Chapter Text
Who even knew how this stupid bastard found and cleaned up a restaurant in the middle of the apocalypse. It wasn’t even open to the public—the front door was both locked and barricaded against unwanted guests.
Not that that ever stopped Kim Dokja though. He laid a careful hand against the handle and pushed it open. It was a phantom motion more than anything else, yet the ghost of a bell chimed as he stepped inside. The dining area was surprisingly clean. Devoid of dirt and dust, but also devoid of any furniture that wasn’t bolted to the ground in the first place. Even the light fixtures had been torn out of the ceiling.
Deeper in the building, he could hear a faucet running.
Carefully Dokja picked through the dining room and around the counter, rounding a corner to enter the kitchen. Compared to the dark dining area, the kitchen was blinding. Surfaces were cleaned until they were shining and even the air was easier to breathe. His gaze seemed to move automatically, drawn along by a thread. And standing there by the sink was the anchor of his orbit.
Yoo Joonghyuk was scrubbing away at something, water running along his arms.
“Take a seat,” he said. And Dokja sighed, crossing his arms. Some things never changed. Nearly 100 regressions, and Joonghyuk was still a lonely figure.
The silence seemed to signal something as Joonghyuk turned around. He was frowning lightly—just a deep furrow between his brows and a piercing stare as he watched Dokja.
“Sit,” he demanded. He sounded like a petulant pup being refused a treat. And he stared at Dokja like one too, all piercing eyes asking its heartlness owner why their loving hand was being so cruel. Dokja just smiled at him before shuffling towards the bar stools set by the kitchen island. The one he sat on was metal and dented, scuffed at the legs and wobbly when Dokja pulled it back to sit.
“I don’t even know if you have anything for me to eat here,” he said lightly. How aware was Joonghyuk really when he called Dokja into the scenarios?
Personally, Dokja didn’t know how, nor did he know why, but it seemed like after a certain “rest” period, he could be summoned back into the scenarios, if only for a moment. Normally he only woke from his slumber for no longer than a handful of heartbeats—just long enough to recognize when that stupid fucking stigma was activated so he could open the way for Joonghyuk to return to the beginning once more. Dokja could count on his hand how many times Yoo Joonghyuk had wanted to the point that that doorways had opened the other way around and Dokja blinked to awareness back in Seoul.
“Don’t worry. I’m not so underprepared to keep someone I invited hungry,” Joonghyuk stated. He turned back to the sink and shut the faucet off. Dokja cocked his head before settling his chin on his hand.
“Oh, is that so?”
A low hum. Joonghyuk dried his hands with a towel before moving to the refrigerator.
“Do you think so lowly of me?” He asked. His voice was faux light, and Dokja could only tell by the faint line of tension along his shoulders.
Never. How could he of his favorite protagonist?
Dokja waited until Joonghyuk finally turned enough to watch him before shaking his head. Like a reassured pet Joonghyuk relaxed and turned back to his preparations.
He sat in the kitchen and just listened as Joonghyuk began cooking. It was the sort of mundane, homely noise that Dokja hadn’t heard in… far too long. There’s a pot boiling on the stove and Joonghyuk drops some beef into it to simmer. Then he turned on another burner and cracked an egg into a bowl. Before he even truly realized it, Dokja had closed his eyes and breathed in slow and steady. The kitchen steadily grew louder, but never more than his own heart beating in his ears.
Finally, there was the sound of something pouring. And then a clink as a bowl was set down in front of him. Dokja blinked rapidly as steam rose and caressed his cheeks.
“Tteokguk?” he asked. He lifted the spoon that was set down by his hand. Joonghyuk hummed as he set down another bowl and moved to sit beside him on the other stool. They didn’t match at all—this one had a black leather seat that was torn in places. It creaked ominously under Joonghyuk’s weight before finally settling. Did Joonghyuk get an extra stool specifically for this meal?
“It’s the new year,” he said simply. Dokja turned to him, then to the doorway leading back outside.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. His throat was dry. “… it is?”
“It is.” Joonghyuk had bought a calendar some months ago and lost a whole day to just, crunching the numbers to finally figure out what day it was. Some random Constellations had given unwanted and incorrect dates during the process, and not a single message had been from the Star Joonghyuk had slowly been preparing his kitchen for this whole time. But now that star was here, peering into his bowl of tteokguk.
Joonghyuk grabbed the shredded gim and sprinkled some more on top of his sponsor’s soup. This way, there would be some that would still have some crunch.
“Eat.”
