Eternal Thirst

by Atinydesire

Summary:

In the shadows of Seoul, an ancient war rages— one that most humans never see. Two rival factions of vampires fight for control:one that longs for peace, and one that hungers for dominance. Caught between them is San, who has spent lifetimes drowning in bloodshed. Now, he craves something else— a quiet life, a purpose beyond the hunt.

Wooyoung, a relentless paramedic, has seen his fair share of the unexplainable, but when victims with strange, bite-like wounds flood the emergency room, his world tilts on its axis. A chance meeting with San sparks an undeniable connection— one that is as intoxicating as it is dangerous. San never meant to get close, never meant to care, but Wooyoung is different. His pulse calls to him, his touch makes San feel human again.

But desire has a cost. As Wooyoung falls deeper into San’s world, he discovers a truth that is both terrifying and irresistible— San’s bite is more than a kiss of death. As war looms and loyalties are tested, they must decide what they are willing to risk: their hearts, their humanity, or the fragile peace between their worlds.

Some loves are worth dying for. But is theirs worth killing for?

Chapter 1: The Shadows of Seoul

The city didn’t sleep. It fed.

Seoul’s shadows stretched wide, gluttonous and alive, devouring Choi San as he moved through the maze of alleyways. The cold bit into his skin, sharper than steel, a ghost’s caress laced with venom. He moved without sound, each step a deliberate phantom whisper. The city watched him, its walls vibrating with the faint echoes of life— unseen, uneasy, and fleeting.

San’s instincts prickled. Something was off. The dark didn’t just envelop him tonight; it pressed in, cloying and suffocating, thick as coagulated blood. His heightened senses caught the threads of a thousand fragmented sounds— distant shouts swallowed by the wind, the scrape of claws on brick, the faint, rhythmic pulse of fear woven into the air itself.

He stopped. A predator doesn’t doubt its instincts.

The shadows ahead deepened, more than a trick of the faint moonlight. They loomed, daring him to enter their grasp. A scent curled around his awareness, invasive and unmistakable: copper, rot, and something else beneath it—something wrong.

San moved forward. His senses were razor-sharp.

As he turned a corner, the alley opened into a small, deserted courtyard. The air here was colder, heavier, and the metallic scent was stronger. San’s breath caught as he saw it— a faint smudge of blood on the wall, too high to have come from anything human. His heart quickened, a low, steady rhythm that betrayed the calm exterior he wore like armor. He approached the wall slowly, his gloved hand reaching out to touch the stain. It was still wet.

Whatever had done this was still out there, and San’s gut told him he was running out of time.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the faintest whispers— a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. San froze, his head snapping toward the sound, but there was nothing. The whispers were gone as quickly as they had come, leaving behind only the oppressive silence of the night.

He exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the air as he stepped back. The city seemed to hold its breath with him, the shadows cast by the flickering streetlamps twisting into grotesque shapes that seemed to watch him. San’s jaw clenched, his thoughts racing with the possibilities. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t just a mindless beast. It was hunting, and it was smart.

And it was still out there.

The body came into view in the half-light, slumped against a wall as though it had been discarded by the night itself. The skin, papery and tight, clung to the shattered bones beneath. Blood marked the alley like an artist’s grotesque flourish— arterial spray, deliberate streaks, a violent language painted in decay.

San knelt. His gloved fingers traced the brutal wound on the corpse’s neck. It almost looked like someone - something - had ripped the throat of the victim out. This wasn’t just a haphazard bite, the sloppy feeding of a newborn vampire desperate to gorge. No, this was something else entirely. Although the wound was gory and, there was a certain kind of precision to the killing. It spoke of intent— of a predator who hunted with surgical focus.

San's gaze lingered on the body, his mind racing back to the days when such sights were common. The memories he had tried to bury resurfaced, bringing with them the weight of guilt and the echoes of past battles. The wounds on the corpse were brutal, deep gashes that spoke of a violent end. San's hand instinctively went to the dagger at his side, a habitual gesture born of years of vigilance.

His breath became slower, colder, the chill creeping into his core, even tho he was unable to feel it. He could sense it. It was within him now. He had seen brutality in his time as a Vampire Slayer, before he’d shed that title like a second skin. But this? This wasn’t just a murder. It was a massacre.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he stared at the lifeless husk before him.

The alley seemed to breathe around him, its silence heavy with a thousand unspoken horrors. He rose slowly, his gaze sweeping the walls, searching for the unseen watcher he could feel lingering just beyond the veil. A phantom sensation tugged at his senses— the unmistakable pull of something old and malevolent.

A predator, like him. But hungrier.

San’s hand twitched toward the blade hidden beneath his coat, its weight a ghost of his former life. The years since he’d walked away from the hunt had dulled his purpose but not his instincts. Not entirely. And now, those instincts screamed.

The darkness around him coiled tighter, and the faint copper tang of blood lingered like a warning. This was no random kill. It wasn’t even a hunt.

It was a beginning.

 

 

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting their cold, sterile glow over the emergency room. The air was thick with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the faint, metallic scent of blood— an all-too-familiar cocktail that had become part of Wooyoung’s world. His boots squeaked softly against the tile as he pushed through the swinging doors, the weight of his last chaotic call still pressing on his shoulders.

He spotted Seonghwa immediately. Wooyoung smiled. Of course Seonghwa was there already. Head nurse, ruler of this domain, and as steady as a mountain in a storm. Wooyoung had known him since their grueling medical training days, back when late-night coffee and exhausted laughter were the only things keeping them sane. They’d been best friends for years, bonded by a shared resilience— and more arguments over bedside manners than either cared to admit.

But tonight, something was off.

Seonghwa stood like a statue beside one of the beds, his long fingers curled tightly over the edge of the railing, knuckles pale. His usually calm, composed face— so often a mask of quiet confidence— was shadowed, his gaze locked on the unconscious man lying beneath the harsh lights.

Wooyoung quickened his pace, his heart lurching in a way it rarely did on the job. “Hwa!” he called out, his voice cutting through the hum of the lights and the low murmur of monitors.

Seonghwa didn’t look up at first, as if he hadn’t heard him. But Wooyoung knew better. He knew every shift in Seonghwa’s posture, every flicker of emotion behind those guarded eyes. They’d been through too much together for him not to notice the tension coiled in Seonghwa’s shoulders, the way his jaw was set just a little too tight.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Wooyoung said, softer now, stepping up beside him. The man on the bed was pale, his skin clammy under the unforgiving light. Wooyoung’s eyes flicked to the puncture wounds on the man’s neck and chest— small, deliberate, too clean.

“We found him in an alley,” Wooyoung began, his voice dropping as his fingers hovered over one of the wounds. He didn’t touch it, but he could see the precision in the cuts, the way they seemed to have been placed with intent. “Bleeding like crazy, but… these.” He gestured toward the marks, then glanced up at Seonghwa. “What the hell am I looking at?”

For a long moment, Seonghwa didn’t answer. He just stared at the patient, his dark eyes shadowed with something Wooyoung couldn’t name. Something that didn’t belong on Seonghwa’s face— something close to fear.

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung pressed, his voice firm but laced with concern. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Seonghwa finally exhaled, a slow, controlled breath that did nothing to ease the tightness in his posture. “It’s not normal.” he said quietly, his voice so low Wooyoung almost missed it.

“No kidding,” Wooyoung said, his brows drawing together. “I’ve seen my share of messed-up injuries, but this? This is… deliberate.” He paused, watching Seonghwa carefully. “Did you see this kind of thing before, or are you just doing your usual cryptic persona?”

The corner of Seonghwa’s mouth twitched, a ghost of the smirk Wooyoung had teased out of him a thousand times before, but it didn’t stick. His fingers tightened on the counter, and he shook his head slowly. “They’re too precise. Too clean. Too meticulous.”

The words felt heavier than they should have. Wooyoung had spent years reading between Seonghwa’s silences, learning to navigate the walls his friend kept so carefully in place. Seonghwa didn’t open up easily, but when he did, Wooyoung listened. Always.

“You’re worrying me, Hwa.” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. He leaned closer, trying to catch Seonghwa’s eye. “What’s going on in that brooding brain of yours? You’re not this quiet unless something’s really got you spooked.”

Seonghwa’s gaze finally shifted, meeting Wooyoung’s for the briefest of moments. And in that moment, Wooyoung saw it— the crack in the armor, the weight Seonghwa was carrying.

“We’ve seen worse,” Wooyoung added gently, his voice dropping. “Together. Remember that guy in residency? The one who came in with the—”

“It’s not about that!” Seonghwa interrupted, his tone clipped but not harsh. He let out a breath, this one shakier than the last. “It’s just… this feels different.”

“Different how?” Wooyoung pushed, though his tone was laced with care. He turned back to the patient, his gloved hands moved with precision, examining the injuries. The wounds were deep, the edges jagged and uneven. They didn't match any animal bite he knew, and the thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Seonghwa stood still, his expression a mask of professionalism, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

"These wounds... they're not from any animal I've seen," Wooyoung murmured, his voice low. The pattern of the bites was too deliberate, too precise. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was something more sinister. His thoughts were a jumble of questions, each one leading to more unanswered ones.

As he worked, Wooyoung's compassion for his patient was evident, but beneath it was a growing unease. The injuries were a puzzle, one he was determined to solve. The hospital, with its antiseptic smells and controlled chaos, felt like a fragile sanctuary against the darkness that lurked outside.

Seonghwa didn’t answer. His gaze fell back to the patient, the tension in his jaw unrelenting. “This wasn’t an accident.”

Wooyoung frowned, his fox-like eyes narrowing. “What are you saying? That someone did this on purpose?” His voice rose slightly, frustration and unease creeping in. “Seonghwa, what the hell does that mean?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head, studying the wounds intently. Wooyoung had seen that look before— deep concentration, the gears turning in his mind— but this time, it was different. There was something darker behind his eyes.

“They’re… intentional.” Seonghwa said finally, his tone barely above a whisper.

“Intentional?” Wooyoung echoed, his voice sharp. He crossed his arms, trying to steady himself against the growing unease twisting in his gut. “What are you talking about? Like, someone made these wounds? For what?”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped back from the bed, his eyes darting briefly to the door before returning to the patient. His fingers flexed at his sides, as if he were fighting the urge to flee.

“Hwa…” Wooyoung said, stepping in front of him, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Don’t do this mystery crap. If you know something, spill it. You’re scaring me.”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, but no words came. His thoughts seemed miles away, tangled in something far beyond the sterile walls of the emergency room. Finally, he let out a slow, measured breath.

“Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”

Wooyoung stared at him, his frustration mounting. “Yeah, obviously. What aren’t you telling me?” He reached out, grabbing Seonghwa’s arm. “Talk to me, Hwa. Please!”

Seonghwa ignored him. His thoughts were elsewhere, spiralling back through memories he’d spent decades trying to bury. The precision of the wounds, the careful placement of the bites—this wasn’t feeding. It was a message.

His eyes flickered to Wooyoung’s hand, then back to his face. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something— his lips moved, his expression torn— but then he shook his head sharply.

The doors of the emergency room where pushed open forcefully, making Wooyoung jump. The patient being carried in lay on the gurney, their neck marred by wounds that were too precise to be accidental. Wooyoung eyes immediately snapped to the injuries, his breath caught in his throat.

"Another one…" Wooyoung murmured, his voice low and tinged with a frustration he couldn't hide. His usual wit was tempered by the seriousness of the moment, replaced by a determination that tightened his jaw.

Seonghwa stood across the gurney, his eyes locked on the wounds with an intensity that betrayed his growing unease. His gaze was a mix of concern and recognition, the kind that comes from knowing the darkness that lurked beyond the hospital's walls. "Fuck." he whispered, his voice laced with a quiet alarm.

Wooyoung glanced up, meeting Seonghwa's eyes in a silent exchange that spoke volumes.

Seonghwa's posture was rigid, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. His hands were clenched at his sides, a subtle sign of the tension he carried. He knew the risks of exposure, the delicate balance that could shatter with a single misstep.

The hospital's sounds— beeping machines, muted voices— created a backdrop of normalcy that contrasted sharply with the tension in the room. Wooyoung's thoughts were a relentless cycle, driven by a determination to uncover the truth. He couldn't let this go unchallenged, not when it threatened everything he and Seonghwa had worked to protect.

“I need to leave.” he said abruptly, stepping back.

“Leave?” Wooyoung barked, incredulous. “What do you mean, go? You’re the head nurse! You don’t get to just—”

“I can’t!” Seonghwa cut him off, his voice strained. He turned toward the door, his steps quick and unsteady.

Seonghwa fled the room and pressed his back against the wall of the hallway, his mind racing. Wooyoung followed him out of the emergency room, taking a long, questioning look at his best friend.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I just have to guess?” Wooyoung finally demanded, breaking the silence. “Because this whole ‘mysterious brooding’ thing isn’t working for me.”

Seonghwa exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

“I do want answers, actually,” Wooyoung snapped, his voice sharp. “You give me nothing but cryptic half-sentences and expect me to just drop it? Not happening.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t something you can understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

Seonghwa turned to face Wooyoung, his eyes flashing with something ancient and dangerous. “Do you even realize what you saw back there? This is… Woo, I need you to stay out of this, okay?”

Wooyoung’s frustration wavered, replaced by something closer to fear. “Seonghwa… what are you even talking about? You’re seriously scaring me.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened slightly, though the weight of his knowledge didn’t lift. “You saw the aftermath of something you weren’t meant to see. Those wounds weren’t random— they were a warning. And if you don’t walk away now, Wooyoung, you’ll be dragged into something far worse than you can imagine.”

Wooyoung swallowed hard, the gravity of Seonghwa’s words sinking in. But before he could respond, Seonghwa’s phone buzzed against the console. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. “I need to leave. Please, Young-ah. This is nothing you want to get involved in. Trust me!”

Wooyoung watched Seonghwa in stunned silence as his friend left, his steps barely making any sound as he hurried down the hallway. Wooyoung’s hart was racing.

Something about this was making a deep, cold fear creep up his spine.

 

 

The neon blur of Seoul whipped past as Seonghwa gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles pale against the dark leather. The city’s chaos buzzed outside— car horns, drunken shouts, the distant pulse of music— but inside the car, a tense silence filled the space.

San stood in the doorway of his house, the soft glow of his home casting his angular features into sharp relief. He studied Seonghwa with a mixture of irritation and wariness as the other parked his car and climbed out of the driver seat. His friend was tense, his body taut like a bowstring.

“You’re early.” San said, his voice low and deliberate as he moved aside so Seonghwa could enter his home. He softly closed the door behind them.

Seonghwa stepped into the house without waiting for permission. The hanok’s interior was warm and serene, its traditional design a stark contrast to the tension hanging in the air. Seonghwa’s movements were tense and cautious. San didn’t stop him, but his body shifted instinctively, a subtle adjustment that maintained space. The unspoken choreography between them was second nature— born of years spent navigating each other’s boundaries.

San’s gaze lingered on Seonghwa , his sharp and calculating eyes studying his friends every move as he followed him into the living room.

San sat down on his couch, his eyes on Seonghwa as he sat down with a long sigh. His tone was clipped. “What is this about, Hwa? And don’t say ‘it’s complicated.’ I’m not in the mood.”

Seonghwa hesitated, then handed San his phone, the screen displaying a photo of the patient’s wounds. San’s expression didn’t change, but his posture stiffened.

“It’s starting again.” Seonghwa said softly.

San’s fingers tightened around the phone, his shoulders straining under the weight of the past, bearing down on him like a storm. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

San closed his eyes briefly, his mind racing. He had sworn to leave this world behind, but now the shadows of his past were clawing their way back into the light.

When he opened his eyes, they were colder. Sharper.

“Then we don’t have much time.”

Seonghwa nodded, his tone deliberate as he spoke. “This thing we encountered at the hospital… it’s unusual.”

San’s fingers curled around the phone, his long, elegant digits pressing into the cold metal. A faint ripple of tension passed through his shoulders, but his expression remained unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on Seonghwa with the precision of a hawk sizing up prey.

“What do you mean?” The question was clipped, detached, but there was a sharpness beneath the surface.

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not like any other attack I’ve seen before,” Seonghwa continued quickly, sensing the shift in San’s posture. “Clean. Precise. Almost… surgical.”

For a moment, San said nothing. His jaw tensed, a muscle twitching just beneath the surface. Memories clawed at the edges of his mind— visions of rogue vampires and mutilated bodies left in their wake, of incisions so perfect they had seemed more like experiments than feeding.

“Who?” The word was cold, a single blade slicing through the silence.

“I don’t know yet.” Seonghwa admitted. His hand brushed unconsciously against the hospital badge clipped to his coat. “But something isn’t right, San. This wasn’t a random attack, not the haphazard work of a fledgling.”

San exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation pressing against him. “The New Order?”

“I’m not sure,” Seonghwa said quietly. “It could be. But…” He trailed off, unwilling to voice any other possibilities.

San’s silence was heavy, but Seonghwa recognized the look in his eyes—a calculating intensity that meant he was piecing the fragments together, filing through decades of knowledge and experience.

“Was the victim still alive?” San’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, as though he were bracing for an answer he wouldn’t like.

Seonghwa nodded. “Barely. He lost a lot of blood, but… whoever did this left him alive on purpose. The bite marks were visible— meant to be found. And then they carried in another one.”

San’s breath caught. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they painted was grim. First the desiccated corpse in the alley, now this. Another deliberate attack, out in the open.

“Who else knows about this?” San asked, his tone sharpening.

“Just Wooyoung.”

San glanced up. “The loud one?”

Seonghwa chuckled softly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yes. The loud one. He won’t cause any problems.”

San’s lips twitched, a faint ghost of a smile breaking through his serious demeanour. “I hope so. For his sake.”

Seonghwa’s expression grew serious again. “He’s sharp, San. He noticed the bite marks right away. If someone like him is already asking questions, it won’t be long before others start connecting the dots.”

San nodded, his mind already racing ahead. “I’ll… arrange a meeting. With Yoongi.”

Seonghwa blinked in surprise. “You will?”

San sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t get your hopes up, Hwa. I’ll tell him what’s happening, but that’s it. I’m not getting dragged into his political games. Not again.”

“I understand,” Seonghwa said softly, though the relief in his voice was clear. “Thank you, San-ah. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

San huffed, brushing off the sentiment, but the warmth in his dark eyes betrayed him. He stood up and walked towards his friend, reaching out, his fingers grazing Seonghwa’s cheek with an almost imperceptible gentleness.

“Don’t worry about me. Just make sure you’re careful. And keep your friend out of trouble. If he digs too deep, he’ll find himself in a world he won’t survive.”

Seonghwa leaned into the touch briefly before pulling back, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “I’ll handle it. And I’ll make sure my friend doesn’t get too curious.”

“Good.” San said simply, though his gaze lingered on Seonghwa for a moment longer. The weight of what was coming hung between them, unspoken but undeniable.

San returned the phone to Seonghwa, his fingers lingering just long enough to convey the unspoken weight of the decision he was about to make. His gaze locked onto Seonghwa's, searching for something— perhaps reassurance, perhaps resolve—but neither spoke.

Finally, San turned away, his voice low but firm. “Let me know if anything changes. And Hwa?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t take any risks. I can’t loose you too.”

Seonghwa’s smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t.”

The quiet click of his heels against the wooden floor echoed as he left the house. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to quell the turbulence brewing inside him. He exhaled sharply, pulling out his phone, the glowing screen a harsh interruption against the darkness. His fingers hesitated over the keypad, each number he entered feeling like a small betrayal of the peace he had painstakingly built for himself.

The name "Yoongi" appeared on the screen, glowing faintly. San stared at it, his thumb hovering above the call button.

Swallowed by shadows, he felt the weight of inevitability closing in, a gravitational pull he couldn’t resist.

 

 

It was late, but Yoongi was no stranger to nights without rest. The dim lamplight illuminated the room, its warm amber glow carving long shadows against the antique furnishings. Each piece was older than most civilisations, and yet they seemed to whisper of timelessness rather than decay.

Yoongi sat behind an ornate desk, his silver eyes catching the flicker of light. His stillness was unnerving, his body a perfect portrait of composure, but his gaze was piercing, filled with a weight only centuries could forge.

The soft creak of the door announced San’s arrival. Yoongi didn’t look up, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “San.” he greeted softly, though there was no mistaking the undercurrent of tension in his voice.

San stepped into the room, his posture as controlled as always, though the stiffness in his movements betrayed his discomfort. His charcoal suit was immaculate, but the man beneath it bore the exhaustion of someone carrying invisible scars. He inclined his head slightly. “Yoongi.”

Yoongi motioned to the seat across from him. “You’ve come at an odd hour,” he observed, though his tone was light, almost teasing. “It must be important.”

San lowered himself into the chair, his movements fluid but deliberate. His hands rested on his lap, fingers interlaced. “It is,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

Yoongi studied him for a long moment, his sharp features unreadable. “And yet, you didn’t call ahead.” he said with the faintest quirk of an eyebrow.

San’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “I thought you preferred surprises.”

“Not this kind.”

The room fell silent, the air between them thick with history and unspoken words. Finally, Yoongi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “What is it?”

San hesitated, his gaze drifting to the window where the moonlight cut through the darkness. “There’s been… an incident,” he said carefully.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Define ‘incident’.”

“Attacks,” San began, his voice low but steady. “At the Metropolitan hospital. Bite marks. Precise. Clean. Not the work of someone careless.”

Yoongi exhaled, leaning back in his chair as he processed the information. His silver eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, sharp and calculating. “The New Order?”

“I can’t say for certain,” San admitted. “But it feels… deliberate. Like a message.”

Yoongi’s fingers tapped against the desk, a slow, rhythmic sound that filled the silence. “This isn’t the first sign we’ve had,” he murmured, more to himself than to San. “Their activity has been increasing—more recruits, more visibility. They’re not hiding anymore.”

San’s jaw tightened. “They’re building infrastructure.”

“Yes.” Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, his tone carrying the weight of command. “And if they’re leaving marks like this, they’re making a statement. They’re ready to move.”

San said nothing, his fingers curling slightly against the armrests of the chair.

Yoongi leaned forward with a deep sigh, his hands folded under his chin. The desk lamp illuminated the sharp edges of his face, casting long shadows behind him. His silver eyes glinted in the dim light, fixed on San like he was trying to peel back his layers one by one.

Across from him, San sat with the grace of royalty, his posture was impeccable, controlled, but the faintest crease at the corner of his mouth hinted at something deeper— hesitation, maybe, or something he was trying to bury.

Finally, Yoongi broke the silence. His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was impossible to ignore. “That’s not all, is it?”

San’s fingers twitched where they rested on the arms of the chair, but his face didn’t falter. He looked at Yoongi evenly, though his pause betrayed him.

“Do you want there to be more?” San replied, his tone calm but deliberately evasive.

Yoongi leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving San. “San-ah. I’ve known you for centuries. You know I can see right through you, especially is something is weighing on you.” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I can see it all over you. There’s more you’re not saying.”

San let out a quiet breath, his gaze flickering to the desk for a moment before returning to Yoongi. “There was a body,” he admitted, the words heavy as they left his mouth. “A vampire. Killed in a way I have rarely seen before.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing slightly. “How?”

San hesitated, his voice lowering. “It wasn’t a fight. There was no struggle. Whoever killed them… knew what they were doing. It was precise, although very bloody. Almost… Surgical.”

Yoongi’s expression shifted subtly, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing for a moment, but his silence was louder than any question he could ask.

San continued, though his tone grew quieter. “I didn’t tell Seonghwa. He doesn’t need to know. It’s… gruesome. The body was left where it could be found, but not as if they wanted someone to see it right away.” His voice dropped further. “Like a quiet warning.”

Yoongi’s fingers tightened against the desk. “You think it’s another act of the New Order?”

San gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “No. While it feels… deliberate, it doesn’t match their usual methods. They like chaos, spectacle. This was…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Intentional. Quiet.”

Yoongi’s face softened slightly as he looked at San, his hard edges fading just enough to reveal the concern buried beneath them. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

San shrugged, a faint motion that barely moved his shoulders. “Because it doesn’t change anything. I already told you— I’m not getting involved.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed, and he let out a slow, measured breath. “You think I care about that right now? You found a dead vampire, San. You saw something that without a doubt reminds you of things you have tried to bury deep down in your mind, and that you’re still struggling with. And yet, you’re sitting here acting like it doesn’t matter. You’re too damn good at hiding things, but I know when you’re carrying something heavy. And this? This is suffocating you.”

San looked away, his gaze falling to the edge of the desk. “It’s not about me.”

“It’s is. For me.” Yoongi said, his voice quieter now, a tender undertone filling his words. “You walk around like you’re untouchable, like you can carry the weight of everything on your own. But you’re not untouchable, San. You’re just… stubborn. And isolating yourself from everyone won’t protect you from your own feelings.”

San’s gaze snapped back to Yoongi, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Are you done psychoanalysing me?” he said, his voice sharper than before.

Yoongi didn’t flinch. “Then why did you come to me? You’ve been avoiding me for years, and now when the incidents are piling up you just want me to believe that you’re fine? You saw that body, and now you’re haunted by it.”

San’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he sighed. “Fine. I’m… unsettled. Is that what you want to hear?”

Yoongi’s expression softened further, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across his lips. “It’s a start.”

San leaned back in his chair, his hands resting loosely in his lap. He looked at Yoongi, his gaze steadier now, though the tension in his shoulders remained. “I’m telling you this because I trust you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you drag me into whatever this is.”

Yoongi’s voice softened, though his intensity remained. “You’ve stayed out of this for centuries, San. I’ve respected that. But neutrality is becoming a dangerous position.”

“I’m not getting involved.” San said firmly, his tone like tempered steel.

Yoongi studied him, his expression unreadable. “And yet, here you are.”

San’s gaze flicked back to Yoongi, sharp and unyielding. “Because I thought you should know.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s enough.” San replied, though his voice carried a hint of something unspoken.

Yoongi leaned back, his silver eyes piercing. “You’ve always been good at keeping your distance. But don’t mistake distance for safety, San-ah. The New Order doesn’t care about boundaries. They’ll come for anyone who stands in their way.”

San’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond.

Yoongi shook his head, the look in his eyes almost tender as they watched San. “I’m not trying to drag you into anything. I just don’t want you carrying this alone. You’ve been doing that for too long.”

San didn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifted to the window, where the moonlight cut through the blinds, casting pale stripes of light across the floor. “I can handle it.” he said finally, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

Yoongi studied him for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the desk absently. “Maybe you can,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have to. And these fuckers are really amping shit up lately.” Yoongi hesitate for a second, his voice dropping lower as he continued. “Do you remember what they left behind? When we first met?”

San’s hands clenched briefly, the memories cutting through him like jagged glass. “I remember.” he said quietly.

“Then you know what’s coming,” Yoongi said, leaning forward again. “And you know that standing on the sidelines won’t save you.”

San’s gaze drifted to the moonlit window once more. “My answer remains unchanged.”

Yoongi sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “You’re important to me, San. I won’t push you. But know this: when the time comes, you won’t have the luxury of remaining uninvolved.”

San rose to his feet, his movements graceful but final. “I’ve faced my share of battles, Yoongi. I have no desire to fight another.”

Yoongi watched him, his expression unreadable, though his voice softened slightly. “And yet, you came to me. That says more than your words ever could.”

San didn’t respond, his resolve as unyielding as ever.

As he turned to leave, Yoongi’s voice followed him, gentle but pointed. “Be careful, San-ah. You may not want to fight, but the fight has already found you.”

San paused at the door, his hand resting lightly on the frame. For a moment, it seemed as though he might say something. But then he stepped out into the night, leaving Yoongi alone in the amber glow of the room, shadows dancing across the walls like specters of the past.

Yoongi watched the door close, a deep sense of unease settling over him. “Neutrality,” he murmured to himself, “is a fleeting illusion.”

Notes:

Hey guys! This is pretty much my magnum opus :> I've been writing the whole thing out and it's done. I'm still editing here and there but this is a 100k beast with lot of violence, angst and a sprinkle of smut <3 I would love read what you all think of it, because I really poured my heart and soul into it! I'll update maybe 2-3 per week, depending on how much time it takes to read through it and edit it! Until then, I hope you'll enjoy. Mwah <3

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

Tiny specks of dust swirled lazily in the golden light filtering through Yunho’s office, the faint glow highlighting the intricate carvings of the old books lining his shelves, the spines of leather-bound tomes filling the air with a comforting scent. It tangled with the faint smell of sandalwood, grounding the space in an ageless familiarity. San stood near the edge of the room, his silhouette sharp against the warm hues, his gaze tracing the edges of the floor-to-ceiling shelves without really seeing them.

"You're quieter than usual," Yunho remarked, looking up from a stack of yellowed papers. His wire-rimmed glasses glinted in the lamplight, and his voice held its characteristic warmth, tinged with curiosity. “That’s saying something, considering your usual mood.”

San shifted his weight slightly, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of calm that was too deliberate to be natural. "Just thinking." he replied, his voice smooth but subdued.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on San for a beat longer, reading the lines of tension in his frame. He set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair, gesturing toward the armchair across from him. "Sit. Unless you're planning to spend the night brooding in that corner."

San sighed softly, but he moved to take the offered seat. His fingers traced the embroidery along the armrest, a faint habit betraying his distraction. Yunho watched him closely, his perceptive gaze taking in the subtle stiffness in San’s shoulders and the shadows under his eyes.

“What’s troubling you?” Yunho asked, his voice soft and quiet.

San didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the desk between them, where a small, ceramic figurine— a relic of a long-dead civilisation— sat illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp. “Things… are getting worse.” he admitted finally.

Yunho didn’t move, but his calm expression shifted, ever so slightly, into something sharper. “Go on.”

“There was a body,” San said, his voice low. “A vampire. Killed deliberately. It wasn’t random, Yunho. It was precise— gruesome, calculated. Whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing.”

Yunho’s fingers rested lightly on the edge of his desk, but his knuckles whitened as his grip tightened.

“And Seonghwa told me about victims of vampire attacks in the hospital. Clear puncture marks. Had the New Order’s handwriting all over it.” San continues, meeting Yunho’s eyes briefly before looking away. “It’s more proof that things are unraveling.”

“More proof?” Yunho echoed, his tone taking on an edge. “San, this isn’t just another symptom of the New Order or faction unrest. This is targeted. If someone’s killing vampires this way, and especially if they are leaving drained humans behind for anyone to see… it’s a declaration of war.”

San hesitated, his fingers curling into his palm. “I know. Although they are getting bolder, I don’t think the New Order would display the corpse of another vampire like this. The way the body was left— it wasn’t meant to be hidden. But it wasn't staged either. Like they didn't care if it was found. Not in a flashy way, like we’re used to. More like…. A silent threat.”

Yunho let out a slow breath, his expression shifting into something heavier. “Shit,” he murmured. “A Vampire killing is truly unlike the New Order...”

San didn’t answer, but the silence between them spoke volumes.

Yunho leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t just about the body, is it?” His voice softened slightly. “I can see it in your face, San-ah. This is dragging you back to places you don’t want to go.”

San’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on a point just beyond Yunho’s shoulder. “I’m fine.” he said, the words clipped.

Yunho’s fingers drummed softly against the teakwood desk, the rhythm slow and deliberate, like the ticking of an unseen clock. His gaze, sharp behind the wire-rimmed glasses, lingered on San’s face. The room, cloaked in amber light and heavy shadows, seemed to close in around them. When Yunho finally spoke, his voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

“Have you heard about the Hunter of Dawn?” Yunho said lowly, tilting his head slightly as he studied San’s face.

San’s entire body went rigid. His breath caught, shallow and uneven, as if the name itself had reached into his chest and stolen the air. For a moment, his expression betrayed nothing, but the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers pressed into the armrest of the chair, told Yunho he’d struck something raw.

“You know I have.” San said at last, his voice quiet but strained, like the edges of a rope about to fray.

Yunho nodded, his tone dipping further, carrying the weight of something ancient and foreboding. “Then you know the stories. A vampire who hunts its own kind, feeding only on the blood of others like him. A predator among predators. A being so consumed by its hunger and its purpose that it becomes… something else. The Endless Drinker.”

San swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to his hands. His fingers curled against the fabric of the chair, nails digging into the upholstery. “The Endless Drinker,” he repeated, his tone bitter. “Is that what they call him now?”

Yunho leaned forward, his movements slow and deliberate. The soft lamplight caught the edges of his glasses, casting glints like knives. “The myth says he doesn’t just feed. He consumes. Drains his victims of everything— blood, essence, even the lingering fragments of their souls. He doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left but an empty shell. The kind of death no vampire recovers from. No rebirth. Just… annihilation.”

San’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. Images clawed their way into his mind— a moonless night, pale faces twisted in terror, blood pooling like ink under the faint starlight. Memories, unbidden and unwanted, scratched at the edges of his carefully constructed composure.

“They say the Hunter wasn’t born that way,” Yunho continued, his voice soft but relentless. “He started as a vampire like any other. But he was wanting… something he should not had wish for. He started to desire the blood of his own kind. And in doing so, he crossed a line no being ever should. He became something worse than a monster. Something…” He paused, his eyes locking onto San’s. “Something terrifying.”

San’s breathed out slowly. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, as if trying to push the images away. “It’s just a story.” he said, his voice hollow.

“Is it?” Yunho asked. There was no mockery in his tone, only quiet insistence. “Legends don’t survive centuries without a seed of truth, San. You know that better than anyone.”

San’s fingers curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms.

“They survive because people need them to.” San countered, his tone sharp. But Yunho didn’t miss the way San’s gaze flickered, just briefly, to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. San could hear his own breathing, shallow and uneven, and the distant hum of the city outside seemed muted, as if the room itself had been sealed off from the world.

“Do you know what the most terrifying part of the story is?” Yunho asked, leaning back slightly but never breaking eye contact.

San didn’t respond. He didn’t trust his voice.

“They say the Hunter didn’t just choose this path. It wanted him. The desire became everything. The taste of vampire blood… It wasn’t sustenance. It was power. It was ecstasy. It was an addiction that swallowed every other part of him until there was nothing left but the hunger.”

San’s chest felt tight, his breaths shallow as Yunho’s words wrapped around him like a noose. He tried to tell himself it was just a story, just a myth meant to scare fledgling vampires into submission, to warm them about what could happen to the ones that feed from their own kind. But deep down, he knew better.

“Isolation is a dangerous thing. It eats at you, slowly, until there’s nothing left but the unbearable desire for something to fill the void.”

San shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “I’m not like that.” he said, his voice louder now, though it trembled at the edges.

“You’ve hunted your own kind before,” Yunho said, his words precise, cutting. “You’ve walked that line. You’ve felt the pull, haven’t you? The temptation. The hunger that whispers it would be easier to stop holding back. To give in.”

“STOP!” San snapped, his voice sharp and raw. He pushed himself out of the chair, his movements sudden and almost violent. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yunho didn’t look convinced. “Maybe not,” he said carefully. “But you understand the path. Too well, I’d wager.”

San’s gaze flicked back to him, a flicker of something sharp and defensive in his eyes. “You think I’m on the edge of becoming some kind of… monster?”

“No,” Yunho said immediately, his voice steady but kind. “I think you’re afraid you could be. And that fear is keeping you from seeing what’s in front of you.”

San’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

“You’re not alone, San,” Yunho said, his tone softening. “Not like the Hunter. You have people who care about you. People who would stand with you if you’d let them.”

San huffed a quiet laugh, though it carried no real humour. “Connection isn’t always a strength,” he said bitterly. “Sometimes it’s just another vulnerability.”

Yunho reached for a book, his fingers brushing the embossed spine with the reverence of a man handling something alive. “The Joseon dynasties,” he began, his tone matter-of-fact yet deliberate. “Closed their borders. Choked their trade. Paranoia disguised as self-preservation. You know what that led to.”

“Stagnation.” San answered, voice clipped, his eyes following the movement of Yunho’s hand but betraying no real interest.

“Exactly,” Yunho said. “But those who engaged— those who traded, who allowed their world to expand— they thrived. They adapted. They survived.”

San’s lips twitched, barely a motion. A smile that wasn’t a smile. It was an acknowledgment, perhaps even agreement, but laced with the quiet defiance that had defined him for centuries.

San's words were hesitant, as if weighed before spoken. “Some alliances destroy more than they protect.”

Yunho leaned back, letting the book rest in his lap, but his eyes never left San’s. “True,” he conceded, his expression softening. “But there’s power in knowing which connections to make. In choosing wisely. Careful, intentional alliances— that’s what makes the difference.”

San said nothing. The silence stretched, and Yunho didn’t press, letting his words settle like ash after a fire.

“You’re not just a historian, San,” Yunho continued, his voice quieter now. “You’re a bridge.”

That drew San’s attention. His gaze flicked up, sharp, wary, though his body didn’t move.

“Your students,” Yunho said, pressing the point. “You teach them more than history. You show them coexistence without preaching it. Discipline without cruelty. They see it in how you act, how you speak.”

San’s eyes darkened, his gaze drifting toward the far corner of the room. For a moment, the centuries seemed to fall away, and the weight of his past— of the choices that had carved him into the man he was now— hung heavy in the air between them.

“You say that like it’s a strategy.” San murmured.

Yunho didn’t smile, but there was warmth in his tone. “Everything is strategy.”

San let the silence return, his thoughts folding inward. His position at the university wasn’t just a job. He knew that. Yunho knew that. Everyone who mattered knew that. It was resistance— a quiet, deliberate revolt against a world that thrived on division. A place where the vampire factions played at politics and power while he, the scholar, tried to teach something more lasting. Something human.

For a moment, Yunho thought he saw something different in San’s expression. Not the cold precision of the vampire, nor the distant contemplation of the historian, but something raw. Vulnerable. The part of him that remembered what it was like to be a man, once.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. San straightened, his posture composed, his expression unreadable. “Careful alliances,” he echoed. His voice was as measured as his movements, but there was a weight to the words now. “You’re not wrong.”

It wasn’t agreement, not really. But it wasn’t dismissal either.

And Yunho, ever patient, would take it. For now.

Yunho studied San carefully. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m not just here to lecture you on vampire myths and history.”

San’s lips curved into a faint, humourless smile. “You do have a knack for lecturing.” he said, the remark light but not dismissive.

Yunho huffed a quiet laugh, but his gaze didn’t soften. “Deflection won’t work on me, San-ah. We’ve been through too much for that.”  His expression shifted again, the warmth in his eyes tinged with something deeper— something that only came from years of shared understanding.

“You’re not that person anymore, you know?” he said gently.

San’s breath hitched in his throat, but his gaze remained distant. “It doesn’t matter how much I try to leave it behind. The world keeps pulling me back to it.”

Yunho leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “You can’t erase your past, San. But you can choose what to do with it. You’ve already chosen. You’ve built a life, a purpose, outside of all this chaos.”

“And now it’s coming for me anyway.” San said quietly.

Yunho didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he reached for the teapot sitting on the desk and poured a cup of tea, the soft clink of porcelain filling the silence. He slid the cup across the desk toward San, who took it without a word.

“You’re not alone,” Yunho said finally, his voice steady. “Whatever’s coming, we’ll face it together. You, me, Mingi, Seonghwa— we’ve been through worse.”

San looked down at the tea in his hands, the warmth of the cup grounding him in the present. He didn’t respond, but the faint tension in his posture eased, just slightly.

Yunho studied him for another moment before leaning back with a faint smile. “Now, drink that before it gets cold. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

San huffed a quiet laugh, the sound carrying a hint of genuine amusement. “You’re insufferable.” he muttered, but he lifted the cup to his lips.

“And yet, you keep coming back.” Yunho replied, his tone light but his gaze steady.

For the first time that evening, the weight on San’s chest felt just a little lighter.

Chapter 3: The Pull of Shadows

San stepped through the threshold of Seonghwa’s apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The faint scent of polished wood and burning incense was curling around him like a veil. Seonghwa stood by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but there was an edge of tension in the way his fingers tapped against his biceps. The room was immaculate, as always, a deliberate sanctuary in a city that thrived on chaos.

“The city is too quiet.” Seonghwa said, his voice low.

San walked up to Seonghwa, gazing out of the window. He let his eyes wander over the neon lights who were painting the buildings underneath them in a colourful glow. “I talked to Yoongi.”

Seonghwa’s gaze flickered, a brief sign of concern. “And?”

San sighed, standing rigidly by the window, his broad shoulders squared, though his reflection in the glass betrayed the tension in his jaw. His hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles pale against the dark fabric of his trousers. “The New Order is spreading faster than anticipated. They’ve moved beyond recruitment; they’re building infrastructure. Yoongi believes their goal isn’t just power— it’s control.”

Seonghwa frowned, his fingers drumming lightly against his arm. “Control of what? The city? The councils?”

“Everything,” San replied simply. His tone carried a weight that made Seonghwa’s gaze sharpen.

Seonghwa swallowed. “What are we going to do, San? I can’t just- the Hospital is not going to turn a blind eye to the attacks forever. What if they get the government involved and-“

San cut Seonghwa off with a dark tone in his voice. "We’ve fought the war of others before," San said, his voice controlled, though it carried the weight of unspoken pain. He turned to face Seonghwa, his eyes— those piercing, hypnotic eyes— locking onto his. "We’ve lost more than we could ever recover from. I won’t let that happen again."

Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, his expression soft, though his voice held a quiet firmness. "I understand. I do. But I can’t just stand by while innocent people get hurt. You know that as well as I do."

San’s jaw tightened, the dimples in his cheeks absent as his lips pressed together. He took a step forward, his movements fluid, almost predatory, as if the tension in the room had awakened something primal in him. "This isn’t about the greater good," he said, his tone sharper now, edged with frustration. "This is about you, and your need to fix everything. But you can’t fix everyone. You can’t save everyone."

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising slightly. "And you can’t just hide from the world, San. You can’t control me like this."

"Hide?" San’s laughter was low, harsh, and it cut through the air like a blade. He took another step closer, his towering frame dominating the space between them. "You think this is about hiding? This is about survival. This is about not losing you again."

The memory flickered in San’s eyes, unspoken but vivid— of blood-stained snow, of the smell of smoke in the air, of Seonghwa’s pale face, his body broken and still. San’s hands twitched, as if he could still feel the weight of Seonghwa in his arms, the cold seep of his blood against his skin. "We thought it was just," he said, his voice cracking with restraint. "We thought we were fighting for something real. But it was all a lie. And you nearly died because of it."

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, though his voice remained firm. "San—"

"No," San cut him off, his voice rising now, the control slipping. "You respect Yoongi, I know you do. And so do I. But my priority is you. Keeping you safe. And I won’t let you put yourself in danger again, not for this… not for the Humanists and their fight against New Order. Not for something I have fought so hard for to keep us out of."

Seonghwa took a step back, his movements sharp, his eyes flashing. "So you think I should just quit the hospital? Just sit back and do nothing? You really think that’s who I am?"

The question hung in the air, charged with tension. San’s teeth gritted, the sharp sound echoing faintly in the silence. "I’m not asking you," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I’m telling you. You’ll quit. You’ll stay out of this. Because if you don’t, I—"

"Will what?" Seonghwa’s voice was cold now, sharp as a knife. He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. "Control me? Dictate every move I make? You really think you have the right to do that?"

The room seemed to shrink around them, the shadows deepening, as if the darkness itself was closing in. San’s face twisted, the conflict written plain across his features. "I’m trying to protect you," he ground out, his voice trembling with restraint. "You have no idea what could happen—"

"No, you’re trying to control me!" Seonghwa’s voice rose, the calm, even tone giving way to frustration. "You’re trying to cage me, just like you have been for decades. But you’re not just my Sire, San. I’m your friend. We are equals. And I’m not yours to protect. I’m my own person."

San’s breath hitched, the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. He wanted to reach out, to pull Seonghwa close and bury his face in the scent of his hair, to forget the fear that gnawed at him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let go of the fear, not even for Seonghwa.

"What is this really about?" Seonghwa asked, his voice softer now, though no less sharp. He stepped closer again, his gaze piercing. "This isn’t just about the New Order. You know it, and I know it. So tell me the truth. What’s going on?"

San’s chest heaved, the tension in the room suffocating. He wanted to lie, to turn away, to pretend that Seonghwa’s words didn’t cut through him like a blade. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t keep this inside anymore.

"It’s not just the New Order," he said finally, the words tearing from his throat. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of the confession. "I found something... a few days ago. A dead vampire. Drained. Completely. And it wasn’t the New Order. I can feel it. This is something else. Something worse."

The air in the room seemed to thicken as Seonghwa's gaze faltered, his eyes drifting downward as if the weight of San's words had pulled them irresistibly. The faint flicker the neon lights from the city caught the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that deepened the mystery in his expression. His lips parted, but no sound emerged, only the soft whisper of his breath against the stillness.

San's eyes narrowed, his intensity sharpening as he stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. "You know something." he accused, his voice low and urgent, each word a dagger in the silence. His hands, still clenched into fists, hung at his sides, the tension in his body a coiled spring ready to snap.

Seonghwa's head jerked up, his eyes locking onto San's, the depths of them clouded with a mixture of fear and defiance. "I don't know anything," he said, the words tumbling out too quickly, lacking conviction. His voice trembled slightly, betraying the calm he tried to maintain.

San's jaw tightened, the muscles in his face flexing with restrained anger. He took another step closer, his presence dominating the room, forcing Seonghwa to retreat until he was pressed against the wall. "Don't lie to me," San growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I can see it in your eyes. You know something."

Seonghwa's breath hitched, his chest rising sharply as he struggled to maintain the facade. "I... I don't know. But I…" he breathed, the words barely above a whisper.

San's eyes bored into Seonghwa's, searching for the truth he knew was hidden there. "But what?" he pressed, his voice sharp, cutting through the lies.

Seonghwa's lips parted again. Before he could speak, before the truth could spill out, a knock shattered the silence.

The sound was sharp, abrupt, a sudden intrusion into the charged atmosphere. Both men froze, their heads turning toward the door as if the knock had been a gunshot. The interruption was a palpable relief, a reprieve from the brink of an explosion.

San's face twisted in frustration, his hands unclenching as he turned away, the movement sharp and abrupt. "Who is that?" he muttered.

The knock came again, more insistent this time, a reminder that the world outside their fragile bubble was still moving, still intruding. Three quick raps, light but insistent. Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He slowly walked towards the door.

San’s gaze flickering followed him, his posture becoming instinctively more tense.

When Seonghwa opened the door, Wooyoung leaned casually against the frame, a wide grin on his face. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, swinging it carelessly as though it didn’t matter, but the gleam in his eyes said otherwise. His leather jacket caught the faint light from the hallway, his tousled hair falling just out of place enough to look intentional.

“You ghosted me again,” Wooyoung said, shaking his head with exaggerated exasperation. “You know how I feel about being ignored…”

Seonghwa felt his heart racing, his eyes instinctively flickering over to San. “Wooyoung, now is not-”

Wooyoung pushed past him with the confidence of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. “Oh come on, you missed me,” He pressed the bottle of wine into Seonghwa’s hands and walked into the living room. “We really need to talk about how bad you are at—”

And then he stopped.

Mid-step, mid-breath, mid-sentence. The room shifted, the air thickening, shrinking until it felt like only the he and the man in front of him existed in its dim confines. His usual swagger evaporated, replaced by something raw, something unsteady. He blinked, wide-eyed, as though the man’s presence in front of him had knocked the ground out from underneath him.

San stood by the window, unmoving, his dark coat blending into the room like he’d been carved from the darkness itself. The faint light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, and the unforgiving steel of his eyes. Those eyes locked onto Wooyoung, freezing him in place, and the breath caught in his throat.

Wooyoung swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet. His confidence, so easy and breezy just seconds ago, was nowhere to be found. “Oh,” he breathed, his voice softer than intended, almost reverent. “I didn’t know you had company.”

At the door, Seonghwa stiffened, his eyes darting between them. “Wooyoung, you shouldn’t—”

But Wooyoung wasn’t listening. His gaze remained fixed on San, drawn to him in a way that made his pulse race and his stomach twist. There was something magnetic about the man, something dangerous. It wasn’t just the way he looked— though that alone was enough to leave Wooyoung dizzy— it was the way he felt, like the promise of something forbidden and thrilling all at once.

“I…” Wooyoung cleared his throat, his voice cracking. “Hi.” He forced a smile, but it faltered at the edges. “I’m Wooyoung.”

San’s gaze flicked over him, sharp and calculating. His stillness was unnerving, a predator watching its prey. “San.” he said simply, his voice low and rough like a knife wrapped in velvet.

Wooyoung nodded, the name rolling over in his mind like a mantra. “San…” he repeated, almost to himself. He took a hesitant step forward, offering a small, lopsided grin. “Right. Cool. I— uh— nice to meet you.”

Wooyoung cursed himself silently for the crack in his usually unshakable confidence as he extended his slightly trembling hand. He didn’t know why he wasn’t bowing, like he usually would. It was almost like there was an unbending need inside of him to be closer to San, to touch him.

San breath hitch ever so slightly, his body taut as if braced for impact. Slowly, his eyes flicked to Wooyoung’s outstretched hand. He hesitated just a beat too long before finally taking it, his grip firm but careful.

The moment their hands touched, heat coursed through Wooyoung’s body like wildfire. His breath hitched, and he tried to mask it with a nervous laugh, but the sound came out strangled.

For the first time in his life, Wooyoung felt entirely out of his depth. He let his gaze drift over Sans beautiful features and swallowed thickly.

San’s fingers twitched as he released Wooyoung’s hand, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep the unnerving feeling growing inside him at bay. It wasn’t just Wooyoung’s scent or the warmth of his skin that set him off— it was everything. The way his dark eyes sparkled with curiosity, the way his smile faltered but didn’t quite disappear- the way he seemed completely unafraid.

“Wow,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, faltering just slightly. He dropped his hand, running it awkwardly through his already tousled hair. His lips quirked into a nervous half-smile. He fiddled with the hem of his jacket, cursing himself again for the way his fingers trembled. He laughed awkwardly, trying to fill the heavy silence. “You’ve got that whole ‘dark and brooding’ thing down, huh?”

San’s eyes wandered over Wooyoung face, dark and unreadable. But then the look shifted— just slightly. There was a flicker, faint but undeniable. For a moment, Wooyoung forgot how to breathe.

“Are you… a friend of Seonghwa?” Wooyoung pressed, clearly trying to fill the heavy silence. His voice wavered slightly, but there was a genuine interest there, a desire to unravel the man in front of him.

San’s lips tightened. He glanced at Seonghwa, who was looking back with a tense expression, before answering. The air seemed to shift, the tension in the room sharpening like a blade.

“I’m… his oldest friend.” San replied after a pause, his voice low, almost a growl. His fingers twitched where they rested on his sides.

His gaze flicked to Wooyoung’s face, his eyes unreadable, though his stillness betrayed the tension he felt. Internally, he was a storm. Something primal stirred within him, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. The quiet hum of an indescribable connection, raw and unexpected. It hit him like a punch to the chest, stealing the air he didn’t even need to breathe.

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up, his grin widening. “Oldest friend, huh? Like… childhood friends?”

San felt a weird, heated tension spreading in his guts. “Not exactly.”

His fingers twitched at his sides again, his control fraying with every word Wooyoung spoke. The younger man’s scent was maddening— warm, alive, intoxicating. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still, even as his instincts screamed at him to close the distance, to feel the heat radiating off Wooyoung’s skin.

“You’re…  pretty quiet.” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now.

San exhaled quietly, a sound so soft it was barely audible, but it carried the weight of his struggle. Every glance at Wooyoung’s wide, curious eyes, every tilt of his head, every flustered laugh chipped away at the walls he’d spent centuries building. “I don’t speak unless I have something to say.”

Wooyoung let out a breathy laugh, his heart still pounding. “Definitely got that mysterious vibe going for you. So… what do you do? You know, when you’re not brooding.”

San exhaled slowly through his nose, the ghost of a sound that was more restraint than amusement. He met Wooyoung’s gaze again, and the younger man froze, his smile faltering as a blush crept up his neck.

“I… teach history. At Seoul National University.” San said finally, the words clipped and reluctant, as though dragged from him.

Wooyoung blinked, his curiosity deepening. “History? That’s… cool. Really cool.” He fiddled nervously with his necklace, his cheeks now fully flushed. “You don’t look like a prof, though. Way too young. You look more like…” His voice trailed off as he caught San’s piercing gaze again, his breath stuttering.

“Like what?” San asked, his tone dark, almost daring.

“Like…” Wooyoung hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I don’t know. Something out of a noir film. Dangerous, but… in a good way.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, and he winced.

Seonghwa, standing off to the side, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wooyoung, for the love of god…”

“What?” Wooyoung asked, his tone defensive but his flustered state betraying him. His cheeks had gone bright red, and he kept glancing at San like he couldn’t help himself.

San’s instincts screamed at him to move. To sever the connection, avert his eyes, shut down whatever this was before it rooted itself any deeper. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Wooyoung’s gaze pinned him where he stood— open, disarming, as if he didn’t know the kind of danger he was flirting with.

And then there was the sound of his laugh. A soft, lilting thing, like the first crack of sunlight in a place that had only known darkness. It hit San in a way he didn’t expect, like a blade between the ribs, sharp and painful. His chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat.

Wooyoung tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned. “Are you really a history prof? You look more like you could be a model or something.” he teased, his voice light and playful, like he wasn’t standing on the edge of something dangerous.

San clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze to stay steady, even as his chest burned with something he couldn’t name. “I’m a teacher.” he said, voice clipped, though the tension coiling in his gut made the words sound harsher than he intended.

As San’s gaze didn’t waver, Wooyoung felt his heart stutter under the weight of it. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw something in San’s eyes— something raw, almost feral, like a caged beast clawing at the bars.

San became acutely aware of his own heartbeat, which had decided to betray him by speeding up, which it hadn’t done in centuries. The room was too small. Too warm. His control was slipping, the edges of his restraint unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke, every glance he threw his way. The pull he felt toward Wooyoung was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was feral, consuming, like a fire threatening to burn him alive. His fangs ached, his restraint slipping with every breath he took.

He had to get out. Now.

“I need to leave.” San said abruptly, his voice rough with tension.

Wooyoung blinked, startled. “Oh, I didn’t mean to—”

San’s gaze snapped to his, dark and piercing, and Wooyoung froze. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. The air between them crackled, heavy with something neither of them could name. San took a step forward.h

“San,” Seonghwa said sharply, his tone breaking the spell. “You need to go. Now!”

San’s jaw tightened. Without another word he turned, his movements sharp and mechanical, and strode toward the door. Wooyoung watched him go, his heart pounding, confusion and something dangerously close to longing written across his face.

The door clicked shut behind San, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“What the hell was that?” Wooyoung asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

His fingers still tingled where San’s hand had been, and his chest felt tight, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

Chapter 4: Whispers in the Dark

The restaurant was pulsing with life. Laughter swirled through the air like smoke, mingling with the mouthwatering scent of grilled meat and bubbling stew. The clatter of chopsticks against plates and the low hum of conversation created a rhythm that seemed to vibrate in Seonghwa’s chest.

Their usual corner booth felt detached from it all, though. Seonghwa sat poised, as if carved from marble, his blazer crisp and perfect despite the informal chaos around him. Across from him, Yeosang was already halfway through the complimentary radish kimchi, carefully dissecting each piece into absurdly uniform pieces as if it were some critical experiment.

“You know,” Yeosang began, waving a chopstick in Seonghwa’s direction, “if you ever pulled that stick out of your ass, people might actually think you’re fun.”

“I’m plenty fun.” Seonghwa replied dryly, sipping his tea with the disinterest of a man accustomed to being underestimated.

Yeosang snorted. “You’re about as fun as a filing cabinet. And not even one of those quirky retro ones. The beige ones in a tax office.”

The door chimed, interrupting Seonghwa’s retort. Both men turned as Wooyoung strode in, his leather jacket flaring dramatically behind him like some low-budget superhero cape. His grin was wide enough to split his face in half, and he scanned the room like he’d been born to be noticed. He spotted them and made a beeline, sliding into the booth beside Yeosang with the enthusiasm of a man who’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

“Gentlemen!” Wooyoung declared, draping an arm around Yeosang and leaning back like he owned the place. “How fortunate you are, basking in the glow of my presence.”

Yeosang shoved him off playfully. “I didn’t realize we were extras in your biopic.”

“Please.” Wooyoung smirked, stealing a piece of Yeosang’s carefully dissected kimchi and popping it into his mouth. “I’m the best part of your week, and you know it.”

“You’re late.” Seonghwa pointed out, his tone as frosty as the untouched glass of water in front of him.

“Fashionably late,” Wooyoung corrected, gesturing broadly as if to emphasize his charm. “You wouldn’t understand, Hwa. You’re too busy being— what’s the word? Ah yes, Uptight.”

“I was going to say ‘perfect,’” Yeosang added, smirking, “But sure, uptight works.”

Seonghwa’s lips twitched, but he didn’t dignify either of them with a response. Instead, he poured Wooyoung a cup of tea, sliding it across the table. “Here. Maybe this will shut you up.”

“Unlikely,” Wooyoung replied, winking as he took the cup. “But I’ll humor you. So! What did I miss? Plotting world domination? Or is Yeosang still mourning his lack of a love life?”

“Neither,” Yeosang muttered, now shredding his napkin into strips. “But thanks for the reminder, jackass.”

Wooyoung ignored him, launching into an animated retelling of his latest work disaster— a tale involving a meme of a raccoon in a suit accidentally emailed to the hospital CFO.

By the time he got to the punchline, Yeosang was doubled over with laughter.“You what?” Yeosang gasped. “Please tell me she replied.”

“Oh, she did,” Wooyoung said, smirking with the pride of a man who’d single-handedly solved world peace. “She said, ‘This is the highlight of my week.’ You’re welcome.”

“You’re a menace.” Seonghwa muttered, shaking his head. But the faintest hint of a smile betrayed him.

“But I’m your menace!” Wooyoung shot back, stealing another piece of kimchi without breaking stride.

The conversation drifted, carried by their easy camaraderie as they ordered their food. It was the kind of friendship that came from years of shared meals, late-night phone calls, and knowing exactly which buttons to push. Deep loyalty and trust was woven into the very fiber of their dynamic.

But the lightness didn’t last. Wooyoung’s fingers drummed against the edge of the table as his thoughts pulled in a direction he couldn’t quite resist.

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, his leather jacket slung lazily over the backrest as he poked at the remains of his tteokbokki. Across from him, Yeosang methodically tore the edge of a napkin into thin strips again, his brow furrowed in concentration. They’d been sitting in companionable silence, the calm of the moment a rarity neither seemed willing to disrupt.

But Wooyoung finally couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay anymore. He cleared his throat, trying to sound as casual as possible. “So… Hyung. About last night.”

Seonghwa froze, his cup hovering mid-air. His eyes flicked to Wooyoung, sharp and calculating. “What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Wooyoung said casually, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. He avoided Seonghwa’s gaze, twirling his chopsticks like they were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. “Just… your friend.”

“Friend?” Yeosang perked up, dropping his mangled napkin. “Since when do you have friends, Seonghwa? I thought you only collected houseplants and existential dread.”

“Excuse me,” Seonghwa interjected, his voice tight. “My houseplants are thriving!”

“Sure they are,” Yeosang said with a dismissive wave before turning his attention back to Wooyoung. “But seriously, who’s the friend?”

Seonghwa set his cup down with deliberate care. “We’re not talking about him.”

“His name is San.” Wooyoung said, the name rolling off his tongue like a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. He tried to play cool, but the way his ears burned betrayed him.

“Oh, we’re absolutely talking about this,” Yeosang chimed in, eyes alight with curiosity. “Wait, is this the guy you couldn’t stop texting me about? The one thats apparently ‚so fucking hot you would have let him bend you over any surface right then and there’?”

Seonghwa groaned, while Wooyoung flushed but didn’t deny it.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Wooyoung admitted, grinning sheepishly. “So, Seonghwa, how do you know him?”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, his tone clipped. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Cool…” Wooyoung said, dragging the word out. ““Like high school? College? Ancient Rome?”

“Longer.” Seonghwa said curtly, his tone leaving no room for elaboration.

„Damn, queen. Share your skincare routine?”

Seonghwa slammed his cup down with enough force to make Yeosang jump. “Enough,” he snapped. “Drop it.”

“Why are you so cagey about this?” Wooyoung asked, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Why are you so interested?” Seonghwa retorted, his tone cutting like a knife.

Wooyoung blinked, taken aback. “I’m not. I mean, I am, but… He’s just a friend, right?“ Wooyoung blinked.

“No,” Seonghwa said, his voice low and dangerous, “he’s not just anything.”

“You’re being so weird about this.” Wooyoung saif, leaning forward, his frustration breaking through. “Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“Because it is a big deal!” Seonghwa’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. He lowered his voice, leaning across the table. “San is very important to me, okay? And getting mixed up with him wouldn’t do you any good.”

Wooyoung frowned, his curiosity only sharpening at Seonghwa’s reaction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Seonghwa said, his tone icy. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. His tone was final, but Wooyoung wasn’t ready to let it go.

“See?” Wooyoung said, narrowing his eyes at Seonghwa. “That right there. You’re acting all weird, like he’s some big secret. Hwa, I think you’re a little overprotective here. I don’t know, maybe you could give me his number or—”

“Absolutely not!” Seonghwa snapped, his voice like a whip.

Yeosang raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Okay, wow, wow, wow. What exactly is going on here?”

Seonghwa ignored him, his gaze locked on Wooyoung. “You need to let this go, Wooyoung. I’m serious.”

“Why?” Wooyoung demanded, frustration creeping into his voice. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Seonghwa exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He had to end this before it could spiral any further.

His thoughts flickered to Yoongi. Just the thought of him finding out that someone else— even a mere human like Wooyoung— was so much as thinking about San, was interested; it made Seonghwa’s skin crawl. Yoongi’s infatuation with San was notorious, a silent threat that loomed over anyone foolish enough to get too close. It wasn’t talked about, not unless you had a death wish.

But there was a far deeper reason for his resistance of even entertain the thought of getting Wooyoung more acquainted with San, one that churned in his stomach like a storm threatening to break. It wasn’t just caution or wariness— it was dread.

Seonghwa had known San for centuries, had witnessed every facet of him: the predator lurking beneath the surface, the strategist who could charm or kill with equal ease, and the rare moments when his guard dropped, revealing fleeting glimpses of humanity. But last night…

Last night had been different.

The memory clawed at Seonghwa’s mind, sharp and unrelenting. He had seen San at his most dangerous before— had watched him carve through enemies with precision, his every movement calculated, controlled. But this was something else. The look in San’s eyes, the way his body had coiled like a spring stretched too tight, trembling on the edge of snapping— it wasn’t the cold, methodical danger Seonghwa knew so well. It was raw, feral, uncontrollable.

San had almost lost control.

The thought alone was absurd, laughable even, if it weren’t for the fact that Seonghwa had seen it with his own eyes. San’s self-control was ironclad, honed over an eternity of survival. But in that moment, something had cracked. It had been brief— so brief that anyone else might have missed it— but not Seonghwa.

He had felt the shift in the air, a suffocating pressure that had made every instinct in his body scream to run.

San, the unflinching, unyielding constant in Seonghwa’s world, had been on the verge of unraveling. And if that control broke completely…

Seonghwa’s gaze flicked to Wooyoung, softer now but no less stern. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Wooyoung demanded. “Him?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He leaned back, arms crossed, a fortress of calm against Wooyoung’s storm. “Trust me, Wooyoung. Let it go.”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to argue but caught the flicker of something in Seonghwa’s eyes— fear? Regret? Whatever it was, it stopped him cold. He leaned back with a sigh. “Fine.”

“Good.” Seonghwa said, reaching for his tea like the conversation was over.

The tension at the table was palpable, the playful banter from earlier now a distant memory.

Yeosang, ever the opportunist, smirked. “So… when are we meeting him?”

The tension in the booth dissolved with Wooyoung’s witchy cackles. Seonghwa groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if the motion might pull the stress from his body. Across from him, Wooyoung snorted loudly, his body shaking slightly from the force of his laughter. The sound was cutting through the suffocating quiet like the first crack of dawn. The edges of their world softened just enough to let in a sliver of warmth.

But that warmth didn’t reach Yeosang.

Seonghwa’s gaze flicked to him— a shadow hunched over the table, shredding his napkin into an ocean of scraps. His fingers moved absently, each tear precise, deliberate, like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“Yeo,” Seonghwa said, his voice low but cutting. “What’s wrong? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

Yeosang froze mid-tear. His eyes, dark and unfocused, lingered on the pile of paper debris before he shrugged. “I’m… okay,” he murmured, though the words sounded hollow, an empty echo of what they were supposed to mean.

Wooyoung and Seonghwa exchanged a glance— quick, sharp, a silent conversation between soldiers who’d shared too many trenches. They didn’t miss the way Yeosang’s shoulders seemed to cave inward, how his voice lacked its usual bite.

“Yeosang.” Seonghwa leaned forward, the edge in his tone softening, his presence steady as bedrock. “Talk to us. What’s going on?”

Yeosang didn’t answer at first. His fingers curled around the edge of the table, knuckles going white as he wrestled with words that felt too heavy to lift. Finally, he exhaled, the sound like a deflating lung, hollow and tired.

“It’s just been harder lately,” he admitted, voice thin, worn raw. “The depression. It’s worse than it’s been in a long time.”

The words fell between them like lead, dragging the air down with them. Even the faint hum of chatter from the restaurant seemed to fade, swallowed by the weight of his confession.

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t flinch, though. Instead, he leaned in further, his eyes locking on Yeosang like he could hold him steady through sheer will. “Are you seeing your therapist? Taking your meds?”

Yeosang nodded faintly. “I am. But it doesn’t feel like enough.” His voice cracked, and his fingers tightened their grip on the table’s edge. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the weather. Or work. Or… everything. It’s just my head. The noise. The weight.” He paused, his breath shuddering. “It’s there when I wake up. It’s there when I sleep. Like I’m not even myself anymore. Just… numb.”

The silence that followed wasn’t just thick— it was suffocating. Wooyoung felt it settle on his chest, a pressure that stole the words from his throat. Yeosang’s words— the honesty, the exhaustion behind them— they twisted something deep inside him. He hated it. Hated that he hadn’t noticed sooner. Hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

Wooyoung reached across the table, his hand finding Yeosang’s. His grip was firm but warm, his thumb brushing small circles over Yeosang’s knuckles. “Yeo…” His voice was quieter than usual, his tone stripped of its usual bravado.

Yeosang let out a bitter laugh, but it sounded like it hurt him to even make the attempt. “Whatever it is…” he said, his voice trembling, “It feels like I’m drowning.”

Wooyoung’s grip tightened, the warmth in his eyes hardening into something fierce, protective. “You’re not drowning,” he said, his voice steady. “You hear me? You’re not. We won’t let you.”

Yeosang’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile, but it was gone before it could take root. “Thanks, Woo. But… lately, there have been some things eating at me. Stressing me out so much, it’s like… I’m scared Woo. I’m really scared.”

Wooyoung furrowed his brows, looking at Yeosang intently. “What things, Sangie?” Seonghwa chimed in quietly. “Are you comfortable to talk to us about it?“

Yeosang exhaled, his head shaking weakly. “Not yet. I will, but I first need to… deal with it.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t oppressive this time. It was fragile, like glass on the verge of breaking. Wooyoung hated the stillness and the weight and the way Yeosang seemed to shrink before his eyes.

“Alright,” Wooyoung said abruptly, the force of his voice snapping the tension like a whip crack. He stood, grabbing his jacket with a determined flourish. “That’s it. We’re going out.”

Yeosang blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” Wooyoung said, already pulling Yeosang to his feet. “Club. Music. Dancing. Now.”

Yeosang frowned, glancing at Seonghwa as if to say, Is he serious? But Seonghwa just shook his head, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t look at me,” Seonghwa said. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. But maybe Woo’s right. It could be good for you.”

Wooyoung clapped Yeosang on the back, his grin wide and bright. “See? Even Hwa agrees. Let’s go, Yeo. You need this.”

Yeosang sighed, his reluctance painted in every line of his posture. But then, for just a moment, there was a flicker of something— hope, maybe?— in his eyes. “Fine,” he said, his voice laced with mock exasperation. “But if I hate it, you’re buying my drinks.”

“Deal!” Wooyoung said, already pulling him toward the door. He glanced back at Seonghwa, his grin softening, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “Try not to miss us too much, Hwa.”

Seonghwa shook his head, watching them go with a mix of amusement and unease. He gave them a small, fond wave. Wooyoung blew him a raspberry.

As the door closed behind them, the laughter and energy they carried lingered for a moment before fading into the warm hum of the restaurant.

Seonghwa sat back, his tea now cold, the weight of his unease settling heavier than before. Wooyoung’s relentless curiosity about San and Yeosang’s fragile state— both felt like threads pulling loose, threatening to unravel everything he’d worked so hard to keep intact.

 

 

The neon lights of Hongdae pulsed like a heartbeat, casting distorted, glowing shadows against the puddle-streaked streets.

The café windows reflected the blur of pinks and blues, fractured like stained glass. San sat hunched at the corner table, one hand curled tight around his mug, the other resting on his knee, fingers twitching as if they itched to do something— anything— to release the tension crawling under his skin.

The air in the café felt too warm, too still, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans mixing with the tang of rain still clinging to his senses. Across from him, Yunho and Mingi were locked in their usual verbal sparring, their animated voices cutting through the fog of San’s thoughts like knives.

"You honestly have no taste if you think their second album wasn’t better!" Mingi declared, his grin sharp as he jabbed a finger in Yunho’s direction.

"It’s not about taste," Yunho fired back, his smirk teasing as he lifted his iced Americano. "It’s about recognizing perfection when you hear it, and their first album was perfection. No sophomore effort can top that."

Mingi rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head. "Please. You were wiping your eyes so hard I thought you’d desolve into tears! Just admit it was better."

"It was allergies, Mingi." Yunho took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his expression betraying nothing.

San couldn’t help but chuckle softly at their banter, though his heart wasn’t entirely in it. Mingi’s gaze lingered on Yunho a little too long, his eyes filled with something that wasn’t just friendly affection. San noticed it, as he always did. Mingi was nothing if not persistent, though his flirtations seemed to fly right over Yunho’s head every single time.

But his mind was a whirlwind, the events of the last twenty-four hours pressing in like a stormcloud.

"So," Mingi said, his tone shifting as he turned his attention to San. "What about you? Any thrilling developments in the tragic saga of Choi San? Forbidden romances? Blood-soaked vendettas?"

Yunho snorted. "Why do you sound like you’re narrating a K-drama.“

"Because San is basically living a K-drama!“ Mingi shot back, winking at him. "He's got that whole ‘brooding antihero with a mysterious past’ vibe down to an art. It’s honestly unfair to the rest of us."

San groaned, but before he could deflect, Mingi pressed on. "Speaking of K-drama, when are you going to do something about Yoongi?"

San froze, his grip tightening on his coffee cup. "Don’t start."

"Oh, I am starting." Mingi grinned, leaning forward as he rested his chin on his hands. "Poor guy’s been in love with you for, what, four centuries? And what do you do? Brood in corners and stare at him like he’s a stray cat you’re too scared to adopt. Tragic. Heartbreaking. A true masterpiece of angst."

"Mingi." San’s voice was sharp, but not sharp enough to deter him.

"And don’t act like it’s some big secret," Mingi continued, undeterred. "The man practically writes love songs about you every time the moon is full. Have you read his letters? It’s like reading a vampire romance novel."

San shot Mingi a flat look, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the ghost of a smile. "You’ve read his letters?"

Mingi threw his hands up. "I wasn’t snooping! They were just… there. And very dramatic. You’re basically the muse of his undead existence."

San turned to Yunho, raising an eyebrow. "You let him do this?"

Yunho coughed into his drink, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn’t let him. He just… does it. I mean, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is pretty obvious."

"Obvious." San repeated, the word heavy with exasperation.

"Painfully," Mingi added helpfully. "But I don’t blame him. I mean, look at you. All dark and brooding, saving the world one noble self-sacrifice at a time. Who wouldn’t fall for that?“ Mingi sighed dreamily. “So? Are you finally going to put the poor guy out of his misery, or are you just going to keep torturing him with your cold, indifferent silence?"

"I’m not torturing anyone," San muttered, exhaling sharply. His fingers drummed on the table, his gaze distant. "And Yoongi deserves better than… this.“

Mingi raised an eyebrow. "Better than what? A lonesome, centuries-old immortal who saves lives and looks like a sculpted Greek god? Sure, San. Sure.“

The guilt gnawed at him. Yoongi was someone he cared about. Deeply. They’d been through gruesome wars together— battles fought side by side, nights spent in quiet companionship when the weight of eternity felt too heavy to bear. Yoongi was a constant, a steady presence in a world that never stopped shifting.

San admired his kindness, the way Yoongi always seemed to find beauty in things San overlooked. He appreciated Yoongi’s sense of humor, dry and clever, a sharp contrast to his poetic nature.

Yoongi had a way of pulling him out of his brooding silences, reminding him that there was still good to be found in their existence.

And yet…

He’d tried to feel more, to meet Yoongi halfway, but it just wasn’t there. Yoongi deserved someone who could look at him the way Mingi looked at Yunho, not someone who saw him as a friend and nothing more.

San sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is why I don’t tell you things."

"Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking," Mingi said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "Yoongi’s practically a romantic tragedy waiting to happen, and you’re the starring role."

"Enough." San’s tone was firmer now, though there was still no real malice in it.

Yunho intervened with a soft laugh, his expression somewhere between amused and sympathetic. "Come on, Mingi. San’s not interested, and Yoongi knows that. Let it go."

It wasn’t fair. Yoongi had been nothing but patient, never pushing too far, always careful to tread lightly when it came to his feelings. San knew it wasn’t easy for him, carrying that unspoken weight. And knowing that made it worse— because Yoongi deserved someone who could give him what he wanted, someone who could match his devotion and his tenderness.

But San couldn’t force what wasn’t there. He’d tried once, long ago, to let Yoongi in, to see if maybe something would bloom from the ashes of his guarded heart. But it hadn’t worked. Instead, it had left San feeling hollow, a pit of guilt growing in his chest every time Yoongi looked at him with those soft, hopeful eyes.

San’s grip on his coffee cup tightened, his thoughts circling back to Wooyoung despite himself. The comparison struck a nerve. He could still feel the lingering heat of Wooyoung’s presence, the way it had unraveled him in ways he hadn’t expected. His control had slipped, and it had scared him. The hunger, the darkness that he kept buried so deeply, had clawed its way to the surface. He’d felt himself slipping, his control fraying at the edges, and it had terrified him— terrified him because for the briefest moment, he’d wanted to let go.

The room had been charged with tension, the air thick and suffocating. San remembered the look in Wooyoung’s eyes. It had been almost unbearable, standing there under the weight of that gaze.

"Earth to San.“ Mingi’s voice broke through his thoughts, and San blinked, realizing both Mingi and Yunho were staring at him.

"You okay?" Yunho asked, his brow furrowed.

San nodded quickly, forcing himself to refocus. "Yeah. Just… tired.“

Mingi leaned forward, his playful demeanor slipping just slightly. "Are you sure? You’ve been… off, tonight. And I mean… more than usual.“

San hesitated, his gaze flickering to the window where the neon lights reflected against the glass. He could see his own faint reflection, the sharp angles of his face illuminated in the glow.

His mind replayed the events of the previous night. The memory burned in the back of his mind, refusing to fade. He could still see Wooyoung’s smile, hear the warm tone his voice. It had struck a nerve deep inside San, something primal, something he couldn’t quite control. The thrumming of Wooyoung’s  blood underneath his skin had been overwhelming, intoxicating, and he had felt himself teetering on the edge of a precipice.

"I almost lost control last night.“ he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Both Yunho and Mingi froze, their playful expressions replaced by something more serious.

„You? Loosing Control?“ Yunho gasped, leaning in slightly. "What do you mean?"

San exhaled slowly, the weight of the memory pressing against his chest. „I met this boy last night, at Seonghwa’s apartment. He seems to be a close friend of him. I think they went to medical school together. He… he was…“ He paused, choosing his next words carefully. „He was different.“

Mingi’s brow furrowed. „Different how?“

San sighed, his stomach churned at the memory. "It’s not easy to explain.“

He had always prided himself on his restraint, on the centuries he’d spent mastering his impulses. But in that moment, standing so close to Wooyoung, he had felt it slipping through his fingers like sand. The hunger had clawed at him, a relentless beast that refused to be ignored.

He hesitated again, not sure how much to reveal.

Yunho and Mingi were two of his closes friends, but he had still always kept a certain distance to them— even more than with Seonghwa.

But the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. „I wanted to tear him apart.“ he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His grip on the mug tightened, his knuckles white.

Yunho’s eyes widened, his usually calm demeanor replaced with concern. "San…"

"I didn’t," San said quickly, cutting him off. "I held it together. But it was close.“

The memory of Wooyoung’s heartbeat haunted him. It had been so loud and erratic, pounding in his ears like a drumbeat, and he had felt his resolve crack under the pressure. He remembered how his hands had trembled, how his fangs were aching and threatening to grow, how once he had fled Seonghwa apartment, he had bitten down on his own wrist just to drown out the urge to sink his teeth into Wooyoung’s throat. The shame of it lingered, a heavy weight in his chest.

"I don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t walked away," San admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "He was… he was so vulnerable, and I was—" He cut himself off, unable to finish the thought.

Mingi’s playful expression was long gone, replaced by a rare seriousness. "You’re not like that," he said firmly. "You wouldn’t hurt him. You wouldn’t hurt anyone!“

San wanted to believe that, but the memory of Wooyoung’s scent, his warmth, the sound of his racing heart— it made heat surge through his veins. He had been so close to losing himself, to giving in to the hunger that he had spent centuries trying to suppress.

Before he could respond, something caught his eye— a flash of movement just beyond the café window. He turned his head sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

It was Wooyoung.

He was walking down the street, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his movements quick and purposeful. Next to him was an attractive young man with a face that looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo himself. Still, all he could see was Wooyoung. His scent seem to find him even in the closed cafe.

San’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t believe in

"San?" Yunho’s voice pulled him back, and he realized he had been staring.

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need to go."

Mingi blinked in surprise. "Go where? San, what’s—"

But San was already rising, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved toward the door. His eyes locked on the figures disappearing into a nearby club. The pulsing music spilled out onto the street as the door opened and closed, swallowing them whole.

"San!" Yunho called after him, but San didn’t stop.

His thoughts were a whirlwind as he stepped out onto the street, the cool night air biting at his skin. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he felt an unbearable pull towards Wooyoung,

The club loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering like a warning. San hesitated. What was he doing? Was he really so dumb to get close to the human that had almost made him snap the previous night? He groaned, letting a hand run down his face. He couldn’t get close. He couldn’t face him.

He was not sure if he could hold back again if he did.

Chapter 5: Crimson & Gold

Notes:

TW: Graphic descriptions of violence and life threatening injuries

The city at night was a living, breathing thing. Neon signs buzzed, casting electric halos over rain-slicked streets, and the low thrum of bass from the clubs spilled into the air like a heartbeat.

Wooyoung led the way with his usual swagger, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, his grin as bright as the city lights. Yeosang trailed behind, his steps measured, like a man wading into uncertain waters.

“This is a bad idea,” Yeosang muttered as they approached the club entrance, where a bouncer the size of a bear checked IDs.

“This is a great idea,” Wooyoung countered, flashing his ID with a practiced ease. “The best idea I’ve had all week, honestly. Trust me, Yeo. By the end of the night, you’re going to feel so much better.”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He handed over his ID with a sigh, muttering something about regretting this already. The bouncer barely glanced at it before waving them in.

Inside, the club was a kaleidoscope of sound and colour. Strobe lights flickered, illuminating a packed dance floor where bodies moved in wild, frenetic unison. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faintest hint of something floral— someone’s perfume or cologne, maybe. Wooyoung thrived in the chaos, his grin widening as he took it all in.

“This,” he declared, turning to Yeosang, “is where the magic happens.”

Yeosang looked less convinced. He folded his arms, scanning the room with a mixture of wariness and resignation. “I don’t know, Woo. This doesn’t really feel like my scene.”

“Your scene,” Wooyoung said, dragging the words out dramatically, “is literally anywhere I am. You just don’t know it yet. Now, come on. First round’s on me.”

He guided Yeosang toward the bar, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. Yeosang followed reluctantly, his shoulders stiff and his gaze darting around like he was expecting trouble to jump out at him.

At the bar, Wooyoung flagged down the bartender with a casual wave. “Two whiskey sours,” he said, then glanced at Yeosang. “Unless you want something fancier? A mojito, maybe? Something with an umbrella?”

“Whiskey’s fine.” Yeosang said, rolling his eyes.

“Atta boy.” Wooyoung slapped him on the back, earning a half-hearted glare. The drinks arrived quickly, and Wooyoung slid one across to Yeosang before raising his own. “To living a little!” he said, holding up his glass.

Yeosang hesitated, then clinked his glass against Wooyoung’s. “To not regretting this later.” he said dryly.

They drank, and for a moment, Yeosang’s expression softened. The warmth of the whiskey spread through him, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He set the glass down, glancing at Wooyoung, who was already scanning the room like a predator on the hunt.

“What are you looking for?” Yeosang asked.

“Opportunities,” Wooyoung replied with a grin. “And by opportunities, I mean people to dance with. Or annoy. Or both.”

Yeosang shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” Wooyoung shot back, already stepping away from the bar. He turned, walking backward to face Yeosang. “Come on, Yeo. Let’s dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Everyone dances,” Wooyoung said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the dance floor. “You just need the right partner.”

The crowd swallowed them up, the music pounding like a second heartbeat. Wooyoung moved with an effortless confidence, his body swaying to the rhythm, his grin infectious. Yeosang, on the other hand, stood stiffly at first, his movements awkward and unsure.

“Relax,” Wooyoung said, leaning close so Yeosang could hear him over the music. “No one’s watching you. They’re too busy worrying about how they look.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Yeosang shot back, but he did loosen up a little, his movements becoming less forced.

“There you go!” Wooyoung cheered, raising his hands in triumph. “Now you’re getting it.”

Yeosang laughed despite himself, the sound surprising both of them. It was rare these days, but in that moment, it felt easy— natural. For a while, they lost themselves in the music, the weight of the world fading into the background.

Yeosang’s mind quieted, the noise replaced by the steady pulse of the bass and the warmth of the whiskey still lingering in his veins.

But, as with all good things, the moment didn’t last.

Wooyoung was the first to notice him— a man leaning casually against the bar, his dark eyes scanning the room like he owned it. He was striking, his sharp features illuminated briefly by the strobe lights, and there was an air of danger about him that made Wooyoung’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t entirely understand.

“That dude is staring at you…” Wooyoung said, nudging Yeosang and nodding toward the man.

Yeosang followed his gaze, his expression darkening when he spotted the stranger. “We should go!” he said abruptly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“What? Why?” Wooyoung asked, confused. “Do you know him?”

“Not here,” Yeosang said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the exit. “I’ll explain outside.”

Wooyoung didn’t argue, though his curiosity burned like a wildfire. He let Yeosang lead him out of the club, the music fading into a dull thrum as they stepped into the cool night air.

Yeosang didn’t stop until they were halfway down the block, his grip on Wooyoung’s arm tight enough to leave marks.

“Yeosang!” Wooyoung said, pulling free and turning to face him. “What the hell was that about?”

