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Chapter Text

Jongwoo decides to do his mandatory military service as soon as he graduates from college.

He walks the stage, receives his diploma, then signs up for the army. He doesn’t have any incoming job offers and needs to get it out of the way at some point, so he figures he might as well do it now. It’s only a year and a half, anyway. He’d be out and back to regular life before he knew it.

It’s sad leaving Jieun behind when they’d been so used to seeing each other all the time on campus. Their relationship isn’t without stress, however, and Jongwoo is a little glad to be getting some distance. He feels like a bad boyfriend for thinking that way, but if he has to listen to Jieun asking him what he plans to do with his Literature degree one more time then he’d snap.

The same goes for his family. His mother’s always busy taking care of his brother, and it’s obvious that she’s glad to see Jongwoo leave for his military service after graduating. It’s a guaranteed paycheck, after all.

It’s easier than Jongwoo expects to pack a duffel full of his things and leave his family behind. He doesn’t have a lot he wants to take with him, just extra clothes, his phone, some of his favorite books, and his laptop to write. If he got lucky, he’d be stationed at a base where nothing ever happened, and he’d alternate his time between patrolling and writing.

But when he arrives at basic training, Jongwoo’s hopes of an easy 18 months fly out the window.

“Yah! Yoon Jongwoo!”

Jongwoo turns from where he stands in the middle of the gym, ready to get these next few weeks over with, and holds back a groan when he sees who’s approaching him through the crowd with a shit-eating grin. 

Why is Jaeho here?! Jongwoo thought he’d never have to see him again after they graduated. At least, that’s what he hoped for.

“Hyung. What are you doing here?” Jongwoo asks wearily.

Jaeho laughs and slaps him on the back. Jongwoo grits his teeth.

“Ah, you didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?” he chuckles. “I thought about delaying my service for a while, maybe take care of Jieun-ah while you were gone — ”

Jongwoo curls his hands into fists, knuckles turning white.

“ — But then I decided it’d be better to look after you, and make sure you’re doing a good job as a soldier!” Jaeho says, patting Jongwoo on the back again. Jongwoo wants to smack his hand away.

Jongwoo’s blood is practically boiling at this point. Jaeho’s full of shit, he has to get his service out of the way at some point too and is probably doing it alongside Jongwoo in some condescending attempt to compete with him, to show Jieun who’s a better soldier.

Jongwoo forces himself to remain silent and not lash out. He’d get punished for fighting outside of sparring practice. Maybe he’d get lucky and be paired up with Jaeho during practice, so he can beat the shit out of him in peace.

“Thanks,” Jongwoo forces out.

Jaeho chuckles again, but before he can spew any more bullshit their commanding officer arrives and their first day of training begins.

Jongwoo avoids Jaeho as much as he can after that. He tries to keep to himself and follow instructions from the commanding officers. He doesn’t want a bad assignment after basic training ends.

But Jongwoo’s struggling more than he expected. 

He isn’t necessarily falling behind. He’s physically fit and performs well in the drills. He has no problem shouting chants or responses. He’s quick to learn how to handle guns and shoot targets, although they’re too heavy and impersonal for his tastes. He likes fighting, though. He’s good at fighting.

Perhaps a little too good. He doesn’t pull his punches during sparring practice, and doesn't treat his opponents the same. If the guy he’s facing off against is rude or obnoxious, then Jongwoo has no problem channeling his anger and disapproval through his fists. He chafes at his superiors when they break up the fight, and only just holds himself back from talking back to their authority.

Jaeho always tells him off, the few times it happens throughout the entire month of basic training. Jongwoo always storms away, pissed at him and his asshole friends. Jongwoo never really gets disciplined, since he’s good enough in every area of training, but he does get a few stern looks from the commanding officers whenever he goes a bit too far when sparring.

There’s one guy who Jongwoo sort-of befriends. He has reddish-brown hair, and bright eyes that Jongwoo notices right before he punches him in the face.

“Wow, you’re really strong!” the guy laughs as he gets to his feet a few moments later, raising his arms to resume the correct sparring position. “I think I’m gonna have a bruise!”

“Probably,” Jongwoo shrugs.

“Ah, I think it’s cool,” the guy smiles. “I’m Seokyoon.”

There’s a shrill blow of a whistle, and Jongwoo raises his arms as well.

“Yoon Jongwoo.”

Jongwoo doesn’t really care about friends, but Seokyoon is tolerable. He isn’t rude or obnoxious, just energetic. He starts tagging along with Jongwoo after their fight, and Jongwoo doesn’t really mind. He certainly prefers Seokyoon’s presence to Jaeho’s, that’s for sure.

Seokyoon becomes more like a friend after one particularly hard day of training, when Jongwoo  beats another guy so badly he has to be taken to the infirmary. Jongwoo’s nursing his split knuckles, avoiding the officers and Jaeho, when Seokyoon suddenly shows up and offers him a cigarette.

“Takes the edge off,” he says, grinning. “They’re good after a fight.”

Jongwoo takes the cigarette without another word.

It helps, and soon enough he starts buying his own packs.

He calls Jieun sometimes, whenever he isn't busy and has the energy to talk to her. They never talk for very long, both too exhausted from their days, but Jongwoo’s starting to wish they talked even less.

“Oppa, how’s training going? Jaeho-oppa says you might be struggling a little, are you okay?”

Jongwoo scowls into the phone. Jieun never fails to bring up Jaeho when they talk, reminding Jongwoo that she’s in regular contact with him. But how can he forget, when Jaeho brags about it every chance he gets?

“I’m fine, Jieun-ah,” Jongwoo replies shortly. “Just tired. I’m gonna get some rest now.”

He hangs up, annoyed that their conversations are going so badly. It feels like they’re growing apart, but maybe Jongwoo should’ve expected that. In college, they saw each other almost every day so there were no problems. But now that they don’t, their relationship is different.

Jongwoo tries to tell himself that it’s not dying, that they just need to adapt. Everything will be fine if he just gives it a little time.

Time is helping him control himself a bit more during sparring practice. He no longer sends anyone to the infirmary, but maybe that’s due less to him adapting and more because all of the assholes learned to shut up around him. He doesn’t really care about the reason when the end result is the same. Jaeho quits nagging him, and his superior officers start treating him like everyone else. 

When the last week of basic training ends, Jongwoo is given the routine stamp of completion and transferred to a specific base up north. It’s a small base along a quiet edge of the border, where patrols will be easy. He even gets promoted to corporal and assigned his own room at the barracks, since he has a college degree. It’s strange, because his life circumstances have always been rather unfortunate. He’s never been given special treatment.

But of course, it all makes sense when Jongwoo packs up for the transfer.

“I’m sad that I got assigned to a different base than you, hyung,” Seokyoon says sadly, leaning against the door to Jongwoo’s room. “I’ll miss you.”

Jongwoo snorts and shoves some clothes into his duffel bag. “It’ll be fine. The place you’re going to isn't horrible.”

Seokyoon sighs. “Yeah, but — ”

“Jongwoo-ya!” an annoyingly familiar voice booms. “Isn’t this great?”

Jongwoo groans as Jaeho intrudes into his room, a duffel bag already packed and slung over his shoulders.

“What,” Jongwoo asks flatly.

“We’re going to the same base!” he chuckles. 

Jongwoo feels a slow wave of horror wash over him as the words register. Oh, fucking wonderful. Of course he can't have anything good in his life. He wants to punch something.

“Lucky,” Seokyoon mumbles.

Jaeho smirks. “Hey, what rank did you get?”

Jongwoo really doesn't want to tell him. He wants to smack that smirk right off his face. “Corporal.”

Jaeho laughs again. “Looks like I’ll be your superior again! I got sergeant.”

Jongwoo grits his teeth. Of course he fucking did, the rich asshole with two degrees.

“Well, see you there! I’ve gotta go tell Jieun-ah the news,” he says, leaving.

Jongwoo clenches his jaw so hard that he won’t be surprised if his teeth fuse together.

She’s MY girlfriend! He wants to scream. Fuck off!

But he doesn’t. He always holds himself back when it comes to Jaeho, because Jieun will be horrified if Jongwoo does anything to him. That much was made clear to Jongwoo the one time he tried to sock Jaeho in the face during an argument. Jieun doesn’t care that Jaeho constantly insults and belittles him, she only cares about Jaeho getting hurt. And what the fuck is that about? Jongwoo’s her boyfriend.

Fuck. The next year and 5 months are going to be absolute torture.

His first week settling into the new base sucks. It’s hot since it’s the middle of summer, and Jongwoo feels sweaty and gross for the entirety of his patrol shifts. As expected, the food is abysmal and the communal bathrooms, although clean, are a pain. 

Since Jaeho is his superior, he’s constantly flitting around Jongwoo and criticizing him for every little thing. Whenever Jongwoo stands up for himself and talks back, Jaeho makes him run laps around the base. It’s humiliating, and makes his blood boil.

He doesn’t have anyone to really talk to, since Seokyoon isn’t there and Jongwoo doesn’t meet anyone worth befriending. The only good thing about this place is that he gets his own room, where he can sleep and write in peace after his patrols without anyone bothering him.

He hasn’t talked to Jieun since he got here. It’s been a week, and she hasn’t called to check in. Jongwoo figures he should call her. She’s his girlfriend, and the only one he has to talk to about what’s going on in his life.

It’s dark when he leaves the barracks, the summer night air feeling quite comfortable and not at all stuffy like it was during the day. He walks around for a bit, away from the noise of the barracks and the mess hall, until he finds a relatively peaceful spot in a cluster of storage buildings.

Leaning against the solid brick wall, Jongwoo fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up. He takes a drag, liking the way the smoke fills his lungs and calms him down. Then, with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other, he calls Jieun.

“Oppa,” she greets with a yawn. “How’s the new place? It’s been a while since we talked.”

Jongwoo takes another drag to hold his tongue. It’s been a while? If she really wants to talk to him, then she would call.

“It’s fine,” Jongwoo responds after exhaling. “I have my own room. The patrols are boring.”

“You haven’t done anything else?” Jieun asks. “Met any friends?”

Jongwoo rolls his eyes. “There’s not a lot of time, and even if I did — ”

“Oppa,” Jieun interrupts. “It’s important to have friends in a new place. Maybe if you spend less time writing in your room and more time talking to people — ”

“What?” Jongwoo says, frowning. “How do you know that? And how is that a problem?”

There’s a pause. 

“Jaeho-oppa says that it’s important to make relationships in the military, to be part of something larger than yourself — ”

Jongwoo lets out a shocked laugh and thunks his head back against the brick wall. He can’t believe this.

“Yeah?” he says, starting to get angry. “You’ve talked to Jaeho this week?”

“Well, a few times. He called me,” Jieun answers. “He said you were busy.”

Jongwoo tightens his grip on the phone. It’s true he’s busier than Jaeho, but that’s because the asshole has a higher rank than him. Still, Jieun could’ve tried to call him.

“Look, Jieun-ah — ” Jongwoo starts, raising his voice a little.

“Ah oppa, I’m sorry but I have to go to sleep now,” she yawns. “I have to get up early for work.”

“Jieun-ah — ”

He’s cut off by a series of beeps to his ear. Jieun hung up on him.

“Shit,” he curses angrily, shoving his phone in his pocket and taking a long, irritated drag from his cigarette. What the fuck was that? She wasn’t listening to him, she didn’t even seem to care —

“Are you okay?”

Jongwoo coughs on his exhale, startled by the voice and the stranger it came from. He thought he was alone.

He coughs a few more times to clear his lungs before turning to look at the stranger in question. 

A man is standing a few feet away from Jongwoo in the small space between the brick buildings. He’s tall, but the rest of his features are cloaked in shadow. Jongwoo can just make out the white of an unlit cigarette in his hand, and figures this guy must’ve had the same idea as him.

“Ah, yeah, I’m fine,” Jongwoo responds after his lungs stop spasming. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the man says mildly. “I’m the one who surprised you.”

“Still,” Jongwoo says, gesturing with his cigarette. “You probably came here for a quiet smoke. I’m sorry I was being so loud.”

“It’s not a problem,” the guy murmurs, stepping out of the shadows.

As his face hits the light and his features are illuminated, Jongwoo’s eyes widen slightly.

The stranger is handsome. Very handsome. His long hair frames his elegant face perfectly, showing off an entrancing set of eyes and ruby red lips. He looks more like a model than a soldier, and Jongwoo stares at him for a few good seconds, just processing his appearance.

Then his brain kicks back on, and Jongwoo scans the rest of him.

He isn’t wearing a uniform or fatigues, just his casual lounge clothes, so Jongwoo has no way of knowing who he is or what rank he is. But he moves with ease and confidence, and showed up to smoke at this isolated spot, so he probably isn’t new here like Jongwoo.

The guy walks a few steps closer, close enough for Jongwoo to see two beauty marks on the left side of his face.

“Got a light?” he asks, holding out his cigarette.

Jongwoo clears his throat, fumbling for his lighter. “Yeah, yeah sure.”

He grabs it and holds it out in the pace between them, igniting it with a quick click. Instead of simply reaching out, the guy puts the cigarette between his lips and ducks down to catch the flame. The action closes much of the distance between them, and now the man is so close to Jongwoo that he can feel his long, soft hair brush against his fingers.

And then the guy leans back up, cigarette newly lit, and takes a drag while staring solidly at Jongwoo.

“Thanks,” he says.

Jongwoo swallows dryly then nods.

The guy takes another drag, the action reminding Jongwoo that he was also smoking before this man showed up. He brings his cigarette up to his lips, inhaling to feel the familiar burn of the smoke and trying not to notice how the guy hasn’t moved away, not even an inch.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Jongwoo frowns in confusion. “What?”

“Are you okay?” the guy repeats. “You sounded upset, on the phone.”

“Oh.” Jongwoo lets out a cloud of smoke. “It’s nothing. Just my girlfriend.”

The guy nods in understanding. “Long-distance is difficult. Oftentimes it’s better to be involved with the people near you.”

Jongwoo lifts his gaze to make eye contact with the man. His eyes are dark and so, so deep that Jongwoo feels in danger of losing himself in them. Jongwoo can’t help thinking about the guy’s words, about his easy understanding, about how near he is, so close that Jongwoo only needs to move his hand a few inches to touch the guy’s own.

Suddenly the temperature seems to rise, making the night a lot hotter than it had been a few minutes ago.

Despite the heat, Jongwoo feels a bit creeped out from the man’s presence. Which isn’t fair to him, because he’s been nothing but polite, if not a little too familiar. It’s just a vibe that Jongwoo’s getting, since extremely handsome men just don’t come up to him and strike up a conversation with very limited personal space between them. Not that he dislikes it. It’s just… dangerous.

This man feels dangerous.

Jongwoo avoids his gaze and raises his cigarette to his lips, taking another drag.

The man watches him and tilts his head. “Are you a writer, by chance?”

Jongwoo blinks. “How did you know?”

The man smiles. “Your hands have that quality to them. I do something similar.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Jongwoo doesn’t ask. He only glances to the man’s right hand, holding the cigarette, and notices a large but healed scar running along the back of it.

“How’s the transition from holding a pen to holding a gun?” the man asks.

Jongwoo forces his attention from the guy’s hands and considers.

“I don’t like it,” he answers. “I’m good with guns. They just feel too big. Too… impersonal.”

Something flashes in the man’s eyes. “Impersonal?”

Jongwoo hesitates. “I can’t really describe it.”

The man nods slowly, looking at Jongwoo and taking a long drag.

Jongwoo goes to do the same, suddenly getting that unexplainable creepy vibe again and wanting to make it go away, but finds his cigarette finished. He crushes it under his boot and reaches into his pocket to pull out another one, only to come up empty. He’s out.

Jongwoo sighs, lifting his head to say bye to the man and head back to the barracks. He needs to get some sleep before his morning patrol.

But before he can get the words out, the man closes the short distance between them, places a hand on Jongwoo’s neck, and leans down.

Jongwoo inhales sharply just as the guy exhales smoke, resulting in Jongwoo shotgunning the guy’s drag into his lungs. He feels the tobacco warm his chest, combining with the heat radiating from the guy from how incredibly close he is. Electricity crackles between their mouths, mere centimeters apart.

But then the guy’s gone, leaning back and letting his hand fall away from Jongwoo’s neck. Its loss feels like a burn. 

Jongwoo automatically exhales the remaining smoke, his entire body frozen and mind spinning at what just happened.

The guy smiles, a smile much more raw and honest than the pleasant ones from before.

“Thanks for the light, jagi.”

Then he turns around and walks away, leaving Jongwoo frozen against a brick wall with his heart pounding out of his chest.

The next day, Jongwoo gets up from a sleepless night and puts his usual fatigues on.

He leaves his phone in his room, firmly resists from thinking about the night before, and reports for his patrol shift. But when he arrives, it’s clear that he’s not going to be spending the next few hours mindlessly staring at trees in silence.

“Jongwoo-ya, this is Park Byeongmin-ssi.”

Jaeho gestures to a man beside him that’s obviously a trainee, wearing the fully-equipped vest and assigned helmet that nobody else bothers to wear outside of combat. The man himself somehow looks like a toddler and a 40-year old man at the same time, so Jongwoo also knows that he must be a teenager, getting his service out of the way as soon as possible. If he’s at this base, instead of the usual training facilities in Seoul, then —

“He’s local,” Jaeho confirms. “His parents are friends of the general. Take care of him today, show him how to do patrols.”

Jongwoo shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay what?” Jaeho prompts.

Jongwoo bites his tongue at the very last second to keep himself from snapping something rude. It’s infuriating how Jaeho refuses to address Jongwoo correctly, but demands that treatment himself. He really wants to call him out as a hypocrite, but he doesn’t have the energy for Jaeho’s shit today, let alone his stupid punishments. Not after staying up all night thinking about a certain weird soldier.

“Okay sir,” Jongwoo practically sneers.

Jaeho claps Jongwoo on the shoulder. “There we go. See you later!”

He jogs away, almost certainly showing off how energetic he is first thing in the morning. Jongwoo exhales heavily and turns to the kid, already wishing the day was over.

Jongwoo sighs. “What’s your name again?”

Helmet-guy scowls. “Park Byeongmin.”

“Okay, Byeongmin-ssi, patrol is pretty easy. All you have to do is pay attention,” Jongwoo explains tiredly. “Today we’re stationed along this stretch of fence, by the lookout station. Just scan the area, don’t leave your post until the next soldier comes to relieve you, and it’ll be fine.”

Byeongmin nods and Jongwoo yawns, turning his gaze to the grass and trees on the other side of the fence. 

“You know Sergeant Shin,” Byeongmin says suddenly. 

Jongwoo shrugs. “Yeah. We went to college together.”

Byeongmin eyes him. “You shouldn’t speak casually to him, even if you do know him. He’s your superior.”

Jongwoo can’t believe what he’s fucking hearing. Who is this kid, the greasy and overweight version of Jaeho?

Jongwoo takes a deep breath, swallows all the shit he really wants to say, and raises his eyebrows pointedly. “And I’m yours.”

