[ After a lifetime spent moving from ship to ship for his missions and staying in various inns in between, having to sleep in a bed that isn't his own is just par the course for him. The only thing that makes it different now is the person this bed belongs to, a person who should be sleeping in his own bed because even the floor would have been good enough for Eustace?? It's not like he hasn't slept on the cold hard ground before. But having already taken up enough of both Sooyoung and Dokja's kindness, making a fuss over something so insignificant is really the last thing he should be doing.
So he begrudgingly takes the bed and tries to ignore the way his guilt only grows in proportion to how long the list of Things He Owes Dokja For is. Some of it he manages to alleviate by helping around the house, though with how often he's out trying to aid the rest of Springstar's inhabitants, the time he actually spends indoors is pathetically little. If nothing else though, the exhaustion from a long day's work means he falls asleep relatively quickly each night, mind largely empty until the next morning.
Except tonight, when his mind decides that it's had enough of peaceful nothingness. Although, strangely, he doesn't ever remember having this dream before.... ]
The landscape before Eustace is dismal, cracked ground and red, ashy skies. It looks as though something had razed the very foundations of the earth, scorched it to a nothingness that spans for miles and miles and miles. But on closer inspection, a silhouette kneels in the distance, shoulders slumped and head hanging, the white of his coat stained red at the ends. Should Eustace approach, he'll find a familiar face.
Too bad that Dokja doesn't look up or even acknowledge the other man's presence, his despondent, dark gaze trained on a body lying in front of him as his scarred hands hold on to an even more scarred hand. It's Yoo Joonghyuk, pale and lifeless, with a clean stab wound that puddles blood where Dokja kneels. An unfamiliar sight for Eustace, but one that rings in haunting memories for Dokja, at the panic that had consumed him and stolen away his breath. He'd been sent into a frenzy back then, static noise in his mind as anxiety had gripped him by the throat with all its strength, but it's strange now... He distantly remembers this differently.
But with the nightmare doing its work, it's difficult to tell what's real or not, and the only thing Dokja can do in this moment is hopelessly stare down at the man he'd thought to be untouchable. ]
[ It's a good thing that miserable dreams are the norm for him then.
Though he can't say he likes them even after all these years. Who would, after all? There's no joy to be found in watching a loved one die in front of you, or in having a thousand pairs of jeering eyes trained on you as you stumble again and again.
The only saving grace in all this is that this dream isn't his, allowing him to feel an odd sense of detachment, the despondent air enough to wrap around his heart but unable to dig much deeper than that—up until he spots Dokja, at least. A sense of consideration pulls him back, concern motivates him forward. It's the latter that wins out in the end, though his steps are reluctant as he heads over, and turned even slower when he identifies the fallen man on the ground.
(I won't make a boyfriend joke here, because the mood is wrong.)
Quietly, he takes a spot next to Dokja, hand coming to a rest on one shoulder without hesitation. (They've been through too much by this point for that now.) He has no idea what he's supposed to do here, or even if there's anything he can do but: ]
This isn't real. You know that, right?
[ He may not know much about the man called Yoo Joonghyuk, but he does know that he wouldn't let himself die so easily. ]
[ So lost is he in his haze that he doesn't stir at the sound of approaching footsteps, nor the hand being placed on his shoulder. Some things in life come as too great of a shock, and his reason for existing growing cold in his hands happens to be one of them. It's not until Eustace speaks that Dokja finally lifts his head and raises his gaze, confusion settling over his features.
Another anomaly in this memory. ]
You're...
[ Not supposed to be here, he thinks as his eyes shift back to the man on the ground. Dokja's brows furrow together as he grasps at an explanation, his shock-addled mind slow to piece together this mess of a puzzle. But... Yoo Joonghyuk had disappeared from home. He hadn't come back for days, then weeks, and Dokja had waited. He'd made up excuses for the other man, reasoned away the fact that their connection had gone cold, and now... Isn't the proof of where he'd gone in front of Dokja now?
A shooting pain stabs him between the eyes and he lets go with one hand to brace it against his forehead instead. Dizziness overtakes him for a moment and he inhales shakily before returning his attention to Eustace with a look of faint wariness. ]
[ 'his reason for existing' damn this guy truly gay as shit
Thankfully Eustace can't read the metatext and is left with only what he knows from his various interactions with the residents of ORV house—which admittedly still paints this in a pretty gay light.
Thankfully this is more sad than gay, even if the question has him raising an eyebrow. ]
Would you believe me even if I said I was?
[ How much of this is real anyway? Is this a cruel memory pulled unceremoniously from Dokja's past? A vision of things to come? Or just a trick of the mind brought about by exhaustion and the continually spreading Blight overcoming their defenses and sinking its roots deep beneath their skin? In the end it doesn't matter, especially when he's not one of the main players here.
He nods towards the body on the ground, expression still sober. ]
What happened?
[ Hard to move forward when he has no idea of the past. ]
[ What a typical way for Eustace to respond, and Dokja would almost laugh if his heart didn't feel so heavy, if his head wasn't aching just so. The air feels too somber, clogging up all his other senses as he chooses to turn his face toward the red sky. Not a single star in sight above, as if they'd been wiped clean, or perhaps hidden behind the fog of whatever this particular apocalypse has kicked up.
