Work Text:
Kim Dokja stared at the blueprint spread out on the table, the edges curling up slightly as the paper resisted being pinned down.His lips twitched upward as he glanced at Yoo Sangah, kneeling beside him with her head tilted in that endearing way she always did when deep in thought.
"You're staring again," Yoo Sangah teased without looking up, her finger tracing the outlines of a prospective backyard on the blueprint.
"Just admiring your determination," Kim Dokja replied smoothly, pressing down the curled corners of their shared blueprint.
They had made a promise in that other life—when the world was an endless loop of suffering and struggle—that if they ever made it out, they'd settle down. Not in the same house, but close enough to walk over for tea, or borrow sugar, or just exist in each other's company without the shadow of the apocalypse looming over their heads.
And now, here they were.
🏡🌟🏡
The small suburb they chose was on the outskirts of Seoul, the neighborhood full of quiet streets lined with cherry trees, their blossoms painting the sidewalks in pastel pink during the spring. Their houses stood side by side at the end of a cul-de-sac. Yoo Sangah’s was painted a soft beige with a white picket fence, and Kim Dokja’s was a pale gray with a sprawling front porch he hadn’t yet figured out what to do with. Moving day came with its fair share of chaos.
"Dokja-ssi, you can't just stack the books like this!" Yoo Sangah chided, holding up a box that was about to burst at the seams. "This is why you need me around."
"I thought you were moving into your own house?"
"Next door is still around," she replied with a grin, setting the box aside carefully. "Besides, who else would keep you from burying yourself under a mountain of novels?" He didn’t argue. Her presence had become such a natural part of his life that he couldn’t imagine it any other way.
🏡🌟🏡
Days turned into weeks as they settled into their new routines. Yoo Sangah’s house quickly became a cozy haven, filled with warm-toned furniture, houseplants, and the scent of freshly baked goods. She even convinced Kim Dokja to let her hang a flower box under his kitchen window, despite his grumbling about "unnecessary decorations." One evening, after a long day of unpacking, Kim Dokja found himself on Yoo Sangah’s couch, a plate of cookies balanced on his knee.
"I don't know how you do it," he said, gesturing around her neatly arranged living room. "I’m still living out of boxes."
"That’s because you keep getting distracted by your webnovels," Yoo Sangah pointed out, handing him a cup of tea.
"They require attention," he said defensively.
She laughed, the sound like a gentle breeze. "Maybe, but so does your home. You’ll see—it’ll feel good once everything is in place."
🏡🌟🏡
It wasn’t long before their lives intertwined in small, meaningful ways. Yoo Sangah would come over with leftover dinners, insisting Kim Dokja couldn’t survive on instant ramen alone. He, in turn, would fix the little things in her house—a creaky door hinge, a leaky faucet—always pretending it was no big deal. One morning, Yoo Sangah knocked on his door, holding a wicker basket filled with gardening tools. "You’re helping me plant tulips today," she announced.
Kim Dokja blinked at her, still in his pajamas. "I don’t know the first thing about gardening."
"Now’s a good time to start," she said cheerfully, pushing past him into the house.
He followed her to the backyard, grumbling half-heartedly but secretly pleased. They spent the day under the sun, their hands covered in soil, and by the time they were done, a neat row of tulips lined the edge of Yoo Sangah’s yard. Kim Dokja stood back, brushing dirt off his hands. "I don’t see why you couldn’t have done this yourself."
"Because it’s more fun with you," she said simply, smiling up at him.
He didn’t have a reply for that. After all, he couldn’t help but agree.
🏡🌟🏡
Their friendship blossomed as naturally as the tulips in Sangah’s garden. They spent quiet evenings on Kim Dokja’s porch, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the air filled with the chirping of crickets. Yoo Sangah often brought her knitting, and Kim Dokja would read aloud from whatever story he was currently obsessed with. And occasionally, their quiet days would be interrupted by the arrival of Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung.
"You didn’t tell me they were coming today, I could’ve prepared more snacks,” Sangah sighed, nodding towards Dokja’s front door.
Kim Dokja couldn’t help but laugh at her, “How’d you know they arrived?”
Before she could even tell him it was impossible to ignore Han Sooyoung’s loud and exasperated arguments with Yoo Joonghyuk, the front door burst open, and the “guests” strode in without a second thought.
Perhaps Yoo Sangah wasn’t the only one who felt at home with Kim Dokja after all.
“We’ve brought extra side dishes and some dumplings, let’s eat.” Yoo Joonghyuk said plainly, and everyone settled into their seats at the long wooden table, falling into place.
“See? I knew it was good to invest in a bigger dining table.” Yoo Sangah proudly announced to the group of four.
Kim Dokja could only laugh.
🏡🌟🏡
One particularly stormy evening, Yoo Sangah appeared at Kim Dokja’s door, a blanket draped over her shoulders. "The power’s out at my place," she said sheepishly. Kim Dokja stepped aside to let her in. "I told you to get that fixed weeks ago."
"And I told you to fix your window seals, but here we are," Yoo Sangah retorted, her smile softening the jab.
Kim Dokja handed her a towel to dry off and set about lighting a few candles. The storm raged outside, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and calm. They settled on the couch, Yoo Sangah wrapped in her blanket, and Kim Dokja holding a flashlight so she could read one of his books. "You know," Yoo Sangah said after a while, her voice quiet, "I used to think I’d never feel safe again—not after everything."
Kim Dokja didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he adjusted the flashlight, its beam steady in the dim room. "And now?"
"Now," she said, looking at him, "I think I might be okay. We might be okay."
Kim Dokja met her gaze, a rare softness in his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "We might be."
And in the glow of the flickering candles, with the storm howling outside and the quiet strength of their friendship holding steady, it felt true.
🏡🌟🏡