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Sanghyuk lay on his back, Jaehwan sprawled on top of him, their legs tangled together. Jaehwan's head was resting on Sanghyuk's chest, and he'd stopped crying, but he was still sniffling and hiccuping softly. Sanghyuk gently held him, thinking that Jaehwan felt so small in his arms. He wondered when that had happened.
The couch next to the piano wasn’t the most comfortable thing, especially with the sheet bunched over it the way it was. Sanghyuk had tried to pull it off, but he’d been half carrying a sobbing Jaehwan at the time, so he had only gotten it half off before surrendering and flopping down.
Jaehwan made a soft snuffling noise, shifting a bit, and Sanghyuk brought his hand up so he could gently cup the side of Jaehwan’s face, run his thumb over his cheek. Jaehwan tipped his face up, still keeping an ear against Sanghyuk’s chest as he did so. “I love you,” Jaehwan said. He kept repeating it, like a dam had broken.
“Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said, a soft sigh, and he rolled them onto their sides, so Jaehwan was pressed between the back of the couch and Sanghyuk’s body. Jaehwan made a little squeak as he did so. Sanghyuk kissed him, still cupping one side of his face, pressing in against him, wanting Jaehwan to feel warm and safe and protected.
When he pulled away, Jaehwan gave a mighty sniffle. “Can I ask what changed?” he asked softly. His hands were trapped between their bodies, curled against their chests. “You— you seemed to hate me, not a month ago.”
“I didn’t hate you,” Sanghyuk replied, just as softly. “I was just worn down, and you— you can’t honestly say you don’t know why.” Jaehwan looked away, down at his hands. “But then you— you did something I wasn’t expecting. You opened up, you let yourself hurt, because you wanted to change. And I’ve watched it happen and— I don’t know, Jaehwan. I guess that now that we’ve dug underneath the razor edges and I’ve seen what you’re like— you know you’re sweet, don’t you? You’re sweet and soft and needy as fuck.”
Jaehwan was frowning, still not looking at Sanghyuk. “You forgot witty and intelligent.”
Sanghyuk tipped Jaehwan’s face up with a finger under his chin, and Jaehwan went willingly with a sigh. “I knew that already,” Sanghyuk said, and Jaehwan blinked slowly at him. “But I didn’t know you had so much depth beyond that. I just wanted to be with you— with the way you are now.”
“Broken,” Jaehwan said, sighing it out. “You like me broken.”
“I like you human,” Sanghyuk countered, and Jaehwan’s eyes widened.
“Ah,” he said. “Ah.”
“I like the you I’ve seen peeking through, the you from before you were hurt so badly you turned cold and sharp,” Sanghyuk said, voice dropping. “The you I can see you becoming, if you let yourself heal.” That made Jaehwan’s face twist for some reason, though he did not say why. “So no, Jaehwan, I don’t like you broken; I actually like you whole.”
Those words seemed to cut through Jaehwan like a knife. The way he flinched made Sanghyuk feel guilty, though he didn’t know what he’d said wrong. “Oh, Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan whispered, hands closing in the front of Sanghyuk’s shirt. “I—” He broke off, voice catching. “I’d trade so much, for this to work.”
“Would you trade your terrible maroon couch?” Sanghyuk asked, wanting Jaehwan to smile, and Jaehwan obliged, though it was weak.
“Yes,” he murmured. “That, and so much more.”
Sanghyuk almost wanted to ask what, exactly, Jaehwan would trade, though he knew the answer would probably make him ache. He wondered if Jaehwan would trade years off his life, the remainder of his magic. The thought of someone loving him so much was potent but also frightening.
But before he could speak, his phone was beeping, and it was Sungjae’s text tone, so he knew he should check to see what it was, if there’d been another attack.
Jaehwan reached around and pulled Sanghyuk’s phone out of Sanghyuk’s back pocket, the gesture weirdly intimate though Jaehwan did it like it was nothing. It made Sanghyuk blush a little, though, but Jaehwan was too busy peering at the glowing screen to notice, squinting through the glare.
“Sungjae,” he murmured, then glanced up at Sanghyuk’s face. “He wants to know if you made it home okay.”
“He loves me,” Sanghyuk said, wanting to see if Jaehwan would bristle, get possessive, “not romantically, just— as a friend.”
A pause. “Even if he did care for you as a lover, I could not very well begrudge him it,” Jaehwan said, holding the phone up for Sanghyuk to take.
Sanghyuk took the phone and swiped it open, reading the messages for himself. Sanghyuk? Did you get home alright? There’s been no other attacks, and all the patrols have come in, so I’m kind of worried. Please text me.
Texting one handed was awkward, but Sanghyuk sent back a quick, Yeah. I went to see my ex. I’m alright. See you tomorrow night. The rest of it all could wait. Sanghyuk didn’t want to think about the mess he’d left behind tonight.
