Work Text:
Click.
The world gets plunged into silence.
Yoo Joonghyuk stares at the blank screen in front of him, which had just moments prior displayed a fierce solo battle where his champion had been in the middle of clearing out the mid-lane field, seconds away from earning enough gold to upgrade his weapons enough to take on the opposing team. The last of the barrage of messages from the shrunk window of his livestream remain in his vision as he blinks, and his brows pull down in exasperation as he pushes himself away from the desk, grabbing around in the darkness for his phone.
Cool metal makes contact with his skin, and a press of a button reveals a black homescreen that shows the time to be a quarter past nine in the evening right before the screen turns entirely black, his phone shutting down on him as well.
Ah. He seems to have forgotten to turn on the charging plug.
He glances towards the large windows taking up the entire west facing wall of his room, and the world outside is equally dark, the surrounding buildings plunged into the shadows of the night. A blackout, then. He rolls his chair back and walks across the room toward the closest window, pulling it open to let a gentle breeze in and hears the overlapping noises of his neighbors along with the ear grating cries of children whose sleep must have been interrupted. He pulls the windows back shut.
He stares at the dead phone in his hand, then in the direction of his computer set up. There are no candles in the apartment, he’d used the last of them two years ago and never thought of a point of restocking.
His stomach grumbles lightly at that moment, and he wonders if the chicken in the freezer will be alright.
Perhaps one of his neighbors would have some. Candles, that is, not the chicken. Or a power bank. Anything, really, considering that three minutes have passed according to his approximations, and the power hasn’t shown any signs of returning, meaning it wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. It just had to be on a night that he was catching up on his livestreaming quota; the moderators were going to throw a fit again, no doubt.
He feels his way out of his room and through the rest of his apartment towards the front door. It’s not all too difficult; he moved in four years ago and never bothered much with furnishing anything beyond the kitchen and his own room. There’s a small couch near the balcony, courtesy of Seolhwa who had funded it out of her own pockets during the brief period of time they had experimented with entering a relationship. It had ended on pleasant enough terms; she’d taken the TV and the coffee table – the couch was a parting gift, from her words. Never mind the fact that Joonghyuk has never found a use for it beyond letting it collect dust in his living room.
He pulls down on the door handle, and it opens with a light click. The corridor is equally dark as he steps outside.
Let’s see. 24-02’s residents were away on vacation; he signs their mail for them on their request, albeit begrudgingly. 24-03 was a group of college freshmen that he doesn’t really want to interact with at this hour of the night, or at any hour of any time of the day, and 24-05 has just been cleared out, waiting for new inhabitants. That left his only quick option as…
24-04.
He frowns.
24-04’s occupant is a relatively recent addition who had moved in sometime over the last four months, and he doesn’t know much about them beyond the fact that the man looked around the same age as him, had a gloomy face with dark circles deep set into a constantly tired pair of eyes, and a hunched set of shoulders on the few occasions that he spotted him coming outside of the apartment. The interactions between them sum up to a grand total of little to nothing; the man was constantly on his phone every time they crossed paths, except on the singular occasion that Joonghyuk had spotted a fallen wallet behind them and informed them as much, after which the man had stared at the wallet with a difficult expression for prolonged seconds before mumbling a half-hearted word of thanks and bent down to pick it up, revealing a slim figure beneath the oversized office suit.
So a slim figure, a tired voice that matched a tired face, and an unhealthy posture — this is all he has to go by.
But judging by the amount of time he’s seemingly occupied on his phone, the man must have a power bank, if nothing else.
He squints his way through the corridor, reading the label on the wall carefully before lifting his hand to knock on the door.
When his knuckles are a hairbreadth’s distance from making contact, the door clicks open, revealing a face tinged in candlelight, a man who is holding an ancient looking candle stand with one hand and a trash bag with the other.
Kim… something, he’s called, if Joonghyuk is correct.
He wonders how the hell he managed to open the door with both of his hands occupied.