It's a better view than a dead Yoo Joonghyuk, and a better way to hide the way his eyes grow glassy and red-rimmed from Eustace. ]
I don't know...
[ His voice comes out quietly, small and uncertain. ]
I thought it was a memory, but it's different. Or maybe I'm missing the pieces for this one, [ he can't seem to stop once he starts, anxiety making his words come out faster and faster. ] I can't remember things. One moment I'm in one place, and then next, I'm somewhere else without knowing how I got there. Is that what this is?
[ With a trembling inhale, he squeezes his eyes shut, then wipes at them with his free hand. ]
You say it isn't real, but Yoo Joonghyuk... [ His voice cracks and his hold on that limp hand tightens. ] He hasn't been home in a while.
[ It's jarring to see Dokja so shaken, his usual confident smile absent from his face and his shoulders slumped inward. Usually it's the opposite way around, with him in need of reassurance—not that he feels particularly happy about the reversed circumstances now.
The news that Dokja's been lapsing in and out of awarness with holes in his memories is worrying, but now isn't the time to dwell on that. He may not have Dokja's ability to bullshit through everything life throws at him, but he has his own methods of barreling through unwelcome events. ]
You really think he would die that easily?
[ He says the words with more confidence than he should have, given how little he knows about the man as compared to either Han Sooyoung or Kim Dokja. But he can put together the pieces of what he does know into a hazy albeit incomplete whole, and what he's gleaned about the man dressed in all black (that he once thought was some kind of stalker) doesn't paint him a picture of a man too weak physically or mentally to defend himself from the dangers lurking in Horos. Especially not when his companions are still out there waiting for him. (Companions, he'd referred to them as, but it hadn't been hard to read between the lines and intuit the deeper emotion held in that single word.) ]
This isn't the first time people haven't come back.
[ Abel, Ciel, others he hadn't known as well....they'd all vanished one day, without a word and without a single hint as to where they'd gone. He wouldn't be surprised if the same fate had befallen Yoo Joonghyuk, though the realist in him knows he can't discount Dokja's theory either.
Still, soetimes the situation calls for being an optimist rather than a realist, and he knocks his knuckles against the side of Dokja's head, a modest attempt to jolt him out of his melancholy. (Look at him go, channeling his inner Meridian.) ]
I doubt he would want to see you like this when [ not if, when ] he comes back either.
[ They're words that Dokja so badly wants to believe in, and he presses his lips together tightly as he fights to hold back the tears that threaten to overwhelm him. He's usually so good about not crying in front of others, but he finds it hard to maintain any sort of composure now. This barren landscape, Yoo Joonghyuk's body... All of it only serves as a reminder of his past failures, ones that he had thought he could move away from if he tried hard enough, but it's clear now that he has such a long way left to still go.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Dokja clings to Eustace's attempts at comfort instead. It's true that Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn't die so easily. He... would have found a way home instead, relentless bastard that he is. He would have carved out the very universe to achieve his goals, gone stomping back to where he belongs, and it's this single thought that finally rouses Dokja.
He opens his eyes with a quiet exhale, just in time for Eustace's knuckles to make contact with the side of his head. Instead of finding any comfort in that, Dokja feels a painful stinging in his chest, and a sudden fear blooms there.
Abel, Ciel, Yoo Joonghyuk... How many important people is he supposed to lose? He'd already lost so many others even before them, and a panicked thought roots itself deep into his mind. Anxiously, he reaches for Eustace's hand before it can retreat. Dokja's own hand is cold and shaking, a tremor that runs down his arm and spreads to his shoulders. He can't stay here with these dark, unsettling thoughts. He can't know what it is he's lost and have one more precious thing standing in a place that only reminds him of those losses. ]
If it's not real, [ he says with a concentrated effort to keep his teeth from chattering due to the chill overtaking him. ] How do we get out of here?
[ He still doesn't know what this is. All he knows is that he wants to go back, to the place that he's just started to get to know as his home. To where he knows Eustace actually is, some holes in his memory starting to fill as reality returns the light back into his eyes. ]
[ Instead of stiffening or pulling away, he simply curls his fingers tight around Dokja's hand to provide what little comfort he can. It's the one thing that feels natural in this otherwise chilling and unnatural place, and the sooner they both get out of here the better.
Which begs the question that Dokja's already echoed aloud: how do they get out of here?
He's silent as he thinks, rooting around in the cavern of his own experiences for some sort of solution. If this really is a dream, then all it would take is something deeply unpleasant to jolt them both out of it. A morbid thought crosses his mind before he stamps it out unceremoniously, grimacing unhappily into the red-tinted gloom. The thought of killing Dokja, even in a dream, makes his stomach churn, waves of very real nausea rolling through.
Plan B it is then. He tugs at their linked hands, a silent request for Dokja to get up. ]
Stand up for a minute.
[ Hypothetically he could carry out his plan crouching down, but it'll be easier if they're both upright. ]
[ Hesitation trickles through their connection at the request, and Dokja doesn't act immediately. He keeps one hand wrapped around Eustace, but the other still holds on to Joonghyuk's cold hand, reluctant to let go. What if this is the last time he sees the other man? What if Yoo Joonghyuk never returns? The thought makes him grow cold, and Dokja has to fight off a second internal crisis as he desperately grasps at Eustace's reminder.
