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The world was vibrating. Or maybe it was just the bass from the speakers in the corner of the "Star Stream," a bar that smelled distinctively of cheap soju, regret, and lemon-scented floor cleaner.
Kim Dokja blinked. The room tilted five degrees to the left. He corrected his posture, listing five degrees to the right to compensate.
Perfect. He was a genius.
"You're wasted," Han Sooyoung said. She was eating peanuts with the mechanical precision of a squirrel.
"You look like a wet paper towel."
"I am perfectly lucid," Dokja declared. He tried to point a finger at her, but his hand seemed to belong to someone else.
"You've been staring at a stain on the table for twenty minutes."
"It looks like a constellation."
"It looks like soy sauce."
Sooyoung checked her phone. A wicked grin spread across her face. "Your ride is here. Try not to vomit on him."
Dokja frowned. Ride? He didn't order a ride. He was a creature of the night. He was going to live in this booth forever, contemplating the soy sauce universe.
Then, the door to the bar opened. The atmosphere shifted. The sticky, humid air seemed to freeze.
A man walked in. He was tall. Offensively tall. He was wearing a long black coat that looked like it had been tailored by shadows, and a black turtleneck that emphasized the sharp, dangerous line of his jaw. His eyebrows were knit together in a scowl so profound it could have started a war. Kim Dokja’s breath hitched.
His drunk brain, currently operating on Windows 95 dial-up speeds, tried to process the visual data. Data not found. System Overload.
"Who is that?" Dokja whispered, clutching Sooyoung’s sleeve. "Is he here to kill us? Because I volunteer."
Sooyoung choked on a peanut. "That's—" She stopped. She looked at Dokja’s glassy, unrecognizing eyes. She looked at the approaching man holding a set of car keys. A lightbulb went off over her head. "That's your Uber. Go on. Don't keep him waiting."
The man stopped at their table. He smelled like winter air and expensive cologne. He looked down at Dokja with an expression of mingled disgust and exhaustion.
"Kim Dokja," the stranger said. His voice was deep enough to vibrate in Dokja’s chest.
"Get up."
Dokja scrambled to his feet, swayed, and promptly fell forward. He didn't hit the floor. Large, strong hands caught him by the waist. The stranger hauled him upright with effortless strength, pulling him flush against a chest that felt like a solid wall of muscle.
"Whoa," Dokja breathed, his hands instinctively grabbing the lapels of the black coat. He looked up, blinking.
"Do I have to pay extra for the handling? Because I’m broke."
The stranger froze. The vein in his temple twitched. Han Sooyoung cackled, grabbed her bag, and vanished into the crowd like a ninja, abandoning them to their fate.
"Walk," the stranger growled, steering Dokja toward the door.
"I have a boyfriend!" Dokja announced to the room at large as he was manhandled toward the exit. "He's very mean! He'll beat you up! He knows kendo!"
The stranger didn't reply. He just shoved the door open and dragged Dokja out into the cold night air.
A sleek, black sedan was idling at the curb. It looked like the Batmobile’s younger, angrier cousin. The stranger opened the passenger door and shoved Dokja inside. The seat was heated. It was leather. It smelled like mint and money. Dokja fumbled with the seatbelt, eventually managing to click it in. The stranger walked around the front, sliding into the driver's seat with a fluid grace that made Dokja’s stomach do a little flip.
"I live in a castle. Take me to the castle."
"No."
The car pulled away from the curb smoothly. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon—red, blue, gold. Dokja pressed his face against the cold glass, leaving a smudge of breath condensation. Then, he turned his head. The driver was gripping the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. His profile was cut from marble. He looked angry. He looked... really good angry.
Dokja leaned toward the center console. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Hey," Dokja said.
"Hey, Mr. Driver."
Yoo Joonghyuk didn't look away from the road. "What."
"Don't tell my boyfriend," Dokja hissed, giggling, "but you are really hot."
Joonghyuk’s hands tightened on the leather wheel. The leather creaked. "Is that so?" Joonghyuk asked, his voice dangerously even.
"Yeah," Dokja nodded vigorously.
"Look at your arms. You could bench press a car with those arms. Do you work out?"
Joonghyuk stared straight ahead. "I carry you," he muttered under his breath. "Which is heavier."
Dokja gasped. "Did you hear that? You have a deep voice. That's so hot." He shuffled closer on the seat. The alcohol made him brave. It made him stupid.
He reached out and poked Joonghyuk’s bicep. It was rock hard. "Hey," Dokja said. "Hey, Big Guy. What's your name? Are you an assassin? You look like an assassin."
