Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Mystery of Constellation Corp

A place where coffee runs in veins and code dreams in binary. Where the elevators play game soundtracks and the water cooler bubbles with conspiracy theories. This is Constellation Gaming Corp, a gaming company that doesn't just make virtual worlds—it lives in one.

A gleaming tower of glass and steel, its windows tinted the exact shade of a loading screen. Inside, developers huddle over keyboards like modern-day wizards, their monitors casting blue light halos around their caffeinated faces. The air hums with the sound of cooling fans and whispered debugging prayers.

A tech company where the gossip wasn't about missing staplers or passive-aggressive notes about dishes in the break room sink.
No, at Constellation Corp—a gaming powerhouse that churned out hits faster than their CEO could perfect his signature scowl—there was only one mystery that kept everyone's keyboards clicking:

"Who in the name of all things digital had managed to marry the terrifying Yoo Joonghyuk?"

The developers had a saying: "The final boss isn't in any of our games—he's in the CEO's office."

Yoo Joonghyuk, nicknamed the "Demon King CEO" by his terrified employees, was notorious for his brutal game design feedback:

"This battle mechanic is as smooth as your brain function."

"A five-year-old could code better AI."

"Who approved this character design? I want them in my office. Now."

Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't just any CEO.
He was the kind of CEO who could crash a server with just a raised eyebrow.
The kind who made interns dive behind potted plants and senior developers suddenly remember very important meetings in very far away conference rooms.
His coding standards were legendary, his code reviews feared, and his death glare rumored to be able to compile bugs out of existence.

The speculation mill ran overtime, producing theories that would make conspiracy theorists blush. The current theories included

: A professional gamer who could actually beat him in PvP
: A therapist (obviously needed)
: A dragon (only logical explanation)
: An AI that achieved sentience (started by the tech team)
: A character from one of their games who came to life (the art department's bet)

The speculation about his spouse had become something of an office-wide side quest, complete with experience points (awarded for new theories) and achievement badges (for particularly creative guesses).

The betting pool had reached legendary status, rivaling some of their game development budgets.
Even the office plants seemed to lean in when someone whispered a new theory.

Take Shin Yoosung from HR, for instance. She wasn't just any HR representative—she was the keeper of personnel secrets and collector of office lore. Her cube, festooned with sticky notes and character figurines, was like a shrine to organizational chaos. One rainy Tuesday, while nursing her third cup of lavender tea, she unveiled her theory.

"It has to be an AI," she declared, her glasses glinting with the reflection of multiple monitor screens.

"I've run the numbers. No organic lifeform could process his expectations at that speed."

Then there was Lee Gilyoung, the IT wizard who lived in a nest of tangled cables and empty energy drink cans.
He approached the mystery like he approached his coding—with elaborate flowcharts and probability matrices.

"Arranged marriage," he'd insist, pointing to a red string conspiracy board that would make detective shows proud.

"It's the only logical explanation for the data points."

Jung Heewon from QA had a different approach. She tracked patterns like she tracked bugs—methodically and with an eye for detail.

"Government experiment," she'd whisper during build deployments.

"I've seen the way he processes paperwork. No civilian moves that efficiently."

And Han Sooyoung? Oh, Han Sooyoung was in a league of her own.
Marketing's chaos agent and self-proclaimed office storyteller, she treated each new theory like a pitch meeting.
She'd burst into the break room, scattering developers like startled pigeons, her "Caffeine Loading..." mug perpetually full.

"Listen up, mere mortals!" she'd announce, hopping onto chairs for maximum dramatic effect.

"I've cracked it! Professional demon tamer!"

"A what now?" someone had asked.

"Think about it!" She'd gestured so wildly that her coffee defied physics.

"Have you seen him in board meetings? Only someone who wrestles actual demons for a living could handle that level of intensity!"

Meanwhile, in a cozy corner of the office that seemed to exist in its own timezone, sat Kim Dokja.
His cubicle was a nest of organized chaos, where energy drink cans formed abstract art installations and light novels served as monitor stands.
Post-it notes in two distinct handwritings covered every surface—one neat and threatening ("EAT SOMETHING THAT ISN'T SUGAR"), one chaotic and scattered ("but sugar is a food group!").

His cubicle had the best view of the daily drama, positioned perfectly to watch Joonghyuk's office door while remaining mostly hidden behind a strategic arrangement of monitors and plants.
From this vantage point, he documented the office's ongoing investigation with the same attention to detail he brought to writing game lore.

