Chapter Text
Yoo Joonghyuk stood in front of the wooden door of his new home, suitcase in hand. It was the quintessential image of a cottage, artfully misshapen, with a slant to the roofing that looked almost intentional. The house was perched proudly in the midst of wild grasses and meadow flowers. Birdsong and the sound of wind through the trees fell pleasantly on the ears.
The door had no lock. It opened abruptly on the second, more effortful push, and Joonghyuk stepped into the house, dress shoes suddenly too loud for the hushed quiet of an uninhabited home. The room was far from empty; Joonghyuk’s first impression was that it was very dusty and cluttered. Books were haphazardly stacked up around, spilling from two bookshelves along the walls of the living room, and various manuscripts and strange, unidentified objects piled up in the corners. It smelled of chalk and libraries. In this sort of atmosphere, Joonghyuk’s perfectly-fitted grey business suit and tie felt too proper for the room.
He shrugged his blazer off and set his suitcase down by the sofa, placing the newspaper he was reading during the train ride here on the coffee table facedown. “GRAVE ROBBER STILL AT LARGE” was scrawled on the back page in large letters, the article below detailing a recent grave robbing occurrence nearby. After loosening his tie, he went on to briefly survey the rest of the rooms. The dining room and kitchen were spacious and less cluttered than the living room, as if the previous owner hadn’t used them much. The kitchen was relatively clean aside from the large pot of unidentified stew on the stovetop, long since gone bad. Upstairs was the bathroom and bedroom. The bathroom was predictably small, but the facilities were still functioning perfectly well, as described by the real estate agent.
The bedroom was nicer than expected, large bay windows filling the room with light. Around the room were similar strange piles of books. Joonghyuk could barely see the desk with how covered in papers and books it was. The strangest thing was the bed— blankets all tussled up as if someone had recently slept in it, and the faint scent of jasmine and wild strawberries.
Joonghyuk decided to start his renovations with the bedroom. Or, at least clean it up well enough so he could lay down. He picked up one of the books balanced on the pile above the desk. Then tried sweeping a pile of papers off the desk.
“Hey! Asshole! Don’t touch my stuff!”
Joonghyuk turned instinctively at the voice, which was snappish and indignant. In front of him was a person, looking just as surprised as he was.
It was a man in his late 20’s, about as old as Joonghyuk. Bright, dark eyes and soft black hair tufting on one side as if he had just woken up. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. The man had on a casual dress shirt tucked into slacks, and was barefoot besides the fluffy white slippers dangling from his feet. His feet weren’t touching the ground. His feet weren’t…? Joonghyuk stumbled back. The man was floating.
“What…?”
They continued gaping at each other. The strange floating man began to glow, as if he were agitated, or blushing, based on the dash of radiance on his cheeks. A flustered expression was steadily spreading across his face, which Joonghyuk now realized belatedly, was indeed translucent.
Joonghyuk blinked. He then briskly looked away, and picked up a stack of dusty books. He placed the books on the floor. He reached for another stack of books.
“Those— are my books!” The voice came again, and Joonghyuk desperately tried to block it out. There was no one else in the room; he had been promised that the house was vacated since its owner died a few months ago, so whatever he just heard and saw— it wasn’t real. Yoo Joonghyuk was a man of facts and logic. Ghosts didn’t exist. This was a hallucination, perhaps the unfortunate result of his long and tiring journey here.
Above him, a string of curses rang out. Joonghyuk’s hands, which had never trembled the slightest since his ten or so years of medical school and residency and official practice, fumbled on the edge of a book. As the books tumbled out of his arms, he registered the man swooping down out of midair to catch them. Joonghyuk’s arm went out to grab the man, and promptly went right through him, as if there was nothing but air. Joonghyuk swiped again. This time he could see the man’s mouth moving as he spit insults at Joonghyuk, and Joonghyuk’s hands touched nothing, held nothing, once more. After a brief chaotic tussle with the very much real illusion in front of him— it wasn’t his field of study but Joonghyuk thought he should at least consult the textbooks on disorientation and fatigue again— Joonghyuk felt a blow to the back of his head, and then nothing.
---
Kim Dokja hadn’t meant to knock out the stranger. Well still, he thought, the man was an intruder. An infuriatingly handsome one. Perfectly tousled ink black hair, strong eyebrows, and eyes cut like onyx. The angles of his face were as perfect as a statue’s, and the curve of his cupid’s bow was enough to make Dokja dizzy with how stupid attractive it was. Even unconscious, he looked like a sleeping prince. The man’s white, ironed shirt was tight over his muscular chest, and his neat grey pants clung to his thighs. He didn’t look like he would belong to the real estate bastards that came a week ago to snoop around Dokja’s home. Dokja had vindictively driven them off after making a fuss, and they were sure to never return again.
The man was too darn heavy to drag onto the bed. The best Dokja could do was prop him up against the bed and hope he didn’t just kill someone. He fidgeted around his desk for a while, brushed his hair, and then settled down next to the man on the floor. Sighing, he looked over to peek at the man’s handsome face, only to see two dark, murderous eyes open and glaring at him.
Kim Dokja yelped out in surprise.
“I thought something was up when this house was listed so cheap.” The man held a hand to his face in exasperation, and rubbed the back of his head where Dokja had smacked him. He scanned his immediate surroundings, looking irked at having woken up on the floor.
Dokja gaped at him. “You bought this house? Those bastards listed it and sold it?”
“I did,” the man frowned. He reached out and tried to touch Dokja again. His hand easily passed through. It was kind of cute of him. If Dokja had nerves, he thought they would’ve tingled. “What are you?”
“Kim Dokja, and dead. I’m a ghost, or a spirit, whichever you want to call me. Who are you?”
The man ignored Dokja’s question and bluntly barreled ahead. “How did you die?”
“Ah well, that’s the thing… I don’t remember.” Dokja answered, a bit awkwardly. “I promise it’s the truth! I really don’t know.” After a pause, he urged again, “Tell me your name. I’m not going to do anything with it.”
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” the man said finally, brief and succinct. Despite this bastard’s cold countenance, Dokja’s heart metaphorically fluttered. Yoo Joonghyuk. It felt right.
Joonghyuk fired off questions like a doctor hunting for a diagnosis. It was sweet of him, even if he didn’t mean it. No one had been curious about Kim Dokja for a very long time. Kim Dokja gave him the highlights— he died in January, fell into hibernation shortly after becoming a spirit, and only woke up now in April due to Joonghyuk’s arrival. He couldn’t leave the house even if Joonghyuk wanted to evict him because he was bound to it by some mysterious force. And most importantly…
‘I’m a necromancer. Or was,” Dokja amended, glumly. “Isn’t it ironic? I was supposed to raise the dead, but I’m the one who’s dead now.”
Joonghyuk gave him a skeptical look. Dokja thought it almost looked like a heated smoulder. “That’s... not a real job.”
“Well, then what do you do that’s so much better?”
“I’m a doctor, on leave for the time being.”
Immediately, Dokja’s mind flashed to an image of Joonghyuk in a slick white lab coat, stethoscope casually draped around his neck, slowly and very sexily putting on a pair of medical gloves.
“Please give me a prostate exam,” Kim Dokja said, very seriously.
Joonghyuk gave him a withering look. At this point he would’ve removed anyone who dared to make such a crude joke in front of him, but somehow, in the absurdity of the whole situation, he found himself going along with this ghost’s antics. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”
“Dr. Yoo,” Dokja tried out. “Dr. Yoo!” he said again, delighted.
