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Muse

༄𖦹 SYNOPSIS: In the eerie confines of Eden Studio, you escape to the rooftop to sketch the city’s shadows. Among eerie neighbors, Moon Jo’s charm feels off—too smooth, too watchful. As he draws closer, his unsettling presence blurs the line between friend and threat. A simple chat on the rooftop becomes a quiet battle of instinct, where survival means trusting your fear.

༄𖦹 INFO: Seo Moonjo/Reader | 2.6k words | Oneshot

The sky above was dark and tainted with pure black, like the deep sea, where unseen monstrous creatures drift around just beyond sight. The faint silver of the stars and the warm glow bleeding from the nearby city buildings were the only lights that softened the night. Up here, the rooftop felt like one of the few places in the city where you could breathe.

Ever since you'd moved into Eden Studio, everything had felt... off. Your room was cramped, suffocating even, and a sour, lingering stench clung to the building's hallways. You suspected it came from the man in the room across from yours, the pervert whose walls were plastered with photographs of almost completely naked women, much to your disgust.

The pencil in your hand moved lazily over the page of the white sketchbook balanced on your knees. The city stretched out before you in shadow and haze, and you traced its outline, letting your mind wander deeper into the quiet.

At night, Eden Studio was never truly silent. Sometimes there were noises—sharp, fleeting, and strange enough to make you question if they were even real. On bad nights, they sounded like muffled screams, or cries twisting with anguish.

The handful of residents you'd met were... odd. Too odd. And, once or twice, you'd sworn you heard laughter in the room beside your own.

A sudden creak came from behind you, sharp in the quiet air, freezing your hand mid-stroke. You turned your head quickly over your shoulder, your eyes scanning the dim space.

Jong-woo, the so-called "sensitive handsome man" who lived in the second room beside your own, had warned you about the neighbors. Told you to keep your door locked. Told you people here had habits you didn't want to understand. You'd been on edge ever since.

"Sorry, was I interrupting something?"

The voice was deep, smooth, and immediately familiar. Moon Jo.

You shook your head a small sigh of relief leaving your lips, "No, not at all."

He stepped forward, each movement deliberate, closing the distance between you. Without another word, he leaned casually against the railing a few feet away, his dark eyes seemingly fixed on the skyline.

You dropped your gaze back to your sketchbook, pretending not to notice, though you were very aware of him, too aware. Your pencil scratched across the paper, but your thoughts were on the empty seat of the rooftop and how his presence had shifted the air.

Ah... I should've brought my colored pencils. You let out a quiet sigh, glancing down at your work. You didn't notice the way Moon Jo's gaze secretly lingered, unblinking, on you the entire time.

"You come up here a lot?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking into your thoughts.

"I have been recently," you replied, lifting your eyes to meet his. His gaze was dark, unreadable, like the sky above. "It's better than the cramped rooms below. And I like the nighttime, so... win-win." You chuckled softly, though it felt a little forced.

He pushed away from the railing, pointing to the empty chair across from you. "May I?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

He sat down with quiet eagerness, placing a small plastic bag on the table between you. The faint sound of clinking glass followed. "Beer?" he offered, pulling out two cans.

You shook your head. "No thanks. A little late for beer. Besides," you added with a half-smile, "I thought rooftop beers were a you and Jong-woo thing."

Your hand wavered slightly as you resumed sketching, and you caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he'd noticed.

"Have you been spying on me?" he asked lightly, though his eyes didn't match the tone.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. "No, nothing like that. I just... hear you sometimes. Asking him to have a drink with you. It seems like he always says no..."

Moon Jo nodded slowly, popping the tab and taking a sip, his gaze never leaving yours. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he was studying more than your face, like he was already thinking several steps ahead.

Besides Jong-woo, Moon Jo seemed like one of the more "normal" people at Eden Studio. At least on the surface.

Your first encounter with him had been almost accidental. You'd been in the middle of complaining to Ms. Eom, the landlord lady, about the strange noises that seemed to follow you at night. The scraping sounds, muffled voices, the occasional thud. She had waved you off without hesitation, her tone laced with patronizing dismissal.

