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Kim Dokja is infected.
A simple, irrefutable fact. A fact of the universe. Unavoidable—the injury on his arm as clear as day.
A fact that Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t swallow.
“Hyung…” Lee Gilyoung looks as if his entire world had been shattered. His eyes waver, pupils shaking as wetness begins to twinkle against the corners of his eyes. He’s holding onto Kim Dokja’s other arm, as if letting go would result in him leaving the mortal coil.
Kim Dokja ruffles his hair. “It’s okay, Gilyoung-ie. Don’t worry about me.”
“But—!”
“I need to talk with Yoo Joonghyuk, okay?”
“Hyung, we—” Lee Gilyoung falters. He swallows, a choked sound escaping. An arm comes up to wipe his eyes against a sleeve. Whatever protest he had disappears as he lets go of Kim Dokja’s arm.
Lee Gilyoung stands up from where he sat. Beside Kim Dokja, who continues to sit, legs covered under a heap of clothes, a makeshift blanket. His arm, bandaged, seeps with blood. Red shines through on the white of the cloth.
Lee Gilyoung gives Yoo Joonghyuk a nasty glare. He simply averts his eyes.
Lee Gilyoung’s steps out of the room are harsh against the floor. Yoo Joonghyuk understands. He can’t accept it either. He can’t accept that Kim Dokja will die.
The door slams shut, the impact shaking the concrete walls of the abandoned building.
Yoo Joonghyuk remains staring at Kim Dokja. His eyes have never left once throughout this entire ordeal. No, he can’t leave Kim Dokja out of his sights for a single second, not after this. It was his inaction that caused this entire incident. His irresponsibility.
Lee Gilyoung should’ve cursed at him. Blamed him for all that happened. Maybe then, the lump in his throat would’ve reduced fractionally.
Kim Dokja looks too peaceful like this. His face betrays no sense of doom. No expression that would ever indicate he’d be facing death. A peaceful acceptance, a day like any other. As if he were already placed into the casket, ready to be buried. Yoo Joonghyuk swallows the bitter bile that arises at the thought. No, there is still hope left.
Kim Dokja hasn’t died yet.
“Kim Dokja.”
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja smiles. That unlucky smile. The one that Yoo Joonghyuk had always hated. The one that Yoo Joonghyuk still hates. He wants to wipe that smile off his face. “You know what has to happen now, right? We’ve talked about this before.”
“There is another way,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. His mouth moves faster than his mind. “There is. We don’t have to do this.”
“Yoo Joonghyuk.” The smile on his face has disappeared. His voice is stern. “You can’t be backing out now. You already know what happens if you keep me alive.”
“We haven’t tried all the options yet. There is no point in killing you early.”
Kim Dokja sighs. “You stubborn bastard. I knew I should’ve had someone else do this.”
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “We can chop your arm off. We don’t have to do this, Kim Dokja.”
“It’s been too long. The infection has likely spread throughout my body.”
Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t noticed it before. He should’ve. Kim Dokja is shaking. He’s scared too. Of course he is. Who wouldn’t be, knowing that they would die? Natural human instinct, programmed into the body from birth. The fear of death.
But Kim Dokja is trying to stay strong. Putting on this facade. Pretending everything is fine when it isn’t.
Yoo Joonghyuk finds himself unconsciously moving closer to Kim Dokja. He walks, close enough to see the blood red of the haphazardly wrapped bandages around his arm. It seeps, weeping fluids red and clear. He sits down beside Kim Dokja.
“Finally,” Kim Dokja laughs. “You would’ve thought I had some sort of disease, with you staying so far.”
Still joking at a time like this. Even in death, Kim Dokja was the same.
“Don’t joke, Kim Dokja.” His words come out rougher than he means to. His tone shakes, a fear permeating through his body. This couldn’t be happening, no. Even when the apocalypse started, he didn’t imagine such a thing happening.
It was all his fault. He shouldn’t have let Kim Dokja go alone when scavenging. He should’ve trailed after him, against his wishes. He should’ve, he should’ve, he should’ve.
But what point is there in thinking about what he should’ve done? The past has already happened. This was meaningless, dwelling on these thoughts. He needs to find a solution to this. Otherwise… no. That can’t happen.
Living in a world without Kim Dokja. Could he do it?
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja speaks. “Could you help replace these?”
He points to his arm. The bandages on his arm are saturated with blood. If he waits one more minute, it’d probably start dripping all over the ground or the clothes blanketing his legs.
Yoo Joonghyuk releases a sound of agreement. It’s staggered. Throughout all of this, his breathing has become irregular. His throat is still closing up. A tremor has struck through the entirety of his body.
Even in his attempts to gingerly hold onto Kim Dokja’s injured arm, he can’t contain the shaking that wracks his body. He has to still his breathing for just a second before grabbing onto the end of the soaked bandages. He doesn’t want to hurt Kim Dokja, after all.
“It’s okay.” A hand comes up onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s bicep. It strokes his arm, softly, gently. A touch so light he’d doubt it existed, if not for his eyes witnessing it. Yoo Joonghyuk looks into Kim Dokja’s eyes.
They waver, shaking.
They’re scared. A black void, endless. Inky with hints of starlight.
If Kim Dokja could be brave, he had to, too.
His breathing slows. He takes off the soaked bandages, tossing them to the side. A roll of fresh gauze and cotton pads lie beside him. He picks the gauze up, ready to wrap it around the injury.
The wound festers. A litany of colors. Blue, black, yellow, purple, red. Bruising skin and flesh that was once healthy. Through the damage, clear puncture wounds are visible. From where Kim Dokja had first been bitten.
Yoo Joonghyuk places a cotton pad against the puncture wounds. Then, he begins to wrap.
Kim Dokja hisses as the gauze wraps against the skin. Tight. Maybe, too tight?
“Too much?”
“No,” Kim Dokja grits. “Just continue.”
Yoo Joonghyuk continues to wrap it around his arm. If he could stem the bleeding, if he applied enough pressure, there was a possibility for survival.
But such thoughts were fantasies. There was a reason that they’d barely encountered any human survivors. Everyone else had fallen.
If only there were a cure for this. This disease.
It doesn’t take long for him to finish. He’s had too much practice with this, ever since the apocalypse had ruined their world. He grabs his pocketknife and cuts off the excess gauze.
As soon as he sheathes it, he feels something.
Kim Dokja has wrapped his arms around him.
An embrace. A brief warmth. Yoo Joonghyuk closes his eyes.
“You have to keep on living, Joonghyuk-ah.”