Archive of Our Own

For centuries, the world had belonged to the vampires- not in name, and not in kingdoms marked on maps, nor in scriptures passed down by men themselves, but in blood, something that was entirely theirs.

They were created so beautifully in the way tragedies were made, in the way fire consumed and chaos bloomed, in the way ocean waves ebbed and flowed, taking lives amidst their glory. With fangs like ivory daggers, and eyes that glowed through the thickest mist and darkest shadow, they roamed around, building empires not with stone and marble, but with indescribable fear. Lush halls soaked in crimson, carved not with praises, but with agonized wails.

The earth held their memories in its core.

And the rivers once ran red in their honor.

To feed had stopped being a necessity, and started being an indulgence.

A human’s shrill scream cut sweeter than any sonnet, they had all agreed. Flesh torn from the neck, hot blood flooding the mouth, saccharine and thick, and filled with power- these were the delicacies of the vampires’ reign. There was no pleasure like that of pressing a trembling body against the cold wall, sinking their teeth in, drinking until their pulse slowed, ultimately stopping.

A vampire’s pleasure was not silent, but proud.

And the more they drank, the more the world bent beneath their feet with fear.

Yoon Jeonghan wished he was not born into this. But he was of their kind- pale and perfect, intricately carved by a deity seeking blood. And in him was a softness that made the ancient ones hiss and scoff for he did not seek conquest, and did not relish the chase. When his fangs grew, slick and sharp, dripping with venom, he did not celebrate like his peers. Instead, he had wept.

He drank from beasts, and not men, going against his nature and paving a treacherous path for his survival. Jeonghan wandered the wilderness for decades with quiet, determined footsteps, learned to stalk deer and rabbits, and once, a bear. He lived on aching discipline, teaching himself how to hunger for the wrong things, and in the process of living without staining his hands with human blood, fell in love with humanity, first, from a distance, and now, within reach.

Yoon Jeonghan lived in a small town far from big civilizations, he lived amongst kind people who shared their bounties with him, and lived amongst people, who looked at him with admiration and sweet beams. Life was not easy for him, but it was good. At least, until she came- The High Matriarch, Lady Hye Bin, a name that made entire nations tremble, draped in obsidian silks that flowed like oil, with eyes older than light and a smile as terrifying as the ruins.

“Let’s see how long your virtue lasts,” she had said in Jeonghan’s sleep, and the spell, ancient and dark, sank into his bones like rot.

He remembered hunger like drowning when he awoke. The need surged through him, burning and awful, and his body moved even before his mind could catch up.

Days blurred.

And nights bled.

Yoon Jeonghan tore into people he once greeted with soft nods, devoured the hands that had once offered him loaves of bread and stitched his sleeves. Screams filled the town that used to sleep with the lullabies of cicadas, reduced to cinders, and sobs, and foreign prayers Jeonghan couldn’t understand. The neighbor who fixed his broken shutters, the woman who sold him flowers, all of them torn apart, painting the soil with the kind of crimson that made anyone shudder.

And then, just when Jeonghan was about to step into the sunlight to end it all, the curse broke- just like that, without preamble, like a thread snapping in a quiet room.

The blood was drying on his skin, it clung to his throat, thick and sticky where it had spilled in wild arcs. It had soaked into his sleeves, his collar, the soft corners of his jaws. There was blood under his fingernails, between his teeth, and on his tongue- blood was everywhere, the stench of death filling his lungs with every inhale.

Yoon Jeonghan had drunk more than his fill- he should be sated, should be full, but he felt hollow, empty as he sat in the middle of a river as the sun began to set, pale legs tucked beneath him, sleeves rolled up. The gentle current kissed the banks with sincerity, unaware of what the land had just endured. Around him, the water shimmered in gold and faint embers, cold and murky, no amount of it able to scrub away the sin from his skin.

He stared into the water and he could no longer see himself- he used to be docile, someone who kept to himself with dried flowers in his coat pockets, someone who painted faces on rocks and read books under the pale moonlight, someone, who once kissed a man behind a church and ran away with red ears and heated cheeks. Before him, a stranger stared back, a monster with gore on its lips, and rage behind its red-rimmed eyes.

Yoon Jeonghan thought he could live forever without killing. That he could choose kindness in a world made for cruelty. He thought immortality didn’t have to be a sentence. And now? The curse had been lifted, and yet, he could only see the horror in the people’s eyes. The way their gazes, once warm with familiarity, turned sharp as broken glass, fearful and horrified, as if the shape of him no longer fit their memories, as if they had never known him,

All but one.

One pair of eyes had not looked away, had not flinched, nor was filled with dread.

Jeonghan had seen them through the smoke and the ruin, dark eyes, steady as stone, watching without fear, but with something else entirely, something he didn’t understand- the son of the town leader, whose smile was gummy and bright, and who was reliable and helpful, stood by the side, ignoring those who asked for mercy, turning a blind eye to Jeonghan’s sins.

He didn’t hear him at first, too enamored with the sound of the river, quiet and uncaring, lapping at the stones like it hadn’t swallowed the blood of a dozen souls just hours ago. Then, came footsteps, measured and careful, not loud, but deliberate and purposeful. Jeonghan had lifted his head at the muffled footfalls, his eyes falling on Choi Seungcheol, approaching from the trees, moving cautiously like he was walking toward a wounded bird, and not a vampire.

Fool, he thought, you should be afraid.

Jeonghan had graced him with a glare, yet the other man came, still, stepping over the mangled bodies strewn like broken dolls along the riverbank, blood still steaming on the earth. Seungcheol did not grimace as he walked past the ruins of Jeonghan’s violence, he did not pause, even as his boots sank into dark mud tinged with red. He only held Jeonghan’s gaze, unwavering.

Seungcheol crouched by the land nearest Jeonghan, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath a loose white shirt that now carried red stains at the cuffs. He dipped his hands into the rust-colored water, then reached for Jeonghan’s face with startling tenderness, thumb brushing just beneath the eye, where the blood had dried into a faint smear. “You missed a spot.”

Jeonghan almost cackled at the remark, his gaze dropping once again to his reflection, or what little of it he could see between the ripples and the rot. His shirt was ruined, soaked through with both blood, sweat and water, his skin a tapestry of bruises and scratches- he had missed a lot of spots , and it was amusing to watch Seungcheol look at him as if he wasn’t just murdering his people moments ago.

“You should’ve been long gone by now,” Jeonghan said softly, turning his face away from Seungcheol’s touch.

The townsfolk had fled before the moon reached its peak, some of them still screaming as they went. They had left their homes half-packed, their children clutching only what they could carry. Some had stopped to spit at his doorstep one had screamed curses loud enough to wake the dead. They had damned him and his bloodline, sworn to return to gut him and string his entrails around the vicinity of his home- as they should, he thought, as they should.

“Your father needs you more than ever,” he continued, his tone pleading.

Seungcheol tilted his head to the side, his hair, long and wavy, falling just by his eyes. His expression was unreadable, it was not stoic nor unkind, it was something steadier, deeper. There was always something so enigmatic about the other man, something Jeonghan could not name, but had seen from afar- a warmth that did not seek recognition, a flame that did not burn.

“My father is a smart and resourceful man, he does not need me,” Seungcheol said, trailing his fingers once more through the water. “You, however-”

“I do not need your help if that is the reason why you’re here,” he cut in, his protests coming out too soft than what he was intending. “You’ve seen what I’ve done, what I can do. I’ve turned this town into a bloodbath, I can fend for myself.”

