Chapter Text
The office was eerily quiet that morning, the hum of fluorescent lights above the cubicles the only sound breaking the silence. It was still early, far too early for most people to arrive, but Kim Dokja was already here. He always arrived early—earlier than anyone else, in fact. He preferred it that way. The office felt more manageable when it was still empty, the overwhelming tide of daily work and human interaction hadn’t yet begun to drown him.
He moved through the building like a ghost, his steps soft against the polished floor, his eyes scanning the space in front of him as he adjusted the papers on his desk. The monotony of the morning routine was a comfort—arranging things neatly, making sure everyone had what they needed before they even realized they wanted it. The silence was his sanctuary.
Kim Dokja had never been one for small talk. He kept his head down, doing his work with precision, offering a polite nod or a silent smile to his coworkers if their paths crossed. To them, he was just the "nice guy" who always went the extra mile. But none of them ever truly knew him.
He stepped into the break room to prepare his usual cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as the machine worked. It was only then that he noticed the presence of another person already standing by the window. It was Yoo Joonghyuk, staring out at the city skyline, as though lost in thought.
Kim Dokja paused for a moment, his gaze flicking over the other man.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood there with his usual calmness, his posture stiff but relaxed, as though he was physically present but emotionally detached. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and his eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—seemed to be focused on something far beyond the glass.
Kim Dokja had always noticed him, but not in the way he noticed others. Yoo Joonghyuk was the kind of person who blended into the background effortlessly. He didn’t speak much, never drew attention to himself. To anyone else, they would think he’s a new employee—someone easily forgotten. But Kim Dokja didn’t forget him. He never could.
It wasn’t that Kim Dokja was interested in Yoo Joonghyuk’s life—no, it was more than that. There was something about the man’s silence, his impenetrable nature, that intrigued him. Kim Dokja couldn’t help but wonder about the things no one else saw—the small signs, the little movements that suggested more than the surface level. But he never asked. He never had the courage to.
Kim Dokja quietly grabbed his coffee, his movements fluid, almost mechanical, as he added just the right amount of sugar. He didn’t look directly at Yoo Joonghyuk, but his eyes couldn’t help but linger on the man as he filled his cup.
It was a strange feeling, the desire to watch someone without ever making it known. Kim Dokja knew it was wrong to even think about it. He had never been one to invade another person’s space, but something about Yoo Joonghyuk pulled at him in ways he didn’t understand. Something about the quiet that seemed to wrap around him, enclosing him in a world only he could see.
Kim Dokja finally took his seat at the far end of the break room, careful not to make any noise that might disrupt the silence between them. He sipped his coffee, his eyes gliding over the papers in front of him, but in truth, he couldn’t stop glancing up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression.
But Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t acknowledge him. Not once.
It wasn’t as if he was rude, no. It was just that he was… distant. There was a certain air of quiet that seemed to follow him wherever he went, and Kim Dokja had always found that distance fascinating. Yoo Joonghyuk never spoke unless necessary, and even then, his voice was flat, devoid of inflection.
For the briefest of moments, Kim Dokja allowed himself to wonder what it would be like if Yoo Joonghyuk ever looked at him—truly looked at him. To have that distance, that wall between them, break for just an instant.
But the moment passed.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned away from the window, his movements controlled, as though the morning had barely begun to stir him. He reached for a bottle of water on the counter, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge before twisting the cap off. The faint sound of water pouring into the bottle was the only other noise in the room.
Kim Dokja’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the noise. It was the way Yoo Joonghyuk moved, the deliberate, almost calculated way he handled every single action. It was strange, but Kim Dokja couldn’t stop watching.
Kim Dokja didn’t know how long they sat there in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts. The world around them seemed to fade into the background as they existed in this small pocket of time, separate and yet connected by a thin, fragile thread.
Then, without warning, Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed his bag and stood up, his motion deliberate. The silence remained as thick as it had been when Kim Dokja first entered the room.
For a brief moment, Yoo Joonghyuk glanced over his shoulder, but not at Kim Dokja. His eyes were unfocused, as though he hadn’t even registered the other man’s presence. Kim Dokja’s heart lurched, an unfamiliar pang of longing stabbing deep into his chest. The emptiness in Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze was not unfamiliar to him, Kim Dokja has seen it multiple times every time he tries to take a glimpse of his face.
Without a word, Yoo Joonghyuk left the break room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Kim Dokja sat alone once more, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the mug in front of him. He stared at the door for a long moment, the weight of the silence settling heavily around him. His mind wandered, thoughts of Yoo Joonghyuk slipping into the cracks of his concentration, the way the man’s quiet existence seemed to draw him in.
