ve worn a warmer coat,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, breaking the silence.
“I’m not cold,” Kim Dokja replies. He must be shaking.
Yoo Joonghyuk sighs, “You’re troublesome,” but tugs him closer nonetheless.
This close, the difference between their builds is staggering. Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t much taller, but his physique is dramatically broader, with muscle in all the right places. Sure, Kim Dojka could feed himself better (his freezer has seen more than its fair share of instant and convenience store dinners), but what kind of protein-filled diet does this guy eat to have a body like this? Maybe Kim Dokja should start splurging on actual groceries more often. Though, that’d probably have to be accompanied by exercise, or worse, a recurring gym membership—yeah, he’s fine with his body shape, actually. And gaining weight would mean growing out of some of his clothes, which would mean buying new ones, and that seems avoidable. He’ll just admire the firmness of Yoo Joonghyuk’s body while he can.
He’s lost in thought, but not enough that he doesn’t notice when Yoo Joonghyuk continues forward at an intersection where they should’ve turned. Kim Dokja hesitates, looking back in the direction they should be walking in, then up at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“My apartment is—”
“We’re going to mine,” Yoo Joonghyuk says in a tone that leaves little room for argument.
Little room. Not no room. “Okay? And when were you going to consult me on this?”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“Wh—” Kim Dokja splutters. “'Wasn’t necessary'? You think I wanna get dragged to the apartment of some grumpy weirdo with a hero complex?”
“It’s not exactly my first choice, either,” hisses Yoo Joonghyuk, lowering his voice. His brow furrows, as if wrestling with whether or not to continue. “I didn’t want to worry you. He’s been following us since we left.”
Kim Dokja’s mouth snaps closed. He tries to subtly glance behind them. Sure enough, a hunched figure is keeping pace half a block behind them, black leather jacket reflecting the neon signs above.
“What a fucking dickhead,” Kim Dokja grumbles. His tone is stern, but his hand subconsciously reaches across his body to grip Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers, belying his attempt at courage.
Yoo Joonghyuk exhales, more resolute than a sigh. He turns his head to glare at their pursuer, cold enough to freeze the ocean twice-over. When he looks down at Kim Dokja, though, his gaze softens, warms. His eyebrow twitches, just barely. Kim Dokja tilts his head, waiting for him to speak.
“You…” He swallows, then raises his voice, just loud enough to be heard from a distance. “You’re coming up for dinner.” Then, an afterthought, like he’s unaccustomed to it, asks, “Right?”
This is an outcome that not even Han Sooyoung could have predicted. She would have been able to avoid ‘additional winnings’ based on her original ruleset—Yoo Joonghyuk looks more like he wants to set himself on fire before he’d kiss Kim Dokja, but a dinner invitation? Isn’t that closer to a date than a one-off makeout session behind a bar? It feels like it, even if Kim Dokja isn’t entirely certain that he won’t be murdered once they’re clear of any witnesses. Although, in fairness, Kim Dokja wouldn’t be surprised if this is just the face Yoo Joonghyuk makes whenever he’s feeling anything at all.
He lowers his jaw to strengthen their eye contact. He’s still waiting for an answer. A fraction of his expression has a vague hint of uncertainty, and for the first time that night, Kim Dokja gets a glimpse behind Yoo Joonghyuk’s stony, untouchable exterior.
How cute, he thinks, a smile sneaking its way across his face. “Yeah,” he says, quieter than Yoo Joonghyuk, more private. “If you don’t mind.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, studying his face for a long moment before dropping to his smile. He licks his lips. When he faces ahead again, he does so with noticeable effort. His fingers flex against Kim Dokja’s side and he nods, stiffly.
It isn’t far to Yoo Joonghyuk’s apartment. They banter a little, but mostly, they walk together without speaking. Somewhere along the way, the silence has become companionable, comfortable. It’s strange; with just this short encounter, for some reason, Kim Dokja feels like they’ve known each other for decades. There’s something about Yoo Joonghyuk that fits with Kim Dokja in a way he doesn’t have words for yet. He’s in the process of analyzing this when they enter the building, lost in thought as they approach the elevator. A small part of him is still aware enough to celebrate their luck when the doors open immediately, already waiting at the ground floor.
There’s no last sight of the creep outside the glass entrance when the elevator doors close, and Kim Dokja finally allows himself to relax, slumping against Yoo Joonghyuk’s remarkably sturdy torso.
