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Jongwoo stared at the ceiling.
The fan circled on itself like a silly cat trying to catch its own tail.
The psychiatrist had said that mild confusion and dissociation were perfectly normal after what happened. The psychiatrist also thought that all of the deaths at Eden studio were Seo Moonjo’s doing.
Seo Moonjo was dead.
But Jongwoo still happened to see him in the hospital's bleach white corridors, and after his discharge, outside his apartment. The psychiatrist told him that was normal too, a symptom of PTSD, she said.
The psychiatrist didn’t know shit.
Seo Moonjo. Jongwoo learned his name at the hospital, when countless police officers asked him about what was quickly named by the press as ‘The Eden Massacre’, playing on some vaguely biblical note.
“There was something off about him,” he always told the cops, reciting a script he knew by memory at that point. “He creeped me out.”
He called me pet names. He offered me cool drinks in the summer heat. He asked me about my interests.
That, Jongwoo never mentioned.
He laid on the bed of the apartment he was given following some fundraising he had had no idea about, since it happened during his stay at the hospital. People apparently took a lot of interest in him, or so his new publisher told him, when she asked Jongwoo if he had made any progress on his novel.
The truth was: Jongwoo had seemingly lost his inspiration as soon as he left Eden Studio. Well, that wasn’t the whole truth.
Every time he sat down and tried to arrange words into a phrase that made sense, his mind went back to his last night at the studio. Seo Moonjo’s hot blood pulsing around his fingers, his laughter gushing out his lungs as his chest trembled where Jongwoo was straddling him.
He understood why the pianist wanted so badly to squeeze someone’s life out of their body: there was nothing like the feeling of a person quivering under the unrelentless press of a chokehold.
Jongwoo clutched the bracelet Seo Moonjo had gifted him, the only clue that what went down at Eden truly happened. That Jongwoo’s hands were filthy with blood no matter how much he tried to wash it away. He had always liked Shakespeare, but he had never thought he could’ve ever felt any empathy towards Lady Macbeth.
The sheets of his bed were so clean they felt wrong.
Jongwoo still thought he would have smelled mold and dust as soon as his head touched the pillow every time he laid to sleep, but he only ever met with the soft and crispy scent of lavender detergent.
His apartment didn’t feel right either. The house he grew up in was a sharp toothed mouth that devoured his childhood. The dorm in which he spent his military service was a gaping hole full of men that didn’t deserve the title of protectors of the country. His room at Eden Studio had been a coffin that he clawed his way out of, like an even more fucked up version of that scene from the Kill Bill trilogy.
Jongwoo wasn’t used to a home that didn’t try to kill him.
He craned his neck upwards to look at the uplit screen of his computer, the draft of his book laying open and bare; he hadn’t been working on it since he collapsed on the bed and the sheets turned into quicksand, swallowing his will to do anything in the bat of an eye.
The computer screen and the streetlight across the window were the only sources of light illuminating the room. It was so different from the flickering neon lights at Eden Studio.
Jongwoo squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. He felt like he could smash his head against the wall like a ripe melon if that would have helped him stop thinking about that damned place.
He let the sheets consume the last ounce of his strength and fell asleep with his eyelids closed tight.
In his dreams of guts and gore, teeth tingled sharply against his wrist as he swung down again and again. Seokyoon looked at him dead in the eye, blood dripping down his face like tears, you shouldn't have loved me that much, hyung. He wouldn’t have killed me if you hadn’t.
When he woke up again his mouth was dry and sour, his head unpleasantly heavy. His mother had always advised him against napping during the afternoon, but Jongwoo had long since stopped following his mother’s advice.
He got up and let himself fall on the seat in front of the computer, trying to clear his mind enough to wrap up the chapter his publisher had strongly suggested he sent to the editor before the end of the month. Turns out that even survivors of the Eden Massacre had deadlines.
When his vision cleared enough he found out that the screen wasn’t completely blank.
I’ve been missing you for so long, honey
Jongwoo threw himself as far away from the computer as he could, crashing on the ground as the chair tipped and fell. He scrambled wildly to his bed and gripped the handle of the knife he usually kept beside his pillow. His heart thumped like thunder as he got up from the floor on shaky legs.
Where was he?
“Where are you?” he yelled, holding the blade in front of him, ready to strike.
He swung open the wardrobe, looking inside but finding it empty. He checked under the bed, behind the curtains. “Where are you, fucker?”
A shaky, airy laugh came from outside his bedroom before a tall, lanky figure slid in.
“I wasn’t expecting this kind of welcoming, I must say, I’m impressed.”
Jongwoo trembled so hard the knife fell out his hand and cluttered to the floor.
There was nothing rational about the scream he uttered as he charged the demonic presence in his house; the fury of god thrummed in his veins as he slammed Seo Moonjo against the wall, hand curled around his neck.
