Work Text:
Kim Dokja should have known better than to wander through the marketplace alone after a scenario. Really, he should have. But the allure of potentially finding useful items among the post-scenario debris had been too strong to resist, and now he was paying the price for his curiosity.
It had started innocently enough. A small glass vial had rolled toward his feet, its contents a swirling purple that seemed to shift and dance in the afternoon light. The liquid inside had an almost hypnotic quality, and Dokja had bent down to examine it more closely. The vial appeared intact despite the chaos around them, its cork stopper still firmly in place.
"Probably some kind of enhancement potion," he had muttered to himself, turning the vial over in his hands. "Maybe strength or agility boosting?"
That's when everything went wrong.
A stray piece of rubble, dislodged by a late-arriving scenario participant, had come tumbling down from a nearby collapsed building. Dokja had thrown himself to the side to avoid it, but in doing so, he'd squeezed the vial too tightly. The glass had cracked, then shattered completely, splashing its mysterious purple contents all over his clothes and skin.
The transformation had been immediate and thoroughly unpleasant.
One moment, Kim Dokja had been a somewhat scrawny human with a penchant for getting into trouble. The next, he was looking up at the world from a drastically different perspective, his field of vision suddenly much closer to the ground. His clothes had simply vanished, except for his signature white coat that had shrunk to his body—apparently whatever magic governed transformation potions had some mercy—but everything else about his situation was decidedly less convenient.
He was small. Extremely small. And furry.
Dokja had tried to speak, to call out for help, but the only sound that emerged from his throat was a series of chittering noises that he was pretty sure qualified as ferret sounds. Which made sense, considering he was now, apparently, a ferret.
A white ferret, to be precise. He'd caught sight of himself in a puddle of water and nearly had what could only be described as a ferret heart attack. His fur was pristine white, almost luminescent in the fading daylight, and his eyes—when he could glimpse them in the reflection—had retained their dark color but were now much larger in proportion to his tiny face.
The panic had set in almost immediately. How was he supposed to explain this to the others? How was he supposed to get back to normal? And most pressingly, how was he going to get home when he was now roughly the size of a small cat and had tiny little ferret legs?
The journey back to Kim Dokja Company's shared house had been an odyssey in itself. What should have been a fifteen-minute walk had turned into nearly two hours of scurrying through alleys, hiding from curious pedestrians, and trying not to get stepped on. His new ferret body was surprisingly agile—he'd discovered an alarming talent for squeezing through impossibly small spaces—but it was also exhausting to navigate the world from this new perspective.
By the time he'd finally made it to the familiar street where their house stood, Dokja was exhausted, frustrated, and more than a little panicked about his predicament. All he wanted was to get inside, find someone who might be able to help him, and figure out how to reverse whatever magic had turned him into a small mammal.
He should have anticipated that getting inside would be its own challenge.
The front door, which had never seemed particularly large before, now loomed above him like the entrance to a castle. The handle was impossibly high, and even if he could reach it, his tiny paws would never be able to turn it. After several minutes of fruitless jumping and scrabbling at the wood, Dokja had resigned himself to finding another way in.
Fortunately, Lee Gilyoung had left one of the lower windows slightly ajar earlier that morning—a habit that usually annoyed Dokja but now seemed like a gift from the heavens. It took considerable effort and some rather undignified scrambling, but he managed to squeeze through the gap and tumble onto the windowsill inside.
The house was quiet, which Dokja took as a good sign. Maybe everyone was out, and he could find somewhere safe to hide while he figured out what to do. He scampered down from the windowsill, his claws clicking softly against the hardwood floor, and began making his way toward what he hoped would be the sanctuary of his own room.
That's when he heard the voices.
"Did you hear that?"
It was Shin Yoosung, her young voice carrying clearly through the house. Dokja froze, suddenly aware that his claws on the floor had been making more noise than he'd realized.
"Yeah," came Lee Gilyoung's reply. "It sounded like... scratching?"
Footsteps approached, and Dokja's new ferret instincts kicked in with alarming intensity. Everything in his tiny body was screaming at him to hide, to find a small dark space where larger predators couldn't find him. It was an entirely new and deeply uncomfortable sensation.