Then he turned his phone off and shoved it back into his pocket. “It’s getting— early. The sun will be up in like an hour. And you need to take a shower before crashing, you’re all bloody,” Sanghyuk said, eyes roving over the watery blood drying on Jaehwan’s cheeks, around his eyes. Jaehwan gave a deliberate sniffle for effect. “Do you think you can stand now?”
Jaehwan squinted. “If I said no, would you carry me?” he replied, a little biting. Snarky. Sanghyuk wasn’t here for it.
He pulled away, getting to his feet, and Jaehwan looked wounded for a split second before Sanghyuk was scooping him up, one hand behind Jaehwan’s back and the other under his knees. Jaehwan shrieked, even as he grabbed at Sanghyuk’s neck to steady himself. “Yes,” Sanghyuk said, in belated reply. Their faces were very close.
Jaehwan, for a moment, seemed conflicted about whether or not to allow this indignity, but in the end he dropped his head so he was nuzzled in against Sanghyuk’s neck and shoulder, and muttered, “Just this once.”
For all that Jaehwan was thin, almost frail these days, he wasn’t exactly a feather, but Sanghyuk managed. He liked the feel of him in his arms, liked the idea of taking care of someone as strong as Jaehwan, this immortal creature who could snap Sanghyuk in half.
Idly, Sanghyuk wondered where Wonshik and Hongbin were, if they’d returned. They did not happen upon them, while walking back to Jaehwan’s room.
Once they were outside Jaehwan’s bedroom door, Sanghyuk set Jaehwan down, and Jaehwan kept his arms wrapped around Sanghyuk’s neck, so when Sanghyuk straightened, Jaehwan was leaning against his front. Sanghyuk walked into the bedroom, slowly, pushing Jaehwan backwards and then shutting the door behind themselves.
Once they were inside, Jaehwan kissed him, and it was the first time he’d initiated tonight. It made Sanghyuk’s heart skip a beat. Fuck, but he had missed this.
“Don’t go,” Jaehwan whispered against his mouth. “Stay for the day. Please. I— I need you beside me.”
There was a familiar warmth settling in Sanghyuk’s belly. Dangerous. Too fast. He wanted to space this out. As if they had the time for it. “I will, but— no sex, Jaehwan,” he said, and Jaehwan was already nodding.
“Don’t want sex,” Jaehwan murmured, and Sanghyuk raised an eyebrow. In response, Jaehwan said, “Truly. I— just being able to touch you at all is a great relief, like a balm. It’s been agony, seeing you, so close, and not being able to touch. I just want touch. I want— I want your mouth on mine, while you hold me. That is all.” Jaehwan looked embarrassed. “Also I am fairly sure if we tried to fuck I would simply cry again.”
“Oh god,” Sanghyuk said. “I don’t want that.”
“Nor I.”
Sanghyuk’s eyes roved over Jaehwan’s face, searching. His mouth was already kiss swollen, lips so red, and it was very tempting, but— Jaehwan cracked a wide yawn.
“Shower,” Sanghyuk said, “now, before the sun comes up and knocks you out. I’m not joining you so if you pass out while in there, you’ll crack your head open.”
Sanghyuk expected some kind of quip, but Jaehwan simply said, “Alright.” When he stepped away it was clearly very reluctant, but he did it, and went to his ensuite bathroom. After a moment Sanghyuk heard the water running.
He waited, counting the seconds, trying not to think about what he’d just done, what this meant for him, for all of them. He couldn’t know what would come of it. And he couldn’t bring himself to regret it either.
Once, he was sure Jaehwan was actually in the shower, Sanghyuk followed him into the bathroom, intent on washing his face at the sink. The bathroom was already steamy, and funnily enough when Sanghyuk walked in, Jaehwan jerked the curtains closed, as if Sanghyuk hadn’t seen it all before.
“I’m just washing my face,” Sanghyuk said, laughing. He turned the tap on cold, rubbing what blood Jaehwan had gotten on him off.
“You’re fucking up the pressure,” Jaehwan whined, and Sanghyuk turned the water off.
He went back into the bedroom, wondering what now. He no longer had any pajamas or toiletries here— funny how Jaehwan had just given them all back. Sanghyuk shrugged, figuring he could sleep in his shirt and boxers. So he popped open the button on his jeans and shimmied out of them before climbing into Jaehwan’s oversized bed, tucking himself in under the thick duvet with a shiver.
Jaehwan didn’t take long, and when he exited the bathroom, followed by a plume of steam, he was wearing a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips, and had a towel over his head, and he was scrubbing the water out of his hair. “Do you want to borrow any of— well, Wonshik’s clothes to sleep in?” Jaehwan asked, grinning from under the towel.
“I think I’m okay,” Sanghyuk said, and Jaehwan shrugged, tossing the towel onto the ground lazily and running his hands through his damp hair so it wasn’t sticking up every which way. Sanghyuk couldn’t help it, he sighed, and Jaehwan smiled at him again, though this time it was less shark and more just— happy.