"I am not telling you my name."
"Mysterious," Dokja hummed. "My boyfriend is mysterious too. But he's terrible."
Joonghyuk’s eye twitched. "He's terrible?"
"He's a tyrant," Dokja sighed dramatically, leaning back against the headrest.
"He makes me eat tomatoes, hates my webnovels, and has the emotional range of a teaspoon."
"Is that all?"
"No," Dokja said softly. He hiccuped. "He's also... he's really busy. He's always working. I think he gets lonely, but he won't admit it." Dokja looked down at his hands. "I miss him. Even though I saw him this morning."
The silence in the car stretched.
Joonghyuk’s expression softened, just a fraction. The murderous tension in his shoulders eased. He reached over with his right hand—keeping his left on the wheel—and briefly ruffled Dokja’s messy hair. "You fool," Joonghyuk murmured. Dokja leaned into the touch like a cat. Then, his eyes snapped open. He looked at the driver with renewed interest.
"But you," Dokja whispered, leaning in close again. "You're here. And my boyfriend isn't. So..." He reached out and grabbed Joonghyuk’s tie. "Do you want to have an affair?"
The car swerved slightly.
Joonghyuk grabbed Dokja’s wrist, stopping him from yanking the tie any harder. "You want to cheat on your boyfriend," Joonghyuk deadpanned. "With the driver. Who looks exactly like him."
"Ideally," Dokja nodded solemnly. "It makes the paperwork easier."
"You are unbelievable."
"I am a catch! I have a high reading comprehension score!" Dokja insisted. He tried to climb over the center console. In a moving vehicle.
"Sit down," Joonghyuk hissed, pushing him back into the passenger seat. "Put your seatbelt back on properly."
"Make me," Dokja challenged. Joonghyuk stared at him for a split second at the red light. The alcohol smell was strong, sweet and sharp. Dokja’s cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes bright and unfocused, his mouth slightly open. He looked messy and chaotic and entirely, frustratingly endearing.
"If you cheat on your boyfriend," Joonghyuk whispered, his voice dark and low, "he will kill you. And then he will kill the driver."
"Jokes on him," Dokja whispered back, breathless.
"I'm into that."
Joonghyuk groaned. The light turned green. He slammed on the gas. "We are going home. Before I drive this car into the Han River."
The arrival at the apartment complex was a nightmare.
Dokja refused to walk. He claimed his legs had been "stolen by the government." Joonghyuk, having lost all patience twenty minutes ago, simply bent down, threw Dokja over his shoulder like a sack of flour, and carried him to the elevator.
"This is kidnapping!" Dokja announced to the empty lobby.
"Help! I am being abducted by a hot goth!"
"Shut up," Joonghyuk grunted, hitting the button for the 4th floor.
"You have a nice ass," Dokja observed from his vantage point hanging upside down over Joonghyuk’s back. He reached out and patted it. Joonghyuk pinched the back of Dokja’s thigh.
"Ow! Abuse!"
They reached Apartment 401.
Joonghyuk punched in the code—4951—and kicked the door open. He dumped Dokja onto the sofa. Dokja bounced once and then sprawled out, staring at the ceiling.
"This place looks familiar," Dokja slurred. He squinted at the bookshelf. "Hey. My boyfriend has those same figures. Did you rob him?"
"I live here, you moron." Joonghyuk took off his coat, hanging it on the rack. He walked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. He returned to the living room to find Dokja trying to take off his own shirt and failing miserably. He had gotten one arm out, but his head was stuck in the neck hole. He was flailing around like a headless chicken.
"Help," came a muffled voice from inside the shirt. "The fabric is eating me."
Joonghyuk sighed. The sound came from the depths of his soul.
He sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He reached out and gently untangled Dokja from the shirt, pulling it over his head. Dokja emerged, hair sticking up in every direction, face red. He blinked at Joonghyuk.
"Wow," Dokja breathed.
"You're really close."
"Drink this," Joonghyuk ordered, holding out the water.
Dokja pushed the glass away. "No. I want to kiss you."
Joonghyuk paused. "You have a boyfriend."
"He doesn't have to know," Dokja whispered. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Joonghyuk’s knees.
"You're so much nicer than him. He never drives me anywhere. He says I 'fiddle with the radio too much'."
"You do," Joonghyuk said automatically.
"See? You get it." Dokja moved closer. His eyes dropped to Joonghyuk’s lips.
"Just one kiss. Come on. I won't tell Yoo Joonghyuk." Joonghyuk stared at him. This was ridiculous.
