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Ash and embers drifted through the night air, remnants of the hard battle that had just concluded. The scenario was finally over, its rewards dispersed and its dangers momentarily at bay. Around a shattered marble plaza that once served as the battlefield, the scattered companions gathered to catch their breath. Under the flicker of dying flames and the silver light of a half-moon, relief and exhaustion mingled in equal measure.
Jung Heewon sheathed her sword with a weary sigh, exchanging a tired smile with Lee Hyunsung. Lee Jihye was already plopping down on a chunk of broken pillar, wiping monster blood from her cheek. Not far away, Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung rummaged through an opened rucksack for medical supplies, the two kids astonishingly adept after so many scenarios. In the center of it all stood Kim Dokja, offering everyone a faint, reassuring grin as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Yoo Joonghyuk watched him closely. Kim Dokja's posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed. His trademark coat hung off one shoulder in a deliberately casual manner. To anyone else, he looked every bit the composed leader congratulating his team on a job well done. But Yoo Joonghyuk knew that stance; he recognized the tightness at the corner of Kim Dokja's smile and the slight favoring of his left side. He was hiding something.
"Great work, everyone," Kim Dokja announced, voice light and easy. Only, Yoo Joonghyuk noticed the faint strain underneath – something only discernible to someone who had heard that voice break in pain before. He clapped Lee Hyunsung on the arm (using his right arm – his left remained suspiciously still by his side) and congratulated him on a well-placed finishing blow against the giant monster. The others beamed at the praise, their worries from moments ago already fading.
As the group busied themselves – tending minor wounds, checking on each other's conditions – Dokja drifted from person to person, offering help. Yoo Joonghyuk saw him pat Gilyoung's head affectionately, then crouch (with a barely perceptible wince) to examine a scrape on Shin Yoosung's knee. The young girl insisted she was fine, and Kim Dokja chuckled as he pushed himself back to his feet. He moved calmly, deliberately, making sure no one looked at him for too long.
Yoo Joonghyuk remained a short distance away, wiping the blood off his own sword with a strip of cloth. His eyes never left Kim Dokja. Over the crackling of a small campfire Lee Jihye had started, Yoo Joonghyuk could hear bits of conversation.
"We finally got it," Lee Hyunsung said, holding up a delicate golden vial—the cure from Olympus they had fought so hard for. He cast a glance toward where Yoo Sangah lay on a makeshift bed of cloaks, unconscious from a blow in battle, but breathing steadily. "As soon as she wakes, we'll give it to her."
Kim Dokja nodded, a light of relief in his eyes. "That's right. Sangah-ssi will be fine now." His tone was perfectly optimistic. In the soft glow of firelight, most of the others failed to notice how pale his face had become beneath the grime and soot. But Yoo Joonghyuk noticed.
Jung Heewon gave him a thumbs-up from across the plaza. "Boss, you looked cool back there, standing toe-to-toe with that monster! You sure you're okay though? That was a nasty hit you took." She frowned, concern evident despite her teasing tone.
Kim Dokja waved off her worry with a cheerful laugh. "Me? I'm fine, never better. Maybe a little tired, but who isn't?" He spread his arms as if to show he had no injuries at all, even twirling once in a mock show of vitality. A couple of the companions chuckled at his antics. Even Joonghyuk had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Idiot. He was overdoing it.
Heewon raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. "If you say so. Just don't keel over when we least expect it, okay? I'm not carrying you again." Her words held a joking lilt, but the worry in her eyes remained.
"Don't worry," Dokja replied breezily. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience our lovely Demon Slayer." He even gave a dramatic little bow, which earned a laugh from Lee Jihye and a giggle from Gilyoung.
As their laughter faded and the focus shifted elsewhere – Hyunsung and Jihye were now discussing how to set up camp for the night – Joonghyuk saw Dokja's smile slip for a fraction of a second. The moment everyone looked away, he let out a slow breath and pressed a hand under his coat to his left side. In that brief lapse, his face crumpled in pain, only to smooth out a heartbeat later when Lee Gilyoung skipped over to ask him something about dinner.
Joonghyuk's grip on his sword's hilt tightened until his knuckles went white. It was exactly as he feared. Kim Dokja was seriously hurt. And he was trying to conceal it from everyone.
This was nothing new. How many times had Joonghyuk seen him pull this same stunt? He always insisted he was fine – always tried to shoulder more than his share, even when his body was at its breaking point. It infuriated Joonghyuk to no end. Part of him wanted to stride over and expose Dokja's lie that very instant, but he knew doing it in front of the others would only make him retreat behind that damned smile. He would laugh it off or crack a self-deprecating joke, and the others – bless their trusting hearts – would likely accept it.
Joonghyuk took a slow breath, forcing calm over the turbulent mix of frustration and... fear twisting in his chest. Yes, fear. The sight of Dokja bleeding behind that smile sent a spike of panic through him that he struggled to hide.
Across the ruined plaza, Dokja had moved to Yoo Sangah's side. She lay still under the makeshift blankets, her face ashen, breathing shallowly. Dokja knelt beside her and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. His eyes, usually so guarded, shone with open worry and tenderness.
A strange pang echoed in Joonghyuk's chest at the gentle way he addressed Yoo Sangah. He told himself it was simply concern that Dokja was exhausting himself further, but something bitter coiled in his heart nonetheless.
