Chapter Text
Yoo Mia is going to run away.
No, really. She will, she means it. This time, she really means it. She’s already packed her suitcase (well, her pink Catch! Teenieping backpack that her brother had won for her at an arcade) full of all the essentials she needs — her phone, her chachaping plushie, and a pack of shrimp chips — so she’s very well prepared.
She shrugs on her thick winter coat, fastens on her pink trainers that light up at the bottom when she jumps too hard, and slings the bag over her shoulder. She casts a resentful glance behind her to where her brother is sprawled across their sofa, controller in hand as he plays Super Mario Odyssey.
“I’m leaving.” She declares.
Yoo Joonghyuk hums.
Her hand grips the door handle tighter. She raises her voice, “I’m really leaving.” He still doesn’t reply. “I’m so done with you, Oppa. Don’t miss me too much, because I’ll never be coming back.”
Finally he speaks, “take out the trash on your way out.”
She glares at him, wondering if she could get away with grabbing a nearby shoe and throwing it at his face before deciding against it. No, she must not give in to her emotions. That is an extremely petty thing to do. She’s just turned ten — that’s double digits, one decade, a whole world of new responsibilities and maturity. Plus, if she really is serious about running away it means she needs to grow up. And grown ups simply don’t throw shoes at other grown ups.
So she takes a deep breath, twists the door handle, decidedly does not take out the trash, and then stomps out the house.
… She runs back in two seconds later, grabs one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s large black and white jordans, and hurls it at his head. It hits his ear with a dim thud.
He stands up and chucks the controller onto the floor, whirling around to face her.
Yoo Mia yelps and bolts, letting the front door hang open behind her as she sprints out of their driveway and into the street as fast as her little legs would carry her.
✳︎✳︎✳︎
Hmph. Who needs him, anyway? She wasn’t hopeless without Yoo Joonghyuk. He’s made sure of that. He’s always so busy with streams and sponsorship deals and tournaments that she’s left to fend for herself most of the time, and she’s done perfectly fine! He thinks she needs him, he thinks she won’t last a day without him — well she will prove him wrong!
Besides, homelessness doesn’t sound bad at all — no school all day, sleeping in the park near all the swings and slides, being able to stay up without a curfew. She‘ll ration her shrimp chips until she can get money. All she has to do is sit still and look sad. That’s how homeless people get cash, right? Too easy.
She skips into the park with the eagerness of someone about to assess their new estate, walking with a profound sense of professional purpose as she nods at certain trees and benches and rating them based on comfort and how close they are to the main playground. She decides to stick close to the streetlights because she’s afraid of the dark (she should have brought her Doraemon flashlight watch, damn it!) and also find a bench because she doesn’t think lying on the floor will be comfortable enough even if she used her jacket as a pillow. Which she can’t because it’s almost December. She can feel the tips of her fingers growing numb already after being outside for so long. She rubs her hands to keep warm.
Yoo Mia finds her wonderful residence a few minutes later — a sleek black bench that’s the least infested with bird poop, beside which is a tall black streetlight that basks the surroundings in a bright white light. It must be a memorial because there’s a shimmering golden plaque embedded onto the bench.
“Sorry-not-sorry, Yi Sunsin Ahjussi,” Yoo Mia sighs insincerely as she sits down (wow, it is freezing, her butt is going to be as frozen as a Binggrae melona by morning), “I’ll be sitting on your name from now on. Don’t blame me, blame the people who made the bench. Why would they put the plaque there? It’s almost like they want people to sit on you.”
She makes herself comfortable, folds her arms, and waits. For what, she doesn’t know. The seconds tick by like that. It’s cold, cold enough that she can see little wisps of smoke escaping her lips and nose like cotton candy, and she makes little shapes with it for a while.
She thinks about playing games on her phone but decides against it — in her hurry she had forgotten to take her charger which means she can’t risk wasting the battery playing Cut the Rope or watching YouTube Shorts. No. She must be smart, she can’t go home to retrieve her charger so she must buy her own. But she didn’t bring her pocket money either — damn it, Yoo Mia, why are you so unprepared?!
It’s okay, she decides, it’s okay. She doesn't have money? Well she will just have to get money. Time for her debut as a homeless person!
She pulls off her fluffy pink trapper hat with pom-poms dangling on each side, holding it out as she steels her face into its most miserable expression, the kind Oppa’s manager Bihyung uses when he’s trying to convince her stubborn brother to accept another sponsorship.
She crinkles her eyes, pouts a little, and waits for her first victim.
She waits. And waits. And waits.
Her hands are seriously starting to ache holding out this hat. Where is everyone? It’s not even that late, only 6 pm. People like to go to the park during this time, right? But maybe it’s because it’s almost winter — it’s already very dark and very cold. Even under this thick coat she feels her skin prickle and her body tremble.