He... won't let this be the last image of Joonghyuk he sees. Not like this. Not defeated, dead, and lying in a pool of his own blood.
Dokja finally tears his gaze away, and in the process, releases the hold he has on the prone body. He moves sluggishly, but with a quiet sense of determination as he rises to his feet, only swaying slightly once he's fully up. As much as he'd like to know what the plan here is, he's still in a bit of a daze as he redirects his attention to Eustace, every part of him screaming not to look back down.
Funny how he also has to fight off the urge to bury his face in Eustace's shoulder even if he so badly wants to seek after that comfort. ]
What now...?
[ There's a bit of a rush to his words. He just wants to get out, just wants to end this awful nightmare. ]
[ The timing is all wrong for this, the atmosphere absolutely apalling, but that's part of the reason he has to try this now. If it was expected and in line with the continued misery of their current situation, it wouldn't be enough. Even now there's a part of him that worries it still won't be enough, his gaze darting to where Yoo Joonghyuk's body still lies cold on the ground and the creases between his brows deepening at the sight.
Better not think about it too much longer and just take the plunge. But first! His eyes turn back to Dokja, gaze apologetic. ]
Sorry.
[ For what? For stepping forward and grabbing hold of his chin in order to kiss him very deeply and without warning.
Can't believe someone's finally grabbing Dokja by the face to kiss him, but there's a dead body five feet away and blood still pooling under their feet. This truly could not be any less romantic. But also if this doesn't work he really is going to have to resort to murder, so maybe the vibes are still correct. ]
[ The question of what Eustace is apologizing for dies in Dokja's throat, and he's barely given any time to react before there's a mouth over his own. It's familiar with them, but considering the circumstances? Considering that neither of them are under any sort of influence or crashing together in an accident?
The shock of it does the trick. One second he's gasping against Eustace's mouth, the next, he's jerking upright into a sit with a strangled noise, heart hammering away at his chest as dizziness momentarily overtakes him. And in the pitch black of the living room, it takes a good while for Dokja to reorient himself, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark as his mind races to catch up with where he is and what had just happened.
He's on the couch. A blanket now pooled in his lap. This is... his home in Springstar.
And... it had been a dream. A dream...? His fingers come up to rest against his lips as he remembers the details. Was any of it real? His gaze shifts over to the hallway, where he knows he's settled Eustace into his room for the night, and he can't help the panicked confusion that blares through their Exalt connection.
If it was all just a dream, how insane would he look waking Eustace up and asking him about that kiss? ]
[ As if Dokja hasn't done worse than ask a guy if he happend to have a dream where they made out for .2 seconds.
But luckily for him, he doesn't need to take the first step in that perilous journey. The abrupt cessation of the dream means that Eustace also ends up lurched back into wakefulness, though in a bed rather than on a couch, eyes blinking blearily into the darkness as his mind slowly catches up with the rest of his body.
As much as he'd like to go back to sleep, bits and pieces of the dream flicker through his mind as he stares up at the ceiling, the memory of Dokja looking more miserable than Eustace has ever seen stapling itself firmly in place no matter how much he tries to chase it away. Dokja's always out there trying to save everyone else. Is there anyone out there ready to save him? The thought occupies his mind as he rolls onto one side, and then the other, and then gives up entirely on trying to fall back asleep when confusion that decidedly isn't his washes over him. May as well get up. It'll bring him some peace of mind anyway to make sure Dokja's alright.
His footsteps are muffled by years of practice and by the click of the door as he opens it to step into the hallway. Hard to see anything in the gloom, but he thinks he can make out a figure propped up on the couch as he rounds the corner. ]
[ Speak of the devil... Or think of him, in this case.
Dokja immediately drops his hand from his lips, his now adjusted eyes making out Eustace's form in the opening of the hallway. He's too stunned at first to respond, but then he jerks his head in a nod before remembering that they're still in the dark, and that it'll probably be difficult to make out the motions. ]
Uh, yeah.
[ Very smooth, Kim Dokja. But rather than stress about that, he's thinking about how this is too well-timed to be a coincidence, meaning that the dream he'd just had hadn't actually been a dream. It shouldn't be that strange in the grand scheme of bullshit they've both had to go through, and Dokja's really not concerned over the mechanics of how they'd come to share a dream when he's still stuck on the fact that Eustace had kissed him to wake them up. His tendency to overthink is flaring at this time, and rather than address it, he opts instead to play coward. ]
Sorry about that, [ he says quietly, mindful that there are other people still asleep in the house. ] I'm sure you're tired. Go back to bed, Eustace.
[ While he sits here and has an existential crisis. ]
[ Realistically speaking, Dokja's right. He should go back to bed. It's late, and the Blight has taking its toll on everyone, Shardbearers included, which means he's more worn-out than he usually is, body and mind both hanging on by a thin thread.