How long had it been since his sponsor had eaten? Joonghyuk could barely remember anything about the blinks and glimpses his star was there for in the final moments of his regressions.
Dokja smiled at Joonghyuk, soft and gentle, and dipped his spoon into the soup. He blew at his spoonful before carefully sipping. Immediately he hummed, the tone high and pleased as his eyes widened. Joonghyuk placed his hands on the table and continued to watch as Dokja dug into his bowl.
There had always been something pleasing in watching others enjoy his cooking. Even before this regression round, satisfaction could be found in how readily Mia ate their meals.
Even now, so far away and separated from his companions and his sister, he could watch someone eat in this lonely kitchen of his. Dokja’s face grew flushed as he bowed his head over the steaming bowl, blowing on every spoonful before he ate. So this star of his had a cat’s tongue—Joonghyuk would carve that into his bones for the next time they ate together.
"You probably are aware of it already. I do not have much time left to live."
His spoon came to a stop inches away from his mouth. Lips pressed into a thin line, Dokja swallowed and let his spoon fall back into the bowl.
He had heard those words before.
“I know,” Dokja said. He stared into the cloudy broth. Joonghyuk shifted in his stool, tapping one finger against the kitchen island.
“I’m tired, Kim Dokja,” he said. His voice was so achingly soft.
“I know.”
“There’s still so much more to go.”
“There is.”
There was a loud scratching noise as Joonghyuk shifted his stool closer to Dokja’s. After a couple of seconds a head came to rest heavily on Dokja’s shoulder, soft strands of hair tickling the side of his throat.
“Must I go on? You’re here, aren’t you?”
Dokja stirred his spoon into his bowl and watched as the different ingredients swirled in the broth. The back of his teeth felt sticky, and not only from the tteok.
“I’m not the only reason you regress,” he said, “Remember?”
He had been like an afterthought, almost. Or rather, he had been a want so intertwined with Joonghyuk’s wish to discover himself—his past, his future, his reason for existence—that it was difficult to tell whether or not the two wishes were separate at all. Was it possible to disentangle Dokja from Joonghyuk?
When it came to Dokja, no. He wouldn’t be here without Yoo Joonghyuk and his story in the first place.
Was it possible that Joonghyuk’s story wouldn’t exist without him?
Joonghyuk’s nose pressed against the thin skin under Dokja’s ear. His breath was warm and whistled through Dokja’s hair.
“Will I see you again?”
A whining pup, muzzle cradled in the gentle hands of its owner. Dokja tilted his head so they were leaning against each other.
“If you want for it,” he said simply. If Joonghyuk’s want was greater than the censored memories he had of every other time he had dragged Dokja back into the scenarios.
[Only the tiniest fragmented memories from the scenarios will remain in you.]
That had been what he said, wasn’t it? At the zenith of it all.
“I’ll always want you,” Joonghyuk stated. Simple as that. Dokja bit the inside of his cheek and focused on something far away from here. He could see a familiar pop up appear as the Fourth Wall spoke to him, but Dokja was also tired. Who knew how long he’d sleep for next?
Joonghyuk raised his head and grabbed Dokja’s spoon from his limp hand. Then he raised it to Dokja’s lips.
“Eat,” he said, pressing the spoon to Dokja’s mouth. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
Far too long. Dokja opened his mouth and chewed on the tteok. Memories began to slot themselves along his stories. All of them miraculously, or, perhaps not, to his preferences. The 81st Yoo Joonghyuk had spent his time mastering himself in the kitchen. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Joonghyuk fed him another spoonful. His own bowl was still untouched, shredded gim wilted and soggy.
“Joonghyuk?”
This time Joonghyuk hummed. Dokja grabbed his wrist when he raised it again. His skin was warm, and his heartbeat thrummed under Dokja’s palm. The lack of scars was a little unnerving though. Like it was a physical sign that Joonghyuk was not meant to live this way while the Star Stream existed.
Joonghyuk pulled his hand away. Another spoonful that Dokja swallowed down. The soup had cooled down now.
Finally, Joonghyuk scraped the bottom of the bowl. He let the spoon clatter against the side of it and laid his head back onto Dokja’s shoulder. It couldn’t be comfortable. Dokja was still slowly recovering from the sheer amount of probability he spent in the 0th turn. He was bonier than even before the scenarios. Before his own Joonghyuk. Still, Joonghyuk of the 81st turn turned so his forehead was pressed against him.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Dokja tried again. Joonghyuk hummed low in his throat, his eyes closed.
“Happy new year,” Dokja said.