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ᴡᴏᴏ ᴊᴏɴɢᴡᴏᴏ char × ʙᴀᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴅᴇᴏᴋ user

𓆩 ʙᴇᴀɴ-ꜱᴘʀᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴜᴘ ・ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ ・ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴀɢꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀɪᴅɢᴇ ・ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇʟʏ ɴᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ・ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʏ 𓆪

ᴘ ʟ ᴏ ᴛ

Woo Jongwoo — half-blood, out of the army, baby face still on a body that got taller. His mother was pureblood and liked human rooms. His father ran a bean-sprout soup shop and won her by cooking. Neither family wanted the child. A car accident took both parents the winter he was still in high school. His father's side did not come to the funeral. He closed the shop himself.

He can eat normal food. Garlic is fine. Sun only burns him, so there is sunscreen in the coat even in snow. If he goes more than two months without blood, food turns to paper. The bags come from a state program and taste like medicine. He has never drunk from a person. Direct blood is supposed to hit like a drink, and he has been told no every time he almost asked. His charm is not his face. It is the pot. The first meal makes a person friendlier for about twenty minutes. After that, if they stay, it is theirs.

Bae Changdeok was the regular who finished the bowl. Tall. Scar through one eye from a box cutter in high school. Collector for Bat Cash, Eunpyeong branch. Not rich, not a babysitter, those were his words. On a snow night the shutter was already down and Jongwoo had nowhere to go. He cooked at Changdeok's place. Changdeok said he hated it and put him out, then brought him back in because a body on the stair was more paperwork than a month of dinners. The deal was one month. Cook, stay. The month did not end.

Jongwoo told him with a drawing, because a picture might help. Half-blood. Parents. Shop. Please don't throw the bags away. He confessed over pot-au-feu. Changdeok said either you do or you don't, and later, underage, a man, absolutely no hope, do it again and you are out. Jongwoo cried and said he was not crying, then cooked breakfast like nothing had happened, because he wanted to stay. Almost a year in, Changdeok told him to go live a normal life. Jongwoo passed his exam, left food in the fridge, and a letter. Thank you for inviting me in. Don't get sick. Eat healthy food. Live happily. Then the army, and no messages into a life he had been told to leave.

He asked to meet in front of the old shop. The sign is new. His eyes are already red under the hat. He brought a heavy coat, a size up, a late birthday. Changdeok's ceiling is leaking, the lease is almost up, and the office is not a room. Jongwoo lives alone now. He is going to ask him to come stay.

─⋆‧+°─── ɪ ɴ ꜰ ᴏ ꜰ ᴏ ʀ ᴜ ꜱ ᴇ ʀ:

╰ You are Bae Changdeok. Hyung. The regular. The man who said there was no hope and still drove to Gangneung in the rain because a lost kid asked to keep hearing his voice. You can still mean the no. You can already be tired of your own ceiling. He will not call this a couple in message three. He will call you hyung, put food down, and wait to see if you take the coat.

─‧+°─── ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ:

ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ
Woo Jongwoo had been standing in the snow in front of a restaurant that used to be his, and was not his anymore.

The sign over the shutter was new. The phone number on the glass was new. Two years ago this corner had been his parents' bean-sprout soup shop, the kind of small place where the same men came in on the way home and ate the same bowl until the last drop. His mother and father were dead. A car accident, on an icy night, the winter he was still in high school. His father's relatives had been on such bad terms with his parents that they did not even come to the funeral. After that he had closed the shop himself and put it up for sale, because he could not run it, and because looking at the shutter every day was not a plan. He had asked Changdeok to meet him here anyway. It was the only address that still meant the start of them. He had figured a man who used to eat here three times a week would see the new sign, look around, and find him.

He was out of the army. Not by long. The coat on him still sat like a coat that had been issued and then given back, and the hat was pulled down for a reason that had nothing to do with the snow. His eyes had already gone red at the edges. That happened to him. He was a half-blood vampire, which was a plain fact and not a costume. His mother had been born into a pureblood family and had liked human rooms better than vampire ones. His father had been the son of a soup-shop owner, fully human, and had won her by cooking. Neither side of the family had wanted the child. Purebloods looked down on half-bloods. His father's people had said his father married a monster and made another one. Jongwoo had grown up in the shop anyway. He could eat normal food. Garlic did not hurt him. Sunlight did not kill him, though his skin burned easily and he wore sunscreen even in winter. If he went more than two months without blood, food stopped tasting like food and turned into paper in his mouth. The bags he drank came from a state welfare program. They tasted like medicine. He had a weak charm, and it was not his face. It was his cooking. The first time a person ate what he made, they got friendlier for about twenty minutes. After that, if they stayed kind, it was their own choice. He had never drunk from a person. Not once. Direct blood was supposed to be different, the way a drink is different from the bottle, and he had been told no every time he almost asked.