Dokja carefully tucked the blanket more securely around Yoo Sangah's shoulders, movements slow and cautious. For someone who had been rushing about moments ago, he now moved with almost exaggerated care – likely because every motion sent pain lancing through his side. Joonghyuk could see a fine tremor in his hand as he drew it back from the unconscious woman.
After ensuring Yoo Sangah was as comfortable as possible, Dokja pushed himself to his feet. The firelight cast shadows under his eyes, highlighting how drained he truly was. Yet, he mustered a bright smile as he looked around at the others.
"Hyunsung-ssi," he called, keeping his voice steady, "we'll need a proper fire and some hot water. Sangah-ssi might wake up soon, and it'd be good to keep her warm." He then glanced towards the kids, "Gilyoung-ah, see if you can find any clean cloth or containers we can use. Yoosung, help him out, okay?"
Lee Hyunsung, ever reliable, nodded firmly and set off to stoke the fire, while the two children hurried to do as asked, happy to be useful. Dokja delegated a few more tasks with that calm authority of his – asking Lee Jihye to double check the perimeter for any straggling monsters, and Jung Heewon to assist Hyunsung with preparing a broth in case Yoo Sangah could drink when she woke.
In minutes, he had effectively directed everyone's attention away from himself. The companions moved with purpose, their anxiety over the earlier battle replaced by focus on these domestic tasks. They had a routine by now – after a scenario, keep busy, tend to the wounded, prepare for whatever came next. Kim Dokja knew exactly how to keep them from dwelling on his condition.
And soon enough, only he and Joonghyuk remained momentarily without a job. Dokja gave Joonghyuk a weary glance. "And you... can do whatever you feel like. I know better than to order you around."
Joonghyuk looked at him wordlessly, and stalked off in the opposite direction. Behind him, he could hear Dokja give a quiet exhale.
But Joonghyuk wasn't really going anywhere. He hoped if Dokja didn't think anyone was watching him, he could catch up to him and figure out what was wrong.
Joonghyuk walked around the perimeter, essentially going in a circle, until he was near the spot where Dokja was hobbling off to. Thanks to a skill he'd earned in a past scenario, a few steps gave him miles of distance.
Joonghyuk stood behind the shadows of some fallen rubble. He watched as Dokja drifted away from the center of camp, his gaze drawn toward the darkness beyond the plaza. His shoulders sagged now that he likely thought no one was looking. The confident mask slipped, revealing a man on the verge of collapse.
He made it as far as what he considered well out of view, and his knees buckled. He barely caught himself on a piece of broken statue. His left hand clutched at his injured side beneath the coat, and when he drew it away, Joonghyuk glimpsed his fingertips stained red. He quickly wiped them on his pant leg, jaw clenching against the pain.
That was the final straw. A hot surge of determination– and fear for him– flooded through Joonghyuk. He would not stand by and watch Dokja break himself again.
Dokja had risked everything during the battle, taking a direct hit from a giant monster's spear to protect Jung Heewon and Gilyoung. At the time, he had barely flinched, pressing on to finish the fight. But seeing him now, Joonghyuk realized just how grave that wound really was beneath his bravado.
He's doing it again, Joonghyuk thought, anger and concern flaring in equal measure. Hiding his pain. Smiling while bleeding. Every instinct in Joonghyuk screamed that this had to stop.
Before he even knew it, Joonghyuk was striding toward the wounded man. Bits of shattered marble crunched under his boots, announcing his approach. Kim Dokja turned his head, alerted by the sound, and Joonghyuk saw him hastily pull that mask of nonchalance back on. In an instant, the exhausted, hurting man he'd glimpsed was replaced by familiar mild curiosity in his eyes and a faint smile on his lips.
"Joonghyuk-ah," he greeted him lightly, the honorific a rare indulgence he used only in private or when he was trying to soften the regressor's mood. "Have you come to lecture me about dividing the loot already? You don't have to worry, I was just about to–"
Joonghyuk didn't let him finish. Up close, he could see the sheen of sweat on Dokja's pale face, the tightness around his eyes. He was swaying ever so slightly on his feet.
"We need to talk," Joonghyuk cut in, his voice low and leaving no room for argument.
Kim Dokja paused, blinking at his serious tone. He glanced around as if to ensure the others were occupied (they were, scattered around the plaza at their tasks, and thankfully out of earshot). Then he gave Joonghyuk a curious, wary look. "...Alright," he said slowly. "What about?"
Instead of answering immediately, Joonghyuk closed the remaining distance between them in one swift step. They were close enough now that he could have counted Dokja's eyelashes. Dokja's eyes widened – at the proximity, perhaps, or at the intensity he must have seen in Joonghyuk's expression.
He opened his mouth, either to protest or joke, Joonghyuk couldn't tell. But he didn't give him the chance.
Joonghyuk reached out and grabbed Kim Dokja by the shoulder, not harshly but firmly enough to startle him. His eyes widened, the charade of innocence faltering at last.
"Yoo Joonghyuk...?" he began, a nervous chuckle catching in his throat. Joonghyuk rarely initiated physical contact like this outside of battle. Dokja knew something was off.
Joonghyuk's fingers curled into the material of Dokja's coat. He could feel the dampness there—warm, sticky. Blood. His blood. Joonghyuk's jaw tightened. "Stop it," he growled under his breath.
Dokja blinked, putting on a puzzled look. "Stop what?"
"This," Joonghyuk hissed, frustration lending heat to his quiet words. His free hand made a sharp gesture at Dokja – his forced smile, his too-casual stance, the hand he still clutched to his side. "Pretending everything is fine. Lying to them. Lying to me."