Yoo Mia drops the hat onto her lap, humphing. This is going to be harder than it looks.
But then finally she hears some footsteps.
A man is approaching.
He’s wearing a dark business suit that is, in Yoo Mia’s totally professional opinion, unbelievably ugly. Brown? Really? Don’t all the businessmen wear white or black, and have super shiny shoes? His tie is wonky, gray but a gross, faded shade looks a little murky, and his shirt isn’t even tucked in.
The man walks slowly, dragging one foot in front of the other like he has a perpetual ache inside his very bones. His gaze is trained onto the ground, his back hunched and shoulders slumped, which tells Yoo Mia he’s not very confident. Oppa has taught her all about how to carry herself around other people. That she must stand up straight, have shoulders firmly set, keeping her chin up and not break eye contact. This man is the polar opposite of all her training.
Which makes him the perfect sucker for her to target.
As he passes her bench, she clears her throat loudly.
He stops and blinks at her slowly. There are heavy dark bags under his eyes.
She molds her face into her saddest, most heartwrenching expression, batting her big eyes at him gloomily. She holds out her hat.
His eyes flicker to it. And then back to her.
And then he continues walking.
“Oi, Ahjussi!” Yoo Mia can’t help but yell after him, jumping up from the bench in outrage. “You’re really gonna walk past an innocent homeless kid asking for money?!”
The man stops, “ah sorry. I don’t have much money.” And starts walking again.
She runs over to him, “how much you got?”
“None of your business.”
Yoo Mia folds her arms and glares up at him. This guy… is he trying to be difficult? It’s not so unreasonable to ask for money, right? She’s homeless! He’s clearly got a home! Who here is more deserving of the cash?
What would Oppa do? She’s seen him deal with all sorts of difficult people — arrogant opponents at tournaments, fans on the street asking for autographs and selfies, Sooyoung-unnie. How would he deal with this situation?
Well it’s simple. He’d just take what he wanted.
Yoo Mia grabs the wallet peeking out from the man’s coat pocket — it’s a pathetic little coat, dry and gray and looks like it hasn’t been washed in years — and pulls it out.
She opens it and finds an ID — Kim Dokja, 28 years old — a breath mint with lint stuck to it, and a single pitiful 5000 won note.
The man snatches it back. “I need that for my dinner.”
Who the hell has a dinner that is worth no more than 5000 won? That’s not enough for a balanced diet of carbs and veggies and protein, and a little dessert at the end.
“Is this Ahjussi implying that his money is better spent for his dinner than on a poor little homeless girl?” She wags a scornful finger at him
Kim Dokja folds his arms, eying her outfit dubiously, from her fluffy frilled Jellymallow winter coat and her designer Dolce & Gabbana trainers that are probably worth more than his yearly salary.
She stomps her foot in frustration, which only makes things worse when the shoes light up and cast the ground under them in a pretty pink pulsing glow, “you are heartless!”
“If you are so desperate for money, you’re better off finding a job.”
“Who is going to hire a ten year old?”
“You’d be surprised. There will always be someone out there willing to hire just about anyone.”
Of course he’d know. Yoo Mia thinks he looks like a side character straight out of a Tim Burton movie, with dark and sunken cheeks, pale thin arms with veins sticking out, and empty black eyes like he’s lost his soul years ago.
“Of course you’d say that.” Yoo Mia humphs, “but I have my adorable innocent childishness that will surely charm people into giving me money.”
“Yes you sound like an absolute angel.” Kim Dokja says flatly, ”Good luck with that then.”
He tries to pull back his 5000 won.
She doesn’t let go.
He purses his lips, “I cannot believe I am getting robbed by a ten year old girl in the park.”
”You truly are a strange ahjussi.” Yoo Mia observes him curiously, “most people would try and convince me to go back home, tell me scary stories of the outside world and about all the bad people who will hurt me. But not you.”
“Well sometimes a home situation is bad enough for you to be justified in leaving.” He shrugs, “also something tells me anyone crazy enough to kidnap you would return you within a day, crying. You’re fine.”
Yoo Mia sighs and lets go of the money in resignation, “fine. Whatever. Take your money, Ahjussi. I’ll just stay here alone. In the cold.” She shuffles back to her bench, curling up on it miserably, “and the pretty weather lady on KBS said it might snow today…” she sniffles, “I’m sure 5000 won would be able to buy me a nice warm drink to get me through this cold. But it’s okay.”
“Good luck.” Kim Dokja slides the 5000 won back into his wallet and walks away.
“Hey!” Yoo Mia sits up in outrage, yelling at his retreating figure, “you’re not supposed to just walk away! You're supposed to feel guilty! You are truly a horrible person!”
