Chapter Text
Dokja stares at the wretched strip in his hands.
Two lines.
Just like the two other strips lying on his bathroom countertop.
He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to rub his face in frustration lest he transfers any unwanted… test residue from his hands to his eyes. He can reason through this. Maybe he’s gone mad from overwork. Maybe he’s been looking at his laptop monitor for a lot longer than his ophthalmologist would’ve liked. That’s it! He needs to get his eyes checked, he’s definitely developed some sort of double vision. There is no way the strip is showing him two lines.
Cleverly, he puts one fingernail on the upper line, and drags his finger down. There’s a line under his nail. He moves it back up and finds the upper line. He moves it back down and finds the… second line.
Fuck, he’s really done it this time. He’s gotten himself pregnant from a one-night stand. His first ever one-night stand. His first time having sex, ever!
As if that wasn’t enough, the father of his child had to be—
A cheerful guitar ringtone echoes through his bathroom. Right next to the two pregnancy test strips, his phone screen shows a familiar name calling him.
“Not right now—”
₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊
“—nghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk!”
Joonghyuk snaps out of it with a low hum in response.
“Zoned out there?” Han Sooyoung asks, raising an eyebrow as she tips her wine glass ever so slightly.
“It’s loud here,” Joonghyuk replies.
It’s not a lie, really. They’re at a spring charity gala with hundreds of other influential people gathered in a brightly-lit ballroom. They’re all chattering with one another, exchanging flowery words and fake laughter. It’s called a charity gala, but it’s really somewhere rich people go to mingle and make connections. As the current CEO of Eunshim, a food and beverage company under Hanwoon Group, Joonghyuk’s attendance is mandatory. Unfortunately, as his grandfather says, “Joonghyuk lacks in… social traits required in high society. I do not see him fit to run Hanwoon anytime soon.” Joonghyuk cannot deny it.
It isn’t a big deal to Joonghyuk, truly. He does not possess much desire to take control of his grandfather’s conglomerate and thus has no plans of changing his personality, nor does he hold a grudge against his grandfather for his remarks. Only, during times like this, he wishes his grandfather’s disapproval of his nature would come with the understanding that Joonghyuk simply isn’t fit for these events and therefore should not be required to attend. It is difficult to be a wallflower when one stands 186 centimeters tall with a decent build.
That is why, at every event, he pretends to be sociable by unabashedly sticking to a handful of people—two, to be precise: his cousin Yoo Sangah, CEO of Hanwoon Beauty and probable heir to Hanwoon, and her wife, Han Sooyoung, literature professor and bothersome friend.
“True, but you’re not usually this bothered by it,” Sangah responds, her face tinted with a hint of concern.
“Stomachache,” Joonghyuk says, lying for real this time.
“Huh, that’s weird,” Sooyoung says, swishing her wine glass and staring at her drink in boredom. “Is there a stomach bug going around? I swear Kim Dokja had a stomachache the other day, too.”
“You saw Kim Dokja?” Joonghyuk asks, far too quickly, far too sharp.
Sooyoung looks puzzled as she answers, “Yeah? I meet up with him for a meal every once in a while.”
Joonghyuk must have an odd expression on his face, because Sangah asks, “What’s wrong?”
It’s unfortunate that Joonghyuk does not have a great answer to that. He shifts his eyes back to Sooyoung, asking, “You said he was sick?”
Sooyoung hesitates. “We were having brunch and he seemed more tired than usual. I thought it was weird since, you know, he got laid off and probably wasn’t overworking himself like usual—maybe it was years of overwork accumulating, I’m not sure. Anyway, he had a whiff of some sausages, nothing crazy, and then excused himself to the restroom. I asked him what was wrong and he said he had a stomach bug, no big deal.”
“Poor Dokja,” Sangah says sympathetically.
“Why are you asking?” Sooyoung has to look up at Joonghyuk from far below him, but her interrogative stare is effective anyway. “Did you guys fight or something?”
“We’re too old for that,” Joonghyuk denies.
