Chapter Text
So, fun fact, this is actually not how Kim Dokja anticipated his day would end. More so, he had absolutely no prior conception for what would spiral afterward.
It would be remiss to say he hadn't thought about this kind of situation before, but plenty of people daydream about irrational, fantastical things. He thought about it when he stirred his shitty instant coffee in the office break room, when he stared out at empty, darkened streets on his commute home, when he woke up to an apartment so plain it could be readily posted on rental sites simply by removing the two dishes perpetually stuck in his sink.
It came with the worlds that spun from smooth pages and the ivory glow of screen. What would he do in this story? As the maid threaded through the background of every emotional dispute between the protagonist(s) and their companions, or the knight who witnessed their soft resolutions during travel scenes, or as the inevitably overthrown king who drove their lives to intertwine, or as the isekai-ed protagonist?
Transmigration, for all its tropes and flaws, provided an immense array of content. This meant that Kim Dokja had never quite been able to disregard it from his reading list, no matter how utterly frustrated he got with the plot holes, or the overdone misunderstandings, or the stretched romance plots, or the melodramatic narration and perpetual self-insert syndrome, or the immature comprehension of political settings, or…
There was a lot to be frustrated with. So, yeah, sometimes Kim Dokja thought to himself, That's such a dumb move! Why are they over-complicating things? If I were in their place— If I could affect the plot— If I were in this world— If I could get away—
If I were isekai-ed—
Okay. So. Maybe it was a form of karma, that he'd called out to the universe one too many times, and now his arrogance and naivety were catching up in the form of epic fateful repentance for his arrogance.
Here was the issue: one left their modern body behind in the process of transmigration. Now, this could occur as simply falling asleep, or falling into a coma, or straight up dying, be it by accident, attack, or something more intentional. The most common method was via the ever beloved Truck-kun, who would graciously take the protagonist out at point-blank without remorse or retribution. (Which itself brought on its own subgenre, but that was besides the point.)
The point was that Kim Dokja was an idiot.
He'd gotten off from work early, for once. No overtime for him! A pleasant surprise. This probably should have tipped him off.
The past week had completely exhausted him. The whole department was overloaded with preparation for some new project in the works — which, of course, ended with Kim Dokja saddled with all the arduous things his manager wanted to dust his hands of. For his sacrifice, he was given this prize: going home before the sun's descent from the sky. Slipping his computer closed and shuffling it into his bag was possibly the best part of his day, made only better by the glow still filtering out the windows Kim Dokja scampered out of the office with a mild pep in his step, waving politely goodbye at the only coworker he actually enjoyed being polite to.
The walk from his office building to his train was short, but from his stop to his apartment was a little longer. It wasn't often he was able to walk it before the city dimmed into gray or fading yellow light, so he was actually taking the time to appreciate the walk. If just slightly. Tracing the laughter of couples hand-in-hand, and the chattering of teenagers, and the ambling of a kindly old man watching as his grandson skipped excitedly.
Kim Dokja scanned over each of these stories. They came in brief, glimmering glimpses, and he watched each with the same gentle reverence. And, at the ache in his heart, Kim Dokja remembered part of the reason he didn't always like walking home early.
He paused on a particular street corner, just a block from his apartment. A small park, usually desolate when he came by after work, was flooded by giggling and shrieking and tiny chasing feet. A little emptier than when he came by on Saturdays, but it still warmed him to see from an altered perspective. He didn't pause long, just a moment, before he followed the street to the end of the block.
He stood alone at the crosswalk, turning to check the street for crossing. Traffic tended to be mild and infrequent in the middle of this mild, plain neighborhood, and yet… He wrinkled his nose at a distant truck, barreling its way down the street of such a gentle little neighborhood. It looked like a moving van. Idiot. That was how teenage girls ended up lost in destinies and other worlds.
