Archive of Our Own

It is not rare for every little thing to remind Minho of Seungmin. A consequence of finding and losing the other half so early on in life is that Minho carries his grief like a missing limb. 

When his sorrow had been raw and new, the agony had been crippling. He had oscillated between murderous rage and massive breakdowns. Without Chan, he would have burned in his quest for vengeance. Now, although his emotions remain undiminished, they come in waves and are far easier to repress. To box in and shove so deeply into his subconscious that the mindless anguish had been reduced to incessant niggling at the back of his head.

However, standing in a random bookstore, a little less than two centuries later, the pain that arises in his chest is so intense that it rivals the past; a scabbed wound – that has and will probably never have the opportunity to heal – torn open. 

He stares at the children's book with a plethora of colorful dragons sketched upon it and the offending name under it stares back at him. Sky Lee. 

Sky Lee.

Bile rises up his throat. What a coincidence. What a joke. How the universe must be enjoying playing Minho like this.
 
That's his surname written in a bubbly font right after a nickname he had coined for Seungmin. 

My sky, Minho had called him. My lil bird.

How often had Minho sat behind Seungmin, peering over his broad shoulders to read as he wrote and begged him to come to bed? Had begged Seungmin to read to him when he could not sleep? How many times had he pretended to listen to his new ideas as he prepared breakfast? All memories that instead of rosy shades of happiness are tinted with despair and distress.

A small cough breaks him out of his rumination. Embarrassed, he realizes that he has been standing in the children's corner doing nothing for longer than it would seem appropriate.

"Can I help you?" the girl asks him, her customer service smile bright albeit a little strained. Which, Minho thinks is perfectly valid given how long he has been idly standing and scowling at a children's book.

Resignedly, he pushes his thoughts back into the designated Seungmin box in his head and flashes her his most charming smile. 

"I'm just looking around," he lies. He had never meant to enter this bookshop, much less survey for books.

She nods her head. "The book you are looking at is a best-seller. I'm sure the children you want to buy it for will love it." 

Minho's smile takes a genuine edge as she drops her eyes to assess him. He wonders if he passes off as a father in his early twenties rather than a century-old warlock. He guesses both would seem improbable. His wedding ring burns under his shirt where it is hung with a chain around his neck.

"It is for my niece." He replies and the girl takes an easier stance. 

"Would you like me to generate the receipt for your purchase then?"

No, Minho would not like that. Considering neither he nor anyone in his immediate circle had children of the age the book targeted. 

"Yes, please," is what Minho says instead, picking up the book from the shelf and running his fingertips over the author's name. 

Only when he is leaving the bookstore with three books tucked under his arm that he notices his magic thrumming apprehensively in his blood, almost as if trying to tell him something. He wonders if his instincts are trying to warn him of something, before dismissing the notion as stupidity. 

He is allowed to have bad days. He just misses Seungmin that's all and with their wedding anniversaries near, his emotions are amplified. 

He reassures himself over and over again but the itch only grows. 

Rain is pouring down viciously. Water stands in the empty streets and Minho can feel his shirt stick to his skin in uncomfortable places. 

Seungmin is in front of him, white top almost translucent, trousers clinging firmly to the muscles of his thigh. His bowtie is crooked.

He parts his lips to suggest they move out of the rain, but Minho, his desire insatiable, clenches his hand lapels of his jacket, drawing towards him.

Seungmin stumbles. 

And then their lips meet and nothing else matters. 

He digs his fingers into his waist and drinks Seungmin's muted cry with a pleased hum. He does not remember how long they remain standing in the storm, lips moving against one another and rain falling around them.

“Hyung someone will see us,” Seungmin pants breathlessly when they part. His pupils are blown out and hair sticks to his forehead. He looks winded. Debauched. 

“It's a storm. No one is foolish enough to come out, silly”

“And we are?”

“How will I grieve after you leave if I do not have a rain kiss to remember you by? Any tragedy without one is boring. You should know, you visit those fancy-ass theatres.” Even as he tries delivering the statement calmly, a note of truth bleeds into his tone.

Seungmin playfully thumps his shoulder

Minho’s arm is still wound around his waist. Seungmin's waist is so thin he could encompass him with one arm. It is a heady feeling even if he has an inch on Minho. 

Blown-out pupils. His eyes shaking at the proximity. Pink blooming on his pale cheeks. If he cannot have Seungmin forever, he will just have to embed infinity into these little moments.

The delicate human who holds Minho's fragile heart.

Seungmin tilts his head and places a kiss on his nose.

“You can't get rid of me that easy. I'm going to be here for a long long time. Right,” kiss on the forehead “beside,” on the cheek, “you.” on the philtrum

When Seungmin kisses him on the mouth Minho does not tell him that he can taste the bitterness of the lie on his tongue.

It is a testimony to how often and how shamelessly Changbin freeloads off of Minho that when instead of barging and demanding food, Changbin patiently waits to be invited in after knocking and deposits multiple takeout bags on the kitchen countertop, Minho knows he is being buttered up. 

"What do you want?" Minho asks, peering into the bags and regretting it immediately. Seafood pasta. Bulgogi. Beef Steak. 

Forget being buttered, Minho feels like cattle being fattened for slaughter. He sighs, resigning himself to the knowledge that he is not going to like whatever Changbin is going to ask of him in the slightest. 

And that is exactly how Minho ends up meeting up with his dead husband.

In hindsight, maybe Minho should have heeded the warnings his magic had been sending him since the start of the week. Or he should have simply resisted Changbin's sad despairing eyes and looked over each favor the man had done for him over the year. 

Then, he would not have been wholly unprepared when he goes out intending to meet with Changbin's friend and instead comes face to face with a vampire who seems to be wearing his dead husband's face.
 