When he closes his eyes, he can still hear it. The panting, the whining, sheets rustling beneath them as Dokja sweetly cried for his knot. He can still smell it, the scent of sex and their pheromones mingling in the air—his stronger sandalwood and Dokja's subtle parchment-like aroma. He can still feel it. Dokja’s warmth around him, the swelling, and then the snapping of a rope pulled taut, a release like none other.
He still remembers waking up to an empty bed, the space next to him devoid of warmth. It’s been radio silence since then, not a single note nor text from the man whom he shared a bed with that night, not a single phone call getting through. They used to go out to get dinner and drinks biweekly, yet it’s been three weeks since they slept together and Joonghyuk hasn’t seen him at all.
Joonghyuk can’t help but let a frustrated sigh slip through.
“Are you sure nothing happened?” Sooyoung asks, now cautious.
He didn’t say nothing happened, but he can’t tell his friend and cousin that he had sex with their mutual friend at a charity gala of all places, so he just grunts before he settles on, “Yeah.”
“Really?” Sooyoung presses once more, clearly skeptical. “Because you’re making that stupid face.”
Joonghyuk scoffs. “What stupid face?”
“Kinda reminds me of when you guys argued in high school and Dokja left and you couldn’t find him,” she muses. Then, she mistakes Joonghyuk’s expression for one of confusion and decides the solution is to jog his memory. “You know, when Dokja got into trouble and you stepped in and got into trouble in his stead, and then he was like, ‘I didn’t ask you to do that,’ before he ran off to—”
“No, I remember,” Joonghyuk says, tone clipped. Then, he’s quiet.
Sangah looks between Joonghyuk and Sooyoung curiously, having only gotten close to Dokja in college. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I’m heading out first,” Joonghyuk says, handing his glass of wine over to a nearby attendant. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He can vaguely make out Sooyoung’s indignant cry of what and Sangah’s quiet huh as he walks out of the venue in quick strides, but the only thought that occupies his head is the urge to find Kim Dokja as soon as possible.
₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊
Kim Dokja met Yoo Joonghyuk for the first time in spring of 2011.
And by met he meant he caught a glimpse of Joonghyuk at the high school entrance. At fifteen, he was already quite a bit taller than everyone else, and rumors had spread that he was a chaebol heir, one who is a handsome and athletic alpha to boot. Teenagers like to crowd things and people they find interesting; Joonghyuk had a handful of fellow first-years following him around, though he didn’t seem to care for them much.
At that age, Dokja had just moved from the old district where he had lived and was just trying his best to not get bullied nor kicked out for abysmal grades. The life of a popular rich alpha kid was the last thing he thought to get involved with. If anyone were to ask this Dokja if he knew Yoo Joonghyuk, he would have answered, “The popular kid? I’ve seen him around, but knowing him is a stretch, sorry,” and he would’ve moved along.
As luck or fate or whatever would have it, Dokja became involved with said rich alpha kid, anyway.
Their real first meeting was fall of 2011.
The second semester of the school year had just begun, but Dokja had some issues with his awful uncles over the summer break and ended up arriving late to school on his first day back. Dokja wasn’t usually one to break rules, so he had neither the experience nor the physical ability to sneak in by climbing over the walls. Therefore, he walked through the front gate, got marked by a teacher, and had detention to fulfill after school that entailed tidying the gym storage room just the way the senior gym teacher liked it.
Okay, Dokja could do that, except he didn’t think Yoo Joonghyuk would be there.
Dokja walked in there with a mask and a colorful feather duster to find him just kind of chilling in the corner of the closet, eyes shut, earphones in, and an MP3 player in hand. “Okay,” he remembered muttering. Dokja wasn’t going to strike up a conversation, and it wasn’t out of intimidation of alphas. Dokja was an omega with a scent so faint most would think he was a beta, so he rarely had trouble with alphas as long as he lay low—he just didn’t feel like talking.
Thus, Dokja stood there as he read the list of instructions given by the teacher in charge of the disciplinary committee, piecing together the convoluted rules to try and get this job done. He was pushing a box up a top cabinet when he heard a faint rattling sound, prompting him to look up and realize a stack of cones were about to fall on his head. With no time to evade, he shut his eyes and braced for impact, only to find that it never came.
