Work Text:
The group study room in the main library was a glass fishbowl of misery.
"Comic Sans," Kim Dokja said. He said it with the serene, beatific smile of a saint appearing in a vision. "I think the title slide needs to be in Comic Sans. To make us look approachable."
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped typing. His hands hovered over his mechanical keyboard like claws. A vein in his temple, right near his hairline, began to throb with a visible, rhythmic pulse.
"We are presenting on The Geopolitical Impact of Post-War Treaties," Joonghyuk said. His voice was a low, vibrating rumble that made the water in everyone’s bottles ripple. "It is not approachable, Kim Dokja. It's a tragedy. Using Comic Sans would be a war crime."
"But it’s disarming!" Dokja insisted, leaning back in his chair and clicking his pen rapidly.
Click-click-click.
"If we use Times New Roman like you want, we look like robots. If we use Comic Sans, the professor will think, 'Wow, these students possess whimsey.'"
"It is ridiculous."
"You just lack vision."
"I lack the patience to not strangle you in front of a witness."
Han Sooyoung, the unfortunate third member of their group, had her head on the desk. She was currently wrapped in three layers of scarves, looking like a disgruntled caterpillar.
"Can you two just shut up?" she groaned into the fake wood grain. "It’s 8 PM. I haven't eaten since lunch. I don't care about the font. Use Wingdings for all I care. Just finish the slide."
"We can't finish the slide," Joonghyuk growled, never taking his eyes off Dokja,
"because someone insists on treating our GPA like a gambling token."
"I'm just playing devil's advocate!" Dokja beamed, his eyes crinkling into crescents.
He kicked Joonghyuk’s shin under the table—a gentle, teasing tap that nobody else could see. Joonghyuk flinched, his jaw tightening. He glared at Dokja with the intensity of a thousand suns. To the outside observer, it looked like he was plotting a murder.
Kim Dokja knew better.
He saw the way Joonghyuk’s eyes dilated. He saw the slight flush high on his cheekbones. He knew that Yoo Joonghyuk, the stoic, perfect, top-of-the-class prodigy, was currently getting a massive rush of adrenaline from the argument.
Joonghyuk loved being provoked.
He loved the challenge.
And Kim Dokja loved being the only person alive brave enough—or stupid enough—to poke the bear.
"Fine," Joonghyuk snapped. He grabbed Dokja’s laptop, spinning it around so forcefully it almost flew off the table.
"I am locking the formatting. If you try to change the font again, I will break your fingers."
"Kinky," Dokja muttered under his breath.
"What?" Sooyoung lifted her head.
"Nothing!" Dokja waved his hand dismissively.
"I said 'cranky.' He's so cranky when he’s hungry."
Joonghyuk typed furiously for three minutes, his keystrokes sounding like gunfire. He finished the slide, saved the file, and slammed the laptop shut.
"We're done," Joonghyuk announced.
He stood up, looming over the table. He looked magnificent and terrifying in his long black coat.
"Meeting adjourned. If either of you touches the file before Thursday, I will know."
"Bye, tyrant!" Dokja waved cheerfully.
"Rat," Joonghyuk spat back.
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library. The glass door hissed shut behind him. Han Sooyoung stared at the empty space where Joonghyuk had been. She looked back at Dokja, who was humming a little tune while packing his bag.
"You enjoy that," she said, sounding disgusted.
"You actually enjoy pissing him off." Dokja shrugged, wrapping his scarf around his neck.
"He gets so bored when everyone agrees with him, Sooyoung-ah. I’m providing a public service. I’m keeping his blood pressure up. It’s good for circulation."
"You guys are sick," she muttered, grabbing her bag.
"Don't talk to me until the presentation."
The walk home was brutal. It was late February in Seoul, and the wind had teeth. It bit through Dokja’s thin coat, finding every gap in his clothing.
By the time he reached the intersection near their apartment complex, his nose was numb and his ears were burning with cold. He stopped at the crosswalk, bouncing on his heels to keep warm. He pulled out his phone.
[Sunfish]: Walk faster.