“Then stand,” Seungcheol challenged as he stood to his full height, tall and broad, and endlessly steady. “If you can come to me without your knees giving out, I shall follow the others and leave you here.”

Jeonghan did not move, not because he didn’t want to entertain Seungcheol’s whims, but because he couldn’t. He had tried before, to waddle over the riverbed and haul him out of the water, but he failed every single attempt. After feeding, he should’ve been infinitely stronger, but even the mere thought of walking had his heart sinking, his body growing heavier by the second. He closed his eyes as he felt himself wavering, tears tracing hit lines down his cheeks.

Not even a second had passed when the water shifted around him- Seungcheol had waded in, lifting Jeonghan with careful arms, strength wrapped in silence. Jeonghan had allowed himself to be carried, weak and fevered, head resting lightly against the warmth of Seungcheol’s chest. But he did not dare touch him, his arms crossed over him, vision hazy as he was led through the town he had torn with his own hands.

The smell of blood made his head spin, and the memory of bone between his teeth made his stomach twist. He wanted to tear out his own tongue if only to get rid of the taste of blood in his mouth, and he wanted to sink into the earth, get buried alive and suffocate with the recollection of what he had done.

That night, Jeonghan burned with a fever so severe that he had grown hopeful he would die.

Seungcheol stayed by his bedside the same way he had stood by the river, calm and unafraid. He soaked a handkerchief in cold water and pressed it to Jeonghan’s forehead, and when Jeonghan stirred and cursed through crack lips, Seungcheol did not answer, but Jeonghan knew he was there.

By morning, he would be gone.

By late afternoon, he would return.

He did it again the next day.  

And the next, and then the next, as if he had never considered doing anything else.

“Where do you go?” Jeonghan asked on the fifth day, his voice fragile as glass, barely holding itself together. He lay curled beneath the sheets Seungcheol had found in the remnants of the town’s inn, his skin still red with fever, but his eyes were clearer now. “In the mornings, where do you go, and what do you do?”

Seungcheol looked up from where he was sat, crouched beside the bed, the bowl of cold water beside him. He didn’t answer immediately, but offered a small smile before extending a hand. “Would you like to see what I’ve been up to?”

Jeonghan hesitated. His limbs still ached like splintered wood, his knees untrustworthy, his stomach curling inward like it still remembered the taste of horror. But he took Seungcheol’s hand for lack of anything better to do, fingers trembling as he allowed himself to be pulled upright, his weight leaning into the other man’s steadiness.

He braced himself for what he expected when the other man led him out of the room, and by the front door- the streets were marred by blood, the torn bodies rotting, eyes staring up at the heavens in mute accusation, the flies, and the silence thick with memories. He prepared himself for it all, for the town to greet him far worse than he had left it in.

But it didn’t.

The moment the doors opened, Jeonghan froze, eyes wide. The cobbled path outside had been scrubbed clean. There were no more dried streaks of blood, no dark stains soaked into concrete. The bushes had been trimmed, their leaves glistening with dew as tiny yellow flowers began to bloom here and there.

The town was still.

Quiet, not in mourning, but in peace that was slightly unsettling.

“Did you do all of this?” He asked, aghast, turning to Seungcheol who had nodded, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, a proud smile emerging from his mouth. “Why?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer, and instead, guided Jeonghan down the steps of the inn and onto the town square with a firm hand around his elbow. The other man settled them both on the wooden bench beside a house that once belonged to the baker, its chimney still intact, the window cracked, but covered with lace curtains splattered with a dark color of brown.

“My great-grandmother used to tell me stories,” Seungcheol began, looking toward the horizon, where the sun poured honeylight over the rooftops, the inn tall enough to keep Jeonghan covered. “She said vampires weren’t myths. That long ago, they ruled cities, built empires, and tore down entire nations just because they could. She used to say they were the gods of the night. blood-soaked and brilliant and terrifying.”

Jeonghan stared ahead, brows furrowing as he failed to decipher what was going on inside Seungcheol’s head, and where his story was going.

“I believed her, because she was wise, and lived long enough to know ,” Seungcheol continued, long lashes fluttering with every blink. “And I grew up terrified at the concept of vampires living amongst us, because anything that powerful was bound to fall into something darker. But my great-grandmother… she didn’t just tell me the horrifying parts. Vampires had shaped the world with their hands, built homes just as much as they expanded their realms. She said that some are gentler than the others, just as some humans are kinder than most. Time had softened your fangs, she said. And if there are no gods, then your kind is the closest to the higher beings.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said, icy, ducking his head down, somewhat embarrassed to hear what they thought of his kind, eyes trained on his slightly trembling hands- they were far from being gods, they were far from the entities the humans had honed with their faith and imagination. “I still killed your friends, and your people. I am still a vampire, still something you should fear. You watched me drink blood and feast on flesh. And yet… you cleaned the blood I spilled, and buried the bodies I destroyed.”

His voice cracked, troubled. “Why?”

“Because you looked like you didn’t like the stench of the deceased,” Seungcheol said simply, still looking at Jeonghan like that was enough, like he didn’t understand what he was asking.

“Just because of that?” He whispered, shaking his head in disbelief as he pictured Seungcheol dragging the corpses alone, and probably burying them, too, scrubbing the cobbled pathways until his knuckles were raw, hauling from water from the river before coming to the inn and making sure he was alright. “There must be more as to why you went through such great lengths to rid the town of my gluttony.”

“You should figure that one out on your own.” Seungcheol smiled, soft, and almost shy.

If the other man had heard the stories about vampires having the ability to grant immortality to humans, then he was wasting his time on Jeonghan, who couldn’t even use his senses properly. And even before he could keep the conversation going, Seungcheol was already on his feet again, brushing off his pants before reaching out for his hand.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Seungcheol said, the sparkle in his eyes bright, the concern in his tone palpable. “Your fever still hasn’t waned.”

Jeonghan stared at him, then at his hand, and again, at the man behind it, whose presence was solid and entirely undeserved. He should keep his own hands to himself, Seungcheol had done more than enough, and in the end, if he asked for immortality, or whatever it was that he wanted in return, Jeonghan knew he would have nothing to give.

Still.

He took the hand anyway.

Because the truth was that the nightmares didn’t come when Seungcheol was on his side.

And vampires, just like people, had greed embedded into their core.

The town changed as though it had woken up from hibernation. Nature crept back into the cracks it once owned, thin weeds slithered through the breaks in the stone pavement, their green arms stretching upward like they were reaching for the sun. Dust collected on the empty benches by the park, and the houses once filled with chatter and laughter were now waystations for foxes and curious deer, their hooves clicking across floorboards that no longer creaked in warning.

Jeonghan watched it all from the windowsill.

The world outside him had softened, while the one inside him continued to wither.

His cheeks had hollowed, and his skin, once marble-pale and somewhat rosy, now had the hue of ashes, too dry to the touch. Speaking had been difficult, as well, as any attempts had his lips splitting, making even a smile painful to do. His fever climbed by the hour, unrelenting behind his eyes, and in the crooks of his joints- the thirst twisted through him like a knife, the hunger scraping against his insides. But he had stood his ground, he didn’t want to eat and to drink.

