Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )
LOVE LIKE BLOOD ใปใใKIM DOKJA
โThe life is short, and Iโm running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.โ By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)
ORV MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST ใปใใปNAVIGATION
Fundamentally, you and him are the same.ย
Thereโs a sense of loss thatโs too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, thereโs a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this worldโdeprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heardโitโs little wonder youโve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser.ย
Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldnโt (rather than couldnโt, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their sonโs awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love shouldโve been. No flowers were given for Childrenโs Dayโonly oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son.ย
These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didnโt come with bruises and wailing grief.ย
Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggyโperfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he sawโa boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist.ย
A merger had occurred.ย
And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each otherโs greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeatโas he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyesโhoned in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.
Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking forโas was he.ย
And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fightโa lesson heโd learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him.ย
There you satโeyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings heโd seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. Theyโd furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didnโt skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival.ย
There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform.ย
This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week.ย
Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about itโdown to the particular cigarette brand youโd purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings youโd worn on your left hand (threeโit was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt heโd kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presenceโperhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you.ย
You still didnโt speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didnโt speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didnโt speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears.ย
Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voicesโwhich he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves.ย
In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.
And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant.ย
When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasnโt expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind.ย
There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship.ย
The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokjaโs tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.
You werenโt a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with himโit wasnโt like he wasnโt used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at youโnot mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands becameโuntil he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him.ย
In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didnโt blubber apologies and pleas for mercyโbut became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didnโt feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own.ย
You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently intoโโIโll take you to one of their concerts when weโre older,โ leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your lonelinessโheard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home.ย
So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his homeโlegs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didnโt only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years heโd known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of himโone you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger.ย
This routine continued.
He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did youโsuffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat.ย
Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better daysโblaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse.ย
In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like schoolโblue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service.ย
Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changedโbeneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. Heโd gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasnโt a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldnโt seem to tear his gaze awayโsneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye.ย
In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though youโd sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings youโd kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungohโs scolding rather than him.ย
You hadnโt changed.ย
But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy whoโd awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered.ย
You had changed.ย
And in the end, it was him who was left behind.ย
Eternal loser, Kim Dokja.ย
Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitementโwith a โlook, I finally got us tickets for this festival!โ. And he knew at that moment that you werenโt leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago.ย
He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothesโthey sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself.ย
Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashlineโlids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. โThere,โ youโd murmured, gently grasping his chin. โThat looks pretty.โย
And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason.ย
Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldnโt get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughtsโhe never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldnโt possibly be that bright.ย
It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself.ย
This was the night before the apocalypse began.ย
When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, youโd thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that nightโa hangover would surely strike you come morningโwhich was why you werenโt as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict.ย
Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadnโt noticedโnot with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners eitherโfor this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you.ย
Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his motherโs arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasnโt from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless.ย
A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy.ย
It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end.ย
โฆ . ใโบย
[The free service has now been terminated.]
Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked togetherโhe did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised thisโas did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed.ย
When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokjaโs turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forwardโprotecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first.ย
[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]
Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurredโhe could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger.ย
โHold on,โ youโd murmured, rings flashing as youโd caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than youโstill the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him.ย
Had your touch always been so scalding?
Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right personโsmile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar youโd bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul.ย
โYouโre injured, Dokja-ya.โ And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his fleshโyour face was too close to his chest where heโd been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the woundโjust grazing the wounded fleshโhe jolted. From the pain, of course.ย
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]
โSteady.โ You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the messageโignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldnโt ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it countedโarrows meeting their target far too late.ย
โDokja-ya,โ you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didnโt meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read.ย
But he was never avoidant like this.ย
What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up.ย
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]
[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]
[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]
[The Almighty Sun empathises with a loverโs quarrel.]
โShut up,โ you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding redโcrackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin.ย
Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. Sheโd taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight.ย
But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasnโt angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadaysโwith ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take livesโstained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man.ย
(โYour devotion will only hurt you,โ she says, as if that will dissuade you. Youโll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you arenโt going mad over the situation youโre in.
โYoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,โ you reply politelyโyou do respect her, after all. โBut I do not mind that.โ)
Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sageโs Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief momentโdetecting that your statement had, in fact, been true.ย
Fool, heโd said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another.ย
You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didnโt.ย
Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didnโt deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like thatโespecially when the end of the world was upon you.ย
But you wouldnโt know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldnโt know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldnโt know that, since youโd long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did.ย
The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe.ย
There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days.ย
Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more.ย
Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didnโt hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music.ย
Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokjaโs black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chordsโthough this time the link was acutely clear to him.ย
The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man whoโd faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadnโt changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how youโd grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded.ย
Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your sideโsince you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: youโve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness.ย
(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lipsโnot until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)
A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newtonโs theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light.ย
His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?
โKim Dokja,โ you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years agoโheartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didnโt let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air.ย
For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shouldersโfor itโs always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat.ย
โItโs Dokja-ya,โ he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressionsโeven the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one whoโs been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one whoโs been blind.ย
Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him.ย
Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for himโbut somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on himโwrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders.ย
โDokja-ya,โ you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thoughtโand his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet.ย
โDonโt leave me,โ he all but beggedโvoice only a whisper. Donโt die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesnโt see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else.ย
โI canโt leave you,โ you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. โDokja-ya, I should be telling you that.โ
He pressed his face into your warm palmโscorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind.ย
โIdiot.โ And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloomโfor heโs already established that youโre ever so easy to read. Idiot, because itโs ludicrous to even think that heโd ever willingly walk away from you like that.ย
โYouโre the idiot,โ you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legsโin a way heโs never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid bodyโfit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he mightโve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body.ย
So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his faceโfor youโve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap.ย
So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food youโd prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey youโd scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you.ย
So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours moreโsomething which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed.ย
On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one.ย
Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happenedโover and over and over and over.ย
Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe itโs just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system.ย
Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun.ย
โฆ . ใโบย
Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them
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EXTRAS
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]
[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]
[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]
[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]
[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]
