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DK never considered himself a poet. If anything, he considered himself a menace with a pen. His so-called poetry was nothing more than absurd thoughts scribbled into existence at 3 a.m., usually inspired by the first object he laid his eyes on.
Like last night.
"I'd watch you from afar,
you'd watch me afar.
You stared into my soul but I always ignored.
You tried to get closer,
but I was too scared.
And when you were just a few inches away,
I made sure you were dead.
After all, I couldn't bear it.
After all, you were only a cockroach."
It was a masterpiece of nonsense, and he had laughed himself to sleep after writing it.
Unfortunately, his roommate, Joshua, did not think it was nonsense.
Joshua, a man who believed in the power of words, the beauty of hidden meanings, and the undeniable weight of the human soul, had found the poem lying on the kitchen counter that morning. And because fate had a cruel sense of humor, he read it.
And he wept.
DK returned from his shower to find Joshua dramatically clutching the paper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"DK..." Joshua whispered, voice heavy with emotion. "This... this is devastating."
DK blinked. "What, my wet hair? I know, I forgot my towel."
"No, this!" Joshua gestured to the poem like it was a sacred text. "The pain, the fear of intimacy, the metaphor of self-destruction in the face of love—you have captured it all so perfectly."
DK squinted. "...Are you talking about the cockroach poem?"
"The love poem," Joshua corrected solemnly. "The tragic tale of two souls destined to meet but doomed to part. The raw terror of allowing someone too close. The ultimate heartbreak of ensuring their absence rather than facing the vulnerability of love."
DK stared at him. "I stepped on it with my slipper."
Joshua nodded, misinterpreting entirely. "A metaphor for the harsh realities of human relationships."
"No, literally, I stepped on it."
"The way we destroy what we love most..." Joshua murmured, gently touching the words on the paper.
DK opened his mouth, closed it, and decided that maybe, just maybe, he should let this play out.
"...You know what? Yeah. Totally intentional. I was feeling very emotionally complex last night."
Joshua nodded sagely. "It shows. Your writing holds such depth, such sorrow." He looked at DK with a newfound reverence. "Have you considered publishing?"
DK had considered a lot of things in life. Running away to the mountains. Adopting a cat. Faking his own death to avoid paying rent. But publishing poems about his war with insects? That was new.
"...Let me think about it," DK said, straight-faced.
Joshua squeezed his shoulder. "I knew you were special."
DK, a man who once rhymed 'potato' with 'tomato' for fun, nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Real deep, that's me."
As Joshua walked away, already mumbling about 'hidden genius,' DK stared at his poem and wondered if he had just scammed his way into literary greatness.
And honestly? He wasn't mad about it.
🦌⚔️🦌
The morning air was crisp as DK and Joshua strolled toward campus, DK mindlessly kicking a pebble down the sidewalk.
"Do you ever wonder," DK said lazily, "if pigeons have deep thoughts? Like, do they look at humans and think we're the weird ones?"
Joshua stopped walking. "DK."
DK turned to see Joshua staring at him like he had just uncovered the meaning of life.
"That," Joshua whispered, "is profound."
DK blinked. "It's literally just a question about pigeons."
"No, DK." Joshua placed a dramatic hand on his chest. "You're saying that perspective is relative. That what we consider strange might actually be normal from another viewpoint. That perhaps we, as humans, are nothing but chaotic creatures being observed by a greater force—like pigeons."
DK squinted. "Uh, yeah, sure. That's totally what I meant."
Joshua inhaled sharply. "And the pebble."
DK followed his gaze down to the pebble he'd been kicking. "What about it?"
"You keep pushing it forward, but it never decides its own path." Joshua's voice grew soft, almost reverent. "It's a metaphor for fate."
DK stared at him. "Dude. It's just a rock."
"No." Joshua's eyes gleamed. "It's us."
DK briefly considered throwing the pebble at Joshua's head.
"I need to write this down," Joshua muttered, already pulling out his phone. "This is life-changing."