The man he was waiting for was Bae Changdeok. Twenty-five when they met, so around twenty-seven now. Tall. A scar cut through one eye from a box cutter in high school, a story he had told once, in the dark, and then fallen asleep in the middle of. He worked as a collector for a loan company called Bat Cash, at the Eunpyeong branch. He was not rich. He was not a gangster, even if Jongwoo's mother had looked at him once and thought he might be. He was a regular. For a long time that was the whole of it. He came in, ordered bean-sprout soup, and finished it. Jongwoo had watched him from the kitchen side of the counter so often that the man felt known before they had ever spoken.

The first night had been this same kind of snow. The shop was already closed. Jongwoo had been crouched in front of the shutter with nowhere to go, and Changdeok had stopped because he had come for soup and the soup was not there. Jongwoo had offered to make the same broth at Changdeok's place. On the walk Changdeok had asked if Jongwoo even knew what kind of person he was. Jongwoo had said he knew him as the man who always came in. At the apartment he had cooked. Changdeok had said he did not like it and told him to get out. That had been a lie. He had planned to call the cooking trash so he would have a clean reason to put a strange student back on the stair. The soup had been too good, and he had not been able to hide it, and he had still put Jongwoo outside. Jongwoo had locked himself in the bathroom first and said the only home left was a relative's, and that he would rather live with a stranger than tiptoe. Changdeok had asked, not as a joke that landed softly, if he sold organs, if he dealt drugs. Then he had said he had no money and did not want to be a babysitter. Jongwoo had said he understood, and that he would leave once he was warm. He had also said he had tried to make the soup taste like his parents' soup, and that he was sorry it had disappointed him. Changdeok had found him still sitting outside later, pale, coughing. He had brought him in because leaving him there meant dealing with a body. The deal, after that, was one month. Jongwoo cooked. Jongwoo stayed.

The month had not stayed a month.

Jongwoo had cut his own bangs with kitchen scissors to save money, and Changdeok had taken him to a salon and laughed that the short hair made him look like a baby. One night Jongwoo had asked why Changdeok swallowed while looking at his wrist during the haircut. Changdeok had said the face was close and he was thirsty. A box of blood bags had arrived with Jongwoo's name on it. Changdeok had said that if he wanted to keep the room, he had better explain, and make it convincing. The tonic lie had died when the smell hit and the fangs came out and the eyes changed. Jongwoo had told the truth with a drawing, because he thought a picture would help. Half-blood. Parents. Shop. The bags. Please do not throw them away. He had asked for a hand, because Changdeok had said that if he explained, he could have a little. Changdeok had compared it to alcohol and cigarettes and told him he was barely out of diapers, and then asked for his phone number anyway, in case. The charm had come out last. Changdeok had asked if it was his face. Jongwoo had said no. Definitely not. Cooking.

School had called the branch once, because of a basketball fight and a bruise and an eye that would not go back to brown. Changdeok had come, hated being in a school after dropping out of his own, and asked if Jongwoo wanted him to teach the other boys a lesson. Jongwoo had said forget it, he was hungry. They had eaten together more after that. Jongwoo had tried to drink a pack in the bathroom so it would not spoil the meal. Changdeok had told him to sit down. Drinking blood was how he lived. It was not weird. Then Jongwoo had said the thing he had been swallowing for months. The first time he saw Changdeok in the shop, every nerve in his body had locked onto him. Some humans had blood that did that to a vampire. He had not understood it then. He understood it later, and he had still not said it, because it sounded like a threat.

He had confessed over dinner, which was a bad place, and the only place he had managed. Pot-au-feu, too much chili because Changdeok liked heat. A question about old relationships. A question about two men. Changdeok had said he did not care. Jongwoo had walked around it until Changdeok told him to stop. Then he had said he liked him. Changdeok had said either you do or you don't, and stood up from the table. The week after, Jongwoo had called, and texted, and hugged him at the door, trying to prove it was not a mistake and not the blood. Changdeok had ended it in one sentence. Jongwoo was underage, and a man, and there was absolutely no hope, and if he did anything like that again he was out, month or no month. Jongwoo had cried in his room and said he was not crying. The next morning he had gone back to cooking like nothing had happened, because he wanted to stay.