Unfortunately for Dokja, Eustace has always been terrible at following directions when they don't appeal to him, and right now he's far more worried about Dokja's well-being than his own. Instead of turning back around and going back to bed, he stays right where he is, one hand holding his makeshift blanket cape over his shoulders while the other wraps loosely around his torso. A normal person would probably go take a seat at the foot of the couch or at least a nearby chair, but instead he opts to be the weirdo he is and remain standing several feet away. ]
Are you still worried about what happened? In your dream.
[ Reassure him that everything's fine and then maybe he'll go back to sleep. ]
[ Why does no one ever listen to Dokja's directions.
Probably because he's just as difficult to deal with! Hesitation lengthens the silence between them, with Dokja struggling to decide on how to best answer. If this question had been asked by literally anyone else, it would have been easy to lie and brush aside the concern. But he's been relatively honest with Eustace these days, and with the lack of consequences or judgement for that honesty, he's not really seeing a reason to break away from this new habit.
Sucking in a deep breath, he looks away, his fingers tightening their hold on his own blanket. ]
It's hard not to think about.
[ Even if it had only been a dream, it had still rattled Dokja to his very core, the effects that he feels even now in the dead of night. ]
[ A reasonable answer, and one he can understand and relate to as a chronic overthinker. It's just unfortunate that he has no solution to the problem, no easy distractions to offer or soothing reassurances to give. Having lived a life of relative solitude up until now, there'd never been any need to polish his skills in that area. Now he's beginning to regret it, the quiet unease emanating from Dokja eliciting a similar unease in him.
Then don't think about it is what he'd like to say, but he knows from experience doing such a thing isn't so easy. And his favored activity when he needs to empty his mind (rigorous exercise) isn't exactly optimal in the middle of the night and when it's freezing out. So.....what then?
Not thinking isn't an option but maybe they can think about something else. Talk about something else. He's silent a few more moments before abruptly changing the subject. ]
Do you still eat stories?
[ It's the first thing he thinks of, his recent conversation with Han Sooyoung as they'd been clearing out her store. ]
[ What an abrupt subject change, and one that fully catches Dokja's attention as he turns his head back toward the hall with a bewildered look. It takes a few seconds for him to catch up with what this is supposed to be, and after a brief, stunned silence, something very close to a small laugh escapes past his lips.
Really, as much as he appreciates the effort, he has to admit that it's clumsy. But in a comical, endearing sort of way. ]
You've been talking to Han Sooyoung.
[ He shifts to a more comfortable position, making it so that he's not twisting around to face Eustace as he shuffles around so that his back is against the couch cushions in a proper sit. It's not exactly the ideal for a conversation with so much distance between the two of them, but Dokja doesn't want to invite the other man next to him when the night is so late and sleep should be had by at least one of them. He'll just entertain this one question before pressing the matter again. ]
But no, not here. It doesn't work like that in this place. I have to eat normal food again.
[ What is he supposed to do, ignore her? Actually he does do that a good chunk of the time already, mostly at home, but it's not as though he can avoid her forever. Sometimes they are forced to converse and sometimes it's about strange topics such as eating stories for sustenance. It'd be harder to believe if they weren't here in a place where they can freely enter other people's dreams and illusions of the past can appear when least expected.
Maybe that's why he can talk about it like this now, as though it's some every day occurrence rather than something pulled from a wild fairy tale. ]
Do they [ is there any way to say it without sounding stupid ] taste different?
[ Do they all have different mouthfeels?? Never mind, this actually sounds stupid as hell to talk about. ]
[ The effort is honestly admirable, and Dokja feels his mood lightening at the absurdity of their conversation. To think that they could come from a hellscape of a nightmare to then talk about the taste of stories.
But he takes a moment to think about it, head tilting to the side as his gaze travels to the ceiling. There's not much to make out there, especially in the darkness, but past that wall above their heads, he imagines the sky littered with stars, each one compromised of stories that had landed them there. He thinks of his own, then the stories that he had refused to eat despite watching the other Constellations enjoy them with great relish. ]
They do, [ he finally says with a small smile. ] The ones I had tasted the best.
[ He keeps it vague, complications of how to describe the taste acting as a barrier, along with the fact that he doesn't want to keep Eustace any longer than he already has. ]
You should really get some sleep, you know. You don't have to do this. I'll be fine.
[ It might be easy to talk about strange topics like this, but in the process of doing so he's made acutely aware of how different their lives have been and how vast the gap in life experience is between them. How can he hope to understand a man who's watched the destruction of countless worlds, who eats stories instead of fruits and vegetables, and who's suffered enough that he feels the need to prepare and hoard for any possible emergency?
At the end of the day, he can't. There are some things he'll never be able to fully relate to (even if part of him wishes he could). All he can do is make sure the person underneath all those experiences is taken care of, and to make sure he doesn't crumble from the weight of all the burdens resting heavy on his shoulders. If that means standing out here in the pitch black cold being an immovable asshole, then so be it. ]
Will you? [ Forgive him if he sounds doubtful after everything he's just seen. ] It shouldn't be hard for you to fall back asleep then.
[ And in that case, it shouldn't be a problem if he just loiters out here until Dokja falls asleep to make sure everything's really fine then, will it? ]
Dokja's eyebrows lift in surprise, and the small smile on his face grows into somethig a little more teasing. While he understands that this is stemming from a place of concern, his first instinct is to deflect and ease up on the heaviness permeating the air between them. That's why, when he opens his mouth, he decides on being stupid. ]
Planning to watch me sleep?
