Chapter Text
“Seolhwa will return tomorrow."
As Kim Dokja reorganised the folder he had just received, the mention of Lee Seolhwa's return hit him like a blunt knife. The sudden news from Yoo Joonghyuk caused him to momentarily dissociate, feeling as though blood splattered and his spirit left his body. The sharp pain of a paper cut snapped him back to reality. Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed his hand, his voice sharp as he asked, "What's wrong? Are you losing your temper just by hearing the name of my fiancée?"
Kim Dokja was momentarily stunned, but he could only shake his head in response, trying to hide the turmoil within him.
Yoo Joonghyuk smirked and snorted, he glanced at Kim Dokja with a cold, careless look, as if he had seen through everything but found it too trivial to confront. With a dismissive toss of Kim Dokja's hand, he turned and walked away, disappearing into his office just beside Kim Dokja’s desk.
Kim Dokja sighed, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. He knew this moment would come, but the reality of it still stung. With a heavy heart, he resumed his task, checking files and sorting them into the right folders. To everyone around them, he was just a secretary, and Yoo Joonghyuk, the CEO—a professional relationship, clean and simple. But behind closed doors, their connection was far more complicated.
For almost three years, Kim Dokja had been entangled in a backstreet relationship with Yoo Joonghyuk, a secret he bore silently. Yoo Joonghyuk had a fiancée, yet Kim Dokja could never find the strength to refuse him. Because this relationship wasn’t built on love or mutual affection—it was a debt, something Kim Dokja felt he owed Yoo Joonghyuk. The bitter truth was that Yoo Joonghyuk might have never been in love with him. Their bond was a cold, transactional tie, one that left Kim Dokja feeling more like an obligation than a lover.
It was all for a sin he could never atone for, a crime that stained his soul and made Yoo Joonghyuk despise him more than anything else in the world. The weight of that hatred pressed down on Kim Dokja every day, a constant reminder of what he had done—
He had killed Yoo Mia, Yoo Joonghyuk’s only sister.
There was no way to bring Yoo Mia back, no forgiveness to be found.
So, Yoo Joonghyuk exacted his revenge in the only way he could, making Kim Dokja pay with everything he had, his body, his soul, his love. It was a cruel and twisted arrangement, one that Kim Dokja had agreed to, even though every fibre of his being recoiled at the thought. The contract was clear—Yoo Joonghyuk had the right to use him however he wished, and Kim Dokja had no right to refuse. If Yoo Joonghyuk wanted him, it didn’t matter where Kim Dokja was or what he was doing; a single call would summon him, and he would have to drop everything to be at Yoo Joonghyuk’s side.
In the beginning, he felt like nothing more than a prostitute, his dignity stripped away each time he complied with Yoo Joonghyuk’s demands. But as time passed, the pain dulled, the humiliation became a familiar sting, and Kim Dokja grew numb. The emptiness inside him expanded, swallowing his self-respect, until there was nothing left but the hollow shell of a man who had long since stopped feeling anything at all.
And Yoo Joonghyuk had never spared him—never once showed him mercy or kindness. He didn’t want to, and Kim Dokja oddly thought that was understandable. After all, he was the reason Yoo Mia was gone. If Yoo Joonghyuk decided to take his life as retribution, Kim Dokja wouldn’t protest. He wouldn’t mind, because it was all his fault to begin with.
The saddest part of it all was that, despite everything, he loved Yoo Joonghyuk.
Genuinely — But that love was a quiet, agonising thing, buried beneath layers of guilt and despair, knowing it could never be returned.
When Kim Dokja went to the bathroom to wash his face, he hoped to hide the fact that he had been crying. Staring into the mirror, he barely recognized himself. His hair had grown longer, with his bangs nearly covering his eyes, and his lips were slightly pale. He turned on the tap and let the sound of rushing water fill the silence, trying to ground himself.
Lee Seolhwa —what a beautiful name.
Kim Dokja knew Yoo Joonghyuk would have an engagement party with her next month. She had been working in Country C for several years and was only now returning home. Their engagement was arranged by their families, a classic business marriage. The Yoo family, a powerful chaebol in Country SK, focused on hardware and mobile device production, while the Lee family owned a chain of hospitals across the country. It was a match made in heaven—a perfect union of wealth and influence.
Meanwhile, he—well, there was no point in dwelling on that.
His story with Yoo Joonghyuk felt like nothing more than a fleeting fantasy, a myth from a past life.
Kim Dokja was rinsing his mouth when he heard the door close outside. He walked out of the bathroom and saw that Yoo Joonghyuk had indeed left his office. He didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. It was wrong to be so absent-minded at work, even though his position in Yoo Joonghyuk's life was complicated. Being Yoo Joonghyuk’s ‘toy’ didn’t excuse him from fulfilling his responsibilities. Yoo Joonghyuk had made it clear from the start that he wouldn’t spend money on Kim Dokja's needs. If Kim Dokja wanted to survive, he had to work hard and earn his own way. During working hours, he served as Yoo Joonghyuk’s personal assistant, and after that, he was expected to warm the man’s bed.
He didn’t mind. Really. He was used to working hard, and he wasn’t afraid of it.
Strangely—or perhaps, luckily—there was no call from Yoo Joonghyuk that day. Kim Dokja finished his work as usual and headed to the apartment Yoo Joonghyuk had rented for him. It was late at night when he finally checked his phone for any messages from Yoo Joonghyuk, but there were none. Perhaps Yoo Joonghyuk was busy, likely having gone to pick up Lee Seolhwa from the airport and spending the evening with her and their families.
Kim Dokja went to bed as usual. He was typically a deep sleeper, often passing the night without dreams. But this night was different. For the first time in a long while, he dreamed.
In his dream, he was back in his childhood room—small, cramped, with books and exercise books scattered on the bed and floor. It was almost dusk, and half of the room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, while the other half was cloaked in a faint darkness. He walked over to the window and opened it, and there, outside, was Yoo Joonghyuk, waving at him from his bicycle.
Yes, who would’ve thought that they were once childhood sweethearts— for real.
But it was all gone when—
Then Kim Dokja woke up.
Kim Dokja's face felt numb from sleep, and he rubbed it with his hands a few times to shake off the grogginess. After washing up, he made his way to the dining room for breakfast, where he found Yoo Joonghyuk already seated at the table, dressed impeccably and engrossed in a newspaper.