Finally, he stops, and though she can’t see his face, she sees him give in — his shoulders sagging, a large puff of white smoke bursting behind his head as he sighs heavily.
“How about this, if I share my instant noodles with you, will you leave me alone?”
Her demeanor changes immediately. She skips over to him and holds his hand sweetly, “thank you, kind Ahjussi.”
He rolls his eyes.
✳︎✳︎✳︎
He takes her to a convenience store with flickering neon lights and large glass windows. It’s a company Yoo Mia has heard of but never shopped from (Oppa is very nitpicky about the places he buys from, and he‘s said that this store has a reputation of hiding the expiration dates of various items and reselling them for ridiculously low prices). When they enter and Kim Dokja heads straight to the Prices Dropped! section, Yoo Mia knows what’s happening immediately and resists the urge to face palm.
She could stop him but she won’t — if this man wants to buy expired instant noodles, she should let him. He’s an adult, he can do what he wants. And besides, she’s an adult now too, and homeless at that! So she’d better get used to the taste of these clearance foods as well until she can fill her wallet.
She watches as Kim Dokja picks up a box of instant noodles from the shelf and then hesitates for a second, looking from the shelf to the box in his hand, eyebrows furrowed like he’s making some major economic decision. Then finally, with a small sigh, he picks up another box. Then he goes to the till and pays for them both, wincing as he hands the cashier the money like it’s physically paining him.
Yoo Mia rolls her eyes. This Ahjussi is such a cheapskate, the noodles were literally 500 won. She’s spent more money on stickers for that price. This Kim Dokja is so skinny, he must ration his food like crazy. Maybe this is his first meal of the day.
Finally, after thanking the cashier and preparing the food, the two of them sit at the counter facing the windows with their steaming food and disposable chopsticks.
It’s mostly silent save for Yoo Mia’s slurping noises as she catches the end of the noodles with her lips and sucks them up with a loud and wet smack. Oppa hates when she does that, but he’s not here so she can do whatever the hell she wants.
Kim Dokja frowns at her in disapproval but doesn’t say anything. Instead, between quiet, meek bites of his food, he asks her questions.
“So why’d you run away?”
“My brother was being a bully.” Replies Yoo Mia through a large mouthful of noodles. Some sauce drips out of the corner of her lips and onto her chin.
Kim Dokja hands her a tissue, and when she doesn’t take it because she’s too busy eating, rolls his eyes and wipes her chin for her, “how was he bullying you exactly?”
”By taking away my iPad and banning me from playing video games with him.”
“Uh huh.” Kim Dokja sloshes around the noodles in his box with his chopsticks, “and why did he do that?”
“Because he’s evil.” She huffs.
He raises an eyebrow.
She looks away sulkily, “my school report card came in.”
“Ah, there it is.”
“Well who cares about literacy anyway?!” She explodes furiously, “I don’t plan on becoming an author or anything like Sooyoung-unnie. I already know how to read.”
“Literacy is more than just knowing how to read—” he tries to explain, but her venomous glare cuts him off.
“So I’ve decided to run away from home.” Yoo Mia huffs, “I won’t go to school. I’ll get money in my own way.”
“Well, good luck with that.” Says Kim Dokja, standing up, taking his empty box to the disposable trash. “Have fun on the streets, kid.”
“Heartless.” She grumbles to herself, before plastering on her widest and fakest smile at him, “I will! I’ll get a job, and become super rich. The next time you see me I’ll be a pretty rich chaebyeol lady with lots of handbags and shiny cars.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He hums, “though most people would struggle to find a good job if you don’t have any degrees or education, but I’m sure you’ll manage. After all, I didn’t get good grades and I still managed to find employment. Use me as an example.”
Yoo Mia freezes, his words sinking into her skin like dark ink.
She stares in horror at his sunken cheeks and hunched shoulders and pathetically empty wallet.
He casts one final knowing smile at her before leaving, the glass door slamming shut behind him with a faint ring of the bell.
Use me as an example.
Needless to say, that one line had all but crushed her deluded rags-to-riches dreams. She returns home immediately.
One day… one day she will run away!
… After she finishes her education.
✳︎✳︎✳︎
Most people are meant to like their jobs, but to Kim Dokja every step out of his apartment and onto the train platform and into the automatic office building doors feels like he’s a shackled prisoner of the underworld with stone chains tying him down. This past week hadn’t actually been too bad since Han Myungoh was on a business trip to Japan, but now he’s returned and Kim Dokja hasn’t even stepped one foot into the office before a heavy heap of paperwork is thrust into his arms like he’s some fax machine.
“Get these done by tomorrow.” Han Myungoh grunts, only half paying attention to him as he speaks to someone on the phone pressed to his ear.
