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Kim Dokja silently looked out the window that acted as a screen, showing him new scenes each day like a streaming platform set to autoplay. He watched as the fleeting colours of the seasons changed from spring's vibrant green to summer's sky blue; from autumn's maroon glow and finally to winter's stark white. He marvelled at the sight of carefree baby birds as they flew from their nests, much unlike that frail body of his, lying on the hospital bed.
All of it seemed so unreal, so detached; a winding paragraph in a novel where each description, no matter how insignificant, was needed. In truth, Kim Dokja quite liked the idea of over-exposition: how something could be fleshed out and made concrete, an oak with no limit to its branches. It helped him grasp every little detail in a story, paving the way to an undeniably "real" fantasy in his mind's eye. Or perhaps, he was just a reader desperate to devour every single word, even those deemed unnecessary for a story to work.
"Will you really be alright? You don't have to do this, you know. We could always tell him to go back..." Han Sooyoung spoke up, breaking the silence with a frown.
Yoo Joonghyuk, sitting in a corner of the room with crossed arms and a crease between his brows, turned to face her. "Han Sooyoung is right. Your last encounter was... unpleasant. I'd rather not witness that mess again."
Kim Dokja could only reply with a smile that made his two companions grimace. He knew very well that they — that anyone who’d spent a sufficient amount of time with him — could decipher that act of infuriating insincerity. And yet, that was the best he could offer without voicing out his thoughts. In the end, he was a reader who would comment on every chapter of a story besides his own.
That was simply how Kim Dokja operated.
Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung stared at him for a while longer, willing him to say something. When he didn't, Yoo Joonghyuk conceded and quietly exited the room, dragging an incredulous Han Sooyoung with him.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing... Shouldn't someone stay with him?! Let me go right now or I swear I'll…" her grouchy voice faded away into the distance.
Kim Dokja let out a soft chuckle at how close those two had gotten while he’d been asleep. He tried not to think too much about the years that had been stolen from him, otherwise his chest would begin to throb as if stories were being gouged from his heart. He'd recovered the memories of the 49% avatar upon his return, yet that still hadn't meant that he'd truly been there beside them. Being pieced back together after fragmenting like a star before its supernova was like being taped up haphazardly after being put through a paper shredder: every part of him felt jumbled, his body a mismatched puzzle. It was the reason he'd been stuck in the hospital ward ever since waking up that fateful day.
A gentle knock could be heard as Kim Dokja instinctively steeled himself, his face growing tighter with each attempt to relax it. Looks like I'm still not used to this , he thought to himself. The visitor wasn't new to this room and moved to sit gingerly by his bed, the seat still warm from Han Sooyoung accompanying him through yet another sleepless night.
Silence embraced them for a long time. It was hard to find words when looking at a person you couldn’t quite sort your feelings on. Eventually, Kim Dokja chose the safer route and asked the visitor how his guardian was.
"Oh, Joonghyuk-hyung? He was in a rush today. He said he needed to help Jihye-noona with university applications, I think..."
"Is that so? With his help, I'm sure it'll be fine."
"Yeah! That's what I told him too. We really are the same, hyung!" the visitor smiled widely, his cheeks flushed bright red.
Kim Dokja turned to take a proper look at the face of his visitor. No scars, no bandages... they're taking good care of him , he thinks as he stares at his younger self. He could truly understand how Secretive Plotter had felt watching Yoo Joonghyuk live a seemingly better life than he had. The adult Kim Dokja took a deep breath before willing himself to speak again.
"So, what would you like to do today?"
The now 17-year-old Dokja, known otherwise as the Oldest Dream, furrowed his brows and hummed before lighting up at a thought. "Ah! I know. Let me tell you about this new series I found in the library at school. I've read pretty much every webnovel there is so I thought, why not just try a physical book for once?" As he rambled on about the premise of the story and its overarching plot, the Kim Dokja on the hospital bed tried to listen earnestly. Well, tried.
Why was he telling me this? I wasn't asking about the latest book he read or whether he enjoyed it. I don't care. I don't care about any of this.
But as his selfish thoughts formed thundering clouds, a flash of lightning — of cruel realisation — pierced through his mind.
Wasn't this exactly the way he was at that age too?
