Work Text:
Seo Moonjo was a creature of habit; this Jongwoo was quick to notice once their tentative attempt at shared domesticity began.
After Jongwoo’s outburst on the rooftop following their inevitable reunion, Moonjo had slowly begun slotting himself into his life again piece by piece. Gradually at first, what little possessions Moonjo owned quickly beginning to litter the apartment, before he finally decided to make himself fully at home, declaring it a shared territory. Not that Jongwoo had any say in the matter, waking up one morning to the smell of fresh coffee and cooked breakfast, only to find Moonjo ever so casually reading a book at his kitchen table with a freshly poured cup, as if there was nothing unreasonable about the situation whatsoever. His smug expression as they had locked eyes across the room left Jongwoo with the damning realisation that this was indeed his life now, that there was no getting rid of Moonjo now he knew he could find Jongwoo whenever he pleased, under his express permission no less.
This was a war he could not win, he had reasoned, so after the second slightly unwelcomed morning intrusion, Jongwoo simply threw a spare set of keys at the other man’s general direction and stormed off straight back to bed, half yelling “If you’re gonna keep letting yourself in here, might as well do it the legal way like a normal person. If you break the lock one more time, you’re paying next month’s rent!”
Jongwoo supposed most people would not seem so enthused to move in with their recent stalker, nevermind his history as a cannibalistic serial killer, but he supposes there really was no other way they could go. Moonjo slotted right into Jongwoo’s life like he was meant to be there all along, a missing piece to the puzzle that finally made him see the whole picture, and it was surprisingly comforting, not that he would ever admit it out loud of course.
This time around, living with Moonjo was a lot less eventful, the pair falling into an almost domestic routine as the days rolled by. Moonjo would almost certainly wake up first, and prepare Jongwoo a fresh cup of coffee by the time he stumbled out of bed, coupled with a perfectly serene smile and greeting of “Good morning, jagiya.”
Jongwoo would grumble incoherently in return, another restless sleep darkening the bags under his eyes and sending his hair sticking up in every which direction. In the rare occasion he managed to procure even half of the recommended hours of sleep, Jongwoo would bestow Moonjo with a single kiss before disappearing to get ready for work and stumbling out the door to catch the train, leaving the other man flushed with the same old infuriating lovesick smile in his wake.
Every morning the same, it wasn’t difficult for Jongwoo to pick up on Moonjo’s habits, even through his semi-conscious state. The first oddity he noticed was how Moonjo took his coffee, after finding a fresh bag of sugar cubes on the counter, which he had certainly never bought himself, preferring his coffee black (and how Moonjo knew this without ever once offering this information himself, Jongwoo preferred not to think about)
It was the smallest of things, but the fact that Moonjo, the possibly cannibalistic and most definitely insane serial killer, preferred his coffee sweet made him seem a little more human to Jongwoo, an unwanted spread of affection rising from his gut before quickly being stamped out.
After that, he couldn’t stop noticing Moonjo’s smallest of quirks no matter how hard he tried to conceal it from the other man; each little habit and preference chipping away at Moonjo’s carefully constructed blank persona, baring the painfully human interior he had spent years hiding.
And yet, in an even worse, and equally mortifying turn of events, Jongwoo found himself indulging the other man, even just to imagine his pleased little smile in the mornings when he found his sugar restocked, even before he knew it was running low.
Jongwoo always knew he was too soft for his own good, a slave to his emotions that often flared up too wildly to control, even before Moonjo had freed him from the cage of his previous life after the events of Eden. The thought that he was being intentionally nice to Moonjo would have sent his former self reeling, but here he was now, debating types of sugar cubes in supermarket aisles with a deep scowl on his face. Why are there so many goddamn types of sugar?!
And that was only the beginning.
Moonjo always smoked the same brand of cigarettes, so Jongwoo found himself committing the name to memory just in case he happened to coincidentally stop by a convenience store on his way home from work. The same went for his preference in beer, but at least they both benefited from a full case in the fridge from time to time - at least that’s how Jongwoo rationalised it to himself, even when his own favourite brand was on offer and was left unpurchased regardless.
Moonjo’s adherence to familiarity in his personal luxuries made Jongwoo mentally grasp onto any brands he could, anything he could ever so casually purchase just to see that stupid dopey smile again, to feel those hands frame his face as their lips connected. Obtaining Moonjo’s affection wasn’t a difficult task by any means, the other man offering up his worship to his proclaimed masterpiece at any given opportunity. Albeit, Jongwoo still tried to keep Moonjo’s reverence under check however, feigning ignorance whenever the other man happened to make any comments about his recent purchases.