Instead, a warm body was pressed up against him from behind, and he opened his eyes to find an arm holding the cones from toppling over.
“You’re a lousy cleaner,” he heard Yoo Joonghyuk say as he pulled away.
Dokja winced as he brushed off invisible dust from his shirt. “Ah, sorry about that.”
The closet was quiet for a bit, before Yoo Joonghyuk asked, “Detention?”
“Huh?” Dokja looked up and awkwardly fidgeted with his hands. “Oh, yeah.”
Yoo Joonghyuk held his hand out, prompting for the sheet of paper in Dokja’s hand. Dokja responded promptly, of course. Then, he read it closely before telling Dokja, “The way you organized it isn’t the way Mr. Jung likes it.”
“What? I was just following the instructions,” Dokja replied, unable to stop himself from feeling offended.
In lieu of a response, Yoo Joonghyuk started shifting a few things around, like the cart of balls, some boxes, and the cleaning supplies. Afterwards, he even collected stray practice vests previously hiding under the cart.
Dokja hated to admit it, but Yoo Joonghyuk did a better job than he did. To be fair, he had the advantage of being on the volleyball team Mr. Jung favored, so it was just a given that he would know his preferences better than Dokja did. Still, Dokja said, “Okay, my bad,” by the end of the ordeal.
Yoo Joonghyuk just looked at him, unimpressed.
Dokja shrugged with an awkward laugh. “I’ll treat you to bread for lunch tomorrow?”
Yoo Joonghyuk sighed, but he humored him the next day, anyway, as he sat in the storage room eating the bread Dokja bought. Dokja looked at him eating with a smile. Even a 600 won red bean bun could look good if eaten by a handsome guy. Ew, Dokja’s brain immediately caught up.
“And what about you?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.
“Me?”
“You’re not eating?”
“Oh.” Dokja had only brought 1000 won that day. Not nearly enough for two people to eat. “I don’t have money left?”
Yoo Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow. “You had no money and you bought me bread for lunch?”
Well, no money was an exaggeration, but Dokja nodded anyway. In retrospect, it really was foolish of him to treat Yoo Joonghyuk of all people for lunch. Yoo Joonghyuk could afford so much more than this cheap bun, while Dokja’s 1000 won was all he had. Something like bitterness rose up his throat, but Dokja pushed it down. “Dumb, I know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk sighed before he tucked his bread back into the plastic packaging, put it down, stood up, and said, “Wait here.”
Who would’ve thought that Yoo Joonghyuk would bring Dokja his own lunchbox? Rice, bulgogi, kimchi, sigeumchi namul, and a fried egg. “I can’t eat all this,” Dokja said, jaws dropped.
“Eat some anyway,” Yoo Joonghyuk replied, picking his lousy bun off the floor and taking another bite.
Dokja hesitated for a bit, but felt like it would be rude to decline. He ended up saying, “thank you for the meal,” before taking a bite. And damn it, it was genuinely good. As expected of a rich kid. He probably had chefs working on this lunch box.
Surprisingly, Yoo Joonghyuk said, “I made it.”
“Oh.” Dokja knew it was a cue to compliment his cooking, not that he didn’t deserve it. “It’s really good. You’re a good cook.”
He hadn’t thought he could attribute the word cute to Yoo Joonghyuk, but the face he made when visibly pleased was exactly that. Cute.
Apparently, that was enough to establish a friendship.
They would meet up in the gym storage room during lunch or after school. Yoo Joonghyuk, the popular rich alpha from 1-4, became just Joonghyuk-ie, the guy who often shared the lunch he made for himself with Dokja.
Dokja later learned that Joonghyuk’s popularity had decreased not long after the school year began, as Joonghyuk’s personality wasn’t what people expected it to be, though girls still pined for him from afar. Dokja thought it was funny, because he hadn’t had good expectations of Joonghyuk, but his real personality was a pleasant surprise to Dokja.
Well, at least until Joonghyuk learned the art of annoying Dokja (whether it was because Dokja annoyed him first or not, Dokja could neither confirm nor deny).