There was a strange peace in the thought of succumbing to his end, of letting the world fold him back into its soil or wherever he came from, letting the hunger finally consume what little was left of him. He curled into it like one might curl into a blanket, ignoring the ache all over his body, the desperate thrum of his veins, and the temptation to sink his teeth into something warm, something pulsing.

He lay in bed, eyes half-lidded, watching Seungcheol pace the room like a lion in a cage one afternoon.

“Stop,” he rasped, a flicker of amusement in his throat. “You’re making me nauseous.”

“You’re awake.” Seungcheol stopped immediately, kneeling by the bedside, and groveling like a man in prayer. “Where does it hurt? What can I do?”

Jeonghan laughed, breathless and weak, the corner of his mouth slightly tearing. He found it absurd, how this towering man, absurdly handsome with shoulders broad enough to carry the world on his back, was reduced to tears at the sight of a pathetic vampire. Stand up , he thought, I beg you to stand up .

Seungcheol was a foolish man, yet his presence was comforting.

“Maybe you need to feed,” Seungcheol muttered, hesitant. The candlelight flickered, casting orange beams across his face. His cheeks were ruddy from anxiety, his hair a little messy from where he had run his fingers through it in worry. His features were carved softly, far too gentle for someone who could, and had, carried Jeonghan like he weighed nothing at all. “I don’t know anything about vampires, but maybe… you’re just hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he stopped himself from saying what was on his mind. I’m not hungry, I want to die. That he was chasing his end with open arms, and Seungcheol, with his open and stubborn heart, was the only thing getting in the way.

“No offense, but you look hungry,” Seungcheol commented, glancing down at the bowl of soup he had made for himself like the carrots in it had betrayed him personally. “It’s upsetting that I can’t share my food with you.”

“It’s just going to make me sicker,” he murmured. At that point in time, Jeonghan had stopped thinking about why Seungcheol continued to show up in his room over and over again- there was no use dwelling on things that had only made his head hurt, he simply let himself float through the days like leaves on the river, waiting for the other man to reveal his true intentions. “Leave me be, Seungcheol. Eat, sleep and live. I’ll be better tomorrow, you’ll see.”

But he hadn’t grown better the next day.

On the fourth morning, Seungcheol didn’t find him sleeping on his bed, but he was found on the floor.

Jeonghan had collapsed trying to get to the wash basin, his fever wracking his spine until he couldn’t hold himself upright. His stomach twisted uselessly, dry-heaving in sharp spasms. Tears streamed down his face as his hands shook, nails scratching the floor like his body was looking to bury itself somewhere deep, somewhere dark. Everything inside him was throbbing, his skin paper-thin, bruising at the most gentle touch- breathing deeply had been out of the question as of late, he had grown afraid of his ribs crumbling if his lungs expanded too much.

This is good , he thought, delirious. This is what I wanted. This is what I hoped for.

But then, Seungcheol was on his side, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears.

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol breathed out, falling to his knees beside him, careful not to touch, careful not to break him. “You… I told you to rest. Why are you- I shouldn’t have left you, should I? What do you need? Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

Death was what he wanted, yet, seeing Seungcheol like that, his end had become the last thing on his mind. With how his dreams were plagued with people yelling at him and telling him to die, to see the other man fuss over him was like a breath of fresh air. He didn’t deserve the kindness, but he couldn’t help but continue taking Seungcheol’s hands, even then, as his body screamed in pain, he reached out to him, to hold his hand, and to seek temporary relief.

“I’m so hungry,” he lied through his teeth. He wasn’t hungry, he wanted to die. “We should hunt rabbits, Cheollie . I’m so hungry, we should go to the woods.”

Seungcheol nodded so hard it looked like the movement hurt him, his smile relieved, but shaken. “I would do anything for you.”

Jeonghan should’ve taken that remark seriously, should’ve sat and allowed for those words to sink in. There was reverence dripping in that statement, heavy and meaningful. But the pain blurred the edges of everything that surrounded him, so instead, he filed it away for now- another strange thing in a world he could no longer understand.

He needed to move, he needed to feed, despite knowing nothing would be enough. He had to try, he had to look like he was trying. Because Seungcheol looked like he wouldn’t survive if Jeonghan would meet his end tucked in the inn, on a bed that was far larger than his frame. So, just a few more weeks, he thought, maybe the day would finally come when Seungcheol would come to his senses, stop being a fool who fussed over a dying monster, and finally get tired enough to leave.

The woods were quiet, save for the rustling of Seungcheol’s boots clumsily brushing through fallen leaves and damp underbrush. Jeonghan leaned against the trunk of a crooked tree, staying under its shade. He was too weak to stand, too dizzy to even try hunting. His limbs had not gotten better despite soaking himself in the hot bath Seungcheol had prepared for him the night before, his brain wrapped in some sort of fog, slow and unsure, his eyes fluttering shut despite his protests.

He wanted to help, but he was no use. So there he was, waiting, hands curled on his lap as Seungcheol tramped around the clearing in search of prey- the man was loud, to say the least. His steps were heavy and purposeful, and every time he raised his makeshift sling, it would sag at the last second. Jeonghan forced himself to stay awake just so he could watch Seungcheol looking more like the prey than the hunder. It was amusing, and Jeonghan was mildly disturbed when he found the other man adorable with the way he huffed in frustration, and how his tongue would poke out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Eventually, Seungcheol managed to trap a rabbit, his triumphant cheer startling even the birds in the trees. He brought it over to Jeonghan like a child offering a prize, cheeks flushed with pride, and Jeonghan could only manage to muster a small smile.

“You have to turn around now,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he cradled the rabbit close to his chest. “Walk fifty steps away from me, and then cover your ears.”

“Turn around,” Jeonghan murmured, voice barely above the wind. “Walk fifty steps away. Cover your ears.”

Seungcheol looked like he wanted to say something, but did as he was told.

The rabbit squirmed in Jeonghan’s embrace, its heartbeat rapid. He whispered an apology, he always did, as soon as Seungcheol was far enough,  sinking his fangs into the softest part of its neck. He did his best to be merciful, to end it as soon as he could, but he wasn’t strong enough to grant the rabbit a quick death. It thrashed in his arms as he drank its blood- warm and coppery, thick on his tongue. It filled his mouth, his throat, and his stomach. For a fleeting moment, he felt whole again, like he was sated and alive.

But it passed too quickly.

The ache returned almost instantly, his hands shaking as he looked down at the rabbit, unmoving now. He blinked, tears distorting the corners of his vision. Slowly, weakly, he began to dig into the soil, frantically clawing through the leaves and the cold earth, desperate to bury what remained of his hunger. Seungcheol appeared not long after, kneeling beside him in silence. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask, didn’t look at the blood dripping down Jeonghan’s chin- he simply dug, strong hands doing what Jeonghan’s couldn’t.

“Do you need another one?” Seungcheol asked softly once the rabbit had been buried, wiping dirt from his palms. “Maybe something larger?”

“No,” he answered, aware that the other man knew he was lying. “I’m okay now.”

Seungcheol didn’t argue.

That afternoon, Jeonghan slept without Seungcheol hovering by his side for the first time in days. The room felt colder, the time stretching far too slowly. He appreciated the peace, though, he soaked in the solitude and allowed himself to sleep, stirring awake even before the nightmares could come.

