Work Text:
Jongwoo stepped out to the whoosh of the train departing behind him. The chatter of the crowd and dings of the ticket gates materialized as soon as he took his headphone out. A shout broke through the chatter.
“Yoon Jongwoo!!!”
His old friend Jaeho beamed at him , engulfing him in a bear hug and swaying side to side with Jongwoo’s body in his arms. He patted his friend on the arms, smiling awkwardly, glad to see a familiar face but feeling a little stifled, he weaseled out of the armlock.
“Haven’t seen you in forever, man. How’re you liking Seoul?”
“Well, I just got here so I don’t know yet.”
“ Ah, yeah, yeah.” he says, taking the suitcase from his hand, waving away his protests.
Students rushed out, trying to make it to their classes, older working people walked with purpose to their workplace. It was much noisier here, honks of cars permeating the air all around him.They made small talk on their way out of the station, Jaeho suddenly patted Jongwoo’s shoulder, “Let’s go for a drink, my treat.”
“I don’t know, I’m kind of tired and I need to look for an apartment by tonight.”
“Ah, don’t worry about that! Crash at my place tonight.”
“Okay?”
Jaeho loaded his stuff onto the trunk of his car and then drove them to a restaurant downtown, still attempting awkward small talk the whole ride.The restaurant they went to was as basic as they came, off white leather booths and glass window walls. The patrons were all people in their late twenties having drinks with coworkers or friends. Jongwoo would have been glad to drink in silence but it was impolite to do so, or so he’d been told. They caught up about the stuff they got up to in the time between Jaeho’s graduation and present day.
“Jongwoo,” Jaeho began clasping his shoulder from across the table. “ Are you still with Jieun?”
Jongwoo sideyed the hand on him, unable to hide his disgust. This seemed to fluster Jaeho, he removed the hand and sputtered.
“Anya, anya, don’t take this the wrong way! It was a long time ago, most people don’t stay together that long.”
He frowned, “I’m not with her anymore,” .
“Oh?” Jaeho looked and sounded absolutely delighted.
Jongwoo's stomach twisted in rage at the thought of him liking her and now finding his opening to swoop in. Opportunistic little shit. He curls his fingers around the soju bottle, picturing how the rivulets of blood would roll down Jaeho’s stunned face if he were to smash it against his skull.
“Ah, don’t frown like that,” Jaeho exclaims. Jongwoo hadn’t realized his thoughts had been so apparent on his face, the condescend made him momentarily frown harder before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. “You can do better okay? That’s all.”
Jongwoo unfurled his fingers from the soju bottle, breathing deeply to relax. “ It’s getting late, we should head out,” he said.
Jaeho filled his ears with inane chatter on the ride home. He was only half listening, too tired to pay attention. He kicked off his shoes and fell asleep on the couch as soon as he got into the apartment. He dreamt of cages.
Morning came with dull flickers of orange flowing through the sky, the light streamed in through the large window walls. He’d always loved the fresh and clean solitude dawn brought with itself. He made himself a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter to savour it. It was a nice apartment he noticed now. He'd been too tired the night before, with white minimalist walls and interior. The couch he'd slept in was made of hay colored tweed upholstery. There was a very large curved screen TV in the living room. The dining table was black marble with pale green suede chairs.
“Make me one too.”
He turned with a start at the groggy voice of Jaeho behind him. He put his mug down to obey the order. He grimaced when Jaeho opened his mouth. He'd been hoping to drink in silence, unwilling to comprehend reality or any reminders of his own existence this early in the morning.
“You still write?”
“Uh, yeah I do.”
“Araso, araso, you were good too, the professors said you were going to revolutionize Korean literature.”
“How can one person revolutionize Korean literature?” he murmured.
“If anyone knew how it’d be you, wouldn’t it?”
Jongwoo nodded sarcastically.
“Which reminds me, Seoul could be good for that, for networking with publishers and shit.”
“Maybe.” he shrugged warily.
“Jongwoo,” Jaeho began inching closer to him, something new and predatory in his sneer. “Do you remember my graduation?” he said, placing his palm on Jongwoo’s cheek.
“What about it?” he replied, grimacing at the contact.
“This.” he said, pressing his lips to Jongwoo’s. Jongwoo jerked back.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“I missed you.”
“Aish,” he ran a hand through his hair.