Kim Dokja, shuffled backward slightly, glancing back the other way. Empty in that direction, at least. The park lingered behind him, stilling ringing with cheers and bickering shouts. His brow furrowed at the sight of a soccer ball tumbling into the middle of the road. His eyes tailed it to its origin, and found a young girl — perhaps barely eligible for middle-school — yelling as she sprinted from the park, down the street, and darted toward it, hands outstretched.
And Kim Dokja realized she was not going to pause to look. She was not slowing her trajectory. She was racing toward the ball. The truck was racing toward her. Neither were paying attention. No one else seemed to be — not in a way that assured enough time to act. Kim Dokja didn't have time to check. Kim Dokja didn't have time to breath, or think, or consider, or reassess, or —
His ears rang as the horn blared, and breaks squealed, and his hand lost its grip on his bag as his feet pounded across the asphalt.
Kim Dokja had never been particularly strong, or fast, or physically fit in any manner. He thrust out his hands, shoving them with as much force as he could muster against a small body, and he hoped with all his worthless heart that she'd clear the way safely. Maybe the momentum will carry me to the other side, too, he added, somewhat deliriously, amusedly, resigned.
And then pain exploded down one side of his body, before slamming into the other, as he was surely thrown across the street, vision blurring and fading.
Not like that, he thought, writhing against the ground, as agony thundered over him with a personal vendetta, and you know it.
He was having a hard time paying attention, past screaming in his ears — Can you not? — and the yelling approaching — Go away — and the commotion of bodies leering down at him from above — Please leave me alone — and he wished someone would tell him if that little girl was okay. Or if he'd die an embarrassed martyr for no damn reason.
The sky was cast in smears of orange and pink and gold.
Guess I'll think about it in my next life, Kim Dokja laughed to himself, as a sort of (literal) inside joke. Literally internal, because there was no one other than Kim Dokja who would hear it. Ever now, probably. That was funny, too.
Figures and silhouettes shifted and burned black above him.
Hey, wasn't this the perfect set up? A lonely life. A shameful hobby. A tragic, sympathetic death. No family to miss him, or be missed. Even his apartment would be glad to be rid of him, he suspected. It wouldn't be costly to clean out. Anyway, it wasn't like he'd be able to afford the hospital bills if he did survive something like this. That he was surely well aware of.
He did wish he'd died somewhere softer. This asphalt was grating against his back.
Kim Dokja had practically streamlined the whole process, too. Plenty of variety to choose from, no need to be particularly picky. Surely a simple process for whatever being handled post-death dimensional travel visas. He'd take an order of whatever the usual was, please. Kim Dokja was a pretty low maintenance guy.
Why was his body still on fire?
Why wasn't he waking up to some bright new world, cocooned beneath silk sheets, a warm breakfast laid over his lap? Everything in him was aching. And everyone around him was so loud. He tried to complain, but he was pretty sure he just expelled a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan as pain exploded with a vengeance. This wasn't quite comparable to being flung from a window, but wow, it was certainly up there.
Wait. Pause. Hold the phone. If he'd survived that, then…
Shit, Kim Dokja thought, I'm not getting isekai-ed, am I.
I'm not even dying. If even one person's already called for help… I'm just passing out like a loser. I get to die of medical debt.
This sucks.
Kim Dokja fluttered through consciousness over the course of an uncertain stretch of time. The golden sky slipped away to gray ceilings, and then blinding overheads that sent him shaking his head. Then he was immediately reminded by the pain that sparked up his spine why he wasn't moving. Antiseptics flooded his nose, and hands ripped at his clothes, cold metals and plastics were shoved over his face and body. He valiantly attempted to shoo them away, but his limbs didn't seem keen on properly responding. Traitors.
Then it was dark for awhile. Sometimes he blinked his eyes open, and tried to squint, or speak, but he had to assume he was still dreaming, because there were two figures always at his bedside, and he had no idea who they were.
"Get better, ugly ahjussi," a young, shaking yet stiff voice demanded, once.
Rude, Kim Dokja scoffed, you can't call a dying man old and ugly.