"Kim Dokja," Joonghyuk said firmly.
"Look at me."
Dokja blinked. "I am looking."
"Who am I?" Dokja squinted. He reached out and traced the line of Joonghyuk’s jaw with a cold finger. He traced the sharp nose, the thick eyebrows. A flicker of confusion crossed his face.
"You look like him," Dokja whispered. "But... you look at me differently."
"Differently how?"
"He looks at me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve," Dokja mumbled. "You look at me like... like you want to keep me." Joonghyuk’s breath caught.
"I do want to keep you," Joonghyuk said softly.
"Too bad," Dokja sighed, flopping back against the cushions. "I'm taken. My heart belongs to the Sunfish bastard. Even if he is emotionally constipated."
Joonghyuk closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back a smile. "Emotionally constipated?"
"Terminal," Dokja confirmed. "But he cooks really well. And sometimes, when he thinks I'm asleep, he holds my hand." Dokja yawned, his eyes fluttering shut. The adrenaline of the evening was fading, replaced by the heavy crash of alcohol. "He's my favorite person," Dokja mumbled, his words slurring together.
"Don't tell him, though. He'll get big-headed."
Joonghyuk watched him for a long moment. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Dokja’s forehead. "He knows," Joonghyuk whispered.
He stood up, scooped Dokja into his arms—bridal style this time—and carried him to the bedroom. He stripped off Dokja’s socks and jeans, tucked him under the duvet, and placed the glass of water and two painkillers on the nightstand. Dokja was already snoring softly. Joonghyuk stood by the bed, looking down at the disaster of a human being he had chosen to spend his life with.
"You're lucky you're cute," Joonghyuk muttered.
The Next Morning
The sun was a laser beam directed personally by Apollo to destroy Kim Dokja’s retinas. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. His head felt like it had been used as a drum for a heavy metal band. His mouth tasted like fuzzy cotton.
"Awake?" The voice came from the doorway. Dokja peeled one eye open.
Yoo Joonghyuk was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He was holding a cup of coffee. He looked fresh, rested, and terrifyingly smug.
"Water," Dokja croaked.
"On the nightstand."
Dokja fumbled for the glass and downed it in one go.
He sat up slowly, the room spinning. "What happened?" Dokja asked, rubbing his temples. "I remember the bar... and then... a gap."
"You don't remember the ride home?" Joonghyuk asked casually.
Dokja froze.
A vague, horrifying memory surfaced.
A black car.
A handsome driver.
A proposition involving a tie.
"Oh no," Dokja whispered. "Did I throw up?"
"No." Joonghyuk walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He handed Dokja the coffee. "You tried to cheat on me."
Dokja choked on his own spit. "What?!"
"With the driver." Dokja stared at him.
The memories crashed back in.
The touching of the bicep.
The offer of an affair.
Dokja’s face went from pale to a deep, radioactive red in three seconds flat.
He pulled the duvet up over his head, burying himself completely. "Leave me here to die," his muffled voice came from under the blanket. "I am dissolving. I no longer exist."
"You told me I had a nice ass," Joonghyuk said calmly.
"Stop."
"You said I looked like I could bench press a car."
"Please stop."
"You said I was 'hotter than your boyfriend' because I looked like I killed people for fun."
Dokja groaned, a long sound of pure misery. "I was drunk! I didn't know it was you! I thought you were a sexy stranger!"
Joonghyuk ripped the duvet down. He was smirking. It was a rare, dangerous expression. "So you think I'm a sexy stranger?" Dokja glared at him, his face still burning.
"I think you are a jerk who took advantage of my state to boost your ego."
"You also said," Joonghyuk’s voice dropped, becoming softer, "that I was your favorite person."
Dokja went still. He looked away, focusing intently on the pattern of the duvet cover.
"I don't remember that," Dokja lied.
"Liar."
"I was hallucinating. It was the peanuts."
Joonghyuk leaned in and kissed him. It tasted like coffee and morning breath, but Joonghyuk didn't seem to mind. He lingered, his hand cupping Dokja’s hot cheek.
"Next time you want to have an affair," Joonghyuk murmured against his lips, "make sure it's with me again."
Dokja huffed, but he didn't pull away. He grabbed the front of Joonghyuk’s shirt, pulling him closer.
"Don't worry," Dokja muttered. "You're the only one weird enough to put up with me."
"Correct."
"Also, never tell Han Sooyoung about this."
"I already sent her the video."
"YOO JOONGHYUK!"