At that, Kim Dokja's feigned confusion cracked. A flash of guilt flickered in his dark eyes, quickly masked by a stubborn set of his jaw. "I'm not lying," he said quietly, avoiding Joonghyuk's gaze. "I really am fine. It's just a scratch. Nothing worth worrying over."
The blatant self-dismissal made something snap inside Joonghyuk. Before he knew it, he had moved his hand from Dokja's shoulder to his upper arm and tugged him away from the open plaza, toward the shadow of a half-collapsed wall nearby. Dokja tensed in surprise at the sudden forcefulness, but Joonghyuk noticed he didn't resist much – likely because any struggle would risk revealing his injury.
In the relative privacy behind the crumbling wall, away from prying eyes, Joonghyuk pressed him back gently until Dokja had no choice but to lean against the stone for support. The moonlight here was dimmer, but up close Joonghyuk could finally see the evidence of his condition. A dark patch stained the left side of his black shirt, spreading from beneath his ribs—a wet, glistening patch of crimson.
Joonghyuk's stomach clenched at the sight. That wasn't a minor wound by any measure.
"Just a scratch?" He echoed Dokja's words bitterly. He tore his gaze from the blood and met his eyes. "Don't make me laugh, Kim Dokja."
Dokja winced, one hand hovering protectively near the wound now that it was exposed. "It looks worse than it is," he insisted weakly. He tried to straighten up from the wall, as if to prove he still had strength. The effect was ruined by the way his breath shuddered and caught when he moved. Even in the gloom, Joonghyuk caught the flicker of agony that crossed his face before he masked it.
He stepped closer without thinking, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off Dokja's body. He was running a fever—maybe from shock or the onset of infection. Joonghyuk's hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to do something foolish like wrap the damn fool in his arms. Instead, he fixed him with a stern glare (though inside, fear was coiling tighter around his heart).
"Enough, Dokja," he said, his voice coming out low and rough, barely above a whisper. "You're hurt. Badly. I know it, and you know it. Why won't you just... let us help you?"
For a moment, something vulnerable flitted through Dokja's expression—perhaps surprise at the plea that had slipped into Joonghyuk's tone. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.
Joonghyuk exhaled sharply, impatience and worry warring within him. Carefully, he reached toward Dokja's side. Dokja stiffened but didn't pull away as Joonghyuk's fingers brushed the edge of his coat, where it was stuck to his shirt by coagulated blood.
"Doesn't look bad at all, hm?" Joonghyuk muttered, peeling the cloth back with delicate care. Despite his gentleness, the movement must have hurt; Dokja sucked in a breath through his teeth, a faint hiss of pain escaping before he could stop it.
Underneath, the wound was laid bare in the silvery light. A ragged gash marred his left side just above the waist—likely a souvenir from that monster's spear or a jagged piece of debris during the battle. The flesh around it was bruised an ugly purple-black, and blood oozed sluggishly from the deep cut where his hasty self-bandaging (a wad of gauze, now soaked through) had shifted.
Seeing the true severity of his injury was like a punch to Joonghyuk's gut. His vision tinged red at the edges as anger and concern warred within him. He had been walking around with this?
Kim Dokja's breathing quickened, shallow pants as he tried to maintain composure. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he finally let his head rest back against the stone wall. "It's really... not so bad," he whispered, voice high and strained. Even now, he was trying to downplay it. His stubbornness was unbelievable. "The spear just had a bit of poison on it, that's all. That's why it's taking longer to heal."
Joonghyuk couldn't hold back any longer. His hand moved on its own, pressing against the wound to stanch the bleeding. Dokja let out a strangled groan and reflexively gripped Joonghyuk's shoulders, his knees buckling at the sudden onslaught of pain.
Immediately, Joonghyuk eased up, alarmed at how unsteady Dokja had become. He shifted to support him, and in the process Dokja sagged against him. His fingers clung to the front of Joonghyuk's shirt, trembling slightly. They were now extremely close – Dokja's collapse had effectively brought him half into Joonghyuk's embrace. He could feel Dokja's breath, hot and irregular, against his collarbone.
For a second, neither spoke. Joonghyuk's heart thundered in his chest, loud enough that he was sure Dokja could sense it. The intimacy of the position struck him: holding Dokja up, Dokja's hands fisted in his shirt, their faces inches apart in the darkness. Heat prickled at Joonghyuk's cheeks, but he refused to let go. Dokja needed the support.
"Damn it, Dokja," he cursed softly. His voice lacked venom; it sounded almost like an endearment in the quiet dark. "Why do you always do this? Why do you think you have to bear everything alone?"
Dokja didn't answer immediately. His head was bowed, dark hair falling over his eyes. Even now, Joonghyuk could see him wrestling with himself—part of him likely wanting to continue the lie, another part perhaps realizing he'd pushed too far this time.
It wasn't the first time Kim Dokja had charged ahead while injured. A memory rose up unbidden—another night, another battlefield. He had been wounded then too, though he hid it until the aftermath. By the time Joonghyuk realized, Dokja was already on his feet, insisting he had to go help with the next crisis.
Joonghyuk saw it as clearly as if he were still there: Kim Dokja swaying on his feet in the dim light of their camp, blood seeping from numerous deep wounds. It was shortly after they survived the onslaught of the Disaster of Floods. The Han River had overflowed with monsters, and in securing the evacuation of survivors, Dokja had taken a grievous hit from a river serpent's fang. He'd nearly bled out back then too, but once the immediate threat was over, he stubbornly tried to march on—his reason that time was the looming appearance of the next catastrophe due within hours. He refused to rest, claiming he had to strategize, prepare, do something.