"Fool," another voice — older, true and deep — "you'd better wake up so we can settle this. I don't like owing anyone anything."
Kim Dokja wanted to giggle at that one. No point in owing a dead man anything. Certainly not Kim Dokja.
He enjoyed hearing these strange ghosts though, and the blurry faces attached to them, as he glimpsed them lurking at his side. He liked it more than when he blinked his eyes open to sterilized white walls, vacant and quiet, stinging like needles in his heart and head.
He preferred just going back to sleep during those moments.
Eventually, Kim Dokja woke up. It came to him somewhat slowly, as he blearily tilted his face down to look at own his body, shrouded beneath white cloth, one leg wrapped in a thick cast and lifted up. He scanned the rest of the room, which was strangely: nice, small, and private?
No curtains to separate him from other patients — the room was small, but it was all walls. Occupying the space was a small couch opposite from his bed, and two chairs on either side of his body, one next to the door and the other next to the window. There was a small jar glittering in the light that filtered in from outside, filled halfway with water, and stuffed with a handful of slightly wilted flowers. Unevenly cut stems, torn petals, small buds, but there were so many of them, in so many kinds, as if each had been carefully selected and then handpicked. How strange.
Kim Dokja shifted his head back to the doorway. The lights of his room had been dimmed, thankfully, but the bright glow of the rest of the hospital loomed just out the door.
Was there some kind of call button for him to press? To let someone know he'd woken up? His whole body was still aching, and the idea of moving one of his arms out from under these covers to reach and fumble along the wall twisted dread in his gut. He was also terribly hungry. How long has he spent incapacitated?
Shit. Dokja shut his eyes, groaning against his pillow. The bills were going to be crazy. As in, Kim Dokja would finally live up to his highschool nickname and be driven crazy.
He was laughing about it, now, but something sharp and horrible was curdling in his chest. He'd probably have to give up his apartment. Just when he'd upgraded to something a little nicer, a little more stable… Back to closets with black mold instead of heating. Great.
Damn, all this trouble, and he didn't even get the isekai adventure? Whatever. Truthfully, that wish had been the delusional ramblings of a man on the brink of death. He hadn't actually considered the merits of ending up in some new, far-off, fantasy world. It'd be a disaster. Kim Dokja had absolutely no qualifications or desires to be a protagonist. Although, he wouldn't mind entering to live out the rest of his life as a background character, settled quietly in the countryside somewhere, passively and distantly observant of the main plot. That'd be fun, actually. Oh, and it'd be hilarious.
Alas, Kim Dokja was a real boy, and he was stuck in the real world. This meant: hospital, hospital bills, and hospital-worthy levels of pain wracking down his every limb.
After a few minutes of debating the merits of trying to force his body to move, the door pushed open. Kim Dokja stared at it, and the beautiful woman who entered. She had elegant features, smooth but steered by strength, her ivory hair pooling over her shoulder. She smiled gently at him, relief tied into her expression. A white doctor's coat hung over her body, complete with a pinned ID. She carried a clip board and glass of water in her hands.
"Good morning," she greeted, tucking the door closed behind her.
"Morn'," Kim Dokja muttered in reply, as he found sounds clogging shortly before he could force them all the way out. He winced, frowning, at the soreness of his throat, and the scratchy nature of his voice.
She stepped forward, presenting him with a glass of water.
Kim Dokja stared at it. And then at her. Peered up at her from his place practically melted into the sheets. Even with the bed already folded to angle his body slightly upright, he could tell this was about to be a hassle. "S'r-ee," he mumbled frustratedly.
"It's quite alright," she chuckled, "I'm a doctor, there's no need to be embarrassed about any kind of care," she assured.
This did not stop the fire on his cheeks, as he was forced to lean forward to accept the glass tilted at his mouth. He was a shameful creature. But the water was cool and soothing as it slid down his throat. It cleared his head, too.
"Kim Dokja, right?" she asked, setting the glass aside. "I'm Doctor Lee Seolhwa, I'm in charge of your care at the moment."
