Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room always smelled faintly of cigarettes and ground coffee. Not the kind brewed in cafés, but the kind Moonjo insisted on grinding himself every morning, like the ritual mattered more than the taste. Jongwoo had hated it at first, sharp and bitter, the scent clinging to his clothes, to his skin, like a warning he hadn’t learned to listen to yet. But after a few weeks, it became just another part of the apartment, like the soft clink of Moonjo’s tools echoing from the next room, or the quiet shuffle of Rosie’s paws, the stray cat Jongwoo had found behind his workplace and stubbornly brought home.

He sat by the window in the old, tattered chair they’d picked up from a thrift store, reading a book on human anatomy Moonjo had brought home earlier that week. It sat neatly on the coffee table, placed carefully between the potted plants and a half-burnt candle. The pages were bent and heavily highlighted, a stark contrast to the untouched spines of Jongwoo’s personal collection.

Across the room, Moonjo sat with Rosie curled in his lap, stroking her fur absently while his eyes stayed fixed on Jongwoo.

“You’re staring,” Jongwoo said, not looking up from the page.

He didn’t need to. He could feel the smile — that wide, eerie grin that had once shaved years off his life the first time he saw it. It hadn't changed. Not really.

The silence between them stretched, not awkward, but charged, like the pause before a blade pressed to skin.

“I can’t help it, jagi,” came the soft, warm reply. “You’re beautiful when you ignore my presence.”

Moonjo gently lifted Rosie from his lap, setting her down before turning his full attention toward Jongwoo.

Jongwoo turned a page, not bothering to read the words.
“And you’re still annoying,” he said, finally looking up from the book and meeting Moonjo’s dark gaze.

There was a laugh — low and amused. Fond, some might call it. A sound that had once meant danger. Now it meant morning.

“You’re still here,” Jongwoo said. Not a question, not an answer.

Moonjo’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Where else would I be?”

Chapter Text

Jongwoo awoke to the familiar scent of Moonjo’s body wash , something cool and sharp, like antiseptic layered over mint ,seeping from the bathroom into their shared room. The faint sound of water accompanied it, steady and rhythmic.

He shifted beneath the sheets, a chill crawling down his spine, a wordless echo of the night before.

Soft light filtered through the thin curtain, dim but enough to pull him from sleep. The air still felt heavy from yesterday ,slow, settled. Rosie lay curled at the foot of the bed, her tail twitching lazily, ears flicking at the sound of the shower.

Moonjo was always up before him. Always in the bathroom before 6:00, always using the same dark blue towel, always humming something under his breath. It was a routine ,not comforting, exactly, but something close to it.

Jongwoo sat up slowly, pressing a hand to the side of his neck, stiff from sleeping wrong again. His eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand. 6:30.

He had an hour before the bus.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bones cracking in quiet protest. The floor was cold beneath his feet. Somewhere in the kitchen, the kettle clicked on ,automatic, timed, like everything else Moonjo touched.

He moved to the closet and slipped on his work clothes ,plain navy, with a stitched name tag that still didn’t feel like his.

From the bathroom came the sound of drawers sliding open, cabinets closing shut, the soft clink of objects being placed on the counter. A moment later, Moonjo stepped out, towel hanging low around his waist, eyes settling on Jongwoo in his uniform.

There was a pause. Then:

“You should quit that job,” Moonjo said, calm and conversational, like they hadn’t already had the same argument three times that week.

Jongwoo didn’t respond right away. He stared at his reflection in the dark window, pale and expressionless, hair sticking up like a warning sign.

“I like it,” he said simply, tugging on his jacket and finally meeting Moonjo’s gaze.

“You don’t need it,” Moonjo replied, pulling on a pair of boxers, still watching him.

“And yet,” Jongwoo said, brushing past him on his way to the kitchen, “I still go.”

Chapter Text

Rosie was acting weird.

She hadn’t eaten all day. At first, Jongwoo thought she just wasn’t hungry, sniffing at her food, turning her back on it, then curling up in her usual spot near the heater like nothing was wrong. But when she didn’t respond to Moonjo’s voice, didn’t lift her head at the sound of the kettle clicking on, he knew something was off.