Yeosang hesitated, his eyes darting back toward the club as if expecting the man to follow them. “That guy,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “He’s dangerous, Woo. Trust me.”

Yeosang’s voice trembled slightly, the urgency in it enough to send a chill down Wooyoung’s spine. The confidence Yeosang had been wearing moments ago, tentative though it was, had vanished entirely.

“Dangerous how?” Wooyoung asked, his tone sharp now, his playful demeanor dissolving in the face of Yeosang’s unease. “How do you know him?”

Yeosang’s eyes darted towards the club, his jaw tight. “He’s been following me. For days now. Every time I think I’ve shaken him, he shows up again. Like… he seems to know where I will go, even before I know it myself. And he’s always just... watching.” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper, “But last time, he tried to—” Yeosang cut himself off, his breath hitching.

“Wait, hold on,” Wooyoung interrupted, stepping closer. “Tried to what? Yeo, what aren’t you telling me?”

Yeosang shook his head quickly, his gaze darting nervously down the dark street. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. We need to keep moving.”

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. If this guy’s a threat, I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Yeosang glanced over his shoulder, his face pale and slick with sweat.

The harsh glow of a nearby streetlamp threw shadows across his beautiful features, making the fear etched into them even more pronounced. His mouth opened, then shut again, as if he couldn’t find the words to explain. Instead, his hand gripped Wooyoung’s wrist with surprising force, his voice coming out as a desperate whisper. “We can’t stay here. We have to move—now.”

Before Wooyoung could protest, Yeosang was pulling him into the maze of alleyways, the towering buildings around them looming like silent sentinels.

The city noise faded the deeper they went, replaced by the eerie echo of their hurried footsteps against the damp, uneven pavement.

Wooyoung’s heart thundered in his chest, not just from exertion but from the gnawing sense of dread coiling tighter with every step.

“Yeosang,” he said, struggling to keep up, “Who is he? What does he want?”

Yeosang didn’t answer. His breaths came quick and shallow, his eyes darting to every shadow, every corner, like he expected the man to materialize at any moment.

The air grew colder, and an unnatural stillness settled around them. Even the distant hum of the city seemed muted, swallowed by the oppressive silence. Wooyoung was about to speak again, to demand answers, when Yeosang suddenly stopped short.

And there he was.

As if he had appeared out of thin air, the man from the club stood at the end of the dark alleyway. His jacket swayed gently in a breeze that shouldn’t have been there, adding an eerie touch to his otherwise calm and amused expression. But it was his eyes that let Wooyoung’s blood run cold- they burned with an intense, primal energy that seemed to pierce right through him.

Wooyoung couldn't even form a coherent sentence as he stumbled back in shock. “What the—” he stammered, flinching back. He blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. “How did he know— how the hell did he get here?”

The man tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. His velvety voice dripped with honeyed words, but Wooyoung could sense the poison hidden within. "My little lamb," he purred. "I gave you a chance to run. You should've taken it."

Before Wooyoung could even process his words, the man lunged forward with lightning speed.

The figure in front of them moved with an otherworldly fluidity, gliding closer without any visible effort. Wooyoung's heart raced as he tried to comprehend what was happening. It wasn't a normal movement— not in the way Wooyoung understood it. There was no gradual shift, no weight or momentum. One moment, the man was several feet away; the next, he was directly in front of them, so close that Wooyoung could see an almost unnatural glint in his eyes.

“Holy shi—” Wooyoung staggered back, his breath hitching as his mind scrambled to process what he had just seen. It was impossible. People couldn't move like that. No one could. It defied all laws of physics and nature.

Yeosang's instincts kicked in and he pushed Wooyoung out of the way, grabbing a broken bottle from the ground. With a fierce determination, he aimed a slash at the man's face, the sharp edges of the glass catching the dim light as it sliced through the air. But even Yeosang's swift attack was no match for the man. He avoided the attack and closed in on them once again, leaving them both stunned and defenseless.

With a single, effortless motion, he caught Yeosang’s wrist mid-swing, his grip like a vice. Yeosang gasped, his face contorting in pain as the man twisted his arm, forcing him to drop the bottle. It clattered to the ground, the sound sharp and hollow in the otherwise silent alley.

“Yeosang!” Wooyoung yelled, surging forward. He threw himself at the man, his fists colliding with a body that felt as unyielding as stone. His blows were met with no resistance. It was like punching a solid wall of ice, with no give or reaction.

The man didn’t even spare him a glance. With a casual flick of his arm, he sent Wooyoung crashing to the ground. The force of it was like being hit by a truck, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him into a daze. Wooyoung's head collided hard with the unforgiving pavement, making pain explode behind his eyes and causing stars to dance in his vision. He groaned, trying to push himself up but feeling too weak and disoriented to move.

"Shouldn't have gotten involved." the man sneered coldly. His attention remained fixed entirely on Yeosang. With just one hand, the man lifted him off the ground as though he weighed nothing more than a feather, making him dangle helplessly in the air. Yeosang's face turned red as he struggled for breath, clawing at the hand around his throat but unable to break free from its iron grasp.

“No!” Wooyoung's desperate cries echoed through the abandoned warehouse as he scrambled to his feet, his vision swimming as he lunged towards the man.

With a primal roar, he lunged towards the man, fueled by an overwhelming surge of adrenaline and rage. But it was futile; trying to pry the man off Yeosang was like trying to move a mountain.

The man paid no attention to Wooyoung's feeble attempts to save his friend. His grip on Yeosang tightened, causing the struggling figure to weaken and thrash about with diminishing vigor, his legs kicking feebly in the air. The man’s eyes gleamed with something dark and terrible— a hunger that went beyond mere malice.

And then, with a swift, brutal motion, he struck.

His teeth— razor-sharp and inhuman— tore into Yeosang’s throat, ripping through flesh and muscle with sickening ease. The sound was guttural and repulsive, a blend of tearing skin and gushing blood that turned Wooyoung's stomach.

“YEOSANG!” Wooyoung screamed, his voice breaking as he pounded his fists against the man's back, his nails clawing desperately at his jacket. But it was all for naught; he was nothing more than a helpless witness to his friend's brutal demise at the hands of this creature before him. Every ounce of strength he had left was meaningless against the sheer force of the monster.

Blood spewed violently from Yeosang's neck, drenching his shirt and pooling onto the grimy alley floor. His once lively eyes were now dilated with agony and terror, his mouth gaping open in silent scream that would never escape his mutilated throat.

Wooyoung's shrieks pierced the air, a primal plea for mercy that fell on deaf ears. Yeosang's life was slipping away right before his very eyes, and there was nothing Wooyoung could do to save him.

His heart pounded against his ribs as he helplessly watched the man holding Yeosang up by his shredded throat. The sight of Yeosang's face, battered and drained of color, with blood streaming down his neck like a macabre necklace, sent a searing pain through Wooyoung's entire being.

 

With a last surge of adrenaline, he lunged at the attacker with reckless abandon, throwing wild punches and kicks in a desperate attempt to free Yeosang from his grasp.

"Let him go!" Wooyoung roared, his voice cracking with fear and fury. But his efforts were futile against the towering figure who swatted him aside effortlessly like a fly, sending him crashing into the unforgiving brick wall. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Wooyoung's body, leaving him slumped on the ground in agony, defeated and powerless to save his friend. He could do nothing more but stare helplessly as he watched while Yeosang's life slowly slipped away.

The man didn't even spare him a glance, his gaze fixated on Yeosang. The limp body of his victim dropped to the ground with no more importance than a discarded doll. Wooyoung’s eyes were wide with panic, his chest heaving as he fought to push through the pain and get back on his feet. But the man’s attention was now on him.

“You’re starting to piss me off, you fucking little—” the man snarled, a twisted smile curving his bloodied lips. He took a step forward, intent on finishing Wooyoung off as well.

But before the man could take another step, something moved in the corner of Wooyoung’s vision— a shadow that seemed to flicker, silent and deadly.

Before the man could even react, a powerful force slammed into him with lightning speed, sending his body flying through the air and crashing into the brick wall with a sickening thud. The sound echoed through the dark alleyway, reverberating off the cold concrete walls.

In that moment of chaos, time seemed to slow down for Wooyoung. His mind struggled to comprehend what was happening— the sudden appearance of a figure standing before him, both familiar and terrifying in its predatory presence. The air was thick with danger, and for one heart-stopping second, Wooyoung couldn't make sense of it all. But then his brain caught up with reality as the realisation hit him.

It was San.

San stood before him, his usually icy demeanor replaced by a twisted and primal rage. His eyes glowed in the dim light, a piercing gold that sent chills down Wooyoung's spine. His face contorted with unbridled anger and determination, his body taut like a coiled snake ready to strike again. Wooyoung could hardly believe what he was witnessing.

The attacker struggled to get up, spitting out blood as he did so, his eyes wild with anger and terror, flashing with unbridled rage.

But amidst the man's seething rage, there was something else brewing beneath the surface, lurking behind the man’s fury. Fear.

Without warning, San pounced on the man with ferocious speed, his movements fluid and deadly. A sickening crack echoed through the alley as San's fist connected with the man's chest, breaking ribs with one blow. The man cried out in agony, stumbling backwards, but San wasn't done yet.

With a savage roar, he struck again and again, his fists pummeling the man's face until it was a bloody mess. The attacker's howls of pain only fueled San's rage as he relentlessly continued his assault, each blow more brutal than the last. Blood was spraying from the man’s mouth as he lashed out in desperation, his claws swiping toward San’s face. But his claws were no match for San's fierce agility and precision, and soon he was reduced to a whimpering, broken mess.

Wooyoung could only watch in horror as San seemingly took pleasure in dismantling the man piece by piece. The sound of bones cracking and flesh tearing filled the air, drowning out the man's desperate gasps for air. It was a display of raw power and brutality that left Wooyoung feeling sickened and afraid.

San didn’t stop, didn’t falter. Each blow he delivered was measured, calculated. The man’s strength faltered under the onslaught, his breath coming in ragged wheezes as his body began to give way.

Wooyoung’s eyes were fixed on the scene, heart racing as he watched San overpower the man with chilling ease. It was like watching a predator tear apart its prey, and Wooyoung could feel the primal tension in the air, a sense of impending violence that made his skin crawl.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The man lay on the ground, barely conscious and covered in blood. His eyes were wide with terror as he looked up at San, who towered over him like a vengeful god. His eyes wild with fear, his body shaking as he tried to push himself up. “I— I can’t—” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. With a final kick to the ribs, San left the man gasping and broken before turning to Wooyoung.

“Are you okay?” San said with a voice so soft, it was causing wooyoung whiplash. It was such a stark contrast to the way he had nearly ripped the man apart, his hands coated in blood.

As he gazed upon the bloody mess of a man, San's hand twitched with the urge to finish what he had started. Wooyoung couldn't help but gasp as the man, barely alive, began to move once more. The man slowly started to contort. Wooyoung gasped.

The man seemed to struggle for a moment, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear, before he let out one final, guttural snarl. With an unsteady push, he bolted towards Wooyoung.

San reacted quickly, placing himself between them, covering Wooyoung with his body— and then the man was gone.

He disappeared into the darkness, his steps faltering as he stumbled and fled into the shadows, narrowly escaping death at San's hands.

San's eyes remained focused on where the man had disappeared, the golden hue fading as his face hardened into an unreadable mask. But when Yeosang's ragged breathing broke through the tense moment, San snapped back to reality, his attention fully on Wooyoung once more.

Wooyoung whipped back around to Yeosang, his chest tight with panic. A pool of deep red blood spread beneath Yeosang, drenching the once pristine floor in a slick and sticky mess. The gash on Yeosang's throat was a gruesome sight, the jagged wound pulsing with each frantic beat of his heart.

Wooyoung scrambled toward Yeosang, his hands frantic as he tried to apply pressure, but his mind was a mess— he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. He felt dizzy and nauseous, the back of his head felt wet and sparks of pain were shooting through his whole body. His training as a paramedic kicked in, but his mind was clouded with terror and a hazy fog.

"Stay with me, Yeo," he pleaded, his voice quivering with fear and desperation. "Don't leave me!"

Yeosang's lips moved soundlessly, his eyes unfocused and distant. Wooyoung could feel the life slipping away from him, but he refused to give up. With trembling hands, he continued to apply pressure to the wound, his fingers slipping and sliding in the sea of blood.

In a haze of terror and adrenaline, Wooyoung reached for his phone his fingers slippery and clumsy as he fumbled for his phone with one hand,

“Come on, come on!” he muttered, biting down the sob threatening to escape his throat, dialling emergency services.

San dropped to his knees beside Wooyoung, his body trembling with adrenaline, the scent of Yeosang’s blood filling his senses— but the proximity to Wooyoung was even worse. He clenched his teeth, trying to keep his focus.

But the sight of Wooyoung, covered in his friend's life essence, made his mind snap back to reality. “How bad is it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm despite the urgency coursing through his veins.

Wooyoung's hands were shaking violently, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. "I-I can't stop it," he stammered, tears streaming down his face. "He's losing too much blood- I can't-"

“Wooyoung.” San’s voice cut through his panic like a knife, firm but grounding. “Look at me.”

Wooyoung’s eyes snapped to San’s, his chest heaving.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” San said, his hands already moving to press down over Wooyoung’s, helping to stem the flow of blood. “You’re a paramedic. You know what to do.”

Wooyoung nodded shakily, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I-I need something to bandage it,” he stammered, glancing around desperately. “Cloth, anything—”

Without hesitation, San shrugged off his coat and tore a sleeve from his shirt with a swift, almost violent motion. He handed it to Wooyoung. “Use this.” he said, handing it to him.

Wooyoung quickly folded the fabric into a makeshift compress, pushing it firmly against Yeosang’s neck. Wooyoung's eyes were filled with fear and desperation as he whispered to his dying friend, pleading for him to stay conscious and hold on just a little longer.

“Fuck, stay with me!” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re not allowed to give up, okay? Just hang on a little longer.”

Yeosang’s breaths were faint and shallow. His skin had turned an eerie shade of gray, making the situation all the more dire. San stepped in, his hand steadying Wooyoung's trembling ones as they worked together to keep Yeosang alive. "We need to keep his head elevated," San instructed, guiding Wooyoung's movements. "Tilt it slightly...there, that's good."

Wooyoung’s phone, forgotten on the ground, crackled with the distant voice of the emergency operator. San grabbed it, his voice calm and commanding as he gave their location. “We need an ambulance. Now.”

Wooyoung’s hands were still shaking as he applied more pressure, his eyes darting between Yeosang’s pale face and the crimson pooling beneath him.

“He’s… he’s not going to make it, is he?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

San’s looked at him, something like pity swimming in his dark eyes.

Wooyoung gasped, tears streaming down his face as he focused all his attention on keeping Yeosang alive. The distant sound of sirens began ring through the night, cutting through the suffocating silence of the alley.

Chapter 6: A Taste of Life

Notes:

Couldn't leave you guys with that cliffhanger :3

TW: Descriptions of blood, injuries and pain

Wooyoung’s mind was a blur of panic and helplessness, a swirling vortex, his body trembling as he sat on the sterile hospital bed. His fingers were gripping the sheets tightly. It all felt unreal, like a twisted nightmare that he couldn't escape from. The sterile room around him seemed to blur and distort, as if it were just a figment of his imagination.

A nurse's voice pierced through the fog in his mind, jolting him back to reality as they began to clean and treat the wound on the back of his head. "You're safe now, Wooyoung," she assured him, but the nurse's words were muffled, like she was speaking from underwater.

He could barely hear her through the ringing in his ears, the pounding of his heart. The doctor’s hands on his skull didn’t feel like anything to him; it all seemed like a distant echo.

His entire body throbbed with agony from the brutal blows he had received, his head pulsating with the raw intensity of the concussion. He could faintly feel their hands on his body, checking for injuries and administering pain relief, but it all faded into a distant haze. His heart was still racing from the adrenaline rush of what had just happened

But it all didn’t matter— Yeosang did.

Tears streamed down his face as he tried to ask the question that consumed him. "Is he..." He tried to choke out the words, but they got stuck in his throat. A raw, desperate sob tore its way out of him instead. "Is Yeosang going to be okay?"

The doctor exchanged a look with the nurse, one of those grim, unspoken expressions that made Wooyoung’s stomach churn. The nurse placed a hand gently on his shoulder, and for a moment, Wooyoung allowed himself to be comforted by the touch, though it was not enough. His chest was hollow with dread, his head a storm of endless what-ifs.

 

Meanwhile, outside in the hospital hallway, Seonghwa leaned heavily against the sterile hospital wall, struggling to keep his composure as he stared down at the linoleum floor. His hand shook as he pressed it against his trembling mouth, his heart heavy with pain and worry.

His usual air of elegance and coldness was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was a sickly shade of pale, his eyes hollow with pain, and his jaw clenched so tightly that it seemed like he might snap his teeth.

Across from him stood San, the tension in his body evident as his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gaze unyielding. But there was a glimmer of something in his eyes, something raw and painful that mirrored Seonghwa's own emotions. Both of them understood the gravity of the situation they were facing.

Both of them knew what was at stake.

"They're doing everything they can," Seonghwa said, his voice barely above a whisper. He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, unable to hide the fear and desperation in his tone. “But it doesn’t look good. Yeosang, he… he won’t survive the night.”

The words hit San like a physical blow, each syllable sinking deeper than the last. His chest tightened with an emotion he couldn’t describe, a deep-rooted sense of soberness mixing with rage, and something even darker— a guilt that clung to him like a second skin.

“I know.” he muttered, though his voice cracked slightly.

He turned away, his back to Seonghwa now, facing the window at the end of the hallway. The sounds of the city, the traffic and voices drifted up to him, but inside this sterile hospital corridor, it felt like everything was on mute. The world outside continued to move on while his best friends world had just been shattered.

San's breath hitched as the reality of what he had just witnessed hit him full force. “I should’ve been there sooner. I should’ve—” He broke off, unable to finish the thought.

He couldn’t find the words to explain the gnawing ache in his chest, the constant need to protect, and yet how he always seemed to fail at the most crucial moments.

Seonghwa could only imagine what San was feeling, although his own suffering was nearly suffocating. He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as he tried to steady his shaking hands. The weight of the situation was barely leaving him with any room for coherent thoughts. His mind raced with worry and fear for his friend.

San turned back to him. “I know you want to do something— anything. But right now, you need to be strong. For them.” San's voice broke through the chaos, his tone calm and determined despite the storm brewing inside him.

Seonghwa's head hung low, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. The air in the hallway felt heavy and oppressive, making it difficult for him to catch his breath as he struggled to find the strength to keep going. The hospitals corridor felt like it was closing in on him, making it hard to even think. Images Yeosang laying on the brink of death consumed his mind, and the sound of Wooyoung’s hysterical cries rang in his ears like a death knell.

And then, that sound- the unbearable soun - tore through him once again.

Wooyoung’s voice, echoed down the hallway like a haunting melody. His cries were raw and primal, driven by the agony of losing Yeosang and shattering him from the inside out.

San’s breath hitched, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. His heartbeat thudded painfully in his ears, each pulse a jagged reminder of his helplessness. The pressure built inside him like a storm, rising higher and higher until he feared it would shatter him from within. His stomach knotted so violently that it felt as though he might choke on the bitter taste of dread. His limbs were frozen, trapped in the crushing weight of guilt, of fear, of empathy— an overwhelming flood of emotions that threatened to tear him apart.

Wooyoung’s cries echoed through the sterile hallway, raw and desperate, each one a dagger to the chest. They were a wail of agony, a sound so primal, so desperate, it clawed at his soul, unraveling him further with each agonizing sob.

San’s fists clenched so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palms. He could feel the painful tremors wracking his body, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging inside him. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to control his breathing, his pulse racing erratically beneath his skin. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a heavy boulder, suffocating and unrelenting.

All around him, chaos reigned as Yeosang's pale face and the memory of his life draining away consumed his thoughts, of the impossible task ahead.

His breath quickened, his pulse erratic, the suffocating pressure in his chest a constant reminder of the disaster unfolding around him.

I need to fix this, he thought, a mantra that echoed in his mind, desperate, frantic. But no matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the here and now, the power within him threatened to break free, dark and dangerous and all-consuming. It was what had caused him immeasurable loss and heartache in the past, and now it pulsed through him with a vengeance.

He could feel it— the darkness tingling inside his veins, the darkness that threatened to claw itself out from his insides. Seonghwa had been the last one he had ever turned— and he had also been the only one of his kin that had survived.

But he’s dying. He’s dying, and you’re just standing here.

"San..." Seonghwa’s voice, soft but filled with an edge of quiet desperation, sliced through his spiraling thoughts. It was like the cool touch of a hand in a sea of fire, a lifeline in a world sinking beneath waves of madness.

San looked up at him, his vision blurred by the tumult inside him, and saw Seonghwa's eyes— haunted, broken, yet still holding a flicker of something human, something fragile. Seonghwa stepped closer, his touch grounding, a reminder that there were still connections in this world, still bonds that could hold him together.

His hand rested on San's shoulder, a subtle plea, a silent request. For strength. For sanity.

“I can’t lose him,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice trembling as if even speaking the words might break him. “I can’t lose either of them.”

San felt a renewed wave of empathy rush through him, bitter and sharp like acid, burning him from the inside out. His throat constricted, but there was no room for words, only a deep, gnawing sorrow that tore at him.

Gods, don’t make me do this. I can't... I can't do it.

Not again.

"Seonghwa..." His voice was hoarse, the name a plea, a cry for something— anything— that might make this impossible choice vanish. "Please don’t ask this of me."

But Seonghwa didn’t answer him with words. He just stood there, his gaze fixed on the hallway ahead, where the sound of Wooyoung’s grief still echoed in the distance, reverberating off the sterile walls and tearing at their souls. The silence between them felt like a scream, the weight of the decision pressing down on both of them.

“I would never ask this of you, San.” Seonghwa’s voice broke, ragged with emotion. “I know that you swore you’d never turn anyone again, but—" He faltered, his voice cracking completely as he reached out, gripping San’s shoulders with trembling hands. “Fuck, San. You know I can’t turn him myself. If it was possible, if I had my fangs...”

Sronghwa’s words were choked out between gut-wrenching sobs that tore at San's insides like a jagged knife. His eyes locked onto Seonghwa, the agony in his expression mirroring the pain etched into every fiber of his being. The memory Seonghwa’s anguished screams as his fangs were brutally ripped from his mouth flooded through San, filling his whole being and making his knees buckle underneath him. It was too painful, it was all too much.

Seonghwa’s composure shattered, the carefully constructed walls he had built over decades crumbling beneath the weight of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face, scorching San's skin with their hot, searing touch as he gently traced Seonghwa’s ethereal features.

The sight was unbearable— Seonghwa— always the calm, the collected, now so broken, so fragile.

A fire ignited within San's chest, fueled by the agony of seeing his closest friend so utterly destroyed. The pain of this seeing this ran deeper than any physical wound ever could, leaving behind scars that would never fully heal.

And in that moment, San felt his heart twist violently in his chest, the anguish he had so carefully contained breaking free, unraveling him. It was a familiar, yet foreign sensation, this raw grief.

His mind spun, his vision narrowing as the weight of Seonghwa’s words crushed him. And no matter how many times he tried to push the truth away, it lingered like a shadow, darker and colder with each passing second.

San turned away from Seonghwa again, unable to look at him anymore, his chest heaving with the burden of it all. His hands clenched again, his nails digging into his palms harder, leaving bloody crescents behind. He wanted to scream, to let the rage and helplessness consume him, but all that escaped was a strangled gasp.

The choice loomed over him like a guillotine, and the line between who he was and the unbearable dread of loss was vanishing.

He had sworn never to cross that line again. But watching Seonghwa break before him, hearing Wooyoung’s frantic cries echo in his ears made it impossible to ignore any longer.

The sound of Seonghwa’s sobs wove into the fabric of his own inner torment, and it was too much to bear. Too much to hold inside. The walls he had so carefully built around his emotions, his humanity, cracked under the weight of what was happening.

"I..." San’s voice faltered as he turned back to Seonghwa, his eyes burning with something achingly similar to unshed tears, his lips trembling as the words escaped him. “Seonghwa…”

And in that moment, when the abyss seemed to swallow him whole, San knew what he had to do.

 

The sterile hospital room was cloaked in darkness, save for the soft, mechanical hum of the machines that tracked the fragile thread of Yeosang’s life. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor echoed like a cruel countdown, each sound a reminder of how little time was left.

The dim light cast long shadows over the room, the walls closing in around San as he stood in the doorway, watching. His breath was shallow, the weight of the decision pressing on him like a thousand-pound stone.

Yeosang lay motionless on the bed, his skin an unhealthy shade of grey, the blood loss a gnawing, undeniable threat to his survival. His chest barely rose with each breath, the shallow inhales barely enough to sustain him. The machines beeped steadily, but they felt distant, like a sound from another world. Yeosang’s face was lifeless, his eyes closed. Now, all that remained was a body hanging on by a thread.

San’s fists trembled at his sides, nails digging into his skin. The bitterness of his regret gnawed at him, but it was the fear, the paralyzing fear, that tore at him most.

He had lived for centuries, seen countless lives end, and yet standing here, now, with Yeosang’s life on the precipice of death, he felt a vulnerability that was making it hard to breath.

But what if it doesn’t work? What if I—

A sharp sound tore from San’s chest, and he shut his eyes, willing the thoughts to stop. He thought of Wooyoung, the desperate cries that echoed in his ears, his voice raw with emotion.

He thought of Seonghwa, who had wept in front of him, trembling under the weight of loss.

I can’t fail him. I can’t let them loose him.

The inner turmoil that had raged within him for so long began to give way to a singular, unavoidable truth.

He couldn’t let them suffer through the same pain that had ripped him apart so long ago.

He couldn’t let him die, not when there was something he could do.

San’s fingers twitched at his side, the temptation of the darkness flickering inside him like a wildfire. His heart hammered in his chest as he stepped closer to the bed, drawn to Yeosang’s broken form, the weight of his own decisions pressing down harder with each step.

He stood over Yeosang for a moment, just staring at him, almost as if hoping he’d wake up, that this was all some terrible nightmare. But the reality was clear: Yeosang was dying. And if San didn’t act now, it would be too late.

With shaking hands, he gripped the side of the bed, leaning down over Yeosang’s pale, still face. The inner battle raged on inside him— doubt, fear, regret— all swirling in his gut like a storm.

I can’t do this. Not again. If this goes wrong…

But then, like a jolt of clarity, he remembered Wooyoung's shattered cries, Seonghwa’s desperate plea, and the reality of what was happening.

I can’t be selfish anymore. I can’t let him fade away.

San’s eyes flickered to the pulse point on Yeosang’s neck, hidden beneath the bandages that covered the gruesome wound. His gaze hardened.

With a sharp, almost instinctive motion, he sank his teeth into his own wrist. The skin tore apart with a sickening rip, exposing the pulsating veins and arteries underneath. Blood spurted out in a violent rush, coating his hand and arm in a warm crimson cascade. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced more blood to gush out, pooling thickly in his palm.

San didn’t hesitate— he knew there was no time for it.

He tilted Yeosang’s head back gently, his hand trembling as he cradled Yeosang's head. His breath came out in ragged gasps as he looked at him, his eyes wild and determined.

With a guttural growl,he pressed his bleeding wrist against Yeosang's parted lips, allowing the rich red liquid to flow freely into his mouth. As the blood entered Yeosang's body, San felt a surge of power course through him, a primal energy that burned bright and fierce.

His blood was alive, and Yeosang needed it, needed it to survive.

But even as he let the blood trickle into Yeosang’s mouth, something in him resisted. The dread of failure consumed him, a suffocating weight that pressed down on his chest like a vice. The thought of Yeosang’s body rejecting the transformation was overbearing— that he would die in his arms.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each drop of blood like a weight pressing down on San's chest. Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

With trembling hands, San gently peeled back the bandages covering Yeosang's injured neck, exposing the raw wound underneath. A primal urge overtook him as he lowered his mouth to the uninjured side, his lips pressing against Yeosang’s cool skin.

In one swift motion, he sank his fangs into the flesh.

The bite was deep— too deep— and Yeosang's body convulsed in protest. Sharp pain shot through both him and Yeosang, their bodies reacting violently to the intrusion. Warm blood gushed into San's mouth, flooding his senses with the unmistakable taste of Yeosang's sweet skin, mixed with the salty, iron of his blood, overpowering any rational thought. He drank deeply from the source of their unbreakable bond, feeling their connection grow stronger and deeper, binding them together.

Yeosang's body jerked violently again, a futile struggle against the intrusion, a desperate struggle against San's relentless hold. But San refused to let go, his grip unyielding as he drank deeply from the younger man's neck.

San could feel the surge of raw power coursing through his body as the turn began. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, the gut-wrenching sensation of crossing a line, of giving a piece of himself to another.

With every gulp, he felt his hunger intensify, the primal instinct to take more and consume overwhelming him. But he fought against it with every ounce of self-control he possessed, determined to finish this ritual without succumbing to his baser desires. It was an agony of restraint, a battle against the animal within that screamed to take more, to finish what he had started.

As Yeosang's body spasmed beneath him, San's fangs dug deeper into his flesh. San could feel his blood flowing into the younger man, could feel the ancient magic coursing through the veins beneath his skin.

The transformation was a savage, merciless, cruel. It left Yeosang broken and twisted, ripping at his very soul. Every fiber of his being screamed in agony as his mortal essence fought against the invasive power taking over. His body convulsed violently, skin turning paler and blood thickening to a sluggish crawl.

San’s vision blurred, guilt and relief mingling together as he watched the excruciating process unfold. The pain, the discomfort of the process, it was all becoming too much. His fangs sank deeper into Yeosang's neck, hands trembling as he struggled to hold the younger man still. The overwhelming rush of desire surged through him, building with each beat of his heart, until it threatened to consume him entirely.

Yeosang’s body jerked violently, and San’s fangs sank even deeper, the burn of it, the tug of the bond, making his own blood roar with fury. His hands gripped Yeosang harder, the fear twisting his insides as he felt the lifeblood drain from the mans body. Yeosang’s breath rasped, a desperate hitch, but it was faint.

Please, please don’t die, Yeosang.

San's world was a never-ending nightmare, the turn consuming him like fire devouring dry wood. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he forced his essence into Yeosang, the pain and pleasure suffocating him. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away now. The bond was too strong, the connection too vital.

The agony continued for what felt like an eternity, and San didn’t know how long he stayed there, fangs sunk deep, feeding, giving everything he had.

But then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of pain and uncertainty, he could hear it— the unmistakable sound of the heart slowing, grinding to a near halt as the transformation took its last, horrific step.

The air around him crackled with energy, a tangible sense of darkness that made San's skin prickle with unease. As Yeosang's body convulsed and twisted, it was no longer recognizable as his own. It seemed to warp and change, becoming something otherworldly, a creature beyond human comprehension.

Something unnatural. A new creature entirely.

And then, in an instant, the violent shaking stopped. The room fell into an eerie stillness, so profound that it felt suffocating.

San stumbled backwards, his chest heaving as he fought for control over his emotions and the insatiable hunger that threatened to consume him. Sweat coated his brow and his breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to contain his feelings. His entire body was trembling with exertion, blood dripping from his lips and wrist.

The weight of what he had done crashed down on him like a tidal wave, crushing him under its immense force. But there was no turning back now. He had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

In the deafening silence, Yeosang's heart continued to beat- barely- a faint reminder of his humanity that echoed like a death knell in the empty room.

His eyes locked onto Yeosang’s now-still form, desperately searching for any sign, any movement that would tell him it hadn’t been in vain.

A glimmer of hope stirred in his chest as he noticed the faintest twitch from Yeosang's eyelids. A sign, however small, that there was still life within him. His eyes fluttered, like the gentle beating of a butterfly's wings.

And then it happened. Without warning, Yeosang's eyes flew open, revealing a deep silver hue swirling within their depths.

The transformation now complete.

But it was not Yeosang anymore who looked back at him now. This new being possessed an insatiable hunger and an uncanny awareness, but there was no recognition in those cold, silver eyes. Only a cold, terrifying realization that what had occurred could not be undone.

But before he could allow himself to break, Yeosang’s head turned slightly, his body trembling with fear and desperation. Yeosang's body tore and spasmed as it contorted under the weight of a powerful transformation, the sound of bones cracking and skin stretching and mending itself back together filled the air. San watched helplessly, his heart wrenching at the sight of the young mans suffering.

A soft moan escaped Yeosang's lips, muffled by the strain on his body. San couldn't tell if it was a cry of confusion or pain, but either way, it was enough. Enough to know that Yeosang was still there, somewhere beneath the horror that had just claimed him.

San swallowed hard, fighting back the bile rising in his throat as he watched Yeosang struggle against the transformation. The dread settled deep within him, his heart clenching with guilt and regret.

„Forgive me.“ He whispered, his eyes lingering on Yeosang’s dazed expression.

He had saved him— but at what cost?

Chapter 7: A New Gravity

Notes:

FASHIONWEEK WOOYOUNG HAS ME REELING?.?!,!!?!

Wooyoung’s footsteps were slow, each one heavier than the last as he made his way down the quiet hospital hallway.

His head was throbbing, the remnants of the severe concussion pressing against the edges of his thoughts. The sound of his own breathing seemed too loud in his ears as he passed the empty rooms, a deep ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

All he could see in his mind was Yeosang’s blood-soaked body, the way his friend had looked as he was slipping away. It felt like the world was spinning out of control, and Wooyoung had no way to stop it.

He had barely slept. How could he, when the memory of Yeosang’s lifeless form haunted every waking moment?

The doctors had told him that there was barely any chance that his best friend would survive the severity of his injuries— and that had broken Wooyoung.

His hand hovered over the door handle to Yeosang’s room. The uncertainty gnawed at his insides. He wasn’t sure what he would find behind that door— whether it would be the lifeless body of his friend or just an empty bed that would be the proof that Yeosang was long gone.

He exhaled shakily and pushed the door open, fully expecting the worst.

But when his eyes fell upon Yeosang, his breath caught in his throat.

Yeosang was sitting up in the bed, his eyes half-lidded as though he had just woken from a long sleep. He looked... alive.

His skin had colour again, no longer the ghostly pallor it had been just hours before. His breath was steady, the rise and fall of his chest a clear sign that he was no longer teetering on the edge of death.

Wooyoung’s heart swelled, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief flooding his chest. He staggered toward the bed, his legs weak, and before he even realized what he was doing, he was crouching by Yeosang’s side, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch his friend.

“Yeosang?” His voice cracked, and he could feel the tears welling up before he even realized it.

Yeosang’s gaze flickered to him, his eyes locking onto Wooyoung’s. For a brief moment, it felt like the world stopped. The air seemed to thin, and Wooyoung’s heart raced as his friend’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles.

“I thought you...” Wooyoung’s breath hitched, choking on the words. “I thought you were dead.”

Yeosang's voice was soft, almost too soft. "Not quite," he murmured, his gaze steady but distant, not quite the warmth Wooyoung had known.

Wooyoung’s stomach turned, but the relief that had surged through him at first could not be denied. He had survived. His best friend had survived.

He couldn't stop himself from crying, tears streaming down his face as he gripped Yeosang’s hand. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of everything. "I— I don't know what I would’ve done..."

Before Yeosang could respond, the door opened again, and Seonghwa stepped inside. He looked just as composed as ever, way too put together for the circumstances. He wasn’t even showing any hint of the surprise that was still running through Wooyoung, but there was something in his gaze that Wooyoung couldn’t quite place.

Seonghwa smiled at Wooyoung. “I’m glad to see you’re finally awake, Yeosangie.” he said gently, walking to the side of his bed.

Yeosang nodded, his expression softening only a little as he turned his head to acknowledge Seonghwa’s presence. “Thanks, Hyung.” he replied quietly, his voice lacking the usual warmth it used to carry.

Wooyoung’s eyes darted between them, the happiness of seeing his friend alive beginning to war with a growing unease. There was something different about Yeosang. Something subtle but undeniable. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but every small interaction—the lack of warmth in his voice, the coldness in his eyes—sent a shiver down his spine.

Seonghwa started to tenderly comb his fingers through Yeosang’s hair, and his friend leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

A soft knock at the door interrupted them, and Wooyoung turned to see a doctor entering, looking completely flabbergasted at the sight of Yeosang sitting upright, his vitals stable, and his color restored. He muttered under his, checking the monitors, making sure the readings were accurate.

“How is this possible?” The doctor asked in disbelief, scanning the chart before looking up at Yeosang in awe. “This— this is unprecedented. His heart rate, blood pressure, everything... is completely normal.”

He rubbed his chin as he stared at the patient. “He should’ve been… comatose, at least. The severity of his injuries— there’s no logical explanation for this.”

Wooyoung’s head spun, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. His eyes flicked between the doctor, Seonghwa and Yeosang. Yeosang was still leaning against Seonghwa, his eyes shut, and a small smile playing on the corners of his lips ever so slightly.

“Yeosang...” Wooyoung’s voice faltered as he stood up and stepped back, his head swimming with confusion.

Yeosang blinked his eyes open slowly, his gaze never leaving Wooyoung as the corner of his mouth lifted into that same unsettling smile. “I’m fine, Woo.” he replied, but there was no reassurance in his words. There was only a distance—an emotional chasm between them now that Wooyoung couldn’t explain, let alone bridge.

The doctor moved closer, lifting the bandages on his neck, checking Yeosang’s throat where the wounds had been. He gasped.

“There’s... no sign of the injury at all,” the doctor said in disbelief. “Not a scar, not even a trace of healing. It’s as if it never happened.”

Yeosang tilted his head, watching the doctor with a disarming calmness. "Lucky me.“ he said, almost teasing.

Wooyoung’s gut twisted as he watched the exchange. The earlier joy he had felt upon seeing Yeosang alive was beginning to fade, replaced by a creeping suspicion. Yeosang’s recovery was too quick, too perfect. How could someone come back from that kind of injury so easily? There weren’t even ANY signs of the previous injury— no scarring, no signs of healing at all never happened.

The doctor’s fingers trembled as they touched the unmarked skin. “I... I don’t understand…” He said, backing away as though afraid to touch him again.

“It’s a miracle.” Seonghwa said dryly, his smile twisting just enough to send another wave of discomfort through Wooyoung.

Wooyoung’s stomach churned as he noticed the difference in both of his friends demeanours— there was no warmth, no easy-going nature that he was so used to. Instead, there was a coldness, a hard edge that reminded him of something darker, something dangerous. Something not entirely human.

The doctor cleared his throat, unable to meet Yeosang’s eyes, his gaze was fixed on Seonghwa now.

“His vitals... this is impossible,” the doctor muttered. “This doesn’t make sense. He was barely clinging to life yesterday.”

The doctor cleared his throat, unable to meet Yeosang’s eyes, his gaze was still fixed on Seonghwa. “We’ll keep him under observation for now.” He said reluctantly, as though he was being forced to admit that no medical explanation could account for what they were witnessing.

„That wont be necessary. I’ll take him home and take care of him.“  Seonghwa said in a friendly voice, although there was a weird coldness to it, leaving no room for discussion.

The doctor opened his mouth as if to speak, then simply closed it again. He stared at Seonghwa with an unnerved expression before nodding.

The room fell silent as the doctor fled the room, leaving only Wooyoung, Yeosang and Seonghwa.

Wooyoung shot a glance at Seonghwa, who was standing near the bed, his eyes fixed on Yeosang with an unreadable expression.

“What’s going on, Hyung?” Wooyoung asked, his voice low and uncertain.

Seonghwa sighed and glanced at Yeosang, then back to Wooyoung. “It’s nothing to worry about, Woo. Yeosang just has an extraordinary way of bouncing back.” His tone was casual, but the way his eyes flickered betrayed his calm

Wooyoung nodded, but his mind was still racing.

Something wasn’t right. Yeosang had basically come back from the dead. Wooyoung couldn’t ignore the feeling that gnawed at him.

Wooyoung sat back at Yeosang’s side, his fingers gripping his friend’s hand. Despite everything, despite the eerie undercurrent that ran through their interactions, Wooyoung couldn’t help but be grateful that his best friend had survived.

But as he watched Yeosang’s unblinking gaze and felt the coldness in the air, his heart thudded painfully in his chest. The man sitting before him was not the same person who had gone unconscious in his arms. He was colder, more distant, and there was an undercurrent of something darker—a shadow lurking just beneath his calm exterior.

Yeosang turned to him slowly, his voice even and low, almost too calm. "I'm fine, Woo. Really. Don't worry about me."

Wooyoung felt the distance between them widen, but he still couldn’t pull his gaze away.

"I don’t know if I can stop worrying, Yeo.” Wooyoung whispered.

Seonghwa stood silently next to them, watching with an unreadable expression. For the first time, Wooyoung noticed how cold the room had become. And it wasn’t just the temperature. Something was shifting, something he couldn’t understand.

And no matter how badly he wanted to believe in the miracle, in the fact that Yeosang was alive, the fear in his chest told him that this wasn’t over yet.

Yeosang only looked at him with those now chilling eyes, as if he were sizing him up, measuring just how much he meant to him.

And for the first time in his life, Wooyoung wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

 

 

It was almost night now, the hours since Wooyoung had sat next to Yeosang on his bed felt like an unreal dream now.

But now, back in his own hospital room, reality was setting in. The sterile walls and incessant buzzing of fluorescent lights made him feel trapped, like a prisoner in a cage. The smell of antiseptic and stale air only added to the suffocating atmosphere, making Wooyoung's stomach churn, burrowing into Wooyoung’s skull and chest.

He rubbed his temple with trembling fingers, the skin hot and clammy beneath his touch, but it did little to dull the relentless pounding in his head. His concussion was a dull knife, pressing against the inside of his skull with every movement.

Wooyoung’s eyes flicked to the window, where he could just make out the silhouettes of Seonghwa and Yeosang disappearing into Seonghwa’s car.

His chest tightened at the sight of them, a pang of jealousy and confusion twisted in Wooyoung's chest. He knew they were hiding something from him, and it made him feel small and foolish. He wasn’t stupid— he had seen the way Seonghwa had avoided his eyes, his words clipped and careful, always steering the conversation away from the impossible questions that lingered in the air.

And Yeosang…

Wooyoung’s stomach twisted at the memory of his friend’s broken body, pale and lifeless as the paramedics rushed him into the ER. The doctors had worked frantically, muttering grim words about internal bleeding and fractured ribs, and Wooyoung had prepared himself for the worst.

But then, hours later, Yeosang had simply… walked out.

It was clawing at his mind— the desperate scramble to stabilize him, the gaping wounds that should’ve meant death, the hospital staff’s grim murmurs about slim chances and irreversible damage. And yet, the pallor of death had been replaced by a flush of life that seemed… wrong. Too quick, too impossible.

Even his movements felt different, more fluid, more deliberate. Wooyoung had known Yeosang for years, and yet the man who’d left the hospital tonight felt like a stranger wrapped in a familiar skin.

No explanation. No trace of the life-threatening injuries that should have left him clinging to survival. Instead, his movements were smooth, deliberate, almost unnervingly graceful.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural. And yet, no one else seemed to question it.

And then there was Seonghwa.

The man who always stood like a lighthouse in Wooyoung’s life— steady, unyielding— now felt like a fortress with secrets hidden behind every stone. Wooyoung wasn’t stupid; he saw the way Seonghwa avoided his gaze, how his answers skirted the edges of the truth without ever settling on it.

Wooyoung clenched the coarse hospital sheets in his fists, his jaw tight with frustration. Why was he being shut out? Seonghwa, Yeosang— hell, maybe even the hospital staff. They were all hiding something, and Wooyoung was being kept in the dark, left to sift through fragments of truth on his own.

He felt like a shadow— left behind, untethered, and caught in a web of unanswered questions.

Last night… No matter how hard he tried to make sense of it, his thoughts tangled, refusing to settle into anything coherent. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, exhaling sharply. He leaned back into the bed, trying to get his thoughts in order.

Wooyoung tried to keep his eyes open, but even the pale glow of the room felt like shards of glass cutting into his vision. Closing them didn’t help either. Closing them only brought the night back.

And with it, San.

The memory of him was inescapable, twisting something deep in Wooyoung’s chest like a knife. That man shouldn’t exist. No one like him should exist.

Even through the haze of his pounding headache, Wooyoung could still see San clearly in his mind. His image burned behind his eyes, seared into the darkness of his thoughts like a brand. San had emerged from nowhere, stepping into the chaos like a shadow made flesh, his movements so fluid, so deliberate, that they seemed almost unreal. In comparison, he had been clumsy, desperate, scrambling to survive.

But not San.

San had moved with purpose, a predator that belonged to the violence. The way he fought— the way he commanded the moment— had sent an unnatural chill racing through Wooyoung’s body, freezing him in place even as he knew he should run.

It was San’s eyes that haunted him most. Dark and unyielding, with something that looked like a golden glimmer, they had locked onto him, holding him captive without a single word. In that moment, Wooyoung had felt stripped bare— his fear, his confusion, his very sense of self— all laid bare under that penetrating gaze. And yet, he hadn’t wanted to run. The thought of it hadn’t even occurred to him. No, he had wanted to stay. To hold that gaze and let it burn him alive, even as something primal deep inside him screamed to run.

San had disappeared just as suddenly as he had come, leaving behind only questions and this gnawing ache in Wooyoung’s chest as he had been put into the ambulance with Yeosang.

His stomach churned as he pressed his head back against the pillow. He didn’t know what to do with the memory of him.

The thought of San refused to leave. No matter how hard Wooyoung tried to push it away, it crept back in, sharp and unrelenting. San had appeared out of nowhere, cutting through the chaos with an effortless strength and speed that made everything else seem fragile. But it wasn’t just his movements that stayed with Wooyoung— it was the way he had looked at him.

That gaze. That impossible, searing gaze that had stripped Wooyoung down to his core.

He hated how much he thought about it. About San’s presence. About the way his low, gravelly voice had settled in his chest, heavy and intoxicating like a poison he couldn’t resist.

And yet, despite the fear that clawed at him, Wooyoung couldn’t stop the aching pull in his chest.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted in the hospital bed. His head throbbed in protest, and for a moment, the walls seemed to close in around him, too stark and too silent.

His breathing quickened, and panic crept up his spine like ice. His heart hammered against his ribs, erratic and sharp, and the air in the room felt thin, suffocating.

He gripped the sheets tighter, gasping for breath, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Wooyoung exhaled shakily, raising trembling fingers to his face. His skin was damp.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. But he knew one thing.

No matter how much he wanted to forget, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was just fear or confusion—there was more to it.

The fear. The longing. The ache in his chest.

It all led back to San.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. But even as he stared at the blank walls of the hospital room, his mind refused to quiet.

The threads of everything— the unexplainable strength, the impossible recovery, the supernatural chaos of last night— knotted together into a single, terrifying realization.

Something wasn’t just wrong.

It was impossible.

And Wooyoung was certain Seonghwa knew exactly what it was.

 

 

The car’s engine rumbled steadily, a lifeline in the tense quiet between them. Rain streaked the windshield, the city outside reduced to a blur of neon smudges bleeding into each other. Each flicker of light illuminated Yeosang’s pale face in fractured colours, but his expression remained stark and raw, carved with fear and confusion. He sat in the passenger seat, his body tense and stiff as if bracing against the weight of something unbearable. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap, the knuckles white.

Every now and then, his fingers twitched—an unconscious sign of the turmoil swirling inside him.

Seonghwa’s grip on the steering wheel was no less rigid, his knuckles ghostly against the leather. His eyes never left the road, but his mind spun faster than the wheels beneath them. He’d been dreading this conversation, holding it off like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing they’d have to jump eventually.

The rain tapped a steady rhythm against the glass, filling the silence between them, as heavy as the air in a sealed tomb.

“Hyung,” Yeosang said suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. It was soft, trembling, but it cut through the noise like a blade. “What’s happening to me?”

Seonghwa inhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel. He didn’t answer right away, his throat constricting as he braced himself. “You don’t remember much?” he asked finally, his tone careful and low, as though speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile.

“I remember the alley,” Yeosang said, his voice growing stronger now, though no steadier. He turned his head toward Seonghwa, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made Seonghwa’s stomach twist. “The man... he— he attacked me. There was blood, so much blood. And then...” His voice faltered, cracking under the weight of the memory. “And then... pain. So much pain… It— It was like dying. I thought I was dying.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He nodded slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked road. “You were,” he said quietly. “You were bleeding out. There was nothing anyone could’ve done to save you.”

Yeosang’ voice trembled. “And then… I woke up. Everything was... sharper. The lights, the sounds... even the way you smell.”

Seonghwa didn’t look at him. “That’s part of it.” he said, his voice low.

Yeosang turned to him, his eyes narrowing. “Part of what? What’s wrong with me? Why am I alive?”

Seonghwa hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Hyung! Why am I alive?” Yeosang demanded, his voice rising. His head whipped toward Seonghwa, his wide eyes brimming with fear and confusion. “How am I sitting here, breathing, talking to you? How— how did I… I saw the doctor’s face, Hyung. He couldn’t explain it. No one can explain it.”

Seonghwa hesitated, his throat tightening. He didn’t want to say it. But he had no choice now. “San.” he said finally, his voice low but steady. “San turned you.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, reverberating in the small space of the car.

Yeosang's gaze locked onto Seonghwa, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. His breath caught in his throat as if the very air he was breathing had turned against him. He struggled to find words as Seonghwa explained, "Turned me? What does that even mean?"

"It means you're not the same as you were," Seonghwa spoke with a hint of sadness in his voice, his brow furrowed with worry. Yeosang's stomach churned uncomfortably, a sense of dread washing over him. "San saved you by turning you into one of us."

"One of us?" Yeosang repeated, his heart hammering in his chest. "What do you mean, Hyung? What are you trying to say?"

Seonghwa took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. "I'm saying that you're a vampire now, Yeosang." The words hung heavily in the air, the weight of their meaning sinking in for both of them.

Yeosang recoiled as if the word had physically struck him. His eyes widened in disbelief and fear, his breath quickening and becoming shallow. “No,” he stammered, his head shaking violently. “Vampires are not real. They're just myths, made-up stories to scare people.” But even as he spoke, a hint of doubt crept into his voice.

“They do,” Seonghwa countered, his tone steady but heavy with the weight of truth. “And you’re proof of that now.”

Yeosang's chest rose and fell rapidly as he turned his gaze out the window, trying to make sense of the neon lights that blurred together like an ominous painting. His hand instinctively reached for his neck, where the bandages had once been. To his surprise, the skin was now smooth and unblemished, and the realization hit him like a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head.

Collapsing back against the seat, Yeosang struggled to process this shocking revelation. "You can't be serious," he whispered hoarsely. "But... how? Why?"

Seonghwa's face was twisted with a mix of guilt and regret as he spoke. "You were dying," his words cut through the tension like shards of glass. "San made the decision to save you. He turned you into a vampire to keep you alive."

Yeosang's mind raced, trying to process the flood of memories that came rushing back. The hospital, the excruciating pain, the darkness that consumed him. And now, this revelation that Seonghwa was also a vampire? It was almost too much for him to handle. “And you? You knew about this? You’re a vampire too?”

"Yes," Seonghwa finally confirmed. "San turned me a long time ago."

Yeosang’s head snapped toward him, his eyes wide with shock. The weight of those words hit Yeosang like a ton of bricks, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of it all.

His mind was reeling, fragments of memories and sensations flooding back to him all at once. The way Seonghwa always seemed so calm, so in control. The coldness in his touch that he had dismissed as just his natural demeanour. The sharpness of his movements, almost too fast for the eye to follow. It all made sense now— too much sense.

“How long ago?” Yeosang's voice trembled as he spoke, barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa's gaze remained fixed on the road, his expression stoic. “Centuries” he replied quietly, the weight of the word hanging heavily in the air.

Centuries. The word sent Yeosang reeling, his mind swirling with disbelief and awe. He turned sharply to Seonghwa, his voice breaking. “You've been like this... for centuries?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa's voice was calm, but the firmness of his grip on the wheel betrayed the tension coiled beneath the surface. “And now, San is your sire, just as he is mine. That creates a bond between us— something deeper than blood. That's why you can feel me, why you're so attuned to me. It's why you're still here.”

Yeosang’s breath caught, the pieces falling into place like jagged glass shards. The pull he’d felt toward Seonghwa, the sharpness of his senses, the hunger clawing at him—it all made sense now. And yet, it didn’t. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel possible. Yeosang stared at him, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him like a tidal wave. “This bond... it’s like I can sense you,” he said quietly. “Like you’re... part of me.”

Seonghwa nodded. “It’s not just me,” he said. “You’ll feel it with San too. It’s part of what it means to be turned by him. He’s your sire now, Yeosang. That connection is something you’ll never be able to escape. The bond between a sire and their progeny is unbreakable.”

A wave of nausea washed over Yeosang as the reality of his new existence began to sink in. His stomach churned and twisted, aching with confusion and fear. "So, what does that mean for me? For us?" he asked, voice trembling. "Doesn't that mean I'm dead? But I can still feel my heart beating!" The thought was dizzying, overwhelming him with emotions too intense to bear.

Seeonghwa's expression softened as he gave Yeosang a small smile. "You're not dead, Sangie," he reassured him. "But your life is different now." Seonghwa's tone was serious, conveying the weight of their situation. Yeosang felt a lump form in his throat, realizing that everything had changed for him in an instant.

Yeosang's hands convulse in his lap, his nails digging into his palms until they draw blood. "But I don't feel like myself. There's something wrong," he gasps, his eyes widening with horror. "I... I'm so hungry."

Seonghwa's knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel harder, his expression growing darker by the second. "I know," he growled through gritted teeth. "It's the thirst. A constant itch at the back of your mind, a hunger that never goes away. You'll have to learn to control it, to suppress it, or else you'll lose yourself completely." His words hung heavy in the air, a harsh reality that Yeosang is forced to accept.

"But how?" Yeosang pleads, feeling lost and scared.

"San will guide you," Seonghwa replied sternly.

"San will guide you," Seonghwa replies sternly, “You’ll have to learn to navigate this new world. And you’ll have to follow San’s guidance. As your sire, he has a responsibility to teach you, to help you understand what you’ve become.”

“But it’s... it’s not normal,” Yeosang gasped, his voice trembling with fear. “This insatiable hunger… It’s like a beast inside me, clawing at my insides!”

Seonghwa's heart tightened at the desperation in Yeosang's words. "I know it feels overwhelming now," he said urgently. "But you'll have to learn to control it. I'll teach you. San will teach you."

Yeosang turned to Seonghwa, his eyes filled with agony as he struggled against the darkness within him. "I don't know if I can handle this," he whimpered. "I don't even know if I want this." His gaze flickered towards the pulsing lights of the city outside, a reminder of the human lives he could never be a part of again.

Seonghwa’s tone was gentle but firm. “But it saved you. And now, you have a second chance.”

“A second chance to what?” Yeosang snapped, his voice breaking. “To live like this? To... to drink blood? To be something... something monstrous?”

“You’re not a monster,” Seonghwa said, his voice sharp, cutting through Yeosang’s spiraling thoughts. “You’re alive. And that’s what matters.”

Yeosang turned his gaze back to the window, his chest heaving as he struggled to process it all. The hunger gnawed at him, relentless and insidious, and he pressed a trembling hand to his stomach, trying to suppress it.

His throat tightened, his emotions a chaotic storm inside him. He was grateful to be alive, but the cost of his survival was more than he could have ever imagined. He was something else now. Something dangerous. Something he didn’t understand.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Seonghwa reached out, placing a comforting hand on Yeosang’s knee. “I know,” he said quietly. “But you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

Yeosang’s gaze flicked back to Seonghwa. The bond between them, though strange and new, was undeniable. It was a tether that kept him anchored, even as his world spiraled into the unknown.

The rest of the drive was silent, the weight of their conversation settling over them like a shroud.

The rain had eased into a light drizzle by the time Seonghwa pulled the car up to the gravel driveway of San’s hanok. The traditional Korean house stood stoic and serene against the night, its soft, amber light spilling out through the lattice windows, illuminating the dark courtyard like a sanctuary. The ancient building had an air of timelessness, standing strong and unyielding amid the ever-changing modern world.

Seonghwa shut off the engine, but neither he nor Yeosang made a move to step out of the car. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint patter of rain on the roof.

Yeosang sat hunched in his seat, his hands trembling in his lap, his face pale and drawn. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Seonghwa. The weight of the night, of everything he had learned, pressed down on him like an iron chain.

 

 

Inside, San paced the length of his living room, his movements sharp and agitated. The rain outside mirrored the storm brewing within him. He had felt Seonghwa’s approach long before the car pulled into the driveway. The bond between sire and progeny was unmistakable, a tether that pulled at him with an almost physical force. And now, there was this new feeling, this new bond. Yeosang.

He stopped in front of the window, his dark eyes staring out at the rain-soaked night. The sound of the car door slamming and hurried footsteps reached his ears, and he straightened, his posture stiff. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he braced himself for the confrontation ahead.

Yeosang swallowed hard as they approached the hanok, his throat dry. The draw he felt toward San— this strange, magnetic pull— was stronger now, almost overwhelming. It wasn’t just the bond Seonghwa had described. It was something deeper, something primal. The air was cool, and he shivered slightly, though it wasn’t from the temperature.

The front door opened before they had even reached it. San stood there, his figure outlined by the soft light spilling from inside. He was dressed in dark clothing, his sharp features partially obscured by the shadows. His gaze locked onto Yeosang immediately, and Yeosang froze.

For a moment, Yeosang forgot how to breathe. The pull he had felt from a distance was nothing compared to this. It was suffocating, an invisible tether tightening around his chest. The bond was undeniable, visceral, and it terrified him.

It was as if the world narrowed to just the two of them. San’s presence was overwhelming, intoxicating in a way that left Yeosang breathless. There was something in his eyes, something ancient and untamed, that made Yeosang’s blood rush in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

San’s sharp features were illuminated just enough to highlight the tension in his jaw, the shadow in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze shifting between Seonghwa and Yeosang as they approached.

“San,” Seonghwa greeted him, his voice steady but soft. “We’re here.”

San’s gaze settled on Yeosang, and Yeosang felt his breath hitch, the pull toward San intensifying to the point where it was almost unbearable. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, awe, or something else entirely, but his feet carried him forward without thinking. It was the first time he really saw him. In the alley, he had been barely clinging to life. And in the hospital, when he has woken up… It had all been too much, too fast.

“Come in.” San said finally, his voice low and measured. He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

The inside of the hanok was as quiet as the night outside. Yeosang stepped inside, his senses immediately overwhelmed by the faint scent of wood and something metallic lingering in the air. The interior was dimly lit, the decor minimalist yet strangely elegant. It felt timeless, like the house itself had existed outside of reality for centuries.

Yeosang glanced around nervously, his hands fidgeting at his sides. San closed the door behind them, his movements deliberate.

“Thank you for bringing him.” he said to Seonghwa, his tone softer than Yeosang expected.

Seonghwa nodded but didn’t say anything, his gaze flickering to Yeosang, who stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.

“How are you feeling?” San asked, his gaze fixed on Yeosang. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it, a gravity that made Yeosang’s chest tighten.

“I don’t know,” Yeosang admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel.”

San nodded, his expression unreadable. “That’s normal. You’ve been through something… irreversible. It’s going to take time to adjust.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Irreversible,” he echoed, the word heavy on his tongue. “I’m not… I don’t feel like myself. Everything feels wrong.”

San’s gaze softened, though his posture remained tense. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “You’re just different now. And that difference comes with... challenges.”

Yeosang’s hands curled into fists. “Is that what you call this? This hunger— this... this pull? I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“It’s the hunger,” San said quietly. “And the bond. They’re intertwined. The bond between sire and fledgling is... intense, especially in the beginning. It will settle in time.”

“Settle?” Yeosang laughed hollowly, his voice cracking. “It feels like it’s eating me alive.”

Seonghwa stepped forward, placing a hand on Yeosang’s arm. “It’s overwhelming now, I know. But San will help you. He helped me when I was first turned.”

San gestured toward the living room, where a couch and two armchairs sat around a low table. “Sit.” he said, his tone gentle but firm.

Yeosang hesitated but eventually lowered himself onto the couch. His eyes darted back to San, and for the first time, he saw something in San’s expression that wasn’t just intensity. There was regret there, guilt etched into the lines of his face. It didn’t make the pull any easier to bear, but it made him hesitate.

Seonghwa took one of the armchairs, leaving San to stand, his posture tense. He looked at Yeosang for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally spoke.

“I owe you an explanation,” San said, his voice soft but carrying a weight that made Yeosang’s chest tighten. “And an apology.”

Yeosang blinked, his breath hitching. “An apology?”

San nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting Yeosang’s eyes again. “For leaving so quickly after turning you. I should have been here to guide you, to explain everything. Instead, I left you to wake up in a hospital bed, surrounded by questions and uncertainty. That was wrong of me.”

Yeosang stared at him, his chest tightening. “Why did you leave?” he asked, his voice trembling. “You saved me, but then you just... disappeared.”

San’s expression darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. “I know it must have been scary, terrifying even. And I wasn’t there when you needed answers. For that, I’m sorry.”

Yeosang’s lips parted, but no words came. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure how to process the swirl of emotions inside him. The anger, the gratitude, the fear—it all mixed together, leaving him raw and uncertain.

“I left because I was struggling,” San continued, his voice quieter now. “Turning someone... it’s not something I take lightly. I haven’t done it in centuries. I made a vow to myself, to never sire a fledgeling again. It’s… it’s not easy to control everything that comes with it. The hunger, the bond, the responsibility...” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t trust myself to stay.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, sending a shiver down Yeosang’s spine. He stared at San, his mind racing. There was something raw and honest in San’s voice that made it impossible to be angry, but the fear still lingered.

He frowned, his brow furrowing. “You didn’t trust yourself?”

San exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “When I turned you, I felt everything. Your pain, your fear, your desperation. It stays with me, even now. That bond we share— it’s stronger than you can imagine. And I needed to step away to regain control.”

Yeosang’s gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers curling into fists. “So... this bond. That’s why I feel like I can’t... like I can’t get away from you.” His voice was quiet, tinged with a mix of unease and something he couldn’t quite name.

San nodded, his expression softening. “It’s not just you. I feel it too. It’s... overwhelming at first. But you’ll learn to manage it. I’ll help you.”

Seonghwa, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly. “San’s right. That bond is why you’re still alive. It’s what connects us, what ties us to each other. And as your sire, San will always be there to guide you.”

Yeosang’s eyes flicked to Seonghwa, confusion and disbelief written across his face. “But why? Why would you do this to me?”

San’s expression darkened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. “Because I couldn’t let you die,” he said simply. “Not when I had the power to save you. You didn’t deserve to die in that night.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to be angry, to demand why his life had been changed without his consent. But the gratitude that simmered beneath the surface of his turmoil made it impossible to fully give in to his anger. He was alive—against all odds, he was alive. And deep down, he knew he owed that to San.

Yeosang exhaled, shakily. “What happens now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll stay with me,” San said firmly. “At least for now. You need time to adjust, and I need to make sure you don’t lose control. The first few weeks are the hardest.”

Yeosang hesitated, his emotions warring within him. He glanced at Seonghwa, who gave him a reassuring nod. “San’s right,” Seonghwa said. “You’ll need his help. And as your sire, it’s his responsibility to provide it.”

San stepped closer, his gaze steady. “You’re still adjusting, still learning what it means to be... what we are. I’ll help you understand, help you control the hunger, the strength, the bond. It’s not easy, but you’re not alone.”

Yeosang’s hands trembled, his thoughts racing. He was scared— terrified, even— but the connection he felt with San, as suffocating as it was, also anchored him in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice trembling but resolute. “I- I’ll stay.”

“You’ll get through this,” Seonghwa said gently. “San’s been through it before, and so have I. We’ll help you, Yeosang. You’re not alone in this.”

Yeosang’s gaze flickered between them, his heart pounding. The bond he felt with both of them was undeniable, almost suffocating in its intensity. But as much as it scared him, it also anchored him, grounding him in a way he couldn’t explain.

San nodded, his expression softening slightly. “We’ll take it one step at a time,” he said. “You’ll figure this out, Yeosang. I promise.”

“I’m scared,” Yeosang whispered. “I don’t know how to be... this. I don’t even know what I am anymore.”

San stepped even closer, his presence calming but still intense. “You’re still you, Yeosang,” he said quietly. “But you’re more now. And I’ll help you figure out what that means.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling over them like a heavy blanket. Yeosang’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Chapter 8: Awakenings & Revelations

Yeosang’s awakening was a storm.

He shot upright, gasping, the world tilting violently as a thousand sensations assaulted him all at once.

The room around him swam in shades of muted gray and gold, the dim light bleeding through papered windows casting uneven patterns on the floor. The scent of sandalwood curled through the air, tangled with something metallic and sharp. Beneath it, the faint heartbeat of the house itself pulsed— a creak in the wood, the hum of distant wiring, and something heavier, darker, thrumming just beyond comprehension.

His throat burned. Not like thirst, not like hunger. It was an inferno, raw and bottomless, clawing at him from the inside out.

It was too much. The world was too sharp, too loud, too alive. The faint hum of electricity in the walls roared like thunder, and the heartbeat of the city outside pulsed through his ears in a relentless rhythm. He gripped the edge of the armrest of the couch, the wood creaking beneath his fingers, splintering slightly under the force. His breath came fast, shallow, each gasp filling his lungs with scents he couldn’t comprehend— metallic tangs of blood, the faint sweetness of perfume lingering on the air, the earthy musk of the wood beneath his hands.

“Easy..” came a low, steady voice, grounding and sharp as flint.

Yeosang’s head whipped toward the sound, too fast, his neck stiff and aching from the motion. San stood in the doorway, his broad frame backlit by the faint glow of another room. He was still, but his presence filled the space like a pressure pushing down on Yeosang’s chest.

For a moment, his vision blurred at the edges, his instincts screaming at him to do something— to fight, to run, to feed. San’s presence loomed large in the room, his dark coat blending into the shadows like he was a part of them, his stillness as dangerous as a predator’s crouch.

Yeosang staggered off the couch, the leather slick under his trembling palms. His legs felt wrong— too strong, too quick—and his bare feet made no sound as they touched the floor. The faintest movements rippled through the air around him, each one slicing into his senses like broken glass.

The hunger inside him snarled, vicious and mindless, driving him to move without thinking, without caring where he was. His vision blurred and sharpened in uneven bursts, flickering between reality and something alien.

“Breathe,” San said firmly, stepping closer, though his movements were deliberate and slow, his hands at his sides. “Control it. You’re not a beast, Yeosang. Don’t let it rule you.”

Yeosang’s jaw tightened. His throat burned, parched and raw, as if it had been scraped clean. The hunger inside him clawed at his chest, gnashing and feral, screaming for relief.

“Sit down.” San said firmly. His tone carried no room for argument, but his hands stayed at his sides, palms open, his movements deliberate.

Yeosang’s body tensed, his instincts screaming at him to fight or run— or worse. He could hear the slow, deliberate rhythm of San’s heartbeat, the faint pulse of his blood under his skin. It called to him, every throb sending a fresh wave of pain through Yeosang’s throat. His lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as his teeth ached, sharp and unfamiliar.

“I said sit.” San repeated, his voice sharper now, cutting through the feral haze clouding Yeosang’s mind.

Somewhere in the storm of his hunger, Yeosang found himself obeying. He sank back onto the couch, his body trembling, his fingers digging into the leather cushions.

“What… what’s happening to me?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracking, as though it had been scraped raw.

San crossed the room slowly, his every movement controlled, deliberate. He stopped a few feet away, crouching slightly to meet Yeosang’s frantic gaze.

San’s voice was low. “It’s the hunger. You need to feed.”

“It… hurts,” Yeosang rasped, his voice barely audible. His gaze flicked to San, panic and desperation etched into his features. “I can’t… control it.”

“Yes, you can,” San said, his voice low and unwavering. “The pain will pass, but only if you take control. If you give in to it now, you’ll lose yourself.”

Yeosang squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing ragged. He could feel the hunger writhing inside him, like a thousand needles pricking at his veins. It wasn’t just thirst— it was something deeper, darker. A void opening in his chest, demanding to be filled.

San crouched in front of him, his dark eyes piercing and steady. “Listen to me, Yeosang. You’re starving. That’s normal. But this thirst— it isn’t just physical. It’s the pull of what you are now. A predator. And that pull will eat you alive if you let it.”

Yeosang opened his eyes, the world around him too vivid, too alive. He could hear San’s heartbeat— slow and steady, a stark contrast to the frantic drumming of his own. The sound of it made his throat ache, the hunger clawing harder.

“How do I stop it?” Yeosang asked, his voice trembling.

San’s expression softened, though the sharpness in his gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t stop it. You control it. You channel it.”

Yeosang’s breathing quickened, his fingers curling into fists. “I… I can’t—”

“You can,” San interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “But only if you listen to me. That hunger you’re feeling? It’s not just thirst. It’s everything. Instinct. Power. Rage. If you let it take control, it will consume you.”

Yeosang shook his head, his throat burning like fire. “I can’t control it. I need—”

“I know what you need,” San said, rising to his full height. His presence loomed larger, the air around him charged with something unspoken. “But you’re not going to take it from me. You’re going to do this the right way.”

He disappeared into the adjoining room for a moment, the sound of a door creaking open and the faint clink of glass breaking through the silence. When he returned, he was holding a dark glass bottle, faint condensation slicking the surface.

Yeosang’s nostrils flared, the scent hitting him like a wave. Blood. Warm and rich, the aroma alone sent the hunger inside him surging, clawing at his ribs.

San held the bottle out, his expression unreadable. “This will take the edge off.”

Yeosang stared at the bottle, his hands trembling as he reached for it. But when his fingers brushed the cool glass, he hesitated. “This… this isn’t…”

San’s gaze softened, though his tone remained steady. “It’s stored blood. Donated. Willing. You’re not taking it from anyone. This is how you start. Controlled and measured. You don’t feed on anyone unless they consent. Do you understand?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat aching, his mind too muddled to fully process San’s words. He nodded anyway, his trembling hands curling around the bottle.

“Drink.” San said lowly, his voice commanding and firm.

Yeosang hesitated for a moment longer before unscrewing the cap and bringing the bottle to his lips. The first taste was electric. The warmth of the blood flooded his senses, drowning out the pain in his throat, the gnawing ache in his chest. It was intoxicating, euphoric, and for a moment, Yeosang thought he might lose himself to it entirely. He moaned, a deep, rumbling sound that was ripped right out of his chest.

But San’s voice was there again, sharp and grounding. “Slow down.”

Yeosang pulled back, gasping for breath, the bottle shaking in his hands. The hunger inside him had lessened, though it still lingered, a quiet hum beneath his skin.

San sat on the armrest of the couch, watching him closely. “The first time is always the hardest,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost gentle.

Yeosang wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest still heaving. “Does it ever stop?” he asked, his voice raw.

San’s expression darkened slightly, his gaze drifting to a point beyond Yeosang. “No. But you learn to live with it. To control it. The thirst will always be there, but you don’t have to let it define you. The older you get, the less you will need.”

Yeosang looked down at the bottle in his hands, his reflection distorted in the dark glass. The reality of what he was— what he had become— settled over him like a weight, heavy and cold.

San leaned forward, his elbows resting lightly on his knees, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate tone that carried the weight of centuries. “This is your life now, Yeosang. You can’t change that. But you can choose how you live it. Control is everything. Without it, you’re nothing more than the hunger.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time, Yeosang saw the burden San carried behind his sharp gaze— the weight of years, of secrets, of choices that had left scars deeper than any blade.

Something unspoken passed between them then, a fragile understanding that settled like dust in the quiet.

For the first time, Yeosang could catch a glimpse at the burden San carried behind that sharp, unreadable gaze. It was a weight heavy enough to bend even the strongest of men— a tapestry of years stitched with secrets, regrets, and choices that left scars far deeper than the surface could show. There was no softness in San’s face, no promise of reassurance. But there was honesty, stark and undeniable, like the cold bite of steel.

Something unspoken passed between them then, settling in the stillness like dust disturbed by a single breath.

San leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke again. “Feeding isn’t just about survival. It’s about balance. Too much, and you’ll lose yourself to the hunger, falling into a feral state. Too little, and you’ll weaken, lose control of your body and mind. You have to find the middle ground. Always.”

Yeosang exhaled shakily, his hands gripping the edge of the couch like a lifeline. He was still overwhelmed by the torrent of sensations flooding his senses— every creak of the wood, every faint hum of electricity coursing through the walls, even the subtle vibration of water running through distant pipes. It was like he was hearing the world for the first time, and it was unbearable in its clarity.

“Is it…” he hesitated, unsure of the words, “normal to feel so much at once? It’s like everything’s… alive. Too alive. I can hear everything— the electricity, the water, even the…” He trailed off, his chest tightening as another wave of sound rippled through his hyper-attuned ears.

San nodded, his expression calm but measured. “Yes. That’s normal. The turning heightens everything— your senses, your instincts, even your emotions. It’s like you’ve been turned inside out, and the world won’t stop pressing in on you. Physical symptoms can include fever, heightened sensory awareness, and temporary paralysis during the initial stages. What you’re feeling now is the aftermath of that. You’re adapting.”

Yeosang swallowed, his throat still raw from the burning thirst. “How long does it last?”

San’s gaze flickered, as though weighing his words carefully. “It varies. Some fledglings settle after a few days. Others… take longer. A fledgling retains their core personality, but you’ll feel everything more intensely now—  emotionally and physically. That intensity will fade, but the hunger… it’ll always be a part of you.”

Yeosang leaned back into the couch, his head lolling against the cushion as he struggled to process everything. His mind swam with the weight of it all— the sensory overload, the hunger, the realization that he was no longer human. “The blood you gave me,” he rasped, licking his dry lips. “That was… human blood, wasn’t it?”

San’s expression darkened slightly, a solemn edge creeping into his eyes. “Yes. It was.”

Yeosang’s stomach twisted, his fingers tightening against the leather. “And… animal blood? Is that an option?”

“It is,” San admitted, though his tone carried no optimism. “But it’s not the same. Animal blood is thin, weak— it’ll keep you alive, but it won’t truly sustain you. Think of it like living off dry, stale bread when you’ve spent your life eating cake. You’ll survive, but you’ll always feel… hollow.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, his mind churning. “What about vampire blood?”

The change in San’s demeanor was immediate and sharp, his eyes narrowing like blades as his voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder. “No.”

Yeosang flinched at the sheer force of the word, the authority behind it almost physical.

San’s gaze pinned him in place, his posture stiffening with tension. “Never, under any circumstances, drink from another vampire. Do you understand me?”

Yeosang’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying not to shrink under San’s piercing glare. “Why? What happens?”

San exhaled heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. The motion seemed to release some of the tension coiled in his frame, though his voice remained grim. “It’s dangerous. For any vampire, but especially for fledglings like you. Drinking vampire blood is like playing with fire— it’s addictive, and it will burn you alive if you’re not careful.”

Yeosang frowned, hesitating before asking, “Addictive how?”

San’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes carried a faint shadow of something close to regret. “It’s called Eternal Thirst,” he said quietly. “A devastating condition that happens when vampires start feeding on each other. At first, it feels like a drug— euphoria, heightened strength, speed, senses. But it doesn’t stop there. It becomes a craving you can’t escape, one that consumes everything else. And the more you drink, the worse it gets.”

Yeosang leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. “What happens if it… gets worse?”

San’s voice dropped lower, colder. “The condition progresses in three stages. First comes the high— the power, the invincibility. Then the aggression sets in. You start becoming territorial, paranoid, unable to trust anyone. And finally…” He paused, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “The Descent. You lose yourself entirely. You stop thinking, stop reasoning. You become nothing but bloodlust. A feral creature, dangerous to everyone— humans, vampires, anyone who crosses your path.”

Yeosang’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as the weight of San’s words sank in. “Is there… a cure?”

San’s gaze flicked away for a moment before returning to Yeosang, his voice quieter now. “If caught early, there are treatments— complete isolation, monitored feeding with human blood. But the success rate is low. Most cases…” He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Most cases end with the vampire being destroyed. It’s kinder than letting them turn into a monster.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken tension. Yeosang sat back, his mind racing, his throat dry despite the blood he’d consumed.

San’s voice softened, though his gaze remained steady. “That’s why control matters. Every decision you make from now on will determine whether you live with the hunger or become consumed by it. It’s not easy. But it’s necessary.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Yeosang nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

San studied him for a moment longer before leaning back, the tension in his frame easing slightly. “Good,” he said simply. “You should only drink human blood for now."

Yeosang’s jaw tightened as he repeated the word in his mind. Drink. It felt wrong, twisted in his throat like a foreign object he couldn’t swallow. He looked at his hands, pale but steady now, though they felt foreign to him— like they belonged to someone else. The hunger still coiled in his chest, quieter but present, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

“And how often…” He hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “How often do I have to… drink?”

The word felt sour on his tongue, a painful reminder of what he had become. He winced and glanced away, his shoulders curling inward as if trying to make himself smaller.

San studied him for a moment, his dark eyes softer now, though still sharp and piercing. “Vampires require regular blood consumption to maintain both physical health and mental stability.” he began, his tone measured, as if reciting something he had said many times before.

Yeosang’s lips parted slightly, his breath shallow, but he forced himself to meet San’s gaze.

“A healthy vampire,” San continued, “can usually go up to two months between feedings. But that’s only if you’re strong, experienced, and stable. And old.” He raised a brow slightly. “You’re none of those things yet.”

Yeosang swallowed, his throat tight. “So… how often?”

“Most vampires feed every three to five weeks,” San explained. “That’s what keeps them at their strongest. Wait any longer, and your body starts to deteriorate. First, the hunger grows sharper, and it becomes harder to focus. Then comes the irritability, the weakness, the… loss of control.”

Yeosang frowned, his hands clenching into fists. “Loss of control?”

San nodded grimly, his expression darkening. “Without blood, you’ll start losing pieces of yourself. Two to four months without feeding? You’ll feel it in your mind first— agitation, irrational anger, instincts clawing their way to the surface. Five to eight months?” He paused, his jaw tightening. “That’s when the rational part of you starts to disappear. Your body weakens, but your predatory instincts grow stronger. It’s a dangerous combination.”

Yeosang’s stomach twisted as San continued, his voice dropping lower, colder.

“Past eight months, you’re at risk of entering a feral state. That’s when you’re no longer… yourself. You lose your humanity, your thoughts, everything that makes you who you are. What’s left is just hunger and bloodlust— a predator, pure and simple.”

Yeosang’s chest tightened, his fingers digging into his knees as he tried to suppress the wave of nausea rising in his throat. “And… if that happens?”

San’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes— something heavy, unspoken. “If you go feral for too long, it’s almost impossible to come back. Recovery is rare, and even if you do survive, you’re… never the same.”

The room seemed to close in around Yeosang, the shadows stretching long across the floor as his thoughts spiraled. He could feel the walls pressing down on him, the weight of San’s words like chains tightening around his chest. He closed his eyes, his breathing uneven.

“What was the longest you’ve gone between…” Yeosang hesitated, the word catching in his throat like a thorn. “…drinking?”

San’s gaze shifted to him, sharp and measured. For a moment, there was silence, the faint hum of the world outside pressing against the quiet in the room.

“You have to understand something, Yeosang,” San began, his tone calm but weighted with unspoken years. “I’m veryold. Older than you can imagine. I come from a time where barely any memories remain, where even history itself has been swallowed by dust.” He paused, his fingers curling slightly against his knees. “Because of that, I’m very much in control of my hunger.”

The words were steady, but there was something else beneath them— a hesitation, a shadow crossing his face for the briefest moment. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his mind flickered, unbidden, to Wooyoung. To the memory of warm, mortal life thrumming just beneath the skin, dangerously close.

“…For the most part,” San admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He straightened, the flicker of vulnerability gone in an instant. “The longest I’ve gone without blood was almost a year.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened, disbelief plain on his face. “A year? And you didn’t go feral?”

San shook his head slowly, his dark eyes fixed on Yeosang with an intensity that felt unshakable. “No,” he said. “I probably could have gone longer if I’d had to. But…” He exhaled, his jaw tightening as the memory surfaced. “I sustained a pretty severe injury. A broken arm, several deep lacerations, internal damage. My body demanded blood to heal, so I had to go back to drinking.”

Yeosang stared at him, his mind reeling. The idea of abstaining for so long— of enduring the sharp- edged hunger gnawing at his insides day after day— seemed impossible. It was only his second day as a vampire, and already the mere thought of going even weeks without blood felt like madness.

“But why?” Yeosang asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Why would you go so long without it? If it makes you feel like…” He trailed off, his hand pressing to his chest as if trying to find words for the chaotic mess of emotions swirling inside him. “…like you’re going crazy?”

San leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, though his gaze softened. “Because there was a time,” he said slowly, “when I was… tired. Tired of the blood. Of the hunger. Of what it made me. What it makes all of us.”

Yeosang blinked, surprised by the quiet bitterness lacing San’s words.

San continued, his voice low and heavy. “At that time, I couldn’t stand it anymore. The taste of it, the smell of it— it made me recoil. Every drop reminded me of what I’d become. What I’d lost.” He glanced at Yeosang, his expression hardening slightly. “I thought I could reject it. Push it away. Maybe even punish myself by denying what I was.”

Yeosang’s throat tightened. “And… did it help? Going so long without it?”

San huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No,” he said bluntly. “It didn’t make me any less of what I am. It didn’t bring back what I lost, and it didn’t make the hunger go away. All it did was make me weaker, more vulnerable. I wasn’t free of it— I was just shackling myself to a different kind of torment.”

Yeosang frowned, the weight of San’s words sinking into him.

San’s gaze flickered, his eyes narrowing slightly “I didn’t want to be what I am,” he said, his voice tight. “It felt… wrong. To take from others just to sustain myself. To keep living off the blood of the living when I was nothing but a shadow of what I used to be.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the faint creak of the house settling around them.

“I still feel that way sometimes,” San admitted quietly. “The blood… it’s not just sustenance. It’s a reminder. Of every choice I’ve made. Of the lives I’ve taken, the people I’ve hurt.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the floor. “But at the end of the day, denying what I am doesn’t change anything. The hunger is still there. It always will be.”

“And what about…” Yeosang hesitated, the question sticking in his throat like a splinter. “The blood. Where does it… come from?”

San sighed, leaning back slightly as he regarded Yeosang with a measured expression. “There are different ways. Some vampires hunt. Others use blood banks or willing donors.“ His tone grew sharper, more deliberate. “The Humanists— one of the larger vampire factions— have protocols in place. They use donor networks, partnerships with hospitals, systems that ensure we don’t take more than what’s given.”

Yeosang’s brows furrowed. “And the others? The ones who don’t follow those rules?”

San’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening. “The New Order.” He spat the words like a curse. “A fraction of Vampires who believe in unrestricted feeding— taking what they want, when they want it. They think blood is their right, that humans are nothing more than livestock to be drained.”

Yeosang’s stomach churned, his grip on his knees tightening. “That’s… barbaric.”

“It is,” San agreed, his voice heavy with disdain. “But they’re powerful. And their methods have consequences. When vampires feed recklessly, they attract attention— hunters, governments, rogue factions. That’s why balance is so important. Control isn’t just about survival— it’s about keeping the peace.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, though his mind still felt like a whirlpool of unanswered questions and half-formed fears. The weight of his new reality pressed down on him, suffocating and relentless. He glanced at San, his voice trembling. “What happens if I… lose control?”

