Chapter Text
The wind cut across the snowfield in sharp, icy blades, strong enough to make the flags outside the research station snap and strain against their poles. Kim Dokja’s hood was cinched so tightly around his face that only his nose and fogging goggles were visible as he crouched on the ice, tapping notes into his tablet.
Around him, a dozen Adélie penguins waddled in an uneven half-circle, tilting their heads at him like judgmental little bureaucrats. One bold bird stepped closer, dropped a smooth gray pebble directly onto his boot, and gave a loud honk.
“Aw, thanks,” Kim Dokja said, lifting the pebble. “Do you… want me to keep it?”
The penguin honked again and shuffled even closer, brushing against his parka. Another penguin waddled up and dropped its own pebble next to the first.
Kim Dokja stared at them for a moment, then back at his tablet. “I think they like me.”
“Of course they do,” came the flat reply behind him. “They have poor taste.”
Kim Dokja didn’t even have to look. “Hello to you too, Joonghyuk-ssi.”
Yoo Joonghyuk came into view, parka zipped to his chin, goggles resting on his forehead, and his face set in its usual scowl. He crossed his arms, watching the growing cluster of penguins around Kim Dokja. It was hard to tell whether his expression was due to the weather, the penguins, or Kim Dokja’s mere existence.
“They’re probably just curious,” Dokja said, tapping another note into his tablet. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a penguin.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw flexed. “…Shut up and finish your notes.”
Another penguin waddled closer and dropped a small fish in front of Joonghyuk. Then, with deliberate slowness, it pushed it toward Kim Dokja’s boots.
There was a long pause.
Kim Dokja blinked. “Was that for you?”
The penguin honked and shoved the fish closer, then physically nudged Yoo Joonghyuk toward Kim Dokja like a small, tuxedoed bulldozer.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared down at it, face darkening. “Is it trying to give me to you ?”
Kim Dokja laughed. “Maybe it’s proposing for me. Should I say yes?”
“Kim Dokja I'm going to throw you into the snow,” Yoo Joonghyuk said murderously, stepping forward to shoo the penguin. It only honked louder and flapped its stubby wings in defiance.
Kim Dokja bit back a grin, tilting his head. “You’re losing to a penguin, you know.”
“I’m not—” Yoo Joonghyuk started, then stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose like he regretted every life choice that had led him here. “I am not competing with a bird.”
The penguin honked loudly, as if disagreeing, and waddled in front of Dokja protectively, like a tiny bodyguard.
Kim Dokja chuckled, sliding the pebble into his coat pocket. “Too late. I think you’ve been challenged.”
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at the bird, jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll win.”
Dokja raised an eyebrow, suddenly confused. “Against… the penguin? I didn’t mean it literally you know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t answer.
Kim Dokja sighed, tucking the pebble into his pocket as he stood. “Whatever weird game you’re now planning with an actual flightless bird, count me out. Some of us are here to work.”
“Then work faster,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, still glaring at the penguin, who honked again and waddled closer to Kim Dokja’s leg like it was claiming him.
Kim Dokja just patted the bird’s head. “Look at that, Joonghyuk-ssi. It’s nice to feel appreciated.”
The penguin honked again, as if agreeing, while Yoo Joonghyuk muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: I’m going to fight you and your stupid bird boyfriend.
After what seemed like a long while Yoo Joonghyuk finally tore his glare away from the penguin (and promptly lost the staring competition). “Pack up. We’re done for the day. Director wants everyone back within the hour—snowstorm’s coming in.”
Kim Dokja glanced up from his tablet. “Already? The afternoon's barely ending.”
“Do you want to be out here when it hits?”
“Fair point.” He sighed, powering down his tablet and tucking it carefully into its case. His kit bag was heavy, stuffed with recording equipment, spare batteries, and an emergency kit. He hefted it up, slinging one strap onto his shoulder, then bent to grab the other.
The ground under his boots shifted slightly, uneven with packed ice and snow drifts. He staggered forward half a step, the weight of the bag throwing him off-balance.
A firm hand caught him by the straps of his bag, yanking him upright before he could faceplant into the snow.
“Careful,” Joonghyuk said, voice low but steady.
Dokja steadied himself, breathing out a short laugh. “Thanks.”