The same wide eyes and curled mouth. The same scar on his jaw he got when he learned how to have. The same stance of his legs when he was waiting for Minho. Minho could believe he was dreaming about the past had Seungmin not been out of his aristocratic clothes and in modern ones.

Minho’s anguish, fierce and primal allows him no room for any rational thought. He has not realized that he has broken out of his paralyzed trance until he is standing in front of the vampire.

Surprise colors the wide eyes that are so similar to Seungmin's that they could be plucked right out of Minho's memory.

How dare they disrespect his dead husband by letting the creatures that killed him wear his face? How do they sully the memory of the purest thing Minho has ever had, by using it to trap him?

Minho wraps his hands around his cold pale throat.

The man does not attack, does not try to struggle or break free. Does nothing except lie pliantly under Minho's hold and stare at him with an emotion Minho can only identify as horror.

Vampires are not supposed to feel cold and still, he shakes like a leaf in Minho's hands.

If this is an ambush, it must be a pathetic one because Minho is going to kill him right here.

And then, the vampire instead of clawing at his throat, places his palm over Minho's and chokes out, "M- Minho hyung?" 

Does not say Lee Know. Or the hermit witch. Does not use any titles Minho is known for. Just a name that died with his husband two centuries ago. 

Back at his place, Minho checks and rechecks each ward. He draws salt circles. He strengthens the wards with every protective spell he knows. He purifies every surface and rearranges all his tools. 

He strips all the wards and redoes them again.

And when he can not ignore his memories anymore, he throws up into the toilet bowl. 

He aggressively brushes his teeth until he spits blood and scrubs his hands until they are red. 

He pukes into the toilet bowl again. 

And nothing changes. The pit at the bottom of his stomach opens even further and the echo of his name rolled off of Seungmin's tongue still rings in his ears. 

How many times has he dreamed of holding Seungmin in his arms again? And how many times has he woken up with an image of Seungmin's blood on his hands and life dying in his eyes plastered under his eyelids?

And how desperately he wishes to wake from this nightmare too.

It takes four bottles of alcohol for the storm in his head to calm. The next morning, he cannot decide if he is more surprised or disappointed at having survived the night.

It stands to demonstrate how greatly his perception of the world is altered that it takes him all day to reassure himself that whatever scheme is at hand, Changbin is not a part of it. Minho has known Changbin for too long to not know the kind of person he is. He has been in too many vulnerable positions, that if Changbin was planning his downfall, Minho would already be dead.

Changbin was never to play with his food anyway. 

However, that only meant Changbin was being made a fool out of too. And, it consequently also meant that Changbin is placed in the line of danger by whoever is after Minho.

"How do you know him?" Minho questions Changbin as soon as the line connects. Minho has agonized about this so often over the day, that his delivery sounds dead to even his own ears. There is no way someone who looked like Seungmin was so close to his immediate circle of friends without Minho missing it.

Changbin does not need to ask who Minho is referring to. 

"He is a friend-"

"That's not what I asked-"

"Jeez, calm down hyung," Changbin cuts him off, "He is a friend of a friend."

"Hyunjin?"

"Nah, Felix. Why? Did something happen?"

Felix. Changbin's long-term faerie boyfriend. Fuck. That made everything so much more complicated. Was Felix, despite his innocent disposition, in on this scheme? If he was, how was Minho supposed to break this news to Changbin? Or was Felix being tricked too? But then, who would go so far for something Minho could so clearly see through? 

As Minho's thoughts are running in circles, Changbin mistakes his silence for something completely different.

"Hyung," he says, horror apparent through his voice, "Please tell me you haven't killed him."

Killed him

Minho squeezes his eyes shut. 

He should have. He should have put an end to that imposter and finished him right there and then. Then he would have not to worry about the intricacies of this trap and wade through these mysteries. 

However, Minho has always been too much of a coward where Seungmin has been concerned. The imposter had resembled Seungmin downright to the smallest blemishes on his skin. How was Minho supposed to squeeze the life out of him and not have the image of life fading out of Seungmin's eyes imprinted behind his eyelids for the rest of his life?

Time would go on but Minho would always be stuck in that moment. 

"—Felix will have my head. Please tell me you didn't drive a stake through his heart–" Changbin is still immersed in his ramble. 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. "That myth isn't real."

"-Because he is a great friend of mine."

"You never mentioned him." Minho bursts out heatedly, feeling irrational and foolish even as he says them. 

It is not Changbin's fault that someone was playing with Minho by sending his husband's doppelganger. Changbin did not even know who Seungmin was to Minho.

Minho cannot however help his mindless fury.

"You hate vampires. Why would I tell you?" The same sentiment echoes in Changbin's challenge – no doubt at the seemingly unprovoked interrogation.

"Why me then, huh?" Minho growls into the phone, his panic and desperation finally permeating into his sentences. "Why would you ask me to help your friend, when you know how I hate them? When are so many other casters out there!"
 
He resents Changbin for asking this of him, even if he does not understand the gravity of the situation. He detests the universe for inflicting this upon him. However, most of all he despises himself; for being so weak, for being so affected by anything concerned with Seungmin even after all these years.

"Not everyone is as good as you," Changbin's voice is indefinitely fragile this time around. "And they can't risk the news getting out."

"What news? Why are you so vague?"

"I can't tell you that over the unencrypted unsafe network can I now?"

When Minho offers him no reply, Changbin continues, "If you don't want to, hyung, I understand. I won't force you into it."

Minho could do the smart yet cowardly situation and take the opportunity that Changbin was offering. He could let Changbin ask some other witch for help for his vampire friends and let the Seungmin look-alike be someone else's problem for the time being.

