—vita somnium breve; is life but a dream?
—basically, this is about dokja dreaming the life of his 100% self haha.
—this whole thing took me so long and this was supposed to be much longer but I focused so much on editing, lengthening it and eventually, I am unable to continue it further. Ahhhh I hope I worded this right I'm literally gonna combust, btw part two is prolly come out after the orvla is deleted (jk)
—art sucks, literally had no motivation so that's a bit rushed, I just wanted to get it over with gahhhh
—4680 words, credits to me for the art. (Pls I'm so tired, I haven't slept properly)
When Kim Dokja opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand that he was in another place and that it was safe—an unnerving thought that was.
It wasn’t instinct that told him, rather, it was the absence of fear.
The air didn’t carry the metallic scent of blood, there were no screams, no distant system messages announcing a scenario. Instead, he was wrapped in silence, the kind of silence filled with the ticking of a nearby clock that dawns a sense of normalcy. The breeze was tugging at the half-opened curtains, letting the sunlight slip through the room.
He blinked up at the ceiling.
It was white, plain and downright unfamiliar.
There was warmth beside him, the sunlight spilling across the neatly made bed he was laying on, the sheets fresh and clean.
He sat up slowly, the fabric rustling under his weight.
He felt his head hurt and he tilted, then his eyes caught a photo on the nightstand.
He reached for it with fingers that hesitated halfway, like they expected it to vanish the moment he touched it.
In the photo, the people he’d never thought he'd see again beside—well, a part of him, rather—were gathered in front of a food stall. They were laughing, their expressions were at peace, they looked happy—heck, even Joonghyuk was smiling, really smiling, not just the ghost of one hidden behind clenched teeth.
Sooyoung had her arm around Heewon, who looked scandalized but amused. Hyunsung held a frying pan like a trophy, and the kids—Yoosung and Gilyoung—were throwing rice at each other in the background.
Dokja stared at it for a long time. His chest ached with something that didn’t have a name.
“Dokja-ssi?” Jung Heewon’s voice came through the door.
“You up? You’re gonna miss breakfast.”
He didn’t answer right away. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to will away the fog, the ache, the creeping sensation that something was watching him from behind his own ribs.
"Yeah," he said at last. "Coming."
The hallway was familiar in a way that startled him.
Cream-colored walls, hardwood floor beneath his feet, a framed map of Korea with little sticky notes scattered over it. He didn’t remember this place, but his body moved like it had walked these halls a hundred times. There was a potted plant he didn’t know the name of in the corner and a coat rack where a black jacket hung—his own, he somehow knew.
He made his way downstairs slowly.
The voices were louder now. The chatters felt familiar and warm, it felt right but his heart ached with an unknown emotion. He hadn't registered it yet but it ached and throbbed.
"—he’s probably sleeping in again. I told you guys, the only thing that gets him out of bed is Sooyoung’s yelling.”
"Shut up, Hyunsung-ssi," Sooyoung snapped, "that’s a wild accusation, I don't even yell!" she said, yelling.
“Uh huh,” heewon added doubtfully.
"You threw a slipper at him last week." Hyunsung pressed his fingers on his forehead.
"It missed, didn’t it? Be glad!"
Dokja stopped at the last step of the stairs and for a second, he just... watched.
The living room opened into a bright kitchen, the sunlight hitting the countertops just right.
Jung Heewon stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, pouring orange juice into mismatched cups, Sooyoung was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island, flipping through something on a tablet. Lee Hyunsung wore a cartoon apron over his T-shirt and had a spatula in one hand, cooking with a smile so soft from someone of his stature.. Shin Yoosung was at the table, trying to feed a spoonful of egg to Gilyoung who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
And at the end of the table, Yoo Joonghyuk sipped his coffee, utterly calm.
Then he looked up and suddenly, their eyes met.
For a moment, everything stilled.
"You're late," Joonghyuk said.
"He's allowed to sleep in," Heewon cut in before Dokja could reply. "It’s his day off."
Dokja moved and he was started by the steadiness of his feet.
"Sit down before Sooyoung eats your share," Hyunsung added, sliding a pancake onto a plate.