He crouched beside her, fingers brushing gently through her fur. She felt warmer than usual. Her breathing was too fast.

Across the room, Moonjo stood still, staring at her like he could fix her by looking hard enough.

Moonjo didn’t want to take her to the vet. Said he could “fix her.”

“She trusts me more than strangers,” he said, lifting her carefully in his arms, looking at Jongwoo.

But Jongwoo insisted. Calmly. Firmly. It was one of the few times he took control without raising his voice.

He found the old carrier. Wrapped Rosie in the soft green towel Moonjo liked. They drove in silence.

At the clinic, Moonjo refused to sit. He paced. Stared at the door. Jongwoo filled out the form because Moonjo wouldn’t touch the clipboard. When the vet asked to take Rosie to the back for tests, Moonjo froze.

“Why?” he asked, still clutching her in the towel.

“Standard procedure.”

“She doesn’t like strangers. You’re scaring her,” he replied, not moving.

Jongwoo placed a hand on his arm.

“They’re not hurting her,” he said softly. “You need to let them help.”

It wasn’t a question. And for once, Moonjo listened.

They sat in the car afterward. The vet said it was just a minor infection. A few antibiotics, and she’d be fine.

Rosie slept curled in Moonjo’s lap, his fingers stroking her head slower than usual. His hand trembled slightly.

“I thought she was dying,” he murmured.

“She’s not.”

“I know. But I thought,” he swallowed, eyes never leaving her, “I thought I couldn’t do it again.”

Jongwoo didn’t ask what it was. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and said,

“She’s staying. Just like us.”

And Moonjo didn’t answer, but his hand never stopped moving.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was quiet.
No soft humming from the sink, no clink of ceramic mugs. Just the dull buzz of the fridge and the faint sound of rain hitting the roof. Jongwoo stood by the counter, fingers curled around the chipped mug, steam rising from the untouched coffee. He didn’t remember Moonjo making it. He didn’t remember Moonjo saying a word since last night.

It had been a small thing. A comment, tossed out somewhere between dishes and fatigue.

"I just want a normal evening, Moonjo. No staring. No weirdness. Just breathe, okay?"

He hadn’t looked at Moonjo when he said it. He didn’t see the way his smile faltered or how his hands went still mid-wipe on the counter. Just silence. A nod. Nothing more.

Now, the silence stretched into something else.

Jongwoo glanced down the hallway. The bathroom light was off. Moonjo’s usual mess of products wasn’t scattered across the counter. The robe he always wore, gray, fraying at the sleeves—was gone. In its place, neatly folded, was a button-up shirt Jongwoo vaguely remembered complimenting months ago. Too tight at the shoulders. Stiff around the collar.

Moonjo stood in the living room, already dressed, shoes on. He looked wrong. Hair combed flat. No watch. No cologne. He wasn’t smiling.

“Your bus leaves in twenty minutes,” he stated, not turning around.

Jongwoo blinked.

“…Did you sleep?”

Moonjo didn’t answer. He just picked up Rosie’s food bowl and rinsed it, motions mechanical. Quiet.

He didn’t sit while Jongwoo ate. He didn’t watch him, didn’t trail a hand across his shoulder or brush his side. No teasing comments, no offhand remarks. Just stillness. Service. Silence.

It didn’t feel like distance.
It felt like erasure.

They didn’t speak again until Jongwoo was at the door, jacket half-zipped, backpack slung over one shoulder. He hesitated.

“Why are you acting like this?”

Moonjo looked up slowly, like he was waiting to be asked. His voice came soft. Unreadable.

“This version doesn’t need fixing.”

Jongwoo’s chest went tight.

Moonjo didn’t wait for a response before speaking again.

“He’s quiet. He’s helpful. He doesn’t stare too much. He makes the coffee and gives you space. You like this one.”

Jongwoo stared.

“That’s not—” He swallowed, stepping closer.
“I didn’t ask you to change. I was just… tired.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because I scare you,” he cut him off.

Moonjo didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, polite and distant, wearing clothes that didn’t suit him and a silence that didn’t belong.

Jongwoo dropped his bag.