“I know I am the loveliest of visions your pupils have ever had the privilege to behold, you don’t need to woo me with such compliments,” Jaehwan said, sliding into the bed beside Sanghyuk.
“You are,” Sanghyuk said, very seriously, just because he knew humor was how Jaehwan deflected his emotions, and he wasn’t going to let him totally have that out anymore.
Jaehwan stuttered, and simply went, “Ah.”
Sanghyuk smiled at having seemingly flustered Jaehwan, just a little. “Are you sleeping shirtless?”
“You know I usually do,” Jaehwan said, and they both looked at one another and had a moment out of time where they both seemed to realize how odd this was, how intimate they were and how they knew one another inside out and yet— there was still stiltedness, the awkwardness of handling broken edges.
Sanghyuk looked away first, sitting up to tug his shirt off and toss it over the side of the bed before settling back in. Jaehwan’s eyes were wide. “You said you wanted touch,” Sanghyuk said, simple, and then he reached out and pulled Jaehwan against himself, their bare chests pressing flush, and Jaehwan gave a breathy gasp that turned into a low moan. He then promptly seemed mortified and Sanghyuk laughed. Jaehwan’s skin was a bit sticky from dampness, and he was warm, so warm, as always. Sanghyuk ran his hand down Jaehwan’s spine, letting it settle on his lower back, holding him close. “Okay?”
“Yes,” Jaehwan said, and he shifted, wiggling to get comfortable. He looked up at Sanghyuk through his lashes. “Thank you. For giving me a— another chance. For being willing to open up. I know how hard it is. I know how hard I made it.”
Sanghyuk didn’t know what to say to that, because he barely even knew his own mind anymore. So he simply kissed Jaehwan’s forehead and murmured, “Sleep, Jaehwan.”
Jaehwan ducked down to press a kiss between Sanghyuk’s clavicles, it was almost reverent, and he whispered, “Yes.”
——
It was the sound of the bedroom door creaking open softly that woke Jaehwan. The sun had swept him into deep sleep, but it had since sunk again, he could tell, so he was no longer under its power, free for another night. He came into consciousness wrapped in Sanghyuk’s arms. His love was still sleeping deeply, face soft in sleep, breathing deep and even and his heart, oh his heart, it was still steady and strong.
Jaehwan didn’t need to roll over to know who was poking into his room, and he didn’t want to wake Sanghyuk besides. “What is it, Wonshik?” Jaehwan whispered, knowing Wonshik would be able to hear.
“I just wanted to make sure you were both alright,” Wonshik said, and his voice was curiously neutral.
The sound of his low timbre made Sanghyuk snuffle, his eyes opening blearily, and Jaehwan sighed. Sanghyuk looked over Jaehwan’s shoulder, and he mumbled, “Hey, Wonshik.”
Jaehwan scooted so he was on his back, still tucked against Sanghyuk’s body but now able to let his head loll to the side so he could look at Wonshik. He found Wonshik’s expression was just as neutral as his voice had been, lurking in the doorway and taking in the scene in front of him. Jaehwan wondered what he was thinking. He couldn’t be happy, to see Sanghyuk back in Jaehwan’s bed.
“We’re okay,” Jaehwan said, in belated reply to Wonshik’s inquiry. Then he looked to Sanghyuk in question, making sure it was true.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” Sanghyuk said huskily, meeting Jaehwan’s eyes for a moment before looking back at Wonshik. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight,” Wonshik replied, and Sanghyuk pushed the covers off himself, climbing over Jaehwan to get off the bed.
Jaehwan grabbed at him lightly, but ultimately let him go. He didn’t want Sanghyuk to go, never wanted to let him go. Somehow this was worse. The idea of losing Sanghyuk had become even more unbearable, which was ridiculous, because it was something he’d been unable to cope with even from the go. But he could not lock him here, and that even if he did, that was no guarantee for his safety.
“I have a shift at nine, so I need to go,” Sanghyuk said, already picking up his clothes from where he’d strewn them around Jaehwan’s floor. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”
Sanghyuk scurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and Jaehwan heard the water in the sink turn on.
Wonshik was still standing in the doorway, still looking like some kind of statue. “Jaehwan,” he said, and there was something tight in his voice, “what happened?”
Jaehwan sat up, rolling his shoulders. “Before you blame me,” he said, “you should know it was Sanghyuk who kissed me, who pressed me down and held me there, and I wept like the pathetic wretch I am, and begged him for mercy and he gave me none. So if you are to place blame, do place it on him. You know I can deny him nothing.” Wonshik said nothing, and Jaehwan slipped out of the bed, running his hands through his hair. “As for what happened— I am not entirely sure. And I am not sure what happens now, either,” he added, as the door to the bathroom opened again, and Sanghyuk was back in his stale clothes, face clean.
“I’ll come back after my shift,” Sanghyuk said, shoving his feet into his shoes roughly. He looked at Jaehwan and smiled, and it was a little sad, though Jaehwan didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, I— I know we have a lot to talk about.”
