Chapter Text
The hum of yellowing commercial lights, and the metallic patter of the old AC that was practically falling off the wall filled the empty convenience store. Cheap neon lights glowed against the windows and tile floor, casting vibrant blues and purples on top of the stark overhead lighting. A fly buzzed onto the slightly dirty glass of the entrance door, trying to get out, repeatedly tapping against the glass as if hoping it would suddenly give through. Kim Dokja, who had been forced into working the overnight shifts due to being the only worker desperate enough to take any hours. Sat behind the counter, legs propped up and stretched out in front of him, crossed leisurely at the ankles, as he lazily scrolled through some new shitty transmigration novel that he’d been reading while waiting for the next update of TWSA.
Kim Dokja always looked like a mess during his shifts. After a long day of studying for classes he could barely pay attention to, Kim Dokja would babysit his neighbors’ kids for a few hours until their parents got home from work. He then would have just a couple of hours to himself—mostly spent doing homework—before he had to take the subway over a few stops to the run down, slightly sketchy, gas station convenience store where he worked until 4:45 AM before he would take the first train back to his… humble… studio apartment, and pass out for a few hours until begrudgingly getting up for class.
Rinse and repeat 5 days a week, with the other two still consisting of his hellish shift, but sparing him from the agonies of college lecture classes.
So, running on 28 hours of sleep a week at best, Kim Dokja kinda looked like shit. His eye bags, unbrushed hair, and an obnoxiously blue work vest tossed on over a cheap, possibly stained hoodie was the poster example of an overworked and underpaid 21-year-old.
Despite that, Kim Dokja still clocked in everyday without fail—he can’t exactly afford not to, most of his hours were spent like this anyway. The humming of various gas station appliances and passing cars turned to white noise in the background as Kim Dokja read on his phone in peaceful solitude. Sure, once in a while, someone popped in, but those interactions lasted no more than 5 seconds.
Humming along to the shitty pop song that played through his AirPods, Kim Dokja eventually got bored with the novel he was reading and all of its painfully obvious plot twists and poorly developed character arcs. He always finishes the webnovels he reads, so he knew he’d come back to it eventually. But eventually didn’t have to be right then and there.
He was scrolling through the recommendations page when he heard the door chime with a new customer coming in. Not looking to see who walked in, Kim Dokja glanced at the time in the corner of his screen, noting that it was 2:36 AM
“Huh, unusual time, I wonder if they’re out with people right now or something, maybe a road trip?”
Customers were very few and far between when it came to the night shifts, choosing to stick with name-brand chains over sketchy gas stations during the later hours, so most of his customers were either at the start or end of his shift. He glanced up from his phone, catching a glimpse of dark wavy hair peaking just above the shelves before it disappeared as the customer turned a corner.
“I don’t see anyone else outside. Is he here alone?” Kim Dokja’s gaze lingered out the window for a short moment before he turned his attention back to his phone, continuing his hunt for a new, less shitty webnovel. “Eh, none of my business.”
Eventually, he stumbled across one that caught his eye. The cover featured a man in a suit with a unique looking briefcase, standing on a train while holding his phone. The colorful rendering and contrasting blues and reds that were used had drawn Kim Dokja’s attention easily.
“Got Dropped Into a Ghost… this looks cool.” Kim Dokja quietly mumbled to himself as he clicked on the first chapter. Quickly getting sucked into the story, Kim Dokja failed to notice the looming figure approaching him.
Thud
The sudden noise of something being dropped onto the counter next to his shoes snapped Kim Dokja’s attention away from his phone, eyes zeroing in on the items suddenly placed in front of him.
“Oh, haha, sorry about that.” He quickly pushed the chair back to take his legs off the counter, fumbling slightly as he hurriedly reached for the scanner. “Is this all?” He asked, still not looking up in hopes of preserving his dignity, even just a bit. However, an answer never came, and the silence had begun to drag on a beat too long, entering “awkward” territory. Ready to ask again, Kim Dokja finally glanced up. Right as he did, a deep and baritone voice met his ears.
“Yes.”
The man, despite being almost 3 in the morning, looked like he just walked out of a Vogue magazine photoshoot—total “Cold Duke of the North” energy. Even with the black disposable mask covering the lower half of his face, he was still undoubtedly gorgeous.
