𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭 ‣ 𝐃𝐨𝐤𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐤⋄𝐉𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐤

Chapter 11: View In The Past [part 2]

Yoo Jonghyuk felt a bit weird being on the streets of Seoul again, after being stuck in Busan for almost a year.

He held a pole lightly and turned into the park. The same scene greeted him, slides and the structure.

But the swings were empty.

His eyes sat back in a steel glare. All the excitement in them was gone. But who was he kidding?

He left Kim Dokja and now expected the other to be waiting for him?

Kim Dokja would be one to hold a mental grudge, but he wouldn't keep moping all the time.

Yoo Jonghyuk sighed and trudged himself towards the swings and sat on the corner one that Kim Dokja would usually sit on.

Life was unfair.

He weakly kicked off the ground and the swing caught a small sway.

His eyes stared at the cloudy sky.

The boy sat there for a considerable ten minutes. And bit his lip from the inside.

"Jonghyuk?" An all familiar voice asked and Yoo Jonghyuk's eyes widened, still focused on the ground.

He slowly looked up.

It was. . .

"Dokja!" A wave of relief and guilt brushed over Yoo Jonghyuk as he stood up from the swing.

Kim Dokja had a bruised cheek and was gripping tightly onto a book. His fingers were scraped again, and he was wearing clothes that covered almost all his body.

"W. . . What are you doing here?" There was something in the older boy's eyes that Yoo Jonghyuk couldn't particularly make out.

Yoo Jonghyuk realized he didn't have an explanation.

"I. . . " His eyes caught onto the sweater sleeve which was stained with something, and when he sniffed the air, a faint smell of alcohol trailed.

Kim Dokja pressed the book closer to his chest and glared at Yoo Jonghyuk. "You—"

"Why do you smell of alcohol?" Yoo Jonghyuk found himself asking, a part of him already willing to clear the cuts.

"Why're you here?"

There was a waver in Dokja's voice and Yoo Jonghyuk shook his head. "I. . . my. . . I'm only allowed to visit father once. . . "

Kim Dokja stiffened a bit. "And you couldn't help but not tell me?" Kim Dokja lowered his folded hands and let them fall stiffly beside his outer thighs.

Yoo Jonghyuk could feel his heart suddenly pick up the pace. Why hadn't he written to Kim Dokja? Why hadn't he at least tried calling?

Kim Dokja was injured again. . .

And he had only worsened everything. His hands gripped tightly onto the hem of his jacket. "No."

Kim Dokja flashed him a tight smile, which spoke so many emotions at once. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Dokja. . . It's—" He spotted blood dripping from one of the scrapes and he winced mentally.

An idea came to his head. Min Ajin.

"I'll. . . I'll tell you more. . .? And once again, take care of yourself. The clumsiness doesn't prevent infections," Yoo Jonghyuk said more than intended, and grabbed onto Kim Dokja's wrist.

He took a step forward and Kim Dokja didn't comply.

"Dokja?"

"It's not a joke. You know?" Kim Dokja took a step ahead, and Yoo Jonghyuk expected something like a hug or a slap, but Kim Dokja just stood there, a foot apart.