Chapter Text
One glance, and the pages,
once empty, are set aflame ;
my ink, once dried,
is fueled by his name.
— Kim Dokja
*
“Yeah, no shit.” Kim Dokja laughs nervously, finally deciding to stop in his tracks when he almost trips again. His phone is pressed between his shoulder and ear, while his left hand keeps searching inside his bag for the folder he desperately needs today, as if it would just magically appear there if he just keeps digging.
Spoiler alert: It wouldn’t. He’s been searching for it for almost five minutes now that his hands are already sweaty and shaking, and even if he flips his bag and scatters the garbage inside, he still won't find it. He knows this, because after minutes of panicking, he finally remembers when he can actually find it. And as if he's not on a fucking deadline, he still denies (or at least attempts to) that realization because of the possibility of terror it will bring to him. Which, okay, stupid, but. But!!
Kim Dokja should’ve known, should’ve expected this, because isn’t he just the luckiest person ever? Take note of the sarcasm — but then again, that’s not really the point.
The point is that, of all things he could forget— or lose, to be exact — of course it has to be the currently most important thing in his life as a student right now. And, of all places he could forget it from, it just has to be at the…
At the… at the…
His shoulders sag in surrender. He throws a glance at the traffic lights just across the street. Ten seconds before it turns green. What the fucking fuck, he’ll surely fail this class. Eight seconds. And it’s a damn major, too. He’s really going to be a starving artist like his aunt told him, oh my god. Seven seconds. Maybe he should cross the road without looking and have someone run him over with their car and he —
“Okay, shut the fuck up with your mumbling and listen here, you suicidal piece of shit.” Han Sooyoung’s rough voice comes from the other side of the line, more clearer than when she was talking earlier, so he figures she’s got her phone near her mouth. “You know where you forgot it. You know where.” — okay, not really helpful at all, but thanks for the reminder, Ms. Han Sooyoung, that sometimes to be known well doesn't feel good as they claim. Yay, haha! — “All you have to do is bring your ass over the place and ask if someone sees it.”
Kim Dokja slaps his palm over his face, and sighs. There's no point in denying it, is there? “It’s not that easy,” he replies, sounding as dejected as he was when his first manuscript got rejected by a magazine issue he badly wanted his pen name to be a part of.
“Well, nothing in life is. And I actually think failing this class will be harder, if I’m being honest. You're a top student, for God's sake. Act like it.”
Kim Dokja wants to bring his ass over to her apartment just to shake her. “Cool, but have you thought that maybe honesty is not what I need right now, Han Sooyoung!” Kim Dokja raises his voice, rather dramatically, palm even rubbing his chest without any care that he is in a public place and therefore can be seen and heard. Because why should he care about that? He's about to fucking fail and his best friend isn't giving him the emotional support he currently needs. “Maybe it’s a bit of affection and support, a reminder of our camaraderie for years! Would it hurt you to say, oh yes, Dokja-ssi, I know it isn’t easy, but you’re so brave and strong and —”
Han Sooyoung imitates the sound of someone retching. “Ew. What the hell.”
Kim Dokja scoffs, mouth wide open incredulously. “Hah! Wow. I rate you one star. Would not recommend to anyone. At all.”
“Shut up now, you rat, do you even hear me?" Han Sooyoung's voice is sharper now, and Kim Dokja gulps. He knows that tone. It's what she calls I'm-Spitting-Facts. And sure enough: "You bet your ass you’re gonna fail. Are you crazy? You over-caffeinated yourself to having hyperacidity flareups just to pump your creative juices and make me come over with medicine at eleven in the evening because you can’t stand up from the pain but refuses to go to the hospital because Oh-It's-Waste-Of-Money. You spent sleepless nights writing, calling me to fill in the spaces that don't make sense or have me proofread it over and over —and mind you, when I could be doting on someone I’m trying to date, for God's sake — because your perfectionist ass can't stand to make one mistake.” Okay, kind of hits the sore spot, but true. Kim Dokja can't say anything about that. Han Sooyoung finally takes a deep breath, because of course she just said all of that in one go. Then, calmer now, “You poured your efforts into that paper, and pulled me along with you through it, too. So no way you’re going to fail, and will let yourself fail. Ya hear me?”
Kim Dokja rubs his temple and smiles helplessly. That was her way of emotional support, apparently. “Was the aggression necessary?”