“We can talk later,” Jaehwan said, and they shared a look that said they both knew there may not be a later. But Jaehwan didn’t want to think of that. They’d speak later. They would. He would will it into reality with sheer desperate desire.
Jaehwan held his hand out, and slowly, Sanghyuk walked over to take it, interlacing their fingers together. Wonshik stepped aside as Jaehwan led Sanghyuk out of the bedroom and through the halls and living room, to the grand front door.
Hongbin had been puttering around in the kitchen, and when he heard their footsteps he came to rubber neck. Wonshik too, had followed them. Nosy little brats, the both of them.
“You’re leaving?” Hongbin asked Sanghyuk. He took in their faces, their interlaced hands, their closeness, all in one sweeping glance. If it was possible, he looked even more neutral than Wonshik.
“He is,” Jaehwan said, then turned to Sanghyuk very determinately and pretended his children weren’t there. He could not say much with present company listening in, so he settled for, “Be safe, please.”
“I will,” Sanghyuk promised, eyes intense. “I’ll be back before dawn.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Jaehwan whispered, and then he dropped Sanghyuk’s hand in favor of wrapping his arms around his middle, stepping in close, and kissing him. He had to tip his face up to do it, and he didn’t even fucking care. The kiss wasn’t chaste, either, it was open mouthed and ardent, company be damned.
Sanghyuk cupped Jaehwan’s face in his hands, breathed, “Jaehwan,” into his mouth. “Jaehwan.”
“I love you,” Jaehwan murmured when Sanghyuk finally pulled away. I love you. Please come back.
Sanghyuk swiped his thumb over Jaehwan’s bottom lip, eyes heavy lidded and heart racing. “I know.” He shot a glance at Wonshik and Hongbin, promptly turned red, and then nodded at Jaehwan, and left. The door shut softly behind him.
“Oh,” Hongbin sighed out, and he smiled, a gentle little smile, while beside him, Wonshik frowned.
Jaehwan didn’t have the energy for them right now. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but somehow, this hurt more than not being with Sanghyuk. Perhaps it was the hope of it. The hope and the knowing that he was never going to fall out of love, he was just going to sink in deeper until he drowned, and he might take Sanghyuk with him, but it didn’t matter because their clock was running down. Even if Jaehwan could have Sanghyuk’s love, his heart, it was all going to be ripped away from him very soon.
Life was cruel, but not this cruel. Surely this was the recoil come to finally claim him.
He was going to be a wreck until Sanghyuk returned, until he had him in his arms again.
——
Sanghyuk was so jittery, tapping his fingers nervously against the steering wheel as he drove. There was too much crammed into his brain, and he was trying to compartmentalize it all. His thoughts were full of Jaehwan, with the ache of wanting to be next to him, and he couldn’t linger on that right now. Right now he needed to focus on work, on pretending to be whole and sane, when he was fucking cracked.
His phone was beeping, Sungjae’s text tone again. Probably asking why Sanghyuk was late. He hadn’t wanted to go into work in stale clothes, unshowered, so he’d stopped by his apartment and showered quickly. He didn’t think being fifteen minutes late would be such an upset, but of course, with the sun down, and the lack of attack last night, everyone must be on edge.
“I’m here, I’m here,” he muttered when he parked his car, hopping out and jogging into HQ. There were a lot of people milling around, all preparing for patrol shifts, and Sanghyuk tried to mentally slot himself into the necessary mindset, feeling like he was grinding gears.
No one came running up to him, telling him to go see Kris, and there was no notice on his desk either. Sungjae must have taken care of it all last night, the issue of Sanghyuk freezing. It pissed Sanghyuk off that— that it was a thing that had happened, but he was glad, that he didn’t have to look Kris in the eyes and tell him he’d fucked up.
“Sanghyuk!” Sungjae was suddenly at his side, knocking into him. “You didn’t reply to my texts.”
“Why are you so clingy all of a sudden, oh my god, I was showering and then driving,” Sanghyuk said, trying to be casual while knowing full well why Sungjae was on edge. They were all on edge.
Sanghyuk wondered if it was futile to hope it was over, that this— this vampire, whatever it was, had moved on or gotten bored.
Sungjae looked a little wounded, so Sanghyuk wrapped his arm around his shoulders. “Thank you for caring,” Sanghyuk said. “Really. But I’m okay.”
“You look really— different,” Sungjae muttered, eyes roving over Sanghyuk’s face. “Did you— with your ex—”
“What about the ex?” A voice was saying, and Sanghyuk winced, which made Sungjae snicker. Sanghyuk turned to see Ilhoon with his arms crossed, and beside him was Eunkwang, who smiled at Sanghyuk with unguarded curiosity,
“Sanghyuk went to see one of his exes last night,” Sungjae whispered theatrically. “Apparently his brush with death made him horny.”
“It wasn’t a brush with death,” Sanghyuk said quickly, and then added, “and I wasn’t horny. Nothing happened. I just wanted to talk with him.” He glanced at Ilhoon, knowing there was guilt all over his fucking face.