Kim Dokja purses his lips. He holds the stack of paper close to his chest, plucking up a stray sheet gliding through the air, mentally preparing for another day of unpaid overtime and his only meal of the day being at 6 pm.
But then something compels him to stop.
He isn’t sure what exactly makes him say what he says next. He’s never argued with any of his superiors before, least of all Han Myungoh, who has a reputation at Minosoft for his thin skin, always keeping scores against all the people who dare stand up against him, resolving to make their life miserable as possible.
Maybe it was the kid from yesterday. He thinks that if she were here, she’d shove the papers straight back into Han Myungoh’s arms, snap at him for being such a condescending old idiot, and then order him to make her a coffee.
Pathetic as it is for him as an almost thirty year old man being motivated by the feistiness of a ten year old, he squares his shoulders anyway, juts his chin out, and says, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have space in my schedule.”
Han Myungoh stops in his tracks, his back facing Kim Dokja, the phone still pressed against his ear. Then he slowly turns his head, half-facing him with an incredulous, unbelievably pissed-off smile.
“What did you say?” There’s a vein popping at his temple. Kim Dokja imagines poking a hole in it until it bleeds out.
Every instinct in his brain, every neuron that screams retreat!, every muscle that’s aching to apologize, look away, and walk past him with bowed head — he ignores all of it.
He clears his throat and speaks more clearly, “I said I do not have space in my schedule.”
“Make some, then.” his voice is dangerously low. Kim Dokja winces internally as he realizes with a sinking feeling that he has just made it onto Han Myungoh’s hitlist, after so many months of taking extra care to remain under his radar. All because of some false confidence injected into him by some little girl.
However, Kim Dokja is saved from carrying out his increasingly powerful urges to bow down low, apologize profusely, and carry on until he can disappear behind his desk and draw Han Myungoh’s face on his eraser and repeatedly stab it, when the man on the other end of the line at Han Myungoh’s ear becomes louder.
Any semblance of authority Han Myungoh had been trying to show Kim Dokja bleeds out as he fumbles — literally fumbles — over his words, “a-ah, apologies, Yoo Joonghyuk-nim, you were talking about the sponsorship? Minosoft would be honored to have someone like you to promote our latest beta—ah, um, yes, I can get you to the PD— just wait one moment.”
He shoots one last venomous look at Kim Dokja, one that guarantees their conversation is far from over, before stalking out of the room.
Kim Dokja should feel worried, but instead there’s a peculiar lightness that fills his chest and his lungs, one that keeps him going the rest of the day. He gets a great deal of work done today, and even manages a greeting to his coworker as he gets his usual break room coffee. Before he knows it, it’s 4 pm and for the first time in what feels like forever he isn’t staying for unpaid overtime.
Life feels good, even for the smallest most delusional few hours. He thinks he might treat himself to a more expensive pack of instant noodles, the one with the creamy sauce that leaves a sweet taste in his mouth for hours after. And perhaps even a soda.
Ah yes, he nods to himself, he can’t wait to spend his evening eating his favorite instant noodles, reading the newest update of the webnovel he’s currently into that had updated today.
Except when he steps out of the Minosoft office building, he sees a little girl standing at the front gate of the parking lot.
A familiar little girl, with the same thick black hair tied in two high pigtails, though today she is in uniform, with a plain pink backpack slung across one shoulder and a lunch box hanging off her wrist.
She sees him and waves.
Kim Dokja stops in his tracks. Then he looks away, eyes trained firmly to the ground, and tries to walk past her.
“Hey, you! Ahjussi!” She calls out.
Kim Dokja freezes. He purses his lips and sighs to himself. He knew he shouldn’t have given in yesterday. It’s like dealing with stray cats — you feed them once and they never leave you alone.
“I’m not buying you any more instant noodles.” He says as she skips over. He shoves his hands into his coat pocket, clutching his wallet protectively.
She snorts, “pfft. That’s not why I’m here. I know you’re too broke to do that again.”
“… Did you get home safely then?”
She falters a little, before sticking her chin up again arrogantly, “naturally. I can navigate my way around Seoul myself.”
“And was your brother worried?”
“No. I’ve done this loads of times.”
… Of course she has.
Kim Dokja sticks his hand out.
She blinks at it.
He keeps it there.
She gives him a high five.
“No, you foolish girl. You owe me my money.”
“Wh— are you serious?!” She says incredulously, “that was literally 500 won!”
He nods, “yes. 500 won that I now do not have.”
She folds her arms, “I don’t have the cash on me.”
“I’m sure there’s something on you that’s worth money.” He eyes the shiny glittering clips in her hair and the sparkling key rings attached to her school bag.
She shakes her head at him in disbelief, “Oppa was right. All men are liars who want nothing but money.”
“Your brother sounds lovely.”
She glares at him, “he’s right.”