Thick, perfect brows. Dark wavy hair curling in all the right places around his temple, golden tan skin that looked unreal even in the shitty gas station lighting. And, most notably, deep, cold eyes. Pitch black and seemingly carved from a rare gemstone. Eyes that both scorched the skin with their gaze, but also pulled you in, making it almost difficult to look away (Not that it’s difficult for Kim Dokja or anything, the man is just objectively very, very, nice to look at!).
Forcing himself to snap out of his slight daze, not wanting to look like a creep, Kim Dokja put his attention on the items the man was purchasing. A 6-pack of Glacier Freeze Gatorade and two protein bars. “Not gonna lie, these are a little weird for a 3 AM snack. Don’t people usually get like, instant ramyeon or something?” He thought as he reached for the items.
Scanning the “snacks”, he couldn’t help but feel the man’s gaze that was piercing a hole through the top of his head. It wasn’t in the flattering way that you read about in rofans, more so in the way that made Kim Dokja wonder if he should keep an eye on the pepper spray they sell.
Kim Dokja looked up again just to be met with that same cold stare as before. “Jeez, does this guy blink?”
“Would you like a bag?” Kim Dokja asks, amping up the customer service voice and plastering on a polite smile. (Just in case this guy had a short temper, he seemed like the type.)
“Yes.” The man said, his tone flat.
“Do you want your receipt?"
“No.”
Not much of a talker I see.
“Not with strangers.”
Kim Dokja froze, his eyes slowly turning from the payment screen to the man. “Oh my god I'm gonna kill myself.”
“Haha… Did I say that out loud?” He asked with a wince.
“Yes.”
Kim Dokja involuntarily let out a small laugh at this, almost amused by the man's continuously short responses. It was more of a quick, shaky exhale than anything, but from the cock of the man’s perfect eyebrow, he could tell it was noticeable.
A beat of silence later, the man spoke again.
“You’re bad at trying to be professional.” Kim Dokja nearly rolled his eyes at the comment.
“Well, it's 2:45 in the morning and we’re at a gas station, not much to be professional about.” Kim Dokja quips back in a casual tone as he hands the man his bag, an irritated twitch tugging at the corner of his smile.
“Mn.”
It’s still a mystery how Kim Dokja managed to keep a calm expression in that moment when all he could think was: “Mn. Mn? What the hell does that even mean?!”
“Have a safe drive.” He says instead, putting all of his willpower into not throttling the man in front of him (Even though he would most certainly lose that fight) and plastered on his best customer service smile.
“I didn’t drive here.” The man said blandly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Without waiting for a response from Kim Dokja, he silently turned away and left the store, disappearing around the corner. With a deep inhale of stale gas station air, Kim Dokja attempted to school his frustration…
“Oh my fucking God, what a dick bag!!”
…To no avail.
He stood in frustration, hands slamming down onto the counter.
“Like, who even does that?! ‘I didn’t drive here.’ Okay, and?” He blustered to no one, making a poor attempt to mock the man’s deep and flat voice. “How on earth am I supposed to know that you just emerge from the shadows like some sort of dark, brooding entity that doesn't know how to say words longer than four letters!” Kim Dokja ranted to himself, pacing back and forth behind the counter in an attempt to exert all of the built up annoyance and frustration he gained from the interaction.
“Oh wait no, he can say words with more than four letters, like ‘professional’. Because, apparently, I’m not ‘professional’ enough. Obviously not jackass, I work at a gas station!” He yelled exasperatedly into the thankfully empty store. Sitting back down on his chair with a huff, he yanked off the name plate velcroed to his vest, tossing it onto the counter with an annoyed flick.
“If I ever see that jagoff again, I’m quitting, rent be damned.”
Unfortunately, Kim Dokja had been proven time and time again that he was God’s least favorite child.
It was near the end of his shift this time, around 4:00 AM, 45 more minutes and he would be temporarily freed from minimum wage hell. With the ding of the bell, Kim Dokja glanced up from his webnovel. He immediately regretted this however, as his gaze was quickly met by a familiar set of cold eyes.
“This guy again?”
