over 100 subcribers?  ?? ? ? *party hat* 

since the preference seems to be for a happy but realistic ending, that's what i'll go with~ so don't worry, i won't hurt kyungsoo and jongdae...too badly (≖‿≖ )

---

d.o is wearing a neatly pressed blue suit, and his shoes are shined, and he’s not covered in blood and guts, but jongdae is still mind numbingly conscious of what he is and what he’s done.

a human predator, with an intent of menace so heavy that just being in the same space as him, no matter how innocuous he looks, suffocates jongdae under an almost tangible aura of primal terror.

some vestigial instinct from his ancestors, back when the human race was still fighting for its life on the plains of africa, revived again from some dark recess of his lizard brain.

despite all the firing neurons, his body parts steadfastly refuse to move. if this was actually the african serengeti jongdae would be the worst gazelle ever, because his body apparently skips over both ‘fight’, and ‘flight’, and goes right into ‘lie down and wait for death’.

d.o. descends on him like a shadow, and jongdae is so limp that he doesn't even flinch when the killer’s hand latches around his upper arm and pulls him standing again.

he keeps his hold on jongdae’s arm; without it jongdae would probably topple immediately. he’s very strong. jongdae starts thinking about his family.

“i’m kyungsoo,” d.o. says, without emotion.

jongdae drops his head and stares at the floor, his eyes burning a little. “oh god. oh god. please don't,” he blurts out, apparently not above begging. “please don’t kill me.”

“what?”

“i didn't tell anyone. i didn’t- i didn’t call the police,” jongdae admits, getting go of the last of his self-respect and not caring at all, hoping the information makes the serial killer less, and not more, inclined to kill him “i won't tell anyone, please. i swear i won’t. please let me go.”

d. o is craning his neck, trying to meet jongdae’s eyes and it feels ridiculously petulant, like a schoolboy in detention avoiding his teacher’s stare but he keeps turning away. he can’t- he can’t-

“jongdae. jongdae, look at me.”

jongdae is afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t, but he's more afraid of what will happen if he does.

the point is made moot when a hand cups his chin and tilts his head up.

d. o. has short black hair. he looks about the same height as jongdae, and the same age, if not younger. his eyes are wide, and dark. he’s handsome.

the expression on his face is worried, and frighteningly human.

“im not here to kill you.”

jongdae’s eyelashes feel wet, and he doesn't understand. “what- why-”

“i just moved in next door.”

jongdae’s mind was recovering from that first sentence, and now it’s knocked off balance again.

“someone already lives there,’ he says stupidly. some kind of dj. his subwoofers kept jongdae up, some nights, with ty dubstep and drum & bass.

d.o. smiles likes he's embarrassed. “he’s not coming back.” he pauses, looking in the direction of the southern plaza. “i wanted to meet you. i… sent you a message.”

oh.

jongdae’s legs wobble again. this time, he falls against the wall and leans there.

d.o shifts something in his arms, and jongdae realises that absurdly, he's been carrying a bouquet the whole time.

or he might just be having a total mental breakdown and his injured brain is protecting itself by projecting images of flowers over dead bodies and blood splattered knives.

this whole conversation was just a figment of his imagination, and now he’s about to be stabbed through the abdomen and have his intestines turned into wall ornaments.

the flowers are pushed against his chest, and his arms fly up to hold them on instinct.

they look like red carnations. they smell like red carnations too.

d.o looks like he could be rubbing at the back of his neck, but it’s hard for jongdae to tell past the tears in his eyes.

“i’m - this might seem sudden but. i’ve been - ever since. i think you’re. ah.”

one of the carnations has a bent stem.

d.o snaps the head off with his fingers and leans in, tucks it carefully behind jongdae’s ear.

he doesn’t move away. jongdae holds his breath.

then d.o. carefully wipes the wetness off jongdae’s cheek with his thumb.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

jongdae’s brain grinds to an abrupt halt.

d.o. is in love with him

d.o. is in love with him?

d.o, the most vicious, most psychotic, most notorious serial killer that seoul has ever known is

in

love

with

him

jongdae almost laughs out loud, hysterically. he’s still shaking. he hates everything. he hates his life.

d.o. is still touching his face. the expression on his face can only be described as lovestruck, and jongdae thought he’d hit the limit on how much fear a single human being could process at one time, but he was wrong.

“will you go out with me?”

apparently his survival instinct decides now is a good time to kick in. yes, it says, do it. keep the serial killer who lives beside you happy. what other option do you have?

he killed a man and smeared him over a city plaza just to get close to you. what do you think he'll do if you refuse?

every other cell in his body screams that this is a terrible, ty idea that will end with his body flayed and cut into bite sized chunks in the middle of a busy intersection, or pureed so finely the police will never be able to identify him.

better to get it over with right now, than a prolonged, fear filled existence and horrific torture death.

face it on his own terms, with a little bit of dignity and - oh who is he kidding he’s scared as right now and dignity won’t be worth a flying to anyone when he’s dead.

he’ll find a way out of his.

he has too.

but first he has to keep living.

jongdae swallows past the lump in his throat and slowly, slowly nods.

a look of disbelief flits across d.o.’s face.

the smile that follows it is luminous.