He remembered now what Jaeho was referring to. Them running down the hallway faces warm from the bottles of soju they’d downed, laughing and playfully shoving each other. But the shoving had gradually slowed into gentle tugs from Jaeho as they stumbled onto the nearest wall. Jaeho’s arms wound tightly around the small of Jongwoo’s back. Jongwoo had tipsily let his hands roam around the older man’s chest, trailing up and down before clasping them behind his neck, he’d smiled dazedly.
How far they went that night he’s not sure. He gets flashes of images here and there, he’d always wondered if it was all just a very realistic and disturbing dream or a distorted memory. Either way Jaeho was all packed up and gone by the morning. He’d hugged him goodbye for good measure, completely unaware of what had transpired between them the night before.
He and Jieun had started dating soon after so he hadn’t thought too hard about it.
“I thought it was a one time thing,” he whined.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You’re going to be my boss, is this the best idea?” Jongwoo reasons, as if reprimanding a schoolboy.
“We can handle it, it’s not like I’ll fire you over personal issues. I’m not unprofessional like that, you don’t need to be so paranoid.” he said standing too close yet again. Jongwoo let himself be pulled closer and stood still as Jaeho unbuttoned his shirt wondering if he'd just walked himself into a cage.
His first day of work was not good. Byeong Min, the dude with a “large head” as Jaeho had described was kind of an asshole. He wasn’t helpful at all and kept accusing Jongwoo of being a nepo baby, which given the morning's escapades was entirely accurate and entirely too hurtful for that exact reason. He watched Bighead perv on their only female coworker and threw up a little in his mouth.
Seoul was fine. The gosiwon he stayed at was gross and kind of creepy but Jae ho was always dragging him to things like fundraisers, parties or bars anyway so he didn’t have to stay there too often since he’d almost always end up spending the night at his place. He couldn’t really bail because if he tried Jaeho would start teasing him about being oversensitive and weak and too young to be acting like this and what the fuck not. So he went, trying to repay a debt he wasn’t sure could ever be repaid. He’d sit in quite corners and keep to himself, trying to appear polite until his boss/boyfriend/fuck buddy came looking for him to drag him to some random person to introduce him to. He’d often whisper in his ear that he was underdressed or that he’d never get far if he didn’t start networking on his own.
He’d make small talk with the random people he was introduced to, his skin crawling at the eyes that raked over him knowing he was just Jaeho’s parlor trick. His pet small town writer. He’d catch their hawk like eyes on Jae ho’s hand around his waist, beautiful women in designer clothes worth years of his salary, suited men, all smiling lewdly and casting him in the role of an accessory, picturing things that were none of their business.
Once on one of their company hangouts Yoo Jeoung had gotten a little tipsy and slung her arm around his shoulder and pointed at his face with her other hand.
“Shin Jaeho,” she'd whined “ Where do you find them like that? I want one too, you can't hog all the nice ones.”
Then she buried her face in the crook of his neck and tried to fall asleep while Bighead glared at him.
This had still been nothing compared to the time an elegant middle aged woman in a clearly designer maroon off shoulder bodycon dress with a sweetheart neckline had caressed his face and likened him to a ‘cute porcelain doll’, Jongwoo had thanked her and walked away discreetly, which turned out to be a good move because the woman, he'd later found, out was Jaeho's aunt.
It wasn’t all bad. Some days when the gosiwon got especially unbearable, Jaeho would stop by to pick him up early for work. Lounging against his car downhill, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world, an endearing air of idiocy about his tall figure and broad shoulders against the car window. He’d run downhill smiling, arms outstretched, sometimes he’d do a little leap at the end of the stairs because of the momentum gained from running downhill and Jaeho would catch him in his arms and spin him around laughing.
Some days they’d just cuddle on the couch for hours on end, they’d watch TV sometimes, but sometimes they’d just lay there, with Jaeho tracing his face with a finger waxing poetic about his porcelain face and delicate features or whatever.
“I thought I was the writer,” Jongwoo would exclaim with a teasing laugh.
Once this had prompted Jaeho to ask, “How’s your novel going?”
Jongwoo had been distinctly aware a question as simple as this was not supposed to incite visceral rage in a normal person, but he just could not stomach the thought of Jaeho sullying the art that carried the genetic makeup of his very soul with his offhand ridicule and condescending concern, he could not kill him so he leaned in for a kiss.
“Let’s talk later.” he’d whispered.
