Work Text:
It was the unholy hour of 3 AM when Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone rang, shattering the silence of the night. The name on the screen made his pulse quicken, a cruel yet delicious anticipation curling in his stomach.
The voice that greeted him on the other end was trembling, laced with sorrow and raw regret. Kim Dokja’s choked sobs carried through the receiver, his every exhale fractured with pain. For a moment, Yoo Joonghyuk merely listened, letting the sounds wash over him. The situation was yet unclear, but the weight in Kim Dokja’s voice told him all he needed to know.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Yet, despite the heartbreak woven into every syllable Kim Dokja uttered, Yoo Joonghyuk could not suppress the slow, creeping smile that stretched across his lips.
His beloved was crying.
His beloved—who wasn’t his, not yet. Kim Dokja had belonged to another, some undeserving wretch who had stolen his affections, blinded him to what was real. Yoo Joonghyuk had always told himself that he was better—stronger, more capable, the one who truly knew Kim Dokja inside and out. That man had never deserved him. And now, finally, the inevitable had come to pass.
He had prayed for this moment. Not because he wished for Kim Dokja’s pain, no—he would never want his beloved to suffer. But it had to be this way. There could be no victory without sacrifice, no gain without loss. If Kim Dokja was to be his, truly his, then this was the only path forward.
The call ended with a final beep, leaving only silence in its wake. Yoo Joonghyuk remained seated, his gaze drifting to the opposite end of his dimly lit room. The walls bore an obsessive shrine to the one who haunted his every waking thought—photographs capturing fleeting moments of laughter, of quiet contemplation, of delicate sorrow. And there, among them, his favorite—Kim Dokja in tears, frozen in time.
Ah, those tears..
Yoo Joonghyuk longed for them. To taste them, to feel them warm against his tongue, to savor the saltiness mingled with the sweetness of his victory. To finally consume a piece of Kim Dokja in a way no one else ever had.
Perhaps, first, he should settle for an embrace.
But Yoo Joonghyuk had never been normal.
The red ink scrawled across the pictures bled like fresh wounds, hearts drawn over every image, their edges dripping. It was charming, really. Adorable. He chuckled to himself before forcing his expression into something more controlled. He would need to hide all of this before tomorrow.
"Hyung, what’s wrong?"
His voice was measured, laced with concern, a carefully crafted illusion of sincerity.
Kim Dokja exhaled a heavy breath, forcing a chuckle that barely masked the exhaustion beneath. "Well… me and… you know. We broke up."
There was an awkwardness to his tone, a forced levity, as though he were ashamed of his own heartache. His head dipped, his shoulders curling inward, completely oblivious to the way Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression darkened, the way his grip tightened at his sides.
"Really… I should’ve listened to you guys." Kim Dokja continued, another breathy laugh slipping past his lips. "Three years, and all of it wasted on someone who was just cheating on me the whole time."
Tears threatened to spill again, but he fought against them. He had spent the night crying, and surely, there was no need to cry anymore.
Yoo Joonghyuk would be the judge of that.
He stepped forward, voice gentle, affectionate. "Hyung…"
Then, with practiced ease, he pulled Kim Dokja into his arms, the embrace firm yet tender. His hands moved in soothing circles across his back, coaxing, persuading. "You can cry, you know?" He laughed softly, a sound meant to disarm.
Inside, he was triumphant. He was holding Kim Dokja. Feeling him. And better yet—Kim Dokja was crying, burying his face into Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest, staining his shirt with tear-tracks.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t care. He would not care if Kim Dokja clawed into him, tore into him, broke him. To be injured by him… to bear wounds inflicted by his beloved…
Wouldn’t that be something?
"It’s really okay, hyung." he murmured, his lips curling ever so slightly. "You can cry."
So that I can smile.