He sat between Yoosung and Heewon. The table was crowded but warm, with too many plates—seaweed soup, kimchi, toast, fruit slices, rice, eggs, coffee, tea, orange juice.
He blinked, disoriented by the excess.
Yoo joonghyuk reached over and poured him coffee like it was something he did every morning, like this was normal.
“Thanks,” Dokja said, awkwardly.
Yoo joonghyuk grunted. “Don’t mention it.”
"You're going grocery shopping later, right?" Sooyoung asked him between bites.
"You said you'd take Gilyoung and Yoosung to the bookstore after," Heewon chimed in, not looking up as she peeled an orange. "They’ve been waiting all week."
Yoosung perked up, "you promised!"
"I did?" Dokja echoed, voice not above a whisper.
“You did.” Gilyoung looked at him with those wide, steady eyes, like he didn’t doubt it at all. He said it so surely and dokja couldn't help but think he did—but he didn't, he didn't.
Dokja nodded slowly. “Right. I did.”
He didn’t remember making any such promise.
But... if this was a dream, he didn’t want to be the one to break it.
The table soon fell into chatter and Dokja was quiet.
He was watching the scene unfold like he was only a spectator on the seat and everyone else were characters from a movie.
Sooyoung took the pancake from his plate.
"You better eat fast or else you won't have anythin' left," she said, biting into it with a smug smile.
Jung Heewon sighed. “There’s still a lot there, don’t get the food on—”
“Your hair again,” Yoo Sangah finished gently, nudging Heewon’s tray a little further from the edge.
"Ah, that wasn't intentional.” Heewon pouted and reached over for the butter, only for Gilyoung to hand it to her first.
“I saw you staring at it,” he mumbled with a small, proud grin.
“Thanks, Gilyoung,” Heewon smiled, ruffling his hair. “At least one person here is sweet.”
Dokja merely watched as the topic shifted, his lips curling upward by its ridiculousness—at himself, perhaps?
Joonghyuk sat at the end, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with that same expression of eternal disapproval, but he didn’t say anything, he was just watching Dokja.
Still, Dokja didn’t speak. He looked down at his now half-empty plate but it didn’t bother him much, he wasn’t hungry anyway.
He looked around again, more slowly this time. Every face was familiar, every voice, every bicker, every gesture—it was all familiar now.
But somehow, not yet his.
There was this sense of unease in the familiarity he felt and that made sick to the stomach.
The clatter of cutlery, the warm light in the small camp shelter, the sound of Sangah quietly humming to herself as she poured juice for the kids, even the way Sooyoung leaned in her chair just a little too far—it was too familiar, a feeling of warmth that enveloped his whole being.
He didn’t know what to do with it.
“You alright?” Sangah’s voice broke gently into his thoughts.
Her face was near, she must’ve stood and walked over towards him and he didn't notice. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Dokja almost flinched.
He offered a weak nod. “Yeah, just thinking.”
“Try eating instead,” she smiled.
“Oh my god,” Sooyoung muttered around a mouthful of pancake. “Did you just make a joke?”
He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth curved—slightly. The room didn’t fall silent, but Gilyoung caught it and he immediately nudged Sangah with a grin.
She turned to look at him, dramatically pointing with her fork. “Do it again.”
“I'm not doing it cause you said it,” he deadpanned.
Sooyoung laughed so hard she nearly choked.
The banter carried on, and Dokja sat back, letting their voices wash over him like the warm sun as it sets in the morning.
For a brief moment, his chest felt tight—not in a painful way, he couldn't pinpoint the feeling.
But he felt that this... was real.
Like he had a place here.
He looked down at his plate, now bare except for a single piece of pancake—one he didn’t remember taking—it was a small piece with strawberry jam shaped almost like a heart.
He didn’t know who gave it to him.
He just ate it quietly and said nothing.
Later, they were outside.
The street was peaceful, the summer breeze tugged at the edges of his shirt. The kids walked ahead, talking about something that happened in school—anything they liked and banter about, dokja lets their chatter flow through another ear.
Yoosung pointed out a bookstore window excitedly, and Gilyoung listened with quiet attention that made Dokja’s heart ache.
"Ahjussi," Yoosung said, tugging at his sleeve, "can we get ice cream after?"