San’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “That’s what I’m here for. To make sure you don’t.”

Something in those words steadied Yeosang, though the storm inside him still raged. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself yet, but for now, he would trust San.

It was all he had.

Yeosang’s chest ached, a dull, gnawing weight settling there as he processed San’s words. He glanced down at his own hands, pale and steady but unfamiliar, as if they belonged to someone else. “Does it ever stop?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “The guilt? The… self-loathing?”

San’s expression softened, the hard edges of his face easing into something almost gentle. “It gets quieter,” he said after a long pause, his voice low, deliberate. “But it never really goes away. You learn to live with it. To carry it.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering for a brief moment before settling back on Yeosang. “But it’s a lot easier for vampires born in your time. There are… resources now. Things that didn’t exist when I was turned.”

Yeosang didn’t respond right away. His gaze dropped, drifting to the faint patterns of light spilling unevenly across the floorboards. The hunger still gnawed quietly at his chest, a constant, unwelcome companion, but it wasn’t just the thirst weighing him down.

It was the enormity of what he had lost.

His life. His humanity. The fragile sense of belonging he had spent years chasing, always out of reach, now gone entirely. It all felt like it had slipped through his fingers in the span of a single night, leaving him stranded, unmoored, and unsure of who— or what— he was anymore.

When he finally looked up, San was watching him. His dark eyes were unreadable, steady, but not without a trace of something softer beneath the surface.

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat still tight, and forced himself to speak. “What kind of… resources?”

San straightened slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “The Council takes care of the ‘good’ vampires,” he began. There was a faint edge to his tone, as though the word good carried a weight he didn’t entirely agree with. “They make sure no one goes feral. There are agreements in place— arrangements with hospitals, governments, donor networks. Willing humans who provide blood. It’s all very… managed now.”

Yeosang raised a brow, skeptical. “And that’s supposed to make this easier?”

San’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but close. “Absolutely. There are even… apps now.”

Yeosang blinked, his confusion plain. “Apps?”

San nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a faint, amused expression. “There’s one called BloodDash. Donors can meet up with paying vampires so they can feed directly from the source.”

Yeosang gaped at him, his mind stumbling over the absurdity of the words. “BloodDash?” he repeated, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”

San let out a quiet chuckle, a sound that felt rare and out of place coming from him. “Technology is a magical thing.” he said, a faint note of dry humor slipping into his tone.

Yeosang leaned back, his mouth still slightly open as he tried to process the image. Vampires, once the shadowy predators of human nightmares, now swiping through an app like they were ordering takeout? It was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet…

“It’s real?” Yeosang asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Completely,” San confirmed. “It’s popular, too. Cuts down on the risk of feeding on someone unwilling. Keeps things… civilized.”

Yeosang shook his head, a humorless laugh escaping him. “That doesn’t make it feel any less… wrong. It’s still taking something from someone else.”

San’s expression shifted slightly, his amusement fading into something more serious. “That’s the reality of what we are, Yeosang,” he said quietly. “We take. Whether it’s through apps or donors or back alleys, we take because we have to. There’s no way around that.”

Yeosang’s chest tightened, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He could still taste the blood from earlier, faint but lingering, and the memory of it made him feel hollow. “I don’t think I can get used to this.” he admitted, his voice raw.

“You don’t have to get used to it right away,” San said, his tone softening. “But you will. You’ll learn to live with it. To find a way that works for you. The Council, the resources— they exist to make sure you can do this without losing yourself. Without becoming something you don’t recognise.”

Yeosang looked away, his jaw clenching as the words sank in. The idea of drinking blood— not just once, but again and again, for the rest of his existence— felt unbearable. The hunger clawed at him even now, demanding satisfaction, and he hated it. Hated the part of himself that craved it.

“But what if I don’t want to do this?” he asked, his voice trembling. “What if I don’t want to be… this?”

San was silent for a long moment, his gaze heavy. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. “You don’t have a choice, Yeosang. This is who you are now. You can hate it. You can fight it. But you can’t undo it.” He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Yeosang’s. “What you can do is decide what kind of life you’re going to live. Whether you’re going to let this define you or whether you’re going to find a way to rise above it.”

Yeosang’s throat tightened, and he looked away again, his hands clenching against the fabric of the couch. He wanted to argue, to push back against the cold finality of San’s words, but deep down, he knew they were true.

“What if I fail?” he asked after a moment, his voice barely audible.

San’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained steady. “Then you get back up,” he said simply. “And if you fall again, you keep getting back up. That’s the only way any of us survive. And I’ll be there to help you get up. Always.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat still raw from the thirst that lingered, quiet but insistent. He nodded slowly, though the doubts still churned in his chest like a storm.

“And… What about injuries?” he forced out, his voice strained. “You said blood is… necessary for healing.”

San nodded, his voice steady but grim. “For vampires, blood isn’t just sustenance— it’s life. If you’re injured, your body will demand more blood to heal. The worse the injury, the faster you’ll deteriorate without it. A severely wounded vampire can enter a near-feral state within hours if they don’t feed. Their body becomes desperate, the hunger uncontrollable.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened, staring at San with a mix of fear and disbelief. “So… if I’m hurt and I don’t feed, I’ll become…”

San met his gaze, his voice quiet but unrelenting. “Dangerous. Unpredictable. And a threat to everyone around you.”

Yeosang’s breath hitched, his mind racing. He could feel the hunger stirring in his chest again, a faint echo of the earlier frenzy, and it terrified him. He pressed a hand to his sternum as if he could push it down, force it back into the shadows where it belonged.

They sat in silence, the weight of San’s words pressing down on Yeosang like a heavy weight, his chest tight with something he couldn’t fully name. The hunger still churned in the back of his mind, ever-present but momentarily subdued, replaced now by a darker, more familiar ache.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been okay,” Yeosang said suddenly, his voice quiet but brittle.

San tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing, though his expression remained calm. He didn’t speak, waiting for Yeosang to continue.

“I’ve always felt like something was… missing,” Yeosang said, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as though he needed to hold on to something solid. “Even before this. Before I became… this.” He hesitated, his throat tightening. “I thought maybe it was just me. Maybe I wasn’t enough, or maybe there was something wrong with me, but it’s always been there. This… emptiness.”

San leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest, but his gaze never left Yeosang. “That emptiness,” he said quietly, “it’s like a hole, isn’t it? A constant ache that you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.”

Yeosang’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, startled by how perfectly San had captured it. He nodded slowly, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Exactly like that.”

San’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable, though there was a faint shadow of understanding in his eyes. “I’ve felt it too,” he admitted, his voice steady but low.

“That ache. That emptiness. It’s worse when you’re alone. When there’s nothing and no one to distract you from it.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to find the right words. “I’ve been dealing with it for so long, I don’t even know what it’s like to feel… whole. I’ve tried to ignore it, to push it down, but it’s always there, no matter what I do.” He paused, his gaze dropping again. “And now, with this… with everything I’ve lost…”

His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath, his shoulders curling inward. “What if this makes it worse? What if I lose myself completely?”

The vulnerability in his words hung heavy in the room, the silence that followed stretching taut like a wire.

San’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Yeosang,” he said quietly, his tone firm but not unkind. “I can feel it. I know what’s going on inside you, even if you don’t say it out loud. That darkness you’re carrying? It’s familiar to me.”

Yeosang looked up, his eyes searching San’s face for any hint of deception, but there was none. San’s gaze was steady, unwavering, and filled with something Yeosang hadn’t expected— understanding.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough,” San continued, his voice low but resolute. “To feel like you’re always reaching for something you can’t quite grasp. Like the world is too heavy, and you’re too small to hold it all together. But let me make one thing clear to you.” He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Yeosang’s. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Yeosang’s breath hitched, his chest tightening at the certainty in San’s voice.

“Me and Seonghwa,” San said, his tone softening. “We’re your family now. You don’t have to carry this on your own. You won’t carry this on your own. Not ever again.”

Yeosang blinked, his vision blurring slightly as his throat constricted. “I don’t know if I can believe that,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I’ve felt alone for so long, I don’t even know what it means to have… family.”

San’s expression shifted, a faint trace of sadness flickering across his face. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on Yeosang’s shoulder. The gesture was firm, grounding, yet gentle. “I know it’s hard to believe,” he said. “But you’ll see it. You’ll feel it. Me and Seonghwa— we’re not going anywhere. No matter what happens. No matter how bad it gets. You’ll never have to face it alone again.”

Yeosang’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His mind raced, filled with doubts and fears and the aching weight of everything he’d lost. But in that moment, with San’s hand steady on his shoulder and his voice quiet but unwavering, Yeosang felt a flicker of something else.

It wasn’t hope, not quite. It was too small, too fragile for that.

San gave his shoulder a light squeeze before pulling back, his expression soft but serious. “We’ll figure this out together,” he said firmly. “One step at a time. You don’t have to have all the answers right now, and you don’t have to carry this weight on your own anymore.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, his chest still tight but his breathing evening out. The doubts hadn’t vanished, and the emptiness was still there, gnawing quietly at the edges of his mind. But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t feel like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss alone.

San leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest again. “It’s going to be hard,” he said, his voice taking on a faint note of dry humour. “But hey,” San said, spreading his arms like he was delivering some grand proclamation, “at least you’ve got me and Seonghwa to keep you in line. You’re in good hands. Well— Seonghwa’s hands are better at… making things flourish. My hands are more for, you know, tearing stuff apart.”

Yeosang snorted, shaking his head. “Are you talking about his army of house plants?”

San’s smile widened, his fangs barely visible as he chuckled. “Army? Try empire. There’s at least thirty of them. Maybe forty. I stopped counting after he started naming them.”

Yeosang blinked, momentarily stunned. “He… names them?”

“Oh, yeah,” San said, nodding enthusiastically. “And he talks to them, too. Full-on conversations. Swears it helps them grow faster. He’s practically their king, and they’re his leafy little subjects. There’s this one fern he calls Prince Leafington. It’s his pride and joy. If you so much as look at it wrong, he’ll glare at you for a week. Knock it over? Forget it. He might actually cry. Like, tears.”

Yeosang stared at him, his lips twitching. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m dead serious,” San said, holding up a hand like he was swearing an oath in court. “I once accidentally brushed Prince Leafington with my sleeve, and Seonghwa gave me this look like I’d just insulted his entire bloodline— which, ironically, is literally me. Or at least a branch of it.”

That did it. Yeosang’s lips twitched uncontrollably before a small laugh broke free. It started quiet, shaky, but it quickly turned into a genuine, warm sound that surprised even him.

San’s smile spread wider, clearly satisfied. “See? I told you you’d fit right in. Just remember the golden rule— don’t insult the plants. Oh, and don’t sneeze near them. Seonghwa swears they’re sensitive to bad energy.”

Yeosang shook his head, wiping at the corner of his eye as the last of his laughter faded into a faint smile. The ache in his chest hadn’t disappeared, and the shadows in his mind still lingered. But for the first time, they felt a little less suffocating.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of things he couldn’t quite put into words.

San tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting from teasing to something quieter, more sincere. “That’s what family’s for.” he said simply.

For the first time in a long time, Yeosang felt a flicker of something in his chest— not quite joy, not quite hope, but something warmer than the emptiness that had lived there for so long.

And for now, it was enough.

Chapter 9: A Certain Hunger

Wooyoung’s fists hit the door with a force that rattled the frame. His knuckles stung, but he didn’t care. He leaned into each pound, his frustration bleeding out into the steady rhythm.

“Seonghwa!” he shouted, his voice sharp enough to carry through the quiet hallway of the apartment complex. “I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

Inside, Seonghwa sat on the edge of his couch, his fingers pressed tightly together, his jaw clenched. He’d heard Wooyoung coming from the moment the elevator dinged on his floor, the hurried, purposeful footsteps growing louder with each step. And now, the pounding on his door echoed through the small space, each strike tugging at the knot of guilt in his chest.

He couldn’t ignore it. Not Wooyoung.

With a resigned sigh, Seonghwa rose to his feet and crossed the room, his bare footsteps soft against the hardwood. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, his head dropping slightly as he closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to lie to his best friend again. But he couldn’t tell him the truth either— not yet.

The pounding started again, harder this time.

“Seonghwa! I’m not leaving until you let me in!”

Seonghwa sighed again and unlocked the door, pulling it open just as Wooyoung’s fist was mid-swing. Wooyoung froze, his expression a mix of frustration and relief, his arm dropping to his side.

“Took you long enough!” he muttered, brushing past Seonghwa into the apartment without waiting for an invitation.

“Good to see you’re feeling better.” Seonghwa said quietly, shutting the door behind him.

“Cut the crap!” Wooyoung snapped, spinning around to face him. His eyes were sharp, burning with determination. “We need to talk.”

Seonghwa swallowed, already dreading the conversation to come. “Wooyoung…”

“No!” Wooyoung interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t even start. Don’t give me excuses or half-truths or whatever you’ve been feeding me since that night. I want the truth, Seonghwa. All of it. Right now.”

Seonghwa’s shoulders sagged slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple!” Wooyoung shot back, stepping closer.

The quiet hum of Seonghwa’s apartment was anything but calming to Wooyoung. The dim, golden glow of the lamps usually made the space feel warm, but now, it only highlighted the tension between the two of them. Wooyoung stood with his arms crossed, pacing in front of the couch like a restless predator.

“You’re going to tell me the truth, right now!” Wooyoung said, his voice sharp. He stopped pacing and turned to face Seonghwa, his brows furrowed in frustration. “About Yeosang. About San. About what the hell is going on.”

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, but he didn’t respond.

Wooyoung scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Are you kidding me? Don’t sit there and act like I’m imagining things. Yeosang was dying, Hwa. Dying. We both saw it. And then, suddenly, he’s walking out of the hospital like nothing happened? Not even a limp? That’s not just a miracle. That’s not natural.”

Seonghwa flinched, guilt flickering across his face.

“And what about San?” Wooyoung continued, his voice rising. “He showed up out of nowhere and saved us. You don’t think that’s weird? You don’t think I deserve to know what’s going on?”

Seonghwa sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Wooyoung, it’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Wooyoung snapped, his voice breaking slightly. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid!” He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. “You know what’s going on, and you’re not telling me. I’ve known you for years, Seonghwa. I can tell when you’re hiding something.”

Seonghwa looked at him, his eyes filled with quiet regret. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he said softly. “It’s that I can’t.”

“Why not?” Wooyoung demanded, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. “Do you not trust me? After everything we’ve been through, after all these years, do you really think I can’t handle the truth?”

“It’s not about trust,” Seonghwa said with a frustrated, desperate tone. “It’s about protecting you.”

Wooyoung froze, his breath catching in his throat. “Protecting me from what?”

Seonghwa hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor. He wanted to tell Wooyoung everything, wanted to share the burden of the secrets he carried. But it wasn’t his secret alone.

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung said, his voice trembling. “Please.”

The single word cut through Seonghwa’s resolve like a blade, but he forced himself to hold firm. He looked up, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze. “I can’t tell you everything,” he said finally. “But I can tell you this— Yeosang is safe. San made sure of that.”

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. “Who is San?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “What is he?”

Seonghwa hesitated again, his mind racing. “San is…” He paused, searching for the right words. “He’s… complicated. And dangerous. But he’s also…” His voice trailed off, and his gaze flickered with something unreadable.

Wooyoung took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Also what?”

Seonghwa looked at him, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s important. To all of this.”

“Why?” Wooyoung asked, his voice rising slightly.

Seonghwa stepped forward, his gaze softening. “I… can’t tell you.” he said, his voice low but steady.

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, and he let out a bitter laugh. “Can’t or won’t? Because it feels like you’re trying to keep me in the dark, and I don’t know why.”

Seonghwa stepped forward suddenly, his movements quick but controlled, and Wooyoung took a step back instinctively. Seonghwa’s expression was pained, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. “You think I want to keep things from you?” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think I like keeping things from my best friend?”

Wooyoung’s glare softened, but only slightly. “Then tell me the truth,” he said, his tone quieter but no less insistent. “If you trust me at all, tell me what’s going on.”

Seonghwa looked away, his jaw tightening as he struggled with himself. He wanted to tell Wooyoung everything— the truth about Yeosang, about San, about what had happened that night. But the words caught in his throat, tangled in a web of guilt and fear.

“I…” Seonghwa started, then stopped, his voice faltering. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “I can’t.”

But this simply wasn’t enough.

“No,” Wooyoung said suddenly, shaking his head as his frustration flared again. “No, that’s not good enough, Seonghwa. I can’t just take ‚I can‘t’ and walk away.” He threw his hands up, pacing the length of the room like he was winding himself up. “Because this— everything that’s been happening— it doesn’t make sense!”

“Wooyo-” Seonghwa started, but Wooyoung cut him off, his voice rising slightly.

“No, let me get this out,” he snapped. “Because you’ve got to admit, none of this is normal. First, there’s the guy in the hospital. You know, the one with the freaky wounds on his neck? What was that? They didn’t look like stab wounds or gunshots. They looked… I don’t even know! Like something bit him.”

Seonghwa tensed, his body going still, but Wooyoung didn’t notice— or maybe he did and kept going anyway.

“And then Yeosang,” Wooyoung continued, his voice pitching higher. “Yeosang was practically dead, Seonghwa! I saw him! I held him in my fucking arms! His throat was shredded, he was barely breathing, and suddenly he’s walking out of the hospital like nothing happened. No scars, no bruises, no explanation. Not even 24 hours later?” He turned to face Seonghwa, his eyes wild with frustration. “And then there’s San. The guy moves like he’s in a goddamn action movie, fights like he’s not even human, and then poof— he’s gone without a trace.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, but Wooyoung barreled ahead, the words tumbling out faster now, his tone almost manic.

“And you! You’ve been acting weird since the second this all started. Looking at me like you know something but won’t say it. Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not stupid, Seonghwa! Something is going on here— something insane and impossible, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know what it is.” He let out a bitter laugh, his hands running through his hair. "At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if you told me we were dealing with...I don't know, vampires or some other supernatural nonsense."

The word hung in the air for half a beat, delivered so casually that it barely registered to Wooyoung. His tone was light, almost joking, a sarcastic jab thrown in the heat of his frustration.

But Seonghwa froze.

Wooyoung didn't notice, too caught up in his own thoughts as he paced back and forth. “Yeah, maybe that’s it,” he continued to mutter to himself. “Bite marks, people coming back from the brink of death, mysterious guys showing up and saving the day—makes sense, right? Vampires. Totally normal.”

When he turned back to Seonghwa, ready to continue his rant, the sight of him made Wooyoung stop dead in his tracks.

Seonghwa’s entire body was tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was pale, his jaw tight, but it was his eyes that stopped Wooyoung cold. They were wide and wild, filled with something Wooyoung couldn’t quite place— fear, anger, maybe both.

“Don’t,” Seonghwa said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t say that!” Seonghwa repeated, taking a step forward, his voice trembling slightly but no less forceful. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Don’t joke about that!”

Wooyoung stared at him, confusion flickering across his face. “Seonghwa, what are you—”

Before he could finish, Seonghwa closed the distance between them in an instant and grabbed Wooyoung’s wrist. His grip was firm— too firm, almost painfully tight.

Wooyoung gasped, his breath catching as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm.

“Seonghwa!” he said, his voice trembling. “What the hell are you doing? You’re hurting me.”

The words seemed to snap Seonghwa out of whatever had gripped him. His eyes flicked down to Wooyoung’s wrist, his fingers still wrapped around it, and he released him immediately, stepping back like he’d been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” Seonghwa stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean to…”

He trailed off, his gaze darting to the floor, his chest heaving as though he was trying to calm himself.

Wooyoung cradled his wrist, staring at Seonghwa with wide eyes. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with a mix of confusion and unease.

Seonghwa didn’t respond right away. He took a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice strained. “I just… I can’t talk about this, Wooyoung. I can’t.”

“You can’t talk about what?” Wooyoung demanded, his fear giving way to frustration again. “What aren’t you telling me, Seonghwa? Why did you freak out just now?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The guilt in his chest felt like it was crushing him, suffocating him.

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung pressed, taking a cautious step forward. “Please… It’s me! What aren’t you telling me?”

Seonghwa looked at him, his jaw tight. “It’s…“ He trailed off, unable to tell him the truth, no matter how much he wanted to.

Wooyoung snapped. “If you’re not going to tell me the truth, then at least let me see Yeosang. Let me make sure he’s okay with my own eyes.”

Seonghwa stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Please,” Wooyoung added, his voice softening. “I need to see him.”

Seonghwa hesitated, his mind racing. He knew it wasn’t a good idea. Yeosang wasn’t ready for visitors— especially not Wooyoung. But the look in Wooyoung’s eyes— the desperation, the frustration, the hurt— was impossible to ignore.

“I can’t.” Seonghwa said finally, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. His shoulders sagged as though the decision had physically weighed him down. “I’ll want to take you to him. But…”

He hesitated, his words faltering as he looked away. His hand moved to his mouth, fingers brushing over his lips in a nervous gesture Wooyoung recognised all too well.

“But what?” Wooyoung asked, his voice sharp, his eyes narrowing.

Seonghwa didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, his fingers curling into his palms. A storm raged behind his dark eyes— hesitation, fear, and something Wooyoung couldn’t quite place. When Seonghwa finally spoke, his voice was strained, heavy with an unease that made Wooyoung’s chest tighten.

“Yeosang… isn’t himself right now.” Seonghwa said carefully, as though picking his words one by one.

Wooyoung blinked, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean? He seemed fine when he left the hospital.”

“That’s the problem,” Seonghwa muttered, running a hand through his hair, his frustration slipping through the cracks. He turned away, pacing a few steps before stopping abruptly, his back to Wooyoung.

“He looked fine, but he’s not. He’s… different. He’s only been…” He trailed off, his throat tightening. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Been what?” Wooyoung pressed, stepping closer. “Seonghwa, what the hell is going on? What’s wrong with Yeosang?”

Seonghwa whipped around suddenly, his eyes flashing with frustration.

“Everything!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended. He flinched at his own outburst, exhaling sharply as he tried to steady himself. “Everything is wrong, Wooyoung. You don’t understand what’s at stake here. Yeosang—he’s not… normal anymore. He’s not safe.”

The words hung in the air, and Wooyoung stared at Seonghwa, his chest tightening.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “What do you mean he’s not safe? What happened to him?”

Seonghwa’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze shifting to the floor. “He’s been through something… life-changing. Something irreversible. And right now, he’s… unstable.”

“Unstable how?” Wooyoung’s voice rose again, the fear creeping into his tone.

“Seonghwa, you’re scaring me.”

Seonghwa clenched his fists at his sides, his internal struggle writ large on his face. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to do this. But Wooyoung’s relentless questioning and the guilt eating away at him left him no choice.

“It’s not just Yeosang I’m worried about,” Seonghwa admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s… San.”

The name made Wooyoung’s stomach twist, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

“San?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Seonghwa looked at him, his expression unreadable but filled with hesitation.

“There’s something between the two of you,” he said finally, his voice low. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s… intense. And I don’t think either of you fully understand it yet.”

Wooyoung frowned, his confusion deepening. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing between me and San!”

“You don’t feel it?” Seonghwa asked, his tone sharper now. He stepped closer, his dark eyes narrowing. “That pull? That strange… connection?”

Wooyoung hesitated, his heart racing. He thought of the way San had looked at him that night— the way his gaze had felt like it was slicing through him, like he was being seen in a way he’d never experienced before.

“I don’t…” Wooyoung faltered, his voice trailing off.

Wooyoung stared at him, his heart pounding. He opened his mouth to argue, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, his mind spiraled back to that moment— to the way San had looked at him, dark eyes piercing and unrelenting.

“What’s happening to me?” Wooyoung asked quietly, his voice trembling.

Seonghwa’s gaze softened. “I don’t know.” he admitted. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair again. “Whatever it is, it makes things complicated,” he muttered. “San is already…” He paused, shaking his head. “He’s dangerous, Wooyoung. And if you go there, if you see him— if you’re around both him and Yeosang— there’s no telling what could happen.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “So what? You’re just going to keep me in the dark forever? Keep me away from my own best friend because you’re scared of… what? That I’ll see something I’m not supposed to?”

Seonghwa flinched, the guilt in his chest twisting like a knife. “I’m scared of you getting hurt!” he admitted quietly.

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung said firmly, stepping closer. “I’m already hurt. I’m hurt because I don’t know what’s happening, because you won’t tell me the truth, because you’re treating me like a child who can’t handle it. I’m not a child. I’m your best friend. And I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Seonghwa’s throat tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. He didn’t respond right away, his mind racing with possibilities— none of them good.

He thought of Yeosang, newly turned only two nights ago, still struggling to control his newfound strength and instincts. Would Yeosang even recognize Wooyoung as a friend, or would the hunger cloud his judgment?

And then there was San. Seonghwa’s eyes flicked to Wooyoung, his chest tightening at the thought of them in the same room again. There was something dangerous about the way San had looked at Wooyoung that first night, something possessive and intense. And worse, there was something in Wooyoung’s expression now—uncertainty mixed with curiosity— that made Seonghwa uneasy.

But Wooyoung wasn’t going to back down.

Seonghwa could see it in his eyes.

“Shit, okay.” Seonghwa said finally, his voice quiet. “I’ll take you to him. But you need to promise me something.”

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You can’t freak out,” Seonghwa said, his tone firm. “No matter what you see, no matter what happens, you have to stay calm. Do you understand me?”

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he said, though his voice lacked confidence. “I promise.”

Seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “Then let’s go.”

As they stepped out of the apartment and into the cool night air, Wooyoung couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking into something he wasn’t ready for. Something big. Something dangerous.

And from the look on Seonghwa’s face, he wasn’t entirely sure Seonghwa was ready either.

 

The backyard of San’s hanok was cloaked in soft moonlight, the night air crisp and still. The gentle rustling of leaves whispered through the ancient trees that bordered the property, their branches twisting into dark silhouettes against the star-speckled sky. The faint scent of earth and pine lingered in the air, grounding in its simplicity, a stark contrast to the storm that had consumed Yeosang’s life over the past few days.

Yeosang stood near the edge of the yard, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his borrowed jacket, his gaze fixed on the sky. His body felt stronger than it ever had before— almost unnervingly so— but there was a weariness in his chest that no amount of strength could lift.

Behind him, San leaned against the wooden frame of the porch, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He watched Yeosang with a quiet intensity, his sharp features softened slightly in the glow of the moonlight.

“You’re handling it better than most.” San said finally, his voice low but carrying easily in the stillness.

Yeosang turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “Handling what?”

“The turning,” San replied, his tone calm. “Your instincts, your strength, the thirst— it’s a lot to take in. Most fledglings would have lost control by now.”

Yeosang let out a quiet huff, turning back toward the trees. “It doesn’t feel like I’m handling it. It feels like I’m barely holding myself together.”

San pushed off the porch and stepped closer, his footsteps silent on the stone path. “You’re holding yourself together better than you think,” he said. “It’s been two days, Yeosang. Two days, and you’re already more in control than some vampires manage in two years.”

Yeosang turned to face him fully, his brow furrowed. “And what if I can’t keep it up? What if I lose control?”

San stopped a few feet away, his dark eyes steady. “You won’t.” he said simply.

“You sound so sure,” Yeosang muttered bitterly, the words laced with a frustration that bordered on despair. His gaze dropped to the ground as his hands balled into trembling fists at his sides. “But you don’t know that.”

San tilted his head slightly, studying him with a quiet intensity. A faint, wry smile ghosted across his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know it,” he said, his voice carrying a weight that stopped Yeosang from looking away. “But I’ve been watching you. You’ve fought through the worst of it— through the hunger, the fear, the instincts clawing at you— and you haven’t given in.”

Yeosang’s breath caught, his jaw tightening as San stepped closer, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You’re still you, Yeosang,” he continued. “That’s not something everyone can say.”

Yeosang let out a shaky breath, turning his head away as his throat tightened. His chest felt heavy, and the ache of uncertainty pressed against his ribs like a vice. “It doesn’t feel like I’m me anymore,” he admitted, his voice quiet, raw. “Everything feels… different. Like I’m walking around in someone else’s body. It’s like I’m a stranger, even to myself.”

San didn’t speak immediately, but his gaze softened just enough to take the edge off his sharp features. He closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate, his presence grounding. “You’re not someone else,” he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re still you. The things that made you who you are— the way you think, the way you feel, the way you fight— those are still there. But you’re more now, too. Stronger. Faster. Sharper.”

Yeosang flinched slightly at the word. Sharper. It felt like an accusation, even though San’s tone carried no judgment.

San’s gaze flickered with something darker, a shadow crossing his face as he continued. “That strength is going to matter. Especially if you ever come face-to-face again with the kind of vampire who nearly killed you.”

Yeosang’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in shock. His breath quickened as the words hit him like a punch to the chest. “The man… he was a vampire?” His voice cracked, and he took an unsteady step back, the realization hitting him all at once. “Fuck, I didn’t even… I didn’t realize… Who was he? Why did he try to kill me?”

San exhaled slowly, crossing his arms over his chest as if bracing himself. His gaze grew colder, his posture stiffening. “It wasn’t personal,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a faint undercurrent of bitterness. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s a high-ranking pawn in the New Order.”

Yeosang frowned, the unfamiliar name hanging heavy in the air. “The New Order?” he repeated, his voice low and tense. “That’s… some kind of vampire faction, right?”

San’s expression darkened further, his eyes narrowing. “They’re not just some faction,” he said, his voice hardening. “They’re anarchists. They don’t follow the Council’s rules, don’t care about balance. To them, humans are nothing more than food. And anyone who gets in their way— human or vampire— is disposable.”

Yeosang’s stomach churned, nausea twisting through him like a knife. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to meet San’s gaze. “So they just… hunt people?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly. “Whenever they want?”

San nodded grimly, his jaw tightening. “Hunt, kill, turn…” he said, the words falling from his lips like stones. “Whatever serves their agenda. They believe in chaos— tearing down the systems that keep vampires in check. The Council, the blood banks, the treaties with governments… it’s all meaningless to them.”

Yeosang’s chest ached with the weight of it, his mind reeling as he tried to process the enormity of what San was saying. He pictured the man who had attacked him— his cold, predatory eyes, the brutal strength of his hands, the vicious hunger in his movements. And now he knew. He hadn’t just been attacked. He’d been prey.

“And the Council?” Yeosang asked after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Aren’t they’re supposed to stop them? To keep this from happening?”

San’s gaze flickered with something unreadable— anger, perhaps, or resignation.

“They try,” he said simply. “But the New Order is relentless. They’re everywhere. And they don’t care about the rules. To them, the world is a battlefield. And everyone else— humans, the Council, vampires who don’t agree with them— are just collateral damage.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, the weight of San’s words pressing down on him like a physical force. His chest tightened, and his throat burned, the hunger clawing at the edges of his thoughts once more. He looked away, his jaw tight. “You… You let him get away?”

San’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained calm. “I had no choice,” he said. “He tried to attack Wooyoung”

Yeosang turned back to him, his expression sharp. The mention of his best friend made something in his chest stir.

San tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. “He will never hurt you again,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’ll protect you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Yeosang looked at him, his chest tightening. There was something in San’s tone— something unyielding and absolute— that sent a faint shiver down his spine.

Instead of thinking about the attack, he shifted his weight, his hands returning to his pockets as he looked toward the trees again.

“How many people have they hurt? The New Order, I mean.”

“Too many,” San said quietly. “Entire towns, sometimes. They’re not subtle. They leave bodies behind as warnings, as statements. They don’t care about the mess they make.”

Yeosang felt a chill crawl down his spine, and he looked at San, his brow furrowed. “And you’ve… fought them before?”

San sighted, his expression unreadable. “Not them, no. But I killed rogue Vampires before. It’s. Its a long story. For another day.”

Yeosang’s gaze dropped, his mind racing as he tried to process everything. The New Order, the Council, the attack on him— it felt like too much, too fast.

San’s gaze shifted suddenly, his body tensing as if a wire had been pulled taut inside him. His head turned slightly, his sharp features hardening, his eyes narrowing as though he were listening to something just out of reach.

Yeosang noticed the change immediately. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low but edged with concern.

San didn’t respond at first. His lips pressed into a thin line, his arms dropping to his sides as his shoulders stiffened. The air around him seemed to shift, crackling with an energy Yeosang couldn’t quite place.

Then Yeosang felt it.

It hit him like a ripple through his chest, faint but undeniable— a flicker of emotion that wasn’t his own. Fear. No, not fear exactly. Anxiety. It burned at the edges of his mind, foreign but somehow familiar, like the faint echo of a voice he couldn’t quite hear.

Yeosang staggered slightly, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of a wooden beam for balance. “What… what was that?” he asked, his breath quickening.

San turned to him, his dark eyes sharper than ever, though his voice was calm and steady. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

Yeosang nodded, his hand still clutching the beam. “It was… someone. Someone’s emotions. It wasn’t mine.”

“It’s Seonghwa,” San said, his tone clipped but not unkind. He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked toward the direction of the house. “He’s getting closer. He’s upset.”

Yeosang blinked, trying to make sense of the strange sensation still buzzing faintly in his chest. “Seonghwa? How do you… how do I feel that?”

San stepped closer, his movements deliberate but tense. “The bond.” he said simply. “It’s not just me. You’re connected to him now too. Through me.”

Yeosang stared at him, his mind reeling.

San sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Seonghwa’s emotions are bleeding through the bond. That’s why you’re feeling it now.”

The crackling tension in the air grew stronger, and San’s expression darkened further. He glanced toward the edge of the yard, his body shifting slightly, as if preparing for something— or someone.

“He’s close,” San said, his tone low. “And he’s not alone.”

Yeosang frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean he’s not alone?”

San looked at him, his eyes narrowing.

“Wooyoung.” he said with a hoarse voice.

The name sent a jolt through Yeosang’s chest, stronger this time, sharper. The thought of Wooyoung— the memory of his voice, his warmth, his unwavering loyalty— made the flicker of anxiety in his chest twist into something more complicated.

“Wooyoung.” Yeosang repeated, his voice soft.

San nodded, his expression grim. “This isn’t good.” he muttered.

“Why?” Yeosang asked, his voice tightening. “What’s wrong with them being here?”

San’s gaze flicked back to him, his jaw clenching. “Because you’re still adjusting. And Wooyoung has no idea what you’ve become. If you lose control…” He trailed off, letting the unspoken words hang in the air.

Yeosang’s stomach churned, and he took a shaky step back. “I can’t-” he said, his voice trembling. “I cant’t hurt him.”

 

The sound of a car engine came closer, followed shortly after by footsteps on the gravel path. It cut through the tension, and San’s head snapped toward the sound.

“They’re here.” he said simply, his voice low but firm.

Yeosang swallowed hard, his chest tightening as the flicker of emotions from the bond grew stronger, more chaotic. He could feel Seonghwa’s anxiety, sharp and raw, and underneath it, the faint hum of Wooyoung’s determination.

For a moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Stay calm,” San said, his voice steady but commanding. He stepped forward, his posture tense but controlled, and turned back to Yeosang. “No matter what happens, stay in control.”

Yeosang nodded, though his hands were trembling. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the storm of emotions bleeding through the bond made it almost impossible.

San’s eyes stayed locked on the gravel path as the footsteps grew louder, his body coiled tight like a predator sensing danger. He glanced back at Yeosang, his expression sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“Stay back,” San commanded, his voice low and firm. “You’re not ready for this.”

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. The lingering fear in his chest mixed with the faint thrum of emotions bleeding through the bond left him rattled. He took a step back, his hands trembling at his sides.

San held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned toward the approaching figures.

He crossed the yard swiftly, his steps silent as he reached the door to the house and pulled it open just as Seonghwa and Wooyoung stepped into view.

The second Wooyoung’s presence hit him, San felt it— a sudden, overwhelming pull that sent a sharp jolt through his chest. His breath hitched, and for a split second, it was like the air had been knocked out of him. Wooyoung’s scent was unmistakable, cutting through the cool night air like a blade— warm and rich, tinged with something sweet and utterly human.

San’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the doorframe as he forced himself to remain composed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice low but brimming with anger as his dark eyes locked onto Seonghwa.

Seonghwa flinched, the tension in his posture betraying his guilt. “San—”

“No,” San interrupted, his tone sharper now. “What the hell were you thinking, bringing him here?” He gestured toward Wooyoung, his movements quick and frustrated. “You know what Yeosang’s going through. You know how dangerous this is!”

Wooyoung’s eyes darted between them, his confusion clear. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why are you acting like I’m some kind of threat?”

San ignored him, his glare fixed on Seonghwa. “Do you have any idea how reckless this is? Yeosang is barely holding it together. And you thought it was a good idea to bring a someone here? Him, of all people?”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but he stood his ground. “He knows too much already,” he said, his voice steady but defensive. “You weren’t there, San. He’s been putting the pieces together, and I couldn’t stop him. He would have come here on his own if I hadn’t brought him.”

“You should have stopped him!” San snapped, his anger flashing like lightning.

“I couldn’t!” Seonghwa shot back, his frustration breaking through. “He’s relentless, and you know it. He wouldn’t stop until he found answers.”

San’s gaze darkened, his lips curling back slightly in frustration. He opened his mouth to retort, but the sudden shift in the air stopped him cold.

Yeosang’s presence hit him like a ripple of tension, raw and unsteady.

“Yeosang!” San barked, spinning toward the backyard, but it was already too late.

Yeosang stepped into the doorway, his chest heaving as his gaze locked onto Wooyoung. The scent of warm blood, so close, so vivid, hit him like a tidal wave.

His throat burned, the hunger he’d been fighting for days roaring to life with a

ferocity that made his knees buckle.

Wooyoung took a step back instinctively, his eyes widening as he saw Yeosang’s pale, trembling form. “Yeosang?” he said cautiously.

Yeosang’s breath hitched, his hands trembling at his sides as his eyes darkened, locking onto Wooyoung. His voice came out ragged, almost a growl. “Get back.”

But Wooyoung didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

San moved like a shadow, stepping between them in an instant. “Yeosang,” he said sharply, his voice commanding. “Get a grip. Now.”

Yeosang’s eyes flicked to San, desperation and hunger warring in his expression. “I… I can’t…”

The air felt thick, charged with an almost suffocating tension. Wooyoung’s scent was like a beacon in the dark, warm and alive, threading its way through Yeosang’s chest and clawing at the edges of his mind. It was all he could think about, all he could feel. His control was unraveling, thread by fragile thread.

“Yeosang,” San warned sharply, stepping closer. His dark eyes locked onto Yeosang like a lifeline. “Stay back.”

But Yeosang couldn’t.

The hunger roared to life, drowning out every rational thought. His gaze fixed on Wooyoung, his fangs bared as his body moved on instinct. One moment, he was trembling on the edge of restraint; the next, he was lunging, a feral snarl tearing from his throat.

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa shouted, his voice panicked, but it was too late.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened as Yeosang surged forward, faster than he could react. Yeosang’s hands grabbed at him, pinning him to the wall with a strength that left Wooyoung breathless. His chest heaved, and his sharp fangs glinted in the dim light, just inches from Wooyoung’s throat.

And then San was there.

He moved like lightning, grabbing Yeosang by the shoulders and wrenching him back with an inhuman strength that sent him stumbling. Wooyoung slid to the ground, gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Yeosang, look at me!” San barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Yeosang thrashed in San’s grip, his body trembling as the hunger fought to consume him. His glassy eyes darted to San, but they were unfocused, feral. “I… I can’t,” he choked out, his voice raw and desperate. “I can’t stop—he’s right there, and I—”

“You can,” San interrupted, his tone steel. “You will.”

But Yeosang couldn’t hear him. The hunger clawed at him, unrelenting, and his body moved before his mind could catch up. With a sharp, guttural snarl, he twisted in San’s grip and sank his fangs into San’s shoulder.

San didn’t flinch.

The pain was sharp, a searing heat that shot through him, but his expression didn’t change. His dark eyes remained steady, locked on Yeosang even as blood began to seep through his shirt.

“San!” Seonghwa shouted, his voice breaking with panic as he took a step forward.

“Stay back!” San barked, his voice calm but firm.

Yeosang froze as the taste of San’s blood hit his tongue. It was electric, rich and overwhelming, flooding his senses with a potency that made his knees buckle. His trembling hands gripped San’s arms as his body shuddered, torn between the hunger and the horror of what he was doing.

For a moment, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

And then the haze began to clear.

Yeosang’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d done. He wrenched himself back, his fangs sliding free from San’s shoulder as blood dripped from his lips. His entire body shook, his chest heaving as he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“I… I bit you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. His trembling hands shot to his face, covering his blood-streaked mouth as his knees buckled. “I… oh god, I almost… I almost hurt him.” His wide, tear-filled eyes darted to Wooyoung, who was still sitting on the floor, stunned and pale.

San straightened, wiping the blood from his shoulder with the back of his hand. His expression was calm, his dark eyes steady as he stepped toward Yeosang. “You didn’t hurt him,” he said firmly. “I stopped you.”

Yeosang shook his head violently, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t stop myself,” he choked out. “I almost… I almost killed him.”

San stepped closer, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “Yeosang, listen to me. You didn’t. You made a mistake, but it’s over now. You can come back from this.”

“I can’t!” Yeosang shouted, his voice cracking with anguish. “I’m a monster. I almost killed Wooyoung. I bit you. I can’t do this. I can’t…”

San grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Yes, you can,” he said quietly but with unyielding certainty. “You’re stronger than this hunger, Yeosang. You have to be.”

Yeosang stared at him, tears streaking his face, his body trembling violently.

Behind them, Wooyoung slowly pushed himself to his feet, his hand gripping the wall for support. His heart still pounded, and his mind raced with what he’d just seen— Yeosang’s fangs, the feral hunger in his eyes, the way San had stepped in with inhuman speed and strength.

“What… What the hell is going on?” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling as his wide eyes flicked between San and Yeosang.

San glanced over his shoulder at him, his expression unreadable. “We’ll explain,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “But not here. Not now.”

“Not now?” Wooyoung repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. “You call this not now? Yeosang just… attacked me! And you’re standing there like this is normal!”

Yeosang flinched at Wooyoung’s words, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. “I… I didn’t mean to…” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt.

San exhaled slowly, his dark eyes steady as he wiped the blood from his neck. “You didn’t,” he said firmly. “I stopped you. And now you’re going to get control of yourself. Right now.”

The weight of his words settled over all of them, heavy and unrelenting.

Yeosang shook his head, his chest heaving. “I can’t do this,” he choked out, his voice filled with anguish. “I almost killed him. I can’t do this.”

San stepped forward, his gaze unrelenting. “Yes, you can,” he said. “You made a mistake, but you can come back from this. You’re stronger than this hunger. You have to be.”

Wooyoung stood frozen, his back pressed against the wall as he stared at Yeosang. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced with what he’d just seen—

Yeosang’s fangs, his near attack, and the way San had stopped him with inhuman speed and strength.

“What he fuck?” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling.

Chapter 10: Shadows in the Moonlight

Notes:

Trigger warnings for violence and minor character death. Things are getting serious y'all <3

The gravel crunched beneath their feet, the night air cool and heavy with unspoken words. The moonlight painted pale streaks across the path, turning the swaying reeds into ghostly silhouettes. San walked ahead, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat, his posture stiff, his sharp features shadowed and unreadable.

Wooyoung trailed behind him, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The quiet wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating. His thoughts churned, every glance at San dredging up the memory of what he’d seen back at the house: Yeosang’s fangs, San’s inhuman speed, the sheer strength it took for him to stop Yeosang in his tracks.

Wooyoung had a million questions clawing at the back of his throat, but he was unable to put a single one into words.

San slowed, glancing over his shoulder. His gaze met Wooyoung’s, steady but tinged with a weariness that hadn’t been there before. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” San said quietly, his voice calm but edged with something softer. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Wooyoung huffed, kicking a small stone off the path. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little on edge after your friend tried to… I don’t even know what the hell he wanted to do.”

“He’s not in control yet,” San replied evenly, his steps slow and measured. “But he’ll get there. I’ll make sure of it.”

Wooyoung let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because all of this is perfectly normal. I’m just supposed to accept that Yeosang has fangs now, and you’re… whatever you are.” He stopped, his arms falling to his sides as he glared at San. “What are you, anyway? Because you’re not human. Not anymore.”

San flinched, the words cutting deeper than he’d expected. He looked away briefly, his jaw tightening before he spoke again. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice soft but edged with something raw. “I’m not human. Not anymore. But I’m still me, Wooyoung. The same person who fought to save you and Yeosang that night. The same person who—”

He stopped abruptly, the words catching in his throat.

Who what, San? His thoughts betrayed him, spiraling down a dangerous path. Who hasn’t stopped thinking about the way you make the air feel heavier when you’re near? Who can’t understand why the pull of your presence feels like it’s etched into my very bones?

He clenched his fists in his coat pockets, forcing the thoughts away.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, stared at San, thrown by the sudden falter in his voice. He’d never seen San look so… conflicted. Vulnerable, even. It made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

“What were you going to say?” Wooyoung pressed, his voice softer now, the edge of his frustration dulling slightly.

San paused, his back to Wooyoung. For a moment, he said nothing, his shoulders stiffening slightly as he tilted his head toward the sky. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, highlighting the faint tension in his expression.

“I think you already know the answer to what I am.” San said finally, his voice low.

Wooyoung’s stomach churned, but he forced himself to speak. “You’re a vampire.”

San turned to face him, his dark eyes steady but unreadable. “Yes.”

The single word fell like a stone, sinking into the silence between them.

Wooyoung stared at him, his throat tightening. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“It’s a lot to take in,” San continued, his tone softening. “I get that. But it’s the truth.”

Wooyoung took a shaky step back, his hands trembling at his sides. “And Seonghwa?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

San nodded, his expression calm but heavy. “Him too.”

Wooyoung let out a sharp breath, his mind reeling. “And Yeosang? What about him? What the hell did you do to him?”

San hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting Wooyoung’s again. “I saved him.” he said simply.

“Saved him?” Wooyoung repeated, his voice rising. “You call this saving him? Turning him into a—”

“He was dying,” San interrupted, his voice firm but not harsh. “He didn’t have a choice. I didn’t, either. If I hadn’t turned him, he wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

Wooyoung’s chest tightened, and he shook his head, taking another step back. “You’re telling me you… you turned him? You made him like you?”

“Yes.” San said quietly, his gaze steady.

Wooyoung walked closer to San, his mind reeling. They walked besides each other for a while, silent.

“So,” Wooyoung said finally, his voice breaking the stillness. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and glanced sideways at San, his brow furrowed. “You’re seriously telling me that vampires are real.”

San glanced at him, his expression calm but slightly amused. “Yes.”

“And you’re one of them.”

“Yes.”

“And Seonghwa.”

“Him too.”

“And now Yeosang.”

San nodded.

Wooyoung let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, cool. Great. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating this entire conversation.”

San’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his otherwise composed demeanour. “You’re not.”

“Fantastic,” Wooyoung muttered. He kicked a small stone off the path, watching it disappear into the reeds. “So, what’s the deal then? You guys drink blood, but what else? Do you turn into bats? Sleep in coffins? Avoid garlic at all costs?”

San let out a quiet laugh, the sound low and unexpectedly warm. “No bats,” he said. “No coffins, either. And garlic? That’s just something humans made up to feel like they had some kind of defense against us. Honestly, I like garlic bread.”

Wooyoung stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open. “Wait. Are you telling me vampires can eat garlic bread?”

San stopped too, turning to face him with an amused look. “Why wouldn’t we? It’s bread. With garlic. It’s not exactly lethal.”

Wooyoung threw his hands up, his voice rising. “I don’t know, man! I grew up watching movies where a clove of garlic could send a vampire running for the hills. I thought it was common knowledge!”

“Well,” San said with a shrug, “common knowledge is wrong.”

Wooyoung blinked at him, his frustration giving way to incredulous laughter. “Unbelievable. Next, you’re going to tell me that sunlight doesn’t kill you either.”

San raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t.”

Wooyoung’s laughter cut off abruptly, his eyes widening. “What?”

“It doesn’t kill us,” San repeated, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. “It… Makes us a little tired. We get sunburns more easily than humans, and it makes us weaker if we’re exposed for too long, but it won’t kill us. At all.”

“So no dramatic bursting-into-flames moment?” Wooyoung asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Sorry to disappoint.” San replied, his tone light but teasing.

Wooyoung shook his head, muttering under his breath. Realization slowly hit him. “Fuck, I’ve seen Seonghwa in the sunlight before… But- Uhhh… What about holy water? Please don’t tell me it’s just regular water next?”

“It is.” San said, deadpan.

Wooyoung stared at him, and for a moment, the tension between them cracked like a dry twig. Laughter bubbled out of Wooyoung before he could stop it, and even San’s lips twitched in response.

“Okay, fine,” Wooyoung said, holding up a hand as he tried to catch his breath. “But what about mirrors? Can you see your reflection?”

“Yes,” San replied with a small smirk. “That one’s also a myth. Just like vampires not showing up on photographies.”

Wooyoung snorted. “Yeah, I figures that one out. I have tons of embarrassing pictures of Seonghwa on my phone.”

San shook his head, though the faint smile on his face lingered. The teasing warmth in their exchange felt oddly grounding, a brief reprieve from the weight of the truths San had shared.

“I have more questions.” Wooyoung said, his eyes fixes on San.

San exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said, a faint smile playing on the corners of his lips. “Ask.”

Wooyoung hesitated for half a second before the floodgates opened. “Okay, for starters: how long have you been… like this? How old are you exactly?”

San chuckeled. „I’m 28. In Human years.“

Wooyoung took in a sharp breath. The term Human Years was reeling in his head.

„H-How long have you been 28?“

San barked out a disbelieving laugh. „Are you quoting Twilight right now?“

Heat rushed to Wooyoung's cheeks. "Shut up! It's a justifiable question."

San hummed, the faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“About a millenium.” He replied evenly.

Wooyoung screamed. “A MILLENIUM?”

“Yes.” San said, his tone calm but with a faint trace of amusement at Wooyoung’s reaction. “Next question.”

“I…. Uh…. What about Seonghwa?”

“He’s younger. About a 800 years.”

Wooyoung let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. Guess that explains why he’s always so composed. Dude’s literally been alive longer than most countries.”

San’s lips quirked slightly, the tension in his posture easing just a fraction. “Something like that.”

“And what about the thing of vampires being unable to enter a house without being invited in?“

San let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

“Nope!” Wooyoung said, his grin widening.

„We can enter without being invited. Most of us just don’t. Because we have manners.“

Wooyoung laughed out loudly. “Okay, okay. So… And you really don’t turn into bats?”

“No bats.” San confirmed, his tone deadpan.

“Shame,” Wooyoung quipped. “That would’ve been kind of cool.”

San glanced at him, his lips twitching. The humour in Wooyoung’s voice, the way he could tease even after everything he’d learned, was both infuriating and disarming.

For a moment, the tension between them eased, replaced by something lighter, something almost… normal.

But then Wooyoung’s grin faded, and his gaze dropped to the ground. “This is a lot,” he admitted quietly, his voice losing its playful edge. “I’m trying to keep up, but it’s… a lot. If all I thought about Vampires is just bullshit… what is true, then?” he asked quietly.

San’s smile faded, and his gaze shifted toward the horizon. The reeds rustled softly in the breeze, their whispering filling the silence that stretched between them.

“Vampires live by different rules,” San said finally, his voice low but steady. “We’re faster, stronger, and harder to kill than humans. Almost immortal, you could say. We heal quickly, but we still feel pain. We need blood to survive, but we don’t have to kill to get it.”

Wooyoung frowned, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“There are systems in place,” San explained. “Blood banks. Donor networks. Willing humans who sell their blood or let vampires feed directly from them. The Council enforces strict rules to make sure we don’t cross the line— rules about feeding, turning, and interacting with humans.”

“And if someone breaks the rules?” Wooyoung asked.

San’s gaze darkened slightly, his tone hardening. “Then they deal with the Council’s enforcers. Or worse.”

Wooyoung swallowed, a faint chill running down his spine. “Sounds… intense.”

“It has to be,” San replied. “Without those rules, there’s chaos. There are Vampires that don’t care about balance. To them, humans are just cattle, and anyone who doesn’t agree with them is an enemy. They’d tear everything apart if they had the chance.”

Wooyoung shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as they resumed walking. The path wound deeper into the night, the moonlight casting long shadows across their steps.

“And Yeosang?” Wooyoung asked after a long pause, his voice softer now. “Where does he fit into all of this?”

San sighed, his expression growing heavier. “He’s still figuring that out. Right now, he’s struggling to control his instincts, but he’ll get there. Seonghwa and I will help him. A lot of fledglings don’t have that kind of support.”

“Fledglings,” Wooyoung echoed, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly off his tongue. “Is that what you call newly turned vampires?”

San nodded. “It’s not an easy adjustment. The hunger is overwhelming at first, and the instincts take over if you’re not careful. Like… What happened earlier. But Yeosang is strong. He’ll make it.”

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “And what about me?” he asked quietly. “Where do I fit into this?”

San stopped, turning to face him. For a moment, his expression softened, the sharp edges of his features easing into something almost gentle.

 

 

San opened his mouth to respond, but a faint rustling in the reeds behind them made him pause. His head snapped toward the sound, his sharp features hardening as his body tensed.

Wooyoung frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

“Stay close!” San said, his voice low and clipped.

Before Wooyoung could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows, stepping onto the path with deliberate, predatory ease. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, the cruel twist of his lips, and the gleam of something metallic in his hand.

“Daewon.” San said, his voice like ice.

The mans presence sent a chill down Wooyoung’s spine. He recognised him right away. It was the man that had attacked them— and had almost killed Yeosang.

Daewon smirked, his dark eyes glinting with malice as he took out a dagger, twirling it in his hand. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Taking a nice night stroll with your human pet, San?”

Wooyoung tensed up, gripping San’s arm as fear rushed trough him.

Daewon grinned, his eyes flicking to Wooyoung briefly before settling back on San. “You see San, I’ve been… grieving. Losing Yeosang was hard. I’d waited so long to claim him, and then you had to swoop in and ruin everything.” His tone darkened, his smile twisting into something vicious. “Do you have any idea how much that stings?”

San’s jaw tightened. “Yeosang was never yours to claim!” he said sharply.

Daewon’s eyes flashed with anger, but his smile didn’t waver. “You took him from me, and that’s not something I can forgive.” His gaze flicked to Wooyoung again, his smile turning predatory. “So, I’ve decided to take something from you.”

San stepped in front of Wooyoung instinctively, his posture shifting into a defensive stance. “If you touch him, I’ll kill you!” he said, his voice low and dangerous, almost a growl.

Daewon laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Oh, San. Always so dramatic.” He flipped the dagger in his hand, his grin turning vicious. “Let’s see if you can keep that promise.”

In a blur of movement, Daewon lunged.

San reacted instantly, shoving Wooyoung out of the way as Daewon’s dagger slashed through the air. But San was faster, sidestepping the strike with precision. His fist shot out, connecting with Daewon’s jaw with a sickening crack. Daewon staggered, but he recovered quickly, his movements fluid as he spun and aimed another strike at San’s side.

San blocked the attack with his forearm, the dagger grazing his skin and drawing a thin line of blood. He countered with a brutal kick to Daewon’s chest, sending him stumbling back into the shadows.

Wooyoung scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving as he watched the fight unfold. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen— faster, more violent, almost a blur of motion and raw power.

“Wooyoung, stay back!” San shouted, his voice strained as he blocked another strike from Daewon’s dagger.

Daewon wiped the blood from his split lip, his grin widening. “Fucking golden,” he sneered, circling San like a predator sizing up its prey. “But let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

San didn’t respond. He moved first, closing the distance between them in a flash. His blows flew in a blur of calculated strikes, each one aimed to disable and disarm. He was relentless, driving Daewon back with the sheer force of his attacks.

Daewon managed to dodge some of the blows, but not all. San’s punches landed with bone-crushing precision—a hit to the ribs that made Daewon gasp, a hook to the jaw that sent him reeling.

“I’m going to kill you.” San said, his voice low and dangerous.

Daewon snarled, his dagger flashing again as he slashed wildly at San’s chest. San dodged, grabbing Daewon’s wrist and twisting it sharply. The dagger clattered to the ground, but Daewon recovered quickly, his knee shooting up to connect with San’s stomach.

San grunted, the blow forcing him back a step, but he didn’t falter. He grabbed Daewon by the collar, slamming him into a tree with enough force to shake the branches and make the wood splinter.

Daewon coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, but he only grinned.

He moved suddenly, pulling a second, smaller blade from his sleeve. The blade slashed across San’s arm, the wound shallow but enough to make San release him. Daewon shoved him back, his movements desperate but calculated.

San advanced again, his movements fluid despite the blood dripping from his arm. Daewon swung wildly, but San ducked, landing a brutal kick to Daewon’s ribs before sweeping his legs out from under him. The sound of bones snapping was nauseating.

Daewon hit the ground hard, coughing as he struggled to get up. San loomed over him, his expression cold, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike.

And then Daewon’s gaze shifted.

Wooyoung.

San realized it a split second too late.

Daewon lunged—not at San, but at Wooyoung. The blade glinted in the moonlight as it arced toward him.

“Wooyoung!” San shouted, his voice shrill.

Without thinking, San threw himself in front of Wooyoung, his body colliding with Daewon’s mid-strike. The blade plunged into San’s side, burying itself deep inside San’s guts, and a searing pain tore through him.

San gritted his teeth, a sharp hiss escaping him as pain radiated from the wound. He staggered slightly, his hand instinctively going to the blade, but the second he touched it, his skin burned.

“Nightshade,” Daewon said gleefully, watching the realization dawn on San’s face. “Nasty stuff, isn’t it?”

“San!” Wooyoung shouted, his voice breaking with panic as he watched San falter.

San turned to him, his expression strained but still composed. “Stay back!” he barked, his voice tight. His knees buckled, but he stayed standing, his body shielding Wooyoung as he gasped for breath.

Daewon sneered, twisting the blade before yanking it free. “There’s that hero complex. How pathetic.” he taunted.

San swayed, his vision blurring as the poison coursed through his veins. He barely heard Wooyoung shouting his name, barely registered the fear in his voice.

But he wasn’t done yet.

With a guttural growl, San surged forward, ignoring the pain as he grabbed Daewon by the throat and slammed him into the ground. The impact sent a shockwave through the air.

“Don’t you DARE touch him!” San hissed, his voice trembling with rage.

Daewon’s eyes widened slightly, but he manages to free himself from San more easily now. He ripped the dagger from San’s wound, kicked the vampire to the floor. He was so fast, Wooyoung could barely follow his movements.

Daewon darted toward Wooyoung, his blade raised.

Time seemed to slow.

“Enough.”

San’s head snapped up, his vision swimming as another figure stepped into the moonlight. His broad shoulders and stoic expression giving him an imposing presence.

“Jongho?” San rasped, his voice faint as he tired to get up.

Jongho’s expression was neutral, though his eyes flickered with something close to regret. His gaze flicked to San briefly before returning to Daewon. “You’ve caused enough trouble.” he said simply.

And with a swift, decisive motion, he  was on him, twisting Daewon’s neck. The crack echoed through the stillness, and Daewon’s body crumpled to the ground.

Wooyoung stared, his chest heaving, his mind reeling. “Who the hell…?”

 

Just a blink later, the was a guttural sound. Daewon snarled, his lips curling back to reveal bloodstained teeth as he staggered to his feet, his neck crooked for only a second before snapping back to it’s original place. „Jongho…“ He growled. His dagger lay a few feet away, forgotten in the dirt, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes burned with fury, fixing onto San, who  got up slowly, swaying, blood dripping from the deep wound in his side.

“You’re done, San!” Daewon spat, his voice guttural with rage. “The poison’s already taking hold. I’m going to finish you, and then I’ll deal with your little human pet.”

San barely had time to react as Daewon lunged, his claws outstretched, fangs bared and razor-sharp, aiming for his throat.

But he never made it.

A blur of motion shot past San, faster than even Daewon could track. Jongho’s hand clamped around Daewon’s wrist mid-lunge, stopping him cold. The impact was bone-jarring, the crack of Daewon’s arm snapping under the pressure echoing in the still night air.

Daewon screamed, his fury turning to panic as he twisted wildly, trying to free himself. But Jongho didn’t let go.

“I told you,” Jongho said quietly, his voice calm but edged with cold finality. “Enough.”

Daewon thrashed, his free hand clawing at Jongho’s arm, but it was useless. Jongho’s grip was unrelenting, his strength otherworldly. With a single, brutal motion, Jongho yanked Daewon forward and drove his fist into his stomach, the force so immense that Daewon’s body bent unnaturally, the air leaving his lungs in a choked gasp.

“You are not allowed to hurt him,” Jongho said, his tone low and quiet, his calmness making the moment even more terrifying. “Not on my watch.”

Before Daewon could even respond, Jongho shifted his grip, his hand ripping out of his body, his hands now clamping down on either side of Daewon’s torso. The tendons in Jongho’s arms flexed, his muscles bulging as he pulled—hard.

The sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone was sickening, a wet, visceral noise that made Wooyoung stumble back, his stomach churning.

“Holy shit!” Wooyoung whispered, his voice barely audible as he pressed a trembling hand to his mouth.

Daewon’s scream cut off abruptly as Jongho ripped him apart, his torso separating from his legs in a gruesome spray of blood. The lifeless remains fell to the ground in two heavy, wet thuds, the crimson pooling beneath them stark against the pale moonlight.

Jongho stood over the remains, his chest rising and falling steadily, his expression cold and detached. Blood spattered his hands, forearms and face, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care.

San, still swaying, blinked slowly, his vision swimming as he processed what had just happened. “Jongho…” he rasped, his voice weak.

Jongho turned to him, his expression softening slightly. “You’re welcome,” he said, his tone flat but not unkind. He stepped closer to San, his sharp eyes scanning the wound on his side. “Are you… Okay?”

Wooyoung, still frozen in shock, managed to find his voice. “Who… who the hell are you?”

Jongho’s gaze flicked to him briefly, and for a moment, there was something almost apologetic in his expression. “Choi Jongho,” he said simply. “And I’m no friend of Daewon’s, if that helps.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Wooyoung muttered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted to the blood-soaked remains on the ground.

Jongho’s attention shifted back to San. “I shouldn’t have interfered,” he said quietly. “If the New Order finds out I helped you, I’m as good as dead.”

San forced himself to stand straighter, though his knees threatened to buckle. “Why did you?”

Jongho hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Because I owe you,” he said finally, his voice low. “And because Daewon was a problem for all of us. He wouldn’t have stopped until he got what he wanted.”

San nodded faintly, his vision swimming, black spots dancing before his eyes.

Jongho glanced at Wooyoung again, his expression clouding with something close to regret. “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend,” he said, his voice quieter. “But no one can know I was here. If anyone asks, San killed Daewon. That’s it.”

Wooyoung frowned, his confusion evident. “You’re… one of them? Why would you help us?”

Jongho’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Let’s just say I have my reasons,” he said, his tone evasive. “But don’t expect it to happen again.”

Without waiting for a response, Jongho turned, his movements swift and deliberate. Within moments, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the carnage behind.

The silence that followed was deafening.

San staggered, his legs finally giving out. San’s knees hit the ground hard, the dull thud of his body against the dirt breaking the tense silence. His hands pressed against the wound in his side, dark blood seeping through his fingers and staining the ground beneath him. He gasped for air, each breath labored, the effort making his chest tremble.

Wooyoung sprinted towards him, dropping to his knees beside him, his hands hovering uncertainly before reaching for San’s shoulders. “San! Hey, look at me!” he said urgently, his voice tight with panic. “Stay with me!”

San’s head snapped up, his dark eyes glassy but still sharp enough to catch Wooyoung’s gaze. “Wooyoung,” he rasped, his voice broken and strained. “You need to—”

His words faltered as a violent tremor rippled through his body. He groaned, his teeth clenched as the poison burned through his veins like liquid fire.

“What do I do?” Wooyoung demanded, his voice cracking as he looked over San’s wounds. The gash in his side was deep, the blood flow sluggish but unrelenting. Wooyoung’s paramedic training kicked in automatically, his hands moving to apply pressure to the wound. “I need to stop the bleeding,” he muttered, more to himself than to San.

San hunched forward, his body trembling violently, his breaths ragged and uneven. Blood dripped steadily from the wound in his side, pooling beneath him like a dark omen. His jaw clenched as another wave of heat and hunger tore through his body, his hands clawing at the dirt beneath him.

“It’s… not the wound,” San choked out, his voice guttural and raw. “It’s the poison. But… it won’t… kill me.”

“Then what the hell is it doing?” Wooyoung snapped, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and frustration. His hands pressed harder against the wound, blood slicking his fingers.

San’s gasped, his eyes wild and glassy, the shadows of his lashes casting sharp lines against his pale skin. He gripped Wooyoung’s wrist weakly, his hand cold but trembling with faint traces of his usual strength. “I’m too strong… too old for it to kill me,” he whispered, his words broken by shallow gasps. “But it’s… speeding everything up. The hunger…” He trailed off, his voice thick with something primal. “The hunger is… taking over.”

Wooyoung froze, his pulse roaring in his ears. His heart slammed against his ribs as he took in the trembling form of San before him—always so composed, so impossibly strong, now reduced to this. “What are you saying?” he asked, though deep down, dread already whispered the answer.

San’s teeth clenched, his lips curling back slightly in a snarl. His dark eyes locked onto Wooyoung’s, and the raw, feral desperation in them sent a shiver racing down his spine. “I’m losing control,” San admitted, his voice trembling as his nails dug into the dirt. “The poison… it’s fueling it, breaking me down. I can’t…” He let out a sharp, pained groan, doubling over as his body spasmed.

Wooyoung felt himself panic, pressing San against him tightly, which only made San tense up. „What can I do? Fuck San, tell me what to do!“

A sharp laugh escaped San, fractured and bitter. “You don’t… understand,” he rasped, his voice cracking. His head dipped, his dark hair falling into his face as his shoulders shook. “Wooyoung… please. Run.”

“No,” Wooyoung said instantly, his voice fierce. His hands trembled, his chest heaving, but he didn’t move. “I’m not leaving you! Don’t ask me to do that!”

San’s head snapped up, his expression twisting with frustration, desperation, and something deeper—something darker. “You don’t get it!” he snarled, his voice breaking into a ragged shout. “I can’t stop it! If you stay, I’ll…” He cut himself off, his lips pulling back to reveal his fangs, elongated and sharp, glinting in the pale moonlight.

“Please,” he begged, his voice trembling, his eyes locked onto Wooyoung’s with an intensity that made his heart ache. “Go. Before I…”

But Wooyoung couldn’t. The memory of Yeosang’s lifeless body flashed behind his eyes, the helplessness that had consumed him that night threatening to overwhelm him again. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not leaving you. I won’t!” Wooyoung’s hands trembled, but he didn’t let go.

San lifted his head slowly, his dark eyes meeting Wooyoung’s. But something was different now— something feral and raw flickered behind his gaze, a darkness that sent a shiver down Wooyoung’s spine.

San’s breathing grew harsher, his shoulders heaving as the hunger tore through him, relentless and unforgiving. His gaze locked onto Wooyoung, and suddenly all the emotions he’d been pushing down— desire, need, longing— rose to the surface, coiling around the edges of his crumbling control.

“Wooyoung,” San whispered, his voice deeper now, rougher. “I’m sorry-”

Before Wooyoung could react, San moved.

In a blur of motion, San’s hand shot out, gripping the back of Wooyoung’s neck with surprising strength. Wooyoung gasped, his heart slamming against his ribs as San pulled him close, their faces inches apart.

“San, wait—” Wooyoung started, but the words died on his lips as San’s breath ghosted across his neck.

The feeling of San’s fangs sinking into his flesh hit him like liquid fire.

Wooyoung’s body jerked, the sharp pain melting almost instantly into something else—something hot and electric. His breath hitched, his hands clutching San’s shoulders as a wave of heat flooded his body.

It was overwhelming, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Pleasure and pain tangled together, blurring the edges of his thoughts until all he could focus on was the sensation of San’s lips against his neck, the pull of his fangs, the way his body trembled with every beat of his heart.

“San!” he gasped, his voice weak, trembling. He tried to push against San’s shoulders, but his strength was fading fast. “Stop. Please—”

A sharp gasp tore from Wooyoung’s throat, followed almost instantly by a low, trembling moan as the sensation hit him—a molten wave of heat that surged through his veins, radiating outward from the bite. His fingers clutched at San’s shoulders tighter, desperate for stability, his nails digging into the fabric of San’s coat as his knees wavered beneath him.

“San…” he gasped, his voice trembling, caught between fear and something deeper, something raw and unnameable. He tried to push at San’s shoulders, weakly attempting to break the contact, but the strength drained from his arms almost as quickly as the thought entered his mind.

The pain of the bite was gone, melted away into an intoxicating pleasure that consumed him entirely. It was electric, overwhelming, leaving no room for coherent thought— just the pull of San’s fangs, the press of his lips, the dizzying heat that burned through every nerve in his body.

Wooyoung’s head tilted back instinctively, baring his throat further, his body surrendering to the sensations that coursed through him. A broken whimper escaped his lips, his breaths shallow and uneven, each one hitching as San’s grip tightened, his hands steadying Wooyoung even as his own hunger consumed him.

San groaned against his neck, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through Wooyoung’s skin. The hunger that burned within him was fierce, insatiable, but it wasn’t just hunger. It was something else— something that tugged at the edges of his restraint and left him trembling with the force of it.

Wooyoung moaned again, louder this time, his body arching into San’s as the pleasure reached an unbearable intensity. His hips bucked involuntarily, pressing against San’s, the friction igniting a fresh jolt of heat that raced through him, sharp and unrelenting. “A— Ahh!” he gasped, his voice breaking, desperate and needy.

„Oh my god—!“, he groaned, helplessly grinding against San's hips with his own.

San’s hands gripped him tighter, holding him steady as he drank, the connection between them deepening with every moment. It was more than just the blood—it was an intimate pull, a raw, visceral link that left both of them trembling.

Wooyoung’s fingers curled tighter into San’s coat, his body shuddering as he clung to him. His vision blurred, his breaths turning shallow and uneven as the overwhelming sensations dragged him further under. His body trembled, every nerve alive with searing intensity, until even the faintest touch felt like too much.

“San,” he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible, a broken whisper on trembling lips. “I… I can’t…”

His body gave out completely, his strength fading as the darkness began to close in around him. His muscles slackened, his head falling against San’s shoulder, the last of his moans soft and fleeting.

San finally pulled back, his fangs sliding free from Wooyoung’s neck with an almost reluctant motion. His lips were stained with blood, his dark eyes wide and wild, his chest heaving as he stared down at the lifelessly slumped figure in his arms.

The taste of Wooyoung’s blood lingered on his tongue— rich, electric, and unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was intoxicating in a way that no other blood had ever been, a connection so profound that it left him reeling, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

San’s breaths came fast and uneven, his hands trembling slightly as they cradled Wooyoung’s limp form. Wooyoung’s chest rose and fell faintly, his pulse weak but steady, a small reassurance that he was still alive.

For a moment, San couldn’t move. He could still feel the warmth of Wooyoung’s body against his, the faint echo of his heartbeat reverberating through the night.

And as he stared down at Wooyoung, the weight of what had just happened pressed down on him, heavy and inescapable. Whatever line they had just crossed, there was no going back.

The world around them was silent, impossibly still, as if holding its breath.

Chapter 11: Nocturnal

The night clung to Seoul like a damp shroud, the dimly lit streets twisting through the city’s heart like a labyrinth of secrets. Seonghwa had taken Yeosang to his own apartment after San had called him, begging him to take care of him until he could sort out the mess he had caused. He was unable to tell his friend the truth of what he had done to Wooyoung- only telling him that Daewon had attacked them. And that he was now dead.

The room was shrouded in the kind of dim light that clung to the edges of dawn, where shadows still lingered but the first whispers of morning seeped through the cracks. Wooyoung’s head throbbed as he slowly opened his eyes, the world around him tilting precariously before it settled into focus. He lay on a bed that wasn’t his own, the sheets crisp and cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of something earthy and familiar— like old books and rain. San’s scent.

His body ached, a dull, throbbing pain that echoed the pulsing in his head. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness crashed over him, forcing him back onto the pillows. His hand instinctively went to his neck, where the memory of sharp fangs and the rush of pleasure andpain lingered. The wound was almost gone now, but the sensation remained, burning in his mind like a brand.

“What the hell happened?” he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. The words were laced with more curiosity than fear, despite the shock of it all. A vampire. San was a vampire. And yet, as the fog of his mind cleared, what surfaced wasn’t terror, but an odd, pulsing intrigue. He had always been drawn to the unknown, the thrill of the unexplained. But San was more than that. He felt drawn to him in a way he couldn’t even attempt to explain.

The room was sparse but elegant, with high ceilings and walls lined with old, leather-bound books that seemed to watch over him silently. A single, ornate window let in slivers of pale light, casting patterns on the floor that looked like claw marks. Wooyoung’s gaze drifted to the door, half-expecting it to open, half-hoping it would. His heart quickened at the thought of San, and he didn’t know what he was even feeling right now— his heart thumping quickly in his chest.

His mind kept circling back to the what had happened— the way San had moved, the intensity in his eyes, the way it had felt to be so utterly alive. And his lips. Oh God, his lips and his fangs, the way they had sunken into his neck, embedding themself deep inside his flesh. It had been terrifying and exhilarating all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff and feeling the wind pull you closer.

He threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, but they only grew louder. The memory of San, the rush of heat, the way his entire world had narrowed down to that single, piercing sensation. It had been painful, yes, but it had also been… good. So, so good. And now, in the cold light of the moonlight, he couldn’t decide which scared him more— the fact that he had enjoyed it, or the fact that he wanted to feel it again. Needed to feel it again.

“Don’t be an idiot.” he muttered to himself. But the words lacked conviction. His body still hummed with the aftermath, his blood running hot and restless beneath his skin. He shifted uncomfortably, the friction of the sheets against his body only making things worse.

The door creaked open, and Wooyoung’s heart leapt into his throat. He froze, his breath catching as San stepped into the room. The man moved with that same, otherworldly grace, his eyes soft with concern as he approached the bed. But Wooyoung didn’t feel fear. Instead, he felt a spark of something else— something hot and impatient and entirely inappropriate.

“Hey…” San said, his voice soft and low, smooth like velvet. He carried a glass of water and a small, unmarked bottle of pills. “How are you feeling?”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to answer, but what came out wasn’t the witty remark he’d intended. “What did you do to me?” he asked instead, his voice rougher than he’d meant it to be.

San hesitated, setting the glass and bottle on the bedside table. “I—”

“No,” Wooyoung cut him off, sitting up slowly. “Don’t sugarcoat it. What happened?”

San’s eyes met his, and for a moment, Wooyoung felt like he was drowning in them. “I fed from you,” San said finally, his voice steady but tinged with something like regret. “I lost control.”

Wooyoung’s laugh caught him off guard. It was sharp and a little wild, and it surprised even him. “Lost control? Are you kidding me? You’re a vampire. That’s what you do.”

San flinched, and Wooyoung regretted the words immediately. But before he could apologize, San spoke.

“You don’t understand. What I did— it wasn’t right. And it doesn’t happen like this for me. I don’t feed from humans like that! I could have hurt you.”

“Could have?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, his tone playful despite the tension in the room. “Or did you?”

San’s gaze snapped to his, sharp and unreadable. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken things. The dim glow of the moon filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows that stretched like skeletal fingers across the walls. The scent of old wood and faint traces of blood lingered, a haunting reminder of the what had happened .

Wooyoung lay on the bed, his body aching, staring up at San with an intensity that made the vampire shiver.

Wooyoung’s mind a whirlwind of emotions. But it wasn't fear that dominated his thoughts— it was something far more dangerous. Intrigue. Curiosity. Desire.

San’s eyes, those piercing, intense orbs, were clouded with guilt, and his jaw was set in a rigid line. He approached the bed with the cautious steps of someone nearing a precipice, unsure of what lay ahead.

Wooyoung watched him, every fiber of his being humming with anticipation. The memory of San's fangs piercing his skin surged through him like a wildfire, leaving in its wake a trail of relentless want. He could feel it in his veins, a pulsating heat that demanded to be satiated. San's proximity only fueled the flames, and before he could think, he acted.

In a moment of surprising speed and strength, Wooyoung reached out and grasped San's wrist, pulling him closer with a force that left them both stunned. San's eyes widened in surprise and shock as Wooyoung pulled him closer, the force of their movements causing them to topple onto the bed together. Wooyoung straddled San's lap, his legs locking around him like a vice, holding him captive with an unbreakable hold.

"San…" Wooyoung breathed, his voice filled with urgency and need. His fingers dug into San's wrist, anchoring himself to the other man.

San's hands instinctively went to Wooyoung's hips, but there was hesitation in his touch, a struggle between desire and self-control. "Wooyoung! Stop! What the hell are you doing?"

But Wooyoung wasn't listening. He was slowly starting to roll his hips down, grinding against San. The friction was sending sparks of pleasure through his body. San's eyes fluttered closed, his breath hitching, and for a moment, he forgot to resist. His hands tightened around Wooyoung's hips, pulling him closer. His hips rocked up against Wooyoung, moving together in a perfect rhythm, lost in the moment of unadulterated desire.

The room was filled with the sound of their ragged, labored breathing, the faint creak of the bed beneath them, and the relentless pulse of desire. Wooyoung’s hands slid from his wrists to his shoulders, clawing desperately against them, his nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as their bodies moved in frantic against each other. The air was thick with the sounds of their heavy breathing and something sharper, almost metallic, like the edge of a blade. San's movements were no longer hesitant or gentle; they were raw, uncontrolled, his hips surging against Wooyoung's with a desperation that bordered on violence.

Their bodies moved in a primal dance, fueled by an intense hunger for each other. Wooyoung moved his head down and crashed his lips against San’s. Their kiss was a collision of lips and teeth, a messy, breathless thing that left both of them gasping. Wooyoung’s moans were low and guttural, his voice cracking as he pleaded, “Again, San, please— again!”

His hands slid upwards, tangling in San's hair, pulling his head back with a force that should have been painful. But San didn't resist. He couldn't. His fangs ached and throbbed against his gums, every movement fueled by an intense hunger and passion, throbbing in time with the frantic beat of his heart.

“Bite me!” Wooyoung moaned desperately, grinding down against San harder.

San froze underneath him and his eyes snapped open. For a moment, they just stared at each other, lost in the heat of the moment as the world around them melted away. Then, with a growl, San pushed Wooyoung away, rolling them over so he pinned Wooyoung beneath him. "No!" he gritted out, his voice firm but trembling with the force of holding back. "Wooyoung! What the fuck—"

Wooyoung struggled beneath him, but San held him firm.

Wooyoung's eyes were filled with a storm of emotions as he looked up at San, his body trembling with frustration and longing, a desperate desire. "Please! Please San, I need—"

His words trailed off into a desperate whisper as he arched his back and pushed his hips back against San's.

A whimper escaped Wooyoung's lips.

“Oh god, please! Bite me!” Wooyoung cried out breathlessly. “Make it stop— make the ache stop!” His legs wrapped around San’s waist, pulling him closer, grinding against him with a desperation that was both heartbreaking and terrifying. San’s resolve was unraveling, thread by thread, until there was almost nothing left.

But then, something inside San tore. A brief moment of clarity cut through the haze of desire, causing him to freeze in place. His body was going rigid as he gasped for breath, struggling to regain control. With a strength that seemed otherworldly, he pinned Wooyoung's wrists to the bed, holding him still.

“No.”

The word was growled out from deep within San, his once smooth voice now rough and unrecognizable.

His fangs had fully descended now, glinting dangerously in the dim light. But instead of biting, he simply held Wooyoung in place, every muscle in his body tensed as he fought to regain control. His chest was rising and falling with each labored breath as he fought to keep himself from slipping back into the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Wooyoung writhed beneath him, his back arched in a desperate attempt to find the lost friction between them. "San, please!" he whimpered, his voice breaking with need. "Don't stop..." His hips bucked again, seeking the pleasurable heat of San's body. But San held firm, his grip unyielding.

“Enough!” San's voice was raw and steely, his eyes dark and haunted as they locked onto Wooyoung's. "You don't know what you're asking for." His fangs ached and his mouth watered at the sight of Wooyoung's flushed face and parted lips, but he resisted the primal urge to give in

But he remained still, waiting for the haze of lust to dissipate from Wooyoung's mind

For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, filling the room like a ticking clock. Then, slowly, Wooyoung’s struggles began to ease, his breaths slowing as the heat of the moment faded. His eyes, still hazy with desire, met San’s, and for the first time, he saw the fear there, the raw, unguarded terror that San had been hiding.

“Let me go…” Wooyoung whispered, his voice small, defeated. San hesitated, then released his hold, sitting back on his heels. The space between them felt like a chasm, cold and vast. Wooyoung lay there, his chest still heaving, his eyes never leaving San’s face. “You— You’re scared of me…” he gasped, his voice breathy and surprised.

San didn’t answer. He just sat there, his hands clenched into fists, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back. The room was silent now, the only sound the quiet hum of the night outside. But the tension between them was palpable, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with unspoken words and unresolved hunger.

San's expression softened, and for a moment, the tension between them was almost unbearable. Then, slowly, San was running a hand through his hair, closing his eyes tightly. "We need to talk," he said, his voice measured but laced with underlying emotion.

Wooyoung nodded, though his body still hummed with unmet desire. He knew that this was far from over. The fire that had ignited between them was only just beginning to burn.

The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across San’s face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones as he sat back on his heels, his eyes fixed on Wooyoung. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a reminder of the passion that had just been so brutally interrupted. San’s chest rose and fell with each controlled breath, his body still trembling with restraint, as though the desire to move closer— to touch— was a physical ache he couldn’t shake.

“You don’t understand,” San said finally, his voice low and rough, like the scrape of velvet against stone. “Feeding isn’t just… it’s not just taking blood. It’s a bond, a connection that goes deeper than flesh. For vampires, it’s instinct, a necessity, but for humans…” He paused, his gaze drifting over Wooyoung’s face as though searching for something— fear, revulsion, anything that might justify pulling away. “For humans, it can be dangerous. The euphoria, the way your body reacts— it’s not normal. Most humans can handle it. But some don’t. They become addicted, lose control, lose themselves.”

San’s hands flexed in his lap, the fingers curling into fists before relaxing again. He didn’t look away, couldn’t look away, even as the words tumbled out of him like a confession. “But you… you’re different. The way you responded, the way your body—” He stopped abruptly, his lips pressing together as though biting back the rest. His eyes, dark and hard, met Wooyoung’s, and for a moment, there was no sound but the soft hum of the night outside, a distant reminder of the world beyond the fragile bubble of this room.

Wooyoung lay still, his chest still rising with each ragged breath, his eyes never leaving San’s face. There was something tentative in his expression, a mixture of curiosity and caution, as though he were navigating a minefield and didn’t know which step might set everything off. “What… What do you mean?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

San flinched, the movement almost imperceptible, but enough to betray the tension coiled in his body. “I need—” he said slowly, each word carefully chosen, “I need to figure out what this means. What’s happening to you.” His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, an undercurrent of emotion that threatened to surface at any moment. He didn’t say what he was feeling, didn’t have to. It was written in the tight lines of his face, the way his eyes lingered on Wooyoung’s like a man starved of light.