[ Should have done that during the night of the masquerade rather than dip out as soon as Dokja fell asleep. ]
[ If this were a Twilight movie, he'd be Team Jacob and not Team Edward.
But, you know? That's not a bad suggestion. Maybe it's incredibly childish and incredibly stupid as far as good suggestions go, but it's not as though people are all that logical when it's the middle of the night and sleep deprivation is dragging them down.
Other things being (very quietly) dragged over: a chair that Eustace deposits on the other side of the coffee table across the couch, which he promptly takes a seat in, one leg crossing over the other. ]
Sure.
[ This is where he lives now until Dokja falls asleep. Hopefully no one else wakes up for a midnight snack and sees these two weirdos staring at each other in the dark. ]
[ Here come the crickets as Dokja stares at Eustace's face like he's trying to figure out if this is a joke or not. It's hard to tell when such a stoic (handsome) face is all he's got to work off of, and so after a few seconds, Dokja gives up.
The day he learns to read people is the day civilization collapses.
Anyway, it's kind of unfair that he's been telling Eustace to go to sleep and gotten nothing for his efforts, only for the other man to turn around and do the same to him now. They're obviously both exhausted, it's the middle of the night, and they've both come from a stressful nightmare. It feels like there's only one correct answer for this situation.
So Dokja, with all the grace and care of a man deprived of sleep and coming down from adrenaline both good and bad, suggests the normally unsuggestable. ]
It's precisely because he's sleep-deprived that the suggestion lands entirely the wrong way. Instead of the literal meaning of sleep together, his mind imagines a callback to their time at the masquerade and it takes far too long for his common sense to kick in and smother the burst of bewilderment he feels, replacing it instead with the more likely meaning.
As if Dokja (the career bottom) would ever suggest anything else other than the literal.
This is hardly the first time he's shared a bed with a man, but the suggestion feels different this time, a prickle of awareness lodging itself into the back of his mind. This seems like a dangerous road to go down, but no worse than both of them engaging in a game of sleep chicken.
Still. ]
We're not going to both fit on the couch.
[ Unless they really squeeze together, but that's a whole different can of worms. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sighs tiredly, april event
So he begrudgingly takes the bed and tries to ignore the way his guilt only grows in proportion to how long the list of Things He Owes Dokja For is. Some of it he manages to alleviate by helping around the house, though with how often he's out trying to aid the rest of Springstar's inhabitants, the time he actually spends indoors is pathetically little. If nothing else though, the exhaustion from a long day's work means he falls asleep relatively quickly each night, mind largely empty until the next morning.
Except tonight, when his mind decides that it's had enough of peaceful nothingness. Although, strangely, he doesn't ever remember having this dream before.... ]
:}
The landscape before Eustace is dismal, cracked ground and red, ashy skies. It looks as though something had razed the very foundations of the earth, scorched it to a nothingness that spans for miles and miles and miles. But on closer inspection, a silhouette kneels in the distance, shoulders slumped and head hanging, the white of his coat stained red at the ends. Should Eustace approach, he'll find a familiar face.
Too bad that Dokja doesn't look up or even acknowledge the other man's presence, his despondent, dark gaze trained on a body lying in front of him as his scarred hands hold on to an even more scarred hand. It's Yoo Joonghyuk, pale and lifeless, with a clean stab wound that puddles blood where Dokja kneels. An unfamiliar sight for Eustace, but one that rings in haunting memories for Dokja, at the panic that had consumed him and stolen away his breath. He'd been sent into a frenzy back then, static noise in his mind as anxiety had gripped him by the throat with all its strength, but it's strange now... He distantly remembers this differently.
But with the nightmare doing its work, it's difficult to tell what's real or not, and the only thing Dokja can do in this moment is hopelessly stare down at the man he'd thought to be untouchable. ]
puts my hand over this timestamp
Though he can't say he likes them even after all these years. Who would, after all? There's no joy to be found in watching a loved one die in front of you, or in having a thousand pairs of jeering eyes trained on you as you stumble again and again.
The only saving grace in all this is that this dream isn't his, allowing him to feel an odd sense of detachment, the despondent air enough to wrap around his heart but unable to dig much deeper than that—up until he spots Dokja, at least. A sense of consideration pulls him back, concern motivates him forward. It's the latter that wins out in the end, though his steps are reluctant as he heads over, and turned even slower when he identifies the fallen man on the ground.
(I won't make a boyfriend joke here, because the mood is wrong.)
Quietly, he takes a spot next to Dokja, hand coming to a rest on one shoulder without hesitation. (They've been through too much by this point for that now.) He has no idea what he's supposed to do here, or even if there's anything he can do but: ]
This isn't real. You know that, right?
[ He may not know much about the man called Yoo Joonghyuk, but he does know that he wouldn't let himself die so easily. ]
does the same
Another anomaly in this memory. ]
You're...
[ Not supposed to be here, he thinks as his eyes shift back to the man on the ground. Dokja's brows furrow together as he grasps at an explanation, his shock-addled mind slow to piece together this mess of a puzzle. But... Yoo Joonghyuk had disappeared from home. He hadn't come back for days, then weeks, and Dokja had waited. He'd made up excuses for the other man, reasoned away the fact that their connection had gone cold, and now... Isn't the proof of where he'd gone in front of Dokja now?