Some days, he'd catch Joonghyuk watching him through the glass walls of his office, that signature scowl softening just enough that only someone who'd memorized all its variations would notice.
Their eyes would meet across the maze of cubicles, and for a moment, the bustling office would fade away, replaced by the quiet understanding of two players who'd found the rarest achievement of all.

Kim Dokja's favorite part of each day was watching his colleagues spin increasingly wild theories about his own marriage. It was like being the secret protagonist in everyone else's side story—a role he relished with quiet amusement.

If only they knew that their Scary CEO's mysterious spouse was the same person who'd once spent three hours stuck in the revolving door because he was too engrossed in debugging code on his phone.
The same person who regularly had to be reminded that no, you can't survive solely on energy drinks and spite.

The same person who was currently hiding in his cubicle, wearing his husband's jacket (which he'd "borrowed" six months ago), and trying not to laugh out loud at the latest round of theories.

For Kim Dokja, life at Constellation Corp was better than any sitcom.
Take, for instance, the time someone suggested starting a support group for "Whoever Married Our CEO." Dokja had attended, partly out of morbid curiosity, mostly to gather tips on handling his own husband. The irony was delicious.

"Document everything," one participant had advised solemnly.

"You never know when you'll need evidence."

Dokja had nodded sagely, thinking about the folder on his phone labeled "Cute Joonghyuk Moments (CLASSIFIED)."

Then there was the legendary birthday party incident.
The office had planned a surprise party for Joonghyuk, complete with streamers and those little party horns that make cats run for cover.
What they didn't know was that Dokja had helped his husband plan an elaborate escape route, complete with fake meetings and a conveniently timed "server emergency."

"You're all hopeless," Joonghyuk had muttered that evening, passing Dokja a slice of the contraband cake they'd smuggled home.

"Says the man who mapped out three different escape routes using the building's ventilation system," Dokja had replied, stealing the frosting flower.

At home, the terrifying CEO transformed into something equally terrifying but in a completely different way—less "I will destroy your quarterly reports" and more "If you don't eat a vegetable today, I swear to god."

"Yah, you're wearing that sweater again? The one with more holes than fabric? Take it off, I'm burning it."

"Stop trying to cook! The last time you attempted to boil water, the fire department put us on speed dial."

"Get over here, you idiot. I can't sleep without my human pillow."
Their love story began in the most fitting way possible: with a glitch.

Back in high school, where Kim Dokja was the quiet bookworm and Yoo Joonghyuk was the intense gaming club president, fate decided to play matchmaker through a Street Fighter tournament.
The gaming club's cramped room was filled with the sound of button mashing and competitive spirits when their paths first crossed.

Kim Dokja, half-reading a light novel while absently mashing buttons, had somehow managed to break Joonghyuk's unbeatable combo.
The room had gone so quiet you could hear a paper drop.
Years later, club members would still speak in hushed tones about "The Day Someone Beat The Emperor."

"You just ruined my perfect streak," Joonghyuk had said, voice colder than a liquid-cooled CPU.

"Oh, sorry," Dokja had replied, not even looking up from his book. "I wasn't really paying attention."

The sound of Joonghyuk's brain blue-screening was practically audible. No one had ever beaten him before—and certainly no one had done it while reading and looking completely uninterested.

That moment changed everything. Yoo Joonghyuk, who had never looked twice at anyone who couldn't execute a perfect combo, found himself inexplicably drawn to the boy who could accidentally break his strategies while engrossed in a light novel.

The next day, Yoo Joonghyuk stormed into the library during lunch break:

"Rematch. Now."

Kim Dokja had blinked owlishly behind his reading glasses.

"I'm in the middle of a good part."

"I don't care. You can't just... just... break my combo and go back to reading!"

"Why not?"

That simple question short-circuited Joonghyuk's brain again.
From that moment on, Yoo Joonghyuk had made it his personal mission to teach Dokja how to "properly" play games. What started as impromptu gaming lessons in empty classrooms turned into something more.

Their first "date" wasn't even meant to be a date:

"Your button timing is terrible," Joonghyuk had declared one afternoon. "We're going to the arcade. I can't stand watching this anymore."

"Now? But I'm reading—"

"Bring the book. You'll probably beat me again while reading it anyway."

