Chapter Text
There is the sheen of a transparent barrier that separates them. Secretive Plotter smashes a sword against it, and watches as it comes crumbling apart, like glass breaking.
It had been shielding a child. He lies there still, even though he’s free to walk away. Quivering and shaking, stammering out “I’m Yoo Joonghyuk, I’m Yoo Joonghyuk, I’m…”
“You are not Yoo Joonghyuk,” Secretive Plotter tells the child. “I am him.”
There’s screaming and thrashing behind them, but they cannot reach here. There’s a wall firmly keeping them from intervening.
“This is an illusion, an illusion!” The Oldest Dream cries.
“It is not.”
He does not look older than twelve, maybe thirteen or fourteen at most. Thin, skinny limbed and bruised, bandaged all over. This poor creature has sustained a lot of suffering. What choices has he had?
“You sad, pitiful child,” Secretive Plotter croons. His exhaustion is all but forgotten in this moment. “I have endured a truly lengthy period of time just to meet you, but…”
He should be taking his revenge right now, but instead his heart is clenching an unbearable amount, like it’s being strangled. “You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.”
The child’s body shudders.
“You needed me,” Secretive Plotter continues. “There were so many times I thought about killing myself. However, someone ensured that I could never give up.”
Secretive Plotter kneels in front of the child. “Now, open your eyes, Kim Dokja.”
With a lot of coddling, the Oldest Dream finally opens his eyes. His irises look glassy with tears. “It’s… it’s…”
“Yes, it’s me. This is not a dream.”
Secretive Plotter gathers him up against his chest, and the Oldest Dream closes his eyes, fluttering and falling into fatigue’s embrace.
Everything seems to fall into place when he feels the weight of this small body, like Secretive Plotter can finally be at peace. This is his sponsor, his reader, his God, and he finds himself not hating him. How could he, when now that he’s here and he sees how truly frail this little God is? When all the cruel things he’s done was done unknowingly, and for the sole purpose to survive?
Oldest Dream’s lips part in a small little sob. His cheeks are flushed from exhaustion. Secretive Plotter hugs him tighter. Cruel little thing, innocent baby. He belongs to Secretive Plotter now.
He looks behind him and finds the eyes of grown up Kim Dokja. “He needs to die!” He’s shouting. “If he’s not dead, your tragedies won’t end!”
As always, Kim Dokja doesn’t know anything. Secretive Plotter, along with his companions, leave and go to their rightful place.
[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter's' ◼◼ is 'Oldest Dream'.]
Reality bends and molds dizzyingly, but he is used to this. He worries only for the child in his arms, so he keeps him close to his chest as they travel to their home.
Without long, they descend onto solid ground, stepping onto planet Earth. It is quiet, night, with the moon hanging above their heads along with uncountable stars.
“What will you do now?” Lee Jihye questions. The Outer God’s are with them here as well, unsure of what to do, where to go.
Secretive Plotter looks to the Oldest Dream again. “For now, we’ll settle in with this new world. We don’t have to fight anymore, so you can go wherever you want. The N’gai forest should still be there for them to go back to as well.”
“And Kim Dokja?”
“He will live with me.”
He searches for a few hours until he finds a good enough house to settle in. With the end of the apocalypse, the world will slowly return to normal.
The Oldest Dream doesn’t say much. He’s constantly drifting in and out of sleep, nestling close to Secretive Plotter.
By the time they step into the house, it is close to the evening, and Secretive Plotter finally lets go of the Oldest Dream. “What do you think about staying here with me?” He asks.
The Oldest Dream blinks slowly, blearily looking around. Still tired. “I can stay with you?”
“Yes.”
He nods timidly.
They do a little tour of the house. Most rooms are empty, with only the necessities there, like beds for the bedrooms, a stove and refrigerator for the kitchen, and a table. They’ll need to go shopping soon.
Secretive Plotter has almost unlimited money from all the quests he’s done in the past. The currency the scenarios used aren’t valid enough for the real world, but he’s a constellation and an Outer God of sorts. He has ways of finding loop holes to exploit. He never has to work ever again.
The Oldest Dreams yawns again.