Kim Dokja hums, “if that’s the case, why are you following me right now?”
“Because I’m bored. Oppa is preparing for a tournament with his manager.”
“Uh huh.”
“He’s a professional sportsman.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Pro-gamer.”
“That’s not a real sport.”
”It is!”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No. And why are you still following me?”
“I told you, I’m bored.”
“How did you even find my workplace?”
She rolls her eyes, “because it was on your ID, 28 year old Kim Dokja, salaryman at Minosoft. I’m Yoo Mia by the way.”
He folds his arms, “don’t you have, I don’t know, girl friends to meet and nails to paint?”
Her scowl falls into a straight up glower, looking like she might just punch him in the face. And in spite of her rosy cheeks and Hello Kitty earrings and big sparkling eyes, he feels some fear. Only a little.
“And hasn’t your brother warned you about strangers? To not follow strangers home? Any of that sound familiar?”
“I have a first degree black belt in taekwondo, I’d like to see you try and lay a hand on me. And Jihye-unnie taught me a move that apparently harms any man’s future bloodline as well.”
He side-eyes her, “do you even know what that means?”
“Of course I do.” She says in a way that’s obvious she clearly doesn’t.
“You’re not coming home with me.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not.” He says, trying to add as much force as he can into his words, though it still comes out pathetically feeble. Curses, he had stood up to Han Myungoh of all people, surely he can remain firm against a little girl!
He squares his shoulders, clears his throat, and looks at her with a (hopefully) cold gaze, “go home, Yoo Mia. I will not allow you to accompany me home.”
“Hm.” She touches her chin, looking contemplative, “since you asked so nicely, Ahjussi, fine.”
He relaxes, “really?”
“No.”
“…”
She tugs the strap of her backpack higher up her arm and slips her other hand into Kim Dokja’s, “let’s go.”
Kim Dokja had always known he was a doormat at work, but now he is a doormat who cannot stand up to a ten year old girl. Ah well. Just another thing to add to his endless list of failures.
“Fine. But you’re buying your own train ticket.”
“I don’t have money!”
“Use your rail pass.”
She falls silent and he smiles triumphantly. He had guessed right — this brother of hers seems to care a lot about raising her to be independent.
Yoo Mia’s glowering doesn’t last for long, brightening up after two minutes like her sulking has some sort of expiration, and proceeds to tell him stories about her day at school, the activities she did, the kids in her class and the food she ate. Kim Dokja tells her he doesn’t care.
He listens anyway.
✳︎✳︎✳︎
It’s sweet relief when they finally reach the door to his apartment. Kim Dokja fumbles with the keys, twisting open the knob and promptly collapses on the sofa.
Yoo Mia had talked his ear off the entire train ride. For someone with a yearly rail pass, she had surprisingly little regard for the etiquette of public transport, speaking loud and laughing louder, garnering more than a few glares from the surrounding passengers as Kim Dokja smiled sheepishly at them and nudged her to shut up (she’d always nudge back harder, naturally).
All he wanted to do was sit and read his webnovels. Was that unreasonable? It’s always been his favorite part of the day, the quiet subway ride home from work as he catches up on updates from his favorite authors.
He had even started reading and hoped she’d take the hint, but the girl continued rambling like her lips were battery generated and she had no off button.
What are you reading?
Why won’t you talk to me?
Why do you always look so tired?
Maybe that’s why you’re so ugly.
Actually no I don’t think bad sleep alone can result in that disfigured face.
Has Ahjussi thought about plastic surgery?
Oh right, you can’t afford it.
What’s Minosoft like?
Do you get to test any of their games?
I hear they’re making a new one, what’s it about?
And she just went on.
And on.
And on.
Kim Dokja now buries his face in the black leather couch pillow he bought from a thrift store, exhaling long and hard until he feels the fabric under him warm up.
“It’s small.” He hears Yoo Mia remark behind him.
“It’s livable.” He says curly, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face, “and I’m sure anything is small compared to your standards.”
He stands, ushering off her coat (which is so soft his arms sink into the material like it’s made of pure foam) and folds it up. “Do you want some tea or something?”
She crinkles her nose, “what? I’m like ten, why would I want that?”
“I don’t know. That’s usually what you offer guests.”
“Shut up, Ahjussi, and give me juice.”
So Kim Dokja goes to the kitchen and pours two glasses of jeju orange juice, wondering how his life had come to this point where a random girl can waltz into his own house and order him around like she was queen and he was nothing but a butler.
He returns to the living room to find her sprawled across the sofa, face uncharastically blank as she watches something on her phone. He draws nearer and sees that it’s YouTube Shorts.
“That stuff is brain numbing, you know that right?” He hands her the cup and sits beside her.
