Work Text:
Last year, I needed change of pace
Couldn't take the pace of change
Moving hastily
– Leave the City by Twenty One Pilots
Many years ago, or so his brain tends to think due to losing the essence or even the meaning of time, during one of his nights out with Han Sooyoung, he brought up an idea.
“Are you out of your mind?” He could see the reflection of her reaction at the bottom of the not-so-fine bottle of whiskey. “First—you drop out of college. Next, I hear you… want to open an inn?”
“A hobby. I want a hobby.”
“And opening an inn is a hobby since… uh…” She draws a circle in the air with her wine glass, trying to pick out the right word; the liquid splashing against the table, “When?”
“Now. I invented this hobby.”
His friend spits out her drink. “Dokja–”
“It’s simple, really.”
Han Sooyoung barks out a stuffed laugh. “Oh trust me, it’s not. Where do you think you’re going to find the funding for it?”
“Maybe if I just–”
She stops him mid-sentence, placing the head of her chopsticks to his mouth. “Nope. You’re not asking anyone to lend you money. The banks don’t work like that. They’re gonna strip you naked and make you beg for forgiveness.”
With some strength left, he pulls her arm down, winces, and speaks up, “I don’t have any other options. Bills don’t exactly grow on trees.”
“You could, y’know. Just… not fucking do it?”
He deadpans at her answer, unwilling to even explain how important this is to him. Well, in hindsight, a person can’t explain the meaning of something close to their heart when they don’t even want to try. A person in question? Kim Dokja.
And Kim Dokja not only doesn’t care but also doesn’t know where to even start.
‘I THINK I AM HAUNTED. I THINK I HAVE NOTHING TO OFFER TO THIS WORLD. YOU ARE MY ONLY FRIEND. I WANT TO GET. OUT.’ His mind screams, almost as if he’s trying to reach out to her but, again, has no idea on where to begin.
A certain joke that is—struggling to comprehend the extent of one’s sorrow. During the good days, it’s almost as if nothing exists in his soul; during the mortifying nights—his brain reminds him of a ticking bomb. It counts, and counts, and counts until the damage is barely visible to an eye, tending to represent the pieces, the raw images of what had once been a whole person.
Kim Dokja has a burden. Everyone does, really. May it be as sorrowful as the death of a loved one or as pitiful as a stolen glance, shared by soulmates who’d never taste more than the bottom of their drinks, sitting next to their couples, imagining—what could’ve been different.
So yes, a burden exists within every single person. And for Kim Dokja, that is Kim Dokja himself.
Which is why he decides he’s going to disappear without any elaboration or attempt to try to ease his mind.
Once he sets his foot down at the entrance of the space he’d be ruling over for the next few years, his mind creates an idea. A thought. A mere admiration of how things would go from now on: no more soaring cries of a sky-reaching city, no more whispers in the subway, no more banners set up with faces he never learned nor tried to.
It reminds him of solitude, the oldest of dreams, legends people keep on retelling and giving its meaning a novel definition.
It took one risk and one life to build a place he’d call home.
The Happy Hills Inn is located deeply in the forest, hidden from everyone’s sight behind the sea of trees, rocky mountains, mushy roads, and howling wolves. It was such a rare gem to find that no one dared to do it.
And no, it didn’t belong to Kim Dokja. Just some old lady who was eager to give him the keys to the inn right as he had finished talking about wanting to take the job.
Owning a business is a luxury. Kim Dokja wasn’t raised by old money. He knew, at the back of his head, that if you looked closer, you’d always find a loophole.
Genius, really. He didn’t need an inn as his hobby. He just needed, well, a job.
And now that he has one, in the middle of nowhere, South Korea, there would be no soul to disturb him.
Kim Dokja wiggles his toes, which are set on top of a desk, legs crossed and relaxed. As the clock strikes three in the morning, his fingers pick at the end of a paper and flip over to the next page.
He dropped reading webnovels or using his phone a few months ago when Han Sooyoung threatened him and said she’d track him down. The inn didn’t have Wi-Fi, and the reception wasn’t great either so he decided to let go of the only thing that tied him to the past—a brick in his hand.