"You never say no," Gilyoung smiled faintly.
"I’m soft like that," Dokja muttered.
It felt too easy, but it was hard to deny the warmth blooming in his chest as they browsed books together. The kids piled volumes into his arms with zero shame and he didn’t even protest.
At the counter, the clerk smiled at him like he came here often.
"We're gonna buy this one!" Gilyoung exclaimed, holding up a big book about bugs, a "bug encyclopedia" written on its covers.
"No way! Don't you already have that?" Yoosung replied immediately, eyeing the book with raised brows, frustration evident in her voice.
"Yeah, but this is the updated version!"
"You can search that up on your phone! We agreed to get this storybook, remember?" She wearily sighed as she watched gilyoung stubbornly refused to put the book back.
Dokja watched it all unfold before saying, "it's fine, we can get the two, I'll pay for it."
He said it with the confidence of someone who used to have numerous zero's in him, but now that he thought about it... did he even have enough money—much less, did he take some with him?
The two beamed, all earlier tension forgotten, and rushed to his side with their chosen books in hand. Gilyoung hugged his bug encyclopedia like it was something sacred, while Yoosung, a bit more dignified, just nodded, her tiny mouth twitching upwards as she held her storybook close.
Dokja crouched down in front of them as they reached him. “Only this time, okay?”
“Okay!” they both said in unison.
In the end, Yoo Joonghyuk—who had been waiting outside the bookstore with his arms crossed and the expression of a nonchalant man—paid for the books.
“You’re hopeless,” he muttered, sliding his card across the counter before Dokja could even protest.
“I had it covered,” Dokja mumbled, though they both knew he didn’t.
As they stepped back out into the warm light of late afternoon, Gilyoung clutched his new bug encyclopedia like it was treasure, while Yoosung had already started flipping through the storybook, humming a little tune.
They walked slowly down the street. There were no sights of monsters, no explosions—just the shuffle of their shoes and the occasional laughter of children from a nearby park.
“Are we still gonna get ice cream?” Yoosung asked suddenly.
“oh, I did mention that we would.” Dokja replied, adjusting the bag slung over his shoulder.
“I want chocolate ice cream!" Gilyoung looked up and announced, voice in an excited tone.
“hey! I wanted the chocolate one—"
Dokja sighed. “you both can have it in chocolate flavor.”
In the back, yoo jonghyuk stared at Kim dokja's back with a frown.
Yoo joonghuk sighed tiredly, "that's not what i—"
Heewon and Sooyoung caught up with them from another direction—plastic bags in hand, filled with various household goods they definitely didn’t need.
"Ack—dude, you should definitely fix your face, you look angry 24/7” Sooyoung stated as her eyes gaze at Yoo joonghyuk's form, slinging an arm to Kim dokja's shoulders.
Yoo joonghyuk stayed silent and glared at sooyoung who merely ignored it. Kim dokja could only sweatdrop as sooyoung placed him in her place, placing him in front of too joonghyuk's gaze.
“Sounds about right,” Heewon muttered, adjusting the strap of her bag. She glanced down at the kids, her expression softening. “You guys get new books?”
“Mhm!” Gilyoung nodded enthusiastically, showing it off like a prized trophy. "And we're getting ice cream too!”
Sooyoung leaned in to look. “Bugs, huh? I’ll stay far, far away.”
Heewon smiled. “You always say that, but you’re the first to run and kill anything with more than six legs.”
“Self-defense,” Sooyoung replied dramatically.
Dokja tuned out the chatter slightly, walking just behind the group. He watched the way they talked and bickered, how Joonghyuk trailed behind eventually with his hands in his pockets and that same blank look. How Gilyoung and yoosung slipped their tiny hands into his, and how Heewon scolded Sooyoung while still letting her carry nothing.
He didn’t say anything, he just kept walking along.
It was peaceful, mundane and beautiful, in a quiet, aching kind of way.
Sometimes, he still waited for the ground to shake. For a system message to cut through the air—for the fourth wall to notify him—but none of that came.
Only the scent of street food and the glow of the setting sun.
By the time they got home, the sun had dipped below the skyline, leaving soft gold streaks across the apartment walls—the kind of light that made everything look soft and warm, glowing in an orange hue.