The man’s eyes lingered on Kim Dokja only for a moment before he turned into an aisle. It wouldn’t have seemed weird if not for the fact that Kim Dokja was paranoid that the guy was silently planning to choke him out due to an “unprofessional attitude."
As much as Kim Dokja knew that realistically, the man was probably just recognizing him as the worker from the other day, he couldn’t help the slight chill that crept down his spine, so if he scooted his chair just a bit closer to the pepper spray, it was no one's business but his own (And possibly the 6’0 man plotting his demise).
For a moment, he "discreetly" tried to keep an eye on the mysterious stranger (“He’s just a customer who’s kind of a dick and seems to only wear black like every other wannabe edgelord, not very mysterious,” the rational part of him said), but the man had disappeared behind the aisles.
With a mental sigh of defeat, he turns back to the comfort of his webnovel. He’s only a few lines when a notification pops up at the top of his screen
[“Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse” TLS123 — Updated just now]
At the sight of the message, Kim Dokja nearly squeaked in excitement as he sat up with a rush. The most recent chapter had left off on a major cliffhanger and he needed to know how Yoo Joonghyuk’s fight with Nirvana turns out or he just might go into cardiac arrest. Quickly, Kim Dokja begins to devour the chapter, hungrily taking in every line and passively analyzing every detail of the story. He gets so zoned into the intensity of the battle happening within the screen that he completely fails to notice the tall figure before him.
He also fails to notice the deep voice speaking to him. That is until—
“Kim Dokja.”
In a startle, Kim Dokja’s head snaps up and a mental whiplash hits him as he is yanked from the story. “When the hell did he get there? Wait, no, better question.”
“How the hell do you know my name?” He accused. Was this guy stalking him? Well, he’s not horrible to look at, Kim Dokja had always imagined stalkers to be off-putting, greasy old men in their 40s, but—“What if this is like a real life Nirvana situation?” Clearly, Kim Dokja was still focused on things besides the apparent creep in front of him.
His thoughts were cut off when the man began to silently tap the right side of his (totally built) chest. “What the hell is he doing?” Kim Dokja thought, his face showcasing his utter confusion and slight concern for the man’s mental state. “This guy’s a total nut job.” Then it hit him.
Kim Dokja was wearing a name tag.
The tips of his ears flushed pink, and his face unwillingly morphed with embarrassment at the realization. “Did I seriously jump to him stalking me? Get a grip Dokja!”
“Oh, I um, haha…” He stumbled out with a wobbly and totally failed attempt at a casual smile, shifting his eyes off to the side, focusing on anything but the man in front of him and wishing for nothing less than to curl up into a ball of shame for the next 3 years.
Unfortunately, Kim Dokja still had a job to do if he wanted to pay his bills, so any plans of locking himself in his apartment and turning into a hermit would have to wait until 4:45.
“Sorr- um. Sorry about that…” He managed to say, putting all of his willpower into pushing through the shame. Forcing his eyes forward, Kim Dokja finally looked back at the man. The taller man’s continuously furrowed brow and brooding expression should’ve made him appear completely unamused by the shorter man’s suffering. Instead, however, Kim Dokja noticed the slight raise of his eyebrows and the twitch at the corner of his eye, as if he was restraining a smile under that mask he was wearing again.
“Is this bastard laughing at me?”
“Don’t look at me like that, I’ve been questioning why they even give us these things when no one ever says our names anyway.” Kim Dokja says with a weak glare, finally scanning the man’s neglected Gatorade. “He got this flavor last time.” Kim Dokja passively notes.
At the comment of his expression, the man's face twitches with what could have been surprise, but Kim Dokja misses it, his gaze focused on the register screen.
“The name tags are so that customers can report any issues with staff easily.” The man unnecessarily explained, his expression back to its unfortunate resting bitch face. Kim Dokja’s eye twitches at the response.
“Would this be considered mansplaining? Maybe I should ask Sangah-ssi.”
“What, are you gonna report me for acting ‘unprofessional’ again?” He responded snarkily, cocking his eyebrow at the man.
“Mn, maybe I should.” The man said, his typically monotone voice hinting at an underlying amusement.
“Don’t you dare you bastard—“ Kim Dokja said with a start, standing up in his seat.
“Do you usually speak to customers like this?” He asked, clearly enjoying Kim Dokja’s reaction.