Work was still terrible, he had to pick Jaeho’s slack whenever he got blackout drunk or just didn’t feel like it. On Christmas Eve he’d sat on the floor of the gosiwons roof staring out into the horizon and wondered if all of this was just some elaborate trap to exploit him for cheap labour after he’d had to miss Christmas at his hometown with his family. While his mother and brother had been cooking sweet potato noodles he’d been typing away at his desk, feeling each click chip away at the meat of his heart.
Jaeho had picked him up to go clubbing the next day. He’d walked languidly downhill, entirely unwilling to go but entirely without any option otherwise, he’d nodded to acknowledge his hyung in lieu of a greeting and stayed deathly quiet the entire ride, seething. He stepped out in silence when they got there, body stiff and tired with rage.
“Hey, why the long face?” Jaeho said, pulling him closer to straighten his tie. He didn’t know much about suits but he knew the one he was wearing was a nice one. Black pinstriped and double breasted, bespoke. The figure hugging silhouette made him look much younger because it exposed just how small he was once you got him out of his baggy clothes. He didn’t want to accept such expensive gifts but he also didn’t want to keep hearing about how he was going to bring a certain someone's “rep down” if he kept dressing so casually to black tie events. He stared at Jaeho fussing over him like he was a doll with venom in his eyes.
“What?” he said again, catching the look.
“How come you always make me clean up your messes ?” he said, swatting away the wandering hands on him .
“Hey watch it you ungrateful little shit. I got you this gig. It's the least you can do to repay me.”
“No, you watch it,” Jongwoo spat, shoving him. “No one will work for your pathetic dying company for as cheap as me and provide you with additional services.”
“Don’t give me that attitude, I pay as well as anyone else and I already coddle you way too much, Yoon Jongwoo. Everyone knows about us, if I cut you any more slack they’ll accuse me of nepotism.”
The younger man scoffed bitterly and rolled his eyes, chest still heaving in anger.
“Stop frowning before we go inside asshole.”
Jongwoo gritted his teeth and marched forward, eager to get away from this asshole.
Entering the club was like entering heaven by illegally crossing the borders of hell. He was bathed in red and blue strobing lights, the soft rock blaring from the overhead speakers. The smell of cigarette butts and whiskey put him at ease.Time seemed to slow down as he passed the corridor and found his way in. Several men turned to look at him, he pretended not to notice. His eyes lit up at the sight of a roulette table, some of anger melted away leaving a determined excitement, he smirked.
He couldn’t shake off his melancholia completely, a corner of his chest still ached for the simpler times in his hometown when he hadn’t been on a leash, but he still walked to the table with purpose. He sat down. Jaeho followed behind shortly and sat down beside him.
“There’s that adorable smile!” he says, squishing his cheeks. Jongwoo fixed him with a vacant stare, too tired to swat him away or even roll his eyes at the infantilization.
“Get your hands off me if you don’t want to die.” He said in his head.
A suited man brought them chips, and they played round after round. Jongwoo won each one much to Jaeho’s delight, who roared in glee, clapping his shoulder in approval. The waiter kept bringing them shots, the buzz made everything ten times funnier. They’d lean their heads together to whisper unflattering quips about the other players' appearances and make fun of their sore loser antics.
The alcohol made all emotions run high. Jongwoo struck the table with his bare hands the few times he lost, Jaeho would berate him to calm down like he always did. Which made him angrier, he's felt so caged in ever since he got himself into this mess, he felt like a 16th century missionary schoolboy constantly on the verge of being caned or corrected for inappropriate behaviour whenever they were in public. If he could just kill him…
His train of thought was interrupted by sudden nausea sneaking up on him. He rushed to the bathroom to throw up. When he came back the roughness in his throat kept him alert. He felt eyes on him as his buzz began to wear off. Sitting across from him was a weirdly handsome man,he never thought men could be this beautiful but here this man was, an air of elegant femininity and command about him. He wore a black suit with a bow tie, his cheek resting on his hand. He stared at Jongwoo unblinkingly like a cat might look at a bird, he felt the urge to shrink into himself under the scrutiny.
Now if he kicked the table or yelled too loudly after a loss, he would barely heed Jaeho’s protests, because something more unnerving had caught his attention this time around. The man across him smiled at him ominously whenever he had an outburst. He stepped out for a smoke to shake off the unease.The man, who turned out to be outrageously tall, followed him out. He put a fag in his mouth feeling around his pockets for a lighter.
