Chapter Text
A year before It happened, Kim Dokja met Yoo Joonghyuk.
Standing in front of the class with eyes that seemed to dare anyone to look into them, Dokja found the boy odd as he gave a curt introduction.
Yoo Joonghyuk. That was all he said. Nothing about why he was joining in the middle of the term, or where he came from.
Dokja could hear a few murmurs pass around the classroom, seeds of speculations and gossip already germinating. Whispers of ‘I heard his parents are loaded’ and ‘I heard he was expell–'
“Why don't you take the seat at the back?” The sounds hushed as the teacher spoke, and motioned to the only empty spot in the class.
It was the middle of the year, after all.
Yoo Joonghyuk's fierce gaze met his for the first time, a brief second before he looked away. Not giving the teacher any form of acknowledgement, he made his way to the seat.
Dokja ducked his head, and soon heard the sound of the chair next to his being scraped back. He could feel the weight of someone's presence settling in.
Peeking out from behind his elbow, he looked at the boy who was now seated next to him.
Dark wavy hair fell into his even darker eyes, the childlike roundness of his features already giving way to something sharper.
Perhaps he would think the spot next to Dokja was left empty because of a mix-up in assigned seating. Of course, Dokja had no intention of correcting that.
"What?" It was a cold voice, his cold voice, and Dokja's eyes widened before he looked to the front of the class.
“Sorry,” He whispered, not sure if the boy it was intended for even heard it. He hadn't meant to stare, his mom always told him not to.
Staring makes him angry, Dokja.
Dokja! Hide—
Dokja blinked, the sky stretching out in front of him endlessly. The light breeze on the roof tickled his skin.
The railing was cold and rusty where his hands rested, head tilted up as he looked at the clouds.
He could probably make out the shape of something, if he looked hard enough.
“What are you doing?” Came the same cold voice as before, jarring him out of his thoughts. He turned around slowly, eyes unfocused as they stared at the taller boy.
“Huh?”
Yoo Joonghyuk crossed the distance between them in seconds, grabbing Dokja’s wrist before moving them away from the ledge. His grip was unrelenting.
It took Dokja a moment to gather his bearings, and when he did, he couldn’t help but give the other boy a smile. He wondered if it looked as…off as he felt.
“I wasn’t going to jump,” He said, and wondered if he meant it.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away, eyebrows scrunched up in a scowl. He was still holding onto his wrist.
Dokja was surprised.
It didn’t burn.
Joonghyuk followed Dokja’s gaze, abruptly dropping it as if it did.
“Whatever.”
He turned and left without saying anything further, shoulders hunched as he crossed the rooftop. He reached for the door, and just as Dokja was about to return to his own spot, whirled back.
“I’m going to eat here,” Joonghyuk declared, glaring at him, voice oddly intense for something as simple as lunch.
“..Okay..?” Dokja’s expression was caught between a confused frown and an awkward smile, unsure of what he was supposed to say.
Joonghyuk crossed his arms across his chest, glare still fixed on him as he made his way to the other side of the rooftop, as far away from him as physically possible, but still keeping him within sight.
Dokja scratched his head, not knowing what to do. Joonghyuk was biting into his lunch like he was pummelling someone to death.
Not wanting to become the next object of his ire, Dokja picked up his bag, and, with a small wave, moved to leave.
Closing the door behind him, he saw the boy’s frowning face one last time before the gap shut fully.
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For a while, that was the extent of how their interactions went; an awkward smile from Dokja here, a frown from Joonghyuk there. But every day, without fail, Yoo Joonghyuk would come to the same spot on the rooftop at lunch, glaring daggers at Dokja over his delicious looking food if he got too close to the ledge. Dokja briefly considered finding a different spot, but it was his first, and nothing else quite compared to the freedom he felt there. And besides, apart from the general murderous aura, Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t all that bad company. He always kept to himself.
One day, however, something changed.
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted, stuffing his lunchbox in Dokja’s face without preamble, posture rigid like he was cosplaying the Easter island statues. When the latter did nothing but stare back in bewilderment, his glare hardened.
“Eat.” He demanded, pointedly pressing the lunchbox against Dokja’s face. Dokja winced, but continued to stare like a deer caught in headlights.
Yoo Joonghyuk huffed in obvious irritation, and sat down opposite him. He placed an unused pair of chopsticks in front of Dokja before bringing out his own, and began to eat in silence. It seemed he’d given up on giving any sort of explanation without even trying.
“Uh.” Dokja said intelligently, breaking the silence.
“Are you stupid?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, but it sounded like a statement. He gave the other boy an unimpressed stare, before elegantly putting the omurice in his mouth. “Eat.” His tone seemed to book no room for any argument.
The bossy remark seemed to snap Dokja out of his confused reverie, and he—still mildly dumbfounded—reluctantly picked up the chopsticks in front of him. Who was he to turn down free food?
Dokja wasn’t sure what prompted this sudden burst of passive aggressive food sharing that felt more like a tyrannical demand than an act of pity—which he guessed was what Yoo Joonghyuk must’ve been going for, Dokja never bought his own proper lunch—but all those thoughts flew out of his head when he took the first bite.
