Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Killed me once before

I just come back more obsessed with you

The air was thick with cigarette smoke, sweat, and too many colognes mixing with each other. It made Minho’s nose twitch.

Clubs were always like this -  loud hearts, louder thoughts, and bodies pressed together for all the wrong reasons. 

Humans always made everything so loud. 

In the back corner, a woman was arguing so fiercely her pulse hammered like a trapped animal. She was two breaths away from passing out.

Behind the bar, the bartender was trying not to lose it while some guy waved his hands around like ordering a vodka required choreography. The bartender’s sigh was tiny. 

Minho still caught it.

Then the scent from the restroom hit him. Sharp, needy, unmistakable. Arousal curling through the air like a wire wrapping around his throat. Slick enough that Minho’s left ear twitched when someone’s knees hit the floor.

Something shifted.

A heartbeat. Steady and calm. 

Unbothered by the chaos around it. And a scent so sweet it made Minho’s tongue drag across the edge of his canines as they slid into place, sharpening without permission.

He found the source in seconds.

On the other side of the crowd - dancing bodies, sticky drinks, wandering hands - this one man stood out like a candle in a blackout. Minho watched him for a heartbeat, then another, before he pushed through the mass and leaned against the wall beside him.

The man looked up.

Big, warm brown eyes. Round and dark. Innocent enough to make Minho’s predatory instincts stretch awake. His pulse jumped for half a second before settling again. Then he smiled -  bright, pretty, and so guileless Minho had to hope the dim lighting hid the sharp flash of his teeth.

“Hi” Minho said eventually.

“Hi.” 

The stranger answered with that same sweet scent that slid right under Minho’s skin.

He wasn’t even afraid. Humans usually flinched around him. Instinct. That primal warning that something wasn’t quite right. But this one just looked at him like Minho was interesting.

“You’re not dancing” He noted, leaning a little closer. Close enough to feel the soft brush of that calm heartbeat.

The man shrugged, lips curling. “Not feeling the music tonight.”

“Mmh.” Minho tilted his head, studying him. “You look like you’d move well.”

He huffed a tiny laugh, eyes dipping to Minho’s mouth for a second too long to be accidental. “You always talk like that to strangers?”

“That depends” Minho murmured. “Are you still a stranger?”

A subtle flush crept up the man’s neck, but Minho felt it like heat licking up his own skin.

He didn’t know why this human was affecting him this much. Sweet scent, steady pulse, no fear… it tugged at instincts he usually kept well caged. 

“I’m Jisung” he said finally, brushing a curl from his forehead.

Minho repeated the name under his breath, savoring it. “Pretty.”

Jisung blinked, surprised but then smiled again, slower this time. A little shy. “What’s your name?”

“Minho.”

“Well…” 

Jisung shifted, shoulder brushing his arm, whether on purpose or because the crowd pushed -Minho didn’t know.

Didn’t care. 

The touch lit something inside him.

“It’s loud in here, Minho.”

“It is.” His voice dropped without him meaning to. “Want to go somewhere quieter?”

Jisung pretended to think about it. Just for a second. Then he nodded, eyes softening, pulse fluttering once like a tiny invitation.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Minho’s smirk was slow, confident and pure predatory. 

The hunting began. 

He felt Jisung’s fingers curling around his wrist, human flinching barely visible at the touch of cold  skin. His hand lingered a second too long before he took Minho’s wrist to guide him through the crowd.

The hunger climbed up Minho’s body in a slow, burning crawl. It scraped down his ribs, pressed against his spine, tugged at his canines until they ached.

So the second Jisung stepped into the apartment and whispered  “Come in” Minho had him pinned to the door.

But instead of sinking his fangs into soft, warm throat the way instinct roared for…he kissed him.

His hand slid under Jisung’s shirt, fingers wrapping around a narrow waist that fit too perfectly in his palm. Jisung gasped, arching just enough for their hips to brush -  heat meeting cold in a spark that shot up Minho’s spine.

He tightened his hold. Jisung whimpered, and Minho swallowed the sound, guiding his mouth down along the line of Jisung’s jaw.

He reached the place he wanted most: right over Jisung’s pulse. He sucked, harsh. Watched pink bloom into deep red.

Humans bruised so easily.

And Jisung bruised beautifully.

Their eyes met - dark brown, glistening in the dim light and so trusting - and Minho prayed his own weren’t already fully black.

He ducked back in, tongue tracing the warm path of Jisung’s neck.

“You’re so sweet” he murmured against the skin. “More than I expected.”

And he meant it. Not in the way predators charm their prey.

In a way that confused him.

Jisung tasted wrong. Or right.

Different.

Humans tasted different depending on a thousand things. Health, chemicals or fear, but that was blood. Not skin. Not this.

Jisung was sweet without Minho even biting him.

The hunger twisted lower.

He hadn’t even bitten him yet and his cock was already straining, his body coiling like he was starving.

He was starving.

Jisung let out another soft noise when Minho’s mouth moved to his collarbone.

“Bed” he gasped, tugging Minho’s hair. “Bed, please.”

God help him. 

Or maybe not him. He wasn’t exactly fond of his kind. But God, Minho wanted to devour him.

He breathed out a quiet laugh. Then his hands hooked behind Jisung’s thighs and lifted him effortlessly.

“Alright” he murmured, kissing him again as they practically stumbled toward the bed.

Jisung’s arms wrapped around his neck, hips rolling into Minho’s as though he’d forgotten how to stay still.

He forgot humans were fragile and weak the moment he dropped Jisung onto the bed. The man let out a low huff, breath knocked out of him - yet his eyes stayed on Minho, wide and wanting. He slid between Jisung’s legs, pinning him gently but firmly. With one smooth tug he pulled the shirt apart, seams tearing like paper.

If Minho didn’t plan to kill him tonight, he’d buy him a new one. Maybe two.

And Jisung lay there in the white sheets like a sin offered up to him. Flushed cheeks. Flushed chest. Bitten lips. Neck already bruised and waiting.

Dark eyes locked onto Minho’s.

“You’re so beautiful” He breathed before he could stop himself.

Maybe he didn’t want to kill Jisung tonight.

Maybe he’d keep him. For a little while.

“Need you” Jisung whined, dragging him down by the neck.

Right to his throat. 

Right where Minho’s instincts screamed to bite.

So trusting. Stupid. So pretty, yet stupid. 

Minho pressed his lips to his throat again, kissing slow and hungry. Jisung trembled underneath him. Their hips ground together, and Minho’s fangs grazed skin before he even realized they’d dropped.

“Minho -”

“You’re so sweet” Minho whispered, voice slipping low. “And beautiful. Such a beautiful waist. Beautiful neck. Beautiful eyes… all wide, alive, like a prey, like -”

“Not like yours” Jisung choked out.

Minho stilled.  “What?”

He looked up and Jisung’s eyes weren’t soft anymore.

Not prey-like. Not warm.

“Black” he said quietly. “Hollow and soulless.”

Minho barely had time to frown.

Then everything shifted.

The wooden stake drove between his fourth and fifth ribs and straight into his heart in one clean, practiced motion.

Minho gasped - a sharp, broken sound - fingers instinctively clamping around Jisung’s wrist. Heat exploded outward from the wound, burning through every nerve, every vein, every inch of him.

Blood rushed into his mouth. Not the taste he wanted - wrong, acidic, his own.

Jisung didn’t look away. Didn’t tremble. Didn’t flinch even when blood dropped onto his chin. Or when dark blood soaked the white sheets.

He just pushed the stake deeper.

From the outside, it might’ve looked like an embrace. Minho leaning over him, bodies pressed close, hands tangled at their chests.

But Minho was burning.

And Jisung’s eyes were cold.

A predator staring back.

“Goodbye, Minho” he said softly. “Go back to hell.”

He twisted the stake.

Fucking hell. 

He really had underestimated him. A bloody grin tugged at Minho’s mouth despite the fire roaring through him.

Then everything went black.

###

Coming back from death was a bitch.