He had wanted to be dramatic about it. Oh so dramatic. He’d magined running up the road and tossing it away towards the forest; he’d scream at the top of his lungs, forgetting about everything.
But well, he was taught to never litter and disrupt the ecosystem. Also if he were to come back to Seoul, it would be a shame to not have a device to depend on. So he’d chosen to store it in a drawer of a room that the lady introduced to him as a place where he could crash after his shift (they were the only ones who worked at the inn so it was just a matter of hospitality).
Life out here in the woods didn’t seem boring. On the contrary, he relished this newfound routine—wake up, get fresh breakfast from the kitchen (the lady cooked everything and was a craftsman at it), water the plants, sweep the floors, sit at his desk, and read a book (the same lady would bring him a new one just in time for when he would set his eyes on the ‘Epilogue’).
His life didn’t have a meaning. He didn’t have dreams, goals—nothing. Yet at least now Kim Dokja seemed to feel not happy, not creative, not even motivated. But comfortable.
He was comfortable with this book, in this chair, inside this inn.
He was comfortable with his life.
The loud taps of the droplets hitting the windows of the inn make his shoulders flinch a bit. Tonight marks the beginning of the eerily uncommon weather for this area—freezing wind with heavy downpour that covers all of the road and leaves no chance of visitors at this hour. Tourist season was long gone by this time around, yet some people still stop by the inn from time to time.
But not tonight. No, if someone were to go out, they would, frankly, be the fool of all fools.
Which means Kim Dokja will be able to finish this book by tomorrow, or maybe go to sleep early. A lucky day.
As he is about to stand up and make his way to the kitchen, the door bursts open and the wind finds its way up to the reception counter, making him shiver.
‘Oh Constellations.’ Kim Dokja thinks as he gets on his feet and looks at the entrance.
Nobody. Strange. Maybe the old nails couldn’t hold onto much longer?
He makes his way closer, but carefully, examining what’s going on outside. The lady told him she’d be back in a few days and, well, judging the situation, he would be stuck alone for quite some time.
Just before Kim Dokja manages to reach out for the door, a palm is placed on his arm.
It jolts him out of his thoughts and he finds himself looking at what appears to be… Wait… No… Blood?!
Kim Dokja’s eyebrows fly upwards, “Holy—”
Someone cups his mouth and takes him inside. He can’t see because said person’s palm was placed on his face.
“Not… A sound…” The man whispers in his ear. “Do not make a sound.”
Well, it’s not like there are people inside to hear him. Or people close to this place. Or people at all. The nearest city is two hundred kilometers away. He knows that because that’s where the freaking lady went off to see her family.
The intruder continues, this time slowly uncovering Kim Dokja’s eyesight, “I am going to let you speak but should you start screaming, you will regret it.”
Kim Dokja nods—what else is he supposed to do?!
The man tilts his head, studying Kim Dokja’s face. There’s an uncertain look in his eyes as he takes a few steps back, freeing him to speak up.
Kim Dokja is frozen. Given the circumstances, it’s alright. It’s normal. It’s—
“Just for your information, this place doesn’t hold as much money as the inn in town.”
The man simply stares. Kim Dokja stares back and mentally slaps himself for making a stupid remark.
The man, who is now a few feet away from him, replies, “I don’t need your money.”
“Then what do you need?”
“Help.”
It takes a whole minute for Kim Dokja to realize that the person in front of him is painted with blood—it’s everywhere: on his hair, his face, his black coat is literally soaked to the point where it adds a whole new pattern: blood, probably some sweat and water from the rain. The man appears as if he’s just run a mile under this weather, unsteadily breathing and barely standing on his two feet.
He hesitates, blinking to make sure it’s all real, “I could give you some painkillers? I have them in my drawer.”
“The painkillers won’t stop me from bleeding.”
“You’re bleeding?” Oh, he is bleeding.
The man glares while propping himself against a nearby wooden pole. He tries to hold onto it but fails, almost dropping to the ground—Kim Dokja just in time to catch him by his arm.
“Okay. Okay. To-ta-lly o-okay.” He recites to himself, trying to get a good grasp of the situation. “Can you walk? There’s a First-Aid kit in the kitchen.”
