Archive of Our Own ^beta

Above all the ways that could possibly change his high school life, this was something Dokja had not considered. At all.

Dropping his phone so he couldn’t read webnovels? Perhaps. Breaking his back because of my terrible shrimp posture? Maybe. Dying at a young age? Probably. By someone who thinks of him as easy prey, like his aunt or Song Minwoo? Hmm…

But… this? Befriending, trusting someone? Certainly, most definitely not. During lunch break at his high school, Dokja happened to meet the most emotionally constipated exchange student who had the communication skills of a dementia-ridden lizard, who also forced him to join an extremely serious musical competition with him with the most disdainful expression ever. Like he was doing Dokja a favour.

Highlight extremely serious. Dokja was not blessed with piano skills at even the slightest. The piece that the exchange student overheard him playing happened to be the only piece Dokja had ever mastered, the only one he spent countless hours on, perfecting every little accelerando and ornament.

Of course Dokja didn’t agree to join.

He signed him up for it behind his back.

Why did it have to be him?

—

Their first encounter happened to be in homeroom. 

Being the earliest class of the day, homeroom would normally be a quick breather, a refresher before actual learning. It would make sense that the atmosphere is typically lax, with students finishing assignments or doing casual activities. Or occasionally, at the back of the classroom would be Song Minwoo and his gang playing with a poor thing called Dokja. But today, something didn’t feel right. Like a missing corner piece of a puzzle.

Upon entering through the door of his class, Dokja froze, all his limbs stiff and unmoving. He stood there dumbstruck.

He knew that there would be exchange students today, but—

There stood a tall boy, his black raven hair and untucked uniform flowing along with the crisp autumn breeze. That boy was sitting at the back of the class, right next to Dokja’s own seat. He was… to say the least, interesting. He looked like a literal sculpture in a bad mood. Strikingly refined looks, enough for him to be a model, an expensive pair of headphones slung around his neck, the sunlight behind him casting a golden outline like a halo around the student. In every way, he looked breathtaking. 

He just needed to fix that permanent frown on his face.

Dokja could tell, from that moment, that he shouldn’t mingle with someone like him. After all, their differences in class and power were tall, visually. It was like Joonghyuk was everything, anything that Dokja wasn’t.

Dokja’s thoughts were proven right when the girls who were giggling to each other started whispering hurriedly amongst themselves when he dragged his chair out. The legs made an incomprehensibly annoying screeching sound across the floor, and he earned a glare that seemed a little too earnest for someone who was only an exchange student. 

Hmph. Dokja wanted to roll his eyes. This is literally his seat, what’s the problem.

He didn’t roll his eyes. He doesn’t know what kind of person Joonghyuk is, and if he’s like Song Minwoo, then…

Instead, Dokja reached for his bag, looking through the folders, notebooks, and piano sheets. He took out the books he needed. The student next to Dokja glanced sideways, and he must have seen something because he turned away, eyes deep in thought. Perhaps it had been the dishevelled bag, the pale scars on the back of his hands, or something else that Joonghyuk found so wrong with Dokja. Well, there were a lot of things wrong with Dokja. 

Everything was wrong with Dokja. He doesn’t know what he did in his past life but he must have been someone terrible. This student on the other hand looked like God’s personal favourite.

Whatever. Forget about him and his cursed attitude. 

But he still lingers on Dokja’s mind, bouncing in between the edges, exactly like when you’re unsure if you’ve locked your house door or not when going out on a week-long vacation out of the country.

—

‘Dry, chipped tiles that crumbled at the edge once in an eternity. That could be an appropriate description of Dokja’s life. Unamusing, monotonous, dull.’

The one thing that actually gives Dokja a sparkle of personality other than being the background character, is that he plays the piano. But he is in no way one of those hardcore piano key smashers, he’s self taught. Dokja plays when he gets the time to, in the deserted music wing of his school. He really loves the sweet, melodic sounds of the piano, and in another life, if he was given a chance, he’d become a pianist.

He found out that the student he was seated next to in his class before was a model student. That student went by Yoo Joonghyuk, and was an exchange student from a top notch school.

When it was lunch break, Dokja headed straight to the music department to wallow in his despair of interacting (can you even call that interacting?) with Joonghyuk.

Opening the cover of the piano, Dokja was greeted with the smooth black and white keys, each reflecting the light that spills like wax from the window. He traced his finger on the keys, and sat down on the leathered seat. Dokja pulled out his piano sheets from his backpack right away, and set them on the stand. 

Before long, his hands glided with the notes reverberating in the room, drowning the silence with an acutely sorrowful piece. Normally, on a typical day like this, he would just sit on the benches of the school rooftop and read a web-novel, but on occasions like this when someone stops the autopilot of Dokja’s life, he couldn’t help but play something. 

Dokja didn’t have a piano at home. Hell, Dokja didn’t even have a computer at home so why would he have a piano? 

The notes lying on his fingertips, waiting patiently to be played all joined together into a ritardando. The piece started out as minor, melancholic and daunting. In between intervals there would be a sudden outburst of both minor and major notes, before the final bar gradually slows in a hopeful, longing tone that sets the ending as one full of nostalgia and tranquility. 

Dokja was blissfully unaware that someone else was listening to him. 

It was only after he finished playing that the person revealed themselves. One look at the signature frown and he knew right away who it was. 

“...” The aggressively cool-looking student eyed him with regard through his gleaming eyes, as if Dokja was a delectable piece of cake, waiting to be chosen, to be devoured as whole.

“…” Dokja stared back, narrowing his eyes slightly. Obviously, what else was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Kim Dokja. Participate in a musical competition with me.” said Joonghyuk, his previously interested gaze replaced with intense, burning eyes, like he had decided on something. His stiff wording, on the other hand, needed more passion.

What. Dokja pinched his expression, and squinted at him. Someone like him? This was getting ridiculous. Not only did the exchange student come to the music wing, he was talking to him after ignoring basically everyone, everyone including the teachers?

“Are you joking?” 

“No.”

“Why ask… me?”

“You’re special.” 

“How so?” Dokja tried his best not to laugh out loud. Was this a joke? He was special? In no universe was he special in any way, and looking back at even one chapter of his life proves that in every way. Telling Dokja that he was special was like calling a tree a rocket.

“You didn’t chase after me like those rabid fangirls. I was seated next to you and you ignored me.”

“Um… that’s because… And my reply might sound shocking, but that’s because I don’t really know you?” Sarcasm dripped from Dokja’s voice. He wants nothing to do with this student. He wants nothing to do with anybody. Not when building relationships are a hazard, a danger to him. Never went well, ever. The day that Dokja opens the locked door in his heart is the day that the world is ending.

A pregnant pause. Dokja averted his eyes, drumming his fingers onto the surface of the piano keys absentmindedly. He ignores the stark crimson on his arms, ignores the way Joonghyuk’s eyes flicker over it to assess the damage. They both knew how he got them, but they both choose to ignore. Ignore. 

Joonghyuk took out his phone from his pocket, and started typing. 

Another pause, before he announced, “You are performing with me. I’ve been practicing the same piece that you played just now with the violin. I need a filler for piano, because I will be attending with a duet piece.” He lifted his phone, and to Dokja’s dismay, his name was engraved on the participant list of Classical Musical Competition for Young Musicians 2015-2016 right below Joonghyuk’s.

He actually just signed Dokja up for the contest.

Joonghyuk’s eyes flickered approvingly at the piano and back at Dokja.

“You are good with the piano.” 

And with that, Joonghyuk took his leave, crossing the room with long, brisk strides. He didn’t inform Dokja of details such as when, where, and most importantly, how. 

Dokja stared dumbly after his retreating figure, trying to ignore an unfamiliar, fluttering feeling in his heart, one of happiness that he was needed for something. That he needed to be there, that he needed to exist for another day. 

—

The next time Dokja met Joonghyuk (aside from the brief encounter with him in the school bathroom), they were on the windy rooftop of their school.

With the azure sky surrounding all sides, the school rooftop was a place Dokja frequented a lot, whenever he wanted to have a place for himself. Beds of raised soil were placed strategically around the rooftop in neat rows, and in sight would be a few wooden benches hidden behind the sprawling greenery. It was closed off for students, but since the janitor rarely came up to check the potted plants, it was quite an unoccupied area, reserved for Dokja and his thoughts alone.

Dokja had practiced the same piece over and over again, despite being unsure if Joonghyuk was uttering the truth or not. He seemed kind of desperate in finding a partner. 

Leaning perched onto the rails of the rooftop, Dokja gazed at the city view. The trees have reddened with leaves shriveled and wilted, and it appeared that they were starting to prepare for the frigid cold of late autumn and winter’s opening scene. The dullness of the scenery prompted Dokja to remember his demise, and how he was going to deal with this dilemma that was a murky gray puddle, in which he was sinking in.

The cold, crisp air bit Dokja’s skin. Regardless of the temperature, He comes to school wearing school uniform, which is the usual white blazer and slacks, with a vest above.

Dokja peered down, looking at the faraway sidewalk in bird’s eye view. Wouldn’t it be funny if he, hypothetically, toppled over accidentally, dying in the process?

“Get away from the edge.”

Joonghyuk stomped all the way to Dokja, grabbing his wrist to pull him a meter away from the edge.

Dokja’s eyes widened, startled, skeptical. 

“What do you want? I practiced on the piano.” 

“… It’s nothing.” He said roughly. Perhaps the second part of what Dokja said satisfied Joonghyuk. 