“Aish.” He hadn’t remembered to bring one.
“Here, let me.” The tall man held a silver lighter in his long nimble fingers underneath his cigarette. His voice was exceptionally deep. Jongwoo took a puff and let the smoke push away the stress from his lungs. The stranger didn't light one of his own, he just stared and stared and-
“Ahjussi, do I know you from somewhere?”
“In your bones you do.” He didn’t bother explaining that weird cryptic statement. Instead he just grinned, but it didn’t reach his achingly vacant eyes…Jongwoo looked away to alleviate the sudden tension.
“You’re a writer.” he says, a statement.
“Hmm? Oh yeah.” Jongwoo supplies half heartedly, a distant part of him wondering how he knew.
“I’m an artist too.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“I pick things apart then put them back together.”
“Like a sculptor?”
“Kind of.” he shrugged. “What do you write about?”
“Crime.”
Tall Guy beamed, “ I like crime too. I used to love those Raymond Chandler books.”
Jongwoo looked at him with a newfound appreciation, “Ah, you know him too? Not many people know him! ”
“ Yes, well, is your novel about something similar?”
Jongwoo told him about the killer pianist, explaining the psychology behind why he kills. He was pleasantly surprised to find someone who took such an avid interest in his work, caring enough to give their own input.
“What if it’s not the cold creeping up but the heat of a thousand degrees he wants to feel when he strangles someone?” he said, arms outstretched pantomiming, suffocating someone, his eyes were glazed over, he seemed to be seeing what he was describing. He snapped out of it.
“But you’re the writer, you’d know better.” he smiled bashfully.
“Anya, anya I’m delighted you’re so passionate about my work.” he smiled back
“Jongwoo-ssi,” he said with a sudden softness, “Don’t let him get to you, it’s more human to be the way you are, to hate what you want to hate, kill who you want to kill. That’s true courage.” He tapped Jongwoo’s shoulder lightly before reentering the club.
He lingered on the sidewalk, the suit feeling too tight all of a sudden. When he went back in, the club’s music had slowed to a sad love song. One of the other men, a business associate of Jaeho he presumed, attempted to make small talk with him.
“ Young man, what are you planning to do after you finish your internship?”
“Jongwoo wants to be a writer.” Jaeho spoke for him as he often did, making it sound like it was the most naive aspiration to have ever existed.
“In this day and age?” The man chuckled, “That’s cute.”
Jongwoo’s fingers curled around the shot glass beside his chips, he clenched his jaw. Something that wasn’t lost on the tall man who lit his cigarette, he shot him a Cheshire cat grin from across the table.
“Right? I always tell him, coming from where he comes from, it’s too risky, there’s no future in it. Not unless he’s made some savings first.”
“And water is wet?” The mysterious stranger spoke up, commanding the attention of the entire table with his voice but looking only at Jongwoo, it was a gaze too piercing for his liking, so he faced downwards.
“These are tough times but it’s the world’s profit driven economy that tries to place monetary value on something as priceless as art to blame, not the dreamers who want to create it. Jongwoo-ssi is not naive for being passionate about a dream, he’s human.”
“Well, the world isn’t changing any time soon so he has to tough it out like the rest of us.”
Jongwoo snorted at the thought of Jaeho “toughing it out” , finally looking up to meet the strange eyes of the handsome man.
The stranger smiles at him before continuing, “No, he doesn’t,” he declares casually like there is no room for argument. It should’ve felt weird to have a random man appear to believe in him so much, but it doesn’t. Not when this man is looking at him like he hung the moon. Instead it feels like a lifeline in the desert. He wins each round after that, trying to make a certain someone at the table proud despite himself.
He was quiet on the ride home, but he wasn’t angry this time. He was lost in thought, running what the gentleman said over and over in his head. That he was special. Jongwoo thought of himself as unworthy of praise, found ways to dismiss it. Jaeho only said that shit either mockingly or as a way to flatter him out of his pants. The professors were just impressed that someone his age had written the way he had , Jieun had just been polite and anyone else who liked his writing or anything about him probably had bad taste or something.