Ilhoon stared at him, seeming a little off kilter, like he’d gone to switch on a light and been lightly shocked. “You got back with him,” he said, flatly, and Sanghyuk immediately looked away. Ilhoon hissed out a breath through his teeth. “You got back together with— with the— with your— with the fuckbuddy asshole, didn’t you?”
“Oh?” Sungjae said, “that ex?” Sanghyuk glanced up at him. Sungjae’s face was free of judgement, was open with curiosity, though Ilhoon looked like he’d bitten a lemon. He also seemed resigned to the sour taste of it.
“Yeah,” Sanghyuk murmured, looking at Ilhoon hopefully, praying he would drop it, wouldn’t begrudge this of him. Not when Ilhoon, of them all, knew how little time Sanghyuk had left. “Life’s short, you know?”
Ilhoon’s face twisted. “Yes,” he said. Then he rolled his shoulders, like he was shrugging the tension out of his body. “You’ve always said he was the best you ever had, running all around town looking for a replacement, but if you’re just not going to find one, may as well settle back, enjoy the ride. Life is short. Too short to be dealing with mediocre lovers.”
It was clear to Sanghyuk that Ilhoon knew this wasn’t about sex, but in present company he couldn’t say much more about it. The ball of anxiety in Sanghyuk’s chest eased some. Dying, was, apparently, a get out of jail free card. “Don’t you take your own advice?” Sanghyuk asked, jerking his head in Sungjae’s direction.
It took Sungjae a moment. “Hey!”
“What can I say,” Ilhoon said, clearly trying to remain solemn even as a smile began to curve the edges of his mouth. “I take in charity cases sometimes.” Sanghyuk smiled broadly, feeling happiness bubble through him.
“I’m not a mediocre lover,” Sungjae insisted, shoving at Sanghyuk’s shoulder. “I’m not, don’t lie. Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk, don’t—”
“Oh my god,” Sanghyuk cried, laughing and pushing him away. “Fine, you’re not mediocre in bed. In fact, you’re probably better than almost all the others I’ve slept with. Are you happy now?”
“Yes,” Sungjae said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Good.” Sanghyuk felt so much easier now, in this warm, well lit room. He wished he could stay here. Not physically in this spot, not even necessarily in this exact moment, just in this little slice of life. His human friends at work, welcoming and familiar, Jaehwan at home, soft and sweet and wanting, his old mentors around for advice and comfort.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop the clock. He had to go into the cold, the darkness. The one outside, the one coming to claim his beating heart.
Sanghyuk turned to Eunkwang, standing off to the side with a restrained smile on his face. He could guess well enough why he was here. “Eunkwang? You were waiting for me, I assume.”
“Yep,” Eunkwang said, bright. “We’re partnered for the night.”
Sanghyuk looked to Sungjae, who suddenly seemed tentative, worried. “Kris doesn’t want to see me?”
“No,” Sungjae said, “I took care of everything last night. That is— unless you want to contest this.”
Sanghyuk met Sungjae’s concerned eyes, and sighed. “I don’t,” he murmured, and Sungjae seemed to slump in relief.
“Thank you,” Sungjae said very softly. “It’s— I want you to be safe.” Ilhoon looked away.
“I’ll protect him,” Eunkwang promised, and Sanghyuk rolled his eyes, bumping Eunkwang with his elbow. Eunkwang snickered. “We should probably head out.”
“Yeah,” Ilhoon said, shaking himself and looking around.
Sanghyuk did the same. The people around them were filing out, and the tenseness in the air was palpable. Had the vampire skipped their turn, was it gone, would it come tonight. They couldn’t know.
“Our shifts all end at two, so we’ll see you guys later,” Sungjae said, smiling thinly. He made to walk past Sanghyuk and deliberately knocked him with his shoulder playfully. “Be safe.” He looked at Sanghyuk, then Eunkwang, showing he was encompassing both of them in that statement.
“You too,” Eunkwang said to Sungjae and Ilhoon.
Sanghyuk knew he could make no promises, so he simply bumped Sungjae back, making his smile turn a bit more genuine.
They parted on the streets, Ilhoon and Sungjae making their way to their grid, while Eunkwang and Sanghyuk went to Sanghyuk’s, a bit more north. They passed a few people, as the night was still young. Eunkwang hummed under his breath, and Sanghyuk knew it was only a matter of time before the questions began. Despite the oncoming interrogation, and the blow to his pride, Sanghyuk was glad to not be out alone. He was beginning to feel jittery, as the darkness pressed upon them, the moonless sky like a blanket above them.
“So,” Eunkwang said, drawing the word out, and Sanghyuk sighed, in good natured exasperation. “You should know that Sungjae threatened to send Ilhoon after me if I pestered you about what happened last night. About the attack, I mean.”
“The question then is, are you afraid of Ilhoon?” Sanghyuk asked, smiling as he looked ahead of himself. It was misty tonight again, but not too bad, they had decent visibility.
