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It’s not Kim Dokja’s fault he wants to do nothing but lay in bed all day.
Sure. He wanted to do that before he’d gotten pregnant, before Yoo Joonghyuk had marked him, before he’d fallen into the throes of a capitalistic society. It was a trait innate to him.
Or maybe it’s a trait innate to everyone. Really, who in the world wants to work?
But this? This was different. In that every bone in his body seemed to scream exhaustion at every second of the day. Endless naps and lazing around did nothing for the aches that plagued his body, rendering him unable to do much except for rolling around in his comfortable bed, surrounded by Yoo Joonghyuk’s scent.
With Yoo Joonghyuk’s pheromones, the pain was more bearable, albeit barely. Barely being a stretch. His head would still spin as if he were on a rollercoaster spinning in thousands of loops, his throat burbling with a nausea that’s forced him to expel the contents of his stomach more times than he can count.
It’s something that took a while to get used to. He was thin before, but this had only made it worse. He noticed himself turn a little paler once such an ailment had started—which was a feat in and of itself.
Yoo Joonghyuk had practically thrown a fit when he’d found out. After catching Kim Dokja in the act—the act of course being leaning over the toilet and practically vomiting his guts out—Yoo Joonghyuk hauled his ass out once he’d finished vomiting and forced him to eat.
The “force” in action was Yoo Joonghyuk’s immaculate cooking. Even with his nausea making him more sick than he’s ever been in his life, how could he ever resist that savory, indescribable smell? It called out to him. There was not a chance he’d give something like a hot, piping meal prepared by Yoo Joonghyuk up.
The worst part about it was—it likely tasted better than it smelled, which sounds impossible, but it’s true. That was enough temptation that it was essentially bribery to Kim Dokja.
Afterwards, Yoo Joonghyuk throttled him until Kim Dokja spilled everything about his pregnancy symptoms.
So okay. Kim Dokja might’ve hid his issue of morning sickness from him for the longest time. He just might’ve kept it to himself, trying to bear through it like he always has for most ailments he’s gotten throughout his entire life. He might’ve hid it because he assumed that it’d inconvenience Yoo Joonghyuk, and the last thing he wanted would be to do something like that.
In his defense, he didn’t want to worry Yoo Joonghyuk. He already had enough on his plate regarding his work, his routine, and everything else, really. Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t even relent and give up the task of cooking to Kim Dokja—stating some nonsense answer about nutritious meals and making sure Kim Dokja really eats.
Kim Dokja thinks it’s all bullshit—something that Yoo Joonghyuk had come up with to torture him.
But… Really, Kim Dokja can’t complain much about having three meals a day prepped for him. Three delicious meals, mind you. Three filling, nutritious, and delicious meals, for that matter.
It’s just… There’s one thing that’s bothering him.
One thing that has changed since he revealed his morning sickness.
Yoo Joonghyuk has been watching him like a hawk since it happened, eyes alert to Kim Dokja’s state even before he knew of it.
One time, he dropped ten bottles of pills right in front of Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja was completely baffled, staring back at him like he’d gone insane. They were cold medicine tablets, fever-reducers, cough medicine, all of the sort. Yoo Joonghyuk offered no explanation, other than, “You’re going to be sick.”
True to his word, Kim Dokja fell ill the next day. Kim Dokja had silently cursed that perceptive bastard afterwards as he snuggled next to Kim Dokja’s feverish body, despite protests that came out of Kim Dokja’s mouth, chiding about how he’d be sick afterwards and he’d catch this illness. If anything, he only cuddled closer to Kim Dokja at such words. Yoo Joonghyuk must’ve placed some magic spell on Kim Dokja the previous day, Kim Dokja had thought, to make him sick.
There were countless other incidents similar to this. So many that Kim Dokja wouldn’t be able to name them all if he tried. But, there are some examples so ridiculous Kim Dokja can’t help but recount them.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes and nose being so attuned to Kim Dokja’s mannerisms and scent that he can tell when Kim Dokja’s the tiniest bit hungry. Yoo Joonghyuk glaring at him each time he gets even an hour less of sleep. Yoo Joonghyuk huffing and puffing if Kim Dokja hasn’t finished a meal—and he knows, literally just knows somehow, without any other context clues except for sniffing for a few seconds around Kim Dokja.
It’s become a little burdensome, having Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze on him for almost every second of the day, but…
Kim Dokja has learned to use it to his advantage.
He lazes on the couch, his arms aching from holding his phone up. Lazing around really is only fun in moderation, he’s learned. Everything tends to hurt after the fifth hour of doing nothing.
The aroma of Yoo Joonghyuk’s meal, sizzling on the stovetop, mixed with the scent of his pheromones is a heavenly smell. Kim Dokja takes a deep breath. It helps soothe some of the ache in his legs. But, it’s not enough…
“Joonghyuk-ah…” he whines. “It hurts…”
He drops the phone onto his chest, leaning back. Having planted the bait, it’s only a matter of time until Yoo Joonghyuk latches onto it.
Just a second later, it happens.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s head whips right at him, away from his task of cooking a scrumptious meal. “What does?”
Barely concealed concern slips into his tone of voice, forcing a laugh to bubble up from Kim Dokja’s throat. He swallows it down, an attempt to keep his farce a deeply concealed secret.
He knows that Yoo Joonghyuk is probably aware of his plans, but that bastard has made no mention of it so far, so… It’s only natural that Kim Dokja keeps it up, right?
“My legs… Joonghyuk-ah?” Kim Dokja releases a small sound of surprise.
In that small moment that Kim Dokja had hesitated, Yoo Joonghyuk already appeared in front of him, still donning his ridiculous purple apron with some nonsensical English phrase plastered right on the front of the cloth. It’s stained with all sorts of grease and sauces, but it doesn’t diminish Yoo Joonghyuk’s appearance at all.
The look on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, peering down from above him, would be terrifying, if not for Kim Dokja’s inherent ability to discern the myriad of microexpressions Yoo Joonghyuk is capable of. The small downturn of the left corner of his lips, combined with the slight furrow of his brows means one thing, and one thing only.
Concern. Deep concern.
And in this state, Yoo Joonghyuk will do nothing until he solves the root of that concern. Which, right now, is massaging Kim Dokja’s legs.
He grabs onto Kim Dokja’s right calf in no time, pressing divots into the skin with a controlled force. Kim Dokja releases a comfortable sigh, his back sinking deeper into the couch.
“Here?”
“Yes, ah, there, Joonghyuk-ah. There, right there. Press a little harder, please. No, no. Not like that. A little softer. There! There. That’s right. Keep going at that pressure.”
Yoo Joonghyuk releases an indignant huff. “You ask for too much.” Amusement sinks into his words, passing through Kim Dokja’s ears smoothly.
Kim Dokja laughs. “You’re willing to do whatever I ask for, though. Don’t complain, Joonghyuk-ah. You’re part of the problem.”
And Kim Dokja swears he hears a small breath puffing out from Yoo Joonghyuk that follows soon after his words—one that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.