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, his lips parted slightly. “What if I don’t care?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air like a challenge, or perhaps an invitation, and San’s breath caught in his throat as he met Wooyoung’s eyes.

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, slowly, San reached out, his fingers brushing against Wooyoung’s jaw, the touch light, hesitant. It was a fragile moment, one that could shatter at any second, but in it, there was a spark of something new, something tentative and terrifying and full of possibility. “You’re not yourself.” San said finally, his voice softer now, the edge of fear dulling the sharp precision of his words. “It’s the Blood Euphorie.”

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed, but he leaned into San’s the touch, his eyes closing as though savoring the simple warmth of it. “I don’t care, I need—.”

San’s hand stilled, his fingers quickly retracting from Wooyoung’s face, just as if he had been burned. “Wooyoung. Look at me.” He said in a cold voice.

The room around them was quiet, the shadows deepening into something almost palpable. Wooyoung’s eyes slowly opened, and he tried his damn best to focus his mind on anything else but the blatant want that was coursing through him.

“What… What’s Blood Euphoria?” he questioned with a small voice.

San sighed. “Its’s a documented physiological and psychological response in humans to vampire feeding. It’s characterized by the unusually high enjoyment of the process and developing addictive tendencies.” He swallowed, hard, his throat clicking dryly. “During feeding, vampires secrete a unique compound in their saliva that triggers the release of endorphins and oxytocin in human victims, creating a euphoric state.”

Wooyoung was stunned, his eyes flying over San’s beautiful features. “That’s what I’m feeling?”

San slowly shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen someone react to getting bitten this strongly. Especially because it’s been hours since I fed from you.” He studied Wooyoungs face, trying to piece together what the hell was going on. “Medical research suggests the syndrome's intensity varies among individuals, with some humans being particularly susceptible to its effects. The condition can manifest both physically and emotionally. But— not like this.”

Wooyoung swallowed. His head was swimming. “But what is happening to me then?”

San gritted his teeth. “I don’t know…”

Wooyoung sat up slowly, his body still humming with an electric current of need. The soft sheets pooled underneath him as he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they sought out San's warmth. The dim light caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting the curve of his neck where San's fangs had pierced him earlier that night. His eyes, dark and glassy with desire, never left San's face.

"San," he whispered, his voice rough and pleading. "Please, I need—"

But before his fingertips could make contact, San recoiled. In a blur of motion too fast for human eyes to track, San was suddenly standing beside the bed, his chest heaving with unnecessary breaths, his eyes wide with a mixture of desire and fear. The mattress barely shifted, as if San weighed nothing at all. He took several steps back, putting distance between them, his expression a mask of conflicted emotions—desire warring with concern, hunger with restraint.

The sudden distance between them hit Wooyoung like a physical blow. A sharp, keening sound escaped his throat as he curled in on himself, arms wrapping around his midsection as if trying to hold himself together. The pain that lanced through him was visceral and immediate, as if someone had driven a knife right into his insides.

San's eyes widened as he watched Wooyoung curl into himself, a pained whimper escaping the human's lips. The sound tore at something deep within San, primal and protective. Despite his resolve to keep his distance, he found himself taking a hesitant step forward, then another, drawn by an instinct he couldn't quite name.

"Wooyoung?" San's voice was barely above a whisper, laced with worry. The moonlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the room, turning Wooyoung's skin an ethereal shade of pale. San could see the tremors running through Wooyoung's body, could hear the rapid, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat.

Wooyoung's eyes snapped open at the sound of San's voice, his gaze locking onto the vampire with an intensity that was almost painful. His body shook, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.

"San," he gasped, his voice breaking. "Please, it hurts. I need— I need you to touch me. Please."

The desperation in Wooyoung's voice sent a shiver down San's spine. San's throat tightened, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he fought against the urge to rush to Wooyoung's side. He moved closer, each step measured and careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. The floorboards creaked softly beneath his feet, the sound seeming to echo in the tense silence of the room.

"Shh." San soothed, his voice low and gentle. He reached the edge bed, struggling to maintain his composure as he watched Wooyoung writhe in apparent pain. He sat on the edge of the mattress, keeping some distance between them.

"Wooyoung…" he said gently,

"Take deep breaths. This intense reaction isn't normal. I'm worried about what might happen if..." He trailed off, his voice strained.

Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, his eyes were wild as he looked at San. "Please," he gasped. "I need you to touch me. It hurts so much."

San clenched his jaw, fighting against his instincts. "I can't, Wooyoung. Not while you're in this state. It wouldn't be right."

A sob escaped Wooyoung's throat. "Why are you doing this to me? Please, it feels like I’m being ripped apart!"

San hesitated, then carefully leaned in closer. He wrapped an arm around Wooyoung's shoulders, pulling him into a gentle embrace. Wooyoung immediately melted against him, burying his face in San's chest.

For a few moments, they sat in silence. San could feel Wooyoung's racing heartbeat gradually slow, his trembling ease.

"Is that better?" San asked softly, gently stroking Wooyoung's hair, his touch feather-light.

Wooyoung nodded against his chest. "Uh-hu."

They sat like this for a long while, the silence broken only by the soft sounds of their breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond the window.

an's arms remained wrapped around Wooyoung, his touch gentle but firm, an anchor in the storm of emotions that had swept through them both. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room and painting everything in shades of silver and blue as time passed, marking the slow progression of the night.

San's fingers continued their gentle ministrations, carding through Wooyoung's hair with a tenderness that belied the strength coiled in his body.

Wooyoung's body gradually relaxed against San's, the tremors subsiding as the minutes ticked by. The frantic beat of his heart slowed to a steady rhythm, matching the calm, unnecessary breaths of the vampire holding him. The scent of San— a mixture of books, rain, and something uniquely him— enveloped Wooyoung, soothing him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

The frantic energy that had consumed him earlier began to ebb away. The desperate need that had clawed at his insides dulled to a low, persistent ache— still present, but manageable now. He remained pressed against San's chest, his face hidden, drawing comfort from the solid presence of the vampire's body.

Wooyoung shifted slightly, his fingers curling into the fabric of San's shirt. As the last remnants of the feverish need faded, a new emotion crept in : embarrassment. The memory of his actions played back with painful clarity - his desperate pleas, his frantic touches, the way he had shamelessly been grinding against San's body. Heat rushed to his face, a deep flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

He buried his face deeper into San's chest, wishing he could disappear entirely. His face burned hot enough that he was sure San could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Wooyoung's stomach churned with shame twisting in his gut, sharp and unforgiving. How could he have acted so wantonly, so out of control? He had practically begged San to bite him, had thrown himself at San like some kind of animal in heat, rutting against him without a shred of dignity or self-control. The thought made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

"Oh god…" Wooyoung whispered, his voice muffled against San's chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could somehow erase the humiliating images seared into his mind. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. That wasn't... I'm not usually like..."

He trailed off, unable to find the words to express the depth of his mortification. His body tensed, half-expecting San to push him away in disgust. But San's arms remained steady around him, neither tightening nor pulling away, his fingers still gently combing through Wooyoung's hair.

"Wooyoung," San's voice was soft, so gentle it made Wooyoung’s heart ache. "Look at me."

Wooyoung hesitated, his face still hidden against San's chest. The thought of meeting San's eyes after everything that had just happened made his stomach churn with anxiety. But slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head.

Wooyoung finally lifted his head, meeting San's gaze. The vampire's eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was no disgust or judgment in them. Just a deep, unfathomable sadness that made Wooyoung's chest hurt.

"Shh," San murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble in his chest. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize. The blood euphoria, it... it affects humans in ways we don't fully understand. What you experienced, it wasn't... it wasn't you. Not really."

Wooyoung swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"But it felt like me," Wooyoung whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I threw myself at you. I begged you to..." He couldn't finish the sentence, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

San's hand moved to cup Wooyoung's cheek, his touch gentle. "Wooyoung, listen to me. I promise you that I’ll find out, okay? Just… try to relax. Take it easy.”

Wooyoung nodded slowly, his eyes searching San's face. The vampire's expression was soft, his dark eyes filled with a mix of concern and something deeper, more complex. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them charged with unspoken words.

"Okay," Wooyoung said finally, his voice hoarse. "I'll try."

San's thumb brushed lightly over Wooyoung's cheekbone, the touch so gentle it was barely there. "Good," he murmured. "That's good."

Silence fell between them again, but it was different now - less tense, more contemplative. Wooyoung's breathing had evened out, his heart rate slowing to a steady rhythm. The frantic energy that had consumed him earlier had faded, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Finally, San spoke again, his voice low and careful. "How are you feeling now? Physically, I mean."

Wooyoung took a moment to assess himself. The frantic need from earlier had subsided, leaving behind a dull ache and a bone-deep weariness. "Tired," he admitted. "And sore. But... better. The pain is mostly gone now."

San nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's good. You should rest. Your body has been through a lot tonight."

Chapter 12: Life and Death

The morning light filtered through the traditional paper windows of San's hanok, casting a warm, golden hue over the polished wooden floors. Wooyoung, waking from a deep slumber, stretched with a yawn, his dark hair slightly tousled. He had never stayed in such a place before, and the serene atmosphere was a balm to his usually hectic life as a paramedic.

Curiosity piqued, he got out of the bed, wandering through the hanok, his footsteps soft on the wooden floors. The scent of something delicious led him to the kitchen, where San stood, gracefully arranging dishes on a low table. The sight of San, poised with the elegance of someone who had lived for more time than he could ever imagine, made Wooyoung pause. San's broad shoulders and defined muscles were evident even under his loose clothing, and his movements were unnervingly precise.

"San, you cook?" Wooyoung asked, his playful tone masking his surprise. The spread before him was impressive— steamed rice, stir-fried vegetables, and a soup that simmered with inviting aromas.

San turned, a rare smile tugging at his lips, revealing the faintest hint of fangs. "I don't need to eat, but I can prepare food for others." His voice was smooth, with a measured cadence that spoke of age and control.

“I didn't know vampires could cook~" he teased playfully, picking up a pair of silver chopsticks.

A small smile played on San's lips as he sat across from Wooyoung."You learn a lot of things through the centuries. Pick up a variety of hobbies. Cooking is just one of my abilities." San replied. His gaze was calm, yet there was an intensity in his eyes that Wooyoung couldn't quite place.

The first bite was a revelation— flavors danced on Wooyoung's tongue, a perfect balance of spices. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste, and when he opened them, San was watching him, a flicker of amusement in his expression.

"Damn, this is fucking delicious." Wooyoung moaned around a mouth full of food. "Though I'm a bit surprised you have all these ingredients here. I thought vampires only drank blood."

San chuckled, by now used to Wooyoung’s cursing. His gaze was calm and calculating, yet there was an undercurrent of intensity that captivated Wooyoung. "We can taste, but it doesn't sustain us. It's... nostalgic, perhaps, to share a meal with someone."

Wooyoung's smile faltered as the weight of San's words settled over him.

His thoughts begun to wander and a heavy feeling settled on his chest. He had almost lost Yeosang, and the thought was still raw.

"San," he began, his voice softening. "I wanted to thank you. For saving him. Yeosang, I mean. I don't know what I would have done if... if he didn't make it."

San's expression softened, his eyes reflecting a warmth that belied his supernatural nature. "You don't have to thank me. I did what needed to be done."

Wooyoung shook his head, his eyes welling up. "No, you don't understand. Yeosang... he's more than just a friend. I couldn't have lived with losing him." His voice cracked, and he looked away, trying to compose himself.

San reached out, his hand brushing against Wooyoung's. The touch was brief, but it carried a comforting warmth, an electric humming through both of their fingers. "I understand more than you think," San said quietly. "But let's focus on the present. You're safe, and so is Yeosang."

Wooyoung nodded, a tear escaping to roll down his cheek. He wiped it away, his smile returning, though tinged with sadness. "I was so mean to you for turning him, even tho it was the only way to safe him. And I’m so, so sorry for that. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you done."

San's gaze held Wooyoung's, a silent understanding passing between them. The moment was charged with unspoken emotions, the air thick and warm between them.

As they continued their meal, the conversation flowed naturally, their words punctuated by comfortable silences. Wooyoung couldn't help but notice the way dimples adorned San's cheeks when he smiled, or the way his hair caught the light streaming through the windows.

The breakfast was more than just a meal— it was a bridge between two worlds, a moment of connection that neither wanted to end. In that hanok, surrounded by tradition and the gentle hum of life, Wooyoung felt a sense of peace he hadn't known in a long time.

And as they sat there, the tension between them was palpable, a subtle undercurrent of feelings neither dared to voice. Yet, in that moment, it didn't need to be said. It was enough to just be there, together.

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, the soft creak of the wooden frame accompanying his sigh of contentment. Across from him, San sat with his usual grace, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup with a quiet intensity.

“So,” Wooyoung began, his voice light yet curious, “tell me more about this vampire world.” He reached for the teapot, his movements fluid as he poured a stream of amber liquid into his cup. The steam rose, carrying with it the earthy scent of herbal tea.

San's gaze lifted to meet Wooyoung's, their eyes connecting in a way that conveyed unspoken thoughts. "It's difficult," San began, his voice measured and filled with depth. "We have existed for far longer than humans can imagine, evolving and developing over centuries and millennia. We are not just mindless creatures who act purely on instinct." He paused. "At least, not most of us. There are some who believe in coexisting with humans, and others who do not."

Wooyoung leaned forward with interest, his eyes sparkling. "There are different factions? Like... the vampire who attacked Yeosang? Who attacked us?" His elbows rested on the low table, his sleeve brushing against the smooth wood.

San nodded solemnly, his lips drawn into a thin line. “The Humanists and the New Order. They’re the two biggest Vampire fractions in existence. The Humanists seek peace a balance between our worlds. They believe in ethical feeding, in living alongside humans without harm.” His voice was calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something deeper, a reflection of his own conflicted beliefs.

“And the New Order?” Wooyoung’s tone was laced with a mix of curiosity and caution, as though the words themselves held weight.

“They believe in power,” San said, his tone steady but tinged with a subtle melancholy. “They see humans as lesser, as resources to be controlled. They want a world where vampires reign supreme.”

Wooyoung’s expression turned thoughtful, his eyes distant as he recalled the events of the past days. “So, Jongho…” he murmured, the name slipping from his lips like a question. “He’s— he’s part of the New Order, right?”

San’s gaze softened, conflicting emotions reflected in his eyes. “Not all who are part of the New Order share its extreme views. Some… they are lured in, trapped between what they believe and what they know.”

Wooyoung’s focus sharpened, his attention returning to San. “And you?” he asked, his voice tinged with a newfound intensity. “Where do you stand?”

San’s eyes dropped, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “I stand nowhere,” he said quietly, his voice solemn once again. “I do not wish to be part of any faction, to be drawn into their conflicts.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Wooyoung studied San, his expression a mix of surprise and understanding. The room fell into a silence that was both comfortable and charged, the weight of San’s words lingering.

Wooyoung reached out, his hand brushing against San’s, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes. San’s gaze met his, a silent understanding passing between them, a connection as palpable as the morning light that framed them.

As Wooyoung sat at the low wooden table, the soft clatter of San preparing another pot of tea in the corner of the hanok did little to distract him from the weight of his thoughts.

The hospital, the injured, the cryptic stories San had shared— it all swirled in his mind like a storm.

As San returned to the table, Wooyoung spoke up with a sharp voice. “San,” His tone was hard enough to cut through the quiet hum of the hanok. “Those people at the hospital… the ones with the strange injuries. It’s them, isn’t it? The New Order.”

San’s movements faltered, the teapot hovering above Wooyoung’s cup. He turned, his eyes meeting Wooyoung’s, and for a moment, there was no need for words. The truth was written plainly in the tight line of San’s lips, the way his gaze softened before he looked away.

“But why?” Wooyoung pushed, his voice cracking with frustration. He stood, the chair scraping against the floor as he stepped closer to San. “Why would they attack innocent people? And why would someone from the New Order, like Jongho, save us? It doesn’t make sense.”

San sighed, setting the teapot down with precision. “The world isn’t black and white, Wooyoung. Not everyone in the New Order believes in their extremes. Some… they are trapped, or misguided. Jongho may have his own reasons for helping you.”

“Reasons?” Wooyoung’s laugh was sharp, tinged with disbelief. “In the hospital, I saw what they did to people. Innocent people! And Yeosang— he wouldn’t even hurt a fly! Why would the New Order target them?”

San’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists before he relaxed them. “They want fear,” he said quietly. “They want control. By attacking public places, they create chaos, make humans afraid of what they don’t understand. It’s a strategy, nothing more.”

You can’t just stand by and let them attack innocent people. Kill people! It’s wrong!” Wooyoung's voice trembled with emotion as he spoke. “What happened to Yeosang-”

But Sans sharp tone cut him off. “What happened to Yeosang was not solely the work of New Order. Daewon was a depraved individual. And I refuse to get involved in their political warfare. And neither will you.” His words had a sense of unwavering finality to it, cold and non-negotiable.

Wooyoung scoffed. “So what, you expect me to stay out of it?” Wooyoung’s voice rose, his words laced with incredulity. “After everything I’ve seen? After knowing what Yeosang and Seonghwa are? After what happened between us last night?”

The room seemed to shrink at the mention of it, the air thickening with unspoken tension. San’s eyes flickered to Wooyoung’s, then away, his expression unreadable. “You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into,” he said, his tone low and even. “This isn’t a game, Wooyoung. This is life and death.”

“And you think I don’t understand that?” Wooyoung took another step closer, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “I’ve seen death, San. I’ve held it in my hands every day. But I’ve also seen life, fought for it, brought it back when all hope seemed lost. You think I can just sit back and do nothing when I know what’s happening?”

San turned fully to face him, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know what’s at stake. The New Order isn’t something to be trifled with. They won’t hesitate to kill you, or worse, to use you against those you care about.”

“So you expect me to just stay back and hurt or kill people, yeah?” Wooyoung’s voice broke, the words spilling out of him like blood from a wound. “I know what it means to lose someone. I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing, if I let them hurt someone else. Not after Yeosang, not after everything you’ve told me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. San’s expression softened, his gaze dropping to the floor as he sighed deeply. “You’re stubborn,” he muttered, though there was no real venom in his tone. “And a fool.”

“And you’re scared.” Wooyoung’s voice was gentler now, though no less insistent. “You’re scared of getting pulled back into this. Of me getting hurt. But I’m already in it, San. Whether you like it or not.”

San’s eyes snapped back to his, the intensity in them making Wooyoung’s breath catch. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the world outside the hanok ceasing to exist.

Then, without a word, San turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadowed corridors of the house.

Wooyoung watched him go, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew San wasn’t trying to hide; he was trying to protect him. But protection wasn’t what Wooyoung wanted. What he wanted was the truth, no matter how dangerous it was. And he was willing to fight for it, even if it meant confronting the darkness head-on.

Chapter 13: Shadows of the Underground

Notes:

I decided to challenge myself and add a chapter a day. To everyone who is reading this story: Thank you. I love you and you support and comments mean the word to me! Tell me if you prefer the daily updates over the sporadic updates a few times a week! <3

The evening air hung heavy with the scent of rain as San led Wooyoung through the winding streets of Seoul. The hanok’s warmth faded with each step, replaced by the cool, sharp bite of night. San had told him to follow, and Wooyoung had done so, without even thinking twice.

They moved in silence, San’s broad shoulders a silhouette against the faint glow of streetlights. Wooyoung quickened his pace to keep up, his sneakers crunching against the gravel path. The city seemed to hum around them, distant and detached, as if it too were holding its breath.

San was leading them deeper into the labyrinthine heart of the city, where modernity gave way to secrets whispered through the centuries. Neon lights flickered in the distance, casting an uneven glow over the wet cobblestones, but San veered away from the brightness, guiding them down a narrow alley that swallowed the light whole.

Wooyoung’s curiosity gnawed at him, but he kept his questions locked behind his lips, sensing the tension in San’s posture. San’s steps were deliberate, each one measured, as though he were traversing a path he’d walked a thousand times before. The silence between them was oppressive, a living, breathing thing that pressed against Wooyoung’s chest. He could feel San’s unease, a palpable force that radiated from him like heat from a flame. But beneath it, Wooyoung sensed something else— something darker, more brittle. Fear. San was afraid, and the realization sent a shiver coursing down Wooyoung’s spine.

They turned a corner, and suddenly, the alley opened up into a small, secluded courtyard. The walls were lined with ancient, moss-covered stones, and in the center stood a massive wooden gate adorned with intricate carvings of serpents and roses. The gate was old, its surface weathered and cracked, but it emanated a strange, almost otherworldly energy. San paused in front of it, his hand reaching out to brush the carvings with reverence. For a moment, he seemed to forget Wooyoung was there, lost in thoughts that were clearly not his own.

“Where are we?” Wooyoung finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The gate loomed before them, its presence both beautiful and unsettling.

San turned, his eyes shadowed by the dim light. “A place where answers might be found,” he said quietly, though there was little conviction in his voice. “Somewhere… where there might be someone who knows more about what’s happening. About you.”

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed. “About me? What do you mean?”

But before he could press further, San pushed the gate open with a soft creak. Beyond it lay a narrow stairway that descended into darkness, the air below thick with the scent of incense and something faintly metallic. San hesitated, then stepped down, disappearing into the shadows. After a moment, he reappeared, his hand extended.

“Come,” he said, his voice low and cautious. “But stay close. This place… isn’t safe.”

Wooyoung’s heart quickened as he took San’s hand, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill of the night. He followed without protest, the stairs spiraling downward into a space that felt both ancient and timeless. The walls were lined with flickering candles, their flames casting eerie shadows that danced like living things.

As they delved deeper into the building, Wooyoung could hear the faint thumping of bass growing louder and more rhythmic. He furrowed his brow in confusion. Music?

San stopped abruptly in front of a massive door that blended seamlessly into the shadows. It was so unremarkable that it almost seemed invisible, blending into the shadows.

Wooyoung squinted at the small flickering sign above the door, trying to decipher its script without success. "What is this?" he asked, tilting his head.

San let out a weary sigh. "It's a nightclub."

Wooyoung’s head whipped towards San. “A nightclub? Really?”

San turned, his eyes catching the dim light and gleaming faintly. “Not just any nightclub,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “This is a place where… certain rules apply. Stay as close to me as possible.”

Before Wooyoung could protest, San pushed open the door, and a wave of sound spilled out— throbbing bass, laughter, the clink of glasses. The air inside was thick with the scent of alcohol and something else, sweet and metallic. Wooyoung’s stomach tightened as he stepped through the threshold.

The club was a labyrinth of shadows and flickering lights, the walls lined with dark, metal paneling that seemed to absorb the faint glow of chandeliers. The people were crowding the dance floor, other were mingling around the bar. Wooyoung’s heart raced as he scanned the room, his instincts on high alert. He could feel the weight of San’s hand on his lower back, a steady, grounding presence.

They wove through the crowd, the music growing louder with each step. Wooyoung caught snippets of conversations— laughter, negotiations, whispers that sent shivers down his spine. The air was alive with tension, a dangerous undercurrent that made his skin prickle.

At the bar, San stopped, his gaze scanning the room. Wooyoung followed it, his eyes landing on a figure in the corner— a tall man with broad shoulders, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. There was something about him that drew Wooyoung in, a magnetic energy that commanded attention.

“Mingi.” San said, his voice barely audible over the music. He nodded toward the man, who raised a glass in acknowledgment.

As they approached, Mingi stood, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes locked onto Wooyoung, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in them, a flicker of pain or regret. Then he smiled, his voice deep and resonant when he spoke. “San? Who’s this human?”. Fangs were glinting in the low lights of the club.

Wooyoung froze. Human. Mingi was also a Vampire.

San replied in a low, resonant tone that seemed to rumble from his chest. “He belongs to me.”

Mingi’s gaze returned to Wooyoung, his expression cautious but intrigued, a brow raised. "Why did you bring him to a place like this then? Is he the same human you mentioned before? The one that almost made you loose it?”

San groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, but Wooyoung’s cheeks flushed.

San had talked about him? He had… almost lost control before?

Was that why San had abruptly left Seonghwa's apartment on their first night they had met?

But before he could open his mouth to ask what the vampire hat meant, Mingi gestured for them to sit. The chairs were low to the ground, arranged around a small, ornate table. San hesitated for a moment before sitting, his posture tense.

San's voice broke the silence. "I need your help."

Mingi's eyebrows shot up in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Holy shit!” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I never thought you would ever open up enough to me to ask me for-”

San interrupted him. "Daewon assaulted him and his friend. I had no choice- I had to turn the other human. His injuries were too severe. He would have died.”

A heavy silence fell over the table, the music and laughter of the club fading into the background as Mingi’s eyes locked onto San’s. For a moment, Mingi seemed to forget how to breathe, his expression a mixture of disbelief and awe. Then, like a storm breaking, he leaned forward, his hands slamming against the table with enough force to rattle the glasses.

“After eight hundred years?” Mingi’s voice was low, laced with a disbelief that bordered on reverence. “You turned someone?”

San’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “He was dying. Daewon—”

“Daewon?” Mingi cut him off, his tone sharp. “The same Daewon who’s been making a name for himself as the New Order’s enforcer? The one who’s been leaving bodies all over the city?”

San nodded curtly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Mingi sat back, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he stared at San, then at Wooyoung, before finally shaking his head. “And you brought him here. To this place. To a fucking vampire feeding club?”

Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as he realized the truth about this place - it was a hunting ground.

Mingi’s eyes snapped back to San’s, and for a moment, the two vampires simply stared at each other, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension.

The club’s dim lighting cast sharp shadows across Mingi’s face, accentuating the sharp angles of his features. His gaze lingered on Wooyoung, who could feel the weight of Mingi’s scrutiny like a physical touch. Then his gaze returned to San,

bore into him like a physical touch that seemed to search his very soul. The determination in his eyes was unmistakable as he spoke.

“We may not have known each other as long as you have known Seonghwa or Yunho, San. But you have always been one of my closest friends. You were there for me when I needed you the most, and I am eternally grateful for your help in getting me out of the clutches of The New Order." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "How can I repay you? What can I do to assist you?" His words were sincere and filled with a sense of loyalty and indebtedness.

Mingi’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of history and unspoken regrets. San’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the exhaustion of centuries, the burden of choices made and paths taken. He reached for his glass, the movement deliberate, almost mechanical, as he spoke. “This isn’t about repayment, Mingi,” San said, his voice low and even, though it carried a quiet intensity. “You didn’t need saving. You were never one of them. You just needed a way out.” His eyes shone with empathy as he continued. “You don’t owe me anything. I helped you because it was the right thing to do. You were never meant to be part of the New Order. They consumed you, used you, but you were never one of them.”

The dim glow of the club’s chandeliers flickered like dying embers, casting shadows that danced across their faces like restless spirits. San’s gaze met Mingi’s, steady and unyielding, though a flicker of unease betrayed his calm demeanor. Mingi’s expression shifted, a mixture of frustration and admiration warring for dominance. He leaned back again, his hair catching the light in sharp, fiery hues as he tilted his head to the side. “You’ve always been like this, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice tinged with both affection and exasperation. “So quick to help, so reluctant to accept anything in return. Even after everything—”

San’s hand twitched, a subtle movement that betrayed the tension coiling in his body. “Don’t,” he said quietly, though the single word carried a weight that silenced Mingi mid-sentence. “I don’t want to talk about it. I had to turn him. And I don’t regret it.”

The air between them seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken truths. Mingi’s eyes narrowed, his sharp features illuminated in the dim light, and for a moment, Wooyoung could see the ghost of something he once was, a man who had walked the path of the New Order. But there, too, was the man he had become— haunted, yes, but determined to carve out a new path, one that didn’t involve the shadows of his past.

“It’s not just about you turning someone, despite of your vow,” Mingi said finally, his voice softer now, tinged with a vulnerability that made him seem almost human. “It’s about who you are. You’ve always been the one who stands by his principles, even when it costs you. Even when it’s tearing you apart.”

San looked away, his jaw tightening. “It was the only thing I could do, without regretting my choice for the rest of my life.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s good, Mingi. He’s lost— and afraid. He has been battling with demons way before Daewon targeted him. But his heart is pure, and so filled with love it almost suffocates me.”

Mingi’s gaze lingered on him, probing, searching, as if trying to find the cracks in the armor San had so carefully constructed. But San’s walls were old, forged over centuries of pain and loss. "What's his name?"

San released a shuddering breath. "Yeosang..."

Wooyoung sat on the edge of his seat, his hands tucked between his knees as he listened to San’s words. There was a quiet intensity in San’s voice, a depth of emotion that made Wooyoung’s chest tighten. He had always known San was a man of few words, but the way he spoke about Yeosang—about the pain and the love and the battles he had fought— made Wooyoung’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

His eyes were stinging as he thought of all the times Yeosang had tried to hide his pain, all the times he had smiled through the tears. San’s description of his best friend was uncannily accurate, and it left Wooyoung feeling both touched and unsettled. How did San know so much about Yeosang? How could he see into the depths of his soul so clearly?

Wooyoung’s throat tightened, and he blinked back tears, his vision blurring as he looked at San. He didn’t understand how San could know so much about the man who had been his best friend since childhood. But he didnt care. More than anything, he was just grateful. Grateful that San had saved Yeosang, grateful that his best friend was still alive, still fighting.

“San...” Wooyoung whispered, his voice shaking as he reached out to take San’s hand. His fingers were cool, almost cold, but they wrapped around Wooyoung’s with a strength that made him feel safe.

San’s fingers tightened slightly around Wooyoung’s hand, the touch grounding him as he turned his gaze toward Mingi. The light cast shadows across Mingi’s sharp features, accentuating the furrowed brow and the concern etched into his expression. San knew that look all too well— it was the same one Mingi had worn when he first left the New Order, the same one he’d had when he’d tried to convince San to return to the fold.

“Mingi,” San said, his voice low and steady, though it carried the weight of unspoken urgency. “I need you to do something for me.”

Mingi’s gaze snapped to his, those deep red eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Anything” he replied immediately.

San nodded. “I need you to contact Yunho,” he said, his voice firm but laced with the faintest edge of hesitation. “Tell him everything I’ve told you. Everything about Vampires, about the New Order… About yourself.”

Mingi’s expression darkened, nodding quickly.

San continued with a wary tone. “I need to talk to Yoongi. You’re the only one I trust to keep Wooyoung safe while I’m gone.”

Mingi took in a sharp intake of air. “He won’t be happy about this,” Mingi cut in, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and warning. “You know he won’t. Not just because of that you turned someone, but because of…” He glanced at Wooyoung, his expression softening before he looked back at San.

Wooyoung furrowed his brows. “Who’s Yoongi? And why won’t he be happy about Yeosang?”

Mingi’s jaw tightened. He glanced at San briefly, then turned his gaze to Wooyoung, his deep red eyes holding a mixture of reluctance and duty.

“Yoongi… Min Yoongi,” Mingi began, his voice steady but laced with a quiet wariness. “He’s the leader of the Humanist faction, has been for centuries. Guiding their cause with an iron will wrapped in silk. He’s… not someone to be trifled with, Wooyoung. Power, wisdom, and patience—  Yoongi embodies all of these, but make no mistake, he is as dangerous as he is elegant. He’s the kind of vampire who can command a room with nothing but a single look, whose presence is as much a weapon as his words. And he’s… not going to be happy about what San has done.”

Mingi’s gaze drifted back to San, his expression softening for a moment before hardening again. “ Yoongi and San… their history runs deeper than the Han River is long. They’ve walked this earth for so long, their bond forged in fires that would consume lesser beings. But Yoongi is a man of principles. He believes in the Humanist cause with every fiber of his being— peaceful coexistence, ethical feeding, the protection of both species. And San is one of the oldest vampires I know, Wooyoung. Older even than Yoongi- though he’d never admit it. He’s… powerful. And when he turned Yeosang, he created something that could mean danger for what Yonngi is trying to achieve. The Humanists are strict about turning humans. There’s a process, a council, permissions. San bypassed all of that. Yoongi won’t take that lightly.”

Wooyoung frowned, his mind racing. “Why wouldn’t he be happy about saving Yeosang? If San and him are so close, wouldn’t he support him?”

Mingi let out a short, bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Close…” He muttered, wincing slightly. “San knows the risks, the consequences. But he did it anyway. And now… now Yeosang is a fledgling, a newborn vampire with no control, no understanding of what he is. He’s a liability, Wooyoung. And Yoongi will see him as such.”

San sighed, the sound barely audible over the faint hum of the club’s music filtering through the walls. “I’m right here, you know.” he murmured, his voice low and resigned.

Mingi blushed deeply, sheepishly grinning at San, as if he just had remembered that San was sitting across from him.

San stood and stepped closer to Mingi, his movements fluid and deliberate. He placed a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. The gesture was simple, yet it carried the weight of centuries of unspoken words. “It will be alright.” San said, his voice steady, though the faintest crack of doubt seeped through.

Mingi’s eyes dropped, the flush in his cheeks deepening as he muttered, “You always do this, San. You always—” He stopped short, the rest of his words swallowed by the tension between them.

“Trust me, Mingi.” San said finally, his voice low and reassuring. A faint smile was tugging at the corner of Mingi’s lips. The gesture was small, but it spoke volumes of the unspoken bond between them, a bond forged through trust and shared burdens.

San gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We both know Yoongi has a weak spot for me,” he said, his voice steady. “But I need to go now. You… you need to protect Wooyoung. At all costs.”

Mingi nodded, his expression hardening as he turned to meet San’s gaze. The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes was quickly replaced by a resolute determination, a testament to the man he had become. “I promise.” he said quietly.

San’s hand lingered for a moment before he withdrew it, turning toward the exit of the club.

As he walked away, San’s glance swept the room, his piercing eyes lingering on Wooyoung. The young man was seated quietly, his youthful features illuminated by the faint glow of the club’s lights. His eyes met San’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The connection between them was palpable, a silent understanding that transcended words. San’s gaze held a depth of emotion, a promise unspoken but deeply felt.

Wooyoung watched him leave, his heart pounding in his chest. The long, meaningful look they had shared lingered in his mind, a silent promise of something more, something deeper. He turned his gaze to Mingi.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the unspoken words between them hanging heavy in the air. Then, Mingi’s gaze softened, and he offered Wooyoung a small, reassuring smile. It was a fleeting moment, but it was enough to convey the depth of his commitment, the promise to protect.

Mingi leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze intense but with a hint of warmth. “You need to understand who San is, Wooyoung. He’s not just any vampire. He’s ancient, one of the first of this continent. A creature of immense power and wisdom. And turning someone… it’s not just about giving them eternal life. It’s about responsibility, about the bond that forms between sire and fledgling. If Yeosang becomes what he was meant to be, he’ll be powerful— a reflection of San’s strength. And that scares people. It scares Yoongi.”

He paused, his hands flexing as if he wanted to reach out but restrained himself. “San’s actions have put him at risk. If the New Order finds out, they’ll use this as ammunition. They’ll say the Humanists can’t even control their own, that we’re hypocrites who preach coexistence and consent, but can’t follow our own rules. And Yoongi… he’ll be furious. Not just because of Yeosang, but because San has always been a wildcard, a reminder of the things Yoongi can’t control.”

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued despite the tension in the room. “What do you mean?”

Mingi’s gaze dropped, his voice taking on a tone of reluctant reverence. “San is… different. Even among vampires, he’s an anomaly. He’s ancient, older than the Humanists, way older than the New Order. His origins are shrouded in mystery, and his power is the kind that makes even other vampires uneasy. He’s walked through centuries, seen empires rise and fall, and yet he’s still here. But that power comes at a cost. He’s… Dangerous. And yet, he’s one of the few vampires I’d trust with my life.”

He looked at Wooyoung, his expression sobering. “And now, because of what he’s done, because of Yeosang, Yoongi will see this as a danger to his cause. San knows that. That’s why he’s sending me to warn Yunho, to prepare. We need to protect Yeosang. And you.”

The room hung heavy with the weight of Mingi’s words, the air thick with unspoken tensions. Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on Mingi’s profile, the sharp angles of his face softened by the dim light.

Wooyoung’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of what Mingi had revealed, but one statement stood out like a beacon in the storm.

“Mingi,” He reluctantly started. “What did San mean when he said Yoongi has a soft spot for him?” Wooyoung’s voice was steady despite the turmoil brewing inside him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, mirroring Mingi’s posture. His eyes locked onto Mingi’s, searching for answers.

Mingi’s gaze faltered, his shoulders shifting slightly as he avoided Wooyoung’s intense stare. The room seemed to grow quieter, the silence stretching like an elastic band. “It’s not important right now...” Mingi muttered, his voice low and evasive.

“You said San is dangerous, that Yoongi sees him as a threat. But at the same time, he has a soft spot for him? What the hell does that mean?”

Mingi’s back stiffened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The tension in the room was palpable, a storm waiting to break. “You wouldn’t understand.” Mingi growled, his voice rough with restraint.

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed, his voice soft yet persistent. “Try me.”

Mingi turned, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite hide. “San… he’s complicated. Always has been. And Yoongi…” He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally relented. “They have a history, one that goes back centuries. Yoongi sees potential in San, a way to bridge the gap between humans and vampires. But San’s independence, his refusal to take sides, it infuriates Yoongi. And yet…” Mingi’s voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Wooyoung’s curiosity was only piqued further. “And yet what?”

Mingi’s gaze dropped, his voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, despite everything, Yoongi cares for him. In his own way. He sees something in San, something worth saving.”

Wooyoung studied Mingi’s face, searching for more, but the man’s expression was a mask of guarded intensity. He felt an ugly emotion rising in his chest. Something suspiciously similar to jealousy.

After a moment of strained silence, Wooyoung decided to shift the conversation, his curiosity taking a different route. “So, how did you end up with the New Order? You were part of them, but now you’re a member the Humanists? What changed?”

Mingi didn’t waste time on small talk. “You want to know about the New Order?” he said, his voice dropping as he leaned forward. “Where to start? They preach power, superiority, the idea that humans are nothing more than resources. But it’s a lie. They don’t care about vampires— they care about control.”

He paused, his eyes clouding. “I was one of them, once. Born into a family of high ranking New Order officials. I was so young, so idealistic… so stupid. I thought we were fighting for a better future. But the things I did… the things they made me do…” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, the only sound was the thud of the bass.

Wooyoung’s heart ached as he met Mingi’s gaze. There was so much pain there, so much weight. “Why did you leave?” he asked softly.

Mingi’s smile was bitter. “Because I realized the only thing we were building was a graveyard. And I didn’t want to be the one holding the shovel.”

As Mingi continued to speak, his voice weaving through the noise of the club, Wooyoung felt the pieces falling into place. The injured patients at the hospital, the cryptic warnings, Daewon— it all made sense now. The New Order wasn’t just a threat; it was a plague, spreading its darkness through the veins of the city.

Mingi’s expression darkened, his eyes clouding over like a stormy sky. “I did things I’m not proud of,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of his past. “The New Order promised, well, order. Control, a way to make sense of the chaos. But I realized too late that their idea of order was just another form of tyranny. And I couldn’t live with myself anymore.”

Wooyoung watched him, the depth of Mingi’s pain evident in every word. “So you left. But why the Humanists? Why this cause?”

Mingi’s gaze met Wooyoung’s, a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Because the Humanists believe in coexistence, in finding a way to live together without one side ruling the other. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. And San… he helped me get out. He introduced me to Yunho when I had nobody, when I was feeling utterly lost and alone. I would be dead without San.”

The admission hung in the air, a testament to Mingi’s internal struggle and his journey toward redemption.

The music shifted, the beat dropping into something darker, more primal. The club was a labyrinth of shadows and neon, its walls adorned with crimson velvet drapes that shimmered like blood in the dim light. The dance floor was a sea of moving bodies, some human, some vampire, their forms blurring together in the chaos. Wooyoung’s breath caught as he saw a couple in the corner— a human leaning back against a vampire, their neck tilted in surrender. The vampire’s fangs gleamed as they sank in, and the human’s eyes fluttered closed, a look of both pleasure and fear crossing their face.

“It’s consensual,” Mingi murmured, his voice low and smooth, having followed Wooyoungs gaze. “They’re willing. It’s… different when it’s like this.”

Wooyoung nodded, but his throat tightened. He couldn’t look away from the pair. The vampire’s fingers were tangled in the human’s hair, their movements slow and intimate. It wasn’t the brutal attack he’d imagined; it was something almost tender. Yet the unease in his stomach lingered, a conflicting mix of fascination and discomfort.

Wooyoung turned to meet Mingis gaze. “You’re seeing the truth of it now,” Mingi said, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not all bloodshed and fear. There’s… beauty in it, too.”

“Beauty?” Wooyoung’s voice was barely audible over the music, but Mingi heard him. He smiled faintly.

“Not the kind you’re thinking,” Mingi clarified. “But it’s not all bad. We’re not all monsters.”

Wooyoung nodded. He wanted to believe that.

As the night wore on, the lines between observer and participant blurred. Wooyoung found himself drawn into the rhythm of the club, the way the vampires moved with a predatory grace that was both terrifying and alluring. He saw more feedings, each one a reminder of the fragile balance between species. But he also saw laughter, touches that lingered too long, glances that spoke volumes.

Mingi stayed close to his side at every moment, his presence a constant anchor.

Chapter 14: The Crimson High

Notes:

Thank you for your kind comments! <3 I decided to update ever 1-2 days, depending on my time. All the chapters are already written and only need to be proof-read and edited, so don't worry about me :3 We're finally gonna get some answers to some of the mysteries, guys!

The heavy oak door creaked open, its hinges groaning faintly as Choi San stepped into the dimly lit foyer of Min Yoongi's home. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged leather and the faint hint of sandalwood, familiar yet diffused with an undercurrent of tension. San's eyes adjusted quickly to the soft glow of the chandelier above, its crystals refracting light into shards of gold and shadow that danced across the dark wood paneling.

Yoongi stood in the archway of the living room, his silver eyes narrowing as they met San's. The faint furrow between his brows deepened, a silent question hanging unspoken. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored black shirt and matching trousers that hugged his lean frame, the shirt-sleeves rolled to his elbows. His silver hair fell neatly, framing a face that, despite its youthful appearance, carried the weight of centuries.

"San," Yoongi said finally, his voice smooth but laced with a note of surprise. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and graceful, yet tinged with a rare urgency. "I didn't expect you to... come here." His gaze lingered on San, his eyes searching, as though trying to place what was different about him.

San hesitated. His dimples were absent, his expression somber. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the familiar yet distant space before settling back on Yoongi. "I— need to talk to you." he said quietly.

Yoongi's expression softened, and he gestured toward the couch. "Sit," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You look troubled." He waited until San complied before sitting across from him. His eyes never left San's face, his gaze piercing yet unobtrusive.

San sat with the fluid grace that came so naturally to him, his movements almost feline in their precision. But there was something different about him now, a subtle shift in his demeanor that Yoongi couldn't quite place. His usual composure seemed frayed at the edges, like the first threads of a tapestry beginning to unravel.

"What happened?" Yoongi asked, his voice steady despite the concern that tightened his jaw. He leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped together in his lap.

San's eyes dropped, his gaze falling to the floor as though the truth lay etched into the polished wood. "Something happened." he said finally, his voice low and heavy.

Yoongi's head tilted slightly to the side. "What happened?"

San's breath came in a slow, deliberate exhale, as though he were steeling himself for what was to come. "Seonghwa… His closest friends were attacked. By the New Order." The words were blunt, devoid of emotion, yet they carried the weight of a storm.

Yoongi's expression darkened, his silver eyes flashing with a flicker of anger. "I hadn't heard," he said, his tone clipped. "How—"

"It was Daewon," San cut in, his voice steady but laced with a raw edge. "He was preying on one of them— Yeosang." His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

Yoongi's gaze sharpened, his lips pressing together in a thin line. "And?"

San's eyes finally met Yoongi's, and for a moment, there was only silence. The depth of his gaze was haunting, a window to the turmoil that churned beneath his surface. "I had to make a decision," he said quietly. "Daewon injured Yeosang gravely and he... he wouldn't have survived. So I—" He paused, the words catching in his throat like a snare.

Yoongi's brows lifted, his expression unreadable. "You turned him?" He finished for him, his voice shaky, his eyes wide with surprise.

San nodded, the movement barely perceptible. "I had no choice. He would have died. I couldn't... I couldn't let that happen." His voice broke on the last word, the crack faint but unmistakable.

Yoongi leaned back in his seat, his gaze never leaving San's. "San," he said, his tone soft yet probing. "You vowed never to sire another. Why now? Why him?"

San's chest rose with a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his confession. "Because he's innocent," he said, his voice steady now. "Because he doesn't deserve this. And because..." He hesitated, his eyes dropping once more. "Because Seonghwa couldn't bear the thought of losing him. And I couldn't bear the thought of letting Seonghwa experience that again. Loosing someone you cherish so dearly— It’s what made me take the vow in the first place."

San’s words were heavy and raw. Yoongi's expression softened, his silver eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. "You did what you had to do," he said finally, his voice gentle. "To protect them. To protect yourself."

San's gaze snapped back to Yoongi's, his eyes searching. "You— You understand?" he asked, the question tinged with a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.

Yoongi nodded, his jaw relaxing. "Yes," he said simply. "I do."

The room hung heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, the flickering flames of the fireplace casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits on the walls. Yoongi sat motionless, his silver eyes narrowing as he processed the gravity of San's confession. The crackling of the fire filled the silence, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts racing through Yoongi's mind.

"You understand the risk, don't you?" Yoongi finally broke the silence, his voice low and measured, each word carefully chosen. He rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, and began to pace before the hearth. "Yeosang... he could be a weapon in their hands. The New Order would stop at nothing to exploit him."

San nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor yet again, where the shadows seemed to deepen around his feet. His hands, resting on his thighs, trembled slightly before he clasped them still. "I know," he admitted, his voice tinged with a guilt so heavy it seemed to weigh him down. "But I couldn't let him die. Seonghwa... he was devastated. You know him. You know how strong he is. Seeing him unravel…" He swallowed thickly.

Yoongi paused, turning to face San. His expression softened, understanding reflecting in his eyes. "I know, San. And I understand." he said, his tone gentle yet resolute. "I'll handle the council. I'll tell them it was my decision, that you acted under my authority."

San's eyes met Yoongi's, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Yoongi…" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames.

The gratitude was short-lived, however, as San's expression turned solemn. He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he spoke. "There's more," he began, his voice laced with reluctance. "Daewon... he attacked again. Wooyoung, the human that was with Yeosang during the first attack— we managed to fend him off, but..."

Yoongi's gaze sharpened, his eyes piercing. "What happened?"

San's breath caught, his chest rising with the effort. "I killed him." he said, the words tumbling out with a weight that belied their falsehood. His eyes avoided Yoongi's, his shoulders squaring. He couldn’t tell Yoongi the truth about Jongho’s involvement. He couldn’t risk putting him in danger after he had saved him— and Wooyoung.

Yoongi studied him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the only sound was the fire's gentle roar. Then, with a nod, Yoongi accepted the lie, though a flicker of suspicion danced in his eyes. "You did good." he said, his voice calm, yet tinged with a hint of doubt.

The room fell silent once more. San's lie hung between them, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment. Yet, in that moment, Yoongi chose to trust, to stand by San despite the lingering questions.

The fire had slowly dwindled to smoldering embers, casting a dim glow over the room. Shadows stretched like restless specters across the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of burning wood. Yoongi sat motionless as San's hesitation hung in the air like a challenge.

"San," Yoongi murmured, his voice low and measured, though tinged with a note of insistence. "If there's more, you should tell me."

San's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke. "It's about Wooyoung."

Yoongi's head tilted slightly, a silent prompt for San to continue. San's breath came in a slow, deliberate inhale before he began.

"When Daewon attacked us… I was poisoned. Nightshade. It— it affected me. I lost control."

Yoongi's brows furrowed, his expression unreadable. "Lost control?"

San's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. "I fed from him. I couldn't stop myself. And... Wooyoung's reaction— it was unlike anything I've ever seen."

Yoongi's gaze sharpened, a flicker of something akin to jealousy darting through his eyes. "What do you mean?"

San's voice dropped to a whisper, the words spilling out with a mixture of guilt and awe. "He didn't just react— he responded. Violently. Passionately. It was as if the act of feeding awakened something in him, something primal."

Yoongi's lips pressed together, his calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. "Blood Euphoria?"

San shook his head. "No. Wooyoung... he trembled, his entire body shuddering as if possessed. His eyes glazed over, but there was this— this intensity in them. He didn't push me away. He pulled me closer. His hands were clawing at me, desperate, pleading. He wasn't afraid. He was... hungry."

San's voice cracked, his throat working as he swallowed. "He touched me. And he was so desperate. He didn't want it to stop. He begged me to bite him again, even hours after. He looked at me like— like I was the only thing that existed."

Yoongi's expression was a mask of calm, but the tension in his posture betrayed him. His fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the armrest of the couch, a rare sign of agitation.

"You're saying he experienced some sort of... manic reaction? Worse than Blood Euphoria?" Yoongi's voice was steady, though it carried an undercurrent of strain.

San nodded, his eyes still downcast. "Way worse than that. It was as if the act of feeding triggered something deeper in him. Something uncontrollable."

Yoongi's fingers tightened ever so slightly against the armrest of the couch, the motion almost imperceptible, but a rare betrayal of the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. His silver eyes held San's, but the gaze was distant, as though Yoongi were retreating into the shadows of his own mind.

San's words painted vivid images in Yoongi's thoughts— A humans desperate hands, pleading eyes, the raw hunger that had driven him to cling to San like a lifeline. The idea of anyone, let alone a human, touching San with such intensity, such intimacy, was a blade pressed against Yoongi's heart. It was a cruel irony that the one being he had silently loved for centuries now sought his help to understand another's passion.

Yoongi's jaw clenched, the muscles in his cheek twitching once, twice, as he fought to maintain his mask of calm. He could feel the jealousy burning within him, a fire that threatened to consume his patience and reason.

The monster within him roared, demanding to claim what was his, but Yoongi was no beast. He was a master of control, a leader who ruled not through passion but through reason. Yet, as he sat there, listening to San’s description of Wooyoung’s desperate pleas, Yoongi felt the foundation of his control tremble.

He rose from his seat with the grace of a predator, his movements deliberate and precise. The heavy rug beneath his feet muffled his footsteps as he crossed the room to a heavy door adorned with intricate carvings, pushing it open to reveal a sprawling library. The room was a labyrinth of towering shelves, their wood gleaming with age, and the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust.

"Come," Yoongi said, his tone soft but firm. "We need to understand what happened. There are... texts here. Ancient lore. If Wooyoung's reaction was as extreme as you describe, it may be connected to something more specific."

San hesitated before he followed Yoongi into the library. The space was dimly lit by flickering candlelight, casting long shadows across the rows of books. Yoongi moved with purpose, his fingers trailing over the spines of the tomes as he searched for something specific.

"Vampire Feeding Bond," Yoongi murmured, his voice low as he pulled a leather-bound book from the shelf. "It's more than just sustenance. It's a connection, a link between the vampire and the human. In some cases, it can be... intense."

San stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the book. "I know. But I never experienced anything remotely as… Overwhelming"

Yoongi opened the book, the pages crackling with age. "We know of the condition known as Blood Euphoria Syndrome. It's not rare, but it can cause humans to experience extreme reactions to vampire feeding. Euphoria, addiction, even physical dependency."

San's nodded. “But there needs to be more. Something that explains what is happening to Wooyoung.”

Yoongi's gaze met his, his silver eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Yes. We need to be sure. If Wooyoung is experiencing even more severe symptoms, we need to understand the full extent of what's happening."

San's jaw tightened, a mixture of guilt and determination hardening his expression. "I need to help him."

Yoongi nodded, his expression softening.

 

 

Hours stretched into what felt like an eternity as the two vampires delved deeper into the labyrinthine library. Dust swirled in the dim light, dancing around them like restless spirits. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and forgotten knowledge, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. San followed, his presence a silent weight, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of ancient texts as though searching for answers to questions he dared not speak aloud.

San’s frustration mounted with each passing moment, his patience wearing thin as book after book yielded nothing but vague references to the Vampire Feeding Bond and Blood Euphoria Syndrome. Yoongi, ever the composed leader, remained steadfast, his silver eyes scanning the pages with meticulous care, though the faintest flicker of concern danced in their depths.

Each title, each crackling page, offered little more than the same vague theories and half-remembered legends. The silence between them was palpable, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional creak of the old wooden shelves.

Yoongi paused, his hand hovering over a section of the shelf hidden behind a tattered tapestry. He glanced at San, his expression unreadable, before pulling out a book bound in black leather, its cover embossed with symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. The title, The Crimson Veil, was etched in a language so ancient it made San’s blood run cold. His breath caught in his throat as he pulled the book free, its weight substantial in his hands. The cover was cold to the touch, as though it had lain undisturbed for centuries, waiting for the right hands to find it.

“This one,” Yoongi murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “It speaks of… uncommon reactions. Phenomena beyond the ordinary.” He opened the book, the pages crackling with age.

The text within was written in the same archaic script as the title, but Yoongi’s eyes scanned it with practiced ease. As he read, his brow furrowed, his silver eyes narrowing as the words painted a picture far more sinister than either of them had imagined.

San leaned closer, his voice tinged with urgency. “What does it say?” The room seemed to hold its breath as Yoongi’s silver gaze scanned the text, his expression growing increasingly somber.

Yoongi’s gaze lifted, meeting San’s with a weight that made the air heavier still. “It speaks of a condition,” he began slowly, “known as the Crimson High. A rare… phenomenon, where the human’s reaction to the vampire’s bite transcends mere euphoria. It becomes an all-consuming need, a bond so intense it blurs the line between pleasure and pain.”

San leaned in, his breath catching as the words on the page seemed to leap out at him. The text was written in a language he hadn't seen in centuries, but the sketches depicted a human writhing in a mixture of pleasure and pain, their body glowing with an unnatural flush. His stomach twisted, guilt clawing at his chest.

Yoongi's silver eyes met his, the reflection of the candlelight in them giving an eerie glow. "It's extremely rare, San. Almost unheard of. But the symptoms… they match what you described. The urgency, the addiction, the withdrawal— it's all here."

Yoongi’s lips parted, his voice steady but laced with a subtle reverence. “It describes a human overwhelmed by an insatiable hunger— not just for blood, but for the vampire themselves. Extreme arousal, uncontrollable desire, an addiction so profound it defies reason.”

San's mind raced, memories of Wooyoung's reactions flashing before his eyes. The way Wooyoung's body had responded, the desperation in his voice, the way he had clung to San as if he were the only anchor in a storm. It had been intense, almost frightening. Now, the truth was far more sinister.

"He's addicted," San whispered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Not just to the feeding… but to me."

Yoongi nodded, his expression grave. “But there’s more. The Crimson High is not merely an addiction— it’s a connection, a symbiotic link between the vampire and the human. It goes beyond the feeding bond, San. It’s a fusion of their very essence, a bond so deep it becomes almost… symbiotic.”

San's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He could still feel the heat of Wooyoung's skin, the way his pulse had raced beneath his fangs. He had thought it was just the poison, the loss of control, but now he realized it was more. Much more.

“And how do I break it?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Yoongi hesitated, the silence stretching between them like a blade's edge. "There's no cure. The Crimson High is not something to be broken. It is something to be managed. The bond must be nurtured, carefully, lest it consume both parties entirely.”

San's eyes burned, a mixture of guilt and determination igniting within him. He had done this to Wooyoung, had unleashed this curse upon him. He couldn't undo it, but he could damn well try to make it right.

"What do I need to do?" San asked, his voice steadier now.

Yoongi's gaze lifted, his expression unreadable. "I need to study this further. There may be other texts, other clues hidden in the lore. But we have to be careful. If the New Order discovers what's happening—"

"They'll use it," San finished, the words cold. "They'll use him."

The thought sent a chill down his spine. Wooyoung, with his sharp wit and infectious smile, his heart that bled for others. If the New Order got their hands on him, they would break him, turn him into a weapon. San couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

As the candlelight danced, casting eerie shadows on the walls, San felt a resolve harden within him. He would do whatever it took to protect Wooyoung, to shield him from the monsters that lurked in the darkness. Even if it meant confronting the monster within himself.

Yoongi turned to him. It was like his eyes were seeing right trough him, sensing his inner turmoil. “Take a walk with me.” He said in a low, soft voice.

Chapter 15: The Vampire of Dawn

The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor as San stood at the edge of the woods, the weight of the world pressing down on him. The trees swayed in the wind, their leaves whispering secrets only they could understand. He could feel the cool night air brushing against his skin, but it offered no comfort. His mind was a storm of guilt and regret, each thought sharper than the last.

After discovering the reason behind Wooyoung's addictive tendencies, San couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed him. The world he had tried so hard to keep at arm's length had reached out and had broken down his carefully build barriers. Wooyoung's struggles were a direct result of the bond they shared, a bond San had tried to avoid. The weight of that realization was crushing him.

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and turned to see Yoongi approaching, his silver eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Yoongi's presence was as calm and steady as ever, but San could sense the tension beneath the surface.

"San." Yoongi said softly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken words.

San nodded, but didn't say anything. He didn't know where to start.

Yoongi fell into step beside him as they walked through the woods, the silence between them heavy. The trees seemed to close in around them, casting the world in a dim, ethereal light.

"Do you ever wonder," San finally broke the silence, his voice low and strained, "what it would be like if we didn't exist? If humans could live their lives without the shadow of our world hanging over them?"

Yoongi glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "That's a dangerous question, San. One that could lead to more harm than good."

San turned to face Yoongi, his eyes searching. "Is that really what you think? Or is it just easier to believe that because it's what you've told yourself for so long?"

Yoongi's gaze held steady, but San could see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. "I think it's a question that has no easy answers. The world is what it is, San. We can't change the past, but we can try to shape the future."

San laughed, a bitter sound that echoed through the trees. "Shape the future? Look at what I've done. Wooyoung is addicted to my bite, and Yeosang is struggling to come to terms with what he's become. And for what? So we can continue to exist in this endless cycle of guilt and blood?"

Yoongi stepped closer to him, his voice taking on a harder edge. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don't see the same things you do? But I also see the good, San. I see the potential for something better. For a world where humans and vampires can coexist without the fear and the bloodshed."

San shook his head, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, suffocating him and leaving him breathless. "I don't know if I can keep doing this, Yoongi. I don't know if I can keep watching the people I care about get hurt because of who I am."

Yoongi reached out and gripped San's arm, his touch warm and steady. "You don't have to do it alone, San. That's what I've been trying to tell you all along. We can face this together."

San looked at Yoongi, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing. "But at what cost? Every time I let someone in, I lose them. And this time, it's worse. This time, I'm the one who's hurting them."

Yoongi's grip tightened. "That's not true, San. You're not the one hurting them. You're the one trying to protect them. But you can't do it alone. Let me help you. Let us help you."

San pulled away, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I don't know if I can, Yoongi. I don't know if I can keep going down this path."

Yoongi sighed, his voice softening. "Then maybe it's time to choose a different path. One where you don't have to bear the weight alone. One where we can fight for a future where no one has to lose."

San looked up at Yoongi, his eyes searching for answers. "And what if that's just a dream? What if the only way to protect them is to walk away?"

Yoongi's expression hardened. "Walking away isn't the answer, San. It never has been. The answer is to fight. To fight for the people you care about, and for the future you want to see."

San didn't say anything, his mind racing with the weight of Yoongi's words. He knew Yoongi was right, but the fear of losing those he loved was still there, gnawing at him like a constant shadow.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the winding path that led to the orphanage. San walked beside Yoongi, the weight of their earlier conversation still pressing heavily on his mind. The trees around them seemed to whisper in the wind, their leaves rustling with a mournful sigh that echoed the turmoil in his heart.

As they approached the old stone building, San couldn't help but think of Yeosang. His fledgeling's struggles with his newfound vampire nature weighed on him like a physical burden. He remembered the way Yeosang's eyes now seemed dulled by the weight of his transformation. The loss of innocence was a cruel thing, and San couldn't shake the feeling that he was to blame.

San thoughts circled around Wooyoung and Yeosang like a vulture, and the price they had paid for their involvement in the vampire world. It was a price he feared they would continue to pay, and one he wasn't sure he could live with.

As they reached the orphanage, Yoongi pushed open the heavy wooden door, revealing a dimly lit hallway lined with old portraits. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged wood and the faint hint of blood. San's sensitive nose picked up on it immediately, and he frowned.

"This place," Yoongi began, his voice softening as he stepped inside. "It was built as a sanctuary, a place where I could atone for my past."

San followed him, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Atone?"

Yoongi nodded, leading him deeper into the building. "I have done many things in my life, San. Things that I am not proud of. But this," he gestured to the room they were entering, "this is where I have tried to make amends."

The room was filled with children, their small forms curled up in beds, sleeping peacefully. San's heart ached as he looked at them, their innocence a stark contrast to the darkness that had brought them here.

"I wasn’t always the composed leader you have known me as. And you’re not the only one with a dark past that’s haunting you. I- I hunted my own kind, feeding on their blood. Not to survive. I did not do it out of hunger. I did it because… Because of the desire and pleasure."

San turned to him, his eyes wide with shock. "What?"

"I used to be known as the Dawn Vampire." Yoongi said, his voice low and heavy with the weight of his confession.

San stared at him with wide eyes, his mind reeling.

Yoongi sighed, his gaze falling to the floor. "I believed that by removing those who abused their power, I could protect the innocent. But it was a lie, San. A lie I told myself to justify the blood on my hands."

He walked over to a window, staring out into the night. "I built this orphanage for the children of those I killed. I could not bring their parents back, but I could give them a home. I could give them a chance to grow up free from the shadows of the past."

San watched him, his heart heavy with emotion. He could see the pain in Yoongi's eyes, the burden he carried with him every day. It was a burden San understood all too well.

"I fear that history is repeating itself," Yoongi said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The New Order, they seek to do the same things I once did. They believe in power, in control. But it will only lead to more suffering, more loss."

San felt a surge of anger at the mention of the New Order, but it was quickly replaced by a deep sadness. He thought of Yeosang, of Wooyoung, and of all the others who had been caught up in this endless cycle of violence and death.

"We cannot let that happen," San said, his voice firm with determination. "We have to find a way to stop them, to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Yoongi turned to him, a small, sad smile on his lips. "I knew you would understand, San. You have always had a good heart, even when you tried to convince yourself otherwise."

San looked away, his eyes falling on the sleeping children. He knew that Yoongi was right. He could not stand by and watch as the New Order destroyed everything he cared about. He had to fight, not just for Yeosang and Wooyoung, but for all those who were innocent and deserving of protection.

As they stood there in the silence of the orphanage, San felt a resolve form within him. He would not let the darkness consume those he loved. He would fight, no matter the cost.

San stood in silence, his gaze fixed on the small, sleeping forms of the children through the frosted glass of the windows. The weight of Yoongi’s confession pressed heavily on him, each word echoing in his mind like a mournful bell. The Dawn Vampire— the hunter of his own kind, the bearer of centuries of guilt.

Yoongi’s voice broke the stillness, soft yet laced with the weariness of ages. “You see, San, this place… it was never just an orphanage. It was my penance. My attempt to undo what could never be undone.”

San turned to him, his gaze searching. The dim light of the room cast shadows over Yoongi’s face, making his features seem both striking and haunted. “This isn’t just a part of your past, Hyung. This— The Vampire of Dawn. You can’t just atone for it. It’s a part of who you are.”

Yoongi’s lips curled into a faint, sorrowful smile. “I know,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “I’ve known for a long time. I tried to leave it all behind. But the fear… it’s always there, gnawing at me. What if I fall back? What if I lose control again?”

San’s expression softened, though his mind raced. He thought of the dead vampire in the alley, the way its body had been mutilated. Could Yoongi have done that? No, he told himself. Yoongi was different now. But the doubt lingered, refusing to be extinguished.

“Tell me the truth,” San said, his voice firm but cautious. “Was that… was that you in the alley? The dead Vampire I found— did you—?”

Yoongi’s eyes snapped toward him, wide and sharp, like a predator’s. “No!” he exclaimed, his voice rising before he quickly stifled it, glancing toward the windows as if to ensure he hadn’t woken the children. “No, San. I swear to you, it wasn’t me. I’ve long since stopped that life. But…” He paused, his breath catching in his throat. “There’s something you need to know. Something I fear more than anything.”

San’s brows furrowed. “What is it?”

Yoongi turned away, his back to San as he stared out the window into the dark night beyond. The moon hung low, casting an eerie glow over the rooftops. “There’s another,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Another vampire, one who’s fallen to the eternal thirst. But not in the usual way.”

San’s heart tightened. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi’s shoulders tensed as he spoke. “He hasn’t gone feral. The eternal thirst isn’t just a craving for vampire blood. It’s a corruption, a rot that eats away at the soul until there’s nothing left but the hunger. But there are those who embrace it, who let it consume them completely. They become something… else. Something monstrous. But this one… Perhaps he has gone beyond it. And became something even worse.”

“Fuck.” San muttered, his voice tight with unease.

Yoongi nodded, his reflection in the glass pale and drawn. “I can feel it,” he said, his voice tinged with a quiet horror. “A presence, a darkness that lingers in the air. Whoever— whatever— did that in the alley… they’re not like me. They’re not like us. They’ve not simply given in to the thirst. Something about them— it scares me.”

San’s mind raced. If Yoongi was telling the truth, then the dead vampire in the alley was the work of someone else. Someone far more dangerous. But could he trust Yoongi? The man who had once been the Vampire of Dawn, the hunter of his own kind, now stood before him, his eyes filled with fear and vulnerability. San wanted to believe him, to trust that Yoongi was truly changed. But the doubt lingered, a shadow in the back of his mind.

“What do we do?” San asked finally, breaking the heavy silence.

Yoongi turned to him, his eyes steady and resolute. “We find them,” he said, his voice firm. “Before it’s too late. Before they can hurt anyone else.”

San nodded, a grim determination settling in his chest. Yoongi’s eyes, usually bright with a knowing glint, were somber, reflecting the shadows what he once used to be.

“Who else knows about this? About— who you were?” He asked, his voice almost soft.

Yoongi swallowed. “Just you. And Jungkook.”

San’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of curiosity igniting within him. “Jungkook knows, too?” he asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

Yoongi nodded, his gaze steady. “Yes. He’s one of the few I’ve trusted with the truth over the years. He’s… His loyalty goes beyond the simple devotion from a vampire to their Sire.” Yoongi sighed. “But you must understand, San, this is a secret we cannot afford to let slip. If the others were to find out…” He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging heavy in the air.

San’s thoughts raced. Jungkook, twas someone he almost considered a friend. If Yoongi had entrusted him with a secret so severe… But he couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease, a growing sense that the burden of Yoongi’s past was now his to share.

As the weight of the revelation settled upon him, San realized the gravity of their situation. They were dealing with forces beyond their understanding, and the stakes were higher than he had ever imagined. The night outside seemed darker, more oppressive, as if the very shadows listened to their conversation.

“I don’t understand, Yoongi. Why are you telling me this now?” San asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Yoongi stepped closer, his movements graceful yet heavy with the burden of his years. “Because I see myself in you, San. The weight of what we’ve done, the fear of what we might become again. You cannot ignore the darkness any longer. It will consume everything you hold dear if you do not stand against it.”

San’s gaze drifted back to the children, their peaceful slumber a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside him. “Yeosang, Wooyoung… They’re just like them, aren’t they?” San murmured, his voice trembling with the force of his emotions. “Innocent. Lost. Trapped in a world that doesn’t understand them.”

Yoongi placed a hand on his shoulder, his touch warm despite the chill in the air. “Yes, they are. And if we do not act, if we do not fight, their fate will be the same as all the others. The New Order will not stop until they have taken everything.”

San’s jaw tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the familiar surge of anger, of helplessness, but this time, it was different. This time, it was paired with something stronger— resolve.

He turned to Yoongi, his eyes burning with a determination he had not felt in centuries. “I will not let that happen. I will not stand by and watch as they take everything. I will fight. For Wooyoung, for Yeosang, for these children… I will fight.”

Yoongi’s expression softened, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I knew you could not turn away forever. The darkness is deep, but it is not absolute. There is still hope. There is still a way to make things right.”

San nodded, the weight of his decision settling upon him like a mantle. He could feel the burden of it, heavy and unyielding, but he also felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time in centuries, he felt a purpose, a reason to keep moving forward.

The dim glow of flickering fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the deserted hallway of Yoongi's orphanage, the hum of the bulbs echoing like a mournful sigh. San footsteps were muffled by the worn linoleum, each step a rhythmic reminder of the weight pressing against his chest. His hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his coat.

San's eyes drifted to the faint scars on the walls, the peeling paint a testament to time's relentless march. His reflection caught in a cracked windowpane, his sharp features twisted in a grimace, as if the very sight of himself was a reminder of all he had failed to protect.

The sound of the door creaking open in front of him made him pause. Yoongi stepped out of the hallway, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light, his silver hair catching the faint flicker of the bulbs. His presence was like a shadow, calm and unobtrusive. San turned, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, he nodded, a curt, abrupt movement, and turned toward the door.

Yoongi followed him outside, his footsteps silent, his gaze fixed on San's back. The weight of unspoken words hung between them like a challenge, thick and heavy. San pushed through the door, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the orphanage. The woods loomed before them, dark and oppressive, the trees like sentinels guarding secrets best left unspoken.

They walked in silence, the only sound the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet. San's pace was deliberate, each step measured, as though he could outrun the shadows that followed him. Yoongi kept pace, his presence a steady, unyielding force, his eyes never leaving San's profile.

Finally, San slowed, his breath catching as though the weight of the world had settled squarely on his shoulders. He glanced at Yoongi, his eyes searching, as though hoping to find some answers in the calm, unflappable gaze of the man beside him. Yoongi met his look, his expression soft, inviting, yet San's lips tightened, the words he longed to speak caught in his throat.

The darkness seemed to pressing in, heavy and oppressive. San's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as though the pain might ground him, might keep him tethered to the present. But the past lingered, a ghostly shadow that refused to be exorcised. He knew the conversation that loomed before them would force him to confront the very fears he had spent centuries trying to bury. And yet, he couldn't turn away. Not now. Not when so much hung in the balance.

The forest air clung to them like a damp shroud, the trees towering above, their branches tangled in a macabre dance. The silence between them was a living thing, dense and suffocating, until Yoongi finally broke it.

“San,” Yoongi’s voice was soft, a gentle probe into the armor San had built around himself. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

San’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. The trees seemed to blur together, their forms twisting into the faces of the dead, their eyes accusing. He could feel Yoongi’s gaze on him, patient but insistent. “You don’t understand,” San muttered, his voice low, rough. “You can’t possibly understand.”

“Perhaps not,” Yoongi replied, his tone calm, measured. “But I’m willing to try.”

San’s laughter was short, bitter. “You might have made a name for yourself ad a legend parents tell their children in the dead of night, to warn them about consuming the blood of their own kind. But do you truly understand what’s it like to be a monster? To take lives without feeling, without remorse? To be so empty, so broken, that the only thing that fills the void is the thrill of the kill?”

Yoongi’s paused, his expression unreadable. “Is that what you were?” he asked quietly. “A monster?”

San’s eyes closed, the weight of the past pressing down on him like a physical force. “I was worse.” he said, his voice tinged with anguish.

The words spilled out of him now, unstoppable. “I killed so many, Yoongi. So many. They were monsters, yes, but does that make me any better? I felt nothing. No guilt, no sorrow, no pity. I was empty, hollow, a shell of a man. As a Vampire Slayer, the only thing that kept me going was to kill rogue ones. The ones that took innocent lives. But I— I enjoyed it. It was the only thing that let me feel something. Anything at all. Until I found him.”

“Seonghwa.” Yoongi murmured, his voice a gentle prompt.

San’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as if a hand had reached inside and squeezed his heart. “He was dying,” San whispered, the memory vivid, painful. “Broken, bleeding, on the brink of death. And I… I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t bear the thought of a world without him, of his light vanishing. So I turned him.”

The words hung in the air, thick with emotion. San’s voice cracked as he continued. “I told myself I was giving him a gift, a chance at life, at immortality. But it was selfish. I wanted him, needed him, and so I took the choice from him. I made him like me.”

Yoongi’s gaze softened, his expression a mixture of understanding and sorrow. “You loved him.” he said simply.

San’s laugh was raw, jagged. “Love? I didn’t even know what that meant back then. I wanted to protect him, to keep him safe. But I failed. I always fail.”

The forest seemed to darken around them, the shadows deepening as if to match the mood. San’s voice dropped to a whisper, each word laced with pain. “They took him from me, Yoongi. The hunters. They captured him, tortured him. They… they violated him. Made him into a shadow of what he once was…” A broken sound left his lips.

The memory was vivid, gruesome. San’s hands clenched into fists. “I can still hear his screams,” he said, his voice trembling. “I can still see his face, twisted in agony. And I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t protect him. But I killed them, Yoongi. I ripped every one of them apart. Bathed in their blood. Made them experience the most brutal, excruciating death I could give them. But it was not enough. I still couldn’t protect Seonghwa.”

The moon dipped below the horizon as they walked, the sky darkening. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, filled with the weight of San’s guilt and self-loathing. Yoongi’s gaze never wavered, his expression a mask of calm strength. “You blame yourself for everything, don’t you?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

San’s eyes met Yoongi’s, his gaze raw, vulnerable. “I should have protected him. He was the only light in my dark, horrible world.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “ But I failed him.”

Yoongi’s expression softened further, his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken understanding. “You didn’t fail him, San,” he said gently. “You loved him. That’s not a failure. That’s the most human thing you’ve ever done.”

San’s breath caught, his chest tight as if the words had struck him with physical force. He wanted to believe Yoongi, to let go of the guilt and the self-loathing that had haunted him for so long. But the past was a heavy burden, one he wasn’t sure he could ever set aside.

San’s eyes were cast downward, fixed on the path ahead, but his mind was a thousand years away. Yoongi walked with a calm, deliberate pace, his silver eyes reflecting the moonlight like polished mirrors. His presence was a steady anchor, a silent reminder that San was not alone in his turmoil.

“He was my last fledgeling,” San said finally, his voice low and uneven. The words hung in the air like a challenge, daring the world to contradict him. “Seonghwa was… the only one who survived. And even him—” He stopped, his throat tightening as the memory of Seonghwa’s screams echoed in his mind.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted to San, his expression softened by the faintest trace of sorrow. “You kept him alive for centuries. Shaped him into the man he is today. You never failed him, San.” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

San’s breath hitched, the words cutting through him like a blade. He wanted to believe Yoongi, to let go of the guilt that had haunted him for centuries. But the past was a heavy chain, one he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice tinged with anguish. “I saw what they did to him. I saw the pain he endured.”

Yoongi stopped, his movements fluid and deliberate as he turned to face San. His eyes locked onto San’s, filled with a deep, unspoken understanding.

San’s chest tightened. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, filled with the weight of San’s guilt and self-loathing. His eyes met Yoongi’s, his gaze raw, vulnerable. “I should have been stronger.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression softened further, his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken understanding. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and gentle. “You can't be strong for everyone. Sometimes, we need to go trough hard times to evolve.”

San’s gaze dropped to the ground, his thoughts swirling in a storm of guilt and regret. “I… I’ve pulled Wooyoung and Yeosang into this darkness. They were innocent, and I’ve tainted them with my past.”

Yoongi’s expression softened, his eyes filled with empathy. “Their innocence wasn’t lost because of you, San. It was the world that took it. You’ve protected them, even when it hurt you to do so.”

San’s eyes closed, his breath steady as he let the determination rise within him. He would protect Wooyoung and Yeosang, even if it meant confronting his own fears. He would fight for them, for the chance to redeem himself, to prove that he wasn’t defined by his past.

San’s footsteps were steady, though his mind raced with the weight of his resolve. The forest seemed to hum with an almost palpable energy, as though it too felt the tension between them.

Yoongi broke the silence first, his voice low and measured, like the soft chime of a bell in the stillness. “You know, San, the strength it takes to confront our past is not something many can muster. It’s easier to hide, to let the shadows consume us. But you…” He paused, his silver eyes glinting with a knowing light. “You’ve always had a way of finding the light, even in the darkest corners.”

San’s gaze remained fixed on the path ahead, his jaw tensed as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

Yoongi’s response was a gentle smile, one that carried the weight of centuries of wisdom. “I’ve never seen you like this, you know. For all these centuries… This is the first time you’ve shown me your true self.”

The forest seemed to respond to Yoongi’s words, the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl creating a symphony of sounds that echoed the turmoil in San’s mind. He felt the weight of Yoongi’s gaze on him, steady and unyielding.

San’s heart pounded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears like a drum. He didn’t need to look at Yoongi to know that he understood, that he saw the depth of San’s pain and the height of his resolve.

The world was bathed in the pale light of the moon, the shadows dark and foreboding. But San was not afraid, his heart burning with a fire that would not be extinguished.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, the world was bathed in the pale light of the rising sun, the shadows retreating as the light grew stronger.

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting its first rays over the world, San made a silent vow. He would fight for Wooyoung and Yeosang, for the chance to protect them from the darkness that had haunted him for so long. He would fight for redemption, for the chance to prove that he was more than the sum of his past.

Chapter 16: Hunger & Passion

Notes:

Finally it's here. I know you've all been waiting for it ya filthy animals <3

The rising sun was casting a golden glow over the tiled roof of San's Hanok. The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the faint hum of distant traffic. San stepped through the courtyard, his movements silent as a ghost, his boots leaving faint impressions in the dew-kissed ground.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the warm light casting long shadows on the walls. Inside San’s bedroom, Mingi sat cross-legged on the floor beside the sleeping Wooyoung, his broad frame oddly softened by the gentle, warm light.

San paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the scene before him. Mingi looked up, his sharp features softening into a small smile when their eyes met. "He sleeps like a baby." Mingi chuckled, his voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by water.

San stepped inside, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Thank you for staying." He said, his voice calm, though there was a subtle edge of gratitude in his tone.

Mingi shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling under his jacket. "Someone had to keep an eye on him. Besides, I figured you’d want to know about Yunho." He paused, his expression turning serious. "I spoke to him. He’s with Seonghwa and Yeosang now. They’ll be here tonight."

San’s gaze dropped. "“Thank you, Mingi. I owe you one.”

Mingi chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room. “You don’t. But if it makes you feel better, he’s a delight to be around.”

Mingi stood, his movements graceful despite his size, and took a step toward San. For a moment, the two men were close, the air between them thick with unspoken understanding. San looked up, his eyes meeting Mingi’s. The smile San gave him then was rare— bright and unguarded, a glimpse of the man he might have been if the weight of his centuries hadn’t pressed him down. Mingi’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there, the world outside melting away.

Mingi’s face softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing against San’s shoulder before he seemed to think better of it and stepped back. "Get some rest," he said, his voice a little rougher than before. "It’s going to be a long day."

San nodded, his smile fading but not entirely disappearing as Mingi left, the sound of his boots fading into the night. San watched him go before turning back to the room.

Wooyoung lay on the bed, his dark hair spread across the pillow like a fan, his breathing steady and deep. San moved to leave, but as he reached the door, a faint shift in the air stopped him. He turned, his sharp eyes catching the subtle movement of Wooyoung’s lashes fluttering open.

“San?” Wooyoung’s voice was soft, sleepy, but laced with an undercurrent of something sharper— relief, longing. He sat up slowly, his dark eyes locking onto San’s. “Where are you going?”

San hesitated, then stepped back into the room. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” he said, moving closer before he tentatively sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and Wooyoung shifted closer, his movements fluid and deliberate.

“You didn’t,” Wooyoung said, his voice a little clearer now. “I just… I felt you. And then I felt you leaving. It hurt.”

San’s gaze dropped, his fingers brushing against the edge of the blanket. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung reached out, his hand brushing against San’s. The touch was light, but it carried a weight that neither of them could ignore. San turned his hand over, letting their palms meet. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to ground him.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” San said, his voice low and measured. “About… Something called the Crimson High.”

Wooyoung’s fingers tightened around his, a silent encouragement. San took a deep breath, the words spilling out like a confessional. “It’s not just a syndrome, like Blood Euphoria. It’s… it’s more. Deeper. The way it binds people, the way it changes them—”

He stopped as Wooyoung’s grip on his hand became almost painful. “What do you mean?” Wooyoung asked, his voice low and tender.

San’s eyes met his, the connection between them crackling with unspoken truths. “It’s not just about the blood. It’s about the connection. The bond. Some people… they can’t let go. And once you feel it, once you’ve tasted it, you can’t go back.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating as the words hung in the air. San could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, the fear and the longing twisting together into something raw and unmanageable. The room felt heavier now, the shadows deepening as the weight of what was left unsaid pressed down on them.

Wooyoung’s hand still rested in San’s. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto San’s, the fear and longing swirling in their depths like a tempest. San could feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken plea that hung in the air like a challenge. He knew what Wooyoung wanted, what he craved, and it terrified him. But it also drew him in, a moth to a flame, helpless and doomed.

Before he could stop himself, San leaned in, his lips brushing against Wooyoung’s in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate. Wooyoung responded with a ferocity that left him breathless, his hands gripping San’s shoulders with a strength that bordered on painful. The room around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a world of their own making.

They moved with a desperation, their bodies speaking a language that words could never capture. San’s hands, so careful and controlled, now roamed Wooyoung’s body with a hunger he could no longer hide. He traced the lines of his tattoos, the rose on his forearm a stark reminder of the life Wooyoung had built. Wooyoung, for his part, was relentless, his passion driven by a need that went far beyond the physical.

Their lips crashed together again, the kiss deep, frantic, and unrelenting. Wooyoung’s tongue slid against San’s, the friction igniting a fire that neither could contain. San’s fangs ached, pressing against his gums, a constant reminder of the monster he was, the danger he posed. But Wooyoung didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. Instead, he pressed closer, his hands tangling in San’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

Wooyoung was beneath him, his body arching up to meet San’s, his breath hitching in soft, desperate sounds that only fueled the hunger burning through him. San’s hands roamed, greedy and uncontrolled, tracing the lines of Wooyoung’s ribs, the curve of his waist, the sharp jut of his hipbones. He could feel the heat of Wooyoung’s skin, the flush spreading across his face.

Wooyoung’s nails dug into San’s shoulders, sharp and insistent. The pain was fleeting, but it snapped something in San. He pulled back, just enough to look at Wooyoung, his dark eyes searching for something— permission, reassurance, a way out. But Wooyoung’s face was a map of raw need, his lips swollen and red, his pupils dilated to the point where his irises were just thin rings of color around the black.

“San,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling. “Don’t stop. Please.”

San’s resolve crumbled. He couldn’t stop, not now, not ever. He leaned back in, his mouth claiming Wooyoung’s once more. The kiss was brutal, their teeth clashing, their tongues tangling. It was messy and desperate, a collision of need and fear and everything in between.

San’s hands found the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt, yanking it up with a force that tore fabric. Wooyoung gasped, but it wasn’t a sound of protest. It was a sound of encouragement, of desperation. San’s hands skimmed over his chest, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the dip of his sternum.

San pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes locking onto Wooyoung's. The moment hung in the balance, a silent question that only Wooyoung could answer. His heart pounded, each beat a countdown to a decision that could change everything.