He darted toward the nearest piece of furniture—a large bookshelf—and tried to squeeze behind it, but his route was cut off as two pairs of feet appeared in the doorway.
"Oh!" Yoosung's voice pitched higher with surprise. "It's some kind of animal!"
Dokja tried to make himself as small as possible, pressing against the base of the bookshelf, but it was too late. He'd been spotted.
"Is that a ferret?" Gilyoung asked, crouching down to get a better look. "What's it doing in our house?"
"It must have gotten in through the window," Yoosung said, also kneeling down. "Poor thing, it's probably lost."
Dokja wanted to cry with relief. They were being kind, gentle even. Surely he could find a way to communicate with them, to make them understand that he wasn't actually a wild animal but their friend and housemate who'd had a very unfortunate encounter with mysterious magical substances.
He tried chittering at them in what he hoped was a friendly manner, even attempting to approach them slowly with his tail held high in what he desperately hoped was universal body language for "I'm not a threat, please help me."
But his hopes were quickly dashed.
"Aw, it's trying to be friendly," Yoosung said, "but we really can't let a wild animal stay in the house. It might have diseases, or it could get hurt."
"Yeah," Gilyoung agreed. "We should try to get it back outside where it belongs."
Where it belongs? Dokja wanted to shriek. This was where he belonged! This was his house, his room was just down the hallway, his books were on these very shelves!
But all that came out were more chittering sounds, which the children apparently interpreted as ferret agitation.
"Okay, little guy," Yoosung said in the sort of gentle, coaxing voice one might use with a frightened animal. "We're going to help you get back outside, okay? Just stay calm."
She stood up and moved toward the kitchen, probably to get something to help coax him out of the house. Dokja tried to follow her, tried to communicate that he wasn't a wild animal, but Gilyoung chose that moment to try a more direct approach.
"Here, little ferret," Gilyoung said, clapping his hands together softly. "Come on, let's go outside."
The sound hit Dokja's sensitive ferret ears like a thunderclap. He'd known intellectually that ferrets had excellent hearing, but he hadn't been prepared for just how intense every sound would become. The gentle clap, which would have been barely noticeable to his human ears, was overwhelming and frightening in his current form.
He bolted.
His tiny legs carried him across the room at a speed that surprised even him, his heart pounding in his small chest as his new instincts overrode all rational thought. Behind him, he could hear Yoosung returning from the kitchen.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I just clapped to get its attention, but I think I scared it," Gilyoung said, sounding genuinely distressed. "I didn't mean to!"
"It's okay," Yoosung assured him. "Ferrets are really sensitive to sounds. We just need to be extra quiet."
But Dokja was already in full panic mode, scurrying down the hallway as fast as his little legs could carry him. He could hear them following behind him, their footsteps thunderous to his enhanced hearing, and his ferret brain was convinced he was being pursued by enormous predators.
He needed sanctuary. He needed safety. He needed—
Yoo Joonghyuk's room.
The thought came to him with sudden, desperate clarity. If anyone could handle this situation with the appropriate level of seriousness and competence, it would be Yoo Joonghyuk. The man had dealt with stranger situations than magical transformations, and more importantly, he had a tendency to shut people out of his personal space, which meant his room might offer temporary refuge from well-meaning children with sensitive-hearing-damaging hands.
Dokja skidded to a stop in front of Joonghyuk's door and immediately began clawing at the wood, his tiny paws scrabbling frantically against the painted surface. The sound was probably loud enough to wake the dead, but he was beyond caring about stealth at this point.
"It went down the hall!" he heard Yoosung call out.
"I see it!" Gilyoung replied. "It's at Yoo Joonghyuk ahjussi's door!"
Their footsteps were getting closer. Dokja clawed more frantically at the door, chittering in what he hoped was an urgent, please-let-me-in sort of way. If Joonghyuk didn't open the door soon, he was going to be cornered, and his ferret instincts were suggesting that being cornered was a very bad thing indeed.
The door opened so suddenly that Dokja nearly tumbled backward in surprise.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood in the doorway, fully dressed despite the late hour, looking down at the small white ferret at his feet with an expression of mild confusion that quickly shifted to something that might have been recognition. His dark eyes fixed on Dokja with an intensity that was somehow both comforting and deeply unnerving.