A shooting pain stabs him between the eyes and he lets go with one hand to brace it against his forehead instead. Dizziness overtakes him for a moment and he inhales shakily before returning his attention to Eustace with a look of faint wariness. ]
... Are you real?
WHY DID MY FINGERS BETRAY ME LIKE THAT
Thankfully Eustace can't read the metatext and is left with only what he knows from his various interactions with the residents of ORV house—which admittedly still paints this in a pretty gay light.
Thankfully this is more sad than gay, even if the question has him raising an eyebrow. ]
Would you believe me even if I said I was?
[ How much of this is real anyway? Is this a cruel memory pulled unceremoniously from Dokja's past? A vision of things to come? Or just a trick of the mind brought about by exhaustion and the continually spreading Blight overcoming their defenses and sinking its roots deep beneath their skin? In the end it doesn't matter, especially when he's not one of the main players here.
He nods towards the body on the ground, expression still sober. ]
What happened?
[ Hard to move forward when he has no idea of the past. ]
no subject
It's a better view than a dead Yoo Joonghyuk, and a better way to hide the way his eyes grow glassy and red-rimmed from Eustace. ]
I don't know...
[ His voice comes out quietly, small and uncertain. ]
I thought it was a memory, but it's different. Or maybe I'm missing the pieces for this one, [ he can't seem to stop once he starts, anxiety making his words come out faster and faster. ] I can't remember things. One moment I'm in one place, and then next, I'm somewhere else without knowing how I got there. Is that what this is?
[ With a trembling inhale, he squeezes his eyes shut, then wipes at them with his free hand. ]
You say it isn't real, but Yoo Joonghyuk... [ His voice cracks and his hold on that limp hand tightens. ] He hasn't been home in a while.
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The news that Dokja's been lapsing in and out of awarness with holes in his memories is worrying, but now isn't the time to dwell on that. He may not have Dokja's ability to bullshit through everything life throws at him, but he has his own methods of barreling through unwelcome events. ]
You really think he would die that easily?
[ He says the words with more confidence than he should have, given how little he knows about the man as compared to either Han Sooyoung or Kim Dokja. But he can put together the pieces of what he does know into a hazy albeit incomplete whole, and what he's gleaned about the man dressed in all black (that he once thought was some kind of stalker) doesn't paint him a picture of a man too weak physically or mentally to defend himself from the dangers lurking in Horos. Especially not when his companions are still out there waiting for him. (Companions, he'd referred to them as, but it hadn't been hard to read between the lines and intuit the deeper emotion held in that single word.) ]
This isn't the first time people haven't come back.
[ Abel, Ciel, others he hadn't known as well....they'd all vanished one day, without a word and without a single hint as to where they'd gone. He wouldn't be surprised if the same fate had befallen Yoo Joonghyuk, though the realist in him knows he can't discount Dokja's theory either.
Still, soetimes the situation calls for being an optimist rather than a realist, and he knocks his knuckles against the side of Dokja's head, a modest attempt to jolt him out of his melancholy. (Look at him go, channeling his inner Meridian.) ]
I doubt he would want to see you like this when [ not if, when ] he comes back either.
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Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Dokja clings to Eustace's attempts at comfort instead. It's true that Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn't die so easily. He... would have found a way home instead, relentless bastard that he is. He would have carved out the very universe to achieve his goals, gone stomping back to where he belongs, and it's this single thought that finally rouses Dokja.
He opens his eyes with a quiet exhale, just in time for Eustace's knuckles to make contact with the side of his head. Instead of finding any comfort in that, Dokja feels a painful stinging in his chest, and a sudden fear blooms there.
Abel, Ciel, Yoo Joonghyuk... How many important people is he supposed to lose? He'd already lost so many others even before them, and a panicked thought roots itself deep into his mind. Anxiously, he reaches for Eustace's hand before it can retreat. Dokja's own hand is cold and shaking, a tremor that runs down his arm and spreads to his shoulders. He can't stay here with these dark, unsettling thoughts. He can't know what it is he's lost and have one more precious thing standing in a place that only reminds him of those losses. ]
If it's not real, [ he says with a concentrated effort to keep his teeth from chattering due to the chill overtaking him. ] How do we get out of here?
[ He still doesn't know what this is. All he knows is that he wants to go back, to the place that he's just started to get to know as his home. To where he knows Eustace actually is, some holes in his memory starting to fill as reality returns the light back into his eyes. ]
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Which begs the question that Dokja's already echoed aloud: how do they get out of here?
He's silent as he thinks, rooting around in the cavern of his own experiences for some sort of solution. If this really is a dream, then all it would take is something deeply unpleasant to jolt them both out of it. A morbid thought crosses his mind before he stamps it out unceremoniously, grimacing unhappily into the red-tinted gloom. The thought of killing Dokja, even in a dream, makes his stomach churn, waves of very real nausea rolling through.
Plan B it is then. He tugs at their linked hands, a silent request for Dokja to get up. ]
Stand up for a minute.