“It just so happened to be the only pack on offer, alright?” Jongwoo had replied with a huff, hoping the other man didn’t notice the flush growing across his cheeks from being caught out from buying Moonjo’s favourite beer yet again. “I mainly bought them for myself, I am the one who actually pays the rent here you know.”
Moonjo had only smiled in response, in that same infuriating way he always did, when both of them knew that he could see right through Jongwoo’s poor attempt at lying. Softly, he replied, “Thank you jagiya.” and it only irritated Jongwoo more that he knew he truly meant it, heat spreading across his face right to the tip of his ears.
————————
Jongwoo had hoped that Moonjo would let it go after that, spare his poor nerves by letting his downright embarrassing acts of service go by without comment, and, in a way, he did. He certainly never brought it up in front of Jongwoo again when he carefully tore open a fresh pack of cigarettes, simply thanking the other man with a sweet kiss on his forehead as he wandered off to smoke outside.
Instead, he started leaving him gifts again, declaring war on Jongwoo’s subtle displays of affection and his sanity.
It started one morning much like any other. Jongwoo hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary when he dragged himself out of bed, presented with the same cup of coffee as always and a pleased smile. When he hurried out the door for work, Moonjo offered the same warm kiss to the cheek and parting goodbye as the door slammed shut. It wasn’t until Jongwoo sat down for lunch in the corner of the office’s break room that he realised Moonjo’s first retaliation.
Sitting neatly packed at the top of his bag, fresh chopsticks fastened in tow, was a prepared packed lunch box. There was only one culprit and Jongwoo groaned in spite of himself, drawing strange looks from his coworkers, causing him to sink lower in his chair.
That bastard. Always has to one up me, doesn’t he. Jongwoo didn’t even think Moonjo knew how to cook but as he took his first tentative bite of rice, he was equally irritated to find out that not only could Moonjo cook, but of course he could do it well.
Quietly seething, he ate every last bite and spent the rest of the afternoon with a full stomach and reeling mind, barely focussing on whatever bullshit column he was meant to be writing about the local football team’s latest success or whatever, as thoughts of Moonjo spun around his head. The other man’s unwavering devotion often left him feeling unsettled. Ever since their first meeting at Eden and the events thereafter, Moonjo’s exceeding politeness towards him had always rubbed him the wrong way. Whether it was rejected through a plain stubbornness as he was admittedly known for, or a rejection of the mere thought he could possibly return whatever rancid feelings his neighbour had for him, Jongwoo couldn’t deny that whatever he threw at Moonjo, it was no use; No amount of pleading or rage or downright murderous violence could deter the man, and even after all they went through, he still couldn’t rid himself of him, even when he thought he was losing his mind receiving gifts from a ghost.
When he came back to the apartment later that night, Moonjo acted exactly the same as any other evening, barely even quirking an eyebrow as Jongwoo haphazardly tossed his empty lunchbox into the sink. Jongwoo had narrowed his eyes at the other man, searching his face to try and find even a spark of recognition at what he’d done but alas, he was only rewarded with an ever so slightly smug smirk as he asked, “Have a good day at work, jagiya?”
And so, another small habit was formed within Moonjo, as he rose from their bed slightly earlier than before each morning to make sure his beloved had a full meal for the working day ahead. It was relatively easy dishes but ones he knew his Jongwoo would enjoy, information procured from his brief time departed from the other man, months of dedicated stalking not in vain.
He had briefly tried to incorporate various other gifts into Jongwoo’s bag for work but after slipping in a particularly sharp butcher knife one day, he quickly learned that sticking to packed lunches was the best way to stay on Jongwoo’s good side, and to avoid sleeping on the couch in punishment. (“Just in case you really wanted to show your coworkers who’s boss, jagiya! I know how handy you were with a keyboard under your last employer.”)
Moonjo didn’t stop at packed lunches either, small gifts slowly starting to appear around the apartment, although this time they were much better received than the last series of attempts he had performed months prior.
Some days it was a new crime novel left on the table that Moonjo thought he might enjoy, perhaps even draw inspiration from, particular snippets he could incorporate into his own budding novel highlighted with care. Other days, he would open his computer screen to find comments left on his novel’s draft - the ideas and paragraphs he particularly enjoyed and prompts making Jongwoo think about how he could expand his pianist’s motives even more, mind reeling with grotesque images he knew would make Moonjo’s eyes grow aflame like they had that first night they met.