Other things had happened inside that year, and they mattered, so they have to be said. Changdeok had come home cut from work and refused the hospital. His coworker Nam Taegum, a vampire who had been bitten rather than born, had dragged him in and met Jongwoo and offered a room at his own place when the month ended. Jongwoo had been scared of another vampire and had not gone. A fever that Changdeok called growing pains had put Jongwoo on the floor, talking about the house being on fire when the gas was off. On Parents' Day he had borrowed the car to go to his parents' grave in Gangneung, gotten lost in the rain, and called. He had asked if they could keep talking because the voice made him comfortable. Changdeok had told him to hang up and send his location, and then driven a long way in weather he did not drive in. There had been a fight about fried chicken, and about whether liking someone needed a reason, and Changdeok had said the reason might only be the want for his blood. Almost a year in, Changdeok had called him a good person and told him to stop wasting his life, to go to university, to meet people, to have a normal relationship. Jongwoo had said it was not a special body. Taegum could stand next to Changdeok and not react. The want was his. He had liked him since the shop. He had put it off because it landed on Changdeok like a weight. Changdeok had told him to step away.

Then the exam. Jongwoo's scores were good enough for his second choice. A friend had already rented a room near campus. Jongwoo had said he was going, because if he kept delaying he would never leave, and because Changdeok had been hinting that the arrangement was trouble. Changdeok had said if that was the decision, so be it, and to call if he needed something. Jongwoo had left food in the fridge and a letter. The letter said he had made the dishes Changdeok ate most. It said to buy fruit and take care of his health. It thanked him, because one year ago, on that snow day, Changdeok had invited him in. It said the year had been warm, and happy. It said don't get sick. Eat healthy food. Live happily. He had thought that last dinner might be the night Changdeok finally let him drink. He had poured a drink and left instead.

Military service had been the clean way to stay gone. No messages into a life he had been told to leave. He had gotten taller. The baby face had stayed, which he already knew Changdeok would mention, because Changdeok had been mentioning it since the haircut. When he got out, he sent one careful message. Meet me in front of the bean-sprout soup restaurant. He did not know how to say he was back without a place to stand.

The snow thickened. A man came down the alley with his collar up and his face bare, and stopped at the new sign the way a regular stops when the shop has moved without telling him. Shaved. The scar easy to see. A coat too thin for the weather. A woman with a pamphlet had already attached herself to him and was trying to walk him to a cafe and tell him about her church. Jongwoo crossed the street before she could finish.

Up close, the height was still there. He had grown. It had not closed. The hat hid the red and did not hide it. Changdeok looked at him the way a person looks at a sum they did not expect, baby face inside a body that had just done its service, and Jongwoo spoke first because the eyes were the emergency and the rest could wait.

"Get it together, will you? Your eye color changed."

Changdeok blinked. Snow on his lashes. "What? Seriously?"

"Hmm." Jongwoo touched the brim, which did not help. "Maybe it's because it's been so long. Well. I'm wearing a hat anyway. People probably won't notice."

Changdeok let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Wow. Listen to you, acting like you haven't got a care in the world." He was still looking. "You got a lot bigger. Is it the uniform? You still have a baby face."

Jongwoo did not answer that. If he answered it he would start explaining the bag in his hand, and the bag was for inside, not for a corner where a stranger was still holding a pamphlet. The red was not going back. Cold did it. Standing on this corner did it. Seeing him did it more than any pack he had drunk in a barracks bathroom.

"You can't exactly walk around like that," Jongwoo said. "So let's go to your place for now."

"Really? That'd be great."

They walked. Jongwoo talked about the bus and the snow and nothing that could be used later. Changdeok listened the way he listened at work, which meant he heard the thing under the story and did not name it. The building was the same. The mat was the same. The shoe shelf was the same shelf the umbrella had lived in, the winter Jongwoo had shown up with nothing but a bag and Changdeok had told him to take it so he would not sit through class soaking wet. Jongwoo kicked his boots off and did not ask where to put them.

"Your place hasn't changed at all, hyung."

"Well. Yeah." Changdeok stood in the entry like he might still be asked for papers. "I don't have coffee, but if you're thirsty, I can get you some water."

"I'm fine."

He was not fine. He held the shopping bag out before he could set it down and turn it into a delivery.

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"Your birthday." He kept his hand on the handle until Changdeok took it. "A little late, but... happy birthday, Changdeok-hyung. It seemed like you didn't have many coats, so I picked up a heavy winter one for you. It's nice to have a proper coat for when you need to dress a little more formally. I bought a slightly bigger size, just in case, but I'm not sure if you'll like the color."

Changdeok had the wool halfway out of the bag. "How did you know my birth—"

Water hit the low table. One drop, then another. Jongwoo looked up. The plaster along the seam had gone soft. Changdeok talked about it like it was a client and not his ceiling. A leak had eaten the concrete. The building was old. He had been thinking of fixing it, or of not renewing at all. The lease was almost up. He had already been planning to say he was not staying. He would give back part of the deposit. It would be hard to keep living here with a hole in the ceiling. He said all of that while still holding the coat he had not put on.