But was it a smart move to allow an imposter to run around wearing Seungmin's face run around and wreak havoc without check? Whatever was going on, it was obvious that Minho was being targeted. Who else knew about Seungmin in this century? At least by doing this, Minho could keep an eye on him and discern what was going on.

Minho sighs defeatedly, "This is important to you, isn't it?"

"I’m sorry, hyung," Changbin says in agreement.

"Send me his number. I’ll call you later."

Minho cuts the call before Changbin can answer

[Unknown Number]

16th Street

Parade Ground

4 tomorrow

Don't be late

????

[Read 03:04]

Predictably, Seungmin is not on time.  Minho turns up half an hour early to find Seungmin sitting with his back to the glass window, holed up in a coffee shop. 

It is so bizarre. Seungmin in the 21st century. Drowning in modern attire- hoodie and jeans- and scrolling through his phone. Even in his dreams, Seungmin had belonged to an era of the past. Despite knowing it is a facade, a deep-rooted longing that arises inside him at the sight is impossible to shake.

He is still struggling with his thoughts as he makes his way to the vampire, and thus, the first sentence he blurts out is, "You are not my husband."

Stupid, Minho reprimands himself, Could you not find a better way to establish boundaries?

But then, the vampire glances up from the screen, already chuckling and all coherent thoughts fly out of his head. 

It knocks him off his feet how uncannily the vampire resembles Seungmin; his wide mouth open in laughter that reveals his perfectly arranged teeth, his eyes twinkling with barely hidden amusement, the scar on the edge of his jaw, if only slightly more faded than he last remembered.

How Minho has missed the sound of that laughter. If he closes his eyes, he can see the bell tower near their home. The small hut at the edge is the street. The smell of hydrangeas that Seungmin grew outside their window. The scent of rain. The tunes he sang in soft lilting tones. 

The ring hanging around his throat under his clothes scorches his skin.

The creature uncrosses his legs and without looking away, pockets his phone. He amusedly asks, "Husband? Weren't you the one who insisted our marriage wasn't valid?"

And is it not great to have his regrets thrown to his face all these decades later?

"Shut up," Minho growls at him, slamming his hand on the table. "You are not him. You don't get to say that."

Several heads turn to look over and Not-Seungmin worryingly glances around before raising his hands placatingly. 

"Okay," he says, calmly. "Sit, let's talk."

"Don't tell me what to do," Minho bites out as he plops down opposite to him nonetheless. 

"I'll help you," Minho tells him eager to finish the conversation, holding a finger when Seungmin opens his mouth to interrupt and express his thankfulness. "Not because I believe you. I still do not know what you are playing at. I'm doing this for Changbin and him alone."

And, for Seungmin, he adds silently. I'm doing this for him too. 

Vampire-Seungmin watches him sadly and after a long moment nods.

The reasons behind the secrecy become clearer when Seungmin brings the barely conscious missing Head of the Seoul vampire clan to his doorstep. 

"Isn't he supposed to be in Malibu?" Minho whispers fervently, ushering them inside. 

That is what the other officials had been saying. That while Han Jisung's clan was falling apart he was put on vacation in foreign lands. 

The streets however had claimed he was dead.

"I see you keep up with the supernatural community."

"It is difficult not to when the biggest clan in Korea is on the verge of a civil war because their leader is presumed dead."

Seungmin frowns. "We are not going into civil war," he says, upset.

"If you say so, vampling," Minho answers as he helps Seungmin deposit Jisung onto the bed in the guest room. 

"What happened to him?"

"He was cursed."

Ah, of course, this imposter had to be as elaborate with his problems as his Seungmin used to be.

"Yeah, I can see. I'm asking how? Who?"

When Seungmin remains silent, Minho presses on, "Listen, if we know the caster, it is far easier to convince them to break it. And if they don't then, when the witch dies, most of their curses die with them. We could-"

Seungmin's jaw is clenched and his hands curled into fists when he replies, "He is already dead."

There is a defiance in his voice that dares Minho to challenge him.

Minho should not pry. Not into these irrelevant details that are bound to trick and confuse him further. But his Seungmin, although more out of fear than kindheartedness, could not even kill the insects that infested their house. Minho has extremely vivid and equally terrifying memories of running after pests while Seungmin did everything in his power to keep his feet four feet above the ground. 

Minho cannot help but ask, his voice a weak and a horrified thing, "Did you kill him?"

Seungmin nods stiffly. Behind the defiance in his eyes, the protectiveness he holds for the other vampire is obvious. Unapologetic. Defiant. Fierce.

Minho does not know why that information tugs painfully at his heart. He averts his eyes, unable to hold his gaze any longer, and says, "Alright, back to plan A. I'll just remove the traces of magic from his body."

It is quiet for a long time after that.

Turns out it is easier to say than to remove the traces of magic from the bloodstream of a supernatural being. By the end of the four hours, Minho's limbs are heavy and his mind weary but there seems to be no improvement in Jisung's condition. There is sweat over his head, his eyes move restlessly behind closed eyelids and his limbs tremble feebly. 

"This is enough," Minho says resignedly. "We can't go further than this today."

Seungmin rakes his incredulous gaze over Jisung's shaking frame and spits, "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job but he looks-"

"-worse than how brought him here initially, I know vampling."  

Seungmin tilts his head to one side in a gesture that reminds Minho of a baffled puppy. There is no shred of suspicion in the open curiosity of gaze.

Minho fixes his eyes on a spot on the wall behind his head. This isn't your Seungmin, he reminds himself, This is an imposter.