“Oh—hello.” Kim something looks equally surprised to see him outside his door. He hesitates for a pause, then passes by Joonghyuk towards the garbage collection room right across from the apartment. There’s the sound of a muffled thud before he comes back out, and he stops at the door, giving him another hesitant look. “...24-01, right? Can I help you?”
He has no clue how he knows which apartment he’s from, though he supposes he has been living three doors from his for the last four months.
He holds up his dead phone in response. “You wouldn’t happen to have a power bank, by any chance?”
“Oh.” The man seems to struggle for a few seconds before coming to a consensus. “Yeah— yeah I think I have one lying around somewhere. I’ll have to do some digging to find it though.” He glances towards Joonghyuk nervously before asking, “Do you want to come stay inside while I find it? It won't take too long but, well, the power doesn’t look like it’s coming back any time soon.”
Joonghyuk stares at him with a raised brow, and the man seems to flounder. “Sorry, it’s just. It’s pretty dark outside, that’s all.”
Inviting a stranger into their home in the middle of a power outage; either this man had no sense of self-preservation, or was an absolute whacko.
He finds himself following them inside all the same.
“I’m Kim Dokja, by the way. Dokja, as in reader.”
“Yoo Joonghyuk. 28.”
“Ah, we’re the same age then. Feel free to speak casually with me.” the man responds in a quiet voice, shutting the door behind them.
The apartment is in an even poorer state of furnish compared to his own; the living room is simply square feets of empty space, while two rickety looking chairs are placed next to the island counter separating it from the kitchen space. The standard steel fridge that comes with the apartment stands next to a counter space that’s empty aside from the singular glass that sits on it, but the entire space is lit up from the half dozen lit candles that are scattered through every viable surface, giving the room a warm glow.
No stove, not even a microwave, he notes with another raised brow. Did the man not eat?
“Sorry about the shabbiness, I haven’t had—well, yeah. Grab a seat, there’s some beer in the fridge – it should still be cold enough.” He glances towards the rest of the room, then back at Joonghyuk. “Let me go find that power bank, I’ll be right back.”
And then Yoo Joonghyuk is left alone in the empty room.
He stalls for a few seconds, but then his stomach grumbles yet again as if to remind him of its predicament, and he shrugs as he walks towards the kitchen, opening the door to the fridge. His earlier question is instantly answered; there’s nothing inside apart from an unopened six-pack of beer and a handful of store bought samgak kimbap. That explained the gaunt pallor to their face; the man was simply malnourished. He almost feels guilty for his earlier judgments.
No wonder he let anyone inside his apartment; a thief could break into this place and leave empty handed, possibly leave a few quarters behind out of pity.
The beer is still cold, and it makes a loud clink in the silence as he cracks it open, sitting down on one of the only chairs as he drinks it in small sips. Warmth pools in his stomach, and as he relaxes against the spindly back of the chair, light shuffles from one of the rooms filter into his ears, the gentle sounds of drawers being pulled open and shut before footsteps begin to approach where he sits.
“Here you go. There’s only three bars left but it should juice up your battery to half-charge, at least.” A slim, rectangular device is held towards him, and he sets down the beer before accepting it with a smile he hopes looks grateful. He plugs his phone in quickly, and the blinking battery sign stares back at him.
“Thanks — and for the beer, too. Should I have grabbed one for you as well?”
“Ah, no, that’s alright,” Kim Dokja looks startled at the offer, as if Joonghyuk had just offered to cook a three course meal for him instead. Perhaps he should, given the lonely kimbaps sitting in the man’s fridge. “I’m not much of a drinker, actually.”
Not a drinker, with a six-pack of beer in his empty fridge?
His skepticism must show on his face, because Kim Dokja laughs as he grabs the glass on the counter-top, filling it with—to his growing horror—tap water. “That was a parting gift from a coworker. Embarrassing to admit this in our first conversation but uh—I was laid off yesterday. I’ll be moving out by the end of the month, actually, this is company accommodations.”