Joonghyuk grimaced. “I’m a surgeon,” he elaborated begrudgingly. “But don’t call me that.”
“Alright then. Joonghyuk is fine?” Dokja already liked the sound of it, as if saying it out loud made it his.
“No, no. It’s not fine. You’re not real.”
“You wish I weren’t.”
“I sure do. I'll have to look at my textbooks again.”
“You learn about spirits in medical school?”
“Hallucinations,” Joonghyuk corrected. Dokja scoffed.
“Here,” Dokja instructed. “Hold out your hand.”
Joonghyuk gave Dokja another suspicious look. He held out his hand, and Dokja put his own in it. Joonghyuk’s hand was large, with a broad palm and long graceful fingers. Dokja could tell from a glance how careful they could be, how gentle they would be on a delicate operation. If Dokja were still alive, he would have felt the warmth of it, but all he could feel now was something, a bit soft and a bit hard all at once, under his own. He saw Joonghyuk’s eyes widen.
Joonghyuk immediately tried squeezing Dokja’s hand. His fingers closed around nothing.
“Do you believe me now?”
“So you can touch things, but can’t be touched,” Joonghyuk deduced swiftly.
Dokja appreciated how quick-minded he was. He smiled peacefully at the angry twitch of Joonghyuk’s brow. “In conclusion, I am real, and you can’t do anything to me.”
Joonghyuk glared at him, furious, knowing he was right. “Okay then. What do you want? What do I need to do in order for you to stop bothering me?”
“So I’m dead,” Dokja outlined. “But actually, I can be brought back to life again. Resurrection. I’m sure you’re familiar with this.”
“No.”
“You’re a surgeon,” Dokja said dismissively. “Anyways, it’s good that you’re here, because you can help me! I can do all this stuff right now— picking up things and staying visible— but a human spirit like mine can’t be sustained for long without a functioning body. I’ll disappear in around a year, or less than a year, since it’s already April. So, Yoo Joonghyuk!” Dokja smiled as winningly as he could. “Save me. Please help resurrect me. I’ll show you the way.”
Joonghyuk’s cold expression didn’t shift even a fraction. “First, I don’t believe in that kind of nonsense. Second, if I do ‘resurrect’ you, will you leave?”
“Of course not,” Dokja huffed. “This is my house.”
“Then I won’t.” Joonghyuk’s reply was so decisive, so quick, like the thrust of a blade through the heart.
Dokja was not exactly expecting sympathy, empathy, the like, but never had he met someone so unaccommodating and rude. Yoo Joonghyuk was a spiteful, horrible, cold and unfeeling man. No matter how attractive someone was, if their personality was downright terrible, it would all be for naught. Fine, if that was the way Joonghyuk was going to play it, so be it. Dokja would try everything to make him change his mind.
“You’ll regret it,” Dokja said. “I’ll make you regret it.”
Joonghyuk grinned widely at him, bitter and sarcastic. It still took Dokja’s breath away. “You told me that you have a year long deadline before your spirit expires. I’ll just have to wait that long and you’ll be gone on your own.” Brushing his pants off, Joonghyuk stood up and walked towards the door.
“Aren’t you a surgeon? Don’t you save lives? Is mine not worth saving?” Dokja called after him. Damn son of a bitch, this was just like holding Dokja off the side of a bridge and letting him dangle.
Before leaving the room, Joonghyuk turned to look at him one last time— and let him drop. “Didn’t you say, Kim Dokja? You’re already dead.”
---
Kim Dokja had been trying his hardest to make Joonghyuk’s life a living hell, as promised.
Yoo Joonghyuk cleaned the house up and down for the next few days, all the while pretending that a Kim Dokja did not exist. However, this was not to be.
Joonghyuk’s original plan was to clear everything out— that meant all of Kim Dokja’s books and weird objects— but Dokja had harassed him so relentlessly that Joonghyuk was forced to keep everything. At best, he was allowed to tidy the stacks up or move them to a corner. They were at a stalemate. While Joonghyuk thought he had the upper hand, now he wasn’t too sure. Dokja was just too annoying. He didn’t think he could endure another eight months of this.
It was another one of those days. Kim Dokja was lounging around in the air above Joonghyuk, who was vigorously scrubbing at the floorboards in the kitchen. He peered appreciatively at Joonghyuk’s wide back and the way his muscles moved beneath a well-worn black shirt. It clung just a bit to the skin from the sweat he had worked up. Dokja tilted his head, and drifted a bit to the side so he could get a better view of Joonghyuk’s biceps. If there was one thing he disapproved of in Joonghyuk’s appearance, it would be his depressive wardrobe. All he wore was black.
“You would look cute in an apron.”
The beautiful placid lake that was Joonghyuk’s expression rippled apart like a stone was thrown at it, and he scowled ferociously. Ah, now that was unfair. Even an angry Joonghyuk looked hot. “What did you say?”
“Oh, I had one somewhere.” Dokja zoomed out the room, and returned in a moment, waving a folded up apron in his fist. It was baby pink and disgustingly frilly. Joonghyuk wanted it out of his sight, immediately. He wanted Kim Dokja out of his sight, immediately.
“Get lost.”
“Pink would look good on you.” Dokja held the apron up, and looked at Joonghyuk with pleading eyes. “My friend sent me this. Ah.” He reached into the heart-shaped pocket stitched on the front of the apron and pulled out an object— a small golden cross with Jesus on it. Except Jesus was tied to the cross with red bondage rope.
Joonghyuk stared at it. “That’s blasphemy.”
“What do you mean? It’s blessed by an archangel.” Dokja watched as the fabric stretched over Joonghyuk’s chest when he reached for the drying rag. “By the way, why is everything you wear black? Are you going to a funeral?”
Joonghyuk batted away the pink apron Dokja dangled before his face. That much he could do. He pushed the rag against the floorboards as if he were slowly carving into something with a knife.
“Oh, is it my funeral, perhaps..? You’re mourning my death!”
“No,” Joonghyuk immediately denied.
“I’m touched.”
“Go away,” he said. “Go clean up your books in the living room, unless you want me to throw them away after I finish here.”
Dokja gave Joonghyuk a bright, shit-eating smile— which the latter absolutely refused to look at— and rushed into the living room, not before dropping a neatly-folded pink apron and gold cross onto the dining room table.
Joonghyuk frowned and scrubbed harder and harder at the floor, Kim Dokja’s annoying smile burned into his mind like a heretic at the stake.
---
Slowly, over the period of two weeks, Joonghyuk’s books were shipped his way. Heavy medical textbooks, thinner booklets, old ones and some new ones. It wasn’t like Joonghyuk needed a refresher on the material he knew so well— additionally, his work was more practice than theory— but it provided him with something to do. The cadence of the text, once-intimidating jargon that had taken him a while to puzzle out, diagrams on familiar spots on familiar pages, all provided him with a steady point in the strange tumult of his new life. Studying, no matter how monotonous it was, was an anchor.
Kim Dokja, of course, was not content to let Joonghyuk have his way with anything. His safe haven was constantly disturbed by Dokja’s bothersome inquiries about his studies. When he wasn’t looking, his carefully organized stacks of books were constantly being razed by Dokja, who would gleefully flip through them and mess up stacks of papers so Joonghyuk would sometimes find himself missing a page out of a study he was reading.