DK sighed, watching Joshua furiously type out what was surely another ridiculous analysis. Maybe he should just stop talking altogether. Or maybe, just maybe... he should start charging for his 'wisdom.'
After all, accidental genius had to be worth something.
It started as a normal afternoon in the campus lounge. That is, until Joshua decided to share the poem.
"Guys," Joshua said gravely, "I need to recite something that changed my life."
DK, mid-sip of his iced coffee, froze. "Oh no."
Hoshi perked up. "Ooo, a dramatic reading? I'm in."
Seungkwan sighed. "This better not be dumb."
Wonwoo adjusted his glasses. "Proceed."
Joshua cleared his throat and, with utmost seriousness, began:
"I'd watch you from afar, you'd watch me afar..."
By the time he finished, silence filled the room.
Then Jeonghan swore loudly. "What the actual—"
Hoshi sniffled. "That was... surprisingly emotional."
DK smacked his forehead. "Hoshi, no."
"No, wait." Hoshi wiped a single tear. "The tragedy of unspoken love. The fear of connection. The idea that we push away the ones who get too close because we're scared of what it means—"
Seungkwan made a strangled noise. "It's about a cockroach!"
Wonwoo, who had been staring blankly at the floor, suddenly spoke. "...Or is it?"
DK groaned. "Not you too."
Wonwoo continued, deep in thought. "What if the cockroach represents our inner fears? What if stepping on it is the way we try to destroy parts of ourselves we cannot accept?"
DK stood up. "I'm leaving. I refuse to be here for this."
Joshua clasped his hands together. "I told you. DK is an unrecognized philosopher."
Jeonghan, rubbing his temples, muttered, "I need a drink."
Meanwhile, DK, watching his so-called 'meaningless' poem take on actual meaning, began to question everything.
Had he been wise all along?
...Nah, probably not.
🦌⚔️🦌
DK should have known something was off the moment Joshua greeted him with a suspiciously bright smile that morning.
"Good news!" Joshua announced.
DK groaned. "I don't like your good news. Last time, it ended with me contemplating my entire existence because you made me feel guilty about a cockroach."
Joshua ignored him, as usual. "I signed you up for the university's annual poetry contest!"
DK choked on his own spit. "You what?"
"It's in two days! You're a genius, DK. The world deserves to see it."
"No, they don't."
"Yes, they do."
"They don't."
"They will."
Before DK could protest further, Joshua patted his back and strolled away. "Don't forget, deadline's tonight!"
DK sat there, staring into the void. This was it. The moment he would be exposed for the fraud he was.
If DK was going to be forced into this, he was going to make sure no one took him seriously ever again. He hunched over his desk, pen in hand, channeling his inner absurdity.
He wrote:
"I made it into a paper plane,"
"And I threw it into the sky,"
"Thinking now I'd no longer have to cry."
So far, so dramatic. But DK wasn't about to let Joshua turn this into some emotional masterpiece. He smirked, then continued:
"The zeroes marked on my answer sheet,"
"Looking as though they were eggs,"
"Now I'm craving omelets."
DK leaned back, admiring his work. Pure nonsense. A poetic disaster.
He submitted it with zero regrets.
The next day, the auditorium was packed. Students, professors, and literary enthusiasts had gathered for the annual poetry competition. DK sat at the back, fully prepared to watch his academic reputation crumble.
Contestants went up one by one, reciting deep, meaningful, soul-wrenching pieces about love, life, and existential despair.
And then, it was DK's turn.
DK walked up to the stage, cleared his throat, and delivered his poem with the most serious expression he could muster.
By the time he got to the omelet part, muffled snickers rippled through the crowd. Someone outright cackled. The judges exchanged confused glances.
But then—Joshua, sitting in the front row, gasped as if he had just witnessed the second coming of Shakespeare.
DK finished, took a slight bow, and walked off stage, thoroughly satisfied with himself.
But of course, Joshua wasn't done.