The underlying fact that Moonjo knew just how to get his mind and heart racing alike bothered him to no end, but in equal measures left him feeling flustered and oddly touched. Never before had Jongwoo felt so seen, no one had ever paid so much deep care in paying attention to his whims and hobbies, trivial as his writing felt at times. Jieun had been supportive to a certain point under the guise of supporting his future prospects, but in the end she had only cared about what he could provide for her, not his interests nor his passions. Moonjo, however, had picked up on these almost instantaneously, feeding into his hunger before he even realised he had been rambling about the latest Raymond Chandler novel upon their first meeting.
Resolutely, and uselessly, Jongwoo decided to never outwardly acknowledge the gifts Moonjo had left him, but the smile on the other man’s face as he read the latest edit of his novel, now including all of Moonjo’s ideas and notes, or found him invested the brand new crime novel he had left on the sofa one evening, was telling enough to know he had got the message. Jongwoo really did appreciate them in the end.
———————-
“Does your hair keep bothering you?”
Jongwoo was in the bathroom, wiping the crusted blood that was most definitely not his own off his swollen knuckles, red ribbons joining the flowing water from the tap as it circled down the drain. He had been staring at it in a trance before the niggling thought that had pestered him all night finally made its way out his mouth, echoing to where Moonjo sat quietly on the sofa.
They had not long returned from one of their little hunts, as Moonjo called it. Jongwoo had returned pent up and practically shaking with anger from work, the kind no amount of sweet kisses would soothe. No, this was the fire within him that had finally been given one too many pieces of kindling, and there was only one way he could get it out.
Not that Moonjo expressed anything less than sheer delight when he saw the state of his lover pacing and muttering angrily like a madman across the apartment. This was simply the beginnings of being able to see his favourite masterpiece at work, when his deepest innermost desires could finally boil to the surface in the most beautiful of ways.
It was over far too quickly than either of them would have preferred, the darkened streets attracting hordes of easily instigated drunkards. Jongwoo had stalked through alley after alley, Moonjo lurking two steps behind, content to simply watch, before he had spied one particular bastard tormenting a frightened kitten huddled beneath a dumpster. One obnoxious laugh from the man was all it took to send Jongwoo flying from the shadows, tackling him to the ground with an animalistic growl as his fists began to descend over and over again.
By the time his vision finally sharpened back to reality and his brain provided any other conscious thoughts than kill kill kill, Jongwoo could make out less of a face beneath him and more of a swollen, bloodied pancake and a very pleased Moonjo practically drooling above him.
As his split knuckles began to throb, adrenaline waning, they locked eyes, Jongwoo still squatted over the unconscious remains beneath him. Moonjo was smiling ravenously, blowing the hair out of his eyes as time seemed to stop, before he dragged Jongwoo up into a kiss so fearsome it rivalled Jongwoo’s previous fury against the soon to be forgotten man’s face beneath them, his blood smearing Moonjo’s face as Jongwoo’s hands came up to cradle it.
After Moonjo had sufficiently displayed his affection, wiping the dirt off his knees, Jongwoo had zipped up his jeans and staunchly refused to leave the alley until Moonjo had returned from the nearest 24/7 store with as many cat treats as he could carry - an offering for the kitten whom justice had suitably been served, it’s tormentor’s blood glistening scarlet in the moonlight on the concrete street.
“What was that, my love?”
Moonjo’s reply from the sofa broke his trance at last, shaking his head as he turned the water off and stalked into the next room.
Momentarily, Jongwoo had almost forgotten exactly what he asked, and equally hoped Moonjo might not have heard him, as having to provide an explanation now seemed a mortifying ordeal. Thus far he had kept his observations of Moonjo’s habits completely internal, practically daring the other man to bring them up again.
Yet here he was, flustered at having been put on the spot, Moonjo’s slightly amused expression facing him in the soft lamplight.
“It’s just- I noticed you keep blowing your hair out of your face that’s all.” Jongwoo replied as nonchalantly as he could, “I just wondered if it was getting too long for you these days.”