Byeongmin grumbles then and looks away at the trees, leaving Jongwoo to stew in a fresh batch of annoyance. He’s sick of being so fucking disrespected, first Jaeho and now this little asshole? Jongwoo’s close to losing his control if this keeps up. Maybe he’d drive his fist into the next person who gives him shit, like he did during his training. He bets that Byeongmin’s never been punched before in his life. It would be a good learning opportunity for him.

Jongwoo takes another deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He doesn’t want to give Jaeho another excuse to punish him. He wishes he had a cigarette to relax, but he hasn’t had time to buy more after last night. Last night, when he used up his last one while talking to that man… 

Who is he? He’s definitely someone on the base, maybe Jongwoo can look around a bit and find him. Not that he’s going to do anything when he does, he’s just curious who the guy is —

“Hey,” Jongwoo says suddenly. “What are you doing?”

His attention’s pulled to the side, where Byeongmin is messing with something on his tactical vest. There’s so many pockets on it, all full of dangerous equipment like knives and grenades, so Jongwoo’s immediately on edge. Byeongmin shouldn’t strictly be wearing it in the first place, and now he’s messing with it?

“It’s stuck,” Byeongmin grunts, which tells Jongwoo absolutely nothing.

“Quit it,” Jongwoo warns.

Byeongmin only grunts again and starts tugging on something. The movement’s forceful enough for his body to turn slightly, allowing Jongwoo to see exactly what he’s doing.

The sight immediately fills him with panic.

The fucking idiot’s pulling on a grenade that had somehow gotten stuck in one of the vest’s pockets.

Jongwoo’s voice turns sharp. “Yah, dumbass — ”

But Byeongmin ignores him, gives one last forceful tug, and the grenade pops free — the safety pin gone.

“Shit!” Jongwoo shouts.

Byeongmin just stands there, gaping at the grenade, but Jongwoo’s instincts take over and he quickly grabs the thing out of his hand. His pulse pounds loudly in his ears and his hands are sweaty with fear but he manages to throw the grenade before it explodes in his face; he chucks it towards the fence, desperately hoping that it’ll go over and not do too much damage —

BOOM!

Jongwoo’s forcefully blown backwards as intense heat surges in front of him, the flash of orange fire so bright that it sears his vision. His feet leave the ground as he flies backwards, and he has a split-second of feeling like he’s flying before he lands face-first a few feet away.

Face-planting in the dirt is awful. Jongwoo’s head feels like it split on a rock, his nose painfully cracks, and his ears are ringing so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if another grenade went off without him knowing.

Is he dead? Did that fucking helmet trainee kill him while playing with a live grenade?!

But the longer Jongwoo lays there on the hard ground, the more pain floods his body and he groans. Surely death wouldn’t hurt this much, right?

His ears are still ringing and he’s very dizzy, but with a good deal of effort he manages to roll over onto his back. The movement doesn’t make him scream out in pain, so he doesn’t think any bones are broken. But he’s feeling a little —

Abruptly, Jongwoo’s stomach lurches and he manages to turn to the side just in time to throw up all over the ground.

He moans in agony, blearily opening his eyes to see the meager contents of his stomach in the dirt. Jongwoo feels very strange, almost like he’s underwater, but through his haze he can process blood mixed with the mess.

Concerned, Jongwoo brings a shaky hand up to his numb mouth.

When he pulls it away, his trembling fingers are coated with blood.

Oh fuck, Jongwoo dimly thinks, before a new wave of dizziness hits him.

He slumps back into the dirt, moaning weakly as his strength leaves him and his vision darkens.

“Hey! Is anyone here? I need a doctor… Where the fuck is everyone?”

Moonjo looks up from his notes, readjusting his glasses and glancing towards the open door. He can’t see anyone yet, but he can certainly hear an annoyingly loud voice and the shuffling of footsteps coming down the hallway.

How curious. Has someone been hurt?

Today, like everyday, has been slow and uneventful. The other doctor, officially charged with overseeing the base’s infirmary, decided to go into town for some sort of medical conference or another, leaving Moonjo in charge like usual.

Although he is a dentist by trade, Moonjo has more than enough experience with the rest of the human body. Teeth, bodies, minds — he’s able to break them apart, then put them back together. He enjoys it.

People on the base are always surprised to learn that Moonjo is a dentist instead of a medical doctor, because of how well he diagnoses and treats patients. He does so even better than the official doctor, which isn’t that much of a surprise considering the man is straight out of medical school. Moonjo at least set up his private practice in Seoul before enlisting.

Experience is everything, they say. Moonjo doesn’t mind that he’s often left to staff the infirmary, as he truly is more suited to the job in everything but credentials. The occasional patients he gets usually just need some stitches resulting from a few solid punches, although sometimes Moonjo pulls some teeth just for fun.

It doesn’t bring him the same joy as pulling teeth from his victims back home, but Moonjo takes what he can get. Military life can be awfully repetitive, and Moonjo strives to break the pattern whenever he can get away with it.

Sometimes it’s by collecting teeth, but sometimes it’s by sharing a cigarette with an alluring soldier.

By this point, the footsteps are almost to the door. Moonjo rises from his chair to greet them, stepping out from behind his desk and snapping on a pair of blue gloves. Maybe he’ll have a new tooth by the end of today.

Two men stumble their way into the infirmary, the taller one clearly supporting —  and outranking — the other. Moonjo can’t immediately tell what the other man’s injuries are, as there are no obvious wounds on his body and his head is bowed.

“Hey, are you the doctor?” the taller guy demands. “He needs to be fixed up, I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with him but the fucking idiot got himself blown backwards by a grenade — ”

Moonjo raises an eyebrow, but before he can do anything else the injured man lets out a frustrated shout and lolls his head back to glare at his superior officer.

“It’s helmet’s fault,” he slurs angrily. “He’s the fucking idiot…”

Moonjo’s eyes go wide as he recognizes the man from last night, the soldier that gave him a light and proved to be interesting. His face is smeared with blood and his eyes are glazed, but it’s clearly the guy that Moonjo noticed a week ago when the new batch of soldiers arrived. The guy he saw running laps around the base, a livid expression on his face, making Moonjo wonder if they could be the same.

It’s the guy that Moonjo watched for a week, admiring his ire, before casually approaching him and becoming absolutely transfixed.

It’s Yoon Jongwoo.

“You were supposed to be looking after him,” the other guy bites back. “If he did anything, it’s still your fault — ”

Jongwoo lets out another loud, unfiltered noise of anger. Moonjo thinks it’s beautiful. 

“Fuck you, hyung, you’re so fucking — ”

“I can take him from here,” Moonjo interjects smoothly, hiding a smile. “You said a grenade went off?”

The guy wears an ugly scowl as Moonjo goes over and gently takes Jongwoo out of his hold. Jongwoo doesn’t put up a fight, his head only lolling onto Moonjo’s shoulder. Cute.

“Yeah,” the guy mutters. “He face-planted into the ground, might’ve lost a few teeth. He’s been acting out of it, but his bones don’t seem broken.”

Moonjo hummed, walking Jongwoo a few steps over to a clean bed and laying him down. He spends a few seconds examining his limbs before returning his attention to his bloody face.

“They don’t,” Moonjo agrees, taking out his flashlight and checking Jongwoo’s eyes. “Although he does appear to have a moderate concussion.”

Jongwoo seems to recognize Moonjo then, his brow furrowing in confusion. Moonjo thinks his eyes are a pretty shade of brown.

“You?” he mumbles quietly. “Are you an angel?”

Moonjo’s mouth twitches in amusement. 

“You’re not dead, jagi,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of you.”

Straightening up, Moonjo turns around to face the guy who brought Jongwoo in. The guy who spoke to him so rudely.

“You can go now,” he says stiffly. “He’ll need to stay here so I can stitch up his mouth, and after that he’ll need a few hours of bedrest.”

The guy’s scowl deepens. “I’ll need to be informed when he’s cleared for duty. He has some explaining to do.”

Moonjo stares at him. “What’s your name?”

The guy stands up straight, even puffing out his chest a little. “Sergeant Shin Jaeho.”

Moonjo files away the information for later.

“Sergeant, you’ll be informed when I decide,” Moonjo states. “I remind you that, as a medical officer, I outrank you.”

The guy’s face darkens.

“And judging from Corporal Yoon’s injuries,” he continues firmly, “It seems likely that he’s telling the truth about someone else being at fault for the grenade.”

Jaeho presses his lips into a thin line.

“Please leave so I can tend to my patient,” Moonjo dismisses, turning back to Jongwoo.

He hears the little sergeant stomp out and takes a breath to refocus. He’s looking forward to dealing with that man later, but right now Jongwoo needs him.

The injured soldier is gazing up at Moonjo with his mouth slightly open, eyes full of wonder. Moonjo smiles at him softly, dabbing some gauze around his mouth to soak up the blood.

“You… defended me,” Jongwoo says slowly. “Nobody’s ever… why would you…”

The next moment, Jongwoo’s eyes flutter shut and his head sinks into the pillow. Unconscious.

Moonjo smiles softly and brushes Jongwoo’s hair off his forehead.

“I like you,” he murmurs in answer.

He continues cleaning Jongwoo’s face, noting that it’s much easier to do now that he passed out. Moonjo’s not that worried about that fact. Yes, Jongwoo has a pretty nasty concussion, but under Moonjo’s care he’ll be fine. His brain needs to rest, and while it does Moonjo can fix up his body.

Once Jongwoo’s face is clean of blood and the minor cuts are dressed, Moonjo turns his attention to Jongwoo’s mouth.

The damage isn’t as bad as it looks. He does have a few cuts on his gums from where his teeth bumped into them when he hit the ground. They’ll require stitches, but all his teeth are fine. Moonjo doesn’t need to pull any.

Strangely, he doesn’t have the desire to pull any. Jongwoo’s somehow different from everyone Moonjo’s come across before. He makes Moonjo feel entirely new things, because he’s unique.

Moonjo starts stitching up Jongwoo’s mouth, and his mind drifts to the box of tooth rings stowed safely at his apartment at home, and his stash of teeth he’d harvested here. He doesn’t want Jongwoo to join that collection. He wants to show Jongwoo his collection. He wants to give him something new, something special.

Moonjo barely knows Yoon Jongwoo, but everything he’s learned so far has been enchanting. From his eyes full of fire, to his gritted teeth when running laps. From the way he smokes, to the curse words that fly out of his mouth. Moonjo likes his honesty.

Something tells him that Jongwoo is one of his kind, but Moonjo doesn’t know for sure. He wants to learn more about Jongwoo, wants to know what he would do if pushed into the right circumstances. His heart stutters just thinking about it; he’s sure that Jongwoo would be breathtaking. 

Moonjo wants to know if he’s right about Jongwoo, and he’s going to find out.

He finishes sewing up Jongwoo’s mouth and stuffs it full of gauze for good measure. It’s around this time that Jongwoo’s eyebrows furrow, and his eyes open.

“Are you feeling better?” Moonjo asks.

Jongwoo’s eyes are a lot more clear and alert now, a good sign. He nods, then tries to talk and is visibly confused to find his mouth full.

Moonjo chuckles. “Don’t worry. It’s just gauze to stop the bleeding. You can take it out in half an hour.”

Jongwoo looks at him again, more hesitant this time.

Ah. He must be thinking about last night. Moonjo’s delighted, and wonders if Jongwoo is more confused or embarrassed. He decides not to bring it up, and to act strictly professional. The contrast will almost certainly make Jongwoo seek him out for answers later, and Moonjo isn’t going to pass up an opportunity to talk to him again.

“I’m Dr. Seo Moonjo,” he introduces. “Do you remember what happened?”

Jongwoo nods slowly, still studying him.

Moonjo smiles. “You didn’t lose any teeth, but you do have a few stitches in your mouth as well as a moderate concussion. You’ll need to take at least a week off, and come back here if you start feeling dizzy or nauseous again. Try to avoid anything that would strain your eyes, too.”

Jongwoo looks away and nods again. There are a few moments of charged silence between them, and Moonjo doesn’t move from his place at Jongwoo’s bedside.

“I gave you something for the pain in your mouth,” he says, “but you can also come back if that wears off and the pain is too much.”

Jongwoo’s eyes lift to his again, and Moonjo sees a thousand unspoken emotions just begging to break free.

He starts to sit up, and Moonjo reaches out to help him. As soon as he’s sitting up, Jongwoo waves Moonjo’s hands away and swings his legs over to stand up.

He’s leaving, but Moonjo’s sure he’ll be back soon. He’s looking forward to it.

Jongwoo avoids his eyes again as he bows in thanks, and Moonjo murmurs a farewell as he walks through the door. Then Moonjo moves to the window, wondering how long it will take for Jongwoo to come back to him.

Moonjo stands there for a long time, his gaze lingering on Jongwoo as he walks away.

Chapter Text

Jongwoo hates having a concussion.

He can’t write on his laptop, can’t read his favorite books, can’t text Jieun (not that she’d respond anyway), and can’t report for duty. He’s not dizzy or nauseous anymore, which is something, but he does have a constant headache. 

It’s awful. Since he finally has a break from duty, all he wants to do is write. Ideas are swirling inside his mind, but he can’t write them down without making his concussion worse.

He can’t even escape his room and walk around, because he doesn’t want to risk running into Jaeho. He doesn’t want to get yelled at or punished for the grenade going off, even though it wasn’t his fault. It’s ridiculous; Jongwoo saved that trainee’s life from his own mistake. He should be fucking rewarded.

But no. Jaeho refuses to believe that Jongwoo did something right. The entire situation pisses him off, but he’s so furious at Jaeho that his hands are itching to throw a punch.

As he’s thinking about Jaeho blaming him, Jongwoo can’t help but remember the one person who didn’t blame him for the incident. 

The doctor. The guy from last night. Dr. Seo Moonjo.

Nothing about him is predictable. He’s too handsome, too weird, and way too friendly. Jongwoo didn’t expect him to be a doctor, let alone the one person who defended him. The one person who believed him.

Jongwoo’s so used to people questioning and second-guessing him that he was shocked when Moonjo did the opposite. He was also shocked last night, when Moonjo asked about him, his well-being, and his writing. Jongwoo’s never had someone treat him that way before.

He likes it. He likes it way too much.

In a way, he’s glad that the guy turned out to be a doctor. It means that Jongwoo always knows where to find him, if he wants to.

And he does. There’s so much he wants to know about Moonjo, so many questions perched on the tip of his tongue. 

The guy’s complete avoidance of acknowledging last night in any way is confusing. Jongwoo’s head hurts too much to analyze it, and he’s always favored direct confrontation over a passive-aggressive approach anyway. But if Moonjo wants to ignore it, is there any point?

Then Jongwoo remembers how Moonjo called him jagi — twice — and goosebumps break out on his skin. Yeah, he needs answers. He can’t keep thinking about the exact way Moonjo murmured the word, almost like a purr in his deep voice. The question of why it left his mouth in the first place is threatening to take over his focus.

Besides, he needs more painkillers.

Jongwoo brings his hand up to probe at his aching mouth. He’s long removed the gauze, but the fresh stitches are still tender. It feels like his whole face is sore, and a surge of hate rises inside him at that stupid recruit who couldn’t fucking listen.

If he sees him again, Jongwoo will punch him straight in the face. He might get punished, but it’s worth it for teaching the kid a lesson. Maybe he’ll knock out a few teeth, for good measure. Jongwoo’s always thrown powerful punches. 

Maybe Moonjo will back him up, if he does. Just like he did earlier.

Jongwoo doesn’t know how much time passes like that, laying in bed and thinking about the strange doctor. Long enough for him to catalog all the cracks in the ceiling, and for the pain in his mouth to become insistent.

It’s dark outside when he leaves the barracks, so hours must have passed. He’s just glad that nobody’s around to bother him.

Jongwoo’s not surprised to see the lights of the infirmary still on. If he’s honest with himself, he’s relieved.

“You’re back,” Moonjo says, his eyes pinning Jongwoo in place. “Need more painkillers?”

There’s nobody else in sight; the rest of the staff in the building have all long gone to sleep. With the darkness outside, and the complete lack of people around, the atmosphere feels a lot like last night. The air is charged the moment Jongwoo steps through the door.

“Yeah, the painkillers,” Jongwoo says, clearing his throat.

Moonjo doesn’t move. He just continues to watch Jongwoo, silently and patiently. Waiting.

Jongwoo forces his muscles to move and walks closer, close enough to slide into the empty chair facing Moonjo’s desk.

He’s grateful to have the barrier between them, when he can’t stop thinking about how Moonjo held his neck and blew smoke into his mouth.

The silence stretches on.

Jongwoo fidgets. Hesitates, then reaches into his pocket and sets a new lighter onto the desk with a soft clack.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “For fixing me up.”

Moonjo lowers his gaze to the lighter, looking at it for a long moment. 

Jongwoo’s anxious. He’s taking a huge risk with the lighter, acknowledging last night and basically asking the guy if he wants to acknowledge it too, or pretend it never happened. He’s not entirely sure about this man, but Jongwoo hopes he doesn’t choose to ignore last night. He doesn’t want to ignore how good it felt to have him listen.

Slowly, Moonjo reaches into his own pocket. Jongwoo’s hands are sweating with anticipation as the guy silently sets something down next to the lighter. 

It’s a new, unopened pack of cigarettes.

Jongwoo swallows. “When did you get those?”

“After I met you,” Moonjo says simply.

Jongwoo relaxes; they’re not ignoring it then. He can talk openly with this man instead of treating him like just another doctor. He can talk and be understood, just like he was last night.

There’s a rattle as Moonjo places a bottle of pills on the desk as well. Jongwoo takes them, running his thumb over the smooth cap before opening it and popping a few into his mouth. Moonjo wordlessly slides a cup of water across the desk, and Jongwoo takes it. 

It’s quiet again after he swallows the pills. Jongwoo sets the bottle back on the desk, but neither of them move from their seats across from each other.

“You’re still up here,” Jongwoo notes after a beat.

Moonjo nods. “I’m often assigned the night shift, although I can get away with leaving for long periods… for a smoke. You haven’t been here for long, but I’m sure you’ve noticed that it’s rather uneventful.”

Jongwoo nods back. He did notice that. The whole grenade fiasco must have been the most eventful thing that happened in a while.

“How long have you been here?” Jongwoo inquires.

“A few months,” Moonjo responds, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “Not long.”

“It must be a nice break from the high-stress life of a doctor,” Jongwoo guesses.

“It’s been a bit of a nice vacation so far,” Moonjo agrees. “Although I expect things will become much more exciting soon.”

Jongwoo frowns. “Why?”

Moonjo’s eyes sparkle. “Because you’re here now, jagi.”

Jongwoo’s eyes widen.

That’s the third time this man has called Jongwoo so intimately. His heart stutters at the sound of it, but that must be from the shock of hearing such a romantic nickname directed at him. Shock, and fear.

He was right about Moonjo being dangerous. If anyone overheard him, he’d probably be dishonorably discharged. Or worse.

“You shouldn’t say that,” Jongwoo warns.