"Well, removing magic from his body is a double-edged strategy,” Minho explains. “Since he is supernatural, aside from the curse, magic is a component of his life force. Remove too little and you won't even leave a dent on the curse. But remove too much and you may just drain his life force altogether."

Seungmin nods, before threading his fingers with Jisung's. His face remains impassive but his hold on Jisung's hand speaks volumes. Once upon a time, his Seungmin used to take strength from Minho this way. 

"So what now?"

"We give him time to recuperate. In a week, when his magic is replenished, we can drain again."

Without looking back at Minho, Seungmin nods and stoops to place his arms under Jisung's knees and neck. To Minho's surprise, he hauls him into his arms with almost no effort. 

"We will visit you next week at the same time," Seungmin says, bowing as properly as he can while holding a whole person in his arms. 

And before Minho can follow his nod with anything else, Seungmin is out of the door and his house is hauntingly empty once more.

Is it stupidity to cling to Seungmin's memory so strongly? Or is it pure desperation to see someone who so closely resembles Seungmin near him? Whatever it is, Minho is helpless to resist it.

Seungmin comes each week and sits quietly in the corner as Minho works on Jisung. Sometimes, he spends long hours on his phone until Minho kicks him out of the room for giggling at a tiktok too loudly and disturbing his concentration. Sometimes, he wanders around the living room, dissecting Minho's possessions with a blank expression. Simply analyzing but never touching. Occasionally, he perches himself next to Jisung, runs his finger through his sweaty locks, and makes soothing noises.

But mostly, he simply sits at the opposite corner, thighs to the chest, chin over his knees, hands folded in front of his legs, and stares at Minho with sad eyes.

"Stop staring at me." Minho snaps during the third week after Seungmin consistently tracks his movement with his eyes for the better part of the night. Minho can feel the heat of his gaze at the back of his head.

"You never stopped me before."

"You were never an imposter before either."

"If I were trying to kill you and could do it by a glance, do you really think I would waste my energy on a facade?"

"I have your friend's life in my hands. Do you really want to test me?"

Seungmin raises his hands, but his eyes twinkle, calling out Minho's bluff. Colour rises up Minho's face. He squeezes his eyes shut and looks away.

The next time Vampire-Seungmin comes, there is a gash across his cheek and a limp in his gate. And although he seems to carry Jisung's weight stably enough, Minho can read the uneasiness on his face as clear as day.

"Long time no see hyung," Seungmin says cheerfully, fixing Minho with his signature cheeky smile that reveals his teeth. 

Minho does not dignify him with a reply but takes half of Jisung's weight without asking. 

That night, Seungmin does not scroll through his phone and does not wander around. He does not stare at Minho. He simply sits in a corner and falls asleep.

Minho feels warm at the show of trust.

"Wait." 

Minho digs his nails into Seungmin's elbow, startling him on his path to Jisung. 

This isn't Seungmin, he tells him again, he isn't your responsibility. 

But it is as useless as the last fifty times he had told himself over the course of the last four hours. He had worked over Jisung 's but his attention and his gaze had kept deviating to the gash on Seungmin's cheek as he slept next to him.

"Wait," Minho repeats and uses his grip to pull Seungmin away from the bed and towards himself. Seungmin looks up at him with wide surprised eyes. 

"You don't have to. Vampires heal easily."

Minho does not reply. He shoves his shoulders until Seungmin is stumbling onto the chair behind him. He raises Seungmin's leg and when Seungmin winces at the abrupt movement, he lets himself be a little gentler as he pushes Seungmin's trousers up to reveal his calf.

There is no coherent thought process behind his action. No reason for him to be healing someone most likely sent to sabotage him.

But it was too late to back out now.

Although Seungmin's skin is cold, each touch lights a fire underneath his fingertips. Jolts of electricity run along the nerves of his arm until his entire body feels connected to Seungmin through that singular point of touch. 

He murmurs a few words and as the muscles of Seungmin's legs relax, he moves to the gash across his cheek.

Minho's thoughts are in such disarray that his spells rely entirely on muscle memory alone. 

How easy is it to heal this creature when he can regenerate so quickly? He wonders if it would have been this easy then if Minho had taken up Chan on his offer to train his powers. If Minho could have protected Seungmin better if he just hadn't been too greedy.

He tries his best to not meet Seungmin's eyes as he runs his thumb across his cheek but it only means that certain things, like the smoothness of his skin, the bob of his adam's apple, and the rise and fall of his chest catch his attention. Minho's heart speeds up like a habit. He hopes Seungmin associates his deep breathing with exertion rather than their proximity. 

Seungmin's pupils are blown wide and when Minho steps back, he raises his arm to reach out. 

Disappointment is bitter acid at the back of his throat when Seungmin's fingers curl just shy of Minho's sleeve and he withdraws his hand. Minho, even subconsciously, should not want this. Any ounce of hope will morph into agony once he inevitably unmasks this farce.

Minho, not trusting his voice to speak, nods at Seungmin and flees the room. He locks himself into his room and when he emerges the next morning, the silence and empty flat are almost enough to convince himself that last night was a nightmare.

It is another type of suffering to visit his hometown. It is where Seungmin's memory is the strongest and hence, the place where his guilt is the most intolerable. And even though, the decades that have passed have transformed the village, the traces of Seungmin have yet to erode away; their initials carved on the old school wall, the trees that they climbed as children, the bell tower that chimed with each hour and the slabs of stone that mark their empty graves.

During the massacre, the bodies had been indistinguishable from each other. Minho had not been left with anything of Seungmin to bury. After the initial months, after Minho had stopped expecting each knock on the door to be Seungmin, he buried an empty casket just to remind himself that Seungmin was truly gone. 