Moonjo smiled once more, no doubt pleased at the outward confession that Jongwoo had indeed been paying attention to him, and began twirling his hair absentmindedly. It was long enough now to barely brush his shoulders, soft waves shining under the dim light. “I haven’t got it cut in many months, I suppose. Being a presumed dead most wanted case makes you hesitant to wander into the nearest barber’s for a trim. Do you want me to cut it, jagiya?”
Jongwoo frowned slightly as he settled in beside Moonjo; the other man’s willingness to conform to whatever Jongwoo wished him to be often unsettled him. He wondered what it must be like to be so entirely devoted to one person, to fully succumb and let them hold that much power over you; To let them kill you, if only to say you died at the hands of your most beloved and revered, entirely blissfully and willingly because it was them. Moonjo was an intense man, that much had been clear from their very first evening on the rooftop - yet since letting himself be freed and reshaped by him, cleansed by the blood of their fellow Eden residents, Jongwoo found his initial perception of the other man’s intensity to be all wrong. Moonjo had revered him from the second they met, it simply just took Jongwoo a while to realise that everything Moonjo had done, he’d done for him.
Jongwoo took some strands of Moonjo’s hair between his fingers, pads gently brushing over the softness as the other man melted minutely beneath his touch. “What do you want to do Moonjo? I can’t make every decision for you, it’s your own hair after all.”
Moonjo simply gazed at him with those piercing eyes of his, darkened with pure infatuation as Jongwoo only sighed. He could be a stubborn bastard sometimes.
“Do you at least want me to tie it back for you? It would keep it out of your face, probably less annoying for you…” Jongwoo trailed off but to his surprise, when he locked eyes with Moonjo, his expression had completely changed.
For once, he had managed to ever so slightly set the other man off kilter, visibly taken aback by Jongwoo’s suggestion.
Without waiting for an answer, and before his nerves convinced him to drop the entire conversation and storm out in embarrassment, Jongwoo began to search the apartment head to toe, trying to find something he could use to tie Moonjo’s hair.
There’s got to be one of those hairbands somewhere, he reasoned, throwing open any random drawer a past tenant could’ve perhaps left something behind. They were always fucking everywhere at Jieun’s place.
With a triumphant gasp, at the very back of his bedside cabinet, Jongwoo found a singular hair tie, and quickly made his way back to Moonjo before he could change his mind about this whole stupid idea.
As expected, Moonjo was a very good model, sitting perfectly still as Jongwoo began to run his fingers through his hair, working out any knots. The only sound that echoed through the entire apartment was the sound of their steady breathing, a facade merely hiding their shared terror about this whole situation. It was a painstakingly domestic moment for them, the flesh ripping violence from earlier seemed a million miles away as Moonjo hummed quietly as Jongwoo’s fingers grazed his scalp.
What the fuck am I doing? was the only coherent thought buzzing around Jongwoo’s brain, his fingers working on their own volition as they seamlessly raked a neat layer of Moonjo’s hair into the neatest ponytail he could manage. He let out a stuttered breath he didn’t even realise he was holding as he sat back to admire his handiwork.
“Not bad…” he mumbled. It certainly wasn’t featuring on any magazines anytime soon but despite his proficient lack of experience, Jongwoo found himself pleasantly surprised.
Moonjo’s hands gently came up to admire Jongwoo’s handiwork, feeling over the ponytail and bottom most layer of hair still brushing his shoulders, and with a minute nod of approval, he finally broke the tense silence between them.
“Where did you learn to do that, jagi?”, his voice soft and filled with something Jongwoo couldn’t quite parse; Was it wonder that he had unlocked another little secret about his jagiya? Jealously that he must have done this to others first? Or something worse, veering into worshipped devotion as many of Moonjo’s quiet words seemed to do.
Jongwoo only laughed, nerves tinging it slightly more forced than he would’ve liked to admit. “Jieun taught me years ago, I guess some things are just muscle memory.” He felt Moonjo tense beneath him at the mention of his previous relationship yet carried on. “That’s all I can manage to do, so don’t ask me for any fancy shit, alright?”
Moonjo breathed a laugh in return, before turning to face his lover, “Thank you, jagiya. You were right in asking, as it had begun to bother me. I guess you’ll have to keep practising on someone right?”
Jongwoo felt his heart stutter as Moonjo turned to face him. He had never seen the other man’s face so clearly before like this. Back in Eden, even in their most violent moments, Moonjo’s hair had always slung ever so slightly across his face, never revealing the full picture. He supposed there are a lot of things Moonjo crafted to hide himself just so - from his hair to his long sleeves, he never gave away the extent of his bare self, not to anyone but Jongwoo at least. This was simply another offering to the other man, another piece of himself. How many more fragments could he stand to give before Jongwoo finally contained the full story?
