Work Text:
"That must be him again," Lee Jihye spoke under her breath as soon as she heard the cheerful greeting of the doorbell. She carefully took off her gloves and set them aside the peonies she was replanting. She emerged from the back of the shop–more like a greenhouse, really–with something softer than her usual customer service smile on her face.
Just as she expected, a man was waiting at the other side of the counter. He was a regular; a man around his forties, old enough to be a father, maybe even a grandfather, judging by all that gray on his head. He looked up as soon as she appeared, his gaze previously busy inspecting a rather dead-looking white lily, and his mouth didn't quite smile, not in the usual sense, but his eyes softened in greeting.
"Good morning, ahjussi." The one to answer was not Yoo Joonghyuk but a high-pitched bark. She bent slightly over the counter and looked down with a knowing smile. There, jumping happily around her owner, was a very small and fluffy-looking dog; Lee Jihye's actual favorite customer. "And Biyoo."
Lee Jihye had only been working at the flower shop for around a month and a half. It was never meant to be something important or long-term—it still wasn't—just a part-time summer job that, with enough luck, would help her save enough money for that training sword she really wanted.
"Good morning, Lee Jihye. It's pretty sunny today."
"Almost too sunny to be working," she lamented. Being locked up in the shop instead of enjoying a nice day might not be the best thing to do in the summer, but the pay was decent enough. "I'm guessing it's the usual today too."
"You'd be correct."
"Then I'll be right back!"
Yoo Joonghyuk was an interesting client. He showed up with Biyoo on his heels every day, usually not too long after the shop opened, and always asked for the same thing.
"Heliotropes, forget-me-nots, white tulips." The girl muttered as she walked back into the greenhouse. She knew the pattern by heart at that point. The flowers already waiting on the table since earlier that morning, ready to be arranged in a bouquet, were witnesses of it.
She remembers the first time at the shop, how taken aback she felt when Yoo Joonghyuk asked, without pause or hesitation, for exactly which flowers he wanted, and in what particular order, nothing more or less, like it was a well-practiced routine. It had been strange, but at the end of the day, the straightforwardness made her job a lot easier and the customer happier, so fifteen minutes later Lee Jihye was left with a polite thank you, tips on her counter, and satisfaction written over wrinkles as the man takes his fresh flowers.
Still, she kept wondering. A quick search on the internet was enough to give her an idea of the message behind the flowers and paint a colorful picture in her head. A girl couldn’t stop her imagination, and so she kept thinking about the possible receiver of the flowers, the person a man such as Yoo Joonghyuk cared for to the point of always gifting the same flowers. Maybe a mother? A sister? A lover?
Or maybe he just liked flowers, who knew?
As she placed deep purple heliotropes between a soft mattress of forget-me-nots, Jihye thought, at that point, it wouldn't be too weird for her to ask, even if it was a bit personal. After all, Yoo Joonghyuk had been showing up every day, even on weekends, without fault and it seemed like he wouldn't stop any time soon, so she might as well ask before curiosity killed her.
With that in mind, the teenager went back to the counter and placed her most recent masterpiece in front of the client with a smile and her head held high.
"Here you go, Ahjussi. I'm getting better at making it by now, don't you think so?"
"You always do an excellent job", he answered honestly and the girl couldn’t help but beam. Yoo Joonghyuk paid and put the change inside the tip jar as soon as it was given to him.
"You know," she started, eyes locked on the bouquet in a poor attempt at looking disinterested. "I’ve been wondering, who are the flowers for?"
She really hoped she wasn't overstepping. But these kinds of questions were common between employee and customer, weren't they?
Fortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk didn't appear offended by her question, and for the first time, he smiled. Warm longing eyes looked at the golden band on his ring finger (one she never noticed before) while his other hand carefully fidgeted with it.
The Yoo Joonghyuk she knew changed in front of her very eyes. Solid exterior melting into a version of him she wasn’t privy to in all the time she knew him. She never knew how much a smile could change someone's face. Devoid of his usual frown and the ever-present tension on his shoulders, the man looked younger, eyes shining with the light only devotion could spark. It was almost like looking at a different person.
Only then it occured to Lee Jihye that Yoo Joonghyuk had never looked anything close to this. He hadn't looked sad before, but like this he looked happy.
"It's for my husband," he said, his voice picking up in tone yet becoming softer. Lee Jihye thought he sounded proud, but also a bit melancholic. "He’s been away on a trip for quite some time now, but he’s finally coming home."
Oh. So that explained that lovesick look. Who knew Ahjussi could be such a romantic? He certainly didn’t look it, not with that serious face and the intimidating scars. Yet somehow, being in love suited him.
"I'm going to wait for him at the train station." He checked his watch before he hurriedly took the flowers from the girl's hands. "He doesn't know that I'm waiting for him. I want to surprise him."
Yoo Joonghyuk's husband must be very lucky, she thought, to have such a doting partner. Although, judging by the blissful expression on the man's face, maybe he was the lucky one.
Not wanting to make him waste any more time, the girl settled for a quick wave as he turned around and stepped out of the shop, Biyoo running behind him.
"Good luck surprising him! Have a nice day, Ahjussi!"
The next day, like a well-timed clock, the shop bell rang once again. Her head shot up as soon as she heard it. She was barely able to contain herself, too eager to ask and know all the details about the mysterious husband and their reunion. Maybe she was being too nosy, but what could she do? She was only a teenager, gossip ran in her blood.
"Ahjussi!"
And so what if her voice was more cheerful than usual and there was a skip in her step? She was excited.
"Good morning! How was your reunion with your husband?"
Just like every other day, Biyoo barked for her attention. It was something that Lee Jihye had never been able to deny her so, naturally, she obliged: standing on her tiptoes and bending over the counter so the tiny dog, who was doing her best at jumping as high as her little legs allowed her to, could lap at her hand.