“Not exactly,” Eunkwang said, “but I don’t want laxatives in my food, so. I think I’ll just ask about this ex.”
Sanghyuk groaned. “Must you?”
“I must, you never know when the information could be handy,” Eunkwang said, grinning widely.
Sanghyuk looked at the mist swirling in the bars of light coming off the street lamps, knowing he couldn’t dodge this. They put him with a gossip arguably worse than Ilhoon. Maybe Sungjae had thought if he went out with Eunkwang, he wouldn’t have room to get nervous and freeze again, he’d be too busy with mindless chitchat.
But it couldn’t hurt. His wards were quiet, as quiet as they ever got at night.
“Long story short, we’re fuck buddies turned— feelings.” Sanghyuk shrugged.
“I knew about the fuck buddy part,” Eunkwang said, nodding, like hearing it confirmed out of Sanghyuk’s mouth pleased him. “I also know you guys have been kind of like, bouncing off each other. Do you have hope it’ll work out this time?”
Sanghyuk thought about it. Maybe, maybe if they had more time. But they didn’t. “I definitely think it will be different this time,” he said slowly. “We’re being more honest with each other. But no. I don’t have any hope.”
Eunkwang looked to him, brow crinkling. “That’s so sad. Why don’t you think it’s going to work out?”
Sanghyuk smiled to himself, not knowing what made him say, “He’s a three hundred year old vampire and I’m mortal and doomed to a short life.”
Eunkwang’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening for a split second before they narrowed to slits and he said, “You’re making fun of me.”
“I am,” Sanghyuk said solemnly, “you make it very easy.”
Eunkwang swept his foot out, knocking Sanghyuk’s bony ankles and making him laugh. “I’m being sincere,” he said, then pouted. “Don’t make me pester it out of you. I’ll use my cutesy voice. No one wants that.”
Sanghyuk thought fast for a lie near enough to the truth that he wouldn’t forget and fuck up later. “He’s a sorcerer,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “And we’re just— very different people.”
Eunkwang seemed to think about that. “Why get back with him then?”
A streetlamp ahead of them was flickering. Sanghyuk watched the swirls of mist dance in the flickering light.
“I love him,” he whispered. He walked faster, stepping ahead before Eunkwang could reply. Though for once, he didn’t seem to have anything to say.
——
It was twenty after two, and the townhouse that was HQ was in sight. Sanghyuk was rather inclined to think he was going to make it through the night after all. The relief in him was almost tangible. He was going to see Jaehwan again soon. The universe was, at least, going to grant him that.
Eunkwang had fallen silent— or rather, had stopped talking, but was still humming the tune to some pop song. They’d had a quiet shift— quiet in terms of supernatural activity. Sanghyuk’s wards had remained calm as the hours ticked by, but as they walked into the townhouse, some of the anxiety crept back, as he wondered what news they were going to walk into.
What awaited them was chaos, chaos like a few nights ago, and Sanghyuk’s stomach immediately plummeted. There were people crowded into the main floor of HQ, hushed whispers flittering through the room. “Oh no,” Eunkwang whispered, and when Sanghyuk glanced at him, he found his face had grown pale.
Please be a VCF officer, Sanghyuk thought, knowing it was a horrible thing to wish, but not being able to help it, please don’t let it have been one of us.
Like last time, Sanghyuk craned to look around, his chest feeling icy as he searched for his friends, and then the almost sickening relief he felt when he caught sight of Ilhoon sitting in a chair, Sungjae kneeling beside him.
Sanghyuk pushed his way through the crowd, not caring that he was being a little rough; he needed information, now. He stopped dead when he was about five feet away from Ilhoon, brain taking information in in short flashes.
He noted first that the person kneeling beside Ilhoon was Minhyuk, not Sungjae.
He noted second that Ilhoon was crying. It had been hard to tell, because his face wasn’t crumpled. He was simply staring ahead, tears falling silently down his face.
Sanghyuk found his breath was coming shortly. His eyes darted around, scanning faces, not seeing Sungjae’s. There was nausea unfurling in his belly, his face going sickly pale in a rush, and his hands were already trembling. Even so, his brain was refusing to process this.
“Ilhoon,” Sanghyuk said, voice coming out jarringly loud in this wide room, full of people and yet Sanghyuk felt so alone. Ilhoon twitched, blinking, which sent two thick tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t look at Sanghyuk, but his mouth twisted, like Sanghyuk’s voice had forced him to come back, awoken him. “Ilhoon,” he said again, “where’s Sungjae?”
Minhyuk looked up at him, and Sanghyuk caught the glint of tears on his face too, but Sanghyuk wouldn’t look at him, was staring intently at Ilhoon’s face, like it was a lifeline.