Moonjo tilts his head. “Do you not like it?”

Jongwoo stubbornly ignores the question. “It’s banned.”

Moonjo hums in acknowledgement.

“Are you afraid?” he asks.

Jongwoo laughs in disbelief.

“You should be afraid,” Jongwoo says. “Going around and saying that shit, getting too close to people — ”

“Not people,” Moonjo corrects. “Just you.”

Jongwoo stares, but before he can find the words to address that, Moonjo leans forward.

“I’m not strictly a medical doctor,” he states. “My life isn’t too stressful.”

Jongwoo studies him for a few moments. Then he sighs.

“What are you, then?”

“A dentist,” Moonjo answers with a smile. “I own a practice in Seoul.”

Jongwoo raises an eyebrow. “Are you technically allowed to run the infirmary, then?”

“Technically no,” Moonjo says easily. “But I have expansive, if unofficial, medical experience that makes me more capable than the young doctor who is in charge.”

Jongwoo shrugs. “You’re a Lieutenant, I suppose?”

“I am,” Moonjo responds. “And you are a Corporal?”

“Yeah, I just got my degree.”

Moonjo tilts his head in interest. “What subject?”

Jongwoo sighs, bracing himself for the inevitable judgment. “Literature.”

But all Moonjo says is: “That makes sense, as a writer.”

Jongwoo stares at him, and Moonjo calmly stares back.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” he asks in disbelief.

Moonjo smiles. “Not at all. Are you working on anything right now?”

Jongwoo blinks. Was this guy actually interested in his writing, and not judging it at all? 

“Yeah,” Jongwoo says slowly. “I have this idea for a novel I’m working on, but it’s hard to get time to write.”

“I expect so,” Moonjo replies. “And although you have free time now, it’s frustrating because you can’t strain your eyes to write.”

Jongwoo nods, still confused about how Moonjo understands him and accepts his passion so easily.

“What genre?” Moonjo inquires.

“Crime,” Jongwoo answers automatically. “But it’s more focused on the criminal himself than catching him… On the outside, it seems like he’s just a pianist, but as the plot goes on you realize that he’s the serial killer that’s been killing people throughout the story.”

“Wow… That’s cool,” Moonjo praises. “We often don’t think of it, but there’s people who look fine on the outside who have the desire to kill.”

“Exactly,” Jongwoo replies. “And this pianist, he always kills people the night before his recitals. With his hands, too. Always with his hands.”

Jongwoo belatedly realizes he’s grinning, happy from being able to talk about his story. It almost never happens.

Moonjo hums, his eyes gleaming with that same look from last night. Jongwoo can’t look away, not when Moonjo is the first person who’s ever been interested in his novel.

“I’m willing to write it down for you,” Moonjo offers.

“What?” Jongwoo asks dumbly.

“Your story,” he clarifies. “You can describe the scenes in your mind, and I’ll write it down for you. You can edit it later, of course.”

What the fuck? Jongwoo thinks.

“Why would you do that?” he says instead.

Moonjo smiles wide. “I enjoy crime novels, and I suspect that yours will be magnificent.”

Jongwoo’s honestly speechless. He’s never received praise or attention for his writing before, and now here’s this strange handsome dentist, giving both to Jongwoo in a place he never expected to receive it — and so easily too, as if he deserves it.

Moonjo searches his eyes. “Why so surprised, jagi?”

Jongwoo shifts in his seat at the name. “I just — Nobody’s ever taken my writing seriously before. They all say it’s a waste of time, and I won’t earn any money.”

“I strongly disagree,” Moonjo says. “Your story sounds immensely more interesting than a lot of the drivel already in print.”

Jongwoo’s heart jumps in his chest.

“Who’s telling you that your writing is a waste of time?” Moonjo inquires.

Jongwoo sighs. “My mom, my girlfriend, my senior in college who annoyingly followed me here…”

Really, it’s everyone. His friends, his family, everyone that knows him. That’s why it’s so strange, and so profound, that this man Jongwoo just met hours ago is telling him the exact opposite. It fills him with warmth, and relief, and something else that makes Jongwoo want more.

“This senior…” Moonjo starts. “It wouldn’t happen to be Sergeant Shin?”

Jongwoo frowns. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“You called him hyung earlier,” Moonjo says, smiling. “While you were swearing at him.”

Jongwoo groans and slumps in his chair. He vaguely remembers that now.

“Great,” he mutters. “He’s probably going to make me run more laps.”

His hands curl into fists at his side. He’s so sick of Jaeho mistreating him, sick of him gloating about everything, sick of him trying to steal Jieun away. He wishes that asshole would just die.

“I’ve noticed you. Running around the base,” Moonjo says quietly. “That’s his doing?”

“Yeah,” Jongwoo scowls. “It’s ridiculous. He punishes me for the littlest things, then tells my girlfriend what a bad job I’m doing. It pisses me off.”

“You shouldn’t put up with that,” Moonjo states.

Jongwoo huffs. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Kill him?” Moonjo suggests.

Jongwoo laughs. “I wish. He’d deserve it.”

Moonjo keeps looking at him. “Then why don’t you?”

Jongwoo stops laughing. “...What?”

Moonjo shrugs casually. “Why don’t you kill him, if that’s what you want to do?”

Jongwoo stares at him, trying to detect a hint of amusement on his face to indicate that he’s joking. But there is none. There’s only the deep black of Moonjo’s eyes, staring directly at him.

A chill runs down Jongwoo’s spine, and suddenly he feels that same creepy vibe he did last night.

“Life isn’t like that,” Jongwoo manages to say. “People can’t just do whatever they want.”

“You can,” Moonjo murmurs. “You’re different from everyone else, jagi. Wouldn’t it be nice to do what you want?”

Jongwoo thinks about it. About what he could do, if the consequences didn’t matter. He could slam Jaeho into the ground, and hit him over and over again until his arrogant face is unrecognizable. Until he begs Jongwoo to stop, begs for his life.

Jongwoo wouldn’t stop. He’d keep hitting, and hitting, and hitting, until Jaeho understands how much Jongwoo hates him. Until he’s dead.

Suddenly Jongwoo snaps out of it with a gasp, realizing just what he imagined and mortified that he enjoyed it. Moonjo watches him silently, but doesn’t say anything further. He’s completely calm and collected, which only makes Jongwoo feel more jittery and on edge.

“I-I have to go,” Jongwoo says, clearing his throat. “See you later.”

His body feels numb as he stands up, goosebumps rising across his skin at how dangerous this conversation has become. He walks to the door on unsteady legs, and barely catches Moonjo’s murmured response.

“Goodnight, jagiya.”

It’s too much. Jongwoo practically runs back to the barracks in his haste to escape, which probably isn’t good for his concussion, but he doesn’t care. He can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to tower over Jaeho, to punch him until his hands turned red with blood, to make him suffer before finally killing him. To give him exactly what he deserves.

He gets back to his room and slams the door shut, then does his bedtime routine in an attempt to get the images out of his head. They don’t completely leave, but a shower helps him feel normal again. 

Jongwoo’s starting to realize that the images lingering at the back of his mind, images of him killing Jaeho, are normal for him. It scares him, but only because he doesn’t know if he can hold those desires back for much longer. What will it take for Jongwoo to lose control, and beat Jaeho up just like he did to those assholes in basic training?

He needs to control himself better. Beating up his superior officer would earn him an automatic dishonorable discharge, and he can’t afford that. His family can’t afford that.

So what? his mind says snidely. It’s not like they really care about you anyway. You should feel the same.

The thoughts remind Jongwoo of Moonjo’s recent words: “You shouldn’t put up with that.”

Jongwoo groans, wishing he could just fall asleep and not have to think about anything at all. Not his family, not Jaeho, and certainly not the strange, overly-friendly dentist who makes Jongwoo feel so understood yet so creeped out at the same time.

He doesn’t want to touch the mess of his emotions towards Moonjo with a ten-foot pole. Jongwoo’s first impression of him was right — way too dangerous.

They’ve only had two real conversations, but Jongwoo can already feel a pull towards the man that he’s never felt for anyone else. Maybe it goes back to Moonjo’s easy understanding of him, and how it’s like he knows what Jongwoo’s thinking. Like they’re the same.

He spends an unknown amount of time laying motionless in his bed, trying to get his mind to shut up and just focus on sleeping. But when he thinks of tomorrow, he’s reminded that he can’t do anything, and remembers Moonjo’s offer to write down his words for him.

And through all his mental fog around the man, he still finds comfort in the offer and hopes to make it a reality.

It’s not until Jongwoo’s finally drifting off to sleep that he realizes he forgot the bottle of painkillers and the pack of cigarettes on Moonjo’s desk.

Moonjo picks up the lighter Jongwoo gave him and flicks it on. The little flame dances in the air, and Moonjo smiles.

When he bought the new pack of cigarettes for Jongwoo, he did it because he wanted to. He didn’t expect to get anything in return, although he hoped. 

He’s immensely happy that his hope was realized. Could it be that Jongwoo feels the same electricity between them as Moonjo does?

He’s excited to find out. 

Moonjo clicks off the lighter and slips it in his pocket with the rest of his supplies. He has more important things to do tonight than his usual smoke break.

He’s pleased he decided to wear his set of black scrubs today. It makes sneaking around in the dark much easier, in the off case that somebody’s out for a late night walk around the base. Like Jongwoo was, last night. He’s the only other person besides Moonjo who comes out at night here. The army base feels much too haunted for the typical soldier.

But since Jongwoo already went back to his room, the night is utterly still and silent. Moonjo’s boots crunch on the grass as he purposefully stalks to the barracks. He already knows, from following him last night after their smoke together, which room is Jongwoo’s. Maybe he’ll pay his darling a little visit after he takes out the trash.

Moonjo’s not used to lashing out on behalf of other people. Usually he’ll kill those who are a little too perceptive, or have particularly beautiful teeth. He’s an artist, he doesn’t spill blood thoughtlessly. Everything he does is deliberate, every move calculated to get a desired result. 

He hasn’t killed anyone while he’s been here, as there hasn’t been a real opportunity for him to create art. He’ll take a few teeth here and there, but Moonjo’s smart. He doesn’t want to risk getting caught right under the government’s nose without a good reason.

But when Jongwoo crashed into his life, Moonjo found a good reason. A great reason, really, that gives him permission to act as freely as he wants.

Jongwoo’s the only person who Moonjo truly feels drawn to, the only person who captures his full attention. He isn’t quite sure why that is, but he suspects it’s because they’re the same. Whatever darkness that’s taken root in Moonjo is also swirling inside Jongwoo, just waiting to be unleashed.

His fury, even when hidden and in small doses, is absolutely beautiful. Moonjo thought so when he saw Jongwoo running angrily around the base, then when he heard him yelling at his girlfriend on the phone, and again when he swore at Sergeant Shin. Just like his pianist, Jongwoo hides his desire to kill under the surface.

Moonjo can relate.

But Moonjo doesn’t hide all the time. He lets his true self come out more often than not, and knows how liberating it is. He wants the same for Jongwoo, wants to show him how good it can feel. He wants to see Jongwoo be completely honest, knowing that it would be the best possible thing for his darling to experience.

Jongwoo has the potential to become his greatest masterpiece.

Moonjo wonders how it would feel if they could be their true selves together, completely bare with nothing to hide. He hopes to find out.

These feelings are new for Moonjo. He’s never been captivated by another person before, not like this. He’s been interested in a few, but eventually they turned out to be duds. This time, however, Moonjo can sense something different. He feels different.

He never thought he’d experience love, let alone all the other emotions Jongwoo inspires in him. From the first moment Moonjo saw Jongwoo, he knew he was special. That feeling only grew, and now he knows there’s nobody else that could ever compare. 

Moonjo likes Jongwoo so much, he’s willing to bend his personal rules a bit to make him happy. He’s willing to do everything.

Everything starts with the quiet twisting of the doorknob to Sergeant Shin’s room.

The guy somehow acquired a corner room on the ground floor of the barracks, most likely from his rich parents pulling some strings. Moonjo’s not complaining at all; the guy’s arrogant need for privacy serves his needs perfectly.

He steps over to where Sergeant Shin — no, Jaeho, Moonjo thinks, the man doesn’t deserve a respected title — is sleeping on the bed, and reaches into his pocket. Thanks to Moonjo’s practiced efficiency, he has a thick layer of duct tape on his mouth, wrists, and ankles before his eyes even flutter.

When they do, Moonjo’s leaning over him in bed and greeting him with a wide smile.

Jaeho’s eyes widen in confusion at first, but then panic sets in as he realizes he’s restrained.

“Hello,” Moonjo says.

He tries to make a sound through the tape, but Moonjo shut his mouth so tight that he can only make loud humming noises. If in the unlikely scenario that anyone heard him in the first place, they’d think he was having a nightmare. 

The next thing Jaeho tries is to thrash around in bed, but his limbs are useless and Moonjo keeps him in place with a firm hand.

This disgusting scum won’t escape so easily.

“I told you I’d give you an update on Jongwoo’s condition, didn’t I?” Moonjo murmured. “There’s good news. He’s angry enough to kill you.”

Jaeho’s eyes widen in terror.

Moonjo laughs quietly. “Don’t worry. He’s not here. Although I’d love to watch him kill you, it would take time to persuade him. And although I’m usually quite patient, this is an exception. You won’t torment him a minute longer.”

Jaeho gives a series of distressed hums as tears start falling from his eyes.

“Don’t be so upset,” Moonjo chides. “How the hell would anyone let the person they love live a miserable life? I’m just doing what’s natural, I’m sure you can understand.”

Jaeho looks up at him with pleading eyes. It makes Moonjo laugh again.

“Jongwoo is special to me,” Moonjo says. “And you’re nothing.”

Without warning, Moonjo grabs onto his hair and smashes his head sideways, straight into the wall.

There’s a dull thump of the guy’s skull against the wall, and a noise of shocked pain. But there’s no blood in his hair, and Moonjo wants it to stay that way. Blunt force trauma to the head is unlikely to be self-inflicted, and thus not something Moonjo can easily cover up. He knows that, but he really couldn’t resist smashing the guy’s face into the wall. Just once.

It’s what Jongwoo would have done.

With that pleasant thought, Moonjo’s hands shoot out and wrap around Jaeho’s neck, squeezing tight.

The guy makes more distressed hums and choking sounds, thrashing in Moonjo’s hold. But Moonjo’s grip on his neck is strong, and he expects the survival instinct. He simply squeezes tighter, his hold unyielding. 

Even though he’s done this before, Moonjo still gets excited. Maybe it’s because he’s imagining Jongwoo’s pianist, and how he also likes to use his hands. He wonders if Jongwoo will be pleased once he finds out Moonjo brought his character to life, even in such a small way.

Eventually, Jaeho’s face turns an ugly shade of purple, and his lungs give out. Moonjo releases his grip on the dead flesh, leaving deep bruises in the shape of his hands on the corpse’s neck.

It’s nothing a nice rope won’t cover up.

Moonjo removes all traces of evidence from the room, taking Jaeho’s limp body and leaving an empty bed. It’s not difficult or time consuming to transport the body to the tree line, remove the tape, and pull a nice molar before staging the scene. Moonjo doesn’t even break a sweat, although his hands are shaking with adrenaline the entire time. He can’t stop thinking about how good this will be for Jongwoo.

After his work is done, he decides to cut his shift at the infirmary short. He doesn’t want to be there right now.

As he leisurely makes his way to Jongwoo’s room, Moonjo fingers the tooth in his pocket. It doesn’t seem right to turn it into one of his usual rings. Perhaps a bracelet is more fitting. He can already imagine how beautiful it would be, gracing Jongwoo’s wrist.

Jongwoo is pretty in sleep. Moonjo enters his room silently, and stands still for a while. Watching. Counting his breaths, and making sure he’s deep in unconsciousness before sliding a chair up to his bedside.

He wonders what Jongwoo will do tomorrow, once news of Jaeho’s death has spread. He wants to be there when he finds out, wants to catch the raw satisfaction and relief that crosses his face before he catches himself and puts his mask back on.

Moonjo considers it his honor to make sure Jongwoo doesn’t have to wear that mask around anymore. At least, not around him.

It will take some time to accomplish, but Moonjo’s always been rather patient.

He reaches for Jongwoo’s laptop after some time, unable to resist the temptation to read his manuscript. If he’s going to transcribe for Jongwoo, he may as well be familiar with what he’s already written. That, and Moonjo just really wants to read it. It’s a glimpse into his darling’s mind.

He finds the document easily, and his heart pounds in his chest as he begins reading. The more he reads, the more immersed he becomes, and the more he falls in love.

Jongwoo’s writing is the best he’s ever read. Nothing else can compare; no other novel captures the raw emotions, the pure savagery, of what it’s like to take someone’s life. Moonjo’s utterly captivated, because if this is how Jongwoo writes when he hasn’t killed anyone? He can only imagine how magnificent he’ll be once he does.

Once again, Moonjo makes it his mission to ensure that happens.

He devours Jongwoo’s writing much too fast, loving it too much to slow down. Once he finishes the draft, which he estimates to be about half the overall story, he returns the laptop to the desk and stares at his beloved.

He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Moonjo. If there was any doubt before, there isn’t now. 

“Oh jagiya,” Moonjo murmurs fondly. “We’ll be together forever.”

Moonjo spends the last few hours before daybreak watching his darling sleep, and imagining all of the wonderful things he wants to give him.

Jongwoo wakes up feeling strangely well-rested, for once.

He guesses that the painkillers from Moonjo worked. He doesn’t feel like complete shit this morning. He may actually take a nice walk around the base, and spend time looking at all the little details he blew past on his many forced runs.

Jongwoo doesn’t rush getting ready; this is the first morning in a while that he’s able to sleep in and take it easy, and he takes advantage of it. This entire thing might even feel like a nice vacation, if his brain was healed enough to let him write.

Hopefully it will be soon. Maybe he can convince Moonjo to cover for him for a few days, giving him time to write in peace before he’s cleared for duty. For some reason, he doesn’t think he’d have to try very hard to persuade him.

Right as he’s pulling his shoes on, his phone vibrates on the nearby table. Jongwoo goes to grab it, when he suddenly notices something and freezes in place.

His laptop is open. It’s on the table, right where he left it next to his phone, but it’s not closed. It’s open.

He always closes his laptop when he’s done with it. The only times he leaves it open are when he goes to the bathroom or grabs a drink in the middle of writing, and promptly returns to type away. But it doesn’t make sense for it to be open now, since Jongwoo hasn’t written anything in over a day.

A feeling like cold water slowly trickling down his spine makes Jongwoo’s muscles tense. He’s instantly aware of his surroundings and paranoid that someone is in his room. Hiding.

He scans the entire room, but finds nothing out of place. There’s really no space for anyone to hide, not even in his wardrobe or under his bed. Jongwoo tells himself that, but it doesn’t lessen the unease.

His phone keeps vibrating, loudly and insistently, until Jongwoo can’t take any of it anymore and slams his laptop shut while snatching his phone off the table.

“What?!” he hisses.