[Sunfish]: I can see your GPS dot lagging. Are you crawling?
Dokja snorted, his breath puffing out in a white cloud.
[Kim Dokja]: My legs are shorter than yours. This is discrimination.
[Kim Dokja]: Also, I stopped to pet a cat.
[Sunfish]: ...Was it cute?
Dokja smiled down at the screen.
[Kim Dokja]: It looked like you. Very grumpy. Tried to bite me.
[Sunfish]: Hurry up. The food is getting cold.
Dokja pocketed the phone and sprinted the last two blocks. The apartment building was ugly—a grey block of concrete that looked like a prison—but it was home. Dokja took the stairs two at a time because the elevator was broken again. He reached the fourth floor, out of breath and shivering. He punched in the code: 1-8-6-3. The door clicked open.
The assault on his senses was immediate and wonderful. The biting wind was replaced by a wall of dry, radiator warmth. The smell of old library books was replaced by the rich, spicy scent of 닭도리탕 (spicy chicken stew) simmering on the stove. Dokja stepped inside, kicking off his shoes.
"I'm home," he called out, his voice cracking slightly from the cold.
"You're late." Yoo Joonghyuk walked out of the kitchen.
The transformation was always jarring, no matter how many times Dokja saw it. At the library, Yoo Joonghyuk was a menace. Sharp lines, black clothes, styled hair, eyes like frozen obsidian. In the apartment, Yoo Joonghyuk was... soft.
He was wearing a faded grey hoodie that was slightly too big for him and sweatpants that had a small bleach stain on the knee. His hair was down, falling into his eyes, making him look five years younger. He was holding a ladle in one hand like a scepter. He looked at Dokja—shivering, nose red, hair windswept—and sighed.
"You didn't wear a hat," Joonghyuk observed quietly.
"I forgot."
"You have a brain the size of a walnut." Joonghyuk walked over.
He reached out and placed his large, warm hand directly on top of Dokja’s head. The heat from his palm seeped instantly through Dokja’s cold hair, warming his scalp. It felt so good Dokja almost groaned.
"Comic Sans," Joonghyuk muttered, looking down at him with dark, amused eyes.
"Really?" Dokja leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.
"You looked so hot when you got mad about the font. Your eyebrow did that twitchy thing."
"You are a masochist."
"Didn't hear you." Joonghyuk huffed, a small puff of air that was dangerously close to a laugh.
He slid his hand down to cup Dokja’s freezing cheek, his thumb brushing over the red, wind-chapped skin.
"Go change," Joonghyuk ordered, his voice low and gentle. "Dinner is ready. If you track slush into the living room, I’m putting you back outside."
"Yes, sir."
Ten minutes later, Kim Dokja was a new man. He was wearing Joonghyuk’s spare sweatpants (which he had permanently stolen) and a thick wool sweater. He shuffled into the kitchen, smelling the food, and felt his stomach grow loud enough to be heard in the hallway. Joonghyuk had already set the table. Two bowls of steaming rice, the spicy chicken stew in the center, and four different side dishes.
"Eat," Joonghyuk said, putting the best piece of chicken—the thigh—into Dokja’s bowl. Dokja took a bite. The spice hit his tongue instantly, warming him from the inside out. It was perfect. It was always perfect.
"So," Dokja said around a mouthful of rice.
"About the presentation."
Joonghyuk didn't look up from his food. "If you mention the font again, I will poison your water."
"No, not the font." Dokja swallowed.
"Your section on the 1954 treaty. You cited the Western perspective." Joonghyuk paused, his chopsticks hovering.
"It is the standard historical record."
"It's too biased," Dokja said, pointing with his spoon. "It ignores the economic fallout on the rural provinces. If we present it that way, Professor Namgung is going to tear us apart. He wrote his dissertation on rural economic collapse."
Joonghyuk frowned. But then he looked at Dokja. He saw the genuine concern. This wasn't bait.
"I didn't read Namgung's dissertation," Joonghyuk admitted, his voice stiff.