“You’ve got me collared, love,” Moonjo crooned breathlessly, face red and hot, “As you always did. Aren’t you satisfied?”
“I’ve killed you!” said Jongwoo, voice cracked with desperation. “I’ve killed you, why are you alive?!”
Moonjo smiled, his hands coming up to seize around Jongwoo’s wrists, but they pulled closer instead of yanking away. Closer to the scar Jongwoo hadn’t carved deep enough into his skin. “There will be chances to improve your aim, don’t worry”
His words came out as a breathy whine and Jongwoo was struck by the stark realization that he was still playing Moonjo’s game even with his hands around his throat. He let go and scrambled as far from Moonjo as he could. “It's been a year, why are you still haunting me?"
"Haunting you? Am I a ghost?"
"I don't know,'' Jongwoo inhaled sharply, ”But I know that you disgust me,'' he hissed.
"Isn't everyone a little bit afraid of themselves?" Moonjo came closer, holding his hand out to Jongwoo's cheek, not close enough to touch but enough for Jongwoo to know how he would feel if they were skin on skin. "A bit grossed out about what they know they could do but ultimately stop themselves from doing?"
Jongwoo stared at him, flaming hot with anger and shame at his own loss of words.
"You're my most perfect creation because you're the only one that understands what being me is like."
"You should learn what's it like to be me, you son of a bitch"
Moonjo looked at Jongwoo, his eyes and mouth completely still, only a slight furrow in his brow indicated how he was truly feeling. "Oh but I do. Who do you think paid for this nice apartment? For your hospital bills? For your mother's new house and your brother's hospitalization? For your employment in a publishing house?"
Jongwoo's blood drained from his face. He felt like his heart had turned to lead and would crack his ribs open with its renewed weight.
No, it couldnt be.
"I thought," he swallowed hard, his throat sandpaper dry. "I thought it was because of a fundraiser."
"You're usually so smart, honey, do you really think people do such things out of kindness?"
Jongwoo fisted Moonjo's shirt, filled with the desire of clawing him apart from the inside out and gnawing at any part of him that still twitched when Jongwoo was finished with him. "Then what are you doing it for?"
"I'm doing it because I love you," Moonjo held his hand out again, an inch away from the part of Jongwoo's soft throat he was so fond of. "I want you to live your best life without any worries."
"You're my worries" Jongwoo growled so close to Moonjo's face that he could smell his stale breath.
"Then kill me, love, and be done with it"
“I won’t. I don’t, not anymore. I have officer Jungwha on speed dial. Do you know how many years you’d have to rot in prison?”
Moonjo smiled his eerie smile. “I love how that pretty little head works, but you forgot that I happen to know who is really responsible for the Eden Massacre.”
Jongwoo’s eyes sharpened. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Moonjo’s tone was insufferable, know-it-all, Jongwoo wanted to pry his chest open and cut out his beating heart just to stomp on it. He wanted to smash his head against a canvas and ask his corpse who was the best masterpiece now. He wanted-
He grabbed Moonjo’s nape and smashed their lips together.
The noise that escaped Moonjo was nothing short of inhuman, high and desperate like a rabbit caught in a trap. Jongwoo bit his bottom lip and whined when their tongues met. He gripped the shirt at Moonjo’s collar, craning his neck upwards to reach higher.
Moonjo kept uttering little pathetic sighs but didn’t move his hands, as if he was too scared or too reverent to touch Jongwoo.
Jongwoo groaned in frustration. He fisted his hand in Monjoo's overgrown mop of hair and tore him away forcefully. Moonjo's full lips trembled.
"You said you missed me so much. Now I'm here. Touch me."
Moonjo didn't need to be told twice. He carded his hands through Jongwoo's short hair and over the planes of his chest. It seemed like he couldn't get enough, like Jongwoo's body was a foreign land and his hands had to map him thoroughly. Even though he was a dentist, there was nothing methodical about his touch, like Moonjo was feverish with desire.
Jongwoo felt no different and brought Moonjo's lips down to his own. His gesture was met with a high keen but they were so intertwined with one another he couldn't tell who it was from.
He backed Moonjo towards the bed, outright pushing him on it when he didn't seem to get the hint. Moonjo fell back on the sheets, his hair fanning on the fabric. As Jongwoo straddled his lap he was hit by a deja-vu like a slap across the face. They had been in the same position, almost a year before. Only now there was much less blood around.
Moonjo looked up at him like a pilgrim in front of the statue of a saint or whatever bullshit Shakespeare was on in Romeo and Juliet. Moonjo surely wasn't as cautious as the young Montague had been, he grabbed Jongwoo's hips, his fingertips reaching the bare skin under the fabric of the shirt.
Jongwoo traced his hand over Monjoo's sharp jaw and when he reached his jugular Moonjo gasped sharply, hips bucking up.