Kim Dokja glanced at the clock and asked, “CEO Yoo, don't you have to go to the company today?”
Yoo Joonghyuk briefly looked up from his newspaper and replied, “I'm going to the airport to pick her up today.”
Kim Dokja was momentarily taken aback. He had thought Yoo Joonghyuk had already gone to pick her up yesterday.
Understanding the confusion, Yoo Joonghyuk explained, “I went out yesterday to buy her presents—welcome gifts from both myself and my family.”
It was only then that Kim Dokja realised the mix-up.
Of course.
Lee Seolhwa was a highly respected woman, deemed by the Yoo family as the only one worthy of standing by Yoo Joonghyuk's side. The union of the Yoo and Lee families had been meticulously planned for years, including sending their children abroad together for their education. Now that Lee Seolhwa had returned, it was only natural for the Yoo family to spoil their future daughter-in-law.
As Kim Dokja poured himself a glass of water, Yoo Joonghyuk's voice broke the silence. "You’re coming with me."
Kim Dokja nearly spilled his drink in surprise. “CEO Yoo—”
Without looking up, Yoo Joonghyuk asked, “Do you have any objections?”
Kim Dokja glanced down, searching for words. “No.”
Satisfied, Yoo Joonghyuk nodded and said, “You’re my assistant, after all.” He set aside his newspaper and continued, “Let’s eat.”
Kim Dokja found himself at a loss, struggling to focus on the taste of the food before him.
They left for the airport at nine o'clock. Kim Dokja helped Yoo Joonghyuk into his coat, noting how the daylight made him look even more handsome than he did in the morning. As they walked towards the car, Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly turned around and gave Kim Dokja a brief, almost mocking wave.
Kim Dokja, momentarily confused, asked, “CEO Yoo?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips curled into a slight, cold smile as he said, “Kim Dokja, remember your place. You’re just my toy—something I use to satisfy my needs. Do you understand?”
Kim Dokja’s heart sank, but he nodded firmly, acknowledging his role. “Yes, Sir, I know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk approached him intimately and whispered in his ear, “Don't forget what our relationship is.”
Kim Dokja followed suit and immediately answered, “Understood.”
Yoo Joonghyuk's expression grew icy, his eyes darkening with disdain. His words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “You’re nothing more than a lowly animal; you don’t even deserve to exist. But this,” he gestured vaguely, his tone dripping with scorn, “consider it my mercy.” He let the silence hang for a moment, his sneer deepening as he delivered the final blow. “You’re utterly disgusting.”
* * *
It was still early when they arrived at the airport. Kim Dokja used the time to make three phone calls and send two emails, his mind occupied with work, but the task was a hollow distraction. When the plane finally touched down, his heart sank as he watched Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression change. Once, he had dreamed of leaving with Yoo Joonghyuk, but that dream was now a distant memory, overshadowed by the heavy price he knew he could never pay.
As Yoo Joonghyuk welcomed and embraced Lee Seolhwa, Kim Dokja couldn't help but acknowledge how perfect they looked together. Lee Seolhwa, two years younger than Yoo Joonghyuk, was dressed in a white cloak coat with a small beret, radiating elegance. She leaped into Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms like a small bird returning to its nest, and he gently patted her back, his voice softening as he asked, "How are you doing out there?"
"Everything is just fine," she replied with a bright smile.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s smile in return was genuine, one Kim Dokja hadn’t seen directed at him in a long time. "I’m glad you’ve arrived safely," he said, his voice filled with warmth that seemed reserved only for her.
Kim Dokja watched the couple’s reunion from the side, his heart heavy with a mixture of emotions he couldn’t fully untangle. Just then, his phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts. It was an important call, so he moved to a quiet corner to speak, hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself. The conversation lasted about fifteen minutes, and when he finally ended the call, he found the sunlight in front of him blocked by a tall figure.
Looking up, the first thing he saw was Yoo Joonghyuk's chin, a sight that brought back a flood of memories. He remembered what it felt like to kiss those lips, back when things were simpler—when they were just students, and life hadn’t yet torn them apart. But fate had been unkind. A scandal involving his family had forced Kim Dokja to leave the city, and they lost contact. He had thought it was a stroke of luck when they crossed paths again two years ago. Yoo Joonghyuk was taller now, more imposing than he remembered.
But before he could dwell on the past, Yoo Joonghyuk’s harsh tone snapped him back to reality. “Where have you been?”
“I—”
“We were waiting for you. How impolite,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted, his impatience clear.
Kim Dokja remained silent. He hadn’t meant to be rude. He wanted to explain that he was handling an official matter, but seeing the irritation in Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes, he knew it was wiser to keep quiet.
“She wanted to see you,” Yoo Joonghyuk added, his voice softer but still carrying a sharp edge.
Kim Dokja blinked in surprise. “She… wanted to see me?”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded, gesturing towards Lee Seolhwa, who was smiling warmly at him from a distance.
Kim Dokja nodded silently and followed Yoo Joonghyuk back to where Lee Seolhwa was waiting. His heart raced with nerves, unsure of how to act in front of her. When their eyes met, the polite greeting he had planned, "Nice to meet you," got stuck in his throat. He hesitated, unsure whether to say it or not, but Yoo Joonghyuk spoke first.
"This is Kim Dokja," Yoo Joonghyuk introduced him, his tone flat, almost detached. Then he pointed to Lee Seolhwa and added, "Lee Seolhwa, my fiancée."
The word ‘fiancée’ hung in the air like a reminder, sharp and deliberate.
Kim Dokja forced himself to extend his hand, offering a faint smile. "Hello, Ms. Lee."
But Lee Seolhwa didn’t take his hand. She simply looked at him, her gaze piercing as she said, "Joonghyuk-ssi and I were high school classmates. Has he ever mentioned me to you?"
Kim Dokja’s mind raced, trying to find a safe response. He knew any wrong word could complicate things. Finally, he managed a weak smile and replied, "Sorry, I have a bad memory."
The conversation lingered, with Lee Seolhwa’s gentle questions filling the silence. Kim Dokja answered as best as he could, his tone polite, his words careful, like walking on a tightrope above a sea of unspoken emotions. He avoided anything that might stir the still air around them, anything that might fracture the brittle calm they were all so desperately clinging to. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to stay composed, the strange weight in his chest refused to lift.