“You should eat more,” Yoo Joonghyuk says suddenly, drawing Kim Dokja out of his thoughts. “And… smile more.”
Kim Dokja frowns at Yoo Joonghyuk, stifling another smile at what he knows is a feeble attempt at a compliment. “I do both with plenty of regularity,” he snips. “You’re just too gloomy to smile around. And I usually remember to eat a healthy three meals a day.”
“I doubt that.” Yoo Joonghyuk's other hand comes up to join the first on Kim Dokja’s waist. His thumbs and fingertips nearly touch, and Kim Dokja feels very, very warm and very, very small. “I could break you in half.”
Kim Dokja hums thoughtfully. The elevator door opens, and somehow he finds the willpower to move away, a step out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s reach. He glances over his shoulder, sizing Yoo Joonghyuk up as if he hadn’t memorized his figure at first sight. “Is that an option?”
Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him intently as he exits the elevator, then takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, marching past Kim Dokja down the hall. He has to unclench his fists to unlock his apartment door. For a moment, Kim Dokja is worried that he’d been too forward, uneasily following him in and praying he can pass it off as a joke if Yoo Joonghyuk addresses it.
And then Yoo Joonghyuk dispels the thought, reaching past Kim Dokja to latch the door shut and then carefully, deliberately, crowds him against it. The sensation from the elevator returns with enough force to make Kim Dokja’s knees weak.
“I think that would be breaking my word,” Yoo Joonghyuk says softly. His gaze burns into Kim Dokja’s. “I told your friend I’d keep you safe.”
“You could do better than that,” Kim Dokja breathes, staring up through his lashes. “You strike me as a tryhard.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands find their home on Kim Dokja’s waist again. He squeezes gently, dipping his head to close more distance. “What do you suggest?”
Kim Dokja rises on his toes, movements still tentative as he reaches up around Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck and rests their foreheads together. “You could just keep me.”
An emotion like desperation burns bright behind the fire of Yoo Joognhyuk’s eyes. The deep breath he takes ghosts over Kim Dokja’s lips as he hesitates, just long enough that Kim Dokja loses his patience and yanks him down, removing the last of the distance left between them.
Yoo Joonghyuk kisses like a man starved, gathering Kim Dokja against him with crushing fervor. One of his hands dips beneath Kim Dokja’s jacket and sweater to rest on the skin of the small of his back, the other skimming up his side and clasping the back of his neck to keep him close. Kim Dokja sighs into it, and Yoo Joonghyuk uses the opportunity to nip at his lower lip and trace it soothingly with his tongue before delving deeper, past his teeth. It’s all Kim Dokja can do to keep up, breathless and frantic beneath Yoo Joonghyuk’s ministrations. Even when he turns his head to gasp for air, Yoo Joonghyuk continues, working his way down Kim Dokja’s jaw to his exposed throat. His teeth find the most sensitive spot with ease and Kim Dokja can’t help but whine, halfway to a moan. Yoo Joonghyuk tenses for a heartbeat before resuming with renewed vigor, both arms wrapped around Kim Dokja’s waist just as his knees give way.
“S’like you were born to do this,” he huffs, like it’s unfair.
“I think I was,” Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs. “Even if you are an idiot.”
Kim Dokja manages to whack the back of Yoo Joonghyuk’s head, causing the latter to chuckle against his skin. “Shouldn’t your lips be too busy for snark?”
“Mm.” Yoo Joonghyuk presses a featherlight kiss against his pulse and raises his head, quirking one side of his lips. “Never.”
“We’ll see about that.” Kim Dokja smiles mischievously and pulls Yoo Joonghyuk in again.
This kiss feels different, somehow. It’s stronger, more decisive, any residual hesitation losing its grip each time their lips meet. There’s a balance between them that’s unfamiliar to Kim Dokja; there’s something like finality to it. Something like fate.
Kim Dokja has always lived a life in passing. Nothing is permanent, not for him. People are little more than parallel lines, and he’s liked it that way. It’s safer. If he gets too close, he’s more likely to take risks that end in heartache.
And yet, for what may be the first time in years, Kim Dokja feels brave. Living at arm’s length isn’t enough, not anymore. He decides to chase what he wants. And right now, all he wants is to entangle himself within Yoo Joonghyuk.
To intersect.
To intertwine.