San’s fangs ached, the urge to bite, to taste, to claim, rising to the surface. He fought it, his body trembling with the effort, but Wooyoung’s hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. “Bite me,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “Make me yours.”

San hesitated, the fear of losing control warring with the overwhelming need to give in. But Wooyoung’s plea was impossible to ignore. With a growl that was both feral and despairing, San gave in, his fangs sinking into Wooyoung’s neck. The blood that flowed was hot and sweet, filling him with a rush of pleasure that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Wooyoung’s body arched beneath him, his hands clawing at San’s back as he rode the wave of pleasure, his cries mingling with the sound of San’s ragged breathing.

Wooyoung couldn’t help the guttural moan that escaped his lips as he rolled his hips up against San, feeling the vampires body shudder in response. San’s hands moved to Wooyoung’s hips, gripping them tightly as he bucked up against him, his need growing increasingly desperate.

„Ah!“ Wooyoung cried out, letting his hips grind against San harder, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through him. San’s fingers dug into Wooyoung’s hips more firmly, his own hips rising to meet each grind, the sensation driving him wild. His voice was hoarse as he panted. "Wooyoung..."

Wooyoung shuddered, San’s voice making the growing arousal inside him unbearable. The needy whimpers falling from his lips only increased the desire coursing through him.

Wooyoung pulled on San’s shirt, needing it off, needing both of them to be naked and to feel San’s skin on his. San quickly complied, sitting up as he yanked his shirt over his head, throwing it aside without a care. The fabric landed somewhere in the shadows, forgotten the moment it left his skin. His hands, trembling with a hunger he could no longer suppress, found the waistband of Wooyoung’s pants. The button popped open with a single, desperate flick of his fingers, the zipper hissing down like a snake slithering through the silence. Wooyoung’s breath hitched, a soft, needy sound that San felt more than he heard.

He pushed the pants down, along with the thin layer of underwear beneath, the fabric pooling around Wooyoung’s ankles. Wooyoung kicked them off without hesitation, his legs parting instinctively as San’s hands skimmed up his thighs. He kissed every inch of Wooyoung’s body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The sharp edge of his fangs grazed Wooyoung’s skin, and the shiver that ran through the younger man only fueled the hunger burning in San’s chest.

“San,” he breathed again, his voice cracking with desperation. “More. Please, I need—”

He didn’t finish. San’s mouth was already on his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Wooyoung arched beneath him, his hips pressing upward with a raw, unfiltered need. San’s hands found Wooyoung’s wrists, pinning them to the bed as he devoured the length of his throat. "You're so beautiful. So goddamn beautiful." He murmured against Wooyoung’s neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin.

Wooyoung threw his head back, gasping. His hips continued to roll up against San, faster and more desperately. San’s own hips bucked against him, seeking to increase the friction, his actions becoming rougher and hungrier.

He nipped at Wooyoung’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, wanting to drive him even more crazy with need.

He looked at Wooyoung, his eyes roving over his body, taking in the view. San’s breath hitched at the sight of Wooyoung, his eyes roaming over the exposed skin, taking in every curve and contour.

The sound of San’s ragged breathing filled the room, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that clung to them like a shroud. Wooyoung’s hands trembled as they found the buttons of San’s pants, his fingers fumbling with desperate urgency. San’s own hands hovered over his, as if to steady them, but instead, they simply watched, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of hunger and restraint.

“Let me,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling. He shifted his weight, his bare legs brushing against San’s clothed ones, sending a shiver rippling through both of them. San’s jaw clenched, his fangs glinting faintly in the dim light, as he nodded silently.

Wooyoung’s fingers moved with newfound determination, each button popping open with a soft snick that echoed through the room like a countdown to something inevitable. The fabric parted, revealing the sharp lines of San’s abdomen, the ridges of his hips, and the undeniable proof of his arousal. Wooyoung’s breath hitched as he pushed the pants and underwear down in one swift motion, the material sliding down San’s powerful legs with a soft whisper.

San’s hands found Wooyoung’s shoulders, pulling him back against the bed as he lowered himself once more. The moment their bare bodies touched, a guttural moan tore from Wooyoung’s throat, the sound raw and unfiltered. San’s lips crashed against his, a desperate, devouring kiss that left them both breathless. The heat between them was unbearable, their arousals pressed tightly together, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through both of them.

Wooyoung’s hands clawed at San’s back, pulling him closer, deeper, as if he could meld their bodies into one. San’s hips bucked against him, the rhythm frantic and uncoordinated, driven by a hunger that neither could control. The room was filled with the sound of their labored breathing, the creak of the bed beneath them, and the desperate, guttural sounds that fell from their lips.

San’s mouth broke away from Wooyoung’s, his dark eyes locking onto the younger man’s as he hovered above him, his body trembling with the effort of maintaining what little control he had left. “Wooyoung,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, “if you keep moving like that—”

“I don’t care,” Wooyoung panted, his hands digging into San’s hair, pulling his head back down. “I don’t care about anything else. Just… please.”

San growled, his voice low and rough, barely recognizable. He pulled back just enough to meet Wooyoung’s gaze. Wooyoung’s eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide with desire, but they locked onto San’s with an intensity that made his heart falter.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” San whispered, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep his fangs sheathed. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I could hurt you.”

Wooyoung’s lips curved into a desperate, reckless smile. “You’re already hurting me,” he said, his voice trembling. “By holding back. By not giving me what I need.”

San’s resolve shattered.

San’s restraint snapped. His hips surged forward, the movement rough and unrelenting, as he buried his face in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck. His fangs grazed the skin, and Wooyoung’s body arched violently, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. The pleasure was blinding, all-consuming, and utterly terrifying.

San’s breath hitched at the sound of Wooyoung crying out, his body shuddering in response. He gripped Wooyoung tighter, his eyes dark with desire. "You're going to drive me insane." He whispered, his hands roaming over Wooyoung’s body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

„Ahhh! San!“ Wooyoung gasped, pressing himself against him, whimpering. San’s gasped as Wooyoung pressed against him, his body responding instantly to the contact.

He moved to capture Wooyoung’s lips in a rough, desperate kiss, his tongue slipping into his mouth, seeking to taste every inch of him. His hands roamed over Wooyoung’s body, his touch becoming more urgent, more possessive.

San leaned over, reaching for the drawer of his bedside table, his hand rummaging through its contents until he found what he was looking for. He sat back slightly, his gaze locked onto Wooyoung’s as he held a bottle of lube in his hand.

He quickly opened it, coating his fingers with the cool, viscous liquid. His eyes never left Wooyoung’s as he moved back into position, his gaze dark and hooded with desire.

San gently spread Wooyoung’s legs wider, his touch becoming more intimate. His hands, trembling with the effort of maintaining control, skated down the length of Wooyoung’s body, his fingers brushing against the soft, heated skin of his abdomen before dipping lower. Wooyoung’s breath hitched sharply as San’s hand finally reached its destination, his fingers teasing the tight entrance that pulsed with anticipation.

“San,” Wooyoung moaned, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. “Please—”

The word dissolved into a guttural cry as San’s fingers pressed against him, the pressure exquisite and unbearable. San’s dark eyes locked onto Wooyoung’s, his gaze burning with a hunger that bordered on feral. He could feel the tightness enveloping his fingers, the way Wooyoung’s body clenched around him like a vice. It was intoxicating, a raw, primal sensation that sent a shudder coursing through his frame.

“You’re so tight,” San murmured, his voice low and gravelly, his fangs grazing Wooyoung’s ear. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Wooyoung’s hands buried themselves in the sheets as he writhed beneath him. “Ah! More!” he pleaded, his voice broken and desperate.

San’s breath caught in his throat as he worked his fingers slowly, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of them. Wooyoung’s hands clawed at the sheets, his body writhing as he rode San’s touch with abandon.

San’s fingers moved with a rhythm that was both tender and possessive, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through Wooyoung’s body. The younger man’s eyes fluttered closed, his head tilting back as he gave himself over to the sensations coursing through him. His body was a tense, quivering thing, every muscle strained and coiled with anticipation.

“Look at me,” San growled, his voice rough with desire. “Look at me when I touch you.”

Wooyoung’s lids fluttered open, his dark eyes meeting San’s. The connection was jolting, a spark of raw emotion that seemed to crackle in the air between them. San’s fingers quickened their pace, the friction building until Wooyoung’s body was a writhing, desperate thing beneath him.

“I can’t take it…,” Wooyoung warned, his voice strained with effort. “I’m not going to last—”

San’s control snapped.

With a guttural growl, San withdrew his hand and surged forward, pressing himself between Wooyoung’s legs.

“Don’t hold back-” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling.

San’s hips drove forward in one relentless thrust. Wooyoung’s cry was instant, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the room as their bodies slammed together. The bed shuddered beneath them, the wooden frame groaning in protest as San’s movements became frantic, driven by a hunger he could no longer contain.

Wooyoung’s arms wrapped around San’s neck, his legs locking around his waist as he pulled him deeper, his lips meeting San’s in a kiss that was as desperate as it was devouring. The world narrowed to the two of them, the only sound the slap of skin against skin, the only feeling the unbearable friction that threatened to consume them both.

Wooyoung cried out, his back arching. „Oh god- Ahhh!“

San drank up the cry, his body shuddering atop Wooyoung’s as he was enveloped fully by him. He pulled away from the kiss, his breathing ragged and labored. "Wooyung-" He gasped out, his body trembling with need. He had never felt anything so good, so pure, so perfect as this moment with Wooyoung.

Wooyoung whined, his hips rolling up against San agonizingly slow. San let out a guttural moan as Wooyoung’s hips rolled against his, his control hanging by a thread.

He moved his hands, gripping Wooyoung’s hips, holding him still, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Wooyoung... you need to stop... I can't take it..."

He let out a ragged moan, his body trembling against Wooyoung’s as his pace picked up, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

Wooyoung threw his head back, screaming. „AH!“

San moved his lips to Wooyoung’s neck, his teeth grazing against his pulse point while whispering in his ear. "I can't..."

The sound of Wooyoung’s needy cries for him sent waves of arousal through San’s entire body, pushing him closer to the edge with each passing second. He captured Wooyoung’s lips again in a rough kiss, his tongue delving into his mouth, desperately trying to convey the depth of his desires.

San’s hands were unrelenting, his fingers digging into Wooyoung’s hips with a strength that bordered on bruising, yet Wooyoung only arched into the grip, his breaths coming in sharp, shattered gasps.

“San!” Wooyoung’s voice cracked, a desperate plea that hung in the air like a prayer. His hands clawed at San’s back. Every thrust was a battle, a collision of wills and bodies that left no room for retreat. San’s control was unraveling, the threads of his restraint snapping one by one.

San’s mouth left Wooyoung’s neck, the faint imprint of his fangs gleaming in the dim light. He buried his face in the crook of Wooyoung’s shoulder, his breath searing against the delicate skin.

His body moved with a ferocity that bordered on possession, each thrust a testament to the hunger he could no longer control. His hands gripped Wooyoung’s hips, holding him in place as he drove deeper, their bodies colliding in a rhythm that was both savage and elegant.

“OH GOD! SAN!” Wooyoung screamed again, his voice trembling on the edge of his climax. San’s response was a growl, low and menacing, as he buried himself deeper, their bodies locked in a dance of desperation.

San’s control was unraveling, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased the release that seemed to hover just out of reach. Wooyoung’s legs tightened around him, pulling him closer, their bodies merging until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Hearing Wooyoung scream out his name in the height of ecstasy was all San needed to be pushed over the edge. He buried his face in Wooyoung’s neck, his body shuddering as he found his release.

Wooyoung cried out, his own climax hitting him as he arched his back off the bed impossibly high, his hips stuttering against San as he chased the pleasure. „Ah! D-Don’t stop!“

San gasped out Wooyoung’s name, his body shaking as he rode out the wave of pleasure. He continued moving against Wooyoung, his thrusts becoming slower but no less intense, as he helped him reach the height of his own ecstasy. "Wooyoung…" He whispered against Wooyoung’s neck, his body still trembling with aftershocks.

Wooyoung let out a gasping breath as he spun them around, the world blurring in his excitement. Straddling San's lap, he started to move slowly, feeling every bump and dip of San's body beneath him.

As the position suddenly shifted, San's breath caught in his throat and he instinctively clutched onto Wooyoung's waist, desperately trying to maintain some control. His eyes met Wooyoung's as he felt the slow rocking motion against him. "Woo... wait— fuck!”

The intensity of Wooyoung's movements increased, the oversensitivity from his orgasm causing him to tremble. But he couldn't stop, craving more of San, needing to feel him deeper inside. He ground against San with fierce determination, his cries echoing through the room.

San's senses were on fire, the intense sensations nearly overwhelming him. Ragged gasps escaped his lips as he gazed up at Wooyoung, his body trembling with anticipation. "Wooyoung! Oh god, wait—"

With a loud cry, Wooyoung began to slam his hips down against San, causing their bodies to collide in a frenzy of passion. „Ahhhh! San! San I-”

San could feel every slam of Wooyoung’s hips against his, the sensation driving him nearly mad with need. He guided Wooyoung's hips, urging him to grind harder and faster against him, despite feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. A guttural moan escaped him, his fingers digging into Wooyoung's hips as he tried to hold on. "Woo- fuck-"

Wooyoung rode him hard and frantically, slamming his hips down against San with a desperation that left him breathless.

But Wooyoung seemed lost in his own desperation, their bodies collided again and again, sending jolts of pleasure through both of them.

San was completely at Wooyoung's mercy, the whirlwind of pleasure consuming him entirely. Another guttural moan escaped him as he thrust up inside Wooyoung with equal fervor.

"San! Don’t stop don’t stop—“ Wooyoung cried out, his movements getting ever faster and more.

The sound of Wooyoung’s crying, the feeling of him slamming down onto San while San was fucking up into him was entirely too much. His body moved of its own accord, instinctively meeting Wooyoung’s desperate movements, the need for release becoming an all-encompassing inferno. He could feel himself nearing the edge again, the wave about to crash over him, but he was helpless to stop it. "I'm close- so close..."

The room was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, the air electric with the intensity of their connection. Wooyoung’s body was a masterpiece on top of him him, every curve and line begging to be worshipped, and San couldn’t hold back any longer.

His eyes burned with a hunger that bordered on feral, his lips crashing against Wooyoung’s in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. Wooyoung moaned into his mouth, his hands clawing at San’s chest, leaving red trails in their wake as he tried to pull him closer, deeper.

„San—“ Wooyoung gasped, his voice breaking as San’s hips snapped up into him, driving into him with a force that made his vision blur. „Fuck— harder, please—“

San’s breath hitched, Wooyoung’s words sending a jolt of raw need through him. His hands were gripping Wooyoung’s thighs as he slammed into him with a force that made the bed creak beneath them. Wooyoung’s back arched, a scream tearing from his throat as San set a brutal, unrelenting pace. Every thrust was deep, deliberate, and punishing, driving Wooyoung closer and closer to the edge.

„God, Woo—“ San groaned, his voice strained as he fought to hold on. „You feel- fuck- you feel so good. So tight, so perfect—“

Wooyoung was a moaning mess, his eyes clouded over with desire. „San- I can’t- I’m gonna—“

„Come for me,“ San demanded, his voice a low, commanding growl. He reached between them, his fingers wrapping around Wooyoung’s length, stroking him in time with his thrusts. „Come for me, Wooyooung. Let me feel you fall apart.“

Wooyoung’s body tensed, his back arching again as his orgasm ripped through him with a force that left him breathless. He cried out San’s name, his voice breaking as he spilled over San’s hand, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his release.

Wooyoung trembled violently on top of San, his pleasure making his mind hazy. „Ahhh! San! Oh my god—”

The feeling of Wooyoung falling apart on top of him while screaming out his name was all San needed to be pushed over the edge again. He cried out Wooyoung’s name, every syllable filled with the depths of his love and desire for him.

Wooyoung was doubling over from the intensity of his orgasm. San felt Wooyoung shaking above him, his climax sending shockwave after shockwave through his body, right into San’s. He held onto Wooyoung, his fingers gripping his hips, desperately trying to ground himself amid the overwhelming sensations.

Wooyoung collapsed on top of San, panting hard, his heart racing. San’s arms came up around him, pulling him down against his chest, holding him close. He breathing was laboured and he was desperately trying to catch his breath.

San’s heart beating like a drum against Wooyoung’s ear. He pressed a soft kiss against San’s chest.

San’s his voice a gruff whisper as he spoke. "Holy fuck… Wooyoung…”

„That was… Life-changing.“ Wooyoung panted.

San couldn’t help but chuckle weakly at Wooyoung’s words, still shaken from the intensity of what just occurred. He pulled Wooyoung tighter against him, his hand gently stroking his hair, as he tried to calm his racing heart. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Wooyoung’s ear, his touch gentle and tender. "I think you've ruined me for anyone else. No one could ever compare to you."

The room was thick with the scent of sweat and blood as the last tremors of their passion faded, leaving behind a heavy, oppressive stillness. San lay flat on his back, his chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling, his dark eyes unfocused and distant. Wooyoung was sprawled across him, limp and exhausted, his face buried in the crook of San’s shoulder. The warmth of their bodies mingled, a stark contrast to the cooled air of the room.

San’s fingers idly brushed through Wooyoung’s hair. "You're still trembling." He murmured, his voice low and smooth, though tinged with a hint of concern. He tilted his head slightly, meeting Wooyoung's gaze. The younger man's eyes were still clouded with desire, but there was a softness there, a vulnerability that San couldn't help but respond to.

Wooyoung's lips curved into a weak smile and he giggled.

They lay entwined, the afterglow of their passion still humming in the air. But the silence that followed was heavy, weighted with the unspoken consequences of what they had just done. San’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. Wooyoung’s hand rested on his chest, the touch light, almost tentative.

“I want to be with you,” Wooyoung said finally, his voice soft but resolute. “Truly with you. I want to be part of your world.”

San’s eyes closed, the weight of the words pressing down on him like a physical force. “You don’t understand what you’re asking!” he said, his voice rough with the effort of controlling the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You did it with Yeosang. So why not with me?” Wooyoung whispered.

 

San’s body froze underneath Wooyoung, his breath hitching in his throat. “You— You want to be turned?”

San's gaze, intense and unyielding, locked onto Wooyoung's, a silent plea for him to stop that thought right then and there. But Wooyoung's resolve only hardened, his jaw tightening as he met San's stare head-on. "You can't protect me from everything." Wooyoung murmured, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The air seemed to thicken, the silence between them a palpable force. San's eyes, dark and stormy, searched Wooyoung's face, as if seeking a crack in his determination. But Wooyoung's expression was resolute, his mind made up.

“To be turned… it’s not just immortality. It’s pain, and blood, and a life you can’t even begin to imagine.” San said with barely restrained anger.

Wooyoung’s hand tightened on his chest, his fingers digging into the flesh. “I do understand,” he said, his voice rising now, the passion and desperation evident in every word. “I understand that I can’t keep living without you. That I can’t keep feeling this way, this… emptiness, this ache that never goes away unless you’re with me.”

With a strength that belied his frame, Wooyoung pushed against San's chest, shifting his weight to make San slide out from inside of him. San, caught off guard, could only watch as Wooyoung rose and sat down next to him on the bed.

San sat up, his movements sharp and sudden. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he repeated, his voice cold now, the mask he had let slip for one moment firmly back in place. “You don’t know what it means to be one of us. To live in the shadows, to feed on blood, to be hunted and feared. You don’t know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice sharp. “And you don’t know what it means to be human, to have a life that’s fleeting, to care for the ones that could leave you at any moment. You don’t know what it means to feel this way, to want something so desperately that it tears you apart.”

The room seemed to shrink around them, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. San’s jaw clenched, his fangs aching with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. “I won’t do it,” he said finally, the words falling like a hammer. “I won’t turn you. No matter what you say, no matter how much you want it, I won’t do it.”

Wooyoung’s face twisted, a mix of anger and despair. “You’re just going to leave me then?” he asked, his voice breaking. “You’re just going to walk away and leave me here, alone?”

San’s eyes met his, the depth of the pain in them a testament to the war that raged within. “I’m trying to save you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

But Wooyoung just shook his head. “You’re not protecting me,” he said, his voice raw. “You’re just afraid. Afraid of what could happen, afraid of what I could become.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a plea, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. San’s face was a mask of pain, the struggle within him evident in every line of his body. But he said nothing, his silence a testament to the resolve he had made, no matter how much it cost him.

Wooyoung’s eyes, usually bright and full of mischief, now reflected the turmoil within, a storm of emotions swirling like a tempest. He reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it on San's arm, the touch light yet charged with unspoken longing.

"San," Wooyoung's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his desperation. "Please, you can't just keep pushing me away. I need to be with you, to understand your world."

San flinched under the touch, his head bowing as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His voice, when it came, was low and gravelly, tinged with the pain of centuries. "You don't understand, Wooyoung. This life... it's not something to be desired. It's darkness, endless and cold."

Wooyoung turned San to face him, his hands gripping San's shoulders with a desperation. "I don't care about the darkness," Wooyoung said, his eyes blazing with determination. "I care about you. I want to be where you are, to face whatever comes together. I would die if you were to leave me…"

San's eyes, deep and haunting, met Wooyoung's, a battlefield of emotions warring within them. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, without warning, San's composure crumbled. His body shuddered, a sob tearing through him like a jagged knife. He buried his face in his hands, the sound of his cries echoing through the room, a stark contrast to the silence that had preceded them.

The sound of San's sorrow was like nothing Wooyoung had ever heard before— raw, ancient, and deeply human. It cut through him, a knife to the heart, leaving him breathless and trembling. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do, how to bridge the chasm that yawned between them. But then, instinct took over. He reached out, his hands tentative but determined, and pulled San into his arms.

To his surprise, San didn’t resist. He dissolved into the embrace, his powerful frame shuddering as he buried his face in Wooyoung’s shoulder. The weight of his grief was overwhelming, a palpable force that pressed down on them both. Wooyoung held him tightly, his own tears spilling silently as he stroked San’s hair, whispering soft, meaningless words meant only to comfort.

Minutes passed— or maybe hours. Time lost all meaning as they clung to each other, the tension between them slowly unraveling. Eventually, San’s sobs subsided, replaced by deep, uneven breaths that signaled his fragile composure. He pulled back, his face streaked with tears, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. Wooyoung reached up to wipe the tears away, his touch gentle, and San flinched but didn’t pull away.

“Don’t say things like that,” San whispered finally, his voice hoarse and raw. “Don’t ever say I would leave you.” San’s gaze dropped, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain control. But Wooyoung could see the cracks forming, the walls he’d built around himself beginning to crumble.

Wooyoung’s lips trembled, his throat tight with emotion. "I'm sorry," He whispered, his voice breaking with each word. "I'm so sorry for pushing you, for not understanding."

San's body trembled in his arms. Wooyoung held him, his own pain mingling with San's, creating a bond that transcended words. The room, once heavy with conflict, now felt like a sanctuary, a place where they could confront their demons together.

San slowly pulled back, his gaze filled with a deep sadness but also a resolve. "I can't lose you," San said, his voice raw but steady. "Not to this... this curse."

Wooyoung nodded, his own tears slowing as he smiled weakly. "You won't," he said, his voice soft yet firm. "I promise. I won't ask again."

The silence that followed was not oppressive but comforting, a shared understanding that they would navigate this uncertain future together. The shadows in the room seemed to recede, the atmosphere lightening as they found a fragile peace. In that moment, they were not vampire and human, but two souls bound by a bond strong enough to face the darkness head-on.

Chapter 17: Whatever It Takes

The rain had finally ceased, leaving the city bathed in silver light, its streets glistening with lingering droplets that clung to glass and stone. The scent of wet earth mingled with the faint hum of neon signs flickering in the distance, their glow casting fractured reflections in puddles along the quiet roads.

San’s hanok stood in stark contrast to the modern world outside, its wooden beams and tiled roof untouched by time. Warm, amber light spilled through the lattice windows, cutting through the shadows that pooled along the veranda. It should have felt safe. It should have felt like home.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. San stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the soft glow of the room. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, but his eyes— those dark, piercing eyes— betrayed a storm of emotions he was struggling to contain.

The sound of car doors slamming outside broke the silence. San didn’t turn, but his shoulders tensed slightly. He could feel their presence before they even stepped inside— Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho... Yeosang.

The bond between them, strong and undeniable, tugged at his senses like a thread pulling him back to reality.

The door creaked open, and Seonghwa stepped inside first, his usual calm demeanor slightly frayed at the edges. Yeosang followed closely behind, his movements hesitant, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for something— or someone.

Mingi and Yunho brought up the rear, their usual banter subdued, replaced by a quiet seriousness that felt out of place.

San finally turned, his gaze sweeping over each of them. His eyes lingered on Yeosang for a moment, the weight of their shared bond pressing heavily between them. Yeosang looked away, his hands fidgeting at his sides, the hunger still gnawing at him, though quieter now.

“You’re here.” San said simply, his voice low and measured.

Seonghwa nodded, his expression unreadable. “Of course we did.”

San’s gaze flicked to Yeosang, his tone softening slightly. “How are you holding up?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat still raw. “I’m… managing,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… a lot.”

San nodded, his expression grim.

Before anyone could say more, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. Wooyoung appeared in the doorway, his hair disheveled, still wet from the shower he’d taken. His eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear. His gaze immediately locked onto Yeosang, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

“Yeosang.” Wooyoung breathed, his voice trembling.

The moment his voice broke through the tense quiet, Yeosang froze. For a moment, no one moved. The room itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then Wooyoung dashed forward.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, not stopping, not hesitating, and before Yeosang could react, Wooyoung’s arms wrapped around him in a crushing embrace.

Yeosang stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. He should pull away. He shouldn’t be this close. The warmth of Wooyoung’s body, the steady, intoxicating rhythm of his heartbeat, was too much— too real.

But Wooyoung held on, unyielding.

“Yeosang…” Wooyoung whispered, his voice cracking.

Yeosang’s breath hitched, something inside him splintering at the way Wooyoung clung to him, at the desperation laced in his voice. He could feel the warmth of his skin, the pulse beneath it, the life coursing through his veins. It was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once. Yeosang’s throat was tightening. He could feel Wooyoung’s heartbeat against his chest, steady and strong. He wanted to pull away, to protect Wooyoung from the darkness inside him.

He should let go.

He couldn’t let go.

Slowly, hesitantly, Yeosang’s arms came up, wrapping around Wooyoung, gripping the back of his shirt like a lifeline.

“I’m here,” Yeosang murmured, his voice hoarse, strained. “I’m here.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone. Seonghwa watched them, his expression softening, though his eyes flicked to San, who stood stiffly by the window.

Seonghwa’s breath caught when he noticed the faint redness around San’s eyes, the slight puffiness. For the first time in centuries, he saw it— San’s carefully constructed mask cracking.

San had been crying.

Seonghwa stepped closer, lowering his voice. “San… are you—”

“Not now,” San interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. He didn’t look at Seonghwa, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Later.”

Seonghwa hesitated, then nodded. He wouldn’t push. Not yet.

The moment between Wooyoung and Yeosang stretched, long and tender, before they finally pulled apart. Wooyoung’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but he managed a small smile. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” he said, his voice light but laced with emotion.

Yeosang’s lips twitched, a faint ghost of a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, though the underlying current of unease remained. San cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice firm. “All of us.”

They gathered in the living room, the low table surrounded by the couch, cushions and chairs. San stood at the head of the room, his presence commanding, though his eyes still carried a faint shadow of vulnerability. He watched silently as they all sat down.

“There’s something you all need to know...” San began, his gaze sweeping over the group. The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation, as he began.

“Daewon attacked us. Me and Wooyoung.”

A ripple of shock moved through the group.

San’s fingers clenched into fists. “He came for us the night after Yeosang hat almost attacked Wooyoung. We fought, and I thought I had the upper hand, but…”

Silence.

San exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet their eyes. “He struck me with a nightshade blade. It wasn’t enough to kill me, but it was enough to… weaken my restraint. I couldn’t control myself.” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “And it made me snap. I bit Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. “You—” He had known something must have happened, but he had never imagined the full extend. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice trembling, though not with anger— only confusion and hurt.

San looked away. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what could happen if it… if it happened again.”

“And what does it mean?” Yunho asked, his voice measured.

San hesitated, his throat tightening. “After that night, something... happened.” His gaze flicked to Wooyoung. “The way he reacted… it wasn’t normal.”

San hesitated, the silence between them heavy and charged. “Wooyoung’s reaction to the bite— it was overwhelming. Some humans might get consumed by Blood Euphoria, I’ve experienced that before. We all did. But Wooyoung… His reaction was different. The way you responded, the intensity of it— it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“What are you saying?” Seonghwa asked. He could feel anxiety rushing through his bones.

San’s voice was hoarse. “It’s called the Crimson High. A rare, powerful connection between a human and a vampire. It goes beyond the ordinary bond of a Blood Link… it’s deeper, more dangerous.” He turned to Wooyoung. “It’s as if—” He swallowed hard. “As if our bodies were made for each other. As if our bond was inevitable.”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched. “And what?” he spoke up with a hoarse voice. “You expect me to just ignore it?”

San’s eyes met his, something raw flashing within them. “I expect us to control it,” he said quietly. “Before it controls us.”

Silence once again.

Then, finally, Yeosang spoke. “What do we do?”

Yunho exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This could end really badly. If the New Order finds out…”

San’s expression darkened. “I’ve seen the signs. The attacks, the bodies left as warnings— If they were to find out about my connection with Wooyoung—”

Mingi frowned, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. “What does that mean for us? For Wooyoung and Yeosang?”

San’s gaze shifted to Wooyoung, who sat beside Yeosang, his hand resting on his friend’s arm. “The bond between Yeosang and me is stronger than I could have expected. It’s not just a fledgling bond— it’s something deeper. And that makes him a target too.”

Wooyoung blinked, his brow furrowing. “A target? For what?”

“For the New Order,” Yunho said, his tone grim. “They’ll see both of you as a weakness, a way to get to San.”

San swallowed thickly. “And Yeosang…” He glanced at Yeosang, his expression softening slightly. “You’re still new to this. You’re vulnerable. They’ll use you, if they get the chance.”

Yeosang’s stomach churned, the weight of San’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. He glanced at Wooyoung, his chest tightening. “What do we do?”

San straightened, his gaze steady. “We protect you. All of you.” He looked at Seonghwa, Mingi, and Yunho, his tone firm. “I need to know if you’re willing to stand with me. To protect them, no matter what.”

Seonghwa didn’t hesitate. “Of course. You’re my family!” he said, his voice steady. “I’m with you. Always.”

Mingi and Yunho exchanged a glance before nodding. “We’re in,” Mingi said, his usual smirk replaced by a rare seriousness. “Whatever it takes.”

Yunho nodded, his expression resolute. “We’ll protect them. Both of them. And we’ll protect you.”

San’s chest tightened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he schooled it back into his usual stoic mask. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “This won’t be easy. TYou know that they won’t stop until they get what they want.”

Wooyoung’s hand tightened on Yeosang’s arm, his expression determined. “We’ll face it together,” he said, his voice firm. “All of us.”

San met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them. For a moment, the room felt lighter, the weight of the future less daunting.

“Together,” Yeosang agreed, his voice steady. “No matter what comes.”

The room fell silent, the weight of their promise settling over them like a shield. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, San allowed himself a small flicker of hope. They were a family now, bound by more than just blood. And together, they would face whatever came next.

As the conversation shifted to more light hearted topics, Seonghwa stepped away from the group, his movements fluid and deliberate, his dark eyes never leaving San as he motioned for him to follow. San hesitated for a moment before he excused himself quietly, leaving Mingi and Yunho to their conversation with Yeosang and Wooyoung, who still clung to each other like two halves of a fractured whole.

 

The room Seonghwa led him to was smaller, more intimate, with walls lined in deep, rich wood paneling that seemed to absorb the light around them. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and Seonghwa turned to face him, his expression unreadable. San stood still, his sharp features illuminated only by the faint light that filtered through the blinds. There was a heaviness to the air, a weight that pressed against San’s chest as Seonghwa finally broke the silence.

“What happened between you and Wooyoung?” Seonghwa’s voice was soft, almost gentle, but it carried an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken.

San’s eyes dropped, his brow furrowing as he struggled to find the words. He could feel Seonghwa’s gaze on him, steady and unyielding, and it only made the weight of his confession heavier.

“This bond… it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if the moment his blood touched my tongue, the world narrowed to just him, just us. I tried to fight it, to resist, but it was no use. The hunger— it consumed me. It consumed us.”

His hands trembled as he raised them, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps to ward off the memory, or to grasp it closer. “I lost control,” he admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. “I couldn’t stop myself. The taste of him… it was intoxicating, addictive. And yet, with every moment, with every drop, I could feel myself slipping further away, losing myself to the hunger, to the bond. I was afraid of what I might do, of what I might become. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.”

San’s eyes met Seonghwa’s, and for a moment, there was only the shared weight of his confession. “I could feel him,” San continued, his voice cracking. “I could feel his fear, his pleasure, his desire. It was all so… intense. It was as if we were two halves of the same whole, meant to fit together, meant to complete each other. But it wasn’t just… physical. And Wooyoung…” he trailed off, his voice low, strained.

Seonghwa stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and San could sense the warmth of his body, the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke that always clung to him. “And Wooyoung?” Seonghwa prompted, his voice softer now, laced with a quiet understanding that only made San’s guilt sharper.

“He… he wanted it,” San whispered, the words tearing from him like a confession. “He begged me to bite him, to let him feel it again. And I—” San’s voice cracked, the sound raw and painful. “I couldn’t resist. The way he looked at me, the way he smelled… I lost control, Seonghwa. Completely. I was so afraid I’d hurt him, but I couldn’t stop.”

San took a deep breath. “I… I slept with him,” he admitted finally, the words coming out measured but laced with guilt. “I couldn’t withstand him, Seonghwa. The bond between us— it’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.” He could feel fear coursing through his veins. He couldn’t deny that he was afraid of Seonghwa’s reaction, afraid that he would resent him.

Seonghwa’s gaze held a quiet intensity, his lips curling into a tired, small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I could feel it from the start,” he said, his voice tinged with a melancholy that made San’s chest ache. “The connection between you and Wooyoung— it’s like a pulse, a rhythm that runs through both of you. I’ve never felt anything like it either.”

He stepped closer, his movements graceful, almost ethereal, and San could see the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his face. “I love him, San. I’ll do anything to protect him, to make sure he’s okay. And I trust no one more than you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. San’s guilt twisted into something sharper, something that cut deep. He could see the weariness in Seonghwa’s eyes, the weight of his own secrets and sorrows. And yet, despite it all, there was a quiet acceptance there, a resignation that made San’s heart ache.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” San said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to you, Seonghwa, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Seonghwa’s smile widened, just a little, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against San’s arm. “You didn’t hurt him. Or me,” he said, his voice steady. “I just… I want him to be happy, San. I want him to be safe.”

The touch sent a shiver down San’s spine, a reminder of the bond that tied them together, of the shared past that neither of them could ever fully escape. He nodded, the movement almost imperceptible, and Seonghwa’s hand fell away, leaving behind a lingering warmth that seemed to echo through the room.

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them thick.

Seonghwa’s eyes, deep and reflective, met San’s, the warmth in them contrasting with the cold of the room. His voice, gentle yet probing, broke the silence. “San… have you been crying?”

San’s gaze faltered, his sharp features softening under the weight of the question. He turned away, the movement almost imperceptible, but the flicker of his eyelids betrayed him. “Wooyoung…” he began, his voice low and hesitant, “he stirs something in me, something I thought I’d buried long ago.”

The admission hung in the air, a fragile thread of vulnerability. Seonghwa’s expression shifted, a shiver running through him as memories resurfaced. Of a long lost love that once made him feel just like that. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he was lost in the past, the pain of it sharp and unyielding.

San’s eyes narrowed, his perceptive nature catching the subtle change in Seonghwa. “It’s because of Hongjoong, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone soft but insistent.

Seonghwa’s breath caught again, this time more noticeably. He turned away, the movement abrupt, as if to shield himself from the truth of San’s words. “No,” he said, the word sharp, a defense mechanism honed over years. “Hongjoong made his choice. He chose to walk away, to become a hunter. To leave me behind.”

The room seemed to grow colder with the weight of his words. Seonghwa’s voice, steady but laced with pain, filled the space. “He chose against me, San. He chose a path that he knew would hurt me. A path that led him away from me.”

San’s eyes softened, understanding etched into his features. He reached out, a silent offer of comfort, but Seonghwa stepped back, the gesture almost imperceptible. The bond between them, strong and unspoken, bridged the gap, a silent acknowledgment of the pain they both carried.

San’s voice dropped, the words tumbling out as though pulled by an unseen force. “You saved him once, Seonghwa. You saved Hongjoong when he was at his lowest, when the shadows closed in around him. Do you remember that night?” San’s dark eyes locked onto Seonghwa’s, the intensity of his gaze a mirror of the turmoil brewing within him.

Seonghwa’s breath faltered, the air catching in his throat like a jagged splinter. He turned away, his fingers curling into fists as the weight of the memory pressed against his chest. “Don’t!” he murmured, the word barely audible, yet laced with a sharpness that cut through the heavy silence. “Don’t bring it up.”

San’s voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. “You remember the night. How could you forget? How Hongjoong had been attacked by that rogue vampire. The one who left him bleeding out in the snow.”

Seonghwa’s expression faltered, his eyes clouding as though a storm had rolled in behind them. He turned away, his posture stiff, but San pressed on.

“You found him, Seonghwa. You found him before I could. He was… he was barely alive. His pulse was faint, his breath shallow. You cradled him in your arms, and you—”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Seonghwa interrupted, his voice sharp, brittle. “He was dying. If I hadn’t turned him, he would have been gone.”

Seonghwa’s shoulders tensed, the muscles beneath his skin tightening as though bracing against a physical blow. He could feel the memory rising, a tide of pain he had spent years trying to keep at bay. It crashed over him now, relentless and unyielding, carrying with it the scent of blood and the icy kiss of winter.

“He was dying,” Seonghwa continued, his words painting a picture that he had tried to forget. “I had to make a choice.”

San’s voice softened, his tone tinged with a quiet understanding. “You turned him. You gave him the gift of immortality. Creating your only fledgeling.”

Seonghwa’s eyes closed, the lids dropping like veils over a grave. The memory unfolded before him, vivid and unrelenting. Hongjoong’s pale face, his lips parted in a faint whisper, his body trembling with each shallow breath. The snow around him had been stained crimson, the color stark against the pristine white blanket that covered the ground. Seonghwa had knelt beside him, the place where his fangs used to be were aching, to bite and feed. But he couldn’t. They were gone.

He remembered the desperation that had gripped him, the foreign sensation of fear as he had gathered Hongjoong in his arms. He had wanted to turn him, to give him the eternal life that would save him from the brink of death. But without his fangs, Seonghwa had been forced to improvise, to find another way to save him.

San’s voice, low and measured, broke the silence. “You used a blade, cut your own wrist and fed him your blood. You were so afraid, but you did it anyway. For him. For the man you came to love.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room. His hands trembled, and for a moment, he looked like he might collapse. San’s words were pulling him back to a time he had tried so desperately to forget, back to the crimson snow and the fragile warmth of Hongjoong’s body in his arms.

“I didn’t know if it would work,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know if he’d survive. But I couldn’t just… I couldn’t let him go.”

Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered closed, his lashes casting long shadows against his pale cheeks. The memory seemed to weigh on him, each word a burden he carried with grace. “He was… broken. Dying. And I—” He paused, the sound of his own voice cracking like brittle glass. “I couldn’t bear the thought of a world without him.”

San stepped closer, the floor creaking softly under his feet. “You made him a half-vampire. The only one of his kind.” His tone was gentle, probing, yet laced with an unspoken understanding of the cost. “You walked a line no one else dared to tread.”

Seonghwa’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “I’ve always been one to defy the rules, haven’t I?” The humor was fleeting, overshadowed by the pain that crept into his voice. “But I didn’t do it just to save him. I did it because… because I couldn’t lose him. Not like that. Not when I might had the power to stop it.”

The room seemed to darken, as if the shadows themselves were absorbing the weight of Seonghwa’s confession. San’s gaze softened, his expression a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice. “You gave him a second life, but at what cost?” he murmured.

 

Before Seonghwa could respond, the door creaked open. Wooyoung stood in the threshold, his soft features etched with remorse. His usual sharp wit was replaced by a quiet sincerity, his eyes reflecting the guilt he carried. “Seonghwa… Can I talk with you for a second?”

The weight of Seonghwa’s memories seemed to lift slightly at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice, the young man’s presence a welcome reprieve from the ghosts of his past. He offered Wooyoung a soft, reassuring smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with gratitude. “Of course,” he said, his voice gentle, smooth, and void of the anguish that had clung to it moments before. He turned fully toward Wooyoung, his movements fluid and deliberate, as though to physically step away from the shadows that had consumed him.

San, seeming to sense the shift in the room, took a step back, his own expression quiet and contemplative. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his dark eyes flickering between Seonghwa and Wooyoung before he turned and retreated into the shadows of the room, leaving the two alone.

Seonghwa’s expression softened, the tension in his body easing. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and silent.

Seonghwa crossed the room, his steps light, graceful, and came to a stop in front of Wooyoung. He reached out, his hand brushing against Wooyoung’s cheek, the touch warm and comforting.

Wooyoung’s lips parted, a breath escaping him as he leaned into the touch, his eyes closing as if the simple contact was enough to ease the turmoil he had clearly been carrying. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, his voice tinged with sincerity, his words barely above a whisper. “I just… I needed to see you.”

Seonghwa’s smile widened, his heart aching at the vulnerability in Wooyoung’s voice. He knew that tone, knew it was born of more than just a simple need for company. It was laced with a deeper longing, one that went beyond words and into the very soul of the man before him. He stepped closer, his other hand finding Wooyoung’s, his fingers intertwining with the younger man’s in a gesture of comfort and solidarity.

“You’re never an intrusion,” Seonghwa said, his voice steady, his tone filled with conviction.

Wooyoung swallowed. “I’m sorry. I was… I didn’t understand. I said things I can’t take back, and for that—”

Seonghwa’s expression softened, the tension in his body easing. He opened his arms. Wooyoung hesitated only for a moment before stepping into the embrace. Seonghwa wrapped his arms tightly around him, his voice gentle yet firm. “You have nothing to apologize for, Wooyoung. I only want you to be okay.”

San watched the exchange, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was a warmth in the way Seonghwa held Wooyoung, a quiet strength that spoke volumes of the love they shared. It was a moment of fragile peace, one that seemed to mend some of the cracks in the fractured air.

Chapter 18: The Quiet before the Storm

The living room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of evening, the soft light casting long shadows across the room. The air was wavering with the scent of old books and the faint hint of sandalwood. San entered, his broad shoulders relaxed as he moved with the grace of someone who had long since mastered the art of silence. His sharp features were softened by the dim light, and his deep dimples hinted at a rare smile as he approached the group.

He settled beside Yeosang on the couch, the younger man instinctively leaning against him. The movement was fluid, a testament to the bond they shared. San’s arm draped casually around Yeosang’s shoulders, pulling him close as he met the gaze of the others. Mingi and Yunho were already deep in their usual banter, their voices rising and falling in a familiar rhythm.

Mingi, with his sharp, angular features and messy red hair, was gesticulating animatedly, his deep voice tinged with a hint of humor. “I’m telling you, I’m the better caretaker. I’ve got the experience, the skills—”

Yunho, seated next to him, chuckled, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Experience? You mean in getting into trouble?” His voice was warm, laced with the measured enthusiasm that came so naturally to him.

Mingi smirked, his sharp features softening as he leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual confidence. “Trouble? Me? Never. I’m a model of responsibility,” he said, his voice laced with exaggerated innocence, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. Yunho raised an eyebrow, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose, but he didn’t push them up just yet, clearly savoring the moment.

“Is that so?” Yunho drawled, his tone light, though there was a subtle undercurrent of amusement that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Then why is it that every time we’re on a mission together, you somehow manage to find the one thing that can go wrong?”

Mingi chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, filling the room with a warm, comforting energy. “That’s not fair,” he protested, though there was no real heat in his voice. “I’d say I’m more of a… creative problem solver. And besides,” he added, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “It’s not my fault Seonghwa got stuck in that air vent.” He said it casually, but the memory was vivid, flashing back like a reel of film in his mind. He could almost hear the muffled curses, the sound of fabric tearing as Seonghwa struggled to free himself from the narrow space.

Yunho’s smile widened, and he pushed his glasses up again, a gesture that was both absentminded and endearing. “Oh, please,” he said, his voice light. “If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have been up there in the first place. You’re the one who insisted on investigating the ducts.”

Mingi’s lips twitched into a defensive frown. “Hey, it was a good plan!” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And it would’ve worked if Seonghwa’s—” He paused, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words.

“Butt?” Yunho suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Mingi rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling upward. “I was going to say ‘ass.’ But yeah, fine. His butt. It’s just— too thick.” He smirked. "It was the real culprit here!" Mingi quipped with a mischievous glint in his eyes, earning a round of chuckles from the group.

Yunho, unable to contain his laughter, retorted, "Ah yes, the notorious air vent caper, where Seonghwa's asset became a liability."

The room filled with lighthearted laughter, the tension from their missions momentarily forgotten as they found humor in the unexpected challenges they faced together.

Yunho’s laughter deepened, the sound rich and heartfelt. “Only you would blame a mission gone wrong on someone’s… ass.” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “And only Seonghwa would manage to get stuck in an air vent.” He shook his head, but the amusement in his eyes was undeniable.

Mingi’s smirk grew wider, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t think of it first.” he said, his tone light, though there was an undercurrent of something more in his voice. Something unspoken, a thread of tension that hummed quietly between them.

As they bantered, Mingi couldn’t help but steal glances at Yunho, his gaze lingering on the way the warm light highlighted the sharp angles of his face. Yunho’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and Mingi felt a pang in his chest, a familiar ache that he’d long since given up trying to ignore. He’d learned to live with it, to mask it behind his usual bravado, but moments like this made it harder to pretend.

Yunho, for his part, seemed oblivious to the weight of Mingi’s gaze. Or perhaps he was simply choosing to ignore it, as he often did, maintaining the delicate balance of their friendship. Whatever the case, Mingi didn’t press the issue. He knew better than to push Yunho, not when the other man was so skilled at maintaining his emotional distance.

Still, there was something about Yunho that drew Mingi in, something that went beyond mere friendship. It wasn’t just his intelligence, or his quick wit, or even the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him. It was the way Yunho saw the world, his unwavering optimism, his belief in the possibility of a better future. It was a magnetic quality, one that had captured Mingi’s attention from the very beginning.

Yeosang, nestled against San, watched the exchange with a bemused smile. His expressive eyes sparkled with mischief. He leaned in closer to San, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are they fucking or…?”

San’s snorted, the sound loud and affectionate.

Mingi and Yunho turned back, their faces lighting up with genuine smiles as they caught San’s laugh. Yunho’s gaze softened as he reached out, taking San’s hand in his. “You seem better.” he observed, his voice tinged with relief.

San nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. His eyes, however, told a different story— there was still a lingering weight, a burden he carried with the grace of someone accustomed to bearing such loads.

Yunho’s grip on his hand tightened. “What happened that night?” he asked, his tone careful, probing. “With Daewon… and Wooyoung.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Yeosang’s heart quickened, his slender frame tensing against San. The fear of the night Daewon had almost killed him still lingered, a shadow in his eyes that he couldn’t shake. San hesitated, the silence thickening like fog in the room.

Then, with a deep breath, he began. “Daewon attacked us. I think he had followed me, to get his vengeance…” His voice was measured, each word chosen with the precision of someone who understood the power of language.

Yeosang’s breath hitched, his mind racing back to the terror. The memory of Daewon’s fangs, the blood, the desperation— it all came flooding back. But then, something shifted. San’s voice steadied, his words taking on a resolve that was almost palpable. “Jongho stepped in. He… he killed Daewon. Ripped him in half like it was nothing.”

The room fell silent, the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, as if the darkness itself was listening, waiting.

Mingi, with his sharp features, sat forward, his deep voice laced with disbelief. "A New Order vampire killing one of his own? That's unheard of."

San, seated between them, nodded solemnly. His voice, steady yet tinged with reluctance, filled the room. "Jongho was ensnared by the New Order's leader. He wasn't given a choice. His actions were a desperate bid for redemption."

His gaze drifted, his eyes clouding as though the memories themselves held physical weight. “Jongho… he wasn’t always like this,” he began, his voice low and reflective. “You don’t know where he came from, what he was before Park Taecyeon found him.”

Mingi leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but guarded. Yunho, however, tightened his grip on San’s hand, encouraging him without words. Yeosang, ever the observant one, watched San with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his earlier humour forgotten in the face of the heavy subject matter.

San continued. “Jongho was a soldier, if I remember right. He was gravely injured in some kind of skirmish, left for dead. That’s when Taecyeon found him— broken, bleeding, on the edge of death. And he turned him.”

The room seemed to exhale collectively, the implications of San’s words sinking in like a stone dropped into still water. Mingi’s sharp features darkened, his mind no doubt racing with the implications of such an act. Turning a human was no small thing, especially for someone like Taecyeon, who measured every decision by its usefulness.

“Taecyeon doesn’t do anything without a reason,” San continued, his voice steady but laced with a subtle bitterness. “He saw something in Jongho— strength, loyalty, potential. Whatever it was, he decided it was worth saving. But with every gift comes a price.”

Yunho’s fingers intertwined more tightly with San’s, a silent show of support. Yeosang, ever the empathetic one, tilted his head slightly, his eyes softening as he processed the weight of San’s words.

“Jongho was… different, even back then,” San said, his tone softening. “He had this fire in him, this unshakable sense of justice. But Taecyeon—” San paused, choosing his words carefully. “He molded him. Shaped him into what he needed. A soldier. An enforcer. Someone who would follow orders without question.”

Mingi’s brow furrowed, his sharp mind piecing together the fragments of the story. “And yet, Jongho killed Daewon. One of Taecyeon’s most loyal enforcers. That doesn’t make sense.”

San’s lips curled into a small, mirthless smile. “Doesn’t it? Jongho’s loyalty to Taecyeon is… complicated. Taecyeon turned him, trained him, but he also took everything from him. His humanity, his past, his future. Jongho owes him his existence, but that debt is a double-edged sword.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of San’s words pressing down on them all. Yunho’s grip on his hand remained steady, a silent anchor in the storm of emotions.

San paused, his eyes drifting over the room. “It was decades ago, when the city was younger and the shadows longer. The New Order was still in its infancy, but its roots were already poisoned. Jongho, newly turned and barely understanding what he was, had been roped into their schemes. They saw potential in him— But Jongho… he had a way of defying expectations, even back then.”

San’s gaze dropped, his voice lowering as the memories seemed to press in around him. “They had cornered him in some alleyway, I think. It was narrow, the walls closing in with the stench of garbage and decay. Jongho was on his knees, trembling, his fangs bared but unsteady. Behind him was a woman— human, cradling a baby in her arms. She was crying, pleading for her child’s life. The New Order vampires… they wanted him to kill her. To prove his loyalty. To harden him.”

The room was silent, the air thick with the weight of the story. Yunho’s hand tightened around San’s, a silent gesture of support.

“Jongho refused,” San continued, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and sorrow. “Even then, he had this… this unyielding sense of right and wrong. He wouldn’t do it. They beat him for it, broke him, left him bleeding in the dirt. But he still refused. That’s when I stepped in.”

San’s eyes hardened, a flicker of the past rising to the surface. “I killed them. All of them. But Jongho… I couldn’t do it. He wasn’t like them. So I spared him. He was broken, shattered, but there was something in him— something so profoundly innocent. I could feel it.”

San’s gaze lifted, meeting the eyes of those around him, but his expression was guarded, a wall erected around the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“And that’s how it began,” he said simply, as though the complexities of their relationship could be summed up in so few words. “Jongho and I… we were bound by that moment. He hated me for sparing him, for not letting him die. But over time… he came to understand. He learned to see the world through my eyes, to question the New Order’s ideologies. I think, ever since the night I found him, he feels this sense of loyalty to me.”

Yunho, adjusting his glasses, leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "This might complicate things," he mused, his voice measured. "If Jongho is indeed working against the New Order, it could mean a shift in power dynamics. Do you think his loyalty for you outweighs his loyalty for them?"

San’s gaze lingered on Yunho, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He could feel the eyes of the others, waiting for his response, but his mind drifted back to the shadows of the past, where the lines between loyalty and betrayal were far from clear.

“Jongho’s loyalty…” San began, his voice low and measured, as though each word carried the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. “It’s not something so simple. He is bound to me, yes, but that bond is forged in fire and blood. He owes me his life, but he also blames me for it.”

San’s fingers tightened around Yunho’s hand, a subtle tension betraying the calm of his voice. “There have been moments… times when I wondered if his loyalty was genuine. But then, there are moments like the night he killed Daewon— acts that defy the New Order’s control, that speak of a will stronger than any chain they could forged.”

Mingi leaned forward. “And what makes you think his will is stronger now? That he won’t turn the moment it suits him?” He shifted slightly, his sharp features illuminated only by the faint light that filtered through the cracks in the blinds. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture betrayed his interest in San’s response.

San’s gaze met Mingi’s, the intensity of his eyes a silent testament to the depth of his understanding. “Because I know Jongho. I know the fire that drives him, the same fire that once nearly consumed me. He is torn, caught between the debt he owes and the horrors he’s been forced to commit. But he is not beyond redemption.”

His thoughts drifted back to Jongho, to the myriad of moments they had shared over the years. The boy he had spared in that filthy alleyway, trembling and broken but still clinging to his humanity; the man who had grown under Taecyeon’s iron-fisted guidance, only to find himself trapped in a web of loyalty and betrayal. And finally, the man who had killed Daewon—a man who had, in one single act, shattered the fragile truce between the Humanists and the New Order.

San’s words were catching in his throat like splinters of glass. “There’s a part of him—a part that I think even he doesn’t fully understand—that craves redemption. He wants to believe in something greater than himself, something worth fighting for. Taecyeon took that away from him, but I… I think he’s trying to find his way back.”

Yunho looked at him intently. “If Jongho is truly working against the New Order,” he said, his voice steady but laced with a subtle unease, “it could mean more than just a shift in power. It could mean an opportunity— an opportunity to weaken them, to dismantle their hold on this city. But it’s also a risk. Jongho’s loyalty— whether to you, to Taecyeon, or to some higher ideal— is a double-edged sword. We can’t afford to trust him blindly.”

Mingi nodded, his expression thoughtful as he leaned forward once more. “So, we have two options,” he said, his voice cold. “We can either use Jongho’s potential betrayal to our advantage, or we can eliminate him before he becomes a liability. The question is… which option is safer?”

San’s jaw tightened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he quickly suppressed it. “We won’t just eliminate him. Not after he saved me and Wooyoung. We need to give him time. He will have to make a decision, sooner or later.”

Yeosang, leaning against San, felt a surge of emotion, worry mixing with gratitude. His mind wandered to the terror of Daewon's attack, the memory still sharp. Yet, the knowledge that Jongho had saved not only Wooyoung and San, but had also killed the man that haunted his nightmares, brought him a sense of peace.

I need to thank him, Yeosang thought, his resolve forming silently. I’ll repay him. No matter what it takes. His fingers brushed against San's, a subtle gesture of comfort sought and given.

As the room fell into a heavy silence, San's voice cut through the stillness. "We must keep this secret. Jongho's life depends on it." His words were a warning, a reminder of the dangers lurking beyond their sanctuary.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung entered the living room, their presence a stark contrast to the heaviness that followed them. Wooyoung's usual vibrancy was muted, replaced by a restless energy that made his movements erratic. His eyes, once bright and playful, now held a pleading intensity, silently reaching out for San. The others felt it, a palpable unease that hung in the air like a challenge.

San, ever the composed figure, sat with a stillness that belied the turmoil within. His bond with Wooyoung was a double-edged sword, allowing him to feel the pain and restlessness that gnawed at Wooyoung.

His decision to end the night was made with a quiet resolve.

San’s voice broke the silence, his tone firm but tinged with the unspoken burdens he bore. “Seonghwa,” he began, turning his gaze toward the man who had stood as a pillar of strength through the centuries, “I need you to watch over Yeosang.

Until I can figure out how to handle this situation with Wooyoung. He can’t be alone right now, and I can’t—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find the right words.

Seonghwa’s expression softened, and he nodded without hesitation. “Of course, San. You know I will always be here for him. For both of you.”

Seonghwa’s expression remained unreadable, but the faintest flicker of understanding passed through his eyes. There was no need for words more between them; the trust forged over centuries was unshakable. Seonghwa would protect Yeosang with his life, just as he always had.

Yeosang shifted slightly against San, his gaze lowered. He didn’t say anything, but the tightness in his body spoke volumes about his own fears and the fragile state of their little group. His thoughts were a jumble of gratitude, fear, and resolve. He had made a promise to himself, one he intended to keep, no matter the cost.

Mingi and Yunho exchanged a glance, the unspoken understanding between them clear. They knew what lay ahead— risks, uncertainties, and the ever-present specter of betrayal. But they also knew their place. Rising from their seats with the grace of predators, they moved with a quiet deliberateness, their loyalty to San unwavering despite the perilous path they walked.

“We’ll keep an eye on things.” Mingi said, his voice low and even, yet laced with an undercurrent of steel.

Yunho spoke up next. “Okay.We’ll take our leave, then. But know this, San— our loyalty remains unwavering. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll stand by you. Always.”

San nodded, a small, gratitude-tinged smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thank you. Both of you. Be careful out there.”

Mingi inclined his head before turning to leave, Yunho following closely behind. The sound of the door closing echoed through the room, leaving an uneasy stillness in its wake.

Seonghwa, ever the compassionate soul, was the first to sense the charged undercurrents. He exchanged a glance with Yeosang, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Without a word, they rose and slipped away, leaving the space to San and Wooyoung. The soft click of the door closing behind them was like the delicate turning of a key in a lock, sealing the two together in a world of their own.

San remained still, his posture a mask of composure, but his eyes betrayed the storm within. Wooyoung, however, could no longer contain the turmoil that had been building inside him. He crossed the room in a few swift strides, his movements edged with a desperation that made San's heart ache. "San." Wooyoung murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with emotion. He halted just inches away, the space between them crackling with tension.

San met Wooyoung's gaze, the connection between them almost palpable. The bond between them was a living, breathing thing, a fire that threatened to consume them both. He could feel it pulling at him, a relentless tide he couldn’t escape. And yet… he didn’t want to escape. Not truly. The thought sent a pang through his chest, a mixture of fear and desire that left him breathless.

Outside, Yeosang was following Seonghwa to his car. His concern for Wooyoung evident in the furrow of his brow. He climbed into the passanger seat, the soft click of the car door behind him a subtle cue for Seonghwa to address the elephant in the room. "You're doing great," Seonghwa said, his voice warm and reassuring. "It's not easy, keeping that kind of distance."

Yeosang's response was laced with a humor that barely masked his unease. "Yeah, well, someone has to be the responsible one." Yet, beneath the sarcasm lay a truth he was beginning to confront. Since Wooyoung's hug, the ease he felt was a undeniable, a comfort that now felt like a reminder of the lines he must not cross.

Seonghwa's smile was gentle, a comforting presence that soothed the rising anxiety. "You've always been good at that," he said, his tone a blend of admiration and caution. "But it's okay to feel uneasy sometimes."

The engine’s hum filled the air as Seonghwa started the car, a steady backdrop to the unspoken thoughts swirling between them. Seonghwa steered the car through the quiet streets, the soft glow of the dashboard casting a low light on their faces. Yeosang stared out the window, his reflection a blur against the darkened glass. The city outside was alive with flickering neon lights and the distant hum of nightlife, yet the world inside the car felt insulated, a bubble of calm amidst the storm brewing elsewhere.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Yeosang broke the silence, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely let show. The question hung in the air, weighted with unspoken fears and uncertainties.

Seonghwa glanced at him briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “I don’t know,” Seonghwa admitted, his tone measured, though not without a hint of doubt. “But they have to figure it out on their own.”

Yeosang turned his head, meeting Seonghwa’s profile. “You think San will be able to keep control?”

Seonghwa sighed, the sound soft yet heavy with the burden of knowing. “San’s always been the strongest person I know, Sannie. If you had asked me just a week ago if San would be ever on the brink of loosing control— I would probably have laughed in your face. But he has changed. He’s walking a fine line, Yeosang. One wrong step, and…” He trailed off, leaving the ominous possibilities unspoken.

The thought sent a shiver down Yeosang’s spine. He could feel it too, the thread of trust and loyalty that bound them all together. But one misstep, and the entire delicate balance could unravel. He thought of San’s calm demeanor, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders as if it were nothing. But Yeosang knew better. He could feel it through their bond— something was putting San on edge, and he was threatening to fall off.

“You think it’s because of Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked, his voice softer now, laced with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Seonghwa hesitated, his grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I felt it from the very beginning, ever since they first met. I never seen San like this. Something about Wooyoung… Its enticing him. In a way I just can not comprehend.”

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He could see it now, the way San’s eyes would cloud over when Wooyoung’s name was mentioned, the way his posture would stiffen as if bracing for impact. It was a telltale sign. San was hiding something, and whatever it was, it was eating away at him.

“I just wish he would tell us. That we could help him.” Yeosang said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. “I think he has to figure this out for himself,” he said finally. “Before he can open up about this, he needs to understand what is happening to him. And Wooyoung.”

Yeosang sighed, the sound deep and heavy, and turned his attention back to the window. The city outside was alive with flickering neon lights and the distant hum of nightlife, yet the world inside the car felt insulated, a bubble of calm amidst the storm brewing elsewhere.

Seonghwa reached over and placed a hand on Yeosang’s thigh. The touch was fleeting, but it carried a world of comfort. “We’ll get through this,” he said, his voice steady. “Together.”

Yeosang didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. The simple act of connection was enough, a silent promise that neither of them would have to face the storm alone.

Chapter 19: A Double-Edged Sword

The dim glow of the study cast long shadows across the room, the air thick with the scent of aged leather and the faint tang of ink. San sat at his desk, hunched over a sprawling tome, his fingers tracing the yellowed pages with a precision that belied the growing unease in his chest. The clock on the mantel ticked with a rhythmic urgency, each strike a reminder of the weight pressing down on him.

Behind him, the soft creak of the door was followed by the unmistakable shuffle of feet— light, deliberate, and entirely too casual. San didn’t look up, his focus fixed on the arcane script before him, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his awareness. Wooyoung had followed him, silent as a shadow, his presence a palpable force in the room.

“Find anything useful?” Wooyoung’s voice was a breezy intrusion into the heavy silence, his tone light despite the undercurrent of restlessness that San could sense through their bond. He leaned against the edge of the desk, his proximity a deliberate invasion of San’s space, his dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and something far more raw.

San turned a page, the crackle of parchment filling the air. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice measured, though the faint flicker in his gaze betrayed his growing concern. “This is… complicated, Wooyoung. The syndrome— it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

Wooyoung snorted, the sound sharp and unexpected, though it lacked its usual bite. He slid closer, his movements fluid, almost feline, his energy coiled and restless. “Oh, I’m taking it very seriously, Sannie. I’m taking it so seriously I can barely sit still.” His voice dropped, the humor giving way to something sharper, more urgent. “You know, I can feel it. It’s like… buzzing under my skin, this constant hum that won’t let up. And all I can think about—”

He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he snapped his mouth shut. San felt the ripple of his frustration, the sharp spike of his pain, and it was like a knife to the chest. He turned, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze, the connection between them crackling like a live wire.

“Then tell me,” San said softly, his voice a steady anchor against the storm brewing in Wooyoung’s eyes. “What do you need?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Wooyoung’s smile was a fleeting, fractured thing, a desperate attempt to mask the turmoil beneath. “You,” he said finally, the word tumbling out like a confession. “I need you.”

Before San could respond, Wooyoung moved, his body a blur of motion as he stepped into San’s space, his hands gripping the arms of the chair with a force that made the wood creak. The air between them was electric, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with words and everything to do with the primal pull of their bond.

San’s breath caught as Wooyoung leaned in, his lips brushing against his ear, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. “I can’t—” Wooyoung’s voice broke, the words fracturing. “I can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening. That I don’t need this. Need you.”

The admission was a crack in the dam, and what followed was a flood. Wooyoung’s hands slid up San’s chest, his touch desperate, unrelenting, as he pressed closer, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the chill in the room. San’s resolve crumbled, his hands rising to meet Wooyoung’s, his fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt as he pulled him nearer.

The world narrowed to the space between them, the room fading into the background as the two of them collided in a tangle of limbs and breathless urgency. They crashed to the floor, the impact muffled by the rug, Wooyoung’s body pressing down on San’s as he was grinding against him with a desperation that bordered on pain.

San’s hands gripped Wooyoung’s hips, trying to hold him still as the world around them melted away, leaving only the thrum of their hearts and the unspoken truths they both tried to ignore.

“Wooyoung, slow down—”

Wooyoung whined. “I can’t. It hurts so much.”, he panted, his hips moving faster against San’s.

San’s hands tightened around Wooyoung’s hips, his grip a desperate attempt to anchor himself against the storm of emotions threatening to consume him. Wooyoung’s plea hung in the air, a raw, unfiltered admission that cut through San’s defenses like a blade. He could feel the warmth of Wooyoung’s skin against his, the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat, and the relentless drive of his body pressing against his own.

“Wooyoung,” San murmured, his voice low and strained, “you don’t understand what you’re asking for. If I… if I lose control—”

“I don’t care!” Wooyoung’s voice cracked, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I don’t care if it hurts, if it’s dangerous, if it’s wrong. I just… I need it. I need you.”

The scent of Wooyoung’s skin, warm and familiar, filled his senses, mingling with the faint tang of sweat and the sweet, intoxicating aroma of his blood. It was a siren’s call, impossible to ignore, and San felt himself being drawn closer, his body betraying his mind.

With a growl, San gave in, his hands sliding up Wooyoung’s back to cradle his head, pulling him into a kiss that was both fierce and desperate. Wooyoung’s lips parted eagerly, their mouths meeting in a collision of need and fear, the world around them narrowing to the space between their bodies. San could feel the tremors running through Wooyoung’s frame, the desperation in his touch, and it only fueled the fire burning within him.

San’s movements became almost impossibly fast, his body a blur as he rose from the floor, lifting Wooyoung with him. His desk was cleared in one sweeping motion, the sound of books and papers crashing to the floor echoing sharply through the tense silence. Wooyoung gasped, the sudden motion leaving him breathless, but he didn’t protest, his hands instinctively wrapping around San’s neck as he was laid carefully on the polished wood surface. The desk was cold beneath him, a stark contrast to the heat of the body that loomed over him.

San’s mouth found Wooyoung’s neck without hesitation, the kisses he trailed downward fierce and unrelenting. Each press of his lips sent shivers coursing through Wooyoung’s frame, his hips arching unconsciously as he sought more contact, more of the burning sensation that San’s touch ignited within him. His hands tangled in San’s hair, pulling him closer, deeper, as if he could anchor him there forever.

“San—” Wooyoung breathed, the name barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. His body writhed beneath San’s, the friction between them building with every passing moment. The desk creaked under the force of their movements, the sound rhythmic and raw, like the beat of a wild heart.

San’s hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of Wooyoung’s body with a desperation that bordered on reverence. His kisses were a brand, marking every inch of skin he touched as his own. The collarbones, the shoulders, the hollow of his throat—all of it was claimed with a ferocity that left Wooyoung trembling, his fingers digging into San’s arms as if he feared being pulled away.

And yet, despite the intensity of their connection, there was a fragility to it, a brittle edge that threatened to shatter at any moment. San’s touch was tender one moment, and then possessive, almost brutal the next. It was a dance of contradictions.

Wooyoung’s hands wandered over San’s chest, tracing each contour with a mix of desire and desperation. San’s eyes, dark and brooding, watched him, a storm of emotions. Then, without warning, Wooyoung’s body shuddered, a fine tremor running through his frame. His eyes, bright with desire, clouded over, a faint look of distress crossing his features.

San’s grip tightened, his touch tender yet urgent. “Wooyoung?” he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine.” Wooyoung whispered, though his voice trembled, betraying the truth. The first whispers of withdrawal were clawing at the edges of his mind. It was a subtle shift, but San, attuned to every nuance of Wooyoung’s being, sensed it immediately.

San’s mind raced, his jaw clenching. The Crimson High was taking its toll, the relentless addiction gnawing at Wooyoung like a predator. Each moment they shared was a double-edged sword, a fleeting bliss that promised only more suffering. Yet, to deny Wooyoung now would be to condemn him to a deeper despair.

As San's hands drifted upward, they paused at the hem of Wooyoung's shirt, his fingers trembling slightly before pushing the fabric up, revealing the expanse of Wooyoung's torso. The dim light cast long shadows across his skin, accentuating the contours of his muscles as they tensed beneath San's touch.

Wooyoung's breath hitched as San's lips grazed his chest, each kiss a slow, careful press that left trails of warmth. San's journey downward was deliberate, each inch of skin claiming his attention, until his tongue dipped into the hollow of Wooyoung's navel. A shiver rippled through Wooyoung, his fingers twisting in the fabric of San's shirt, pulling him closer.

San's mouth lingered there for a moment, a point of vulnerability, before his lips traced the sharp line of Wooyoung's hipbone. It was a delicate touch, a stark contrast to the ferocity that followed as he tore at Wooyoung's pants with a swiftness that left little room for resistance. The fabric shredded under his hands, the sound sharp and decisive, leaving Wooyoung almost naked on the desk.

Wooyoung gasped, the cold wood beneath him a jarring contrast to the heat of San's body. His legs instinctively wrapped around San, pulling him close as his hands clawed at San's back, seeking anchorage in the storm of their passion. The desk creaked under their combined weight, a rhythmic groan that underscored the urgency of their movements.

San's touch was a paradox— tender yet possessive, each caress laced with an undercurrent of fear and desire. His eyes, dark and intense, met Wooyoung's gaze, reflecting the turmoil within.

The air was thick with tension as San pulled away, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of desire and restraint. Wooyoung's chest heaved, his breaths coming in short, erratic gasps as he lay there, vulnerable and exposed. San's hands, strong and unyielding, gripped his hips, pulling him closer to the edge of the desk. The wood creaked in protest, a hollow sound that echoed through the room like a warning.

Without a word, he reached for the last barrier between them, his teeth sinking into the fabric of Wooyoung’s underwear with a feral precision that made Wooyoung’s heart stumble in his chest. The fabric tore away with a ripping sound, and San’s hands were there instantly, his fingers curling around the scraps before discarding them with a careless flick.

San leaned down, his lips brushing against the soft skin of Wooyoung's inner thigh. His fangs, sharp and predatory, grazed the surface, sending a shiver coursing through Wooyoung's body. The contact was electrifying, a mix of pain and pleasure that left Wooyoung moaning, his hands clawing at the desk for support.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched, his body tensing as San’s mouth pressed against his thigh. The first touch of his tongue was like fire, a slow, deliberate lick that sent shivers cascading through Wooyoung’s frame

The dim light cast long shadows across San's face, accentuating the sharp angles of his features as he worked his way upward, each lick and suck leaving a trail of heat that seemed to burn Wooyoung from the inside out.

San's movements were deliberate, each touch calculated to draw out the maximum pleasure. His tongue danced across Wooyoung's skin, leaving behind a path of goosebumps as he made his way to the apex of Wooyoung's thighs.

San’s fangs grazed the surface of his skin again, a sharp, teasing pressure that made Wooyoung’s blood rise to the surface. He moaned, the sound rough and unsteady, as San’s lips moved over his flesh.

“San…” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling, but San didn’t respond. His focus was singular, his touch both gentle and predatory. He spread Wooyoung’s legs wider, his hands firm against his thighs as he dipped his head lower.

There, he hesitated, his breath hot against the sensitive skin, before finally sinking his fangs into the soft flesh.

The pain was a fleeting spark, immediately drowned out by a wave of ecstasy so intense it felt like it would shatter Wooyoung’s very soul. His mind exploded in a riot of light and sound, his body arching off the desk as he cried out, the sound echoing through the room like a prayer. His hands clawed at San’s hair, pulling him closer, deeper, as if he could crawl inside the warmth of his touch and never escape.

San’s eyes closed, his own pleasure a sharp, cutting thing that pressed against his chest. He could feel Wooyoung’s pulse beneath his fangs, the rhythm wild and erratic. The taste of his blood was sweet and earthy, a flavor that filled his senses and left him trembling with the effort of restraint. But he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as Wooyoung’s moans grew louder, his body writhing beneath him like a flame in the dark.

San's hands tightened around Wooyoung's legs, holding him in place as he deepened the kiss, his fangs sinking further into the flesh. The blood, rich and metallic, filled his mouth, and for a moment, he forgot everything else— the danger, the consequences, the fragile balance of their relationship. All that mattered was the taste of Wooyoung, the way his body responded to his touch, and the primal connection that bound them together.

San’s chest heaved as he pulled away, the metallic tang of blood lingering on his tongue. His fangs retracted with a soft click, and he leaned back, his dark eyes glowing golden in the dim light.

Wooyoung lay sprawled on the desk, his chest rising and falling in jagged breaths, his skin flushed and slick with perspiration.

San’s gaze drifted over him, his expression a mask of restrained hunger. He reached up, his fingers brushing against the faint puncture wounds on Wooyoung’s thigh. The blood there was slow to clot, and he dipped his head, his tongue tracing the small wounds with meticulous care.

San’s lips left the wound with a soft smack, the faint trickle of blood glistening in the dim light as he trailed his tongue upward, slow and deliberate, over the quivering flesh of Wooyoung’s inner thigh. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the musky scent of desire, a heady mix that filled San’s senses and tested the fragile leash on his control. His fangs had receded, but the memory of their sharp ache lingered, a reminder of the hunger still prowling just beneath the surface.

Wooyoung’s legs trembled in San’s grasp, his hands still buried in San’s hair, his fingers twisting into tight knots as if to anchor himself to the moment. His breath came in shallow, irregular gasps, each one punctuated by a low, desperate moan that sent a shiver coursing through San’s frame. The desk creaked under the force of their combined weight, the sound echoing through the heavy silence like a warning.

San’s gaze flickered upward, meeting Wooyoung’s eyes for a fleeting moment. The connection was jolting, a spark of raw emotion that danced between them like a live flame. Wooyoung’s pupils were dilated, his irises reduced to thin rings of color around the black centers, and his lips were parted, slick with the faint sheen of saliva. He looked undone, fragile, yet impossibly alluring, and San felt the pull of him like a force of nature, impossible to resist.

“Don’t stop!” Wooyoung pleaded, his voice a crack of raw desperation that cut through the thick tension in the room. His hips shifted restlessly, a silent plea for more, and San’s chest tightened in response, his own breath catching in his throat.

San’s hands tightened around Wooyoung’s thighs, his grip firm but cautious, as he dipped his head further down. The first touch of his tongue was a slow, teasing caress against the base of Wooyoung’s cock, and the reaction was immediate. Wooyoung’s body jerked, his head thrown back as a harsh, guttural sound tore from his throat, echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the room. The sound sent a sharp pang through San’s chest, a mixture of pleasure and guilt that he ruthlessly suppressed.

San’s lips closed around him, the pressure firm and unrelenting, and he began to move, each stroke of his tongue rhythmic and precise.

San closed his eyes, focusing on the sensations, the textures and tastes that filled his senses. His tongue moved with practiced precision, tracing patterns along Wooyoung’s length. San’s fangs ached in response, but he kept them tucked away, his control fraying but not yet broken.

The room filled with the sound of Wooyoung’s ragged breathing, his moans growing louder as San’s pace quickened. The vampire’s movements were a perfect blend of control and hunger, each touch designed to unravel Wooyoung’s defenses. His hands tightened around Wooyoung’s legs, holding him still as he deepened the connection, his mouth working with a desperation that made Wooyoung keen.

San’s head moved with increasing urgency, his tongue strokes growing faster, more insistent. Wooyoung’s breath hitched with each movement, his hands clawing at San’s scalp as if to hold him in place, though San needed no encouragement. The sound of wet suction filled the air, mingling with Wooyoung’s desperate, keening cries that bordered on sobs.

Wooyoung’s body writhed beneath him, his hips bucking upward in sharp, erratic movements. San’s hands tightened around his thighs, his grip unyielding as he held him in place, his mouth relentless in its pursuit of unraveling him. Each moan that escaped Wooyoung’s lips was like a crack in the fragile dam of San’s control, the sound echoing through the room and reverberating deep within his chest.

The heat of Wooyoung’s body enveloped him, a primal scent that mingled with the metallic tang of blood still lingering on the air. San’s chest tightened, his own breath hitching as he felt Wooyoung’s fingers dig deeper into his hair, pulling him closer with a desperation that mirrored his own.

San’s fangs ached with the effort of restraint, but he wouldn’t give in—not yet. This wasn’t just about pleasure; it was about control, about proving to himself that he could still be the master of his own desires, even as they consumed him whole.

San’s dark hair fell in messy strands around his face, his lips glistening with the faint sheen of sweat and desire. Wooyoung’s pale skin was flushed, his delicate features twisted in a mixture of pleasure and anguish, his dark hair spread wild across the desk.

“San, oh my god—” Wooyoung gasped, his voice breaking as his body quivered beneath San’s relentless touch. His hands released their hold on San’s hair, sliding down to brace against the edge of the desk, his fingers clawing at the polished surface. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the air, each gasp sharper than the last.

Wooyoung’s voice broke, a shattered sound that sent a shiver down San’s spine. His entire body tightened, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. San could feel it building, the telltale signs of impending release, and he quickened his pace, his mouth working relentlessly as he swallowed around Wooyoung, drawing him deeper with each desperate, hungered pull.

Wooyoung’s legs twitched, his muscles tensing as he arched his back, his body suspended in that moment of unbearable anticipation. San’s hands slid upward, his fingers brushing against the soft curve of Wooyoung’s abdomen, tracing the trembling muscles as they contracted beneath his touch. The connection between them was electric, a charged tension that crackled with unspoken fears and desires.

“San— oh God, San, I’m—” Wooyoung’s words dissolved into a choked, incoherent sound, his body arching off the desk once more as he hit the peak. San’s name tumbled from his lips like a prayer, a plea, a curse.

San’s lips tightened around him, his tongue moving in one final, devastating stroke as Wooyoung came with a strangled cry, his orgasm tearing through him with enough force to leave him breathless and trembling in San’s grasp. The sound was raw and primal, a guttural release that echoed through the room as San swallowed, his throat working rhythmically around him.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. San stayed where he was, his lips still pressed to Wooyoung’s softening length, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

San slowly lifted his head, his lips parting as he met Wooyoung’s gaze. The younger man’s eyes were hazy, unfocused, his body trembling softly as the aftershocks of pleasure coursed through him.

 

The afterglow was heavy, oppressive, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Wooyoung lay sprawled on the desk, his limbs splayed in abandon, his skin flushed and slick with sweat. San, on the other hand, looked like he’d just gone to war— his hair disheveled, his lips swollen, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. The dim light caught the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, and for a moment, he looked almost human, almost vulnerable.

Wooyoung’s chest rose and fell with each breath, his skin gradually cooling as the heat of their encounter began to wane. His mind, once a storm of sensations, began to clear, the fog of the Crimson High lifting like mist at dawn.

His hand trembled as he reached up, his fingers brushing against San’s jaw, the touch featherlight yet charged with unsaid things. San’s dark eyes met his, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface—fear, desire, and something far deeper that neither dared to name.

 

Wooyoung’s eyes locked onto San’s, the connection between them crackling like a live wire. The realization struck him with the force of a storm—sharp, undeniable, and terrifying. It wasn’t just desire that bound him to San; it was something deeper, a bond that transcended the haze of the Crimson High. It wasn’t just the euphoria of the bite, the intoxicating rush of San’s fangs piercing his skin. It wasn’t just the desperate, clawing need that had driven them together like two souls bound by an unseen force. It was more. So much more.

It was love, pure and unyielding, a flame that burned hotter with every passing moment.

Wooyoung’s eyes fluttered closed as the realization hit him like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of his soul. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a relentless reminder of the truth he could no longer deny. He was in love with San— hopelessly, irreparably, dangerously in love with the vampire who had consumed him in every way imaginable.

San’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable yet tender. He leaned down, his movements deliberate and slow, as though he feared breaking the fragile moment they shared. His lips brushed against Wooyoung’s, a touch so gentle it might have been a whisper of wind had it not carried the weight of a thousand unspoken promises.

The kiss was slow, tender, and suffocating in its care. It was a kiss that spoke of restraint and longing, of fear and vulnerability. San’s hands cradled Wooyoung’s face, his fingers trembling as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of Wooyoung’s lips with a reverence that bordered on desperation.

Wooyoung’s arms lifted, wrapping around San’s neck as he pulled him closer, their bodies swaying together as though moved by an unseen force. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting.

Yet, as their lips parted, the weight of their reality settled back upon them. The dangers, the risks, the world that threatened to tear them apart…

He struggled to find the words, to give voice to the emotions that choked him, but they caught in his throat like ash. All he could do was breathe San’s name, a broken, whispered sound that hung in the air like a prayer.

All that mattered the knowledge, sharp and terrifying, that there was no going back.

The world outside seemed to press in, yet, in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of their breath mingling, a fleeting solace against the encroaching darkness.

“San,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling like the first leaves of autumn caught in a storm. “What are we doing?”

San’s eyes met his, deep pools of sorrow and longing. “We’re chasing the light in the dark,” he replied, his voice low and rough, like the rumble of distant thunder. “Even if it burns us, we can’t help but reach for it.”

Wooyoung’s heart ached at the truth in his words. They were two souls bound by threads of forbidden love, each pull bringing them closer to the edge, yet neither could find the strength to let go.

As the first drops of rain began to fall, pattering against the windows like mournful tears, San drew Wooyoung into a deeper embrace. The world outside was a blur of gray and shadow, but in each other’s arms, they found a temporary peace, a fragile sanctuary from the horrors that haunted them.

Chapter 20: The Path of Eternal Blood

Notes:

Guys, I'm so sorry! I'm having a few exams coming up so I've been behind on uploading. Hope you have enjoyed so far. Things are slowly but surely getting darker <3 But for now... Some Lore for you :3

The car’s interior was bathed in the soft glow of the rising sun, the scent of lavender wafting faintly from the air freshener dangling near the rearview mirror. Seonghwa’s hands rested casually on the steering wheel, his long, slender fingers drumming a rhythm against the leather as the hum of the engine filled the air. Beside him, Yeosang sat with his legs crossed, his gaze fixed on the window as the city gave way to the sprawling countryside. The sky was a canvas of pinks and oranges, the sun dipping higher with each passing mile.

Seonghwa’s fingers stilled their rhythmic tapping as he glanced at Yeosang, who had grown quiet, his gaze lost in the view beyond the glass.

“Almost there!” Seonghwa said softly, his voice carrying the same warmth as the fading sunlight. He reached out, his hand brushing against Yeosang’s, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes without a word. Yeosang turned to him, his dark eyes reflecting the serene beauty of the world outside, yet carrying a depth of emotion that only Seonghwa could truly decipher.