The door creaked open as Dokja pushed it with his shoulder, balancing Yoosung’s leftover tteokbokki container and the two books the kids bought in his arms. Gilyoung and Yoosung had long slipped off their shoes, already bickering over who gets to show their book first.
“Don’t drop anything,” Jung Heewon called from behind, arms filled with grocery bags. Joonghyuk held the door open silently, giving her space—his presence somehow making the mansion's entryway feel smaller.
The moment they stepped in, Gilyoung yelled, “Last one to the couch is a rotten bug!"
Yoosung squealed and ran and the two giggled their way, sprinting.
Dokja blinked and as he opened his eyes, he saw a pillow near his face in that second until his body tilted backwards.
The pillow had hit him in the face and the perpetrators were giggling.
The pillow fell and he caught it by reflex, his eyes gazed at the two children laughing.
Gilyoung was trying—and failing—to muffle his giggles behind both hands, while Yoosung ducked behind the couch with the speed of someone who knew exactly what kind of retaliation was about to come.
“I see,” he said, low and calm. “So this is how it’s going to be.”
The two children yelped and scattered.
“Gilyoung, run!!” Yoosung shrieked.
Gilyoung bolted toward the hallway, only to be hit by a pillow expertly thrown by Dokja. It thumped softly against his back, and he burst out laughing.
Yoosung retaliated by hurling a cushion from the couch, Dokja immediately dodges and threw the cushion back.
Pillows flew, the couch cushions ended up on the floor, and someone’s sock landed on the lampshade—dokja still had no idea how that happened. Laughter bounced off the walls—giddy, high-pitched, and so full of joy.
“Yoosung, that’s my face!” Sooyoung shouted, laughing as she ducked behind a beanbag, her arms loaded with three pillows. She peeked out, narrowed her eyes like a sniper, and launched a perfectly aimed strike that smacked Gilyoung in the chest. He dramatically dropped to the floor like he’d been mortally wounded.
“Medic!” Gilyoung wheezed, reaching toward Heewon.
“You’ll live,” Heewon said dryly, then chucked a rolled-up blanket at Dokja’s back.
“Traitor,” Dokja muttered, turning just in time to catch the next onslaught from Yoosung, who had climbed onto the armrest for a better angle.
“Hey, I’m back—what the—" Hyunsung stood in the doorway, still in his office clothes, holding his bag in his hands. His tie was slightly askew, and his eyes took in the chaos he had walked in.
Yoosung was mid-swing with a pillow, Gilyoung was sprawled dramatically on the floor like a fallen soldier, and Dokja was sitting cross-legged in the wreckage of their living room, looking like a tired dad who survived five babies crying.
Sooyoung popped her head behind the couch, "You're late."
"Welcome back." Heewon added from behind another couch.
Hyunsung just blinked, “You started a war without me?”
Yoosung popped up. “Uncle Hyun! Pick a side! It’s us versus Uncle Dokja!”
Dokja immediately turned his head, eyeing yoosung who was still standing in the armrest, pillows in hand. “Traitor.”
Yoosung stuck her tongue out playfully.
Gilyoung, from the floor, raised his hand without getting up. “I’m neutral.”
“You were literally the first one to hit me,” Dokja deadpanned.
Hyunsung gave a long-suffering sigh and placed his bag on the chair near the counter, “I brought snacks though, can I get diplomatic immunity?”
“No,” Yoosung replied immediately. “You get a pillow!”
She hurled one directly at his face.
Except it didn't hit, hyunsung caught it with one hand—it was somewhat unfair, he was literally a soldier, Kim dokja was one back then too but he couldn't catch the pillow thrown in his face earlier.
Hyunsung narrowed his eyes and took off his tie with a serious look.
This time, with Hyunsung joining in, it was ten times worse, and much, much louder. Sangah arrived in the middle of it—startled at first, stepping over the couch cushions with wide eyes, until Yoosung shoved a pillow in her hands with a battle cry.
“I don’t even know what side I’m on,” Sangah muttered, but she smiled—and that was it. Dokja could feel his sweat dripping as he gazed at everyone in the room, holding a pillow and all were pointed towards him.
"Ahjussi is the bad guy!" Yoosung declares loudly.