Silence stretches through the empty roof. It appears that more than half of their encounters were filled with stony and blank silences. Not being able to continue standing in the center of Joonghyuk’s piercing glare that looked even scarier than before, Dokja blurted “I practiced on the piano”, hoping for him to stop glaring down at him.

Joonghyuk stayed silent, eyes scanning him for the last time, before pulling him forward.

Dokja was left dumbfounded. He stumbled to the benches of the rooftop after Joonghyuk, and his mouth hung open when Joonghyuk handed him a container full of a variety of dishes, each adorned and styled like a luxury meal in a 5 star michelin restaurant. This was so unfair. Why was this student so gifted? God’s favourite. Was this reality? Could he even accept something like this? Dokja blinked at the food. There was no way it was for him.

”Hurry up and eat before it gets colder.”

Not that he was complaining in any way. He’s not sure if he can trust Joonghyuk or the food itself, but it’s been months since he’s had a satisfying and nutritional meal, so it’d be worth eating this even if it did poison him.

Dokja was left with no choice but to compliment Joonghyuk after enjoying the delectable meal. His culinary skills were on another level. It had been some time since he’s had a meal like this.

—

With a slap in the face, then another, then another, Dokja’s aunt screams.

”I told you not to touch my kid!” His aunt hollers. Behind her, Dokja’s cousin sticks his tongue out. 

”I’m sorry, miss.” Dokja hangs his head, staring at the floor, to look submissive. Always, again and again and again. What had happened was that his cousin had gone off and lied to his mother that Dokja had bothered him. Why he did it, Dokja had absolutely no clue. It was beyond him, leaving him hurt and confused in the beginning, but because the world was just so focused on crushing him, defeating him, Dokja had no choice but to adapt, to get used to it. 

It really was beyond him why people chose to be horrible instead of kind. He guesses that there isn’t a reason, a why, behind abuse. 

He just stands, obediently, against all the things hurled at him.

“Go to your room. Don’t show your face, rat. Useless waste of space. I really don’t know what your mother was doing, keeping you alive.” His aunt continues spitting at him. 

Dokja does not react, tries not to flinch. He just retreats to his room. If there’s anything he’s learned in life, it’s that pretending that nothing affects him is the best choice in almost every scenario. To not show weakness, to bow your head and wait it out. It reached a point where he doesn’t really feel anymore. He doesn’t feel angry, or hurt, just numb. 

Recently, he’s been feeling more disconnected. When he lived with his father, he had been young enough to have felt fear, pain, resentment of some sort. Now, however, with his mother in a cell who made it her life mission to make Dokja’s life miserable and succeeded, his aunt who despises him, and the bullies who have “fun” with him, so much has happened to a point where Dokja just can’t. Can’t catch up to the emotions. Instead, he throws them away. Buries it so deep inside it built a home in his heart and seeped into his bones. He has a friend now, Joonghyuk, but it makes him feel even lonelier, even more miserable than he already is, on the contrary. 

Not an if. When Joonghyuk finds out what type of person Dokja actually is, with his past and all that, he’ll desert him for sure. Not to mention how much of a wreck Dokja was on the inside. 

Dokja still cannot believe what he has done to deserve such goodwill, and why Joonghyuk was still seeing him. No matter. Joonghyuk will probably come to regain his senses and abandon him. 

Dokja doesn’t know what to do because a person actually sees him, instead of through him. Sees a person instead of the murderer’s son. He doesn’t know if he wants to be seen, because in the end, Joonghyuk will deem him as rotten to the core.

In his own joke of a room but in reality the storage room, Dokja wills for him to cry. He wishes he could cry. He can’t, though. He can’t taste the salt anymore. It’s been long since he’s shed tears. 

Dokja really tries, like he does once or twice a month, but as usual, he just can’t cry. Was he so dissociated that he didn’t have the feelings of a normal person? That was kind of pathetic.

In the end, he scrunches his already messed up hair, and chokes out an empty laugh. 

Was this what losing sanity was? If so, then his sanity has been long, long gone.

With tired, soulless eyes, Dokja stares at the ceiling blankly, clutching his old, damaged piano sheets. 

—

Joonghyuk had set his backpack down roughly and settled down on the chair. The rusty chair legs creaked harshly against the wooden floor. The teacher took attendance and yapped about school rules and whatnot. A group of girls giggled and pointed. Joonghyuk had paid no attention, as he was busy staring vacantly out the window. 

In the corner of his vision, he caught sight of a boy with a small frame. Joonghyuk had made out some details, though not accurately. It was probably because Joonghyuk could only see his side view, which did not give away much, given that he was staring out the window.

This boy had been staring out for a while now. Not in the way Joonghyuk had been staring out, but in a different, more intimate way, like he was in a trance. As if this boy was immersed in his own little world, everyone and everything else fading away in the background.

The boy was small, and looked to be around maybe 14, barely 15, despite everyone else in the class being 16. He was pale, oddly pale, his skin a sickly shade. Even in the corner of Joonghyuk’s eyes, he noted how the boy’s skin looks soft, tender. How even a single touch could be capable of deteriorating the surface. 

It was like his skin was a pristine piece of tissue. And he noticed, how, just like tissues stain, his skin had been painted with fading watercolor bruises and scars. His body a canvas, ruined by occasional blotted blemishes and murky hues. 

He wondered what happened.

Why was no one pointing it out?

Joonghyuk had been observing this boy. That much was obvious. It seemed like he kept his bag a little messy, and he’d been able to catch a quick glimpse of what looked like music notes. 

Piano sheets. If the boy was good with the piano, then perhaps Joonghyuk could plan something. 

The boy did not talk, and no one talked to him either. Joonghyuk did not have the faintest idea what his name could be, let alone know what his face looked like clearly. The boy was quiet, and resolutely still. In the background, always in the background. Perhaps Joonghyuk will ask someone what his name is later.

“Yoo Joonghyuk! Please turn your head around and look at the front. I want you to answer question 12.” The teacher blabbered. Joonghyuk answered easily, and went back to looking out the window. 

( Trying to get a glimpse of that boy while pretending he’s not. )

Although he won’t quite admit it, he had wanted to know this boy, even just a little bit.

—

“H-hey, where are you taking me to?” Dokja stutters as he mindlessly lets Joonghyuk drag him through the streets. 

“I’m gonna show you something. Be quiet.” Joonghyuk scowls, and Dokja trails after him like a floundering fawn. 

Before long, they appear in front of the gates to a park. With no hesitation of any sort, Joonghyuk enters, looking back at Dokja to follow. 

Joonghyuk slows down, and they continue to travel at that pace, perhaps because he wants Dokja to enjoy the scenery. Dokja takes in the benches, the people, the sky, the trees. 

What catches his attention in the corner of his eyes is a young child, running up to her parents, gifting them each a flower. The parents smile and coo at the kid gently. The little kid points towards the swingset ahead of them, and the family walks over to the playground. 

Dokja stares for a painfully long time. 

“You want to get on the swings?” Joonghyuk asks, eyebrows creased but mouth quirking up, amused. Dokja tears his gaze away from the little girl, but is dragged, again, to their next location.

Why is Joonghyuk babysitting him, Dokja wonders as he is sat down at one of the swings. He lets out a startled yelp as suddenly, Joonghyuk is propelling him forward with the speed of a bullet train.

“Hey!” Dokja yells, gripping stiffly onto the steel swing chain so tight that his knuckles turn a ghostly white. This routine goes on for 20 minutes before Joonghyuk finally frees Dokja. 

Stumbling and absolutely out of it, Dokja offers to push Joonghyuk on the swing.

The sounds of the two laughing while taking turns on the swing, if lucky, if really lucky, might have been heard by a couple passersby as the sun climbs down.

—

‘What happens when water drops land on the surface of sun kissed tiles? No matter how many drops it is, it will never cover the full expanse. Unless the crystal droplets continuously persist, engulfing it and brandishing it back to its glinting appearance.’

The probability of meeting Joonghyuk in the local library is a percentage so low Dokja probably wouldn’t be able to count the zeros. And out of all the chances, he is standing right at the wooden door frame that marks the entrance of Dokja’s safe place. He lowers his phone, and meets Joonghyuk’s rigid eyes.

“You know, you look kind of dumb, standing next to the entrance doing nothing.” Dokja snickers, beckoning Joonghyuk to sit next to him. Over the past couple of days, they had rehearsed together, and Dokja couldn’t help but give in to Joonghyuk a little bit when he kept offering Dokja lunches every single day. He had also started acting like a guide of some sort, helping Joonghyuk with directions and feeding him information. He liked the way he felt like he was helping.

It had been quite long since he’s even interacted with someone normally. With his father dead, mother locked behind bars, classmates finding him icky, bullies seeing him as a target, there really was no break for Dokja. Perhaps, in the future, he could make a break for himself. Not a perhaps. Dokja thinks he will, soon.

“Shut up.” Joonghyuk quips back, but nevertheless approaches Dokja, taking a seat beside him. ”So. What brings you here, Mr. Athletic-super-cool-guy-who-only-games-and-has-the-most-stuck-up-arrogant-personality-butalsomanagestobethemostpopular?”

”To get music theory books.” He admitts, glancing at the screen of Dokja’s phone before taking out his WII. ”Is that a web novel?” 

”Yes. I thought you were borrowing books?” Dokja rolls his eyes, pointing. “That doesn’t look like reading to me.” No response. Dokja leans towards him, not so close that he could possibly bother him, but close enough to watch him play an MMORPG. 