“We’re talking about you here, so yeah, it is.” He hears her click her tongue, then the sound of a swivel chair being moved around. “Okay, seems like you understood. So now, answer me, because I know you already realized where it is. So, where is it?”
At the reminder of it, Kim Dokja chuckles nervously. “Wooow, the sky is very blue today!”
“Oh why you little —” Han Sooyoung hisses, then, to spike up Kim Dokja’s anxiety, whatever insult she’s planning to throw suddenly comes to a halt. As if realization also dawned on her.
And then, she burst out laughing.
Kim Dokja bites his lips, closes his eyes begrudgingly, and mumbles fuck.
“No way… you. That café you always write at —”
“Shut up."
She laughs harder, and he knows it's to spite him.
"You’re not helping!” Kim Dokja snaps.
“Yeah, no, fucking hell — that’s just so fucking —” Another burst of laugh. Kim Dokja wishes he didn't call her about this. Or maybe it would’ve been better if he didn't meet her at all in this life! (says someone who knows damn well he wouldn't survive without her) “This is gonna be so good —”
Yup. What’s that thing that he always hears? About how someone’s misery will always be another’s entertainment?
*
Okay, but Kim Dokja, it isn't that serious. Why do you want to kill yourself.
Yeah, right. Bullshit. He lost his fucking maniscript for this semester’s final project for his major and the last time he saw it was at the fucking cafe he usually writes at because:
One. The scenery is good.
Two. Their drinks are excellent. Especially their matcha. Matcha latte, matcha berry, matcha mango, dirty matcha, matcha chai latte, matcha frappucino. Whatever matcha.
Three. It’s ten minutes walk between his university and apartment. So pretty convenient. And not to mention that they also close at 2 AM in the morning.
Four, and of course the most important. Their barista is hot. He looks mean with all his usual frowns, sounds kinda mean with his grumpy statements, but he’s hot and handsome and maybe he can excuse the glares he always throws at him when he enters the café at midnight because he actually makes Kim Dokja feel so inspired to write so his creative juices are greatly stirred and he actually managed to —
To come up with the storyline slash concept slash plot for his project.
Because it was inspired by him.
The center of the character was based off of him.
And now he left the said fucking project at the café the said muse was fucking working at?
God, this is a disaster. Kim Dokja wants to die.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
■■, A SNIPPET.
WRITTEN BY KIM DOKJA.
I stare at the coffee in front of me, memorizing the way it stirs around, noticing how the color is quite different to the one he brought to me two days ago; sweeter than the one from four days ago.
I graze my fingertips over the cup where his palm rested once, and wonder how it’d feel to have them in mine.
I am trying to find traces of him in them. In the coffees, the pastries, the welcome greetings when I step into the shop. I take notice of the pitch and tone of his voice when he asks my order, the way his hands move when he takes note of it, or when he writes my name on the cup. I memorize how he carries himself with elegance, or how he raises his eyebrow when he sees me ordering another cup again.
This café is the home of my insurmountable yearning and affection. Here, I will get closer to him without actually taking action. Here, I will know him without taking the risk of being known.
I will memorize you, if only through the marks you leave this place. I will fantasize about you, if only through the bits I am shown by your grace.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
It’s to his own stupidity that he lost the manuscript worth his blood, sweat, and tears. So really, it should be to his own bravery as well to walk into that entrance he’s very well familiar with, having been inside for months already. But no. This is a different matter. This one involves his reputation. One that’s already not good in the first place, but still got shreds worth protecting, of course.
“I’m telling you, man up and go ask him if he saw it.”
Kim Dokja remains hidden behind a large tree just a few blocks away from the cafe. Sweat building up in his temples, he groans at the sunlight still poking through the leaves and hitting his face. He’s been standing here for ten minutes, gathering his courage to man up like Han Sooyoung mentions, but ugh — “I can’t do that,” he replies, fear in his voice. “What if he read it? What do I say, huh? You think I have no shame?”
Han Sooyoung cackles out loud at that. Kim Dokja wonders again why he’s best friends with her when all she ever does is this, while he’s in the moment of need. “You wrote almost thirty pages worth of confession that might as well be a fanfiction and you want to talk about shame?”
Kim Dokja flushes at that. “Excuse me,” he says, defensive. “It’s not my fault he brought out the poet in me!”
“I don’t know, bro. I think that says a lot about you.”
“Ugh, fuck you,” he groans.
