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Throughout Kim Dokja’s life, he never expected much. All he wanted was to fade into the background. It was a boring goal, far from the interesting tales his coworkers seemed to speak about amongst themselves, but his upbringing made it clear that any sort of hope could not be achieved— especially when his father preferred to drink his worries away as his influenced mind and body never failed to strike them. Yet, his mother made it known that he was the son of a murderer, and for what? Money? Fame? He never understood. She didn’t seem like the type, but maybe he never knew her as well as he thought.
Kim Dokja often wondered what it took for someone to be considered lucky, and it heavily lied in how that person perceived luck. Would stumbling upon death be fortunate for surviving or unfortunate for being so close to it? Maybe all he had to do to live a good life was to change the way he thought, but was altering someone's perception that simple? In theory, it was easy to hate the world, to hate whatever caused him pain, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. At most, it was indifference, and if not indifference, it was fear.
(Faintly, a blurry scene seeps into his mind— the bloodied knife, his father’s motionless body, his mother’s words—
He remembers what he fears. He wishes to forget, to cease the loop of trauma that never fails to float behind him, to form a shape only he knows.)
So when the monitor in the work area displays headlines about a sudden zombie outbreak, Kim Dokja can’t help but stare at the screen in awe. Even as his coworkers clash and push into each other, some laptops and folders clatter onto the floor as the panicked murmurs morph into white noise, he is glued to place at the sudden change of the world. Did this mean he wouldn’t have to get stepped on anymore? Was his pitiful life as a salaryman-slash-dormat finally over?
…Was this his lucky day?
Presently, Kim Dokja wriggles out of a zombie’s grasp before luring it to a dusty cabin, closing the door against its neck. The decapitated head falls to the other side, the sound almost noiseless that he almost checks if the door did any damage at all. It takes a few seconds for the zombie to halt its movements, finally going limp and Kim Dokja lets out a sigh of relief.
He releases the body before dusting off his hands, appraising the area with a frown. There were trash and rotten corpses lying everywhere, and the smell of death never seemed to leave wherever he went.
Well, he supposes, at least it’s quiet.
-
It takes months for him to get used to using a knife.
He finds the weapon in the kitchen of an empty house. He assumes the place is well lived, but it’s hard to tell with the lack of life present. He never felt as warm in his own house, so who was he to make that judgment? The wallpapers are pink and peeling, and he finds a worn out stuffed toy on the couch with a similar shade. Briefly he ponders about the family’s story and whether they successfully escaped together or not. Though maybe the parents never wanted to raise their child in such circumstances, and probably killed their precious baby and then themselves.
How morbid.
He leaves the place after acquiring the knife, making sure it wasn’t the same exact one that haunted him in his sleep. This one’s grip was more hollow, size much smaller, that or maybe his hands grew larger. As much as he could’ve stayed in such a silent house, the eerie peacefulness only left him on edge.
-
It feels like an eternity when he finally sees a sign of life.
It’s perfect timing, too, considering he has a goal to fulfill. After encountering corpses with their backs perched on the wall of an alleyway, pale hands interlocked in the other’s, he decided that it was about time he found someone too.
Kim Dokja never tried to seek for others in the past, too many circumstances of rejection and apathy left him in a constant state of isolation. He tried to tell himself it was comforting to be alone, that not having anyone around meant there was nothing to lose, but that also meant he didn’t have anything in the first place– it’s a bit funny, really.
Anyway, now that an entire apocalypse is happening, he assumes that it’ll be okay to finally make a friend. Maybe turn a new leaf. It’s a silly thought, especially considering how he’s almost thirty, but he tries to look on the bright side of things. If he made it this far, then maybe someone’s company was what he needed all along.
When Kim Dokja rubs the sleep out of his eyes before exiting his tent, a man across the street dressed in all black emerges from the broken down convenience store. He has a sword at his side, and Kim Dokja squints at the object— how’d he even get that? Once his mind clears, he finds himself excited at the prospect of interacting with someone sane. He tried to strike up conversations with the dead on multiple occasions when circumstances were not as life threatening, but they all said the same thing.
Well, they weren’t really saying anything, but he swears after asking one of them how their day was, they responded with a grumble that almost sounded like good.
“Hey!” Kim Dokja calls, waving his hands in a hurried motion in fear that if he doesn’t act now, he’ll never get another chance like this. The man stills at the sound, placing a hand to his side on instinct, and it belatedly registers that this guy could be dangerous.
Even with the distance between them, the man’s stare is similar to that of a dart, sharp. Kim Dokja pretends a nervous bead of sweat doesn’t roll down his forehead. “Do you… um— want to be friends?”