His leg had given out before he made it five steps out of the medical tent. Lee Hyunsung caught him that time, the big soldier physically lifting Dokja off the ground as if he were a wayward child. Dokja struggled weakly in Hyunsung's grip, protesting that he was fine, that he needed to get back out there. The others exchanged worried, exasperated looks. Jung Heewon had marched over with a face like thunder, scolding Dokja with tears in her eyes. Even Han Sooyoung, who normally kept a sardonic distance, looked stricken as she demanded he stop being an idiot.
Ultimately, it took all of them to restrain him that night. Hyunsung pinned his arms, and Joonghyuk held down his legs as he thrashed in delirious determination. In the end, they literally tied him down to a cot using torn strips of cloth. Joonghyuk could still hear his voice from back then – hoarse, slurred with pain and exhaustion, yet begging them to let him go. "People will die if I don't–" he had argued, eyes glassy with fever, still thinking of others even as his own life hung by a thread.
At the time, Joonghyuk had been furious with him. He had shouted – more loudly and harshly than he ever had – ordering Dokja to stay put. He justified it as necessary to penetrate Dokja's thick skull, but deep down, the rage came from something else: the terror of seeing him so close to death, and the helpless fury at how easily Dokja treated his own well-being as expendable.
Dokja eventually passed out from blood loss and strain, still muttering protests. They stayed by his side that whole night, tending his fever and dressing his wound. Joonghyuk remembered sitting in the dark, watching his pale face, an unnamed emotion gripping his chest with iron claws. He told himself it was just frustration or adrenaline, but in truth it was fear—gut-wrenching fear of losing Dokja. And regret that he had let it get so far before stepping in.
If he had noticed sooner, if he had stopped him faster, perhaps Dokja wouldn't have collapsed so terribly. The image of him lying there limp, wrists bound to keep him from worsening his own injury, haunted Joonghyuk for days. He vowed then that he would never let it come to that again.
Yet here they were, not so long after, facing a frighteningly similar situation. And once again, Kim Dokja had tried to play the hero at the cost of himself.
That harrowing memory faded as Joonghyuk refocused on the present. Kim Dokja still hadn't answered his question. His head remained bowed, dark hair veiling his eyes as he struggled with himself. Finally, he spoke, voice hoarse and hesitant.
"They needed to see a confident leader. If I showed weakness... after all that... I thought it might hurt morale." He let out a broken laugh. "Silly, right?"
Joonghyuk felt something twist painfully in his chest. That was just like him – always thinking of the others first, even at his own expense. It was one of the things he admired fiercely about Dokja, and one of the things that infuriated him the most.
"They would understand," Joonghyuk replied, his tone softer now despite the anger underlying it. His left arm was still around Dokja's back, holding him steady; he could feel the fine tremors running through him. "We would understand. We almost lost you today, you fool."
Kim Dokja slowly lifted his eyes to Joonghyuk's. In the dim light, they were wet – whether from pain or something more, he couldn't tell. "But you didn't," he whispered, a ghost of his familiar smile tugging at his lips. "I'm still here, Yoo Joonghyuk."
Those simple words hit harder than any blow. Joonghyuk's throat tightened. Dokja said it as if it were nothing, as if his survival was a given they should all be content with. Did he even realize how close it had been? How close he comes every time he pulls this kind of stunt?
Perhaps Dokja caught a glimpse of the distress in his expression, because his smile faltered into something gentler. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to worry you... any of you."
Joonghyuk wanted to be angry with him, to scold him more for his recklessness, but looking at him now – pain-shadowed eyes, sincere apology on his lips, and unexpectedly small in his arms – he couldn't summon any ire. All he felt was a fierce, aching protectiveness. And a deep well of guilt at his own past failures to keep him safe.
Dokja's legs wobbled again, and Joonghyuk decided enough was enough. "Sit down before you fall down," he muttered, attempting gruffness to mask his concern. Gently, he helped ease Dokja down the wall until he was seated on a relatively flat piece of rubble. Joonghyuk knelt with him, keeping one arm around his shoulders until he was sure the fool wouldn't topple over.
Dokja let out a shaky exhale as he settled. He leaned lightly against Joonghyuk; whether out of necessity or trust, Joonghyuk wasn't sure, but the gesture made his heart skip. Dokja was allowing himself to rely on him, even if just a little.
Joonghyuk glanced back toward the camp. The others were still busy in the distance, silhouettes moving around the fire. None of them had noticed their confrontation in the shadows. Good. The last thing he needed was the whole group swarming them in a panic.
Still, perhaps he should call one of them over—someone with better medical knowledge, or an extra pair of hands. Yoo Sangah would have been ideal, but she was incapacitated. Jung Heewon, maybe, or even Lee Hyunsung, who had training in field dressings. Yet as he considered it, a fierce possessiveness reared up inside him. No. He had found out about Dokja's injury; he would be the one to tend it. He wasn't going to let anyone else see Dokja in such a vulnerable state right now.
"I'll take care of this," Joonghyuk said firmly. He shifted, preparing to reach for his own pack where he kept some emergency supplies. But as he moved, Dokja's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
"Don't—" he gasped softly. "If they know..."
Ah. Dokja assumed Joonghyuk was going to call the others over to help. His worry about their alarm was almost laughable at this point, but Joonghyuk understood. He was still determined to keep this quiet.