And when he left the town a year later, he had dug another grave next to Seungmin's and carved his own name onto the stone. Lee Minho, the human, had been laid to rest that night and Lee Know had started his witch training under Chan the next day.

It had taken decades to even handle the thought of returning. At least, their relationship had deserved to be remembered fondly so every year on their anniversary Minho visits all the important landmarks of their relationship in the town, buys the most vibrant hydrangeas, and talks to Seungmin's grave.

"I can't believe you are a nuisance even from all the way there," he complains this time as he recounts the details of Vampire-Seungmin to the mud and stones. 

The air is becoming colder by the minute and the sky darker. Minho sits next to the grave and watches the dark clouds drift in the clouds. This would be the exact weather Seungmin would have liked. 

"I miss you," he tells the skies, ignoring the burning behind his eyes. "I think I would sacrifice anything to have you back."

The rain masks his tears even if no one is around to watch them fall. 

That night he dreams of their old house and Seungmin smiling in the golden sunlight pouring through their window. If Minho concentrates he can notice the tiny fangs behind his lips.

"What is this?" Minho asks after Seungmin pushes a gift basket into his hands after he lays down Jisung in the guest room.

"Dragon tooth. Unicorn tail hair. Phoenix Heartstring." At Minho's perplexed expression, Seungmin dismissively elaborates, "Wedding anniversary gift." 

"We weren't married."

"Funny, I had a ring that proved otherwise."

The past tense tugs harshly at Minho's heart. He resists the urge to grab his own ring under his shirt.

"There was no place in the eighteen hundreds which recognized two men in wedlock."

"And yet, you were mine and I was yours. No law on earth could change that."

When the silence stretches on a little, Seungmin in a low, sincere voice says, "If not as an anniversary gift, take it as thank you for patching me up last week."

As Minho works in silence and Seungmin curls himself into his usual position, he tries not to think how the not-Seungmin had gifted him with all the needed ingredients for a love potion. The sort of cheeky gift only Seungmin would give his lover.

No matter his qualms, his resistance, no matter the boundaries he tries to establish, Vampire-Seungmin and Jisung integrate firmly into his daily routine. 

They come every week and with each week, as Jisung gradually regains his strengths, it becomes progressively difficult to work on him. His state progresses from unconscious to delirious and disorientated. Sometimes, he is even conscious enough to know that his magic is being tampered with. At times like those, when he is fearful enough of what he feels to struggle but too far gone to understand why, Minho has Seungmin hold him down as he extracts the curse from his veins.

Seungmin pins him to the bed and murmurs reassurances until his voice becomes hoarse with overuse and his limbs tremble with the effort.

Jisung does not let up his struggle but chants back, Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin. 

And when pure distress and helplessness are etched upon Seungmin's features, it is hard to believe that this is a trap. That Seungmin is an imposter.

The vampire banters like Seungmin too. Laughs too much like him. Leaves his shoes in the middle of the living room. Cracks the same knuckle over and over again when he is stressed. He brings down Minho's walls inch by inch. 

When he makes small conversations with Minho, he cannot resist indulging him. Indulging himself. cannot help but be drawn to this mirage.

He always hates himself after they leave. Minho should put an end to this now. Before it progresses and becomes too dangerous. However futile hope niggles at the back of his head. Possibilities that he is not ready or strong enough to think about. 

It is the ‘what if’ that eats him alive slowly. 

During one of the rare weeks when Seungmin does not leave as soon as Minho is done with Jisung, he asks him, "How do you know I'm your Minho and not an imposter?"

Seungmin laughs as bodily as he can with Jisung's head in his lap. 

"What's so funny?"

Seungmin bites his lips trying to resist his smile and faces the ceiling. Minho has a wayward urge to pull at the same patch of his mouth with his teeth before he harshly pushes it outside his head.

"Well," Seungmin says, "You know how people don't believe in magic but let tricks fascinate them anyway? I have lived without you for years. I'm lonely and exhausted. When we met again, I think at that moment I was just happy to see you again."

Minho frowns. That sounds even more dangerous and desperate than what he is doing. Did this vampire have no concept of self-preservation? 

But then he angrily pushes such thoughts away, reminding himself that this Seungmin is not the one he knows and he is not supposed to believe every word he utters. He has no cause to feel worried or concerned for him.

"But then, after," Seungmin continues in a voice Minho can only classify as fond, pressing his fingertips to the frown between Jisung's eyebrows, "I asked around. To be a convincing doppelganger, the warlock needs to base the double on another person's memory of them of the time." 

"The thing is, you do things exactly as I remember. You leave your shoes by the carpet instead of the entrance mat. You always leave the glass you drink water in a quarter filled. You rub your nose when you are embarrassed. So if you were a doppelganger then, you should be based on my memories right? Who else knew you then so intimately?" 

"But you also do things I don't remember. It is little things, like placing the glass on the left side over the table. clench and unclench your teeth when you are trying to resist something. Pinching the bridge of your nose when you are upset. Things I only remember you did after I see you do them."

"So I figured you had just been born a warlock and not just told me."

Minho swallows back the strange guilt that rises. This isn't him, he reprimands himself, don't be stupid.

"So why don't you believe I'm your Seungmin?"

The hope in his eyes is crushing. It is the weight on Minho’s chest and the stone lugged around his heart. 

"Because he is dead," Minho replies before leaving the room.

Almost like a switch is flipped, once he has that conversation he cannot seem to push it aside. 

He becomes hyper-aware of Seungmin and the little things he does. He will bend oddly to tie his shoelaces and Minho will tally the image of him struggling with his memories of Seungmin. Did his Seungmin stand like this? Did he twist his features in a certain way while sleeping? Did he always scratch his jaw after yawning? 