“Oppa,” Jieun answers, voice strained with anxiety. “Have you heard from Jaeho-oppa?”

Jongwoo lets out a strangled noise. “No, Jieun. No I haven’t.”

“He was supposed to call me,” she worries. “Are you sure you haven’t seen him around?”

Jongwoo squeezes his phone so hard his knuckles go white.

Aren’t you going to ask about me? he wants to scream. I almost got fucking killed, do you even care?!

“No,” he grits out.

Then he hangs up on her, slamming his phone back down onto the table and storming out of the room.

It’s just his luck that he runs into the idiotic helmet trainee the second he marches out of the barracks.

“H-hey,” the guy stammers, looking a little shocked. “You — ”

Jongwoo doesn’t know what he’s so startled at. Hasn’t he ever seen someone royally pissed off?

It doesn’t matter. The bastard tries to say something else, but Jongwoo’s frayed self-control snaps like a twig and he sucker punches the idiot in the mouth.

He shouts in pain but Jongwoo doesn’t even slow down. He just keeps blazing forward, fueled by rage and residual fear. He isn’t paying attention to where he’s going, too distracted by overwhelming emotions and the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Eventually, Jongwoo’s fire weakens and he slows down. It seems like punching that stupid trainee really did help him feel better.

He takes a few deep breaths until his vision clears and he finds himself close to the forest on the far side of the base. It’s not exactly as he remembers it, however; Jongwoo’s brow furrows as he sees something strange. He’s not alone.

There’s a sizable crowd of people gathered near the edge of the tree line, about 50 years away. It seems like a mix of people, too: on and off duty soldiers, officers, and other people that he doesn’t recognize. Jongwoo starts walking over, confused and wondering what could be going on that’s drawing so many people.

As he gets closer, he hears the low buzzing of hushed conversation. Everyone looks solemn and grim, like they’re at a funeral. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Jongwoo maneuvers his way to the front of the crowd, trying to see what everyone’s looking at.

He moves around the last soldier, finally getting a clear view of the edge of the tree line. What he sees makes him stop dead in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth slack in shock.

It’s Jaeho. Or, more accurately, Jaeho’s body.

Jongwoo can’t process what’s right in front of him, clear as day. Jaeho is laid out on a stretcher, eyes glassy and unseeing. There’s a few people kneeled around him, but Jongwoo can’t look away from his dead body. His face is mottled blue and purple, and Jongwoo’s writer brain whispers strangulation.

When Jongwoo’s eyes catch on movement further into the tree line, he knows he’s right. There’s a long rope hanging from a tree, the noose swaying gently in the breeze.

Jongwoo gasps, the meaning of what he’s walked up on sinking into his brain and making him stumble back. He’s dead. Jaeho’s dead.

How could this have happened? The last time Jongwoo saw him, Jaeho was his usual pain-in-the-ass self. What could have made him kill himself? It doesn’t make sense.

As Jongwoo’s mind spins, trying to process the shock, his gaze drops back to the corpse and he notices just who is leaning over it.

Moonjo is right there, doing whatever doctor things doctors do to dead bodies when they find them. There’s another doctor in a white coat next to him, taking pictures of the scene, but Moonjo is focused entirely on Jaeho’s body.

Jongwoo stares at Moonjo hunched over Jaeho’s corpse, and is suddenly struck by his words from last night.

“Why don’t you kill him, if that’s what you want to do?”

Jongwoo’s heart pounds in his chest, Moonjo’s deep voice echoing in his mind.

Why don’t you kill him?

Like he can feel Jongwoo’s stare burning into him, Moonjo looks up from Jaeho’s body. Their eyes immediately lock, sending shivers down Jongwoo’s spine.

Moonjo looks at him for a moment. Then, he inclines his head. 

Almost like a nod of approval.

Or a bow of confession.

Chapter Text

“Corporal Yoon, do you have any information regarding the recently deceased?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you think of a reason why he would commit suicide?”

“No, sir.”

“When was the last time you had contact with the deceased?”

Jongwoo’s not sure. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the image of Jaeho’s lifeless body laying on the stretcher, the noose swaying ominously from the tree behind him.

“Yesterday morning,” he finds himself saying. “He brought me to the infirmary.”

The general looks up from his paperwork. “Ah, yes. Lieutenant Seo explained the grenade mishap.”

Jongwoo looks away. He doesn’t want to get chewed out by the general for something that wasn’t even his fault, but he doesn’t see a means of escape. It’s not like he can punch the guy to make him shut up.

“Thank you,” the general says. “And good work.”

Jongwoo’s head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

The man gives a small smile. “Corporal Yoon, you acted quickly and appropriately when faced with an unexpected threat due to a trainee’s mistake. Thanks to you, nobody was injured. Good work.”

Jongwoo blinks, unable to believe what he’s hearing. His efforts are actually being acknowledged and praised? Really?

The longer Jongwoo goes without responding, the more the general’s words seem to be real, and not a figment of his imagination. The highest-ranked officer of their entire base, the general, just complimented Jongwoo. 

It feels really, really good. Jongwoo’s hands shake with shocked happiness, and he finds himself incredibly grateful to the man who obviously made this happen.

Moonjo told the general what really occurred. He could’ve just stuck to the topic of Jaeho’s death, and given the medical report as is required of him. But instead, he made sure to bring up Jongwoo, and clarify the grenade incident.

Jongwoo’s pulse races. Moonjo talked about him to other people, and he said good things. Nobody’s ever done that before; usually Jongwoo was subject to negative gossip and rumors. This change, it… meant more than he could put into words.

“Thank you, sir,” Jongwoo finally responds, voice cracking a little. He coughs to clear his throat. “Thank you.”

The general smiles once more before glancing down at his paperwork again, and sighing.

“This is a tragedy, but it seems pretty straightforward,” he says. “There’s no evidence of foul play. Everything we found paints a picture of a sad man with nothing to look forward to in his life.”

Jongwoo frowns a little. That doesn’t sound like Jaeho at all. Jongwoo had no idea about his mental health status, but he seemed to constantly be bragging about the great things he was going to do after getting out of the military. He seemed to love it here too, always bossing Jongwoo around and laughing with the other sergeants. Jongwoo still can’t believe he’d kill himself.

Yet, Jongwoo remains silent. His doubts are locked inside, waiting to be let out with a key that only one person possesses.

“This tragedy could be good for you,” the general says then.

Jongwoo blinks. “Sir?”

“We’re in need of a sergeant now,” he explains. “Would you like the position?”

Jongwoo’s eyes widen. “Me?”

It’s another thing that doesn’t quite make sense. Usually officer positions are filled by whoever’s next up for the promotion, regardless of where they’re stationed. It’s rare for someone to be promoted without having to relocate, yet that’s just what the general is suggesting for Jongwoo.

The general nods. “You’ve been recommended by a very trusted source.”

Jongwoo’s confusion grows. “Who?”

The general taps the papers on his desk. Jongwoo looks down, and realizes it’s Jaeho’s autopsy report.

“Lieutenant Seo.”

The name echoes in his ears, bounces around his skull, and settles into his brain like it’s making a home there.

After Jongwoo’s dismissed from his meeting with the general, he wanders back to his room in a daze. It’s been hours since Jaeho’s body was found this morning, and the sun is starting to set. The muted oranges and pinks make the sky look like something out of a dream. 

Or at least, Jongwoo thinks. His dreams are rarely so pleasant.

He returns to his room and sits on his bed, staring at the wall. Today doesn’t feel real. Jaeho’s dead, which so far has only resulted in good things for Jongwoo. He’s praised now instead of insulted, and a sergeant instead of a corporal. He feels like he can breathe again, and takes a few lungfuls just to feel the cool air fill his chest.

Suddenly there’s a knock on his door.

Jongwoo’s not really surprised when he opens it to find Moonjo standing on the other side.

“Hello,” Moonjo greets. “Have you eaten yet?”

Jongwoo stares at him. He hasn’t eaten anything all day.

“I’m not hungry,” he replies.

“Me neither,” Moonjo says easily. “Your room is nice. I like it.”

“Why did you recommend me for sergeant?” Jongwoo blurts out.

Moonjo looks at him without blinking.

“Let’s take a walk,” Moonjo suggests.

Jongwoo steps into the hallway, but Moonjo stops him from closing the door.

“Bring your laptop too,” he says. “Don’t you want me to help you write?”

Jongwoo goes back and gets his laptop.

He holds it by his side as they walk, in the hand next to Moonjo’s own. The sky has turned to a dull purple by this point, and Jongwoo knows that night will come fast.

They walk in silence, and Jongwoo’s not paying attention to where they’re going. His mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of the man beside him, remembering all the things he’s said and all the things he hasn’t. Jongwoo thinks back to this morning, and how Moonjo looked directly at him from over Jaeho’s body and inclined his head.

What was that about? Jongwoo doubts it was a simple greeting. Nothing about Moonjo is simple.

The facts just aren’t adding up. It doesn't make sense that Jaeho killed himself, and it doesn’t make sense that Moonjo treats Jongwoo… well, the way he does. He acts friendly, but at the same time there’s a hidden meaning to everything he does. Jongwoo thinks he’s caught on to some of that hidden meaning — murmurs of jagi haunt him with every step — but he can’t figure out the rest.

He just can’t shake a pervasive sense of unease.

It follows him around, hangs over him like an axe threatening to fall on his neck. It gets closer with every minute he spends with Moonjo, yet it doesn’t exactly make Jongwoo afraid. If anything, he feels more in control as the unease grows. Like the axe is getting close enough for Jongwoo to grab hold of and wield himself.

Suddenly, Moonjo slows down to a stop. Jongwoo automatically stops as well, lifting his head to see where they’ve ended up.

He exhales slowly as he finds himself at the edge of the tree line, the same spot they were at this morning.

The scene’s been completely cleared, and there’s no trace of Jaeho’s body, the rope, or anything else. But Jongwoo knows it’s the place. He looks at the trees, and the grass, and sees ghosts.

“You deserve it,” Moonjo says.

Jongwoo looks at him, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“The promotion,” Moonjo elaborates. “You deserve it. That’s why I recommended you.”

He states it like a fact, like something natural and indisputable. Like it isn’t the first time in Jongwoo’s entire life that he’s been told he deserves something.

“Why?” Jongwoo asks again.

“You saved that trainee at the risk of yourself — ”

“I don’t think you care about that,” Jongwoo interrupts. “Be honest. Tell me why.”

Moonjo smiles and searches his face, eyes full of emotions that Jongwoo’s afraid to name.

“You’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met,” he finally says. “I think you deserve to have everything you want.”

Jongwoo doesn’t know how to react to that.

He doesn’t know how to react, and yet his throat runs dry and his heart pounds anyway.

Moonjo looks at him a moment longer, then turns back towards the trees.

“Your promotion ceremony will probably be tomorrow,” he says. “Are you ready?”

Jongwoo, like a coward, accepts the subject change.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he mutters. 

Moonjo nods. “I suppose your family won’t be there.”

Jongwoo scoffs. “No. They wouldn’t come even if they had a month’s notice.”

Moonjo hums. Jongwoo feels his heavy gaze again, but doesn’t take the bait.

“I could switch out your ranks on your uniform,” Moonjo murmurs. “If you want.”

That makes Jongwoo snap his head around to fix Moonjo with an incredulous expression.

“What?” he demands. “Are you serious?”

Switching out someone’s rank on their uniform is the entire point of the promotion ceremony. Removing the old pin for the new one signifies your change in status. It’s traditional for close family or friends to do it for you — which is why Moonjo asked about his family — but it’s also common for your superior officer to do it if none of your loved ones are available. Which is the option Jongwoo fully expected for tomorrow.

He’s surprised at the offer, because it implies an intimacy between him and Moonjo that Jongwoo isn’t sure exists. At least, he’s not sure he wants it to exist.

“Deadly,” Moonjo says, red lips curling around the word. “I'll do it for you, if you want.”

Jongwoo stares at him. “What do you want?”

It’s a loaded question that applies to much more than just this simple issue. Jongwoo’s confused about what Moonjo wants in this situation, what he wants in general, and — most importantly — what he wants from Jongwoo.

“I want many things,” Moonjo replies calmly. “But in this situation, I’d very much like to be the one to switch your ranks.”

Jongwoo chews his lip. At this point, Moonjo’s brash honesty is bothering him more than his use of jagi. Maybe Jongwoo miscalculated when he told him to be honest.

But the longer he stands there thinking about it, the more he doesn’t regret it. Moonjo’s honesty may be weird, but it’s also nice. It’s refreshing that Moonjo says exactly what he means, in this world where people do anything but. He may not be very forthcoming with his words, but he always answers genuinely when Jongwoo asks. 

Apart from the honesty itself, the words that spill from Moonjo’s lips are tantalizing. It feels nice to be respected, valued, and seen. Moonjo’s attention, although certainly dangerous and strange, is undeniably real. It makes Jongwoo feel good.

“You really want to?” he asks.

Moonjo smiles. “I really want to.”

Jongwoo searches his dark eyes for a few more moments before sighing. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad for Moonjo to be the one switching his ranks during the ceremony. It would be better than the general doing it out of obligation.

“Fine,” Jongwoo reluctantly agrees. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Moonjo laughs; a low, breathy sound filled with genuine amusement.

“I’ll try,” he chuckles.

“Whatever,” Jongwoo says tiredly. “Can we go write now?”

He turns away from the trees, catching Moonjo’s eyes as he does so. They’re sparkling, just like the stars starting to appear in the sky.

“Anything you want, jagi,” he says. “Anything at all.”

Moonjo leads Jongwoo to his house, and he’s glad when Jongwoo doesn’t run away. 

Moonjo watches as he leads Jongwoo closer to the area of the base that serves as the officer’s neighborhood, clocking the exact moment that his beloved realizes where they’re going. His expression is surprised, then hesitant, but he doesn’t turn around. He simply tightens his grip on his laptop, and he keeps walking forward. He doesn’t even stumble.

Moonjo smiles wide. It seems his gamble of coaxing Jongwoo out of his room paid off.

It would have been fine to have their little writing session in his beloved’s room, but Moonjo finds himself wanting more. He wants to show Jongwoo his house, and wants to be alone with him. Truly alone, in a place where there’s no risk of anyone overhearing them. Not for any wicked purpose, of course, but so Jongwoo can relax as he writes.

It’s hard to relax in a building full of soldiers that you don’t like.

It takes some time for Jongwoo to relax in his house, which is expected. After Moonjo unlocks the door and ushers him inside, Jongwoo’s eyes immediately flick around, cataloging the entry hall and living room. He’s too polite to go exploring, although it’s clear he wants to. Moonjo would let him search every inch of his temporary house, even his bedroom. If only Jongwoo would ask.

But he doesn’t ask, and Moonjo knows not to push him too hard. If he’s going to mold Jongwoo into a masterpiece, and still keep him by his side at the end of it, he needs to take it slow.

So he leads Jongwoo into his living room, towards the small couch that was already there when Moonjo moved in. Jongwoo sits, automatically placing his laptop in his lap and opening it, and Moonjo’s heart races. Here is the image that’s been gracing his most recent dreams.

It feels thrilling to have Jongwoo in his space, making himself at home like he belongs there.

Moonjo sits on the couch beside him, the small piece of furniture leaving only inches between their thighs. Jongwoo shifts, and presses the laptop into Moonjo’s hands.

“It’s the document labeled “Pianist”,” he says.

Moonjo’s already opening it, but hums in thanks as if he needed the assistance.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs. “Whether it’s full sentences or just a vision, I’ll write it down.”

Jongwoo relaxes slightly at that, like he needed the prompt. Moonjo wonders what else Jongwoo would do, if simply given the option.

“Well…” he hesitates. “Okay. How about…”

Moonjo’s hands are eagerly hovering over the keyboard. He’s exhilarated to be able to help his beloved with his passion.

“His hands were tired from practicing all day, and they itched for life,” Jongwoo starts. “They yearned to take life from those wasting it, perversing it.”

Moonjo’s own hands are shaking, ever so slightly, as he types out the words. An honest sign to how enraptured he feels by Jongwoo’s words, and how blessed he feels to be experiencing this. He types without even looking at the keys, unable to tear his eyes away from the far-away look on Jongwoo’s face.

“He went out, but did not wander aimlessly. He knew exactly where he was going, and exactly who would be there when he arrived. He thought about the dull ache — wait, shit, no.”

Moonjo is utterly captivated as Jongwoo frowns, trying to find the right words to encapsulate the scene in his mind. Moonjo has the privilege of watching a master artist work on his craft.

Moonjo realizes that he wants Jongwoo to see him in this same state. He wants Jongwoo to watch as Moonjo breaks things apart and recreates. He wants to share that part of himself, the artist, the part that he’s never let anyone else see.

Is this what it feels like to be in love?

“I don’t know,” Jongwoo exhales in frustration. “I can’t — The words aren’t really coming to me right now. I’m sorry.”

Moonjo closes the laptop. Then slowly, so as not to spook him, Moonjo reaches out his hand and carefully sets it on top of Jongwoo’s.

Jongwoo doesn’t move. He lets it happen.

“You’re hungry,” Moonjo murmurs. “Your brain needs energy, jagiya.”

Moonjo watches the bob of Jongwoo’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. He’s dreadfully tense, so much so that Moonjo wants to massage his forehead to prevent a tension headache.

“I’ll make you some food,” he decides quietly.

He pats Jongwoo’s hand and stands up, gracefully setting the laptop on the table in front of them. It’s precious cargo, after all. 

Then he goes into the kitchen, and makes Jongwoo some ramyeon.

It’s an easy meal that takes little time to prepare, which is important because Moonjo’s pretty sure Jongwoo hasn’t eaten anything all day. Since Moonjo’s making it from scratch, it contains lots of healthy vitamins and nutrients — everything that Jongwoo needs to feed his body, and nourish his brain. Even if Jongwoo doesn’t write anything else tonight, Moonjo is content knowing that he’s healthy.

Moonjo decides that he likes taking care of Jongwoo like this. He likes being the one to sustain him. 

He wants to do it again. He wants to be the only one who does it.

Once he’s finished, he puts everything in a bowl and returns to the living room. Jongwoo takes the ramyeon after a blink of surprise, murmuring a quick “thanks”. 

Moonjo smiles politely and sits back down beside him, something primal inside him purring at the sight of Jongwoo slurping down the food that Moonjo made just for him.

After Jongwoo eats his fill, he sets the empty bowl on the table next to the laptop. Then he settles back into the couch, turning towards Moonjo and making eye contact with him for the first time since he walked into the house.

“Are you gay?” he demands.

Moonjo raises an eyebrow.

He’s overjoyed that they’re having this conversation, if not a little surprised. He’s happy that Jongwoo isn’t simply ignoring his hints, or avoiding him altogether. Instead, he’s asking Moonjo directly.

Moonjo respects Jongwoo’s bluntness, loves it even, and wants to give him the same in return.

“I’m not one for labels,” he says after a beat. “But the few people I’ve been attracted to in my life have exclusively been men, yes.”

Jongwoo nods slowly, studying him. It’s the answer he expected, of course.