Joonghyuk just looked away, releasing the straps like they burned. “Watch where you step. The ice is uneven.”
“Right. Of course. My bad,” Dokja said, pulling the straps tighter over his shoulders. “Should I be thanking you now or later, hero?”
“Don’t start,” Joonghyuk muttered, already turning toward the station.
They fell into step side by side, boots crunching through the snow. The wind was picking up, gusting sharp and dry over the ice field, carrying small grains of snow that stung their faces. Neither spoke. After almost a year of working together, the silence was no longer awkward and Kim Dokja no longer tried to fill it with senseless chatter—just a simple kind of quiet born from long hours working together, where neither felt the need to bridge it.
By the time they reached the edge of the station complex, the horizon had blurred, the gray-white sky lowering with the promise of heavier weather. But above that, the colors were unreal—an endless spill of orange melting into violet, purple and blue, the light shot through with faint clouds that caught the last of the day’s light and scattered it like molten glass. The reflection off the distant waterline from Dokja’s morning survey had turned it almost surreal, a painting across the frozen landscape.
It was the March equinox today. After a long six months, the sun was finally going to set instead of circling endlessly in the sky. Kim Dokja shivered, just at the thought. The constant daylight had been irritating at times, but he would take it over six months of darkness any day. Getting up in the morning would be an absolute pain once the sun disappeared—but at least Yoo Joonghyuk was a reliable, if chronically grumpy, alarm clock.
The klaxons started just as they dumped their gear inside their shared block—a long, narrow room with two bunks, two desks, and not much else. The sirens were a deep, wailing tone that meant only one thing: all-hands meeting, storm protocol.
“Commons?” Dokja said, pulling off his gloves and stamping the snow from his boots.
“Commons,” Joonghyuk confirmed, already heading for the door.
They moved quickly through the connecting corridor toward the central hall, the sirens still ringing in sharp intervals. Around them, other researchers were doing the same, a steady flow of heavy boots and hurried steps. The wind howled outside, rattling the metal siding of the station as if to underline why they were all being called in.
The commons was already half-full when Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk stepped inside, the last batch of people straggling in behind them. The research station wasn’t exactly packed—it never was. Year-long Antarctic shifts didn’t attract crowds, and most of the team consisted of a handful of scientists, engineers, and one very tired cook.
“Cutting it close again, huh?” someone called from near the back. Dokja recognized them as Patel, one of the oceanologists from Bharati Station. The man grinned, eyes flicking between Dokja’s flushed face and Yoo Joonghyuk’s pink ears from the cold. “Coming in late together again? The director’s gonna figure it out eventually, you know.”
Dokja blinked, confused. “What—”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned his head sharply, fixing the man with a glare that could have frozen boiling water. Patel raised both hands, still grinning, but wisely shut up.
Before Dokja could open his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, a voice rang out over the low chatter.
“Alright, people, listen up.”
The crowd shifted automatically, conversations dying as their director stepped forward.
Dr. Alan McCarthy was an older American, hair silver-gray under his beanie, voice carrying the sort of easy authority that came from years of corralling stubborn researchers. He’d been transferred from Amundsen-Scott as part of this joint international project—why half a dozen countries had suddenly decided to fund this venture remained a mystery, at least to Dokja. Most of the details were confidential enough to make him raise an eyebrow and then decide to stop asking questions.
All he knew was that he and Yoo Joonghyuk had been contracted to study local fauna and how the environment responded to their presence. When they’d pointed out that the “fauna” in question consisted almost entirely of penguins, their liaison officer back home had given them a look of pure disdain and added an extra ten million won each to their salaries. That had been enough for Dokja to accept immediately—and to drag Joonghyuk along with him.
Directly in front of Dokja, Liu Ling from Kindling Station was tapping his foot impatiently, like this meeting was wasting his valuable time.
“Here’s the deal,” McCarthy said, cutting through the last of the shuffling. “We’ve got a heavy snowstorm rolling in about thirty minutes out. Our scheduled supply refresh from Dakshin Gangotri is delayed at least two days.”
There was a murmur of frustration around the room, impatient nods and groans. Someone near the front raised a hand—some astrophysicist—and started talking about the spring equinox.
“Since the equinox is today—” she began, and suddenly people perked up, interested.