“Oh.” He has no idea what to say. That explains a lot, if he’s being honest; the apartments around here aren’t exactly on the cheaper side, and Kim Dokja, well — he didn’t exactly give off the affluent look. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be, it was bound to happen sooner or later.” The man shrugs, leaning against the island. Warm orange light casts upon his face, flickering ever so gently and softening his features. “It’s going to be a hassle finding a new place in time, but I’ve been in worse spots. How do the kids say it? We move, I guess.”
Joonghyuk snorts, then gulps down a larger mouthful of beer for the lack of something he can reply to that with.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do? Your face seems familiar.” Dokja continues seemingly unphased, and Joonghyuk thinks to himself that he has a pleasant voice before comprehending the words, ears growing warm with embarrassment.
“...I play games for livestreaming.” He replies after a moment of struggle. “They forced me into some promotion activities for the platform, you probably came across one of the ads somewhere.”
“So that’s it!” Dokja slaps his hand against his thigh, the action endearingly elderly.
Endearingly? Joonghyuk frowns, glancing at his beer.
“—Yeah, yeah, you’re that good looking face I keep having to press the close button on! I remember now.”
His ears grow even hotter, and he tugs lightly at the collar of his shirt. Dokja seems to immediately pick up on it, as his voice turns a touch concerned—for him, when he should be the last person in the room that anyone should be concerned about, Joonghyuk thinks to himself. “Is it a bit warm in here? Let’s wait in the balcony till your phone charges, we can take one of the candles there.”
And so Yoo Joonghyuk helps Kim Dokja shuffle two rickety chairs and a candle to the small balcony space, setting the latter on one of the chairs as he opts to stand against the railings. Dokja sits on the remaining one, cradling the glass of water between his hands while peering into its depths as if to try and find something within. A job, or a new apartment perhaps, Joonghyuk thinks somberly.
“Are you from around here?” he asks quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from the depressing thoughts.
“I’m from here and there.” The mysterious reply is quite frankly useless, but his eyes zero in on the lips that part with every word, and evening breezes seem futile as his ears continue to burn. “I go wherever a job takes me. Haven’t landed something stable since I came back from the army, so it’s been a lot of moving back and forth between the cities.”
“So that’s it,” he mutters under his breath, tearing his eyes away from him and into the dark neighborhood below. “Did your enlistment go well?”
Dokja snorts, and Joonghyuk’s eyes anxiously glance back. Wrong question to ask; he should have known this man’s luck wouldn’t have had anything good in store for him. “Pulled the shit end of the draw and got sent to the front lines. It was an experience, if nothing else.”
“...Shit.” Joonghyuk offers meekly, quite flabbergasted at this point by the man’s miserable life.
“What about you?”
“Exempted. Got the orphan card.”
“Shit.” Dokja repeats his words, then laughs. Joonghyuk’s eyes are pulled to the small wrinkles around their eyes, the slight flush to their usually gaunt face from the gentle candlelight. Unbeknownst to him, a faint smile tugs up the corner of his lips. “We’re equally miserable then. On second thought, maybe I will join you for a drink.”
A few minutes later, Joonghyuk is on his second beer while Dokja joins him leaning against the railings, facing towards the apartment.
“I always see you on your phone.” Joonghyuk suddenly blurts out, surprised at his own self. Since when had he gained this newfound curiosity towards his soon-to-be leaving neighbor?
A slight flush colors the tips of their eyes as they stare up at the functionless light affixed to the balcony ceiling. “I like to read stories.”
“Oh.” His own face feels flushed at this point. He blames the beer. “Anything I might have heard of?”
A side glance sent towards him reveals Dokja’s warm lit profile to him yet again, and he feels the beer sit a little lighter in his stomach. “Probably not. Most of them are published on forums. The latest one I picked up only has one reader, which I assume to be myself.”
“Send it to me.” He finds himself saying without thinking, and then he thinks on it again, realizing it's an excellent way to get the man’s number. “I’m serious. Here, give me your phone, I’ll add in my ID to your kakao.”
