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[Some constellations are looking at you.]
Yet, right now, you do not wish to be looked at.
At first, it was unimaginable. To conceive a world where anyone could hide away from the eyes of the gods. Everyone in Seoul, on Earth, was meant to entertain. The laughter to be turned into sorrow, despair, and then laughter again—if only edgier, more cruel, less humane.
What would you pay to be left alone? To hide from prying eyes, just for a second, and be, just once more, truly alone. The world’s weight in gold, perhaps. The last grain of salt after all the oceans were burned away. Or the first memory of a children’s smile.
The price of living freely… it was unimaginable, at first.
To everyone, but you.
[Some constellations are looking at you.]
You knew from the moment you stood up and took the first step into this world, what it would take.
Coins, skills, attributes. These were the things everyone coveted, with reason. These were the things that allowed for one to survive. But there are other things, infinitely more important, with which one could gain the one thing that truly mattered in the end.
A story.
With a story, one could not survive, but live.
[Some constellations are looking at you.]
And in turn, you look up at the dark night sky.
[Some constellations are wondering about the box in your hand.]
[Some constellations ask you to open the box.]
You knew this would happen. And if you were anyone else, you might’ve shown them.
[The ‘Demon King of Salvation’ is looking at the constellations.]
[The ‘Demon King of Salvation’ is smiling sweetly at the constellations.]
However, tonight is not a story meant to be told.
The channel closes before the complaints can start to pour in. You pat Biyoo’s head in thanks, and she rubs against your cheek before too going away. And then, it’s just you in front of the infirmary door.
Your hand reaches for the handle, and you hesitate. Was it really okay?
You walk in anyway.
Laying on the bed, is the most gorgeous guy in the whole universe.
He is asleep, or rather in a semi-comatose state. His wide chest rises and falls, and you let out a sigh of relief. Of course, you know he isn’t as easy to kill, but still it helps to make sure he's still breathing.
You look at the incarnation in front of you.
At first, you yearned for the moment when no constellations were looking at you. You hated their piercing gazes, and the obvious joy they felt as you fought tooth and nail to climb up from hell. That was then. By now you’ve realized a story, a life, is worth only as long as it’s told. Shared.
There is only one person with whom you want to share this moment.
A moment so short it’s not a chapter but an author's footnote…
No, you are not a writer, and neither are you a ‘character’ of the original Ways of Survival. You are not a protagonist. You are not worth mentioning, even if just in passing. No author would give you a place in their story, ever.
There is nothing special about you.
What you are, however, is a reader.
Tonight is not an author’s note, but a reader's handwritten scribble in the margins.
You walk to the person that has saved your life countless times, and extend a hand. Your fingers brush away some wild strands of black hair, unbelievably soft skin tickling your own.
‘This jerk-’
Even half dead, he is nothing short of stunning.
You put down the box in the small gap of bed that is left next to Supreme King Yoo Joonghyuk. Faint sounds from the story stability monitor are heard, marking him as stable for the time being.
‘Arrogant fool.’
You look down at the sunfish incarnation, who was way too close to dying this time around. Yoo Joonghyuk is always making you worry. It would be fair to say Yoo Joonghyuk is the source of 90% of your stress.
Even so…
‘He chose to stay.’
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t regress. And even if you know better, a little part of yourself, that is perhaps not entirely crouched down behind that Wall, thinks it might be because of you.
You, Kim Dokja, who never amounted to anything before the end of the world.
You, King of a Kingless World, who can only fight with borrowed strength.
You, Demon King of Salvation, who can only sacrifice himself, in the end.
This little part of you, perhaps what’s left of your heart, wonders—what would it feel like to be loved by someone like Yoo Joonghyuk?
Tonight, you dare to dream.
.
.
You open the wooden box and take out a small pocket watch. Aileen had done wonderful work in such a short amount of time. She has true talent—the type one could never buy. You wrap the watch around his arm, and tighten the strap.
‘Take care of it, okay?’
You don’t dare speak, in fear that this moment might be recorded, somewhere. This is not a story you want to tell the world, at least not yet.
‘Don’t you dare fucking die.’
Yoo Joonghyuk’s muscles twitch under your touch, his survival instincts prevailing even after everything that’s happened.
‘Please.’
His body is strong, stronger than it should be in this round.
‘I-’
Yet his mind is weaker.
‘I’ll come back.’
It might be presumptuous of you, to think the protagonist of this world needs you.
Nevertheless-
‘I promise.’
.
.
-Kim Dokja…
Just as you are about to leave, you turn around. He shouldn’t be able to use Midday Tryst. He shouldn’t even be close to conscious, period. But then you realize, he’s not really. It’s just his innermost thoughts, pouring out of him as if searching for something, reaching out—
-Kim Dokja…
Yoo Joonghyuk says your name like it’s the only thing that ties him to this world.
‘This guy.’
For a moment you think he might wake up. It is Yoo Joonghyuk after all—he is capable of barely escaping death one day and going back to fighting the next. However, this last battle was too much, even for Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t wake up, and soon even the messages sent through Midday Tryst become silent. It is better this way. Otherwise, Yoo Joonghyuk might try to stop you from what you’re about to do next.
It is better this way.
It doesn’t matter if your chest hurts when you think you might never hear Yoo Joonghyuk call your name again. At this point, you just hope you’re lucky enough to see the next day through. Whatever comes after—a gift.
.
.
.
.
Kim Dokja closes the door behind him. Thick silence fills the room, except for the beeping machines that get louder and louder each second that passes.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyelids flutter, but they don’t open.
Not yet.
On his arm, the watch ticks just as his heart beats. Yoo Joonghyuk’s breathing evens out at the comfortable pace, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s mind finally relaxes for the first time in many, many years.
Tonight, Yoo Joonghyuk dreams.