He nodded. "Wh… is…" he swallowed, "the girl," he tried, hoping she'd understand.
The doctor — Lee Seolhwa smiled pleasantly at him. "She's just fine. Your quick thinking and action likely saved her life. She ended up with a few scrapes, but nothing compared to the damage your body sustained." She frowned, expression smoothing into something more serious as she glanced down at her clipboard. "For now, I won't trouble you with all the details of everything, but you've been essentially out of it for the last three days."
Damn, Kim Dokja thought, there's goes my weekend. Not that he spent the weekends doing much, anyway. Still… He released a stuttering breath. Three days wasn't terribly long, but it remained sort of strange to hear. "H'mush do I gotta pay?" he demanded, cursing his unable mouth.
"It's recommended you stay for at least another few days, to a week, for us to monitor your condition," she continued instead. Kim Dokja's stomach dropped, as he took this to mean she was avoiding dealing him his actual killing blow. "As for the cost," she began, "that will be worked out later."
"Wha' if you throw me ouh the winnow," he offered. The first motion he bothered to power his limbs with, and it was to point at said window, decorated with a cute jar of flowers. Aww. He'd have such a nice view on the way down.
Lee Seolhwa merely raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I can do that. I'm not sure what you're trying to run from, but you're in no condition to do so."
"Debt," Kim Dokja answered, deadpan, "shou' jus kill me ughhhh." He leaned back into the pillow, dropping his hand, and whined, "Gonna haff t'do s'much ov'rt'mm…"
"Kim Dojka-ssi seems to have misunderstood," she chuckled lightly. "Someone else will explain soon," she assured, "but you won't be paying any medical bills."
He looked her. "No?" He didn't exactly have the money to sue the driver into paying, either.
"No," she assured him. "The little girl you saved? Her guardian is incredibly grateful for what you did," she said softly. "He also happens to be a good friend of mine. The two of them have been visiting you, and he hopes to work out a deal to pay for your recovery as a thank you."
What, Kim Dokja thought. That was… incredibly kind. He hadn't intended to take advantage of some poor parent, though. He quickly shook his head, "'M… I'm not tryna take ad-vantage." He huffed in frustrated at the forced enunciation of his words. Slowly, his voice was returning to him, but it was taking its damn sweet time. A little like the feeling slowly returning to his twitching fingers.
"Don't worry, he's the one who insisted," she corrected drily. "Anyway, he and his sister will be here soon. Can I get you to answer some questions before then."
"What."
So, Kim Dokja tried to ignore the building panic — and bury his confusion about "sister" — as he worked against the strain in his throat to answer some questions. Basics, to assess his current cognition, as well as about the physical state of his body. She explained a little more about his condition, the areas he shouldn't stress, the diet they'd have him on, and his probable path to recovery. Which included physical therapy even after leaving the hospital. That put a sour taste in his mouth. It had been terrible enough the first time around.
Eventually, there was a knock at the door. The person on the other side did not wait for an answer before pushing it open, with less regard for the gentle caution that Lee Seolhwa had entered with. First was a tiny girl, swamped under a large, pastel-patterned sweater, her hair tied into two neat pigtails, a stubborn look on her face. Kim Dokja could only spy two bandages on her face, but by the way she skipped into the room lacking any casts, he hoped that meant she hadn't endured more than surface-level injury. Beside her was the most intimidating man Kim Dokja had ever seen. He was tall, muscular, and terribly handsome, even through the cold expression on his face. He was wearing a dark gray turtleneck sweater, and a black overcoat, which he was already removing to hang beside the couch.
He probably could have picked up Kim Dokja with one hand and chucked him out the window, no sweat. Kim Dokja would probably let him, considering he was paying for his hospital bills, and also his cheekbones could probably cut god, and his eyes glittered like obsidian, and his eyelashes and eyebrows framed his face kindly, and his hair hung in adorable waves, and his smooth, tan skin—
Wow, Kim Dokja thought, maybe the universe is on my side.
"Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi," Lee Seolhwa greeted warmly. She waved at the little girl. "Hello, Mia-yah."
"Seolhwa-unnie!" the girl exclaimed, "How's the ugly ahjussi doing?"
Why did all children call him that? He wasn't that old — and he wasn't ugly either! Wait!
Arghhh. Kim Dokja tried to fight for more rage than agitation, but he found he could only dredge up a strange kind of fond relief. Lee Seolhwa had mentioned she was alright, but… it was good to see for himself. It was almost more endearing to realize she was a fierce, unafraid little thing. Kim Dokja, for once, was glad to be in a specific place at a specific time. Wrong or right was subjective and obsolete: this girl was okay, and that felt more precious than anything else.
"Hello," he responded instead of releasing any of his indignant frustrations, or embarrassing endearments. He lifted a hand to wave shortly, a thin smile on his lips.
She grinned brightly at him, bounding up to his side. "I'm very glad you didn't die."
He chuckled lightly. "I think I am, too." He glanced up to the window, "Did you pick those flowers?"
She turned around, before shrugging at him. "Me and my friends. They wanted to give you a gift."
"That's kind of them," he admired.
"Now, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi," Lee Seolhwa called, and his attention was caught back on the absurdly handsome man now looming at his bedside, "Kim Dokja-ssi had some questions regarding paying for his care."
The man had followed closely after his sister, laying a hand on her shoulder, as he glared down at Kim Dokja. He grunted in answer of the doctor, still looking at Kim Dokja like he was imagining flaying his flesh from his bones.
Kim Dokja smiled nervously back at him. What the hell did I do to piss this guy off?
Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes. "I'd like to apologize first," he said gruffly, "for my sister's reckless behavior." At mention of herself, the girl looked away guiltily, even as a pout played over her lips. "I'm…" his face tightened, "I'm … incredibly grateful. Yoo Mia is my dearest family. If you hadn't stepped in…"
The girl's expression softened into further guilt, as she wrapped her arms around him (as much as she could). "Sorry, Oppa."
He glared down at her. "Don't ever do that again," he scolded, even as he laid a hand over her head, resting it gently as he thumbed her bangs around her ear.
"I know," she mumbled, and Kim Dokja got the feeling they'd had this conversation before.
Kim Dokja smiled up at the man, his chest warm and aching and painfully soft. "Don't worry about it. I really… I couldn't have just stood by and watched," he assured, before he shook his head, "I spotted the truck beforehand. That's probably the only reason I had any wit about me to actually…" he swallowed. In another world, he wondered if he'd pulled out his phone to drown out the world instead. "Reckless behavior, sure. Even so, your sister should have had time to spot it, and for it to spot her." He frowned angrily, brows pinched. "I saw how fast it was going even beforehand, and I realized, if someone crosses now, that thing's not gonna stop." He smiled wryly, "Lo and behold…"
Yoo Joonghyuk's expression hardened. "I'm working on getting that bastard for the negligence," he growled.
His sister punched his side. "Oppa. We're thanking this guy right now."
Yoo Joonghyuk took a deep breath, shoulders trembling, stiffening, then falling lax with a sigh. "Yes, I… Thank you, for saving my sister's life." His face remained tense, but he seemed to be fighting to maintain a calm composure. It just made him look charmingly awkward. "It very well could have been at the cost of your own, but you didn't hesitate. I'd like to pay for the damages to your health as recompense."
"That's…" Kim Dokja trailed off softly, "very kind. But, you really don't need to worry about owing me anything." Kim Dokja did not need "Taking advantage of a hot single parent" on his track record.
"Money's not an issue," Yoo Joonghyuk replied bluntly, "for me, that is. I have a feeling the debt accrued here would not do well for an officer worker as yourself."
"You know my job?" Kim Dokja demanded. He could feel his hackles rising. Screw this guy, why was he even here? What did he give a damn about Kim Dokja? What did he know about Kim Dokja?
What did he know about Kim Dokja?