Has Minho forgotten these small habits? Do they prove that this vampire is his Seungmin? Or is he misreading the signs warning him that this man is an imposter?

Almost every little thing Seungmin does, Minho overthinks. 

When realizes what he is doing and scolds himself. This is what the imposter wants him to do. To question his convictions. To doubt his reality. But these voices grow each day until Seungmin is all he thinks about. Maybe it is because now that he has allowed himself to consider the possibility that Seungmin may have been turned into a vampire, it pricks at the brain until it hurts to think.

It is a downward spiral where Minho cannot trust his own head. His own thoughts. Not when even the sight of Seungmin disorientates him still.
 

"These are my books," Seungmin says, taking the children's books out from the bookshelf. He flips through the pages with a fond and gleeful expression. He always did get excited over little things.

"Did you read them?" He questions joyfully, "Did you like them?

"Bought them at a fundraiser," Minho lies easily, "Never got to read them."

Seungmin does not comment on the dog-eared corners and the worn-out pages.

"Isn't this proof enough that I'm not an imposter?" he says instead, "That I exist?"

"There is no evidence that you wrote the books," Minho replies, frustration creeping into his voice. "The author isn't even known to the general public."

"You know an awful lot about the books you haven't claimed to read."

Of course, he knows. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore. 

"We never took each other's names," Minho deflects instead, referring to the glaring Lee before the Sky, and Seungmin lowers his head to gaze sadly at the bottom o the cover page. 

"Yeah, but I was yours and you were mine," Seungmin says, his fingertips gently grazing the author's name. He then takes a deep breath and returns the book back to the shelf. Resignedly, he continues, "Anyhow, it is just a pseudonym," before leaving the room.

Despite achieving what he wanted, it feels like Minho’s chest would cave inwards.

"There is leftover bibimbap in the fridge," Minho says over his shoulders as he gathers his tools. He pointedly does not look at Seungmin, afraid of what his face might give away. "Have it."

Seungmin's reply is deadpanned. "You made me bibimbap."

His incredulous disbelief rubs Minho in the wrong way.

"I didn't make you anything. They are leftovers."

"Leftovers?" Seungmin questions and Minho can picture the frustration etched on his face, the tension running in his taut muscles, without looking. 

Minho hums in agreement and turns to leave the room, signaling the end of the conversation, before it morphs into the one Seungmin seems to be intent on having.

However, fingers wrap around his elbow, stalling his movements. 

In the last weeks, they have been cautious of each other's space; snatching back hands when their fingers brush, standing a few feet away at almost all times so that no one of their limbs come in contact with the others. 

A touch with intent, no matter how small, how innocent is enough to rob Minho of his breath. Minho turns to face Seungmin.

"And you just randomly leftovers of my favorite food the night I was supposed to visit?"

Along with frustration, his expression is carved with pain. His eyes are glassy. His voice, despite its brittle quality, is heavy with implication. 

Minho wants to run his thumbs under his eyes; trace the skin and wipe away the wetness. 

Instead, he wrenches his arm away. 

"I am not having this conversation again," he bites out. 

"Why?"  Seungmin counters and the anger and agony in his voice is like a knife in his gut. "Are you afraid I might be real?"

"You are not-" Minho begins to growl but Seungmin, at the ends of his wits, shoves his back harshly into a wall. His hands fist into the shoulders of Minho's hoodie. 

"I am him and you know it," Seungmin spits. 

Minho moves forward to retaliate but Seungmin shoves him back into the wall, cutting off his denial. He had forgotten how fiercely stubborn Seungmin could be when he desired something. 

"Don't try to deny it. Don't tell me this is a favor to Changbin. You said it plenty of times."

Minho desperately wants to flee from this conversation. Wants to cover his ear in a childish gesture, so that he is unable to hear the misery and wrath bleeding into Seungmin's voice. Wants to escape and keep running away. 

"It is the truth-"

"Liar," Seungmin says, still enraged, the amplitude of his voice rising, "Somewhere in your subconscious, you know I'm real. If you thought I was an imposter if you thought I was a threat to you, to Changbin, to your friends, if you had a single doubt about it, you would have choked me and finished it when we met again. I may have known you a century ago, but I knew you enough."

The metaphorical knife in Minho's abdomen twists until even drawing air into his lungs is effortful. 

"I don't-'' Minho says, fingers twisting into the fabric of Seungmin's shirt but he is cut off yet again. 

"I am real, why do you refuse to accept it? I don’t understand." 

Although his words are still forceful, his voice has dwindled into a whisper. He looks pained, exhausted, and desperate. A mirror of Minho's own emotions.

"I-"

"Why are you doing this to me, hyung? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

"Seungmin, please-"

"I'm not asking you to be my husband again. I don't expect that out of you. It's alright if you have moved on. I just-"

"Can you listen-"

Seungmin shoves him into the wall again, nails digging deeper into his flesh. 

"I have lost you once before," he says defeatedly and eyes lowered. His barely whispered sentence is deafeningly loud in the silent room. "I would have you in any way you allow me to. In any capacity." A single tear rolls down his cheek. "Please hyung. I can't- I can't do it all over again."

Something is Minho cracks. His chest caves into itself, crushing his lungs and wringing his heart. His walls crash and burn until his barren self stands in the wreckage of his front.

"You want to know why?" He says, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears. 

Seungmin, presumably not expecting him to speak, looks back at him with surprised wide wet eyes.

"I am scared," Minho continues, hauntingly detached from his body and mind, as his tongue moves independently, on its own accord. "I am terrified."

Seungmin gapes at him and Minho takes the advantage of his speechlessness to carry on. 

"If you are alive, then I failed you didn't I? If you are my Seungmin then that means he survived that massacre and suffered while I carried on with life."