She downs it all in one go, which would almost be impressive if it didn’t leave a bright orange mustache above her lips and a trail down her chin that drips onto his sofa (second rate, and already stained from the last time he had spilt his cereal on it, but still). “I’m bored. And most of my games are on my iPad, which Oppa confiscated. Because remember, he’s evil.”
“If you’re so bored, read a book.”
He gestures to the far left wall, where his moderately sized bookshelf filled with hardbacks and paperbacks stands. It’s probably his most prized possession, despite most of them being secondhand or shamelessly stolen from the local library (look, books aren’t cheap). It wasn’t easy, but slowly over the years he had managed to fill it up.
She crinkles his nose in disgust. She does that a lot, he notices.
“It’s really not as bad as you think.”
“Don’t try and brainwash me. I’ve read books at school.”
“Those are school books.” He rolls his eyes, “no matter how good they are, the fact that they’re school books suck the soul out of it. Try reading something on your own for once. Maybe you’ll enjoy it. I, for one, love reading.”
“Why.”
”Because it’s nice.” He shrugs, “it’s nice to be in a head that’s not my own. It’s wonderfully easy to forget your own life when you’re reading someone else’s.”
“… Corny.”
“Just give it a go.” He hauls himself up, gesturing to the bookcase.
Then he plucks her phone out of her hand.
“Hey! That’s mine!” she jumps up, but he holds it up high.
“I’ll give it back once I finish cooking.”
Her hands fall slack to her sides, “cooking? You know how to cook?”
“Of course I do.” He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t point out that it’s just some gyeran bap — one of the only meals he trusts himself to not screw up and possibly burn his whole kitchen down.
He goes to the kitchen and starts preparing the meal.
It’s odd. It’s odd pulling out two bowls from the cupboard instead of one, it’s odd pulling out two eggs from the fridge instead of one. He rarely cooks for himself. It’s only when he’s absolutely sick of instant noodles, or if he’s feeling confident, so it’s an odd feeling preparing a meal for someone other than himself. When was the last time he had done it?
It doesn’t take long. He dumps the used pan into the sink, pours two more cups of juice, and slips his nicest pair of chopsticks into Yoo Mia’s bowl. Then he calls her over to eat.
There’s no reply.
Frowning, he goes to the living room, half expecting to find her lying asleep on the sofa (and another, smaller part of him scared he’ll find the room empty and the front door wide open) — but no, there she is, feet propped against his secondhand coffee table. She’s reading a book, gripping the pages so tightly her knuckles are almost white, eyes flying across the page like she’s trying to imprint the words to memory.
It’s a fantasy novel, one he hasn’t read in a while but remembers it having something to do with a cursed empress who decides to escape marriage by making a deal with the Queen of the Underworld. Yoo Mia’s eyes are glued to the book with a captivation he’s familiar with. That feeling of the rest of the world melting away until there’s nothing but letters separating you from the world behind those pages… he’s very familiar with it.
He knows Yoo Mia is not in his living room anymore, that she’s somewhere else, someone else, and she’s engrossed in this new life of hers.
He leans against the doorway, smiling in spite of himself.
But as much as he’d like to leave her to her story, the food will get cold soon. His apartment’s heating is shitty even when he willingly turns it on, and he doesn’t own a microwave. So he shakes the girl’s shoulders, startling her back to reality, and tells her it’s time to eat.
For many years Kim Dokja’s returned home to a dark and silent apartment, sitting in a dark and silent kitchen, scrolling through his webnovels as he eats the food quietly with little enthusiasm and no energy to turn on the lights.
But now, the kitchen light spilling over his food is warm, and Yoo Mia’s voice is bubbling and bright, as she rambles on about the book, barely four chapters in, voicing her opinion on the Empress, and how much she detests her fiancé Gwon Seokjin, and what she hopes the Queen of the Underworld will be like. Kim Dokja listens with a wordless smile, refusing to give away any of the plot despite her questions.
And when he finally takes a bite of the food, he finds that for the first time in a very long time, he enjoys it.
✳︎✳︎✳︎
Kim Dokja doesn’t cook again, at least not with Yoo Mia — which shouldn’t be a regular thing, but over the next few days everytime he walks out of his office building and finds her waiting by the gate, he slowly comes to realize that this is his new normal. It’s definitely a little creepy on his part, but any and all fight is drained from him whenever he tries to voice his concerns and is met with a fierce and stubborn glare in return. He knows the girl won’t budge.
What’s the opposite of a creepy stalker pedophile?
… right. Having a fan girl.
Hm. Well. That must mean she admires him, right? At least a little?
(He asked her once, on the train, and she replied cheerily “of course you inspire me, Ahjussi!” which made him smile, before she added, “of what not to be when I’m older.”)