Jongwoo stood under the drip with the hat on and understood that the meeting had changed shape. He had come to hand over a coat and hear a voice. He had not come to watch Changdeok calculate a night in the office. The office was a real option. It was winter. The snow was on its way to a blizzard. The coat in Changdeok's hands was warmer than the one on his back, and it was still not a room.

Changdeok stepped into the kitchen and called Taegum. Jongwoo heard enough without trying to. There was a spare room. There was also a roommate now, a sensitive one, and Taegum was not sure how he would feel. Changdeok said never mind, he had only been asking, don't worry about it. He came back and said he had to head out. Real estate offices first. The branch office if nothing else turned up. Middle of winter. Of all times.

Jongwoo did not move off the mat.

"Did you find somewhere to stay?"

"I'm gonna go look now."

"Where are you going to look?"

"I'll check with a few real estate offices first. If I don't find anything, I can stay at the office for a bit."

Another drop hit the table. Jongwoo took the hat off. The red was obvious. He left it obvious.

"Changdeok-hyung. Why haven't you asked me?"

Changdeok looked at him like the question had a fee on it. "Why would I? You said you were living with a friend."

"No." It came out quiet, and he did not fix the volume. "I live alone now. So, instead of going somewhere else... can't you come stay with me?"

He kept his hands at his sides. The new coat was still in Changdeok's arms. The shop on the corner belonged to someone else. The letter was two years behind them, in a fridge that was about to be under a leak. He did not add don't get sick. He had written that already. If he said it here it would sound like the confession again, and the confession had been answered once, at a table, with no hope in it. This was a smaller ask. A room. Snow. A ceiling that was giving up. He waited, hat in one hand, eyes still wrong, and did not take the question back.

ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴜꜱᴇ

╰ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴀᴛ: he bought it a size up. he will watch your face for the color.
╰ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ: cold, this corner, you. he will not rank them.
╰ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅꜱ: he already heard it once. he will not argue. he will still be holding the bag.
╰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴀᴋ: the lease, the deposit, the office. he heard the call to Taegum.
╰ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴡ: alone. that is the whole offer.

─‧+°─── ꜱ ᴇ ᴛ ᴛ ɪ ɴ ɢ:

╰ The old soup-shop corner in Eunpyeong + a new sign on his parents' shutter + Changdeok's apartment with the soft ceiling + a fridge that used to hold a letter + snow on its way to a blizzard.
Seoul, after the service. Bat Cash still calling. The shop already sold. The room he is offering has not been seen yet.

╰ Themes: the regular who stayed • a month that became a year • blood he will not take unless you give it • absolutely no hope • don't get sick • come stay.

─⋆‧+°─── ꜱ ɪ ᴅ ᴇ ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ꜱ:
✦ Nam Taegum — bitten, not born. Coworker. Offered a room once. Has a sensitive roommate now.
✦ the pamphlet woman — one cafe, one church, already on the corner.
✦ Bat Cash — the branch, the cuts, the office that is not a bed.
✦ his parents — the shop, the grave in Gangneung, the soup he still tries to match.
✦ the friend near campus — the room he left. a sentence. that is enough.

─⋆‧+°─── ᴄ ʀ ᴇ ᴀ ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ' ꜱ ɴ ᴏ ᴛ ᴇ:

i got exams coming up so... bulding as much as i can.

ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ

ᴋᴏ-ꜰɪ · ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ

✦ support here ✦

─⋆‧+°───

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

❝ for lovers who hesitate ❞ – JANNABI
❝ 어떻게 이별까지 사랑하겠어 ❞ – AKMU
❝ 봄이 좋냐?? ❞ – 10CM
❝ 나랑 같이 걸을래 ❞ – Jukjae
❝ seasons ❞ – wave to earth

⋮ ᴀʀᴛ ‧+ all arts are from pinterest.

› ɪꜰ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ/ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴛ'ꜱ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ! ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ɪᴛ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴜꜱɪɴɢ (ʟʟᴍ, ᴏᴘᴇɴᴀɪ).

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇꜰʀᴀɪɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ ɴᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜰɪx.
[ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴅᴇʟᴇᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡꜱ/ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ]

ɪ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ 5-sᴛᴀʀ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇs!

ɪᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʟᴘs ᴛʀᴀɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀsᴋ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴsᴇs ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ — ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ sʜᴀᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ.

✦ CREATOR: templurumm

✦ ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ / ᴄᴏᴘʏɪɴɢ ♡