As Seungmin's hold grows slacker and his face becomes increasingly horrified, Minho's grip on him becomes tighter, desperate to keep close. 

"It means that I didn't look hard enough. It means I abandoned you when you needed me most."

"It wasn't your responsibility to protect me," Seungmin insists, his eyes still wide and horrified. "You couldn't have known."

Minho shakes his head, laughing mirthlessly. "Doesn't change that I wasn't there for you."

He raises his hand to wipe away the free tears running down Seungmin's face but stops midway, folding his fingers into a fist. He does not have the right anymore. Not when he was a cause for them.

"So you would lose me again?" Seungmin asks, shaking Minho's shoulders, his voice cracking midway. 

"Seungmin, please."

"I hope you know how contractionary you are being. You say you can't take the idea of you abandoning me but you are going to lose me again. It wasn't your fault the last time, but it will be this time."

Minho blinks back the stinging in his eyes. He can hear the blood rushing in his head. Can feel the metaphoric knife continuously twisting inside his guts. Can feel his heart breaking even as he utters the next words.

"It is better to not have you at all than lose you all over again."

Mourning is a light word for how he spends the next few days after he begs Seungmin to leave. After he breaks his own heart.

The blinds of his windows stay closed and he has no awareness of the variation between day and night. Just simply alternatives between spreading out on the bed and staring at the ceiling and curling under his covers as his body is racked by sobs. 

If previously Seungmin's loss had felt like a missing limb, it is now a gap in his heart. An emptiness that eats at his insides until all he remains is a hollow shell. Until bile is an ever constant at the back of the throat and he cannot tell if the tears are due to the pain or self-hatred. 

Jeongin comes on the fifth day. Tuts at him and fusses over him. Tries to talk to him. 

But all Minho does is nod at appropriate times, and watch blankly as Jeongin washes the stack of dishes in the basin and throws his laundry in the machine.

There is a worried furrow between Jeongin's brow as he voices his concern over Minho's silence during the week and the state of his house. 

Minho makes empty promises to reassure him enough to leave and spends the rest of the night hurling into the toilet. 

Even though Minho pulls himself into a semblance of a human by the time Jisung and Seungmin are supposed to visit again, the latter never shows up. Instead, Jisung is accompanied by another faerie whose name Minho brushes aside. 

This is for the better, Minho tells himself and tries to swallow back the bike rising at the back of his throat.

"Did I ever tell you that you cook well in the kitchen?" Minho growls at him, waving away the smoke polluting the room and assessing the damage to their place. They are already running short on cash and this is going to hit on their already dwindling savings. 

Beside him, Seungmin hangs his head low to cover his wet eyes and mumbles a small no. 

“Then? Why won't you let me cook instead? Why didn't you wait until I was back?"

"You always do it," Seungmin answers plaintively.

"Because I'm good at it!"

"I don't want you to think I'm a spoiled brat," Seungmin says defensively. "Granted I don't know how to. But if I don't do it I won't learn and you shouldn't be doing everything."

Minho looks at him incredulously. He hadn't realized Seungmin felt so strongly about this. 

"Seungmin–"

"I keep waiting for the day you realize you don't want me," Seungmin carries on, his voice wobbling, "keep waiting for the novelty of the rich son to wear off."

"Seung-"

"I have nothing to my name anymore."

“I didn't marry you for your money,” Minho spits out, angry for all the different reasons. “You left your family behind for me. You think I don't understand the things you have done for me.”

“Not about the money. It's about how I don't have anything to offer. You work at the port in the morning, You cook for both of us. What do I do? Sing at a pub and waste away on the typewriter.”

Minho does not know how to tell him that's is a privilege to be at his side. That it will never be Minho who leaves Seungmin. How Seungmin will have Minho for the rest of his life if he wishes but Minho cannot have him for the rest of his. 

Instead, all he can do is grab Seungmin’s hand and reassure him that he will always love him and hope it is enough to convince Seungmin Minho was worthy of his sacrifices. 

Minho has friends, great friends even. But he trusts no one with his problems as he does with Chan. No one knows about his past like him.

Maybe that's why he had been too terrified to visit his mentor. 

Chan is kind and warm as he always is when he visits. He ushers him in cheerfully and rubs his hand through his hair as if Minho was still the young broken witchling who had come to learn from him. And maybe in some ways, Minho still is. 

"Sit," Chan gestures towards his couch as he rummages through his cupboards, "I'll make you coffee."

Minho's voice is hoarse with disuse. "I'm not here for that kind of visit."

"Well, it is never not a good time for coffee," Chan says pulling out a kettle. And whatever emotion had brought Minho to Chan's apartment at 3 am starts dwindling. 

"Did you know?" Minho asks, and something in his voice must give him away because Chan puts the kettle back on the countertop, a guilty look on his features.

"So, you found out," Chan says calmly, drawing himself to his full height. 

The storm that rages within Minho becomes fiercer.

"You knew and you hid it from me," Minho growls at him angrily. Angry at Chan, at himself, at the universe. 

"I didn't know," Chan says in the same collected tone that aggravates Minho further, "I just thought it was a possibility."

"A possibility you didn't care to share? I loved him. I used to run myself dry scrying for him every night and you just-"

"And that's exactly what I did not. You cared too much."

"Of course I did," Minho spits. "I thought my husband was massacred."

"Yes exactly and all you wanted to do after that was go after the vampires," Chan bites back. "You were weak and you had just started training. What do you think would have happened had I told you there was a possibility he was alive?"

"You are no one to stop me."

Minho can hear his heartbeat in his ears, can feel the sweat coating his cold skin. 

