Work Text:
Scars.
People had often told Kim Dokja that scars were the predecessors of pain, breathing remains of old festering wounds forever unhealed. Although those words -whispered by the rare and in between few who cared enough and were not disgusted by the marks littering his skin- were never said in that exact order, they drew the same meaning.
His mother Lee Sookyung, Who had spoken of them with a rough throat on the rare opportunities spared from his father and her husband.
A transfer student, who had not stayed long enough to know of the rumors as they shared a not so great school lunch atop of the school building.
An old and frail unnie who he had spoken to rarely during times he was awake over the span of his hospital stay. Her eyes to full of understanding and pity for comfort.
Although all the words were spoken in reassurances and as a way to lift his spirits -as he had realized in his later years- none stuck. Perhaps that was a lie, the words cling to his bitter and aging form. And on off days when he was not too exhausted to simply pass out after a grueling day at work, he would sit. Clothes and any pretense of security striped from his being as he stares.
Although he had done this when he was younger and his first wounds healed, it had only grown in time. A dirty habit that could only grow once that book was published. Reality blurred with fiction till he would sit in front of this cracked mirror and stare. Drilling into his bones that his genre was not fiction. That the cruelties placed upon him were not mere words sprawled on a page. That he was not just the murderer's son.
And oddly enough, the sight of them -though still leaving a bitter twist in his gut- ground him in a way only twsa had ever done so. Though it would never reach the level that his beloved story did.
.
.
.
When the apocalypse had occurred, it was a well known fact in Kim Dokja’s brain that the indents and uplifts in his skin would only grow. After all, no end of the world was kind. And though it was bitter to admit, even if his story has been kind to him in the past, it would shed no kindness for him now.
Even so, he had never expected that the out of body experience of death would be so… numb? The burn and raw itch from the fire that had previously licked his skin and ended his life seemed eons away. His entire body felt so extremely light, as though the words of the world had never reached his aching soul.
Perhaps that should have been the first clue, after all the aches from old scars never seem to fade even in sleep. But the overwhelming feeling of all his senses returning into a brand new body was overwhelming. Fogging his brain and leaving him out of it for the rest of the fight to truly think of what might have been out of place.
Only after they had all retired to their station, did Kim Dokja's mind clear enough for him to piece together what that thing was.
His scars.
Perhaps this had never happened to the person who wielded King of no Killing in twsa because they were never incinerated to dust (as far as he knew) however his new body, was a new body. All his scars, all his calluses of his hands, all the aching… was gone. And although he did not strip down, as even if they were in an apocalypse, he had enough common sense not to do that in front of his companions and the kids, he knew. He knew if he was to sit in front of a mirror now and bare himself to look, they would be gone.
Was it good? Was it bad? The aching was gone but so was the handle he had to the fact that that book was not him. Would it be true now? And what would his companions think if they were to learn he was the son of a murderer?
“Hyung! Look at how big this cicada I found is!”
[Your skill ‘The fourth wall’ is lessening your shock!]
As though a cool blanket was casted over the man, Kim dokja was able to rationalize better and realized that Lee Gilyong was in front of him, speaking to him
“Mhmm, it is. Where did you find it?”
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.