The man fumbles over the words, “I think so.”
“Great. Hold onto me.”
Dragging a man who is bigger than him wasn’t a part of one of his work bullet-point list for today but destiny has a way of making a person rethink their life decisions in a span of three minutes that it takes for him to walk hand-in-hand, or rather, body-to-body to the kitchen.
He lifts the man off and sets him down on one of the chairs, then starts going through all the cupboards in search of a First-Aid kit.
The man shallowly breathes and groans, probably feeling the pain all over his body.
On the third cupboard, Kim Dokja makes up his mind to strike up a conversation, “So, tell me about yourself.”
“What?” The man answers, growling.
“Tell me about yourself. Fill the air with some stories so I know you haven’t passed out.”
He could hear him hesitating, taking everything into consideration, and then saying, “My name is Yoo Joonghyuk. I am twenty-eight years old and I—” He coughs, blood spilling on the floor.
“Ah…” Kim Dokja looks around and picks up a plastic bottle. “Here, have some water.”
The man—Yoo Joonghyuk—takes it and gulps it down in one go.
“So you were saying…”
“... And I am a vampire hunter.”
Just what exactly is wrong with the world today?
Kim Dokja finds a chair and brings it to the opposite side of Yoo Joonghyuk. He sits down with a medical kit in hand, and raises an eyebrow.
“A who now?”
Yoo Joonghyuk watches as he opens the box. “A vampire hunter.”
“I mean, I know it’s the season for Twilight to reair on screen, but don’t you think that this is a bit too much?” He gestures at the open wound and starts mentally recalling all of the seasons of Grey’s Anatomy.
You see, he didn’t join local Boy Scouts back in the day, nor did he listen to all the lessons that were lectured at school about giving first aid, so the only source of knowledge that he has is a soap opera about hospitals. Nothing else. Yoo Joonghyuk is screwed.
“I am a vampire hunter.”
Remembering that the first thing one does to the wound is applying pressure with a clean cloth, Kim Dokja takes off his waistcoat and moves closer, “Yeah, yeah. Mister Vampire Hunter, could you please give me access to your wound so I could stop it?”
Yoo Joonghyuk opens his mouth to reply, shuts it, and begins to remove his coat, throwing it to the side.
Once he unbuttons his shirt, Kim Dokja sees the severity of the problem, “I would drive you to the hospital but if we don’t stop it, you will bleed out and…”
“... Die. So—get to work.”
He side-eyes him as he applies the waistcoat to the wound, realizing that he’d need a new one.
“So… What is a vampire—” he chuckles, “—hunter doing in the middle of nowhere?”
“I was tracking down a vampire.”
“Well that settles it, doesn’t it?”
Yoo Joonghyuk squints at him. “You sure are chatty for someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“And you do?” He tries to apply more pressure and, seeing that Yoo Joonghyuk takes a breath in, he thinks he’s doing fine. “Would you like to guide me, Mr. Vampire Hunter?”
“Yoo Joonghyuk. You—” the man winces, “—already know my name.”
“I mean, yeah, but calling you by your occupation is much funnier this way.”
Kim Dokja goes through the First-Aid kit until he finds what seems to be a gauze. But as he takes it in his hands, he notices Yoo Joonghyuk zoning out, his body relaxing under his firm hand.
“No, no, no. Stay with me, Mr. Vampire Hunter. I almost stopped the bleeding.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looks at him from half-closed eyes, “You will… need to use that to wrap it around me.”
“Okay. Hold onto this while I’m unbuttoning you.”
They switch their hands, Yoo Joonghyuk’s on his wound, pressing the cloth, while Kim Dokja undoes every button and helps him get rid of the shirt carefully, trying not to touch the wounded area.
“We’re doing everything backwards,” he mumbles, for the first time having to undress someone else. “And here I thought nothing weird would happen once I started this job.”
Yoo Joonghyuk straightens his back. “Why do you work here?”
“I got tired of the city.” Kim Dokja opens the cupboard with cutlery with his free hand, takes a pair of scissors, and moves Yoo Joonghyuk to the side so he can start wrapping him up like a bloody Christmas present. “And of everything else.”