“Do you want to go to bed?” Secretive Plotter asks. He gets a nod in response, so upstairs they go. The Oldest Dream gets led into his bedroom, however, he stops by the doorframe, hovering, not willing to go inside.
“What’s the matter?”
“Will you leave me alone?”
Secretive Plotter kneels in front of the child. “My bedroom is just next to yours. We will be living together now.”
The Oldest Dream bites his lip, eyes falling to the floor. He is so easily upset.
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
At the nod, Secretive Plotter takes the Oldest Dream’s hand and leads him into the other bedroom. There, the child gets tucked in under the duvet. As Secretive Plotter shuts the curtains and is about to leave, a hand shoots out and grabs the edge of his veil. The soft whimpered words please don’t leave me alone follow, and they melt his heart. Bring down his defenses.
They both lie down into the kingsized bed. The Oldest Dream finally seems to calm, and he settles back against the pillow with a deep sigh. However, Secretive Plotter does not sleep. He’s too agitated to.
He lies for what seem like hours. Eventually, the sun starts peeking through the gap in the curtains. He can see the shape of Oldest Dream’s cheek above the covers. The black wisp of his hair. Secretive Plotter wants to tell the child that it’s okay, everything he has done is forgiven and that things will get better. But it is too early, and he’s almost afraid to touch him.
This child is Kim Dokja, and yet not him at all. They are the same and also entirely different. Oldest Dream is the creator of the scenarios and Kim Dokja is the one who sacrificed himself in an attempt to end it. Secretive Plotter doesn’t know if he’ll be successful, but that isn’t important to him now. His story is finished, and it ends right here, with the being who’s watched him for decades, centuries.
The Oldest Dream shuffles just then, and Secretive Plotter thinks he might be awake, starting to get out of bed, but he doesn’t. He just shifts closer, face grinding into the fluffy pillow and sighing.
Secretive Plotter’s heart is thumping through his chest. He gets out of bed and enters the bathroom, splashes some water onto his face and dries it off.
That fool Yoo Joonghyuk is probably out there, still trying to keep a hold of his own Kim Dokja. Secretive Plotter is smarter than him. They, too, are not the same.
He shuts off the light and settles back into bed. He has to check on N’gai forest, tend to the Outer God’s who reside there, see if all is well. But the magic will soon leave the world now that the scenarios have ended. Soon, everything will return to normal, and Secretive Plotter and the Oldest Dream will be nothing but father and son.
This is their ◼◼.
Kim Dokja doesn’t get up until noon. Yoo Joonghyuk has to wake him and tell him they’ve got plans today. There’s a quick meal before they leave. Kim Dokja eats it slowly, mostly picking it apart on the plate, the toast Yoo Joonghyuk had made.
When that is done, they enter the car and drive. They pull up at the parking lot soon enough, and Yoo Joonghyuk slides the car into first gear and shuts it off. In the passenger seat, Kim Dokja is sitting, bouncing his leg, a nervous wreck.
“Do you remember what we talked about?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, putting a hand over the bare knee to settle it.
“Yeah,” Kim Dokja replies.
“And your name now?”
“Kim Dokja.”
“Good.” He opens the car door and exits, waits for the child to do the same. “Remember, we’re here to buy you new clothes, new items. We’ve got money so you can get whatever you want.”
The sun is beating down on their necks, and as they step in through the sliding doors to the mall, Kim Dokja suddenly presses close to his side, fearful. There’s a ton of people in here today, all starting over their lives, trying to find some normality after everything.
“Can I hold your hand?” Kim Dokja questions, looking up with fragile eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk nods tightly and locks their hands together. The small hand is warm against his palm.
The first shop they go to is a clothing store. They’re both in need of something new, Kim Dokja more so.
Most shelves are empty, with people all around carrying piles upon piles of clothing. Most of them have weary faces, scarred hands. Survivors. But Yoo Joonghyuk manages to find some summer clothes that haven’t yet been taken. Shorts. Denim ones, light blue, “It’s going to be summer soon,” he tells Kim Dokja. “You’ll need something like this.”
Kim Dokja eyes it warily.
“Do you want to try it on?”
He nods his head, and so off they go, finding the changing room. Yoo Joonghyuk hovers close by while he waits, arms crossed over his chest. With all the chaos, they’ll need to buy furniture on a different day. For now this will just have to do.