"I'm not a charity case," he said coldly.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared. "I simply refuse to owe anyone for anything," he replied harshly.
"Pay for my hospital stay and we'll call it even, okay?" Kim Dokja sighed. Before muttering, "Though, maybe I'll need separate compensation for this conversation."
Yoo Mia giggled.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked ready to hit him with a truck again. "Excuse me?"
Lee Seolhwa stood suddenly, "Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi, may I speak with you? Outside?" she said it pleasantly, but her smile was sharp. Kim Dokja shuddered. Begrudgingly, Yoo Joonghyuk glanced between Kim Dokja and the door, before following her outside. The door clicked softly behind the two of them, before their figures sild down the hall where Kim Dokja could no longer see.
He turned to Yoo Mia with a nervous smile. "I heard you and your brother visited me," he offered, a little awkwardly. "That was kind of you."
She stared at him, a strangely piercing gaze that seemed to cut through Kim Dokja with efficient ease. "We didn't mind. Oppa acts like he did, but he really is glad that you're gonna be alright."
Kim Dokja was beginning to get the sense that this girl looked up to her brother with rose-tinted glasses. That man was absolutely praying on Kim Dokja's death.
She shrugged, "Anyway, Seolhwa-unnie said you weren't getting other visitors, and paying for everything was the only way to get around the hospital rules about family and privacy or whatever."
Kim Dokja hadn't listed anyone for emergency contact… ever, really. Last had been a roommate he'd thought was trustworthy. No dice. This whole thing was presenting him with strange notion he hadn't ever considered for his own life. It eased him, though, to think these were the whims of a child simply grateful to be alive. The bit about the circumventing of patient privacy laws was somewhat concerning, but — wait, did that mean — "Your brother already paid for my stay?" he blurted.
She narrowed her eyes into a glare, one brow raised, and Kim Dokja felt distinctly like someone being stared at for being stupid. "Duh. He got a private room so you wouldn't be disturbed and everything."
He blinked at her. "That's why I'm in this room?!"
She giggled at him, even as his mouth fell agape. "Ugly Ahjussi, you're funnier than I thought. I was making up stories about what you'd be like if–when you woke up, but all I had was whatever bullshit Seolhwa-unnie told us from your files, and she was super secretive."
His… files? "Are you allowed to say that word?" he muttered, somewhat shocked, and absolutely terrified of what her brother would do to him for simply having spoken it in his presence.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "What're you gonna do, tell Oppa? I don't think so."
"You're not, then," he nodded. He felt somewhat resigned to his fate. One way or another, apparently this child was determined to help him reach his demise. True, this whole situation was a load of bullshit, and maybe Kim Dokja wouldn't mind getting out of it…
He swallowed roughly. His body had snapped under the force of that truck. It really could've—
The door slid open again. Lee Seolhwa entered first, smiling calmly and pleasantly. Yoo Joonghyuk loomed behind her, expression troubled — mostly furious though, probably at Kim Dokja. Great.
"I hope you're not bothering our patient too much, Mia-yah," she chuckled warmly, although her gaze was rather pointed.
Yoo Mia shook her head, "I'm being polite to ahjussi," she assured, a perfect wide-eyed little angel.
"She's very good company," Kim Dokja agreed honestly. He could be both bothered at being insulted by an elementary student, while also keeping entertained by her antics. Anyway, it wasn't like he was gonna rat on her for being a little shit in front of her over-protective asshole (apparently extraordinarily rich!! which indicated spoiled, the both of them) of an older brother.
"That's good to hear," Lee Seolhwa said, expression softening. "Now, Kim Dokja-ssi, I've asked Yoo Joonghyuk to recount his actual offer regarding this situation."
"I'm not sure I understand," Kim Dokja replied.
Yoo Joonghyuk huffed, before crossing his arms. "I'd like to work out an official contract with you. One that states I will bear the financial costs of your recovery, and, in return, you won't seek any other forms of compensation from myself or my sister for your actions." His glare was harsh.