Standing there, watching them—Lee Seolhwa’s effortless warmth, Yoo Joonghyuk’s quiet attentiveness— Kim Dokja felt like he was staring at a portrait he didn’t belong in, a ghost lingering on the edges of someone else’s life. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder, unwelcome and out of place. The bitter irony stung: he felt more like the ‘mistress’ in a twisted melodrama than someone who had once shared Yoo Joonghyuk’s life and love.
It was an odd, almost cruel detachment. What surprised him most wasn’t the sadness that simmered just below the surface—it was the unsettling calm that had taken its place. Kim Dokja realized, with a sharp pang, that he had grown skilled at this pretense. His ability to bury his feelings, to act like nothing hurt, had become a performance so convincing it might as well have been his second skin. Perhaps he truly did have a talent for acting, one that could win awards. The thought was as dark as it was bitter, but it gave him something to hold onto as he stood there, pretending not to ache, pretending not to remember.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at him, his expression as neutral as ever. Yet, for a fleeting moment, something shifted in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, perhaps even guilt. But like the sun behind clouds, it vanished almost as soon as it appeared, leaving behind only that familiar mask of indifference. It was a look Kim Dokja knew all too well, one that once felt like home but now only deepened the hollow ache inside him.
“I’ll take you somewhere to eat. You must be hungry after the long flight,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, his voice low and measured, as if the words carried no weight at all.
Lee Seolhwa didn’t respond immediately, her smile soft yet unwavering as she turned her attention to Kim Dokja. Her voice was kind but firm, as though she, too, were treading carefully. “You should come with us, Dokja-ssi.”
Kim Dokja was caught off guard by her unexpected invitation, a moment of silence stretching between them. Surely, he couldn’t accept. Yoo Joonghyuk must despise the very idea of his presence intruding on their world—
“Seolhwa is right. Come with us.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice cut through his thoughts, firm and resolute. He stood by the car, holding the door open for Lee Seolhwa to step inside, his gaze locking onto Kim Dokja with an intensity that left no room for argument.
Kim Dokja hesitated, but under Yoo Joonghyuk’s sharp, unyielding stare, refusal seemed impossible. So, without a word, he followed.
The destination was a modest yet elegant restaurant, its quiet charm laced with an air of exclusivity. They ordered simple meals, though even the simplicity carried a touch of luxury that made Kim Dokja feel even more out of place. The meal unfolded in almost complete silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily over the table.
Kim Dokja barely spoke, only murmuring brief responses when prompted. He kept his head low, his movements restrained, doing everything he could to blend into the background like a shadow. It was a role he had mastered over the years, a facade he had worn countless times before. But today, it clung to him like lead, suffocating and inescapable, its weight pressing harder than ever.
Every bite tasted like ash. Every second stretched unbearably long, the quiet moments between their fragmented conversation echoing louder than any words ever could. Kim Dokja found himself drifting into his own thoughts, seeking refuge in their familiar emptiness. But the sound of Yoo Joonghyuk's voice pulled him harshly back to reality.
“When do you plan for our marriage?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, his tone deceptively casual. Yet, the question sliced through the air with a sharp edge, impossible to ignore.
Lee Seolhwa’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, her expression caught between surprise and embarrassment. “Joonghyuk-ssi…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
But Yoo Joonghyuk pressed forward, a teasing glint flickering in his eyes. “Do we intend to stay in this limbo forever? Even if I didn’t mind, the elders in the Yoo and Lee families surely would.”
Lee Seolhwa shifted uneasily, her voice laced with hesitation. “I’ve only just come back,” she replied softly. “There’s still so much I need to handle. My parents and I agreed… Once my career stabilizes, we’ll begin preparations.”
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “And you’re not worried? What if your fiancé decides to run off with someone else?”
Her gaze lingered on Kim Dokja as she answered with an almost saccharine sweetness. “I’m not worried. I trust him completely. Right, Dokja-ssi?”
Kim Dokja froze, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a boulder. Her eyes gleamed with something he couldn’t quite name, but he felt the unspoken challenge embedded in her gaze, a blade cloaked in velvet. He couldn’t muster a response. Instead, his eyes shifted to Yoo Joonghyuk, searching for something —anything— but finding nothing but the inscrutable mask that man always wore.
The air around him thickened, suffocating and oppressive. The table felt miles wide, the polite clinking of silverware and soft murmurs of other diners only amplifying the deafening silence between them.
The longer he sat there, the tighter the noose around his chest grew. Every word, every glance, every fleeting smile exchanged between Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa felt like another thread pulling the vise shut. Kim Dokja swallowed hard, struggling to keep his expression composed even as the walls seemed to close in around him. It was unbearable—this dinner, this farce, this quiet, aching reminder of everything he had lost.
Kim Dokja pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the polished floor, cutting through the stifling silence. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he muttered, his voice brittle and low. Without waiting for acknowledgement, he turned on his heel and walked away, desperate to escape before the emotions threatening to choke him could spill over.
The bathroom was a quiet sanctuary, far removed from the oppressive tension of the dining table. Kim Dokja leaned heavily against the sink, his hands trembling as he turned on the faucet. Cold water splashed over his face, the icy sensation shocking him back to some semblance of control. He gripped the edges of the basin, staring down at the drain, forcing himself to breathe deeply. You should be used to this by now, he told himself, but the tightness in his chest refused to ease.
When he finally looked up, his heart skipped a beat. In the mirror’s reflection, Yoo Joonghyuk stood behind him, his arms crossed, his presence as overwhelming as ever.
“CEO Yoo,” Kim Dokja managed, his voice tinged with surprise. He straightened up, instinctively retreating a step, though there was nowhere to go.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “Jealous?” he asked, the word heavy with provocation.
Kim Dokja shook his head quickly, the denial escaping him almost instinctively. “No…”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze bore into him, unrelenting. “During the meal,” he continued, his voice low but pointed, “I noticed you watching us.”
“You’re mistaken, CEO Yoo,” Kim Dokja replied, striving for composure, though his voice quivered ever so slightly. His reflection betrayed him, the shadows in his eyes too deep to hide.