Kim Dokja exits the changing room, wearing the shorts. His bruised knees scuff together, still bandaged. But they will heal soon, soon enough for summer so he won’t have to look so pitiful.
“Do you want them?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks.
“I do.”
“Then we’ll buy them.”
They gather some other clothes as well, for the both of them, and then finally pay them. As they’re headed for the exit of the mall, Kim Dokja slows behind him, extending their arms. His eyes are wide, but for the first time it’s not in fear or despair. He’s actually gained an interest in something.
And Yoo Joonghyuk stills when he sees what it is:
A book store. The child still wants to read.
Kim Dokja walks towards it like a moth to a flame, completely possessed — but he doesn’t actually need this, does he? He’s got his favorite protagonist right here next to him, taking care of him. Why does he still want to read?
Kim Dokja looks behind him, as if he’s just remembered he’s not alone. “Can we go in here?” He asks, and there’s hope in that voice.
Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t have the heart to say no, so in they go.
Kim Dokja scurries off to the fantasy section and runs his slender fingers over the spines of the books, going through the titles in his head.
Of course, he doesn’t want to deny the child anything. But this is too akin to the past. Kim Dokja has Yoo Joonghyuk now. He shouldn’t need anything more.
“Can I get this one?” Kim Dokja pulls out a book and lifts it up. The Neverending Story, and Yoo Joonghyuk swallows heavily. He nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice right now.
The drive back home is silent. Kim Dokja is holding the bag to his chest, the plastic see-through, revealing the titles of the three books he’d gotten. He’s hugging them so tenderly, like they’re his children.
“Are you mad?”
Yoo Joonghyuk nearly chokes at the sudden question. “No,” he grunts.
“You seem mad…”
“I’m not.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. There’s a lot he wants to say, a lot he should say, but his throat is clamped shut. Dry, scraping every time he swallows.
They finally make it home and they each go their separate ways then — Kim Dokja into the living room and Yoo Joonghyuk into the kitchen, starting on dinner. The bags of clothes they’ve bought get tossed to the side in the entrance hallway.
There’s no TV or anything in the living room, just a couch for now. Utter silence, as Kim Dokja is most likely lying on it and reading his newest books. It’s stifling. Yoo Joonghyuk focuses on the spray of oil from the pan, the way it crackles and sizzles. He’s making stir-fried chicken with sweet potatoes and rice cakes.
When it’s done and served into two plates, Yoo Joonghyuk calls for Kim Dokja to come sit and eat. Kim Dokja carries the book with him and places it onto the table, eyes glued to the pages.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands are cold, and he suddenly doesn’t have an appetite. He gathers his plate up and scrapes the leftover food into the trashcan.
“Are you not hungry?” Kim Dokja asks, finally looking away from his book.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk replies, fighting to keep his voice level. “I’ll be going to bed early. Clean up when you’re done.”
And into the bedroom he goes. He changes and shuts the light off, now lying in near darkness.
He’s not angry at Kim Dokja. He can’t bring himself to be angry. He can deal with himself, and let his revenge be shelved. It’s not like this is anything new; Kim Dokja is a reader, and he will continue to read until the day he dies.
The door quietly creaks open, and Yoo Joonghyuk sits up.
Kim Dokja is standing there, wearing his new pajama set. It is white like snow, and like this he looks startlingly in contrast with the wall behind him, like he’s a ghost. Like he’ll disappear in the next blink.
“Come here,” Yoo Joonghyuk says suddenly, clawing out. “You can sleep here again tonight, if that’s what you want.”
“I do want to,” Kim Dokja responds, reacting to the warm hand pressed against the small of his back. His head ducks forward, inching closer to Yoo Joonghyuk. “I…I’m sorry. I need-“ he hiccups, breathing hard.
“What is it, tell me.” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a hand over his fevered forehead, under his sweatsoaked bangs, a breath away. “I’ll give you anything.” Anything, and he means it.
Kim Dokja lacks the words to properly articulate what it is that he wants. His hand fists Yoo Joonghyuk’s T-shirt, tugging it closer. This child doesn’t have much left, but his favourite protagonist is right here in front of him, in the flesh.