He was starting to think this pseudo-arrangement with a ghost was infinitely more stressful than any operation he’d done in the past. Joonghyuk was never safe in the house, not when he was sleeping, not even in the bathroom. Dokja would lay on the bed next to him to sleep, citing the fact that there was only one bed in the house. Joonghyuk could do nothing about it.
It did not stop there.
The house was clean, and Joonghyuk moved onto other activities, like exploring the forest beyond the house day by day. The late winter snow had finally melted, and the grass and trees were lush from the spring melt. The dew dampened his pants during his morning run through the woods, and Joonghyuk soon returned. It was when he was taking a shower. He had just finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when he had a very unpleasant feeling. As if someone was watching him.
“KIM DOKJAAAAA!” Joonghyuk roared. The shampoo bottle went flying at Dokja’s head.
“Sorry! I’m leaving!” Dokja dodged the conditioner bottle that came next. “It’s just that you’re too hot!”
“It’s a shame that someone so sexy won’t help me out! If only you helped me…” Dokja’s voice floated through the halls even as he fled.
Joonghyuk finished the rest of his shower faster than the time he had a fifteen minute break between operations. He tried ignoring Dokja for a few days, but this plan quickly failed when Dokja tried to discreetly dust off the shelves in the bedroom and knocked over a bookshelf instead.
But Kim Dokja wasn't entirely useless, in the grand scheme of things. He readily handed out the information of where to forage for food in the forest, which mushrooms and berries to choose and which ones not too, even explaining in great detail the routes and shortcuts to get to the spots.
He was almost uncannily precise with his information. Such as where and when to visit the small grove of hazel trees by the highway on the outskirts of the forest, which Joonghyuk only managed to find after a few hours of trekking around the area. He knew a lot of unnecessary things too, like the best bark for deer to eat off trees and the kinds of branches different birds liked perching on.
It was strange. Joonghyuk felt like he had known Dokja for a very long time. Dokja had that sort of familiar quality to him. It was almost like the glass windows of the hospital building Joonghyuk worked at, pretty, pleasantly see-through as if they almost weren’t there, but if you looked too hard you would find your reflection staring back at you.
Dokja was easy to talk to, or at least, fire quips back at whenever he opened his mouth. He was abnormally curious about Joonghyuk and constantly pestered him with questions. Joonghyuk was used to receiving attention, and he did the usual— answer the questions. Anyone interested would usually back away, disappointed, after a day. Yoo Joonghyuk was unapproachable and boring, according to the scores of people who had tried to get close to him in the past. They always left after a few days, and it was sure to be the case with Kim Dokja.
But Kim Dokja continued bugging him. And Joonghyuk continued answering him. Irritatingly, Joonghyuk somehow found himself with a conversation partner.
“But why did you come here in the first place?” Dokja was uselessly chattering again.
Joonghyuk had finished his clean-up of the living room by now, and was resting on the couch, silently flipping through a magazine he had brought with him. Dokja talked enough to make up for both of them. “If you’re a successful doctor, aren’t you having a good life? But well, I guess you’re a surgeon and that’s different. Did you come here because of psychological issues? You know, you were wrong if you thought coming here would be a respite from seeing death.”
“That’s none of your business,” Joonghyuk said, but the edge was gone from his voice, worn down after days of easy questioning. “I’ve never botched a surgery, and there’s been none that haven’t been saved under my care.”
Dokja looked pensive. “Is it that you hate seeing suffering?”
“You talk too much.”
“Strange. You’re the first person who’s told me that.”
The pages flipped silently. After a minute, Dokja settled on the couch next to him to flip through one of his own dusty books, quiet.
---
As the house was slowly organized, they settled into a strange routine of sorts, both reading their own different books, occasionally asking the other a question or two. During these times Dokja was eerily quiet; yet the loneliness seemed to suit him as well as it did for Joonghyuk. Then there were the days when Kim Dokja made a fuss, relentlessly bothering Joonghyuk, sometimes flirting badly, shamelessly, as if he had nothing to lose.
That included trying to help Joonghyuk in the kitchen. But without a sense of smell or taste, it didn’t go so well. Food was burnt, dishtowels thrown at the offender, and Kim Dokja kicked out of the kitchen.
Kim Dokja resorted to steeping tea for Joonghyuk instead. Surely, boiling some leaves wouldn’t be too hard?
“You steeped it for too long. It’s bitter,” Joonghyuk commented, setting down his teacup. He set it aside to cool.
“You’re so picky,” Dokja grumbled, but he whisked away the teapot to try again. It was his ninth try. “Are you finishing that?” he pointed at the teacup.
“No,” Joonghyuk said. “Don’t you have other cups?”
“That’s my only one.” Joonghyuk stared at him. “What? It’s not like anyone comes to visit me.”
He fretted over Joonghyuk quite a lot when he wasn't sulking somewhere alone. Kim Dokja was a contradiction of sorts, sometimes sticking to Joonghyuk's side like a stubborn barnacle on a rock, sometimes avoiding him. Those were the times he really did seem like a ghost. The times when he did come out to bother Joonghyuk though, that was like he had been wishing for a person to lavish attention on and finally found someone to care for.
---
Dokja had one other request for Joonghyuk. It was to bring any dying or recently dead small animals to him so he could perform his duties as a necromancer. Joonghyuk hadn’t intended on helping Dokja at all, but he had seen the dead bird in the grass near the cottage, and somehow ended up bringing it in.
It would’ve been disturbing in any other context, but the way Dokja’s eyes lit up when he saw what Joonghyuk brought in was as if he had glimpsed an oasis after days of wandering through a desert.
The bird was a crow, and an old one, according to Dokja after a quick scan. Just earlier, he had been moping around the house and flipping through his old books, but now he had brightened considerably, glowing happily as he bounced around the place looking for the ingredients for a potion of all things. Joonghyuk had never seen him at work before. Despite himself, he was curious, and settled down at the couch to watch Dokja.
The process was more meticulous than Joonghyuk thought it would be. It was almost like a ritual: Dokja smoothly preparing the potion with his diligently-cut and powdered ingredients and carefully pouring it down the crow’s throat. Afterwards, he placed both hands on the bird and closed his eyes. There was silence, in which nothing seemed to happen. Joonghyuk didn’t get what the big deal was.
Dokja finally opened his eyes. He looked more peaceful than he’d ever been, with a soft smile gracing his lips.
“Is it over?”
“Yes.”
“Was something supposed to happen?”
“Usually a spirit will appear, but this case is different. This one has fulfilled its life,” Dokja told him. “It no longer wishes to stay in the living world in any form.”
“You can tell these kind of things?” Joonghyuk asked, doubtful of it all.
Dokja nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. It’s one of the most important parts of conversing with a spirit. Finding out whether they want to live on as a spirit or not.”
“Do they stay a spirit indefinitely?”
“Well, what I understand is that they’ll fade away when the time comes. When it feels right for them, I guess.”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“I get it, you’re a skeptic,” Dokja said, waving a finger at him. “I’m not trying to convince you. I’m just telling you what is.”
“Untimely death,” Dokja said. “That’s what I work with. You know, Joonghyuk-ah, I would be fine with dying. It would be okay if I didn’t exist, and maybe you would agree with that. But there are still things I haven’t had the chance to finish yet, things I have to do. So that’s why I’m asking you.”
“I fail to see the importance in your work.”
“Ah really, you…” Dokja almost looked hurt. But then, he smiled. “It’s hard convincing you, isn’t it?”
He blew Joonghyuk a kiss. "But if you don't consider me worth saving, I guess it can't be helped."