“You should join an esports team.” Dokja says after a few moments of following the bursts of vibrant, technicolour fireworks flash across the screen. To Dokja’s surprise, he answers with, “Already in one.” before the serene quiet of the library follows.

Eventually, Dokja speaks up again. ”You know, you’re the perfect guy for girls that have the syndrome of  “I Can Fix Him”. The girls that love the emo, heartbroken ones.” He says, shifting his position to perch on the couch. 

“What.” Joonghyuk scrunches his face. 

“They never want the soft, caring one. The one who looks like a puppy, the bubbly and cute guy. The one who teaches the girl how to do the homework with patience, the one who remembers the girl’s coffee orders.” Dokja, who had been looking ahead with a smirk, takes his phone out, typing in a few words onto a search engine before showing Joonghyuk the screen. 

A hot, shirtless guy with a sleeve of tattoos and a cigarette in hand was on display. Plus the gold earrings and chains. And the shaggy wolf cut. The dead, edgelord glare.

Joonghyuk stares judgingly at the screen.

Dokja continues. “This is the type of guy that girls like. The one who can’t be fixed. The guys who go out to fight people on the streets and go home to sleep on the couch instead of the bed.” 

“You know a lot about character tropes. I figure it comes with reading a lot.” Joonghyuk analyses, with his attention still fixed on the flashing screens. 

”Ah, well, I don’t read a lot of romance. I prefer action.” Well, Dokja only read this one webnovel, and it was action, so. So maybe by action Dokja meant Ways of Survival and only Ways of Survival.

They sit in comfortable silence, before Joonghyuk breaks it. “What about you? What kind of character do you think you are?” 

Dokja looks back at him, startled, and ponders for a moment.

”Well, I’m not too sure. Definitely a background character who wants to become a better pianist. Someone who has many secrets.” His eyes glint with something that most wouldn’t be able to put a finger on. “And you?”

”A violinist. A person who befriends that background pianist character. A person who might find out that character’s secrets in the future.” Joonghyuk challenges, an eyebrow raised. 

Oh, hmm. That definitely means that Joonghyuk wants to know more about Dokja. That would… make him less likeable though. Dokja looks away, hiding his uneasy gaze. If Joonghyuk found out about his stupid, stupid past, then… 

“Here. Try.” Joonghyuk shoves his controller into Dokja’s hands. 

“Eh?” 

Worries become forgotten as Joonghyuk helps Dokja maneuver through the forest map inside the game. After a while, when Dokja gets used to the game, they both fall into a rhythm of pointing at the screen and grinning. No words.

Really, it was true that more than half their encounters were in silence. 

However, something had changed gradually. Instead of the long, awkward silence, it was becoming a rather comfortable one, where both sides didn’t mind each other’s company. Where both sides started to take the other wholeheartedly, leaning into the trustworthy accompaniment.

—

“Get out of my way, or give it to me. You don’t even like that flavour.” Joonghyuk glares next to the ice cream freezer of the store. 

Dokja stands idly beside Joonghyuk, not sure what to do. He picks on the fresh bandaids on both his arms. The scratches sting, not in a painful way but enough to bother. They have been healing well though, so Dokja will have to wait a few days before the scratches disappear. 

What could he do when he had been targeted by the school’s local and infamous gang. Sigh. At least Joonghyuk had entered the crime scene.  

In front of him stands someone called Han Sooyoung, another exchange student that came with Joonghyuk and the others. 

In front of him stands Han Sooyoung, who waves the mango flavoured popsicle, unopened for now, at Joonghyuk’s face tauntingly. 

“Finders keepers, first come first serve.” Sooyoung snickers offhandedly, a glint in her eyes. “Besides, you don’t even eat junk like this. Bad for health or yada yada.” Sooyoung taps the popsicle at Dokja’s chest. ”Is it for this boy?” 

“None of your business.” Joonghyuk snaps, sending mutinous glances at Sooyoung. 

“Amazing! The stoic, the heartless, the unmoving. Caught doing something so generous? And you made a friend?” Sooyoung continues marvelling in an amused way. “This is some great inspiration for my upcoming story. Thank you, thank you.” Sooyoung fakes a bow. “Your name is?”

”Um… Kim Dokja.” Dokja stammers, blinking, flustered as Sooyoung inspects him up and down. Like Dokja was some sort of specimen, small under a carefully scrutinising stare. Sooyoung’s gaze travels down to his arms, intricately. It’s uncomfortable. They weren’t self-inflicted, he’d tried it once and decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

After a moment, she straightens up, casually thrusts the mango flavoured popsicle at Dokja, with a small, cat-like grin and knowing eyes that seemed to say “fancy seeing you here” in the Times New Romans font. 

“Here, take it. Payment for getting me out of writer’s block.” With that, Sooyoung saunters out of the convenience store. 

Dokja and Joonghyuk exchanges glances. 

“What… was that?” Dokja says in bewilderment. Joonghyuk rolls his eyes, purchasing the popsicles. He had gotten one for himself. Cherry flavour. 

“Just the usual Han Sooyoung.” Joonghyuk grits through his teeth. “Annoying as always. Hasn’t changed a bit.” He closes his eyes, before opening them with a calmer, clear look. “Let’s go.”

(Here’s a fact: The second time Kim Dokja met Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t in the music room. 

Here’s another fact: The second time Kim Dokja met Yoo Joonghyuk was the day that Kim Dokja first encountered Han Sooyoung. ) 

—

What a brilliant way to spend your recess time. Dokja slithered down, had slumped against the bathroom wall after a particularly strong hit. Song Minwoo’s group had cornered him into the bathroom, and each of them were taking turns kicking him to see who could make him react the most. And to think the teacher had told everyone to be on their best behavior to leave a worthy first impression for the new student.

"You don't feel like playing today, hmm?" Minwoo sneered, raising Dokja's chin with a finger. 

Dokja looked at him blankly. It had always ended better when he was unresponsive, when he didn't give any reaction to the person who was trying to intentionally hurt him. It was like a routine now, waiting for those to finish and then collecting himself after. 

If he defended himself or showed any signs of animosity, they'd kick him harder, making comments about how he was being a brat. If he laughed, they'd try to fling him back into misery. It was better not to do anything and wait for them to get bored and stop. This applied to those bullies as well. It was a lesson he was forced to learn and adapt to at a young age. 

That wasn't the case for today.

"I’m terribly sad that you’re no fun today." Minwoo put a hand on his own chest, showing a gesture of offense before digging his feet into Dokja's stomach. Dokja did not blink, careful not to give away anything. 

"We should find a new way to play with our friend." Is what he said in a trilling, singsong voice, taking out a boxcutter from his pocket. Minwoo had pushed the blade out. It looked worn out and discolored, rust gathering at the tip. 

He had twirled it mockingly, in front of Dokja's face.

"This will be fun." Minwoo grinned sickeningly, tapping Dokja’s cheek with the blade. Minwoo had drawn a short line of scarlet on his face. Dokja could take this, a few scratches weren’t much compared to when his father used to throw broken glass shards at him—

(Why do people like hurting others? Do they really feel the satisfaction in gaining more power, more strength like this?)

One of his goons had looked at Dokja, hesitation on his face. Dokja suppressed a snort. He wanted to blatantly tell him that after everything they’ve done to him, hurting him a little with a knife was really an inconsiderable nothing.

"Minwoo, you're joking, right?" The boy asked, unsure. He had taken a hovering step back, glancing at Minwoo and then at Dokja and then back at Minwoo.

Dokja had been pretty sure this wasn’t a joke. He confirmed that with the next thing that came out of Minwoo’s mouth.

”Hold this brat down. Don’t let him move.” Minwoo barked the orders to his gang. They followed their leader’s commands, hands grasping his arms and legs tightly. His bruises screamed under the pressure.

Minwoo’s face was suddenly in front of his. Dokja recieved a splendidly wide view of his malicious, twisted grin. Minwoo performed a motion of slashing, terribly so, at one of his trapped arms, as if he was some cringy and evil villain like Kim Namwoon. Except Kim Namwoon was much cooler, more preferable, even if he was Dokja’s least favorite character in TWOS. Dokja has this precipitous impulse to check his phone for updates from time to time, and he was having that feeling now. 

Actually, he was also feeling a sharp sting on his arm as of currently. He had arched his neck to see, as a stinging pain ricocheted through his arm. 

There appeared a fresh nick on his arm, which did not look too serious. What was serious though, was that Minwoo was scraping the blade along his arms and crazily, at a concerningly rapid pace. His arms had started to tinge with a saturated crimson colour. Dokja grimaced faintly. 

Fucking fake Kim Namwoon knockoff.

The blood bespattered the ground and also started to seep through the uniform he was wearing. Dokja scrunched his eyes shut, his ears ringing as the sounds of Minwoo and everyone else laughing and mocking him reverberated in his skull. Damn it. He’ll have to clean his uniform again.

The knife had broken through his skin and pierced into his flesh repeatedly. Then, it stopped. Dokja cracked open his eyes. Everyone surrounding him had froze. Someone had barged into the bathroom, their footsteps pounding against the cold tiles.

He could make out the shape of the person. Yoo Joonghyuk? Is he here to help Minwoo beat him? Probably. Of course Minwoo had recruited the new student into his gang. He had the looks of an angel, and he was fit, body built sturdy and strong. The complete polar opposite of Kim Dokja. There really was no way that Joonghyuk had asked Dokja to be his partner for that music competition. He couldn’t trust Joonghyuk yet.