[ Hypothetically he could carry out his plan crouching down, but it'll be easier if they're both upright. ]
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He... won't let this be the last image of Joonghyuk he sees. Not like this. Not defeated, dead, and lying in a pool of his own blood.
Dokja finally tears his gaze away, and in the process, releases the hold he has on the prone body. He moves sluggishly, but with a quiet sense of determination as he rises to his feet, only swaying slightly once he's fully up. As much as he'd like to know what the plan here is, he's still in a bit of a daze as he redirects his attention to Eustace, every part of him screaming not to look back down.
Funny how he also has to fight off the urge to bury his face in Eustace's shoulder even if he so badly wants to seek after that comfort. ]
What now...?
[ There's a bit of a rush to his words. He just wants to get out, just wants to end this awful nightmare. ]
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Better not think about it too much longer and just take the plunge. But first! His eyes turn back to Dokja, gaze apologetic. ]
Sorry.
[ For what? For stepping forward and grabbing hold of his chin in order to kiss him very deeply and without warning.
Can't believe someone's finally grabbing Dokja by the face to kiss him, but there's a dead body five feet away and blood still pooling under their feet. This truly could not be any less romantic. But also if this doesn't work he really is going to have to resort to murder, so maybe the vibes are still correct. ]
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The shock of it does the trick. One second he's gasping against Eustace's mouth, the next, he's jerking upright into a sit with a strangled noise, heart hammering away at his chest as dizziness momentarily overtakes him. And in the pitch black of the living room, it takes a good while for Dokja to reorient himself, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark as his mind races to catch up with where he is and what had just happened.
He's on the couch. A blanket now pooled in his lap. This is... his home in Springstar.
And... it had been a dream. A dream...? His fingers come up to rest against his lips as he remembers the details. Was any of it real? His gaze shifts over to the hallway, where he knows he's settled Eustace into his room for the night, and he can't help the panicked confusion that blares through their Exalt connection.
If it was all just a dream, how insane would he look waking Eustace up and asking him about that kiss? ]
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But luckily for him, he doesn't need to take the first step in that perilous journey. The abrupt cessation of the dream means that Eustace also ends up lurched back into wakefulness, though in a bed rather than on a couch, eyes blinking blearily into the darkness as his mind slowly catches up with the rest of his body.
As much as he'd like to go back to sleep, bits and pieces of the dream flicker through his mind as he stares up at the ceiling, the memory of Dokja looking more miserable than Eustace has ever seen stapling itself firmly in place no matter how much he tries to chase it away. Dokja's always out there trying to save everyone else. Is there anyone out there ready to save him? The thought occupies his mind as he rolls onto one side, and then the other, and then gives up entirely on trying to fall back asleep when confusion that decidedly isn't his washes over him. May as well get up. It'll bring him some peace of mind anyway to make sure Dokja's alright.
His footsteps are muffled by years of practice and by the click of the door as he opens it to step into the hallway. Hard to see anything in the gloom, but he thinks he can make out a figure propped up on the couch as he rounds the corner. ]
Awake?
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Dokja immediately drops his hand from his lips, his now adjusted eyes making out Eustace's form in the opening of the hallway. He's too stunned at first to respond, but then he jerks his head in a nod before remembering that they're still in the dark, and that it'll probably be difficult to make out the motions. ]
Uh, yeah.
[ Very smooth, Kim Dokja. But rather than stress about that, he's thinking about how this is too well-timed to be a coincidence, meaning that the dream he'd just had hadn't actually been a dream. It shouldn't be that strange in the grand scheme of bullshit they've both had to go through, and Dokja's really not concerned over the mechanics of how they'd come to share a dream when he's still stuck on the fact that Eustace had kissed him to wake them up. His tendency to overthink is flaring at this time, and rather than address it, he opts instead to play coward. ]
Sorry about that, [ he says quietly, mindful that there are other people still asleep in the house. ] I'm sure you're tired. Go back to bed, Eustace.
[ While he sits here and has an existential crisis. ]
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Unfortunately for Dokja, Eustace has always been terrible at following directions when they don't appeal to him, and right now he's far more worried about Dokja's well-being than his own. Instead of turning back around and going back to bed, he stays right where he is, one hand holding his makeshift blanket cape over his shoulders while the other wraps loosely around his torso. A normal person would probably go take a seat at the foot of the couch or at least a nearby chair, but instead he opts to be the weirdo he is and remain standing several feet away. ]
Are you still worried about what happened? In your dream.
[ Reassure him that everything's fine and then maybe he'll go back to sleep. ]
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Probably because he's just as difficult to deal with! Hesitation lengthens the silence between them, with Dokja struggling to decide on how to best answer. If this question had been asked by literally anyone else, it would have been easy to lie and brush aside the concern. But he's been relatively honest with Eustace these days, and with the lack of consequences or judgement for that honesty, he's not really seeing a reason to break away from this new habit.
Sucking in a deep breath, he looks away, his fingers tightening their hold on his own blanket. ]
It's hard not to think about.
[ Even if it had only been a dream, it had still rattled Dokja to his very core, the effects that he feels even now in the dead of night. ]
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Then don't think about it is what he'd like to say, but he knows from experience doing such a thing isn't so easy. And his favored activity when he needs to empty his mind (rigorous exercise) isn't exactly optimal in the middle of the night and when it's freezing out. So.....what then?