First came the sensation at the tips of his toes. A faint spark, like static, crawling upward over his ankles, his knees, his hips, his ribs. Then it hit his chest, blooming out like someone connected his heart with a stolen car battery.

Second was the heat. Low in his stomach, spreading fast, tangled tight with a hunger that made his earlier cravings feel like nothing.

He’d been hungry before.

Now he was really starving. His body had burned through every scrap of energy just to stitch itself back together.

Then came the familiar ache at his gums. His fangs pressing down like they wanted something - someone - in his mouth immediately.

After that, the rest of his senses trickled back in.

A breath -  someone else’s.

The rustle of fabric.

A low grunt of effort.

The scent hit last. Metallic and sharp - blood. His own. And beneath it.. that same maddening sweetness curling through the air like smoke. That’s when he realized he was being dragged across the floor by his ankles. His head bumped into a wall as they passed another doorway.

Charming.

Minho tried to guess how long he’d been out. Not long, considering his head was still attached. Maybe Jisung didn’t know that decapitation was the better way to slow down his kind.

Maybe Jisung didn’t know who he was at all.

Obviously the man knew he was a vampire - the wooden stake had made that part very clear - but maybe that was the extent of his knowledge.

Maybe Minho hadn’t been the target.

Maybe if he’d left the club ten minutes later, someone else would be the one being dragged across Jisung’s apartment floor right now. Someone more dead than him.

Lovely thought.

They stopped.

Jisung dropped Minho’s legs with a thud. Minho didn’t open his eyes. 

Not yet. He needed a plan.

Jisung was no innocent human. That performance had been very pretty, very convincing, and very fake.

Hunter? Possibly.

Which meant Minho was fucked. Alive, yes - technically - but still fucked. His strength was low. His healing incomplete.

He could kill Jisung.

He should kill Jisung.

Drag the man down, tear into that stupidly pretty throat, finish healing, and get out before a second stake found his heart. Because if Jisung stabbed him again this soon, Minho would be down long enough for Chan to feel it.

And Minho absolutely refused to deal with that lecture.

So the answer was simple.

Kill Jisung.

A heavy sound hit the floor -  something dropped. Tools? A bag?

Then a hiss of frustration.

“Fuck” Jisung muttered.

Minho didn’t move. Not a twitch.

Not until something pressed against his neck -  a shift, a scrape and then the bite of metal slicing through the skin.

A fucking saw.

Oh, absolutely not.

Minho’s eyes snapped open. The bathroom light stabbed at his pupils, but in the same second he was already up, already moving, already pinning Jisung by the throat against the tiled wall.

Jisung’s eyes blew wide. The saw clattered to the floor as both his hands clawed at Minho’s wrist.

“H-how?” he rasped.

“That’s how you treat all your hookups?” Minho croaked back, voice shredded from blood loss.

A flash of movement in the mirror caught his attention and he almost winced.

He looked like a shriveled fruit someone left out in the sun. Skin too tight in the wrong places, color all wrong. Three hundred years without dying and he’d forgotten how pathetic resurrection looked.

The shame snapped into rage.

Minho lifted him higher - Jisung’s back scraping upward, feet leaving the floor entirely. The man kicked at nothing, gasping, fighting for air.

Then a sudden sting. A blade shoved into Minho’s stomach.

Still fighting. Still stupidly, stubbornly alive.

Minho yanked the knife out and hurled it across the room. A low sound rolled out of him, amused despite himself.

“Cute.”

His fangs slid down. Not elegant - instinctive and hungry. He grabbed Jisung by the hair and forced his head sideways, baring his neck. He could already taste the heat beneath the skin.

But just before he sank his fangs in their eyes locked.

One more time.

Jisung’s pulse wasn’t wild. His scent wasn’t drenched in fear. He wasn’t begging, wasn’t trembling. He was looking at Minho like he was trying to figure him out.

Too many emotions in too small a space.

And Minho… couldn’t.

His forehead dropped to the wall beside Jisung’s head. A slow inhale. A long, rough exhale.

Jisung’s body went slack in his grip.

Minho let him fall. He hit the tiles hard, coughing, dragging air into lungs that must’ve felt like fire.

Minho crouched in front of him.

“The burn in your lungs? The pain?” his voice was low, almost gentle. “It’s nothing compared to having your throat torn out and drained dry. Consider yourself lucky tonight, Jisungie.”

He didn’t wait for the answer.

Minho pushed himself up and vanished from the apartment, every ounce of strength thrown into speed.

He fed in a nearby alley - a drunk whose blood tasted bitter and dizzying and nothing like the maddening sweetness lingering on Minho’s tongue.

He didn’t kill the man. 

Seungmin would call that softening.

Maybe Seungmin was right.

The sky was still dark when Minho reached his building. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the sun, not when he was bleeding, shaky, half-regenerated.

He punched in his code, stepped inside, and let out a breath he didn’t need. Three steps into the living room and every hair on his neck rose.

He should’ve known.

“Minho-ya” a voice murmured from the shadows, rich with amusement “long time no see.”

Chan turned from the window with a dangerous smile. The edges of fangs flashing in the air. 

###

Jisung was losing it.

Not the usual post-hunt buzz, not the shaky leftover adrenaline he always carried after dealing with vampires.

This was a full crash. He paced tight circles in his bedroom, chest still raw, eyes doing everything they could to avoid the blood-drenched sheets. Twenty minutes later, Changbin burst through the door, gun raised, scanning the room with wide, alarmed eyes.

“He left” Jisung managed, voice shredded from earlier, every word scraping his throat.

Changbin’s gaze snapped to the bed - the mess, the blood, the brutal smear of red against the sheets - then back to Jisung.

“What do you mean he left?” he demanded, pointing at the bed. “And all that? That looks like someone definitely didn’t leave.”

Jisung stepped back, hands shaking like he’d only just noticed them.

“This one was different. Nothing about him -  nothing - matched the others.”

Changbin grabbed his shoulders, stopping his frantic pacing before it turned into a spiral.

“You didn’t kill him?”

“I did - ” Jisung inhaled sharply, lungs flaring with pain. “I killed him. And then he got up.”

Changbin blinked.

“You’re joking.”

But it wasn’t even close to a question.

Jisung swiped a hand across his neck, tilting his head to show the darkening bruises - five distinct fingerprints stamped into his skin.

“Does this look like a joke? He tried to kill me back.”

“But he didn’t.” Changbin’s voice dropped, confusion creeping in. “No offense, Sung, but why the hell are you still breathing? Why did he spare you?”

“I don’t know!” Jisung threw his arms up, frustration breaking through the fear. “Maybe he was too weak, maybe his maker pulled him back, I don’t know. He just… stopped. And then he walked out.”

Changbin muttered a quiet curse, eyes flicking around the room like he was mapping out exits and threats all at once.

“Pack the essentials” he said, already switching into survival mode. “We’re leaving. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

Five minutes later, they were already on the road.

Jisung slumped back into the seat, head hitting the headrest as the exhaustion finally punched through the adrenaline. He hadn’t felt this drained in a long time.

He almost died today.

Not the usual close call but the kind where, for a heartbeat, he truly thought that was it.

Changbin kept flicking his gaze between the road and the rear-view mirror, like he expected the vampire to materialize behind them at any second.

“You said he was different.” His voice was steady.“How?”

Jisung shrugged, swallowing down the shiver crawling up his spine.

“His whole aura was off.”

Changbin raised a brow through the mirror, waiting. Jisung knew he had to say more.

He exhaled slowly.

“He wasn’t luring me. Not like the others. No mind haze, none of that stupid dream-magic crap they use to make everything soft and easy.”

He rubbed at his bruised throat.

“He didn’t do anything… but something about him made me want to get closer anyway.”

Changbin gave him a look, questioning.

Jisung groaned quietly.

“I know how it sounds, okay? But I felt safe. Stupidly safe. Even when he tried to kill me. It was wrong. Everything felt wrong. I dragged it too long. Should’ve staked him at the door like the rest.”

“And when you finally stabbed him?”

Jisung’s brows tightened.

“He didn’t go grey and crumble right away. It took time. He just stared at me. And he smiled.”