As much as his bones shrieked at him not to, Dokja had taken this chance to dash past Minwoo, and straight out the bathroom, through the halls of the school. No way in hell was he facing Yoo Joonghyuk. Just take one look at his muscles. 

Everything else had blurred and merged, a blend of colours. He had stopped in front of his classroom door, peered in, and after confirming that nobody was there, he snatched his backpack. Might as well leave the school to take care of his wounds, because school will end in less than an hour. It’s not like anyone would notice his disappearance or anything of that sort. 

On the way out of the classroom, a welcoming tissue box on the teacher’s desk beckoned him to take. Dokja plucked out a few, and hazardly wiped his bloody arms. His arms still looked besmirched, and was also littered with small scratches, but nothing looked serious and it was the best he could do for now. 

He had taken a step out of the classroom after finishing. Dokja practically flew down the flight of stairs that was used by less people, and streaked past the school gates. 

He had forgotten to unroll his sleeves. Well. No one would notice.

After knowing that he was safe and out of range from Minwoo’s gang, Dokja headed to the library he adored and loved to visit. 

He had only found it a couple of months ago, but the library had already become his comfort place, a safe place where he could hide and read the countless books it offered. A place where he could truly relax, without a worry in the world. It was a miracle, really, that he had found the library.

There was no one on the streets. At least, that was what Dokja had thought. He failed to notice a figure walking at a fast speed, straight at him. 

He had collided headfirst with the stranger, who appeared to be a young girl around his age, wearing a purple hoodie. Dokja had never seen this girl before. She had a short bob haircut, a beauty mark under her eye. The girl’s eyes were narrowed slightly, and an annoyed look portrayed her face.

“I’m s-sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Dokja had stuttered, glancing at the girl’s expression. She looked at him disdainfully, and when her gaze traveled down, her eyes narrowed even more. 

The girl opened her mouth, and uttered something like “Hey, what—” but it had gone unheard, as Dokja darted away, hurrying out of her sight.

—

“Why do you have a piano at home? You don’t even play the piano.” Dokja splutters, baffled at the vast and empty house. Joonghyuk had invited him over for a sleepover, and because they needed to rehearse together. 

“Just because.” Joonghyuk smirks, and Dokja lightly slaps his arm. 

”And between us, I’d want to be the pianist.” The two wrestle on the couch, and naturally, Joonghyuk overpowers Dokja in a flash.

“What snacks do you want?” Joonghyuk is more than ready to spoil Dokja on this occasion. After all, it wasn’t everyday that they’d be spending time after school (actually, meeting after school was slowly becoming the norm, just not staying at a house overnight).

“Snacks? Didn’t I come so we could practice?” Dokja tries to sigh, but he can’t help the pull at the edge of his lips.

Joonghyuk takes out two cups of lemonade and a plate of butter cookies. Dokja nibbles on a butter cookie, relishing how it immediately fills his mouth with the flavour of sweet sugary delight. He rarely ever snacks.

“Do you live alone?” He manages to ask between mouthfuls of cookies and sips of lemonade. Joonghyuk does not comment on Dokja’s impulse to consume. Instead, he answers the question given to him.

”Sometimes. Younger sister.” The three worded answer lingers in the air. A while later, Joonghyuk continues. “Divorced parents. I chose to live by myself but Mia visits them often.”

Ah. Dokja stares at the lemonade, watches the ice cubes drift slowly on the surface. Unsure if he’s made Joonghyuk tense on the topic, he suggests they go practice instead. 

Dokja pretends not to notice the gaze that Joonghyuk has on his back when they practice. 

Joonghyuk ignores the bruises sneaking into his gaze under Dokja’s pyjamas. 

Dokja pretends that he didn’t see the cracked frame of Joonghyuk’s family photo (was it a family photo? it was severely ruined, Dokja couldn’t really tell). Abandoned in a corner of his room. 

Joonghyuk ignores a shocked look when he offers to sleep together. He ignores how Dokja has been looking even more tired than usual. (Joonghyuk shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have ignored it.)

Dokja, for once, pretends that he was not a murderer’s son, and instead, a normal student who was having a sleepover with his friend.

(When they’re cozy under the covers and Dokja ultimately spills his guts and tells Joonghyuk the truth, that he was the murderer’s son, that he shouldn’t be hanging out with him, he waits for the worst. He gets a hug, and a resolute “I know”.)

—

On a rainy Wednesday, out of the blue, in the usual spot of the library. Joonghyuk dropped what felt like a bomb on Dokja with one sentence. “The performance is two weeks away.”

Dokja gaped at Joonghyuk speechlessly. Even after saying that, Joonghyuk did not seem affected in the slightest.

What? Dokja stood up, knees weak, horrified that the deadline was so close, that there was even a deadline at all. After all, Joonghyuk had never told him the deadline. Realistically speaking, Dokja and Joonghyuk were both more than ready to perform, with little to no mistakes in their past rehearsals. 

However, the real thing that shook Dokja to the core was that he remembers, once, that the exchange students would be returning to their own school on the week of the performance. 

Joonghyuk would be leaving. On another day, Dokja would have handled the news better, thinking a bit more rationally. But, these days, his aunt had been relentlessly picking on him, and he had found out the real reason why his mother made that stupid novel that made his life a hellhole. 

And his only joy, his companion. He would soon be gone. Leaving Dokja, like everyone in his life had. 

Kim Dokja had finally been able to catch a breath in his fucked up high school life, because of the bastard that was Yoo Joonghyuk. He would never admit it, but Joonghyuk was like an angel that suddenly appeared one day. The salvation in his life when he couldn’t win. 

Now, all Dokja has wanted (he hasn’t wanted something so desperately in maybe ever) was to sink into Joonghyuk’s ocean. 

Joonghyuk had said that after graduation, they would make it big as musicians.

Dokja doubted that. Dokja doubted it all. After leaving, Joonghyuk would probably drift away, lose contact with him. 

After beats that stretched too long flew past Dokja, he opened his mouth. Closed it, then opened it again. 

“I think I’m going to… go practice.” Dokja said, in a voice so quiet it couldn’t be anything but an aphonic whisper, yet also too loud, echoing in the hushed, noiseless library.

“The time period of exchanging students is ending soon.” Joonghyuk said. Dokja couldn’t see his expression because he was facing his game. 

(Maybe he should have. If he did, he would have been able to see that Joonghyuk’s expression was not much different from his own. If he did, he would have been able to see that it was similar for Joonghyuk; that Dokja was also a soul that Joonghyuk relied on, a soul that he also called a companion.)

This time, Dokja took his leave first.

—

The sun had stopped peeking out through the graying clouds, engulfing the world in juxtaposed monotones. 

Chilly winds had blown uneasily at Dokja, settled deep into his bones. He had felt cold then.

'I've always been kind of cold.' Dokja had reminded himself, as the first few raindrops fell from the sky, bespattering the ground. It was like this gloomy, desolate weather had wanted to match his mood. 

But this, this was a different kind of cold.

Dokja had been avoiding Joonghyuk for days now. Because. He was leaving soon. Dokja never realized how short the period of time of exchanging students actually was. 

Dokja had blinked. No, it wasn’t a short time. They had been in the school for weeks now. Five weeks? One month? Two? Dokja couldn’t keep track of time anymore. It all flowed scenario by scenario, and it felt like he was watching a movie. 

And this feeling of joy. It was so strange to him, this happiness that he felt with Joonghyuk. Different from reading his webnovel or playing the piano. This fluttering euphoria that started painting his cold, shrivelled up insides in warm, saccharine colours.

Perhaps it was his own selfishness that made him avoid Joonghyuk. Dokja did not want to get used to him.

It was too late. Dokja had gotten used to Joonghyuk, like the fool that he was. A fool indeed. How could he fall into another one of the traps that life had thrown at him? When Joonghyuk leaves, Dokja will probably be left with an even emptier shell of himself. Dokja will probably be left for the bullies to target him again.

Dokja will probably be left alone. 

Alone, all over again.

These thoughts encircled his mind like a vulture, repeating until it drove Dokja crazy. 

He doesn’t want to feel this way. He doesn’t want to feel broken. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to continue. But, wait. If Joonghyuk leaves, what will he have left to lose then?

Dokja had read the quote “A man who has nothing left to lose is a man who should be feared of” somewhere. Perhaps his situation was comparable. He wouldn’t have anything left to lose after Joonghyuk.

With a hole in his heart that fed and grew on his crushed, miserable emotions, Dokja had somehow found his way in Sooyoung’s arm. He did not want to bother her, but he couldn’t help but break down when he saw not a disappointed face but a genuine smile filled with warmth.

“Shh… It’s alright. Breathe.” Sooyoung had whispered gently, holding Dokja close. Dokja teared up at those words, had wanted to tell Sooyoung that nothing was fine and everything hurt, that it wasn’t alright and he would never feel fine after losing his salvation. Instead, he had closed his eyes and buried his face deep into her shoulder. 

(It had pierced an arrow in his heart that Sooyoung was leaving the school as well. You see, it was because Sooyoung was the author of that webnovel.)

—

The first day that Dokja met Sooyoung was the first day that Dokja had met the author of WOS. 

There was no one on the streets. At least, that was what Dokja had thought. He failed to notice a figure walking at a fast speed, straight at him. 

