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It happens on another night of Kim Dokja exploring N'gai, trying to uncover any routes of escape, despite the fact that he's already aware of the impossibility of it. He's lucky this time, not one kkoma in sight. Usually, 999 was the one who kept watch over him—sometimes other kkomas get the watch-over-Kim-Dokja role—but he was almost never alone, especially at night. On the off chance he has the opportunity to escape the watchful eyes of the kkoma assigned to him, there's always one lurking around, keeping order. So Kim Dokja gets caught, scolded, dragged back into his room.
This was an opportunity he wasn't about to lose.
But he'll admit that his relief was lying more on the fact that he could be alone with his thoughts for a while, it was hard to think at times when someone is always there right beside you. The halls felt a bit eerie, with its darkness, only relying on the moonlight shining its way through. His footsteps echo throughout the way, even with how light it is. Strangely enough, Kim Dokja has never felt so peaceful and quiet.
Of course, he should've known his luck was going to run out soon enough. It's always been that way for him. Especially now, when the one he stumbles upon isn't a kkoma, but the Outer God himself.
Kim Dokja stops in his tracks. Secretive Plotter zeroes in on him with a look of mild surprise and impression.
He's about to open his mouth, say some excuse—when he has a sudden bout of realization. Secretive Plotter looked tired. It looks as if the outer god was doing the same thing as him before this—thinking. And wasn't that a dangerous thought? Because then, Kim Dokja is reminded that the Secretive Plotter also had his own thoughts, his own feelings, and emotions. He wasn't just some character in a novel.
Then, Kim Dokja is reminded that this was the Yoo Joonghyuk he had spent thirteen years reading about. This is Yoo Joonghyuk.
And Yoo Joonghyuk looked... tired.
Without thinking, Kim Dokja opens his arms. It's more of a reflex than a conscious thought. Something about the expression on the Plotters's face reminded him of the kids back in the complex. Scared, weak—but unwilling to admit it. Kim Dokja doesn't ask questions, so instead he'd willingly offer his arms as a pillar to lean on. The kids don't need to take it, but they always do, almost stumbling walking, clumsy from the things they've never been able to freely have.
It takes him a moment to process that he's just offered an Outer God—no, more specifically, Yoo Joonghyuk—a hug. A hug. The man blinks at him, no doubt surprise coloring his eyes from his insinuation. Secretive Plotter tilts his head.
Kim Dokja stands there, cheeks flushed and with his arms still open.
He coughs, trying to clear off the awkward air. Rapidly blinking off his embarrassment, Kim Dokja moves to lower his arms. He was ready to make up a mediocre excuse, fight his way through the psychic damage he brought upon himself, call it a day, and never talk to anyone ever again.
And then—
A swish of white blurs his vision, small sounds of lightweight steps accompanying it. Next thing he knows, he's getting pulled into a pair of arms, a hand resting on the small of his back and the other cradling his nape. A nose is buried into the crook of his neck, he feels the deep breath Secretive Plotter takes more than he hears it. There's barely any space between their figures.
Secretive Plotter is hugging him.
Time stops moving—his breath stops, Kim Dokja stops; he didn't even get the chance to fully lower his hands. Now it's just stopped mid-air, rigid and tense at the sides of the Plotter. It feels like his breathing stops too. For a moment, only the sound of Plotter's breath, the feeling of his arms wrapped around him, is all Kim Dokja could think about. It's careful, cautious, as if at any moment, he'd disappear.
He suddenly remembers why his arms were open in the first place. Kim Dokja forces himself to relax, loosening the tension in his muscles. He keeps his breathing and his heartbeats even. He could do something as simple as a hug, couldn't he? His fingers twitch, moving slowly. And finally, his hands land on the back of the Plotter, who doesn't seem like he even feels the arms wrapping around him.
Internally, Kim Dokja breathes out a sigh, out of tiredness and relief.
He's hugging Secretive Plotter. He's hugging him back. What's next, he starts petting his hair? What the fuck!
Secretive Plotter leans a bit on Kim Dokja, who stumbles back upon the weight on him. The outer god feels almost vulnerable like this, trusting Kim Dokja to keep them standing, all with the way he's melting against his reader. He feels the hands around him tighten their hold.
It reminds Kim Dokja of a child clutching onto a stuffed toy smaller than him, onto a slight shiny sliver of hope. Something in his heart clenches at the thought.
Moving again without thinking, he cards his fingers through the Plotter's hair. Kim Dokja feels him tense for a second, before letting loose, melting even more against the reader's smaller frame, and almost nuzzling the hand on his head. Kim Dokja doesn't mind, but he's always wondered how someone like Yoo Joonghyuk could ever maintain his hair this soft, in the middle of nowhere, in an apocalypse.
The head between his neck and shoulders buries itself deeper. Kim Dokja's partly convinced that the Plotter wants them to fully melt together, to never be apart.
He's reminded of Yoo Joonghyuk from the 1863rd regression, the one he was sent to by the same outer god.
Think of happy memories, Kim Dokja almost wants to say.
Now he wonders what the Plotter must have been thinking when he saw the 1863rd turn unfolding. The moments are still fresh in his mind. Secretive Plotter must have been watching when Kim Dokja had cradled that regression's head, telling him:
"I'll finish your story for you."
But who will finish his?
Maybe that's why Kim Dokja is here now, maybe the Plotter believes that he's the one who'll finish his story, the story he's been reliving for a thousand and more years. Maybe he's right, maybe Kim Dokja will be his epilogue, the end of his story.
Kim Dokja doesn't know, doesn't think he even wants to.
But isn't that beautiful? To be the ending of a story you've dedicated your whole life to. Maybe they'll both be each other's endings.
But maybe Kim Dokja will always live a Dokja's life, maybe Secretive Plotter will always end up an outer god. Maybe they'll cause each other's despair.
And maybe, Kim Dokja doesn't want to think about it anymore. Not when the arms around him push him in closer to a wide chest, his fingers still brushing the hair beneath it. Not when Secretive Plotter whispers low in his ear, gentle and airy, causing shivers down his spine.
"Stop thinking."
So, he does.