"Ahjussi!" Yoosung called out as she and Gilyoung came hurrying down the hall. "Don't let it into your room! We're trying to get it back outside where it belongs!"
Joonghyuk's gaze flicked from the approaching children back down to Dokja, and something in his expression shifted. Without a word, he bent down and scooped Dokja up in his hands, lifting him with the same casual competence with which he handled most situations.
Being picked up by someone when you were ferret-sized was a deeply strange experience. Dokja found himself cradled against Joonghyuk's chest, his small body supported by large, surprisingly warm hands. From this new vantage point, he could see Yoosung and Gilyoung approaching, both looking relieved that the ferret had been contained.
"Thank goodness," Yoosung said, breathing hard from their chase down the hallway. "We were trying to get it back outside, but it kept running away from us."
"It's really fast," Gilyoung added. "And I think I scared it by accident when I clapped."
Joonghyuk looked down at them with his usual expression of mild disdain, though Dokja thought he detected something else beneath it—something that might have been protectiveness, though that seemed like wishful thinking on his part.
"Go away," Joonghyuk said simply.
Yoosung blinked in surprise. "But ahjussi, the ferret—"
"There's no ferret here," Joonghyuk said, his tone flat and final. He took a step back into his room, still holding Dokja securely against his chest. "Go find something else to do."
"But we just saw—" Gilyoung started to protest.
Joonghyuk fixed him with a stare that could have frozen fire. "I said go away."
The children exchanged glances, clearly confused but apparently deciding that arguing with Yoo Joonghyuk was not worth the potential consequences. They retreated down the hallway, their voices carrying back in confused whispers about where the ferret could have possibly gone.
The moment they were out of sight, Joonghyuk stepped fully into his room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click. Then he looked down at the small white ferret in his hands, and Dokja could swear he saw the corner of the man's mouth twitch in what might have been amusement.
"Kim Dokja," Joonghyuk said quietly. "You're an idiot."
Dokja tried to respond, but all that came out was a series of chittering sounds that he was pretty sure didn't convey the full depth of his indignation at being called an idiot while he was trapped in ferret form.
Joonghyuk carried him over to the bed and set him down gently on the dark blue comforter. From this new perspective, the bed seemed enormous, like a soft landscape that stretched out in all directions. Dokja tried to sit up in a dignified manner, but his ferret body had different ideas about proper posture, and he ended up in what was probably a very undignified ferret slouch.
"How?" Joonghyuk asked, settling into the chair by his desk so he could look at Dokja more directly.
Dokja tried to explain about the purple potion and the falling rubble and the accidental transformation, but all that came out were more chittering sounds and some gestures that he was pretty sure looked more like random ferret movements than coherent communication.
Joonghyuk watched this performance for several minutes, his expression unreadable. Then he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a notebook and pen.
"Can you write?" he asked.
Dokja looked down at his tiny paws, then up at the full-sized pen in Joonghyuk's hand, then back at his paws. He tried to grab the pen, but his small digits couldn't manage a proper grip, and the writing implement was nearly as long as his entire body.
He chittered in what he hoped was obvious frustration.
"Right," Joonghyuk said dryly. "Ferret paws."
He was quiet for a moment, studying Dokja with the sort of intense focus he usually reserved for particularly challenging scenarios. Then he asked, "How long?"
Dokja assumed he was asking about the duration of the transformation. He tried to shrug, realized that ferret shoulders didn't really work the same way human shoulders did, and settled for chittering in what he hoped was a clear indication that he had no idea.
"Do you know how to reverse it?"
More chittering, this time with what Dokja hoped was obvious negative connotations.
Joonghyuk was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes fixed on Dokja's small form. When he finally spoke, his voice was thoughtful.
"The others will notice if you're missing for too long."
Dokja had been trying not to think about that. How was he supposed to explain a sudden disappearance? How long did transformation potions typically last? What if this was permanent? What if he was stuck as a ferret forever, living in Yoo Joonghyuk's room and being fed ferret food and—
His spiraling panic was interrupted by a large hand settling gently on his back, the touch warm and surprisingly comforting. Joonghyuk's fingers were careful not to press too hard, but the contact was steady and reassuring.