Ilhoon’s lips were slow to part, the tears making his voice thick. “We split up,” he said, and now, now, his face crumpled, and he slumped, putting his face in his hands and sobbing. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
There wasn’t enough air in the room. Someone had a hand on Sanghyuk’s shoulder, steadying him, but Sanghyuk barely felt it. We split up. Sanghyuk thought of Hongbin, of Wonshik. “He’s missing?” Sanghyuk asked, the words hard to choke out around the feeling of drowning. Missing wasn’t good, missing was agony, but it was better than—
Ilhoon rocked a little, a small noise of pain escaping him. “He was attacked,” he moaned into his hands.
No, please, please, it was supposed to be me, Sanghyuk thought, his vision going dark and fuzzy around the edges. “He’s in medical?” Sanghyuk heard himself say through lips gone numb. His body knew the truth, but his mind was desperately scrambling for something, anything to deny it.
Ilhoon shook his head. “No,” he said, “no, no, he’s— he’s down in the— the—” He broke off, sobbing so hard on the words he nearly gagged on them.
Minhyuk put his hand on Ilhoon’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. “He’s in the morgue, Sanghyuk,” Minhyuk whispered, the barest of sounds. “He’s dead.” Ilhoon keened, a sound that rended through Sanghyuk and chilled him to his core.
It was supposed to be me.
Sanghyuk stepped back and stumbled a bit, finding his legs had gone weak. It was Eunkwang at his side, and he steadied Sanghyuk with hands that were shaking. “I need to see him,” Sanghyuk said numbly, barely seeing anything around him, taking in nothing.
“No, you don’t need to see him like that,” Eunkwang was saying, but it echoed distantly. Eunkwang was crying. Sanghyuk was surprised to realize he wasn’t.
Sanghyuk pushed past him, vaguely aware that the whispering in the room had quieted, perhaps to listen in on the news being delivered. Sanghyuk felt nothing for it. He felt nothing but gut wrenching horror, as he stumbled through the door and into the stairwell. Everything else was a haze around it, around the feeling of iciness skittering over his skin, that feeling of falling settled in his stomach.
He had to stop a few times to lean on the cold metal railing and just breathe, not wanting to faint. It wouldn’t be good, he knew, to pass out on a staircase. His brain told him this, quite clinically, just as it reminded him that the morgue was on the same floor as medical, one floor above the archives. He’d been to medical, but never further down the hall.
Sanghyuk didn’t know what to expect, he just knew he needed Sungjae, needed to see his face, but he got a slight frisson of shock, coming back to himself for a flicker, when he stumbled into the hall and saw Kris talking with their in-house doctor. Of course Kris would be here, he thought, the iciness sweeping back with force.
The pair fell silent, when they saw Sanghyuk. Kris looked haggard. “Sanghyuk,” he said, holding up a hand like that would stop Sanghyuk.
“I need to see him,” Sanghyuk said, was all he could say. The door to the morgue glinted cold steel behind the doctor, and Sanghyuk needed to get through it. He had to see.
The doctor shot a glance at Kris, and Sanghyuk looked at Kris too, knowing that he was near snapping, that he’d claw and scream, if he had to, a desperate thread of wildness making panic bubble up in his throat.
Whatever Kris saw in Sanghyuk’s face made him nod shortly, and he didn’t say anything as he walked away, down the hall, presumably to go back up to his office and fill out the paperwork for this. The idea that Sungjae was just that now, a case file— the blackness crept around the edges of Sanghyuk’s vision for an awful few sickening moments.
The doctor was watching him closely, but Sanghyuk ignored him in favor of watching the steel door swing open. It was bright, in the morgue, and Sanghyuk had to blink around himself after he stepped inside. It felt like a bad dream, his brain just processing things in such a way that nothing around him felt tangible. The steel in the room glinted too brightly, the white tiles of the floor too crisp.
There were several metal tables, and one had a body on it, covered in a sheet as crisp a white as the tiles. Sanghyuk stopped, breath hitching, and the doctor walked around him, going to stand at the side of the table. After a moment, Sanghyuk forced himself to follow, standing on the opposite side to the doctor.
I want to wake up, was all that Sanghyuk thought as the doctor reached over for the edge of the sheet above the body’s head, I want to wake up right now—
The doctor peeled the sheet down and then dropped it, and Sanghyuk was looking down at Sungjae, his best friend, and Sanghyuk didn’t wake up, because he wasn’t dreaming.
You don’t need to see him like that, Eunkwang had said, and now Sanghyuk knew why. He was going to be haunted by this, by Sungjae’s skin gone waxy and pale from draining, his lips nearly lavender in death. Sanghyuk had kissed that mouth, seen it twisted into smiles. He never would again.
Sungjae’s bottom lip had a split in it, and Sanghyuk came back to himself enough to note the bruise on his cheek, the patch in Sungjae’s thick black hair that appeared matted with blood. Attacked. The doctor had been trying to be kind, not pulling the sheet down far, but Sanghyuk could see the marks at the junction of Sungjae’s neck and shoulder, blood thickly clotting around ravaged bite wounds.