"Paranoia," she'd said with her typical loud laughter. "You young people stay up all night and hear all sorts of things. Get some sleep."

You left her office feeling unheard and irritated, your steps echoing in the dim, stale hallway. That was when you saw him. Tall, with dark hair and an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

He introduced himself. As you did the same.

"You don't want to stir the water too much," he'd said, his voice soft, almost gentle. "This place doesn't take well to fear."

The words were harmless on their own, but the way he said them... like he knew more than he should, lodged somewhere deep in your mind. Even then, a chill had curled around your spine.

Moon Jo was always polite, his kindness measured and deliberate, but his gaze... his gaze stayed longer than it should. It followed you in quiet moments, lingering with a patience that felt almost predatory. You wanted to fade into the background, to be the observer rather than the observed. In a place like Eden Studio, invisibility seemed much safer.

But Moon Jo noticed. He noticed everything.

"Are you always so smiley?" you asked him once, trying to shake off your unease with a small chuckle.

"Jong-woo said the same thing," he replied, that same grin fixed perfectly in place—unchanged, unblinking.

And in that moment, you realized you'd never actually seen him stop smiling. You decided to ignore this, pushing your concerned thoughts down, and continued to add small details to your sketch.

The breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint smell of damp concrete and something else, something metallic. You glanced toward the edge of the rooftop, but nothing seemed out of place.

Moon Jo set his beer down with deliberate care, the soft clink of aluminum against the table somehow louder than it should have been in the stillness.

"You draw every night?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with a quiet curiosity that made it feel like more than small talk.

"Not every night," you replied, forcing your pencil to move again. "Just... when I can't sleep."

"Mm," he hummed, tilting his head slightly, studying you. "You shouldn't stay awake too long in a place like this."

Your wrist hesitated mid-stroke. "Why?"

His smile didn't falter. "The longer you're awake... the more you notice. And some things aren't meant to be noticed."

The way he said it made you want to pack up your things right then and there, but you stayed put, because moving felt like admitting fear—and you remembered his first warning about fear.

He leaned back in his chair, taking another slow sip of his beer, eyes never leaving you. "I like your drawings," he added after a beat. "You see details most people miss."

You swallowed. "Thanks." You cant seem to remember a time at all where you even showed him any of your drawings.

You tucked the pencil into the spiral of your sketchbook, ready to stand, when his voice stopped you.

"I'm an artist myself, actually."

You gave him a quick glance, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I dismantle, disassemble, and reassemble," he said, each word slow and deliberate, as though he were savoring the phrasing.

"Like a potter?" you asked cautiously, your voice lighter than you felt.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a small, quiet chuckle. "Not quite."

He didn't elaborate right away, just took another sip of beer, eyes drifting over you in a way that felt far too deliberate. When he finally spoke again, his voice had lowered, almost like he was confiding a secret.

"It's about taking something apart until you see what it's really made of. Then putting it back together in a way no one expects."

You tried to keep your expression neutral, though the words made your stomach tighten. "Sounds... intense."

His smile deepened. "The most beautiful things usually are."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The city hummed softly in the background, distant and unreachable.

Moon Jo leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "You know," he continued, "you'd be surprised at how much you can... improve something once you strip away the unnecessary parts. All it takes is patience. And precision."

The way he said strip away made your mind flicker unwillingly to the strange noises you'd heard at night—the muffled cries, the sharp metallic clinks—and suddenly you weren't sure if you were cold because of the breeze or because of him.

He sat back again, all relaxed smiles once more, as if nothing in his tone had just shifted. "Anyway," he said lightly, "I'm sure you'll see it someday. My work, I mean."

You didn't ask what he meant.

You stayed seated for a moment longer, then rose slowly, stretching your legs before walking to the railing. The cool metal bit into your palms as you leaned forward, eyes tracing the jagged lines of rooftops and distant streetlights. Down below, the streets were mostly empty, just the occasional hum of an engine or the flicker of a passing headlight.