Joonghyuk stared at the crow's limp body on the table. Strangely enough, the space it occupied felt empty, with only the wind through it.
"What's important to you then, Joonghyuk-ah?"
Over the weeks, he told Kim Dokja. He told him trivial things, like how much he liked the park by his apartment he walked by, how he disliked the color white, his sister, gone abroad for school, and the moment a patient woke from anesthesia after a successful operation. He told him about his professor back in undergrad, who would invite him over to her house during the holidays to fold dumplings together. A high school student he had mentored while making his way through medical school, eventually attending her graduation and seeing her off to university. Dokja listened, never saying a word, and watched Joonghyuk like he was reading something.
—-
Spring was in full swing. The meadows by the cottage were still bursting with sprays of colorful flowers, and the air itself seemed brighter. In this renewal and sudden awakening of life, there was also the passing of it. Spring does not bloom long, after all.
Kim Dokja had become busy around the house. As summer neared, he seemed more lively, but in a way distant from Joonghyuk. Joonghyuk found him in the kitchen holding a dead mouse, rather tearfully, surrounded by a dozen or so measuring cups with unidentifiable liquids in them. Another time, it was a baby bird that had fallen out of a nest and succumbed to its injuries overnight. Dokja had wrapped its small body in wool and performed his three-step ritual. His eyes were bright and shiny when he finished, and he cupped his palms around empty air and carried them between rooms, out the window.
He continued being busy in the kitchen as well. Joonghyuk was displeased by this.
“These are terrible.” Joonghyuk held up a piece of diced carrot. “I said I didn’t need your help around the kitchen.”
Dokja opened his mouth, and out streamed a litany of excuses. He was bored, it was getting late and he was afraid Joonghyuk would miss his meal holed up in his room like that, it doesn't matter if the carrots were uneven because he would be eating it, not looking at it—
“Stop waving the knife around.” Joonghyuk impulsively reached out to stop Dokja’s animated hand movements. His hands didn't reach the handle, not quite. He could feel Dokja’s fingers for just a moment, before Dokja loosened his grip around the knife and let Joonghyuk take it.
“Look, I also brewed some tea.”
Joonghyuk tasted it. “It’s bitter.”
Dokja gave him a look like a wilting flower. Joonghyuk almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Joonghyuk downed the rest of the tea without a grimace and put the cup down with some force. With an inscrutable expression on his handsome face, he poured a second cup of tea for himself and drank it. Then another. Dokja watched dumbfounded. When the teapot was empty, he pointed the knife at Dokja. "The plants in the garden need watering."
Kim Dokja was chased out of the kitchen once more. This time, he was in a good mood, laughing as he left. Joonghyuk had drunk all of his shitty leaf water.
---
Summer came slow and languid, like waking up in the afternoon. This particular afternoon, he couldn't seem to concentrate on his readings. He closed his book. Outside, it was bright. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see Kim Dokja sunbathing on the floorboards where the light shone onto. He was almost invisible in the light streaming through him. Dokja opened one eye when he felt Joonghyuk looking at him, and then maneuvered his body around to face Joonghyuk. He stretched out his slender legs and posed almost coquettishly as he glanced to where Joonghyuk had been looking before.
"You should go out if you want to," Dokja coaxed, the devil on his shoulder.
"Where to?" Joonghyuk gave him a look. Tell me a story. I'll tolerate it.
It was another one of Dokja's eccentricities. He liked to tell strange stories— of magical happenings in the forest, lush mystical waterfalls, an uncharted mountain range, bamboo groves and enchanted peach trees among the evergreens, fruit thriving in the wrong seasons. This time, the story was about chestnut trees in the woods dropping their bounty in summer.
"Are you going to go find them?" Dokja's soft grin was like a challenge. He burned like white-gold fire in the sunny spot where he sat, leaning his cheek against his palm, his eyelashes catching the light. Joonghyuk's chest felt tight for some reason, looking at him. Like it would be dangerous to stay for longer. Like he would burn up. He abruptly stood up and left the house in three strides, fleeing out to the forest, Kim Dokja's directions nestled securely in the turmoil of his mind.
Sure enough, Joonghyuk came across the chestnut trees, and also a weasel. It looked kind of like a weasel, a long body like a piece of dough rolled out, brown and white in color. It was laying at the foot of a tree, surrounded by spiky balls almost bigger than its body. Joonghyuk couldn’t figure out how it had died. Regardless, he picked it up with the chestnuts, and made his way back to the cottage.
The summer day, which had been so brilliant a few hours earlier, had become overcast without much notice. It was beginning to rain. The sky rapidly darkened, and the small, sparse drops grew fat and large as they fell, heavy on Joonghyuk's back and the crown of his head. The weasel felt smaller than ever in his arms.
His shoes were muddy when he finally returned, dripping all over the floorboards at the doorway.
“Kim Dokja.”
“You called for me?” Dokja tumbled down the stairs like a whirlwind. Joonghyuk’s voice had not been loud, not through the rain, but Dokja had heard it immediately, eyes sparkling as he braked in front of Joonghyuk.
Silently, Joonghyuk handed the weasel over. Dokja's excited expression dimmed to a more somber one as he examined the animal. Then his head shot up and he took in Joonghyuk's state with wild eyes.
"Wait. You were caught in the rain." He fluttered for a moment, caught between wanting to take care of the dead weasel or a cold and wet Joonghyuk at the same time. "Let me get you a towel."
"I can do it myself." Joonghyuk waved him off. "Do your thing."
Dokja didn't leave. "You…"
Kim Dokja was confusing and full of contradictions. Inconsistent in his moods, but yet consistent in the way he was always there. Joonghyuk wanted to shake him.
"In the ER," Joonghyuk gritted out. "You take care of the patient first, the one on the stretcher. Not the one bringing them in. You do your job first."
Dokja bit his lip, eyes trembling. "You don't work in the ER. This isn't an emergency."
He stared at Joonghyuk, who was still dripping water onto the floorboards. The rainwater had soaked through his clothes and the fabric of his shirt was clinging to his shoulders and chest. Somehow, his hair was even wavyer when it was wet. Maybe… Joonghyuk was considerate, in his own way. And, he didn’t think his soul could take another second of staring at Joonghyuk’s chest.
"Alright." Surprisingly, he acquiesced. Thank you for…" Dokja glanced at the prone body of the weasel in his hands. He ducked his head and left, the tips of his ears and cheeks glowing.
Dokja didn't try to keep Joonghyuk. That was the thing about him. He looked at Joonghyuk like he would leave any day. When Joonghyuk did temporarily leave, he wouldn't say a word about it, at most a curt goodbye and an ambiguous smile, as if doing anything more would really mean Joonghyuk's disappearance.
He was considerate, in all the wrong ways and all the right ways. He never made Joonghyuk's tea right and he would always insist on helping Joonghyuk meal prep or clean the house while making a huge mess, but his heart was true, and it made Joonghyuk feel just the slightest bit warmer. As they coexisted, the knots of their earlier arguments seemed to untangle— Kim Dokja never pushed for Joonghyuk's help with the resurrection, never mentioned it anymore, his attention more focused on trying to get Joonghyuk to believe in him and his abilities. The open flirting had stopped, even if the shy, furtive glances had not. Joonghyuk, in turn, treated Dokja like a person rather than ignoring him, finally acknowledging him as a real human, an annoying roommate at the very least.
It was raining loud now. It had seemed normal earlier, but now there seemed to be a nervous energy humming in the air. The distant thunder thrummed and grumbled over the horizon.