"Stop panicking," Joonghyuk said quietly. "We'll figure it out."
The simple confidence in his voice was somehow more reassuring than any elaborate promises might have been. Dokja felt some of the tension leave his small body, though he was still acutely aware of his predicament.
"For now, you stay here," Joonghyuk continued. "I'll tell the others you're out gathering information or something equally vague. They're used to you disappearing for mysterious reasons."
That was both insulting and unfortunately accurate. Dokja tried to look indignant, but he wasn't sure how well ferret faces conveyed indignation.
Joonghyuk stood up and moved to his closet, returning with a small towel that he folded into a makeshift bed in the corner of the room. "You should rest," he said, setting the towel down near the window where the afternoon light was still streaming in. "Transformations are probably exhausting."
He was right, Dokja realized. His small body was tired in a way that felt different from normal human exhaustion—a bone-deep weariness that seemed to come from every cell in his body having been rearranged into an entirely new configuration.
He made his way over to the makeshift bed, his claws clicking softly against the hardwood floor. The towel was soft and warm, and despite everything, he found himself settling into it with something approaching contentment.
"I'll research transformation magic," Joonghyuk said from his desk. "There should be information in the scenario archive about reversal methods."
Dokja tried to chittering a thank you, but the sound came out more like a sleepy ferret yawn. The events of the day were catching up with him, and his eyelids—which were apparently much more prominent in ferret form—were growing heavy.
As he drifted off to sleep, he could hear the soft scratching of Joonghyuk's pen on paper and the gentle turning of pages. It was oddly comforting, like a familiar lullaby.
Dokja woke several hours later to the sound of voices in the hallway outside Joonghyuk's room.
"Have you seen Kim Dokja anywhere?" It was Han Sooyoung's voice, carrying clearly through the door. "He was supposed to help me with scenario analysis today, but he never showed up."
"Not since this morning," came Jung Heewon's reply. "Though that's not unusual for him. He probably got distracted by some obscure piece of scenario information and forgot about everything else."
"There was a ferret in the house earlier," Yoosung chimed in. "A really pretty white one. But we couldn't catch it to put it back outside, and then it just disappeared."
"A ferret?" Sooyoung sounded amused. "What would a ferret be doing in our house?"
"It probably got in through the window," Gilyoung explained. "But when we tried to help it get back outside, it got scared and ran away. We lost track of it near Yoo Joonghyuk ahjussi's room."
There was a pause, then Heewon asked, "Did you check if Dokja came back? Maybe he's in his room."
"I knocked earlier," Sooyoung said. "No answer. His room's empty."
Dokja felt a pang of anxiety. They were looking for him. They were worried. And here he was, trapped in ferret form with no way to communicate with them or let them know he was safe.
He looked toward Joonghyuk, who was still at his desk but was now watching the door with a carefully neutral expression.
"Should we ask Yoo Joonghyuk if he's seen him?" Heewon suggested.
"Good luck with that," Sooyoung replied dryly. "You know how chatty he is about other people's business."
Their footsteps moved away down the hall, but Dokja could still feel the weight of their concern. He chittered softly, trying to express his guilt about worrying them.
Joonghyuk looked over at him. "They'll be fine," he said simply. "You disappear regularly enough that they won't panic until tomorrow at the earliest."
That was probably true, but it didn't make Dokja feel much better about the situation.
"I found some information," Joonghyuk continued, turning back to the papers scattered across his desk. "Transformation potions are typically temporary, lasting anywhere from a few hours to a few days depending on the strength and purity of the magic involved."
A few days? Dokja's ferret heart skipped a beat. He couldn't stay hidden in Joonghyuk's room for a few days. People would definitely notice his absence by then, and there would be questions he couldn't answer even after he transformed back.
"The duration also depends on the emotional state of the transformed individual," Joonghyuk added, and something in his tone made Dokja look up at him sharply. "Panic and stress can extend the transformation period. Calm acceptance tends to shorten it."
Calm acceptance. Right. Dokja tried to feel calm and accepting about being trapped in the body of a small mammal with no clear timeline for returning to normal. It was about as successful as one might expect.