He woke to the sound of chaos- chickens and roosters bustled around the first floor of the inn, wings flapping, feathers scattered in every direction. Their cries filled the building like some strange chorus. Jeonghan had struggled to drag himself by the stairs, huffing out a chuckle when he saw Seungcheol standing in the middle of it all- his sleeves were torn, milky skin marked fresh scratches, but he stood proudly, looking absurdly pleased with himself.

“I brought snacks,” Seungcheol said, grinning up at Jeonghan, whose lips parted. He felt something unspool in his chest, something unbearably gentle. But still, he wished the other man would stop looking at him like that , like he was something divine, something worth saving- like he was a god.

Outside the inn, under the beams of sunlight slipping through the canopy of trees, Seungcheol hummed and sawed, building haphazard wooden cages for the poultry that now clucked and waddled around like children high in honey. Jeonghan sat by the doorway, wrapped in a thick blanket, legs tucked beneath him, hidden from the sun as he watched the other man work.

There was something grounding about the way Seungcheol moved, measured, certain, never idle. Sweat lined his brow, and a smear of dirt clung stubborning on his cheek. He was clumsy when hunting, yes, but in other things, he excelled. He wore a sleeveless shirt that day, revealing forearms taut with effort, the smile on his face never leaving- not when a chicken came pecking on his knee causing him to hit his thumb with a hammer, and not when a rooster flew on top of his head and tried picking a fight.

Bit by bit, day by day, Jeonghan had grown to know him.

Choi Seungcheol was the only son of the town’s mayor, raised with the knowledge that responsibility came before pleasure. His childhood had been structured around helping, lifting, building, and solving. Jeonghan had scoffed inwardly at the idea at first, grew resentful at the older Choi. he had seen too many men wear duty like a crown of thorns, but Seungcheol made it feel simple- he helped because he could, not because his father insisted, he stayed because someone needed him.

And perhaps that was why so many in town had swooned after him. Seungcheol was kind, truly kind, and not the performative type. There was softness carved into his muscles, charm unspoken in the arch of his brow, the earnest warmth of his voice, and the way he treated everyone and everything like they were something precious , Jeonghan included.

Jeonghan didn’t want to, not really, to pay too much attention to the other man. But more often than not, he would find himself staring longer than he should, eyes lingering on the way Seungcheol’s mouth curved around his laughter, and the way his eyes glittered under the moonlight. Jeonghan had reminded himself again and again not to look too much, not to feel too much- but Seungcheol made it quite difficult.

He had grown more conscious now, only feeding every other day when Seungcheol wasn’t there to see him devouring their poultry. He would slip quietly into the coop, whisper his apologies, and then he would drain one of them cautiously, careful not to spill blood on his shirt, careful not to stir the guilt building inside him. The need to die, to disappear had long since dissipated into nothing but an afterthought, and a part of him hoped the chicken were enough, but after a week, it became clear that they weren’t.

Jeonghan was starving, and the ache in his body returned with something akin to vengeance, gnawing at his insides. The blood of livestock was thin, and tasted of water- nothing clung to his veins the way human blood once did.

Seungcheol didn’t say anything, although Jeonghan could see the concern in his eyes, the gears in his head visibly turning.

On one Thursday night, the offerings started changing.

First, a pheasant, then a wild pig, then a deer, heaving and panting in Seungcheol’s arms, stunned but alive. Jeonghan was horrified, heart clenching at the sight of the other man’s soiled clothes, at the wounds marring his arms and fingers. He didn’t ask for this, he lamented, he didn’t want this. And yet, Jeonghan continued talking as Seungcheol continued walking fifty steps away from him, covering his ears after handing him his meal for the day.

Jeonghan wanted to live now, he realized, to be strong enough just so Seungcheol could take a rest. But his body wasn’t cooperating, still craving something thicker and warmer, something he couldn’t give himself.

“Why do you not like feeding on humans?” Seungcheol asked after Jeonghan finished throwing up the contents of his stomach, his voice gentle, always gentle, cracking the silence that had settled between them.

The moon was high above them, shrouded in wisps of cloud, bathing the empty town in silver. They sat near the fireplace, a candle flickering beside them, and the air smelled of pine and ash. Jeonghan stared into the flame, the warmth of Seungcheol’s gaze making him tremble more than the cold.

“I don’t like taking someone’s life,” he replied, voice small as he wondered what it would feel like to step into the sunlight- he wouldn’t do it, not in the near future, but he was curious. “It doesn’t feel right even if it’s in my nature to do so.”

“Would you let me do it for you?” Seungcheol asked, earnest. Jeonghan didn’t know if the question was the reason why his vision had started going double, his head spinning in ways he hadn’t experienced before. “If I kill, and if I drain a person’s blood for you, would you allow it? The sin wouldn’t fall in your hands and your conscience, it would fall on me and my shoulders… and I’ve told you before, didn’t I? I could do anything for you.”

The fire cracked.

The moon gleamed sharper than before.

Jeonghan felt the cold in his marrow.

And Seungcheol’s eyes stayed on him like a steady sun, soft and devastating.

“Don’t,” was the last thing Jeonghan had said before the world went black.

Jeonghan dreamt of the future, or something that felt close to it. He dreamt of his fangs sinking into Seungcheol’s throat, of warmth flooding him in waves, of being insatiable as the other man fell limp in his arms as he drank and devoured. He dreamt of the silence that came after, the regret and the maddening sorrow. He dreamt of sobbing when the silence became too much, screaming until he woke up choking on the familiar taste of blood on his tongue.

His eyes flew open as he sat up straight, his body no longer ached and his fever had vanished.

He felt strong.

Alive.

Too alive.

Something similar to dread filled Jeonghan’s lungs as he swiped his tongue behind his teeth, the taste of copper strong. His gaze then fell on the figure standing before him- Choi Seungcheol, holding a pitcher of something red, thick and familiar, human. Stomach churning, he stared at the other man’s pale and exhausted face, eyes rimmed with red.

“What have you done?” He whispered, his voice now clear, his lips no longer splitting with every word he spoke.

Seungcheol didn’t smile that time. He didn’t look proud like he had when he baited a rabbit, or when he filled the first floor with chickens- instead, he looked horrified and tired, entirely like not himself.

“Tell me, Cheollie. What have you done?” He demanded, scrambling forward, taking Seungcheol’s face into his hands, thumbing away the shadows under his eyes, trying to fix what he knew couldn’t be fixed. Seungcheol didn’t flinch upon the contact, but something broke, and he collapsed into Jeonghan’s chest, crying.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Seungcheol sobbed, fists curling into Jeonghan’s shirt, the sounds coming out of his mouth breaking Jeonghan’s heart. “I know you said I shouldn’t do it, but I couldn’t help it. You weren’t moving for a week, you were so cold, more so than usual and you…  I don’t want to lose you, I’m sorry.”

“You cannot save me,” he said, embracing Seungcheol tightly as his chest twisted with guilt and pain. Pulling away slightly, Jeonghan cupped Seungcheol’s face once more, holding his gaze, holding him close. “You cannot lose yourself to save me. So no more, alright? Please don’t… no more.”

Seungcheol didn’t answer, but he nodded.

Jeonghan didn’t ask him where he disposed of the body.

And they watched the sun set like everything was alright in the world.

There was a quiet montage to their lives now, a gentle rhythm formed out of making the most of what they had.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol never talked about feeding again- the subject had been left in the past.