"Reunion?" Yoo Joonghyuk sounded so startled that Lee Jihye had to raise her head from where she was bent over, still patting Biyoo. The man had a deeper frown than usual, taking a few seconds before talking again. "Kim Dokja is coming home today so I was going to wait for him at the station. It's supposed to be a surprise."
"Again?" Ignoring the little cold nose still pressing at her palm, the girl slowly stood up.
She glanced at Yoo Joonghyuk, fixing her eyes on the counter before returning back to him. She considered the possibility of Yoo Joonghyuk being enough of a devoted husband to wait for Kim Dokja every morning with a fresh bouquet of flowers and the–even more unlikely–possibility of Kim Dokja having a job that required him to travel during the night and come back home by the next morning.
"Well, it's been a long time since he's been home, so it's special." He explained further, as if that meant something.
"I see…" She left that hanging in the air.
For a moment, both of them stared at each other in awkward silence. Unable to stand the weight of it, Lee Jihye was the one to break it.
"I'll be back in a second."
When she came back, the usual bouquet was ready in her hands but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. That day the goodbyes she exchanged with Yoo Joonghyuk were stiffer than they had ever been.
But just like a clock doesn't stop ticking, Yoo Joonghyuk would continue showing up in the shop and asking for the same thing, as usual. It was as if nothing had changed. Even though he never mentioned his husband again, Yoo Joonghyuk kept talking to her with the same old familiarity before leaving with the same polite goodbye. No matter how many questions Lee Jihye had in the tip of her tongue, she didn't dare to ask them.
Sunday mornings were for restocking. The store owner would show up to supervise and help carry the heavy boxes of seeds and numerous potted plants into the store. Even better, she'd get extra pay.
The owner was a kind young woman who had way too much time in her hands. As far as Lee Jihye knew she owned several businesses and, despite not needing to work on-site herself, she would occasionally drop by and hang out with her employees as if they were old friends.
Even more than that, she was a nice, understanding boss. And also, the only person Lee Jihye knew personally who had lived in the town since birth. That gave her the best chance at getting answers to the questions that she couldn't ask Yoo Joonghyuk.
That's why Lee Jihye waited until next sunday came along.
They were in the middle of a comfortable silence during a break. Several boxes still waited in the back of the shop owner's truck but they decided to sit inside, a glass of cold water in each of their hands.
"Unnie, do you know Yoo Joonghyuk? He's one of our customers." She asked tentatively, trying to get the conversation in the direction she wanted first.
"Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi? He's a regular." Naturally, Yoo Joonghyuk was probably one of the main reasons why the shop was still running. "I can't say I've talked much with him but we’re neighbors on the same block. Why? Is he giving you any trouble? I know he can look pretty scary."
"No, nothing like that. He’s always a gentleman and gives very good tips. I'm just... just kind of worried about him." She took a big gulp of water to give herself time and then let herself spit what had been stuck in her throat for so long. "Joonghyuk-ahjussi's husband... he doesn't exist, does he?"
Her boss stopped drinking and looked at her with troubled eyes. She didn't seem to want to talk about it, but after avoiding her gaze for a few seconds she deflated into the chair, apparently giving up. She ran her fingers through her hair, clearly uncomfortable.
"Way to ruin the mood, Jihye-ya," she tried to joke, maybe in an attempt to lighten the mood or get Lee Jihye to eat back her words, but it felt flat. Noticing that she wouldn't get a way out, she sighed deeply. "He doesn't."
She blurted out, plain and simple. But apparently it was too short of an explanation for her to be satisfied with it.
"Well, he did, maybe, a long time ago. When Yoo Joonghyuk moved here, he did it alone; he didn't even have a dog back then." And isn't that strange? To imagine a Yoo Joonghyuk walking his long strides without Biyoo's tiny pawsteps right behind him. "My mom told me he barely left the house and talked to no one unless it was to buy groceries. He was basically a ghost, only showing his face to sit at his doorsteps from time to time, just watching the street."
That didn't really sound like the Yoo Joonghyuk Lee Jihye knew; the reserved but kind Yoo Joonghyuk that would gently bow to people in the street and stop so the children that passed by could pet his dog. It was a version of the man she didn't know.
Thankfully, she didn't need to ask more about it because now that she had begun talking, her boss seemed to be unable to stop.
"But then he began to open up and seemed happier. He'd talk about his dear husband to whoever was willing to listen. He still does, I think. He always mentions the same name and shows the same old picture, but no one has ever seen that man around before. It sounds pretty crazy, doesn't it?" she suddenly asked. Her wide eyes were looking at Jihye, as if asking for support for her opinion, but she didn't wait for an actual answer. "It’s even worse now. I heard he goes to the train station every day and waits for him until the last train comes and goes."
So that answered it. It was both just what she had been expecting and what she had thought was too far-fetched to be possible. Giving flowers to the grave of a dead lover didn't seem so bad compared to this, and she didn't know how to feel about it; if there was something Lee Jihye didn't want, it was to feel pity for him, but it pulled at the strings of her heart all the same.
"Of course, his husband never arrives, but he keeps doing it. I don't know, Jihye. People say he’s crazy, and I think it's pretty obvious that he is, right? Don't look at me like that! You have to admit it's pretty creepy. But the guy is a veteran; he’s seen stuff, I guess," she vaguely gestured. "So the folks try to be respectful and not talk too much about it."
Lee Jihye nodded her head a few times, taking in what she had just heard. She felt out of place, like she had trespassed into a place she wasn't meant to, and now she couldn’t go back. What should she do with this? The puzzle piece fell perfectly into place but left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.
In the end, she realized there was nothing she could do and, even if there was, it was not her place to do so.