"I did," Dokja grinned. "I have the notes. We can swap out the third slide. I'll write the counter-argument, you format it so it doesn't look like trash."
Joonghyuk stared at him for a long moment. Then, he reached over and placed a piece of pickled radish on Dokja’s spoon.
"Fine," Joonghyuk said.
"Do it tonight. But don't mess up the spacing."
"I love you too."
Joonghyuk rolled his eyes, but the tips of his ears turned pink.
After dinner, they moved to the "workstation"—which was just the living room couch. The TV was on low volume, playing a nature documentary about penguins.
Joonghyuk was sitting with his back against the armrest, his laptop balanced on his knees. Dokja was lying down, his head resting in Joonghyuk’s lap, holding his own tablet up to read the research notes. Joonghyuk typed with one hand. His other hand was buried in Dokja’s hair, idly twisting the strands, scratching lightly at his scalp.
Type, type, type.
Scritch, scritch, scritch.
"Hey, Joonghyuk-ah," Dokja murmured, his eyes half-closed. The food coma was hitting him hard.
"What."
"Why do you let me do it?"
"Do what?"
"Ragebait you." Dokja shifted slightly, nuzzling his face into Joonghyuk’s stomach.
"In the library. You knew I was joking about the Comic Sans. You knew I was just trying to get a rise out of you. Why do you always take the bait?"
Joonghyuk didn't stop typing.
"Because," Joonghyuk said slowly, staring at the screen. "You look bored when things are too easy. When you're bored, you get depressed. You start thinking too much." Dokja went still. "So," Joonghyuk continued, his voice rough and quiet. "I get angry. I make it a fight. Your eyes light up when you think you're annoying me."
Dokja stared at the underside of Joonghyuk’s chin.
His chest felt tight, like it was too full of something warm and terrifying.
He was playing the role of the angry, rigid perfectionist because he knew Dokja needed something to push against.
"You're crazy," Dokja whispered. "You're actually crazy."
"Focus on the work," Joonghyuk grumbled, looking embarrassed. He pulled Dokja’s hair gently, a playful tug.
"No, seriously." Dokja put his tablet down. He reached up, cupping Joonghyuk’s jaw, forcing him to look down. "You scream at me in public to keep me entertained?"
"I'm projecting my voice."
"You're a drama queen."
"And you are a brat." Joonghyuk leaned down.
The kiss was upside down, awkward, and tasted like spicy chicken and mint tea.
When Joonghyuk pulled back, he looked smug. "Also," he added,
"when I get angry, you try harder to prove me wrong. Your work quality improves by 20% out of spite."
Dokja laughed, a loud, genuine sound that filled the small apartment.
"Oh my god. You're literally manipulating my productivity with rage."
"If it works then it works."
"I hate you so much."
"I know." Joonghyuk went back to typing. "I added a transition effect to the third slide," he said casually. Dokja blinked, trying to see the screen.
"What kind?"
"Star Wipe." Dokja shot up, nearly knocking the laptop over.
"No way. You did not." Joonghyuk turned the screen to face him.
There it was. Slide 3.
The Rural Economic Impact.
Joonghyuk hit the 'Preview' button. The slide didn't just appear. It exploded onto the screen in a tacky, glittering, yellow Star Wipe animation that looked like it belonged in a 1990s home video.
It was hideous.
Dokja stared at it, his mouth open.
"Han Sooyoung is going to kill us."
"Let her try." Dokja flopped back down onto Joonghyuk’s lap, laughing until his stomach hurt. He grabbed Joonghyuk’s hand—the one in his hair—and kissed the knuckles.
"You're the best partner ever," Dokja sighed, closing his eyes.
"I know," Joonghyuk said.
"Now go to sleep. I'll finish the citations."
"Mmm. Wake me up if you decide to use WordArt."
"Don't push your luck, Kim Dokja." Dokja drifted off to the sound of Joonghyuk typing—fast and steady—and the warmth of his hand, heavy and protective, resting against his neck. The presentation would probably get an A.
Or they would get kicked out of the program.
Either way, they would do it together. And it would be absolutely, beautifully annoying.