The judges whispered among themselves before the head judge awkwardly approached the mic. "Uh, thank you for that... unique entry. Now, moving on—"
Joshua shot up from his seat.
"No!" he declared, pointing dramatically at DK. "We are not moving on."
The judge blinked. "Excuse me?"
Joshua turned to the audience, spreading his arms wide. "Did you hear that? Did you truly hear it?"
The auditorium was dead silent, mostly out of confusion.
"The paper plane—"symbolizing fleeting hope." The tears—"a metaphor for resilience!" The zeroes—"a tragic yet humorous reflection of academic pressure!" And the omelets—"
He paused for effect.
"The ultimate representation of how failures can still lead to nourishment—both physically and emotionally!"
The audience lost it. Some were laughing, some were nodding in fake deep agreement.
Seungkwan groaned. "I hate it here."
Wonwoo, rubbing his temples, muttered, "Why does this actually make sense?"
Hoshi wiped a fake tear. "He's so powerful."
The head judge hesitated. "While that was... an interesting interpretation, we still have to judge based on—"
Joshua slammed his fist on the table. "Give. Him. An. Award."
The judge, now mildly terrified, sighed. "Fine. A special award. 'Most... Innovative Poem.'"
DK was pretty sure the man wanted to die inside.
Joshua clapped triumphantly. The audience cheered. DK stared at the certificate in his hands.
He had scammed the literary world.
And it was beautiful.
🦌⚔️🦌
DK thought he was finally free.
He had successfully humiliated himself in front of an entire auditorium, convinced a panel of judges to give him an ironic award, and most importantly, ensured Joshua would never make him write poetry again.
Or so he thought.
Because the very next day, Joshua walked into the cafeteria, sat across from DK, and, with the most sincere expression, said:
"DK. I need more poetry."
DK, who had been mid-bite into his sandwich, nearly choked. He swallowed hard. "Come again?"
Joshua folded his hands on the table, eyes shining. "I need more."
DK stared. "More what?"
"Poems."
DK put his sandwich down. "Joshua, buddy. Pal. I think you may have actually lost it."
But Joshua leaned in closer. "Listen. Your poetry... It speaks to my soul."
"It shouldn't."
"It does."
"It really, really shouldn't."
Joshua sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look, I get it. Writing is exhausting. So... I'll pay you."
DK blinked. "... You'll what?"
"I'll pay you per poem. 5,000 won each."
DK gawked at him. "Why would you pay me?"
"Because your words are priceless, DK."
DK squinted. "Apparently not, since you're giving them a price."
Joshua shrugged. "Everyone's got a price."
DK had many questions, but one stood out above the rest. "Are you... seriously willing to pay for my nonsense?"
Joshua nodded solemnly.
DK sat back. "You know... there are so many poets who struggle to make a living, and yet, here I am, about to be paid for garbage."
"Genius isn't always recognized in its time," Joshua replied wisely.
DK opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. Then sighed.
"... Fine."
Joshua beamed. "Great! Give me your first one by tonight."
And that was how DK, against all logic and reason, became a paid poet.
DK wasn't about to waste time crafting some artistic, soul-stirring work. No, no. If Joshua wanted nonsense, nonsense he would get.
The first poem he wrote was simple. Straight to the point. A raw, emotional story of personal struggle.
"I tried to exercise today,"
"But my pants tore in the worst way."
"So I sat back down and thought to myself,"
"Maybe fitness is just a societal construct anyway."
DK smirked as he finished. There. A true work of art.
That night, he handed it over. And Joshua?
Joshua cried.
"I felt that," Joshua whispered, wiping a tear.
DK was alarmed. "You shouldn't."
"No, no—DK. This... this is a reflection of the human condition."
DK pointed at the page. "That is a reflection of my thighs being too big for my jeans."
"The tragedy of failed ambitions! The rejection of beauty standards! The struggle between self-improvement and self-acceptance!"
"... My butt literally ripped a hole in my pants, Joshua."