"I think we should get back to work," her boss spat out, getting up from her chair. "You rest a bit more if you want to, but those soil bags won't carry themselves."
"Alright, Unnie."
Several months later, when the air was cold enough to ice the windows and forced Lee Jihye to work extra hard to keep the flowers alive, the bell above the door still kept chiming. The girl was already waiting for him when he entered, dressed in a dark coat and holding a very round Biyoo; her tiny head peeking from the collar of her thick jacket. Not even the coldest day stopped her from fighting against her owner's hold as soon as she saw Jihye.
"Morning, Ahjussi and Biyoo!" Her lips stretched into a knowing smile. "The same today too?"
"Please," Yoo Joonghyuk smiled back in that particular way of his.
"You got it, Captain." A two finger-salute later and she disappeared into the back of the shop.
Preventing the flowers from wilting in the frigid weather had been a challenge, it took a lot out of her. But Lee Jihye was nothing but devoted to this one job, and could proudly say that when Yoo Joonghyuk took the bouquet into his hands, it was as splendid as it would have looked back in spring.
"I hope your husband likes them."
"He better," he smiled, just enough for a dimple to appear in his left cheek. "Thank you, Jihye. I'm glad to see you again, Biyoo and I missed seeing you."
"I missed you too." She really did, and was glad she had been able to pick up the job again during winter holidays. "I thought school was better than working, turns out I had just forgotten how exhausting it is."
"Time is good at making us forget unpleasant things. Living without something for a long while makes you miss it, doesn't it?"
"Well, you're right!" She said with faked exasperation. "I didn't think it was possible but lifting dirt bags didn't seem so bad when I was preparing for finals."
"But I bet all that work was worth it." As he said this, he glanced at the watch he had just taken out of his pocket. "The train arrives in ten minutes. Have a good day, Jihye. Take care."
"Goodbye, Ahjussi. Say hi to your husband for me."
"Will do," he assured, a barely audible chuckle leaving his lips. A moment later he was out of the store.
He didn't see her smile turn sad.
Despite its relatively small size, the town's train station was usually pretty busy.
The town itself was neither big or touristic enough to attract many people. In fact, the ones that bothered with staying more than a few days were either retired or young people looking for a peaceful place to settle down. But, as any other town in the middle of the train circuit, it was a perfect place for travelers to meet up or stretch their legs as they waited for the next train towards the real cities.
It was fortunate that most people were in too much of a hurry to take a seat, leaving Yoo Joonghyuk's usual bencht free. It was a routine engraved on his bones already; sit down, hold the flowers on his lap and wait, eyes locked on the railway where the next would arrive. At his side–and despite her lack of patience–Biyoo remained quiet and seated, looking curiously at the people passing by, in and out the station's doors, never staying long in a single place as they waited just as them.
It didn't take long for the first train to arrive, the weight of its journey making the concrete under his feet tremble slightly. With a dull sound, its doors opened and people walked off, hurriedly moving towards the exit.
Yoo Joonghyuk perked up, shoulders suddenly straighter as his hand clutched the bouquet for Dokja. His eyes searched avidly among the crowd; for a head of messy black hair, for a white coat or a camera hanging from someone's neck.
Nothing stood out. Once the people dispersed, Yoo Joonghyuk let himself deflate and rested his back against the wall. Once again it seemed like he would have to spend long hours waiting.
Biyoo whined next to him, pushing her cold nose against his hand. His hand patted her lazily as he chuckled, knowing well that she had far less patience than him, who could spend hours just watching the rails until the train carrying his dearly missed husband would come. Maybe he should leave her at home next time, maybe she would be happier at home; but the idea alone hurt him more than he dared to acknowledge.
"You're going to love him. And he's going to love you too,” he told her as she watched him, tongue hanging from her mouth. He knew it to be true, because Kim Dokja wore his heart like an open wound, bleeding and ready to take anyone in. And how could Biyoo not love him, when loving Kim Dokja is as natural as breathing. It's not easy by any means. It creeps up on you, pulling you far off the shore like the tide until you realize that you'd rather drown than fight back.
That was his husband, the one loved by everyone. Even then, in his absence, his heart did nothing but yearn for him even more.
The little town where they were staying at the moment was forgotten by the world in the most endearing of ways. Its narrow streets were easy to walk, stone tiles still in place and untouched by the cruel hands of war; and its old, bright colored houses stood out like candles in the pale background of the gray sky.
People knew each other there, much like a tree knows the woods it had grown into. They waved and smiled at the old friends and welcomed the new ones with open arms. Even one month into the cold of winter, the small town gave a warmth Dokja found difficult to get used to.
Nice as it was, Kim Dokja often found himself in need of a different kind of quietness and so he'd grab his favorite soldier's hand and metaphorically run for the literal hills, towards the spot where the houses, their tiled roofs and small orange windows could be seen.
Yoo Joonghyuk humored him, walking a few steps behind, barely making any sound.
The cold had teeth at that time of the year, but not sharp enough to reach the bone yet. That day had left barely any snow, and for that Kim Dokja was thankful, since his shoes were no match for the heavy amounts of it they had to fight in previous days and he'd hate to come back to the inn with wet socks once again.
The wind was also kind, hitting his face with enough strength to redden the apples of his cheeks but not as much to numb his lips or the tip of his nose.
Yoo Joonghyuk followed through all of it, silent presence always heavy at his back. Kim Dokja was not past feeling guilty yet, but he guessed his companion could leave anytime if he wanted.
He looked rather out of place with his all black clothes on the snow, nothing but light blue and fluffy clouds framing his head. He had his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, ears red and face turned towards the town; but his eyes searched for Kim Dokja every few moments, as if he couldn't help it.