He had collided headfirst with the stranger, who appeared to be a young girl around his age, wearing a purple hoodie. Dokja had never seen this girl before. She had a short bob haircut, a beauty mark under her eye. The girl’s eyes were narrowed slightly, and an annoyed look portrayed her face.

“I’m s-sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Dokja had stuttered, glancing at the girl’s expression. She looked at him disdainfully, and when her gaze traveled down, her eyes narrowed even more. 

“Hey— what’s wrong with your arm?” The girl had yelled, grabbing them to examine. 

Dokja pulled them away. “Nothing, nothing!” He fumbled with his phone, trying to turn it off before this girl saw what he was reading and decided to judge his taste in fiction.

The girl stopped, peering at his screen, a hint of surprise flashing on her face.

“Wait… is that ‘Ways of Survival’?” She almost screamed, hopping around Dokja like she had won the lottery.

”Yes! Wait, you know ‘Ways of Survival’?” Dokja’s eyes lit up in excitement. A person who knew WOS? This was like— like, what, one in a billion chance that this could happen.

”More than just knowing it!” The girl puffed her chest out in pride, grinning gloriously. “I’m the author! The Han Sooyoung!”

That day might have been one of the best days of his life.

The two had exchanged contacts, clicking in quickly and seeing each other often. It was like a puzzle, solved. Complete. The final picture.

Dokja had since then become the editor of WOS, giving motivation to Sooyoung so she could finally continue writing the webnovel that she had abandoned a while ago, for her one reader.

Sometimes, Dokja would talk about himself, to which Sooyoung would jot down notes about. She had said it would inspire her to write another story. She had said that Dokja should wait, and when she was done, she’d read it to him.

Sometimes, Sooyoung would buy Dokja, a mango-flavoured popsicle. That was when Dokja decided, from then on, that his favourite ice cream flavour was mango. 

Once, Dokja had told Sooyoung a few details of his life. 

—

Dokja might as well could have been described as being petty. If he told his past self he was avoiding Joonghyuk, he would have called himself a liar.

He couldn’t face him. If Dokja doesn’t see Joonghyuk, then this— all of this, it won’t be real. If Dokja believes that this isn’t happening, then it’s just not real. 

Deep inside, he knew that his thought process is manic and utterly ridiculous. Definitely not rational. Still, Dokja couldn’t bring himself to see Joonghyuk, which was why he has been avoiding him like the flu for days straight.

Plus, what if Joonghyuk was mad that Dokja was avoiding him? If Dokja went to Joonghyuk and apologised after a day of keeping away from him, he could have acquired his forgiveness. 

It was too late now, and if Joonghyuk really was mad, then it was over. His reason for distancing himself, to others, might seem illogical, even absurd. 

Still, Dokja has taken this route and there was no undo button for him to press now, so he had to continue on. 

Dokja wished the day of the performance wasn’t nearing so quickly.

The dismissal bell ring signaled the end of the school day, and as Dokja took his leave, he caught a glimpse of Joonghyuk in his line of sight.

He crossed the road in a hurry, slipping away from the school gates. Unfortunately, Joonghyuk’s head snapped up and he started forwarding towards Dokja. 

“Hey.” His voice was not heard from the boy meant for. Trying to make an escape, Dokja darted away when a firm hand grasped his arm. 

“It’s starting to snow. Take this.” said Joonghyuk, attempting to thrust a black and white striped umbrella into Dokja’s hands. 

Dokja doesn’t let him. Inside, he screams at himself for what he has done. Now their relationship was done for, and it was all his fault. 

His fault, his fault, his fault.

—

The day of the performance was here.

Dokja thought their rehearsal sounded a bit bland, that their performance was perfectly following the sheet. Dokja pushed that thought to the back of his mind, and addressed the situation instead.

After contemplating about what he was even doing in life and everything else, he came to the conclusion that not appearing for the performance would be selfish and definitely an awful thing to do to Joonghyuk after everything he’s done for Dokja. 

So, Dokja decided that he could do this one thing for Joonghyuk. 

Hence this was why Joonghyuk and Dokja were sitting at the back of some fancy looking car, driving to the performance hall. 

Joonghyuk made Dokja wear a palatial suit a size too big, in a pristine ivory white. A golden brooch adorned the collar, with a black tie hung below. Extravagant would be the only word suitable for this baroque outfit. 

The ride there was silent. Neither of them spoke, opting to look out the car window and at the blending scenery instead.

When they arrived at our destination, they were ushered to sit in the waiting room. 

“Sorry.” Dokja said out of the blue. It was likely that Dokja would make a mistake and ruin the performance. These worst case scenarios kept flashing in his mind the whole ride to the performance hall, and Dokja felt like he should give some sort of heads up to Joonghyuk beforehand. 

That he wasn’t good enough to perform with him.

Joonghyuk’s lips quirked into a scowl.

“You are a fool.” He glanced sideways after a stretching while. “And don’t say sorry so easily.”

Dokja blinked in surprise. 

”...Oh.” Dokja ducked his head. Just like that, Joonghyuk was willing to talk to Dokja, willing to reciprocate, willing to take the hand that hesitantly reached out. 

(Why? Dokja thought he was quite the burden to Joonghyuk.)

Upon stepping on stage, the crowd burst into thunderous applause that reverberated around the hall, all attention directed towards the two contestants on the stage. After a while, the audience settled down, eagerly waiting for the performance to start.

Dokja placed a finger on the polished piano keys, and pressed on the first note. Following up to that, Joonghyuk started to play his part too. The music piece was the exact embodiment of a calm before the storm, with the soothing major melody present. 

Then, the two stopped playing for a few beats, as the light dimmed down, before Dokja slammed his fingers against the piano keys with all his might. The violin joined in on the exploding flurry of notes. The entire platform was lit in a bright, glaring light, surprising the audience into clapping. 

With the clapping, the violin notes become more and more aggressive, contrasting to their previous rehearsal. It was getting harder and harder to follow the tune, and as Dokja’s fingers became stiff and awkward, they started moving by muscle memory. His heartbeat started rabbiting, pounding, trapped against his ribcage. Blood rushed through his ears, and he found himself losing focus. Their duet became heated, an agitated myriad of several different emotions.

As soon as Joonghyuk started to slow down, a calm washed over Dokja, and the gears in his mind started to function again. To return the favour, Dokja pushed the piano keys with force, to begin playing a minor melody tinged somber.

The performance was nothing like what they rehearsed. Instead of a calm, undisturbed pond, its accurate description was more of an ocean full of raging torrents, waves crashing against each other, a push and pull, a to and fro. 

Trusting Joonghyuk that he would ultimately follow along with this script of going back and forth, Dokja found himself relaxing enough to start playing the piano earnestly, every note intense. Eventually, the grand finale came, in a deep, ringing fortissimo. Amidst the roaring crowd, Dokja felt a bit of triumph. A rare emotion.

And then it withered away, dissolving into small fragments as Dokja remembered that this was one of the final moments he would be spending with Joonghyuk. 

Getting off the performance stage gave Dokja more stomach butterflies and anxiety than when he first got on. After listening to a few more performances backstage, Dokja announced that he was leaving. 

”Already?” Joonghyuk mused. “It’s only 5PM.” He said, stepping out of the concert building.

The sun’s dying rays painted the city blocks in a rusty orange light, illuminating their faces in a hazy golden hue.

“Yeah.” Another long silence followed, and this time, Dokja held Joonghyuk’s unreadable gaze. He was a reader, and he loved observing others, but Joonghyuk’s eyes were impenetrable in this moment. Not because it was empty, but because there was too much in there for me to read.

”Why have you been ignoring me?” Joonghyuk asked, his tone glum, slightly confused, a pinch of hurt.

”Sorry. I’m sorry.” Dokja shrunk into himself, gripping his arm as he stepped back. He could feel the blood rushing through his own veins, and his heartbeat racing faster by the second. It was his fault for upsetting Joonghyuk.

“I don’t understand. You know that the exchange students period is ending soon.” Joonghyuk looked away, as if to hide his sullen face. “I thought you’d want to spend the remaining time with me.” 

Crap. Now he’s really done it.

When Dokja didn’t say anything, Joonghyuk opened his mouth again. “I want to know. Is it me?”

What?

Dokja’s chest tightened, started to ache. 

“No—no, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my problem, I’m sorry, it’s—“ The growing headache cut Dokja off, and Dokja couldn’t— couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, and his chest felt like it was about to combust. 

For a hot flash, Dokja closed his eyes as the light-headedness got to him. When he regained his clarity a quick second later, he floundered backwards, gave Joonghyuk a desperate glance, and whispered an apology, anguished. 

“Sorry.” Dokja whirled around, and fled without looking back.

“I hope you can understand why I’m doing this.”

—

(Here’s a correction: Dokja is not like dried tiles, and Joonghyuk is not like water droplets. They are like the colour black and white, complementing each other in every way. To Dokja, perhaps it felt like he was the broken one and that Joonghyuk was saving him, hence the ‘dried tiles, water droplets’ figure of speech. 

However, Dokja does not know that he is saving Joonghyuk too, because all he’s seen is Joonghyuk protecting him over and over again.)

A fist heads straight at Joonghyuk’s head, but he blocks it, before swinging his own fist at his attacker. He socks him straight at his chin, with an immense force that was quite uncommon for a person his age. The poor student’s head collides against the bathroom wall, and he slithers down, incapable of moving, next to an already huddled figure. 