He walked over, slow, careful, like Moonjo was a stray animal he didn’t want to startle. He reached out, touched Moonjo’s sleeve, fingers ghosting over fabric too stiff to feel like him.

“I don’t want this version,” he said quietly.
“I want you.”

Moonjo’s eyes flicked to his, unreadable.

“The version that hovers and hums and stares like a lunatic. The one that makes too much coffee and wakes me up at 5 a.m. just to ask if I’m cold. The one that scares me, sometimes. That’s the one I—”
He exhaled.
“That’s the one I want.”

Moonjo’s hands curled slightly at his sides.

He didn’t say anything. But the lines of his shoulders cracked. A flicker of something real passed through his eyes, like light behind frosted glass.

Then, barely audible, almost nothing—

He hummed.

Just once. Off-key. Familiar.

Jongwoo closed his eyes like he could finally breathe again.

“There you are.”

Chapter Text

The restaurant was nothing special. Not fancy, not loud. Just dim enough to feel like a secret. The kind of place that served overcooked pasta in chipped bowls and wrote the specials in neon green on a chalkboard by the door.

But Moonjo had picked it.

Which meant he had spent time looking.
Which meant something.

Jongwoo didn’t ask why here. He just sat across from him, hands in his lap, trying not to stare at the way Moonjo’s hair curled slightly from still being damp.

They didn’t talk much.
They didn’t need to.

Moonjo ordered wine he couldn’t pronounce.
Jongwoo didn’t correct him.

The candle between them flickered unevenly, casting soft light over Moonjo’s fingers as he played with the edge of his napkin.

Moonjo looked up.
“You’re not eating.”

Jongwoo blinked.

“You’re watching me too much.”

Moonjo smiled. Not that wide, manic smile with too many teeth he wore for strangers, but something small. Real. It tugged at the corner of his mouth like a thread being pulled.

“You’re hard not to watch,” Moonjo murmured.

He didn’t reply after that. Just took another sip of wine, letting the warmth curl down his throat and settle low in his stomach.

The check came. Moonjo paid. Jongwoo didn’t argue.

The walk home was quiet. The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled like it, clean, earthy. The sidewalk gleamed under the yellow streetlights, slick with leftover mist.

Their hands brushed once.
Then again.
Then finally, Moonjo took his.

Not like a lover. Not like someone confident in affection.
More like a question.

Jongwoo squeezed, just enough to answer it.

They stopped at a red light. Moonjo didn’t let go.

Jongwoo looked at him, fully now. Moonjo’s hair was damp again, lashes spiked, mouth slightly parted like he’d been holding something back since dinner.

And then — just—

Moonjo kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t perfect.

It was needed.

Moonjo kissed like he was trying not to break something. Like he thought if he went too far, Jongwoo would vanish.

But Jongwoo didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. He stepped in closer, grabbed the lapel of Moonjo’s coat and held on.

They didn’t speak when they parted.

By the time they reached the apartment, neither had said a word. The door shut behind them with a muted click.

And then, Moonjo kissed him again.

Harder this time.
Not rushed, but hungry.

Jongwoo gasped against his mouth, his back hitting the wall, coat still on, fingers digging into Moonjo’s shoulders.

They moved together in fragments.
A hand tugging at fabric.
A mouth grazing the line of a jaw.
The sound of breathing — too loud in the stillness of their home.

Moonjo’s hand slid to Jongwoo’s waist, pulled him closer.

Jongwoo leaned up into him, kissed along the edge of his throat, lips dragging, slow and grounding.

Moonjo’s voice was unsteady.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Jongwoo looked at him.
“So do it again.”

And he did.

Somewhere between their fumbling and laughter, they drifted toward the bedroom, Moonjo’s hand never leaving him.

Jongwoo kicked off his shoes without looking.
Moonjo shrugged out of his coat without thinking.

The hallway felt longer than it was.

The door creaked open.

Moonjo turned to face him, eyes dark and unreadable.

Jongwoo reached past him, touched the edge of the door, and gently, wordlessly, pushed it closed behind them.

It clicked shut.

The light stayed off.

No fade to black.

Just quiet.
Just breath.
Just them.

Right there at the edge, where everything was about to begin.