Joonghyuk wasn’t there to watch him make the potion; he had taken a longer shower than usual, soaking in the hot water and chasing away the chill. When he returned, it looked like Dokja had just finished giving the weasel the potion. Cups and bowls stood on the counter, silhouetted in the dim, stormy light.
Kim Dokja's glow was strangely eerie today. His blue-white form seemed colder than usual. He breathed in and settled his hands on the weasel’s body. Joonghyuk could’ve sworn he saw the place where his fingers met fur glow.
In that moment, the windows swung open all the way, banging against the stone, letting the rain in. The wind howled thinly, in layers that piled up across each other rushing up against Joonghyuk's ears.
Kim Dokja's figure seemed to sway. He opened his eyes. His dark eyes appeared almost blue. There was nothing to indicate that anything changed, besides the wind.
"It's still raining," Dokja said out loud. His voice was different. A touch more reverent, soft. "It won't bother you anymore, but you can always hide in the garden or meadow and wait for it to clear, if that's what you're used to." He was presumably talking to the weasel.
Dokja took the invisible spirit to the open windows and let it go. He stood there for a while, watching something, even as the rain splattered hard against the paint of the windowsill. When he finally shut the windows, it felt like all the noise had been vacuumed out, enclosing them in.
"Your hair's still wet," Dokja pointed out. Joonghyuk's hair was still dripping, this time from the shower. He had only run the towel through his hair once. Joonghyuk pinched a strand of it between his fingers and watched the water bead down and drop.
"I'll go clean the doorway," he said, rather unnecessarily. Feeling a bit awkward, he stood up to get one of the cleaning rags.
"Wait," Dokja stopped him. "Thank you." The sincerity was still strong in his voice. He blinked, just as surprised by this obvious display of emotion, and cleared his throat. "I meant, well, I did mean that. You're nicer than I thought. Even though we think differently."
"I just didn't want you to peek in on me showering again." Joonghyuk made an excuse. Well, it was a real concern.
"I'm sorry," Dokja whined. "I won't do it anymore." He looked a bit tired, and Joonghyuk didn't know if it was just the light, but his form seemed fainter and more translucent as well. He fiddled with the corner of his shirt. "Truce?"
Joonghyuk tilted his head. The water dripped onto his shirt collar, wetting the black fabric even blacker. "I thought we had one already."
"Since when?"
"... That's a good question."
"Still enemies then!" Dokja clapped his hands together. He beamed at Joonghyuk. "We'll remain at odds with each other in the morning. See you tomorrow."
He vanished through the wall before a sound could come out of Joonghyuk's open mouth. Shaking his head, disgruntled, Joonghyuk went the other direction to tidy the doorway. Indeed, what good would come out of chasing a ghost?
---
After an afternoon and evening clearing weeds in the garden, Joonghyuk was prepared to have a quiet night of rest. Only, he found himself lying next to an innocently blinking Dokja on the bed.
Dokja’s eyes were clear and expectant. There was the ghost of a smile on those infuriating lips. “Joonghyuk-ah.”
Joonghyuk wanted to kick him off the bed and smother him all at once. The back of his neck prickled watching as Dokja lowered his lashes— somehow Joonghyuk hadn’t noticed how long and dark they were— and silently shifted closer to him. Was this how the modern ghost haunted people? By trying to seduce them?
“You can go to sleep, if you’re tired.”
“I’m not,” Joonghyuk snapped. “How could I… when you’re here.”
Dokja tilted his head. “Souls need rest too. That’s why you came to this place, right?”
Joonghyuk stiffened. Dokja was staring at his lips. He was starting to glow again, the light pulsing brighter. Joonghyuk’s heart thumped in a sudden crescendo.
“Good night then, Joonghyuk-ah.” Instead of the expected teasing, Dokja smiled softly. “Wake me in the morning.” His eyes closed and the glow around him subsided, dimming slow and surely.
Dokja’s coloring looked more muted than usual, as if he turned into a glass sculpture overnight. Joonghyuk had a thought. If he just left Dokja like this, would he slumber on forever, and then fade away when the time came? Wouldn’t this, a voice in the back of his head whispered, be ideal? Joonghyuk wouldn’t be bothered by a ghost ever again.
But more keenly, a little part in his heart ached, as if unwilling to let him go. He still had things to ask Dokja, he reasoned. Like when the windflowers bloom, what other stories he had to tell about his world, and why exactly he wanted to live. And perhaps, why Joonghyuk somehow, just maybe, didn’t want Kim Dokja to disappear.
When Joonghyuk awoke, Dokja was still sleeping. They were both people who didn't move around much in their sleep, so Dokja was laying on his stomach in the same position as yesterday, a respectful distance away from Joonghyuk.
Joonghyuk's hand reached out and passed through his wrist. He tried matching the pad of his forefinger to Dokja's limp one. Nothing.
"Dokja," he said, voice still heavy and rough with sleep. The response was quick, a small inhale and flutter of eyelashes and Dokja was awake. His eyelids drooped quickly again, heavy like honey. Joonghyuk wasn't sure if he was the sleep-dazed one or Dokja. He stared openly at Dokja's face, which had now become so familiar to him. It was only when Dokja exhaled and a strand of hair over his forehead wobbled when Joonghyuk snapped out of it. Swiftly and almost violently, he threw his body over the side of the bed.
“Were you just about to let me sleep forever?” Dokja's teeth looked almost sharp as he smiled.
Joonghyuk looked at him silently, and then left the room.
---
It was a rather dreary Saturday morning when Joonghyuk first saw it. He was doing a bit of reading at the bedroom desk upstairs. He had started on a few simple problem sets from old textbooks, and every once in a while, rain drops would tickle the window glass by him. In the lull, he glanced outside the window, and found himself face-to-face with a ghostly pale bird. From the shape— the distinctive teardrop body and tapered, clever beak, Joonghyuk could tell it was a crow, but this crow didn’t seem to be real. It was glowing in the drab greyness and upon closer look, opaque.
Just like Kim Dokja.
The bird held Joonghyuk’s incredulous gaze for a few seconds with its beady, unsettling eyes, and then busied itself tidying its wing feathers with its beak.
“Hey Yoo Joonghyuk! I think I got your tea right this time. It’s how you like it made!” Kim Dokja burst into the room with all the fanfare of a raucous teenager, holding a steaming, wobbling cup of tea in his hands. “I hope.”
Joonghyuk pointed at the crow. “What’s that.”
“Oh.” Dokja stared at the crow, and then back at Joonghyuk. “Oh! You can see it!”
“Am I not supposed to?” Joonghyuk practically yelled, almost in hysterics. Dokja floated over and gently placed the warm cup of tea into his palms, coaxing his hands out of their tightly fisted position.
“The first step to believing is seeing.”
“And once you believe, Joonghyuk-ah, then," Dokja smiled. "If you believe enough, you can touch a spirit."
---
Extremely disturbed and bothered, Joonghyuk left the cottage to clear his mind. The forest was oddly silent today, and Joonghyuk, who had never been paranoid about anything before, was now paranoid that he would see a glowing spirit lurking somewhere around the dense foliage.
He didn't go out with a clear sense of direction or purpose. As he trekked forward, the trees seemed to blend together, until he was sure he was just walking in circles. Still, he continued.
He was unsure of how much time had passed since he entered the woods, but now came the sound of running water— a stream was nearby. Joonghyuk followed the sound of the water, and once he found the stream, he was met with an astonishing sight. It was as Kim Dokja told him one spring day over the dinner table. Only, this wasn’t a fable.