“Is that so?” Yoo Joonghyuk murmured, stepping closer. His presence filled the small room, the air growing heavier with every inch of distance closed. Before Kim Dokja could react, Yoo Joonghyuk reached out, his fingers gentle yet firm as they tipped Kim Dokja’s chin upward. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Kim Dokja couldn’t look away.
“You met Seolhwa today,” Yoo Joonghyuk said softly, his tone deceptively light but carrying an unmistakable weight. “What do you think of her?”
Kim Dokja blinked, his mind racing, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. His voice was steady, though each word felt like a blade slicing through him. “Miss Lee is… beautiful and polite. Very likeable.”
“Don’t you think she’s the right person for me? Someone worthy to be my wife?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was steady, almost clinical, the detached tone of someone discussing a transaction rather than a life-altering decision. But Kim Dokja knew better. He had spent too many years learning the layers beneath that calm exterior, the precision of words wielded like blades. He knew how ruthless Yoo Joonghyuk could be when cornered. And he knew that if he dared to deny it—if he dared to say no—he might very well vanish without a trace.
“I know,” Kim Dokja forced out, his throat tight, each word slicing like glass. “I can see that.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression didn’t shift, but his gaze sharpened, dissecting Kim Dokja with a precision that made his skin crawl. He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his next move, and then spoke, his words like the twist of a knife. “Kim Dokja, do you want to guess where we’ll have our honeymoon?”
The question was sharp, laced with a mockery so pointed it almost made Kim Dokja flinch. He met Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes, his own gaze hollow, his heart sinking further into the abyss. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he let the man’s words roll over him, heavy and biting, as if they could bury him alive.
Yoo Joonghyuk continued, his tone like ice, deliberate and cruel. “Remember, I said I would take you to Alaska to see the aurora?”
……Remember.
The fragile thread of memory tightened, pulling Kim Dokja back to a time that felt impossibly distant. He could see it so clearly—their younger selves, sitting close, their fingers tracing over photographs of the Northern Lights in some well-worn magazine. Back then, they had whispered about chasing those lights together, their hearts full of hope and dreams they believed would last forever.
But the voice that shattered his reverie was sharp, cold, and merciless. Yoo Joonghyuk’s words struck like a whip: “I’m going there. With Seolhwa.”
Kim Dokja’s breath hitched, his chest constricting painfully as reality pierced through the haze of remembrance. The casual cruelty in Yoo Joonghyuk’s tone wasn’t lost on him. Every word seemed designed to hurt, a deliberate twisting of the knife. Kim Dokja’s gaze fell slowly, settling on the cold, lifeless tiles beneath his feet. His voice stayed locked inside him, unable to break through the crushing weight that pressed against his ribs. He swallowed hard, trying to will away the sting of tears threatening to fall.
“I bet it will be amazing,” Yoo Joonghyuk added, his tone dripping with satisfaction, as if savoring Kim Dokja’s silence.
Kim Dokja had always believed he could understand the depth of Yoo Joonghyuk's hatred. After all, if someone had taken the life of a beloved one, wouldn't anyone harbour the same burning resentment? He thought that in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoes, he would also despise that person with every fibre of his being. But now, standing here, facing the man who once meant everything to him, Kim Dokja realised that understanding didn’t lessen the sting of being on the receiving end of such loathing.
“You do know you have no right to envy,” Yoo Joonghyuk murmured.
Sometimes, Kim Dokja wondered what he truly meant to Yoo Joonghyuk. Surely it couldn't be love—could it be something else? Perhaps even an enemy?
If Yoo Joonghyuk knew everything, would he eventually forgive him? But then, what difference would it make? Kim Dokja could be gone tomorrow, he had been thinking multiple times to leave and disappear, and even so, he couldn't do it, he couldn’t bear the thought of causing Yoo Joonghyuk any sadness.
Then again, perhaps Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t be sad at all.
After all, he had Lee Seolhwa now.
Kim Dokja lingered in the restroom for five more minutes, staring blankly at his reflection, willing his breathing to steady and his emotions to fall back into line. He couldn’t afford to let anything slip, not here, not now. Finally, with a heart that felt far heavier than before, he straightened his posture and returned to the table where Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa were waiting.
“Are you alright, Dokja-ssi?” Lee Seolhwa’s gentle voice cut through the awkward atmosphere, her expression marked with genuine concern.
Kim Dokja opened his mouth to respond, but Yoo Joonghyuk spoke first, his voice smooth and dismissive. “Oh, it’s nothing. Kim Dokja is just feeling a little unwell.”
The words, though seemingly harmless, stung more than they should have. Kim Dokja glanced at Lee Seolhwa. She was thoughtful, considerate—everything Yoo Joonghyuk no longer seemed capable of being toward him.
She was much better to him than Yoo Joonghyuk.
Much better.
And yet, that thought only deepened the ache in his chest.
Once, Yoo Joonghyuk had been the best person in his world, the center of everything. Now, he was the source of unrelenting pain. The weight of the realization pressed down on him like an iron shroud, and though he managed a faint smile in response to Lee Seolhwa’s concern, his heart felt like it was shattering anew.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“There’s no need for that,” Yoo Joonghyuk interjected, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll just ask the driver to take him home first.”
The faint sound of Yoo Joonghyuk dialing filled the air, his tone clipped and efficient. Kim Dokja couldn’t tell if it carried irritation or indifference—it hardly mattered anymore. He stayed silent, his head bowed, waiting for the inevitable dismissal.
Finally, Yoo Joonghyuk turned toward him, his gaze cold. “Let’s go.”
Kim Dokja knew better than to argue. So, he simply nodded and followed. When they reached the car, Yoo Joonghyuk stood beside the door, his expression unreadable. “There’s no need for you to wait for me,” he said, his voice calm but cutting. “I have no desire to touch you today.”
The words hit like a physical blow, but Kim Dokja didn’t flinch. Instead, he nodded again, his silence a fragile shield against the storm of heartache raging within him. He slid into the car, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in his chest. As the vehicle pulled away, he stared out the window, his vision blurring with unshed tears, wondering how much longer he could endure this pain.
When Kim Dokja returned home, the silence of his apartment wrapped around him like a heavy shroud. He spent the evening cleaning, his movements mechanical as if scrubbing away not just the dust but the weight pressing on his chest. He prepared a simple dinner, though the sight of the food only deepened his emptiness. By the time he collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion had claimed his body, but his mind refused to follow. Sleep felt impossibly out of reach.
