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Sometimes, it still feels like he’s dreaming.
Before Kim Dokja woke up— truly woke up—the mere idea of him coming back to them, to him , seemed like it could only happen in Yoo Joonghyuk’s dreams. His dreams remain yet another one of Kim Dokja’s cruel salvations, yet another reminder of the man he had lost. As if a dream could ever come close to actually having the man present in his life again—the thought of it makes Yoo Joonghyuk laugh.
How many times had he woken up screaming Kim Dokja’s name, reaching a desperate hand out to try and grasp at that white coat and hold him close if only for a moment longer?
The moment Kim Dokja woke up in that hospital room, surrounded by the members of Kim Dokja’s Company, had felt like a dream—something so surreal, so unattainable, that only his imagination could’ve possibly conjured it. Yoo Joonghyuk had blinked once then, to make sure it wasn't just an illusion, his mind playing yet another cruel prank on him. Blinked again just to be sure. Pinched himself so hard he nearly drew blood.
“Kim Dokja,” he had whispered, still unbelieving. He had reached his arm out just as he had in all those dreams. Wasn’t this another one of them, just one crueler than the rest?
It was not—Kim Dokja had stared at them for a moment before scrambling out of the hospital bed and falling into his arms. It had solidified for him, right then and there, that it was real —that the one who had saved him, the man he had thought he lost, was finally back.
“I was dreaming, y’know,” Kim Dokja says, drumming his fingers against the metal fencing on the rooftop. “When I was asleep in the hospital.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looks at him. Kim Dokja continues to stare at the sky. They stand side by side on the balcony of their shared mansion, watching as the sun slowly begins to dip past the horizon line.
“It was a nice dream,” he continues. “It was simple. We were just having dinner, but everyone was there. The kids were bickering over some game they were playing, Fortnite I think?” He lets out a short laugh, a distant look in his eyes as he recalls the dream.
“You were cooking as always. I could smell the murim dumplings even in my dream. Everyone was at the table, chatting and laughing, and it was…” he trails off, trying to think of the right word, “…peaceful.”
“That sounds like a nice dream,” Yoo Joonghyuk says softly, hints of wistfulness catching in his voice.
Kim Dokja turns to look at him, a strange look on his face. “It doesn't have to just be a dream,” Kim Dokja says. “You know that, right, Yoo Joonghyuk?” There’s a strained desperation in his voice.
He doesn’t respond, just continues to watch the sky—how could it not just be some distant, impossible dream? In what world is he deserving of such a benevolent fate? Nothing can change what he’s done, the lives he’s ended, and the suffering he’s caused. The pain of it all stabs at his heart, overwhelming him once again. There’s no possibility, no reason that—
“—Even so,” Kim Dokja’s words cut through his thoughts like a knife against skin, “don’t you deserve to rest, too?” Yoo Joonghyuk looks over at Kim Dokja. His mouth is curved into a frown, eyebrows furrowed with concern.
Oh, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks stupidly. Does he deserve that? He ponders the idea—after all these years of suffering, the endless cycle of pain he’s endured, is he allowed to rest?
Yoo Joonghyuk opens his mouth to say something, but Kim Dokja turns away from him, ducking his head slightly. “Haha, but what do I know?” he says with a weak smile. “Our protagonist knows all that already, I’m sure.”
No, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks to himself. It’s you who knows me the best, Kim Dokja.
He’s not quite sure what changes between them. It’s subtle, but Yoo Joonghyuk has always been an observant man. Kim Dokja’s smiles becoming softer, his presence lingering longer, the concerned yet loving looks he gives Yoo Joonghyuk—none of it goes unnoticed.
Yoo Joonghyuk changes too—in the way he caters his food towards Kim Dokja’s preferences, the way his mouth curls into a smile more frequently when around him.
It’s no surprise to either of them when Yoo Joonghyuk finally does something about it. He always has been better with his actions than his words.
When they announce it to the members of Kim Dokja’s Company the next day, none of them seem quite surprised. Things move on quickly, and it becomes just another part of their mundane lives.
He’s satisfied, really. It’s more than he could’ve asked for.
It’s more than he thinks he deserves.