It made a nice picture: his perfect profile against the colorless winter and the dormant sun shining just behind him. Nobody could blame Kim Dokja for snapping a picture or two, or even three.
Yoo Joonghyuk would complain, though, raising one of his perfect eyebrows, unimpressed.
"You're always playing with that camera."
"You're so mean, Joonghyuk-ah," Kim Dokja complained, clicking his tongue. He avoided thinking about how Yoo Joonghyuk's name, the one that he'd been using so casually to rile him up, now left his lips as naturally as a breath did. Yoo Joonghyuk didn't even flinch at it or squinted his eyes like an enraged animal, as he used to. "You know that's my job. Besides, I like to photograph beautiful things."
Yoo Joonghyuk's face did something strange then, eyebrow twitching and lips pressing together.
Kim Dokja, now busy with the settings of his camera, didn't even hear him move but suddenly gloved hands took the camera from his grasp and turned it around so the lense now faced him. When he raised his head, Yoo Joonghyuk was just a few steps apart. "Then you should hold it like this."
Kim Dokja chose to ignore the possible second meaning, as well as the blood rushing to his face. Instead, he looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing there but the large expanse of trees and the old railways curing around the village before disappearing into them. A beautiful view indeed, but one that he'd already captured too many times.
"Oh? I didn't know you were an expert photographer, Joonghyuk-ah.” A big smile stretched his wind-dry lips. “Are you gonna teach me how to get the perfect shot?"
"Kim Dokja. I'm a soldier."
Kim Dokja tilted his head, confused. "So?"
"I'm pretty good at shooting."
A second passed, and then two. Yoo Joonghyuk had already begun to fidget with the camera when Kim Dokja laughed so hard he had to slap a hand over his mouth. If he had to be honest, the joke was corny at best and bad at worst and it was mostly the disbelief that had giggles escaping his lips even after he had calmed down.
"Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?” He gasped between incredulous giggles. He had started to calm down, but as soon as he lifted his head and got a look at Yoo Joonghyuk's exasperated face he bent over again, laughter making his lungs burn more than the ice-cold air did. It was embarrassing, but it took a long minute until he could breathe normally again. “That was such a dad joke, Joonghyuk-ah. That was bad. Like, really bad."
"Shut it." Captain was already back in his usual mood, eyes pointing somewhere in Kim Dokja's left. But not even his sharp tone could hide the satisfied turn of his lips.
"No, you shoot it." Kim Dokja smiled widely, fingers mimicking the shooting of a camera.
Yoo Joonghyuk paused and looked at him, suddenly twenty years older and looking very much like he wanted to die there and then. "That was terrible even for you. Please don't say that ever again."
Kim Dokja was helpless against the laughter that left his throat. He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling giddy and hot around the face; a curious kind of joy blooming somewhere in his ribcage. The marvels of poking at a bear with a stick, he guessed.
"Don't say that. I bet I could manage to be worse."
“I have no doubts about that.”
They fell in a comfortable silence, the peaceful rest of someone that just shared a future precious memory. And maybe Kim Dokja was becoming greedy, but he wanted something that would help him remember this one.
"Well, come one then, Joonghyuk-ah," he pushed, nudging Yoo Joonghyuk's side with his elbow. "Shoot me something."
It took a minute in which he seemed to be thinking it over but finally Yoo Joonghyuk let out a heavy, frozen sigh and held the camera in front of his face. Kim Dokja was quick to move out of his way so he wouldn't ruin the picture.
After a pause, there was a single click from the camera and then it was handed over to him–any photographer would take as many pictures as possible, hungry for the perfect angle but Yoo Joonghyuk was a practical man, a soldier. Whatever he had wanted to catch, he only needed one shot–. Kim Dokja's hands left the warm shelter of his coat and Yoo Joonghyuk's gloved fingers touched his bare, flushed ones. They were so warm Kim Dokja almost felt burned.
"You should have brought gloves," frowned Yoo Joonghyuk, because of course he would; he was always worrying about the smallest details.
"It slipped my mind," he said honestly as he hung the camera over his shoulders again. "I don't need them, anyway. I can always do this."
His bold words didn't match the tentative way his hand grabbed Yoo Joonghyuk's; slim fingers finding their place around his wide palm. He felt him freeze next to him and panic burnt at the bottom of his guts; maybe he had bitten too much this time, had crossed too many lines at once. But then that hand squeezed back and pulled at his until both of them were safe and warm inside Yoo Joonghyuk's coat.
"It shouldn't become a habit."
Kim Dokja hummed. "I'll try not to," he assured, but knew that even if it kept happening, Yoo Joonghyuk would still hold his hand and keep it hidden from the cold.
That was just how he was. Ever since Kim Dokja had done his best to bulldoze his way into his personal space; setting the pace and waiting for Yoo Joonghyuk to catch up, Yoo Joonghyuk had done nothing but accept what he was given without taking anything in return. He wouldn't be moved, would never offer his hand but wouldn't pull away when Kim Dokja took it anyway. He often wondered when would be the day that he asked for too much and he'd stop humoring him.
"Do you like it that much?" He asked all of a sudden. When Kim Dokja raised his eyebrows in question, he explained. "Here. You come here almost every day."
"Well,” he thought, his head pointed at the fluffy clouds. He did go there a lot; to watch, to take too many pictures.There was a reason why, for sure. He just hadn't thought deeply about it. “This place…it's very beautiful isn't it? War hasn't arrived here yet. I'd like to have something to remember it, when it does."
Yoo Joonghyuk hummed after a short silence, as if agreeing with him. That alone made Kim Dokja smile. Suddenly, his mouth moved faster than his common sense.
"Maybe we'll come back one day,” he blurted out hopefully. “What do you think? Isn't this a lovely place to settle down?"