His eyes widened, and he looked up at Yoo Joonghyuk around the mouthful. The other boy was watching him out of the corner of his eye, and his lips curved up ever so slightly, obviously pleased at the reaction. Dokja’s eyes widened even further. He’d fully believed that Yoo Joonghyuk’s face couldn’t do anything other than scowl, all other options defective from birth.
Joonghyuk looked away, schooling his expression, but it was too late. Dokja, now filled with a renewed energy that only well-made food and unexpected movement of facial muscles could bring, continued to wolf down the omurice. They sat in comfortable silence, the sound of their chewing and chopsticks against the lunchbox the only noise.
Just like this, over the course of the next few months, their friendship (?) developed from one scowling boy glaring murder across the rooftop to glaring murder over the space of a lunchbox, and the other giving him teasing smiles instead of awkward ones.
Much to Yoo Joonghyuk’s overly-apparent irritation—though Dokja had noticed how his words lacked a noticeable amount of bite now—Kim Dokja, who had become familiar enough with him over the weeks spent eating lunch together, took a seemingly limitless pleasure in baiting Yoo Joonghyuk, poking him at every chance he got.
“Joonghyuk-ah, you’re going to give yourself early wrinkles like this,” Dokja tutted with a fake concern that was immediately given away by his shit-eating grin.
He rubbed his thumb between the other boy’s eyebrows to ease the frown. Yoo Joonghyuk’s frown deepened in response, and he pushed his hand away roughly.
“Kim Dokja, shut up and eat.” His normal monotonous voice was laced with warning, but the moment he saw that insufferable grin widening on Dokja’s face, he regretted his choice of words immediately.
“How can I eat if I shut my mou- mmhp!”
Ignoring his glare, Joonghyuk ate his own dumpling as Dokja swallowed the one forcefully stuffed in his mouth. Indignation lined every part of his tiny 12 year old body, but it was diluted considerably by his visibly begrudging respect at how delicious the dumplings were. They were Joonghyuk’s ultimate creation, as he’d come to know.
"You're never going to become a pro-gamer with this attitude.” He chastised, poking the other boy's cheek with his chopstick. Or, tried to, anyway. Joonghyuk sent him a scathing glare, and they proceeded to engage in a mini chopstick sword fight.
“You are–” Joonghyuk bit out in between his stabbing attempts, mouth twisted. “Insufferable.”
Dokja only grinned in response, leaning forward to use his other hand to tickle Joonghyuk’s sides. He never said he’d play fair.
Just as he bent forward, rising slightly from where he sat, Joonghyuk charged on with his offensive at the same time, albeit much quicker. His menacing chopstick was in front of Dokja’s nose in a millisecond, and Dokja yelped, falling backwards—and for a moment, the world seemed to shift.
The air went out of his lungs, and before he knew it, Dokja lost his balance, tilting sideways. The death grip on his collar was the only thing keeping him from falling 6 storeys down to flattening into a pancake. The lunch box was less lucky and fell; dumplings scattering in the air as the plastic hit the ground and broke into pieces.
“Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk was breathing heavily, his voice urgent—and Dokja would’ve mistaken it for desperate if it wasn’t for the anger rolling off of him in waves. The hand on his collar tightened, the tendons of his small but undeniably strong hand flexing as he pulled him up, their foreheads colliding with the force.
Once his own heartbeat stopped thundering in his ears, Dokja looked away from the ground and gave Joonghyuk his best apologetic smile, wrapping his own hand around the one on his collar and squeezing. The hold remained steadfast, as if unwilling to let go just yet.
“I told you to not sit there.” Joonghyuk’s voice was stretched taut, and his fist shook just a little around his collar. Whether it was from the force of the grip or something else, Dokja didn’t know. He looked away.
“You were sitting there too,” He couldn't help but bite back, chewing on his lip. He knew it sounded childish.
“Yes, to prevent this.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen.” Dokja argued with his own obstinacy, even though he definitely would have.
“Kim Dokja.” There was a warning in Joonghyuk’s voice, a flavour of frustration he wasn’t used to—it sounded like it was both aimed at him and for him. Joonghyuk’s grip strengthened just as Dokja let his hand fall to the side.
“I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again.” He mumbled, staring at the rough cement texture of the rooftop, unable to look at the other boy. He thumbed at the small cracks that had weeds growing out of them.
Joonghyuk sighed, prompting Dokja to hunch his back further. The silence stretched for long enough that Dokja thought the argument was over, but he should've known the other boy wouldn't let it go too easily.
“Kim Dokja,” There was a quiver in Joonghyuk's voice, a vulnerability he'd never expressed before. Dokja's eyes widened like he'd been slapped awake, and he looked up before he knew what he was doing. He didn't know what, but he knew that this was precious; something no one else but him had ever gotten to hear.
Taking Dokja's chin in his hand with a gentleness that was wholly uncharacteristic, Yoo Joonghyuk moved it so their eyes met, refusing to give the other a chance to look away. There was an indecipherable emotion swirling in his obsidian eyes, all the sunlight the summer afternoon had to offer seeming to pool into them. Dokja held his breath.
“Just be careful.”