Seungcheol stopped crossing oceans and bending backwards for him, simply staying.

And Jeonghan remained content.

They got closer in the silence, in the laughter and in the hours between dusk and dawn, when the world held its breath and everything was bathed in the most magnificent blend of colors.

Jeonghan would sit by the kitchen, and listen to Seungcheol ramble about his visit to the village where his father had found solace. The other man had told him how the baker had burned the morning loaves because he had been distracted by his wife, how someone’s goat had chewed his father’s pants and tax records. He spoke of his people with a fondness like he missed them, and Jeonghan was selfish enough not to ask if he wanted to return to them.

He found peace by watching Seungcheol move about and cook, thick brows knitted in concentration, apron dusted in flour, smile wide and bright. He watched him pour two cups of tea even though only one would be touched, watched him take fifty quiet steps away each time Jeonghan had to unscrew a jar of chicken blood and drink, shame folding in his chest.

They played board games most of the time, and Jeonghan found out that he was a good enough of an actor to fool Seungcheol into thinking that he was terrible at bluffing. He didn’t mind losing, not to Seungcheol, who would glow after every victory, laughing and goading harmlessly. They had started reading together, too, passing books back and forth with annotations on the pages. In the evenings, they would talk about gardening and pottery, and picking up a hobby.

“I think I’d be good at crocheting,” Seungcheol mused, looking at his fingers. And Jeonghan laughed, like really laughed. Because there was no way the other man would be good at it with his thick fingers and clumsy hands. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you don’t stop.”

Jeonghan had never obeyed so quickly in his life.

Seungcheol had begun sleeping with him on the same bed- never touching, not quite. But the other man had always been close enough for Jeonghan to hear his heartbeat, and to feel the warmth of his skin. Seungcheol would wake before the sunset, and Jeonghan would often find him already cooking, or curled in the living room reading, or at times, fixing something upstairs- the ache in Jeonghan’s chest would grow bearable then, his heart lax at the sight of the other man.

But no matter how domestic and easy their life became, Jeonghan was still wasting away.

The blood Seungcheol had given him before, the human blood, had sustained him for nearly a month, but it had begun losing its effects now, making Jeonghan weaker as the days passed by. His body, although retained its muscles and form, ached all too suddenly. His skin had lost its glow, and every step he took was more taxing than it should be.

Every day was a slow walk to his end.

And he wondered what that meant for someone immortal.

Could he cease to exist like this?

Or would his physical body disappear, but his soul would stay roaming the world?

Seungcheol never spoke of it, never said anything about the way he swayed when walking. But Jeonghan saw the worry behind his silence. The other man had also never brought up murder again, and Jeonghan was grateful for that. Because he knew, without a doubt, that if he suggested it again, Jeonghan would consider it more deeply now, and Seungcheol would do it again in a heartbeat.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

It scared him so much that Jeonghan had started hoping Seungcheol would meet someone nice on his visits to his father- a woman, who smiled radiantly, or a man, who could praise his cooking skills. Jeonghan, delirious, had longed to hear Seungcheol say that he had met someone wonderful, someone human, someone who could live and grow old beside him. And the idea hurt, ached more than the sickness ever could. The thought of the other man laughing with someone else, falling asleep with another warmth beside him, sent Jeonghan into a spiral so deep that he had all but collapsed.

There were no dreams this time.

And when he woke, Seungcheol wasn’t there, too, to greet him.

The space beside him was cold, the room even colder.

Panic clawed up his throat, and Jeonghan forced his body up, bones groaning in protest. He stumbled down the stairs, searching every room, calling Seungcheol’s name with a voice that didn’t even sound like him. Pain swelled around his joints, vision blurred. And before he considered giving up, of stepping into the bright sunlight, he found him.

He found Seungcheol in the basement, bloodied and pale, a shallow wound carved into his wrist, crimson dripping down his arm, and staining the floor- Jeonghan’s mind reeled.

“Here, Hannie, ” Seungcheol said immediately, voice shaking as he bridged the gap between their bodies. “Drink, please. I didn’t kill this time. This is just me, just your Cheollie. Please drink.”

Jeonghan could only stare at him right then, throat tightening. He sniffled, unable to stop the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he looked at Seungcheol, really looked, the man who had cooked for him although he couldn’t eat anything a human could eat, who talked to him about his childhood, who laughed at his jokes, and who stayed even after the sins he had committed to mankind- something inside him had cracked.

“You love me, don’t you?” He whispered, voice trembling as his knees buckled beneath the weight of his feelings and realizations. It was never about what Seungcheol could gain for helping a vampire- Jeonghan was a damn fool for thinking that someone as kind as Seungcheol could have ulterior motives. “You-”

Seungcheol was crouching in front of him in an instant, catching him before he fell completely.

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Seungcheol muttered, smiling through watery eyes, his breath shallow. “Let me do this for you. Please drink. I can’t have you passing out, Jeonghan. You could hit your head-”

“I can’t.” He shook his head, refusing to look at the wound on Seungcheol’s wrist. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course, you can. This is me offering. ” Seungcheol pleaded, grasping Jeonghan’s hands. “Please, Hannie . If you won’t let me kill for you, then let me offer what’s mine. Let me give you something that doesn’t have to end a life.”

“You don’t understand. Vampires, when we drink from someone, we remember it. We crave it and I will   come back to you if I get a taste of your blood. I will seek you out, Cheollie ,” he explained, touching the other man’s face, tenderly, carefully. “I would suck you dry, I would kill you. And I can’t- please don’t let me take your life.”

“Then let me kill,” Seungcheol said, looking at Jeonghan with fire in his eyes, with determination, voice sharp despite the color draining from his face. “I can do it. You won’t have to lift a finger, and to kill anyone. I’ll find them myself- people who hurt others, people who don't deserve to live. Let me… I love you so much, please let me.”

Jeonghan wanted to protest, wanted to remind Seungcheol that no one who killed could ever return unchanged- they should know that this wasn’t something you could do and simply forget. But Seungcheol was unshaken with his steady hands and iron-clad devotion. And Jeonghan, still couldn’t stomach the thought of the other man coming home to anyone that wasn’t him.

Vampires had always been too selfish.

Too greedy.

Too hungry.

It was in their nature.

“No children,” he whispered, sorrow enveloping his heart. “And no mothers. No good people, Cheollie .”

Seungcheol’s expression flickered. relieved then sharp, and then soft again.

“No fathers unless they’re violent,” he continued, shuddering when Seungcheol cradled his face, one palm sticky with blood. “No breadwinners, and no orphans. Just lowlifes, okay? Just… people who aren't as good and as nice and as kind as you.”

And Seungcheol, sweet, stubborn and dangerous, smiled- faint and pained. “I’ll find them. You don’t have to worry, you don’t have to look.”

Jeonghan leaned forward, forehead resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of blood and love and ruin.

They were damned, both of them.

But they were together.

And Jeonghan didn’t know whether that was better or worse.

Jeonghan wished he could say that life had gotten better after he began feeding on humans again.

For a while, he believed it had.

The haze lifted from his thoughts again as his skin regained color. The world stopped spinning with every step, and he felt stronger, more alive than he had in decades. Sometimes, he even managed to forget that ceasing to exist still loomed, not in the form of rot or starvation, but in the quiet guilt that clung to him like a second skin.