“You can do whatever you want with me,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “Take whatever you may need…” A kiss feathers at Kim Dokja’s temple, and then over the tears on his cheek. Over to the next. Lacing salt over the mouth.
“You won’t leave me, right?” Kim Dokja asks. His eyes are big, sparkly. Eyelashes brittle like they might break.
“I won’t,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathes. He’ll say that as many times as he needs to. He presses another kiss to the boy, this time right on his soft mouth. Kim Dokja’s breath hitches, but he leans in, wrapping his thin arms around Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck.
Yoo Joonghyuk lifts him easily and pins him to the bed. Kim Dokja’s face is flushed, and he’s still breathing hard. The pucker of his bellybutton peeks out from underneath the shirt every time his belly rises and falls. Yoo Joonghyuk runs his hand under it, up over the chest and feels the hardened nipples.
“Is this what you need?” He questions quietly. Two fingers close around a nipple and pinch.
Kim Dokja lets out a whimper. “Yes, yes. I need you. I just need you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s pants are unbearably tight, as well as his chest. Like there’s something within clawing its way out. It’s only satiated when he puts his lips back to Kim Dokja and drinks in all the sounds he’s making. Centuries upon centuries upon centuries has he suffered, died only to rise and do it all over again. All for this fragile being that’s beneath him.
He turns on a light. It floods the room, and Kim Dokja’s eyes flinch shut. It’s difficult to breathe. Yoo Joonghyuk wants to push his fingers into the child’s mouth. He’s dizzy with need, this want. Hard in his gut.
“Joonghyuk-ah?” Kim Dokja questions. He props himself up to his sharp elbows and cups a hand over Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. Kim Dokja looks startlingly calm right now, running a thumb comfortingly over Yoo Joonghyuk’s cheek, and then under his eyes, drawing the hand to the jaw.
Yoo Joonghyuk leans further into it, like he’s a dog getting petted. The tightness is melting away, like slow ice in his veins. Loosening the claw around his lungs and allowing him to breathe. Just from hearing his own name coming from that pink tongue.
Their lips collide once more. The light gets shut off again, and Yoo Joonghyuk pulls down Kim Dokja’s pyjama pants. A finger finds its way between the slender molds, rubbing against the ring of muscles there. Kim Dokja gasps and breaks the kiss, panting hotly against Yoo Joonghyuk’s neck.
“More,” he says, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand goes over the squish of his dick then. His hardened baby dick.
“Greedy…” Yoo Joonghyuk taunts. His hand envelopes all of Kim Dokja’s cock, squeezing, making the boy squirm beneath him. There is something rhythmic about the gasping little voice. He slides his other hand up under the pyjama shirt, over the bump of ribs and to the child’s throat.
A hand flies to Yoo Joonghyuk’s bicep pleadingly. He must be close. Yoo Joonghyuk starts rubbing his thumb over Kim Dokja’s cock, slow circles that steadily picks up speed.
“Ah, ah, ah–”
Yoo Joonghyuk finally gives his own body some attention. His skin is swelteringly hot, cock aching and leaking. He palms himself briefly before he slides a hand underneath and starts fisting himself.
Kim Dokja’s naked little legs are wobbly, his body sinking into the mattress. “Please,” he’s saying, shaking feverishly. “Please, please–”
“What?” Yoo Joonghyuk says hoarsely. He picks up speed, digging his fingertips into his shaft, squeezing Kim Dokja’s tighter. “This is what you need, isn’t it? You need me, you’ve watched me for so long and now you finally have me.”
Kim Dokja nods. His eyes squeeze shut, and soon enough, he makes a broken sound as a splatter of white cum shoots over his abdomen. Yoo Joonghyuk topples over the edge soon enough and stains his underwear.
It is good. Good; better than it has ever been before. He’s alive and in bliss.
When Yoo Joonghyuk finally comes down from the high, Kim Dokja has passed out. His hands are thrown to the sides of his head, that’s flopped to the side, and he’s breathing deeply.
“Poor, unfortunate thing,” he whispers, and it burns his throat. “You are such an unbearable, fragile child.”
He leaves the bed and cleans himself. Then he fetches a towel to clean Kim Dokja as well, pulls up the pyjama pants and throws the towel into the bath. He settles against the bed after that, falling into a dreamless slumber.