Chapter Text
It is said that when one half finds its other, there is an unspoken understanding, a unity - and each would know no greater joy than this. In my opinion, People spend far too much time looking for someone to complete them.
How do you make it last? When do you know that it’s time to quit?
The notion of love is only more evidence of Camus’ theory that life is irrational and meaningless.
Dokja sighed as he sent the document to the printer. Luckily for him, everyone else in the highschool rushed home immediately as the bell sounded, so no one was around to see him finishing off Zoe Miller’s literature assignment.
The paper was warm off the printer and held a nice weight in his hands. It was one of Dokja’s favorite feelings.
He flipped through the pages one last time to tally them up for a final price. Six pages. Dokja pulled out his phone to send Zoe a Venmo request for $35.
Once the money has been deposited into his account, he’ll drop the essay into her locker and close the deal.
Dokja can’t help but think that he’d done a bang-up job on this piece. From his personal experiences, love is greedy, fleeting, and definitely not worth all of the effort. It’s some A+ philosophy, possibly an A- if Mrs. P is in a bad mood while marking these assignments.
If Dokja was truly ambitious, he would extend his homework services into math and science-- that’s where the real money would be. The main issue with that idea is his interest (of lack thereof) in doing that kind of schoolwork. He’d rather spend his time staring into the oblivion of a Word document than Googling the formula on how to complete the square.
At least that’s prevented Dokja’s reputation from sinking any lower than it already has. The highschool population in this small portside town is exactly as you’d expect it to be (read: white). Dokja still hasn’t gotten over the bitterness he holds towards his parents for dragging their family from Korea to America eight years ago, and he definitely hasn’t gotten over the bitterness he holds towards his parents involving the events that led up to his current living situation (read: alone).
Sure, he’s not the only kid in the school who belongs to the minority of people who are not of European descent, but he’s reserved enough that people often feel the need to point it out, since they don’t seem to know anything else about him.
“Hey Kim Sum!” a particularly rowdy group of boys yelled.
Dokja acknowledged them only by flipping off the pick up truck that was packed full of so many boys it might as well have been a clown car. The scent of diesel filled the air as it sped out of the school parking lot. Dokja felt his nose wrinkle involuntarily at the smell.
“I’m Korean anyway, assholes,” Dokja mumbled once they were out of sight.
He rummaged through his backpack to find the keys to his salvation-- his car. The battered Volvo Wagon, like most of his parents’ estate, was currently being taken care of by him. Dokja couldn’t wait until his eighteen birthday in a few months, when he would be able to finally transfer the vehicle’s ownership into his own name.
Dokja was far from homeless, he had That apartment. However, said apartment lacked a bed, and that is the reason that he chose to sleep in his car. Sure, he was treating the apartment like a glorified instant-ramyeon storage unit, but he cared about the wagon way more, anyway.
He’ll probably ditch it once he’s done with highschool, and sweep it under the rug along with every bad memory he had of the place.
Hell is other people. -- John-Paul Sartre
Dokja stared at the quote written on the chalkboard until tunnel vision started to kick in. By then, class was over and he could hand in another assignment to this class, this time with his own name on it.
“Six different takes on Plato. Impressive,” Mrs P. told Dokja as he passed her his personal stack of papers.
Dokja replied with a shrug, he tried to look nonchalant, “Just one.”
“Yeah right, Kim,” she snorted. “You’re talented enough to make more than what, twenty dollars?”
“Too bad I’m studying business at community college next year,” Dokja smiled. That was the plan after all.
“You’re wasting your talents. Studying what I loved at college were the best years of my life,” the teacher said, with raised eyebrows.
Too bad that a four-year degree in literature would probably keep Dokja in the same situation he’s in now, except that sleeping in his car might not be by choice anymore.
“Look where you are now,” Dokja plastered on his biggest shit-eating grin. “Teaching teenagers what a homonym is.”
Mrs P. feigned a face of pain, as if Dokja’s words actually wounded her. “You’re right, stay away from the arts. I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Dokja.”