They spent six hours at the arcade. Dokja finished his book, started another, and somehow set three high scores while "not really paying attention."
Yoo Joonghyuk looked like he was having an existential crisis.

What Joonghyuk hadn't counted on was falling for

: The way Dokja created elaborate backstories for random NPCs ("That shopkeeper definitely has a secret quest line, look at how detailed his pixel art is!")
: His uncanny ability to find bugs that no developer could replicate ("I just wondered what would happen if I jumped there while reading")
: That stupidly endearing smile whenever he discovered a secret ending ("Joonghyuk! This NPC has a whole hidden storyline about their pet rock!")
: How he could recite entire game scripts from memory but forgot to eat lunch
: The way he'd fall asleep during loading screens, head dropping onto Joonghyuk's shoulder
: His habit of naming boss monsters after cute animals ("That's clearly a Mr. Whiskers kind of demon lord")

By university, they were inseparable—well, digitally at least. Different universities meant long-distance dating became a series of

: Co-op gaming sessions that lasted until dawn
: Shared development projects where Dokja would intentionally add bugs just to make Joonghyuk twitch
: Voice calls where Dokja would read his favorite novels aloud while Joonghyuk pretended not to listen
: Joonghyuk sending care packages full of energy drinks and "actual food, you can't live on ramen"
: Dokja mailing Joonghyuk debug reports of his university's cafeteria food
: Love that survived both lag spikes and real-life boss fights

Their first kiss? After a 36-hour game development marathon where Dokja had fallen asleep on his keyboard and Joonghyuk had driven three hours just to make sure he hadn't died. (The timestamp of the commit where Dokja had typed "zzzzzzzzzzz" into production code had worried him.)

When Joonghyuk finally proposed, he did it in true developer style: with a custom game that took months to build. It chronicled their entire relationship, filled with inside jokes, hidden dialogue, and Easter eggs that only Dokja would understand.

The game featured

: A recreation of their first meeting, complete with pixel art Dokja reading while fighting
: All the bugs Dokja had accidentally discovered over the years
: Their favorite gaming moments together
: Virtual versions of all the books Dokja had read during their gaming sessions
: A special achievement called "Made Joonghyuk Smile (Impossible Difficulty)"

The actual proposal? Hidden behind a bug that only Dokja would think to trigger—trying to make an NPC read a book while jumping off a cliff during a boss fight.

[YJH]: "Kim Dokja, you break everything you touch."
[KDJ]: "Is this a bug report?"
[YJH]: "You broke something else too."
[KDJ]: "The game engine?"
[YJH]: "My ability to imagine life without you."
[KDJ]: "...oh."
[YJH]: "Marry me?"
[System Message]: Achieve "Lifetime Co-op Partner"
Status? [Y/N]

Dokja's reply came in the form of spamming the Y button until the keyboard protested. Joonghyuk had to buy him a new one the next day.

Back at the company.

Mornings at Constellation Corp always started the same way.
Dokja would stumble in, somehow both early and late simultaneously, armed with a towering cup of something that was more sugar than coffee.
He'd navigate the office like a sleep-deprived ghost, leaving a trail of nearly-missed collisions in his wake.

The early birds would watch this daily ritual with a mixture of concern and entertainment.
They'd learned to recognize the signs—if Kim Dokja was wearing a sweater that clearly belonged to someone else (too broad in the shoulders, too well-maintained to be his), it meant he'd stayed up too late testing builds again, and Joonghyuk had resorted to literally dressing him in the morning.

These same observers would then witness the inevitable: Yoo Joonghyuk's arrival.
The CEO moved through the office like a final boss patrolling his domain, his presence announced by the sudden straightening of spines and minimizing of social media tabs. But his patrol always, without fail, included a "random" pass by Dokja's cubicle.

"Your tie is crooked," he'd growl, loud enough for nearby cubicles to hear.

"Is it?" Dokja would reply absently, not looking up from whatever bug report had captured his attention.

"I don't remember putting on a tie."

"Exactly." And somehow, mysteriously, a tie would materialize and be expertly knotted around Dokja's neck before anyone could quite process what they'd seen.

The truth finally came out on what started as an ordinary Wednesday.

Kim Dokja, in his natural state of chaos, was attempting to juggle: an energy drink, three bug reports and a half-eaten sandwich.

Like the dramatic twist of a bad soap opera, his untied shoelace chose that moment to remind him that gravity was not optional.
The resulting crash brought down not just Dokja but also: a potted plant, several stacks of documentation, and last but expectedly not least, the office's collective sanity.