Kim Dokja stared, befuddled. What was this guy even thinking? What other forms of compensation was it possible for Kim Dokja to even extract from these people? From a child? What did this guy think, he jumped in front of that truck at risk of death because he was plotting the whole time to exploit this random strange Kim Dokja didn't even know? Hey, this guy didn't know Kim Dokja, either. Baseless opinions, assumptions, judgments, stalking wherever he went— "You really didn't have to pay for this," Kim Dokja reiterated irately.
The man opened his mouth, eyes flashing, perfectly ready to retort. Kim Dokja bulldozed right over him. Damn jerk needed to learn patience.
"But if you insist," Kim Dokja conceded, "fine, I'll sign whatever. I'm not even sure what you think I'd get out of…" What even was this? Why was this guy so serious about… He snorted, a laugh bubbling up without permission.
Yoo Joonghyuk's expression widened incredulously. Best to laugh now, before the guy went ahead with strangling Kim Dokja. Enjoy this while it lasts.
Kim Dokja couldn't fight off the earnest smile on his face. "Sorry, just… this whole thing is so terribly absurd," he confessed, exasperated. "I'm not even certain what you think I'd what from you. You're acting like I plotted this, somehow — to exploit you specifically? I really don't know you." He shrugged helplessly.
"You don't know me," Yoo Joonghyuk repeated, almost suspicious, almost baffled.
Kim Dokja stared at him. So the guy was rich and a celebrity. Whatever. "I don't. How would I even…" he shook his head. "Listen, I really didn't sign up for… any of this. Your sister is perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly glad that she's alright," he clarified, tone clear and defined as he took command over laying these conditions between them, "and I'm very grateful that you're trying to repay me."
Everyone would be happy. Kim Dokja wouldn't have to worry about the costs of the hospital — just lost wages, which was its own animal he was perfectly willing to tackle if it got him out of this. He did not need this self-absorbed, terribly handsome psycho on his ass about what they "owed" each other. Short of signing his very soul away, Kim Dokja was willing to meet just about any terms that would ensure he'd never have to see this guy again. And, clearly, that was what this guy wanted, too!
"Let's leave it at that, and not warp this situation any further," Kim Dokja decided. "I'll sign your contract, whatever, and you'll pay for the hospital stay and nothing else."
"Recovery," Yoo Joonghyuk corrected instantly.
"What?" Kim Dokja pulled his body up. His ribs shrieked in protest. He ignored them.
"I'm paying for everything related to your recovery," he explained, glaring again. For why?! Kim Dokja had offered him a way out and he was the one who'd just boxed himself back in!
"I heard you already paid for the hospital bills," Kim Dokja stated, carefully circulating his own breathing, chest aching. Yoo Joonghyuk nodded, eyes narrowed. "So, just pay for that," he hissed, "I can take care of myself."
"Clearly you can't," Yoo Joonghyuk sneered.
"Excuse me?" Kim Dokja demanded sharply.
"Okay, that's enough," Lee Seolhwa interjected, lifting her hands placatingly, expression tight around her smile.
"Unnie, no, it was just getting interesting," Yoo Mia grumbled.
"Your body is in terrible shape," Yoo Joonghyuk continued, undeterred, gaze pinned on Kim Dokja.
"Your personality is in terrible shape," Kim Dokja spat, pettily. In defiance and betrayal, pain lit up along every part of his damaged body. He swallowed it back from crossing over his expression.
Yoo Joonghyuk's thunderous reaction was worth it.
"Kim Dokja-ssi" Lee Seolhwa called, sternly, "Joonghyuk-ssi is just trying to pay for the monetary costs of physical therapy and any other necessary procedures."
"No," Yoo Joonghyuk denied.
She paused, turning to him. "What?"
So she was confused too?!
"Recovery," he repeated. "It was your conclusion that he's exhausted, undernourished, and malnourished. Until he's capable of returning to work, I'll take care of him."