Joonghyuk covered Dokja's hand with his own, gently prying his fingers off his wrist. "I have supplies on me," he assured him. "I won't call them. But I am going to treat this, Dokja. No more arguments."
Dokja gazed at him for a long moment, exhaustion and pain warring with his pride. Finally, he gave the barest nod and released a resigned sigh. "Alright," he ceded, barely above a whisper.
Without wasting another second, Joonghyuk opened his inventory. His hands worked swiftly, driven by focus and adrenaline. From it, he pulled out a roll of clean bandages, a bottle of disinfectant, and a slim syringe pre-filled with a high-grade healing solution he'd scavenged in a previous scenario. It wasn't as potent as a full potion, but it would numb Dokja's pain and jump-start his healing.
Dokja eyed the syringe and reflexively tried to straighten. "Joonghyuk, you don't have to use that on me. Save it for–"
"Be quiet," Joonghyuk ordered, not unkindly. With one hand, he gently pushed Dokja's coat off his injured side. "Lift your arm a bit... yes, like that."
He complied, biting back whatever protest he was going to make. Joonghyuk helped ease the coat off his shoulders and tossed it aside. Next, he carefully peeled Dokja's tattered shirt up over his torso. The cloth was sticky with blood and clung to the gash, eliciting a pained hiss from him as Joonghyuk worked it free. "Sorry," he murmured.
Dokja's breath was shaky, but he still managed a faint attempt at humor. "You just want an excuse to strip me, don't you," he mumbled, voice wavering.
Joonghyuk snorted softly, relieved to hear even a weak joke from him. "Hardly. You've lost so much blood you're not my type right now," he retorted, glad his tone came out level. Inside, though, his heart clenched at the sight of him – Dokja's lean torso marred by bruises and scars old and new. Each mark told a story of sacrifice. Too many of them, he thought bitterly.
With Dokja's upper body exposed, the full extent of the damage was clear. The gash in his side was ugly, but thankfully it looked like it hadn't punctured deeply enough to be immediately fatal; still, he'd bleed out or collapse from shock if left untreated, especially since it was poisoned. His skin felt cold and clammy under Joonghyuk's fingertips – a sign of shock indeed.
Joonghyuk uncorked the disinfectant and poured a capful over the wound. Dokja jolted, a strangled groan escaping through clenched teeth as the liquid burned into torn flesh. His hand darted out, seizing Joonghyuk's forearm in a bruising grip. Joonghyuk let him hold on, even as Dokja's nails dug in. "I know, I know," he muttered soothingly. "I'm sorry. Almost done."
He patted the area dry with a clean cloth, wiping away blood and disinfectant. Dokja's head had tipped forward onto Joonghyuk's shoulder, his breathing harsh against his neck as he rode out the pain. Joonghyuk felt a tremor run through the man in his arms and realized with a start that Dokja was trying not to sob. The realization made Joonghyuk's eyes sting.
Keeping his movements brisk, he positioned the syringe next. "This will help," he said, trying to catch Dokja's gaze. Dokja gave a tight nod against his shoulder, not bothering to lift his head. Joonghyuk guided the needle into the uninjured side of Dokja's abdomen, where it would circulate quickest. As he pressed down the plunger, he felt Dokja tense and then gradually relax as the concoction did its work. His breathing, while still ragged, steadied a fraction.
"Better?" Joonghyuk asked softly.
Dokja managed a faint hum of acknowledgment. His death grip on Joonghyuk's arm loosened, though his hand remained, curled around his sleeve now rather than digging into his flesh.
Now that the worst was handled, Joonghyuk became acutely aware of their position. At some point, he had shifted to brace Dokja fully, one knee on the ground, the other bent to support his weight. Dokja was practically cradled against him. He could feel the warmth of Dokja's bare skin where his side pressed to Joonghyuk's chest, the slow calming of his heartbeat.
Focus, Yoo Joonghyuk. He shook himself mentally and reached for the bandages. "I need to wrap you up," he said. "Hold still."
Joonghyuk leaned forward slightly so he could get the bandage around Dokja's torso, but even that movement made him wince. Without a second thought, Joonghyuk moved behind him, sliding one leg around to support his back. Gently, he guided Dokja to rest against him, so he wouldn't have to hold himself up.
Dokja let out a small sigh as he sagged into the support. His head lolled back against Joonghyuk's shoulder, exposing the pale column of his throat for a moment before he tilted it down. Joonghyuk could feel the dampness of his hair against his cheek. His pulse skipped at the closeness, but he forced himself to concentrate on the bandaging.
Joonghyuk wrapped the bandage tightly around Dokja's waist, pulling with firm but careful pressure to stem the bleeding. His arms encircled Dokja each time he looped the fabric, effectively embracing him again and again. Joonghyuk hoped Dokja was too out of it to notice the heat coming off his face.
By the time he finished tying off the bandage, thick layers of white covered the ugly wound. A blot of red began to seep through, but much slower than before. The bleeding was under control. Between the makeshift dressing and the healing solution, Dokja would mend.
Joonghyuk released a long breath of relief. It hit him then how close they'd come—how close he'd come to losing him tonight. The adrenaline that had carried him through the treatment ebbed, leaving him slightly shaky.
"All done," Joonghyuk murmured. He gently eased Dokja around to see his face. His eyes were half-shut, heavy with exhaustion and the haze of painkillers beginning to set in. Still, he made an effort to focus.