McCarthy sighed and held up both hands apologetically. “Sorry to disappoint, folks, but you’re not seeing the famous sunset today.”
A chorus of groans rose up.
Kim Dokja swore under his breath. “You’ve got to be kidding—”
Yoo Joonghyuk shot him a sideways look. “Shut up.”
McCarthy raised his voice over the complaints. “Even the tourist vessels are suspended, and those poor suckers paid thousands of dollars for the privilege. You want to die of hypothermia, be my guest. Otherwise, stay inside.”
The grumbling quieted, people exchanging disappointed looks.
“Good,” McCarthy said, nodding. “For power conservation, heating will be restricted to residential blocks only. Corridors and labs are off-limits after nineteen hundred hours. I don’t want to find any of you on the cameras wandering around looking for snacks or doing extra lab work. Go to your rooms, stay warm, don’t die. Dismissed.”
The crowd slowly began to disperse, some still muttering, others already heading for their respective blocks.
Their block was quieter than usual when they got back—most people were already hunkering down for the storm. Kim Dokja wasted no time kicking his boots off and walking straight to the wall-mounted thermostat. He cranked the heat up to full and then flopped onto his lower bunk with all the grace of a discarded jacket.
The door clicked open again a few seconds later. Yoo Joonghyuk stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him, and immediately scowled at the lump sprawled across the bed.
“Turn on the light,” he said.
“You do it,” Dokja mumbled into his pillow.
Joonghyuk flicked the switch, bathing the room in warm yellow light. “Go take a shower Kim Dokja.”
“Mm.” Dokja groaned but rolled himself upright, peeling off his gloves and unzipping his parka. He tugged it off along with his fleece, tossing them over the foot of the bed.
When he pulled his shirt over his head, Joonghyuk made a sound—low, strangled—like he’d just swallowed the wrong way and immediately averted his eyes.
“Oh?” Dokja’s mouth curled into a grin. “What was that?”
Joonghyuk ignored him, busying himself with pulling off his own heavy jacket and hanging it neatly on the wall hooks.
Dokja sauntered closer, bare skin pale under the overhead light, and pressed a palm against Joonghyuk’s chest. “Whatever will you do when we go home and you have to find a girlfriend?” he said in a mock-sultry tone.
He didn’t even get to finish laughing before a freshly laundered towel was shoved into his face.
“Shower. Now,” Joonghyuk said flatly, already turning away.
Dokja peeled the towel off his face, still chuckling as Joonghyuk grabbed his own towel and stomped toward the door. “If you get angry at a bit of skin, you’re never going to find a partner, you know!”
The door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the frame.
“Victorian modesty complex,” Dokja muttered to himself. “The only person who’d take him is some uptight lady from the 1800s.”
The shower was hot and blessedly quiet, the sound of rushing water drowning out the sound of the picking up wind outside. By the time he came back to the room, toweling off his hair, Yoo Joonghyuk was already perched on the upper bunk. A towel hung loosely around his neck, damp hair mussed from his own shower, and a snug black t-shirt stretched across his shoulders and chest.
If Dokja’s eyes lingered a beat too long on the biceps and broad chest before he quickly looked away it was coincidence. Entirely coincidence.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked up from his book, scowled automatically, and went back to reading.
Well that ruins the mood
Dokja ignored him, grabbed his old phone from the desk, and switched it on. No internet—of course—but he’d downloaded half a dozen web novels ages ago and still hadn’t finished them. Sliding back onto his bunk, he scrolled for his bookmark and settled in, pretending he hadn’t just thought his roommate looked good when he wasn’t scowling.
For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft tap of Kim Dokja scrolling on his phone and the occasional turn of a page from above. Then came the distinct thunk as the central heating to the corridors shut off, followed by the soft dimming of the lights: the station’s way of saying lights out, stay in your blocks .
Dokja didn’t stop reading. He was at a good part.
He paused, though, when his eyes stayed at the underside of the upper bunk. Yoo Joonghyuk still hadn’t said a thing, by now he should have at least made a dozen scathing little comments. He frowned, staring upward.
Then he stretched his leg and slammed his foot into the underside of Joonghyuk’s bunk.
It did nothing, aside from mildly jarring his own knee. Yoo Joonghyuk outweighed him enough that the bunk didn’t even creak.