Anyway, he doesn’t cook again with her because she took one bite of his gyeran bap, pulled a face, and told him to never enter a kitchen again. Which honestly wasn’t fair, he didn’t think it was too bad. But if her outfits and entitled manner was anything to go off, he wouldn’t find it surprising if her standards were raised higher than heaven after being used to expensive home cooked meals by personal Michelin chefs under her brother’s employment.
She did finish the meal, through not before declaring resolutely that she’d show him what real food tastes like. And loath as he was to admit it, he was curious.
When he walks out of his office building the next day and sees her standing idly near the gate kicking rocks, he just sighs and walks past her, waiting for her to follow.
She does. And when she reaches his side, he notices that she has two lunchboxes in her hands instead of one.
Yoo Mia grabs him by the arm and drags the two of them over to a bench under the sparse shade of a bare and frosty ginkgo tree.
“I asked Oppa to make two lunches.” She says proudly, holding out the other box to Kim Dokja like she expects him to kneel over in gratitude.
He takes it skeptically, “and he’s okay with the implications that you wanted an extra meal to share with a strange man?”
“Um.” She laughs pitchily, “yes?”
He flips over the lunch box — where a name is written in temporary black marker: FOR SHIN YOOSUNG
He raises an eyebrow at Yoo Mia.
“Just eat the food, Ahjussi.” She rolls her eyes and opens the box.
Despite being lugged around by Yoo Mia for her whole school day, it’s still hot, the steam dancing out in fluid white wisps and the smell sweetening the air.
The lunch box is cute, pink on the outside and beige on the inside, separated into three compartments — a large main square section filled with glistening garlic butter shrimp on one side and fluffy steamed white rice on the other, while one mini compartment was filled with rich seasoned spinach and the other with a mini rolled omelet.
Kim Dokja, who has been living for almost his entire adulthood on cheap meals he can throw together on a whim and near expired instant noodles, feels his stomach churn and mouth water.
He must be straight up gawking because Yoo Mia grins, with wide white teeth, and hands him a pair of pink chopsticks.
He takes a tentative bite of the shrimp, and tries not to react to the satisfying crunch and the sudden burst of garlic and buttery goodness that floods into his tongue, but Yoo Mia smirks anyway.
It’s good. Fuck, it’s really good.
Could it be that her Oppa… was the Michelin chef?
Yoo Mia also eats, much faster than him, who’s taking painstakingly small bites, savoring each one like it may be his last. She downs the food in less than five minutes, stuffing her cheeks with shrimp and rice until she resembles a squirrel, before gulping it down all at once. It’s clear she’s starving — he asks why she didn’t just eat at school and she replies that she had wanted to have the meal with him.
(He tells himself that the sudden burst of warmth in his chest is just because of the hot sticky rice).
She finishes her food with a loud sigh, setting the lunch box down on the space between them and belching loudly.
Kim Dokja flicks her forehead at such bad manners, though he’s not surprised she managed to make even her burps sound cute (not that he’d ever admit it to her face).
“See, this is good food, Ahjussi. Not that bullshit you made yesterday.”
“A young girl your age shouldn’t be saying that word.”
“A young girl my age shouldn’t be meeting some strange man and having meals with him, but here I am.”
“I’ve been saying this since day one.” He sighs, exasperated, “you need to stop this before your Oppa finds out and gets me arrested.” He had said that in a lighthearted way, but all too suddenly he’s hit with the absurdity of his situation.
That could… that could legitimately happen—!
No, no, that’s not what’s happening at all! He hasn’t coerced her, he has very adamantly tried to detach himself from the girl, but she’s like a swamp leech attached to his leg, a baby duckling who’s imprinted on him and has taken to following him everywhere!
He can’t go to jail. Sure, it would get him out of a lot of his problems — escaping his crippling rent and crippling job, with three meals and a warm bed every day. But then he’d become just like his mother, nothing but a revolting criminal. And worse, he may even be sent to the same jail as her!
He’s heard stories about how men in prison are treated, that even within barred walls there exists certain crimes which are deemed universally intolerable, one of which is pedophilia. Men sentenced for that become the meat tossed into a tiger’s cage, the other inmates zeroing in on them, beating them to a pulp and biting their ears off and— and— and even chopping their black flame dragons off while the guards do nothing but watch.
Not that he is a pedophile, but that’s surely what he will be charged for if this continues!
Yoo Mia, oblivious to his increasing panic, is nodding to herself in-satisfaction, “Ahjussi lives a pathetically lonely life. It’s only fitting that a wilting flower needs a bright sun like me to nurse it back to life.”
Kim Dokja snaps out of his ruminations, before rolling his eyes, “that brother of yours sure has spoiled you rotten.”
