Chapter Text
Kim Dokja woke up to the very distinct sensation of a weight trapping him against the bed. Specifically, a whole Yoo Joonghyuk arm heavy across his waist.
He tried to wiggle out. He failed.
“Joonghyuk,” he whispered, because it was either that or accept his fate forever.
No response.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” he tried again, poking his shoulder.
A low voice rumbled against his back, half-asleep and irritated at the concept of morning itself.
“Don’t move.”
Dokja blinked into the pillow. “I need water.”
“No.”
“I need breakfast.”
“No.”
“…I need to breathe.”
Silence. A reluctant, slow release.
“You may breathe,” Joonghyuk said, as if he was a god granting a divine blessing.
Dokja rolled over, finally able to face him. Joonghyuk’s eyes were half-open, hair messy, expression soft in a way he’d deny if questioned under oath.
“It’s Sunday,” Dokja said, brushing hair away from his face.
Joonghyuk made a noise that vaguely meant I know.
“And we promised to rest today.”
Joonghyuk blinked once. “I am resting. You were attempting not to.”
“Being crushed isn’t resting.”
Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes, then pulled him closer, burying his face in Dokja’s shoulder.
“It is for me,” he muttered.
They didn’t move for a long time. No monsters. No weird star stream messages. No constellations watching like nosy neighbors through cosmic windows. Just blankets. Warmth. Breathing.
An epilogue of his own— no, not just him, but his sweet tsundere boyfriend who’s a ex-regresser.
What a wonderfully strange world Kim Dokja lived in.
At some point, Dokja spoke without opening his eyes.
“What do you want to do today?”
“This,” Joonghyuk answered instantly.
“We’ve been doing this for an hour.”
“I require more.”
Dokja chuckled. “You’re clingy.”
Joonghyuk did not even pretend otherwise. “Correct.”
Dokja turned fully, looping his arms around Joonghyuk’s neck. “I like it.”
Joonghyuk went still. Then, slowly—like a sunrise that had to convince itself it was allowed—he relaxed again.
“…Good.”
By late morning, they had somehow transitioned to the living room. Dokja curled up on the couch with a book. Joonghyuk sprawled beside him, head on Dokja’s thigh, eyes half-closed, breathing slow.
“Read aloud,” he said.
“You don’t even like this genre.”
“I like your voice.”
Dokja’s heart did something very unnecessary for a man who had faced the apocalypse without flinching.
He started reading.
Joonghyuk didn’t say anything, just listened, thumb idly tracing Dokja’s fingers. Halfway through, Dokja paused.
“Are you even listening?”
“Yes.”
“What was the last sentence?”
Joonghyuk answered perfectly, word for word.
“…Show-off,” Dokja muttered.
A quiet, smug exhale. “You asked.”
By afternoon, they were sprawled on the floor surrounded by blankets, doing absolutely nothing but occasionally bumping knees and exchanging lazy, half-smiles.
At one point, Dokja stretched out, hair brushing Joonghyuk’s cheek.
“Hey,” he murmured.
Joonghyuk’s eyes flicked open, then narrowed, pretending not to care. “…Hm?”
“Your hair is messy.”
“…So?”
Dokja smiled. “…It’s cute.”
Joonghyuk froze. “…It is not.”
“It is,” Dokja said softly. “Very much so.”
“…Stop looking.”
“Never.”
Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened in a way that meant I am flustered and I do not know what to do about it.
Dokja laughed quietly and shifted closer, letting their shoulders touch. Joonghyuk let him. His fingers brushed Dokja’s hand, and then, without thinking, intertwined.
“Don’t move,” Joonghyuk whispered, barely audible.
“I’m not,” Dokja said, matching his quiet tone.
Evening came and they didn’t even notice. The city lights flickered outside their window. They lay on the couch together, Joonghyuk’s head on Dokja’s shoulder, hands linked, hearts quietly syncing.
“You’re really good at this,” Dokja said, referring to absolutely nothing, but meaning everything.
“At what,” Joonghyuk asked, eyes closed.
“Being here,” Dokja whispered.
“…It is easier with you,” Joonghyuk admitted, thumb brushing over Dokja’s hand.
“Same for me, Joonghyuk. Same for me.”
Night fell, and they moved to bed again. Joonghyuk immediately wrapped his arms around Dokja, pulling him close.
“Crushing me again?” Dokja asked, amused.
“Yes,” Joonghyuk said, unapologetic.
“Fine. Only because it’s Sunday.”
“Then every day will be Sunday,” Joonghyuk murmured.
And Kim Dokja, in the dark of a world finally gentle, whispered:
“I’d like that.”
They fell asleep like that—warm, tangled, safe. The world could wait. They had each other. And that was enough.