Changbin let out a low whistle and pulled the car onto a quieter road.

“Never seen that before.”

“Yeah.” Jisung muttered. “Took him maybe five, six minutes to come back. I wasn’t ready for that.”

Changbin gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

“If that’s how fast he heals from a heart strike, imagine how fast he recovers from a simple wound. Someone I know might have a clue about that kind of leech.”

Jisung turned toward him, watching the older hunter drive with that tight jaw.

“His name was Minho. Don’t know if it was real or not, but since he planned to feed on me he probably didn’t bother lying.”

Changbin hummed under his breath, almost thoughtful.

“Minho.” A beat of silence. “That’s something to work with.”

Eventually, Changbin pulled into the back lot of a building in a neighborhood Jisung didn’t recognize. He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and followed the older hunter with steps that felt a little too loose.

“Who lives here?” Jisung muttered, eyeing the dim hallway after Changbin punched in a code.

“My family used it as a safe house” Changbin said, leading him down a set of stairs toward a reinforced basement door. Another code.

“Now my friend - Yang Jeongin - stays here. He’s the one who might know something.”

Yang Jeongin.

Jisung tried to dig through his memory, he couldn’t recall Changbin ever mentioning the name.

They stepped inside and Jisung had to blink twice.

First - every wall was armored.

Weapons lined one side beside a massive metal crate. A row of cabinets stretched across the back. And in the center, a desk covered in way too many monitors for any normal human.

Second - the guy who spun around was… adorable.

Fox-like eyes, soft ginger hair, a grin that lit up his whole face. Younger than Jisung by a few years, maybe.

This was the expert?

“Hyung - ” Jeongin got up from the chair, eyebrows shooting up. “I wasn’t expecting you for, what, three more days?”

“Yeah, well, we have an emergency.” Changbin leaned against one of the metal tables, then jerked his chin toward Jisung.

Jisung stiffened at the sudden spotlight.

Jeongin’s gaze snapped to him. His eyes went round. “Oh shit - do you need medical help?”

Right.

“Uh - no.” He cleared his throat and winced at the burn. “Nothing broken. No bleeding.”

“And the vampire’s still alive” Changbin added.

Jeongin’s mouth fell open. His gaze flicked to bruised throat. 

“So all of that was for nothing?”

Changbin pushed off the table, stepping closer, and clapped a heavy hand on Jeongin’s shoulder.

“Here’s the thing, baby genius - he killed the vampire and then he woke up.”

The younger eyebrows shot so high they nearly vanished into his hairline. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope” Jisung said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Any idea why?”

Silence fell for a beat.

Then Jeongin exhaled sharply and turned toward the computer. “I might” he said, already searching trough files. “But I’m gonna need every detail you’ve got.”

He told the whole story again.

Every detail  -  the club, the flirting, the heat, the near-sex, the wooden stake, the dying, the resurrecting.

Jisung laid it all out while Jeongin listened like someone watching a puzzle finally rearrange itself into something recognizable. His face twisted and flickered with every emotion he had.

“Can’t lie” He said, lips curling up. “That’s a pretty creative method of vampire hunting.”

Jisung snapped a glare at him. “I don’t -  I don’t hunt like that. I usually kill them at the door.”  He sighed. “He was just different.”

Jeongin hummed, already typing. “What did he look like? Be specific. Was he hot?”

He almost choked. His brain answered before he could stop it.

Beautiful.

“Uh -  no, I mean - he was…” Jisung swallowed. “Same height as me. Lean but - uh - defined. Dark eyes. Pale skin. Stupid, ridiculous thighs.”

Changbin turned his head slowly, one brow lifting. Jisung looked anywhere but at him.

“Was he blond?” Jeongin asked suddenly.

The older hunter scoffed. “Why? Do blond leeches die in special edition or what?”

“Actually… some do” Jeongin muttered, clicking something.

Jisung frowned.

“What does that mean?”

The screens flickered for a second then stabilized on a blurry photograph.

Jisung’s stomach dropped.

It was Minho.

Same face. Same eyes. Same presence that made his pulse spike suddenly for reasons he didn’t want to examine.

“Is that him?” Jeongin asked.

He stepped closer.

“How -  how the hell did you find him?”

Jeongin sighed like he was about to deliver bad news. “Okay. You two might want to sit for this little presentation.”

They dragged chairs up. Jisung braced himself.

Jeongin pointed to the photo.

“This is Lee Minho. The clearest image we have of him. No guarantee the surname is correct, but you confirmed the name tonight. We’re not sure exactly how old he is but the earliest mention we found places him in the Goryeo dynasty.”

His jaw dropped. Changbin let out a low whistle.

“So he’s like… a thousand years old?”

“Close enough” Jeongin said, switching the screen.

The next image showed a blond man with longer hair, sharper features, a presence that radiated nothing but danger.

“This,” Jeongin said quietly “is Bang Chan. Whoever got this photo died quickly. He’s one of the oldest vampires in existence - what hunters call ‘previous generation.’ Born, not made. Stronger. Smarter. Master manipulations. Practically gods among their species.”

Jeongin tapped the screen.

“He’s Minho’s maker.”

“That’s why he didn’t die like the others?” Jisung asked, throat dry.

“So Minho didn’t die because he was turned by original vampire?” Changbin muttered after him. “Don't all vampires come from the previous generation then?” 

“That’s the thing” Jeongin replied, leaning forward. “We didn’t even know they couldn’t die the usual way. No one ever gets a chance to find out. You just proved it.”

Jisung glared.

“Yeah, great. Happy to help. Almost died for science.”

“Most vampires are weak compared to originals. They pass power down the bloodline and every new vampire dilutes that power a little more. Makes them easier to kill. That’s why bloodlines cling together” Jeongin’s voice dropped. “But Chan? He didn’t create many. He only created three of them. Which means the ones he did turn still carry terrifying strength.”

Changbin crossed his arms.

“So Chan didn’t just turn anyone with a pulse.”

“Pretty much” Jeongin chirped. “Also -  congratulations Jisung. You’re the first hunter in decades to face one of Chan’s line and live. That’s huge for research.”

Jisung stared. “Yeah, I’m thrilled.”

Two new faces appeared. Blonde again. Stunning again. A man and a woman, almost identical.

“The Hwang siblings” Jeongin explained. “Hyunjin and Yeji. No confirmed age. Famous lately. Parties, art events, photoshoots. But historically? Whole centuries of massacres tied to them.”

Changbin raised a brow. 

“Love that the murder twins are influencers now.”

Jisung let out a low exhale. “I’m suddenly grateful there’s only three.”

Jeongin’s smirk deepened as he clicked to the next slide.

Changbin frowned. “Dude. You said the leech made only three.”

A darker image appeared - another vampire. Hair shorter than Chan’s and Minho’s but bangs covering most of his dark eyes. He looked young, almost adorable - like Jeongin. 

“This one” The voice echoed in a room, finger tapping the screen “Kim Seungmin - the only vampire Minho ever turned. Makes him the fourth in Chan’s direct line. Not many records, but some sightings during the Japanese occupation. Obviously dangerous.”

Jisung swallowed.

“Please tell me that’s the last - ”

Jeongin froze.

“There’s one more.”

Jisung’s stomach dropped. Something cold curled under his ribs.

“The last one” the younger whispered. “Turned two years ago. Died at twenty-two. Turned by Kim Seungmin.”

And when the photo appeared Jisung’s blood went ice-cold before the name was even spoken.

Lee Felix.

Bright smile. Familiar face. Eyes he’d known before they ever turned black. 

Changbin looked at him, just once, just long enough to confirm everything Jisung didn’t want to say. Jisung pushed himself out of the chair, out of the circle of screens, out of the basement. He didn’t stop until the cold air hit his lungs like needles.

He couldn’t breathe.

###

Minho cut left into a narrow alley, the kind that swallowed light and sound the deeper he went. His steps stayed slow, precise. Not because he was tired, but because predators didn’t need to hurry.

A cat hissed from under a dumpster. 

A car honked somewhere far off.

Two humans were pressed together outside a convenience store, kissing like the world wasn’t crawling with monsters.