Dokja frowned. Had that comment earlier about girlfriends actually pissed him off? He slammed his foot up again.
There was a low, irritated growl from above.
Dokja grinned smugly—until the room went black. The lights cut out with a sharp click, and the heater’s soft hum faded to silence. Almost immediately the cold creeped in, crawling in from the corners and edges of the room.
His leg froze halfway up, still angled toward the bunk.
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned over the edge, face barely visible in the dim emergency light from their bathroom, and glared down at him. “Kim Dokja. What did you do now?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dokja said defensively, retracting his leg like it was evidence.
Joonghyuk exhaled slowly, climbed down, and went straight for the wall panel by the door. Dokja followed, reluctantly. The screen glowed a soft red:
Heating Unit Malfunction. Kindly Wait for System Reboot.
Dokja groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Joonghyuk said nothing, just turned and went back to his bed, climbing up without another glance.
Dokja huffed, dragged the heaviest blankets from his bunk edge, and cocooned himself under them. For about three hours, they lay in silence, each on their respective bunks.
The storm outside howled like something alive, wind slamming against metal siding, the occasional crash of some unsecured equipment being tossed around. Even under layers of blankets, the temperature in the room was dropping fast.
Dokja shivered, teeth almost chattering, but stubbornly stayed put.
From above came a deep, exasperated sigh, followed by the sound of Joonghyuk climbing down. Dokja peeked over his blanket fortress just enough to see Joonghyuk stride toward the storage closet and pull out the single emergency sleeping bag their room had.
Fuck, I’d forgotten about them. Guess it’s his heat source now, he thought bitterly.
Dokja turned his head away and curled tighter into himself, as if that’d preserve any body heat and pretended to be asleep. It would have been convincing if his shoulders weren’t trembling every other second.
“Kim Dokja.”
Dokja could practically feel the weight of Joonghyuk’s stare drilling a hole into his head. He went even stiller, like playing dead might somehow work here.
“Cut the bullshit,” Joonghyuk said flatly. “You’re shaking so hard I can hear it.”
“I’m fine,” Dokja said, voice muffled under his pile of blankets. “This is my natural state—like a leaf in the wind.” No way he’d accept charity from any partner of his, especially not if his partner was stupid Yoo Joonghyuk.
There was no reply, just the sound of a zipper and fabric shifting. When he risked a peek, Joonghyuk was standing there with the emergency two-person sleeping bag already unrolled on the floor over a blanket he’d made into cushioning.
“Nope,” Dokja said immediately, ducking back under his covers. “I’m good here.”
Joonghyuk crouched, peeled back Dokja’s top blanket in one sharp motion, and hooked a hand on his wrist. “You’re going to freeze in that pile.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m not already frozen,” Dokja said, halfheartedly resisting as Joonghyuk picked him up and dragged him out. The cold bit instantly into his exposed skin, and his body betrayed him with a full shiver. “Wow, you’re strong, ever thought about professional wrestling?”
Joonghyuk grunted, the sound translating roughly to stop talking idiot in Joonghyuk-speak, and kneeled down, carefully lifting up and shoving Dokja’s legs into the open sleeping bag.
Dokja glared down at him, teeth already chattering. “You know, I know these are for two people, I just didn’t expect you of all people to actually use it to max capacity.”
Joonghyuk didn’t answer, just pushed at Dokja’s shoulder until he lay flat and then zipped the bag shut in one efficient motion. He flicked on the built-in heater, then wordlessly climbed in on the other side, body heat immediately filling the small space.
Dokja blinked at him. “…You’re actually serious.”
“Shut up and stay still.”
“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” Dokja muttered, shifting slightly before the warmth hit and all resistance went out of him. The sleeping bag was blessedly warm, the cold creeping from the malfunctioning heater fading fast.
"Shut up Kim Dokja."
Outside, the wind howled and battered the walls, but in their small insulated cocoon, it was—annoyingly—cozy.
“Fine,” Dokja said finally, eyes closing. “But if you snore, I’m suffocating you in your sleep.”
Joonghyuk just grunted again and settled in.
There was peace.
But not for long.
Six seconds in, it devolved into chaos.
“Move over,” Kim Dokja muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re hogging the entire side. I have no space.”