But Jeonghan was not naive enough to keep believing things had truly improved.

They never talked about who Seungcheol had killed. They didn’t talk about the preparation, the dragging of a body to some hollowed-out part of the woods, the eerie stillness that came after it was all done. And not acknowledging it worked, until it didn’t anymore.

Jeonghan needed blood every other month at the very least. When too much time passed, he grew restless and cold, and his mind slipped into places where light couldn’t follow. But when he was full, when his veins thrummed with warmth and his steps were steady, he and Seungcheol wandered. They would venture out of their sleepy town together, avoiding cities with too many lights and people, and instead finding peace in smaller, and quieter villages tucked between hills and lakes.

During those trips, Jeonghan often found himself holding on to Seungcheol’s arm, loosely and shy at first, and then closer, like he needed the other man to anchor him to the world. Sometimes they held hands, and on rare days, Seungcheol’s arm would wrap around his shoulders, tugging him close when the wind bit too sharp.

The women in the villages would coo and point, calling them beautiful with wide smiles on their faces.

“Such a lovely pair,” they would say, praising Jeonghan for his pale, ethereal beauty and Seungcheol for the strong lines of his jaw, and his easy, bashful smile. Jeonghan would hide his face behind his hand, and Seungcheol would scratch the back of his neck, flushed to his ears, trying to change the subject.

They never put a name to it, their relationship and what they were.

They didn’t need to.

Because when Jeonghan woke, Seungcheol was there. And when Seungcheol laid down, Jeonghan was always beside him.

That was more real than any vow they could’ve made.

Seungcheol adapted entirely to Jeonghan’s hours. He slept when the sun rose, groggy but content. The other man lived for the night now, when the world was quiet, and their lives could feel almost untouched by anyone. They found joy in night markets, wandering about, from stall to stall as the sky blushed pink and the moon made its appearance. Then, they would loiter in hot springs come midnight, when the stars were bright, and when they owned the woods.

Jeonghan would run his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, and press soft kisses to his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he would always whisper. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

And Seungcheol would turn around, claim his mouth, and make love to him like nothing else in the world existed, hold him until the faintest light began to crack through the sky, ravage him until they needed to retreat into the shadows again.

“I love you,” Seungcheol would profess, and Jeonghan tried  his hardest to pretend he wasn’t hungry, tried to ignore the dull ache that would build until it became unbearable. He hated how the need crept into his bones, how it sharpened his senses and thinned his patience. The thing was, although Jeonghan had accepted the fact that Seungcheol needed to kill so they could be together, that didn’t mean he liked it. So he would conserve his energy as much as he could, act as if he didn’t need blood just yet.

But Seungcheol loved him enough to know the signs- the slight twitch of Jeonghan’s jaw, the way his voice grew thin, and how his gaze would linger too long on the pulse in Seungcheol’s neck.

It was inevitable, the hunting.

Jeonghan didn’t like Seungcheol going alone. So he would follow the other man into the night, always far enough as Seungcheol instructed, never close enough to see the other man committing the crime, but near enough to intervene if something went wrong.

That was the routine.

And Seungcheol never stayed to watch Jeonghan feed, either. He would disappear into the woods or return to the edge of their path, fifty steps away from him, covering his ears as he waited until it was over, when Jeonghan had cleaned himself up, when all they had to do was bury what remained of their kill.

Jeonghan’s aura would dim for a little while, and Seungcheol would hug him until they felt better enough to travel.

It wasn’t right.

None of it was right.

Jeonghan knew Seungcheol loved him, that the other man would do anything for him. But Jeonghan wasn’t foolish to think that Seungcheol was unaffected by what he was doing. Every crime left something behind, not always blood, not always tears. But a heaviness that settled deep and into the chest- the quiet afterward grew longer, and the silence less comfortable.

Seungcheol’s shoulders drooped more now, his eyes lingering on the horizon a little too long. Jeonghan saw the tension in his hands, the tremors and the shudders like his body was rejecting what it had become. Still, Seungcheol continued to smile at him. Still, Seungcheol’s love never wavered.

But Jeonghan saw it.

He felt the change, and it hollowed him out.

Because every time Seungcheol killed, Jeonghan lived.

And that didn’t feel like love.

That felt like theft.

So Jeonghan did the only thing he could think of to repay Seungcheol- he loved him. Just as fiercely, just as wholly, as the other man loved him.

It wasn’t always easy as Jeonghan didn’t know how to love like humans did, not in the way that involved casseroles and domestic rituals and remembering what kind of flowers someone liked.

But he tried, and he began teaching himself how to cook, which was a challenge in itself considering he couldn’t just surprise Seungcheol when the other man was always by his side. But when they wandered through markets, he would observe . He watched the way older women salted slices of fish, how the men at stalls talked about herbs and spices, which paired well with smoked meats and which flavors made Seungcheol’s eyes light up.

Jeonghan couldn’t taste things the way humans did, every bite was dust and decay, like chewing on mud. But he trusted his senses where he could, on texture, smell, timing, and aesthetic. He memorized the expressions on Seungcheol’s face, too, the delight, and the surprise, the slight wrinkle of his nose when something was off or too spicy.

The first time Jeonghan cooked for Seungcheol, the soup was far too salty. The other man had taken a spoonful, smiled, elated . He couldn’t quite believe that his beloved had taught himself how to cook for him. And then, he blinked rapidly as his mouth closed in on the spoon, tears pricking his eyes, not from emotion, but from the sheer sodium content.

Jeonghan laughed it off, and Seungcheol insisted that it was good, and to prove his feedback, finished the whole bowl.

The setback encouraged Jeonghan to practice more. Often, Seungcheol would hover nearby, peek into the pot and offer suggestions. But most of the time, the other man left him to it- Seungcheol trusted him that much.

Seungcheol would wander into the forest to gather wood for their fire, sometimes bringing back rabbits for when Jeonghan’s hunger stirred. And when he returned, Jeonghan would be waiting with a warm dish, whether it was good or not, Seungcheol ate it all, and kissed Jeonghan senseless as a sign of his gratitude.

Jeonghan was happy, setting aside the guilt growing in him.

He cleaned the inn they had made their home once it was clear no one else in town was coming back. With a smile, he swept the floors, washed the curtains, and scrubbed the shelves until there was no dust anymore. He fixed the hinges on the windows, gathered flowers for the vases, and folded blankets with care, even managed to coax a stray cat to stay. A small, gray thing with a torn ear and a habit of curling up near Seungcheol’s feet when they sat by the fire.

“Why are you doing all this?” Seungcheol asked one afternoon as the fire crackled low, and while Jeonghan rinsed his herbs. The other man was watching him from the doorway, his eyes lingering, not in suspicion but in concern. “You know you don’t have to. Just tell me to fix the windows and wash our clothes, I’ll do the chores… everything for you.”

Jeonghan smiled then, walking over to press a kiss on the other man’s cheek.

“I want to do things for you, the same way you do things for me,” he said simply, smoothing Seungcheol’s shirt with gentle caresses.

“So it’s not… guilt, then?” Seungcheol asked, his voice cracking just a little- Jeonghan stilled. “You’re not doing all this because you feel like you have to make up for something?”

He wished, desperately, that Seungcheol didn’t know how to read him so well.