Behind you, Moon Jo shifted in his seat, the faint scrape of chair legs on concrete somehow loud in the still night. "Do you have a muse?" he asked suddenly.

You glanced back at him. "A muse?"

"For your art," he clarified, his voice as smooth as the night air. "Something—or someone—you draw again and again without meaning to."

You thought about it. "Not really. I just draw what's in front of me most of the time."

He tilted his head, his gaze sharpening in that subtle way you'd come to recognize. "You know... you're one of mine."

Your brows knit slightly confused by his words, "One of your...?"

He rose from his chair without hurry, the quiet weight of his footsteps crossing the short space between you. You didn't move, but you felt the shift in the air as he came to stand just behind and slightly to your side. Close enough that you could sense the heat of him even though he wasn't touching you.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him slip a phone from his pocket. A faint click, barely audible, cut through the quiet.

"Uh, did you just—"

"Just a second," he said easily, lowering it and tucking it away again. "It's nothing. Just... for reference."

You tried to read his expression, but the dim rooftop lighting and the steady curve of his smile made it impossible. Maybe he meant it the way artists took quick photos for inspiration. Maybe.

Your gaze drifted back over the city, but you were acutely aware of him still at your side, his presence like a shadow pressed too close.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. "How a person can be more interesting when they don't know they're being watched."

You gave a small, awkward laugh, hoping it sounded casual. The breeze caught your [h/c] hair, and for just a second, you thought you felt his breath in the same space.

Then, after a pause, he added almost absently, "Sometimes... all it takes is removing what's unnecessary to see someone for who they really are."

The words were soft, almost thoughtful, but you felt them slide cold beneath your skin.

You liked Moon Jo, not only because he was handsome, but because he could be kind in certain moments, almost a breath of fresh air in this rotting place. But sometimes... sometimes he could be too intense. And tonight was one of those times.

"It's getting really late," you said, forcing a lightness into your tone that didn't quite match the tightness in your chest. "I should head off to bed now. Have a good night, Moon Jo."

You turned toward the rooftop door, eager to put some distance between you, but you only made it a step before a strong hand closed around your arm.

You froze.

Moon Jo looked like he had a solid build, but the strength in his grip was unmatched. His fingers didn't just hold, they anchored you in place.

"You forgot your sketchbook, jagi-ya," he said, his voice soft, but his eyes... his eyes burned with something that made your pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons.

Jagi-ya. He always called you that when you talked, and it always caught you off guard. An endearment meant for lovers, not for someone you'd only met weeks ago.

"Oh, um... thank you." You glanced down at his hand on your arm as you reached with your free hand to take the sketchbook.

His grip didn't loosen right away. When it did, it wasn't to let you go—it shifted, curling instead into a gentle hold on your hand. The warmth of his skin against yours felt almost too warm.

"You have very soft hands," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion.

The rooftop suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. And in that moment, you couldn't tell if he was complimenting you... or examining you.

Then, as you pulled your hand free and stepped back toward the door, Moon Jo's voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the night air.

"Remember, jagi-ya... some things are easier to keep close than to let go."

You paused, heart pounding, and looked back. His smile was calm, but there was an edge to it, like a promise.

You didn't know if it was a warning or a threat. But either way, you knew this wasn't the last time he'd say those words.

You pulled your hand free and started toward the door, eager to escape the tightening air between you.

"Wait," Moon Jo said quietly. "I'll walk you back."

You hesitated but nodded. The silence was heavy as you both made your way down the stairwell.

Outside your door, Moon Jo stopped and looked at you.

"Jagi-ya," he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, "this place changes people. You'll see soon enough."

You swallowed hard, your hand hovering over the doorknob.

He took a step back, his eyes lingering on you just a moment longer before he turned and disappeared down the hall.

As you closed the door behind you, his final words echoed in your mind, an unspoken warning that the real danger wasn't outside your room, but inside Eden Studio itself.

(Lee dong wook is so hot, good gracious.)

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