Joonghyuk seemed to notice his renewed agitation. "There are also some methods for accelerating the reversal process," he said, "but most of them require ingredients we don't currently have access to."
Dokja chittered a question that he hoped conveyed something like "what kind of ingredients?"
"Dragon Cores, Beast Horns, the usual magical nonsense," Joonghyuk replied with the sort of casual dismissal that suggested he’d dealt with this type of situation before. "The kind of things that take weeks to acquire and cost more coins than we have."
That was decidedly not encouraging news.
"However," Joonghyuk continued, and there was something in his voice that made Dokja perk up hopefully, "there is one method that doesn't require rare ingredients."
He paused, and Dokja realized he was waiting for some kind of response. He chittered as encouragingly as he could manage.
"Emotional resonance," Joonghyuk said finally. "The original emotional state that triggered the transformation can sometimes be reversed by experiencing its opposite."
Dokja tried to think back to what he'd been feeling when the potion had splashed on him. Panic, certainly. Confusion. A desperate desire to avoid the falling rubble. But underneath all of that...
Loneliness. He'd been feeling profoundly lonely, walking through the post-scenario debris by himself while the others were back at the house, probably having dinner together or sharing stories about their day. It was a familiar feeling, one that had followed him through most of his life—the sense of being fundamentally separate from others, of watching from the outside.
"So the opposite would be..." he tried to chitter questioningly.
Joonghyuk was watching him with that unnervingly perceptive stare. "Connection," he said quietly. "Belonging. The sense that you're not alone."
The words hit Dokja with unexpected force. Even in ferret form, the concept felt both desperately appealing and somehow impossible. How was he supposed to feel like he belonged when he was literally trapped in the wrong body, unable to communicate with the people he cared about?
As if reading his thoughts, Joonghyuk stood up and walked over to where Dokja was curled up on the makeshift towel bed. He settled down on the floor beside him, close enough that Dokja could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"You're not alone," Joonghyuk said simply.
It was such a straightforward statement, delivered in Joonghyuk's typical matter-of-fact tone, but something about it made Dokja's chest tight with emotion. Here he was, transformed into a small animal, unable to speak or properly communicate, completely dependent on someone else's kindness—and Joonghyuk had simply accepted the situation and set about solving it.
More than that, he'd protected Dokja from Yoosung and Gilyoung's well-meaning attempts to evict him from the house. He'd lied to them, told them there was no ferret, created a safe space where Dokja could hide until the situation resolved itself.
The realization hit him like a warm wave: he wasn't alone. Even transformed, even helpless, even at his most vulnerable, he had someone who would look out for him without question or judgment.
Joonghyuk reached out slowly, giving Dokja plenty of time to move away if he wanted to, and gently stroked his small head with one finger. The touch was surprisingly pleasant, and Dokja found himself leaning into it without thinking.
"Kim Dokja," Joonghyuk said quietly. "They care about you too.”
Dokja knew that was true. He could hear it in their voices when they'd been looking for him earlier—genuine concern, worry about his wellbeing. They might not understand him completely, might not always know how to bridge the gaps in communication that seemed to plague all his relationships, but they cared.
The warm feeling in his chest was growing stronger, spreading through his small body like sunlight. For the first time since the transformation, he felt truly safe, truly cared for. Not because he was useful or entertaining or had something to offer, but simply because he was Kim Dokja, and that was enough.
The tingling started in his paws.
It was subtle at first, just a slight warming sensation, but it quickly spread up his legs and through his torso. Dokja chittered in alarm, not sure if this was a good sign or a very bad one.
"It's working," Joonghyuk said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Don't fight it."
The tingling intensified, becoming almost electric, and Dokja felt his vision blur as his body began to change. It was like the original transformation in reverse—deeply uncomfortable but mercifully quick.
When it was over, he was lying on the floor next to Joonghyuk's chair, fully human again and wearing... absolutely nothing but his white coat that followed his returned body shape.
"Oh," Dokja said, his first human words in hours coming out as a slightly squeaky croak. He grabbed for the nearest piece of fabric—which turned out to be Joonghyuk's discarded jacket—and wrapped it around his legs. "That's... embarrassing."
Joonghyuk stood up and moved to his dresser, pulling out a spare shirt and pair of pants. "These should fit well enough," he said, tossing them to Dokja without looking at him directly.