Later, Han Sooyoung would crash in, finding the two of them in the storage room and going, “Mind if I join?” Of course, she just took her place without waiting for a response from either of them, but she did fit in quite nicely.
The three of them would go on to become decent friends inside and outside of that dusty room, and their friendship would survive college and adulthood. It was Yoo Joonghyuk, Kim Dokja, and Han Sooyoung, those three.
But Dokja met Joonghyuk first, so sometimes, every two weeks, after a long day of work, it was just Joonghyuk and Dokja. In a pork belly restaurant in Jongno, an Italian-style place in Gangnam, Dokja’s humble apartment, or Joonghyuk’s disgustingly large one. Just Joonghyuk, Dokja, good food, and drinks.
On days like those, they would have a little chat about their life—the good and the bad, though it was usually the bad. For the past few years, Joonghyuk had been complaining about the blind dates his grandfather had been setting him on, but it had gotten worse recently.
Three weeks ago, during their last meet-up at Joonghyuk’s place, Joonghyuk made it sound like he was one bad blind date away from an arranged marriage. And he wasn’t a whiner, per se, but his tone was particular when he spoke of things and experiences he disliked. To Dokja’s ears, it was basically whining compared to everything else that came out of Joonghyuk’s mouth.
Then, it was Dokja’s turn to vent: he got laid off by his crappy company. Dokja didn’t think he had done anything wrong, and he wasn’t ready for it, so he was pretty damn upset. So, he may or may have not ended up drinking a biiit more than he should have.
It was bad luck all around, really. Who would’ve known that Dokja’s stress-induced pheromone imbalance would cause him to go into heat prematurely at Joonghyuk’s place? And who would’ve known that Joonghyuk’s rut would come a little earlier than it usually did?
Having been Joonghyuk’s friend for more than fifteen years, Dokja had always known he was handsome. But even the times his face was dangerously close to Joonghyuk’s in the past paled in comparison to seeing it up close when he pulled away from Joonghyuk’s lips to catch his breath.
“Fuck, Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk groaned as his fingers gripped onto his couch, his sense of self-control clearly slipping away from him with each passing second. “Push me away. Get out. You'll—you'll regret this.”
But Dokja was just as lost to his instincts as Joonghyuk was. “Haa,” Dokja gasped, grinding down onto Joonghyuk’s crotch and propping his arms on Joonghyuk's shoulders. “I won't. Won't regret it. Please? Joonghyuk-ah, need you in me—ngh.”
Joonghyuk complied swiftly, carrying Dokja in his arms as they made out and tumbled into bed.
Won't regret it, my ass! Dokja thinks.
Okay, it wasn't necessarily a regretful experience. It's not like he can compare it to anything else, but he's pretty sure that was the best sex that could ever happen in his lifetime. In fact, if Dokja let his mind linger a little, it would be so easy to come back to that night, over and over and over again.
Dokja had felt Joonghyuk’s touch before, more times than he could possibly keep count of, but never like that. Rough fingers pushing into Dokja’s wetness and stroking Dokja’s face softly. Firm hands fisting his cock, splayed over Dokja’s stomach and pressing against where he was inside, playing with Dokja’s sensitive chest, tipping Dokja’s chin closer to pull him in for a kiss, and then finally, holding either side of his hips as he knotted Dokja just like Dokja had begged for, anchoring him in place until it would take.
And take it did. Dokja’s pheromones had waned enough to let him go home as soon as he woke up the morning after, but even his clumsy attempts at pretending it never happened by avoiding Joonghyuk didn’t have a chance against unmistakable evidence of their mistake: Dokja was with child. Yoo Joonghyuk’s child.
Now, if anyone were to ask the Dokja of today if he knew Joonghyuk, Dokja would pause for a second, think about answering intimately, before eventually saying, “Yeah. Good friends, actually.”
But the thing is, he’s sure that people aren’t supposed to sleep with their friends, aren’t supposed to get knotted by their friends in rut, and aren’t supposed to make babies with them!
He can’t face Joonghyuk after having had sex with him, nevermind being pregnant with his child. He just can’t imagine it—how Joonghyuk would respond, and what Dokja would do if their friendship came to a definite end. Terminating the baby is an option, but Dokja clutches at the fabric over his stomach. He should want it, but he doesn’t.