He regretted it even before he had finished saying it. However, there was no way to take away his words so he would just have to swallow back his heart and lie in the bed he had just made. But neither the anger nor the coldness he was dreading came his way. Instead of letting go, Yoo Joonghyuk's hand squeezed his in the pocket of warmth they shared.
“A nice place to grow old.” More than agreeing with him, Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to be lost in his own optimistic thoughts. “Maybe one day. Once everything is over.”
Once everything is over. That time might never come and both of them were very aware of it; they were dragging several years of war behind them and who knew how many were left. To see Yoo Joonghyuk grow old was closer to a miracle than just a dream. Still, it was a dream just as possible as any.
“Maybe.”
Later that night, while he looked through the pictures on his camera, he paused at the last one. Yoo Joonghyuk hadn't taken any photos of the landscape like he asked him to but there was a single, slightly shaky picture of Kim Dokja, unaware and looking at some point behind the camera. The composition was terrible and not even a piece of the town had managed to sneak into it.
Kim Dokja couldn't help the smile that stretched his lips. He looked at it for a moment more and then pressed the delete button. What a waste.
Biyoo came to him thanks to a roadside sale. There had been several small stalls, people walking up and down then, talking prices, looking at the produce. Among them was a cardboard box with the words "free puppies" boldly written in black marker and a couple of children surrounding it, their parents not too far from them.
It had been curiosity that made Yoo Joonghyuk stop to the side and go take a look. He ignored the rest of the many vendors and crouched down to peek into the box. It was full of fluffy, very loud pups, eager to nuzzle and lick the little hands that reached for them, but he saw Biyoo first.
She was clearly the runt of the litter, smaller and slower than the rest, barely able to support her own weight on her short, clumsy legs. However, she was the first one to dive onto his hand as soon as he lowered it to pet one of her siblings. She nuzzled and clung to him as if she knew something–as if she knew him–and wouldn't stop wagging her tail.
Yoo Joonghyuk scratched behind her ears and thought about ruined expectations; about the empty room back at his too-silent home, the one that would never host a crib but could maybe be content with a dog bed, a fresh coat of pink paint and some chewing toys.
[“I wanted a pet when i was a kid,” someone had told him once, while they watched stray cats napping on the streets of a town in the middle of nowhere.]
He left no ten minutes later without any produce but with little Biyoo comfortably sat in the passenger seat. For the first time in a long time, Yoo Joonghyuk felt less alone.
It had taken a while for him to find his place after retirement. For a while, he traveled a lot without really knowing what he was looking for. It felt almost like chasing a ghost, always a step behind reaching for something his fingers couldn't close around, always leaving empty and dissatisfied. Eventually, all roads led to the modest town he had dreamed about so long ago.
Usually, such a small community has no place for another one to squeeze in, but the house had been empty for several years, its stone discolored and the wood soft with age. It needed work but had a lot to offer, the seller said, two rooms and two bathrooms, perfect for a new family, he said.
Perfect place to settle down.
To their credit, a handful of neighbors tried to reach out. He thought they seemed like nice, friendly people as he opened his door to their smiling faces and their full hands, always holding some kind of welcome dish. It was a waste of time, since he had no plans to accept any food or attend any of the town events. They finally got the message after the third time he skipped greetings to inform them he wouldn't eat any food made from others.
That's how Yoo Joonghyuk's social life grew three sizes and promptly deflated back to its original estate, all in less than a week.
With nothing better to do, he threw himself into remodeling the house. Turns out it wouldn't be as simple as he thought. To begin with,the property was old and kind of a mess. The wooden floors and stair steps needed to be changed, the plumbing had to be taken care of; some of the pipes too old and corroded beyond repair. The walls were flaky and dressed in an ugly off-white color that had Yoo Joonghyuk buying paint in large quantities.
Very much aware of how cold winter got, he wanted to install a new heating system. And if he was doing all that, he might as well also replace the broken and missing roof tiles. He took a look at the leafy, green ivy swallowing the side of his house but didn't get rid of it. The ivy was trimmed but left alone, a silent acknowledgement to Kim Dokja's offhanded approval the last time they had seen it on other houses; he liked the elegant wilderness of it.
Once he was done, the house looked almost brand new, like one of those dreamy places one sees in cheap postcards.
The real thing was just as two-dimensional and fake; pretty on the outside and completely empty on the inside, the victim of a man who lived a life that could be stuffed in a backpack. Honestly, it was kind of depressing. He could already imagine what kind of comments Kim Dokja would make if he saw his deserted living room and his bare walls.
A week later, as he looked at the prices of furniture on sale, he wondered if that was the thing that would finally make his house a home.
The bed had to be first. He never had a problem with the hard mattresses back at the military bases, but retirement was supposed to be a time for rest and he liked to pretend the insomnia was a back problem and not a shield against the nightmares that waited for the nighttime behind his eyelids.
A single bed would have been cheaper, but his eyes kept staring at the bigger, king sized ones until he gave in. It occurred to him that, if he was buying one, it would be strange not to buy the whole set including the nightstands, meant for a married couple, if only because getting only one would make the room look strange.
One thing led to the other and, like a symmetry fanatic, he ended up buying everything in pairs. Two wardrobes, even though only one would be used, two chairs for the dining room table and two rocking chairs for the backyard, two loveseats to place in front of the fireplace but only one coffee table to sit between them. And a bookcase. A tall and wide bookcase to fill with photo albums and books he would never read.
He couldn't care less about interior design but he tried as much as his patience would let him. He bought pillows for the sofa and abstract, complicated pictures for the walls and a single picture frame meant for only one photo.
He kind of regretted it when he was back at home with the living room full of boxes and the moving trucks gone, leaving a mess of packages left behind for him to unpack and figure out.
Yoo Joonghyuk was rarely impulsive.