“Yeosang, there is something you should understand, something that shapes the very soul of our world,” Seonghwa began, his gaze fixed on the road, yet his thoughts a thousand years away. The air grew heavier, as if the weight of centuries pressed upon them. “About the Path of Eternal Blood.”

Yeosang turned to him, his gaze questioning, yet his expression open, inviting. Seonghwa’s eyes flickered toward him, meeting the dark pools that held a quiet intensity.

“It’s an old faith,” Seonghwa began, his voice tinged with a melancholy that seemed to echo through the ages. “One that binds us all, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. It centers around Nox Prima, the First Vampire, said to have been blessed— or cursed— by the moon goddess herself. She was chosen to walk the line between night and day, a shepherd to guide humanity through the endless dance of light and shadow.”

Yeosang turned, his dark eyes reflecting the deepening twilight. “A blessing and a curse?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Seonghwa nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Yes. Her immortality was a gift. But it came at a price—a thirst for blood, a curse that would forever bind them to the shadows. She was torn between the grace of eternal life and the torment of an unending thirst. From her, our kind was born, each of us a reflection of that duality.”

Yeosang’s stilled, his gaze distant as he absorbed the tale. The windshield framed the rising sun, its light casting long shadows that stretched like skeletal fingers across the landscape. The contrast was stark, the warmth of the sun a harsh reminder of the darkness that loomed beyond its reach.

“The followers of the Path,” Seonghwa continued, his tone measured, “believe that vampires are not mere monsters, but chosen beings, tasked with guiding humanity through the endless dance of light and darkness. We are shepherds, in a way, meant to protect and lead, not to conquer or destroy.”

His words were laced with a quiet conviction, yet there was a sadness in them, a recognition of the fragility of such ideals. Yeosang’s gaze softened, his thoughts no doubt turning to the fractured world they now navigated, where such noble beliefs were often overshadowed by greed and ambition.

“But there are those who twist this faith,” Seonghwa added, his voice darker now, tinged with a bitterness that spoke of personal sorrow. “The Path of Harmony and the Path of Dominion— two interpretations of the same teachings, yet as different as night and day.”

“Vampires, according to the Path of Harmony, are meant to protect and guide, to ensure balance in a world teetering on chaos. But not all share this vision. The Path of Dominion believes in power, in ruling over humanity, seeing them not as equals but as subjects to be controlled.”

Seonghwa’s hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles pale under the dim light. “This divide has haunted us for centuries, a constant reminder of the conflict within ourselves. To shepherd or to dominate— it is a choice each of us must make.”

“Just like the Humanists and the New Order.” Yeosang whispered absentmindedly.

The car turned onto a narrow, unpaved road, the tires crunching against gravel. Trees closed in around them, their branches intertwining above like skeletal fingers, creating a canopy that filtered the light into dappled patterns on the ground. The air grew heavier, a subtle yet palpable shift in the atmosphere that made Yeosang’s breath hitch. He could feel it— a quiet hum of energy, ancient and sacred, resonating through the earth itself.

“Seonghwa,” Yeosang murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and unease. “What exactly is this place?”

Seonghwa’s gaze remained on the winding path ahead, his expression unreadable. “A sanctuary,” he replied, his tone calm yet tinged with a reverence that made Yeosang’s heart flutter. “A place where the old ways are still observed, where the Path of Eternal Blood is kept alive.”

The trees parted as they crested a small hill, revealing a structure that seemed to rise organically from the earth itself. The temple was ancient, its stones weathered and covered in vines, its architecture a blend of Gothic spires and Eastern influences. The roof curved gracefully, tiled in deep, blood-red ceramic that seemed to glow faintly as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air around it shimmered faintly, a soft, ethereal light that danced like fireflies in the encroaching twilight.

 

Yeosang’s breath caught as he stepped out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. The ground beneath his feet hummed with power, a gentle vibration that resonated through his entire body. He could feel it—history, faith, and blood, all woven together in a tapestry that filled the air with an almost palpable thickness.

Seonghwa came to stand beside him, his presence as comforting as it was imposing. “Come.” he said, offering his hand. Yeosang took it without hesitation, his fingers intertwining with Seonghwa’s in a gesture of trust and solidarity. Together, they walked toward the temple, the path lined with lanterns that flickered to life as though ignited by their presence.

Yeosang’s fingers tightened slightly around Seonghwa’s as they stepped onto the temple grounds, the air thickening with an almost palpable reverence. Each lantern they passed cast flickering shadows on the ground, like whispers of the past. He tilted his head, his dark eyes filled with curiosity as he took in the intricate carvings that adorned the temple’s walls— serpentine dragons coiled around lotus flowers, their mouths open in silent roars. The stone was cool beneath his fingertips as he reached out to touch one, the texture rough and weathered, carrying the weight of centuries.

“What do these symbols mean?” Yeosang asked, his voice soft but urgent with curiosity. He glanced up at Seonghwa, whose profile was illuminated in the dim light of the lanterns, his features sharp and contemplative.

Seonghwa paused, his gaze following Yeosang’s hand. “They represent the balance of duality,” he replied, his voice low and measured. “The dragon symbolizes power and protection, while the lotus represents enlightenment and purity. Together, they remind us of the harmony we strive for— light and darkness, strength and grace, all intertwined.”

Yeosang’s lips parted as he stepped back, taking in the grandeur of the temple. The red tiles of the roof seemed to glow even in the fading light, and the air around them shimmered faintly, as though the very essence of the Path of Eternal Blood lingered in the atmosphere. “It’s beautiful...” he murmured, his words barely audible

As they approached the temple, the air thickened with an almost palpable reverence, each step echoing through the stillness like a whispered prayer. Yeosang's eyes widened as the structure loomed before them, its ancient stones bearing the scars of centuries, yet radiating an enduring strength. The blood- red tiles glimmered faintly, as though infused with a life of their own, casting long, ominous shadows in the fading light.

As they stepped inside the temple, the heavy wooden doors creaked shut behind them, enveloping them in a cool, damp silence. The interior was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting shadows that danced like phantoms on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something metallic, reminiscent of blood.

"Seonghwa—" Yeosang began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet rich with curiosity.

Suddenly, a faint hum filled the air, and the ground beneath them vibrated subtly. Yeosang turned to Seonghwa, his eyes wide with wonder. "What is that?"

Seonghwa's expression was serene. "The temple's energy. It responds to those who seek understanding."

As they deeper into the temple, a faint light began to emanate from the walls, illuminating ancient texts and symbols etched into the stone. Yeosang reached out, his fingers brushing against the intricate carvings, and as he did, visions flashed before his eyes— images of the past, of the Path's inception, of struggles between Harmony and Dominion.

He gasped, pulling back, his heart pounding. Seonghwa steadied him, his touch reassuring.

Yeosang's eyes reflected a mix of awe and apprehension. "There's so much I don't know. I want to understand it all. Like— what kind of teachings are there?"

“Oh… There’s the Midnight Mass, for example. It’s more like a ceremony,” Seonghwa explained, his elegant fingers brushing against the intricate carvings that adorned the walls. “It is a time for reflection, for vampires to confront their nature and the weight of their immortality. During the new moon, when the world is at its darkest, we gather to remind ourselves of who we are— and who we strive to become.”

Yeosang listened intently, his eyes wide with fascination. He had always known that vampires were creatures of the night, but the idea of a structured faith, of rituals that bound them together, was something he had never considered. “What else?”

Seonghwa hesitated. “There’s… The Night Remembrance.”

“The Night of Remembrance?” Yeosang asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the walls themselves might listen.

Seonghwa paused, his gaze drifting to the floor as the memories weighed heavily on him. “The Night of Remembrance is… a solemn observance. It occurs during solar eclipses, a time when day and night blur into one.” Seonghwa glanced at him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s a sacred day. During every solar eclipse, we honour the Endless Night of 1140, a time when our kind faced unimaginable darkness. Practitioners observe it by fasting, meditating, and offering blood to the First Vampire, Nox Prima.”

The air seemed to grow heavier, the shadows cast by the rising sun stretching like fingers across the ancient floor. Yeosang’s gaze drifted back to Seonghwa, his thoughts visibly churning. “What happened during the Endless Night?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Seonghwa’s expression faltered, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he reached up to fidget with the silver pendant hanging around his neck, a habit he’d developed over the centuries. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, where the sun’s final rays cast an eerie glow over the car.

“It’s… complicated,” he said finally, his tone softer, tinged with a melancholy that didn’t often surface. “The Endless Night was a time of great sorrow and loss. Many lives were taken, and the scars of that event still linger.”

Yeosang turned to him, his eyes searching. “You speak like you lived trough it.”

The question hung in the air like a guillotine, and Seonghwa’s hands tightened on his sides until his knuckles were pale. He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s not dwell on the past. The Night of Remembrance is about honoring those we’ve lost and finding peace in our shared history.”

 

The air was thick with the scent of aged incense and the faint metallic tang of blood as Seonghwa led Yeosang through the shadow- draped corridors of the ancient church. The flickering candles cast long, ominous shadows on the stone walls, like skeletal fingers reaching out to snatch at their clothes.

Seonghwa’s posture straightening as they stepped into the main hall. At the far end, beneath the towering stained-glass window that depicted a scene of both darkness and light, stood a woman. Her serene face was tilted slightly, her dark eyes filled with the wisdom of centuries. She stood with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen the rise and fall of empires, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Seonghwa, it’s been too long!” Her voice carried a melodic tone that seemed to resonate with the very walls themselves.

As they approached, the woman's gaze shifted to Yeosang, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “And you’ve brought a friend. How lovely.”

Seonghwa inclined his head in respect. “Yeosang, this is Moon Yuna. She's the head priestess.”

Yeosang bowed slightly, his movements graceful. “It’s an honor.”

Yuna’s smile widened. “Did you come to seek guidance, Seonghwa?”

He nodded. “I would like to speak to you.”

She gestured for him to follow her. “Come. Let us speak in private.”

“I’ll be right back!” Seonghwa told Yeosang with a small smile.

 

The room Yuna led him to was small, the walls lined with ancient texts and the air thick with the scent of sandalwood. Yuna seated herself cross-legged on a low cushion, her posture perfectly straight. Seonghwa followed suit, his movements fluid and practiced.

“Your heart is troubled, Seonghwa. I can see it in the way you carry yourself.” Yuna stated, her voice calm and soothing.

Seonghwa’s eyes dropped, his hands resting on his knees. “There has been… A lot of things happening, lately. Things beyond my control. But also people that I failed. I don’t know how to make amends for them.”

“Amends are not always about fixing what’s broken,” she said gently. “Sometimes, it’s about accepting what cannot be changed and finding peace in the present.”

Seonghwa’s gaze remained downcast, his voice barely above a whisper as he delved deeper into his thoughts.

“It’s not just the past that troubles me. It’s San. He’s… changing. So quickly, Yuna. I don’t recognize the person he’s becoming.”

His hands, usually steady and composed, trembled slightly as he spoke, a rare crack in the armor of his stoic demeanor.

Yuna’s expression softened, her dark eyes filled with the weight of understanding. She reached out, her hand brushing against his forearm in a gesture of comfort. “Tell me more.” She encouraged, her voice a gentle prompt in the heavy silence.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs before he allowed it to escape slowly. “He’s losing control. The thirst, the anger— it’s consuming him. I’ve tried to guide him, to teach him the ways of our kind, but it’s as if he’s being pulled by a force beyond his understanding. A force that neither of us can contain.”

Yuna’s brow furrowed, her fingers tightening slightly on his arm. “And what do you believe is the cause of this change? Has something provoked it?”

Wooyoung.

The thought was simple, yet overpowering. San had kept his guard as for as long as Seonghwa had known him. But ever since Wooyoung had stumbled into his life, he had become so different. Open. Smiling. Carering.

Vulnurable.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs slowly before he exhaled, as if the act itself required careful consideration, his mind racing back to the events of the previous night. The way San’s eyes had flashed with a feral light, the raw, unchecked power that had radiated from him like an aura. “He spoke of memories,” Seonghwa said finally. “Memories that aren’t his own. Fragments of the past, of a live he’d never lived. They’re resurfacing, haunting him. And with each passing day, they grow stronger.”

The room seemed to fall silent, the only sound the soft crackle of the candle’s flame. Yuna’s expression turned contemplative, her gaze distant as though she were unraveling a thread of thought. “The blood ties between you and San are deep, Seonghwa. Deeper than most. It’s possible that the memories he’s experiencing are not his own, but echoes of your past— bled into his mind through the bond you share.”

Seonghwa’s heart tightened at her words. The bond between a sire and their child was sacred, a connection that transcended time and death itself. But if Yuna’s theory were true, it would explain the way San had talked about the night Seonghwa had turned Hongjoong— as if he had been there himself.

Seonghwa’s lips pressed together, forming a thin line as he struggled with the words he wanted to say. “But I fear I am failing him. I fear that no matter what I do, I cannot protect him from the darkness that calls to him. It is a fear I have carried for centuries, one that grows more unbearable with each passing day.”

Yuna’s gaze held his, steady and unyielding. “Protection is not about shielding him from the shadows, Seonghwa. It is about standing with him in the darkness, guiding him through it. You cannot change the path he walks, but you can choose to walk it beside him.”

His eyes finally met hers, and for a moment, the weight of his worries was palpable. “But what if I am not enough? I don’t want to lose him, Yuna. I can’t lose him.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Yuna’s lips, her voice taking on a tone of quiet conviction. “You are already more than enough. You have always been. It is not your power that San needs, Seonghwa, but your presence. Your unwavering presence in his life is the anchor he clings to, even when the storm rages around him.”

Her eyes filled with determination. “You won’t loose him,” she said firmly. “But you must be patient. These things take time. San is strong, Seonghwa. Stronger than you give him credit for. He will find his way, but he needs your guidance now more than ever.”

Seonghwa nodded, though the doubt lingered in his heart. He could feel the cracks forming, the fragile balance between San’s humanity and the monster he was slowly becoming.

“What about these memories you were talking about? What was so strong that it bled trough the bond with San?” Yuna propped gently.

Seonghwa let out a shuddering breath. “Hongjoong.” He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts. "We were inseparable, Yuna. But then he joined the Hunters... I couldn't understand why he would choose that path, choose them over me." Seonghwa said, his voice tinged with pain.

He swallowed hard, the familiar ache in his chest intensifying. “Hongjoong… I pushed him away. I couldn’t understand why he would betray me after everything we’d been through together.”

Yuna’s expression was serene, her eyes filled with compassion. “Perhaps,” she said, “he chose that path to protect you. In his own way, he may have thought it was the only course of action to keep you safe, even if it meant losing you.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. He hadn’t considered that possibility, hadn’t allowed himself to. But now, as he sat there, the weight of Yuna’s words settled over him, he realized how blind he’d been.

Hongjoong had always been impulsive, driven by his emotions and a fierce desire to protect those he cared about. Maybe, just maybe, his decision to join the Hunters hadn’t been a betrayal, but a desperate attempt to shield Seonghwa from the horrors he’d endured.

The thought brought both relief and pain, a bittersweet mix that left him raw and vulnerable. For the first time in centuries, Seonghwa felt a spark of hope, a possibility that he might one day find the peace he’d been searching for.

Chapter 21: Unguarded Sincerity

The church hall was bathed in the dim glow of flickering candles, casting long shadows that danced like whispers on the stone walls. Yeosang wandered through the silent corridors, his footsteps echoing softly, as though he were a ghost drifting through time.

As he turned a corner, a sliver of light drew him to a quiet room. The door was slightly ajar, inviting him with a soft murmur of solitude. He pushed it open, stepping into a space where the world seemed to hold its breath. Before an altar, a man knelt in prayer, his broad shoulders cloaked in shadows, his head bowed low. The stillness around him was palpable, a living entity that wrapped itself around Yeosang's heart.

Yeosang hesitated, his hand reaching out to withdraw, but something about the man's presence drew him in. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper "Oh... I didn't mean to interrupt."

The man slowly turned, and as his face caught the light, Yeosang felt the world tilt. His features were chiseled, yet soft, a paradox of strength and grace. His eyes, deep and searching, met Yeosang's, and the connection was jolting, like the first crack of thunder in a storm.

The man rose to his feet with a grace that belied his size, his movements fluid yet deliberate. "You didn't interrupt," he said, his voice low and resonant, like the toll of a distant bell. "Your presence is a welcome surprise."

Yeosang felt a shiver run down his spine as the man approached him. There was an air of command about him, yet his eyes held a gentleness that put Yeosang at ease.

"I am Choi Jongho."  The man introduced himself, his tone formal, yet tinged with a warmth that made Yeosang's pulse quicken.

Yeosang bowed slightly, a gesture of respect. "Kang Yeosang. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jongho. The name sent shivers through his body. Could this be the same Jongho they had spoken of last night? The one who had saved San and Wooyoung? The enforcer of the New Order? The man before him seemed far too... gentle for that.

Jongho's gaze lingered on Yeosang, as though he were a puzzle he wanted to solve. "The pleasure is mine," he replied, his voice carrying a sincerity that made Yeosang's heart flutter. "Though I must admit, I didn't expect to find someone wandering these halls so early."

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smile. "Are you lost, little fledgeling?"

Yeosang lifted an eyebrow. "Do I look lost?"

Jongho's head tilted, studying him. "Not exactly. But you do look like someone searching for something."

"That’s poetic," Yeosang said dryly. "Are you always this intense?"

Jongho’s lips twitched, as if he hadn’t expected Yeosang to bite back so quickly. "That depends," he mused, his voice dipping into something velvety smooth. "Are you always this distracting?"

Yeosang scoffed quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, but the warmth curling in his chest was impossible to ignore. "Didn’t realize I was causing you a problem."

Jongho tilted his head, eyes dragging over Yeosang’s face in a way that felt almost tangible. "Oh, you’re not a problem," he said, slow and deliberate. "More like... an unexpected complication."

Yeosang raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like the same thing to me."

Jongho chuckled, and Yeosang hated how much he liked the sound. Deep, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel whatever this was.

"Complications aren’t always bad," Jongho said, stepping just a fraction closer. Close enough that Yeosang caught the faintest trace of something warm and clean— like rain-soaked cedar and a mild summer breeze. "Some are worth the trouble."

Yeosang refused to take a step back, though his pulse pounded at his throat. "And you’ve already decided I am?"

Jongho studied him for a beat, something unreadable passing through his gaze. "I haven’t decided yet." His lips curved. "But I think I’d like to."

The weight of those words settled in Yeosang’s chest, deeper than he wanted to admit. He had met plenty of men who liked to play at flirtation, throwing words around like a game of cards, but this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t some idle tease. Yeosang couldn’t help but feel curious.

Beneath that sharp curiosity, something deeper flickered— something weightier.

A recognition. A pull.

Yeosang felt it deep inside his guts. It was unsettling, the way his body instinctively reacted to the man in front of him. As if drawn into orbit, like gravity itself had shifted around Jongho.

It was careful. Measured.

And that? That was far more dangerous.

Yeosang exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair in a desperate attempt to shake the tension settling between them. "You talk a lot for someone who was literally on their knees praying two minutes ago."

Jongho blinked. Then— unexpectedly— he laughed.

Not the smooth, controlled chuckle he’d given before, but something real. Something surprised.

"That’s fair." he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yeosang just blinked at Jongho, wide-eyed and utterly unreadable, his lips slightly parted in something between curiosity and mild confusion.

Jongho faltered.

“You know,” he tried again, a slow smirk curving at the edge of his lips, “if you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you like the attention.”

Yeosang’s head tilted slightly, as if Jongho had just spoken in riddles. “Like what?”

Jongho’s brain blanked for half a second. “Like… that.”

Yeosang blinked again, his brows drawing together slightly. “I’m just listening to you.”

Jongho opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

Somehow, despite all his experience in the art of conversation, the sheer honesty of Yeosang’s response threw him completely off balance.

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain control of the moment. "Right. Well. Just so you know, most people find it rude to stare this much."

Yeosang only frowned slightly, his gaze dropping for half a second before flicking back up, as if genuinely considering the logic in Jongho’s words. “Oh,” he said after a beat, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

And that should have been Jongho’s opening. That should have been his chance to lean in, to say something clever, to flip the script back into his hands.

Instead, he found himself struggling to remember how words worked.

Yeosang wasn’t playing coy. He wasn’t teasing. He was just… pure. There was no practiced flirtation, no expected game.

Just wide, unguarded sincerity.

Jongho felt heat creep up the back of his neck. He scowled internally. He never got flustered.

Yeosang tilted his head, suddenly emboldened by the fact that he had apparently managed to make Jongho feel flustered. "What were you praying for, anyway?"

Jongho sobered, though a ghost of feeling flustered still lingered at the edge of his expression. "Nothing worth repeating," he said lightly. Then, after a pause, "Nothing I’d expect an answer for."

Yeosang frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure why that admission unsettled him, but it did. "Sounds lonely."

Jongho's lips parted slightly, as if the words had actually hit him.

For a moment, the air between them shifted, the playfulness fading into something heavier, something almost fragile.

Jongho straightened, his expression smoothing back into something unreadable. "Loneliness is just quiet with a sharper edge," he said simply. "Sometimes, it helps."

Yeosang let out a slow breath, grateful for the reprieve. "You enjoy it? The silence?"

Jongho hummed. "From time to time. When I need to think."

"About what?"

Jongho’s faint smile faded slightly, something unreadable passing through his gaze. "The things I’ve done," he admitted. "The things I will do."

Yeosang wasn’t sure why that made his chest ache, but it did. "Do you regret them?"

Jongho was quiet for a long moment before answering. "Most of the time," he said simply. "I wish they didn’t have to be done."

The honesty in his voice sent a strange pang through Yeosang, something unsettlingly close to understanding.

Yeosang studied Jongho carefully, his usual guardedness wavering under the weight of those words. It was strange, how easily this man— if he was this New Order enforcer— could make something so violent sound almost... lonely.

“You know, I used to think prayer was about asking for things,” Jongho said, his voice lower now, tinged with a quiet introspection. “When I was younger, I’d go to the temple near my house every morning before school. I’d sit there for hours, hoping someone would hear me. I prayed for my mother to get better, for the pain to stop, for just… one more day with her.”

Yeosang’s breath caught, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t seen the vulnerability creeping up on Jongho like a shadow. But Jongho didn’t seem to notice, his focus still fixed on something faraway.

“When she passed,” Jongho continued, his voice steady but laced with an ache, “I kept praying. I prayed for the grief to leave, for the emptiness to fill, for just one less nightmare. But it didn’t happen. And after a while, I realized I wasn’t praying for answers anymore. I was praying to remember. To hold on. Because the silence after she was gone… it was so loud. So much louder than any prayer I’d ever spoken.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Yeosang felt it like a punch to the chest, the force of it leaving him breathless. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as Jongho finally turned to look at him.

Jongho’s eyes were calm, almost resigned, as if he’d expected Yeosang to recoil. But instead, Yeosang found himself stepping forward, drawn by the quiet pain he saw there. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, the words small but sincere. “I’m really sorry, Jongho.”

Jongho’s gaze flickered, something unnamable crossing his face. For a moment, Yeosang thought he saw a glimmer of tears, but they were gone before he could be sure. Jongho’s mask slid back into place, that smooth, detached smile returning. “Don’t be.” he said, his voice light again.

Yeosang's breath hitched, his mind scrambling for a response. As they stood there, the space between them seemed to shrink, filled with unspoken words and unanswered questions. Yeosang could feel the weight of Jongho's gaze, like a caress on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a moment that felt like an eternity. Choi Jongho was magnetic, and Yeosang felt the pull towards him in his very soul.

Yeosang felt himself tremble as Jongho closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming.

Jongho chuckled quietly, the sound deep and resonant, sending a ripple of warmth through Yeosang's chest. "Tell me, Yeosang... What exactly are you hoping to find here?”

Choi Jongho stood tall, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light, yet there was a grace in his movements that belied his size. His gaze lingered and Yeosang felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Jongho’s presence carried a warmth that made his heart flutter, like the gentle tug of a kite on a windy day.

The faint tremble of Yeosang's lips caught Jongho's attention, a delicate quiver that spoke of unspoken thoughts. Jongho stepped closer, the air thickening with the scent of aged wood and flickering candle wax. "You're shivering," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, like the first notes of a lullaby. "Are you cold, Yeosang?"

Yeosang shook his head, his hair catching the dim light in a way that made it shimmer like silk. "No, I— " he stammered, his voice barely steady. Yeosang's cheeks flushed, a soft pink hue that contrasted with the pale candlelight. He looked away, his lashes casting shadows on his face, but Jongho could see the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips. "I’m just…”

Jongho tilted his head, watching Yeosang with quiet amusement, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face. "Just... what?" he prompted, his voice dipping into something smoother, richer— like a whisper of velvet against bare skin.

Yeosang swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the space between them, or rather, the lack of it. The room, the altar, the silent stone walls— everything else had faded into irrelevance. Only Jongho remained, a steady force that held him captive without even trying.

"I'm just..." Yeosang exhaled sharply, gathering himself, forcing his mind to form coherent words instead of drowning in the weight of Jongho’s gaze. His lips curled slightly, finding their way to an easy smirk. "Trying to decide if you’re flirting with me or just like hearing yourself talk."

Jongho laughed, a deep, melodic sound that sent an unexpected thrill down Yeosang’s spine. "A fair question," he admitted, taking another slow step forward. "Why not both?"

Yeosang huffed a breath of laughter, shaking his head. "Cocky, aren’t you?"

"Confident," Jongho corrected, his lips quirking into a smirk that was entirely too self-assured. "And curious. You still haven’t answered me, Yeosang. What are you hoping to find here?"

Yeosang knew what he should say. That he had come here to think, to escape the gnawing hunger that clawed at his insides, to seek answers he wasn’t even sure he wanted. But under Jongho’s scrutiny, those thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving only the pulse of something warmer, something more dangerous curling low in his stomach.

"Peace." he said eventually, though even to his own ears, it didn’t sound entirely convincing.

Jongho hummed, as if tasting the word on his tongue, testing its weight. "Peace," he echoed. "An elusive thing. Especially for people like us."

Yeosang stiffened slightly, a flicker of wariness crossing his features. "People like us?"

Jongho’s gaze darkened, not unkind but knowing. "Lost. Unsteady. Thirsting for things we can’t fully understand yet." His eyes dropped, just for a second, to Yeosang’s lips before flicking back up, unreadable.

Yeosang felt his breath hitch yet again. The way Jongho spoke— it wasn’t just about blood.

The realization sent a rush of heat through him, unwelcome and thrilling all at once. He squared his shoulders, refusing to let himself be the only one thrown off balance.

"And what is it you thirst for, Jongho?" he asked, voice smooth, measured, despite the way his heart pounded.

Jongho moved. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted a hand, his fingers reaching toward Yeosang’s face.

Yeosang stiffened, his breath catching as Jongho’s fingertips brushed his cheek, featherlight at first, as if giving him a chance to pull away. He didn’t.

Jongho’s touch lingered, the heat of his skin stark against the coolness of Yeosang’s own. His thumb barely ghosted along Yeosang’s jaw, the motion both casual and unbearably precise, as though he were committing every angle to memory.

Yeosang’s pulse hammered beneath his skin, though whether it was from wariness or something dangerously close to anticipation, he couldn’t tell.

“You always look this serious?” Jongho murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, something teasing.

Yeosang blinked, barely managing to drag his thoughts back from the sensation of that touch. “You always invade people’s personal space this easily?”

Jongho smirked, the candlelight catching in his eyes, making them gleam. “Only when they’re interesting enough to get away with it.”

Yeosang scoffed, though the sound came out weaker than he intended.

Jongho’s thumb traced the edge of Yeosang’s cheekbone before dropping away, his touch gone as quickly as it had come. The absence left a strange hollowness in its wake. “I feel like you’re the type of man that has everyone wrapped around your finger.”

Yeosang huffed, crossing his arms. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Jongho hummed, his head tilting slightly. “No. But I’d like to.”

That threw Yeosang off balance more than it should have.

He narrowed his eyes, searching Jongho’s face for any trace of insincerity. The New Order wasn’t known for their kindness, least of all toward fledglings like him. And yet, Jongho stood there, calm and unhurried, looking at Yeosang as if he were something worth figuring out.

Yeosang hated how much he wanted to let him.

“What do you want?” Yeosang asked, voice edged with suspicion. “Why are you being so…” He hesitated, struggling to find the right word.

“Charming?” Jongho offered helpfully.

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “Persistent.”

Jongho chuckled, low and rich, and Yeosang was sure he felt the sound settle in his chest. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just curious?”

“No.”

Jongho grinned. “Smart.”

Yeosang held his ground, even as that grin made something tighten low in his stomach. “So, what do you want, then?”

Jongho’s smirk softened, just enough to make it dangerous. “Right now?” He let the question hang between them for a second before leaning in slightly, lowering his voice. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Yeosang swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were, of how the flickering candlelight played tricks with the shadows, making everything feel smaller. More intimate.

“I’m thinking-” Yeosang said, his voice steady despite the way his heart was betraying him, “that you talk too much.”

Jongho laughed, deep and delighted. “Ah, see, now you’re just trying to distract me.”

“Maybe.” Yeosang admitted.

Jongho tilted his head, watching him closely. “And you think it’s working?”

Yeosang refused to let himself look away. “Not even a little.”

Jongho let out a hum of approval. “Good. I like a challenge.”

Yeosang exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You are a challenge.”

Jongho’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Flattered.”

Yeosang sighed, pressing his lips together before shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Jongho’s grin was wicked. “I prefer irresistible.”

Yeosang groaned, turning away as if to leave, though he didn’t take a step. “I have got to stop talking to you.”

Jongho leaned against the altar, looking maddeningly unbothered. “You say that,” he mused, “but you’re still standing here.”

Yeosang froze, realizing with a rush of frustration that Jongho was right.

Annoying. Infuriating. And far too interesting for his own good.

Yeosang sighed, resigned, and turned back toward him, arms crossed. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or—”

Jongho raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Or?”

Yeosang pursed his lips. “Or… maybe you are irresistible.”

Jongho's smirk froze.

For the first time since this conversation had started, his brain completely short-circuited.

Yeosang had said it so simply, so casually, as if he were just stating a fact. No teasing lilt to his voice, no coy smile— just an honest, quiet admission wrapped in a soft exhale. And that somehow made it ten times worse.

Jongho opened his mouth, then closed it again, then opened it— only for nothing to come out.

And then— goddammit— he felt his face heat up.

Yeosang wasn’t just beautiful. He was dangerous. And he had absolutely no idea.

Yeosang wasn’t supposed to play along. Yeosang was supposed to roll his eyes, call him insufferable, and walk away. Instead, he just stood there, watching Jongho with those dark, unreadable eyes, completely unbothered, like he had no idea that he had just flipped the entire conversation upside down.

Jongho groaned, tipping his head back as if looking to the heavens for help. “You’re impossible.”

Yeosang just shrugged, that same quiet smile still ghosting his lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Jongho sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to leave. Immediately. Before he embarrassed himself any further.

He cleared his throat, scrambling for composure. “Uh—” He tried, but his voice cracked. Cracked. Like an goddamn fledgling with no control over himself.

Yeosang’s lips twitched. “Something wrong?”

Jongho narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him. “You— you did that on purpose.”

Yeosang blinked, feigning innocence. “Did what?”

Jongho scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. He needed a moment. Maybe an entire century. He had dealt with shameless flirtation before, with pretty faces who knew exactly what they were doing—but Yeosang?

Yeosang had no idea the effect he was having. And that was the worst part.

Jongho exhaled sharply. “You’re dangerous.”

Yeosang tilted his head. “More than you?”

Jongho let out a strained chuckle, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know anymore...”

 

Before Yeosang could think of a witty retort, Seonghwa’s voice rang through the empty corridors, sharp and commanding.

“Yeosang?”

Yeosang startled slightly, as if waking from a spell, and turned toward the door. Jongho, for once, said nothing.

He hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how deep he had fallen into the strange, teasing push-and-pull between him and Jongho.

Yeosang glanced back at him, uncertain why he felt so reluctant to leave. But Jongho was watching him, unreadable once more, though something almost amused flickered in his gaze.

"Looks like curfew’s up," Jongho murmured, folding his arms over his chest. "Better run along before you get grounded."

Yeosang huffed. "You’re unbearable."

"And yet, you’re still standing here." Jongho mused, head tilting.

Yeosang groaned, running a hand over his face before turning toward the door. "Try not to spend the rest of the night thinking about me." he threw over his shoulder.

Jongho’s laughter followed him out. "No promises."

With one last glance , Yeosang pushed open the door, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor, heart still unsteady in his chest. And he realized—

He didn’t want him to promise.

Seonghwa’s voice called for him again, closer this time, and he forced himself to focus, to shake off the strange energy still buzzing under his skin.

But even as he walked away, he could feel Jongho’s gaze lingering on him— like a whisper against his spine, a promise of something yet to come.

Chapter 22: Betrayal of the Heart

Notes:

Sorry for not updating for so long but I almost died lol. Spend the last view weeks in and out of hospital until I finally got surgery. But I‘m back to Gay Ateez vampires now and I hope you will still be happy about updates <3 Enjoy.

The door to Seonghwa’s apartment clicked shut behind them, the familiar scent of incense and clean floors wrapping around Yeosang like a comforting blanket. But as Seonghwa set his keys on the hallway table and glanced over at Yeosang, the sense of homecoming was pierced by a palpable tension in the air.

"Yeosang?" Seonghwa questioned, watching his friend's rigid posture, the way his fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"What?" Yeosang muttered, but his eyes darted away too quickly, betraying his nonchalant answer.

Seonghwa studied him, sensing the shift in their bond— a prickling unease that crawled beneath his skin. He reached out, tentatively brushing against the raw edges of Yeosang’s emotions, only to be met with a spike of frustration that recoiled from his touch.

"Talk to me." Seonghwa insisted, stepping closer. He could feel it now, an undercurrent of something dark and turbulent churning within Yeosang, something that had been stirred into life while he’d been distracted talking to Yuna.

"There is nothing to talk about, Seonghwa!" Yeosang snapped, pulling away to pace the length of the living room. His movements were erratic, a physical manifestation of the storm brewing inside him.

But Seonghwa couldn't let it go— the unknown gnawed at him. "You're upset. Is it because of me? Did something happen? What are you not telling me?"

"Upset?" The word seemed to ignite something within Yeosang.

Seonghwa stepped into the dimly lit living room, the hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of the clock on the wall the only sounds breaking the silence. Yeosang lingered by the counter, his back to Seonghwa, the sharp angles of his posture screaming of a man holding himself together by threads.

"Yeosang…" Seonghwa said, his voice low and fragile.

Yeosang didn't turn. His hands rested on the counter, the knuckles pale as he gripped it. Seonghwa could feel it— fractured emotions, jagged and raw, like shattered glass cutting through the bond they shared.

"Why?" Yeosang suddenly snapped, his voice sharp as he spun around. His eyes, usually bright, were now dark and stormy, like a man drowning in a sea he couldn't escape. "Why did San turn me and not you?"

Seonghwa froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow to the chest. He could feel the weight of the question, the unspoken accusation. "Yeosang—"

"No!" Yeosang cut him off, slamming his fists on the counter. The sound echoed through the apartment, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had stopped. "You swore to guide me, to be there for me, but you won't even answer that!"

Seonghwa took a step forward, but Yeosang's expression stopped him cold. It was a mix of pain and anger, of betrayal and confusion. "I—"

"You’re keeping all these things from me, Seonghwa," Yeosang said, his voice cracking. "And I can’t live like this. It’s all to much. I need to know."

The words cut deep, and Seonghwa felt the familiar sting of guilt. He could feel the emotions through the bond, the fractured pieces of Yeosang's heart, and it was unbearable. He wanted to explain, to tell him the truth, but the words caught in his throat.

"Why?" Yeosang repeated, his voice softer now, but no less piercing. "Why him and not you?"

Seonghwa's hand instinctively went to his mouth, his fingers brushing against his upper lip. The memory of that day flashed through his mind— the pain, the blood, the fear. He couldn't look at Yeosang, couldn't meet his eyes. "I... I couldn’t." he quietly admitted, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Yeosang laughed, a harsh, hollow sound. "You couldn’t? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The tension in the room was suffocating, and Seonghwa could feel the bond between them straining, threatening to snap. He wanted to fix it, to tell Yeosang the truth, but the fear kept him silent.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Seonghwa finally whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

"Hurt me?" Yeosang laughed, harsh and bitter. "You let him turn me, knowing what it would do! You're just as guilty as San! And you couldn’t even do it yourself?"

The accusation stung. Seonghwa's grip on his wrist tightened, his fingers pressing down on the scars that had never vanished. They were throbbing as if they were alive. He wanted to explain, to justify, but the words caught in his throat yet again.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. Seonghwa’s breath hitched and he fumbled with the edge of his sleeve. His hand tremed as he reached up, his fingers brushing against his lips again before he hesitated, then pulled down on his lower jaw with a quiet click. The sound was unnatural, a stark contrast to the tense silence that had fallen between them. Without a word, he pulled out the false canines on the upper row of his teeth, the prosthetics gleaming faintly in the dim light of the apartment. He placed them carefully in the palm of his hand, the ceramic clicking softly against each other as he reached his hand out towards Yeosang.

Yeosang’s eyes widened, confusion replacing the anger in his expression. “What—”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, revealing the jagged remains of what once were. The stumps of his fangs, mangled and misshapen, protruded unevenly from his gums. They had tried to regrow, to heal, but the damage was too deep.

Yeosang’s eyes widened as he took in the sight, his expression shifting from anger to shock to something deeper, more sorrowful. He stared, frozen, as the realization sank in. He took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Seonghwa’s mouth as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Seonghwa…” he whispered, the name trembling on his lips.

“Hunters…” Seonghwa whispered, the word barely audible. Seonghwa’s chest heaved as he struggled to speak, the words clawing their way up his throat like thorns. “They found me,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “They knew what I was, and they… they took my fangs. Ripped them out with iron pliers. They thought it would make me human again, but they were wrong.”

“Oh, God, Seonghwa—”

Seonghwa turned away, unable to meet Yeosang’s gaze. The memory was fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. He could still feel the cold steel of the hunter’s pliers biting into his fangs, the sound of crunching bone as they were ripped from his gums. He had screamed until his voice was raw, until the world went dark and he was left with nothing but agony and shame.

Until San had come.

Yeosang’s eyes filled with horror, and he reached out involuntarily, his hand hovering near Seonghwa’s face. “Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Seonghwa, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I didn’t mean to—”

He glanced back at Yeosang, who was staring at the false teeth as if they were a gruesome artifact from another lifetime. “I would have turned you, if I could have.” Seonghwa continued, his voice weak and strained. “But I can’t turn anyone. Can’t sire any fledglings. I had to… adapt. The fangs tried to regrow, but they never healed right. That’s why I’ve been—” He gestured to his mouth, the gesture incomplete but understood.

Yeosang’s eyes were full of sorrow.“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice gentler now, tinged with regret.

Seonghwa’s laugh was hollow, the sound echoing bitterly in the small space. “Because I was ashamed. And because I didn’t want you to see me like this.” He gestured to his mouth. “Broken. Weak. Not the strong, unshakable friend you thought I was.”

Seonghwa's hands trembled as he carefully replaced the prosthetics, trying to conceal the pitiful remnants of his mangled fangs. The task was delicate, each movement deliberate and filled with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. The artificial canine teeth gleamed in the dim light, a stark contrast to the jagged stubs that lay beneath, a haunting reminder of what had been lost.

Yeosang’s gaze met his, and for the first time, Seonghwa saw understanding in those stormy eyes. “You’re not weak,” Yeosang said, his voice steady. “You’re just… hurt.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Seonghwa interjected, his tone sharper than he intended. “You didn’t live through it. You don’t know what it’s like to be… less than what you were.”

Yeosang’s eyes snapped up, his gaze piercing. “Less than what you were?” He repeated, his voice soft but laced with unspoken pain. “Is that what you think? That you’re less because of this?”

Seonghwa flinched, the words striking a raw nerve. He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, as the truth bubbled up in him like poison. He had always felt broken, incomplete, ever since that day in the woods. The hunters had taken more than his fangs. They had taken his pride, his confidence, his sense of self. His ability to sire anyone— anyone except… him.

Yeosang took a step closer, his movements cautious but deliberate. “Seonghwa,” he said, his voice gentle now, a balm to the raw emotions between them. “Look at me.”

Seonghwa hesitated, then finally met Yeosang’s gaze. What he saw there was not pity or disgust, but something far more unsettling— Love. Care. Empathy. And beneath it all, a flicker of guilt.

“I’m sorry I exploded on you,” Yeosang said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I had no idea. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

Seonghwa shook his head, the gesture small but firm. “You don’t have to imagine. You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of sorrow and determination. “But I do. Because I pushed you, because I didn’t give you the chance to explain. And now… now I have to know more.”

Seonghwa’s heart sank. “What- what do you need to know?”

Yeosang's eyes met his, a storm of sorrow and pain. "I heard you talking to Yuna," Yeosang whispered, his voice trembling. "About Hongjoong."

The name cut through Seonghwa like a blade. He recoiled, clutching his wrist where the scars lay hidden beneath his sleeve. Memories of that fateful night surged— Hongjoong's scream, the blood-soaked dagger, the irreversible transformation.

He turned sharply away, his back rigid as he struggled to breathe. His fingers tightened around the scars on his wrist, the pressure a vain attempt to stem the flood of memories that Yeosang’s words had unleashed. “Don’t!” he whispered, the word trembling like a leaf in a storm. “Don’t say his name. Don’t ask about him.”

Yeosang’s gaze followed him, his expression softening into a mix of hurt and confusion. He had never seen Seonghwa like this— broken, vulnerable, shattered by the weight of something he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Seonghwa,” Yeosang said finally, his voice tentative but insistent. “Who is Hongjoong?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring Seonghwa to confront the ghosts he had spent years burying. Seonghwa’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles pale as he gripped the edge of the dresser. He could feel the memories rising, swirling around him like a maelstrom, threatening to pull him under. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember the ache in his chest or the way his heart had shattered into a million pieces.

Seonghwa’s sudden laughter was bitter, the sound scraping against his raw nerves. “Who is he? He’s the one who ruined me, Yeosang!”

Yeosang’s expression faltered, but he didn’t back down. “You’re not ruined, Hyung.” he said, his voice steady. “You’re—”

“Enough.” Seonghwa hissed, his voice low and rough, like sandpaper scraping against stone.

But Yeosang didn’t back down. Instead, he took another step closer, his presence warm and unyielding. “You can’t keep running from this,” Yeosang said, his voice firm but gentle. “You can’t keep shutting me out. I wantx— I need to understand. I need to know.”

Seonghwa’s voice was bitter and harsh as it echoed through the room. “You think you could understand?” he spat, his voice rising. “You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You don’t know what you’re asking for!”

Yeosang’s face softened, but his determination didn’t waver. He took another step closer, his voice tinged with a sorrow that made Seonghwa’s chest ache. “You’re in pain because of him, aren’t you? That’s why you’re like this, why you’re so broken. Seonghwa, I would do anything for you. If I could, I would kill him—”

“Kill him?” Seonghwa repeated, the word spitting out like venom. “He would rip you to shreds before you would even know he’s there. He’s neither human nor Vampire. You don’t know anything about him. About us.”

Yeosang’s jaw clenched, his stormy eyes flashing with frustration. “Then tell me!” he demanded, his voice low but unyielding. “If you don’t want me to stumble in the dark and ask all these questions, then tell me the truth. Who the hell is Hongjoong to you?”

Seonghwa’s hands dropped, his eyes meeting Yeosang’s. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Then, with a quiet resignation, Seonghwa spoke.

“He was my everything,” he said, each word dragging out of him like a confession. “My soulmate, my other half… the love of my life. We were supposed to be together, forever. But he betrayed me. He joined the hunters, Yeosang.”

Yeosang’s face paled, his breath catching as the full weight of Seonghwa’s pain settled over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Seonghwa cut him off with a harsh, brittle laugh. “The Hunters? The same ones that ripped out your fangs?”

“It was centuries before Hongjoong was even born. But it was the same organisation. And he knew that. He knew what they did to me.” Seonghwa voice was dark, the pain and betrayal making his vision swim. “You want to kill him? Don’t bother. He’s already dead to me. But even if he weren’t…” Seonghwa’s voice broke, the crack running deep. “Even if he weren’t, I couldn’t let you do that. Because no matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt me… he was still the love of my life.”

The words tumbled out like a confession, each one sharper than the last. Seonghwa’s hands shook as tears started to well in his eyes.

 

Yeosang’s heart twisted in his chest as he watched Seonghwa’s composure crumble. The pain etched into his best friend’s face was unbearable, a stark contrast to the composed, stoic person he had always known. Without thinking, Yeosang moved, his feet carrying him closer as if drawn by an unseen force.

He wanted to pull Seonghwa into his arms, to hold him and tell him everything would be okay, even if it felt like a lie, his movements filled with the urgency of a man desperate to mend what was broken.

But in his haste, his elbow brushed against the delicate pot that held Seonghwa’s beloved fern plant.

The plant teetered for a moment, its ceramic home wavering precariously before crashing to the floor in a symphony of breaking pottery and scattered soil. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and jarring, like the crack in Seonghwa’s voice when he spoke of Hongjoong.

The echo of the crash of ceramic shattering against hardwood cut through the heavy air. Seonghwa’s favorite plant, its soil spilling across the floor, lay broken. Yeosang froze, his chest heaving, as though the accident had snapped him out of his desperation. For a moment, there was only the faint tremble of Seonghwa’s breath and the soft trickle of dirt falling from the fractured pot.

“Fuck, Prince Leafington—” Yeosang cursed.

Then, something glinted in the dim light.

Seonghwa’s stomach twisted as he stepped closer. Among the roots and scattered soil, the dagger lay exposed. Its blade, once polished to a gleam, was now tarnished, but the penitential runes etched along its length still shimmered faintly, as though lit by an unseen fire. His fingers twitched, a magnetic pull drawing him to it, though every part of him screamed to turn away.

“Seonghwa, I—” Yeosang started, his voice softening, but Seonghwa wasn’t listening.

He knelt, the cold floor biting into his knees. His hand reached out, hesitant, as though the dagger might burn him. When his fingers finally brushed the metal, a jolt of icy pain shot through his arm. Memories surged, uninvited, relentless.

Hongjoong’s face filled his vision, his eyes so dull and empty as Seonghwa had let the blade cut into his wrist. Blood, hot and sticky, dripping into a waiting mouth. Then, the transformation— Hongjoong’s body arching, his eyes wide with terror, his skin pale and clammy as the life drained from him.

The vision faded, leaving Seonghwa gasping. He jerked his hand back, but the memory of the dagger’s weight lingered, a phantom ache in his palm. He stared at it, his mind racing. Why had he kept it all these years? Why had he hidden it in the one place that brought him peace?

“Seonghwa…” Yeosang said again, his voice tentative, but Seonghwa didn’t look up.

He reached for the dagger once more, his touch tentative this time. The runes seemed to pulse, as though they too remembered. His thumb traced the symbols, each one a reminder of the vows he’d broken and the oaths he’d sworn. The weight of the blade was familiar, a bitter comfort he couldn’t explain.

“What is this?” Yeosang asked, his voice closer now.

Seonghwa flinched, his grip tightening around the dagger. “Don’t touch it!” he growled, his voice low and sharp.

Yeosang’s shadow loomed over him, but Seonghwa didn’t dare meet his eyes. “I don’t understand? You’re the one who’s been hiding everything! This—” Yeosang gestured to the dagger, his hand shaking. “Why is it here?”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. He could feel the memories pressing in again, the sting of the blade, the look in Hongjoong’S eyes as Seonghwa’s blood had dripped into his mouth. “It’s nothing.” he lied, his voice trembling.

Yeosang’s breath hitched. “Nothing? You’re holding it like it’s the only thing that matters to you!”

“It’s not about that!” Seonghwa snapped, his voice rising. “You wouldn’t understand. You can’t possibly—”

He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. Yeosang’s hurt expression cut through him, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain. How could he? How could he admit what he’d done, what he’d become?

Yeosang’s gaze dropped to the dagger, and for a moment, Seonghwa thought he saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “You still love him, don’t you?” Yeosang’s voice was a soft, low whisper, causing goosebumps to cover Seonghwa’s arms.

Seonghwa's grip on the dagger tightened, his knuckles white with tension. He could feel the familiar sting of tears, but they wouldn't fall. Instead, they burned inside him, a fire of regret and sorrow. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that came was a raw, anguished growl.

Seonghwa surged to his feet, the dagger almost slipping from his grasp. He staggered towards his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding crash. He leaned against it, his heart pounding in his ears, and slid to the floor.

In the silence, Yeosang's whisper echoed, a fragile plea— "Forgive me."

But the door remained closed, a testament to the chasm between them, each trapped in their own isolation.

The silence in the apartment was oppressive, punctuated only by the steady tick of the clock on the wall.

Yeosang sat amidst the scattered remains of Seonghwa’s favorite plant. The weight of what he must have made Seonghwa relive made him nauseous.

He tried to stand, but his legs felt like lead, unresponsive to his will. The room around him seemed to close in, the walls pressing against his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. The dagger, once a tool of transformation, now felt like a curse, its engraved runes a reminder of his past.

"Fuck." he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips. His mind raced, a whirlwind of guilt and fear. He thought of Seonghwa, of the pain he had caused him. All because he hadn’t been ready to hear all of these truths, but has pressed on relentless.

Chapter 23: The New Order Strikes

Notes:

Not important for the story but a general update:

So I thought I was good. Turns out- nah. Did any of y’all ever had gallbladder stones? Wouldn’t recommend. I’m back with -1 organ. Sorry to keep you all hanging so long. I thought I was dying or giving birth but apparently not lol. Pleases tell me if you still like this story or have lost interest!

 

Trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of violence mwah <3

The rain fell in relentless sheets, shrouding the city in a dismal gray mist that clung to every surface like a damp shroud. It was the kind of evening that made one want to retreat into the warmth of a fireside, to lose themselves in the comforting glow of a book or the gentle hum of music. But there was no comfort to be found tonight, not for San, who stood in the dimly lit living room of his hanok, his phone pressed tightly against his ear. The voice on the other end was calm, as always, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in Yoongi’s tone that San couldn’t ignore.

“They’re moving tonight,” Yoongi said, his words crisp and precise, as if each syllable had been carefully weighed before being spoken. “The New Order has set their sights on one of the Humanist safe houses. We need you and Seonghwa there as soon as possible.”

San’s jaw tightened as he glanced toward the bedroom door, his mind immediately going to Wooyoung, who was still deep asleep, peacefully laying in his bed. The last thing he wanted to do was leave him alone, not now, not after everything they had been through. But he knew better than to hesitate. The Humanists were counting on him, and so were the innocent lives at risk.

“I’ll be there.” San said finally, his voice low and even, though the reluctance lingered in the words like a shadow.

“Good,” Yoongi replied. “Be careful, San. We don’t know hat will await us. Taecyeon isn’t one to underestimate.”

With that, the line went dead, and San was left standing in the silence of his house, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. He took a deep breath, then turned and made his way to the bedroom, the soft creak of the door announcing his presence.

Wooyoung was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, his eyes fixed on the door as if he had been waiting for San to appear.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and resignation, as if he already knew the answer.

San hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe as he struggled with the words. “There’s going to be an attack,” he said finally. “The New Order is targeting a Humanist safe house. I have to go.”

Wooyoung’s face was accentuated by the low light of the room as he sat up straight, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of fear and determination. “What?” he asked, his voice low and tight, as if the words themselves were a struggle to release. “You can’t just leave. It’s not safe.”

San stepped further into the room, his movements precise and controlled, though the faintest flicker of hesitation danced in his eyes. He had expected this— had known Wooyoung would react this way. But he had steeled himself for it, his resolve hardened by the weight of the conversation he had shared with Yoongi a view days ago. The memory of Yoongi’s words echoed in his mind.

“I have to go,” San said, his voice steady, though the softness of his tone betrayed the depth of his conflicted emotions. He reached out, his hand brushing against Wooyoung’s, only to hesitate before pulling back. “This isn’t just about the Humanists. Innocent lives are at risk. I can’t let that happen.”

Wooyoung’s laugh was sharp, utterly humorless, and it cut through the heavy silence like a blade. “Innocent lives? Are you kidding me? You’re talking about throwing yourself into a war zone, and you’re worried about other people’s safety? What about yours? What about-”

He slid out of bed in one fluid motion, his bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floor as he crossed the room in quick, agitated strides. His dark hair was a mess, his eyes wild with a desperation. It was a desperation that made San‘s chest tighten, that made him want to reach out, to pull Wooyoung close and never let him go. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Don’t do this,” Wooyoung pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion as he grabbed San’s arm, his fingers digging deep into the fabric of his sleeve. “Stay here. Stay with me. Let the others handle it. You don’t have to be the one who always puts themselves in danger.”

San turned to face him, his expression softening despite himself. He reached up, his fingers brushing against Wooyoung’s cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “You know I can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “If I don’t go, who will? If I don’t fight, who will protect everything we all have worked for?”

“You’re always so quick to protect everyone else, but what about yourself? What about me? Don’t I matter to you?” Wooyoung shot back, his voice rising, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fear and anger.

San’s heart twisted at the accusation, at the raw vulnerability in Wooyoung’s voice. He pulled Wooyoung into him, wrapping his arms tightly around his slender frame, holding him close as if he could physically keep him anchored to the present, to safety. “You matter more than anything. That’s why I have to go.” he whispered, his breath warm against Wooyoung’s ear.

San’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. Wooyoung’s gaze locked onto San’s, his dark eyes narrowing as if he could will the truth to change. The faintest flicker of fear danced in their depths, but it was quickly overshadowed by a stubborn determination. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet dangling as he leaned forward, his voice low and urgent.

Wooyoung hesitated of a long moment. He knew San was strong, one of the eldest Vampires. But he still couldn’t shake the images of San, collapsed of the floor, the poison of Daewon’s Blade coursing through his veins. He was scared, terrified even that San could get hurt again— or worse. But beside that, he swallowed and nodded, though the faintest flicker of fear crossed his eyes. “Be careful. Please. I can’t loose you.” he said softly.

San smiled, though it felt forced. His fingers brushing against Wooyoung’s cheek again, the touch sending a surge of emotion through him. “I will.” he promised. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Wooyoung’s lips curved into a weak smile, but San could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. He leaned in, his lips meeting Wooyoung’s in a brief, tender kiss, a silent vow of his return.

With one last look, San stood and left the house, the rain swallowing him whole as he disappeared into the night.

 

 

The streets were eerily quiet as San made his way to the safe house, the location Yoongi had send him leading him deep into the guts of the city. The rain-soaked pavement glistened under the faint glow of the streetlights and the air was thick with the scent of wet earth and a stormy electricity that seemed to hum in the back of his throat. He could feel the weight of the coming battle settling in his bones, a familiar tension that he had grown all too accustomed to over the years.

When he arrived, Seonghwa was already there, his elegant form standing out against the drak, unremarkable facade of the safe house. His hair was pulled back, and his eyes gleamed with a sharp intensity, though there was a faint tiredness in their depths, a quiet worry that San recognized all too well.

“Any word from Yoongi?” San asked, falling into step beside him as they approached the entrance.

Seonghwa shook his head. “Not since he call. But the scouts report that the New Order is mobilizing as we speak. They won’t hold back.”

San grimaced, his hand instinctively going to the dagger at his side. “They never do.”

The safe house was a nondescript building, its interior sparsely furnished but heavily fortified. The vampires inside were huddled together in the center of the main room, their faces pale and frightened as the sounds of distant shouts and clashing metal began to filter through the walls. San and Seonghwa exchanged a glance, their unspoken understanding a testament to the bond they shared.

 

And then, without warning, the world erupted into chaos.

 

A violent maelstrom of noise and destruction hit them, and San drew his dagger.

The initial explosion thundered through the building, its sheer force sending tremors through the floor like a seismic wave. San’s heart pounded fiercely in his chest as he swiftly positioned himself between the Vampires and the door, his dagger catching the scant light and casting a sharp, metallic gleam. Beside him, Seonghwa moved with him, his own sword drawn, his movements a symphony of fluid grace and precision.

They fought against the onslaught of enemies with practiced ferocity, their bond syncing their movements and making them a deadly force.

 

But it wasn't merely the New Order they were contending with. Amidst the relentless cacophony of battle, the sound of familiar voices pierced through the chaos, causing San’s breath to hitch. His eyes followed Seonghwa's gaze, widening in disbelief as he saw the shock mirrored in Seonghwa’s eyes.

There, in the midst of the carnage, stood Kim Hongjoong.

Seonghwa’s former lover and friend, who was now among the ranks of the Hunters, stood before him, a figure both familiar and unsettling. His usual charm had given way to an icy resolve, and as his eyes met Seonghwa’s, the world seemed to pause around the

The air between them throbbed with tension, a living entity heavy with unspoken words and lingering pain. Seonghwa’s grip on his weapon tightened, his breathing shallow and uneven as he grappled with the dissonance between the man he once cherished and the adversary now confronting him.

Hongjoong’s lips twisted into a smirk, his tone a mix of smoothness and derision. “Long time, no see, Seonghwa. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, his voice low and deadly. “What the fuck are you doing here?“

For a moment, it seemed as though the world might implode under the weight of their unresolved history. But then, without warning, Hongjoong lunged, his weapon flashing in the light.

Seonghwa recoiled, his body jolting with shock. But Hongjoong's attack wasn't directed at him. Instead, the silver blade in Hongjoong's hand plunged savagely into the throat of a Vampire from the new Order standing just behind Seonghwa. The Vampire emitted a grotesque gurgle, blood pouring like a crimson waterfall from his lips, before Hongjoong severed his head in one brutal, fluid motion.

Inside Seonghwa, a maelstrom of emotions raged, a chaotic tempest that threatened to pull him under. Yet, there was no time to lose himself in the chaos; the battlefield demanded nothing but action. So he fought with a fierce determination, his every movement a deadly ballet of precision, his resolve as unyielding as steel.

As for Hongjoong, the smirk never left his face, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something that looked almost like regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the cold, calculating Hunter in its wake.

 

The battle raged with a ferocity that seemed to shake the very earth, the air heavy with the deafening clang of clashing metal and the tormented screams of the fallen. San moved like a force of nature, his every action a display of ruthless precision, his dagger a blur of death slicing through enemy ranks as effortlessly as a blade through silk. Yet, amid the chaos and carnage, his thoughts were inexorably drawn to Wooyoung, to the solemn oath he had sworn, and to the fragile life he had pledged to shield from harm.

The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of sweat as Seonghwa and Hongjoong fought side by side, their movements a begrudging harmony born of necessity rather than trust. The dim light of the safe house flickered unevenly, casting long shadows that danced across the walls like phantasms, as if the very spirits of the fallen had risen to witness the carnage. The sound of clashing steel echoed through the room, a relentless symphony of violence that seemed to reverberate deep within their bones.

Seonghwa’s sword sliced through the chaos, each strike precise and deadly, his movements a testament to centuries of honed skill. Yet, despite the danger that surrounded them, his attention kept drifting to the man beside him, his former lover turned adversary. Hongjoong’s once carefree spirit was now shrouded in an aura of brooding intensity, his sharp features illuminated by the dim light as he fought with a ferocity that Seonghwa could hardly reconcile with the man he once knew. The familiar grace of Hongjoong’s movements was still there, but it was now laced with a cold, calculated precision that sent a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine.

Aamidst the chaos, moments of forced proximity brewed a storm of emotions. A shared glance, fleeting but charged, spoke volumes of what lay unspoken. Seonghwa's heart raced as Hongjoong's shoulder brushed against his, the touch igniting a fire of conflicting emotions. He could feel the heat of Hongjoong's breath on his neck, sending shivers down his spine despite the anger that clenched his fists. Hongjoong, too, felt the familiar spark, his resolve wavering as his eyes met Seonghwa's, the depth of which could drown a man.

Hongjoong, for his part, was acutely aware of Seonghwa’s gaze. He could feel the weight of it, like a physical touch that burned against his skin. But he refused to meet it, his eyes locked instead on the enemies before them, his jaw set in a determination that bordered on defiance. The tension between them was palpable, a living, breathing thing that crackled with the same volatile energy as the battle itself.

 

As the fight raged on, the New Order’s forces seemed endless, wave after wave of vampires and humans alike descending upon them with a cruelty that tested even Seonghwa’s formidable skills. The walls were splattered with blood, the floor slick with it, and the air was thick with the sickening stench of death. There was something tragically familiar in the way Hongjoong moved, a lingering echo of the past that Seonghwa could not ignore.

The battle reached its crescendo as a towering figure emerged from the shadows, a New Order enforcer whose brute strength and sheer size made him a formidable opponent. His eyes glowed with an unnatural hunger, his fangs bared in a snarl as he charged toward them with reckless abandon. Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged another fleeting glance.

The enforcer was a mountain of muscle and malice, his broad frame radiating an aura of unchecked brutality. His skin was deathly pale, stretched taut over bulging veins that seemed to pulse with unnatural strength. His eyes, a sickly yellow, glowed with feral intensity, and his massive fangs were smeared with the blood of previous victims. He let out a guttural roar, the sound reverberating through the room like thunder, as he charged toward Seonghwa and Hongjoong with reckless abandon.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong barely had time to react. The enforcer’s first swing was a wild, arcing blow that could have crushed a man’s skull with a single impact. Seonghwa leaped back, his sword raised in a desperate attempt to block the attack. The force of the enforcer’s strike sent a shockwave through Seonghwa’s arm, the vibrations numbing his fingers. He stumbled, his footing unsure, as the enforcer pressed his advantage.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong were forced to split apart, their fragile alliance shattered by the sheer force of the attack. Seonghwa ducked beneath the enforcer’s wild swing, his sword flashing upward in a deadly arc that bit deep into the vampire’s forearm. The enforcer bellowed in pain but barely faltered, his momentum unchecked as he swung again, the blade of his crude battle-axe slicing through the air with a deafening whoosh.

Hongjoong leapt back just in time, his agility belying the exhaustion that weighed him down. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, but the momentary reprieve was short-lived. The enforcer turned on him, his axe swinging in a murderous arc that would have cleaved Hongjoong in two if not for Seonghwa’s intervening strike. Seonghwa’s sword bit into the enforcer’s shoulder, but the monster merely grunted, his eyes blazing with feral intent as he swung wildly, forcing Seonghwa to retreat.

Hongjoong darted forward again, his dagger flashing in the dim light as he aimed for the enforcer’s chest. The blade sank deep into flesh, but the enforcer’s response was a brutal backhanded swipe that caught Hongjoong across the jaw. He staggered, blood spraying from his mouth as he fell to one knee. Seonghwa’s heart twisted in a vice of fear as he watched, his mind screaming with a chaos of emotion.

Hongjoong dashed to the side. The enforcer roared again, swatting Hongjoong aside like an insect. Hongjoong’s body hit the wall with a sickening thud, the sound of cracking ribs echoing through the room. He slid to the floor, gasping for breath, his face pale and clammy with pain.

Before he could react, the enforcer raised his axe, poised to deliver the final blow.

In a movement so swift it defied thought, Seonghwa flung himself in front of Hongjoong, his sword raised not to attack but to shield. The axe came down with a thunderous crash, the force of the impact reverberating through the blade and into his very bones. Seonghwa gritted his teeth against the pain, his vision blurring at the edges as the enforcer leaned into the strike, his hot breath reeking of bloodlust.

“Get out of here!” Seonghwa barked, his voice raw with strain, his eyes meeting Hongjoong’s for a fleeting, charged moment. Hongjoong’s gaze widened, a mixture of shock and something far deeper flickering in those expressive eyes. For a moment, they were no longer warriors locked in battle but two souls bound by a shared history, a history that Seonghwa would give his life to protect.

The enforcer growled, pulling back his axe for another strike, and in that moment, Seonghwa knew he could hold the line no longer. His strength was waning, his body screaming for respite, but his resolve never wavered. He would not let Hongjoong fall. Not again.

 

Across the room, the sound of San’s anguished scream tore through the chaos, a raw, guttural sound that sent a shiver down Hongjoong’s spine. San was locked in his own desperate battle, his blade slicing through the New Order members with deadly precision, but his movements were wild, erratic, as if driven by something primal and uncontrollable. His bond with Seonghwa pulsed like an open wound, the connection between them bleeding with every blow they exchanged.

In that moment, the world seemed to narrow to a single point: survival. But as the enforcer raised his axe once more, Seonghwa steeled himself for what was to come, his heart heavy with the knowledge.

Hongjoong’s breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to get to his feet desperately, his body screaming in protest. Blood dripped from his split lip, staining the floor beneath him as he locked eyes with Seonghwa. “Seonghwa!” he cried out, his voice raw and panicked, cracking with a mix of fear and something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

Before Hongjoong could move, before Seonghwa even form a single thought, a low, resonant growl echoed through the room.

The sound sent a shiver coursing through even the feral enforcer, his gaze flickering toward the doorway. Seonghwa and Hongjoong followed the shift in attention, their breaths catching as two figures stepped into the fray, their presence as commanding as it was terrifying.

Yoongi’s silver eyes gleamed like polished steel in the dim light, his posture effortlessly elegant even as his claws extended with lethal precision. Beside him, Jungkook moved with the fluidity of a predator, his massive frame coiled with restrained power, his weapon at the ready. The enforcer growled, baring his teeth, but the weight of their arrival pressed heavily on the room, a palpable shift in power that even the monster could not ignore.

The enforcer’s head snapped to the side, his eyes widening in surprise as a clawed hand burst through his throat from behind, ripping apart flesh and bone with lethal precision. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, and the enforcer’s body crumpled to the ground with a wet, lifeless thud.

Yoongi had moved so quickly, it had been impossible to follow his movements. His silver eyes were cold and unyielding as he withdrew his claws. His sharp jaw was set, his expression a mask of calculated ferocity.

The enforcer stumbled, his axe slipping from his grasp. But before he could fall, Jungkook was upon him, his weapon slicing through the air with a deadly whine.

The enforcer’s guttural roar turned into a choked sound as Jungkook’s blade bit into his side, the strike brutal and unrelenting. The enforcer’s body jerked violently, his limbs flailing as Jungkook wrenched the weapon free, only to bury it again with ruthless efficiency. The room echoed with the wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing and bone crunching, each blow delivered with a ferocity that left no doubt of the outcome. The enforcer’s body crumpled to the floor, his movements ceasing abruptly as Jungkook stood over him, his chest heaving, his weapon dripping with blood.

Yoongi turned to Seonghwa, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes betraying a flicker of concern. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice softening ever so slightly. Seonghwa shook his head, though his breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding the line. His gaze met Hongjoong’s, who still was crumpled on the floor, his face pale and streaked with blood, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and pain.

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa rasped, his voice barely audible over the din of his own heartbeat. He reached out a trembling hand.

Jungkook’s eyes locked onto Seonghwa immediately, his gaze burning with a protective intensity. He moved with a fluid grace that belied the brutality of his actions, his sword slicing through the remaining New Order members with deadly efficiency. His strikes were precise, calculated, each movement designed to end lives quickly and quietly.

 

Hongjoong’s gaze snapped up to meet Seonghwa’s, and for a moment, the world around them melted away. The pain, the blood, the chaos— it all faded into the background as they stared at each other, the weight of their past pressing down on them like a physical force.

The walls of the hideout were smeared with the remnants of battle, chunks of plaster missing where blades had bitten deep, and the air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood. San moved through the carnage with the precision of a storm, his fangs bared, his eyes gleaming with a feral, golden light that belied the calm calculation in his mind. Beside him, Jungkook fought with the disciplined precision of a warrior honed by centuries of conflict, his massive frame a blur of power as he cut down any who dared stand in their path. Together, they were a deathly duo, their movements synchronized by some unspoken understanding, their presence a dreadful harbinger of doom for the New Order forces.

San’s blade sliced through the neck of a snarling enforcer, the vampire’s head rolling grotesquely to the floor. His chest heaved as he paused for a moment, his sharp gaze scanning the room to ensure no threats remained. The enforcer’s body slumped to the ground, joining the growing pile of corpses that littered the room. The New Order’s losses were staggering, their numbers decimated by the combined onslaught of the Humanists, but the victory was bitter. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the walls seemed to echo with the final, gurgling breaths of the fallen.

As the last of the New Order members fell, the room fell silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the victors and the faint moans of the wounded. San stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his blade dripping with the blood of his enemies. His eyes, cold and unyielding, scanned the room, ensuring that no threat remained. Jungkook, ever vigilant, moved to his side, his weapon still at the ready, his gaze sweeping the shadows for any sign of danger.

 

Jungkook stepped over the body of a young vampire, her face frozen in a permanent snarl. He turned to San, his expression grim. “This wasn’t their main force,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “They were holding back.”

San’s jaw tightened as he sheathed his blade, his movements precise and controlled. “This feels like a set up!” he agreed, his voice cold and laced with a warning. His eyes flickered to the doorway, his mind already racing ahead, piecing together the fragments.

 

Behind them, Seonghwa knelt beside Hongjoong, his hands trembling as he pressed a cloth to the wound on the younger man’s side. Hongjoong’s breathing was shallow, his pale face streaked with sweat and blood, but his sharp, expressive eyes met Seonghwa’s with a mixture of pain and defiance. “You should have stayed out of this-” Hongjoong rasped, his voice weak but laced with a familiar fire.

Seonghwa’s lips tightened, his fangs pressing against them as he struggled to contain the surge of rage and guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. “And let you die?” he retorted, his voice low and sharp.

The air was heavy with the acrid stench of blood and sweat, the metallic tang clinging to every surface like a curse. San’s golden eyes flickered through the dim light of the hideout, his senses on high alert as he turned to Yoongi.

The room was a mess of bloodied bodies and splintered wood, the walls smeared with crimson handprints. His eyes lingered on a particularly still form near the far wall— a vampire, broken and bloodied, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. San’s memory flashed back to the battle; he was certain he’d seen the vampire fall, his body motionless as the fight raged on. But now, as he watched, the vampire’s chest shifted imperceptibly, a shallow rise and fall that spoke of life where there should have been none.

San’s instincts screamed at him to move, but his body felt heavy, as though rooted to the spot. The vampire’s head twitched, his dark eyes snapping open with a feral gleam. San’s golden gaze met the vampire’s yellow ones, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, the vampire moved— fast, impossibly fast, his broken limbs disregarded in a desperate surge of strength.

San spun, his blade flashing in the dim light as he tried to turn, but the vampire was already on him, fangs bared in a snarl. The vampire’s arms wrapped around San’s torso, his grip like a vice as he wrenched him backward. San’s breath caught in his throat as the vampire’s fangs sank into the soft flesh at the base of his neck, the pain sharp and blinding. The world around him exploded into a chaos of color and sound, his vision blurring at the edges.

He could feel the vampire’s hot breath against his skin, the wet, pulsing grip of his fangs as they tore into the muscle. San’s hands clawed at the vampire’s throat, his nails digging deep into the flesh, but the vampire’s grip only tightened. A low, guttural growl rumbled in the vampire’s chest, his body trembling with effort as he pulled San closer, his fangs sinking deeper into the wound.

San’s mind flashed to Wooyoung, to the fragile bond between them, to the thought of leaving him behind. The fear surged through him like a wildfire, igniting a primal fury that eclipsed the pain. With a roar, San surged forward, his body twisting violently as he slammed the vampire into the nearest wall. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the room as the vampire’s grip faltered, his fangs pulling free with a sickening tear of flesh.

The others turned in an instant, their eyes widening in shock as San stumbled forward, blood streaming down his chest. Jungkook moved first, his massive form barreling toward the vampire with a deadly roar.

Yoongi moved with a speed that belied his elegant demeanor, his dark form blurring as he intercepted Jungkook just as the larger man was about to deliver the final blow. His gloved hand clamped down on Jungkook’s wrist, his grip unyielding.

“Wait!” Yoongi commanded, his voice low but authoritative. Jungkook’s sharp eyes snapped to him, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before his expression hardened.

Yoongi released Jungkook’s wrist and stepped forward, his movements deliberate. His silver eyes were narrowing as he placed a firm hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook paused, tense, but he did not argue. Yoongi’s voice was calm yet laced with an undercurrent of authority as he said, “Let me handle this.”

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on the vampire for a moment before he stepped back, his jaw clenched in restraint. Yoongi crouched before the broken figure, his dark silver hair falling around him like a curtain of night. The vampire’s dark eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and defiance, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. Yoongi’s movements were deliberate as he reached out, his sharp claws extending with a deadly precision that belied his calm demeanor. He buried his hand deep into the vampire’s chest, the sound of cracking bone echoing through the heavy silence of the room.

The vampire’s eyes widened, a strangled scream escaping his lips as Yoongi’s claws closed around his heart. Yoongi’s voice was low and even, each word a blade of ice. “Where is Taecyeon?”

For a moment, the vampire said nothing, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Then, with a bitter laugh that turned into a cough, he rasped, “You’re too late…” His voice broke, weak but filled with malice.

Yoongi’s grip tightened, his claws digging deeper into the tissue around the heart. The vampire’s body jerked, a pained sound tearing from his throat, but his eyes remained steady, filled with a hatred that refused to waver.

The vampire spat out blood, his voice trembling but laced with agony. “This was never about this place. It was always the hospital.”

Yoongi’s silver eyes glared dangerously, his expression unreadable. “What are you talking about?”

The vampire’s lips curled into a weak, bloodied smile. “You think this was the plan? This was just a distraction. The Metropolitan Hospital… they’re going to… kill them alll…” The vampire coughed, blood spattering his pale lips as he struggled to speak.

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Yoongi’s grip tightened, his claws crushing the vampire’s heart with a wet, sickening sound. The vampire’s body went limp, his eyes glazing over as his lifeless head slumped to the side.

 

Jungkook stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on Yoongi. “We need to move!” he growled, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”

Yoongi rose to his feet, his movements fluid despite the tension radiating from him. He turned to Jungkook, his expression grim. “The hospital… If they’re attacking tonight, we can still—”

“It’s too late.", Hongjoong spoke up weakly. “They’ll be already acting by now.”

San’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, his broad frame trembling with the effort of restraining the fury that roared through him like a tempest. His dark eyes burned with a feral, golden glow, his jaw clenched so hard it seemed it might shatter. The air around him seemed to vibrate with his raw anger, a palpable force that made the shadows in the room twist and writhe as if alive.

“We have to go.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word a promise of retribution. His gaze snapped to Jungkook and Yoongi, his eyes blazing with an unspoken command. Jungkook’s sharp features hardened, his dark eyes narrowing as he nodded curtly, his massive frame coiling with restrained power. Yoongi’s expression remained grim, his silver eyes gleaming with a deadly intensity.

In another corner of the room, Seonghwa knelt on the floor, his arms cradling the limp form of Hongjoong. The younger man’s face was pale, his breathing shallow, and his body trembling with the aftershocks of their chaotic reunion. Seonghwa’s hands moved with tender urgency, his fingers brushing away strands of bloodied hair from Hongjoong’s face. The weight of their shared past pressed heavily on him, the familiar contours of Hongjoong’s features stirring a storm of emotions he had long buried.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing heart. “We need to get you to safety. Now.”

Hongjoong’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused as he sought to place the voice. When his eyes locked onto Seonghwa’s, a flicker of pain crossed his features, quickly replaced by a guarded wariness. “Let me go,” Hongjoong rasped, his voice weak but laced with defiance. “I don’t need your help.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened as he pulled Hongjoong closer, his touch firm but gentle. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. You’re not dying on me.” He couldn’t deny the cruel irony of the way he was holding Hongjoong now, mirroring their fated first encounter so closely.

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, his brow furrowed with anguish, but his movements were tender as he adjusted his grip on the injured man. “I’ll get him to safety!” he murmured towards San, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

 

San didn’t wait for anyone else to speak. He turned on his heel, his disheveled clothing flaring around him like the edges of a storm cloud. His boots echoed heavily as he strode toward the door, the weight of the hospital’s fate pressing down on him like a physical force. Jungkook and Yoongi followed close behind, their movements a synchronized blur of lethal precision. The three of them were a storm about to be unleashed, their fury and determination driving them forward with a singular purpose.

Chapter 24: The Metropolitan Battle

The hospital’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows on the tiled floors. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and blood, a nauseating combination that made Wooyoung’s head throbbed.

But when the call came, he couldn’t ignore it. The hospital was overwhelmed, and he needed to help in any way he could.

he hadn’t worked since the attack on him and Yeosang, but with San gone he was to antsy to just stay home and do nothing anyways. The emergency room was chaos incarnate. Doctors and nurses rushed between beds, their faces etched with exhaustion. Wooyoung slipped through the crowd, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of what he knew was coming. The New Order had launched a a series of attacks all over the city, and the aftermath was spilling into the hospital.

The victims were human and vampire alike and he cursed under his breath, knowing that the usual medical treatments wouldn’t help the vampires. But the regular doctors and nurses didn’t know that. So it was on him to do whatever he could to help them.

He stopped at a supply closet, his heart pounding as he slipped inside. The shelves were stocked with medical supplies, but Wooyoung knew what else was hidden here.

His hands trembled as he opened the small fridge in the corner, the cold air biting at his fingers. Bags of blood filled the fridge from the bottom to the top.

Wooyoung grabbed several bags, his mind racing. He had to be careful. If anyone discovered what he was doing, he would get into serious trouble and jeopardise his attempt to help.

He moved swiftly through the hospital, ducking into rooms where the most injured vampires lay. They were hidden among the humans, their fangs retracted, their supernatural strength muted by their wounds. Wooyoung fed them in secret, slipping the blood into IV lines or forcing it down their throats when they were too weak to drink on their own.

In one room, he recognized a young woman who had been at the nightclub where San had taken him to. Her pale skin was almost translucent, her body broken and bruised. Wooyoung’s stomach twisted as he fed her, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before she fell into a fitful sleep. He whispered an apology, though he wasn’t sure if she heard him.

The weight of what he was doing pressed down on him as he moved from room to room. The line between right and wrong blurred in his mind, leaving only a murky gray that haunted him with every decision.

As he left the last room, Wooyoung caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. His eyes were hollow, his face pale and drawn. He looked like a ghost, a shadow of the man he used to be. But he couldn’t stop now. Not yet.

The hospital’s intercom buzzed, a voice calling out for more staff to the ER. Wooyoung sighed, his head pounding as he made his way back to the chaos.

His thoughts were consumed by San, an intense mix of fear and anxiety squeezing his heart relentlessly. He desperately hoped for San's return, yet a part of him feared that he might never see him again.

If he were to lose San... the mere thought threatened to shatter him. He loved San with a depth so profound and overwhelming that it felt like San had fused with the very essence of Wooyoung’s soul.

His fists clenched tightly, the knuckles turning white with the intensity of his resolve. He would place unwavering trust in San and wait for him, no matter the agony of the wait. Until that moment came, he would relentlessly fight to save innocent lives, regardless of who or what their nature was, driven by a burning determination that nothing could extinguish.

 

Wooyoung's mind was a swirling tempest as he moved with practiced efficiency, his hands unwavering as he attended to the wounded. His thoughts raced like a chaotic storm, yet his actions remained precise and steady. The sharp beeps of monitors, like relentless metronomes, and the muted cries of pain filled the air, weaving a symphony of agony that pressed on his senses.

The scene was dire, a sea of injured souls. It was a battlefield of suffering, with so many injured people fighting for survival, and even more slipping away, succumbing to their wounds.

Wooyoung gritted his teeth, his worry for San intensifying with every passing second.

What the hell was going on?

 

As he rounded a corner, an unexpected sight made his heart jolt violently in his chest. Standing only a few feet away was the imposing figure of the man who had saved him and San from Daewon. Jongho, usually the epitome of confidence and strength, was hunched over, his tall frame sagging heavily against the wall. His usually immaculate appearance was tarnished by bloodstains and dark bruises, his elegant grace replaced by a visible struggle to remain upright. Wooyoung's breath hitched, and their eyes locked in a moment fraught with tension, a mix of shock and deep concern rushing to the forefront of his mind.

"Jongho!" Wooyoung exclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper but charged with urgency. His eyes darted around to ensure they were out of earshot before pulling Jongho into a secluded, shadowy nook. "What happened to you?" he questioned, his hands gently probing Jongho's body to evaluate the severity of his wounds.

Jongho winced, his piercing eyes clouded with pain. "It was a trap," he began, his voice weak but still carrying that familiar formal tone. "I told Yoongi about the attack on the Humanist safe house, but it was all a trap. Taecyeon knew I was the mole... he almost killed me."

Wooyoung's heart raced as he listened, his mind racing with the implications. He fumbled in his pocket for a blood bag, his hands trembling slightly as he offered it to Jongho. "Here, drink this. You need to heal."

Jongho hesitated for a moment before taking the bag, his fangs sinking into the plastic with a soft hiss. Wooyoung watched, his thoughts a tangled web of fear and determination. Despite everything, he couldn't let Jongho die, not now.

As Jongho drank, the color slowly returning to his cheeks, Wooyoung's mind drifted to their past encounter. The memories were bittersweet, a mix of conflict and gratefulness. He pushed them aside, focusing on the present.

Wooyoung's hands trembled as he clutched the edge of a nearby gurney, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. Jongho, his tall frame looming over the younger man, was a picture of urgency, his usually composed demeanor frayed by the edges of panic.

"We have to get you out of here, now." Jongho urged, his voice low and insistent, his fangs still tinged with the faintest trace of crimson from the blood he had consumed. His eyes, sharp and intense, locked onto Wooyoung's, pleading for him to understand.

Wooyoung's face, pale but resolute, met Jongho's gaze without flinching. "what? No! I won't leave," he said, his voice steady, though his heart raced. "There are people here who need help. Innocent lives—"

"Innocent lives will be lost, no matter if you stay!" Jongho's voice rose, a rare crack in his composure. He reached out, his broad hands grasping Wooyoung's shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the urgency in his eyes. "You're not safe here. San... he would kill me if anything were to happen to you. You don’t understand! The New Order-."

Wooyoung shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I won’t just leave all of these people here to die!" he said, his voice laced with a quiet defiance. "I— I’m a paramedic. I need to help those who can't help themselves."

Jongho's grip tightened, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Don’t be so fucking stubborn, Wooyoung." he muttered, his voice a low growl. "This isn't a game. If you stay, you'll get yourself killed."

Before either could say more, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, punctuated by the clang of steel and the muffled hum of voices. Jongho's head snapped towards the noise, his fangs bared instinctively, ready for whatever might come.

The doors burst open with a loud crash, and Mingi, Yunho, and Yeosang poured into the hallway, their movements swift and practiced. Mingi's sharp eyes scanned the area, his hand resting on the hilt of his revolver. Yunho's face was set in a grim mask, his broad frame filling the doorway. But it was Yeosang who stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock as they landed on Jongho.

 

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Yeosang's breath caught in his throat, his slender frame tensing as if struck by an invisible force. Jongho's imposing figure, his tall, muscular frame and piercing gaze, instantly brought him back to the church, the confrontation, the haunting memory of Jongho's eyes— Yeosang's mind raced, the last sleepless nights with visions of Jongho’s colliding with the present in a way he had never expected.

"Wooyoung?" Mingi's voice broke the silence, his tone sharp with surprise. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Wooyoung turned to face them, his expression firm. "I could ask you the same," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "But I work here!"

Yunho's gaze lingered on Jongho, his jaw tightening. "San told us about the attack," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "We didn't expect to find you here."