A quick tap of his fingers, and he’s set himself a way to keep contact with the man. Excellent.
Said man is staring at him with a curious expression, and Joonghyuk finds himself wanting to peer into their thoughts.
“You don’t seem like the impression you usually give off.”
“I give off an impression?”
“Gruff.” Dokja’s eyes crinkle again, and Joonghyuk is fucking mesmerized. Or he’s fucking drunk. “A bit surly. Polite, but indifferent. A little cold.”
Really, he could have stopped at that first one.
“Quite the list of impressions you’ve had of me.” Joonghyuk mumbles a touch sourly, and Dokja laughs.
“Maybe I’ve grown to become a bit judgmental. Didn’t help that you always had that glower on your face, though, in my defense.” He takes a sip of the beer, blanching his face at the taste before commenting, “You should smile more often, if you ask me. You’re quite beautiful.”
Twenty eight years of his life, and Yoo Joonghyuk has never quite felt more at a loss for words.
He takes another long sip for the lack of a response, heat pooling in his stomach.
“...Ask me what my first impression of you was.” He eventually asks, an unfocused gaze directed towards the dark buildings in the distance.
“What was your first impression of me, Yoo Joonghyuk?”
The candle on the chair flickers in a sharp movement, a stray breeze bending the flame for a second before it regains its strength, standing tall.
“I thought you looked lonely.”
Silence falls between them, and after a few long seconds, he braves a glance towards Kim Dokja.
A myriad of emotions are fluttering across their face, and he’s surprised to find that he can read them with ease; a mix of surprise, despondency and a hint of self-mockery. His heart feels a little tight in his chest at the sight; he wouldn’t exactly call it pity that he’s feeling, but more of—
—a kindredship.
“You weren’t exactly wrong on that, I suppose.”
He finds himself hating the bleak tone to their words, struck with an urgent sensation, for what, he doesn’t have time to ponder on as he blurts out, “You don’t need to be.”
Dokja looks at him questioningly, and he has to forcibly tear his eyes away from them, from the warm light that casts shadows of long lashes over their lids, brings out the drunken flush at the peak of their cheeks. Lackluster black hair, completely ordinary, thrown into shades of brown that makes him think of the color brown as something captivating, mesmerizing.
He’s getting ahead of himself, but there’s something inside of him that tells him to press on and continue, that he wouldn’t get this chance again.
“I mean—us.” He forces out his slightly clogged throat. “We could be friends.”
And then somehow, in a completely unexpected turn of events, he finds himself kissing Kim Dokja, his neighbor from apartment 24-04.
Soft, he thinks stupidly as the near empty beer can comes slipping out of his hand, landing on the balcony floor with a rattling noise. Despite the lightly chipped corners, Kim Dokja’s lips are soft, and warm.
The taste of beer enters his lips as he molds his lips over theirs, finally receiving the response that his desperately beating heart was apparently waiting for as Dokja’s lips part slightly before he begins to kiss him back, matching his every movement. Another rattling noise of a dropped beer can, decidedly not empty, judging from the wet spill over his feet, is almost immediately followed by hands that come up to twist into the sides of his hair, and a low moan escapes his lips as the feeling of a body pressed against him overwrites every other thought, a sound he hadn’t imagined himself to possess, and yet—
—it makes sense.
This makes sense.
As their lips part with a soft noise, his eyes flutter open, greedy to seek out what the other’s expression holds. Dokja’s face looks at peace, still lost in the kiss, and then his eyes flutter open, colliding with his gaze.
Silence only broken from the faint sounds of neighbors breezing out their apartments in the heat of the power outage, and then Dokja murmurs,
“Friends don’t kiss.”
“...Friends don’t kiss.” Joonghyuk readily agrees, admits. Voice hoarse, heart close to jumping out of his chest.
Fuck the beer. Fuck it all, really.
“Listen,” he says slowly, a touch desperately, resting his forehead against theirs. “When the power comes back, can I take you out for a late dinner?”