“You’re the one squirming,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped, clipped and irritated. “Stop kicking me.”
“I’m not kicking you, I’m readjusting—because you’re half the size of this sleeping bag and somehow taking up three-quarters of it.”
“That’s because you keep moving.”
Dokja tried to scoot back, which only mashed his shoulder harder against the cold wall of the bag. “This was clearly designed for two normal-sized people. Nobody accounted for your ‘future linebacker’ proportions. We're scientists you know? Not the rugby team.”
“Shut up and stay still.”
“Oh sure, easy for you to say when you have all the room in the world—”
That was as far as he got before Joonghyuk shifted abruptly, stretching out fully instead of staying compressed to make space. His arm pressed into Dokja’s side, one leg shifting against Dokja’s shin, effectively pinning him into the narrow curve of the bag.
“Ack! Hey! You can’t just—”
“Stop moving,” Joonghyuk said again, voice sharp.
Dokja froze. After a beat, he gave up, slumping stiffly into the tiny wedge of space left to him. “Fine. You win, you stupidly huge brick wall of a human.”
“Good.”
The room went quiet after that. Except for the storm hammering outside and the almost imperceptible hum of the batteries for the sleeping bag’s heating coils. Joonghyuk’s back was against his side, turned deliberately away, leaving Dokja to stare at the ceiling, wide awake. The warmth was already seeping into him, soaking away the chill, but sleep didn’t come.
There was complete silence for a long while.
“...Are you mad at me?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it, hushed even in the silence.
Joonghyuk didn’t answer.
Dokja rolled his eyes at himself, closed them tightly, and turned the other way so his back pressed against Joonghyuk’s. “For the record,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean anything by the girlfriend thing. I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but the wind screaming outside and the faint static hum of silence between them. Dokja screwed his eyes shut harder, trying and failing to will sleep into being.
Then, quietly: “What makes you think I’m mad?”
Dokja twisted sharply to stare at the back of Joonghyuk’s head. “Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re not talking to me.”
“I am.”
“Not the way you usually do.”
“How so? What’s my usual then?”
Dokja could practically feel the smugness radiating off him, even with his back turned. He muttered something uncharitable—along the lines of “idiot bastard”—and faced away again, annoyed at both Joonghyuk, and himself for even bringing it up.
For a while, nothing moved. Then Joonghyuk shifted, slowly turning until his chest was flush against Dokja’s back. One arm wrapped around Dokja’s waist and pulled him closer with unyielding ease, locking him in place like a vice.
This time it was Dokja’s turn to make a strangled noise. “What are you do—”
“I’m not mad,” Joonghyuk whispered, his voice low and calm, breath hot and ticklish against Dokja’s ear.
The sound of the storm filled the room again, louder than either of them.
The arm around his waist tightened slightly, just enough to make Kim Dokja’s breath hitch.
“I promise I’m not mad, Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk whispered. His voice was low and oddly calm, carrying more warmth than the sleeping bag’s heater. “You just say some very stupid shit sometimes, you know?”
Dokja didn’t answer. He couldn’t, not right away—not with Joonghyuk’s voice like that, too close, too quiet.
There was a pause, and then Joonghyuk added, softer still, and if Dokja wasn’t mistaken, with the barest edge of something bitter: “And sometimes that stupid shit is very cruel.”
The silence after that was heavy. Dokja’s breathing felt loud in his own ears. The heat in his face was impossible to ignore—maybe it was the sleeping bag, maybe it was the unfortunate placement of Joonghyuk’s hand at his waist, maybe it was just the whole situation. Whatever it was, he prayed it wasn’t obvious.
Finally, he found his voice, though it came out rough: “...What do you mean?”
No answer.
“Joonghyuk?” he tried again, twisting his head slightly.
Nothing—just the sound of soft, even breathing against the side of his neck. At some point, Joonghyuk had simply fallen asleep, apparently unconcerned about how close they were or how tightly he was holding on.
Well that's surprising.
Dokja wriggled half-heartedly, trying to slip free, but there was no space and no give in Joonghyuk’s grip unless he wanted to unzip the bag entirely and let the freezing air in. And the bag was already so warm and comfortable.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, letting his body relax again. The warmth was intoxicating, and now, finally, so was sleep.