And behind him, footsteps he’d known for decades.

He didn’t bother checking. Seungmin always came when something happened. Minho pivoted sharply, grabbed the vampire by his jersey, and slammed him into the brick wall. Dust drifted down like ash.

Seungmin didn’t flinch. He just sighed, then grinned like he’d been expecting this exact greeting. “You’re slacking.”

Minho’s voice came low. “I heard you five minutes ago.”

“Five?” Seungmin rasped, a soft laugh tearing out of him. “I’ve been tailing you for ten.”

Minho released him with a shove, fingers brushing over the wrinkles he’d caused - the closest he ever got to an apology.

The younger vampire tilted his head. “What happened to you last weekend?”

Minho’s gaze flicked around them. Too many humans breathing too close. Too many ears. 

“Not here.”

They climbed to the roof of an entertainment building -  not Minho’s preference, but the crowd below was loud enough to drown any stray words. Bass vibrated through the concrete. Someone screamed in laughter. Someone slammed a door. Someone cried ugly. A many lives overlapping, messy and warm and utterly oblivious.

Up here, the city was a glittering, breathing beast beneath their feet. They leaned against the railing, metal cold even through their clothes.

“I felt it” Seungmin said finally. “Saturday night. Like someone punched a hole through my chest. Haven’t had a heartbeat in a centuries and that still hurt.”

Minho didn’t look at him. “I died.”

A nod, as if he already knew but needed the confirmation aloud. “Who did it?”

“A hunter.”

Not just any hunter.

Eyes full of fire, yet cold. Neck bared without fear. Sweet scent curling under Minho’s skin even now.

Seungmin whipped his head toward him. “A hunter? You let a hunter -?”

“He was different” Minho cut in. “His scent. His taste. The way he looked at me like he knew something I didn’t. I misjudged him.”

“That’s an understatement.” The younger vampire stretched his arms out, bones cracking in the night air. “Is he dead?”

The silence lingered long enough for the wind to shift between them.

“No.”

Seungmin actually stopped breathing.

“Minho. You’re joking.”

Their eyes finally met . “ I couldn’t”

Seungmin hesitated. “And the second surge that night? What the hell was that?”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Chan stabbed me.”

Seungmin blinked. “Again?”

“For emphasis.”

Seungmin’s laugh was half disbelief, half resignation. “That man needs therapy.”

Minho’s mouth twitched. “That was his therapy. A wooden stake…similar to the one that killed me an hour earlier. He wanted me to think.”

Seungmin let out a sound between a scoff and a shiver.

“Yeah. That tracks for him.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t soften. Instead his shoulders squared, eyes narrowing as he turned fully toward the younger.

The air thickened. Colder, heavier, enough that even Seungmin stilled.

“But you” Minho said quietly “owe me an explanation.”

His mouth opened like he had something ready - maybe something sharp, maybe something defensive - but then he shut it again. Minho watched the younger’s jaw clench, a tiny twitch in the muscle that gave him away.

Fine. He could wait. 

Barely.

His patience hadn’t been stable since Chan walked back into his life with a stake and disappointment in his eyes.

Finally, Seungmin exhaled.

“He was dying.”

Minho didn’t blink.

“I don’t care.”

And he didn’t.

Whatever noble, sentimental impulse had driven Seungmin to act it didn’t erase what he’d done. One decision, and the entire bloodline shifted. Minho felt that crack down to his bones.

“Hyung…” Seungmin’s voice dropped, quiet in a way he rarely was. “It was two years ago. Why is it all coming up now?”

Minho turned his face toward the city lights, jaw tight.

“Because he’s back.”

“Chan?” Seungmin whispered.

Minho hissed softly, nostrils flaring.

“He came back Saturday night. After God knows how long, after whatever he got himself tangled in. And he’s furious, Seungmin-ah.”

The younger froze.

Minho pushed on, voice low but venom-edged.

“Two years ago, I felt it. The exact moment something in me weakened. It wasn’t big. Not obvious. But after centuries, even a fracture is loud.”

“You didn’t say anything. You didn’t come find me.”

“Because I didn’t want to know.” Minho’s words snapped through the cold air. He slammed his palm against the railing, metal ringing. “I couldn’t know. It was easier to assume Chan had pissed off another ancient god and we were paying the price than to face the truth that you turned a human into one of us.”

The wind picked up, catching in Seungmin’s hair. His fingers tightened around the railing until the metal groaned.

Minho watched him carefully, the way he always had. The way a maker watched his own reflection behave in ways he didn’t teach it to.

“Where is he?” Minho asked quietly.

Seungmin didn’t move.

“Safe.”

“Where,” Minho repeated, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood “is he?”

That’s when Seungmin finally looked at him. Really looked. And Minho saw it - a flicker of fear he hadn’t seen in the younger for hundreds of years.

“Ask me another question” Seungmin whispered. “You know I can’t lie to you.”

That snapped something inside Minho. The maker-child bond. The ancient pull of blood and will.

The rule older than kingdoms: Seungmin cannot lie to Minho. Not ever. Which was exactly why Minho had preferred ignorance over truth. Why he let Chan stab him again rather than speak. Why he staggered under the weight of a decision he didn’t make.

“Remember my last words to you? When I was dying?” Seungmin finally whispered.

He hummed. “‘Who’s going to feed the cats?’” 

Seungmin grimaced at himself.

Minho’s expression didn’t shift.

“Yeah, well,” Seungmin continued, rubbing his neck “I met him almost three years ago. Coffee shop he worked in. Coffee tasted like burnt mud, I had to pour half a blood pack of Arh+ into it to survive it - but his smile? Hyung, it was mind blowing.”

Minho’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp.

“So I kept going back. Four months. Every day he worked. After the fourth month I finally walked him home. Then we kept doing it. I learned how he laughed, how his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, the freckles across his nose - ”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“One day I came to pick him up, and something felt wrong.” Seungmin’s voice dipped. “I smelled blood before his coworker even spoke.”

The old vampire already knew where this was going. 

“He was behind the shop. Bleeding out. Someone robbed him and stabbed him.” Seungmin swallowed. “He goes there sometimes… to feed the cats.”

Minho let out a slow breath.

“So you turned him because he reminded you of yourself?”

“No.” Seungmin huffed. “I thought the cat thing might soften you.”

He almost smiled. Barely. The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“I turned him because I love him.”

A weird, unfamiliar shift rolled through Minho’s chest. He knew duty. Bond. Responsibility. But love? That was an emotion that had never belonged to him - not once in more than a thousand years.

“It was too late to heal him” The younger continued quietly. “It was this or losing him forever. And I chose him even if that meant going against Chan.”

“Please” Minho muttered. “You wouldn’t survive going against Chan. He’d kill you in a heartbeat. And his heart doesn’t beat.”

“You wouldn’t let him” Seungmin whispered.

“No” He admitted. 

 “But he’d kill you for interfering. And then we’d both be dead” The younger exhaled. 

„ All because of your impulsive little romance.” Minho murmured “Hyung wouldn’t kill me. He… needs me. In his twisted, selective way. And sure, he doesn’t give a damn about most things, but he does care about this bloodline. He’s just pissed something happened without him having a hand in it.”

Seungmin pushed off the railing and leaned against it with his back, looking exhausted. Older, somehow, despite being still so young.

“So what’s our plan?”

“How’s the vampire doing?” Minho asked, voice low. “Lee Yongbok.”

Seungmin blinked. “You did your homework.”

“Not me. Chan” Minho corrected. “Is he violent? New borned usually are. How many bodies? How many messes did you have to clean up?”

“He’s different” 

Minho’s gaze sharpened. “How?”

“He has unbelievable control. I’ve never seen it before. He feeds only on blood bags. And he refuses to touch a human ever since -”

“Since what?” Minho pressed.

“Since I dragged him off his best friend. He almost killed him.”

Minho’s eyebrow twitched. “You’re getting soft.”

“Says the man who spared a hunter” Seungmin snapped back.

Minho ignored that.