The problem is that he can’t just put this kind of burden onto Joonghyuk. He was already going on blind dates with beautiful, well-raised omegas, and he’s probably so close to finding the one. Dokja can’t show up in front of him like this. He really can’t.
And so, it doesn’t seem like he has any other choice other than to leave everything behind. The thought sinks his heart as he stares emptily at his phone, Joonghyuk’s blocked contact looking back at him.
₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊
Dokja has made his decision. Changing his name and moving out of the country might be out of the question with the budget he has, but he’s more than capable of moving away from Seoul, at the very least. He should be grateful that he lost his job the night before that went down. At least this way, he’s able to pack up his belongings and grab a last-minute ticket out of the city, no two-weeks notice required.
As for housing… he’s booked a hotel for now. He’ll figure out the details later. Han Sooyoung might kill him when she finds out. Yoo Joonghyuk would definitely kill him if he found out. But he won’t, because it’s 11pm on a weekday and he’s fit all of his belongings in two suitcases in tow, ready to escape the city without anybody noticing.
But as they say, think of the devil and he shall appear.
Dokja barely has one foot out his apartment door when he finds himself blocked by a wall of muscle.
In milliseconds, face against Joonghyuk’s firm, plump, warm chest (Dokja, fucking concentrate), he weighs out his options. One, he could retreat and make a run for it. But he’s heard that too much physical activity during the first few weeks of pregnancy could be bad for the baby. On top of that, he knows very well that Joonghyuk can run faster. It would be futile.
The second option is to stay like this, with his face planted against Joonghyuk’s well-endowed assets, and feign nonchalance. Act casual, like he wasn’t about to flee. Sure, he’ll have to cancel his ticket and accommodations, but he can reschedule and plan more cautiously for his next attempt. Anyway, he has the script written out in his head. All he needs to do is execute it. Calmly.
Unfortunately for him, Joonghyuk speaks first. “Not pulling away?”
Mechanically, Dokja places one foot behind him and steps away before he puts up his best impression of a surprised face. “Oh my god, Joonghyuk-ah. It’s so late at night! What are you doing he—”
“Kim Dokja, are you pregnant with my child?”
Damn it. He’ll just have to roll with it for now. Dokja lets out a laugh and punches Joonghyuk square on the shoulder. “Joonghyuk-ah, are you okay? Had a bad day at work?”
Joonghyuk’s face remains stern as he repeats, “Are you pregnant with my child?”
Dokja sighs, shaking his head. “Of course not. What are you talking about?”
“Han Sooyoung said you’ve been drowsy. And you threw up during brunch.”
That traitorous brat. Okay, Dokja hadn’t explicitly told her not to tell Joonghyuk, but, “I already told her it was just a stomach bug. Did she not tell you?”
“We had sex. I—” Joonghyuk pauses, “I knotted you during my rut and your heat. It’s been a few weeks.”
Dokja’s first mistake is hesitating when he answers, “It’s really nothing.”
“Then why are you running away?”
Okay, the scenario is converging back to his script. “Running away?”
As expected, Joonghyuk wordlessly points toward the luggage behind Dokja.
“Pfft, what, that?” It comes out stilted. He’s usually better at lying, ugh. “My luggage? What’s wrong, can’t I go on a vacation?”
“You’re a salaryman.” Joonghyuk retorts. “What vacation could be so sudden?”
“God forbid a working class man in his late 20s do some soul-searching,” Dokja complains, his fingers massaging his forehead to really sell the conundrum he’s having. “And I was a salaryman. Past tense. I already told you, they fired me—”
“Yes, I recall. You said that the night we slept together.” And Joonghyuk just had to add, “And conceived a child.”
Dokja resists the urge to drop his jaw from shock. He can’t believe Joonghyuk would just say that. “Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“Kim Dokja.”
He curses that Joonghyuk is so good-looking and has a way of tugging at his heart strings with the slightest movement of his facial muscles. Or perhaps Dokja is just too weak. “Ugh, fine.” He relents, way too easy, really. “You knocked me up and I’m leaving. Are you happy?”