He stared at the dark ceiling, thoughts churning relentlessly. For a moment, he considered picking up his phone, dialing a familiar number—Han Sooyoung. It had been far too long since their last conversation. Despite the distance between them, he knew her response by heart. She would scold him, her words sharp as knives, berating him for clinging to Yoo Joonghyuk.
"You're such an idiot, Kim Dokja," she would say, her voice brimming with frustration. "Walk away from him already. You deserve better."
How many times had she said it before? How many times had she tried to pull him from this endless cycle of pain? Yet, Kim Dokja always stayed. He always found excuses.
Because he was just… a fool.
No, perhaps it was more than that.
Deep down, Kim Dokja didn’t want to walk away. Even with all the hurt, even with Yoo Joonghyuk’s cold indifference, his heart stubbornly refused to let go. Because Kim Dokja believed—no, convinced himself—that he owed Yoo Joonghyuk this much. After everything they had been through, it felt like a debt he could never fully repay. Even if Yoo Joonghyuk demanded his life, Kim Dokja believed Yoo Joonghyuk had the right to take it.
The weight of that thought pressed against his chest, heavy and unrelenting. His fingers trembled as they hovered over his phone before finally dialing a familiar number… Han Sooyoung’s.
If he remembered correctly, she was in Country J now, promoting her latest novel. She had begged him to come along, to take a break from the suffocating ties that bound him to Yoo Joonghyuk, even if just for a while. But Kim Dokja had refused. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, not then. Now, as the dial tone buzzed in his ear, he began to regret it. As always—
There was no medicine for regret in this world.
After a few dial tones, the call finally connected. No words came through at first, just the faint sound of someone breathing on the other end. Kim Dokja stared at the dim glow of his phone, his lips pressed tightly together, afraid to speak. What could he possibly say?
Should he tell her that Yoo Joonghyuk had declared he was going to marry someone else? Should he confess how Yoo Joonghyuk treated him with cold disdain, or how he openly displayed his disgust?
And then… after everything, should he admit that he finally wanted to give up? That he no longer knew how to keep moving forward?
The questions churned in his mind, each one heavier than the last. He could almost picture Han Sooyoung’s reaction. Would she listen? Would she scold him? Would she still stay by his side, after hearing just how pathetic he had become?
Kim Dokja’s hand started to tremble, the weight of his fears pressing down on him. He couldn’t even summon the courage to say a single word, even just to say—
“Hey,” finally her voice reached him, cutting through the silence, “what’s up, Squid?”
Kim Dokja froze for a moment, the unexpected warmth of Han Sooyoung’s casual greeting catching him off guard. Then, slowly, a weak chuckle escaped his lips, soft and tinged with bittersweet relief.
Yes. No matter how foolish he was, no matter how many times he stumbled or refused to take her advice, Han Sooyoung always stayed. She always listened, even when it must have frustrated her beyond measure.
He could already imagine how the conversation would go. She would scold him, her words sharp and merciless, each one driving home the point that he needed to walk away, to move on, to find a life that didn’t revolve around Yoo Joonghyuk’s cold indifference. She would say it with the same fierce care she always had, and he would sit there, nodding along while knowing he lacked the courage to follow her advice.
What kind of a friend was he to her, anyway?
He was the one who always refused to listen, even though he knew—deep down—that everything she said was for his own good. Han Sooyoung never sugarcoated the truth, and she never left him to drown in his own misery. He didn’t deserve her patience, yet here she was, answering his call in the middle of the night as if she had been waiting for it all along.
“Sooyoung-ah,” Kim Dokja whispered, swallowing the tight knot of emotion lodged in his throat, “I think— I think I want to give up.”
The silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever. A heavier, more suffocating kind of quiet. Perhaps Han Sooyoung was tired. Tired of hearing the same thing from him over and over again. How many times had he said this before? How many times had she told him to walk away, only for him to choose the same path, the same pain, the same Yoo Joonghyuk?
“Is that all you needed to say?”
Kim Dokja nodded instinctively, even though she couldn’t see him.
“Then leave, Kim Dokja. You know you can. You’ve always known. You just don’t want to.”
“Because I owe him, Sooyoung-ah,” he replied softly. “And I could never repay him.”
Han Sooyoung’s sigh carried a mix of frustration and sorrow. “You do know it wasn’t your fault, don’t you? His sister didn’t die because of you. Why can’t you accept that? Why didn’t you tell him what really happened?”
Her words dragged him back, pulling him into the abyss of a memory he had tried so hard to bury.
What happened?
His mind took him unwillingly to that day three years ago. Three years ago, when things were still bright and full of promise. When Yoo Joonghyuk and he were inseparable, their bond was envied by everyone who knew them. Back when love was something they wore proudly, not something to be hidden behind closed doors.
But that day, everything shattered.
“Because even if I told him, it wouldn’t change anything,” Kim Dokja murmured, his voice trembling. “It wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t fix what’s broken. And it wouldn’t stop him from hating me.” The words hung heavy in the air, each one laced with the weight of unspoken truths and guilt he had carried for far too long.
“But he wouldn’t blame you.”
Would he not?
Kim Dokja bit his lip, the familiar ache settling deep in his chest. Maybe—maybe Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t blame him. But that didn’t matter, did it? Because Kim Dokja would never forgive himself. Not for letting it happen, not for standing by when he should’ve done more.
“Sooyoung-ah,” he whispered, his voice unsteady, “am I a coward if I say I want to give up?”
The silence that followed was softer this time, almost contemplative.
“No,” she finally replied. “We all have our limits.”
“Will you blame me?”
“You know I won’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stupid jerk,” she snapped, though her tone was gentler than before. “What are you apologizing for?”
“For finally choosing to give up.”
“You idiot,” she muttered, her voice tinged with both exasperation and care. “Did you really call me this late just to say that?”
“I miss you.”
And just like that, the dam broke. Kim Dokja felt the tears spill over, blurring his vision as he clutched the phone like a lifeline. His voice cracked when he added, “I want to see you.”
“Squid,” she said softly, her own voice faltering, “I’ll be back soon, okay? Wait for me. When I return, I’ll take you away from that bastard. I’ll make sure he never finds you. You’ll be safe with me.”