Not thinking isn't an option but maybe they can think about something else. Talk about something else. He's silent a few more moments before abruptly changing the subject. ]
Do you still eat stories?
[ It's the first thing he thinks of, his recent conversation with Han Sooyoung as they'd been clearing out her store. ]
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Really, as much as he appreciates the effort, he has to admit that it's clumsy. But in a comical, endearing sort of way. ]
You've been talking to Han Sooyoung.
[ He shifts to a more comfortable position, making it so that he's not twisting around to face Eustace as he shuffles around so that his back is against the couch cushions in a proper sit. It's not exactly the ideal for a conversation with so much distance between the two of them, but Dokja doesn't want to invite the other man next to him when the night is so late and sleep should be had by at least one of them. He'll just entertain this one question before pressing the matter again. ]
But no, not here. It doesn't work like that in this place. I have to eat normal food again.
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[ What is he supposed to do, ignore her? Actually he does do that a good chunk of the time already, mostly at home, but it's not as though he can avoid her forever. Sometimes they are forced to converse and sometimes it's about strange topics such as eating stories for sustenance. It'd be harder to believe if they weren't here in a place where they can freely enter other people's dreams and illusions of the past can appear when least expected.
Maybe that's why he can talk about it like this now, as though it's some every day occurrence rather than something pulled from a wild fairy tale. ]
Do they [ is there any way to say it without sounding stupid ] taste different?
[ Do they all have different mouthfeels?? Never mind, this actually sounds stupid as hell to talk about. ]
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But he takes a moment to think about it, head tilting to the side as his gaze travels to the ceiling. There's not much to make out there, especially in the darkness, but past that wall above their heads, he imagines the sky littered with stars, each one compromised of stories that had landed them there. He thinks of his own, then the stories that he had refused to eat despite watching the other Constellations enjoy them with great relish. ]
They do, [ he finally says with a small smile. ] The ones I had tasted the best.
[ He keeps it vague, complications of how to describe the taste acting as a barrier, along with the fact that he doesn't want to keep Eustace any longer than he already has. ]
You should really get some sleep, you know. You don't have to do this. I'll be fine.
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At the end of the day, he can't. There are some things he'll never be able to fully relate to (even if part of him wishes he could). All he can do is make sure the person underneath all those experiences is taken care of, and to make sure he doesn't crumble from the weight of all the burdens resting heavy on his shoulders. If that means standing out here in the pitch black cold being an immovable asshole, then so be it. ]
Will you? [ Forgive him if he sounds doubtful after everything he's just seen. ] It shouldn't be hard for you to fall back asleep then.
[ And in that case, it shouldn't be a problem if he just loiters out here until Dokja falls asleep to make sure everything's really fine then, will it? ]
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Dokja's eyebrows lift in surprise, and the small smile on his face grows into somethig a little more teasing. While he understands that this is stemming from a place of concern, his first instinct is to deflect and ease up on the heaviness permeating the air between them. That's why, when he opens his mouth, he decides on being stupid. ]
Planning to watch me sleep?
[ Should have done that during the night of the masquerade rather than dip out as soon as Dokja fell asleep. ]
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But, you know? That's not a bad suggestion. Maybe it's incredibly childish and incredibly stupid as far as good suggestions go, but it's not as though people are all that logical when it's the middle of the night and sleep deprivation is dragging them down.
Other things being (very quietly) dragged over: a chair that Eustace deposits on the other side of the coffee table across the couch, which he promptly takes a seat in, one leg crossing over the other. ]
Sure.
[ This is where he lives now until Dokja falls asleep. Hopefully no one else wakes up for a midnight snack and sees these two weirdos staring at each other in the dark. ]
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The day he learns to read people is the day civilization collapses.
Anyway, it's kind of unfair that he's been telling Eustace to go to sleep and gotten nothing for his efforts, only for the other man to turn around and do the same to him now. They're obviously both exhausted, it's the middle of the night, and they've both come from a stressful nightmare. It feels like there's only one correct answer for this situation.
So Dokja, with all the grace and care of a man deprived of sleep and coming down from adrenaline both good and bad, suggests the normally unsuggestable. ]
We should just sleep together.
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It's precisely because he's sleep-deprived that the suggestion lands entirely the wrong way. Instead of the literal meaning of sleep together, his mind imagines a callback to their time at the masquerade and it takes far too long for his common sense to kick in and smother the burst of bewilderment he feels, replacing it instead with the more likely meaning.
As if Dokja (the career bottom) would ever suggest anything else other than the literal.
This is hardly the first time he's shared a bed with a man, but the suggestion feels different this time, a prickle of awareness lodging itself into the back of his mind. This seems like a dangerous road to go down, but no worse than both of them engaging in a game of sleep chicken.
Still. ]
We're not going to both fit on the couch.
[ Unless they really squeeze together, but that's a whole different can of worms. ]
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now i have to make them kiss again before i die
so that he can be depressed AND confused?!?!
yeah, the best parting gift
sadge
they won't kiss anyway so it doesn't matter
heart breaks
i forgot i didn't reply to this