Dokja sees Joonghyuk’s face relax, happy he got the answer he wanted, before his eyebrows furrow once more. “And why are you leaving?”
“Because”—he sounds it out in his head and decides it’s much too pathetic to say out loud—”I have my… reasons.”
“Which are?”
“… Confidential,” is what Dokja settles on. “You haven’t answered my question, and I asked it first. What are you doing here?”
Dokja watches as Joonghyuk’s throat bobs with a gulp. It’s kinda hot and kinda cute. Ugh, Dokja, get it together. “I—I have a responsibility.”
It’s Dokja’s turn to play the skeptic. He leans against the doorframe and asks, “A responsibility, huh?”
He sees Joonghyuk steel himself. “I’m making an offer.”
“Uh-huh. And what could that offer be?”
Joonghyuk tightens his fist ever so slightly from the corner of Dokja’s eye before he answers, “A contractual marriage.”
Dokja doesn’t know what face he has on right now, but no one can fault him for whatever that expression may be. Surely, Joonghyuk can’t be serious. “You’re not serious.”
“We talked about it once,” Joonghyuk says, and tacks on a reminder of when exactly, “in high school.”
“I don’t recall,” Dokja says, lying.
He regrets this long friendship with Joonghyuk. He’s just too easy for Joonghyuk to see through. “You’re lying.”
Well, yes, but in his defense, it was so long ago.
(It had been White Day, their second year of high school. Everyone who had been given chocolate during Valentine’s Day was giving chocolate to people they liked back. Love was in the air at school, it seemed like there was nobody who wasn’t dating. Of course, with the exception of him, Yoo Joonghyuk, and Han Sooyoung.
Sooyoung was still wallowing in her feelings for Yoo Sangah—the student council girl from class 2-4—who had started a relationship with another alpha guy that March, so she had no interest in thinking about anyone else. As for Dokja, he didn’t think much about romance at the time, and he kind of assumed Joonghyuk was the same, since the three of them were around each other often and yet Dokja had never heard Joonghyuk mention a crush the way Sooyoung would.
Dokja tested the waters, then. “Seems like everybody is dating these days.”
Joonghyuk merely hummed.
“I wonder if anyone will ever want that with me,” Dokja said, lightly.
“I wonder.”
Dokja didn’t like his tone. “Tsk, you’re supposed to say, ‘I’m sure someone will want you, Dokja,’ like a good friend.”
“I don’t like lying.”
“Wow, you’re unbelievable. I’m starting to worry for you too.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Bastard,” Dokja cursed.
But the spring breeze was so lovely and the flowers were so beautiful, even Dokja’s shadows were tinted pink. Maybe that was why, on a whim, he made a teensy tiny joke for Joonghyuk alone to hear: “If I’m old and wrinkly and turning 30, and you’re old and wrinkly and turning 30, and neither of us are married, maybe we should just get hitched, you and I.”
Dokja doesn’t quite remember how Joonghyuk reacted to that. Weird.)
Needless to say, the very-wrinkly 31-year-old Kim Dokja of the present must clear things up first and foremost. “That was… a joke, Joonghyuk-ah.”
“Well this isn’t a joke. Not what I’m offering now.”
His mouth feels so dry all of a sudden. “Joonghyuk-ah.”
“You know how much my grandfather has been pushing for marriage,” Joonghyuk attempts to reason.
“He won’t like me,” Dokja argues.
Joonghyuk is used to this, of course. “He’s traditional, and you’re with,” he pauses, “my child. He’ll beat me once and tell me to wed you.”
He said ‘my child’. Wow. “There’s nothing stopping him from suspecting that I was the one who seduced you.”
At that, Joonghyuk starts looking him up and down. “I doubt he will.”
“... What’s that supposed to mean?” Dokja can’t believe this guy and his audacity. No wonder he has no choice but to ask Dokja to marry him. No, why is he being rude to the man he’s proposing to?
“It doesn’t matter,” Joonghyuk answers. And that’s it.
Pursuing that topic would be useless, so Dokja cuts to the chase, starting to feel annoyed. “How do you know I’m keeping it? The baby, I mean.”