Jongwoo closed his eyes and whimpered, pressing down on Moonjo's throat. He then trailed his gaze over Moonjo's chest, his collarbone peeking from his shirt, pale and heaving in the light cast by the computer screen. Jongwoo ground his hips down, making Moonjo moan and shudder so sweetly.
It was so different from sex with Jieun, not having the feel of her soft breast under his palm or her thighs closing around his ears as he wet his nose into her folds. Moonjo was twice as loud and desperate as she had been and Jongwoo told him so, which seemed to rile Moonjo up even more.
For all he had brought upon himself, Jongwoo wasn’t stupid. He had figured out that Eden Studio had been a cocoon, a tomb for his old self, where Moonjo had carved him into the man he was now. Jongwoo was acting on impulse, doing stuff he would have never imagined himself to do, but hadn’t that always been Moonjo’s plan?
Jongwoo found he quite liked acting on impulse, especially when it made his cock so hard.
"All that you've done," Jongwoo told him, lips close to his ear. His hold on Moonjo's neck had lost any strength and now Jongwoo's hand was barely a necklace around his heated throat, much similar to the scar that already adorned the skin there. "Just because you were desperate for some dick"
Moonjo closed his eyes, all of his muscles seemed to lock up at once. "Please," he begged. "Please, baby"
"Please what? You think you deserve anything from me?" Jongwoo threatened. Moonjo melted under his fingertips, a puddle of skin and bone to reassemble at Jongwoo's will.
Even though Moonjo was so much bigger than him it was remarkably easy to manhandle him the way Jongwoo wanted.
He pressed Monjoo's face into the mattress, grinding down on the flesh of his skinny ass. Moonjo didn't seem to mind, if anything he keened even louder and babbled nonsense into the sheets, his hands scrambling to get a hold of anything.
"Look at you, ass up and face down. But that's what you've wanted from the start, didn't you? Since you offered me that beer, all you've been thinking about is my cock."
Moonjo tried his best to nod with his head being held down.
Jongwoo hauled him up by his hair, pressing his chest into his back. He rose up to his knees and pushed down Moonjo on his so that he could be tall enough to suck his earlobe.
Moonjo's head lolled back into Jongwoo's shoulder, he kissed Jonwgoo's neck, messy and uncoordinated, all teeth and tongue. Jongwoo gasped, hand reaching out to grab Moonjo's crotch.
Moonjo immediately started to rut into his palm, like a dumb dog humping a stuffed toy.
"What do you want?" Jongwoo asked, pressing his palm down, entranced by the sight and feeling suddenly magnanimous.
"Anything," Moonjo muttered, lips still trying to reach the part of Jongwoo's throat he most adored. "Anything, honey. Please"
Jongwoo opened Moonjo's fly and reached into dampened underwear, hand fisting his cock in a punishing pace but Monjoo loved it. When he felt the bracelet of teeth hit his pelvis, he moaned so loud that Jongwoo shoved two fingers between his lips to shut him up, but Moonjo found a way to make noise even with his mouth stuffed full and drooling.
He was eager for whatever Jongwoo was willing to give him, his fury and his anger and his lust and his mercy and his love. Jongwoo realised there was nothing about him that Moonjo wouldn't have worshipped.
Moonjo's dick weeped precum steadily, making the glide hot and smooth. He was wet just like a girl.
"You're so messy, baby" Jongwoo whispered in his ear, and Moonjo came. He came and came and painted his shirt and the sheets and even his chin with thick white ropes of jizz. Jongwoo stared at it, half of him wanted to lick it up, the other wanted to force it into Moonjo's mouth, even though he doubted he would've had to force anything. Moonjo would’ve sucked it back from his fingers and thanked him for it.
He threw Moonjo with his back against the bed and took out his own dick, looking down on Moonjo's sprawled form, pink and heated from the orgasm.
Moonjo eyed his junk eagerly, "Please," he begged again, without even knowing what he was pleading for.
Jongwoo came with a sob and closed his eyes for a second but he much preferred keeping them open, fixated on Moonjo's lax form, with his face covered in blush and cum.
He didn't expect Moonjo to crawl up to him, to kiss him with his tongue dirty of jizz and surely he didn't expect to like it, to moan into the kiss like a horny teenager who's just groped their first tit.
"You're so sweet, honey" Moonjo said, licking up his face but instead of cleaning it, smearing it with the cum that was still on his own face.
"You're depraved," Jongwoo bit back, unwilling to give him the upper hand even though he knew he was being incoherent to his own actions.
"We should clean up," Moonjo suggested, getting up from the bed and heading into the bathroom like he owned the place. God, he probably did, since he had bought it specially for Jongwoo. "You shouldn't sleep without having brushed your teeth"
"Jesus, you're unbelievable" Jongwoo groaned. But he was already following Moonjo to the bathroom.