Joshua shook his head. "You move me, DK."
DK took the 5,000 won and left before he lost his mind.
The next poem DK wrote was about something even dumber.
"I placed the bottle on the floor,"
"Then it rolled and rolled some more."
"Chased it down, but it kept its pace,"
"Now I guess it's lost in space."
It was, objectively, the dumbest thing DK had ever written.
But the next day, when he handed it to Joshua, Joshua read it in complete silence.
Then he clutched his chest.
DK leaned back. "Oh no."
Joshua exhaled shakily. "This..."
"No, don't—"
"This is about loss."
DK facepalmed. "It is absolutely not."
"The fleeting nature of possession. The things we take for granted, only to lose them in the endless void of time and space!"
"... Bro, it was a plastic bottle."
"The way you frame the bottle's movement as an uncontrollable fate—DK, are you perhaps referencing existential dread?"
"I was referencing my laziness!"
Joshua nodded solemnly. "The great struggle of modern existence."
DK slammed his head onto the table.
Meanwhile, Seungkwan, who had been eavesdropping, turned to Joshua and Hoshi. "Are you two just... accepting that this is happening?"
Jeonghan, sipping his coffee, shrugged. "Honestly? I wanna see how far this goes."
Hoshi cackled. "Peak entertainment."
Wonwoo, however, just sat there staring into the void, probably questioning everything.
DK sighed, staring at the 5,000 won in his hand. At least I'm getting paid.
After that, things spiraled.
DK kept writing. Joshua kept crying. More and more nonsense was produced.
"The spoon fell into the soup,"
"Now it's a part of the group."
Joshua: "The feeling of belonging! The metaphor for assimilation into society!"
DK: "It's literally just wet now."
"My sock went missing in the dryer,"
"Is it dead, or did it retire?"
Joshua: "Ah, the symbolism of abandonment. The way we leave things behind, unsure if they've truly vanished or simply moved on."
DK: "No, my washing machine is just evil."
At one point, DK even wrote:
"Sometimes, I stand."
"Sometimes, I sit."
"Sometimes, I lay down."
"And that's it."
And somehow—somehow—Joshua clutched DK's hands and whispered, "This is the most profound thing I have ever read."
DK, who had written it in five seconds because he wanted to go to bed, stared at him like he'd grown two heads.
And then took the money.
DK's poetry became famous. People talked. Somehow, other people started asking him to write for them.
"Poetic commissions," Joshua called it.
"Highway robbery," DK called it.
Professors at the university started discussing his work. A literary blog even called him "a new-age absurdist poet challenging conventional thought."
And DK?
DK was suffering.
Because the worst part was—he was actually making good money from this nonsense.
The moment DK realized he was accidentally becoming an icon, he grabbed Joshua by the shoulders and whispered, "We've created a monster."
Joshua, ever the enabler, simply smiled.
"Write another one."
🦌⚔️🦌
DK had never considered poetry as a career.
In fact, if you had told him a month ago that he'd be making money—actual, real money—off of writing pure nonsense, he would've laughed in your face.
Yet here he was.
Rolling in cash.
Okay, maybe not rolling, but he had enough to upgrade his instant ramen choices. Maybe even throw in a convenience store sandwich. A true luxury.
And at this point, he wasn't even ashamed anymore.
He enjoyed this job.
Every day, he'd scribble down something absurd, hand it to Joshua, and watch in real-time as his best friend dramatically gasped, held his heart, and sometimes even shed a single tear over lines like:
"The fridge is empty."
"But my stomach is full of hope."
or
"The mosquito bit me twice,"
"And I let it live."
"Perhaps I am too kind for this world."
Honestly, DK respected Joshua's dedication to over-analyzing everything.
Even if Wonwoo, Hoshi, and Seungkwan were judging so hard they might as well have been on a talent show panel.
"Okay, how much would it cost for a love poem?"
DK nearly choked on his drink. He turned to Mingyu, who was sitting across from him, looking dead serious.