*
It took a while of breathing exercises and repetitive affirmations of I am Brave I am Strong No One’s Out There To Get Me I’m Not Going To Be Executed I’ll Just Ask And Leave before he finally found himself setting foot to the entrance floor mat that has the word ‘Welcome’ as its design. It took another set of all of that along with the reminder of why he was here and the importance of that reason before he took another step in.
His grip around the strap of his messenger bag is tight enough that the usually not-so-evident veins in his hand bulged; if it was another situation, he’d believe that adds up to his charisma, but not when he’s almost a walking bag of anxiety. Fucking hell. Even when he was stiffly walking towards the place, some people couldn’t help but throw a glance at him because, relax, dude, no one’s gonna steal from you.
He looks up and meets the eyes of —
Oh.
… Another barista.
Not that handsome and sexy guy who usually takes his order who he’s actually secretly expecting to see, no.
Of course, he’s not disappointed. He’s actually very, very relieved. Yup. That’s true.
Luckily, there’s no line of customers, so he immediately but also stiffly strides towards the woman. She looks around his age, with her soft smile and gentle demeanor and light brown hair. Definitely fits someone’s type. Someone he knows damn well. Someone who was just laughing at his sorry ass a few minutes ago.
“Hi,” the woman greets when they come face to face. Kim Dokja briefly looks down to where her name tag is. Yoo Sangah.
Wait a minute. Wasn’t that handsome and sexy guy also someone surnamed Yoo?
Huh.
Oh my god.
No way.
There’s no fucking way he was thirsting over a married man, right!?
With how active Kim Dokja's mind and imagination is, it isn't so hard to come up with the image. He could definitely see it and they also both look so good together he could cry as his heart breaks. The storyline goes like this: they were childhood sweethearts and promised to marry each other when they grow up. They separated before they hit puberty and only met again during high school. Together, they worked hard and built a cafe with the help of their chaebol parents who both approved of their early marriage and —
"Hey. Um. Are… are you okay?" Kim Dokja is immediately pulled out of his train of thoughts as the woman calls again. She looks downright concerned and Kim Dokja has to reign himself from bolting out of the door and never coming back, his manuscript be damned —
But that can't happen. It's not just his grades that are dependent on that manuscript, it's also his life. He's thinking that far already, he knows, because again, if he fails this, he'll surely… he doesn't even want to fucking think about it.
Oh my god.
Okay! Chill! What’s there to worry about, huh! That’s not confirmed yet. Maybe they’re siblings. Or cousins. Or, like, whatever. And anyway, if that was the case, then he’d go to the police station himself and offer his wrists because, fuck, arrest him, officer. Guilty as charged. And plus, his crush being married should be the least of his problems. What the hell?
“Um. What can I get you?”
“Hi.” Kim Dokja looks around to see if there’s a queue behind him, and sighs in relief when there isn't. Because shit’s about to get serious from here on. “Okay, so, I need something.” Great. Now Yoo Sangah looks confused. Obviously that's not the best start, he says it like he’s not in a damn café, and no one gives a shit about what he needs. She has to take his order. “Okay, so, uh. Two days — no, actually, I think it was three days? Yup. Three days, or four. Fuck. Whatever. So, I was here.” He points at himself, and then, very unhelpfully: “I’m actually a regular.”
“Oh,” Yoo Sangah says, as if she doesn't know how to react to that. “Um, congratulations… and thank you…?” Yoo Sangah offers a very customer service-like smile at that, something Kim Dokja is very much familiar with, having worked in the same industry for years. He slaps himself mentally, because god, did she really need to know that? How was saying that going to help with anything? Oh, my, I’m actually a regular~ who the fuck cares!! Where is his proper construction of sentences now? Where is it now that he actually needs it?
Dear Lord, this is why he’s a writer. He’s not suitable for speaking. He should be banned from doing it. He should just keep his mouth shut.
“Sorry, that was weird as hell.” He chuckles. “Oh, well, fuck it. Actually, I left my project that time, I think, here. And I need it back because the submission is today. I was just wondering if you or the other staff ever found it?”
Yoo Sangah nods with clarity, like she finally made some sense from him. Kinda rude, if you ask Kim Dokja, but he shrugs it off because he’s the one whose ass needs help right now. “I see. Thanks for letting me know. Was it perhaps in a binder? Like some thesis?”