“Everything else?” The man gives him an unreadable glance.
He shrugs, “You know, life. All of it. I was miserable so I decided—hell, why not just abandon all of it and get out?”
“Easier said than done.”
“Easily done, mind you, Mr. Vampire Hunter. I am happy with how things are for me. Or at least they were nice ‘til you came in here, all ‘Death at my doorsteps’.”
Unlike all of the expectations, Yoo Joonghyuk lets out a small laugh, startling Kim Dokja for a moment.
‘Get. To. Work.’
They stop speaking for a while; even the wind begins to quiet down—only rain resonating with the sound of Kim Dokja grunting as he covers the wound with gauze, and Yoo Joonghyuk yelping from pain.
Kim Dokja asks out of nowhere, “Did you manage to catch… the vampire?”
“No. He wounded me before I could blast his head off.”
“How sweet.” Kim Dokja remarks, cutting off the end of the gauze and sticking it to Yoo Joonghyuk’s body. “Why didn’t he… drink you?”
“My blood is poisonous for vampires.”
“Oh yeah, of course it is. Sorry for being dumb.” He lightly pats his back, making sure that the gauze is stuck correctly.
“You don’t believe me.” Yoo Joonghyuk eyes trace the way Kim Dokja comes around him.
“I mean… No, I don’t believe you. I can’t possibly believe that a stranger has been wounded by some Edward Cullen.”
“I can’t blame you. No one does.”
Kim Dokja props himself against the kitchen counter, eyes darting to the floor, “I’ve seen some stuff. Some bad stuff. But not some supernatural stuff.” He clicks his tongue, looks up. “Well maybe only on TV. It's fun to watch.”
“Are you going to call the police?” Yoo Joonghyuk questions as he tries to relax his shoulders.
“Like hell they’re going to come. The roads are blocked. Everything’s out of order.” His fingers tap at the wood. “But you know…” He lingers, thinking. “I could let you crash here. Would charge you for that though.”
“Ah—”
“And then tomorrow you’ll go to the hospital. You have a car, right?”
“It’s down the road. Getting to this place was faster.”
“Great, then…” Kim Dokja helps Yoo Joonghyuk stand up, pushing the chair out of the way with his leg. “You’re all set. Crash tonight, worry tomorrow. How about it?”
Yoo Joonghyuk glances at him then – with an emotion that Kim Dokja could simply recognize as gratitude.
He exhales, his voice barely reaching Kim Dokja’s ears, “Okay.”
In the morning, after Kim Dokja changes Yoo Joonghyuk’s bandages, they find themselves in the kitchen, sharing some scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee.
Yoo Joonghyuk tells him about his life in Busan: his teacher, his colleagues, his ‘line of work’. He even shares about the journey that it took to get here and track down the vampire.
Kim Dokja still doesn’t believe in any of that. He’s dumb but he’s not that dumb to agree that such creatures as vampires exist.
Yet, for the first time in years, he feels at ease beside someone else. Even if that someone is a pathological liar with a Winchester lifestyle.
It’s weird. It’s strange. It’s funny. It’s comfortable—to be next to him and listen to all of these fake adventures.
When the clock strikes one in the afternoon, they part their ways at the same entrance of the Inn. Kim Dokja watches as the man starts walking down the road until he’s out of his sight, and thinks, ‘I need to clean up.’
Totally that and not the actual, ‘He’s very handsome now that I could look at him without all of the blood in my face.’ What a weirdo.
And something tells him that this isn’t the last time Mr. Vampire Hunter would pay him a visit.
But preferably without all the blood and vampires, thank you.
He really doesn’t need to get roped into some supernatural gig. He’s pretty comfortable with how things are for him already. So no angels, demons, vampires, werewolves—you name it.
As Kim Dokja reaches the reception counter he notices a small yellow sticker on the book he was reading tonight. He takes it with one hand and—smirks.
There, a sloppy handwriting writes,
“To the Innkeeper,
Thank you for saving my life. I will never forget it.
Sincerely,
Mr. Vampire Hunter, Yoo Joonghyuk.”