“Villain arc,” Gilyoung added, his hands placed on half of his face. He said it with his best deep voice and the seriousness of an emo person in his emo phase. Kim dokja couldn't help but think that the abyssal Black flame dragon might've liked what gilyoung did just then.
“Checks out.” hyunsung nodded and dokja couldn't help but let his mouth agape, sooyoung just laughed.
“Unbelievable,” Dokja muttered and Sangah hit him with a cushion—that started the assault and all of it was towards him, the laughter bounced off the walls.
Jihye in all her glory—who had only come back from her club activities—joined in much later.
Eventually, Dokja let himself fall back on the floor, arms spread, a pillow tucked under his head as the two kids collapsed beside him, all of them panting and grinning.
“You’re so old,” Yoosung said, walking over to poke his cheek.
“Mentally, I’m 300, show some respect.” dokja groaned once again.
From the kitchen came the soft bubbling of the kettle, "the good one", they say. The one Heewon only used rarely and the one she claimed “makes the tea taste like something you'd find in a 5-star restaurant”.
“Tea’s on,” she said, her voice softer now.
“Make mine strong,” Joonghyuk muttered from the corner, already seated in the lone armchair, flipping through a newspaper like the earlier destruction didn't happen.
Darn sunfish bastard, running away. Dokja thought exhaustedly.
The scent of tea lingered in the air, heewon placed cups on the table and everyone immediately gathered there like a bunch of moths.
He watched as Gilyoung read aloud quietly to himself as Yoosung sat beside him with her storybook and started correcting his pronunciation—even when he didn’t ask—and as Sooyoung rewatched the videos she had taken—dokja had no doubt that majority of it was him getting his ass hit. Jihye was laughing along with the video, seeing what she missed.
Yoo Joonghyuk was simply sipping his tea without complaint.
It was near midnight when the house finally quieted.
Sooyoung had gone to her room muttering something about writing a scathing review for a web novel she hadn’t even read. Heewon finished the dishes with her sleeves rolled up and a sigh in her breath that said “don’t leave the pan like this again.”
Joonghyuk retreated to the balcony with his tea—oh wonders, how many had he taken by now?
And now, it was just Dokja and the kids.
Yoosung was tucked under her blanket, hugging a stuffed rabbit that had definitely been through the apocalypse and back. Gilyoung lay on the mattress beside her, his bug encyclopedia still half-open on the pillow.
Dokja crouched beside them, brushing a strand of hair from Yoosung’s face. Her cheeks were warm from laughter, she’d fallen asleep mumbling about wanting a bug as a pet, and Gilyoung had fallen asleep insisting which one would be easiest to feed.
He stayed like that for a moment—kneeling on the floor beside them, hands folded in his lap, watching.
“Only this time, okay?” he whispered, echoing what he’d said earlier that day, his voice barely made a sound.
They didn’t answer, of course. They were already dreaming. Kids always fell asleep like they trusted the world wouldn’t end while they rested.
He wished he could say the same.
Dokja stood, his knees protesting softly, and took a step back. The nightlight cast little patterns on the walls.
He stared at it longer than necessary.
Every step out of the room felt like peeling himself away from something sacred—like he didn’t belong here, like the dream might end if he blinked too long.
When he closed their door gently behind him, he leaned against it for a breath. Again, and another.
It’s just a dream, he reminded himself.
The problem was—it didn’t feel like one. Not anymore.
Dreams didn’t have the dull ache in your shoulders after trying to carry the groceries heewon carried. They didn’t have Joonghyuk handing him tea without speaking, or Sangah making sure he ate before taking her share, or Yoosung tugging at his sleeve just to hold his hand when they crossed the street. Dreams didn’t have Gilyoung holding up a bug book like it was treasure, eyes shining, just because Dokja had promised to buy it.
Dreams didn’t make you feel like you belonged.
He remembered his dreams—if he had any, he remembered most of them were nightmares, somewhat none—when he was kid, but he could only make up something in his head about Yoo joonghyuk.
About the world of the protagonist he was reading, he could never have imagined he was there, it was too unbelievable but here he is.
He walked back to the living room.