He was a methodical man, raised in a time of war and raised well by the firm hands of the military service.
It was rare for him to rush into things and make brash decisions, but the moment his eyes made contact with the delicate, simple set of wedding rings he found himself reaching for his wallet before thinking about it. Not an hour later he was back at home, staring sourly at the small box resting on the coffee table.
Inside were two modest rings.
The more he looked at them the more stupid he felt. And really, what was he thinking? Wasting money in something he had no use for just to satisfy a fleeting thought. It wasn't even just one ring but two and that said more about his motives than he dared to admit. Was it even the right size? The lady at the counter had taken his but what about the other one? It had been so long since he had felt those fingers between his. In the store, it had seemed right but now…Well.
It hardly mattered. No one was there to use it anyway.
The ring quickly became an usual presence on his finger. Or at least his own was; its match was still safe and stored in Kim Dokja's nightstand. Or the nightstand that would be Kim Dokja’s if he were to live there. The wooden thing was awfully lonely as it was right now; it used to be empty until Yoo Joonghyuk bought matching lamps and a book Kim Dokja had mentioned once, which now rested on top of the bedside table.
It somehow became like a casual routine. He'd go out and come back with something, anything, a new book or a scarf, meaningless gifts meant for no one. He could not explain it to himself even if he tried, but it made him feel better; it filled the house, made him feel like it was really his home, not a place he had chosen to play house.
At night, he would become aware of his choices and feel almost ashamed of the reality he had built around himself. But then he'd toe the line between dream and wakefulness and allow himself to pretend. He could announce himself every time he came home, he could buy more groceries and cook food for two even if half of it ended up untouched in the fridge. He could close his eyes and pretend the rain hitting against the window was the shower, that it would eventually stop and his partner would come to bed. And in the morning he could look at the empty place next to him and pretend that the same partner had been there at some point, now gone at work.
He could let himself pretend.
There used to be a time where Yoo Joonghyuk raised at 5 am sharp and without effort. Now at his age, he didn't wake up to an alarm, but only because he didn't have or need one.
Every morning, his dog–his Biyoo–would storm into his room, little paws pitter-pattering on the wood, and she'd jump on his bed, barking, howling and spinning in circles like the tornado of a dog she was until Yoo Joonghyuk got up to fill her bowl. Even now, as a senior dog with fragile, old bones, she still would show up every morning and tug at his covers with her teeth to get his attention.
That had been the first clue that things weren't right that morning. Biyoo hadn't gone to his room to wake him up as usual; by the time he opened his eyes it was already close to noon.
The change, small as it was, made him uneasy enough to hurry to her room to check on her, softly calling her name. She was still in bed, trembling despite her blankets and whimpering softly. When she saw him, her tail wagged and she got up in her tiny legs with great effort but, to Yoo Joonghyuk's dismay, she collapsed under her own weight with a yowl and didn't try to move again.
“What's wrong, sweet girl?” Her nose was dry and warm when he kneeled next to, knees cracking painfully. She nosed tiredly at the hand that carefully petted her head. wasn't like her at all. “We might have to make a short trip.”
She cried and struggled in pain all the way into the dog carrier and then to the car. By the time she was secured in the back seat she seemed exhausted, laying on her side and panting heavily. Yoo Joonghyuk had never seen her so weakened, that just wasn't the Biyoo he knew. He thought about common problems of puppies of her size, but the idea of it being something worse than a cold slowly filled his stomach with dread and tied a very tight knot in his throat.
The hospital was a small one, understaffed and lacking in every way. However, it was also the one closest to his house in the middle of nowhere. If he wanted anything better he'd have to drive several hours and that was a risk he couldn't take, a risk Biyoo likely wouldn't survive, so it would have to do.
They took Biyoo easily enough. They didn't say anything to him, but the flat set of the doctor's mouth as she rushed Biyoo inside was enough to tell him that his belief that Biyoo looked worse by the minute was more than just his parental overprotectiveness.
He couldn't see them behind the door but a young, nice nurse stayed behind with him in the waiting room, making questions and asking for Biyoo’s basic information.
When was she born? Did she take any medicine? Had she ever had puppies? Did she ever have some kind of renal problem? Oh god, had she? He didn't think so. Vet visits were sporadic when they lived so far from it but she had always been a healthy dog.
The interrogation seemed to take hours and is only finished when the doctor walks out, posture rigid and face kind. He swore he saw her share a look with the nurse before she even tried to talk to him.
"Yoo Joonghyuk-nim?"
He nodded.
"She is stable right now.” It's a shame, but the relief that those words give him was awfully short-lived. “But we regret to inform you that the results aren't good."
"What?" He was worried and impatient, wishing she would just get over it. “What is wrong with her? Is there a way to fix it?”
"Biyoo is an elderly dog. She is fragile and some of her organs are collapsing. I'm sorry, but we don't think she will make it through the night."
“Can't you do anything about it? Medicine, or a transplant, won't that work? Money isn't a problem, but please…” He was
being unreasonable, he knew. He had been in the gore of war, carried injured teammates over his shoulders to hand over to the medics, had given first aid himself and he knew that there were things that just didn't have fixing. So in the end, he can only ask one thing. "How long?"
Both doctor and nurse looked down at him with pity all over their faces. It burnt him, took him to a time where people had handled him the exact same way, back when Kim Dokja-. When he left.
"Probably a few hours, but-” She looked hesitant, but resolved. When she looked at him it was not his comfort on her mind, but Biyoo's, her patient. “Yoo Joonghyuk-nim, I know it's a difficult decision to make but under these circumstances I think it'd be better if we do it for her."
“Do it for her,” he muttered, ringed hand rubbing at his unshaved, unwashed face. He had just woken up but he was so tired.