"Stop you from marching into a vampire den? From delivering yourself to your death? Even with my help, there was no way to fight all of them. You would have died."

"Then death would have been better than going on like this."

Chan sighs. "You don't mean that."

"It's been awful without him," Minho confesses to him, and his horror, instead of coming off aggressive or aggravated, his voice cracks, "and I fear I'll drown in all that I feel now that he is back."

Chan finds his way back into the hallway and wraps his arms around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he says as Minho sniffles into the juncture of his neck. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Why," Minho asks, helplessly clutching his sides, "why didn't you tell me?"

"I told you-”

"No, after. After I was strong enough. After I had trained. Why didn't you let me know?"

Chan's reply is hauntingly honest when he says, "I was terrified of what you might burn to find him."

And Minho cannot deny that, so he simply lets Chan hold him as he cries earnestly.

Finding Seungmin now is almost effortless. Although it could be because he is stronger, mostly it is easier because it is not difficult to worm information out of Changbin after showing up at his doorstep looking half dead. 

The harder part is groveling to Seungmin after mucking everything up. 

Seungmin is in a loose shirt and shorts when he opens the door. Minho would be distracted by the bare thighs and stretches of pale skin if Seungmin's eyes did not immediately steel themselves at the sight of him.

"Seungmin," Minho breathes out simply. There is so much he wants to say. So much lost time he wants to make up for.

Seungmin tilts his head. "Hyung," he says back, monotone.

"I don't want to be casual,” Minho flounders, “No –like friends. Wait–"

Seungmin's mask cracks. He furrows his eyebrows and his lip curls down. He takes a step backward into the comfort of his apartment. "I don't know why you came all the way to tell me that. You were clear enough last time we met."

"No, wait," Minho pleads, reaching out into the apartment to grab onto Seungmin's wrist in a bruising break. Now that he has accepted that Seungmin is alive, now that he is so close, he fears Seungmin is going to disappear if he blinks, fears that he is going to lose him before he can correct his previous wrongdoings. "I have so much to say, I don't where to start honestly."

 For a second he is scared that Seungmin is going to deny him the chance. Is going to ask him to turn away and shut the door. But then, he wrinkles his nose, and says, "Start from the beginning, maybe. I don't know." And Minho sighs audibly with relief. 

"I found out I was a witch when I was like eleven. Chan – he is my old mentor – offered to teach me."

Minho waits for Seungmin's nod before continuing.

"But by the time I was sixteen, we started dating. And, I just – I couldn't leave, you know? I wanted to stay with you. And since witches lived for so long, I asked Chan for more time, to delay my training so that I could be with you."

Seungmin looks down at their joined hands and says in a small voice, "I don't understand why you never told me. I wouldn't have judged you or anything–"

"I know," Minho cuts him off, rubbing his thumb in circles over Seungmin's wrist. "I was going to tell you. I wanted to. But what we had was so good and I was scared of ruining us." And then sadly he adds, "I thought we would have more time."

Seungmin twists his hands within Minho's grip so that his long fingers are wrapping around Minho's wrists. 

"I waited for you after– after the mass– after you were taken," Minho chokes out. "Thought I might be dreaming. Thought you were going to come home. And then, when it started to feel real, your– your death, I faked my own and left to train with Chan."

Seungmin snorts wetly, lowering his head so that his eyes were obscured by his hair, "I came back to find you. Took me time to adjust to the whole vampire thing. The blood, the sires, the clan, but when I could run away, I came to the village. But I think I was too late. When I asked around they said you died. An unnatural unfortunate accident, everyone said."

"You didn't know I was alive?" Minho questions softly, stepping closer so that the gap between their body is minuscule. 

Seungmin shakes his head before dropping it onto Minho's shoulder. "Not until you tried choking me when we met. You?"

"Me neither. Used to scry for you every night after I learned how to." Minho raises his hand and pulls Seungmin closer by the back of his neck as his sniffling grows louder. Minho's own tears drop down his cheeks faster. "Now that I think about it you probably had a protective charm to hide from whoever you were running from."

Seungmin digs his fingers into Minho's sides and when it is quiet for too long, he urges Minho to continue, "Now what?"

And then, before Minho can answer, he is raising his head, looking pleadingly at Minho. "I know you said we can't be friends but hyung, I can't lose you again. Can't we–"

Minho wipes a stray tear off Seungmin's cheek with his thumb and tips his head forward so that their noses are touching. Seungmin stutters to a stop.

"Seungmin-ah," he says tenderly, "Can I kiss you?"

Seungmin scrunches his nose and mutters, "You are an asshole," before moving forward and letting their lips meet.

"Did– did you–" Minho tries to ask a few hours later when they are lying next to each other under Seungmin's covers. All these years and he is still tongue-tied near the boy he likes. 

Seungmin smiles sleepily at him and runs his toes over Minho's calf. "Did I what?" He teases, shifting his head so that he is fully facing Minho. 

He looks beautiful; relaxed and melting into the mattress with his hair splayed out on the pillow. Resembles a peaceful dream. 

It is difficult to believe he is real for entirely different reasons now.

"Your ring," Minho croaks out and Seungmin shakes with laughter. 

"In the shoe box at the bottom of the cupboard," Seungmin replies, pointing towards the said closet. His voice is honey, warm and soft. "Was afraid to lose it."

And then hesitantly, he asks, peering at Minho through half-closed eyelids, "Yours?"

Gently, his fingers snake around Seungmin's wrist and he brings his hand to his mouth, kissing his fingertips. Then, he guides Seungmin's hand under his collar to where his ring lies over his chest.

"Can't bear the thought of it not being close to me," Minho confesses bashfully and Seungmin pulls him into another lazy kiss.