Dokja caught the clothes gratefully and began pulling them on, trying to ignore how strange it felt to have opposable thumbs again. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't—"
"You would have figured something out," Joonghyuk interrupted. "You always do."
"I'm not so sure about that," Dokja admitted, settling back against the wall once he was properly clothed. "I was pretty thoroughly panicked there for a while."
Joonghyuk looked at him with something that might have been amusement. "You were chittering very indignantly when Shin Yoosung called you a wild animal."
"You could understand that?"
"Your body language is fairly expressive, even in ferret form."
Dokja wasn't sure whether to be impressed or embarrassed by that observation. "How did you know it was me, anyway?"
Joonghyuk was quiet for a moment, considering the question. "The coat," he said finally. "And the way you kept trying to communicate. Most wild animals would have hidden or tried to escape, not attempted to have a conversation."
"I was trying to have a conversation?"
"Very enthusiastically," Joonghyuk confirmed. "Also, you kept looking at the bookshelf in the living room like you were personally offended that you couldn't reach the books."
That was embarrassingly accurate. Even in ferret form, being unable to access reading material had been genuinely distressing.
There was a soft knock at the door, interrupting their conversation.
"Yoo Joonghyuk?" It was Yoosung's voice, much quieter than it had been earlier. "We're sorry to bother you, but have you seen Kim Dokja ahjussi anywhere? We're getting worried."
Joonghyuk looked at Dokja, who nodded and cleared his throat.
"I'm here," Dokja called out, trying to sound like he'd been in the room for perfectly normal, non-ferret-related reasons.
There was a pause, then excited voices in the hallway.
"He's in there!" Gilyoung said.
"Kim Dokja ahjussi, where have you been?" Yoosung asked through the door. "We've been looking for you for hours!"
"I was..." Dokja looked at Joonghyuk, who raised an eyebrow as if to say that this was entirely Dokja's problem to solve. "I was helping Yoo Joonghyuk with some research. We got caught up in it and lost track of time."
"Research?" Sooyoung's voice had joined the conversation, along with what sounded like several other people. "What kind of research?"
"Transformation magic," Joonghyuk said before Dokja could respond. "The theoretical applications in scenario preparation."
It wasn't technically a lie, Dokja realized. They had been researching transformation magic, even if the applications had been rather more immediate than theoretical.
"Oh," Yoosung said, sounding satisfied with this explanation. "That makes sense. You two are always working on weird scenario stuff."
"Can we come in?" Gilyoung asked. "We wanted to tell you about the ferret we found earlier. It was really pretty, but it got scared and ran away."
Dokja and Joonghyuk exchanged glances.
"Maybe later," Dokja called out. "We're just finishing up here."
"Okay," Yoosung said, though she sounded a bit disappointed. "But come have dinner with us when you're done? Han Sooyoung made actually edible food for once."
"Hey!" Sooyoung protested from the hallway.
"I'll be out in a few minutes," Dokja promised.
The voices in the hallway gradually faded as people wandered back toward the kitchen, leaving Dokja and Joonghyuk alone again.
"Thank you," Dokja said quietly. "Really. For all of it."
Joonghyuk nodded once, already turning back to his desk to clean up the scattered research papers. "Try to avoid mysterious potions in the future."
"I'll do my best," Dokja said, though they both knew that his track record with avoiding trouble was less than stellar.
He stood up and moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.
"Joonghyuk?"
"What?"
"The ferret thing stays between us, right?"
Joonghyuk looked at him with the sort of expression that suggested the question was beneath his dignity to answer.
"Right," Dokja said. "Of course."
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, immediately greeted by the warm sounds of his friends and family gathered in the kitchen—voices overlapping in conversation, the clink of dishes, Han Sooyoung arguing with someone about seasoning techniques.
As he walked toward the sound of home, Dokja reflected that while being turned into a ferret had definitely not been on his list of preferred experiences, it had taught him something valuable about belonging. Sometimes the connections you needed were there all along, just waiting for you to be vulnerable enough to accept them.
Even if that vulnerability came in the form of being a very small, very confused white ferret.
He was definitely sticking to clearly labeled potions from now on.
Probably.