“Hide for now. You know how to disappear. Keep him close. Don’t let Chan tail you. I’ll handle the rest but it’ll take time to get the old man to swallow this.”

Seungmin nodded, turning to leave… but paused.

“Hyung - ”

Minho raised a brow.

“Why couldn’t you kill the hunter?”

For a moment, Minho said nothing. 

Because something in that boy felt different. Because Minho felt something he shouldn’t.

“That’s exactly what I intend to find out” 

###

Jisung gave himself three weeks.

Three weeks to pretend he was fine.

Three weeks to convince himself he hadn’t imagined that strange pull, that impossible safety he’d felt in the arms of something that should’ve ripped him apart.

Three weeks to scrub Minho’s voice out of his head - and three weeks to fail miserably.

He tried to rest. Changbin practically chained him to that damn safe house, Jeongin hovering like a mother hen with a laptop instead of wings. 

But sitting still made Jisung restless. Twitchy. Like his bones remembered something his mind kept pushing away.

So, yeah. Three weeks. That was his limit.

Two years had passed since Jisung’s life had flipped itself inside out - two years since the brightest thing in his world had gone dark under hollow eyes and feral fangs.

Two years since Seo Changbin dragged him out of his boring, harmless life as a music teacher and shoved him headfirst into a world that tore him open and stitched him back together with purpose.

If Changbin hadn’t found him that night, clueless and trying to stab a vampire with the wrong damn weapon…

He wouldn’t be here.

He wouldn’t be anything.

Now? Two years later?

He was one of Seo Organization’s best hunters. Their golden boy. Their relentless tracker. 

The one who always brought results - except the one result he actually wanted.

Because after two years of vampire blood on his hands, burned-out safe houses, and hunts that carved scars into his ribs, he still hadn’t found the one vampire he needed to find.

Felix. 

Back on the job, the organization tossed him a new apartment. Different part of the city, closer to the center. Nicer. Better security. Easier for him to disappear if things went wrong.

He hated it.

He liked the old place. He liked the memories that clung to the walls like smoke.

Fucking immortal leech.

The thought cut through his skull like a blade, and Minho’s eyes flashed in his mind but not the black ones. God, no.

The warm brown ones.

Human. Soft and beautiful.

It happened like that. Random moments.

Minho’s face appearing behind his eyelids, uninvited and unwelcome, and yet Jisung never shoved it away as hard as he should’ve. He hadn’t told anyone. He wasn’t planning to.

His gaze snapped forward - there.

Movement that didn’t belong to a human body. Too fluid, too quiet, too wrong.

A vampire.

He was giving himself away with every step, and Jisung didn’t waste time on hesitation. He’d learned the tells, the tiny mistakes, the way shadows moved differently around the undead. Jisung tossed back the last of his strawberry margarita, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slid off the bar stool with a practiced ease.

Focus locked. Pulse steady. Wooden stake warm under his jacket.

He melted into the crowd, eyes already fixed on the leech as he slipped through the club’s neon-drenched haze.

This time, he told himself, this one wouldn’t get away.

The leech had no shame - dragging some clueless girl toward the back door like she was a free snack. His pale fingers circled her arm, deceptively gentle, guiding.

Jisung followed a step behind, silent, shadowed.

By the time he slipped outside, the girl was pinned against the wall, breath choking on terror as the vampire leaned in, fangs gleaming, ready to sink.

Jisung didn’t think.

He slammed into the vampire with his full weight, enough to tear him away from her. The leech stumbled, snarling, voice rough and inhuman.

“What the fuck -?”

Jisung flicked his gaze to the girl. “Run.”

She didn’t wait a second.

“Oh, come on” the vampire groaned as she bolted, rolling his eyes before they snapped back to Jisung. “You owe me a dinner now. You better taste as good as you look.”

A full-body shiver of disgust ran through Jisung. He twisted the silver knuckles on his fist once, the metal cold and comforting.

The leech lunged.

He was stronger - every vampire was. But strength wasn’t everything. Jisung’s fist cracked across the vampire’s jaw, silver slicing skin. The burn sizzled, the smell acrid.

The leech clutched his cheek, hissing.

“You’re fucking dead.”

Jisung smirked. “Try me.”

The fight turned messy. Sharp movements, dirty hits, silver catching the night air. Jisung stabbed him once, twice, controlled, quick. The vampire got more feral with every second, patience dissolving into rage.

Then Jisung’s foot slid on something wet.

A stupid, tiny mistake.

And suddenly his back smacked against the wall, the vampire’s hand gripping his shirt, their faces too close. Blood dripped from the leech’s ruined cheek and he was smiling.

“Any last words, pretty?” he purred.

Jisung grabbed him by the throat, silver burning into that cold skin. They strained against each other, locked in a vicious stalemate - the vampire pushing forward, Jisung keeping him barely, barely off his neck.

The air changed.

Someone else was there.

A presence to his right  and Jisung’s pulse skipped in the worst possible way.

“Well,” Minho drawled, leaning casually against the wall beside him “that’s a pretty uncomfortable position.”

“No shit” Jisung hissed, still struggling.

“Fuck off” the vampire snarled over his shoulder. “Find your own dinner.”

Minho laughed. A soft, airy giggle that absolutely did not belong in an alley where someone was about to die.

Jisung honestly wondered if he was hallucinating.

Pinned to a wall by a vampire he nearly killed, and another immortal one appears like this is some sick comedy show.

“Did you miss me, Jisung?” Minho asked, tilting his head with a small pout.

Jisung didn’t even look at him.

“Ask me after I decapitate this one, kay?”

The vampire in front of him snarled, fangs scraping dangerously close to Jisung’s throat. He felt the cold brush of them and forced strength into his arms, keeping him at bay.

He was shoved harder into the wall, teeth lowering toward Jisung’s neck.

Shit.

He could feel the graze of fangs on his skin. Real, sharp and inevitable.

He met Minho’s eyes again - or what used to be Minho’s eyes. Now they were pitch-black, the skin around them shadowed like ink spreading under the surface.

Not cute. Not teasing.

A predator.

Jisung’s heartbeat spiked. Even if he killed the leech choking him, Minho was a problem he couldn’t outrun. Not again.

Minho’s hand moved.

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut.

That’s it. Rip me apart. Whatever.

But the pressure on his chest vanished. He opened his eyes and froze.

Minho’s hand was inside the other vampire’s chest.

Deep. Right through ribs, muscle, everything.

“No one taught you baby vampires” Minho murmured, voice low and cold “that you don’t put your filthy fangs on someone that belongs to someone else?”

Jisung’s breath stuttered. Not the time to process that. At all.

The leech’s eyes turned from black to pure terror. He didn’t get a final word. Minho pulled his hand back, slow and deliberate. The vampire’s body went rigid, veins turning black like blossoming ink. Then he crumpled - collapsing into ash at Minho’s feet.

Right behind the pile, Minho stood with the heart in his hand.

A dead one, that turned into ashes a seconds later.

“Fuck” Jisung breathed, sliding down the wall until he hit the ground. His legs just gave up.

He had never seen anything like that. Never seen a vampire kill another vampire. A leech turned to ashes in seconds. He didn’t know it was possible.

Definitely never seen one rip a heart straight out of someone’s chest with bare hands.

Jesus Christ.

Jisung wasn’t sure what came next. Was this it? The moment he finally died?

Minho had already proved that he wasn’t an easy kill. But Jisung wasn’t exactly excited to be crushed into street paste by an immortal either.

So he did the one thing he was painfully good at when panic wrapped around his ribs.

He started rambling.

“Is it - uhh - allowed?” he blurted, staring up at Minho like questioning the vampire’s legal standing might save him.

Minho paused mid blood wipe, a pristine white handkerchief dragging slowly across his fingers. It looked too familiar. Like the snowy sheets from the night they first crossed paths - soaked and ruined by the end of it.

“What?” Minho asked, brow quirked.

“You killing your own kind” The hunter said, gesturing vaguely at the pile of ash that used to be someone. “Isn’t there some vampire law against that?”

“My kind?” Minho echoed, looking down at him like he’d just suggested he was a rat. “Please. Don’t insult me.”