Kim Dokja beams at that. He nods, full of hope. “Yes, yes! That one! Have you seen it? Can I have it back?”
Yoo Sangah scratches her cheek and smiles apologetically. “About that… our barista from the closing shift has it with him.”
Kim Dokja's mouth falls open. Suddenly, he feels as though his body weight slips off him, and he shifts his body against the countertop, much to Yoo Sangah’s surprise. He looks like the world just fell upon his shoulder, like he was suddenly sentenced to death.
Our barista from the closing shift has it with him.
Okay. Fuck. Breathe. Calm down. Let’s try to dissect that sentence, because maybe it’s not what he thinks it is, right?
Our barista from the closing shift has it with him.
First of all: there is no name mentioned. That can be a safety net. Second: she may have used the he pronoun, but that doesn't make that guy special. Surely, he’s not the only one with he/him pronouns here, right? Okay, lastly: he’s not the only one working in closing shifts. Kim Dokja usually goes here. He’s a damn regular who usually stops by at night since his creativity is more active past 8 PM, and he is confident to say that Mr. Sexy and Handsome Barista Yoo is not the only guy around that time, so yes, fuck it, he shouldn’t be —
“Ah!” Yoo Sangah suddenly exclaims as the bell by the entrance rings as the door clicks open. Kim Dokja flinches. “That’s him. Seems he’s on shift today and not later.”
Kim Dokja slowly turns around, silently calling and praying to the gods, the universe, the divine guidance, the angels, the spirits —
But oh well, there he is with his stupid tall height and stupid handsome face and stupid curly hair and stupid… s-s-soft… stare…?
… and stupid soft smile (yeah, what the hell, that guy smiles?) when he sees Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja looks down and sees the goddamn project he’s about to die for, in his hands.
Fuck me, Kim Dokja thinks, but not in a sexual way (though it could be because what the hell is he being so sexy for when he’s just standing there) but in a fuck-I-should-really-start-counting-my-days way.
*
“You look constipated,” Yoo Joonghyuk comments before sipping at his iced americano. Kim Dokja is almost touched, because really, this is their first (normal? Regular?) conversation ever outside of their usual customer service exchanges, and that’s the first thing he’ll say?
Not that he lied, of course, but c’mon. Some courtesy for someone who has been pining over you and even wrote something pathetically romantic about you wouldn’t hurt? Where’s the thank you? The I-Appreciate-It commentaries? The feedback? Hi, hello, good day, how are you today?
“Ha-ha, wow, thanks,” Kim Dokja replies perfunctory, because what the hell should he say to that?
Yoo Joonghyuk cocks his head, before sighing as if he’s in front of a lost cause. “I meant you should relax.”
“Oh.” Kim Dokja wants to smack his face. Does he look like someone who can relax now? He has his project in him — project that, mind you, today is the deadline of — and the class already fucking started and at this point most likely already ended, and he’s sure as hell he will fail and he might as well drop out and go back to his province he swore he would never go back to and help with his aunt’s farm and suck it up every time they remind him of his failures and I told you so’s. “Appreciate you for translating. Very helpful,” he adds with an awkward smile, as if the worst case scenarios aren’t running through his mind.
… And why is he here again? For the love of God, why is he sitting here with him when he should be chasing his professor and beg him to accept his late submission? Acceptance phase? God, no, he was just pulled when Yoo Joonghyuk smiled at him and was asked if they could talk and his mind just went sure, pretty boy instead of grabbing that damned manuscript. Shit.
Here's Kim Dokja's advice to people with crushes: don't.
Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him with an unreadable face, and Kim Dokja suddenly feels challenged, so he stares back. Neither of them says anything, so after just a few seconds (almost a minute), Kim Dokja looks away as heat rushes to his face.
Goddamn bastard. He's so pretty. I'm so sorry, mom. Your son failed one of his majors because he is a loser and he is pathetic.
Finally, Yoo Joonghyuk speaks. Thank God.
“I read your work.”
Good fucking start. By how Kim Dokja already considered numerous ways of killing himself due to the shame of being exposed, that’s not really obvious, eh?
But Kim Dokja is a kind man, and worse? He's a kind man with a crush. So, “Yeah. I believe so.”
“It’s for a project, and the deadline was due today?”
God, yes, remind him more of his failure.
“Yes. And unfortunately, I just missed it.”
“You write well.” That's not the fucking point?
“Been told that a lot. Thanks.”