“Do you usually tell gas station workers to act more professional?” Kim Dokja rolled his eyes, plopping back down into his chair with a huff.
“Well, none of them have called me a bastard before.” The man said, his ever flat tone beginning to waver only slightly in irritation.
“Oh, please, you told me I wasn’t good at being professional last time because, what, I didn’t get down and lick your boot?” Kim Dokja snaps back, leaning forward with his arms crossed, a challenging look in his eyes. Damn, this guy was beginning to get on Kim Dokja’s nerves. The stranger's eyebrow twitched at the comment, almost instantly, he opened his mouth to defend himself.
“I never told you to-“ His jaw shut with a bite of his cheek, inhaling as if to tell himself not to waste his energy on a random nobody, though his annoyed expression remained. Kim Dokja couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face. He felt almost victorious for getting under the overly stoic man’s skin. The reader made quick work to end their conversation while he could still claim the small win. In the blink of an eye, his smug expression flickered into a mockingly perfect customer service smile.
“Would you like your receipt, sir?” He taunted, finally handing the man his drink. With the slightest furrow of his (already furrowed) brow and a quiet tsk, the man took the drink from Kim Dokja’s grasp with a bit too much force, knocking the shorter man’s hand to the side. Kim Dokja couldn’t help how his smug expression crept back onto his face. Then, like the cherry on top, the man marched out the door with what was definitely too much force, causing the old hinges to wobble a concerning amount on impact.
“Ah fuck,” The man muttered under his breath, stopping his short-lived parade to close the door slower, being forced to turn and face the building as he did. Kim Dokja damn near reveled in the amusement of watching the man, 6’0 and probably made up of 95% muscle, awkwardly push down his agitation as he tried to avoid accidentally breaking public property. Once the door was properly shut, the man turned away with a huff, walking away into the darkness to god-knows-where.
“Well, hopefully this means he won't be coming back.” Kim Dokja thought as he got up from his chair, stretching out his arms above his head. Packing his few things into his bag, he sighed contentedly. “Now I just have to wait until Hakyun shows up, and then I can finally get out of here.”
Around 10 minutes of reading the newest TWSA chapter later, his co-worker arrived. With a small exchange of words, nothing more than quick hellos, Kim Dokja was on his way.
The cold night air flowed through his hair as Kim Dokja stepped out onto the curb. Small flecks of snow stuck to his nose and lashes as they were pushed by the wind off of tree tops and into the air, swirling around in the starless city sky like a Van Gouge painting. A sigh puffed out in front of him like smoke, and Kim Dokja began his routine walk to the station.
The winds began to pick up steadily, soon snow was swirling around him, so caked throughout the air that Kim Dokja could barely see 10 feet in front of him. Even with his white parka zipped and buttoned as high as it would go, and the faux-fur lined hood yanked over his head, the chill of winter still cut across his nose and ears, seeping into his clothes as he trekked through the snow. By the time he reached the subway, the snow had melted into his ragged gym shoes and soaked his socks, and his fingers had flushed red with numbness.
Finally, in the snow-free safety of the subway, Kim Dokja pulled down his hood and brushed away any unmelted snow from his shoulders, tapping the toe of his shoes against the concrete flooring as he walked towards where the train would soon be arriving.
Unfortunately, even the subway station could not protect him from the abysmal winter temperatures. Kim Dokja stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, regretting not having brought gloves with him to work. He wanted to read more of that webnovel he had recently picked up, but within 10 seconds of pulling his hand out of his pocket to go on his phone, the cold air against his skin became unbearable, the barley faded redness quickly returning with full force, and he swiftly shoved his hand back into the comfort of his jacket.
Right as the train approached, a gush of wind combing through Kim Dokja’s hair as it pulled to a stop, he saw a dash of neon green in the corner of his eye.
Maybe it caught Kim Dokja’s eye because of the brightness of the color, or the way it stood out in the dark and dreary subway station, or maybe it was how that specific shade of green felt familiar. Like he had seen it time and time again in a specific place—call it pattern recognition. But whatever the reason, Dokja’s eyes glanced towards the color a few steps away from him.
“That’s a Supreme King jacket.”
The doors in front of him opened, and Dokja stepped into the train.