Laid out before him was a seemingly endless grove of peach trees, their branches heavy with blossoms and fruit. It was a magical, otherworldly landscape. A soft glow emanated from the trees, which remained still as if locked in a fantasy. The dirt path along the stream was lightly-worn. People had come here, but few and far between.
Joonghyuk followed the path, crossing over the stream a few times. The sound of water grew louder. Finally, the peach tree grove finally ended, the last few trees framing a thunderous waterfall jutting out from the stone walls of a mountain. Joonghyuk looked at the path. Where it would've ended, it continued to somewhere underneath the waterfall.
He threaded his way under the roaring pour of water, until he was safely behind the waterfall. There, he saw a small entrance in the rock, the opening to a cave large enough to fit one person. Compelled by something, he ducked inside. Time slipped by unnoticed as he walked, half-stooped over shuffling through the cave.
The world on the other side opened into dazzling light, and once his eyes settled to the brightness, he found a lush valley before him. It was very much the same as the forest he came from, the same kinds of trees on the similarly shaped and colored mountains, the same shade of blue sky. But in a way, this land had a cheerfulness that the other forest lacked, which felt more somber in comparison. Even the breeze felt playful as it picked up through Joonghyuk’s hair.
“Hey! Who the hell are you?” A young voice came ringing out through the open air. Running towards him on the fields was a boy, around ten or eleven years old, with unruly brown hair and bandaids plastered all over his shins and hands. “You’re not Dokja-hyung!” The boy scrutinized Joonghyuk with a frown, arms crossed dramatically.
“You know Kim Dokja?”
The boy frowned even more unpleasantly. “I should be asking you that! How do you know hyung!” he accused.
“Lee Gilyoung! Don’t be so mean to our guest!” A bright, lighter voice joined in. The source of it was another child, this time a girl with honey-colored hair and large, vivid eyes. She bowed politely towards Joonghyuk. “Sorry, Ahjussi. It’s not often that we get new visitors, so Gilyoung doesn’t know how to act.” Almost violently, she grabbed the back of Gilyoung’s hair and pushed him down to a bow. When they rightened again, she gave Joonghyuk a smile. “I’m Shin Yoosung. If you follow me, I’ll take you to the village.”
“You…” Joonghyuk’s gaze drifted towards Yoosung. “You were my patient once.” He remembered a young girl back when he had first received his license— hair cut just as short and neatly, with the same intelligent brown eyes.
“Dr. Yoo!” Yoosung’s eyes lit up in recognition. “I remember. It was a few years ago.”
She chatted more excitedly with Joonghyuk during their short walk to the village, though the boy named Gilyoung still seemed suspicious of him. When they crossed over the hill and arrived at the foot of the village, it was starting to feel like a dream. Even for Joonghyuk, it was hard to process what he had gone through in the past hour. A grove of glowing peach trees, an undiscovered waterfall, and a magical cave leading to a magical land inhabited by people.
But then again, Kim Dokja was real, wasn't he?
They were greeted by a man around Joonghyuk's age carrying a large bundle of hay on his back. His name was Lee Hyunsung, and he was strangely shy for someone with such a strong, bulky frame. He smiled amicably at Joonghyuk and awkwardly smoothed down his hair, which was cropped short. From there it was a blur; Joonghyuk was introduced to a crowd of curious villagers, whose many names he could not remember, before being ushered into an empty hut with Lee Hyunsung and the two children.
It turned out the children and the other villagers already knew Kim Dokja from the times he had visited. Lee Hyunsung helped explain the village's strange location and purpose as a paradise isolated from the outside world. When the food and tea came in, Hyunsung was called outside to help with something. He leapt to his feet and apologized for having to leave, looking simultaneously a bit relieved and a bit scared of Joonghyuk.
Joonghyuk reached for a teacup. The cup was handmade from clay and had no handle. He could tell the tea was jasmine from the delicate aroma alone. He took a sip. It was perfect, so much more than Kim Dokja’s clumsy attempts, but somehow, it didn’t feel as warm. And this place was so much more absurd. Here he was, sitting with a couple of kids in a hut, all of them drinking their tea in silence.
"Did Hyunsung say once people leave this place, they can’t come back?”
Yoosung nodded. “That’s right. Dokja-ahjussi is just lucky.”
Kim Dokja seemed to have stumbled across the peach trees and waterfall and entrance to the cave several times through a combination of sheer luck and bad sense of direction. But one thing was strange. This place seemed important enough to mention to Joonghyuk, but Kim Dokja had never spoken about it.
“So he has no intent. He just wanders around without a purpose,” Joonghyuk summarized. “Fool.”
“Who are you calling a fool, sooty bastard?!”
“By the way!” Yoosung cut in quickly, though she was hiding a laugh. “Dr. Yoo, how do you know Ahjussi?”
“That…”
By the end of his explanation, Gilyoung was bawling on the floor and Yoosung was looking at him with large, tearful eyes.
“No! No! Dokja-hyung can’t be! He can’t be!” In the midst of his howling, he pointed an accusing finger at Joonghyuk. “Y-you! You killed…” Realizing that Joonghyuk could not have possibly murdered Kim Dokja, Gilyoung started rolling around in agony again.
Yoosung was biting her lip, determined not to cry. “He’s still here though, right?” she said. Joonghyuk stared at her, startled. “I think… I've felt that something went wrong. But I can still feel him here.” Yoosung pressed her small hand against her heart.
Joonghyuk blinked. "He's… not dead. His consciousness is still present, as a ghost."
Yoosung forgot her sadness for a moment and giggled at the conflicted expression on Joonghyuk's face. "Dr. Yoo, do you believe in ghosts now?"
"It's not like I can deny it," he said, still frowning. He always seemed to be frowning when he thought about Kim Dokja. "I've lived with him for several months now."
"Ahjussi is cool, isn't he?"
“Kim Dokja…” Joonghyuk glanced at Gilyoung, who was staring furiously and intently at Joonghyuk from the floor, daring him to say anything bad about his hyung. Well, Joonghyuk could be petty.
“... he’s not.”
Gilyoung shrieked with anguish and ran out the hut, cursing Joonghyuk as he fled. This left Joonghyuk alone in the hut with Yoosung, who had a contemplative look on her face.
“Dokja-ahjussi is very nice,” Yoosung said. “Well, maybe not all the time, but he’s always nice to me and Gilyoung. I think he’s very kind at heart. I was told you can tell what a person is like from the way they treat animals.”
Joonghyuk wasn’t used to this. Someone else knowing Kim Dokja, that was. And in a different way than he knew him.
Yoosung continued with her Kim Dokja pitch, telling stories of how sweet and kind he was. “I’m good with animals, a bit better than ahjussi, actually. So I’m training to become his protégé in necromancy,” she continued. “The last time he visited, he lent me some of his notes. But now that Dokja-ahjussi is dead, he—”
A loud clunking noise interrupted Yoosung’s words. In the doorway stood Lee Hyunsung, gaping at the two of them, dropped teapot rolling to a stop near his feet.
“Dokja-ssi is dead???!!”
In the chaos of the delayed reveal of Kim Dokja’s passing, Yoo Joonghyuk was uninvited from dinner and urged to go back to the cottage to revive him. The three of them— Yoosung, Hyunsung, and Gilyoung, had all come to send Joonghyuk off. In the brief time he had met the other two, Hyunsung had immediately latched onto Joonghyuk as his sole savior, and Gilyoung didn’t seem to like Joonghyuk very much. Well, anyone would be angry towards the messenger bearing bad news, especially if it were the death of someone they dearly cherished, however unfounded that anger was.