He wakes up screaming again, gut-wrenching and raw. His chest heaves as he tries to breathe. Yoo Joonghyk looks around his room, eyes wide as he adjusts to the darkness. His body trembles as he inhales shakily. His face is wet and his eyes burn when it hits him that he’s crying yet again. He throws a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sob that threatens to rip out of his throat.
It’s not the first time this has happened—over the past few weeks, ever since his conversation with Kim Dokja on the balcony, he’s been having constant, pervasive nightmares. He rarely sleeps nowadays, proof shown in the massive eye bags that drag his face down.
“Yoo Joonghyuk?” he hears from beside him. Yoo Joonghyuk goes still. He glances at where the voice comes from. Kim Dokja lays next to him, a yawn escaping his mouth as he slowly wakes. He rubs his eyes and blinks a few times before looking at him more closely, concern drawn onto his face.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja says again, softer this time, “what’s wrong?”
It’s such a simple question, yet he has no clue how to even begin to answer. Instead of words, a quiet sob tumbles from his mouth. Kim Dokja’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Hyuk-ah.” He draws closer to Yoo Joonghyuk, tentatively putting his hand on the man’s arm. “It’s okay, I’m here. Talk to me, what’s wrong?”
It's so gentle—far more than he deserves. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing seems to come out. His bottom lip trembles softly as he turns his head towards Kim Dokja, eyes glassy with tears. Kim Dokja’s blinks in surprise and he scrambles to push himself up on their shared bed, moving closer to Yoo Joonghyuk.
He hesitantly opens his arms. “Come here, Hyuk-ah.” Immediately, Yoo Joonghyuk falls forwards. Kim Dokja holds him tightly as Yoo Joonghyuk buries his head into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. Tears fall onto Kim Dokja’s sleepwear and within seconds, his shirt is stained with them. Kim Dokja remains silent, rubbing small, comforting circles onto his back.
After some time, his silent cries slow, and he lifts his head from Kim Dokja’s shoulder. Kim Dokja reaches his free hand out to softly sweep Yoo Joonghyuk’s bangs to the side so they aren’t covering his eye.
Kim Dokja asks gently. “Was it a bad dream again?
Yoo Joonghyuk nods stiffly, his body still trembling ever so slightly.
“It must’ve been really awful for you to be this shaken up,” Kim Dokja murmurs. He reaches for Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand and intertwines their fingers, his thumb gently moving back and forth along his skin. “Tell me, Hyuk-ah. You know I’m here for you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk, inhales shakily. “You didn’t wake up,” he says quietly. “I waited for years. There was some part of me, some stupid part that thought you’d wake up. That maybe if I did something, anything, you’d come back. But nothing changed—that was the worst part. Everyone just moved on with their lives. You were gone, but everyone else just carried on living. How was I supposed to do that?” He chokes on the last word, tears welling up again. Silence fills the room as Kim Dokja’s hand stills and his expression shifts from concern to shock and then into something akin to guilt.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja tries.
“It wasn’t over there,” Yoo Joonghyuk continues. “I regressed. I regressed and you still weren’t there. I tried again, and again, and again. Nothing changed. You were just… gone. No, it was like you’d never even existed.” His voice is just barely above a whisper. His lip wobbling, tears begin to cascade down Yoo Joonghyuk’s cheeks once more. He wipes at them, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down the curve of his face.
“Kim Dokja,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He’s never been a man of many words, but the rawness of his voice serves as a bitter reminder of his lifetimes of suffering.
“Shh,” Kim Dokja says softly. “It’s okay, Hyuk-ah. I’m here now, aren’t I?” His voice is soothing, delicate and gentle. He strokes Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair softly and Yoo Joonghyuk leans into it.
“I know it's scary, but I did wake up. We aren’t bound by the story anymore—we’re free to choose our futures. There’s still so much time. I want to be with you and everyone else. I promise I’ll stay, okay? I’ll stay as long as I possibly can, so we can continue to make memories together.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nods slowly, face still wet from the tears.
“I know it still feels like a dream,” Kim Dokja continues, wiping the last of Yoo Joonghyuk’s tears away, “but it isn’t. We’re together now. The nightmares might not stop for a while—they might not ever stop, but I’ll still be here. We have all the time in the world now… isn’t that enough, Hyuk-ah?”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk says softly. “It’s enough.”