Another punch straight at Joonghyuk’s stomach, but he steps to the side with ease before gripping the bully’s head, fingernails scraping against the scalp as he smashes the bully’s head onto the unforgivingly hard floor with a hand. Three down, two more to go.

Joonghyuk had gone raving mad, blood pulsing angrily through his veins, when he’d seen the boy on the bathroom floor because of these vile kids. Obviously, his instinct was to inflict the same kind of pain to these mongrels.

He swiftly lands a side kick at a bully that had been running at him, his shoe digging into his uniform. That same bully was now running away from him and out the bathroom door, clutching his stomach. Whatever, Joonghyuk could chase him later. 

What was more important was the swiveling insect that had to be defeated, in front of him. Song Minwoo was gripping his boxcutter, the edge tinged red.

Joonghyuk gets straight into action, unwilling to waste more time than he needed on some insignificant scumbag’s lesson. He dashes forward, his iron grip clamped on Minwoo’s throat. He knows that this flea will bruise, and he feels minute satisfaction at that. 

The bug doesn’t yield though, kicking and trying to escape with all its might. Some insects are known to be fierce, like wasps. But in the end, if you’re stronger, you’d be able to overtake any kind of bug. Joonghyuk grips his neck even tighter, and Minwoo desperately waves the boxcutter around in a frenzy in an attempt to mark him. 

Minwoo manages to place a thin scratch on his face. Right, wasps could sting sometimes. However, can they still sting if their stinger is broken? 

They’ll only back away if the lesson gets forced to their body. 

“You’re wasting my time.” Joonghyuk growls. He actually is, he realizes, and that he isn’t saying it just to look cool or badass. This bug was wasting his time, when he could be in other places, maybe searching for the boy, or doing something useful. In one, brisk motion, he throws Minwoo onto the ground. The sheer strength of the impact leaves Minwoo on the ground frozen.

Joonghyuk isn’t finished yet. He advances forward, and hovers a foot above Minwoo’s arm, the one he’s using to hold the boxcutter. Joonghyuk can hear Minwoo’s breath hitch. 

“N-no fucking way…” Minwoo stutters, disbelief drawn on his face. ”No…”

He really is wasting his time. Joonghyuk should be in search for that boy. He feels a strange tug in his heart. He doesn’t have the slightest idea why he’s doing this, but… 

The strange, constant tugging at the corner of his heart. It feels like it’s telling him to get close to the boy, and never let him go ever again. 

Again? 

Hadn’t Joonghyuk met this boy not long ago? He doesn’t remember any other instance when they could have possibly met. 

Enough of that. Joonghyuk sends all his force down his leg, stomping hard on Minwoo’s arm. He can quite literally feel the bone crush under his weight.

A shriek tears its way out of Minwoo’s throat. Joonghyuk puts less weight on his leg, and as soon as he sees the relief on Minwoo’s face, he puts on a sadistic grin, snickering to himself as he presses his leather shoe onto the already crushed limb.

Minwoo screams an even more blood-curdling scream, which stretches Joonghyuk’s grin a little wider. 

—

Joonghyuk just can’t seem to keep up with this anymore.

In a few days, he would be returning to his own school and he still hasn’t seen Dokja after their performance yesterday. And he had detention after school for weeks, because he broke a rat’s arms. At least this was his second last detention. 

Joonghyuk had crossed his arms over his chest, stuck in the principal’s office. The principal had lectured him about violence not being permitted in school, and other courtesy related topics. He did not get punished heavily, because he had pointed out that Minwoo had been using a boxcutter to hurt another student, and he had also scratched his face. Joonghyuk had even brought the bloodied boxcutter as proof, and the principal had let him off, giving him a few detentions. 

And Minwoo? He was suspended for a week. It would have been better off if Minwoo stayed away from school for a longer period of time. 

Maybe Joonghyuk should break his other arm. Joonghyuk certainly would, if that rat ever tried to touch that boy again. 

Joonghyuk bowed his head slightly, as a way of saying a quick goodbye to the principal. Then, he left the office as fast as he came in. 

Or not. He had halted, stopping a few inches from the doorframe, as a familiar figure blocked his path. A smug grin, a short bob haircut, a beauty mark under her eye. 

Han Sooyoung?

Every time they had conversations, the latter would call him a ‘bastard’ and annoy him as much as she pleased. Sooyoung had also always hung out in the craziest, most trouble-making group Joonghyuk has ever known. There was this girl named Uriel who did not join the exchange students program, and two other boys, who were… Joonghyuk’s brows crease. He didn’t remember, but that wasn’t important to him. 

“Long time no see, bastard!” Sooyoung chirped, placing both her hands on her hip.

Joonghyuk had given her an impassive stare, and said, “Do I know you?” 

And when Sooyoung nodded cheerfully, he whispered to himself, “Nevermind, I highly doubt I would know some weird middle schooler,” to return the favor. 

Sooyoung had smacked him fair and square in the middle of his chest, which did not affect Joonghyuk even the slightest. The next action she performed, unfortunately did. Sooyoung opened her mouth. 

Staying to listen to Sooyoung was by far one of many regrets that Joonghyuk had because Sooyoung yapped like a dog.

“I can’t believe I joined this program with you, isn’t that so great? Going to class, and looking at your immensely cold, expressionless face again! Hooraaayyy.”

Sooyoung fixed her expression into something slightly more serious. 

“My friends will be joining me for the next exchange student program, probably after summer break. They’ll be staring at your ugly face with me. You remember them, don’t you? Uriel, Sun Wukong, the noble and majestic master of the dark clouds—”

Joonghyuk had wanted to shove this girl to the side and bolt to his class. 

“There was also this boy, who was wearing this school’s uniform, out on the streets. I think he was skipping. I’m definitely gonna try skipping as well—“ 

He saw no point in staying to converse with Sooyoung, so the next course of action he took was to push the blabbering girl away. Joonghyuk headed to the staircase, regrettably not missing Sooyoung’s offended look.

“Sir, shoving a lady is unacceptable.” She pursed her lip, and started walking in the opposite direction. “I was just about to tell you that the boy skipping was a bit funny, he knows the novel that I wrote.“

Joonghyuk whipped around abruptly, reaching out to grab Sooyoung’s wrist. She didn’t have a chance to quip something, because of Joonghyuk’s following outburst.

“What? Where is he?” He demanded, eyes blazing uncharacteristically.

”Woah, woah, woww, give me a break.” Sooyoung raised a hand to her face, and loudly whispered, “Is he your boyfriend? What’s his name?”

Joonghyuk had decided that answering the unnecessary questions came last in his priority list. ”Answer my questions first.”

”…”

”…,”  

A crushing silence, which oddly spoke louder than even traffic on highways.

”…I wouldn’t know where he’s going! Why ask me, isn’t he your friend or something?” Sooyoung slapped a hand over her forehead, and let it dramatically slither down. 

“Joonghyuk. I have. Never. Seen you. This concerned. For anyone. In the entire time. I spent. With you.” Sooyoung sighed with great exasperation. 

“And this lucky chosen one ditched you.” 

Joonghyuk stared at Sooyoung blankly. Knocking her out did not seem like the most fitting choice right after getting out of the principals office for violence, so he opted to slowly count to ten in his head.

”Don’t worry, I’ll definitely help you out with your first love. I, the greatest and most majestic matchmaker of all, shall call upon my cupid powers to grant you the person you wish to be fated with.” One side of her mouth curved upward in a devilish smirk, and she patted Joonghyuk on the shoulder. “I’ll be going now. The master matchmaker needs some time to create a plan.” And with that, Sooyoung sauntered off.

That memory was old. Why was he recalling this now?

He moves through the clusters of people gathering in the corridors, and heads to the lockers in the third floor of the left building of the school. He and Dokja would frequent the lockers in that area often, as there were less people and because the corridor was open. Students facing the opposite side of the lockers would be able to see the breathtaking view. This side of the school faced grassy slopes. Those windswept hills bespattered with brambles bushes and trees of all kinds. 

Joonghyuk wanted to tell him that they won ‘Audience’s Favourite’. That, with the certificate, he’d be able to pursue his dreams. 

Dokja hasn’t shown his face, not even a glimpse. Not only this, Sooyoung had been rambling on about doing something deranged for the past week. Joonghyuk thinks Sooyoung is dead serious. She had explained that she needed to go on and get into a crazy situation so she’d be able to find ‘inspiration’ for her novels. 

It seems like she’s planning on going a bit far this time round, having muttered that she might set the school on fire. 

Over the past weeks, with some shared classes between the two, Joonghyuk had grown to learn a bit more about Sooyoung, and her hobby of collecting ideas for her stories. 

The fact that he hasn’t seen Sooyoung either makes him feel a bit unsettled. 

A strange, uneasy feeling has been lingering in the air around Joonghyuk, and he can’t seem to shake it off.

They would always tell him if they would be absent or if something happened, hell, Sooyoung would even ramble on about the 72 demons from Ars Goetia from time to time. She’d tell him that there should be a 73rd one, and that that demon would actually be kind and giving. Through text, on a random Sunday evening. 

To simply put it, not hearing from her or Dokja is driving Joonghyuk on edge.

With the millionth sigh of today, Joonghyuk, walks past the lockers to his next walk, when he sees an open, messy bag and a familiar back.

In the corner of his vision, he caught sight of a boy with a small frame. Joonghyuk had made out all the details, accurately so. It was because Joonghyuk was staring intently at the person in front of him.