But a man like that, well spoken, enigmatic, believing in him with an unflinching conviction healed a wound in him he hadn’t realized had been growing wider and wider ever since he came to Seoul. This man wasn’t like any of them, he was different. He had an artist's soul and the sophistication of mind to appreciate art, he really did understand Jongwoo’s craft, his chest tightened at the realization that he’d craved this understanding all his life. Jaeho slowed the car and carefully parked it. As he got out of the passenger seat, languidly closing the door behind him, he kept thinking about the glint in the man’s eyes when he’d described the pianist's reasons for strangling his victims. He was maneuvered into the elevator by a warm hand on his back, he entered the apartment in a haze, smiling a little.
“That guy at the casino today sure was weird, how do you even know him?”
“Huh?” It was disorienting to snap out of his trance. “Oh, I don't.”
“He sure acted all familiar around you, didn’t he?”
“I tend to have that effect on people for some reason,” he said acidly.
Jaeho’s face dropped, but he recovered quickly.
“Yeah, you do” he said sleazily.
When he leaned in the first thing Jongwoo registered was beer breath, he visibly gagged and pulled away. But he kept looking at him with that expression that filled him with part disgust, part excitement. He looked at the man in front of him. Every inch of him absolutely repulsive to him. He unbuttoned his own suit, breathing freely for the first time in hours. Jae ho unbuckled his belt for him.
They fall onto the bed together, Jongwoo pushes Jaeho down with his palm to climb onto his stomach and straddle him, Jaeho is still fully clothed, in his dress shirt and gray slacks. He himself looks quite pristine is his half unbuttoned white shirt, and white boxer briefs. He runs his hands up Jaeho’s chest before resting them on his neck. He runs his thumb up and down the Adam’s apple in a pendulum like motion. He brings his other hand up to the neck to grip it with both hands. The man beneath him leered, he paid no mind to it, coiling his fingers around the throat like touch me nots close around a finger. The purple pinks creeping up as the circulation is cut off are beautiful, like the sky at dusk. He leans down to trace the colors on Jaeho’s jaw with his lips.
His head felt heavy, his knees were pinning down the older man’s wrists. Jongwoo sunk his nails into his jugular vein, curious as to when the skin would break to let the blood make its way out. The eyes of the man beneath him widened in shock, he gasped for breath, tried to thrash around but Jongwoo couldn’t let him go. He needed to know what the pianist felt compelled to have in his hands. The coldness creeping in or the blazing heat burning up?
He saw a thin bright red line of blood where his thumbnail had finally broken skin. He saw a shifting kaleidoscope of emotions in Jaeho’s eyes then, fear, panic, disgust, helplessness. The purple spread like an ink drop through water. Both their breaths came in heavy pants. He tightened his grip until the fearful pupils faded to a dull blankness.
He flopped down beside the corpse he created. Content.
—-----
The light early winter mist lapped his feet as a young man in his mid twenties sat down on a park bench. It was a peaceful winter morning. The sky was a bluish gray. He looked at a faraway tree bereft of its old leaves waiting to grow new ones come spring, the solitude was so serene,it was like getting a warm hug from a ghostly version of himself.
Another man sits down beside him. He’s tall and imposing in his long black coat. Unnervingly beautiful with bright eyes, dark hair and full defined salmon lips. He inclined his head to look at the younger man with fondness in his eyes.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” he says in an airy voice.
The young man looks away from the tree to acknowledge him, albeit in silence.
“You look well,” the older man continues, not appearing to be dissuaded by the lack of verbal reciprocity in the slightest. His acquaintance makes a non committal sound in lieu of a reply, facing the tree again.
“What’s next for you?”
The young man scowls slightly, he taps his foot absentmindedly.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
The older man nodded in amused understanding, his smile still stuck firmly in place. He slowly slid an orange envelope across the bench, hand stuck firmly on it.
“He left you the apartment. I took the liberty of selling it for you. It was in a prime location so I got a good price for it. Should be enough to get you a leg up in whatever you decide to pursue now.”
The young man reached for the envelope, their fingers brushed past each other as he pulled it toward himself and pocketed it in silence.
“It wasn’t the heat blazing up to a thousand degrees.” he spoke up finally.
“What was it then?” The older man picked up his train of thought without requiring a segue.
“It was the colors creeping up a face when the life slowly leaves it , it looks just like-”
“The sky during sunset,” they finished together.
The younger man nods. He looks at the tree with a deep melancholia now.
“I'm going really far away, “ he said dejectedly after a while.
The older man smiled, “I'll find you,” he promises.