They wanted him to put her down. To put Biyoo down. Could he even do that? To his child, his little girl. He didn't think he had the heart to. One never thinks the time will happen, he thought, the time to give end to the baby they have nurtured themselves. He thought she still had time, that'd he'd get to proudly show her to Kim Dokja and now she's leaving too soon.
"How could this even happen? She is just a baby." He is barely aware of the nurse sitting next to him, putting a hand on his back for silent support. He wonders how he looks to them.
"These things happen, Yoo Joonghyuk-nim,” the nurse tried to comfort him, her cold gloved hand pressing softly on his shoulder. “Biyoo is already twenty, she lived a long life."
Twenty years. Twenty long years. He looks at his hands, wrinkly and discolored with age, covered in more scars than he can count, more than he is proud of. Where did all that time go? It felt like it was yesterday when he took Biyoo home, back when she was small enough to travel in the pocket of his coat.
In the end, there's only one answer he can give. But at least Biyoo won't be alone; they let him step in and sit next to her, where she laid on top of a medical table, connected to fluids and, soon, something more. She wagged her tail when she saw him and he held her tiny paw, not looking at the nurse that opens cabinets, searching for something.
Maybe it's his fault, he thought. If he had taken her to the vet more often, if he had fed her more quality food, if he had taken her to the park more, where she could exercise and grow strong. He shouldn't have let it get this bad.
“I'm sorry, Biyoo,” he apologized, he thought she understood. “Please forgive me. I really wanted you to meet him.”
Biyoo whined pitifully, her damp and droopy eyes raising to meet his face. Maybe it was just him and his selfish guilt, but as she looked at him she seemed to mean “I forgive you”. It didn't help to make Yoo Joonghyuk feel any better.
“Don't cry, it will all be okay,” he lied. “I wish I could've done more for you, I should've taken care of you better.” As he spoke, he felt the nurse moving beside him. Yoo Joonghyuk didn't let his eyes linger on her carefully blank face nor in the syringe held by her hand but made space for her anyway, never letting Biyoo's paw leave his hand. “I'm sorry you had to be on your own, I'm here now. Sleep well, Biyoowell
The next city they stayed at was one of the big ones; all big buildings and wide streets full of people at all times. It wasn't exactly an unwelcome change, although Kim Dokja found himself already missing the tiny, crooked houses and narrow stone roads now only present with him in a worn down postcard and the pictures he had taken and saved carefully.
But that little piece of safe haven didn't need them, not like that city did. It's easy to see why; a bigger, more economically important place meant a bigger target; it meant close surveillance from the enemy, plans ready for evacuation at any moment and the persistent risk of an attack everyone was just waiting for to happen.
And so when the nation's valued soldiers breach the city limits they're not received with the open arms of a close-knitted community but with the detached relief and respect of those who believe they have been saved.
Even nas he and Yoo Joonghyuk walk along the main street next to each other–hands kept to themselves but so close that he swore he could feel the heat from his skin–Kim Dokja could see the sense of safety their sole presence inspires in the city. People walked easily, a hopeful smile on their thin, tired faces and a certain reverence in the way they greeted Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard, hardly acknowledged them, steps not even pausing his walk as he nodded back. But it was endearing, in its own way; no matter how arrogant he looked, Kim Dokja knew Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't in it for the praise and so he made himself blind to it.
The skies were clear that day. Not a cloud in sight, so it was easy to see them even before the sirens started screaming, pulling the whole street into a sudden, panicked stop.
It was already second nature to raise their heads to the sky. Probably everyone in the street did the same, trying to spot the enemy that had triggered the dreaded alarm. It was clear against the skyline; an intimidating formation of robust airplanes approaching the city. It took a moment for it to sink in, but there was no doubt of what their intentions were and as soon as it was understood the streets erupted in chaos.
Not a second later the warmth of Yoo Joonghyuk hand abandoned him. The relaxed man that had been walking by his side a second ago had been replaced by a soldier that stepped ahead and shouted orders with spare words. His voice, louder than ever, carried over the civilians and a handful of them listened, desperate for any direction.
Kim Dokja could only watch in something close to awe, hands reaching for the camera, fingers twitching with the need to take a picture that would keep the moment real. The camera that was not there.
His heart fell to his stomach; it was as if the floor had collapsed under his feet. He felt naked, the feeling similar to noticing you left your home without shoes or had forgotten an important document. He was wrong, out of place, incomplete.
He raised his head, confused, and chaos looked back at him. People ran in all directions, brushing past him as they hurried but he hardly noticed. All that mattered at the moment was his missing camera; he had to go back home and look for it. Why hadn't he taken it with him? He always did, so how could he be so careless. He was already turning when a hand grabbed his wrist tightly.
"Kim Dokja, get down the subway."
Ah. Yoo Joonghyuk was back. His row of civilians stared at him, waiting to be guided, waiting for him to drag Kim Dokja along. He considered following, knowing Yoo Joonghyuk would be difficult if he gave anything but a ‘yes’.
[Take another one, Dokja. As long as you can take a picture of it, the story it tells won't end.]
He couldn't. This was important, an historical event happening right above their heads and he needed his camera ready to take photos, safe in his hands.
"I have to look for something,” he told him, rushed words pushing one after the other out of his mouth. “Go, you have to take them somewhere safe. I'll meet you here later, I promise."
He tried to pull his arm free but it wouldn't give. When he looked up, dark eyes were staring back, wide and crazy. Yoo Joonghyuk looked ready to pop a vein.
"What are you talking about? Are you crazy? Get down there!"
[A picture says more than a hundred words, Dokja. You can tell all the stories you want, but a picture always tells the truth.]
"I'll be right back! Trust me."