“Please save him,” Yoosung said seriously. “Ahjussi means a lot to us.”
"You're the only one who can," Hyunsung added, still wiping away his tears. "The harvest season is coming up soon, and the village needs our help."
"Hyunsung-ssi does enough work for seven people!" Yoosung echoed. "And ever since Gilyoung came, there haven't been any insect problems with the crops. I have to take care of the animals here."
Gilyoung glared at Joonghyuk. “I hate that only you can help hyung, and that we can’t help. But a lot of people are waiting for him, so you better do it right.” To the end, he was still like this.
Their words were like the waterfall beyond the cave, a torrent that left Joonghyuk in shock reassessing what he knew. In the brief time he had met and known Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk had believed he was a loner, someone who dwelled in the woods all alone with no friends and acquaintances. But here was proof of the exact opposite of what Joonghyuk held as truth— in fact, Kim Dokja was deeply loved by the few people who knew him.
“Take this,” Gilyoung said gruffly, and held out something feathery fisted in his hand. It was a small pile of white chicken feathers.
Joonghyuk stared at it. “Why.”
Lee Hyunsung joined in giving Joonghyuk a pile of strange material, this time some clippings of grass from the verdant hills. “Dokja needs these ingredients.”
“This too!” Yoosung pressed a small smooth stone into Joonghyuk's hand. It was cool to the touch and a celadon color, presumably jade. "Oh, and," Yoosung added before Joonghyuk could say anything, "when you leave through the peach trees, don't forget to take a few peaches."
They sent Joonghyuk off from far away on the top of the hill. Even as Joonghyuk reentered the mouth of the cave, they were still there, waving, a living reminder of the ghost Joonghyuk was to return to.
---
On the way back through the woods, he thought he spotted a glimmer of something within the trees, too blue to be sunlight or a reflection. And after a fleeting moment, the light disappeared from view in the shape of a cloven foot. He shook the image from his head and continued on. The trees began to look familiar, and there was some relief in his heart when he came to the cottage with its familiar lopsided roof that had somehow begun to feel like home.
“Yoo Joonghyuk!” Kim Dokja pointed a spatula at him. He looked to be the same as ever, enthusiastic and ready to pester Joonghyuk. Vegetables from the garden were lined up neatly on the counter, looking a bit sad.
“By the way,” Dokja said, tone still bright. “Where did you go for the past three days?”
Three days? But Joonghyuk had only been gone for a few hours. Somehow, the magical village already seemed like a distant past. A bit dazed, he looked to where Dokja was, turned away from him at the sink, cheerfully starting to wash the vegetables.
He noticed it now. It was faint, so faint that he had to narrow his eyes to tell. Kim Dokja’s glow was thrumming, like the beating wings of a hummingbird, the frequency too fast to track normally.
Dokja was used to Joonghyuk’s occasional trips away from the cottage. He never informed Dokja of where he was going, but if it ever took more than a day, he would bring his briefcase and come back with a newspaper. The longest he had been out was two days. By the third day of his absence, despite his best efforts, Dokja had started to feel anxious.
This time, there was no newspaper. Instead, Joonghyuk dumped a curious assortment of objects onto the dining table. Some peaches, grass, and chicken feathers.
“It’s none of your business,” Joonghyuk said.
Kim Dokja didn't seem to recognize the items. After closely examining the feathers and prodding at a few peaches, he was shooed away by Joonghyuk back to the vegetables. Joonghyuk watched him practically hose down the bok choy with the force of the water pressure.
"Do you," Joonghyuk started. "..Remember Shin Yoosung?"
Kim Dokja blinked. "I…"
"A man named Lee Hyunsung. A boy called Lee Gilyoung."
"I think I've heard of them." Now this was strange. People who loved Kim Dokja so openly and so much, and yet Kim Dokja didn't seem to remember them. Joonghyuk wondered if it had been a long time, or perhaps the strange magic of the village. He stared at the fuzz on one of the peaches.
Unaffected, Dokja asked again. "But really, where were you?"
"Worried?"
“Hmmf. Do I look like I care for your wellbeing, you ungrateful bastard?”
The metaphorical waterfall continued pouring onto Joonghyuk. He now felt a bit like the bok choy Dokja was ferociously rinsing. It was surprising that he could tell now, that Dokja had been worried for him. Truly cared for him as a person, beyond a means to an end. And more than that, Kim Dokja had no business being so kind to Joonghyuk when Joonghyuk had done nothing to deserve it. When was the last time someone had asked after his wellbeing? When was the last time someone was there, waiting for him? Yes, Joonghyuk wanted to say. Yes, I know that you were worried, but I didn’t know you would care so much.
Instead, he kicked Kim Dokja out of the kitchen.
---
After dinner, Kim Dokja asked another difficult question. “When are you going back?”
Joonghyuk’s mind, strangely, blanked. “Back?”
“To where you came from. To your job. It doesn’t look like you plan to stay here forever.”
A time before he met Kim Dokja. That time— it felt so far away, even though it had been all his life was back then. Now, it felt like the whole axis of the world had shifted— to this endlessly mysterious forest, this little cottage, this half-transparent half-dead man in front of him.
“I don’t know. I didn’t have a plan.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“You know me?”
“Yes,” Dokja tilted his head, resting his chin on a hand. “I know you. I know you and your story, and I like it.”
“What’s so interesting about it?”
“It could be just a typical story. But to me, it’s all the things I dreamed of being.” Kim Dokja was glowing softly again, that dream-like pulse. On the stove, the tea kettle started whistling.
The tea was perfect this time. Joonghyuk could tell from the aroma of the steam. Kim Dokja could not smell it, and he asked Joonghyuk if it was alright.
“It’s okay,” Joonghyuk said, before the rim of the cup even touched his lips. “I don’t think I get it,” he said, uncharacteristically candid. “That is, why you care so much about things that are already gone.”
“I don’t know. But the thing is, they’re not gone. They’re still here, and they still exist.” As Kim Dokja spoke, Joonghyuk could hear, in the golden evening, the cawing of crows in the distance. Whether they were dead or alive he didn’t know. “If you can still save them, then why wouldn’t you?”
The tea, maybe, left the slightest bitter taste on his tongue.
“Joonghyuk, have you ever been afraid of losing something?”
---
Yoo Joonghyuk started thinking of a place where Kim Dokja didn’t exist. He thought about the long stretch of hospital corridors, the bustling lobby on the first floor, strangers all around. Perhaps a familiar face or two disappearing into the crowd. He thought about this cottage, no telltale sound of books falling over from the other room, windows open and bringing in only silence to an empty home.
Then came an unfamiliar emotion. A sort of anxiety, a stifling feeling in his chest. In this panic, Yoo Joonghyuk thought that he was afraid of something for the first time in his life.
---
The bookcases in the bedroom were beginning to overflow. It was when Joonghyuk was carrying the whole bookcase, halfway full of books, down the stairs. The newly waxed stairs were slippery, Joonghyuk could not see his feet under an armload of bookcase, and the rest— was either karma or fate— the kind that sent him tumbling down the stairs, bookcase hitting the floor below with a nasty thud and his own body following suit.
He saw with great clarity, just milliseconds before it all went to shit, a half-transparent, alarmingly bright Kim Dokja at the foot of the stairs. His eyes were wide, and he was shouting something. Joonghyuk’s eyes must have been just as wide.