This boy liked staring out the window, quite a lot. Joonghyuk had learned that he also liked murim dumplings, reading a particular webnovel and playing the piano.

This boy was immersed in his own little world, everyone and everything else fading away in the background. However, in the midst of it stood something new, something that was the very presence of Yoo Joonghyuk.

The boy was small, and looked to be young, but Joonghyuk knew that he was 16, and a few months older than him.

He was pale, oddly pale, his skin a sickly shade. Even in the corner of Joonghyuk’s eyes, he noted how the boy’s skin looks soft, tender. How even a single touch could be capable of deteriorating the surface. He knew though, that this boy was strong. 

Joonghyuk had been observing this boy. That much was obvious. It seemed like he kept his bag a little messy, and he’d been able to catch a quick glimpse of what looked like music notes. 

Piano sheets. The boy was good with the piano, and perhaps that was why Joonghyuk had tried to get him to perform with him.  

The boy did not talk much, but opened up to him often. Joonghyuk, once, had not had the faintest idea what his name could have been, let alone know what his face looked like clearly. 

However, now, Joonghyuk knew that this boy was called Kim Dokja. A reader, a companion, a pianist.

Kim Dokja was quiet, and resolutely still. In the background, always in the background. To others. 

To Joonghyuk, Dokja was what took up most of his attention. Joonghyuk hated that he’d have to leave. He hopes that Dokja will keep in touch… 

He hopes, but if they don’t… Perhaps Joonghyuk will later on forget his name. Perhaps they'll forget the other existed. 

Dokja looked up at him, and Joonghyuk scanned his tired eyes, adorned with deep, dark circles. 

They were red-rimmed. He decided not to bring it up. What could he even say to Dokja, now? Sooyoung had told Joonghyuk about a conversation that she’d had with Dokja, and it stabbed him in the heart with what he had learned. 

Gutwrenchingly, he recalled what Sooyoung said. Dokja, he hated it when people left him. 

”…Thank you,” Joonghyuk paused. “for performing with me.” He took something out of his pocket. It appeared to be a plastic squid keychain. “Here. As compensation for the trouble.”

”Mn. Thank you as well.” Dokja said, and Joonghyuk faltered with a flipped, drowning heart. Along with those words, Dokja took the squid that glinted in different angles under the sun. The tawny, drifting clouds hung on the crimson sky, a stunning sight to see.

Dokja had never noticed, never paid attention to these colours before, but after meeting Joonghyuk, his world was plunged into wonderful hues and shades, appearing before his eyes like a kaleidoscope.

Because staying for too long would make Dokja want Joonghyuk more, he ducked his head, and started to walk away.

He was not the type to enjoy long, dramatic farewells. 

When Dokja flickered out of Joonghyuk’s sight did he say something that he should have said sooner.

“Kim Dokja. Tell me, you fool. One day, when I play the violin again, will you play the piano alongside me? Will I ever get to meet you again?”

—

Joonghyuk doesn’t see Dokja again the next day. With different classes and Dokja’s habit of skipping some classes, it seems like what happened yesterday would become their final farewell. 

His last classes go by in a blur. 

He couldn't think of anything other than the fact that this story would be coming to an end. Joonghyuk has considered transferring schools, but with his guaranteed success and all the accomplishments that he has built in his original school, he couldn’t. His parents wouldn’t allow it either. 

Moving from a prestigious, high-tier school to a local one filled with goons that carry knives with them?

It would sound like absolute bullshit to his parents’ ears. Joonghyuk does not pay attention to his teacher. He rests his head on his palm, and stares out the window. He misses who sat on the now empty, deserted seat beside him. 

Joonghyuk needs Dokja. Without him, Joonghyuk doesn’t know what he’s living for. Mia doesn’t even need him. She has Jihye, her friend Yoosung’s sister, to look after her. 

When he’d acquired Dokja’s help for the competition at the start, in that piano room, Joonghyuk hadn't known that he’d be so significant, the light in his life. They’ve become something like life support to each other, in a way.

Tomorrow, he decides. He’ll go find Sooyoung. All the exchange students will be returning to their own school the next day, but he’ll come to the school to check if he can see Dokja. Tomorrow.

It has been raining a lot lately. Joonghyuk stares out the window for the rest of his last detention, listens to the deafening sound of raindrops hitting the ground. Thunder roars above, rumbling into Joonghyuk’s blood. 

The skies start to fade into a gloomy light gray colour. The ongoing rainfall shifts into more of a storm, and it rains harder. The sound is pounding into Joonghyuk’s head, along with a whirlwind of thoughts that go through his mind.

Then, another sound. Loud noises, and people yelling. Sirens.

Joonghyuk’s heart drops. 

Sooyoung? 

Did she do something?

Joonghyuk flounders out of his seat, heads to the door. He slams the door open wide. People scramble around, busy rushing to places. He hears some yelling, and some whispering.

“Stay in the classroom.” One of the teachers say to Joonghyuk as he manages the students that start to pile out of classes to see what all this commotion is about.

Joonghyuk doesn’t listen to him. Doesn’t know what’s going on, doesn’t know where Sooyoung or Dokja is. Right. Dokja.

Sirens blare around the campus, ringing through the halls as Joonghyuk runs. 

Joonghyuk needs to find Dokja, to understand what’s happening. He makes his way through the halls, and begins to sprint. The school speakers turn on, instructing students to return to their classrooms, but students are beginning to file into the corridors. And Joonghyuk, he keeps running to who knows where, until he can understand what’s happening. 

An ambulance, EMTs, a gurney and paramedics outside. Rushing to the direction of the school’s ring wing. 

The teachers begin pushing students into classrooms. “Classrooms— Everyone, go back into the classrooms.” Students block Joonghyuk’s vision, and he clenches his fists in frustration and terror, until his knuckles turn pale white, until his nails dig into his palms and draw blood. Joonghyuk frantically shoves the person in front of him aside, and looks around. Looks around for Dokja. Dokja would know, he’s been Joonghyuk’s guide all this time. 

Dokja will be able to tell him when Joonghyuk finds him.

Joonghyuk finally pushes his way out of the building, ignores the way the rain pummels down at his body and heads to the cause of all of this when he stops in the middle of the school grounds. 

Suddenly, it feels like the rain isn’t pelting onto him anymore. All his attention goes to the gurney that people are rushing to the ambulance. 

“—third floor. Hurry, patient is running low on time!”

A body rests on it, underneath a white sheet. A white sheet that was stained with crimson. Joonghyuk sees, recognises those familiar raven strands of wet hair, the ghostly pale skin, now adorned with as much blood as there were bruises. Oh. 

That’s… that’s not…

That’s his friend, Dokja. The Kim Dokja that likes murim dumplings, reading webnovels, and playing the piano.

Joonghyuk stares, as a wave of disbelief and shock crashes into him at full force, the sheer strength of it leaving his bones weak. His mind takes a moment, then clicks, and he runs.

A feral, strangled scream filled with desperation tears its way out of his throat. 

He reaches out for Dokja. Someone holds him back. 

“Wait! Stop! He needs me— I can help, I can fix this! He needs someone to stay with him, someone that won’t leave. Why don’t you understand?” Joonghyuk twists around, trying to escape the person’s grasp. 

When the iron grip does not yield, Joonghyuk full on bashes into the person, sending them both sprawling to the wet ground. The person aims a punch at his face, and Joonghyuk blocks it reflexively, before slamming the other to the ground backfirst. His mind has gone blank and he can’t think. 

Purple hoodie drenched wet in raindrops. 

“Han Sooyoung. What the fuck are you trying to do, stopping me like this?” Joonghyuk snarls, eyeing her warily. 

Sooyoung glares back, eyes sparked with anguish, rage, and hurt. 

“Shut it! You’re one to talk, aren’t you? After all you’ve done to make him feel the way he did!” Sooyoung spits, vitriol. Almost viciously. 

He falters for a split second, heart flipping. “Hell, I don’t even know what’s happening. And what do you mean by that?” Joonghyuk demands, pushing Sooyoung further into the ground. 

Sooyoung knees Joonghyuk and pushes him away, and strikes at his head again. 

Fine, if she doesn’t want to communicate with words, then Joonghyuk won’t either. The two launch into a fight, writhing around and clashing and blocking and clashing and clashing and clashing again. 

Nobody comes to stop them. Nobody is outside anyway. There’s a whole storm and with what happened, all students were being heavily watched and managed.

The rain continues to coat their world with a heavy, dejected atmosphere. Almost like it was trying to match the mood of the people down below. 

Joonghyuk stops. All the energy leaves his body like a spilled juicebox. He collapses onto the wet ground, lays there defeated. He can’t continue fighting the one friend that he has left.

Next to him, Sooyoung sprawls onto the ground. The rain pours down harder, and the sounds of the ambulance sirens have faded into the distance.

Sooyoung stares up at the dark sky. “I guess it’s… it’s just the two of us now.” She whispers quietly. Exhaustion sinks deep into her voice.

Joonghyuk looks up blearily. The feeling of loss and defeat overrides every cell in his body. Dokja was gone. There was no way, with all that blood. 

That day, he drowned in a raving storm. 

—

Sooyoung remembers the last conversation she had with Dokja. It was the last day of school for Sooyoung.

It was one of the last few days of school for Dokja too.

She had stared off into the distance, eyes halfway closed, crunching hard on her lemon candy. 

“Life has been difficult for you, hasn’t it.” She muttered. It seemed like she was still processing the information.