A confirmation. Minho didn’t consider himself one of them. Not the way the hunters categorized vampires like species of pests.

“The only law I’m accountable to,” Minho continued calmly “is my maker.”

Bang Chan.

But Jisung kept his face blank, pretending he didn’t already know. Pretending he hadn’t dug through every scrap of intel on Minho until his eyes burned.

The vampire stepped closer. Before Jisung could react, Minho gripped his arm and hauled him upright like he weighed nothing. Their faces lined up, annoyingly close and Minho’s eyes weren’t black anymore.

Brown and warm. Human.

And Jisung felt weird.

Too calm. Just like the first time they met. He shouldn’t feel safe this close. Not with an immortal who could tear him in half without wrinkling his shirt.

“Did you come here to finish the job?” Jisung asked, voice steady even as his pulse slightly quickened at his own question.

Vampire leaned in, slow enough to be cruel. The wall pressed against Jisung’s back again but this time, Minho was the one boxing him in, palm resting beside his head.

His other hand lifted.

Jisung didn’t flinch. Not even when Minho brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead, fingertips following the line behind his ear, sliding down until his hand cupped Jisung’s jaw.

Minho’s thumb traced his bottom lip.

And Jisung - traitorous, foolish Jisung - melted.

Warmth flooded his chest. His breath hitched. And Minho wasn’t using any leech magic. No compulsion. Nothing supernatural.

Just Minho.

“What should I do with you, Jisungie?” he murmured, voice low, like the question was meant for the night air more than for Jisung.

Jisung swallowed. Hard.

Minho looked like he wanted to kiss him. Or bite him. Or maybe both.

And either possibility should’ve sent alarms blaring but the warmth in Jisung’s stomach only curled tighter. The thumb pressed a little harder against his lip. Jisung’s mouth parted without him meaning to.

And Minho…Minho looked enchanted. Eyes wide, pupils blown.

“Why do you smell like that?” he whispered. “What are you?”

“What?” Jisung breathed, dazed.

What does that mean?

It wasn’t the first time Minho mentioned his scent. That something in Jisung was different. But hearing it like that sent sparks down his spine.

“So sweet” Vampire murmured as he leaned in, nose brushing Jisung’s cheek. His breath ghosted over his skin.

Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut. Heat pooled low in his stomach. He shouldn’t want this. He wanted to lean into it anyway. 

The hunter inhaled sharply, forcing his brain back. And when his eyes opened the instinct took over.

His elbow snapped forward, slamming into Minho’s wrist. He shoved himself off the wall, twisting them around, and drove his silver knife straight through Minho’s palm, pinning his hand to the wall.

Minho’s eyes widened in shock.

He yanked the knife out and Jisung watched, breath caught, as the flesh knitted together almost instantly once the silver left.

Too fast.

Too damn fast.

Changbin needed to know.

Minho smirked but Jisung didn’t let him talk. He yanked a wooden stake from inside his jacket and plunged it into Minho’s stomach. The vampire choked, grabbing the stake with a sharp inhale. Their hands bumped, skin brushing skin - too intimate - and Jisung hated the part of him that wanted to stay right there, holding onto him.

But this wasn’t the moment to be stupid.

Minho coughed, a thin line of blood slipping from the corner of his mouth.

“Damn” he rasped. “You’re a fascinating little thing.”

“I’m sorry, Minho” Jisung whispered - meant it, hated that he meant it - and slammed the stake into Minho’s chest.

His eyes went wide. Then hazy. Then distant.

Jisung exhaled sharply.

He hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could.  But he just bought himself four to six minutes.

Maybe seven if Minho felt like being dramatic.

Enough time to run like hell.

And he did.

### 

Minho barely made it up the stairs.

His limbs felt like wet cloth, strength bleeding out of him with every step, the stake wound in his chest knitting just slow enough to be annoying. He pushed the door open and the lights were on.

Of course they were.

“What’s up with you dying so much recently?” Chan called out, voice floating from the kitchen like he’d been waiting ages to deliver that line.

Minho grunted something that qualified as a noise and dragged himself inside. He didn’t feed on anyone on the way home so his vitals were still flickering like a dying candle. He made it three steps into the living room before his knee buckled. He caught himself on the couch before he collapsed on it.

“Seriously” Chan continued, closing the fridge with a hip bump. “Did you pick dying as a new hobby?”

He set a glass of blood on the coffee table, then nudged Minho with it. Minho glared, but he grabbed it. Slowly, painfully, strength began crawling back into his body.

Chan dropped beside him on the couch, kicked his legs up onto the table, and made himself comfortable like he owned the place.

Minho rolled his eyes.

“You do realize that every time you die, we feel it, right?” Chan said casually. Then, without waiting for a reaction, he shoved a phone into Minho’s hand. “You literally dropped dead in the middle of Hyunjin’s livestream. Look.”

Minho squinted at the screen.

Hyunjin was talking about some art gallery, gesturing dramatically as usual then suddenly clutched his chest, face twisting, almost sliding off the chair. Comments were exploding across the screen, fans panicking, speculating, diagnosing him with seventeen fictional diseases.

Minho winced. “…Shit.”

“Yeah” Chan smirked. “Hilarious.”

Minho took another sip, silently apologetic. He didn’t even argue when Chan got up to grab him a second blood bag, refilling the glass like some doting, immortal mother. Three weeks ago Chan stabbed him through a wall and now he was playing nurse.

Completely normal relationship.

“Why are you even here?” Minho asked finally, swirling what little blood remained. “You’re rich. You have like eighty homes. Why are you occupying my couch again?”

Chan raised both brows. “Why? Aren’t you happy to see me, Minho-ya?”

“You were gone for a century.” Minho shot him a look. “It’s weird to see you twice in three weeks. Makes me think something terrible is coming.”

Chan’s grin sharpened. “Did you talk to Seungmin?”

Ah. There it was.

“Yes” Minho said, draining the last sip. His skin had already regained its usual color, healing finished.

“So where’s the youngest of our sweet little family?” Chan asked far too cheerfully. “Where’s Yongbok? I want to meet him.”

“I don’t know” Minho said truthfully.

Chan blinked slowly. “You don’t know? Seungmin didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t insist on knowing” Minho corrected. “Not until I make sure you’re not planning to kill him.”

Chan smirked. “Seungmin or Yongbok?”

“Both.” Minho answered simply. “And me, for trying to protect Seungmin.”

Chan clicked his tongue, shifting closer. “Ah, Minho…”

He reached out and brushed Minho’s hair back from his forehead with a tenderness that felt ancient, heavy with centuries.

“I would never kill you” Chan murmured.

Minho rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

Chan sighed, then added “Or Seungmin. Or the fledgling. Family is sacred.”

Minho hummed. “Right.”

Chan shot him a look.

Minho shot one back.

“While you’re here, I need your insight on something.” His voice cut through the quiet apartment, soft but loaded.

Chan tilted his head, eyes narrowing in curiosity. “I’m listening.”

“But you have to promise you’ll leave it alone after this. Let me figure it out myself.”

One brow rose.

“Promise” Minho insisted.

Chan lifted both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

Good. A promise from ancient vampire wasn’t some throwaway line - it meant something.

“There’s this… human” Minho started, jaw working. “And he feels different to me.”

Chan perked up immediately. “Oh? Do you have a crush?” He wiggled his brows.

“What -  no - ” Minho grimaced. “He smells different. All of him. I didn’t feed on him, so it’s not blood haze. It’s just him.”

Chan hummed, stretching his neck like he was warming up to a game.

“Could be a few things. He might be a hybrid without knowing. What exactly does he smell like?”

“Sweet. Like yakgwa. With too much honey” Minho muttered. “Like the taste I remember from being -”

“Human” Chan finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Chan considered. “Witches sometimes smell sweet. Not all. Earth witches do. Maybe his bloodline’s mixed with a coven, even if he’s not part of one.”

Minho nodded slowly.

“Or maybe angel?”

Minho blinked. “An angel?”

Chan shrugged. “They’ve got that sweetness too. Like the air shifts around ’em. But they’re violent as hell, so tread carefully.”