Yoo Joonghyuk chuckles and oh my fucking god is he seducing me he definitely is seducing me — “You like me?”
Kim Dokja clamps his mouth shut. Any automated response he’s got is thrown out of the window. What the hell. Did he get to be attacked like that? Kim Dokja didn't even have the time for defense, and fuck it, what’s that question? Should he say yes to that? And then what?
He gets rejected? Fine.
He gets told that he has no chance? Whatever. What's worse than not submitting his final project?
He gets confirmation that he’s actually married? Well, fuck it, arrest him and send him to the church to pay for his sins.
“Hey,” Yoo Joonghyuk calls out when he doesn't say anything. “You wrote this,” He taps at the folder. “about the main character who’s pining for someone who he believes he’s got no chance to be with. It’s a commentary about unrequited love and self-isolation and self-sabotage, I believe. There’s a café here, and the person he likes works there. Thirty pages set in one place. Almost a love letter.” Yoo Joonghyuk pauses for a moment, as if he’s trying to find the right words. And then, “Am I free to assume that this is about you… and me?”
Kim Dokja wants him to shut up. He wants to stand up and take the folder and slap him with it and run away and never come back and just forget that this ever happened, but he looks at Yoo Joonghyuk’s expectant gaze and that storyline he just drafted in his head about him being married suddenly evaporates into nothingness and he thinks, maybe, there's a chance?, and he is nailed in his place and he can swear that he’s not the bravest person alive but maybe, God, just maybe he can face things properly this time.
He sucks in a breath and breathes deeply, while Yoo Joonghyuk waits patiently.
What should he say? Where should he even start? With an apology, for writing about him without any permission? But he didn't even expect that it’d be read. It was never meant to be read by him. So then what? A thank you, for bringing it back to him and complimenting him about how he writes well? What's the point of that when he didn't even get the chance to submit it? Or should he just confess his pent up affections, and get it over with? Surely, his chance is slim. Maybe that look is just so he could reject him already? I mean, why would Yoo Joonghyuk take that chance with him? Kim Dokja couldn’t think of a reason why.
In the end, of all he could say and of all the ways he could explain, “yes,” is what he settles with. He could say a lot, sure, but he already wrote about it and Yoo Joonghyuk already read it. He could start with an apology, but Yoo Joonghyuk doesn't seem to need it yet. He could say thank you, but he figures he’ll save that for later when needed.
A simple yes, because it’s true. Because what’s there to deny when his heart already bled to the pages, written and exposed?
Yoo Joonghyuk smiles.
“Thank you.” He slides the folder to Kim Dokja’s direction, and nods at it. Then, he stands up and looks at the direction of the cashier. “Don’t worry about your project, I already submitted it on your behalf.”
Kim Dokja gapes at that. “Huh?” Then you should've fucking said that first!
Yoo Joonghyuk snorts an amused laugh and Kim Dokja both wants to punch him and kiss him right there and then. He reflexively reaches a hand out to Kim Dokja, seemingly wanting to ruffle his hair, but stops himself midair, pulling back and playing with his fingers instead. “I’m from S— University too. Computer science major.”
“Huuuh?” Kim Dokja says again, confused and surprised both at the same time. He points at his folder. “Then what’s this? And how’d you even know where my class is?”
“Oh. The details were on the first page, so I just went around and asked where the liberal arts department is. As for that,” Yoo Joonghyuk points at the folder as well, “It’s my copy. I printed it for myself. I hope you don’t mind?”
What the hell.
Kim Dokja is about to say something when Yoo Joonghyuk turns around. “Um. I’ll leave you here first. I'm already late from clocking in.” He runs as fast as he can without waiting for Kim Dokja's reply, almost tripping when he misses a step, and Kim Dokja is left in awe because he notices the flush in his ears and neck and oh my god, is that really the same man who glares at him every time he sees him? Who always looks like he carries the entire world on his shoulders?
Kim Dokja wants to laugh, but figures that he has no right to because what the fuck. Yoo Joonghyuk made a copy for himself?
He stares at the folder, wondering why Yoo Joonghyuk gave it to him when he said it himself that it was his copy. He contemplates for a while whether he should open it. In the end, he decides to flip the folder open because after all, that’s his work.
Kim Dokja stops and stares.
On the title page, beneath the printed words Written by Kim Dokja, is a neat handwriting (definitely not his, because his handwriting is horse shit) in red ink: For Yoo Joonghyuk (that’s me.)