"Thank you," he whispered. Those two words held such earnest gratitude that Joonghyuk had to glance away, afraid of what Dokja might see on his face. He was thanking him, as if this were some favor and not something Joonghyuk had been desperate to do.
"You idiot," the regressor muttered, voice thick. He cleared his throat and managed a steadier tone. "Of course I did. Who else is going to keep you alive if not me?"
A weak chuckle escaped Dokja. "The great Yoo Joonghyuk, always saving the day..." he mumbled, attempting a joke. But Joonghyuk could hear the genuine affection underneath.
He huffed softly. If anything, Kim Dokja had saved him more times than he could count, but he knew Dokja would argue that. Instead of starting that debate, Joonghyuk shifted, realizing he should lay the reader down properly before he fell unconscious.
Dokja must have read his intention, because he spoke again, more quietly. "Joonghyuk... I really am sorry."
Joonghyuk looked at him sharply. His eyes were earnest and slightly glazed. "For what?"
"Making you worry," he said, as if it were obvious. His hand—still resting on Joonghyuk's sleeve—tugged weakly. "I know... I do this a lot. I just... didn't want anyone to get hurt because of me."
Anger and tenderness welled up in Joonghyuk's chest in equal measure. He cupped the side of Dokja's face before he even realized what he was doing. "Listen to me, Kim Dokja," he said, enunciating each word. "You getting hurt hurts us. Hurts me. Do you understand that?"
Dokja's eyes widened slightly. Joonghyuk realized his thumb was softly stroking the grime from the other man's cheek, but he didn't stop. "You always act like it doesn't matter what happens to you as long as we're okay. But it does matter. You matter."
A faint flush crept over Dokja's cheeks that had nothing to do with fever. He looked at a loss for words. In truth, Joonghyuk was a bit stunned himself—those weren't words he'd planned to say aloud. But he didn't regret them.
"I... I'll try to do better," Dokja said at last, voice barely audible. And knowing him, that was a monumental concession.
Joonghyuk gave a small nod, letting his hand fall from Dokja's face before the temptation to do something even more foolish grew too strong. "See that you do," he managed, aiming for a lighter tone.
Dokja smiled then, a fragile, genuine little smile that made the regressor's heart constrict. "I'll count this as the second lecture of the night," he murmured.
A soft snort escaped Joonghyuk. "I haven't even started," he warned. "Just wait until you're fully healed."
He closed his eyes, looking strangely content. "I think," he said drowsily, "I wouldn't mind that... as much as I thought."
A comfortable silence fell between them. Joonghyuk realized he was still cradling Dokja, one arm around his shoulders. Dokja's head had come to rest against him, and Joonghyuk felt some of his weight begin to slump as the solution pulled him into much-needed sleep.
He couldn't help himself—now that Dokja's eyes were closed, he allowed one more gentle touch. Joonghyuk brushed aside a sweat-damp lock of hair sticking to his forehead. Dokja leaned into the touch unconsciously, like a cat seeking warmth. The corner of the regressor's lips twitched upward in the faintest smile.
"You'll be okay," Joonghyuk found himself whispering, not sure if he was reassuring Dokja or himself. "I've got you."
If Dokja heard him, he gave no sign. His breathing was evening out, each exhale a warm puff against Joonghyuk's collar where he remained nestled.
They stayed like that for a moment longer: Joonghyuk half-kneeling in rubble, holding Dokja close as he drifted on the edge of sleep. Part of him never wanted to move from that spot—wanted to keep Dokja safe in his arms through the night. But reason prevailed enough to know Dokja would rest better laid out properly.
Reluctantly, Joonghyuk shifted his grip. "Kim Dokja?" he whispered. He waited a second, but Dokja's steady, slow breathing told him he was fully asleep. The vise around Joonghyuk's heart loosened.
Carefully, Joonghyuk repositioned him. Keeping one arm around Dokja's back and sliding the other beneath his knees, he shifted into a crouch and lifted him. Dokja would probably be annoyed at being carried if he were awake, but that was a concern for later. Right now, he felt light in Joonghyuk's arms—too light, as if the burdens he carried had worn him down to nothing.
Dokja's hand still clutched his shirt, even in sleep. Joonghyuk knelt beside him and studied his face. In the faint glow of distant fires and starlight, with tension drained from his features, Dokja looked younger. Almost peaceful. The perpetual lines of worry on his brow had smoothed out, and his lips, usually quirked in irony or pressed in determination, were softly parted in childlike repose. Kim Dokja, the Demon King of Salvation, who met ancient gods and horrors with a smirk, now looked as fragile as a wounded boy.
Gently, Joonghyuk brushed a few stray strands of hair from Dokja's forehead. The gesture was tender and wholly out of character for him, but there was no one to see it, and he allowed himself this one indulgence. Dokja's fever had gone down; his forehead felt cooler now. Every rise and fall of his chest under the white bandages reassured Joonghyuk: he was alive, he was here.
Joonghyuk remembered a time when he believed Dokja had died—truly died, before his eyes. The agony of that moment, the hollowness that followed... he closed his eyes, forcing the memory away. Dokja came back. He always came back. And as long as Joonghyuk had breath in his body, he would make sure Dokja always would.
Joonghyuk pulled an extra shirt from his inventory and dressed Dokja, being incredibly careful to avoid his wounded side. He then draped Dokja's jacket—which always looked suspiciously like his own—over him for warmth. With one fluid motion, Joonghyuk lifted Dokja again and headed toward camp, his grip tightening not from fear of Dokja falling, but from the fierce need to keep him safe.