He pressed his lips into a thin smile, trying to be reassuring. Yoo Joonghyuk wanted to trust that smile, the one that hadn't failed him yet, and so he did. He gave a last squeeze to Kim Dokja's small hand and let it slip out of his.
It wasn't long before the white coat was lost amidst the dust and the crowd and his footsteps were swallowed by the cries of the sirens.
The subway was a black hole. The deep cavern that protected them also kept them in the shadows, its mouth only letting the faintest of lights peek in. It was barely something, but just enough to let him see the rows of people pressed together, waiting in silence for the next blast as the sirens screamed and the smell of dust filled the air.
People were paying under their breath and parents hugged their kids close. He could hear a baby crying towards the back of the station, people calling each other, searching for missing relatives among the dark.
"Please stay in place,” he told them, standing in front of the stairs to the exit. “The fire will most likely last a couple of hours but you'll be safe down here."
It was not exactly a lie, but it wasn't an absolute truth either. He didn't know how long it’d last and the subway was the safest place at the moment, but it wouldn't last, were it to be targeted.
He tried not to think about Kim Dokja out there, all alone and uncovered under the merciless fire, but it stayed burned in his mind like a brand. He stayed close to the entrance, waiting–hoping–for the fool to rush down the stairs, covered in dust and breathless but safe. However, as minutes stretched into hours his hope grew thinner and his heart uneasy.
Eventually he made himself step back and focus on comforting the civilians, but his eyes kept going back to the stairs. But midnight went and came and by the time the sun raised Kim Dokja was not back yet.
It was already morning when it finally stopped. The sudden quietness eased their hearts but no one dared to trust it, so they remained in silence for a long time, waiting for the next impact, for the screams, for the fire. Nothing came.
Glass cracked under Yoo Joonghyk's boots as he stepped out of the station's mout guided them back up. He raised his head and if there had been any planes over him he honestly couldn't have seen it; the dust clouds over their heads was too thick to even tell.
He heard gasps around him, when they finally emerged from the depths of their shelter, the distressed but quiet sobs of mothers and the wheezing of lungs struggling to find fresh air where there was only dust and ashes.
The place around them was an unrecognizable disaster; where once stood a proud and tall city there were now smoking ruins spilling over the streets. Then the screams started.
The rescue team was formed on the spot. Calling it a team might be generous, to begin with. Even in the relatively big city, it had only a handful of soldiers among their ranks, the rest consisting of parents and children looking for their relatives or any clue of where they could be.
Some of them moved with the energy of those that still had hope, while others worked in silence, expecting to find nothing but closure and a body they could bury and mourn.
He helped as much as he could, carrying injured people, digging trapped victims from under their collapsed houses. It was exhausting but he continued until his muscles burned and his hands bled. He did what he could until more help arrived hours later and Yoo Joonghyuk let himself step back, finally able to focus on finding Kim Dokja.
The path leading to it was unrecognizable, but Kim Dokja's house was intact. As crazy as it sounded, the enemy fire that had blown churches to pieces and erased whole blocks from the map had failed to take down the small building which remained tall and proud, if not a bit dusty, when Yoo Joonghyuk ran into it like a madman.
The camera had been there, resting innocently on top of the kitchen table, as if to mock him. He tried to recall if Kim Dokja had been carrying it with him that day, if he had taken any pictures, but he couldn't. He knew Kim Dokja, as much as he allowed himself to, and knew he never left the house without it, so he must have been there, alive and safe, at some point.
Kim Dokja had reached safety that night and that was enough.
It should have been enough. But days had passed and hope agonized and died. The ruins of the city grew silent and none of the survivors he had pulled out of the rubble were Kim Dokja.
Missing in action. That's what they said Kim Dokja was. Not dead, not alive, but missing.
Yoo Joonghyuk was familiar with those words. Had heard it from superiors in gloomy ceremonies and held them in his hands in the form of letters he had to deliver himself. Had understood its meaning in the faces of the mourning wives and the questions of the confused children that opened the doors.
He just never expected to be on that side of the door too.
They never found a body, not even the shadow of it, no matter how much they looked, how much rubble they lifted or how many morgues they visited. It was not until three weeks later that the search ended after a single sleeve of a white coat was retrieved, buried under the rubble of a building next to the subway exit at the other side of the city. It's all they ever found.
They all were so quick to tears after that, so eager to say their sorrys and goodbyes to a man that wasn't even confirmed dead. Yoo Joonghyuk would know. He was convinced that, if Kim Dokja had in fact stopped existing in this world, he'd know.
But eventually, when nothing else could be done, when grimm ceremonies and sorrowful talks about future memorials were too much, Yoo Joonghyuk had to stand under the roof that had failed to shelter Kim Dokja again and pack his things.
He couldn't take much; war wasn't over and he was needed somewhere else, so he took his time going through Kim Dokja's things, trying to piece him together for a last time.
Clothes, exceptuating a new-looking pair of gloves, went to charity, to the affected by the last strike. Books were taken by the local library and by the end Yoo Joonghyuk was left only with a worn photo album, the gloves and the camera. It made sense to him; all could be replaced but memories were unique.
That was maybe his excuse when he hurried to print all of the pictures the camera had to offer, going through them but finding nothing but war documentation, landscapes and, to no one's surprise, himself, dark against the snowy hills and intimidating when on duty. He wondered if that's how Kim Dokja saw him.
He wouldn't admit what he was looking for until he found him, not in the place where he was looking, but hidden between the leather and the cardboard of the album cover; Kim Dokja, younger than he had ever seen him, smiled at him from a discolored picture. He held a bouquet on his hands, face blurry from the mistake of a poor photographer whose hands shaked where Kim Dokja's would have been steady.
It wasn't what he was hoping to find but he still felt relief once it was in his hands. With the care of someone that holds a treasure, he placed it in his breast pocket, where his heart was, and then moved on.