"... Why?"
Mingyu cleared his throat. "I have someone I wanna impress."
Hoshi and Seungkwan burst out laughing.
DK leaned back. "Bro, you're hot. Why do you need a poem?"
Mingyu groaned. "It's about the gesture! Girls love poetry!"
Joshua, nodding sagely, added, "This is true."
DK sighed, rubbing his temple. "Fine. 20,000 won."
Mingyu gasped. "That's daylight robbery!"
"This is art."
"You literally wrote a poem about a sock last week!"
"And it was deeply moving," Joshua whispered.
Mingyu groaned but ended up handing over the money. DK scribbled something down in two minutes.
"Your eyes shine like my phone screen at midnight,"
"Your voice is like WiFi at full bars."
"My heart is buffering when you're near."
"Baby, you're my best connection by far."
He tossed it at Mingyu. "There. Go be in love or whatever."
Mingyu looked at the poem. Then at DK.
"I hate that this is actually good."
Joshua dabbed his eyes. "This is beautiful."
Jeonghan shook his head. "This is stupid."
But DK?
DK was thriving.
Joshua, on the other hand, had been acting... weird.
Not bad weird. Just weird.
Like, DK would be mid-sentence, and Joshua would just stare at him like he was some kind of rare celestial event.
And honestly? DK wasn't opposed to that.
He had always kind of wanted Joshua to fall in love with him.
Joshua was talented, had amazing hair, and was weirdly passionate about way too many things. Exactly DK's type.
So when DK caught Joshua staring at him again, he smirked.
"You're staring a lot these days, Joshua."
Joshua hummed. "I think I fell in love."
DK's brain short-circuited.
HOLD ON.
WAIT.
WHAT?
This was his moment. The moment he had always dreamed of. Joshua, falling for him. Joshua, confessing his feelings. Joshua, looking at him with those starry, poetry-loving eyes.
DK leaned forward, placed a hand on Joshua's, and with all the sincerity in the world, whispered:
"... I love you too."
Joshua immediately made the most disgusted face DK had ever seen.
"EW."
DK blinked. "Excuse me??"
Joshua pulled his hand back. "Ugh, don't say it like that."
"LIKE WHAT?!"
"Like a normal person."
"... What do you want me to do? Sing it?"
Joshua sighed dramatically. "No, no, no. You don't get it, DK. It has to be poetic."
DK gawked. "I just said 'I love you'! That's literally the most romantic thing you can say!"
But Joshua shook his head. "It's too direct."
DK slammed his head onto the table. "So what? I'm supposed to, like, I dunno, call you the moonlight in my traffic jam? The chili flakes in my ramen?"
Joshua gasped. "Now that's romantic."
DK lifted his head, horrified. "What."
Joshua grabbed his hands, eyes shining. "DK. Say that again."
"... The chili flakes in my ramen??"
"Oh my god." Joshua clutched his heart. "That's beautiful."
"... YOU ARE UNHINGED."
Joshua ignored him, completely lost in his own world. "Like the way chili flakes add spice and warmth to something so simple... the way they dissolve into the soup, making every sip a little richer..."
DK stared at him. "You need therapy."
But Joshua wasn't done.
"You're the yolk in my egg," DK added sarcastically.
And Joshua, serious as ever, teared up.
DK froze. "Joshua."
Joshua sniffled. "That's... so tender."
Seungkwan, who had been listening, threw his hands in the air. "I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE."
Hoshi was shaking with suppressed laughter. "What even is your relationship?"
DK groaned, head in his hands. "A mystery to even me."
DK never stopped writing poetry.
Mostly because Joshua never let him stop.
He continued getting paid for writing the dumbest things imaginable. Joshua continued treating him like some literary genius. And their friends continued judging them hard.
But hey—at least he was making bank.
And as for Joshua?
Well, DK never got a normal "I love you" back.
But he did get, "You're my Sunday morning when rain is falling", so...
That was probably close enough.
THE END.