“You wouldn’t be running away if you decided not to,” Joonghyuk replies, simply.
When Dokja doesn’t reply, Joonghyuk sighs and cards his fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to keep it if you’ve changed your mind. But if you do, being with me would ensure your health and the baby’s. That’s my responsibility as the father.”
“But… being around you doesn’t have to mean getting married to you,” Dokja says. He can’t get married to Yoo Joonghyuk. He really can’t.
Joonghyuk opens and closes his mouth for a while, before he settles on saying, “You’re right.”
Slowly, Dokja asks, “Then why…?”
“I’m tired of the blind dates. I don’t like meeting these new people. I’ve never been fond of the idea of marriage. You know that.” Then, Joonghyuk has that look on his face he rarely makes, when something he wants is just a little out of reach. His brows furrow even further, the corners of his lips downturned, but there’s a light shine in his eyes. It almost feels like he’s looking up at Dokja instead of down. “If you married me, it would be—a favor, for me.”
It’s one hell of a favor. Dokja bites his lip, the confusion and anxiety converging at once. “What’s in it for me?”
“You can ask for any favor you want in return,” Joonghyuk answers.
For the average person, even if they had qualms about marriage like Dokja did, it would be an easy yes. As an omega, Dokja is expected to marry. His mother doesn’t care about it very much, but his other relatives do, even the useless ones. And they’ve been hounding Dokja ever since he made it to a decent university. Yoo Joonghyuk has all the money to quiet things down—has the money to bring Dokja and his mother peace and comfort for the rest of their lives, and some more.
But Dokja has known him for so long—this is a friendship that’s taken up half of Dokja’s life. Having it touched by something like marriage would be…
“Kim Dokja?” Joonghyuk calls, imploring.
Fuck. “And this,” Dokja clears his throat, “contractual marriage. How long will it be?”
Joonghyuk straightens up. “Until you divorce me.”
Dokja chuckles. “I could marry you tomorrow and divorce you the next day.”
Joonghyuk raises an eyebrow. “A hassle for everyone involved, including yourself,” he replies.
After a beat or two: “Ughhh,” Dokja groans, holding his hand in his face. Then, he glares at Joonghyuk. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“You can’t believe we’re doing this,” Joonghyuk corrects before he slips past Dokja and trespasses his apartment.
Dokja can’t bother following him right now and decides to yell from the doorway instead, “Yoo Joonghyuk, why are you breaking and entering!”
If this were a cartoon, Dokja would hear pots and pans and the sound of a cat yowling. But this is real life, so all he gets is the sound of cabinets opening and closing with a little bit of rustling.
A few minutes later, Joonghyuk comes back and takes Dokja’s hand into his, slipping something onto Dokja’s ring finger. When Dokja examines it, he finds a paper ring made out of a chopstick wrapper and tape.
“Seriously?” Dokja laughs.
“A contractual proposal is a proposal,” Joonghyuk replies. “I already knew this, but cleaning is not your strong suit. Why are you moving out with some junk left behind?”
“You should be grateful for it.” Dokja’s still looking at the stupid paper ring when he suddenly remembers something. “Oh, the contract?”
“I’ll have it written up before lunch tomorrow,” Joonghyuk answers, before taking Dokja’s suitcases with him.
“Wait, where are we going?” Dokja asks, confused.
Joonghyuk looks just as confused, like Dokja just asked a stupid question. “My place.”
“Wh—I wasn’t told I’d be marrying you today.”
“Well, no. The city hall is already closed. My schedule is full tomorrow, too. Is the day after that okay?” Joonghyuk replies.
“Not the point!” Dokja snaps. “I mean, why do I have to stay at your place now?”
Joonghyuk, that annoying bastard, lifts one of Dokja’s suitcases and shakes it in his face. “You’ve already packed,” he replies, then walks away with Dokja’s belongings.
“Wait for me, jerk,” Dokja sighs, walking after him. Only then does Joonghyuk slow down. How annoying.
Marriage… to Yoo Joonghyuk. Huh. He lived with Joonghyuk briefly in his first year of college—marriage can’t be that much different. Really, how bad can it be?