Dokja left with another grin and a nod. He headed straight towards his Wagon to flee from school for the day. By the time he reached his car, the sun had effectively heated up the inside of it to a scalding temperature that one may appreciate only inside an oven when baking cookies.
As any normal person would, Dokja rolls down his four windows to let some of the heat air out before he starts his journey home. This was his first mistake.
“Kim Dokja,” a voice said, somehow not butchering the pronunciation of his name.
Dokja took a moment to realize that it was coming from outside his car window. He poked his head out.
“Yes?”
“I’m Yoo Joonghyuk,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Dokja almost laughed. Everyone knows who Joonghyuk is.
“Are you not Korean?” he asked, when Dokja failed to give a reply to this last statement.
It’s then that Dokja realized that he was speaking in Korean. It was refreshing to hear his mother tongue from someone besides Han Sooyoung’s voice through the speaker of his phone.
“I am,” Dokja replied, in Korean.
“Okay,” Joonghyuk said. “I am also Korean.”
Dokja already knew this. This was because Joonghyuk was respected and quite honestly, worshiped among the student body. Joonghyuk was tall and quiet, and people cared about him enough to not call him racial (yet ethnically inaccurate) nicknames like “Kim Sum”.
Dokja noticed a piece of crumpled lined paper in Joonghyuks rather intimidating grasp.
“It’s twenty dollars for the first three pages. Five more for every page after that,” Kim Dokja supplied.
He couldn’t imagine any other reason for Joonghyuk to be speaking to him. Dokja didn’t have much to use to formulate an inference anyway, as Joonghyuk maintained the blankest expression that Dokja had ever seen.
“I don’t want to cheat.”
Dokja sighed, “No one wants to cheat. Speaking in Korean is smart, by the way. No one will know what we’re talking about. Which class is this for?”
Joonghyuk tightened his grip on the piece of paper as his face twisted into a scowl. Dokja ducked his head back into his car. He didn’t know what he did to make Joonghyuk so angry, but he was not ready to be punched out for it. He had quite a strong conviction to not be punched out at all, actually.
In the spirit of that, Dokja kicked his car into reverse and swung an arm around the passenger seat to look behind him, ready to floor it out of the school parking lot. This was his second mistake.
His car made it around ten centimeters backwards, before Dokja was forced to slam on the breaks because his steering wheel wouldn’t turn.
“Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk’s voice was a growl now. It was still a baritone melody sweet enough to melt an angel on the spot, but also a growl, nonetheless.
“You will write this for me.” Joonghyuk declared, since trivial things such as questions and manners were far below his grace. He dropped the wrinkled page into Dokja’s lap.
Dokja returned his car to park.
“ Dear Seolhwa Lee, You are a pretty girl. I have been thinking…”
Dokja pulled his eyes away from the paper immediately once he recognized what it was that he read. It was a line that shouldn’t be crossed.
“No,” Dokja replied. He shoved the paper back into Yoonghyuk’s hands, as he prayed that the blush on the tip of his ears was unnoticed. “I am not writing love letters--”
“I’ll pay you.” Joonghyuk interrupted.
Dokja sucked his teeth. This rich bastard thought that he could simply buy the answers to his issues. “Money isn’t everything Joonghyuk-ah.”
Any spec of Joonghyuks indifference that remained finally crumbled to reveal his rage. Maybe he went too far with stringing on the honorific.
Dokja plastered on his shiniest fake smile, “Get a thesaurus. Use spell-check. Good luck, Romeo.”
His car was gone from the parking lot before Joonghyuk had the chance to protest or god help him, grab the steering wheel again.
Dokja returned to That apartment in the evening. He had a lot on the repertoire for tonight, with three Macbeth essays as well as a book report on Death of a Salesman. The apartment was as he left it, with the hardwood floors caked in dust and stained curtains drawn shut. The kitchen was visibly barren, and besides the mostly untouched appliances, contained a pair of chopsticks, a spoon, a kettle, and a sponge. The bedroom was a wasteland of items that Dokja couldn’t look at without hurling-- mostly things that belonged to his parents. A lifetime ago, before the incident, that was his bedroom.