“I’m not,” he responds. “I’m not gay.”

Moonjo’s lips quirk in amusement. 

“I never said you were.”

“Well I’m not,” Jongwoo huffs. “Just so you know.”

Moonjo doesn’t reply. He just tilts his head, and looks. Waiting.

They’re staring at each other, but the atmosphere isn’t tense. It’s comfortable, and Moonjo notes with satisfaction how Jongwoo has now relaxed into the couch cushions.

“I’m sorry,” Jongwoo says after a while. “It must be hard for you to be here.”

Moonjo can’t resist smiling this time. “Why do you think that?”

Jongwoo rolls his eyes. “Like I said before, asshole. It’s banned.”

Moonjo grins.

“Only if we get caught, jagi.”

Jongwoo’s face twitches.

“Why do you call me — ” He takes a shuddering breath, looking away. “You know what, nevermind.”

Moonjo lets him take back the question. He knows that Jongwoo’s not quite ready to hear the answer, and timing is everything.

Besides, he’s very much enjoying the original subject of their conversation. He likes sharing with Jongwoo, and finds it endearing that Jongwoo’s concerned for him. If only he knew just how long Moonjo had been ignoring the dull rules of others.

Jongwoo’s quiet for a moment, and the silence is more charged than before.

But then Jongwoo sighs.

“How… did you know?” he asks the floor.

Moonjo pulse quickens, ever so slightly.

“When I was in dental school,” he responds. “My gaze began lingering on a classmate. The professors had us take turns looking at each other’s teeth.”

Jongwoo frowns, lifting his eyes to meet Moonjo’s again. Moonjo can tell he wants to ask about that, but there are still words that need to be said.

“I’ve never actually developed lasting feelings for anyone,” Moonjo continues, holding Jongwoo’s gaze. “Until now.”

Jongwoo’s eyes widen, and Moonjo is torn between hoping he didn’t scare him and relishing in how flustered he looks.

Suddenly, a shrill ringing sound cuts through the room.

Jongwoo cuts off their eye contact, and with that the tension is broken. Moonjo leans back into the couch, calmly watching Jongwoo fumble for his phone. He does not mind that their conversation was interrupted, not when so many meaningful words were said.

When Jongwoo finally wrestles the phone from his pocket, he groans at the screen before answering.

“Jieun-ah — ”

Moonjo can hear a tinny voice coming from the speakers, interrupting Jongwoo’s words. If Moonjo did not already dislike the girlfriend based on the first overheard conversation a few nights ago, he certainly dislikes her now.

Nobody should ever take Jongwoo’s words away from him.

The voice on the other end of the line speaks rapidly, and Jongwoo’s jaw clenches in distress. Moonjo wants to kiss it, wants to make it go slack instead.

“I know, it — ” Jongwoo sighs in frustration. “Of course it’s awful, Jieun-ah, but what do you want me to do about it? He’s already dead.”

Moonjo smirks.

The voice gets louder, and Moonjo can hear some crying. Jongwoo holds the phone a few inches away from his ear now, wearing a very complicated expression of sadness, resignation, discomfort, and disgust. He’s beautiful.

“I…” he sighs. “Jieun-ah…”

Then his eyes flick up at Moonjo.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the phone. 

Moonjo raises an eyebrow, and Jongwoo takes a deep breath.

“I think we should break up,” he says, still looking straight at Moonjo.

Both of Moonjo’s eyebrows shoot up this time. He didn’t expect such a positive development so soon.

He loves that Jongwoo has the ability to surprise him.

There’s more crying on the other end of the phone, and Jongwoo grimaces.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I think we both need to be alone after… Yeah. Yeah, you too. Okay. Take care.”

He hangs up, and it’s silent again. 

Moonjo’s delighted with this turn of events. Perhaps it’s a sign that Jongwoo’s ready for the next little nudge towards his full potential.

For now, Moonjo’s content to sit beside Jongwoo as he processes his recent actions. He buries his head in his hands, groaning, and Moonjo waits.

While he waits, he reflects. Moonjo’s broken up with someone before, and it was a pleasant experience for him. Much more pleasant than the entirety of that disappointing relationship. He wonders if Jongwoo feels the same as he did at that moment. If he feels relief, freedom, and power.

Eventually, Jongwoo lets out a final frustrated groan and raises his head.

“I can’t pretend that I’m sorry Jaeho’s dead,” he rushes out. “I can’t grieve with her. I’d only make her feel worse.”

Moonjo nods. “That’s reasonable. I take it that you and your… ex -girlfriend have different opinions about him?”

Jongwoo groans again, dropping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

“Don’t get me started.”

Moonjo gives a small smile, and throws his arm around the back of the couch.

“How do you feel, jagi?”

Jongwoo bites his lip. “Guilty.”

“Because you broke up with her?” Moonjo gathers.

Jongwoo shakes his head.

“Because I feel…” Jongwoo pauses searching for the right word. “Relieved.”

Moonjo smirks. He knew it.

He doesn’t say anything more, content to let Jongwoo sink into the murky waters of his mind. Moonjo only wishes he could wade into them as well, but settles for sliding slightly closer to Jongwoo on the couch. If only Jongwoo would lean back just a little more… then Moonjo’s arm would be wrapped around his shoulders.

Moonjo’s slightly surprised to realize he’s aching for it. He feels it in his chest, in his gut, like he’s starving for Jongwoo’s touch at all times. He wonders how much he could get away with before Jongwoo shuts him out. A touch to his shoulder, his neck, his arm? Or more?

It’s only when Jongwoo swallows audibly that Moonjo’s focus shifts elsewhere.

“Was it,” Jongwoo hesitates. “Was it really suicide?”

Moonjo tilts his head. 

“What do you think?”

Jongwoo turns his head to the side, and their eyes lock together.

“I think you wouldn’t be asking me that if it was,” he says slowly.

Moonjo’s lips curl upwards. 

His beloved is brave tonight. He likes it. It’s inspiring.

“I’m curious,” Moonjo wonders aloud. “An overgrown teenager of a trainee visited me in the infirmary earlier, complaining of a bloody mouth. Is he the one you saved from the grenade?”

Jongwoo has a moment of surprise, but quickly recovers.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Why?”

Moonjo grins. “You did well hitting him today, jagi. He lost a tooth.”

“Oh.”

“Mmm,” Moonjo hums. “I remember you saying that you don't like guns. Was using your hands better? Did you like the feeling of his jaw cracking under your fist?”

Jongwoo gulps, a far-away look in his eyes again, and Moonjo’s chest warms in satisfaction.

“Hands are better,” Jongwoo mutters to himself, like he didn’t realize he said it out loud.

Moonjo’s smile grows bigger, and he keeps quiet to let Jongwoo fully experience whatever delectably violent images his mind is serving up.

Moonjo only wishes that he was privy to them. Maybe one day, Jongwoo will describe his fantasies to Moonjo like he does his stories. It would be glorious.

It’s much too soon when Jongwoo blinks, the haze clearing from his eyes. Moonjo could have easily sat on the couch and watched him all night.

“I should get going now,” he says, standing up and clearing his throat. “Uh, thanks for the food.”

“It was my pleasure,” Moonjo assures, standing up languidly as well. “Do you know your way back?”

“Yeah,” Jongwoo answers quickly. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”

Moonjo nods. He briefly considers inviting Jongwoo to stay, to save him the short trip back to the barracks, but decides not to push him too hard in such a short period of time.

“Get some rest,” Moonjo says softly. “It’s been an eventful day.”

“Right. Yeah,” Jongwoo nods.

He turns to the table with his laptop on it, but hesitates.

“I shouldn’t use this,” Jongwoo says. “I’ll… trust you to keep it safe.”

Then he leaves, walking out of the house and closing the front door behind him, while Moonjo’s still standing in the middle of the living room with his heart soaring toward the heavens.

Jongwoo doesn’t sleep very well that night. He’s too preoccupied with everything that’s happened, and too worried about the promotion ceremony.

His head feels better, and he’s glad he got to “write” — even if it was just a little bit — but he can’t ignore all the strange things that are making him twitch in apprehension.

When the sun comes up in the morning, Jongwoo has no idea if he’s slept or not. He’s just grateful that when he gets up and puts on his formal uniform, his hands aren’t shaking like he expected.

Maybe his survival instincts are strong, and he’s adapting.

The ceremony is small, taking place in the general’s office instead of the usual auditorium. Jongwoo dislikes being the center of attention and thus enjoys the change in protocol, even if it’s due to Jaeho’s sudden death.

Actually, he likes it even more because of Jaeho’s death. Jongwoo tries not to think about what that says about him.

There’s only a few people present when Jongwoo walks into the room: the general, a few other officers that Jongwoo’s seen around the base, the chaplain, the general’s secretary, and Moonjo. Jongwoo’s eyes glaze over everyone else without interest, but come to a screeching halt when they land on Moonjo.

The dentist is in full uniform, which isn’t a big deal considering so is literally everyone else in the room, but definitely is a big deal when Jongwoo realizes it’s the first time he’s seeing Moonjo in clothes that aren’t ill-fitting or covered by a white coat.

Moonjo looks good. His uniform is perfectly tailored, showing off his long legs, slim waist, and broad shoulders. His lieutenant rank is cleanly pinned on his chest, and his hair is respectfully combed away from his face. Jongwoo simply stares at him for a few moments, taking in his appearance. He looks absurdly handsome.

Somehow, Jongwoo tears his gaze away and keeps walking until he takes his place in the center of the room, across from the general.

Moonjo is standing to his left, only a few feet away.

“Welcome!” the general booms. “Today we are here to celebrate and reward the achievements of an exemplary soldier…”

He starts on a speech that he must have memorized for every promotion ceremony, and Jongwoo’s attention wanders. He thinks about Jaeho’s “suicide” that allowed this to happen, Moonjo’s recommendation that sealed the deal, and his own reactions to everything. He’s fully aware that his reactions are not what they’re supposed to be.

He’s not supposed to be happy about his hyung dying, he’s not supposed to be relieved at his breakup, and he’s definitely not supposed to be attracted to the shameless dentist who is a lot more than he seems.

The problem is, Jongwoo doesn’t know what to do with any of those feelings. Does he listen to the voice of his mom inside his head, telling him that he should marry a nice girl and be a kind man and provide for his family? Or does he listen to Moonjo, who whispers how magnificent he is and how he should do whatever he wants because he deserves it?

One voice is the consistent foundation he’s heard his entire life, yet the other is the storm that shakes that foundation and electrifies Jongwoo like nothing else.

“Wonderful words, General,” the chaplain says then, snapping Jongwoo back to reality. “Now, Corporal Yoon, do you have someone you’d like to switch your ranks?”

Jongwoo opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Moonjo steps forward.

“I will,” he declares.

Jongwoo’s heart pounds loudly in his chest. Is it normal for a man you met a week ago to recommend you for a promotion then offer to switch your ranks? It’s not, right? Jongwoo feels himself start to sweat, convinced that everyone around them will notice that something’s not quite right about their relationship.

But nothing happens. The general just nods in approval and gestures for Moonjo to take the new rank from the chaplain.

“It’s fitting,” the general muses, “that Lieutenant Seo is the one to do this. He fixed you up after you were heroically injured in the explosion.”

Jongwoo nods robotically. He’s not so sure about that logic, but if it keeps whatever the fuck his relationship with Moonjo is under the radar, then he’s not going to argue.

Suddenly Moonjo is in front of him, about five inches from Jongwoo’s face. He has to be that close, since he’s switching Jongwoo’s ranks, but that knowledge doesn’t make his presence any easier. Moonjo holds the new rank in his hand, and looks into Jongwoo’s eyes with an overwhelmingly soft expression.

Jongwoo can barely breathe. He’s too flooded by Moonjo’s proximity, and blinded by his genuine emotions. He remembers their discussion last night, when Moonjo said he was attracted to men and had recently developed intense feelings for someone. With the way Moonjo’s looking at him right now, Jongwoo can’t deny the hints any longer.

Without breaking eye contact, Moonjo reaches out and unpins the current rank from Jongwoo’s uniform.

He has to touch Jongwoo’s chest to do it, sliding his long fingers under Jongwoo’s suit jacket to grasp the back of the pin. He takes his time, fingers lingering longer than strictly necessary, but not long enough to be noticed. He removes the old pin, and Jongwoo takes a breath as his fingers leave.

But then they’re back a split-second later, to fasten the new rank. Jongwoo’s heart stalls in his chest, overloaded with Moonjo’s closeness, his touch, and the heated look in his eyes. It’s way too intimate, and Jongwoo already regrets agreeing to this.

Moonjo fastens the new pin in place, and smooths Jongwoo’s jacket back down. His hand leaves a path of fire on Jongwoo’s torso.

“Congratulations, jagi,” he murmurs, so quietly that Jongwoo could pretend he doesn’t hear — but his body doesn’t obey him, and his eyes immediately widen at the words.

Moonjo nods to him, smiling devilishly.

And then Moonjo steps back, salutes the general, and walks back to stand where he was before.

Jongwoo’s head is spinning at this point, and he knows it has nothing to do with his concussion.

“Congratulations,” the general proclaims, “to Sergeant Yoon Jongwoo!”

There’s a polite round of applause for him, and Jongwoo somehow gets his body to bow in respect. The clapping dies down, but there’s still ringing in Jongwoo’s ears, and before the general can make another speech Jongwoo cuts in.

“Thank you,” he blurts. “I’m very grateful and honored. Let’s all get back to our duties.”

He tries to say it like a dedicated soldier, and not at all like he’s desperate to escape.

Apparently, it works. At least, for the general.

“Great work ethic!” the man praises. “Quite right. Everyone, let’s get back to it…”

Jongwoo takes that as his permission to get the hell out of there and turns around, walking as fast as is socially acceptable across the room and out the door.

But no matter how far he hurries away, he can still feel Moonjo’s hot gaze lingering on his back.

Chapter Text

Jongwoo avoids Moonjo like the plague after the ceremony.

There’s no other option, really. What the fuck is he supposed to do, after accepting that the most handsome man he’s ever seen has feelings for him?

No, not accepting. Jongwoo can’t accept it; it’s uncomfortable and banned and definitely unrequited. He’s just aware of it now. Yeah, that’s it.

Whatever the case, it’s impossible for Jongwoo to ignore anymore. What was an unpleasant sensation of goosebumps has now turned into an army of ants crawling on his skin whenever he thinks of Moonjo. Jongwoo can only imagine what it would be like to actually be in the same room as the guy now, after he stood so close to Jongwoo at the ceremony.

Jongwoo doesn’t want to find out. He doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of Moonjo’s soft yet heated eyes again. His stomach twists just thinking about it.

So Jongwoo tries not to think about it, and he does the best he can to avoid Moonjo at all costs.

It’s working out so far. He stays away from the infirmary, and stubbornly refuses to answer his door whenever there’s a knock. He spends a few days in his room like that, which he likes because he doesn’t want to run into Moonjo but also hates because there’s absolutely nothing to do since he still has a concussion. 

He’s painfully aware that he left his laptop at Moonjo’s house, and wants to punch himself for it. But that night, when Moonjo helped him with his writing… It was nice. Moonjo didn’t criticize his words, and even made him food when it was clear that Jongwoo’s brain needed energy. Jongwoo felt a huge weight lift off him after breaking up with Jieun, and the conversation that followed felt strangely comfortable.

Jongwoo doesn’t have an issue about Moonjo being gay. That’s fine for him, really. The problem is that Jongwoo isn’t, and doesn’t know how to handle Moonjo’s affections. They make him uncomfortable, but not because Moonjo’s a man.

If he’s honest, he can’t really pinpoint the exact reason why he’s so uncomfortable with it. If he was a better person, he’d march up to Moonjo and tell him sorry, but not interested. And then everything would be fine, and Jongwoo would move on.

Maybe the problem is that Jongwoo doesn’t want to move on. He doesn’t want things to go back to the way they were before he met Moonjo.

Jongwoo shuts down that train of thought very fast.

The more likely option is that he feels uncomfortable not because Moonjo’s a man, but because he’s so creepy. He’s a lot more than he seems, and Jongwoo can’t shake the feeling that he knows something about Jaeho’s death. When they talked about it that night in Moonjo’s house, the dentist all-but confirmed that it wasn’t suicide.

But if it wasn’t suicide… Then what was it? And why did Moonjo put suicide as the cause of death on the autopsy, when he knew it wasn’t?

Jongwoo’s brain creates possibilities for him as easy as creating words for his novel, but he pushes them all away. There’s no need to dwell on them. The bottom line is, he needs to stay away from Seo Moonjo.

Yet deep down, Jongwoo knows that he can't avoid the man forever. His self-imposed isolation has a time limit, although he doesn’t know what that time limit is. He can just feel the time counting down, second by second, until he inevitably sees Moonjo again.

He spends a few days hiding in his room like that, close to tearing his hair out, when the general calls for him.

“Lieutenant Seo recommended you take more time to recover,” the man says, “but unfortunately we don’t have that luxury. A few soldiers just transferred here, and I need you.”

“Yes, sir,” Jongwoo responds. What else can he say? He doesn’t have a choice.

He’s really starting to dislike the military.

The new soldiers the general referred to are mainly officers. Some captains, a few majors, and one sergeant. Jongwoo’s specifically assigned to show the new sergeant around since he’s now one himself, and apparently nobody else had time.

Jongwoo’s promotion feels weird.

He’s not used to being in a position of authority. After so long spent being dragged in the mud on the underside of Jaeho’s shoe, both here and in university, Jongwoo doesn’t quite know what to make of his newfound freedom. Granted, he’s not completely free since he still has to report to superior officers like the general, but he’s gained respect. He’s gained a slice of power.

Once he leaves his room to report for duty, he has little privates coming up to him and asking him all kinds of questions. They’re mostly teens right out of high school, and they turn to Jongwoo for support. All because of his new rank.

Jongwoo finds it strangely nice; an extension of how Moonjo makes him feel sometimes.

The new guy has a fresh bruise on his face, and Jongwoo wonders what he did to get transferred here. Was it a reward, or a punishment?

“The base isn’t that big, you’ll adjust to it fast,” Jongwoo says as he shows the new guy around. “You’ll probably just be monitoring the privates and making sure they don’t fall asleep on duty.”

The guy grunts but doesn’t look at Jongwoo or give any other sign of acknowledgement or thanks. Jongwoo bristles, feeling as stiff as the dry grass that crunches under his boots. He really hopes this guy isn’t the new Jaeho.

But if he is, then maybe Jongwoo can do something about it this time. He’s a sergeant after all, of equal rank to this man. He won’t be punished too badly for talking back, if at all.

“What’s your name?” the guy demands gruffly.

Jongwoo side-eyes him.

“Yoon Jongwoo. Yours?”

The guy doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze forward, looking at all the buildings they’re passing as they walk. Jongwoo scowls again at the disrespect.

“Cho Kanghyun.”

Jongwoo inhales. “Well, Sergeant Cho — ”

Suddenly, he cuts himself off and comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the walking path as a cold chill runs down his spine.