Minho frowned. Jisung’s wide, pretty eyes flashed in his mind - that moment wrapped in white sheets, looking far too much like temptation.

“He’s not violent.”

Chan snorted. “Didn’t he kill you, like… twice?”

“I didn’t even say it’s the same person” Minho snapped.

“Sure” The older said, absolutely not believing him. “Anyway. Witch or angel are the safest guesses. But it depends whether he smells like that to everyone or just to you.”

“And how am I supposed to figure that out?” Minho groaned.

“I can meet him” Chan offered casually.

“Oh, hell no.” Minho recoiled instantly. No way he was putting the most dangerous vampire he knew next to his human.

“Then drag another vampire with you and check if they pick up the same scent.”

“And if they don’t? If it’s just me?” Minho muttered, suddenly quiet.

Chan looked at him, really looked. Their gazes locked, something sharp flickering behind Chan’s eyes.

“Then your angel isn’t an angel at all” he murmured.

Silence sank between them.

“And if that’s the case, come find me again.”

###

The second Hyunjin’s boots hit the wet concrete, he let out the most dramatic hiss Minho had heard all week.

“When you said we were hanging out,” he complained, lifting his leg over a puddle that absolutely smelled like it could dissolve bone “I should’ve known it wouldn’t be bloody drinks at Levanter and gossip.”

Minho didn’t bother looking back. If he did, he’d roll his eyes so hard they’d fall out.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin pressed, voice tight as he scanned the shadows “why the hell are we here? This place looks like tetanus and homicide had a baby.”

Minho kept walking.

He didn’t need Hyunjin knowing the full truth - that he was following the trace of one very specific human. Not yet. 

He only needed one thing tonight: confirmation. 

And Hyunjin was the safest bet.

Hyunjin hadn’t been violent in years.

Blood bags, donors, meditation, whatever zen lifestyle he was pretending to maintain -  Minho could handle him if something went wrong. 

Chan? Absolutely not. 

Hyunjin was perfect.

A faint sweetness brushed the air. Minho’s nostrils flared before he even realized he’d stopped moving.

There he is.

He grabbed Hyunjin’s sleeve and climbed onto a rusted metal container. The thing groaned under their weight, but it gave them a clear view of the narrow dock alley below.

“Really, Minho, I sometimes hate -”

“Shh.” Minho’s finger cut through the air.

Hyunjin crouched beside him, annoyed but curious. His eyes flicked down to the scene: a vampire - newly turned by the looks of her sloppy movements - lurking by the wall, searching for her next victim.

“Who’s that?” Hyunjin whispered.

Minho didn’t answer. He didn’t care about her.

“What do you smell?” he asked instead, watching Hyunjin carefully.

Hyunjin lifted his chin and inhaled.

“Mud. Dirty water. Old blood” he said, nodding toward the vampire. “She fed recently. It’s still on her skin.”

“And?” Minho asked.

“And what?” Hyunjin gave him an irritated look.

“You don’t smell the honey?” Minho’s voice dropped lower. “Thick. Sweet.”

The younger one blinked at him. “From her?”

Minho almost laughed. “No. From him.”

As if on cue, Jisung slid around the corner - silent, precise. In one smooth movement he pinned the fledgling vampire to the wall, the silver-tipped stake punching through her chest so cleanly she didn’t even finish her gasp before her body went still.

Hyunjin stared.

“Okay, yeah. There’s something weird with him.”

Minho tensed. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin met his eyes, unsettled - a rare expression on him.

“I didn’t hear him coming” he said quietly. “Didn’t smell him. Didn’t feel him move. Humans always have a scent. Always. But him?” His brow furrowed. “He smells like nothing. Like a ghost.”

Minho’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Hyunjin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you know him? Is he a hunter? I haven’t seen any of those in ages.”

“Mhm” Minho murmured, gaze fixed on Jisung like he was seeing him for the first time all over again. “They don’t hunt us anymore. Waste of their manpower.”

But Jisung wasn’t a waste. He was something else entirely and tonight, Minho finally had proof.

Hyunjin’s gaze flicked away the moment Jisung began the messy work of decapitating the vampire. The snap of bone, the scrape of silver - Hyunjin had done it himself a thousand times, but apparently watching a hunter do it still made something uncomfortable twist in him.

 It was always like this - hunters do this so the vampire would turn into ashes. No body. No police involved. 

Hyunjin’s phone chimed. A tiny sound.

But Jisung heard it.

Minho watched as the hunter’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing, scanning the shadows with slow precision. His posture sharpened, hand reaching automatically for his stake. For a moment, Minho felt the ghost of that warm sweetness curl at the back of his throat.

But Jisung didn’t see them. Didn’t smell them.

Didn’t sense a damn thing.

Hyunjin glanced at the notification, exhaled sharply, and muttered “Well, as lovely as this little meeting was, I need to get back.”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho murmured, eyes locked on Jisung below “I need one more favor.”

Hyunjin didn’t even hesitate. “Sure.”

“Is Yeji still friends with that vampire who knows everything about everyone?”

“Ryujin?” Hyunjin’s brows shot up. “Yeah, still gossiping the undead into early graves.”

“Take a picture of him” Minho said, nodding toward Jisung “ask her to look into whatever she can find. I’ll pay - handsomely.”

Hyunjin already had his phone up, zooming in without shame. Face. Body. Profile. He took several shots like paparazzi on a red carpet.

“I’ll text you when Ryujin digs anything up” he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Bye, hyung.”

He stepped deeper into the shadows, blending in almost immediately but paused, half-turned, faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“And please don’t die today” he added dryly. “I have an event to attend.”

Minho huffed a laugh, leaning back on his heels.

“No promises.”

And honestly… it would’ve been a damn waste to lurk this close to Jisung and not say hi. 

So Minho dropped from the container, boots hitting the ground with barely a whisper. He hadn’t even rounded the corner before a dagger sliced through the air.

The silver embedded itself in the metal wall behind him with a vicious clang, inches from his head.

Minho blinked once. Then grinned.

“Lovely to see you too, Jisungie.”

Jisung straightened slowly from the pile of ash that used to be a vampire, fury burning in his eyes. One quick look around - exits, shadows, possible threats. Always calculating. Always ready to run or kill, depending on which was smarter.

Smart boy.

“Killing you twice didn’t give you the hint that I’m not interested?” he snapped, tilting his head.

“I’ve had hundreds of years to prove I’m stubborn if I want something.” Minho closed the distance a little, unhurried.

Jisung didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.

He wrapped the silver wire around both his fists, knuckles glinting like fangs in the moonlight. Preparing to fight him.

Adorable. Pointless but adorable.

“And you’re interested in me?” Jisung asked, voice wavering just a touch, like he hated that it did.

“Why not?” Minho shrugged, stepping closer.

“Why me?” The hunter shot back, jaw tight, stance steady.

Minho stopped right in front of him. Their eyes met  and electricity cracked through Minho’s body so sharply he almost forgot he was dead.

“Don’t you feel that?” he murmured, honesty slicing cleaner than any silver.

“Feel what?”

But Jisung’s pulse betrayed him.

Racing. Stuttering. Singing beneath his skin. Minho tilted his head, listening to the rhythm that had been haunting him for weeks.

Oh, yes.

He felt it too.

Minho lifted a hand between them, fingers hovering near Jisung’s chest. “Something’s different about you. And me. Together.”

“I don’t know what you mean” Jisung shot back, tense. “And if you don’t want to die tonight, you should back off.”

Lies.

“Kill me” Minho said simply.

“What?” Jisung’s face twisted, shocked. “You’re insane.”

Minho stepped forward, Jisung stepped back.

“Kill me” Minho said again, voice dipping dangerously low.

Then he surged forward, grabbing both of Jisung’s hands - still wrapped in silver - and dragged them behind his own neck, forcing the burning metal against his skin.

Jisung sucked in a breath. “You’re actually insane.”

Minho leaned in, lips brushing the air between them.

“Come on, little hunter. Do it.”

The silver bit deeper.

