“Y’know, I don’t really think it was a good idea to let Han Sooyoung get that job at the university.”
Yoo Jonghyuk blinks up at him, but turns back to picking apart a pomegranate. Kim Dokja reaches over to grab a handful of seeds, and Yoo Jonghyuk obligingly pushes the platter closer.
Yoo Jonghyuk says, “She’s just going in for some guest lectures. It’s not much of a job.”
“Yes,” Kim Dokja agrees, “but she could say anything about us and those kids would take it as gospel.”
Yoo Jonghyuk moves onto cutting up strawberries. “What are you so worried about? She won’t lie too much. History books exist.”
Kim Dokja steals a slice of strawberry this time. “Yes, she is a good writer. But she is not always a good storyteller.”
This time Yoo Jonghyuk looks up placidly. “She wrote both of our stories.”
“She’s giving lectures in order to give insight into the Scenarios and how they changed perspectives and ‘altered human interactions’. They also want a first hand account of the scenarios by one of the few people who recently participated in them, and how it impacted her. But Han Sooyoung tells stories in a way that makes the reader have to figure it out themselves, and they have at most an hour and a half. No one will be able to get anything out of it aside from how big she thought your chest looked with a belt across it.”
Yoo Jonghyuk processes this information, and promptly goes back to cutting fruit.
“It isn’t your problem.”
Kim Dokja sighs and leans back in his seat. His cane rests across his lap, and the sunlight feels warm from where they’re set up at a table in the large garden.
He starts again. “I’m just worried as to how it will go. She’s a good storyteller, but I don’t know if this will work out as well as we hope.”
“Calm down. If she can write a book about our journey, she can give a lecture to a few college students.”
Kim Dokja tilts his head back against the chair, shading his eyes with his hand.
Quietly, he says, “Maybe you’re right. I should have a little faith.”
Yoo Jonghyuk hums quietly, and Kim Dokja looks up to see him looking at his phone.
“Hey, come to think of it, isn’t it lunch time? Are you not cooking anything?”
Yoo Jonghyuk taps out a text and sets his phone back on the table. “The kids are bringing food back with them.”
“Mmh.” Kim Dokja leans back in his chair with a smile. Then, “You should come sit with me. The shade is nice.”
“You aren’t a cat.” Yoo Jonghyuk continues cutting fruit in the sun, but once he finishes, he sets the fruit aside to dry and sits beside Kim Dokja on the hanging bench. Kim Dokja moves his cane to rest on the ground and slides over so Yoo Jonghyuk can sit down. Their thighs press together, and one of Yoo Jonghyuk’s arms slides around the back so he can rest his hand on the back of Kim Dokja’s neck. Kim Dokja doesn’t mind.
The party rarely use excuses to touch him now, opting for the straightforward approach of doing what they want and letting Kim Dokja get used to it. A hand on the back of the neck, an arm looped through his, a pair of legs thrown across his lap, a child asking to be picked up. Maybe once he would have thought it to be overdone and unnecessary, but it feels grounding, and warm. They don’t mind when he does the same, so he doesn’t ask them to stop.
When the kids arrive, they find the two sleeping against each other on the hanging bench, hands tangled together in the shade.
-
It’s only when Kim Dokja is getting into bed when he remembers his train of thought. He’s already got his arms full with Lee Gilyoung and Lee Jihye, snuggled up against him under the blankets, so he waits until Yoo Jonghyuk slides in next to them to talk. The kids are already passed out, so he speaks over their heads quietly.
“About Han Sooyoung, it’s not that I don’t have faith in her. I just don’t want her doing it alone. She’s already had to shoulder so much in carrying out stories, and I know she wants to, I just don’t want her to feel like she has to do these things alone.”
Yoo Jonghyuk stares at him in silence for a while, sheets pulled up to his chin and hair disheveled. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Kim Dokja wrinkles his nose in indignation. “Hey, I’ve been making progress. I’m not that kind of guy anymore.”
Clearly ignoring that, Yoo Jonghyuk yawns widely and asks, “Then do you just want to go with her?”
“Absolutely not. I can’t believe how many times I have to say this, but I’m a reader, not a writer. I don’t tell stories.”
Yoo Jonghyuk shoves his face into the pillow, clearly tired of their conversation. “Then what do you want.”
“I just want someone, anyone of the party to go with her; support her while she’s there. They can give some anecdotes to make it look like they’re also sharing their viewpoint.” Kim Dokja absentmindedly blows one of Lee Gilyoung’s stray hairs out of the way.
Yoo Jonghyuk sighs. “We’ll figure it out together later. Goodnight, Kim Dokja.”
“Aish, goodnight, Jonghyuk-ah.”
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