Moonjo is standing to the side of the path a few yards ahead, clear as day. He’s wearing his scrubs and has a cigarette in hand, although it’s unlit. His posture is somewhere between tense and relaxed, but what bothers Jongwoo the most is that he’s completely unmoving.

He’s completely unmoving, and staring directly at Jongwoo.

Jongwoo swallows thickly and immediately turns on his heel, unable to take Moonjo’s eyes searing into his soul for a second longer. The man doesn’t seem upset, but he does seem aware that Jongwoo’s avoiding him and wants to put a stop to it. Well, Jongwoo won’t let him.

He knows he can’t avoid Moonjo for the entire 17 months he has left in his service, but he can at least avoid him for the next few days. Just until he figures out what the fuck to do about this situation.

Sergeant Cho is left in the dust, which Jongwoo can’t bring himself to feel guilty about. The tour was practically done anyway, not that Sergeant Cho was paying much attention. There’s something off about that guy, something that reminded Jongwoo of Jaeho and those assholes he used to fight during basic training.

Jongwoo gets back to his room as quickly as possible and slams the door shut. His head is starting to pound in the beginnings of a headache, reminding him that his concussion is not fully healed. Shit, he doesn’t have any painkillers either. He left them, and his new pack of cigarettes, on Moonjo’s desk in the infirmary.

He really doesn’t want to go back there and face Moonjo, but at this point his teeth are gritted in pain.

As he sits in his bed trying to make a rational decision through his massive headache, there’s a pounding on his door. It takes Jongwoo a while to stand up, because initially he thinks that the pounding is confined to his brain against his skull.

But soon the pounding gets louder, and there’s a shout accompanying it.

“Sergeant Yoon!?” a familiar voice calls out, frantic. “Sergeant Yoon, that new guy is fighting with a private for no reason!”

Jongwoo jumps up and wrenches the door open.

“What the hell?” he demands.

The soldier standing in the hallway is one of the young privates that Jongwoo’s recently become close with: Park Changhyun.

Changhyun nods vigorously with wide eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he just randomly started attacking one of the others! Please, you have to come!”

Jongwoo doesn’t have to be told twice and quickly rushes out of the dorms, following Changhyun across the base. Jongwoo’s heart is beating fast as he clenches his fists in anticipation and berates himself. This wouldn’t have happened if he was so determined to avoid Moonjo, he would’ve stayed with that asshole and made sure he didn’t hurt anyone, Jongwoo knew he had a bad feeling about him —

The bubble of guilt in his chest steadily grows, but pops into nothingness the instant they round the next corner and come across a scene that makes Jongwoo’s blood boil in rage.

Sergeant Cho is on the ground, crouched over some poor private and repeatedly striking him in the face. There’s a crowd around, but it’s comprised of other privates who look too terrified to intervene. Even the kid on the ground getting beat up isn’t putting up a fight, just laying there limp.

Jongwoo’s ears ring and he sees red. Fighting is one thing, but this isn’t a fight. It’s an asshole beating the shit out of a defenseless kid. If he doesn’t stop, he could kill him. And it doesn’t look like he’s stopping anytime soon.

Jongwoo’s so furious he’s almost shaking as he goes up to the guy and catches his fist when he pulls back for another swing.

His grip on Sergeant Cho’s arm is firm, but Jongwoo tightens his hold as hard as he can. Hard enough for the skin around his hand to go white, and for Sergeant Cho to glare at him.

“What the hell — ” he starts.

Jongwoo doesn’t give him a chance to finish talking. With his free hand, he punches him hard across the face.

Blood spurts from the guy’s nose, and Jongwoo bares his teeth in a snarl.

“Fuck you,” Jongwoo spits.

Then he punches him again, hauling him off the private and slamming him into the dirt. Jongwoo’s vision is still red, so consumed with hate and anger that he can’t stop himself from striking the guy’s jaw a few more times. He does it gladly, wanting to make Sergeant Cho understand what it feels like to be on the receiving end of senseless violence.

Jongwoo keeps hitting, and hitting, and hitting, until he loses track of time and the only thing he sees is blood leaking all over Sergeant Cho’s face.

A firm hand on his shoulder makes Jongwoo blink, breaking him out of the loop. He turns his head, fist frozen in the air, and sees Moonjo kneeling next to him.

“You’ll kill him if you keep going,” he murmurs.

His voice is low and deep, forcing the ringing to subside from Jongwoo’s ears. His hand is warm and heavy on Jongwoo’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality and grounding him there. Jongwoo exhales, and looks back down at Sergeant Cho.

His fist is still hanging in the air, poised to crack against the bastard’s face again. Moonjo’s soft words echo in his mind, “You’ll kill him if you keep going.”

He wants to keep going. He wants to kill this asshole.

As soon as Jongwoo realizes that, a ripple of fear spreads through him and he drops his hand by his side.

Moonjo reaches out to touch that same hand, holding it tenderly like some priceless work of art.

“You’re hurt, jagi,” he whispers.

Jongwoo doesn’t respond. He doesn’t resist as Moonjo gently pulls him to his feet, off of Sergeant Cho and away from the crowd. Moonjo’s hand has fallen away from Jongwoo’s, leaving only a guiding touch on his shoulder. He steers them away from everyone, but then pauses.

“Bring them to the infirmary as well,” Moonjo directs.

The privates jump into action, pulling the beaten private and Sergeant Cho off the ground. Jongwoo feels a bit out of it as he resumes walking. One foot in front of the other, again and again. He doesn’t register his surroundings or anything other than the firm grip of Moonjo’s hand on his shoulder.

He thinks about Moonjo’s words again. “You’ll kill him if you keep going.” Moonjo was simply pointing out the facts, and clarifying the situation for Jongwoo amidst his mental fog. He did not pull Jongwoo off Sergeant Cho. He did not hold him back. He did not tell him to stop.

He simply made Jongwoo aware of the consequences of his actions, as if he wanted to ensure that whatever decision Jongwoo made was made without an excuse to regret it later.

Jongwoo’s headache deepens, and his split knuckles throb.

When Moonjo’s hand leaves his shoulder, Jongwoo feels cold and unbalanced.

He looks up, finding himself sitting on a bed in the infirmary. He slides his gaze around the room, numbly registering the sight of the poor private being deposited on a nearby bed. The other privates dump Sergeant Cho onto another bed like a sack of potatoes, then quickly back out of the way as Moonjo approaches. 

Jongwoo watches as Moonjo checks the unconscious men’s vitals. He’s the vision of authority, with his glasses and white coat and confident movements. Yet Jongwoo can’t help but think he looks somewhat detached from it all, like he couldn’t care less about his wounded patients.

Through his haze, Jongwoo wonders how he noticed this. Maybe it’s because he knows what it feels like to be detached. Or maybe it’s because he knows how Moonjo looks when he truly cares about something.

Images of Moonjo’s mouth curving up into a smile, of his eyes sparkling in fondness, swirl in Jongwoo’s mind. The ghost of Moonjo’s fingers touching his chest haunts him. Murmurs of jagiya overtake the ringing in his ears.

Jongwoo swallows thickly, flexing his fists as the wall of numbness threatens to crack inside him. Jongwoo doesn’t know what will spill out when it does, doesn’t know if he’s afraid to face it or welcome it with sweet relief. He thought he knew. He thought he had it all figured out.

But being in Moonjo’s presence again erased any convictions he previously had.

He’s saved from contemplating any further when Moonjo enters his vision again, gently sitting beside him on the narrow bed.

Moonjo doesn’t say anything at first, and doesn’t touch him either. Jongwoo stares over Moonjo’s shoulder at the wall, avoiding the eyes he can feel raking over him, scanning him for injuries. But Moonjo knows as well as Jongwoo that there are none, save for the split skin of his knuckles. 

He wasn’t the one getting pummeled into a pulp. He was the one doing the beating.

Jongwoo jumps a little as Moonjo gently takes one of his bloody hands. His gaze moves to focus on Moonjo’s face, watching the taller man stare down at his bruised and bloody knuckles. He wonders what Moonjo’s thinking about. If he likes to see Jongwoo hurt this way, or if he hates it.

And then he firmly tells himself that he doesn’t care, just as he doesn’t care about Moonjo himself.

“Would you like me to clean your hands?” Moonjo asks quietly.

Jongwoo frowns, confused. Isn’t that what Moonjo’s supposed to do, as a doctor? Is he giving Jongwoo the choice because he’s respecting his bodily autonomy, or because he’s content with Jongwoo’s hands being permanently stained red?

The answer doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care.

“Sure,” Jongwoo responds. 

Moonjo picks up some gauze and dips it in antiseptic that Jongwoo just notices is on the table beside them. He does so with one hand, not letting go of the one still cradling Jongwoo’s. When he turns back to dab at Jongwoo’s knuckles, he does it so softly that Jongwoo barely feels the sting.

They sit in silence, close together on the infirmary bed as Moonjo slowly cleans his wounds. Jongwoo realizes that everyone else is gone and they are alone, just as he realizes Moonjo is taking much longer to treat his hands than he did fixing up the other two men.

Jongwoo’s pulse increases the longer Moonjo sits there, gently wiping the blood away from his hands. He’s uncomfortably aware that this is the first time he’s been alone with Moonjo since avoiding him. It’s just as awkward as he expected.

He still has no fucking clue what to do about Moonjo, but now he can’t hide anymore.

“I haven’t had this much work in a long time,” Moonjo says then, breaking the silence. “Things have been much more eventful since you arrived.”

Jongwoo’s throat goes dry. “Sorry.”

Moonjo cracks a smile. “I didn’t say I disliked it, jagiya.”

Jongwoo’s breath catches, and he hates himself for it.

“Sorry,” he repeats. Apologizing for more than one thing.

Moonjo locks eyes with him, and Jongwoo knows he understands everything he’s unable to say out loud. And god, when is the last time someone’s done that?

“It’s quite alright,” Moonjo murmurs. “There’s no need to apologize for doing what you want. Doesn’t it feel good?”

It does. It does feel good, and Jongwoo can’t string his thoughts together enough to respond because nobody’s ever encouraged him to do what he wanted. There have always been limits, rules, denials.

But Moonjo’s not denying him anything, even when Jongwoo does something to hurt him like avoiding him. Moonjo doesn’t mind, because he knows his pain makes Jongwoo feel good.

The meaning and implications of that conclusion makes Jongwoo’s hands shake in Moonjo’s hold.

“Are you done?” he rasps.

Moonjo hums, carefully wrapping Jongwoo’s knuckles in clean bandages.

“Yes.”

His hands fall away from Jongwoo’s, and he looks at him expectantly. Waiting.

Jongwoo wants to tell Moonjo goodbye and run back to his room. He wants to ask Moonjo what, exactly, he wants from him. He wants to yell and curse and scream until his throat goes sore.

But all that comes out of his mouth when he opens it is — 

“Can we write again?”

He instantly hates how vulnerable that request seems, but not enough to take it back.

Moonjo smiles, happiness painted on his handsome face.

“Of course, jagi,” he says easily. “Whatever you want.”

“Now?” Jongwoo asks, glancing over to Sergeant Cho. He wants to get out of here. He wants to pour out everything clogging his mind through the release of writing. He wants —

“I’m not busy,” Moonjo responds, shrugging off his white coat and placing it on the back of his chair. He removes his glasses too, setting them on the desk. “It’s been more than a week, is your head still bothering you?”

Jongwoo rises from the bed, finding that his legs are much more steady than expected. He’s not sure what that means.

“Yeah,” he replies. It’s not technically a lie.

Moonjo smiles at him again, beckoning Jongwoo out of the infirmary. Jongwoo follows, not sparing a second look at the passed-out men they’re leaving behind. The general can deal with them.

Right now, Jongwoo’s focus is solely on Moonjo.

He doesn’t examine why that is. He isn’t sure what he’s doing, inviting himself back to Moonjo’s house to write. He doesn’t know what he feels, or what he wants.

Well, that’s not strictly true. He’s realized that he likes the way Moonjo looks at him, and likes how Moonjo encourages every part of him.

Jongwoo expected to find those things in Jieun. It’s strange that he finds them only now, in the military, from a man he can’t make sense of. What’s even stranger is that he’s not at all reacting to this situation in the way he expected.

Or maybe he is. After all, when he expected this to happen with Jieun, he expected to be in love. He expected to be excited, in all senses of the word. Is that what’s happening?

Jongwoo’s not completely sure. All he can decide on is that Moonjo… 

Moonjo makes him feel alive. 

The trek to Moonjo’s little house seems to take no time at all, and walking across the threshold feels like walking home. Jongwoo goes straight to the living room and sits on the couch, and Moonjo resumes his place at his side. Jongwoo’s heart pounds at the sight of his laptop, still sitting on the table right where he left it. As if it was too precious for Moonjo to move.

Jongwoo refuses to name the emotion that shoots through his body at that thought and lays back on the couch, closing his eyes. He hears Moonjo take the laptop and open it, silently waiting for Jongwoo to begin.

Jongwoo hasn’t felt this in control, yet simultaneously so out of control, in a long time.

“The pianist uses this night to dispose of a nuisance,” Jongwoo starts, each word purposeful. “He has the perfect alibi, although no one will think to suspect him. His disposal will take the form of suicide, not murder. At least, that’s the scene he will create.”

Moonjo’s fingers faithfully type away, the tension in the room growing with each click of the laptop keys.

Jongwoo keeps his eyes shut, and digs his fingernails into his pants. “The nuisance has no time to beg for his life before the pianist tapes his mouth shut. He wishes he could cut off the man’s disrespectful tongue, but that wouldn’t be appropriate for a suicide. The pianist makes do with the wordless pleas in the man’s eyes, relishing in his pathetic desperation. If he bashes the nuisance’s head in, only once so as to not leave a mark, then nobody has to know.”

He hears Moonjo’s slight intake of breath beside him, his brief hesitance in typing, but Jongwoo plows on. He can’t stop talking, the words flowing out of his mouth in something close to desperation. He needs to get this out, he needs to find out if he’s right, he needs to know exactly who Moonjo really is.

“The pianist gleefully wraps his hands around the man’s neck,” Jongwoo whispers. “He squeezes and squeezes, feeling the man’s life burn under his hands with the heat of a thousand suns. He squeezes until the man’s eyes bulge and he can see the tiny veins bursting inside. He squeezes until the heat fizzles into nothing, leaving only coldness behind.”

Jongwoo opens his eyes to meet Moonjo’s stare searing into him, and resists the urge to do something stupid that would definitely earn him a dishonorable discharge. Just barely resists.

Moonjo’s not even typing anymore. His hands have frozen over the keyboard, his attention focused solely on Jongwoo alone. His eyes are glowing, with something far more intense and electrifying than rage.

Jongwoo licks his lips, and opens his mouth a final time.

“It’s easy to stage the scene as suicide. Death by hanging. The next morning, when the police are called, nobody sees through the pianist’s design. Nobody, except for the detective who’s starting to realize they are just alike. It’s an intimate thing, after all, to see and be seen in return. Like l-lovers.”

Jongwoo chokes out the final word, mortification overtaking him because he never planned to say that, it just spilled out —

But Jongwoo can’t take it back because suddenly Moonjo surges forward, takes Jongwoo’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

Jongwoo inhales sharply and his hands fly up to dig into Moonjo’s shoulders. He doesn’t push Moonjo away, too overwhelmed by plush lips moving against his own so tenderly, yet so needy, that Jongwoo’s mind spins from how good it feels to be wanted.

He can’t deny that he wants Moonjo in return. Not now, when Moonjo’s large hands are cupping his face and Jongwoo can feel his long hair brushing against his cheek with every movement of their lips. Their lips, because at this point Jongwoo is kissing Moonjo back.

He kisses Moonjo with all the pent-up attraction, desire, and interest he tried to keep inside, behind the wall created out of fear of the wrong, the different, the forbidden. But now that wall is demolished, broken by Moonjo’s soft lips and heady kisses that pour earth-shattering emotion into Jongwoo’s very being.

Jongwoo can barely believe this is happening, but it is. His wall has crumbled down into nothingness, and as they keep kissing and Jongwoo’s head keeps spinning it becomes clearer that Moonjo’s wall is collapsing as well. It’s hard to believe that a man like Moonjo lived behind walls, holding back his true desires, but it’s obvious from how he grips Jongwoo in his arms and kisses him through unsteady breaths. It’s obvious that he’s wanted this for a while, has held back that desire, only for it to now come rushing out in full-force.

Jongwoo can’t think. He can’t wrap his fraying mind around being wanted with such passion, such fervor. He might have thought this is all a dream, if Moonjo’s calloused hands aren’t stroking the soft skin of his face and grounding him to reality. Moonjo devours his mouth like he’s a starving man in a feast, and Jongwoo is powerless to resist his own desire rearing up. 

In the back of his mind, he wonders just how strong Moonjo’s self-control is, to resist something he clearly wanted so badly. But that thought gets wiped away soon, when Moonjo drops his hands to start stroking at Jongwoo’s clothed thighs.

The touch makes the flame inside Jongwoo grow into a roaring fire, and he wrenches his mouth away from Moonjo’s to catch his breath. His head is spinning far too fast to be sustainable, and Jongwoo wants this to continue. Whatever this is, whatever this means, however he feels about it later — Jongwoo wants it to happen anyways.

He simply can’t hold himself back anymore. And all it took for his self-control to crumble was the confirmation that —

“You killed him,” Jongwoo gasps, reaching out to grip Moonjo’s shoulders to keep himself steady. He feels as if he’s about to fall off the couch. “You killed him… for me.”

In the thin space between them, Moonjo’s breathing is audibly elevated as he fixes Jongwoo with dark, deep eyes that almost seem to glow with their intensity.

“For you,” he repeats, voice so deep and raw that it makes Jongwoo shiver. “I’ll do anything for you, jagiya. Anything you want.”

The fire inside Jongwoo grows even stronger, until it feels like his entire body is close to bursting into flame. He’s never had someone say that to him, never had someone so willing and eager to please him. The fact that it’s Moonjo, of all people, to metaphorically kneel at Jongwoo’s feet with complete devotion gives Jongwoo a power rush he never thought was possible.

He’s learned how dangerous Moonjo really is, and to have such a man submit himself to Jongwoo is indescribable. 

Power and desire flood Jongwoo’s body and make his breathing heavier. His lips tingle from the aftereffects of Moonjo’s intense kisses, and Jongwoo realizes they feel oddly bare. He wants to change that. He wants Moonjo’s mouth on him again. He wants —

He leans closer, and Moonjo’s hands tighten on his thighs. Jongwoo doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Moonjo knows what he wants without having to speak it aloud. He proved that when he killed Jaeho for him, and now he proves it again by slowly pressing Jongwoo into the couch.

Jongwoo doesn’t resist when Moonjo guides him onto his back and looms over him. The instinct to grab his neck and wring it tight is there, an intrusive desire born from the darkness inside Jongwoo he’s tried to ignore for so long. But he doesn’t have to ignore it anymore, because Moonjo sees that part of himself and values it.