Sanghyuk’s hand twitched, and he stopped himself, before he remembered that this wasn’t a crime show, this was real and they weren’t investigating, there was no evidence to ruin. They knew what killed him. So Sanghyuk let himself reach out to cup the side of Sungjae’s face with trembling fingers, and got a horrible shock when Sungjae’s skin wasn’t cold. He was still warm.
Touching Sungjae’s face made it tip, a little, and Sanghyuk caught sight of dried salt trails on Sungjae’s cheeks; he’d had enough time to cry. He’d had enough time to cry and it had only happened an hour or so ago. He’d been alive an hour ago, alive and terrified and fighting for his life and he’d lost.
Sanghyuk was crying, now. He could barely see through the tears.
The doctor left, and Sanghyuk couldn’t blame him. Sanghyuk wasn’t doing anything but crying. Perhaps he left to get a sedative. Sanghyuk almost wanted one. There were broken, sobbing noises wrenching out of his chest, and he couldn’t stop them. He was holding desperately onto the cold metal of the table’s edge, trying to ground himself.
Sungjae looked so whole, and Sanghyuk couldn’t understand why he wasn’t going to wake up, why he couldn’t. He was right there. He was solid and it didn’t make sense, that he couldn’t wake up.
The door to the morgue opened and then closed, and Sanghyuk blinked up, expecting the doctor again, but it was Ilhoon, which was infinitely worse.
“It was supposed to be me,” Sanghyuk gasped out, “I would have rather it been me.”
Ilhoon did not reply to that, and Sanghyuk wondered if he agreed, if he would rather it be Sanghyuk on the table, and not Sungjae. Ilhoon was still crying, but it was more gentle, now, the tears falling slowly down damp cheeks.
He came to stand opposite Sanghyuk, staring down at Sungjae’s face. “He didn’t die in your place,” Ilhoon whispered, voice raspy. He touched Sungjae’s jaw lightly. “This was separate. I just didn’t see it coming.”
“What happened?” Sanghyuk asked, and Ilhoon took a shivering breath, the sound rattling in his chest.
“We heard screaming,” Ilhoon rasped, and he brushed Sungjae’s hair out of his face, plucked at the sheet so it lay straight. “And we didn’t know where it had come from, so we split up to search. I— he was already gone, when I found him.”
Sanghyuk wondered if the shock was kicking in, for them both. “He was alone?”
Ilhoon’s eyelids fluttered. “It was a trap, most likely. There was no human in need of rescuing. The vamp just wanted to separate us. This was my fault— our fault. I never should have—” He broke off, bowing his head.
Sanghyuk didn’t know what to say. He was desperate for all this to fade away, for it to be a trick, a dream, but it was all too crystal to be anything other than reality, and that just made it all the more sickening. He wanted to be dead, just to stop the pain.
Ilhoon looked up at him, and through the tears in his eyes, there was something hard and rough and feral. “Sanghyuk,” he said, “can Jaehwan do anything about this?”
Sanghyuk had to reach through several layers of fog to make sense of those words, to remember Jaehwan and the situation beyond this room. “You mean about the vamp?”
“No,” Ilhoon said, and he swallowed thickly, mouth twisting. “I mean— for Sungjae.”
Sanghyuk caught on in a quick, awful flash. “Are you asking if Jaehwan can turn him?”
“Can he?” Ilhoon asked, and when Sanghyuk recoiled back, Ilhoon strode around the table to grab at him, fingers digging into Sanghyuk’s upper arm like claws. “Don’t you fucking act like the idea is repulsive, we both know this goes beyond that, that we’ve both fallen far enough for it.” He was desperate, feverish, eyes wild even though he was still crying. “Can Jaehwan turn him?”
“Maybe,” Sanghyuk said, and Ilhoon looked positively manic. He’s lost himself, Sanghyuk thought. “But you know Sungjae wouldn’t want to be a vampire, Ilhoon.”
“I think he’d rather be a vampire than dead!” Ilhoon said, voice rising at the end as he gestured to Sungjae’s body. He was beginning to cry in earnest again.
“No,” Sanghyuk murmured, feeling his own tears start back up, “he wouldn’t.” It was true, and Sanghyuk wouldn’t put Sungjae through it. Being turned against your will was hell, and he wasn’t going to hurt him like that. He’d suffered enough.
Ilhoon clawed at Sanghyuk, at his shirt, face gone far too pale. “I can’t lose him,” Ilhoon gasped out, “I love him, I love him—”
“I do too,” Sanghyuk said thickly, “which is why, even though it’s fucking agony for us, I can’t do this.”
“I hate you,” Ilhoon moaned, hiccuping under the force of his renewed sobs. “You’re going to just let him die.”
“He’s already dead, Ilhoon,” Sanghyuk said, eyes sliding to Sungjae’s face, pale as paper, chest still. “He’s gone.”
Ilhoon made a sound like a wounded animal and slumped against Sanghyuk’s chest, curling in against him and sobbing wretchedly. Sanghyuk held him, wondering how it could all go so wrong.