Yoo Joonghyuk, hearing the commotion, vaulted over two desks, bulldozed through Han Sooyoung's precious figurine collection, and shouted

"KIM DOKJA!" loud enough to make the servers consider early retirement.

The entire office froze, expecting carnage. Instead, they watched their terrifying CEO cradle Dokja's head, checking for injuries with the gentleness of someone handling corrupted save data.

"What did I tell you about multitasking, you walking disaster?!"

"Aw, honey," Dokja said through a mouthful of soil.

"You do care."

The silence that followed was deafening. Then:

The office exploded:

"THE LORE WRITER?!"
"OUR DOKJA?!"
"THE GUY WHO NAMED OUR DRAGON 'FLUFFY'?!"

"HONEY?!" Han Sooyoung's shriek probably registered on seismic monitors.

"Hi," Dokja waved weakly from his position on the floor.

"So... surprise? I'm the spouse everyone's been theorizing about."

Yoo Joonghyuk, still cradling Dokja's head, growled, "If anyone has a problem with that—"

"The problem," interrupted Lee Gilyoung, "is that I just lost 50,000 won!"

The next few hours were chaos:
- HR had to verify their marriage certificate (yes, it was real)
- The betting pool organizers had a breakdown
- Someone dug up their company profile photos and realized they had matching rings
- The security team admitted they'd been deleting surveillance footage of their morning kisses for years

During the impromptu office meeting that followed
Kim Dokja sat in Joonghyuk's office chair, still covered in soil, looking both sheepish and amused.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood guard like an overprotective dog, his death glare set to "try asking about our first date, I dare you."

The Q&A session that followed was also legendary.

"So THAT'S why you survived submitting the Halloween event bug report at midnight!" Lee Gilyoung exclaimed.

"We had a betting pool on your survival odds!"

"Actually," Dokja grinned

"He made me sleep on the couch for that one. The bug report was titled 'Top 10 Reasons This Boss Fight Is As Grumpy As My Husband.'"

"Kim Dokja."

"The developers approved it faster than any other bug report that month."

"Wait," Jung Heewon interrupted

"That time you 'accidentally' set off the fire alarm during the board meeting..."

"Joonghyuk had a migraine," Dokja shrugged.

"The board members were being particularly dense about the new game concept."

"I did not need rescue," Joonghyuk muttered.

"You were about to make the intern cry."

"He suggested replacing the dragon with a friendly dolphin."

"And that's why we have a 'No Marine Life in Fantasy Settings' rule," Dokja explained to the room.

"Who confessed first?"

Dokja: "He did, in code comments."

Joonghyuk: "It was a bug report about my malfunctioning heart rate around you."

"How do you handle his morning mood?"

Dokja: "Bold of you to assume he sleeps. But coffee helps. So much coffee."

Joonghyuk: "Says the man who needs three alarms and a personal wake-up service."

"Is he actually soft?"

Dokja: "Like a tsundere dragon."

Joonghyuk: "I will kill you."

Dokja: "See? Adorable."

Life at Constellation Corp was never quite the same after that. Changes included

:Dokja's cubicle was officially recognized as an extension of the CEO's office.
:A direct path was cleared between their workspaces (dubbed "The Highway of Worry" by staff).
:Strategic mirrors were installed so Joonghyuk could check on Dokja without leaving his desk.
:The break room was repositioned to have a clear view of Dokja's "disaster zone"

Now the staff found new entertainment in watching their scary CEO pretend he wasn't completely whipped while everyone pretended not to notice; the gentle way he fixed Dokja's collar, how he automatically caught Dokja whenever he was about to trip, the fond look and softened eyes when Dokja fell asleep during meetings, their synchronized lunch breaks, and the way they naturally gravitated toward each other in any room.

Their next game even featured a lovable klutz NPC named DJ and a gruff but secretly soft boss.

As for Joonghyuk? He maintained he only married Dokja to prevent further workplace chaos.

But no one believed him—not when they caught him sneaking kisses in the break room or patching up Dokja’s scraped knees.

The betting pool money? It went towards a new office couch—one specifically reinforced to withstand Dokja's numerous "accidental" naps. And if sometimes people caught their terrifying CEO gently tucking a blanket around his sleeping husband, well... that was just another day at Constellation Corp, where the greatest love story wasn't in any of their games—it was running the company.