Jongwoo doesn’t wrap his hands around Moonjo’s neck though, because his muscles suddenly go weak when Moonjo surges down to mouth at his throat. Jongwoo loses control and lets out a moan, and Moonjo answers with a rumble in his chest. It sounds like a growl, and feels like a purr.

Jongwoo’s mouth goes slack as Moonjo sucks hickeys into his neck, and his chest heaves when Moonjo’s hands move to the front of his pants. Jongwoo’s so hard it feels like he could lose it from one touch, but thankfully he only gasps and bucks his hips when Moonjo strokes him for the first time.

Jongwoo rolls his head to the side, catching Moonjo’s mouth with his own and exchanging heated kisses as the pleasure grows. Moonjo’s body is flush against his own now, and somewhere in the haze Moonjo managed to shove their clothing down to allow them to slide against each other.

Jongwoo’s brain feels mushy, overloaded with sensation that’s impossible to ignore. Moonjo’s skin is hot, his arousal velvety soft as they roll their hips together. They’re both leaking, making the slide wet and intoxicating. Jongwoo’s heart is in his throat from the assault of pleasure, and the knowledge that this is strictly forbidden only makes it sweeter. 

In that moment, Jongwoo doesn’t care about rules or duty. He only cares about chasing pleasure, and the way Moonjo groans in his ear.

“Jagiya, jagiya,” he chants. Like he’s unaware he’s saying it at all, like Jongwoo’s special enough to make him completely lose control.

That thought makes power rush through Jongwoo’s veins again, and it only takes a few more thrusts of his hips and strokes of Moonjo’s long fingers to push Jongwoo over the edge.

His body seizes up and he bites Moonjo’s shoulder, teeth sinking into flesh as he rides out his high. Moonjo lets out a broken sound, and suddenly there’s a hand gripping bruises into Jongwoo’s hip as Moonjo falls apart against him as well.

The fire settles down into a fuzzy warmth as Jongwoo comes down and sinks into the couch cushions. His eyes are heavy and stubbornly fall closed, cutting off his view of Moonjo above him. But it doesn’t matter, because Jongwoo can still feel the heavy weight of him. It feels strangely comforting.

Jongwoo sinks further into the couch, and he falls asleep with the knowledge that he just had sex with a killer and loved every second of it.

Moonjo can’t resist pressing a final kiss onto Jongwoo’s forehead before he cleans them up.

He’s smiling as he does so, and not even Jongwoo’s sudden unconsciousness can diminish his heightened mood. On the contrary, he’s glad that his beloved is sleeping. He knows that Jongwoo has been stressed lately, and is likely exhausted from all the activity he’s engaged in today. He needs rest.

And Moonjo lets him have it, carefully cleaning and redressing him to ensure his sleep is uninterrupted.

After, Moonjo sits on a nearby chair and lights up a cigarette.

Jongwoo has progressed wonderfully. His viciousness this morning when beating the new sergeant was truly a sight to behold. Moonjo stood in the shadows for a long time, watching Jongwoo rain hit after merciless hit onto the irritating man’s face. He only intervened when Jongwoo’s eyes glazed over, and his mind began slipping away. Normally Moonjo wouldn’t mind that, but this was Jongwoo’s first time giving into his true urges. He wants Jongwoo to do that on purpose, with complete control.

Moonjo’s confident that he’ll get the chance to see Jongwoo do just that. It’s only a matter of time.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and gazes at Jongwoo on the couch. He’s incredibly pleased at how this day turned out. He knew it was only a matter of time before Jongwoo couldn’t avoid him anymore and cracked, but that crack turned out to be so much larger than Moonjo anticipated. It’s beautiful.

Jongwoo is truly unlike anyone Moonjo’s known before. He’s already Moonjo’s greatest masterpiece, and Moonjo can sense that he’s nowhere close to being done. Jongwoo’s just getting started.

When Moonjo brought Jongwoo back to his house to write, he never imagined in his wildest dreams that his beloved would confront Moonjo’s killing of Jaeho through his words. When he started speaking, Moonjo’s breath caught. When he continued, the words flowing out of him like a river, Moonjo was utterly captivated. Jongwoo allowing himself to see Moonjo as the killer, then directly confronting Moonjo about it through his writing, was magical. It’s much more than Moonjo expected, and his smile widens just thinking about it.

Of course, Moonjo could not resist after Jongwoo labeled them as lovers. He could tell that Jongwoo did not mean to say it, but that did not matter because he meant it, and Moonjo seized the opportunity given to him.

Moonjo can hardly put their intimacy into words. It’s something that surpasses language, something that belongs to them and them alone. The bite on his shoulder aches in the best way, and Moonjo smiles. It’s a clear mark for what they are to each other.

He takes another drag of his cigarette. His feelings for Jongwoo leave him slightly off-balance, as they are new and he has not yet gotten used to them. He doubts he ever will, for that matter.  But he is glad for them. 

Moonjo cannot wait to discover what the future holds, now that Jongwoo is a part of it.

For now, he sits back in his chair and smokes. He watches as Jongwoo slumbers on his couch, reflecting on this supremely satisfying day and imagining all the fantastic ways Jongwoo can surprise him next.

Chapter Text

Jongwoo wakes in an unfamiliar bed to the strong smell of eggs and freshly-cooked rice.

For a moment he’s confused, but then his brain kicks on and all the memories of the past 24 hours make themselves known.

“Fuuuck,” Jongwoo groans. 

He blearily opens his eyes, still heavy with sleep, and with sweet relief finds himself alone in bed. He doesn’t know if he could’ve handled waking up in a bed with Moonjo, if he could’ve dealt with the man’s close proximity. Not that it would be any worse than what Jongwoo chose to do with him last night, but still.

Jongwoo’s face is smushed against the pillow and his limbs are pleasantly sore, but whether from beating up Sergeant Cho or being intimate with Moonjo, he doesn’t know. There’s a lump in his throat as he vividly remembers the events, unable to forget the pleasure of them all.

Beating up the asshole sergeant. Confronting Moonjo about killing Jaeho. Getting his answer through a mess of lips and tongue, and deciding to keep going until —

Jongwoo groans again into the pillow, his body filling with some emotion that’s hard to identify. 

It’s not guilt, or shame, or disgust, or even regret. It’s more like… discomfort. Discomfort with how acceptable he’s finding all of this.

He cringes under the sheets. What has his life become? Sleeping with a man, a man who’s a killer — and being oddly okay with it?

But as Jongwoo lays in bed, sitting with the discomfort, he realizes that he’s also content. Content in a way he never was with Jieun, or even before Jieun. He did what he wanted, and despite how weird that is, it also feels good. It feels good to just let go, and act on his desires.

Even if his desires aren’t strictly within the limits of morality, as he’s becoming increasingly aware.

Jongwoo sighs and shifts his head to the side. Next to the bed there’s a table; on it there’s a glass of water, a lighter, and an unopened pack of cigarettes. The same unopened pack he last saw on Moonjo’s desk in the infirmary, all those days ago. 

It’s only been maybe a week, but it feels like a lifetime.

Jongwoo sits up and leans against the headboard, quickly chugging the glass of water. He ignores the prickle of knowledge that Moonjo must have set it there for him, predicting his thirst. It’s the only conclusion Jongwoo can come to, but he wasn’t awake at the time to know for sure.

Embarrassment warms his cheeks as he remembers how he passed out on the couch, right after seeing stars. God, that orgasm was probably the most powerful one he’s ever had. He can’t remember anything afterwards, not even his dreams, not until he woke up this morning in Moonjo’s bed —

Jongwoo suddenly chokes on the water.

Oh, god. Moonjo carried him to bed last night, didn’t he?

Jongwoo coughs loudly, then groans and sets the empty glass back down on the table. The discomfort is back, this time paired with an icky feeling of happiness. 

He’s pleased that Moonjo picked him up and carried him to bed, probably gently and lovingly tucking Jongwoo into the sheets. Disgusting.

Jongwoo lunges for the pack of cigarettes and fishes one out. Fuck this. He doesn’t want to feel his feelings, doesn’t want to get out of bed and deal with all the insane things that happened — the insane things he enjoyed — last night. He’d much rather smoke. So he does.

Smoke burns pleasantly in his lungs as he sits in bed, the last dregs of sleep leaving him. Thanks to his sudden realization, the memory of last night is fresher than ever and makes his heart rate increase. But strangely, it’s not enough to make him leave the warm and cozy bed. 

Jongwoo has no desire to leave. He should be freaking the fuck out, jumping out of bed and rushing out of Moonjo’s door as soon as possible. But he’s not.

Jongwoo wonders what that says about himself. He’s been wondering a lot about that, actually. 

Who is he, really? What kind of person is he, the kind who beats someone to the brink of death and smiles? The kind who sleeps with a killer and enjoys it, wants to do it again?

Jongwoo takes another drag of his cigarette. He still doesn’t know the exact answer to the question of his identity, but he’s sure of one thing. Moonjo’s helping him figure it out.

He’s not pushing Jongwoo into anything. He’s not restricting him, either. He’s just there, by Jongwoo’s side, making sure he’s aware of the opportunities as they come.

Jongwoo likes that way more than he probably should, but he’s losing the ability to care about should.

His thoughts are interrupted when Moonjo walks into the room with a plate, and the delicious smell of eggs and rice grows stronger.

“Good morning, jagi,” he greets with a smile, setting the plate down on the table. “Hungry?”

Jongwoo grumbles, but puts out the cigarette and reaches for the plate all the same. He ignores Moonjo as he sits on the bed, stretching out his long legs only inches away from Jongwoo’s own. A hand lands in Jongwoo’s short hair and begins to brush through the strands, but Jongwoo rolls his eyes and smacks it away. Moonjo laughs.

“Stop it,” Jongwoo dismisses.

He takes a bite of food and almost moans, which would’ve been humiliating. Whatever Moonjo made — some breakfast mix of egg, rice, and vegetables — it’s really good.

“Stop what?” Moonjo murmurs. Jongwoo keeps his eyes trained on his plate; he doesn’t even have to look at Moonjo to know he’s grinning. “Laughing, or touching you?”

“All of it,” Jongwoo replies snidely, although they both know he doesn’t mean it.

As if to call his bluff, Moonjo chuckles and pats Jongwoo’s knee before leaning back to get comfortable against the headboard. Jongwoo just ignores him, avoiding Moonjo’s eyes as he digs into his food. He can’t get over how delicious it is, and wonders if Moonjo is good at everything he does. The possibility annoys him.

“I talked to the general this morning,” Moonjo says carelessly. “You’re cleared to take another week off.”

Jongwoo scoffs. “Does he ever not listen to you?”

“Not yet,” Moonjo replies without missing a beat. “It’s quite useful. Especially when there’s a murder to cover up.”

He says it so easily, like he’s describing the weather. Not at all with the gravity Jongwoo expects from a confession of murder. 

But is it truly a confession, when Moonjo already admitted it last night? After Jongwoo confronted him, desperate to know and desperate to touch?

Jongwoo’s heart beats a little too fast for his tastes, and he swallows down his thoughts as he swallows down his food. He blinks at the half-eaten plate in his lap before looking up, finally locking eyes with the man who made it. 

Moonjo looks as put-together as ever. In his uniform of scrubs with not one hair out of place, he looks like a model while Jongwoo surely looks like a mess with his messy hair and rumpled clothes. The perfect way Moonjo looks now makes Jongwoo’s mind flash back to last night, when Moonjo hovered over him on that couch, hair mussed up and eyes wild —

Jongwoo forces the image out of his brain. He can’t afford to be distracted right now. Last night was the time to let himself go, but now is the time to think clearly. And he can’t think clearly with the memories of last night at the forefront of his mind.

“Have a lot of experience with that, do you? You psycho,” Jongwoo mutters, focusing on the murder again.

Like that’s the safer subject. What the fuck has his life come to?

Moonjo just smiles. “Do you really want to know, jagiya?”

In spite of all the thinking Jongwoo’s done recently, he doesn’t have to think about this.

“Yes,” he answers.

Moonjo smiles wider, and leans closer to Jongwoo on the bed. Jongwoo doesn’t move, but he hates to admit that his breathing increases slightly.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Moonjo murmurs. “But will you be just as honest?”

Jongwoo searches Moonjo’s eyes for a few moments before he replies. He knows Moonjo’s not just asking him for factual information. Moonjo wants him to stop hiding, to replace shame with pride, to live genuinely without fear. 

Jongwoo thinks about how it would be to live like that. Moonjo lives like that, he knows, the calm confidence oozing from his every pore. He seems so at ease all the time, like he’s not living with the crushing weight of external expectations.

Jongwoo looks into Moonjo’s eyes once more and realizes that he wants to live that way too. He’s tired, so goddamn tired of walking around every day worrying about how others perceive him or how he’s supposed to act. He’s tired of fighting himself and pleasing others. He’s tired of feeling like shit all the time.

In that moment, propped up in Moonjo’s bed and his body pleasantly buzzing from good food and a full-night’s rest, Jongwoo’s desire for a better existence outweighs his fear of change.

“I will,” he decides.

Moonjo’s face lights up, and Jongwoo smiles. A real smile, not one hidden or masked with anger. He has no need to hide anymore. There’s no point. He’s made his choice.

He’s finally being honest, and a simple thing like smiling naturally already feels so good.

He can’t go back, even if he wanted to.

“Last night was… good,” Jongwoo said slowly, testing out the words. “I liked it.”

Moonjo’s eyes are shining as he reaches up to cup Jongwoo’s cheek.

“What did you like about it?” he prompts gently.

Jongwoo considers. “I liked being right about you. I liked doing what I wanted.”

“I liked it too,” Moonjo smirks.

Jongwoo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

Moonjo smiles at him again, that creepy smile that stretches too far over his face, and lets his hand fall away. Jongwoo takes the chance to resume eating his breakfast, noticing how relaxed his body suddenly feels. He can’t remember the last time his shoulders haven’t been tense, or his jaw clenched. It’s nice.

“I meant it,” Moonjo says then. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Jongwoo believes him.

“Tell me about Sergeant Cho,” he starts with.

Moonjo hums. “He regained consciousness this morning, and I discharged him from the infirmary. I believe the general has strictly assigned him to “bedrest” while he figures out what to do with him.”

Jongwoo scoffs. “He should kick that asshole out of the army, but he deserves worse. I wish I killed him.”

Since Jongwoo makes no effort to censor himself anymore, it takes him a second to realize what he said. But Moonjo has no such period of hesitation and immediately makes an expression of delight, leaning into Jongwoo’s space again.

“Why don’t you?”

Jongwoo blinks.

“It would be honest,” Moonjo murmurs. “Jagi, isn’t it better to do what you want to do? Kill who you want to kill?”

Jongwoo nods slowly. The logic makes sense, and Jongwoo already committed to being honest, but actually killing someone? Like —

“Like you killed Jaeho?” Jongwoo asks.

Moonjo smiles widely. “Exactly.”

“Why?”

“Why what, jagi?”

“Why did you kill him?” Jongwoo demands.

“I wanted to,” Moonjo replies simply.

Jongwoo’s patience is starting to run out. “Why did you want to kill him?”

“Ah, you want to know my motive,” Moonjo reflects, pleased. “You’re the writer, jagiya. I bet you can reveal my character just as well as the ones you create.”

Jongwoo purses his lips. “I want to hear you say it.”

Moonjo’s satisfaction is palpable in the thin space between them.

“I didn’t like the way he treated you,” Moonjo says. “I didn’t want the person I love to live a miserable life.”

Jongwoo’s heart pounds in his chest, and his breathing picks up. He’s not necessarily surprised at Moonjo’s confession, so his reactions are not due to shock. Instead, the feeling that threads through his entire body is eerily similar to last night — arousal.

“You’re so much better off without him holding you back,” Moonjo murmurs, reaching out his hand again to brush his thumb against Jongwoo’s cheek. “You’re free to do what you want now, just like yesterday.”

Moonjo brushes a kiss against his mouth, and Jongwoo’s eyes fall closed.

“You looked so beautiful kneeling over that piece of trash,” Moonjo whispers, pressing kisses along his jaw. “So ruthless, so lethal… your hands streaked with blood…”

Jongwoo moans, tilting his head back to let Moonjo mouth at his throat, curling his hands around Moonjo’s long, soft hair.

“You looked like a god,” Moonjo breathes.

Blood rushes hot in Jongwoo’s veins, and he tugs at Moonjo’s hair to force their lips together in a bruising kiss.

He takes what he wants, throwing himself into the abyss of what he’s become, and gets lost in the heat.

They spend much of the day in bed, alternating between talking, reading, writing, and “making love” as Moonjo grossly calls it. Jongwoo can’t remember having a more pleasant day. By the time evening falls, and the rays of the setting sun fill the bedroom with an orange glow, Jongwoo’s ready to venture out.

“Do you think they’ve switched to the night shifts by now?” Jongwoo wonders.

Moonjo raises an eyebrow in amusement. 

“Jagi, if you don’t want to run into anyone, I know some paths to take.”

Jongwoo sighs. “Of course you do. Psycho.”

Moonjo only smiles warmly, and just like that they leave the little house and begin strolling around the base.

Jongwoo’s not particularly used to being surrounded by nature like he is on the army base. At home or university, there was always concrete under his feet and buildings in his path. Now, his boots find traction in a mix of dirt, gravel, and grass and there are trees everywhere he looks. It’s one of the many things in his life that’s changed since he enlisted.

They walk in comfortable silence, Moonjo wordlessly leading them away from the more populated areas of the base and into less traveled areas. Sometimes they stop, under a tree or around some storage building, and smoke together. Jongwoo likes feeling the warm air on his skin just as much as he likes breathing it in with a mouthful of smoke. 

Being out here with Moonjo like this makes him think back to when they first met.

Dusk settles quickly, the orange sky turning dark blue with the loss of the sun. This is probably Jongwoo’s favorite time of day, when the air feels thinner and his energy increases. The semi-darkness bathes everything in a muted light, somehow increasing its beauty. As Jongwoo turns his head to look at Moonjo, his breath catches as dusk indeed does its work.

Moonjo’s skin seems paler, and his hair darker, but what really makes Jongwoo stare is the blackness of his eyes. In this light, his pupils are barely visible against the irises. The overall effect makes Moonjo look otherworldly.

Jongwoo wonders if he looks similar, since he and Moonjo are much the same.

Moonjo catches him looking then, but doesn’t comment. Without breaking eye contact, he takes a drag from his cigarette then leans over, close enough for Jongwoo to feel the heat of his lithe body. Moonjo bends down far and close enough that for a moment Jongwoo thinks he’s going to kiss him right here in the open — but then Moonjo exhales, and instead of a tongue that pushes into Jongwoo’s mouth it’s smoke.

Jongwoo breathes it all in like their first meeting, but this time reaches out to hold Moonjo’s head in place and kiss him. Just once, relatively modest, but exactly how he wanted to do it that first time but had too much shame, fear, and confusion to do so.

He doesn’t feel any of that shit anymore, so he kisses Moonjo how he likes.