Joonghyuk was already dozing in the armchair, his mug long emptied, head tilted back. One of the cushions had been tossed to the floor carelessly, it was sprawled without a care.
He didn’t pick it up. He just stood there for a while, staring at all of it. The clutter, the mess, the warmth and the strange overwhelming peace.
This is going to end, he told himself. Don’t get used to it.
This is a dream, a dream that felt too real but a dream nonetheless.
But even as he thought it, he reached for a blanket and draped it over Joonghyuk’s legs.
The morning came too softly, just the sunlight spilling through half-open curtains, brushing against his eyelids like someone trying to shake him awake without scaring him.
Dokja stirred beneath the covers.
The blanket was still tucked around him, comfortingly heavy. A pillow had fallen to the floor at some point, but the other remained beneath his head.
His eyes blinked open slowly.
He expected the ceiling of a subway station or perhaps the vast, metal curves of the train they’d all traveled in for so long.
But all he saw was the same white ceiling he saw yesterday. It wasn't unfamiliar today and he found himself sneering. The ceiling fan that ticked every third rotation, the bookshelf in the corner with books he hadn’t remembered reading and a toy bug half-stuck between the pages of one.
The house was quiet, except for the distant sound of sizzling and the occasional soft voice—Heewon and Sooyoung, possibly hyunsung. He thought he caught the rhythm of Joonghyuk’s footsteps—he always walked like he was patrolling enemy territory.
Dokja ran a hand through his hair.
He stood up and shuffled into the hallway, yawning behind his hand, and passed by the kids’ room.
The door was slightly open, gilyoung was already awake, curled up with his book, while Yoosung snored softly beside him, drooling into her stuffed rabbit.
He paused in his steps and watched them for a moment.
The kitchen came into view, and the world once again startled him with how normal it was.
Heewon was flipping something in a pan, wearing a worn-out apron with a print of an angry chicken on it. Sooyoung leaned over the counter lazily, poking at a bowl of fruit like it personally offended her.
“Morning,” Dokja said quietly.
Sooyoung looked up and blinked. “You’re awake before noon, did someone die?”
He gave her a withering look and she merely grinned.
Heewon tossed him a folded dish towel like it was a reflex. “Wipe the table, breakfast is almost done.”
So he did, he didn’t argue against it.
He cleaned the table, swiping away breadcrumbs and a few glitter stickers from who-knows-where. He listened to the clatter of plates, the simmering oil, Joonghyuk’s approaching footsteps.
And all the while, that quiet voice in the back of his mind kept whispering that this world isn't real and that he'll wake up any moment now.
He finished wiping and leaned against the edge of the counter, watching Heewon pour eggs onto a plate.
“I had a dream,” he said suddenly, and his own voice startled him.
Heewon glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“It was… like this, kind of—not exactly. But there was a kitchen, and food, and all of you—and me.”
Heewon didn’t say anything right away, just flipped the last egg and turned off the heat.
Sooyoung didn’t interrupt either. She was watching him too now, head tilted, the joking expression she wore gone for once.
He didn’t know why he kept talking.
“In the dream… it felt like I didn’t belong...but no one told me to leave, no one noticed that I didn’t fit.”
Heewon finally spoke, voice low. “Sounds like a good dream.”
Sooyoung leaned her cheek against her hand. “What makes you think it wasn’t real?”
“Because dreams don’t last.”
That quiet settled again.
Joonghyuk entered just then, mug of tea in hand, and frowned at the sudden tension in the air. “What’s going on?”
“Dokja thinks this is a dream,” Sooyoung said.
Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow. “Still?"
Heewon rolled her eyes and slid the plate of eggs onto the table. “Let him have his crisis after breakfast.”
Dokja laughed softly, because of course—of course that’s how they’d respond.
And that, more than anything, made it feel more real.
Maybe that was the point.
Maybe it didn’t matter if it was real or not, not when it felt like this.
He sat down at the table. The chair creaked beneath him. Heewon poured water into mismatched glasses as gilyoung stumbled in, rubbing his eyes and clutching his encyclopedia. Jihye and Yoosong followed shortly after, the latter still hugging her rabbit.
And they all sat and ate.
No one vanished—not yet, perhaps.
—this will probably have part two or smth idk