The deadpan look sent his way almost makes him shrink into himself. The silence hurts his pride and his smile wavers.
To Kim Dokja’s offense, the man turns around, already walking away and the rejection should hurt, but all he feels is pettiness. So, like an idiot, Kim Dokja fetches an air horn from his tent, blaring it proudly.
He grins when the man stops in his tracks, turning back to him stupefied. Kim Dokja is aware of the consequences of his actions, and the onslaught of zombies quickly approaching from his periphery only makes him smile wider.
He waits with adrenaline and anticipation, holding his breath as he gauges the amount of time left before he’ll have to take out the knife in his back pocket. The smell of decay inches closer and he backs into a tree— he grimaces at how one zombie gets up close and personal with its mouth wide open, and Kim Dokja is not a dentist. Ironically enough, there are barely any teeth left in that dreadful mouth.
Two more seconds.. if that bastard wasn’t going to help, then Kim Dokja will have to fight all these zombies himself with a success rate of 60%.
…That was a lie, Kim Dokja doesn't have the stamina for this. Ugh, his poor eating habits are finally catching up to him. Most probable scenario is that he can strike at the zombie on the left to widen the space between the zombie next to it, using that split second to run through the gap and never look back. After the running…he wasn’t really sure where to go. He was never good at improv.
He huffs out a sigh, disappointed. For a second he thought that maybe he wouldn’t have to be alone for the rest of life, but maybe the world was always against him.
Whatever, let’s get this over with.
While reaching into his pocket, he glances to his left and something unexpected happens— the zombies’ limbs are abruptly sliced. It’s so quick that he almost misses it, and the group falls to the floor in sync. He gapes down as they gurgle and moan in a heap of blood and bones. Before Kim Dokja can even wonder what the hell just happened, he’s being grabbed by the collar and is suddenly face to face with the man who was previously across the street.
...Did he speedwalk here or something?
The man seethes, sharp dark eyes narrowing as they scrutinize Kim Dokja’s face. For a moment, it feels like he’s been slapped. The man is admittedly very handsome, with a chiseled jaw and curly thick hair. Unfortunately, the appreciation for beauty is short-lived.
“You,” the man says, voice gravelly and awfully deep, “are you an idiot?”
The wind whistles, rustling the tall man’s hair and Kim Dokja's heart thumps in what should be fear.
“Um,” Kim Dokja tries to say, grabbing the wrists holding him captive, “can you release me?”
The man fails to comply, instead frowning even further. The wrinkles only do his face even more justice, expression both frightening and alluring. The intense gaze makes his face feel warm. His eyes are a bit too much though, and if he continues to stare into them for too long, he might burn. Kim Dokja looks away, muttering, “I knew you were going to save me.”
“…Really.”
No. “Yes.” Remembering that liars tend to avoid eye contact, Kim Dokja stares back into those horrifyingly piercing eyes. “I have good judgment.”
The man seems to ruminate over the words before he clicks his tongue and releases Kim Dokja. He stumbles slightly, overwhelmed from… whatever that was. He waits for a response, but the man only sighs before walking away.
What a prick, his good looks really are such a waste. Kim Dokja glares daggers at the large frame and tries to pretend his heart isn't racing faster than normal. As if sensing his eyes, the man turns around and Kim Dokja suppresses a flinch.
“Are you coming?” The man says, surprising him even further that he takes a couple of minutes to simply process the words.
Is this guy in his right mind?
“…Yeah,” he finally manages, “yeah. I’m coming.” He straightens out his clothes before catching up, making sure to steady his breathing first.
For some odd reason, Kim Dokja forgets how to walk, feeling weirdly self conscious of where to position his hands and feet.
He didn't expect this turn of events, especially with how hostile the guy was. Plus, the chances of encountering a person was really low.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” the handsome man says once they fall into step.
It's a nice name, a suitable one. He gets the urge to mutter it under his breath repeatedly, to roll the words on his tongue until it becomes something familiar. What it would mean to him in the future, Kim Dokja wasn't sure, but he hoped it would be a nice memory if not a constant.
“Kim Dokja.” He replies, the corner of his lips raising as a reflex rather than something done voluntarily.
Staring at Yoo Joonghyuk's profile, the sky feels a little brighter, an expansive dull orange which looks vastly prettier than it once was. There's a respectable space between the two, but the thought of their shoulders brushing makes him feel weirdly foreign.
As he gets used to the warmth beside him, Kim Dokja decides that today, he was really lucky.