“Did you bring me out here just to make a move in public?” Jongwoo asks, pulling away.

“I believe you requested to come here, jagi, not me,” Moonjo chuckles. “Shall we continue?”

“Yeah,” Jongwoo replies, crushing his cigarette underneath his boot. “Let’s go.”

Moonjo smiles and disposes of his cigarette as well, and they continue on their stroll. They walk close, their arms brushing together with almost every step, and Jongwoo thinks about how a few days ago he avoided Moonjo as much as he possibly could. Now, he’s practically stuck to him like glue. He can’t bring himself to be upset about it.

Occasionally, Moonjo points out a few specific, rare species of trees they pass or makes some comment about which spots along their route offer the most darkness. Jongwoo could care less about the trees, but sees what Moonjo means about the hiding spots as dusk gradually turns into night, the darkness growing.

Jongwoo thinks that perhaps he should be afraid, walking alone with someone as dangerous as Moonjo in the dead of night. Despite all that’s occurred between them, Jongwoo can’t be certain of his personal safety while in the company of a murderer. Or rather, a serial killer, as Moonjo happily explained to him earlier today while they were lying in bed.

As soon as Jongwoo realizes that perhaps he should be afraid, he also realizes that he is not afraid in the slightest. Moonjo may be dangerous, but so is Jongwoo. He may not be a killer, but Moonjo’s given him enough praise that he believes himself to be just as dangerous as Moonjo. He’s not afraid of Moonjo, because he can match whatever the man dishes out with his own brand of violence. He doubts that Moonjo will cause him any harm, but still. Jongwoo likes the sentiment.

He likes feeling so similar to another person, so complimentary in ways he never considered.

They round a corner near a dense cluster of trees and approach a small storage shed, one of many littered around the base. Nothing remarkable. But as they get closer, Jongwoo’s brow furrows at a weird, repetitive sound.

It’s a dull, wet kind of snapping sound. A sound that Jongwoo is much familiar with and, judging by the interested look on Moonjo’s face, a sound that the taller man recognizes as well.

They walk to the other side of the building, and the sight awaiting them makes Jongwoo’s blood boil.

There are two men in the dirt a few meters away, one hunched over the other and slowly, but repeatedly, hitting him across the face. It’s almost a total recreation of what happened yesterday, save for the setting, that Jongwoo doesn’t need to get closer to see the swinging man’s face to know who it is.

If Jongwoo had any rationality left, he’d glance around to see if there was anyone else there. If he thought about the situation, he’d turn to Moonjo, get him to pull Sergeant Cho off the guy, and immediately get the general.

But Jongwoo doesn’t have rationality or thought left at that point. He isn’t the same person a week ago, the one who clung to the voices of Jieun, Jaeho, or his mother in his head that told him violence wasn’t the answer. 

All he has now, all that matters, are the instincts that propel his feet forward and the raw desire to squeeze Sergeant Cho’s neck as tight as he possibly can.

So Jongwoo listens to them, and does just that.

It feels intimate as Jongwoo flies over and tackles Sergeant Cho off the man, into the dirt. He’s not disengaged in any way when he grabs the asshole’s head and slams it into the ground, and time doesn’t move slowly as he wraps his hands around his throat. 

Instead, Jongwoo is intimately aware of every second, every sensation. He’s almost flooded with it, swimming in how heavy Sergeant Cho is when he knocks him over, how much force he uses to smash his head down, and how heavy he’s breathing. Jongwoo feels the dirt shift under his fingernails as he presses his fingers deeper into Sergeant Cho’s neck, squeezing harder and harder, feeling how his skin gets hotter with every second.

He’s aware of his mouth opening in a snarl, teeth gritted as he lets out a furious shout. He feels Sergeant Cho’s hands weakly slapping at his arms, and sees his mouth gasping for air. He hears his boots dig into the dirt, trying to find some sort of traction to knock Jongwoo off, but to no avail.

Jongwoo feels all of this, but somehow it’s not enough.

He wants more. He wants this bastard to suffer.

Jongwoo releases his throat, hears the loud gasp of oxygen filling starved lungs, then squeezes his hand into a fist and punches Sergeant Cho across the face.

The barely-healed skin of his knuckles split almost immediately, fresh blood leaking out, but Jongwoo doesn’t care as he pulls his fist back and hits the asshole again. And again. And again.

Every hit hurts, bringing pain to both Jongwoo and Sergeant Cho, but it’s not nearly enough. 

While he’s focused on making Sergeant Cho hurt, Jongwoo is also aware of Moonjo slowly moving towards them. He’s approaching like a penitent man walking to the altar of worship.

Sergeant Cho’s nameless victim is still laying motionless in the dirt but Moonjo passes by like nothing’s there. Jongwoo’s eyes are on Sergeant Cho’s bloodied face but he can feel Moonjo’s every move, can sense every step he takes like it’s his own. He can hear Moonjo speak, whispering praise and describing exactly what he likes about Jongwoo’s violent actions. He hears Moonjo settle behind him, feels the weight of his presence against his back, and listens to his descriptive words of delight.

Jongwoo thinks he even hears a few hallowed words of encouragement, but those may be confined to his own mind. The voices in his head are starting to sound more and more like Moonjo.

Jongwoo’s fist is still swinging, each punch requiring force that makes his muscles burn and his chest heave. His breathing is ragged and his eyes must be wild, but he’s still shaking with overwhelming rage. He lets it out with each angered shout, each hard punch, each brutal squeeze, but the anger is still boiling inside him.

Sergeant Cho tries to say something then, in the brief interim before Jongwoo fist makes contact with his face. The bastard must be barely conscious but he turns his head to the side, spits out a mouthful of blood, and laughs.

He laughs, and speaks.

“Wha’s your pro’lem?” he slurs. “I jus’ gave those privates wha’ they deserved — ”

A new wave of fury rises up inside of Jongwoo and he surges forward without realizing what he’s doing, following his instincts and desires and just wanting this goddamn bastard to —

“Shut up,” Jongwoo snarls, his hands closing around Sergeant Cho’s neck again. “Shut up, you bastard, shut the hell up — ”

Sergeant Cho chokes; another grating, infuriating sound that he doesn’t deserve to make. Jongwoo squeezes his neck so hard his knuckles go white, face contorted in furious disgust as he stares down at Sergeant Cho’s bulging face, steadily turning purple.

“Shut up,” he spits out one final time, before using his grip on Sergeant Cho’s neck to slam his ugly head into the ground with all his strength.

There’s a crunching sound, and with it all of Jongwoo’s anger is released.

“Oh, jagiya,” Moonjo breathes behind him.

He lets go of Sergeant Cho’s throat, feels the asshole’s broken neck underneath his fingers as he pulls them away, and staggers up to face Moonjo.

Jongwoo’s entire body is buzzing as he stands and makes eye contact with Moonjo’s impossibly bright, dark eyes. Moonjo is completely oriented towards him, staring at him like nothing else exists in the world. His lips are parted, and that’s such a little thing but it makes him look wild.

Jongwoo likes that look. He likes that look more when it's directed at him.

Moonjo drifts closer, until he’s right in front of Jongwoo and gently placing a hand on his throat. The same place Jongwoo just killed Sergeant Cho.

“Stunning,” Moonjo whispers, devotion falling from his lips. “Absolutely stunning.”

Jongwoo’s shaking, trying to process both killing and Moonjo’s praise for it, realizing that he was in complete control of himself that entire time and didn’t regret a thing, when suddenly his knees buckle —

And Moonjo catches him effortlessly, almost like he expected it. He pulls Jongwoo close, curls his fingers in his short hair, and strokes his back.

“You’re okay, jagiya,” he coos. “You can do anything now. Doesn’t it feel good?”

It does. He tilts his head, looking up at Moonjo again, and something passes between them. No words are needed, not for this.

When Jongwoo pulls Moonjo down and kisses him roughly, it feels so good that he never wants it to end. His knuckles burn, his body throbs, and Sergeant Cho’s purple face is branded in his mind.

Jongwoo finally knows how wonderful it feels to do exactly what he wants, and he’s never going back.

“Sergeant Yoon, do you have any information regarding the recently deceased?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you think of a reason why he would commit suicide?”

“No, sir.”

“When was the last time you had contact with the deceased?”

“Two days ago,” Jongwoo answers without emotion. “When Lieutenant Seo and the privates brought us all to the infirmary.”

“And you didn’t have any contact with him after that?”

Jongwoo blinks, and the image of Sergeant Cho’s beaten and broken body flashes in his mind.

“No, sir.”

The general sighs then, and leans back in his chair. Jongwoo sits straight in his own, wondering if this interrogation will go similarly to the last one, about Jaeho. He’s not nervous about lying, not when Moonjo assured him that he’ll take care of everything, but he’s curious. Will the general accept the easy explanation of suicide for another sudden death?

It’s quiet for a moment while the older man thinks. He taps his finger on his desk, atop the autopsy papers Moonjo supplied for him earlier. Jongwoo was there when he wrote them, he remembers Moonjo explaining all the different causes of death and how hard it is to rule manner of death as homicide purely from the state of the body.

He remembers the blood on his hands as he loomed over Sergeant Cho, remembers feeling his life burn up then completely extinguish under his grip like a dying flame. He remembers Moonjo watching him like he was the only thing in the world worth seeing, and he remembers Moonjo whispering “I’ll take care of it.”

There’s no shortage of rope on an army base.

The general taps his finger on the open file again. Jongwoo can see him thinking, coming to a decision. Maybe he’ll want to talk to Moonjo again, or the other useless doctor, and start an investigation —

But then the general just sighs heavily, and closes the file without looking at it.

“Thank you, Sergeant Yoon. That’ll be all.”

Jongwoo blinks. “Sir?”

The general sighs again. “I can’t say I’m surprised that it turned out like this. Sergeant Cho was a loose cannon, an inch away from being dishonorably discharged. Truth be told, Sergeant Yoon, this was his last stop out. He wasn’t going to get any transfers from here except a bus ride home. He knew it, too.”

Jongwoo nods slowly.

“A man with that much pain and rage inside him lashes out at everyone, until there’s no one left to hurt but himself,” the general says, shaking his head. “It’s a shame. We have very capable psychologists available… but some people don’t want help. You can’t force it, right?”

“Right,” Jongwoo echoes. “You can’t.”

Jongwoo isn’t an expert in mental health, not by a long shot considering how his own has historically been a shit-show, but he supposes the general’s logic makes sense. It would be easy to pass off that bastard’s death as suicide now, and nobody would ever suspect otherwise. Jongwoo’s in the clear.

He closes his hands into fists to hide their trembling. It turns out that getting away with murder is a power rush akin to the actual act itself.

“Well, thank you Sergeant Yoon,” the general says. “I need to get ready for our new batch of transfers. Make sure you take enough time to fully recover from your injuries. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Jongwoo responds, standing up. “Thank you, sir.”

He leaves the office, walks down the hallway, then pushes the big doors open and steps into the fresh air. The sun is pleasantly warm on his skin, the grass is soft under his boots, and Jongwoo smiles.

He smiles, because he’s happy. Weirdly, but truly, happy.

He feels almost godlike as he walks past various buildings, no clear destination in mind. The general had no problem accepting suicide as the cause of death, and had no idea that a killer was sitting at his desk.

Maybe Moonjo was right after all. Maybe Jongwoo can do whatever he wants, and not have to worry about the consequences. Maybe he can just live, without fear.

Sleeping with Moonjo a few nights ago was freeing. Killing Sergeant Cho was exhilarating. But getting away with murder? Having the ability to do it again one day? That’s electrifying.

Jongwoo feels alive, so very much alive, and he loves it. He wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world.

For a moment, he’s grateful for the new person he’s become. But then, he realizes that he’s always been this person, deep down and buried underneath a filthy pile of fear. He’s not a new person, he’s only let his true self come out to play. He feels as light and bright as the stars in the night sky.

Jongwoo’s pulled out of his basking by a vibration in his pocket. He pulls out his phone, and sees an incoming call from an unknown number. He frowns, but answers it as he ducks behind a building for privacy.

“Hello?”

“Hyung!” an excited voice calls out. “Hyung, it’s me! It’s Seokyoon!”

“Seokyoon?” Jongwoo repeats in disbelief. 

“Yes! Hyung, I’m sorry I haven’t called you until now, I’ve been busy, but I have great news!”

Jongwoo lets out a genuine bark of laughter. In the bubble of this army base that he created with Moonjo, he almost forgot that Seokyoon existed.

“Yeah?” Jongwoo asks. “What?”

There’s a high-pitched, excited hum. “I’m being transferred to your base!”

Jongwoo blinks, then laughs again. Seokyoon joins in, and they spend a few moments laughing together.

“That’s great, man,” Jongwoo says, smiling.

“I know, I’m so pumped!” Seokyoon cries. “Hyung, we have to catch up! Tell me all about how it's been over there! Has anything fun happened?”

Jongwoo’s smile widens. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“Awesome!!” Seokyoon celebrates. There’s some crashing sounds on the other end of the line. “Oh no. Ah, hyung, I have to go now! See you soon!”

“See you,” Jongwoo replies, ending the call.

He stares at the phone for a second, then laughs again. He can’t believe how much things have changed since meeting Seokyoon in basic training. He wonders if the energetic kid will get along well with Moonjo.

Suddenly, there’s long arms wrapping around his middle and a chin resting on his shoulder.

“Jagi, who’s making you laugh?” Moonjo pouts.

Jongwoo laughs harder. They probably won’t get along.

“It’s-It’s just a kid I met at basic training,” Jongwoo says, laughter dying away. “He’s transferring here.”

A frown presses against his throat. “And that’s funny?”

“It’s hilarious,” Jongwoo answers truthfully. “He’s the first person who knew me before I got here who will see who I am now. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

Moonjo pauses, then smiles. “That does sound amusing.”

“Right?” Jongwoo says.

“How was the general?” Moonjo asks, pressing a kiss to Jongwoo’s neck.

Sparks shoot through Jongwoo’s body, though from Moonjo’s mouth or the reminder of getting away with murder Jongwoo doesn’t know. Probably both.

“Good,” Jongwoo replies. “Really good. It was like he already decided it was suicide before even getting your report.”

“As expected,” Moonjo murmurs, his breath hot against Jongwoo’s throat.

He can’t take it anymore and twists in Moonjo’s arms, grabbing onto his shirt with both hands and dragging him down for a kiss.

Seokyoon’s all but forgotten in the soft warmth of their lips, and Jongwoo feels on top of the world.

Moonjo isn’t one to believe in luck. He prefers the notion that he has complete control over his life, and the concept of luck introduces doubt to that control.

Although Moonjo doesn’t believe in something as silly as luck, he’s learning what it means to feel lucky. He feels lucky every time Jongwoo touches him, every time Jongwoo smiles and laughs in his presence.

Moonjo doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired kissing his beloved. They could both be old and tired, skin wrinkled beyond saving, and Moonjo would still kiss Jongwoo every chance he got.

He savors it now, behind a random building on the army base in broad daylight. They could be kicked out or worse if they’re seen, but neither of them care. Moonjo wants to kiss Jongwoo, and Jongwoo wants the same, so they do. 

It’s so honest and unashamed that Moonjo goes dizzy with love. He loves this man.

He breaks their kiss slowly, taking care to press a lasting peck against Jongwoo’s sweet mouth. He can’t wait to get Jongwoo alone later, to celebrate all that Jongwoo is and all he’s done, but there’s something burning a hole in Moonjo’s pocket. Something that he’s been dying to give Jongwoo since the first night they met.

“I want to give you something, jagiya,” Moonjo murmurs.

Jongwoo tilts his head in curiosity, licking his lips. He’s so pretty. Moonjo never wants to let go of him. He never will let go of him, at least in a symbolic sense.

For now, he unwinds his arms from Jongwoo’s back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his precious gift.

It’s a bracelet. A charm bracelet, specifically, adorned with a few teeth. Moonjo worked for hours to polish the teeth so they shined, and fix them to the tiny metal links of the bracelet in just the right places. It’s simple, but Moonjo thinks the overall effect is quite elegant.

“Oh,” Jongwoo breathes.

He reaches out to run his fingers over the metal bracelet, following its chains down to the teeth. He strokes one reverently, perhaps feeling the texture of human teeth for the first time — but certainly not the last.

Moonjo smiles wide. “That one’s from your old friend, Sergeant Shin.”

Jongwoo inhales sharply, his eyes flying to Moonjo’s face.

Moonjo nods in confirmation, satisfaction filling his body as Jongwoo looks enraptured.

“And… the others?” Jongwoo asks.

Moonjo takes his hand and guides it to feel the next tooth. “That little trainee whose nose you broke.”

Jongwoo’s breathing deepens, and Moonjo guides his hand to the third and final tooth.

“The Sergeant you killed.”

Jongwoo’s fingers curl around that tooth, and Moonjo feels fondness bubble in his chest.

“That’s my favorite as well,” he confides. “Jagi… hold out your wrist for me.”

Jongwoo does so wordlessly, without any hesitation. Moonjo takes the bracelet and gently places it on his wrist, fastening to clasp to hold it in place. He pets Jongwoo’s hand once, admires how beautiful the jewelry he made looks on his beloved, then lets his hands fall away.

“I wanted to give you something special,” Moonjo says. “You deserve it.”

Jongwoo looks down at his wrist, still outstretched, and smiles.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Moonjo trembles with love as he presses a kiss to Jongwoo’s forehead.

“This is only the beginning,” Moonjo vows. “I made it so that I can add to it later.”

Jongwoo looks at him then, and Moonjo falls in love again at the broad smile with too many teeth showing.

“Perfect,” Jongwoo says.

Moonjo grins back, then takes Jongwoo’s hand in his.

“Jaigya,” he says. “When you leave here… I want you to come to me. I want to show you my practice, my home. I want to finish my service knowing that I’ll be waiting for you to join me.”

Moonjo’s never said such vulnerable words to another person before and meant them. He’s never found another person interesting enough to want them around, to share with them. But that all changed when he met Jongwoo, and he wants Jongwoo to know it. He wants Jongwoo to feel the same way.

Jongwoo doesn’t answer right away. He thinks about it. Gives it the attention it deserves. Moonjo couldn’t have asked for more.

“I don’t know what will change when we’re apart,” he finally says. “But I can’t go back to whatever I was before you. I know that.”

Moonjo leans forward, eager.

“I will,” Jongwoo reveals. “After this, I’ll come to you. I look forward to it.”

Moonjo immediately smiles in delight and envelopes Jongwoo in a hug. He buries his face in Jongwoo’s neck, and holds him tight. Jongwoo wants to be with him. They’ll be together.

Moonjo won’t be alone anymore.

“Alright, alright, stop squishing me,” Jongwoo grumbles, smacking Moonjo playfully. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, so might as well. No big deal.”

When Moonjo laughs, it’s as sharp as a scalpel. 

“We need to work on your lying skills, jagiya.”

As Jongwoo snorts, then starts laughing despite himself, Moonjo relishes in how relaxed and carefree he looks. He must feel so alive, so loved.

Moonjo knows, because he feels the same way.