When he flips the next page, that’s where he sees them.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
■■, BY KIM DOKJA
ANNOTATED BY YOO JOONGHYUK
[…] There’s something romantic in the idea of another person bringing out the artist in you. When, with their presence alone, you begin to approach your medium again without any hint of your previous doubts and fears that what you're creating is not good, and you just create for the sake of expression. And it's all right, and you're all brave. The relief that comes from that is unmatched.
[ I don't think you even knew my name? ]
[…] Sometimes, I stare at him and wonder how he sees me, how he feels about me. But I’m more scared of knowing than not. It's hard not to, when there's always a frown in his face.
[ Nothing to fear. I think you’re pretty and lovely and hardworking and drink too much caffeine. P.S. I'm sorry. It's just my face.]
[…] I think he hates me.
[ Far from the truth. Sorry for glaring, I just lose my shit when I see you. But don’t worry, I’ll do better. ]
[…] I’m not sure what falling in love is supposed to feel like. But sometimes, when I see him, I start to have an idea. Hearts are silly like this, huh? They're strong and reliable but also fragile before the possibility of Love.
[ Oh. Is it fair to say that I think the same about you? Maybe we can risk it, to know for sure? ]
[…] I will memorize you, if only through the marks you leave this place. I will fantasize about you, if only through the bits I am shown by your grace.
[ That’s so romantic and sad why couldn’t you just flirt with me maybe that can solve your unresolved yearning and our unresolved romantic tension ]
[…] Holding the cup of coffee he just held, I whispered as the smoke curls: I like you, I like you, I like you.
[ Can you say it to my face next time? I want to say it back. ]
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
When Kim Dokja finishes reading the last sentence, seeing the word The End, he could barely breathe from the overwhelming softness and warmth that’s filling into the spaces of his heart. He is about to close the folder when he notices and feels that there’s a folded piece of paper clipped behind the last page.
He takes it, and opens it to read.
To Kim Dokja,
I’m not a writer unlike you, so I apologize already if whatever I wrote here does not make sense at all. But I’ll do my best.
I read your work. Not only did I read it, but I also made sure that I held every word you wrote close to my heart; though I didn’t have a hard time doing that. It was easy, for some reason. It was easy to take all of these seriously, to fall deeper.
Your words matter so much to me, and I want you to know that I’m so lucky that I was noticed by someone so talented. I have to say that, the first time I read it, I slept holding the manuscript in my arms. I am careful with it, don’t worry. It’s your feelings and emotions there. I won’t dare to hurt it, or ruin it, even just slightly.
Like you, I also don’t know what love is supposed to feel. I don’t know how love should feel. I don’t want to say that this is love just yet, because I think it’s still too early for that. We barely know each other; our knowledge only lies in our silent observations of one another.
But I have to tell you that I want to know about love, and I want to know it through you. With you.
We spent enough time longing for each other, this I picked up on the moment I finished reading everything. Like you, I also spent days thinking about you and what you like, fantasizing about going to classes together and studying together in the cafe. Having you read your books to me, and learning more things with you.
I'm sorry that I made you feel like I hate you, in any way. I'm not sure it'd make a difference, but you offered honesty and vulnerability about how you felt about me, so I'd like to do the same: I actually picked up closing shifts to see more of you, since you usually go to the cafe at night. I also got a copy of one of the books I saw you reading. I work on my skills in making drinks to make sure it’ll suit more of your taste, though the only basis of my judgment is how you react after your first sip. I like looking at you when you write and how serious you look like every time, and I always hope I could sit beside you when you do.
I want to know how you like your coffee not just by observing you when you take your first sip, but by telling me after I make you one.
I want to know more about the genre you’re into without memorizing the titles of the books you read so I can search it in my free time, but by telling me about them after you read them.
I want to go on dates with you, and know more about you. I want to know what’s bothering you. I want to know about your dreams. I want to cook for you. I want to do the things you like.
Kim Dokja, it must be embarrassing for you to know that I have the manuscript with me when you probably didn’t want me to read it, but I want to tell you that I’m happy that I found it. I’m happy that you wrote this for me. I’m happy to be your muse. And I think you're very brave for writing about something so vulnerable. Thank you.
I appreciate you writing to me.
But can you tell me next time instead?
Or I can tell you. Whichever you prefer.
Yours,
Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja stares dumbly at the letter, his hands shaking as everything sinks into him.