The moment before impact, he closed his eyes and crashed into the floor through Dokja. He didn’t know what happened, but it felt like his fall was cushioned somehow, like he had fallen into a pillow just before it gave way and he reached the hardwood. His knees were throbbing. There would be bruises, but everything else seemed fine.
The cushion… Joonghyuk whipped his head around. Dokja was still floating at the foot of the stairs, and his expression… seemed strange. He had a hand on his cheek and he was staring at Joonghyuk, eyes still wide, still glowing… but oh. This wasn’t the cautionary glowing. Dokja was blushing, hard.
Joonghyuk’s hand, without his permission, made its way to his lips. “You…” The ghost-sensation of the cushioning came back vividly. It must have been Dokja’s momentary permeability he felt that softened his fall. But why was it like this? Joonghyuk’s knee did a funny thing and his foot involuntarily kicked at the fallen bookcase. There were scratches and a terrible dent in it. He felt like it was kind of a metaphor for something. Like his heart after he had fallen into Dokja.
---
It was still summer. The days were longer and the warmth lingered far into the evening through dusk. The spirits seemed to be everywhere now, haunting Joonghyuk wherever he went. Just how many creatures had Kim Dokja resurrected? In the garden he found a young weasel spirit hiding under the pumpkin leaves. In the night came out hundreds of fireflies, some their typical neon-gold color, other blue-white like spirits.
There was a flock of young crow spirits which made a racket during the day time and would excitedly fly around the tree tops in the afternoon, sometimes circling high into the sky when the drafts allowed for it. They settled down in the sunset hours and seemed to multiply. Instead of shadows on branches, there would be dozens and dozens of them, glowing like little white lamps as the day dimmed. They hung on the trees, and Joonghyuk would sit there until the grass cooled, or when Dokja called out to him from inside the house.
In these moments of idle, Joonghyuk's mind would be blissfully blank. Until the flashes of thought about returning to work, taking the train back into the bustling deep of the city to his sterile and quick-paced hospital. The cottage here would still be his. And when he returned the following year, it would be empty, as if no one had ever been there beforehand.
But would it be? What traces of Kim Dokja would he still find in the aftermath? What kind of loss would this be, how devastating would it be— to return and find the stacks of books, the almost unnoticeable chips in the wall and furniture from when Joonghyuk had thrown something at Dokja all those days ago, his one teacup sitting in the kitchen cabinet.
---
He had been trying to find the hazelnut trees by the highway. It wasn't too difficult to find— once he had walked a certain distance he could hear the sound of cars over the road, that whooshing noise that got louder and louder as he got closer.
Through the trees, he could see the edge of the highway, neatly paved, all grey asphalt and yellow-and-white paint. In the space and silence between two vehicles, Joonghyuk saw something on the road. He emerged from the trees for a closer look. It was an animal of some kind, hit by a car and definitely dead. Joonghyuk could see, even from where he stood, the red smeared over the asphalt, and he felt sick to his stomach. Another car came rushing down the road again and ran right over it. As the animal disappeared from view under the tires, Joonghyuk turned and fled into the sanctity of the forest, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.
He wondered if this was what Kim Dokja felt, and then wondered when he had become so like Kim Dokja.
---
Dusk was approaching when Joonghyuk returned. It was later than he usually came back. Any admonishments Dokja had died on his lips the moment he entered. Somehow, there was a more solemn atmosphere than usual, one that commanded silence.
Joonghyuk was carrying something. It was furry, about the size of a cat. An injured fox.
Joonghyuk set it on the table. There didn’t seem to be any blood on it, but it was obviously hurt. Maybe an internal injury.
"You…" Dokja was confused. From what he has gleaned about Joonghyuk's personality while living with him, Joonghyuk wasn't one to extend sympathy to others, and especially not an animal too close to death. He did what could be done, methodically, logically. This was a hopeless case even by Dokja's standards.
It was a gray fox, small in size. Its eyes were large, limpid, and the only indication that it was still alive was the slow breathing of its body as it lay on its side, and the occasional twitching of the whiskers near its mouth. Joonghyuk stood in front of the fox’s body in contemplation. “Dokja, there’s a kit in the bedroom by the closet. I need it.”
Maybe Joonghyuk had truly gone crazy. "Why?"
“Why else?”
“You can’t save it,” Dokja said.
“Who says I can’t?”
“Me. You’re a surgeon for humans, not for animals. You’re not a veterinarian. Stop deluding yourself.” Dokja’s voice was firm. “It won’t be in pain for much longer.”
“Why? Why do you wait for death? Are you like that with everything?”
“It’s because I don’t have the power to save, like you do!” Dokja burst out. “If you can’t tell, I’ve been trying. It’s you who doesn’t care who lives or dies.”
The tension was stretched tight enough to snap like a rubber band, and hurt doing so. On the table between them was a dying animal. Their faces were lit by a singular light in the room, the cool yellowish tint generating a veneer of warmth that cast their faces in grotesque shadows.
Slowly, the gently heaving body of the fox came to a standstill. The room was dead silent.
Dokja’s soft sigh urged the silence alive with a gentle push. “Death isn't the end, you know. You doctors like to think of it as the worst disaster or an undoable permanence or the world ending, but others may have a different definition for it.”
"That isn't to say that death is something you can't grieve for. Because I do. I am grieving. It's just, I have a different way of doing it. If you understand," Dokja said. He approached the fox, and without thinking, Joonghyuk made way for him.
“Then, Joonghyuk-ah, watch me.”
Dokja was glowing again, and this time the luminosity was steady, like a reassurance. His hands felt the body of the fox, with a touch just as delicate as Joonghyuk’s would’ve been. It wasn’t the first time Joonghyuk had seen Dokja at work, but there was something different about this time, as if Dokja had something to prove. His movements were fluid, one task to the next, just like a surgeon’s, careful yet decisive. Joonghyuk watched Dokja’s steady, steady hands as he poured a small amount of the potion he just made into the fox’s maw, so intently precise and focused on his work. What had seemed so much like a ritual to Joonghyuk before now was something more akin to practice, albeit more unconventional, becoming more like the science he was so familiar with.
Joonghyuk wondered, if in another world, a different timeline, if Kim Dokja and he could be walking the same path.
The first stage had concluded. Joonghyuk shifted his feet— and noticed for the first time how still he had been standing while observing Dokja. Dokja once again pressed his palms against the fox’s soft belly of fur. He closed his eyes and straightened his back. The room was quiet once more, but there was something more alive in this silence, almost brimming with an energy like water simmering under a lid. Dokja was completely still, and the minutes stretched by.
Dokja’s eyelids trembled, and his eyelashes fluttered just the tiniest bit. Some change was happening, and Joonghyuk didn’t know what but it was feeling so much more different than Dokja’s previous resurrections. There came the familiar blue-white-silver glow, Dokja encased in even brighter light, the light mingling and overlapping with the fox’s form, and then solidifying. From the fox’s body, a small silver head rose, and then the rest of the body came alive as a fully formed spirit, with the exact likeness as the physical body.
“I can’t save lives the way you do, Joonghyuk-ah. This is my attempt at salvation, isn’t it pitiful?”
Joonghyuk studied Dokja for a very, very long time. It was so similar, the anguish in their eyes and the effort to communicate that pain.
“Kim Dokja.” Joonghyuk looked at the edge of the table, away from Dokja, away from the fox. “I want to save you.”