This was the same person with the same coping mechanism. The young Kim Dokja would tell him about every detail in a novel because that was how he connected with others.
That was how he survived.
With this realisation came anger: the same frustration that had brewed within him upon seeing the Oldest Dream again for the first time. It was all the same. He would have chosen this path again and again, destroying worlds and hurting everyone around him if only to carry on, living through the tale of someone else as he resented his own unremarkable life.
If only to save himself with one more page.
"And… and get this, hyung! The author has written a few other books too, and it seems like they're just recycling the plot and characters all over again." The young Kim Dokja rambled on, unaware that the person he was speaking to was on the verge of another outburst.
"Hey, aren't you afraid of me?"
His accusing tone caused his bright eyes to dim, welling up with tears as he lowered his head to stare at his lap.
Kim Dokja let out a shaky sigh. He shouldn't have agreed to this meeting.
It happened one day in the first month after waking up. Secretive Plotter had given in to the Oldest Dream, who stubbornly insisted on greeting and getting to know him. He had no idea how they’d found out about him waking up in the first place. Their first few meetings were — as Yoo Joonghyuk had put it — a mess. Sometimes it would be poorly-restrained anger and guilt, other times it would be plain silence. It seemed that this time would be no different, though everyone had hoped the two of them would work through their issues eventually.
But how does one forgive themselves? How could Kim Dokja look at his younger self and not feel like wringing his own neck for everything that had occurred? He tried to tell himself that it was all over — that nobody blamed him for his actions. But he could not understand how they could forgive him so easily, celebrating his return and awaiting his recovery even after all he had done.
His mind was spiraling again, brimming with self-hatred and the regret that came with it. As he felt himself sink deeper into the void, his own voice dragged him back into the hospital room.
"Of course I'm afraid of you, hyung. How could I not be?"
Kim Dokja watched as his younger self struggled to speak, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood.
Blood.
Kim Dokja felt his heart pound as he continued to watch the boy before him.
This was it, wasn't it? To watch himself suffer through the pain he wished upon himself. There was nothing he wanted more, and yet, he felt dread rising in his throat, tightening with the urge to tell the younger boy to stop, to reach out and wipe the blood away from his lips.
Just as he felt his hand move, the boy straightened up to look at him once more. The determination and resolve so clearly reflected in his eyes made Kim Dokja stop in surprise, his hand falling limply to his side.
It was so easy for his younger self to let go. To find peace with everything and move on, growing stronger and happier while he remained stuck, left to his thoughts as the world continued around him.
He wondered where he had gone wrong.
The older Kim Dokja remained silent as the younger boy continued with his words, moving forward in the way the former so badly wished he could as well. "I'm afraid of you, yes, but I still want to get to know you better." He paused, a small smile forming on his lips. "What are the chances you get to meet an older, wiser version of yourself, after all?"
The younger Kim Dokja shifted uncomfortably in his seat at his older self's silence, his hands fidgeting as if searching for something to hold onto. After a moment, he spoke up again, trying to fill in the space between them. "Umm, hyung, can you tell me more about Sooyoung-noona, and Sangah-noona, and oh, of course, Gilyoung-hyung as well? I'm so curious about them. After all, they didn't exist in my world. It's such a strange thing to think about..."
Kim Dokja closed his eyes in an attempt to quell the raging storm inside him.
He could do this. In the end, they were one and the same. Perhaps they were both monsters, or perhaps it was only him. But even so, no monster had any wish greater than to keep surviving in this wretched world. With that thought settling into his mind like a bookmark at a chapters end, the older Kim Dokja finally spoke of the story he had kept from his younger self all this time.
If they were one and the same, then there was only one way to bridge this gap between them.
"Yes, of course. I'll tell you everything about them," he croaks, fists gripping the sheets of his bed.
So he works his way through the hours, recounting his adventures with the people who hadn’t existed in the original TWSA. He pushes on with his tales even when he feels his throat begin to close up again. He pushes on, even when the amazed expression of his younger self feels like too much to bear. He tells his younger self how he'd become one with the story they both loved, and how he’d learned to care for those who weren't his familiar, beloved characters. And in those moments shared between them, he finds himself smiling once again, reaching to touch the soft and unblemished hand of the boy before him.
He finds himself slowly learning forgiveness.