Kim Dokja managed a trembling smile through his tears, “I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “He won’t come looking for me anyway.” The pause that followed felt like a lifetime before he added, “Because he’s getting married. To someone who deserves him—and his family.”
And with that, the weight of everything came crashing down again, leaving only the sound of his quiet sobs and Han Sooyoung’s steady breathing on the other end of the line.
He had braced himself for Han Sooyoung’s fury, expecting her to lash out, her words sharp and unyielding as she cursed his foolishness for loving someone who, in the end, betrayed that love. He thought she would yell, scream, demand to know why he kept punishing himself like this.
But instead—
“Then I’ll take you away,” she said softly, her voice steady and unwavering. “We’ll find a new place, and we’ll start a new life, okay?”
Kim Dokja’s tears came harder now, a torrent he couldn’t stop even if he tried. Why? Why didn’t she scold him? Why didn’t she berate him for being so hopelessly stupid, so heartbreakingly weak? This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her anger, her frustration, her disdain—anything but these tender, soothing words that made his heart ache all the more.
Because, in her kindness, she only reminded him of how undeserving he felt.
“Promise me. Will you wait for me?” Han Sooyoung’s voice was firm but gentle, a lifeline in the darkness.
Kim Dokja hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. Finally, he murmured, “I want to visit my mother.”
Han Sooyoung fell silent for a moment. She knew his mother had passed away years ago and that every year, without fail, Kim Dokja visited her grave in their hometown on her birthday. That day would be the day after tomorrow.
“Will you go alone?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve already booked the train ticket.”
“I’ll be back by the weekend,” she said, her tone shifting to something resolute. “If you’ll stay in your mother’s hometown until then, I’ll come find you there. Okay?”
“Will you?”
“Of course, I will. I miss our childhood home, too. So, we’ll see each other there?”
“Yes,” he answered. It wasn’t a bad idea. He loved the village—its quiet simplicity, its memories. Once, he’d dreamed of growing old there, surrounded by the ones he loved. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late for some semblance of peace.
“It’s a deal, then,” Han Sooyoung said, her voice brightening with determination. “Now, go to sleep, and stop overthinking everything. You’ve made the right decision, Squid. We’ll start a new, better life.”
“Yes,” he whispered, his voice wavering. “That’s what I want, too. Thank you, Sooyoung-ah.”
“See you soon, Squid.”
The call was about to end when Kim Dokja’s voice broke through again, shaky and laden with guilt.
“Sooyoung-ah, I’m sorry.”
And then the line disconnected.
Han Sooyoung leaned back in her chair, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. Silly man, what’s he sorry for? she thought. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone carried burdens they shouldn’t have. But there was always a way to fix things, to start anew, as long as one had the courage to take that first step.
She’d known this day would come. The day Yoo Joonghyuk, in his relentless pride and inability to see past his own pain, would push Kim Dokja away—abandon him like discarded trash for a sin he didn’t even commit. Han Sooyoung had watched it all unfold, powerless to intervene. She’d seen Kim Dokja’s love erode under the weight of blame he didn’t deserve to carry.
But that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that Kim Dokja had finally made the decision to leave. To choose himself, even if it had taken far too long.
Han Sooyoung felt a flicker of guilt as a sense of vindication bloomed in her chest. She couldn’t help it—she was glad. Glad that Kim Dokja was finally freeing himself, glad that Yoo Joonghyuk would realize, far too late, what he’d thrown away.
Let him regret it.
Let it haunt him to his bones.
Because, after all, there’s no medicine for regret in this world.
* * *
The morning light crept into the room, pale and uninvited, signaling the start of a new day. Kim Dokja lay motionless for a moment, staring at the faint lines of sunlight on the ceiling. He couldn't tell how many hours he had slept—if he had slept at all. His body felt heavy, his mind worn thin from racing through the endless tangle of thoughts that had plagued him through the night.
When he finally rose, it was late. Far later than usual. But today, it didn’t matter. Nothing about the usual routine mattered anymore. Today was different. Today was the day he had decided to let go, to reclaim what little freedom he could still call his own.
He moved through the motions of breakfast and a quick shower with a mechanical detachment, his thoughts elsewhere. Afterward, he opened the small safety box tucked away in the corner of his room and sifted through its contents until his fingers brushed against his bank documents. A faint, bittersweet smile touched his lips as he scanned the numbers—years of scrimping and saving now reduced to a figure on paper. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.
Shrugging into his long coat and slinging a bag over his shoulder, Kim Dokja stepped out of the apartment for the last time. He didn’t linger; he didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing away years of silent suffering and unfulfilled dreams.
The world outside felt colder than he remembered, the air sharp against his skin. Each step he took felt both liberating and unbearably heavy, a reminder of what he was leaving behind and the uncertain road ahead. Yet, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t walking in circles.
He was leaving. Truly leaving. But the ache in his chest told him that freedom, too, could feel like grief.
* * *
The bank was busier than usual, the air thick with the murmur of voices and the shuffle of paperwork. Kim Dokja stood in line patiently, a quiet figure amidst the crowd. He had nowhere to be, no deadlines to meet. For once, time wasn’t chasing him. By the time he finished the transfers, the sun had climbed high, casting long shadows as the afternoon crept in.
Hunger gnawed at him, so he stopped at a nearby burger joint—cheap, fast, and comforting in its simplicity. As he unwrapped his meal, he let out a faint, self-deprecating chuckle. Yoo Joonghyuk had always scorned his love for junk food, muttering about unhealthy habits and poor life choices. But now? It didn’t matter. Nothing about Yoo Joonghyuk’s opinions mattered anymore. Or so he told himself.
The greasy meal left a strange taste in his mouth, one that lingered even after he discarded the wrapper and wiped his hands clean. Pulling out his phone, his heart sank as he noticed the screen lighting up with a series of missed calls.
Yoo Joonghyuk.
Of course. Kim Dokja could almost hear the sharp, cold edge of Yoo Joonghyuk’s anger when he realized his personal assistant had failed to show up for work.
For a brief moment, Kim Dokja hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. Should he? Maybe he should. After all, it was his responsibility, wasn’t it? No matter what had changed, he was still bound by that role—or at least, he had been.
Kim Dokja’s hand trembled as he finally pressed the call button. The dial tone rang only twice before it was answered, Yoo Joonghyuk’s cold, clipped voice cutting through the line like a blade.