Jongho's eyes never left Yeosang, his expression unreadable. "And I didn't expect to find you here either…" he said, his voice smooth, though a hint of tension lingered beneath the surface.

Yeosang's eyes remained fixed on Jongho, his thoughts a jumble of conflicting emotions. The memory of their last meeting, the way Jongho had looked at him, the way he had made him feel— it all came rushing back, leaving him breathless and disoriented.

As the tension in the room grew thicker, Jongho's hands tightened on Wooyoung's shoulders, his mind racing with the implications of their arrival. He knew what it meant, what it could lead to. But he also knew that he couldn't leave, not now, not when Wooyoung was still in danger.

"I think it's time we got out of here," Jongho said finally, his voice firm, his grip on Wooyoung unyielding. "All of us."

Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, Jongho swept him up in his arms, his strength surprising despite his injuries. Wooyoung struggled, his fists pounding against Jongho's chest, but Jongho held him firm, his jaw set in determination.

"Let me go!" Wooyoung demanded, his voice rising in anger.

"Not a chance," Jongho replied, his voice low and resolute, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "You're coming with me, whether you like it or not."

As Jongho turned to leave, Yeosang's voice stopped him. "Wait," he said, his voice soft but urgent. "We can't just leave. There are people here who need our help."

Jongho hesitated, his gaze darting nervously to Yeosang before settling back on Wooyoung's resolute expression. His voice trembled with urgency as he spoke. "We can’t! You don’t understand— the sheer magnitude of this attack. It's been meticulously orchestrated by Taecyeon for months! I wanted to warn you earlier, but I only discovered the plan while he caught me giving information out to Yoongi about the Safehouse. It was too late by then, too late to grasp the full extent of what’s unfolding! This is going to be a massacre beyond anything you could imagine—"

Wooyoung's jaw clenched tightly, a visible tension rippling through his features. Jonhgo drew him even closer, his grip firm and unyielding against Wooyoung's chest. “You won’t survive this, Wooyoung. You’re a human!” he urged, his voice a mix of concern and urgency.

Yunho’s sharp mind immediately grasped the gravity of the situation. “Wooyoung, he’s right,” he said, his voice laced with both understanding and urgency. “I know you want to help, but you’ll only be a liability. Mingi and I will stay here and fight, and San will come soon, together with the other humanists!”

Wooyoung's heart clenched at the mention of San. His instinct was to argue, but Mingi interjected with a stern finality. “This isn’t up for debate. If something were to happen to you— San wouldn’t survive that.” The weight of Mingi's words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

Wooyoung swallowed hard, feeling his determination begin to crumble under the thought of San. An intense heat coursed through his body, a deep, aching desire to be reunited with the one he loved, pulling at his very soul.

As the group moved through the hospital, the corridors that once were filled with the antiseptic scent of healing, now reeked of blood and fear. The fluorescent lights flickered ominously, casting long shadows that seemed to twist and writhe on the walls. Somewhere, a monitor beeped frantically, its rhythmic cry echoing through the tense silence like a countdown to doom.

“Watch out,” Jongho growled, his voice low and urgent as he scanned the dimly lit hallway ahead. His broad frame moved with predatory grace, his fangs gleaming faintly in the erratic light. “They’ll come fast, and they won’t hold back.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened, his hands instinctively checking the supplies on his belt. “We can’t just leave. There are patients—”

“Patients who’ll be dead either way! If we don’t leave now—,” Jongho snaps, his gaze snapping to Wooyoung. “ We will be as good as dead. Your only job right now is to stay alive.”

 

Before Wooyoung could argue, a deafening crash of shattering glass echoed from the main ward. The ground trembled beneath their feet as the sound of screams— human and vampire alike— filled the air. The New Order had arrived.

“Take cover!” Yunho barked, grabbing Wooyoung by the arm and yanking him behind a nearby supply cart. Bullets whizzed past, embedding into the walls with sickening thuds. The sharp stench of gunpowder and blood hung heavy in the air.

Yeosang’s face was pale, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “Holy shit!” he muttered, clutching a scalpel he had picked up from the cart tightly in his trembling hands. His eyes darted towards Jongho, who had positioned himself at the front of the group, his massive frame a barricade between them and the chaos unfolding beyond.

“Stay focused,” Mingi growled, reloading his weapon with practiced efficiency. His sharp eyes scanned the corridor, picking out targets with ruthless precision. “We need to hold this line.”

The New Order’s vampires surged into the hallway like a relentless tide, their bloodstained faces a chilling contrast against the sterile, pale walls of the hospital. They moved with deadly precision, attacking with savage ferocity and cutting down anyone who dared to stand in their way. The air was filled with the thunderous roar of gunfire and the gut-wrenching sound of flesh being torn apart, each shot and scream echoing off the walls. The sickening, wet thud of bodies hitting the floor punctuated the chaos, a grim symphony of destruction.

 

The corridors of Seoul Metropolitan Hospital were a maelstrom of chaos. Sirens blared in the distance, but they were muffled by the cacophony of gunfire and screams that filled the air. Wooyoung cowered behind the supply cart, his heart pounding in his chest as the New Order’s forces surged forward like a tidal wave of death. Bullets whizzed past, ricocheting off the walls with metallic screeches, and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the ward as the fluorescent lights flickered ominously above.

The sound of shattering glass and screams reached a fever pitch when suddenly, a thunderous crash shook the very foundations of the hospital. As if the very heavens themselves had intervened, the doors at the end of the corridor burst open with a deafening crash, torn from their hinges as if by an unseen hand. San strode through the wreckage, his golden eyes ablaze with a feral light, his dark clothing tattered and smeared with blood. Behind him, Yoongi and Jungkook emerged like specters of death, their movements fluid and precise, their weapons gleaming in the flickering light.

San’s gaze locked onto Wooyoung instantly, his chest heaving with exertion, his jaw clenched in a mixture of relief and raw fury. For a moment, time seemed to stop.

San cursed under his breath, his eyes widening with panic. No! What the hell was Wooyoung doing here? Desperation and fear surged through his veins, his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts— protect him, keep him safe.

Wooyoung shouldn't be here. This was the last place on earth the human he loved should be— he couldn’t let anything happen to him.

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat, his wide eyes drinking in the sight of the man he loved, his heart pounding in a frantic rhythm. San was here. He had come.

But relief gave way to dread as Wooyoung took in the sight of San’s battered form. Dark streaks of blood stained his face, his clothing shredded and jagged, his powerful frame marred by the signs of brutal battle. Yet even wounded, San exuded an aura of dangerous intensity, his every step a testament to his unyielding resolve. Wooyoung’s fingers trembled as he reached out, as if to touch him, though he remained frozen in place.

San’s lips curled into a snarl, his attention snapping to the horde of New Order vampires surging toward them. With a guttural roar, he launched himself into the fray, his movements a blur of lethal precision. His hands tore through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency, his fangs bared and stained with blood. Yoongi and Jungkook followed close behind, their weapons slicing through the enemy with deadly grace. Yoongi’s silver eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated fury, his every strike a masterpiece of precision. Jungkook, on the other hand, was a force of nature, his massive frame plowing through the crowd, his weapon rising and falling with merciless rhythm.

The corridor became a battlefield, the walls splattered with blood, the air thick with the stench of death. The New Order vampires were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless, but San, Yoongi, and Jungkook were an unstoppable force, cutting through the chaos with brutal efficiency.

Wooyoung’s heart pounded as he watched San and the others carve through the New Order forces, their movements a grim symphony of death. behind them, rows and rows of Humanists warriors emerged, slicing through their enemies with viciousness.

Mingi emerged from behind the cart and strode through the wreckage, his deep eyes wild, his revolver gleaming in the dim light. Silver bullets fired in rapid succession, each shot a precise, deadly kiss that dropped vampire after vampire. His eyes burned with a combination of fury and determination, the weight of his past deeds fueling his relentless assault.

Behind him, Yunho moved with the silent grace of a ghost, his glasses glinting faintly as he sliced through the enemy with a blade, its edge wet with blood. His movements were calculated, almost surgical, each strike a testament to his disciplined mind and lethal skill.

And then Jongho emerged from behind the cart, his towering frame a spectacle of raw power. His sharp features were twisted into a snarl, his fangs bared. With a terrifying roar, he seized a vampire by the torso and ripped them in half, the sound of tearing flesh and bone echoing through the corridor. Blood sprayed across the walls as he hurled the corpse aside, his broad hands clawing through the crowd with brutal efficiency. The New Order vampires cringed from him, their fear palpable, but Jongho was unrelenting. Each movement was a testament to his strength, his resolve, and the turmoil that churned beneath his imposing exterior.

„Cover the left flank!“ Yunho barked, his voice crisp and commanding. Mingi nodded, his revolver firing in short, precise bursts as he moved to comply. Jongho surged forward, his massive frame plowing through the enemy like a battering ram. San turned to him, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment’a flicker of understanding, of shared purpose, before they both plunged back into the fight.

Wooyoung watched, frozen in awe and terror, as his friends became a single, deadly unit. Mingi’s revolver cracked out a rhythm of death. Yunho’s blade moved with almost poetic grace, slicing through the chaos. Jongho’s brute strength left a trail of mutilated bodies in his wake, while San tore through the vampires with feral intensity, his golden eyes blazing like a predator’s. He scooted over to Yeosang, taking the fledglings hand into his own firmly.

 

The corridor became a blood-soaked battleground, the walls smeared with gore, the floor slick with the viscera of the fallen. The air was heavy with the stench of death, the cries of the wounded, and the growls of the combatants. Yet amidst the carnage, there was a strange harmony to their movements, a deadly synchronization born of necessity and shared resolve.

But even as they fought, the weight of their past sins hung over them like a specter. Mingi’s eyes darkened with every life he took, the ghosts of his former victims whispering in the back of his mind. Yunho’s thoughts flickered to the peaceful coexistence he fought for, his heart bleeding for what he had to do to safe the ones he loves.

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat as he watched San fight. His hands were trembling.

“Fall back!” San shouted, his voice cutting through the hospital. His fangs were fully extended, his hands streaked with blood as he dragged a wounded nurse to safety. “We need to secure the east wing!”

But there was no time to fall back. The New Order had already surrounded them, their numbers overwhelming. Wooyoung’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched, frozen in horror, as a young doctor was dragged screaming from her hiding place, her pleas cut short by the cruel fangs of a vampire.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, her voice raw with terror. “Please, don’t—”

The sound of her voice ended abruptly, replaced by the wet, sickening crunch of teeth tearing through flesh. Wooyoung’s stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat as he turned away, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“This can’t be happening…” Yeosang whispered next to him, his voice trembling as he clutched Wooyoung‘s hand with a vice grip.

“We need to get Wooyoung and Yeosang out of here,” Jongho said grimly, grabbing Wooyoung and Yeosang by the collar and shoving them behind a pillar. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Before Wooyoung could protest, Jongho had already surged forward, his frame barreling into the fray like a force of nature. His fangs glinted as he tore into the soldiers, his strength inhuman as he snapped necks and hurled bodies across the room. For a moment, Wooyoung forgot to breathe, his mind struggling to process the sheer brutality of what he was witnessing.

But the New Order didn’t flinch. They kept coming, wave after relentless wave of black-clad soldiers, their faces cruel and unfeeling. They were a machine, unstoppable and merciless, driven by a twisted ideology that saw all vampires as the epitome of existence and humans as way less than.

“Wooyoung!” Yeosang screamed, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward. “We have to move. Now!”

They ran, their footsteps echoing down the deserted corridors as they desperately sought any route to safety. But every door they tried led only to more carnage, more bodies, more blood. The hospital was a charnel house, its halls transformed into a grotesque slaughterhouse where no one was spared.

And in the midst of it all, Jongho fought like a demon, his movements fluid and deadly as he carved a bloody path through the soldiers. Yet even his strength couldn’t hold back the tide forever. The New Order was too numerous, too well-trained, and they would stop at nothing to claim the hospital— and everyone in it— as their own.

As the sounds of gunfire and screams reached a fever pitch, Wooyoung realized with a sinking sense of dread that they were running out of time. The New Order wouldn’t stop until they had tore through everything in their wake.

The hospital’s corridors were a labyrinth of screams and shadows, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood and the acrid tang of smoke. Wooyoung’s legs trembled with every step, his breath shallow as he clung to Yeosang, who was shaking almost as violently as he was.

The sound of Jongho’s roar echoed through the halls, a primal, thunderous noise that sent shivers down Wooyoung’s spine. He couldn’t bring himself to look, to watch as as San and their friends tore through the soldiers with a ferocity that defied explanation. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a testament to the monsters they had become— or perhaps, the monsters they had always been.

 

But even their strength had its limits.

 

A loud crash reverberated through the hallway, followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor. Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat as he and Yeosang exchanged a terrified glance.

From the smoke-filled doorway, a wave of shadowy figures emerged, their movements precise and deadly. At the forefront stood Hongjoong, his half-black, half-white hair a wild halo around his pale, streaked face. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto the New Order soldiers with a ferocity that made even the most hardened fighters hesitate. Beside him, Seonghwa moved with the grace of a phantom, his raven hair disheveled, his face smeared with blood, yet his every step carried the weight of authority. The Hunters had arrived, and with them, the tide of the battle began to shift.

As Hongjoong’s gaze swept the room, it met Yoongi’s, their eyes locking in a silent, unspoken understanding. It was a fleeting moment, yet it spoke volumes. The leaders of the Humanists and the Hunters had found common ground, their mutual enemy more pressing than any past grievances. Yoongi nodded almost imperceptibly, and Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, a silent pact forged in the heat of war.

 

With a battle cry that sent shivers down the spines of even their allies, the Hunters surged forward, their blades slicing through the New Order’s ranks with deadly precision. Hongjoong and Seonghwa led the charge, their movements a deadly dance of fangs and steel. Seonghwa’s strikes were precise, almost elegant, each blow aimed to incapacitate rather than kill, his compassion still shining through the brutality. Hongjoong, on the other hand, fought with raw, unbridled fury, his fangs bared, his every movement fueled by a rage that bordered on recklessness.

San, who had been holding off a cluster of soldiers with a ferocity that would have been terrifying under any other circumstances, turned just in time to see the two men carve a bloody path through the enemy. His golden eyes widened as they landed on Seonghwa, and his breath hitched sharply. There, on Seonghwa’s neck, were two deep puncture wounds.

A surge of protectiveness mixed with fear coursed through him, momentarily distracting him from the chaos around them. He wanted to rush to Seonghwa's side, to ensure he was safe, but the battle raged on, keeping them apart.

The hospital corridors reverberated with the deafening clash of steel and the savage snarls of warriors locked in battle, the air thick with the sound of muscles tearing and bones shattering. Hongjoong and Seonghwa fought with an almost supernatural synchronicity, their movements a ferocious blend of lethal precision and raw, unbridled power. Hongjoong's fury was a tangible force, each strike driven by a volcanic rage that burned through him, while Seonghwa's actions were meticulously calculated, a glimmer of compassion flickering in his eyes even as he unleashed devastating brutality.

As the Hunters pressed forward, the New Order's ranks began to falter.

 

The tide of the battle was not only shifting. The ocean of blood was starting to drown their enemies.

 

The New Order’s soldiers, who had been so sure of their victory just moments before, now found themselves struggling to keep up with the relentless onslaught of the Hunters. They were outnumbered and outmatched, their supernatural strength barely a matched to the firefly trained assassins who’s only goal was to kill vampires.

Yoongi led the Humanists with an iron resolve. As for San, he continued to fight alongside Humanists and Hunters alike with a ferocity that surprised even himself. The sight of Seonghwa’s blood on Hongjoong's lips was still burned into his mind, fueling his every strike with a determination bordering on desperation.

Amidst all this chaos and bloodshed, Seonghwa stood tall and unwavering. He was like a beacon of calm amidst the storm raging around him. Despite being surrounded by enemies on all sides, he seemed almost serene as he fought off each attacker with ease.

But there was something different about him now - something that sent shivers down San’s spine whenever he caught sight of it.

San shook off these thoughts with a fierce mental shove as he narrowly avoided an attack from a vampire lunging at him from behind. With a precise and lethal strike of his shimmering silver blade, he dispatched the creature in a blink. Then, in one seamless, deadly motion, he spun around and decapitated the vampire, leaving its ferocious snarl eternally frozen on its face as it plummeted into the afterlife.

But the cost was high. The injuries they all suffered were a stark reminder of the fragility of their situation. San's gaze always sought out Seonghwa, the memory of their past flashing through his mind. Their bond, forged through trials and bloodshed, trough love and pain was unbreakable, yet it was this very connection that made San's fear for Seonghwa's safety so acutely.

"Seonghwa!" San called out, his voice carrying over the din of battle. Seonghwa turned, their eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment. San's concern was clear, but Seonghwa's expression was resolute, a silent assurance that he would endure.

 

Yeosang and Wooyoung crouched low behind a counter at the end of the hallway, their breaths shallow as they cautiously peeked over the edge at the chaos roared before them. The room was a whirlwind of violence, shadows darting and clashing in a cacophony of snarls and hisses.

Yeosang swallowed hard, his throat dry with anxiety. "I should be out there fighting with them. I should do something!" he mumbled hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the massacre.

Wooyoung's grip on his hand tightened like a vice, fingers trembling slightly with urgency.

"Sangie, you're practically a newborn!" he whispered fiercely, his eyes wide with concern. "I know you want to help, but they have fighting experience and have been vampires for far longer! You'll get yourself killed if you try to join them!" Wooyoung's voice was a tense thread in the air, his words charged with a desperate plea for caution.

 

Before either of them could utter another word, a rough hand clamped over Wooyoung’s mouth, violently yanking him backward into the suffocating shadows. He thrashed desperately, his heart pounding like a war drum. Yeosang let out a piercing scream, his eyes wide, frozen in sheer terror.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I’ll tear him to pieces!" someone hissed with a venomous intensity, their breath searing against Wooyoung’s ear like a brand.

Their voice was low, dangerous, and laced with a desperation that made Wooyoung’s blood run cold.

Yeosang’s eyes flared with a feral light as he bared his fangs, the sharp, pearly whites glinting in the dim light of the hospital. His slender frame vibrated with coiled tension, ready to spring into action, every fiber of his being screaming to protect Wooyoung at all costs.

 

But before he could move, before he could even draw a breath, the stranger lunged forward with a speed that defied human comprehension. The air seemed to tear apart as the stranger’s claws slashes through it, embedding deep into Yeosang’s chest with a sickening wet sound.

 

Yeosang’s eyes widened in shock, his lips parting in a silent scream as he felt the searing pain rip through his chest. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale lips crimson as he gasped for air. He could feel the white hot pain spreading across his chest, staining his shirt scarlet. The stranger’s grip on Wooyoung tightened, and Wooyoung’s muffled cries of terror echoed through the air as he struggled against the unyielding hold.

With a brutal strength, the Vampire ripped his claws free, leaving a jagged, gaping wound in their wake.

Yeosang’s body crumpled to the floor, his vision blurry and his head spinning as he struggled to remain conscious, his breath coming in shallow, hitched gasps.

The stranger didn’t hesitate. With a snarl, he grabbed Wooyoung’s flailing form, his arms wrapping around the younger man like a vice as he dragged him backward into the shadows. Wooyoung’s muffled cries were frantic, his hands clawing desperately at the arm covering his mouth, his legs kicking out wildly in a futile attempt to break free.

 

“YEOSANG!“

Chapter 25: A Silent Promise

San felt it first, a sharp, jagged sting in his chest, as though his very heart had been pierced.

San gasped and his eyes widened, his broad frame jerking upright as a sharp, burning sensation clawed at his chest. His golden eyes blazed with shock and confusion, his breath hitching as his hands flew to his shirt, tearing it open to reveal the unmarred skin beneath. But the pain was there, relentless and searing, as though his very heart was being ripped from his chest.

His broad frame stumbled, as the echo of Yeosang’s agony wrecked trough his very own being.

Behind him, Seonghwa doubled over, his elegant features twisted in a grimace. His breath hitched, and a pained, high-pitched whimper escaped his lips. He reached out, his hand brushing against San’s arm, a silent plea for grounding. His other hand was pressing against his chest as though he could physically hold back the pain. The bond between them, forged through shared blood and unbreakable ties, pulsed like a raw, open wound.

They could feel it— all of it. Yeosang’s pain, his fear, his desperation. It was as though the very fabric of their connection had been torn apart, leaving them all raw and exposed.

San’s face twisted in a mixture of rage and anguish as he stumbled forward, his golden eyes blazing with fury.

Jongho’s breath hitched sharply as his head snapped towards where he could feel something— someone. His dark eyes widening with a mix of fear and determination. A guttural growl tore from his throat and for a moment, he froze, his battered body trembling with a mix of fear and adrenaline. Then, he moved— a blur of motion, his large frame barreling through the chaos with a desperation that overrode the pain wracking his body.

“Yeosang!” he bellowed, his voice raw and strained, cutting through the battle. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, every beat a reminder of how fragile the thread of life was. He could feel it— the faint, flickering connection between them, a bond that had surged trough him like fire the first time he had seen Yeosang in the faint light of the church. It pulled him forward, guiding him through the carnage.

Jongho wasn’t alone. Seonghwa and San were right in front of him him, their faces grim and etched with tension. Their boots pounded against the blood-slick floor.

But then— what they saw stopped them in their tracks.

Yeosang lay crumpled on the floor, his body half hidden by what remained of the emergency rooms counter. His pale, slender frame was shattered and broken. Blood pooled around him, staining the hospital tiles a deep crimson. His chest was a mess of torn flesh, the wound gaping and raw, and for a moment, Jongho forgot how to breathe. His vision blurred, his mind recoiling in horror as he stumbled forward, his knees buckling under the weight of what he saw.

“Yeosang…” he rasped, his voice breaking as he crashed to the ground beside him. His hands were shaking as he reached for him, hesitating for just a moment before gently brushing a streak of blood from Yeosang’s cheek.

San dropped to his knees beside Jongho, his trembling hands moving with a practiced precision to press against the wound in Yeosang‘s flesh. The blood was warm and sticky under his fingers, and he could feel the life seeping out of Yeosang with every heartbeat.

Yeosang’s usually serene features were twisted in agony, his eyes wide and panicked as he struggled to remain conscious. His pale lips were tinted with blood, and his sharp fangs gleamed faintly in the dim light. He was trembling, his body racked with shallow, hitched breaths, and his dark eyes flickered between San and Jongho with a desperate, pleading gaze.

Behind them, Seonghwa sobbed, frozen in place by the agony and horror he felt, his lithe body shaking from the force of his crying.

 

Hongjoong paused mid-fight, his sharp, angled face twisting in a mixture of confusion and unease. His bond to Seonghwa flared unexpectedly, a faint echo of the connection he’d once shared with the man he loved. His sire.

He hadn’t felt it in years, the strong grip of its connection making his knees buckle. He turned towards where he felt Seonghwa. Seeing him standing near the remains of a counter, his face twisted in pain, was enough to pull him away from the battle and toward the commotion. He frowned, his pale eyes narrowing.

 

The lights flickered faintly, casting eerie shadows on the blood-streaked walls as the battle raged on in the distance. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint hint of antiseptic, a grim reminder of the hospital's failing sanctuary. The distant echoes of chaos— the sharp sound of shattered glass and the muffled cries of distress lingered ominously in the air, painting a haunting picture of despair and turmoil

But in this moment, all that mattered was the fragile life slipping away before them.

San’s golden eyes locked onto Yeosang, his mind racing with a mixture of dread and desperation. His chest heaved as he applied pressure to the wound, Yeosang’s blood seeping through his fingers like sand slipping through an hourglass. Every heartbeat was a countdown, every breath a fragile thread that could snap at any moment.

Seonghwa’s sobs echoed through cacophony of the violence in the room, his body shaking uncontrollably as he stood frozen in place. His hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms as if the pain could distract him from the horror in front of him. His connection to Yeosang was a raw, pulsating ache, not only because of their bond, but forged through years of trust and loyalty of their friendship. Their love. And all of that was now threatening to unravel— once and for all. He wanted to move, to help, but his legs wouldn’t respond, as if rooted to the spot by the sheer weight of his fear.

Yeosang’s dark eyes fluttered. His lips parted, a faint whisper escaping them as he struggled to form words.

“Woo…young…” The name was barely audible, but it was enough to send a dagger through San’s heart.

His blood froze in his veins, a chilling dread seizing him as he grasped the horrifying truth that Wooyoung was gone.

The realization was a piercing agony, an insatiable, gnawing pain that clawed relentlessly at his sanity. It was as if icy tendrils were wrapping around his heart, threatening to engulf him in a swirling vortex of despair. The weight of loss bore down on him, suffocating and inescapable, leaving him teetering on the edge of a dark abyss.

But he couldn’t succumb to it. Not now. Not when Yeosang was about to die.

He had failed again.

Seonghwa's sobbing intensified, each cry piercing through the surrounding chaos like a sharp blade cutting through the air. His chest heaved with each desperate gasp, the raw emotion echoing in the turmoil around them.

In the midst of this tumult, Hongjoong's hand descended upon Seonghwa's shoulder, its grip cold and unyielding, cold as an icy promise that sent a shiver down Seonghwa's spine, grounding him amidst the storm of emotions.

The weight of Seonghwa’s pain was suffocating, a palpable force that pressed against Hongjoong’s chest like an iron vice. He could feel it— sharp, jagged, and unrelenting— like a mirror of his own guilt-ridden conscience. Seonghwa’s sobbing was a sound he hadn’t heard in years, a sound that cut through the chaos of the battle and the sterile, metallic scent of the hospital with gut-wrenching clarity. It was a sound he had hoped to never hear again, that made him remember the man he used to be, the man who had once held Seonghwa’s heart in his hands.

“Seonghwa…” Hongjoong muttered, his voice rough and uneven. He tightened his grip on Seonghwa’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor him, to keep him from unraveling completely. But Seonghwa didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge his presence. He just kept shaking, his body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear him apart from the inside out.

Hongjoong’s gaze fell on Yeosang then, his sharp eyes taking in the sight of the younger man’s broken form. Yeosang’s pale skin was slick with sweat, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused as he clung to consciousness by a thread. The wound in his chest was deep and San’s hands were pressed tightly against the wound in vain, his golden eyes filled with a desperation that Hongjoong recognized all too well.

Without thinking, Hongjoong moved. It was as if the sight of Yeosang’s suffering and Seonghwa’s despair had unlocked something inside him, something he had kept buried for years. He stepped between San and Jongho, his movements fluid and deliberate. The knife he carried at his side gleamed in the harsh light of the hospital’s fluorescents as he pulled it free, the blade slicing through the air with a soft, ominous hiss as he pressed the it to his wrist.

The cut was deep, and his blood welled up immediately, rich and crimson. He knelt beside Yeosang, his gaze locked on the pale face that was now a map of pain. With a gentle yet firm touch, he pressed his bleeding wrist to Yeosang's lips.

“Stop!” Jongho screamed, his voice shrill and urgent as he lunged forward, gripping Hongjoong’s arm with a fierce hold. His broad shoulders tensed as he restrained himself from breaking Hongjoong’s arm. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea what this could do? If Yeosang ingests vampire blood in this state, it could trigger the Eternal Thirst. It could—”

But before he could finish, San’s golden eyes snapped to his, blazing with a desperate intensity that Jongho had never seen before.

San’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping tightly around Jongho’s forearm like a vice, forcing him to let go of Hongjoong’s arm. His eyes burned with a desperate intensity, his jaw clenched so hard it seemed to tremble with the effort of holding back his own fears.

“Don’t interfere!” San hissed, his voice so sharp it seemed to cut through the air. His breath came in quick, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. “This… this is different. Hongjoong isn’t like us. His blood— it’s special.”

Jongho’s piercing gaze snapped to San, his broad frame radiating tension as he struggled against San‘s grip.

“Special?” he repeated, his deep voice edged with disbelief. “Vampire blood is vampire blood! If Yeosang drinks it, especially in his condition—”

“He’s the only one who can save him!” San interrupted, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. His golden eyes locked onto Jongho’s, pleading and fierce all at once. “Hongjoong… He’s a half-vampire, the only one of his kind. His blood could stabilize Yeosang, could heal him where we can’t. It’s the only chance we have.”

Yeosang's eyes fluttered open, the blood that was dripping from Hongjoong‘s wrist onto his lips had stirred him from his almost unconscious state. His eyes were dark and unfocused, yet they locked onto Hongjoong's with a desperation that cut through the half-vampire's defenses.

"Drink!" Hongjoong murmured, his voice low and urgent, yet tinged with a vulnerability he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

Yeosang’s lips, pale and trembling, closed around Hongjoong's wrist, and he drank with a hunger that was both heartbreaking and necessary.

Yeosang’s lips clung to Hongjoong’s wrist like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline, his fangs grazing the skin as he drank deeply. The warmth of Hongjoong’s blood was fleeting, a temporary solace against the icy grip of death that had already begun to claim Yeosang. His throat worked desperately, each swallow a struggle, as if the very act of survival was a battle he was waging against his own betraying body. Hongjoong’s breath hitched as he felt the pull of Yeosang’s lips, the suction tugging at the wound he had opened. His own heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat that echoed the chaos of his thoughts.

He could feel it, a connection forming, fragile and yet unbreakable, as Yeosang drank. It was as if the boundaries between them were blurring, thinning, until the pain that had been Yeosang’s alone became something they both shared. Hongjoong’s breath caught as he felt the pull of the bond forming, a tether he had not expected. With each heartbeat, the space between them seemed to shrink, until the boundaries of self and other were indistinguishable. Yeosang’s pain became Hongjoong’s pain, his struggle a shared burden that weighed heavily on both of them. The blood flowing from Hongjoong’s wrist to Yeosang’s tongue was more than a lifeline; it was a silent promise, a bond forged in desperation and sealed with the raw intimacy of life force.

Memories flickered, fragmented images of Hongjoong’s past, of pain and loneliness, of love and loss. Yeosang’s dark eyes met Hongjoong’s, and for a moment, they were not two separate souls but something more, something intertwined.

Hongjoong’s heart raced, pounding in his chest as he stared down at Yeosang, his own memories surfacing— of midnight skies, of crushing sadness and loneliness, of a tender love that had just been begun to spout. Of Family.

He tried to pull away, but Yeosang’s grip was surprisingly strong, his lips stubborn as they clung to the wound.

Yeosang’s grip on Hongjoong’s arm only tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh as if afraid to let go, afraid that even the slightest separation would plunge him back into the void. His dark eyes, now flickering with a faint, unnatural glow, locked onto Hongjoong’s.

It was as if Yeosang could sense the cracks in Hongjoong’s armor, the walls he had built to keep the world out. Hongjoong’s vision wavered, his own strength beginning to ebb as the blood flowed from him to the boy who clung to him.

Yeosang could feel the life seeping back into his body, the ache in his chest dulling, the haze in his mind clearing.

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong whispered, his voice barely audible, trembling as he reached up with his free hand to brush the blood-streaked hair from Yeosang’s face. “That’s enough. You’ve had enough.”

With a soft gasp, Yeosang finally released Hongjoong’s wrist, his lips parting as he fell back against the floor, exhausted. The chest wound, once a gaping, ragged tear, had begun to heal, the edges sealing together with a horrid slowness that was both fascinating and unnerving. His breathing steadied, though it remained shallow, and the faintest blush of color had begun to return to his pale cheeks.

Hongjoong tried to stand and staggered back, his own strength failing him as he pressed the heel of his hand against the wound on his wrist. The blood had slowed to a trickle, the cut already beginning to close, the flesh knitting together with an unnatural speed.

But then Hongjoong felt Seonghwa behind him— pressing against his back, his arms circling around his waist and holding him steady.

San, however, shot to his feet as soon as he saw Yeosang‘s wound close. His golden eyes were blazing with a desperate urgency. “I have to go!” he growled, not looking back as he bolted down the hallway. His broad frame disappeared into the shadows, leaving the others staring after him.

“San!” Jongho barked, stepping forward as if to follow, but he hesitated. His gaze lingered on Yeosang, who was now sitting up with a shaky breath.

Seonghwa’s arms tightened around Hongjoong’s waist, offering silent support as Hongjoong swayed slightly, his vision blurring at the edges. “Hongjoong…” he whispered, his voice soft, yet a grounding presence that Hongjoong desperately needed. But Hongjoong didn’t lean into it, his body rigid as he stared down at Yeosang, his mind reeling with the weight of what had just happened.

Yeosang’s dark eyes tried to focus, fighting the last remnants of blurriness. His body betrayed him as he tried to get up, his limbs trembling like a newborn faun. Jongho slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him carefully, and Hongjoong felt a pang in his chest as he watched, his own weakness making it hard to stand.

Seonghwa’s hold on him tightened. “You need to feed,” he said quietly, his breath warm against Hongjoong’s ear. “You gave too much.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his gaze still fixed on Yeosang, who was now leaning heavily on Jongho. The bond between them pulsed quietly, a new and unspoken connection that neither of them seemed to understand. Yeosang’s dark eyes met Hongjoong’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the air thick with unspoken words.

As he tried to move, Hongjoong’s legs finally gave out, and he would have fallen if not for Seonghwa’s unwavering support. “Hongjoong!” Seonghwa said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You need to feed. Now.”

Hongjoong nodded, though his gaze remained on Yeosang, his mind racing. He could still feel the echoes of the bond they had forged, the fragile thread that now tied them together. It was tenuous, but undeniable— a connection that went beyond mere savior and saved. He didn’t know what it meant, or what it would lead to, but he couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief it brought him.

 

But when the edge of near death slowly faded away, Yeosang‘s eyes widened in horror. 

Wooyoung. Where was Wooyoung?

Notes:

Sorry for the cliffhanger from last chapter :D comments and thoughts are very appreciated and keep more more motivated and happy than you know <3

Also, if you go to chapter 1, I added a picture and would love to get your thoughts :3

Chapter 26: Blood and Fire

Notes:

Hold onto you you horses, children. This is gonna be rough!

Trigger warnings for violence, death and injury~

San tore through the ruins of the hospital, his breaths sharp and uneven, lungs burning as if he were still human. Blood coated the walls, the floors, the very air he breathed— thick with the scent of death, of rot, of war. His boots splashed through crimson pools as he moved, eyes wild, heart hammering with a fear so visceral it threatened to rip him apart from the inside.

Wooyoung was gone.

The realization hit like a tidal wave, twisting deeper with every second that passed without seeing him. He had left him. Left him vulnerable in a warzone. And now he was gone.

San’s hands trembled as he pushed through the wreckage, ignoring the bodies strewn around him. His vision tunneled, the world closing in as panic dug its claws into him.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else.

He had failed.

Again.

 

The walls felt like they were closing in, the fluorescent lights flickering above like dying stars. Every doorway he passed revealed another horror— a nurse torn open, her throat a gaping wound; a vampire slumped against the wall, a silver stake embedded in his chest. Blood slicked the floors, smeared across the tiles in frantic handprints. The metallic stench coated his tongue, made him want to retch. He shoved past bodies, scanning, searching, praying.

His breath hitched. His pulse stuttered. His control frayed at the edges, unraveling with every second that passed without finding him.

Please. Not again. Not again.

 

A choked breath rattled out of him. His own heart— an open, bleeding wound inside his chest— seemed to mock him. But he couldn’t hear Wooyoung’s. Couldn’t feel the warmth of his presence anywhere in this hellscape.

His mind raced through possibilities, each one more horrific than the last. Had they taken him? Had they killed him? Was he lying somewhere, broken, alone— his blood painting the cold, sterile tiles beneath him?

A surge of nausea slammed into him, and he stumbled against the wall, his nails scraping across cracked tile. The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating. He felt it in his chest, a tightness that bordered on unbearable. The hunger, the guilt, the love— all of it twisted together into something monstrous, something unbearable.

Love.

The thought sent a shudder through him. It wasn’t just attachment. Wasn’t just instinct. It wasn’t just the bond between them, so strong it was surpassing everything San had ever felt— It was deeper than that. The realization should have come sooner— should have been obvious in the way Wooyoung’s absence was enough to unravel him.

And now, because of him, Wooyoung was in the hands of monsters.

 

“San!” A voice behind him— Yoongi, his silver hair dark with blood, his coat torn, his expression grim. Beside him, Jungkook moved with lethal efficiency, his eyes sharp, scanning the halls for movement. A few steps behind them, Yunho and Mingi followed, their faces drawn tight with tension, their weapons still drawn. And behind them, forces of the Humanists fanned out, weapons drawn, ready to fight.

San didn’t stop.

Yoongi caught up to him easily, falling into step beside him. “What happened?” he demanded, voice low but urgent.

San’s chest heaved. “They took him.”

Yunho stiffened. “Wooyoung?”

San nodded sharply, fingers curling into fists. “And Yeosang was nearly killed. He was—fuck—he was barely hanging on.” The admission burned, his voice cracked on the words, the weight of them slicing through his throat like glass.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Yoongi cursed under his breath. His expression didn’t change, but San saw the way his shoulders tensed, the flicker of something sharp in his silver eyes.

“Where did they take him to?” Jungkook’s voice was clipped, all business.

San shook his head. “I don’t know. I just—” His breath came in sharp gasps, his vision tunneling even further. He dug his fingers into his scalp, trying to ground himself, to think. “I can’t—”

“Breathe,” Yoongi snapped, grabbing his shoulder, shaking him once. “Losing your head isn’t going to help him.”

San’s head jerked up, his fangs bared. “I brought him into this!” His voice cracked. “I brought both of them into this, and now Wooyoung is—”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw twitched He exhaled slowly, a controlled breath. “Taecyeon wasn’t with them.”

San blinked. His mind, already racing, latched onto the words. “What?”

“The New Order attacked in force, but Taecyeon wasn’t leading them,” Yoongi said, his silver eyes narrowing. “Which means this wasn’t their main operation.”

San’s blood ran cold as a moment of clarity hit him. Taecyeon. Bile rose in his throat as the pieces finally fell into place.

 

 

The scent of death was suffocating. The sharp, metallic scent clawed at his senses, thick and suffocating. And beneath it, barely distinguishable, was something even worse.

Wooyoung.

His scent was here— tainted with pain, with suffering. San’s body moved before his mind could catch up, his instincts dragging him forward, faster, faster—until the wreckage of the main entrance hall spread out before him.

 

And he stopped dead.

 

The world narrowed to the scene before him, drowning everything else out.

Bodies.

The massacre painted the once-grand entrance in shades of crimson, the overhead lights flickering weakly against the destruction. Some of the bodies were torn apart beyond recognition, limbs severed, throats ripped open.

Blood coated the marble floors, pooling in thick, viscous puddles that reflected the cold fluorescent lights above. Both human and vampire were strewn across the room. The walls, once pristine white, dripped crimson, smeared with desperate handprints, splatters of violence. It was slaughter. Systematic. Brutal.

And in the center of it all— standing amidst the carnage like a god surveying his handiwork—was him.

Ok Taecyeon.

 

His black suit was immaculate, not a single drop of blood staining the crisp fabric. But his hands— his hands were coated in red, fresh and glistening, his claws still extended.

San barely registered the figures behind him at first— Taecyeon’s most loyal enforcers, a dozen or so of the New Order’s deadliest, and even more of regular New Order soldiers lurking behind them. But none of it mattered.

Because he was there.

Wooyoung.

Bruised. Bloodied. Barely standing.

And Taecyeon’s claws were curled around his throat.

Wooyoung’s body hung limp, blood trickling from a gash along his temple, his lip split and swelling. His wrists were twisted unnaturally behind his back, a sure sign of dislocation, and his chest heaved with the effort to breathe past the pressure at his throat. But his eyes— dark, defiant, burning with hatred— were locked onto San’s the moment he saw him.

Alive.

Barely.

But alive.

San’s vision blurred with red.

 

Rage crashed into him, sharp and all-consuming, a tidal wave threatening to rip him apart from the inside. His fangs extended on instinct, breath ragged, hands trembling. His vision tunneled, drowning in the sight of Wooyoung’s blood, the sound of his strangled gasps. He took a step forward, fingers twitching, ready to tear Taecyeon apart—

Taecyeon tilted his head, his grip on Wooyoung tightening ever so slightly, enough to make Wooyoung wince. “Took you long enough.” His voice was almost bored, like he was discussing the weather. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

San felt more than heard the others tense behind him. Yoongi took a slow, measured step forward, his silver eyes sharp as a blade. “Let him go.”

Taecyeon exhaled through his nose, almost amused. “And ruin my masterpiece?” He swept a hand through the air, gesturing to the massacre around him. “Do you understand what this means, Yoongi?”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond.

Taecyeon’s smirk widened. “This isn’t just a message. This is change.”

San’s stomach dropped. He understood now. This wasn’t just about power. This wasn’t just another New Order attack.

This was a declaration of war.

A massacre, right in the heart of one of the most human-controlled areas in the city. Witnesses would talk. Governments would react. The fragile peace between humans and vampires was over.

Their existence would become undeniable.

And Taecyeon had orchestrated it perfectly.

 

San’s fangs ached, his claws twitching at his sides, every fiber of his being screaming at him to move, to tear through the space between them and rip Taecyeon apart.

But he couldn’t. Not with Wooyoung in his grasp.

San forced himself to breathe, to think. His voice was low, edged with a dangerous calm. “You got what you wanted. Let him go.”

Taecyeon hummed, tilting his head as if considering. Then he turned his gaze to Wooyoung, his expression darkening. “You’ve been a surprisingly stubborn little thing,” he mused, his claws dragging along Wooyoung’s jawline, smearing blood across his cheek. “I was almost impressed.”

Wooyoung’s lips curled into a weak smirk, despite the pain lacing his features. “Almost?” he rasped. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Taecyeon’s grip tightened, and Wooyoung choked, his body convulsing slightly.

San took a step forward without thinking. “Don’t.” His voice was a snarl, his entire body trembling with restraint.

Taecyeon merely smiled, eyes glinting with something almost playful. “Oh, San,” he drawled. “I have to say, I didn’t expect this from you.”

San’s blood ran cold.

Taecyeon’s gaze flicked between him and Wooyoung, something sharp and knowing settling in his features. “But now I see it.” His fingers flexed against Wooyoung’s throat, but his eyes never left San. “Fascinating.”

San’s breathing shallowed. He knew what Taecyeon was seeing. The way San’s body was angled forward, like a predator ready to pounce. The way his hands shook with barely restrained violence. The way his voice had broken when he spoke. The way he was bound to Wooyoung.

And Taecyeon— ruthless, calculating— had just found a new weakness to exploit.

San clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Let. Him. Go.”

Taecyeon smirked. “Or what?” He leaned in slightly, his lips brushing against Wooyoung’s ear as he whispered something too low for San to hear.

Whatever it was, Wooyoung’s body went rigid, his jaw tightening as he fought against the grips holding him.

San snapped.

 

The others were waiting for a signal. Yunho and Mingi, tense and ready. Jungkook’s hands flexing at his sides. Even Yoongi, usually the picture of composure, was coiled like a spring, his fingers twitching toward the blade at his hip.

They had one chance. One move. San met Yoongi’s gaze. A silent command.

 

 

San didn’t remember making the decision to move. One moment, his feet were planted firmly on the blood-slick floor, and the next, he was lunging forward, his claws unsheathing mid-air, his entire world reduced to one singular thought— Wooyoung.

The moment San launched himself forward, the battle erupted around him like a powder keg finally meeting its spark.

Yoongi and Jungkook were the first to strike. Jungkook’s blade flashed under the flickering hospital lights, silver slicing through the air as he aimed for the closest enforcer. Yoongi moved with terrifying precision, his claws raking across the throat of another New Order vampire before the bastard even had time to react.

Mingi and Yunho followed, a deadly force of speed and strength, their blows landing with bone-shattering impact. Bodies collided, the sounds of snarls, grunts, and tearing flesh filling the once-grand entrance hall.

San vision was fixed on Taecyeon and the bruised, bloodied man still locked in his grasp.

Wooyoung’s head lolled slightly, his breathing shallow. The sight nearly sent San spiraling into blind rage.

He had to get to him.

Taecyeon smirked, his grip on Wooyoung tightening just as San closed the last few feet between them. San barely had time to register the gasp of pain from Wooyoung as Taecyeon claws were dragging across his throat.

 

San’s heart pounded in his chest so hard it felt like it might burst free, every beat screaming a single word: No. No. No. No.

He could see the slashes forming on Wooyoung’s neck, the thin line of crimson welling up and trickling down his pale skin like a ghastly smile. San’s vision burned, his eyes stinging as he forced himself to focus on the man holding Wooyoung.

“You think you can take me down, San?” Taecyeon’s voice was smooth, too smooth, dripping with amusement. He leaned in closer to Wooyoung, his breath brushing against the younger man’s ear yet again. Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, his breath hitching as he struggled against Taecyeon’s fierce grip. The sound of his labored breathing was like a knife to San’s chest.

San didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His body moved on its own, driven by a primal fury that eclipsed everything else. His claws extended fully, gleaming in the dim light of the hospital as he closed the distance between them.

The others were still fighting around them, the clash of bodies echoing through the hall, but San didn’t hear it. All he could hear was Wooyoung’s ragged breathing, the soft whimper that escaped his lips as Taecyeon’s claws pressed deeper into his throat.

One more step. Just one more step.

Taecyeon’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with a cruel light. He seemed to be enjoying this, thriving on the chaos and the fear that radiated from San like a palpable force. “You’re so predictable.” he sneered, his voice low and taunting.

San didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. In a blur of motion, he launched himself at Taecyeon, his blade slashing through the air with deadly precision. Taecyeon moved to block him, but San was faster, his movements driven by desperation and raw, unadulterated fear.

He struck true, his blade raking across Taecyeon’s cheek, leaving a deep gash in its wake. Blood sprayed, dark and viscous, and for a moment, Taecyeon’s smirk faltered. But only for a moment.

“Pathetic.” Taecyeon hissed, his claws flashing as he struck back.

San dodged, barely, the force of the attack sending him skidding backward, boots screeching against the marble floor.

“Ah, there it is,” Taecyeon drawled, straightening. His eyes glowed an eerie, predatory red, filled with amusement. “That fire. That rage.” His lips curled. “All for him.”

San didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He launched forward again, mindful to not hurt Wooyoung as he collided with Taecyeon in a brutal clash of speed and power.

Every movement was a blur. San had fought countless battles in his long life, but this— this was different. It was personal.

They fought like animals, like gods, their bodies nothing but shadows clashing through the battlefield. Taecyeon was powerful— more powerful than San could ever known. Each strike reverberated through his bones, forcing him to move, to anticipate, to react.

But San was faster.

And he was fueled by something far more dangerous than strategy or power.

Love.

He had to get Wooyoung out of here. He had to save him. Because the realization had already crashed over him like a wave, undeniable and raw—

 

He was in love with Wooyoung.

 

And he refused to let him die.

As the battle raged on, more figures burst through the swirling chaos of blood and dust.

Jongho was supporting a still-trembling Yeosang, the younger vampire’s eyes burning with a mix of newfound strength and insatiable hunger. Behind them, Seonghwa and Hongjoong emerged onto the bloody field, their faces as unyielding as carved stone, their movements as precise and deadly as honed blades slicing through the ranks of New Order forces with ruthless efficiency.

The tide of the battle shifted.

Jongho and Yeosang moved together like a perfectly orchestrated storm, their combined strength and strategic prowess transforming into a deadly force. Jongho, having spent years within the ranks of the New Order and meticulously learning their every tactic, now wielded that knowledge like a weapon against them. Yeosang, though still unsteady on his feet, was instinctively lethal, following Jongho's lead with a fierce determination that belied his earlier weakness. He mirrored Jongho’s maneuvers, his actions fueled by raw energy and a thirst for vengeance— to safe his best friend and end this bloodshed.

They cut through the ranks of key enforcers, each movement executed with precise synchronization. Jongho seemed to possess an uncanny foresight, predicting their adversaries' strikes moments before they materialized. This foresight allowed him to deftly guide Yeosang, whose recent surge in speed and power transformed him into a terrifying force. Together, they dismantled their opponents with swift and calculated efficiency, leaving them no opportunity to counterattack.

It was war.

It was chaos.

 

It was the beginning of the end.

 

Blood and fire.

That was all Seonghwa could see. The once-sterile entrance hall was now transformed into a harrowing war zone, bodies strewn across the pristine marble floor like discarded puppets, their limbs twisted in unnatural positions. Their lifeless forms created a macabre tapestry of blood that painted grotesque patterns over the once-gleaming surface. The pungent scent of iron hung heavily in the air, mingling with the acrid burn of smoke rising from shattered light fixtures. The atmosphere crackled with the static charge of raw power clashing against power, an invisible tempest swirling around the chaos.

And in the center of it all was him.

Hongjoong moved like an ethereal shadow, slipping through the turmoil with the grace of a predator on the hunt. His daggers flashing like slivers of moonlight. He fought with relentless precision and unyielding ferocity, his movements fluid and deadly. Each strike was an extension of his indomitable will, every blow precise and devastating, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Seonghwa matched him step for step, their synergy a testament to their shared past. They were fire and wind, blade and fang, two halves of the same relentless force that surged forward with unstoppable momentum. There was no need for words, no need for any kind of communication. They had spent centuries apart, lifetimes running from the love that had nearly destroyed them both, and yet now, in the heart of war, they understood each other better than ever.

Seonghwa parried a strike aimed for Hongjoong’s exposed back before he could even sense it coming. Hongjoong spun without looking, his dagger slicing clean through the throat of the vampire lunging for Seonghwa’s side.

They were unstoppable.

The battlefield blurred around them, a chaotic canvas of clashing colors and frenetic motion, while the sounds of snarls and screams faded into a distant, almost forgotten backdrop. Their world had shrunk to just this— the intense heat of each other’s presence, the unspoken understanding that they were together in this moment, fighting as they were always destined to do.

Ahead, a massive enforcer loomed, an imposing figure with fists like sledgehammers, his form a daunting silhouette of dense, layered muscle that seemed impenetrable. He charged forward with menacing intent, his claws extended like deadly talons, a monstrous snarl twisting his lips into a feral grimace.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong reacted without hesitation. They lunged simultaneously, their movements graceful and perfectly synchronized, as if choreographed by an unseen hand.

Seonghwa struck first, sliding low with the precision of a dancer and slicing sharply across the enforcer’s knee. The giant staggered, a furious growl tearing from his throat as his leg gave way beneath him, threatening to topple his immense bulk.

Hongjoong surged forward like a force of nature, his movements a blur. He vaulted over Seonghwa’s crouched form with an agility that defied human limits, landing with lethal precision atop the enforcer’s shoulders. With a vicious twist, he drove his daggers into the monster’s throat, severing arteries and windpipe in one brutal motion.

The enforcer's eyes bulged in shock, a grotesque gargle escaping his lips before his massive form crumpled forward.

In that moment, Seonghwa was there, catching Hongjoong as he sprang from the collapsing body. Their hands collided, slick and crimson with blood that wasn't their own— a dark, binding oath forged in violence and survival. Binding them in a way nothing else could.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Their eyes locked— Seonghwa's gaze blazing with a ferocity that matched the infernos of their shared history, while Hongjoong's eyes widened with something raw, something terrifyingly alive and untamed.

 

Suddenly, Hongjoong lunged forward with a ferocity that shattered the air around them, crashing into Seonghwa, their lips colliding with the force of a storm.

It wasn't tender. It wasn't soft. It was warfare, savage and relentless as the battlefield that raged around them.

Teeth clashed, lips parted, hands gripped—

Hongjoong's fingers tangled in Seonghwa's hair, dragging him deeper, pulling him into the depths of the storm. Seonghwa's arms clamped around him with unyielding strength, one hand pressing firmly into the small of his back, the other sliding up to grip his jaw, tilting his head just enough to devour him whole.

The taste of blood was between them, mingling with their desperation, their hunger, their need.

 

They kissed with the intensity of men who had lived through hell. Like souls who had lost each other too many times to count and refused to let it happen again.

The world around them was still burning, a blazing inferno that roared and crackled, yet for the first time in centuries, they weren’t running from it. They were standing inside the fire, embracing it, embracing each other.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against one another, their breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

“Never again.” Seonghwa whispered.

Hongjoong’s fingers curled tighter into Seonghwa’s shirt, his voice hoarse. “Never.”

 

And just like that, they turned back to the battle— two lovers, two warriors. A seamless force of fury and passion, battling as one.

Chapter 27: Blood and Ruin

Notes:

It's here! The final battle!

TW for violence and death once again :v

Guys I'm so excited about this one. This chapter and the Honghwa kiss from last chapter sksksjsjksks!!!!!! Please give me all your thoughts and scream at me in the comments if you want to :3

Death was all that remained of the hospital’s grand entrance hall. What had once been a place of healing was now nothing but wreckage and carnage. Marble floors slick with gore. Walls riddled with claw marks. Bodies strewn all over the ground. The air reeked of death, the scent of iron choked the air, thick and nauseating. But none of it mattered.

Not now. Not with him standing in the center of it all.

Ok Taecyeon.

San’s heartbeat was a thunderous roar in his ears, his entire body coiled like a loaded spring. Across the hall, Taecyeon stood, the dim glow of the shattered chandeliers casting long shadows across his imposing frame. His suit was torn, his face splattered with the blood of those he had slaughtered. And in his iron grip, held like a broken offering, was Wooyoung.

Wooyoung dangled in Taecyeon’s grip, his throat caught in claws that could sever his spine in an instant. His lip was split, his cheek marred with bruises, blood trailing from the slashed on his throat and a gash on his temple. His breathing was ragged, his body barely holding itself up, and yet— he still looked at San. Wide, desperate, terrified.

San felt his ribs crack under the force of the panic that gripped him. His world dissolved, reduced to a singular point of focus: Wooyoung.

San’s heart was a hammer against his ribs. Move. His body screamed at him. Now.

And then he did.

No thought. No hesitation. Just instinct.

There was only Taecyeon. And the unbearable, burning need to end him.

 

San lunged, his speed a blur, blade arcing toward Taecyeon’s wrist to sever his grip on Wooyoung. But the bastard anticipated him— his grip tightened, lifting Wooyoung higher as he swung his free arm, claws slicing the air.

San barely dodged in time.

The monster threw Wooyoung aside like garbage, sending him crashing towards a pile of rubble.

San didn’t think. He caught him, arms wrapping around Wooyoung’s battered body as they tumbled to the ground. He felt the shudder of pain ripple through him, Wooyoung’s fingers gripping at his collar, his face buried in San’s neck.

“You’re okay!” San gasped, hands pressing against Wooyoung’s sides, checking, feeling for anything broken. “You’re okay, I’ve got you—”

Wooyoung clutched at him, his voice barely above a whisper. “San—”

A shadow loomed over them.

San twisted just in time to see Taecyeon strike.

He barely managed to roll, shoving Wooyoung out of the way as Taecyeon’s claws ripped through the floor where they had been.

San was on his feet in an instant.

Taecyeon grinned at him. “Fast.”

 

Yunho was there in an instant, catching Wooyoung before he could hit the floor. Wooyoung gasped, gripping onto Yunho’s arms with what little strength he had left.

San flung himself towards Taecyeon, tearing through the distance between them, his blade flashing as he slashed toward Taecyeon’s throat. But the bastard was fast, impossibly fast, as he twisted away at the last moment.

San’s blade barely missed his jugular.

His attacks were forcing Taecyeon to move, to dodge, to falter. But he was strong. Stronger than he should have been.

San felt the shift in the air, the raw energy radiating from Taecyeon’s very being.

The bastard had fed. Recently. Violently.

A roar of fury tore from San’s throat as he ducked under Taecyeon’s swipe, driving his blade into the monster's ribcage. The steel sank deep, piercing flesh, puncturing organs—

But Taecyeon laughed.

The blade was ripped from San’s grip as Taecyeon grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the marble floor. The impact cracked through his skull, stars bursting behind his vision, his breath ripped from his lungs.

Blood pooled in his mouth.

Taecyeon leaned down, his voice a whisper. “You can’t win this.”

San’s fingers twitched. And then he snarled.

He broke Taecyeon’s grip, twisting his body, slamming his fist into the bastard’s ribs. Bone shattered beneath his knuckles. Taecyeon staggered back

San followed up with another strike, his blade arcing down. Taecyeon blocked it with his forearm, the metal biting into flesh, but instead of pulling away, he grinned.

He grabbed the blade with his bare hands.

And twisted.

The steel bent, snapping like brittle bone. San barely had time to react before Taecyeon launched him backward, sending him crashing through what remained of the hospital’s reception desk. Wood splintered beneath him, pain lancing through his spine.

“San!”

Wooyoung’s voice cut through the chaos, raw and desperate. He was on his feet, struggling in Yunho’s hold as the taller man tried to pull him to safety.

“Get him out of here!” San growled, shoving himself back to his feet. Blood dripped from his split lip, his body already repairing itself, but his strength was waning.

“I’m not leaving you!” Wooyoung screamed, kicking against Yunho’s grip, his hands clawing at the air. His eyes— those dark, tear-filled eyes— were locked onto San like he was afraid to blink, afraid that if he looked away for even a second, San would be gone.

“Wooyoung,” Yunho’s voice was gentle but firm, his grip unyielding. “You’re hurt. I need to get you of—.”

“N-No!” he rasped, struggling against the hands that tried to pull him away. “I can’t leave him— I can’t—”

His chest heaved, his eyes wild, frantic. Terrified. “I won’t leave him. Don’t— don’t make me leave him.”

San heard every word.

And it killed him.

 

His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, his hands shaking with the effort to hold himself together. The bond between them burned, a fire raging deep in his chest, demanding he go to Wooyoung, that he hold him, that he never let him out of his sight again—

But there was something else in his way. Taecyeon. And Wooyoung would only be save if San would end the life of this monster.

San exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus.

The bastard smiled at him, his canines bared in something between amusement and cruelty. “Touching,” he mused, rolling his shoulders. “Really, it’s almost enough to make me pity you.” He lifted his bloodied hand, flexing his fingers like a predator about to strike. “But I think I just kill you nevertheless, San.”

“I’ll send you back to hell.” San growled.

The air around them shifted, crackling with the promise of violence.

 

Then the world exploded.

 

San met Taecyeon’s charge head-on, their clash sending shockwaves through the already ruined hall. Taecyeon fought like a beast unleashed— feral, merciless, relentless. His claws slashed through the air with terrifying precision, each strike aiming to maim, to kill.

But San was faster.

He ducked, twisted, countered with brutal efficiency. He had spent centuries hunting creatures like Taecyeon, spent lifetimes perfecting his craft, and now every ounce of that experience bled into his movements. He dodged, his body moving like liquid shadow, every counterstrike aimed for maximum damage.

And then, from the side—

A blur of darkness.

Yoongi.

He struck like a phantom, his presence nearly imperceptible until the moment of impact. His blade caught Taecyeon’s ribs, twisting deep, and the bastard roared in pain.

“I was wondering when you’d stop running your mouth.” Yoongi murmured, his voice deceptively soft.

Taecyeon’s head snapped toward him, rage twisting his features. He yanked himself free, the wound already closing, and lunged.

Yoongi was already there. He struck him, his clawed hand a blur of motion, his strength ancient, devastating. But Taecyeon expected it— he anticipated him. He ducked, pivoting smoothly, and lashed out with an elbow to Yoongi’s ribs. The impact cracked through the hall like a gunshot, but Yoongi barely staggered, his fangs bared in a silent snarl.

 

The battle became merciless.

San and Yoongi moved together with the kind of synergy only centuries of bloodshed could forge. Yoongi was all precision, striking with the eerie grace of a specter, each movement calculated, ruthless. San was the storm— agile, explosive, relentless. Together, they drove Taecyeon back, forcing him to fight defensively for the first time.

He lashed out, his claws grazing San’s cheek, drawing blood. He spun, aiming a vicious kick at Yoongi’s ribs, sending him skidding backward.

But San was already there.

A brutal strike to the jaw. A sickening crack of bone. Taecyeon staggered, and San followed through, pummeling him with everything he had, his fists colliding with flesh and bone over and over and—

A misstep.

Taecyeon lashed out, his claws driving deep into San’s side.

San gasped, pain flaring white-hot through his nerves. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Through the haze of agony, he saw movement— Yoongi, coming up behind Taecyeon, his blade gleaming in the dim light.

San didn’t hesitate.

With a guttural snarl, he wrenched himself free from Taecyeon’s claws, the pain nearly blinding. Then he moved, faster than thought, grabbing Taecyeon’s arm— holding him in place-

And Yoongi struck.

Taecyeon screamed.

San didn’t give him time to recover. He tore into him, clawed at him with the fury of a man who had lost too much, who had been forced to watch the ones he cared for suffer at this bastard’s hands. He couldn’t stop tearing into him. Harder. Faster.

Taecyeon hissed in pain but retaliated instantly, his claws slashing through the air.

San barely had time to dodge before fire exploded through his ribs. He gasped, but didn’t gave Taecyeon time to recover. With a growl, he lunged forward, twisting midair. His boot connected with Taecyeon’s ribs, sending him skidding across the blood-slicked floor.

Yoongi appeared in a blur of motion, his claws slicing at Taecyeon’s exposed side. The bastard caught his wrist mid-strike, twisting violently— shattering bones. Yoongi snarled, the sound pure rage.

Yoongi's gaze met San's. Yoongi was no ordinary fighter— he was a strategist, a shadow that struck when least expected. With a swift motion, he hurled his blade through the air with his uninjured hand, its dark silhouette gleaming under the faint light, the steel shimmering like a serpent's fang. The blade spun, a deadly arc of steel and purpose, cutting through the tense air with a soft whizz.

San's eyes followed the blade's trajectory, his hand instinctively reaching out. Time seemed to slow as his fingers closed around the hilt with a familiarity that sent a shiver down his spine. The metal was cool to the touch, its weight a comforting balance in his grasp. A flood of memories burst through him like a dam breaking. He knew this blade, its feel, its balance, the way it seemed to hum with a dark energy. It was a blade he had thought lost to the past, a relic tied to moments he had tried to bury.

San's heart raced as recognition dawned. The intricate engravings on the hilt, the balance of the steel— it all came flooding back, memories he had kept locked away for centuries. He felt a surge of nostalgia, a bittersweet ache that intertwined with his rage, fueling his determination. For a moment, he could almost hear the voice of the one who had once wielded it, could almost see the ghost of a smile that had long since faded.

The blade had once been a symbol of unity, a bond between him and Yoongi. Now, it was a weapon of reclamation, a key to their victory.

 

With renewed ferocity, San plunged the blade into the fight. Each strike was precise, driven by a mix of old pain and newfound resolve. Yoongi watched, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, as San's attacks became relentless.

The blade became an extension of San as ripped it across Taecyeon’s chest, tearing fabric and flesh apart. Blood gushed from the wound.

But Taecyeon laughed.

“Doesn’t this bring back memories?” he taunted, spitting blood onto the floor. “It’s just like the Endless Night all over again.”

San’s eyes flickered, the familiar white-hot pain surging through him like liquid fire, searing every nerve and muscle.

The Endless Night. Those three words were enough to unravel the fragile thread of control he clung to, each syllable a dagger plunged into this heart. It wasn’t just the wound in his side that was burning now— old scars, long buried, tore open with a viciousness that left him breathless.

The dim, blood-streaked hall around him began to blur, fading into the shadows of a night that had refused to end. The Solar Eclipse. He could smell the acrid tang of smoke and ash, hear the distant screams that echoed in his mind like the cries of the damned. His breath hitched as the memories crashed over him— a tidal wave of pain and despair. The clash of steel on steel, the relentless, suffocating chaos. He could feel the rough stone beneath his knees, the weight of his failures crushing him as he’d crawled through the carnage, desperate to reach the ones he’d sworn to protect. The ones he had sired.

He could see the flames first, licking at the horizon like a living beast, consuming everything in their path. The temple where they had sought refuge was gone, reduced to smoldering ruins. The faces of the others flashed in his mind— some familiar, some strangers, all of them trapped in the inferno.

He’d been too late. Always too late.

 

San could feel the weight of the severed limbs of his loved ones in his hands, the cold kiss of steel against his flesh, the endless screams that had filled the night until there was nothing left but silence.

Taecyeon’s laughter reverberated through the hallucination, and for a moment, San was there again— trapped in the labyrinth of flames, the sound of his own roar echoing as he tore through the inferno, only to find… only to find—

“San!” Yoongi’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. San blinked, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he staggered forward, the present colliding with the past in a way that left him disoriented. Yoongi’s hand clamped on his shoulder, grounding him, but San couldn’t shake the memory of the flames, of the blood-soaked blade in his hand, of the weight of Taecyeon’s mocking smile as he’d stood amidst the ruins.

San didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His entire body burned with fury and agony, the echo of the Endless Night threatening to tear him apart.

“You remember, don’t you?” Taecyeon sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “The way you screamed, the way you begged. You couldn’t save them any more than you can save yourself now.”

San’s vision narrowed, a red haze creeping into the edges as the pain of the past and present merged. He could feel Yoongi’s steady presence beside him, the silent command to focus, but San’s control was slipping. The storm that had driven him to fight all these years roared to life, wild and unrelenting.

He wouldn’t stop. Not until Taecyeon was nothing but pieces.

 

Taecyeon lunged— San met him midair.

They clashed like gods at war, the impact sending shockwaves through the ruined hospital. San’s blade clashed against Taecyeon’s claws, sparks flying, blood spraying. Each strike was a prayer to the dead, each blow a promise of retribution. The pain in his side was a distant echo, drowned out by the roar of his fury.

He caught Taecyeon’s wrist mid-strike, shattered the bones with a brutal twist. Taecyeon wailed in agony, his other hand clawing at San’s throat, but San didn’t let go. He wrenched the broken arm backward, the tendons snapping like piano strings.

San barely had time to react before Yoongi vanished— a blur of black and silver as he reappeared behind Taecyeon, his claws ripping into the man’s spine. Taecyeon roared, his body jerking forward, but Yoongi was relentless. He twisted, his strength merciless, ripping Taecyeon’s arm from his socket in a grotesque spray of blood.

San’s knee slammed into Taecyeon’s chest, sending him staggering back, ribs shattering under the force. Taecyeon coughed blood, his remaining arm clutching weakly at the gaping wound where his other limb had been severed. But still, he laughed, a wheezing, broken thing.

“You… think this will stop me?” He spat, bloodied teeth flashing. “You think killing me will change anything?”

San’s vision tunneled. He saw the bodies of the innocent, the war Taecyeon had started, the blood Wooyoung had shed, the fear in Yeosang’s eyes when he had woken up changed, turned into something he never asked to be.

 

No more.

 

San burst forward.

He dodged Taecyeon’s desperate swipe and drove his blade into his stomach, twisting until he felt muscle and sinew tear.

He buried his blade inside deep Taecyeon’s gut, all the way to the hilt.

Taecyeon’s breath hitched. His body convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent gasp of shock.

San twisted the blade.

Yoongi moved beside him, his hand flashing out like a viper.

Fangs met flesh.

Yoongi ripped into Taecyeon’s throat, tearing the flesh open, severing veins, crushing his windpipe. The bastard gurgled, eyes blown wide in horror, his body twitching violently as his life was torn from him.

San’s grip tightened on his blade.

 

And then, with a final, brutal motion, he wrenched the blade upward— splitting Taecyeon in half.

 

Blood sprayed across the ruined hall, the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone filling the silence like a hymn to the end of an era. Organs spilled onto the marble, intestines unraveling like a grotesque tapestry of crimson and meat.

Taecyeon collapsed to his knees, his body shaking, his hands weakly grasping at the gaping wound in his torso as if trying to hold himself together.

San wasn’t done. Not yet.

He dropped the blade.

 

And tore Taecyeon’s head from his shoulders with his bare hands.

 

The crack of vertebrae echoed through the bloodstained ruins. Taecyeon’s body collapsed in two broken halves.

His head hit the marble floor last with a wet thud, rolling to a stop at San’s feet, his dead eyes frozen in an expression of shock, as if he had never once believed that he could lose.

San let out a slow breath, his hands shaking, his vision blurring at the edges.

He watched with a hard gaze as the last light drained from Taecyeons’ eyes.

 

Silence.

 

For a moment, all San could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing, the pounding of his pulse in his ears. His chest was heaving, blood dripping from his hands, from his arms, from his soul.

Then— A sob tore through the silence.

San turned just in time for Wooyoung to break free from Yunho’s grasp, his body crashing into San’s with the force of a tidal wave. San barely caught him before they both went to the ground, Wooyoung’s arms wrapping around him so tightly it hurt.

“San!” Wooyoung was sobbing, hot tears streaming down his face. “You’re okay!” Wooyoung choked out, his voice cracking. “You’re okay! You’re okay!”

San closed his eyes, arms curling around Wooyoung’s shaking frame. He pressed his forehead against Wooyoung’s, breathing in the scent of him, grounding himself in the reality that he was here.

Alive.

“Wooyoung…” he breathed.

Safe.

Wooyoung clung to him, his fingers digging into San like he was afraid he’d disappear. His body trembled, his breaths coming in gasps.

“I thought I lost you,” Wooyoung’s voice broke, raw and desperate. He shoved at San’s chest, fists pounding weakly against him before grabbing the fabric of his torn shirt. “I thought— I thought you were—”

San exhaled shakily, his fingers threading through Wooyoung’s hair, gripping him as tightly as Wooyoung was gripping him. “I’m here.” he whispered.

“Don’t leave me—” Wooyoung’s breath hitched. “Don’t you ever leave me again.”

San breath caught in his throat. He rested his forehead against Wooyoung’s, his hands brushing against his’s cheeks, wiping away the blood and tears.

“Never.” he promised.

 

He didn’t know who moved first.

One second, they were staring at each other. The next, Wooyoung was kissing him, hard and desperate, tasting of blood and salt and something deeper— something San had spent centuries running from.

San melted into him, his fingers tightening in Wooyoung’s hair, pulling him closer, grounding himself in the only thing that mattered now.

His fingers curled around Wooyoung’s jaw, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, drinking in every shuddering breath, every broken sob, every ounce of life Wooyoung pressed into him.

Against all odds, they were still here.

 

And For the first time in what felt like eternity, the battle was over.

Chapter 28: The Aftermath's Embrace

The air was thick with the stench of blood and antiseptic, the faint hum of medical equipment echoing through the makeshift infirmary.

San lay on a narrow bed, his broad shoulders rising with each cautious breath, the faint glow of his supernatural nature flickering beneath the surface. His dimples were absent, his sharp features softened by the pallor of exhaustion. Bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, stained crimson in places where the wounds still seeped. Despite the pain, his movements remained precise, controlled, as he carefully sat up, his fluid grace a stark contrast to the chaos around him.

Wooyoung hovered at his side, his dark hair disheveled, his clothes streaked with blood and grime. His gentle eyes were red-rimmed, exhaustion etched into the soft features of his face.

He pressed a cool compress to San's forehead, his touch tender, his rapid-fire dialogue a stark contrast to the heavy silence between them. "You're going to be fine, you hear me? You're going to be just fine. I won't let anything happen to you, San. Not now, not ever."

San's gaze met Wooyoung's, his deep, measured voice a soothing balm to the raw emotion in the air. "You don't have to stay. You should rest."

"And leave you alone? Don't be ridiculous," Wooyoung snapped, his humor a thin veil over the fear that clung to him like a shadow. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't decide to heroically martyr yourself the moment my back is turned."

San's rare, bright smile flickered to life, though it was tinged with pain. "I think I've had enough heroics for one day."

Wooyoung's laughter was quick, sharp, but it faltered as he glanced around the room. The Hunters and Humanists moved in quiet efficiency, tending to the wounded, their faces grim, their eyes haunted by the memories of the battle. The air was thick with the weight of loss, the unspoken grief that clung to every surface like a shroud.

 

Yoongi stood at the edge of the room, his silver eyes fixed on San and Wooyoung, his silver hair falling neatly around his sharp features. His normally elegant clothing was tattered and bloody, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos around him, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath. He had always been careful, guarded, but now there was a softness to his gaze, a quiet resignation that spoke volumes.

Jungkook appeared beside him, his sharp, expressive eyes reflecting the depth of his convictions. He reached out his hand, handing Yoongi a sleek black phone. His voice was calm, measured, but laced with an undercurrent of tension. "It's him."

Yoongi's gaze tightened, his jaw clenched as he took the phone, his fingers brushing against Jungkook's in a fleeting touch that spoke of unspoken feelings. He turned away without a word, his movements graceful but heavy with the weight of what was to come.

San watched him go, his sharp features softening into a frown. "Yoongi—"

"Don’t worry. It’s okay." Jungkook interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "Let him go."

The phone's screen cast an icy glow on Yoongi's face, illuminating the sharp contours of his features like a lantern in a shadowy hallway. His voice was a low murmur, a series of hushed, clipped responses that offered no insight into the conversation, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. The more he listened, the tighter his grip on the phone became, his silver eyes narrowing as if the words themselves were a physical weight. With a final, terse farewell, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

 

 

Wooyoung's hand tightened around San's. San's gaze returned to Wooyoung, his eyes searching, his voice low, careful. "You should rest. You've been up for—"

"Don't," Wooyoung cut in, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Don't try to distract me. I'm not leaving you. Not now. Not ever."

San's deep dimples appeared with the faintest hint of a smile, his voice soft, sincere. "I wouldn't ask you to."

The room around them faded into the background, the sounds of the wounded, the hum of the machines, the quiet murmur of voices, all blending into a distant static noise.

San’s chest rose and fell with a slow, steady rhythm, the bandages that wrapped his torso a grim reminder of the toll the battle had taken. His eyes, soft and watchful, were fixed on Wooyoung, who was still tightly gripping his hand. The younger man's face was marred by the remnants of tears, his lashes still glistening in the harsh fluorescent light, yet his eyes were stubborn, his jaw set in a fierce, determination.

San’s deep dimples appeared yet again, a faint, gentle smile that seemed to bear the weight of the world. “You’re safe.” he said, his voice soft, a low, soothing hum that carried the same reassuring power as a lullaby. His eyes, those profound, deep eyes, met and held Wooyoung’s, the connection between them so palpable it could be felt in the air.

But even that fragile reassurance was not enough. Not now. Not after the raw, bloody horrors they had just survived. “I can’t… I can’t relax. I feel like— If I let go of you now, something bad might happen.” Wooyoung whispered, his voice trembling, his other hand instinctively rising to the pulse in his neck, as if to reassure himself that it still came, steady and sure. The memories of battles, of the endless killing, of the endless pain, were etched into his face, and in his eyes, the fear was still shining.

San’s face softened, his brows drawing together in a quiet, understanding frown. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of Wooyoung’s head, his touch warm, steady. “Nothing bad will happen…” he said, his voice as soft as the fall of a snowflake. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, slowly, Wooyoung’s face began to crumble, the tears he had been holding back spilling over in a raw, heart-aching way. His hands, still clutching San’s, shook with the same trembling that wracked his body. The sobs came hard, his lungs heaving as he let go of all the fear, all the tension, and simply broke.

San did not try to shush him, did not try to offer the cheap, easy words of reassurance. Instead, he pulled Wooyoung closer, his arms wrapping tightly around him, his lips pressing to the hot, wet trails of his tears. It was a gentle, unassuming touch, but it held a profound power, a quiet, steady strength that was neither a command nor a request, but a simple, unconditional acceptance.

And then, in the same, soft voice, he said, “I love you.”

The words were like a key turning in a lock, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. They were not grand, not dramatic, but they were deeply, profoundly true, and they shook something in both of them to the core.

“I love you too.” Wooyoung whispered.

For a moment, they just held each other, the world outside their small bubble of warmth and vulnerability no longer relevant.

Then, slowly, they came together, their lips touching in a gentle, tender, slightly tentative kiss.

 

 

The heavy clang of boots echoed through the dimly lit hall, punctuated by the soft rustle of tailored suits. The air still lingered with the scent of blood and smoke, a grim reminder of the battle's aftermath. Yoongi stood at the entrance, his silver eyes narrowing as he watched the government delegation approach. Among them, a tall, handsome man with chiseled features and an air of authority led the way. Yoongi's jaw tightened as their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Minister Taehyung." Yoongi greeted, his voice smooth yet laced with underlying tension. His gaze lingered on Taehyung, noting the faint strain around his eyes, a crack in his otherwise composed facade.

Taehyung's smile was polite, yet it carried the weight of unspoken burdens. "Yoongi, as always, it's a pleasure." he replied, his voice calm but edged with the strain of the night's events.

As the group entered, San, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong joined Yoongi, forming a semi-circle around Taehyung. San's presence was calm, a steady anchor amidst the turmoil, while Seonghwa's empathetic nature was evident in his concerned expression. Hongjoong, however, stood with crossed arms, his intensity palpable.

Taehyung's composure was evident, yet the faint twitch of his eye betrayed the toll the massacre had taken.

"Minister," Yoongi began, his tone measured, "I trust you're here to discuss the… unpleasantness at the hospital."

Taehyung nodded, his expression unreadable. "Unpleasantness hardly covers it, Min. The attack on the hospital was a declaration of war. The public is on edge, and my office is flooded with demands for answers."

Yoongi stepped forward, his silver eyes glinting in the dim light. "And why do you think we’re the ones to give you the answers you seek?"

Taehyung's smile was thin, cold. "Because I know you, Yoongi."

The tension between them was palpable, a invisible thread stretched taut, ready to snap. San shifted slightly, his presence a subtle reminder of the power at Yoongi's command. Seonghwa, ever the diplomat, placed a hand on Yoongi's shoulder, a silent plea for restraint.

Taehyung stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor, the sound echoing too loudly in the heavy silence. "We don't have time for games, Yoongi. I need to know what happened. Every detail.”

"Very well," Yoongi said finally, his voice low and precise. "We will tell you what we know.” Yoongi's gaze never wavered from Taehyung's, the air thick with the tension of two leaders locked in a silent battle of wills.

"Ok Taecyeon," Yoongi said, his voice low and deliberate, "he planned this meticulously. The hospital was not a random target. It was a calculated strike, designed to draw attention, to create fear, and to expose us."

Taehyung's brows drew together, his expression a mask of controlled curiosity. "And why would he do that? The New Order has never acted on such a large scale before."

Yoongi's silver eyes gleamed in the dim light, their intensity piercing. "Because exposure is the first step to control. The New Order has always believed that humanity cannot coexist with us as equals. They see humans as pawns, as resources to be exploited, and Taecyeon was no exception. By attacking the hospital, he wanted to create chaos, to sow panic, and to force the truth into the light."

"And once the truth is out," Taehyung murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of dread and resignation, "he believes the fear will do the rest for him. Fear of the unknown, fear of what you are, will drive humans to demand control, to seek safety in the hands of those who promise protection."

Yoongi nodded, a small, controlled movement. "Exactly. Taecyeon's strategy was not merely to disclose our presence but to establish the New Order as the sole force capable of reinstating stability. He aimed to project himself as a dictator, someone whom humans would either submit to or face annihilation."

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Yoongi's words hanging in the air. Taehyung's expression was unreadable, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of neutrality, but the faint tightening of his jaw betrayed his growing unease.

"And what of the Humanists?" Taehyung asked finally, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "What will you do to counter this?"

Yoongi's gaze never wavered. "We will do what we have always done. We will work in the shadows, protecting both our kind and yours. We incinerated Taecyeon. Made sure he could never hurt another again, no matter Vampire or Human."

Taehyung's lips pressed into a thin line.

Yoongi inclined his head. "What will you do, Minister? What about the truth they so desperately tried to reveal? Will you give them what they wanted? Or will you continue to dance around the shadows, as you always have?"

Taehyung's gaze hardened, though his voice remained even. "The truth is a luxury we cannot afford. Not yet. The government will ensure your secret remains safe," he stated, his tone firm yet weary. "But in return, the remnants of the New Order must be eradicated. We cannot afford another incident."

Yoongi nodded, his expression guarded. "Agreed. But know this, Minister— this is a one-time courtesy. Do not mistake it for weakness."

San stepped forward, his gentle tone a stark contrast to the tension. "We understand the weight of this alliance. Together, we can ensure a future free from bloodshed."

Seonghwa's eyes softened, his voice filled with compassion. "We all want peace. This is a step toward that."

Hongjoong remained silent, his brooding gaze a testament to his internal conflict. His hands clenched, a subtle sign of his resolve. When he silently spoke up, his voice was hard. “The Hunters will join forces with the Humanists. To ensure every single remnants of the New Order will be obliterated.”

As the pact was sealed, the weight of the task ahead hung heavy in the air. The group exchanged nods, their determination a silent vow. The dim lighting cast long shadows, a reminder of the challenges ahead and the uneasy alliance forged in the night's darkness.

 

 

The dim glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows across the room. Seonghwa leaned against the edge of a polished wooden table, his hands clasped together in front of him, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Hongjoong stood at the far end of the room, his sharp eyes scanning the space as if searching for unseen threats, his white-black hair catching the dim light in streaks of stark contrast. Between them, the Hunter and the Humanist leaders sat in a circle, their voices low but impassioned as they hashed out the terms of their fragile truce.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through the murmur, his tone sharp yet controlled. “We can’t keep targeting all vampires. Innocents will die, just like they did today. We need to draw a line— protect the ones who mean no harm, and hunt only those who prey on the weak.”

A grizzled Hunter leader nodded, his face etched with scars. “Agreed. But how do we differentiate? Vampires are vampires. They all thirst for blood.”

Seonghwa stepped forward, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Not all of us are monsters,” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of pain. “We have the capacity for good, for love, for compassion. Just as humans do. We are not defined solely by our nature, but by our choices.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Slowly, nods began to circulate, the tension in the room easing ever so slightly. Hongjoong watched Seonghwa with a gaze that bordered on reverence, his expression unreadable yet betraying a flicker of emotion in his eyes.

When the discussion finally adjourned, the participants filing out with newfound resolve, Hongjoong lingered. Seonghwa noticed, his eyes meeting Hongjoong’s across the room. Without a word, Seonghwa turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Hongjoong following silently behind.

 

They stopped in a narrow corridor, the walls lined with peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lights. Seonghwa turned to face Hongjoong, his expression soft yet probing. “You were quiet during the meeting,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “What’s on your mind, Joong?”

Hongjoong shifted, his eyes dropping to the floor before finally meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted, his voice rougher than usual. “Seeing you, working alongside you… it brings back things I thought I’d buried.”

Seonghwa took a step closer, his movements cautious yet deliberate. “What things?” he asked, his tone tinged with a mixture of curiosity and vulnerability.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, the muscle flexing as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside him. His hands, still clenched into fists, hung rigidly at his sides, as though anchoring him to the present. The past, however, was relentless in its pursuit.

“You.” Hongjoong finally uttered, the word escaping like a sigh, heavy with the weight of unspoken truth. “Memories of you. Of us. Of what we once were, before… before everything fell apart.”

Seonghwa’s expression softened, his eyes widening slightly as he took another cautious step closer. The distance between them seemed to shrink, yet it felt like an insurmountable chasm. “Joong…” he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper that carried on the tense air.

The word, barely above a whisper, was a bridge of vulnerability, spanning the chasm of their fractured past.

 

Then, in a burst of impulsive passion, Hongjoong's restraint snapped. His hand reached out, capturing Seonghwa's arm, his touch electrifying.