He notices her ogling his unfinished food and lets her have the rest. After many years of a limited diet, he’s developed an appetite lower than what was probably healthy, whereas he thinks Yoo Mia probably has six stomachs hidden inside that tiny body of hers.
“Speaking of, what’s he like?” He asks as casually as he can, “He’s rich, isn’t he? Is he protective? Powerful? … Easily angered?”
Yoo Mia nods, stuffing the whole rolled omelette in her mouth and speaking with her mouth full, “oh yeah, Oppa is the whole package. He has a lot of money, and muscles and a lot of anger.”
“…” Kim Dokja stands up suddenly, “I can’t see you anymore.”
“Eh?!”
“Wait that sounds even worse!” He clutches his hair in despair, “I don’t want to get arrested! I don’t wanna get beaten up in jail! I’m not a groomer— it’s the other way around!!”
“What are you talking about?! You bastard!”
He sobs a little. “I’ll be accused of tainting your innocent little mind when in reality you’re the crazy one…”
“You haven’t even paid me.”
Kim Dokja freezes.
She holds her hands out expectantly, “for the food?”
Ah. So this was her plan? Conniving little brat. He’s almost impressed. She knew the best way to get to Kim Dokja’s Achilles Heel was through his wallet. She had lured him into her trap with delicious food and now he is in debt.
“H-How much do I owe you?”
“Hmm, well,” she hums, “Oppa used blue tiger shrimp which is around 160,000 won, and hand harvested yuki tsubaki rice from Japan which is 60, 000 won…”
Her words fade into background noise as Kim Dokja feels his world melt around him, listening with impending dread as she lists off all the ridiculously expensive ingredients off her fingers.
He sinks to his knees in despair. Trapped in debt by a ten year old. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.
Yoo Mia stops and smirks down at him, “can’t afford it, can you?”
He doesn’t reply.
“That means you can’t tell me what to do anymore — I’m the boss now. You’re in my debt.” She folds her arms, gleeful, rubbing her hands evilly, “so I am going to visit you—”
He flinches.
“And give you food.”
He trembles on his knees.
“And buy you nice things.”
He cowers pathetically.
“And take care of you since you clearly can’t do it yourself.”
Kim Dokja is on his knees, head lowered in some humiliating mixture of submission and surrender before her.
“Does this stupid Ahjussi understand?”
Kim Dokja sniffles, “yes…”
✳︎✳︎✳︎
And so, this new regular begins to cement itself into his life. These double lunch boxes, these evenings spent with the company of two rather than alone.
He tries to avoid going home with her as much as he can, because he is not a kidnapper and he doesn’t want to have to explain how he somehow managed to convince a random ten year old girl to visit his house daily. As such, they spend their evenings eating in the park, or walking through town, and sometimes they sit at a cafe and he helps her with her homework.
Yoo Mia must think herself some sort of guardian angel assigned to him that’s finally able to spread her wings, because slowly she begins dictating everything in Kim Dokja’s daily life, taking jabs at his worn, stained coat (before returning the next day with a freshly clean white one, one that actually does a good job of keeping him warm) and complaining about his ridiculously malnourished diet. She even takes him grocery shopping, paying for everything with her ‘pocket money’ (there’s more cash in her My Melody spotted plastic purse than in Kim Dokja’s wallet all year round), despite how many times he’s tried to stop her. Isn’t he already in ‘debt’? But arguing with Yoo Mia is like arguing with an echo chamber, your words circling back to yourself with no response until you slowly go insane.
There was one day when her teachers were encouraging the kids to start hobbies, so she brought back one of the pamphlets and explored the options with Kim Dokja — only for him to belatedly realize she wasn’t looking for herself, but for him.
He should feel annoyed, as a grown man having his privacy and dignity trampled from under him so shamelessly. But well, he lost all sense of self respect years ago. And besides, he doesn’t exactly mind being pampered like this.
It’s close to December, the burnt chill autumn sinking into the cold breath of winter, so whenever the weather is particularly unbearable he allows them to go up to his apartment, where she helps him cook with the fresh new ingredients they’ve bought, teaching him all of her Oppa’s special cooking techniques. Despite being spoiled rotten, she was by no means helpless, nor was she lazy, more than happy to help Kim Dokja clear the food away and wipe the table when they’re done eating.
And then there’s a period of silence as the two of them sit on opposite ends of the couch, Kim Dokja reading whatever new webnovel has struck his fancy this time, while Yoo Mia immerses herself in Queen of the Darkest Spring.
She’s enjoying the book thoroughly — so much so that Kim Dokja finally allows her to take it home with her, under strict orders that she kept it in good condition. He’s not worried though — he understands her well enough by now to know that if she damages it she’ll just pay for another copy.
So yeah. It’s fine. It’s nice, even. For about two weeks, it’s great.
Until her older brother shows up at his doorstep.