The break room was still, save for the faint sound of a clock ticking in the corner, its rhythmic "tick-tock" keeping time with the distant hum of the office. Kim Dokja sat in his seat, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his coffee cup. His mind, however, was elsewhere.
With a slight shift in posture, he reached for his phone. His fingers moved with practiced ease, unlocking the screen without hesitation. He didn’t need to search for the app—his calendar was the first thing to open automatically. And there it was, all neatly organized, a careful record of every minute of Yoo Joonghyuk's life.
Kim Dokja's thumb skimmed the screen, pausing as his gaze flicked to the rows of meticulously planned blocks of time. Every single day was mapped out in perfect order. His routine was almost predictable, to the point where it became a comforting certainty in Kim Dokja’s otherwise chaotic life.
There it was—Yoo Joonghyuk’s lunch schedule: 12:30 PM, same place, every single day. Kim Dokja had never seen him deviate from it. A small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant just around the corner from the office. Kim Dokja had memorized the exact time Yoo Joonghyuk left the office building every day, his swift walk toward the door, the way his hand would briefly adjust his jacket before he headed down the street. It wasn’t as if Kim Dokja had followed him—it was just something that came with knowing the smallest details about someone, observing, learning.
His finger continued to scroll down, moving from one meticulously organized entry to the next. 2:00 PM: Take the train, always the same line, always the same stop. Kim Dokja had figured that out after a week of watching Yoo Joonghyuk leave for the day. He’d memorized the exact platform Yoo Joonghyuk stood at—his spot, always the same, near the doors of the train car, where there was just enough room to stand without getting too close to anyone else.
Kim Dokja didn’t need to check the schedule anymore. He knew it by heart. It wasn’t about obsession—well, not entirely. It was simply an understanding, a routine that Kim Dokja had learned to anticipate. A routine that made him feel in control of the chaos in his life.
The calendar also listed "Meetings" and "Work Calls"—but those were always the same, too. The conference room on the 15th floor, the same seats, the same people in attendance. 3:30 PM: Weekly report with manager. Kim Dokja had once calculated the exact time it took for Yoo Joonghyuk to leave the meeting and return to his desk—always exactly 22 minutes. Kim Dokja had wondered, briefly, why the exact number of minutes mattered, but it wasn’t his place to question. It simply was.
His thumb hovered over the phone, pausing to look at "Evening Walk – 6:00 PM". This was a curious one—every evening, without fail, Yoo Joonghyuk would leave the office and take a walk for exactly 45 minutes. Kim Dokja had watched him several times through the window, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, his hands shoved in his pockets, the same steady pace, as though his mind was lost in something far more important than the surroundings around him. Dinner at 7:00 PM, and always at the same place: the ramen shop at the corner of the street.
There were other little details that Kim Dokja had learned over time—Yoo Joonghyuk’s habit of tapping his pen in precise rhythms during meetings, the way he preferred his coffee: no sugar, just a drop of milk, the exact brand of cigarettes he smoked during his rare breaks.
Kim Dokja’s gaze moved to a more recent entry. "Saturday – Grocery Shopping, 8:00 PM." That was a new addition, one Kim Dokja hadn’t yet witnessed in person, but heard it from Han Sooyoung. If Yoo Joonghyuk stuck to his routine, Kim Dokja could track him—under the guise of "accidentally" shopping at the same store. He imagined himself glancing at Yoo Joonghyuk, perhaps offering an awkward greeting. A small interaction. Nothing more.
But he didn’t act on it. Not yet.
The calendar also had an unspoken rhythm, one that Kim Dokja could feel in the pit of his stomach. It was a rhythm of control, of structure that spoke of a deeper order that he couldn’t put into words. Kim Dokja wasn’t stalking. No. He wasn’t following him. It was just... awareness. Awareness of patterns. Of small gestures that made Yoo Joonghyuk’s existence fall into place.
It gave him a sense of peace, knowing he could predict almost every moment of Yoo Joonghyuk's day. It made Kim Dokja feel, for once, that he wasn’t the one drifting aimlessly.
Kim Dokja stared at the entries for a few moments longer, his mind racing with the possibilities. But then, he locked his phone and tucked it away. The thought lingered, as it always did, and he allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile.
The office began to fill with people, the soft murmur of voices and footsteps creating the usual morning buzz. But Kim Dokja felt none of the chaos that others might experience. For him, it was just another day in the endless loop of observation and routine. He rose from his seat, straightened his tie, and walked toward his desk—passing Yoo Joonghyuk’s empty cubicle.
Kim Dokja paused for a brief moment, his eyes gliding over the space. It was just as it had always been: quiet, neat, almost devoid of personality, the walls bare except for a few small items on the desk.