Yoo Joonghyuk likes him back.
He likes him back.
It feels unreal. Why him, of all people? How could it be him? What did he see in him? Kim Dokja doesn’t want to let his crippling self-esteem issues get in the way of this, but he just couldn’t help but think about it, and a part of him is scared of it. Of this.
It scares him, because as much as he wrote about romance, it doesn't make him good at it. In fact, it's his lack of it that makes him write about it more. Faced by the possibility of something real, it's natural that he'd feel rattled. But he looks up and sees Yoo Joonghyuk stare at him softly, his ears all red, from behind the counter and he feels like he could take on everything the world throws at him if that means he could have the man in his arms.
Surely, he could have this? He could have something good, like something as unreal as this? Surely, even Han Sooyoung would agree?
So he stands up with the manuscript and the letter, because apparently, being exposed and seen and having your heart be read and written back makes you braver. And fuck it if Kim Dokja hasn't been a coward all most his life to try and believe that maybe, he could also take his chance on love.
He walks towards the counter where Yoo Joonghyuk is.
“Hi,” Yoo Joonghyuk greets him when he arrives, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. What can I get you?”
I want you. I like you. I want to throw myself against you and hug you and memorize the feeling of having you in my arms and kiss you.
He doesn’t say any of that. He says nothing for a while. Just staring at his face, trying to engrave this moment in his mind. The taller man's usual glare can't be found, instead replaced by something tender. He looks like a dream. This feels like a dream. Kim Dokja wants to cry.
“I was wondering,” he starts, acting all suave. He puts his elbow against the counter and leans, smiling sweetly at Yoo Joonghyuk. “Are you free tonight?”
Kim Dokja grins at Yoo Joonghyuk’s reaction. Poor guy looks so taken aback, and he’s been hiding his feelings well earlier, then he fails to do it now. The flush that was once only in his cheeks and ears begin to creep up his whole face, and he seems to not know what to say. Kim Dokja takes pride in that. Why shouldn’t he? This is the first time he ever made a move to someone he likes. Not that he liked a lot of people, no, but he was never one to make a move. If there’s one thing, he’d only write about them.
With Yoo Joonghyuk’s reaction though, he seems to be doing well at this. I mean, weren’t Yoo Joonghyuk acting so cool earlier when they first talked about the manuscript? Look at him now.
How the tables have turned.
Now, he looks like the constipated one, but Kim Dokja doesn't want to make fun of him like that. So he waits.
Finally, after a few moments of them just staring at each other, Yoo Joonghyuk looks away and turns around, acting so busy when there’s not even an order at all. “I hate you,” he hears him mumble, voice quivering and soft that he wouldn't be able to believe it even if he tried to. “I was going to ask you first.”
Kim Dokja barks a laugh and immediately covers his mouth when other customers look at him. God, of course, that was his plan. They’re both such idiots.
Kim Dokja puts the manuscript on the countertop and slides it towards Yoo Joonghyuk without the letter. When he finally looks at him, Kim Dokja raises the letter and, caught in the moment, plants a kiss on it.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes widen.
“You have my heart with you, and I’ll have yours with me.” He winks, and almost wants to slap himself because what the hell are you doing?! What are you saying!? “I’ll see you later, Joonghyuk-ah. I’ll be back at seven.”
He turns around, not waiting for Yoo Joonghyuk to say anything back. He bites his lip in embarrassment, because fucking hell, did he just flirt? Did he just say all those things, not even drunk?!
Han Sooyoung will definitely not going to live this down if she knew, so this one, he's gotta keep to himself.
He stops in his tracks, suddenly remembering the last few sentences in Yoo Joonghyuk’s letter.
I appreciate you writing to me. But can you tell me next time?
Alright. What’s wrong with making the wish of your future boyfriend come true, especially when he makes the best reactions?
He turns back to Yoo Joonghyuk, whose eyes are still glued to him, and mouthed three words. He watches as the man’s eyes widen for a moment, before softening. He smiles in relief, as if he finally receives a confirmation that everything is real.
Kim Dokja wonders the same, and when Yoo Joonghyuk mouths it back, he knows that everything is so fucking real and life is so fucking good.
(Never mind that he was almost in the verge of losing his shit just before all of this happened, because hey, who would've thought that writing over your yearning would lead to something like what he'd only see and read in rom-com movies and books, huh?)