“You don’t have to carry that,” Seungcheol whispered, placing his hands over Jeonghan’s own.. “I chose this. Every sin, every mistake, I made those choices for myself. Not for you and not because of you. Don’t punish yourself thinking you forced me into this life.”

Jeonghan reached up, cradling Seungcheol’s face, thumbs brushing over the raw skin of his bitten lips.

“I’m doing this because I love you,” he said, he insisted , choosing to not to acknowledge his words, and the guilt that had just grown twice its size between his lungs. And then, quietly, before Seungcheol could say anything else, before he could catch the tremble in Jeonghan’s voice, he pulled him into a passionate kiss..

Because yes, he was doing this out of love.

But beneath that love, there was fear- not that Seungcheol would leave, but that Seungcheol would change, that one day, after too many bodies and too many bloodstains, Seungcheol’s kindness would start to rot, that the gentle man Jeonghan loved, the one who carried rabbits home so he wouldn’t go hungry, the one who blushed when he was called handsome, who held his hand under moonlight, would disappear. Replaced by someone colder. Someone who didn’t wince anymore when he killed.

A monster.

Jeonghan knew what that transformation looked like. He had lived it, and he couldn’t bear to see it happening to Seungcheol.

So he cleaned, and he cooked, and folded blankets, and whispered thank-yous, and kissed Seungcheol’s shoulder in the bath.

Not because he thought it would fix anything.

But because he wanted to hold Seungcheol steady, anchor him to his humanity for as long as he possibly could.

It was inevitable, Jeonghan was aware of that. But perhaps, the cruelest part was how ordinary the night had been.

The air was crisp, and the sky was freckled with stars. If they hadn’t gone hunting, they might’ve bathed in the springs instead, played in the water with the scent of pine in their hair, and listened to the wind rustle in between clusters of leaves. Jeonghan had painted the picture in his mind already, Seungcheol braiding his hair as their cat chased a wild mouse around.

But Seungcheol, his sweet, stubborn Seungcheol, had noticed the way his knees trembled as they walked, the way he blinked a second too long, the way his words slurred. “It’s time,” the other man said, brushing Jeonghan’s hair from his face, tucking strands behind his ear. “You need to feed.”

So they went out, because there was no arguing with Seungcheol when it came to Jeonghan’s well-being.

The hunt should’ve been easy.

The night should’ve ended on a high note.

But the routine betrayed them, and everything suddenly went wrong.

Seungcheol might have grown too complacent- chalk it up to the normality of it all, chalk it up to exhaustion, or to the dangerous belief that things would always be the same, that his strength would always be enough, that the foreigner’s God would always look after them.

Jeonghan wasn’t too sure what happened as Seungcheol had always reminded him not to look, but there were an abnormal amount of grunts and shouts that he didn’t have any other choice but to round the corner and intervene. The victim, tall and lanky, was unafraid like the others. He moved too fast, fought too hard with a weapon in his hand. The dagger sliced through the dark, cruel and clean, and Seungcheol had staggered, blood blooming instantly against his shirt- first, from the stomach, then the chest; the second blade cutting too deep, too strong.

The hunter had become the prey.

And Jeonghan was moving even before he could think. One moment he was paralyzed with dread, the next, he was on the man. His fangs ripped through flesh, his hands clawed through bone. He didn’t stop until the ground was sopping wet with blood, until his mouth tasted of iron and his throat burned with vengeance. His vision had turned red, his conviction redder, and it was only when he saw Seungcheol twitch, alive but barely, that he snapped out of his frenzy and left the man alone.

With what was left of his energy, Jeonghan gathered Seungcheol in his arms, hauling his warm, bleeding weight over his aching shoulder and ran. He ran until his surroundings blurred, he ran until his heart threatened to burst out of his chest, he ran until they were home. Full of dread, wet with blood, Jeonghan kicked the door open, scaring their cat that had scattered beneath a table.

Jeonghan placed Seungcheol onto their bed, a thousand thoughts running in his mind as he ran for the bathroom, vision warped with tears. He needed bandages and antiseptic and he needed warm water and clean cloth- everything was trembling , the world spun too fast, and all the lights were far too bright. Jeonghan wanted a second to gather his thoughts, a moment to steady his shaking hands, but Seungcheol was bleeding on their bed, and he couldn’t afford to falter.

He stumbled back to the room, pressing a cloth to Seungcheol’s stomach, the blood soaking through instantly.

“You’ll be alright,” he said, his voice cracking with palpable fear and uncertainty. “I can fix this. I can… I’ll fix this. Seungcheol, baby, you have to stay awake, you have to stay with me.”

He pressed harder, ignoring the way Seungcheol’s skin had grown pale and cold, ignoring the way his heartbeat stuttered under his fingertips. Jeonghan bit down a sob the second the other man started shaking, his chest clenching at the sight of punctured organs- there were too much blood,  and there was too little time.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don't go,” he whispered, dragging the sheets around them like he could hold keep Seungcheol from falling apart that way. “I’m sorry, Cheollie. Let me- please don’t go. You have to hold on, okay? Let me stop the bleeding- let me…”

Seungcheol’s eyes fluttered open then, slow and soft. His hand reached out, steady despite everything, and took Jeonghan’s jittery hand, squeezing before bringing it to his lips to press a kiss on his knuckles.

“Feed on me,” Seungcheol murmured, eyes misty, voice quivering.

Jeonghan flinched like he had been struck. “No… oh, Cheollie. Don’t even think-”

“Let me watch you feed on me,” Seungcheol continued like he hadn’t heard Jeonghan speak, thumb brushing against Jeonghan’s cheek. “ You don’t know how lovely you are in red, ” he mumbled, smiling even as blood trickled down his chin. Jeonghan sat there, dumbfounded, so utterly broken , so divinely shattered. “I knew I liked you long before I found out what you are. But that night, when you wrecked havoc in this quaint little town, I saw you… burning with life… causing carnage. And all I could think was, there you are. There you are, the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

Seungcheol’s voice was thin now, fading.

And Jeonghan was struggling to stop himself from choking on his own sobs.

“I watched you from the trees,” Seungcheol continued, gasping in between his words. “You were so beautiful, so perfect. You glowed.”

Jeonghan’s throat closed, his heart splintering. He remember that night all too well, the memory still eating away at him, gnawing at his insides. He still woke to glimpses of people glaring at him, of crying beneath him- the madness was still there, the hatred, the agony, the guilt . But amidst everything, Seungcheol had always been in his periphery, watching not in horror, but in awe.

He clutched Seungcheol’s body close, his mind reeling. Blood soaked through his clothes, Seungcheol’s blood, warm, slipping through his fingers like time he could no longer hold onto. Jeonghan continued pressing on the wound, willing it to stop bleeding, he tried, he was trying , but there was no other way out of this now but death. The wounds were too deep, the life in Seungcheol, now, too faint.

“ Hannie ,” Seungcheol exhaled, begging. “I’ve never asked of you anything before. Let this be the first.”

“You’ll die,” he whimpered, gritting his teeth as his gut twisted inside him. “You’ll die, Cheollie. How-”

“I’ll die anyway,” Seungcheol whispered, a faint smile touching his lips. Jeonghan wished he had looked at the other man more, wished he had hugged him longer, wished he had kissed him more. “Let me die not by the hand of a stranger, but by the hand of the one I love the most.”