"What are you talking about?" Kim Dokja cried, furious and baffled. "You don't need to—" he drew a deep breath. This was taking a toll on his extremely damaged internal systems. "Those are problems I've had for long since before this incident, I'll be fine. Also, I'm not sure that was any of your business to know!"
Lee Seolhwa gave him a nervous smile. "Sorry, he was privy to certain things related to your medical state as a visitor and your benefactor relative to this situation…"
"Well I don't need him to know or do anything else," Kim Dokja said, steely, eyes narrowed.
"I will get a contract out of you, Kim Dokja," Yoo Joonghyuk growled. Kim Dokja tried to ignore the way his own name sounded from this man's mouth.
"I already agreed to that," he snapped. "You're the one complicating things!"
"This wouldn't be complicated if you were caring for yourself appropriately," Yoo Joonghyuk retorted bluntly. "You saved my sister's life. I want to ensure yours is… suitable, too."
"I'm fine," Kim Dokja deadpanned, sitting up a little more, spiting the gnawing agony coursing through his limbs. "I've made it this far just fine. I don't need your self-soothing pity."
Yoo Joonghyuk's face twisted. "That's not—"
"Let's continue this another day," Lee Seolhwa interrupted. "Yoo Joonghyuk, you're stressing my patient out," she scolded him. Kim Dokja smirked, until she turn to him, pressing her hands on his shoulders. He collapsed pretty instantly. "And you, stop exerting yourself," she glared, before leaning back. She laid a hand against her forehead with a sigh, before glancing at him with a troubled expression. "It isn't a bad thing to let yourself be taken care of, Kim Dokja-ssi," she assured gently, "Joonghyuk-ssi is a very kind and capable man."
This. This might be worse than the isekai.
Kim Dokja stared out at the three of them, utterly dumbfounded. How was he getting ganged up on for this! Could this even be legal? His doctor was supposed to be on his side, wasn't she?! He was being coerced! Threatened! Blackmailed!
At his side, Yoo Mia nodded exuberantly. "Oppa's the best." She grinned down at him. "Anyway, I'd like it better if ahjussi was better after saving me." Despite the kind words, her expression was wolfish. Still, it tugged at a purple floral bandaid on her cheek, and a cat-patterned one resting beneath her bands, above her eyebrow. The sight caught sharply in Kim Dokja's chest.
Fine. Okay. So, Yoo Joonghyuk was doing this for his sister's peace of mind? Kim Dokja could do that, too. He'd started this with saving her life, anyway, right?
"We can continue this discussion another day—" Lee Seolhwa tried.
"Fine," Kim Dokja acquiesced. He wanted to get this over with. Go back to his empty job, and empty apartment, and empty schedule. The swiftest route would be, apparently, giving into this beautiful man's whims. Once he felt assured his sister had lost her traumatic attachment, Kim Dokja could wave goodbye, and they could all never see each other again.
Lee Seolhwa's eyes widened in surprise. Yoo Mia's brightened victoriously. Yoo Joonghyuk's face went momentarily blank with shock, before it hardened all over again. Just what was this guy looking for? What an exhausting man…
"Kim Dokja-ssi, you're rather stressed out from all of this," Lee Seolhwa pressed, "I'll have Joonghyuk-ssi define all his terms on a different day—"
"That's fine," Kim Dokja agreed easily, keeping his gaze on Yoo Joonghyuk. "We can work out the contract details later."
Yoo Joonghyuk stared back at him, scrutinizing every twitch of his muscles. He nodded. "I'll have the draft worked out and brought with me by tomorrow."
Do as you please, Kim Dokja thought, smiling amicably. Two can play at this game.
Kim Dokja had yet to meet someone more stubborn than him, stubborn enough to stick around, to stay involved with Kim Dokja. If Kim Dokja had the option to leave, he surely would too. Yoo Joonghyuk lose interest eventually, and Kim Dokja could return to his life.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared, his eyes dark and sharp and… Ah, his handsome appearance would be both a blessing and a curse to endure.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then."