Jongwoo wasn’t sure he believed Moonjo would ever stop giving himself to him. How much more could he take after all, after already attempting to take his life? An act of perhaps the purest devotion, a consummation of sorts of their relationship - there was no Jongwoo without Moonjo after all, not anymore.
Instead they had become intertwined, fused at seams through the reckoning of Eden, the blood spilled damning them both to a life doomed beside each other, for better or worse. Moonjo’s words echoed around Jongwoo’s head most of his sleepless night, as he lay staring at the man beside him. Jagiya, now we’ll be together forever.
That night was much the same, moonlight illuminating their now shared bedroom as Jongwoo stared at the ceiling, the muffled humdrum of the city below and Moonjo’s steady breathing being the only sounds filling the room. Yet Jongwoo’s mind could not rest, continuing to race and spiral as it had ever since their exceedingly tender moment earlier, the feeling of Moonjo’s silky hair still ghosting his fingertips.
How exactly did he end up here? Falling asleep beside the very man who had torn him down piece by piece, reshaping him into a being so free and deadly, he walked the streets with nothing but fire in his veins at night, knowing he was the most dangerous threat in any of the darkened alleys. Moonjo revered Jongwoo, practically worshiping the other man with such dedication, such loving grace, that he often felt overwhelmed by his words and actions. Anything his lover did, Moonjo was sure to be there; Most nights he would ask Jongwoo about his novel, how his pianist was dealing with his new found blood lust, exactly how he killed each victim and why, with an intense interest. The double meaning to this did not escape Jongwoo’s notice, his own feelings as he recounted his own victims often bleeding through into his main character. Just like that first night they had shared drinks on the rooftop, Moonjo knew exactly how to pique Jongwoo’s attention and get his words flowing, talking for hours about everything and nothing, until Jongwoo could barely imagine how he ever filled his time before the other man wormed his way into his life, his mind, his entire being.
“You’re thinking too much, jagiya.” A quiet murmur broke the spiral of Jongwoo’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present of the darkened room, his senses slowly returning, background noises filtering back into his subconscious.
The bedsheets shifted as Moonjo turned to face him. Despite barely being able to make out his features, his gaze was still as piercing as ever and Jongwoo shivered slightly.
“What’s on your mind, my love? You’re getting lost in your own head again aren’t you?”
Jongwoo huffed in response, crossing his arms as the other man shifted closer, scowling that he could be read so clearly, despite not saying a single word.
Moonjo lay in silence simply waiting for an answer, eyes still trained on Jongwoo’s side profile. There was an extended silence, until Jongwoo realised he could never win this stalemate, that Moonjo was entirely capable of waiting for hours until Jongwoo finally answered his question, and he relented.
“Nothing, just-” he paused, turning to face Moonjo, tension bleeding out of every limb despite his best efforts. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Moonjo exhaled fondly and leant forward to rest his forehead against Jongwoo’s, their breaths intertwining in the night’s cool air. Slowly, they brought their lips together tenderly, each moving in tandem, every doomed thought effortlessly slipping out Jongwoo’s mind until it was blissfully blank, as it often was under Moonjo’s touch. For all of Jongwoo’s proclamations of Moonjo’s exceeding submission, the power the other man held over him was just as monumental, his entire body able to be rendered still under a single touch, the heat still burning on his Adam's apple from their turn in Eden, all those months ago.
As they pulled away, Jongwoo let out a breath, wrapping an arm around Moonjo’s waist, once again feeling more at peace with the other man than perhaps anyone else on earth. Moonjo may have killed for him before, and despite everything he had put him through since, in these tender moments, with each of their souls laid bare beneath the quiet humming of the city beneath them, Jongwoo knew deep within him, almost instinctively, that he would kill anyone for Moonjo. Anyone who dared to disturb the frightening, violent, tender, all encompassing bond they seemed they have crafted between them; The phrase ‘codependency’ surfaced to his mind, but was quickly disregarded as Moonjo melted under his touch, breath evening out as he began to succumb to sleep.
“Goodnight Moonjo,” Jongwoo whispered into the stillness of the night. There was no reply, but the distant buzz of the city below lulled him to sleep regardless.