“Where are you?”
There was no concern, no trace of worry—just a sharp demand. Kim Dokja had long grown accustomed to that tone, the absence of gentleness. He was already numb to it. “Somewhere,” he replied, his voice equally curt, void of emotion.
The silence that followed was brief but heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that always seemed to cling between them. Kim Dokja knew Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t like his vague answer or the indifference laced in his tone.
“Have you forgotten your job?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice came again, sharper this time, laced with irritation. “Don’t give me the sick excuse—”
“I’m not sick,” Kim Dokja interrupted, his voice steady but hollow. “I’m very much fine.”
The silence that followed felt different—longer, heavier. Kim Dokja imagined Yoo Joonghyuk’s surprise, perhaps even disbelief, at the boldness of his retort. It wasn’t often Kim Dokja spoke so directly.
“I’m going back to my hometown,” he continued after a moment, his tone calm, almost detached. “I’m going to visit my mother. I gave you the leave permit letter last week. You signed it.”
He paused, allowing the words to sink in. Of course, Yoo Joonghyuk had signed it—probably in a hurry, not bothering to read the details, that’s why he didn’t notice. It was typical.
“There should be a temporary replacement assisting you now,” Kim Dokja added quietly, his voice soft but firm. He didn’t wait for a response, his gaze falling to the faint patterns on the table before him. For once, he felt in control, though the weight in his chest remained as heavy as ever.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the petite, nervous girl standing awkwardly before him. This was the temporary assistant assigned to fill in for Kim Dokja during his leave. She fidgeted under his intense gaze, clearly uneasy, but Yoo Joonghyuk barely acknowledged her discomfort.
His mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t even remember granting Kim Dokja the leave permit, though something tugged at the edges of his memory—a vague recollection of Kim Dokja disappearing every year around this time to visit his late mother’s grave.
With a frustrated sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Never mind then. When will you be back?”
On the other end of the line, Kim Dokja hesitated. He hadn’t planned to come back. He’d only bought a one-way ticket. “Maybe after the weekend?” he answered vaguely.
Yoo Joonghyuk let out a low, humorless chuckle, the sound grating against Kim Dokja’s ear. “Are you staying longer just to avoid coming to my engagement party with Lee Seolhwa?”
The words felt like a dagger twisting in Kim Dokja’s chest, sharp and unrelenting. Yoo Joonghyuk knew exactly where to aim, each word calculated to wound. Kim Dokja’s grip on his phone tightened, but his voice remained flat, emotionless.
“No,” he replied simply. He didn’t elaborate. There was no need. He was already numb, the pain too familiar to feel fresh anymore.
"Don’t worry," Yoo Joonghyuk said, his tone laced with sharpness, "I’ll make sure you don’t miss the most important event of my life. I’ll wait for you to return, so you can witness my happiness."
The silence that followed felt endless, as though the weight of his words had crushed whatever air existed between them.
Finally, Kim Dokja replied, his voice eerily calm. "Okay."
Something about that answer gnawed at Yoo Joonghyuk, twisting in his chest like an invisible thorn. Why did it sound so detached, so indifferent? Why did it feel like Kim Dokja couldn’t care less? A flicker of irritation lit in him, sharp and biting.
He had said those words with purpose, intending to cut deep, to make Kim Dokja suffer. He wanted Kim Dokja to feel the ache of regret, the cold sting of guilt— because there was no medicine for regret in this world. It was the perfect punishment, a penance for what Yoo Joonghyuk believed to be Kim Dokja's unforgivable sin: the death of his sister.
He was about to hang up, to sever the connection and his own growing irritation, when Kim Dokja’s soft voice broke through the line.
"Joonghyuk-ah."
The sound of his name, spoken with such tenderness, froze him. His breath hitched, and his heart stuttered against his ribcage. He hadn’t heard Kim Dokja call him that in so long. A surge of anger flared within him—how dare he? How dare Kim Dokja use that name so casually, as if things were still the same? As if he still had the right?
But before he could lash out, before the torrent of his fury could spill over, Kim Dokja spoke again.
"I always wish for you to be happy."
And then, just like that, the line went dead.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood frozen, staring at his phone, the disconnect tone ringing hollowly in his ears. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to respond. Kim Dokja’s words lingered in the silence, a haunting echo that refused to leave him. For the first time in a long while, Yoo Joonghyuk felt something unfamiliar crack within him—something that felt alarmingly like doubt.
What was this? What was this feeling? A strange unease churned in Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest, clawing at the edges of his hardened heart. But he quickly shoved it aside, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to dismiss the thought.
Kim Dokja must be playing some tricks on me, he convinced himself. Does he think he can earn my pity with such words?
Yoo Joonghyuk steeled his resolve, letting his bitterness take root once more. No matter what Kim Dokja said or did, there was no undoing the past. Nothing could bring back what was lost, and there was no reclaiming what they once had. Those days were gone, and Yoo Joonghyuk had buried them deep, far beyond reach.
His hand clenched around his phone, the knuckles turning white. His greatest wish, his ultimate goal, was to see Kim Dokja drowning in regret for the rest of his life. That was the only justice, the only balance to the scales of his pain.
Because in this world, there was no medicine for regret.
* * *
Kim Dokja stared at his phone for a few moments, the steady beep of the disconnected call ringing faintly in his ears. With a soft sigh, he powered it down and slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t regret his words—they had been honest, drawn from the deepest, quietest corner of his heart. He indeed wished for the best for Yoo Joonghyuk. And his wish had never changed.
Glancing at the clock, he noticed it was already 3 p.m. He needed to hurry. His train was scheduled for 4 p.m., and missing it wasn’t an option. His hometown was far, nestled in a remote area that seemed untouched by time. The journey would take over three hours, with two transfers along the way. Kim Dokja had prepared himself for the slow, creaky ride of the older trains that served the route—a stark contrast to the sleek, modern ones he occasionally took in the city.
But it didn’t matter. He embraced the thought of the long ride, welcoming the hours of solitude as a reprieve from the chaos of his mind. Once he settled into his seat, he turned his gaze out the window, watching as the scenery began to blur into motion. Some sights were achingly familiar, etched in his memory from years of this annual journey, while others seemed to carry the faint whisper of change. The path to his hometown was one he knew well, a route woven with memories he didn’t dare forget. Every year, he took this same trip to visit his mother’s grave, and yet, this time felt different.