For the twenty minutes they were gone, the camp had believed the two leaders were conferring over their next move. Jung Heewon and Lee Jihye had huddled by the fire, debating tactics; Han Sooyoung had idly flipped through her notebook; Lee Hyunsung had sharpened his sword in silence. The sight of Yoo Joonghyuk returning with Dokja in his arms snapped everyone to attention.
He halted by the fire's edge, setting Dokja down on a spread blanket with the gentlest of motions. Dokja's head lolled sideways, hair brushing Joonghyuk's wrist. In the hush that followed, Jung Heewon sprang to her feet.
"Dokja-ssi?" she cried, stepping forward. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Lee Jihye rose too, eyes wide. "We thought you two were discussing the map! What—" Her breath caught when she saw Dokja's weak figure. "What happened to him?"
Lee Hyunsung moved to stand guard at Joonghyuk's back. "He looks weak. He needs rest."
Joonghyuk's eyes flashed. He wrapped an arm under Dokja's shoulders and pulled him close once more. "No fuss," he muttered, voice clipped. "He just needs some quiet." After much insistence that Dokja was okay, they allowed him through as he placed him down onto a cot. Using his body as a shield from their prying eyes, he pressed a finger to Dokja's temple, checking his temperature. The pale skin was cool, but Dokja's pulse was erratic, even after the healing potion. With every breath Dokja drew, Joonghyuk's chest tightened—fear coiling in his gut.
The others circled like wary wolves, curiosity in their eyes.
Han Sooyoung sat up with a click of her tongue. "Carrying him like that... seems less tactical and more... intimate," she drawled, eyebrows arching. "Private talk, my ass."
Joonghyuk sent a glare her way, but she just narrowed her eyes mischievously. "If he's not injured or ill, what made him like this?"
Joonghyuk wanted to throw something at the woman. He wanted to divert their attention from knowing of Dokja's injury, but it seems Sooyoung is determined to form her own theories. Sure enough, the rest of the KimCo members caught on to what Sooyoung meant, and their eyes widened.
Jihye clasped her hands. "Master... were you two...? I mean—" She shook her head. "Never mind."
Sooyoung tapped her chin, lips curled. "Could be innocent," she allowed, gaze sliding to Joonghyuk's tense shoulders. "But, are you sure you two didn't... indulge in some midnight... extracurriculars?"
Hyunsung cleared his throat. "If he's hurt, maybe more water? Blankets? Soup?" He offered a canteen with an awkward half-smile.
Joonghyuk took the canteen without a word.
The companions seemed to want more details, but knew better than to push. They drifted back to their tasks, occasionally sending glances at Joonghyuk and the unconscious Dokja, mirth and questions in their eyes. Joonghyuk made a point of ignoring them.
He dipped a cloth into the canteen, squeezing excess water out. He pressed it to Dokja's forehead, then his cheek, wiping away sweat. The touch nearly woke him - Dokja's lashes fluttered, and Joonghyuk caught a glint of recognition before his eyes closed again.
Dokja's grip tightened on Joonghyuk's sleeve, an unconscious plea for comfort. Joonghyuk swallowed, heart pounding as he tugged the blanket up.
By the dying fire, Joonghyuk settled back on his heels. He placed a protective arm behind Dokja's shoulders and drew the blanket under his chin. Dokja murmured in sleep- half whimper, half sigh- still lost in broken dreams.
Jung Heewon returned with a bowl of weak broth. "Here," she said quietly. "He seems drained, so here's something simple, if he wakes." She handed it to Joonghyuk, stepping back respectfully.
Lee Jihye hovered with extra blankets. "Anything else?" she asked, cheeks pink.
Han Sooyoung finally offered a rare note of genuine warmth. "Let's let them rest. We'll keep watch."
Joonghyuk eased onto the crate beside Dokja. Seeing that his breathing had reached a steady rhythm, Joonghyuk allowed himself to close his eyes.
***
Joonghyuk's vision fluttered open to early dawn—cool stone beneath his palms, gentle whispers drifting past his half-closed lids. His side felt emptier than expected—no weight against him, no breath tickling his collar. Where was Dokja?
Opening his eyes a fraction, he glanced toward the center of camp and spotted movement: the others clustered around Dokja, who was half-sitting on a marble slab, face as red as a ripened apple.
Lee Jihye leaned forward, hands on her knees. "Dokja-ssi, really, what happened? You were out cold, and Joonghyuk carried you back like you were made of porcelain!"
Dokja's cheeks flamed. He swallowed hard. "I... um..." His voice cracked, and he glanced toward where Joonghyuk pretended to be asleep.
Sangah looked at Dokja with concern. "Were you hurt?"
"No!" he blurted out. "Of course not."
The friends stared at him. "Then...?" Heewon asked.
"Wait, was it actually an affair then?" Sooyoung asked incredulously.
Dokja looked ready to explode. "W-what the hell, Sooyoung!"
She took that as encouragement, grinning mischievously. "Did he whisper sweet nothings as he carried you? Or maybe... confess undying love?" She waggled her eyebrows, smirking.
Joonghyuk was honestly impressed by how much redder Dokja's face went. The fool's fingers fumbled at the edge of his coat. "No," he sputtered, "that's—absolutely not—"
Joonghyuk wanted to facepalm. Dokja was making it sound so much worse than it was.