The remainder of the apartment was equally as pathetic. There was a fabric loveseat- grey, like the walls. A small desk and lamp occupied the rest of the living space. Dokja had sold the dining room set and television on Craigslist when he was fifteen so he could have gas money.
There was no bed in the apartment. Dokja doesn’t quite remember how or when the beds were removed, but it’s probably a good thing that they’re gone.
Dokja settled at the desk with his laptop but found his mind drifting back to Joonghyuk as he wrote the essays. Of course Joonghyuk was trying to court Seolhwa Lee, they would be a dream couple. Dokja didn’t know a lot about having parents that want good things for you, but he’s heard plenty of Han Sooyoung’s complaining about how her parents want her to find a nice Korean boy. Which shouldn’t be too hard for her, considering that Han Sooyoung lives in Korea. It’s probably the same situation with Joonghyuk’s family. Seolhwa was the only Korean girl in their entire school, but she was also pretty and smart and well mannered. She would look good by Joonghyuk’s side, who was decently pretty and smart in his own right, though he lacked politeness of any form. From what Dokja had observed, Joonghyuk’s family owns a large portion of the land in their town, and has probably accumulated a good fortune from that. Why such a wealthy family would choose to stay in such a small, white, town was far beyond the capabilities of his commoner mind.
On page three of the first Macbeth essay, Dokja’s phone rang.
“What,” he answered.
“Well good morning, sunshine,” Han Sooyoung’s voice chimed through the phone’s speaker.
“It’s nearly four in the afternoon.”
“Sure it is,” Han Sooyoung spoke as if she did not believe in time zones.
Dokja groaned, “Don’t you have school?”
“I’m walking there right now. Are you busy right now?”
“A bit, I’ve got a couple essays to write.”
Dokja could hear the smirk in Han Sooyoung’s voice. “Busy accumulating academic fraud offenses by the dozen? Don’t let me keep you,” she said before hanging up the call.
Dokja was a little bit ticked off by the unnecessary phone call, but at least it helped purge Joonghyuk from his mind. A few hours later, Dokja managed to power through two of the essays and half of the book report. He was in the middle of a sentence criticizing the fragility of the American Dream when a pop-up appeared on his laptop notifying him of its low battery. This was particularly strange since the laptop has been plugged into the charger since Dokja returned from school. Dokja flipped the lamp on. The apartment stayed dark.
An eloquent “fuck” slipped past Dokja’s lips as he recalled the fact that he hasn’t checked the mail in a while.
Dear valued customer,
The amount enclosed in this notice is now OVERDUE. We reserve the right to disconnect your service in accordance with the Conditions of Service. Your electricity service may be DISCONNECTED upon expiry of a minimum of 10 calendar days from the print date of this notice if the full payment amount has not been received.
CONTACT US: We’re here to help. You can reach us during our regular hours, Monday to Friday, 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. If your electricity service is disconnected it will be reconnected within two days of payment confirmation.
Dokja bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. There was no universe where this was a good idea. God, where was he? Dokja ate in his car every single day, so he was far from familiar with the school’s cafeteria. He had no idea if that guy would even be in here. He finally located his target walking across this room of culinary nightmare, looking uninterested as ever.
Dokja approached him quickly, “Hey, Joonghyuk.”
If Joonghyuk heard him, he showed no sign of it.
“Come on, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja tried in Korean this time.
Joonghyuk brushed him off again, step not faltering once.
Dokja finally grabbed Joonghyuk’s shoulder to stop him from walking away. He felt the gazes of a couple other students on him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the attention. It was a lot more than he was used to.
“One letter. Seventy-seven dollars. You’re on your own after that,” Dokja spoke in a low voice. Not that it mattered if the other students heard him, they wouldn’t understand a word of the language anyway.
Joonghyuk replied only by grunting then proceeding to shake Dokja’s hand off of his shoulder. Dokja chose to cross the line. This was his third mistake.