This time was special.
Kim Dokja smiled faintly as memories stirred in his mind, bittersweet and sharp-edged. He was an only child, a survivor of a childhood steeped in pain. His life had been shaped by a father’s violent rage and a mother’s desperate love. In a moment of fury and fear, his mother had taken a step that saved his life but shattered hers. To protect him, she had killed his father, and the act had condemned her to a prison cell where she eventually succumbed to illness.
When she died, Kim Dokja hadn’t cried—not a single tear. Not because he didn’t grieve, but because the weight of everything had long since buried his tears. The truth of her death, the tragic depths of their story, was something he kept locked away, guarded like a fragile artifact that could shatter under scrutiny.
No one knew the real reason behind his mother’s death—no one except Han Sooyoung. Not even Yoo Joonghyuk.
He had never intended to lie or deceive Yoo Joonghyuk. But back then, he’d been terrified. What if Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him differently? What if, after knowing the truth, Yoo Joonghyuk saw him not as Kim Dokja, but as the son of a killer? That fear had silenced him.
He had clawed his way to college on the back of a scholarship, carrying the weight of his secrets as he built a new life for himself. And that was where he met Yoo Joonghyuk. To him, Kim Dokja was just an orphan, a quiet presence with a sharp mind. They became friends, and for the first time, Kim Dokja found himself tethered to something that felt like stability, like home.
But the truth lingered, hidden in the shadowy corners of his heart. Even now, it whispered to him, a reminder of the things he could never undo. Kim Dokja wondered—what if Yoo Joonghyuk had known his story from the beginning?
Perhaps Yoo Joonghyuk would have resented him, turned away in disgust or disdain. And if that had happened, maybe Kim Dokja wouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have had the chance to feel the fleeting warmth of Yoo Joonghyuk’s affection or the pain that came with losing it.
He chuckled softly to himself, a hollow sound that felt more like a sigh.
There’s no medicine for regret in this world.
What happened had happened. The past couldn’t be rewritten, and the weight of it was his alone to bear.
The rhythmic clatter of the train and the gentle sway of the carriage had lulled him into a deep sleep. Kim Dokja didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but the sudden screech of brakes jolted him awake. He blinked groggily, the dim light from the train station filtering in through the window. He recognized the place immediately—this was the station where he needed to change trains.
Grabbing his bag, he stepped onto the platform. The air was cool, the faint hum of cicadas filling the silence of the night. But instead of heading toward the next train, he simply started walking. He didn’t know why, but his feet carried him away from the station and into the quiet darkness beyond.
The further he went, the fewer lights there were. Soon, the only illumination came from the pale glow of the stars scattered across the sky. Kim Dokja stopped, his breath catching in awe. He had forgotten how beautiful the stars could be. In the city, they were hidden behind a curtain of artificial light, but here, under the vast expanse of the countryside, they shone with an unearthly brilliance.
This must be the right place.
He smiled faintly and walked to the railroad tracks. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the cold metal rails, then lay back, gazing up at the infinite cosmos above. The stars seemed so close, as if he could reach out and touch them.
Maybe this was what the aurora looked like—the dazzling light show he had always dreamed of seeing. He had wished so many times to see it with someone by his side, someone who would hold his hand and share the wonder.
Kim Dokja’s smile widened, bittersweet and calm.
This time, it wouldn’t just be a dream. Soon, he would see the aurora.
Or perhaps, he thought wryly, he would become part of it.
Kim Dokja pulled out his phone, the faint light from the screen cutting through the darkness. As expected, there were countless missed calls and messages, but this time, they weren’t from Yoo Joonghyuk. They were all from Han Sooyoung.
Her texts were exactly what he anticipated—short bursts of confusion and worry, questioning the large sum of money he had suddenly transferred to her account. A soft, sad smile played on his lips as he opened one of her messages.
[Are you out of your mind? What is this for? Call me.]
It took him a moment to form a response. His fingers hovered over the screen, trembling slightly as he composed his reply. The words didn’t come easily; he wanted to say so much, but there was no time to explain, no way to fully convey what he felt.
Finally, he kept it simple:
[Han Sooyoung, I hope the money is enough to give me a simple funeral. Please let me stay beside my mother. I owe you so much, and I know I’m about to do something unforgivable. I don’t expect your forgiveness. I just want to tell you that I love you. Please, always be happy.]
For a brief moment, he hesitated. He wanted to add one last thing — [Please don’t end up like me] — but the message was already too heavy. Satisfied, he pressed send.
As the message disappeared into the ether, Kim Dokja let out a quiet sigh. He tossed the phone to the side, watching it land on the gravel, safely out of reach of the railroad tracks. He didn’t want it to be damaged.
The faint tremor beneath him grew stronger, the vibration coursing through the tracks signaling that what he had been waiting for was finally near.
Kim Dokja closed his eyes, the sound of the train growing louder in the stillness of the night. The stars above seemed brighter than ever, their silent gaze watching over him as he waited for the inevitable.
It was strange— he should have been afraid, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of relief. At last, the weight pressing on his chest had lifted. There were no more burdens to carry, no more words left unsaid. Everything that needed to be done was finished, and in that finality, he found a fragile peace.
No one would mourn him. Perhaps Han Sooyoung would, for a while. But he? Certainly not. The thought no longer stung; it was merely another truth. Kim Dokja turned his gaze upward, his eyes catching the expanse of stars scattered across the night sky.
He had failed to visit his mother’s resting place one last time, but even that didn’t matter now. He smiled faintly, a small, broken curve of his lips. Soon, he would see her again. That was the real gift he had planned—the reunion he had dreamed of for so long. He would finally find safety, warmth, and the solace that had eluded him for a lifetime. He would return to her.
The faint tremor beneath him grew stronger, the vibrations humming through the metal rails. It was close now. The sharp roar of the oncoming train filled the empty silence, rushing toward him like a closing curtain. There was a split second, a brief void where everything faded—sight, sound, even the trembling fear he thought he should feel. Nothing remained. He didn’t even register the dull crack that might have been the sound of his skull.
Kim Dokja’s life ended here, on this quiet, star-lit track.
He ended his life—
Because in this world, there is no medicine for regret.
TO BE CONTINUED~