The companions erupted in excitement. Heewon clapped her hands. "My god, Uriel will lose her mind when I tell her!"
"You two definitely had a moment," Sooyoung continued, nudging Dokja's shoulder as he buried his face in his hands. "His arm around you, your head on his shoulder—what made you so weak in the knees if not an injury?"
Lee Hyunsung offered Dokja a canteen. "Water?"
Dokja seized it, gulping greedily. He licked his lips, voice squeaky when he finally spoke again: "I swear, we didn't... do anything."
Jihye crossed her arms, eyes narrowed playfully. "Why would Master fall for someone as plain as Ahjussi? He deserves better."
"Hey! Hyung isn't plain!" Gilyoung protested, glaring at Jihye. Dokja weakly patted the boy's head.
Joonghyuk sighed internally. He'd let Dokja get bullied a little as punishment for yesterday's recklessness, but this seemed enough. He stood up and walked over to the group, placing a firm hand on Dokja's back. "Enough," he said, voice low but authoritative. "He's fine. Let's leave it at that."
The group exchanged knowing smirks. Heewon shrugged. "Whatever you say. But next time, warn us before you stage a romantic drama."
Sooyoung winked. "I'll write up something special for Uriel to read later. Shame she can't witness all this herself with the channel being closed and all."
Joonghyuk had wondered why the sound of notifications and messages had been so absent yesterday, considering Uriel would be losing her mind with their interaction. She has a strange infatuation with their relationship.
The member of KimCo began to drift away, assembling breakfast and preparing for the day's tasks.
Dokja squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks still hot. He seemed unable to look at Joonghyuk. "Uh, thanks. For yesterday," he whispered.
Joonghyuk patted his shoulder gently. "Are you feeling better?" he asked, leaning down to whisper in Dokja's ear. Dokja startled at the rush of warm air, stammering an affirmative. Joonghyuk fought back a smile at his reaction.
He straightened and sat down on a slab of marble, pulling out his sword and giving it a few wipes, preparing for the day's challenges.
Heewon approached Dokja. "What's the plan for today?" she asked, her serious demeanor returning.
"Yes, so there are two scenarios running concurrently," Dokja replied, snapping to attention. "I'll lead one group, and I was wondering if you could—"
Joonghyuk looked up from his sword and fixed Dokja with a glare. "Exactly who is going for a scenario?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "Don't push it."
Dokja's words faltered. "Joonghyuk-ah, I'm perfectly fine! I can go today, I swear—"
"Step one foot out of this camp and I will ensure you're unable to walk for a few days," he growled.
Silence fell over the camp before Joonghyuk realized how his words must have sounded.
Heewon's mouth fell open as she looked between them. "So you guys actually- "
"I meant I would personally ensure he stays here," Joonghyuk clarified, his tone leaving no room for argument. His gaze locked with Dokja's, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Beneath Dokja's coat, the hidden bandages remained their secret. Jung Heewon raised her eyebrows. "Oh, right. Of course."
The companions clearly had the wrong impression, but Joonghyuk couldn't care less. Their teasing could be Dokja's problem for his recklessness.
"This is ridiculous," Dokja grumbled, fingers digging into the marble beneath him. He shot Joonghyuk a venomous glare. "Fine. Go without me. But when you all get lost because you can't navigate properly, don't come crying to me." He crossed his arms with a wince he disguised as an indignant huff.
Han Sooyoung snorted. "Please. As if we need the 'Demon King of Salvation' for everything." She made exaggerated air quotes. "Maybe we'll finally get through a scenario without some last-minute dramatic sacrifice that gives us all heart attacks."
"That was ONE time," Dokja protested. "And I didn't actually die!"
"Which time are you referring to?" Lee Jihye asked innocently. "The time with the sea dragon? Or when you jumped into the Void of Nightmares? Or was it when you challenged the Apocalypse Dragon?"
Dokja groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Just go already. Bring me back something useful. Not like last time."
"What was wrong with that shiny rock?" Hyunsung asked, genuinely confused.
"It was literally just a rock you found on the ground!" Dokja exclaimed. "There was nothing special about it!"
"It had a smiley face on it," Hyunsung insisted, looking almost hurt. "Nature doesn't make those."
As the companions departed- Sooyoung making exaggerated kissing noises and Lee Jihye pretending to swoon dramatically into Heewon's arms while saying "Oh, Unnie, carry me like you carried Dokja-ssi!"- Dokja slumped back against the stone, muttering about "overprotective regressor idiots."
Joonghyuk was the last to leave, hanging back a moment. When the others were out of earshot, he fixed Dokja with a stern look.
"What?" Dokja challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Going to threaten me again?"
"Stay. Put," Joonghyuk stated flatly. "Or I'll tell them exactly why you can't stand upright."
Dokja's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
"Try me." With that parting shot, Joonghyuk turned and strode away.
Left alone in the ruins, Dokja sighed dramatically, picking up pebbles and flicking them at a broken pillar. "Stubborn sunfish," Joonghyuk heard him mutter. "Always has to have the last word." But the warmth in his voice betrayed him, and as he shifted to find a more comfortable position, he took care not to disturb the bandages wrapped so carefully around him the night before.
Joonghyuk watched from the corner of his eye and sighed affectionately. The fool was such a pain to care for, but now Joonghyuk wouldn't allow him to hurt himself again. And he could tell that deep down, beneath all his protests, Dokja appreciated being helped—even if he'd probably rather face the Apocalypse Dragon twice than admit it.