Dokja nodded silently. There wasn’t much left to say. 

At the verge of the rooftop had once sat Sooyoung, and Dokja, not far off.

Dokja had wanted to enjoy the view with Sooyoung at least once. To look at the frosted trees and iced sidewalks. The snow piling up on buildings. 

It had ended with the two of them sitting at the very edge, legs dangling off the building.

He spoke up. “People keep leaving me.” Dokja smiled wetly, and it was indeed an unfortunate smile. It did not reach his eyes. “I guess it’s the universe’s doomed way of cursing me.”

”Stop that.” Sooyoung said, voice deadpan, impassive, yet engulfed in blue. “Stop smiling that wretched smile. Get it off your face.” 

Dokja heard her talk under her breath faintly. “If you do something stupid…”

Ah, Sooyoung’s way of looking after him. What did he do in his past life to deserve someone like her. 

When he snatched a quick glance of her, his heart did a small leap, a jump at the way Sooyoung peered down. Those tired, familiar eyes. Deep in thought, contemplating. Probably about the world and all the problems that she couldn’t solve. It comes with being an author, Dokja assumes. He felt a quiet connection to Sooyoung, a deep one filled with showing eyes and understanding.

Then, Sooyoung jerked up, met Dokja in the eye. Stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, before she flashed him her own unfortunate smile, and threw something small and yellow at Dokja.

Dokja had barely been able to catch the sparkling lemon candy with his cold, shaking fingers.

“Have the last one.” Sooyoung huffed, lifting her head up to look at the frigid winter sky. She had been waiting for a snowfall.

The crisp, biting breeze of the coldest season swept Dokja’s hair, disheveling it. 

People keep leaving me. 

It’s inevitable yet I still hate it when people leave.

Dokja recalled the words that he had uttered a moment ago, and came to a conclusion.

”I would like to leave first, some day. To know why some people will always choose to.” Just as the last words left his mouth, the first snowflakes of the day slowly drifted down, one by one, scattering onto Sooyoung’s hair. 

Not a single one dropped down to Dokja’s.

—

The next few days passed hazily. 

It felt like Joonghyuk was looking through a steamed window. An old camcorder that could only store little bits and pieces of what was recorded. He did not go to school, respond to anyone or even eat. Joonghyuk was lying in bed, processing the events of that day over again when his phone rang for the fifth time. 

With barely any energy, Joonghyuk unlocked his phone to see his recents. 41 missed calls. 

Joonghyuk accepted the incoming call. 

“Hello?” 

Sooyoung's voice.

“What.”

“Ah, Joonghyuk. You’re finally responding. Are you doing well?”

Instead of answering, Joonghyuk glared at his phone. Wasn’t the answer goddamn obvious.

“Actually, I called to tell you a couple of things. I… I've decided to study abroad, away from this country.”

Joonghyuk heard Sooyoung clear her throat. Sooyoung did not hear a cracking noise on Joonghyuk’s end. 

“I received a scholarship from a really respected school, and I want to give it a try. I’m sorry for leaving, but I think it’s for the best. Fresh start and all that. Oh, and another thing.”

A pause. 

“Dokja… he… he wrote letters for us. I found it in my locker and figured that he’d have written one for you too. So I took that letter too, and placed it inside the smallest pocket of your backpack. I didn’t read it, of course, I—” 

Joonghyuk smashed the end button of the call.

Ah, so that’s why Dokja was at the lockers next to the windswept hills. 

He could have prevented this from happening. 

Joonghyuk could have saved him. 

The memories of that day rushed into his head, and Joonghyuk clutched the phone. 

Those tired, red-rimmed eyes. 

Joonghyuk wanted to scream. Sooyoung said Dokja hated it whenever people left him. 

Was that what she meant during that fight too?

Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he ask what Dokja was doing by the lockers, why didn’t he ask why his eyes were red-rimmed when he said he couldn’t cry, why didn’t he offer to continue to keep in touch or anything else that he could have said. 

God, isn’t Joonghyuk the most foolish person in the world. 

The realisation that Sooyoung is leaving as well crashes into him like a bullet train, and Joonghyuk. 

He’s made his mind up. 

Once he finds himself breathing in the cold but delicious air of winter’s end and beginning of spring does he finally give himself a break. 

Joonghyuk had ripped open his backpack pocket to read what Dokja left for him.

When he did read it, that was when what little he had left crumbled, all disintegrating into fragments of dust. 

Joonghyuk never cried. That was a fact. He didn’t cry when his grandmother passed away from dementia. He didn’t cry when his mother and father screamed at each other and threw things around, instead blocking his 7 year old ears. 

He didn’t cry when he fell down at the park and had no one who’d tend to his scraped knees. He didn’t cry when Mia was almost kidnapped for good. He didn’t cry when his parents got a divorce, didn’t cry when he read hate comments from his esports career. 

He didn’t cry when some boys from a higher grade broke his violin and called it a girly hobby. He instead learnt martial arts so he could always defend himself. 

He didn’t cry. 

So why..? Joonghyuk had silently let burning tears slip down his stricken face, shoulders shaking as he read the letter.

Dokja. Dokja, Dokja, Kim Dokja, Dokja, Dokja, Joonghyuk had mouthed his name repeatedly until it was so familiar it rolled off his tongue as easy as breathing. 

He hates Dokja for doing this to him, for making him feel this way but he knows that Dokja had been happy with this decision. 

And Joonghyuk was a fool who loved Dokja much too much to hate Dokja for getting what he wanted. 

Dear Joonghyuk,

I want to let you know that I’m sorry, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve given me. You’ve granted me a chance to live my life as a normal, happy teenager and I’m glad that I got to experience it. I couldn’t have been so happy without you. 

The moments I’ve spent with you were the greatest, most precious moments of my life. You’ve made me come this far, and I was able to get on stage for the first time in my life. That was my first performance ever. Thank you for granting me that experience.

Ah, thank you for all the free meals you’ve given me! I’ve softened because of you, you brought back the feeling of hunger back into my body, haha. 

Thank you for taking me to the convenience store to buy me mango ice cream. I loved visiting that place.

Saying this might not be ethical, haha, but really. Thanks for breaking Song Minwoo’s arm. I was able to live in peace for a while without him at school to haunt my every step. 

Thank you for being there, Joonghyuk. You have no idea how much you’ve saved me. 

I was scared at first, but I wanted to feel wanted and I wanted you, to spend time with you so bad that I guess I forgot to keep my distance from you.

Yeah, I tried not to get close to you, especially because your leave was guaranteed. But you were like a magnet, and I eventually just fell into your ocean. You were my salvation, Joonghyuk. 

I loved you so much, and that was why I began to avoid you after the performance.

Because I didn’t want you to feel the emptiness that I feel when a special person in my life leaves. 

Because this time round, I was gonna leave first. 

I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry, ah, writing this in past tense has my eyes watering, ignore the tear stains will you? 

We won’t spend any more time together, and I apologise. I just couldn’t continue with this cursed life anymore. I had nothing to lose before you came, and when you did enter my life, it became a wonderful, limited paradise of a sort.

I didn’t want to lose you, so I chose the path where you’d lose me. I’m sorry.  

I’m sorry that I decided to finally do something selfish, but I’m happy with the decision. Dying has been on my mind for years now, and I’ve chosen to act on these thoughts after so long. 

None of this is your fault. You brought me the happiness that I never thought I’d be able to feel. Thanks. 

This is quite long, woah. My writing compared to Sooyoung may not be as polished and half of this is me droning on, but I tried my best to convey my honest thoughts and feelings to you. 

I hope for the best, wherever you end up. Visit my grave (if I do get one) and tell me if you make it as a famous violinist or esports player. 

I love you. If I can, I’ll watch over you above. I hope there’s a place for me that I can call home after death. 

Thank you for everything.

—Kim Dokja

(messily drawn squid and sunfish at the bottom right corner, scribbled words that read: I left my piano sheets and keepsakes in your locker. idk if u will even be able to take those or this letter by the time u find out, but hopefully u will.)

Truly, fate worked in funny ways. 

And as always, it was cruelest.

To them.

Joonghyuk accepted all and every. A devastating numbness washed over him, and he somehow felt that detachment from reality, after a raging fire lit his heart into flames.

The carved hole in his heart started off as a small, barely noticeable inconvenience. It had started to widen, until it swallowed his heart, his lungs, his insides. There was a hollowness, an empty, vast void that could not be filled again.

That’s what Joonghyuk thought, that his heart could not be fully whole again. 

Dokja came into the picture. 

It was like a dream. He had sewn those ends together, stitched the broken parts to make it all incomplete still, but not dead. 

His company was not much, but it was all Joonghyuk needed at that time. A person who appreciated who he was, and saw all the little parts of him that no one else bothered to look at. A person who found value in places that no one else bothered to recognise. 

The piano to his violin. 

It had all been taken from him. 

What had mattered most to him in those days, taken. They were just stolen memories and a fleeting happiness that now felt impossible to feel. 

Completely burnt to the ground. Like nothing happened, like he didn’t exist.

Dokja’s shocked face when they first met was imprinted on Joonghyuk’s mind. He wished Dokja was still here, with him, but that was a selfish, selfish thing to wish for.

Now, there were only piles and piles of nothing but blackened ashes. Of nothing but floating cinders and dust.

And ashes were supposed to be blown away, were they not? 

The biting winds blew through Joonghyuk’s fingers.