Jeonghan broke, something inside him cracking open and spilling all over the floor, his grief, his terror, his desperate, aching love. He bent forward, forehead pressing to Seungcheol’s, their breaths mingling, tears falling freely from his eyes onto the other man’s blood-stained cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, planting a kiss on Seungcheol’s bloodied mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. If you love me, don’t be sorry” Seungcheol murmured, his voice barely audible now. “We’ll meet again, don’t you know? I’ll be reborn as Choi Seungcheol again. Your Choi Seungcheol, and I’ll find you. Trust that I’ll find you again.”

“Okay,” he exhaled, not because he wanted to feed on Seungcheol, but because Seungcheol was close to dying, and the least Jeonghan could do to show his devotion was to trust , and to obey. “I love you.”

With shaking hands and a soul full of agony, Jeonghan kissed Seungcheol one last time, pressing kisses on his lips, his pulse, the fragile bridge of his nose. And then, cradling Seungcheol as if he were made of glass, he opened his mouth and bit down, deep and true, where his lover’s pulse still fluttered like the last note of a song.

Seungcheol gasped once, his hands tightening for a moment in Jeonghan’s hair.

And then, he stilled.

It was unfair how quickly everything had passed.

Jeonghan didn’t move, couldn’t , he stayed there on the bed, body curled over Seungcheol, blood on his mouth, face buried against the chest that no longer rose. The room smelled of the other man, earthy like pine, faint like spring. Jeonghan had the sudden urge to call on every god that existed, let them witness his demise, let them witness the fall of their most precious human.

“You have summoned me with grief so loud it tore through the veil,” a woman said, her voice like wind whispering through cathedral halls. Jeonghan didn’t have to raise his head to know that The High Matriarch, Lady Hye Bin, had stepped out from the folds of time itself. “And I have come, not to mourn with you, but to hold you to your truth.” 

Jeonghan did not rise.

He could not.

His body felt perpetually woven with Seungcheol’s own.

"You did this to him,” he muttered, eyes sewn shut. “If you had left me alone… if you had not put that curse-”

“There was no curse, young one,” she hummed, her words vibrating on the four corners of the room. “That was your own hunger, didn’t you realize? You have suppressed it so much, that it festered inside you and grew to be a monster.”

Jeonghan wanted to throw up, the weight of dread and shame weighing on his shoulders.

“You are ancient, Yoon Jeonghan. You are older than the trees that watched him die, older than the soil that was soaked in his blood,” she continued, her presence suffocating, her truth heavy. “And yet, you were the one who trembled before your own nature. And yet, you allowed a mortal to carry your hunger. How could you let the man you love bleed the world for you?”

Jeonghan’s throat constricted, shifting so he could smooth down Seungcheol’s hair, caressing him so gently, so tenderly. “Bring him back, I know you can,” he heaved, pressing himself closer to Seungcheol who was now cold. “I’ll feed again, I’ll be what I am. Let me make this right, just please bring him back to me.”

Silence settled between them.

It was not cruel. 

It was not mean.

But it was sacred.

The High Matriarch, Lady Hye Bin, looked at the body of the man Jeonghan loved. Then, she stepped forward, ancient and soft, and knelt beside them both.

"You are not being punished, Yoon Jeonghan," she said, her light almost too blinding. "But you must learn. Killing does not have to be a sin. Love does not have to be pure to be real. You have lived long, and still, you do not understand the power in claiming both your mercy and needs."

He shook his head, barely able to look at her. "Let me fix it."

"You cannot,” she replied.

“Bring him back to me,” he responded.

The High Matriarch, Lady Hye Bin, draped both of them in golden light.

"Do you have no trust in your human?" She asked gently, Jeonghan resisted the urge to grovel by her feet. "He said he would be reborn and come look for you, did he not?"

Jeonghan nodded, fisting Seungcheol’s shirt, inhaling what remained of his scent.

"Then wait for him," she whispered, placing a gentle hand on Jeonghan’s head, and then on Seungcheol’s wounds. "Be worthy when he returns. Embrace who you are the way he had embraced  the beast and the beauty in you. Accept who you are the way he had accepted the carnage and the softness within you.”

And with that, The High Matriarch, Lady Hye Bin, vanished, like smoke from a candle, like morning mist dissolving in light.

Jeonghan remained there for a long, long time,  on the bed of their room with Seungcheol, where love had ended, and where the other man rot and turned into bones before his own very eyes.

It had been thirty years since Jeonghan fed on the only man he had ever loved.

Now, he was Yoon Jeonghan, founder and CEO of Noctis and Bloom, a law firm whispered about in boardrooms and back alleys alike. They were known for defending the powerless with ruthless precision and perfection, known too for the chilling rumors- that those who hurt dared went against their clients had a habit of disappearing. Justice served with blood beneath the surface.

No one dared to ask, and no one lasted long enough to investigate. Jeonghan, his firm and everyone who worked for and with him, was untouchable. To get in the firm was a challenge, but to stay and become a part of the team had become nearly impossible. But there were people , who succeeded- all of which excelled in the shadows, all of which earned Jeonghan’s trust.

“ Hyung, ” Lee Chan, the only clerk allowed to roam around every floor of the building, being Jeonghan’s favorite, whined. “Please don’t scare the new assistant. I can’t believe the firm is wasting so much time and resources just because your assitants keep on leaving.”

“It’s not my fault Human Resources continue sending in wimps ,” he muttered, lazily spinning on his office chair as he eyed the clock. “Leave. I need to feed.”

“ Don’t. I mean, not now. The new assistant could come in any second,” Chan said before giving Jeonghan a look. “I’ll be… around. Beep me when you need me!”

Jeonghan gave the younger man a salute, waiting to be left alone before pouring fresh blood in his wine glass. Frankly, he didn’t give two shits about the new assistant- he didn’t even need one. The days were short and the nights were longer in the city, anyway, he could get more things done when he wasn’t being followed around by someone who couldn’t and wouldn’t stop trembling in his presence. 

Then came the new assistant, barging in unceremoniously, surprising Jeonghan enough for blood to drip out of his lips and down his chin. The man was flushed, windblown, eyes bright with something akin to elation. Jeonghan’s heart stuttered, watching the man point on the corner of his mouth. “You missed a spot, Mr. Yoon.”

Jeonghan blinked, the weight of centuries falling over him.

Thick brows.

Milky skin.

Steady hands.

That voice.

Jeonghan’s blood turned to ice.

“Who are you?” He asked, though he already knew, rising from his seat as his heart thumped loudly on his chest.

The man smiled and gave a polite bow. “My name is Choi Seungcheol. I’m your new assistant.”

There was now doubt that it was him.

His Choi Seungcheol.

The man Jeonghan had loved and killed and mourned in equal measure.  

The man who had told him, with blood on his lips, “Let me die by your hand, not a stranger’s.”  

The man who promised he would find him again when he was reborn.

And now he had.

Seungcheol stood before him, innocent, unknowing.  

No memories. No wounds.

Fulfilling his promise.

“Let me take care of you, Mr. Yoon,” Seungcheol exclaimed, optimistic and so alive. “Leave everything to me from now on.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, like he had been holding his breath for years. He wanted to fall to his knees and apologize, to seek forgiveness, to tell him that he loved him, that he continued loving him for decades. But he didn’t, not yet, there would be time for that.

He managed a small nod.

“Alright,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m putting my trust on you."

And in his heart, hope bloomed like spring after endless winter.