Hongjoong’s grip on Seonghwa’s arm was unyielding, his fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve as he pulled him into a deserted hospital room. The door slammed shut behind them with a resounding bang, echoing through the empty space like a gunshot.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened as he stumbled slightly, catching himself against the edge of a hospital bed. His gaze snapped to Hongjoong, who stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, accentuating the tension in his jaw and the fire burning in his eyes.

There was something wild about him, something dangerous, yet magnetic. Seonghwa had seen that look before, but never directed at him. It made his heart race, his breath hitch in his throat.

“Joong— What are you doing?” Seonghwa asked, his voice calm but laced with a thread of caution. He straightened, smoothing his sleeve with a practiced elegance, though his eyes never left Hongjoong’s face.

Hongjoong didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step closer, then another, until he was inches away from Seonghwa. The heat from his body was palpable, a stark contrast to the chill of the hospital air. Seonghwa could see the faintest tremble in Hongjoong’s hands, the way his fingers flexed as if itching to reach out. But he didn’t. Not yet.

Hongjoong’s voice trembled slightly as finally spoke. “The way you used to smile at me, the way you’d laugh when I teased you. The way you’d hold my hand like I was the only person in the world.” His voice cracked, the words spilling out in a rush. “I never stopped loving you, Hwa. I couldn’t. You were— you are everything to me. I joined the Hunters because I had to. When I found out what happened during the Endless Night, when I learned about your fangs and how close you came to death… I couldn’t just stand by and let anything happen to you again.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Hongjoong’s cheek, the touch sending a shiver through both of them. “You left me,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice trembling. “You chose the Hunters over me, over us. Why?”

Hongjoong’s eyes closed, his face twisting in a mixture of pain and regret. “Because I couldn’t protect you any other way,” he said, his voice barely audible. “The Hunters… they were the most crucial danger to what you are, to who you are. If I was one of them, I could watch over you from within, make sure no one ever hurt you again.”

Seonghwa’s fingers lingered on Hongjoong’s cheek, his touch gentle yet unyielding. “At what cost?” he asked softly. “Your happiness? Your soul?”

Hongjoong’s eyes snapped open, his gaze piercing. “You’ve always been worth it,” he said, his voice steady now, resolute. “You’ve always been worth every sacrifice.”

 

The air between them was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions and unresolved tension. Seonghwa’s hand dropped, but the warmth of his touch lingered on Hongjoong’s skin. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Why?" Seonghwa's voice cracked, a mix of pain and confusion. His eyes, red-rimmed from holding back tears, searched Hongjoong's face for answers. The cool night air carried the scent of rain, but it did little to ease the heat of his anger.

Hongjoong's expression was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed the storm within. He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as if each step might be his last. "I did it for you." he said, his voice low and steady, yet tinged with the weight of sacrifice.

Seonghwa's laughter was bitter, a sound that cut through the night. "For me? You think you did all of this to protect me?" He gestured to the space between them, as if the distance was a tangible thing. "You abandoned me, Joong. You left me to join the monsters that had almost destroyed me."

The words hung in the air, sharp and accusatory. Hongjoong flinched, the mask slipping just enough to reveal the pain beneath. "I had to," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I couldn't lose you."

In a flash of anger and hurt, Seonghwa's hand connected with Hongjoong's cheek, the slap echoing through the stillness. Hongjoong didn't flinch, didn't move, as if he had expected it. "You broke my heart," Seonghwa sobbed, his voice shaking. "You broke me."

 

Before Hongjoong could respond, Seonghwa closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both desperate and forgiving. It was a kiss that spoke of decades of longing, of pain and regret, of a love that refused to die.

As they pulled back, gasping for air, Hongjoong's hands cradled Seonghwa's face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. " I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Seonghwa's tears streamed down, mixing with the faint mark on Hongjoong's cheek. “I can’t loose you again…”

Hongjoong pulled him close, their embrace tight and unyielding. "You won't," he vowed. "I’ll never leave you again. No matter what happens. No more running. No more lies."

In that moment, the past faded, leaving only the promise of a future where they could heal and grow together.

As the first drops of rain fell, they stood there, a testament to the power of love and forgiveness, ready to face whatever lay ahead, side by side.

The world around them seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a moment that had been years in the making. Seonghwa’s hands slid up Hongjoong’s chest, his touch tentative at first, but growing bolder as the heat between them intensified. Hongjoong’s breath hitched as Seonghwa’s fingers brushed against the scar that ran along his collarbone, a reminder of battles fought and losses endured.

 

Without a word, Hongjoong’s hands tightened around Seonghwa’s waist, pulling him closer as their lips met again, this time with a hunger that could no longer be contained. The kiss was rough, desperate, a collision of mouths that spoke of years of silence and longing. Seonghwa moaned, the sound muffled against Hongjoong’s lips, as Hongjoong’s fangs grazed his tongue, drawing a faint trickle of blood that only fueled the fire between them.

Hongjoong’s hands roamed wildly, tearing at Seonghwa’s shirt with a strength that sent buttons scattering to the wet ground. The cool night air hit Seonghwa’s skin, but he was warm, blazing with a heat that Hongjoong couldn’t resist. He pressed Seonghwa back against the wall, his hips grinding against him, the friction sending shivers through both of them. Seonghwa’s hands found Hongjoong’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss as if he could anchor him there forever.

Hongjoong’s lips left Seonghwa’s, trailing down his throat with a ferocity that made Seonghwa’s head fall back against the wall. He nipped at the pulse pounding in Seonghwa’s neck, his fangs aching to sink deeper, to claim what had always been his.

Hongjoong’s hips rocked against Seonghwa’s harder now, their erections pressing together through their pants, as they kissed with a hunger that had been building for decades. Seonghwa's hand fumbled with the buttons on Hongjoong’s shirt, desperate to feel his skin. The fabric fell away, revealing taut abs and a broad chest.

Hongjoong’s mouth trailed down Seonghwa’s neck further, sucking and biting gently, eliciting moans and shivers. Eager hands explored every inch of newfound territory, feeling each others' bodies as if they were uncharted lands.

Seonghwa arched his back as Hongjoong’s mouth found his nipple, sucking it into his warm mouth. His nails dug into Hongjoong’s back, leaving half-moons on his skin. The pain heightened the pleasure, fueling the fire between them.

Hongjoong slid his hand down Seonghwa’s abdomen, ghosting over his erection through his jeans. Seonghwa bucked his hips against the touch, whimpering for more. With shaking hands, Hongjoong opened Seonghwa’s pants, sliding them down together with his underwear with a passionate impatience that made Seonghwa shiver.

Hongjoong’s eyes devoured Seonghwa’s bodies, every scar and imperfection only adding to his allure.

Hongjoong knelt before Seonghwa, taking him in his mouth. He licked and sucked the sensitive head of Seonghwa's lenght before sliding it deeper into his warm throat. Seonghwa gasped, throwing his head back as pleasure courged through him. His hips moved involuntarily, seeking more of that exquisite feeling.

"Joong!" he moaned, unable to form coherent words as pleasure consumed him. His hand tangled in Hongjoong's hair, guiding him closer.

Hongjoong wasted no time to swallowing him whole. Seonghwa's hands gripped the wall, nails digging into the cheap hospital room's paint as pleasure courses through him.

Unable to take it anymore, Seonghwa roughly pulled Hongjoong up and slammed him against the wall, claiming his mouth in a fierce kiss. Their tongues danced together, both eager to reclaim the other. Panting, Seonghwa licked his way down Hongjoong's neck, stopping at his collarbone. He flicked his tongue over the sensitive area, causing Hongjoong to arch his back. Seonghwa smirked, ensured that he still knew how to push his buttons.

They tumbled onto the hospital bed, and Seonghwa made quick work of getting Hongjoong out of his pants. Their clothes lay forgotten on the floor as they kissed, tongue and teeth, desperation and longing.

Hongjoong spread Seonghwa's legs, his eyes dark with desire. Slowly, he inched his tongue down Seonghwa's stomach, pausing to tease his navel, before he reached his destination. He looked up, meeting Seonghwa's eyed.

The tip of Hongjoong's tongue hovered for a moment, his breath dancing across the most intimate part of Seonghwa's body, until it finalized the suspense, pressing lightly to the aching, tight flesh. Seonghwa's eyes widened, his lips trembling with a soft, despergae gasp.

Seonghwa's hands flew to Hongjoong's shoulders, his nails clawing into his flesh as he pulled him deeper, urging him to begin. The room was filled with the sharp, husky breath of the two, their hearts pounding. Without allowing the moment to be drawn out, the warm, silky caress of Hongjoong's tongue slid into him, starting gentle but growing more insistent.

Hongjoong’s tongue was moving with a desperate hunger that left Seonghwa gasping, his fingers clawing at the sheets.

Seonghwa’s back arched, his mouth opening to unleash a delicate moan. He was writhing under the relentless assault of the laving, exquisite tongue. The heat and the brutal bliss washed over him like a surge, his hips forcing upwards, their bodies working in tune as if time had never stolen the unity from their past.

Hongjoong’s moans echoed against Seonghwa’s body, a primal sound that sent shivers down his spine. Seonghwa’s legs twitched, his body arching as Hongjoong’s mouth worked relentlessly, each stroke of his tongue making Seonghwa unravel more

The only sound in the room was the savage, desperate moans echoing between the two, their bodies glistened with the smooth sweat that lined their skin. Each thrust of Hongjoong’s tongue seemed to tear through Seonghwa’s body, reaching deep into his very essence and pulling the emotions from his depths. The pain and the love blended into one, making Seonghwa cry out.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his hands trembling as he reached down to grip Hongjoong’s hair, pulling him even closer. The pain only added to the pleasure, a sharp contrast to the ache in his chest. “Hongjoong!” he whispered, his voice breaking, “More— please, more.”

Hongjoong’s response was immediate, his tongue delving deeper, faster, as if he, too, couldn’t get enough. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, the creak of the hospital bed beneath them, and the distant hum of the city outside. But in that moment, nothing else mattered. There was only the two of them, their bodies intertwined in a dance both of them had longed for.

 

Seonghwa’s climax hit him like a storm, his body shuddering as he cried out, his fingers tightening in Hongjoong’s hair. Hongjoong didn’t stop, his mouth relentless as he drank in every shiver, every moan, until Seonghwa lay still, his chest heaving. Only then did Hongjoong pull back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire.

Seonghwa reached for him, pulling him up and into a kiss that was both tender and desperate. Their tongues met, and Hongjoong swallowed every moan that left Seonghwa as the aftershocks of his Orgasm run trough his body.

The flush of desire still lingered on Hongjoong’s cheeks, but beneath it, the familiar intensity of his gaze had returned, a flicker of the man he once was before the world had chewed him raw.

Seonghwa’s heart raced as he pulled Hongjoong closer, his lips brushing against the pulse at Hongjoong’s neck. It was a dangerous thing, this proximity, but he couldn’t help himself. He need him to be closer, to be one with him.

Hongjoong’s hands gripped Seonghwa’s hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as if to anchor himself to the moment. His breath came in rough, uneven gasps, and his voice, when it finally came, was low and strained. “Fuck, Seonghwa—” he murmured, the sound of his name a prayer and a curse rolled into one. “What are we doing?”

Seonghwa’s response was a soft, desperate laugh, the sound brittle and breaking. He buried his face in the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, his lips pressing against the warm, erratic pulse. “We’re rewriting the past,” he whispered, the words trembling. “We’re fixing what we broke.”

The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as the weight of their shared history pressed down. But in this moment, there was no past, no future— only the present, and the desperate, clawing need to hold onto each other. Seonghwa’s fingers tightened in Hongjoong’s hair, his breath hot against his skin. “Joong… I want you…”

Hongjoong’s response was a low, guttural sound, a growl that sent a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. He pulled back, his eyes blazing with a raw, unbridled intensity, and Seonghwa felt the ground beneath him shift.

Hongjoong’s gaze burned with an unrelenting intensity, his pupils dilated, his face flushed with desire. He shifted his weight, his fingers digging into Seonghwa’s hips as he positioned himself between Seonghwa’s legs. The air was thick with tension as he pressed against Seonghwa’s entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable.

“You want me?” Hongjoong’s voice was low, rough, his words laced with a primal edge that sent a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. His mouth grazed Seonghwa’s ear, his fangs brushing against the delicate skin. “You want all of me?”

Seonghwa nodded, his breath catching in his throat. His hands tightened on Hongjoong’s arms, his nails leaving faint marks on his skin. “All of you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything. I want everything.”

With a growl, Hongjoong thrust forward, his movements sharp and unrelenting. Seonghwa’s body arched, a sound tearing from his lips as he was filled completely. The pain was fleeting, overshadowed by the overwhelming sensation of Hongjoong’s presence inside him.

Their movements were frantic, desperate, each thrust a testament to the hunger that had driven them together. Seonghwa’s hands roamed Hongjoong’s body, his touch feverish as he clung to him. The world around them faded, leaving only the brutal, beautiful simplicity of their union.

The room echoed with their labored breaths, their bodies moving in perfect sync as though no time had passed at all. Seonghwa’s legs tightened around Hongjoong’s hips, pulling him deeper with each forceful thrust. His hands found their way to Hongjoong’s face, his fingers tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, his touch soft despite the desperation in his eyes.

“Look at me,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice trembling as he met Hongjoong’s gaze. “Look at me and tell me you still love me.”

Seonghwa’s hands trembled against Hongjoong’s face, his eyes wide and pleading, as if willing the truth to spill from Hongjoong’s lips.

And then, like a storm breaking, it did.

“I never stopped loving you!” Hongjoong growled, his voice low and raw, laced with desperation. His fingers dug into Seonghwa’s hips, holding him in place as he ground against him, the movement deliberate and unrelenting. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Every day, every moment, every breath I’ve taken has been for you.”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, a sob tearing free as he arched his body upward, meeting Hongjoong’s thrusts with desperate urgency. “I love you too,” he cried out, his voice cracking. “I’ve always loved you, Joong. I’ve never stopped.”

The words shattered what little control Hongjoong had left. His rhythm faltered for a moment before he drove into Seonghwa with a ferocity that sent both of them tumbling toward the edge. Each thrust was harder, rougher, as if he could bury the pain of the past with every movement. Seonghwa’s hands clawed at his back, his legs locking tighter around Hongjoong’s hips as he screamed, the sound echoing through the room.

“I love you,” Hongjoong choked out again, his voice trembling, his fangs aching with the effort of restraint. He buried his face in the crook of Seonghwa’s neck, his lips pressing against the pulse that raced beneath the surface. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

He buried himself deep, his body trembling as he came with a guttural cry. “Seonghwa!” he gasped out, the name spilling from his lips like a prayer. His fangs gleamed in the dim light as he leaned in, his mouth tracing the curve of Seonghwa’s neck.

Seonghwa was trembling intensely, overwhelmed by Hongjoong's intoxicating release. The sensation of being filled by Hongjoong made Seonghwa cry out, pushing him over the edge as his body tightened around Hongjoong. He came with a beautiful cry, his back arched.

 

Hongjoong was absolutely mesmerised be the sight of his lover, his heart burning with the endless years of longing that now had finally ended.

 

Seonghwa’s fingers tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, holding him close as the remnants of his orgasm left him shaking. Their bodies moved together, slick with sweat, as the echoes of their cries lingered in the air. The room was a blur of shadows and flickering light, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.

When Hongjoong finally pulled back, his dark eyes searched Seonghwa’s face. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of their love slamming against the walls they had built around their hearts.

Then, without a word, Hongjoong kissed him.

The kiss was gentle, a stark contrast to the ferocity of what had come before. It was a kiss loaded with unspoken apologies, with promises of a future yet to be written. Seonghwa’'s hands remained tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, his touch tender now, as if to soothe the raw edges of the past.

When they finally pulled back, the room seemed to breathe again, the heavy air slowly dispersing. Seonghwa’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks streaked with tears, but there was a softness to his gaze that hadn’t been there in years.

Hongjoong’s dark eyes burned with intensity, his pupils still dilated, his mouth swollen from their kiss. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air thick with the unspoken promises and the lingering echoes of their confessions.

Hongjoong’s fangs gleamed in the dim light. His gaze dropped to Seonghwa’s neck, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest. Seonghwa’s pulse quickened, his breath hitching as he felt the predatory energy shift in Hongjoong’s posture. But there was no fear in him— only a raw, aching desire that mirrored the hunger in Hongjoong’s eyes.

“Seonghwa…” Hongjoong whispered, his voice low and rough, his fangs aching. His lips brushed against Seonghwa’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “Let me taste you. Let me mark you.”

Seonghwa’s hands tightened in Hongjoong’s hair, his voice trembling as he nodded. “Yes… fuck, Hongjoong—.”

The first bite was sharp, a fleeting pain that melted into something far more intoxicating. Seonghwa’s body arched, a breathless cry escaping his lips as Hongjoong’s fangs sank deep into his neck. The room swirled around him, the shadows deepening and twisting as the blood bond flared to life. He could feel it— a connection that went beyond flesh and bone, a link that tied their souls together in a way that could never be severed.

Hongjoong drank greedily, his lips pressed to Seonghwa’s neck as he took in the rich, warm blood. The taste was sweet and intoxicating, laced with the faint aroma of Seonghwa’s passion and desire. He could feel Seonghwa’s emotions as if they were his own, the love and the longing, the fragile hope that clung to them like a lifeline.

Seonghwa’s hands released their grip on Hongjoong’s hair, falling limp against the bed as the room spun. His breath came in shallow gasps, his vision blurring at the edges. But there was no fear in him, only a deep, overwhelming sense of surrender. He felt Hongjoong’s heartbeat against his, the rhythm syncing as if they were becoming one.

 

When Hongjoong finally pulled away, his lips were smeared with blood, his dark eyes glazed with a mixture of desire and something deeper, more profound. Seonghwa’s neck was marked, the wound raw but puckering as it began to heal. He traced the mark with his thumb, his touch tender, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re mine .” he said, his words laced with a possessive intensity that sent a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. “Mine.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Seonghwa took a deep breath, steadying himself before meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with a look that held both vulnerability and determination.

With a steady hand, Seonghwa reached up to cup Hongjoong’s face, his touch gentle yet firm. “I am yours.”

He whispered, his voice a soft, tender promise.

Without breaking eye contact, Hongjoong leaned in slowly, closing the distance between them until their lips almost touched. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the echo of their shared breaths and the drumming of their hearts.

And in that moment, as their lips finally met in a tender kiss, it felt like the universe aligned in perfect harmony, acknowledging the connection that bound them together. The intensity of their emotions flowed freely, unencumbered by fear or uncertainty, painting the space between them with a sense of belonging and completeness.

 

When they finally broke apart, Seonghwa's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, reflecting the depth of their shared intimacy and the unspoken promise of their bond. Hongjoong's hand found Seonghwa's, fingers intertwining in a silent vow of unity and devotion.

"I love you." Hongjoong whispered, his voice a soft echo of the truth that lay between them.

A smile bloomed on Seonghwa's lips, radiant and full of love. "And I love you." he replied, his words merging with the gentle rustle of the night’s breeze, carrying their shared sentiment to the ether.

Right there, in this room on the hospital bed, they existed in a world of their own making, where love reigned supreme and their connection transcended the boundaries of time and space. With their souls laid bare before each other, they knew that their bond was unbreakable, their love a force that would carry them through whatever trials lay ahead.

Chapter 29: Blood Bonds

The scent of Wooyoung’s cooking hung heavy in the air, a warm blend of spices and roasting meat that made the wooden beams of San’s hanok seem to hum with comfort. The low table in the center of the room was laden with dishes— steaming bowls of stew, plates of marinated beef, and a crisp salad that glistened with sesame oil. But it was the laughter that filled the space, loud and unchecked, as the group sat cross-legged around the table, their faces lit by the golden glow of hanging lanterns.

Well, everyone except for Seonghwa, who sat in a half leaning- half kneeling position. Curse his unflexible limbs.

Yeosang leaned back on his hands, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched Wooyoung meticulously arrange a final garnish on a dish. “You know,” Yeosang said, his voice light and teasing, “I’m really glad I don’t need to eat human food anymore. At least I can slurp on a bag of blood now and don’t have to spit your food back out.”

Wooyoung’s head snapped up, his cheeks flushing as he set the chopsticks down with a clatter. “Excuse you?” he repeated, his voice mock-offended. “I’ll have you know, I’m a great cook!”

Yeosang smirked, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Sure, sure. That’s why I’ve always been your guinea pig when you tried out a new dish.”

Before Yeosang could react, Wooyoung swatted at him with a rolled-up napkin, the fabric snapping sharply against his arm. Yeosang yelped, though the sound was more theatrical than pained, and he clutched at his arm with a dramatic wince. “Ow! You’re so violent, Wooyoung!”

The table erupted into laughter, the sound warm and chaotic. Yeosang, still grinning, pushed himself to his feet and sauntered over to Hongjoong, who sat at the end of the table, his usual stoic expression softening as he watched the exchange.

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang said, his voice tinged with exaggerated hurt, “Young-ah slapped me!”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow but opened his arms without a word. Yeosang didn’t hesitate, sliding into Hongjoong’s lap with a contented sigh. He buried his face in the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, his fingers brushing against the collar of his shirt. The room fell silent.

The others stared, their laughter dying down as they exchanged glances.

It wasn’t just the affectionate gesture that caught them off guard— it was the way Hongjoong held him, his arms wrapped tightly around Yeosang’s waist, his touch unusually soft. Hongjoong, the man who had made a name for himself as one of the most ruthless vampire killers, who had faced countless battles with a steely resolve, looked… gentle. Protective. Not like a hunter at all.

“What’s going on?” Yunho asked finally, breaking the stunned silence. His voice was casual, but there was a sharpness to it, a curiosity he couldn’t hide. “You two… you’re close all of a sudden. What happened?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Hongjoong’s gaze met Yunho’s, his expression unreadable, but his fingers tightened slightly around Yeosang’s waist. Yeosang, for his part, just hummed, his breath warm against Hongjoong’s neck, and nestled deeper into the embrace. The others watched, their faces a mix of surprise and unease, as if they were witnessing something private, something they weren’t meant to see.

The scent of Wooyoung’s cooking still lingered in the air, but the warmth of the meal had given way to a heavier, unspoken tension. San’s fingers drummed absently against the table, his eyes fixed on the way Hongjoong’s arms cradled Yeosang with a gentleness that felt foreign, yet strangely right.

“I think I have an inkling on what’s happening,” San said finally, his voice breaking the silence like the first crack in ice. He leaned forward, his gaze meeting Hongjoong’s. “When he fed from you, Hongjoong… I felt it. A shift. A bond, but not just the one between me and him.” His hand pressed against his chest, as if he could feel the connection physically. “It’s like… You and me, we’re tied together now. Through Yeosang..”

Yeosang’s head tilted slightly, his face still buried in the crook of Hongjoong’s neck. “Tied together?” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

San nodded. “When you were dying, Yeosang, and you fed from Hongjoong… I think it did something. More than just healing you. I think it—” He paused, his words careful. “I think it turned you again. A second turning.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Hongjoong’s expression froze, his fingers tightening around Yeosang’s waist. “That’s not possible,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “I’ve tried to sire others before. It didn’t work. Not once.”

“You tried before?” Mingi asked, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

Hongjoong sighed. “With a few humans, who were on the brink of dead. But they all died. I… I never gave my blood to another vampire before, tho. Especially not under circumstances this dire.”

“Maybe it’s different this time,” Jongho said, his tone light despite the weight of the topic. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, have you seen him fight? After he fed from you, he could keep up with me. Me. And I’ve been training since I was a kid. Whatever you did, Hongjoong, it worked.”

Yeosang’s head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Hey, I could always keep up with you.”

Jongho smirked. “Really?”

Yeosang’s cheeks flushed, but before he could retort, Hongjoong’s voice cut through the room. “This isn’t a joke,” he said, his tone firm but laced with something softer, something uncertain. “If what San is saying is true… If Yeosang really is—” He stopped, his gaze dropping to the man in his lap.

Yeosang shifted, sitting up slightly, his hands resting on Hongjoong’s chest. “If I’m what?” he asked, his voice tinged with defiance, as if daring Hongjoong to say it aloud.

San’s eyes met Hongjoong’s again, and for a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, the unspoken question hanging in the air. What did this mean? For all of them?

The quiet lingered until Yunho eventually spoke up, disbelief evident in his voice. “So… are you saying Yeosang is some kind of… hybrid now?”

Mingi chuckled and added, "Yeah, a half Half-Vampire, half vampire-vampire!"

Seonghwa groaned next to him.

San’s sighed, something aching to a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “I don’t know what he is. But what I do know is that the bond between us is real. And it’s not just me. Hongjoong, you felt it too, didn’t you?”

Hongjoong’s gaze dropped, his fingers flexing against Yeosang’s waist. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The truth was written in the way he held Yeosang, in the way he looked at him.

Yeosang, sensing the tension, leaned back into Hongjoong’s chest, his voice soft. “Maybe it doesn’t matter what I am. I’m alive. And so are all of you. That’s all that matters to me.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Yeosang’s words settling over them all.

 

Seonghwa sat with his hands cradling a cup of tea, the warmth of it seeping into his palms, but he wasn’t really feeling it. His gaze drifted to the trio across from him— Yeosang nestled against Hongjoong, San’s eyes fixed on them both like he was trying to memorize the sight. It was… intimate, in a way that made Seonghwa’s chest ache.

He set the cup down before he could spill it, his hands trembling. “This,” he said, his voice catching, “this is what it feels like, isn’t it?” He didn’t need to explain. They all knew what he meant. The way they were connected now, like threads in a tapestry, each one of them tied to the others in ways none of them could have imagined.

Yeosang turned his head, his brows furrowing in confusion, but before he could say anything, Seonghwa was already moving. He stood and crossed the space between them, his movements slow but deliberate. “Seonghwa—” Hongjoong started, but Seonghwa wasn’t listening. He wrapped his arms around Yeosang, pulling him into a tight hug. Yeosang stiffened at first, but then relaxed, burying his face against Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“It feels like family,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice shaking. “Like… like we’re all tied together, and nothing can break that.” He let one hand drift through Hongjoong’s hair, the strands coarse but warm under his fingers. Hongjoong leaned into the touch, his eyes closing, and for a moment, he didn’t look like the hunter they all knew. He looked… soft. Vulnerable. Human.

Yeosang, still confused, squirmed a little in Seonghwa’s arms but didn’t pull away. “I… I don’t understand what’s happening.” he mumbled, his voice muffled against Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” Seonghwa said, his voice steadier now. He pulled back just enough to look at Yeosang, then at Hongjoong, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “This is enough. This is… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Before anyone could respond, Mingi’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and teasing. “So, does this mean Yeosang’s the son, and San and Hongjoong are his daddies now?”

The room erupted. Yunho facepalmed so hard it looked like he might leave a mark. Jongho barked a laugh, and even San cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind his cup. Meanwhile Wooyoung was cackling, doubling over with the force of his laughter. Hongjoong, however, just groaned, his face tilting downward as he muttered something under his breath about Mingi’s brain size.

Yeosang, still sitting on Hongjoong’s lap, looked around at all of them, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “What’s going on? Why am I the son now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Yunho said, his voice low and smooth as he wrapped an arm around said gus. “Mingi’s just being Mingi.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Mingi protested, grinning. A blush was tinting his cheeks pink. “I’m just calling it like I see it! Does that mean San has to share custody with Hongjoong now?”

The laughter was loud and messy, filling the room with a warmth that felt like home. And for Seonghwa, sitting back in his chair with a soft smile on his face, it was enough. More than enough.

 

 

The clatter of chopsticks against plates filled the room, punctuated by the occasional slurp of noodles and the hum of contented murmurs. The spread before them was a feast— steaming bowls of stew, platters of marinated meats, and vibrant vegetable dishes that seemed to glow under the warm lighting. Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he basked in the chorus of praise.

“This is actually good,” Yeosang said, his voice laced with a teasing undertone as he chewed slowly, as though waiting for some hidden flaw to reveal itself. “I mean, it’s not amazing, but it’s… edible.”

Wooyoung’s smirk widened. “Edible? Edible? This is a masterpiece. You’re just mad because you can’t cook to save your life.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile playing on his lips. “I could cook if I wanted to. I just… choose not to.”

“Not like you’ll ever need this skill now!” Mingi teased, shoveling a bite of rice into his mouth.

“We others still learned how to cook. It’s just that none of us trust you around a kitchen because we rather keep you from burning the house down.” Yunho mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

The table erupted into laughter, and Wooyoung leaned forward, his gloating intensifying. “See? Everyone loves it. Even San’s eating, and he’s basically a picky toddler.”

San looked up from his bowl, his cheeks flushing slightly as he chewed. He shrugged, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hey. I told you I love your cooking.”

“Too bad you fell for a Vampire,” Hongjoong said, clapping Wooyoung on the back. “The way to a vampires heart isn’t exactly through his stomach.”

Wooyoung grinned. “Why not? I feel like San is looking at me like I’m a full all-you-can-eat buffet.”

San choked on his food, making the others erupt into another burst of laughter.

 

The banter flowed easily, the conversation weaving in and out of jokes and exaggerated stories. At one point, Mingi and Wooyoung got into a heated debate over who had been more heroic during San’s and Yoongi’s infamous battle with Taecyeon. Mingi insisted Yoongi had single-handedly taken down an army of enforcers, while Wooyoung calmly interjected, his voice soft but firm, “At least San didn’t run out of bullets halfway through the battle. Seriously Mingi, who the hell uses a Revolver in a fight.”

The table dissolved into laughter again, and even Mingi couldn’t help but chuckle. “Details! It’s all about the drama.”

 

As the evening wore on, the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation grew softer, replaced by the occasional burst of laughter or the clink of glasses being refilled. Jongho, leaning back, watched the scene with a quiet smile.

There was something about nights like these, surrounded by the people he cared about most, that made him feel impossibly at ease. He never thought he could ever have something like this— a place where he truly felt like he belonged.

His eyes drifted to Yeosang, who was engrossed in a playful argument with Wooyoung over who had eaten the last piece of garlic bread. The dim lighting of the room highlighted the sharp angles of Yeosang’s face, and the way his hair fell in messy waves made Jongho’s heart ache.

Yeosang, oblivious to Jongho’s gaze, gestured dramatically with his chopsticks, nearly knocking over a bowl of kimchi in the process. “I’m telling you, it was you! You’ve got that look in your eyes— you can’t resist anything buttery and garlicky!” he said, his voice rising in mock accusation.

Wooyoung scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘I-can’t-stop-eating-if-I’m-full.’ Remember that time you ate an entire pizza by yourself and then wondered why you couldn’t move for three hours?”

The table erupted into another round of laughter, and even Yeosang couldn’t help but grin, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Jongho, however, wasn’t laughing. He was too busy noticing the way the light fell on the birthmark right next to Yeosang’s eye, or the way his sleeves slid down his forearms when he gestured. It was as though he was seeing Yeosang for the first time, and yet, he felt like he’d known him for a lifetime.

The conversation around them began to die down, and an easy silence fell over the group. Jongho’s heart pounded in his chest as he reached out, his hand brushing against Yeosang’s, which lay resting on the table. It was a light touch, almost accidental, but the moment their skin made contact, the air around them seemed to shift. Yeosang froze, his fingers twitching beneath Jongho’s, and then, slowly, he turned his head.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, there was no one else in the room. Jongho’s pulse raced as he tightened his grip, his thumb brushing against the back of Yeosang’s hand in a gesture that was both casual and freighted with meaning. To his relief, Yeosang didn’t pull away. Instead, a faint blush rose to his cheeks, and he looked down, his lashes casting long shadows against his face.

The room around them seemed to hold its breath before erupting into a chorus of “awwws” and playful teasing.

 

Mingi sat at the edge of the table, his spoon clinking against the side of his bowl as he pushed a grain of rice around, his eyes darting from one couple to the next. Across from him, Jongho was holding Yeosang’s hand like it was the most precious thing in the world, their fingers a gentle testament to their affection. Beside them, San leaned into Wooyoung, their shoulders touching, their laughter intertwining like a melody.

Mingi's chest tightened, a pang of loneliness piercing through the warmth of the room. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he pushed his bowl away. "Ugh, this is so unfair…" he muttered under his breath, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to be ignored.

Yunho, seated to his left, paused mid-bite, his brow furrowing as he turned to Mingi. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice calm and even, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Mingi's chest.

Mingi's gaze snapped to Yunho, his eyes wide and pleading, like a child who'd been wronged. "Everyone has a boyfriend but me! That’s so Mingi-phobic!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling as he gestured dramatically around the table.

Yunho blinked at him, his expression unreadable. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his tone soft but laced with confusion.

Mingi's cheeks flushed, his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel the weight of his confession pressing against his chest, threatening to spill out. "You know exactly what I'm talking about…" he said, his voice low and steady, though it shook with the effort of holding back.

Yunho tilted his head, his brow deepening as he studied Mingi. "Mingi, we—"

"No, Yunho, listen to me," Mingi interrupted, his voice breaking as he reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it on Yunho's arm. "I can't keep pretending anymore. I can't keep waiting. I like you, Yunho. I've always liked you."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence stretching like an elastic band pulled to its limit. Yunho stared at Mingi, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if processing the words that had finally been spoken aloud.

Then, slowly, Yunho blinked. Once. Twice. "I know." he said, his voice calm and steady, as if stating a simple fact.

Mingi's heart stopped. "You... what?"

Yunho turned his hand over, his fingers intertwining with Mingi's. "I know!" he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Haven’t we been together this whole time?”

Mingi’s stutter was immediate and adorable. “W-what? N-no, we haven’t! You’ve just been… you’ve been— WHAT?”

The table erupted into laughter again, this time louder and warmer. Yunho reached out, gently placing a hand on Mingi’s cheek. “Then maybe we should make it official.”

Mingi's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but no words came out. He stared at Yunho, his mind racing, his thoughts a jumble of emotions. He had expected anger, or confusion, or even rejection. But not this. Not Yunho's calm acceptance, as if it had always been obvious.

"You... you knew?" Mingi stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yunho nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Of course I knew," he said, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. "Mingi, you've been in love with me for years. I just waited for you to say it."

The room around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a moment of pure vulnerability. Mingi's heart swelled, his eyes stinging. He had been so afraid of rejection, of ruining their friendship, of losing Yunho. But now, as he looked into Yunho's calm, steady eyes, he realized that he had never been alone in his feelings.

Yunho let his hand fall from Mingi’s face and took his hand instead, squeezing it gently. His touch warm and reassuring. "I've always been here, Mingi," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I just needed you to see it too."

Mingi's breath hitched as he processed the words, as he let the weight of Yunho's confession settle over him. He had been so focused on his own fear of rejection that he had never stopped to consider that Yunho might feel the same way. That Yunho might have been waiting for him all along.

He looked at Yunho, really looked at him, and saw the truth in his eyes. Yunho had always been there for him, supporting him, caring for him, loving him. And in that moment, Mingi realized that he had never been alone. That Yunho had been waiting for him, patiently, quietly, all these years.

The tension between them dissolved, replaced by a warm, comforting sense of belonging. Mingi's heart swelled with emotion as he squeezed Yunho's hand back, a silent promise of commitment and love.

“So we’re not Mingi-phobic after all. You’re just dense as hell.” Wooyoung giggled.

"Shut up, Wooyoung." Yunho chuckled, tossing a bread roll at him. It hit him square in the chest, and the table erupted into laughter.

 

 

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the room as the warmth of the evening began to wane. The laughter and chatter had subsided, leaving behind a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. San, seated at the edge of the group, stared into the flames, his expression thoughtful. The others, engrossed in their own conversations, didn't notice the shift in his demeanor.

"San, everything alright?" Seonghwa asked, breaking the silence. His voice was gentle, tinged with concern.

San turned, his sharp eyes locking onto Seonghwa's. "There's something I've been meaning to ask," he said, his tone measured. "A few weeks ago, I found a dead vampire in an alley. No signs of struggle, just… drained. I was wondering who had done it ever since, remember? It didn’t feel like something the New Order would do."

The room fell still. Hongjoong, who had been leaning back in his chair, sat up straight, his gaze meeting Seonghwa's. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken words.

"Hongjoong-" Seonghwa's voice was soft, but there was a tension in this tone .

Hongjoong's jaw tightened, his sharp eyes narrowing. "It was me."

Hongjoong set his chopsticks down, his movements deliberate. He met Seonghwa’s gaze before letting his eyes drift to San, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “It was me,” Hongjoong said finally, his voice calm but laced with a quiet intensity. “I killed him. And I’ve been killing others like him.”

The room erupted into a stunned silence, the air thick with unspoken questions. San’s eyes widened, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice low and cautious. “Why would you—?”

“I’ve been drinking from them,” Hongjoong interrupted, his words dropping like a hammer. “Rogue vampires, ones who don’t play by the rules. They’re a threat, and I’ve been taking care of them.”

The table seemed to hold its breath as the weight of his confession settled over them. Yunho’s face paled, his hands clenching into fists as he stared at Hongjoong. “You can’t just go around killing vampires,” he said, his voice trembling. “You know the risks. The Eternal Thirst—”

Hongjoong cut him off, his voice rising. “I don’t have a choice. I need their blood. It’s part of who I am.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, no one spoke. San’s eyes darted to Seonghwa, who sighed deeply. “What is he talking about?” San asked, his voice tinged with fear, turning back to Hongjoong. “You’re not a full vampire. You can’t just—”

“Yes. I’m not a full vampire,” Hongjoong agreed, his voice sharp. “But that’s exactly why I need vampire blood to survive. It’s the only way to keep the thirst under control. Human blood… Doesn’t sustain-”

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as the truth of his words sank in.

Wooyoung's brow furrowed in confusion. "What’s that? And why is that a bad thing?" Wooyoung asked, his voice tinged with genuine bewilderment.

San’s sharp eyes snapped to Wooyoung, his expression grave. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Killing vampires isn’t just about eliminating a threat. When a vampire drinks the blood of another vampire, it’s not just a simple act of violence. It’s… it’s the Eternal Thirst. It’s a corruption, a madness that consumes you, body and soul. Once you start down that path, there’s no turning back. You become a monster, a slave to the hunger, unable to stop until you’ve drained every last drop of blood in your path.”

"The Eternal Thirst poses no threat to him," Seonghwa declared with a defiant edge to his voice. His eyes locked onto Hongjoong's, and the air between them crackled with the weight of their tumultuous past. "He's been consuming Vampire blood since the very beginning," Seonghwa continued, his voice soft yet tinged with an underlying anguish. "Because of his unique nature, he craves it. We tried everything— animal blood, human blood, even human food. Nothing could quench the insatiable hunger. The only way to keep him from descending into madness was to let him feed from me. So that's what we did. But now, he's been sustaining himself on rogue vampire blood for years, ever since... we stopped."

The silence that followed was suffocating, a stark testament to the delicate bond between them that was only now daring to unfurl once more. Hongjoong's eyes burned with a potent mix of love and raw vulnerability.

"You were the one who used to feed me," Hongjoong murmured, his voice barely a whisper but carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid emotions. “You were the one who kept me anchored, who kept the thirst from devouring me whole. Nothing ever compared to that." Hongjoong murmured, his voice a fragile thread. His gaze swept from Seonghwa to San with a fierce intensity. "If the Eternal Thirst was ever going to consume me, it would have devoured me decades ago."

San sighed deeply and nodded. His eyes shone with understanding. “It makes sense. You’re unique, one of a kind. Your nature is unlike anything I have ever seen. I’m just glad… That you don’t have to risk yourself like that anymore.” His gaze wandered to Seonghwa, who blushed and looked down onto the table with a small smile.

 

Wooyoung shifted in his seat, a mischievous glint sparking in his eye. He cleared his throat, and with a perfectly timed smirk, he said “Are you sure you need Seonghwa’s blood to survive? Have you tried Seonghwas cum?”

The room froze before Seonghwa screeched loudly. Mingi, who had just taken a sip of his beer, nearly choked on it. His eyes widened as he coughed, beer spewing out of his nose. Yunho, seated beside him, slapped him on the back, trying to stifle his laughter. “Woo! What the hell?” Mingi wheezed, his face turning red as he glared at Wooyoung.

“What?” Wooyoung shrugged innocently, feigning ignorance. “It’s a valid question! I mean, isn’t it more of his… essence?”

The absurdity of the statement hit the room like a tidal wave.

Yunho burst into laughter first, the sound deep and resonant, quickly followed by the others. The room, once a vessel of solemnity, now echoed with the warm, infectious laughter of the group. Even Hongjoong, despite the gravity of the conversation, found himself cracking a smile, the corners of his lips twitching upward. Only Seonghwa started cursing Wooyoung loudly, his face beed red.

The laughter wasn’t boisterous or loud, but it was warm, filling the room with a sense of normalcy that they all desperately needed. For a moment, the weight of Hongjoong’s confession faded into the background. All that mattered was this— this love, this imperfect, beautiful family they shared.

San, shaking his head in amusement, reached over to pat Mingi on the back. “You’ve got beer running from your nose.” he said, his voice tinged with mirth as he handed Mingi a napkin.

Mingi shot him a look, still trying to catch his breath while wiping his nose. “And whose fault is that?!” he retorted, though the edge of a smile played on his lips.

Wooyoung, clearly pleased with himself, leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, someone’s got to keep things light around here. Otherwise, you’d all just be a bunch of gloomy vampires and their human sidekick, stuck in some bad melodrama.”

The laughter grew louder, filling the room with a warmth that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows. It was moments like these that reminded them all of the bonds they shared, the camaraderie that saw them through even the darkest of times.

As the laughter began to subside, Yunho reached out, clapping Wooyoung on the shoulder. “You’re a menace, you know that?” he said, though his smile betrayed any real annoyance.

Wooyoung shrugged, grinning.

 

 

As they sat around and enjoyed each other’s company, the laughter around them faded into a comfortable hum, the room filled with the kind of happiness that felt like home. Wooyoung leaned back in his seat again, his smugness replaced by a quiet contentment. For now, at least, everything felt right with the world.

The warmth of the room clung to San like a gentle embrace. His spoon clinked against the bowl, the sound almost musical amidst the hum of conversation. He took a bite, the flavors dancing on his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere.

San’s gaze drifted around the table, catching snippets of laughter and the familiar way their hands gestured. Wooyoung was leaning back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he listened to Mingi’s now full on grinning explanation how he had the hottest boyfriend here by far. San’s heart swelled, a smile tugging at his mouth. It was moments like these he had longed for, moments of peace where the weight he carried felt lighter.

He turned to Wooyoung, their eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” San teased, his voice light.

Wooyoung chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I told you I’m a genius in the kitchen.”

San’s smile widened, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. It was more than just the meal; it was the way Wooyoung made him feel seen, understood.

Across the table, Jongho shifted in his seat, his hand still holding onto Yeosang’s. San watched, a knowing glint in his eye, as Jongho intertwined their fingers.

Yeosang’s cheeks flushed instantly, his eyes darting up to meet Jongho’s. Jongho, trying to feign nonchalance, squeezed his hand gently. “Is that okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft.

Yeosang nodded, his face growing redder. San could see the happiness radiating from them, their hands clasped together tightly.

 

The room was filled with the kind of warmth that only came from shared moments of vulnerability and connection. San felt it too, a deep sense of belonging.

Wooyoung’s hand brushed against his, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes. San’s heart swelled, a silent thank you passing between them.

In that moment, it felt like everything was going to be alright.

The warm glow of the dining room enveloped the group, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed tea and the murmur of contented chatter.

San watched his friends, a quiet smile playing on his lips. He always loved these moments— the kind of laughter that came from deep in the belly, the kind that made your sides ache. It was infectious, the kind of joy that filled the room and made you feel alive. He glanced around the table, taking in the familiar faces he'd come to cherish. Jongho and Yeosang were holding hands under the table, their fingers intertwined as they exchanged sweet, sheepish glances. Mingi was still blushing furiously, but there was a lightness to him now, a weight lifted off his shoulders. Yunho sat beside him, calm and steady as ever, his hand still resting against Mingi's.

San's gaze lingered on them for a moment before moving on. The room was warm, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The remnants of the meal lay scattered across the table— platters of food, half-empty glasses of wine, the faint smear of sauce on Mingi's plate. It was messy, imperfect, and utterly perfect.

"You know," San said, his voice carrying over the laughter, "this really feels like Family."

Jongho snorted. "Oh, please, San. It's just dinner."

But San just smiled. He could feel it in the air— a sense of peace, of closure. The weight of the past few years was lifting, the sharp edges of their struggles slowly smoothing out. They'd been through so much, fought so hard, and now… now they were here. Together.

Seonghwa, ever the romantic, sighed dramatically. "It's beautiful, really. We've all found each other in the middle of all this chaos."

"And we're not letting go!" Yunho added, his voice steady and firm. He squeezed Mingi's hand, and Mingi squeezed back, his eyes shining with unspoken words.

San leaned back, his eyes meeting Wooyoung's across the table. Wooyoung was still smirking, but there was something soft in his gaze, something San couldn't quite place. He looked away, his attention drawn to the flickering flames.

In that moment, it felt like they were invincible. Like nothing could ever tear them apart again. They'd found something deeper than friendship, something that would bind them together no matter what the future held. And as they sat there, the warmth of the room wrapping around them like a cocoon, San knew that this was just the beginning.

The fire crackled, spitting a spark that fizzled out on the stone hearth. Wooyoung stared at it, the warmth of the flames licking at his face, but he barely felt it. His gaze drifted, catching on the way the light danced across San's profile. San was laughing at something Hongjoong had said, his dimples showing, his hair catching the golden glow of the fire like it had been dipped in honey. Beautiful. So impossibly beautiful.

 

Wooyoung's smile felt heavy on his face, like it was made of something weighted. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking softly. The room was filled with the sounds of their laughter, the clatter of dishes, the hum of voices. It was a sound he'd cherished more than anything, one he would of anything to protect. But now, as he sat there, it felt... fragile.

He reached for his glass of wine, his fingers brushing against the cool glass. The liquid was bitter on his tongue, sharp and earthy. He set it down, his eyes drifting back to San. San, who would stay this way forever— bright, beautiful, timeless. While Wooyoung... Wooyoung would wither. Fade. Crumble into dust.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He pressed a hand against his chest, the pressure doing little to ease the ache. It wasn't fair. He'd always known, of course, but knowing and feeling were two different things. Now, with the warmth of the room and the sound of their laughter, it felt real. Tangible. Inescapable.

San caught his eye and smiled, the corners of his mouth tilting up in that soft, sweet way that made Wooyoung's heart skip a beat. He smiled back, forcing it, willing it to feel real. "Hey," San said, his voice light, carrying over the hum of the room. "You okay? You look... distant."

"I'm fine," Wooyoung said, the words coming out too sharp. He softened them with a laugh, a sound that felt hollow even to his own ears. "Just... tired, I guess."

San's smile faltered, and he pushed his chair back, as if he might get up. But Wooyoung shook his head, waving a hand. "No, no. I'm fine, really. Enjoy the night."

San hesitated, then nodded, turning back to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Wooyoung watched him, the weight in his chest growing heavier. He reached for his wine again, taking a long, slow sip. The bitterness matched the feeling in his heart.

He thought about time, about how it would stretch out before them. Years. Decades. Centuries. His friends would live forever, their bonds only growing stronger, their laughter never fading. And he would be... a memory. A flicker of something that had once been. The thought made his throat tight, his breath shallow.

The fire popped again, sending sparks curling up the chimney. Wooyoung stared at them, his vision blurring at the edges. He blinked, his eyes burning. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he'd found this— found them— only to have it slip through his fingers like sand.

But he wouldn't take it back. Not for anything. He wouldn't trade a single moment, not even the pain. Because this... this was worth it. They were worth it.

San was worth it.

He took another sip of wine, the bitterness warming his chest. The room was still loud, still full of life. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and let the sound of their laughter wash over him. He closed his eyes, letting it seep into him, letting it fill the cracks in his heart.

And when he opened them again, he was smiling. Truly smiling. Because he was here. Now. With them. And that was enough.

Chapter 30: The Blade and the Endless Night

The hanok was silent. Too silent.

The others had left hours ago, but the weight of their absence only made the quiet feel louder. The single candle on the table flickered, casting restless shadows against the wooden beams. Outside, the wind rustled the trees, a whisper against the silence that stretched thick and heavy between San and Wooyoung.

San could feel him.

The bond between them hummed with something restrained, something Wooyoung was trying— and failing— to keep hidden. His emotions curled through San’s mind like distant echoes, raw and tangled.

Restlessness. Uncertainty.

Pain.

It sat thick in the air, pressing against San’s skin like the lingering touch of something unfinished. He could taste it in the bond, that quiet suffering Wooyoung refused to name. But when San looked at him, Wooyoung’s face was carefully blank, his hands fidgeting in his lap, his mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

San sighed.

San sighed. "You’re thinking too loud."

Wooyoung, who had been staring at the floor for the past ten minutes, flinched slightly. His fingers twitched where they rested against his lap, but he didn’t look up. "I’m not thinking about anything."

San scoffed. "You know I can feel it, right? You’re struggling with something." His voice was quiet, but firm, cutting through the charged silence like a blade.

Wooyoung tensed, his fingers curling against his knees. "It’s nothing."

San gave him a dry look. "Lying to me is pointless."

Wooyoung inhaled sharply but didn’t meet his eyes. And that— more than the silence, more than the tightness in his shoulders— was what made San pause.

Because Wooyoung always met his eyes.

San exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the wooden post behind him. "Fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, let me tell you something instead."

Finally, Wooyoung’s gaze flickered up, wary. "What?"

San reached into his coat and pulled out the blade.

The air between them seemed to shift.

Firelight glinted against the ancient steel, illuminating the delicate engravings carved along the surface. The markings were worn, dulled by time, but the weight of history clung to them like old scars.

San turned the knife over in his palm, the metal cold against his skin. "Yoongi gave this to me during our fight with Taecyeon." His voice was quiet, steady. "But I held it long before that."

Wooyoung sat straighter, his breath quiet but careful.

San ran his thumb along the blade’s edge, feeling the familiar bite of steel. "I wielded this blade centuries ago when I was part of the Night’s Bane."

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed. “The what?”

San lifted his gaze, something old and unreadable flashing behind his dark eyes. "The Vampire Slayers."

For a moment, Wooyoung said nothing. The words hung between them, heavy and impossible.

Then— "THE WHAT?"

San exhaled through his nose, a humorless smile twitching at his lips. "Not what you were expecting?"

"That’s a fucking understatement," Wooyoung breathed, his eyes wide. "You— what even is a Vampire Slayer? Like… I‘m sorry but in my mind the only thing that comes up is literally Buffy."

San chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. „Buffy?“

„Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Sarah Michelle Geller? Goes out and hunts down demons and vampires. Is that what you did?“

"Not hunted." San’s grip on the blade tightened. "We weren’t butchers. We were guardians."

Wooyoung’s disbelief was written all over his face, but he didn’t interrupt.

"But—" Wooyoung gestured wildly, "—you’re literally a vampire!"

San smirked slightly. "So were they."

Wooyoung faltered. "...What?"

San flipped the blade in his hand, letting it catch the candlelight. "The Vampire Slayers weren’t human, Wooyoung. We were an ancient order of vampires tasked with eliminating threats to our kind—rogues, ferals, those who risked exposing us. We weren’t hunters. We were executioners."

Wooyoung stared at him, mouth slightly open. "That’s insane."

San hummed. "We thought we were keeping balance. That we were serving a divine purpose." His voice darkened. "We emerged during the first millennium, back when humans and vampires still stood on the edge of a fragile truce. Our purpose was to ensure balance— to eliminate the ones who threatened that peace." His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it.

Wooyoung swallowed. "So you… really killed other vampires?"

San’s jaw clenched. "Rogue ones, yes." His gaze darkened. "And sometimes… the innocent, too."

Wooyoung’s breath hitched.

San let out a slow breath, eyes dropping back to the blade. "We trained in hidden monasteries, deep in the mountains. We studied medicine to distinguish vampire attacks from natural deaths. We learned to track and kill our own kind using weapons laced with sacred herbs and silver blessed through ancient rituals."

Wooyoung exhaled, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, San."

San’s fingers curled around the hilt of the blade. "We believed we were righteous. But righteousness is just another word for blindness when you refuse to see the truth."

Wooyoung hesitated. "What truth?"

San’s jaw clenched. "That we weren’t protecting balance. We were just killing those who didn’t fit our mold."

Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

San leaned back, the blade resting between his fingers. "We thought we were serving a higher purpose, that we were preserving order. But time changes things." He looked down at the weapon, remembering the weight of it in his grip, the blood that had stained its edge. "I changed."

He turned the knife in his hands. "The Order had already begun to weaken by the time I left. Diplomacy was replacing war. The Humanists were rising, and for the first time, vampires were trying to coexist rather than rule or hide."

San scoffed quietly. "But we… we refused to change."

Wooyoung studied him, his fingers twitching slightly, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

San inhaled deeply. "And then came the Endless Night."

A shiver passed through him. The memory crashed over him like a tidal wave— firelight licking at the edges of an ancient church, the sky swallowed by unnatural darkness, the screams of his fledglings being ripped apart.

Wooyoung must have felt the shift through their bond because he whispered. "San…"

San swallowed, forcing himself to continue. "The year was 1117. A total solar eclipse blanketed the sky. But the darkness… it didn’t end when it should have. It stretched on for two days—forty-eight hours of absolute night." His voice was hollow now, trapped in a memory centuries old. "And in that darkness, the worst massacre of my life unfolded."

Wooyoung’s face had gone pale. "...What happened?"

San tightened his grip on the blade. "We were given orders to raid what we thought was a rogue nest. But it wasn’t a nest." His voice dropped lower. "It was a sanctuary."

Wooyoung inhaled sharply.

"Vampire-human families had gathered there, seeking safety. They were hiding from vampire supremacists—like Taecyeon." San’s voice turned sharp, bitter. "And from hunters like me."

The weight of it all pressed against him, suffocating.

"We stormed in, weapons drawn, expecting monsters." His breath came shallow. "But we found families. Children." His throat tightened. "And we killed them anyway."

Wooyoung flinched. "San—"

San let out a slow, shuddering breath. "I couldn‘t do it. My fledglings couldn‘t do it."

San’s voice cracked as he continued, the weight of his memories pressing heavily on him. “I stood there, blade raised, ready to strike down a child no older than ten. But as I looked into those innocent eyes, something inside me shattered. The child’s fear, their trembling form— it was too much to bear. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take that life.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in empathy. He could feel the turmoil through their bond, the anguish that gripped San like a vice. “What happened then?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

San’s gaze drifted, lost in the horrors of the past. “Seonghwa… he started crying. He just stood there, frozen, as the chaos erupted around us. The rest of the slayers— they didn’t hesitate. They saw the families, the children, and they saw only… prey. But we saw something else. We saw innocence, life, and the undeniable truth that we were wrong.”

The room seemed to darken, as if the shadows themselves were listening. “The bond between us, between me and my fledglings, it flared to life. We knew what we had to do. We couldn’t let this massacre continue. So we turned against the slayers, protecting those who couldn’t defend themselves.”

Wooyoung’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against San’s, offering what little comfort he could. But San flinched, pulling away, his guilt a palpable barrier between them. “They saw it as betrayal,” San muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. “Righteously so. We went against orders. To them, we were no longer comrades, but traitors. And for that, they killed my fledglings, one by one, right in front of me.”

Wooyoung’s face paled, his hands clenching against his lap. "San…"

"I lost them all that night," San murmured, his voice quieter now. "All of the fledglings I had sired. Their bonds— snapping one by one as they died." He exhaled shakily. "All but one."

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. "Seonghwa."

A long silence stretched between them.

Wooyoung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. "And Taecyeon?"

San’s hands clenched into fists. "He was there." His voice was low and lethal. "He and his kind set the church on fire. They watched it burn. They laughed."

Wooyoung’s breath came faster now, his emotions bleeding into the bond, raw and tangled.

San inhaled sharply. "I carried Seonghwa out with my own hands. He was barely alive."

The weight of it all settled over them, thick and suffocating.

San’s eyes, dark and unfathomable, reflected the turmoil within him, a storm of regret and anguish that had haunted him for centuries. Yet, in the depths of that storm, there was a name that brought both pain and solace, a name that bridged the chasm between his shattered past and the fragile present.

“That’s when Yoongi found us,” San murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the memory itself were a sacred, fragile thing.

Wooyoung’s gaze sharpened, his interest piqued despite the heaviness of the moment. “Yoongi?” he repeated softly, the name hanging in the air like a question.

San nodded, his jaw tightening as he continued. “He… he wasn’t supposed to be there. But he was. And even though he knew what we were— what I was— he didn’t turn his back on us. Not even when he saw the state we were in.”

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed, curiosity warring with the lingering horror of San’s tale. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cautious, as though he feared the answer.

San’s eyes dropped, his gaze falling to the floor as the memories washed over him anew. “I was… I wasn’t in control. The pain of losing them, the guilt, it consumed me. I was almost feral, barely holding on to what little humanity I had left. And Seonghwa… he was dying. The wounds from the fight, they were too much for him. He wouldn’t have survived the night if Yoongi hadn’t found us.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught, his eyes widening as the pieces began to fall into place. “He helped you.” he said softly, not a question but a statement, his voice laced with disbelief and wonder.

San nodded, a single, curt movement. “He had a flask of blood with him, pure and warm. He fed it to Seonghwa, brought him back from the edge. Seonghwa was so weak, so broken, but Yoongi… he knew exactly what to do. He moved with a precision that only comes from centuries of understanding, of knowing the delicate balance between life and death.”

San swallowed, hard. "We were half-hidden by the ruins of the church. The flames had died down, but the smell of ash and blood clung to everything. Seonghwa was in my arms, his body trembling, his heart barely a flicker in his chest. I thought I’d lost him, that I’d failed him as I had the others.”

San finally lifted his gaze, meeting Wooyoung’s. "That night… it changed me. It broke me."

Wooyoung’s expression softened, something flickering behind his eyes. "But you survived."

San exhaled, a slow, heavy thing. "I survived. But I was never the same."

Wooyoung barely whispered. "...Seonghwa."

San exhaled shakily. "He was dying. I carried him out myself. I don’t know how we survived." He shook his head. "I don’t know why we survived."

The fire crackled between them.

San finally lifted his gaze, meeting Wooyoung’s. "That night changed me. It hardened me. I built walls so thick no one could break through them." His voice softened. "Until you."

Wooyoung’s breath caught.

Silence fell between them, heavy with something unspeakable.

Then, slowly—hesitantly—Wooyoung reached out, brushing his fingers over San’s knuckles. A barely-there touch.

San flinched.

Silence settled again. And then—

Wooyoung reached out, his fingers brushing over the back of San’s hand, barely there, a whisper of warmth.

San flinched.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because for the first time in centuries— he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

But Wooyoung didn’t pull away.

San stared at Wooyoung’s fingers resting against his own, the warmth of his touch a quiet contradiction to the storm raging in his chest. He should pull away.

But he didn’t.

Wooyoung didn’t push, didn’t tighten his grip. He simply existed there, a steady force in the chaos San had buried deep inside himself for centuries.

And then— softly, but without hesitation— Wooyoung said"I don’t care what you did, who you were. It doesn’t change the way I see you."

Wooyoung’s voice was steady, but there was something deeper in it— something raw. "You think this is supposed to make me afraid of you? That I’d turn away?" He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "San, you saved Yeosang. You saved me. Again and again. And you hate yourself, like you don’t deserve to exist because of something that happened centuries ago."

San looked away, fingers curling into his palms. "You don’t understand."

Wooyoung let out a frustrated breath. "Then make me understand. Because all I see is someone who’s spent lifetimes suffering for a choice that wasn’t even his to make."

San clenched his jaw. "It was my hands that held the blade, Wooyoung." He lifted the weapon slightly, the candlelight catching the engravings once more. "This same blade. I carried it into battle. I was the one who—"

"You were following orders."

San froze.

Wooyoung’s gaze burned into him. "You were raised in that Order, San. Trained to believe you were doing the right thing. And the second you saw the truth, you turned against them. You saved Seonghwa." His voice lowered. "You would’ve saved them all if you could."

San swallowed hard, looking down at their barely-touching hands.

"I don’t know what it feels like to carry something too heavy alone," Wooyoung murmured. "To let it eat you from the inside out. But I know you. And I need you to know— you don’t have to carry it alone anymore."

San exhaled slowly, like the weight in his chest had tightened and loosened all at once.

The silence stretched, thick with something neither of them knew how to name.

"San…" he murmured, his voice softer than it had been all night, like he was trying not to startle a wounded animal.

San finally looked at him, and Wooyoung hated what he saw there—the quiet resignation, the belief that he was something irreparably broken.

"You think telling me all of this is going to scare me away?" Wooyoung scoffed, shaking his head. "That I’m suddenly going to see you differently?"

San held his gaze but didn’t answer.

"Because if you do, you’re a fucking idiot," Wooyoung continued, voice trembling with something between frustration and something much more raw. "San, you regret what you did. You carry all of this pain, have carried it for centuries. It’s like the wounds are stitched into your skin, and you think that makes you a monster."

Wooyoung swallowed. "But you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t care so much. And I—" His voice faltered for a moment, before he steadied himself. "I see you. The real you. And I’m not going anywhere."

San exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a long moment, as if trying to will away the weight pressing down on him.

"Besides," Wooyoung forced a smirk, trying to keep things from tipping into something too fragile. "If I was gonna run, I would’ve done it the first time you bit me."

San huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. But Wooyoung could still feel the storm in him, raging beneath the surface.

The silence stretched.

Wooyoung stared down at their hands, his pulse thrumming in his throat. He needed to say it. He had to.

But just as he opened his mouth—

"I know."

Wooyoung froze.

San’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. He wasn’t looking at Wooyoung, still staring down at their hands, but his grip on the knife had gone white-knuckled.

"I know what you want to ask me," San murmured. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his breath uneven. "You want me to turn you."

Wooyoung swallowed hard.

There it was. The thing sitting heavy on his chest for weeks, twisting his thoughts into knots, keeping him awake at night.

He let out a slow breath. "Yeah."

San exhaled slowly, like the weight in his chest had tightened and loosened all at once.

Wooyoung whispered. "I can’t stop thinking about it."

San frowned, lifting his gaze.

Wooyoung swallowed. "About all of you. You, Seonghwa, Yeosang. You’re bonded. Forever. But me?" His fingers twitched. "I’ll wither, San. I’ll grow old, and I’ll die. And you—" He hesitated, his throat bobbing. "You’ll still be here."

San’s stomach twisted. "Wooyoung—"

"I know what that will do to you." Wooyoung’s voice was softer now, but no less certain. "I felt it, San. The way you broke when you lost them before. When you lost your fledglings during the Endless Night." He inhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists. "I can’t let that happen to you again."

San stared at him, unmoving.

And before Wooyoung could even speak the words, San closed his eyes.

Because he already knew.

He had felt it in the bond, unspoken but loud enough to shake him.

San let out a slow, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening around the blade. "Wooyoung—"

"I won’t beg," Wooyoung cut in, voice resolute. "I’m not asking for immortality out of fear, or because I don’t want to die. This isn’t just about me." His voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on. "It’s about you, too."

San’s hands curled into fists. "You don’t understand what you’re asking for."

Wooyoung tilted his head, challenging. "Don’t I?"

San let out a bitter laugh. "Do you? Because I watched Yeosang struggle for days to keep himself from ripping out your throat. Do you want to live with that kind of hunger? That kind of—"

"San," Wooyoung cut in sharply. "I know. And I don’t care."

San snapped his mouth shut.

"I’m not scared," Wooyoung said, softer now, but no less determined. "I need this." His gaze flickered over San’s face, searching. "You need this."

San exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his face. "You’re not asking me."

Wooyoung tilted his head. "No. I’m telling you."

San’s jaw tightened. "You’ll never be human again."

Wooyoung’s eyes darkened. "Maybe I was never meant to be."

San inhaled sharply, his grip on the blade shaking.

Wooyoung continued, unwavering. "What’s more terrifying, San? Me turning? Or losing me?"

San’s breath hitched.

Because that— that was the real fear, wasn’t it?

San could fight battles. Could wield knives, could tear through enemies like storms.

But this?

The thought of losing Wooyoung? Of watching him slip through time’s fingers, his body aging, breaking, fading— until one day, he was gone entirely? San wasn’t sure he could survive that.

The silence stretched, and Wooyoung— brash, reckless, stubborn Wooyoung— stared at him with something raw and unshakable in his gaze. He had made up his mind.

And San— San was losing ground.

San’s shoulders slumped slightly. "It’s irreversible, Wooyoung."

"I know."

San swallowed. "It’s painful."

Wooyoung’s lips twitched. "Eh. I’ve been through worse."

San scowled. "You think you’re so fucking funny—"

"I want to be with you. Forever."

San’s breath hitches and dragged a hand through his hair. "You’ll crave blood. You’ll have to fight the hunger every day."

Wooyoung huffed. "Like I haven’t been fighting for my life since the day I met you."

San groaned, rubbing his temples. "It could not work. You could die."

"I won’t. You‘re to stubborn to let that happen. You’ll beat up Hades himself to drag my ass back to the living." Wooyoung’s lips twitched.

San let out a slow breath, opening his eyes. His gaze met Wooyoung’s, and for the first time in centuries, San felt something shift inside himself— something deep, something inevitable.

Wooyoung was right.

He had been right from the start.

San couldn’t lose him.

His fingers loosened around the knife, letting it drop onto the table with a quiet clink.

San exhaled, the fight bleeding out of him. "Fine."

Wooyoung stilled. "What?"

San leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fine. I’ll do it." His gaze burned into Wooyoung’s, unflinching. "I’ll turn you."

Wooyoung inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling too quickly. But San saw it—the flicker of relief, of something close to joy beneath the nervous excitement in his eyes.

San’s voice softened. "But only when you’re ready."

Wooyoung swallowed, voice quieter now. "I’ve been ready."

San should have known Wooyoung wouldn’t wait.

The second the word fine had left his lips, Wooyoung was already looking at him expectantly, eyes dark with anticipation.

San’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Wooyoung tilted his head. “Well? Do it.”

San’s breath hitched. His hands clenched against his thighs as he stared at Wooyoung, who sat expectantly across from him, waiting. His stomach twisted. "You mean right now?"

Wooyoung nodded once, firm. "Yes."

San exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

"San—"

"No, Wooyoung, think about this—"

"I have thought about it," Wooyoung shot back, eyes blazing. "Every second we wait is a second something could happen to me. You know I’m right."

San’s jaw tightened.

“I’m human, San. I’m fragile. I could get stabbed tomorrow, hit by a car, poisoned, torn apart by a rogue vampire, fucking trip down the stairs—”

“Enough.” San’s voice came out sharper than he intended, but Wooyoung’s words had already sunk their claws in deep.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

San closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. This is happening.

He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes again. He closed his hand about the hilt of the blade on the table firmly.

San had spent lifetimes trying to keep himself from caring. But Wooyoung had slipped through the cracks of his armor like sunlight bleeding through stone, filling all the dark spaces he had long since abandoned.

San clenched his jaw, standing abruptly. "Come on."

Wooyoung frowned, caught off guard. "Where are we—"

"My room." San’s voice was clipped, already leading the way. "If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right."

Wooyoung followed without hesitation.

San led him through the halls of the hanok, his footsteps silent against the wooden floor. He could hear Wooyoung’s heartbeat thudding steadily behind him, the rhythm a quiet reminder of everything that was about to change.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting flickering patterns against the papered walls. San walked inside first, his movements deliberate, controlled. He turned to Wooyoung, eyes unreadable.

“Lie down.”

Wooyoung obeyed without question, settling against the sheets, his dark eyes never leaving San’s face. He shifted back against the pillows. "You’re acting like you’re about to perform an ancient ritual."

San shot him a look. "I am."

Wooyoung blinked. "...Fair point."

San stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at him, his expression caught between determination and hesitation. His hands tightened into fists. “Last chance,” he murmured. “Are you sure?”

Wooyoung’s lips curled slightly. “San.”

San swallowed hard.

“I’m ready.”

San’s resolve shattered.

His hand tightened around the ancient blade. The same one he had once wielded as a slayer. The same one that had ended lives— had ended Taecyeo— now it would create one.

He kneeled onto the bed, straddling Wooyoung’s waist as he slowly— carefully— pressed the tip of the blade against Wooyoung’s shirt. With practiced precision, he slipped the blade under the first button of Wooyoung’s shirt, pressing just hard enough for the thread to snap.

The next button. Snap.

And the next. Snap.

Until the fabric parted, exposing the soft expanse of Wooyoung’s chest.

San hesitated for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t expected this part to feel so intimate.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. "You’re staring."

San scowled. "Shut up."

Wooyoung smirked.

San studied him, his gaze dark, heavy with something unreadable. Then, without a word, he lifted the blade to his own wrist.

He pressed down.

The cut was deep, quick. Blood welled instantly, thick and crimson, sliding down his forearm in slow, languid streams.

San lowered it to Wooyoung’s lips.

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty passed over Wooyoung’s face.

“Drink.” San’s voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, something dangerous. “Now.”

Wooyoung hesitated only a second before tilting his head up, parting his lips—

And closing them around the wound.

San inhaled sharply.

Heat. Pleasure.

The sensation slammed into him like a wave, unexpected, overwhelming. Wooyoung’s lips were soft, too soft, his tongue flicking against San’s skin as he swallowed his first mouthful.

San shuddered.

Wooyoung let out a quiet gasp against his wrist, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He hadn’t been prepared for this. The taste— rich, intoxicating, electric— spread through his veins like wildfire. His body burned, every nerve alight, every pulse singing with something deep, something primal.

San gritted his teeth. ”Fuck—”

He didn’t give himself a chance to think.

His hands found Wooyoung’s shoulders, gripping him tightly as he moved.

But before he could even swallow the first mouthful, San moved.

Wooyoung barely had time to register the shift before San’s fangs pierced his neck.

A gasp tore from his throat. His back arched violently. The pleasure hit him like a tidal wave. Heat pooled in his stomach, spreading outward in white-hot pulses. He barely processed the sharp sting of the bite before it melted into something deeper— something devastating.

His fingers fisted into San’s shirt, pulling him closer, instinct overriding everything else. His hips bucked up slightly, chasing the sensation, a broken sound slipping from his throat.

"San," he breathed, voice shaking.

San groaned against his skin, his grip tightening.

A deep, rolling heat surged through Wooyoung’s body, curling in his stomach, unfurling in his limbs. He let out a ragged moan, his hips jerking up instinctively.

San growled lowly against his skin. His grip on Wooyoung’s body tightened, pinning him down as he drank.

The pull was slow, deep, and unbearably thorough.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched, his body trembling beneath San’s weight. Every inch of him was aware of the other man—his scent, his heat, the way his lips felt against his neck.

His hands fisted into the sheets.

“San!” he gasped, voice breaking.

San didn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

Wooyoung whimpered as another wave of pleasure crashed over him, his body straining against San’s hold. The sensations were too much. His entire world narrowed to the pull of San’s mouth, the heat in his veins, the pressure between his legs—

He was drowning in it.

San barely had the presence of mind to keep his control.

Wooyoung was delirious, drowning in pleasure, his body trembling beneath San’s weight.

And then—

A sharp, sudden cold sliced through the haze. Wooyoung barely had time to register the shift before a sharp, searing agony tore through his gut.

Wooyoung’s eyes shot open.

His body jerked violently.

San had plunged the blade into him.

A strangled scream tore from Wooyoung’s throat, muffled against San’s wrist.

The pain was immediate, searing through him like liquid fire. His body arched hard, pain crashing through his senses like lightning. His fingers scrambled against San’s skin, against the sheets, against anything— but there was nowhere to go. He thrashed, instinct screaming at him to fight—until San twisted the blade and cut.

San’s grip tightened. His mouth was still on him, his fangs still deep in his throat, his body heavy and unyielding as he cut him open.

Wooyoung writhed beneath him, his scream muffled against San’s wrist. His vision blurred, the room spinning as blood spilled from his body.

San twisted the blade, precise, efficient. He felt it all— his skin splitting, the fire licking through his veins, the violent pull of his life being drained away.

He couldn’t breathe.

His fingers twitched, his body convulsing uncontrollably. The sounds that left him were weak, strangled, like his throat was being ripped apart from the inside. His back arched violently again, his fingers clawing at the blood-soaked sheets.

San pulled the blade out.

The world blurred.

Wooyoung burned. It wasn’t fire in the way mortals knew it— this was something deeper, something worse. Fire consumed, but this transformed. It crawled through his veins, scorching every cell, unraveling his humanity thread by thread.

Wooyoung’s scream broke into a wet, choked gasp. "San—"

"Shhh." San murmured, his lips still at Wooyoung’s throat, his voice almost soothing.

The fire was not the kind of burn he’d known in life— the sting of fire too close to his skin, the ache of exhaustion settling deep in his bones. This was something worse. Something other.

This was his body being unmade.

It started in his veins, a slow crawl of molten heat that turned blistering in a matter of seconds. His blood felt like it was boiling, each pulse of his fading heartbeat sending fresh waves of agony through him. He gasped, but it barely sounded human—a choked, wet thing, broken and desperate.

Then the fire spread.

His bones cracked under the pressure, marrow sizzling inside them like embers catching flame. His muscles seized, then tore, reknitting themselves with something stronger, something unnatural.

He screamed. Or at least, he tried. The sound barely made it past his lips, cut off by the overwhelming force of his own transformation.

Wooyoung’s body spasmed. His fingers clawed at San’s arm, his pulse hammering wildly. His vision darkened at the edges, his mind spiraling—

He was dying.

The realization struck hard, a single moment of clarity amidst the storm.

He had never felt closer to death. And yet—he wasn’t afraid.

Because San was here. Holding him, grounding him.

Turning him.

The pain burned through him like wildfire, but beneath it, something else simmered—something darker. Something new.

His veins turned to fire. His heartbeat slowed.

San held Wooyoung, gripping his convulsing body like he could anchor him, but San’s eyes— dark and blown wide with fear— betrayed the truth.

There was always a chance.

A chance it wouldn’t work.

A chance Wooyoung wouldn’t wake up.

San let his fangs slide out of Wooyoung’s neck, but kept his wrist pressed against his lips.

The thought of Wooyoung not making it was like an icy hand gripping the back of San’s neck. San had seen it before— fledglings who never rose, who slipped away into the abyss before the transformation could take hold. And if that happened— if Wooyoung died— San didn’t know what would become of him.

The bond between them howled.

San clenched his teeth so hard he swore his fangs would break.

Because he felt it.

Felt everything.

Through the bond— raw and open and searing— San felt every inch of Wooyoung’s pain. It wrecked him.

His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth threatened to shatter. His fingers trembled where they gripped Wooyoung’s arms, pressing him down, holding him together as his body broke.

Wooyoung arched violently off the bed, his back bowing at an unnatural angle. His hands clawed at the sheets, his nails ripping straight through the fabric.

San could hear the tearing inside him.

The way his organs shrieked as they collapsed.

The wet, sickening sounds of something rebuilding.

His breath hitched. "Stay with me," he whispered, voice rough. "Wooyoung—"

But Wooyoung couldn’t answer.

He was too far gone, writhing under San’s hands, his body convulsing with every unbearable shift. The fire roared through him now, burning away everything human, turning it to ash.

Every searing agony Wooyoung endured, every nerve ignited in white-hot pain— San felt it all through the connection between them.

Wooyoung convulsed, his body twisting violently, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. His fingers latched onto San’s wrist in a death grip, nails biting into flesh hard enough to draw blood.

His heartbeat— frantic, erratic— was slowing.

It got too slow.

San swallowed thickly. "Stay with me, Wooyoung!" he whispered, voice tight with something close to terror.

Wooyoung couldn’t answer.

His body jerked again, an agonized sob tearing from his throat. The flames burned hotter, searing through muscle and bone, cracking him apart at the seams. His vision blurred, red creeping at the edges—

And then— Everything stopped.

San’s stomach plummeted.

For a single, agonizing moment, everything was silent.

No heartbeat. No breath.

Just stillness.

San’s hands tightened around Wooyoung’s limp body. His chest ached, something cold curling in his gut, something that felt dangerously close to terror.

No. No, no, no.

Not him. Not him.

San opened his mouth— wasn’t sure if he was about to scream or plead—

And then—

Wooyoung gasped.

It was a horrible sound, sharp and desperate, like air being forced back into lungs. His body jerked, his back slamming against the mattress. And when his eyes snapped open—

They glowed.

Not the warm brown they had once been. Not human.

Golden. Burning like embers in the dark.

San inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat.

Wooyoung gasped, his first breath as something new. His chest heaved, his body trembling violently, but his gaze—

His gaze locked onto San’s with an intensity that stole the air from the room.

Wooyoung’s breath was ragged, his body trembling, his fingers twitching against the bloodied sheets. His chest rose and fell in uneven gasps, as if his body was still trying to remember how to exist.

And San moved. He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Before Wooyoung could speak, before either of them could even process what had just happened, San grabbed him. His fingers curled into Wooyoung’s jaw, tilting his face up—

And he kissed him.

It was desperate. Wrecked. A clash of lips, teeth, blood.

The moment their lips met, something inside Wooyoung snapped.

Heat surged through him— not the fire from before, but something deeper, something stronger. The bond between them roared to life, threading through every nerve, pulling him closer, making his body tremble with a force he couldn’t control.

San’s lips were warm, desperate, alive.

Wooyoung gasped into the kiss, his hands snapping up to clutch at San’s shirt, dragging him closer, closer, like he needed him to breathe.

San felt it.

The hunger. The ache. The sheer, devastating need coursing through Wooyoung’s new body.

It wasn’t just thirst. It was everything.

Wooyoung whimpered into it, his hands snapping up to fist in San’s shirt, clinging like he’d fall apart without him. His body still ached, his skin still burned, but the pain melted under the sheer, devastating force of San.

San pulled back, his forehead resting against Wooyoung’s, his breath ragged. His fingers trembled as they brushed over Wooyoung’s cheek, as if trying to convince himself that he was real.

"You're here," San whispered, voice raw. "You're still here."

Wooyoung blinked up at him, still dazed, still burning. His lips were swollen, his golden eyes still gleaming in the candlelight.

A slow, breathless smile curved his lips. "Of course I am," Wooyoung murmured, his voice rasping, his grip tightening around San’s wrist. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Chapter 31: Epilogue - A New Dawn

Notes:

It's done. Thank you to everyone who kept up with Eternal Thirst and kept waiting for updates <3 Months and -1 organ later, I'm happy to finish this story that got so dear to me. I would be so happy about any comment and thought about the ending.

Lots of Love!

The ruins of the church stood as a jagged scar against the horizon, its skeletal remains clawing at the sky as if begging for absolution. The air was thick with the weight of memory, the ground beneath their feet still carrying the echoes of screams and the metallic tang of blood. For San, this place was a wound that had never fully healed— a reminder of the Eternal Night, a massacre he had survived centuries ago, a night that had stolen his humanity and left him adrift in an endless sea of time.

But now, standing there with Wooyoung, the weight felt different. Lighter, somehow. Wooyoung’s hand wasn't warm in his anymore, yet it felt even more like a grounding force that tethered him to the present. It had only been a few weeks since Wooyoung had been turned, since San had given him the gift— or curse— of immortality. And yet, Wooyoung had adapted with a resilience that left San in awe.

Of course the transformation had been a shock, but he had embraced it with the same determination that had made him— well, Wooyoung.

He had even returned to work, though at a different hospital- The Metropolitan hospital had been bombed by the government to hide the true nature of what had happened there. Of course, they were blaming it on North Korea to fuel their own political agenda. Wooyoung knew that Yoongi had been furious— but for him, all that mattered was his new Family.

He had always been an exceptionally good paramedic, but now his sharp instincts and quick thinking were enhanced by his supernatural abilities.

San had returned to teaching history, his centuries of experience lending a depth to his lessons that his students could sense but never quite understand. But his life had changed in ways he could never have imagined. The walls he had built over centuries— walls of guilt, of grief, of self-imposed isolation— had crumbled, leaving him raw and vulnerable. And yet, he had never felt more free. Wooyoung had done that. Wooyoung had reached into the darkness and pulled him into the light.

They stood together now, at the edge of the ruins, the autumn sun casting long shadows over the broken stones. Wooyoung’s presence was a balm to San’s ancient soul, a reminder that even after centuries of loneliness, love could still find him. Wooyoung squeezed his hand, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It’s strange,” Wooyoung said, his voice soft but steady. “This place… it feels heavy. Like it’s holding onto something.”

San nodded, his gaze fixed on the ruins. “It is. This is where it all happened. Where I lost everything. Where I became… this.” He gestured vaguely to himself, not his immortal form but the once broken being that Wooyoung had mended back together piece by piece.

Wooyoung turned to him, his eyes searching San’s face. “But you’re not just ‘this,’ San. You’re not just what happened to you. You’re… you. And I’m here now. You’re not alone anymore.”

San’s breath caught in his throat. Wooyoung’s words were simple, but they carried a weight that sank deep into his chest. He had spent centuries carrying the weight of his past, of the lives he couldn’t save, of the humanity he had lost. But Wooyoung saw him— not as a monster, not as a relic of a bygone era, but as a man. A man who had endured, who had loved, who had survived.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” San said, his voice barely above a whisper. “After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve seen… I never thought I’d find someone like you.”

Wooyoung’s smile was soft, his eyes filled with a warmth that made San’s chest ache. “You didn’t have to do anything, San. You just had to be you. And I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you.”

San felt the words like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He had lived for centuries, had seen empires rise and fall, had loved and lost more times than he could count. But this— this was different. Wooyoung’s love was a fire that burned away the shadows, a light that guided him home.

He reached up, cupping Wooyoung’s face in his hands. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if Wooyoung were something precious, something fragile. “I love you,” San said, the words spilling from his lips like a prayer. “I’ve lived for an eternity, but I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Wooyoung’s smile widened, and he leaned into San’s touch. “Good,” he said, his voice teasing but tender. “Because you’re stuck with me now. Forever. No take-backs.”

San laughed, the sound rich and full, a sound he hadn’t known he was capable of making. “Forever sounds perfect to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. If it's with you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and he leaned in, capturing San’s lips in a kiss that was equal parts passion and promise. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of a love that had defied time and death. San kissed him back with everything he had, pouring centuries of love and pain and hope into that single moment.

When they finally pulled away, San rested his forehead against Wooyoung’s, his eyes closed. “I’ve waited so long for you,” he murmured. “Centuries of darkness, and then you… you were the light I didn’t even know I was searching for.”

Wooyoung’s smile was soft, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on San’s back. “And I’ll keep being your light,” he said. “No matter how long forever is, I’ll be here. With you.”

They stood there for a while longer, the ruins of the church a silent witness to their love. For San, the weight of the past was still there, but it no longer felt like a burden. It was a part of him, yes, but it didn’t define him. Not anymore. With Wooyoung by his side, he felt like he could face anything— even the ghosts of his past.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in hues of gold and crimson, San took Wooyoung’s hand again. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Wooyoung nodded, his smile never fading. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

And with that, they turned away from the ruins, walking hand in hand toward the future they had fought so hard to claim. The horrors of the Eternal Night would always be a part of San, but they no longer held him captive. He had Wooyoung—his love, his light, his forever.

For San, it was more than enough. It was everything. And as they walked into the sunset, their laughter mingling with the rustle of autumn leaves, San knew that this was just the beginning. Centuries of darkness had led him here, to this moment, to this love. And he would cherish it—cherish Wooyoung—for all of eternity.