Minho’s lips parted, eyes bleeding black, body roaring to heal and unable to while Jisung held the wire tight. The pain burned but the closeness burned worse.

Jisung stared at him, breathing hard. 

Something cracked inside him.And then his fingers loosened.

The silver wire clattered to the ground.

And Jisung’s hands slid into Minho’s hair, gripping hard, yanking him down into a kiss.

Minho’s breath vanished. His heart - the one that shouldn’t beat -  squeezed hard in his chest. He grabbed Jisung’s waist, pulling him in, kissing him back with centuries of hunger. Their tongues met. Messy, desperate, intoxicating. The sweetness hit Minho like a drug.

He could drown in it.

Jisung let out a sound - not quite a moan, not quite a whine -  something broken and wanting, something that shot straight down Minho’s spine. He pushed, walking until Jisung’s back hit the cold metal of the container. He hissed at the chill and Minho swallowed the sound with another kiss.

“Minho - ” Jisung gasped when fingers slid under his shirt, nails digging into his waist.

Minho’s hunger snapped.

He kissed down his jaw, to his neck, lips tracing the pulse pounding beneath the skin. Jisung trembled, hips jerking forward, a shaky moan spilling out.

“Minho,” he breathed, pleading, “please - ”

God.

He pleaded like he was made for it.

Minho’s fangs dragged lightly - too lightly - along the curve of his throat. Every instinct screamed to bite. To taste.

But another instinct rose too, louder, steadier, unfamiliar. Don’t hurt him. Protect him.

His hand slid down and cupped Jisung through his pants - and Jisung melted. His spine arched, breath catching, body going tight like a bowstring under Minho’s touch.

“I’ve got you” Minho murmured against his lips, kissing him again, slower, deeper, savoring every tremble.

His palm slipped past the waistband, fingers curling around Jisung’s cock.

“You’re so wet..”

Minho’s own need hit him hard. His cock throbbed against the fabric of his pants, fangs aching at the roots.

He stroked him lazily at first, drinking in every ragged inhale, every stuttering breath. Jisung’s eyes were half-lidded, head tipped back against the metal wall, throat bared like he trusted Minho without even thinking.

Minho’s thumb brushed over the slit, smearing the warm wetness down the shaft.

“Stop teasing - ” Jisung gasped, hips jerking.

“You’re too beautiful when you’re being teased” He whispered, dragging his tongue over Jisung’s neck, teeth grazing just enough to make the human’s cock twitch in his hand.

Oh…

He tightened his grip and picked up the pace, stroking him with purpose now, guiding Jisung’s hips when they started to chase the rhythm desperately.

“Minho -  I - ” The rest dissolved into a broken moan. “ - ahh ”

His hips stuttered once, twice, then he broke apart in Minho’s hand, warm and messy, body shuddering against him. Minho stroked him through it, kissing his throat, jaw, lips, taking everything.

Then he glanced down.

The puddle near their feet reflected him back: black eyes, dark veins raised beneath the skin, a creature two seconds from losing control. Hunger punched through him, sharp and vicious. His tongue ran over his fangs -  too long, too eager.

He looked back at Jisung.

The hunter was so fucked-out he could barely stay upright, lips parted, pulse fluttering wildly in his neck.

Minho’s stomach twisted.

He wanted to rip him open.

He wanted to check if Jisung’s blood tasted as sweet as his body.

Minho forced his hand out of Jisung’s pants, wiped the mess on his own thigh, then grabbed Jisung’s jaw - maybe too tight, because Jisung’s eyes snapped open wider.

“Jisung-ah. Look at me.”

He did.

And that only made it worse - the trust, the softness, the way his pulse jumped under his skin.

The hunger surged, drowning out thought. Minho’s fingers trembled on Jisung’s jaw.

He reached under Jisung’s jacket, grabbing the wooden stake hidden inside. He pressed it into the hunter’s hands. Jisung blinked, confused, breath quickening again but for a very different reason.

“What - ?”

Minho didn’t answer.

He stepped forward and used his own strength to guide the stake’s tip straight into his own chest.  Right through his heart. Jisung’s eyes flew wide, a choked sound ripping from him as Minho’s body jolted.

Their eyes locked.Jisung shocked, scared and Minho hollowed out by hunger and regret all at once.

“You need to run, Jisung” he breathed and the light left his eyes.

###

It was a strange month.

Strange in the way a bruise aches before you even touch it -  a dull, constant throb under the skin.

A month since that night.

A month since Jisung lost control.

He still saw it every time he blinked: Minho’s eyes flashing from black, to human, to dull and empty in the span of a heartbeat. And killing a vampire had never felt like that before.

 Like he’d driven the stake through his own ribs.

Minho had told him to run, so he did.

He didn’t slow until the door to his apartment slammed shut behind him. And he didn’t sleep that night, lying there with shame gnawing at him and Minho’s face burned into the back of his eyelids.

Three days later Changbin dragged him to Jeongin’s safe house, jaw tight, voice clipped.

Someone had broken through Jeongin’s firewall. Only one thing was taken - Jisung’s file from the organization. He didn’t have to say it aloud, they both knew whose fingers had dug their way into it.

But Changbin slapped him with another hunting ban.

“Safety protocol” he’d said. “Standard procedure” 

But Jisung heard the real meaning loud and clear. Stay put, you’re a liability right now. So he was stuck. In his silent apartment. Just him, the hum of his phone, and the absence of Minho dragging shadows across his walls.

And the weirdest part?

Some nights, it felt like Minho was there with him anyway.

The first time, Jisung jolted awake drenched in cold sweat, heart hammering. He knew it was just a dream -  logically. But it had been too vivid. Too warm. If he reached out, he swore he could’ve pushed the light hair from Minho’s forehead.

The second time, he woke up painfully hard, shame burning in his chest.

Minho’s arms had been around him in that dream, brushing his fingers over Jisung’s bare back, mouth warm against his jaw. And when Minho dropped to his knees, black eyes fixed on him like he’d devour him whole - Jisung had ripped himself out of sleep like he was escaping a fall.

He tried to rationalize it.

Minho was attractive. Dangerous. His brain was mixing adrenaline and lust and stitching it into dreams.

It would’ve made sense if everything didn’t feel somehow shifted since that night.

And some dreams weren’t even sexual. Just moments. Soft ones. Strange ones. Places he’d never been.

Like the rooftop.

They sat side by side on the ledge, legs dangling over a drop that normally would’ve made Jisung nauseous. But with Minho beside him, he didn’t feel afraid. The sun was crawling over the horizon, spilling orange and pink across the sky.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” Jisung had asked quietly, turning toward the vampire.

“Hm?” Minho blinked, as if pulled back from a century away.

“The sun.”

“Oh.” Minho exhaled, slow. “I love the sun.”

Jisung frowned. “You love it even if it weakens you?”

“There was a time” Minho murmured “when I would lie in the grass for hours. Let it warm my skin. Back when it didn’t burn me.”

His gaze drifted to the horizon.

“Now it just reminds me I’m not human anymore.”

Another dream dropped him somewhere else.

A traditional garden, glowing softly under moon light. Minho’s fingers were curled around Jisung’s wrist, gently guiding him through stone paths until they reached a pond. Lights shimmered on the water like floating stars.

“What is this place?” Jisung whispered.

Minho smiled, small, fragile. Beautiful in a way that made Jisung want to chase the expression, hold it between his palms.

“It used to be home” The vampire said, crouching by the water. His fingers skimmed the surface, breaking the reflection.

“Used to?” Jisung joined him, watching the fish drift lazily beneath the ripples. “It’s not home anymore?”

“It doesn’t exist anymore” Minho said simply. „Time is killing everything. Just not me.”

And Jisung woke with that line echoing in the dark, his chest tight, his throat thick, like Minho had left fingerprints on his dreams.

One night he closed his eyes and opened them in his childhood bedroom.

For a moment he just stared. The pale curtains, the old stickers peeling on the wardrobe, the faint dent in the carpet where his bed used to sit. It was all exactly as he remembered. The air even smelled faintly of fresh laundry.

“Why are we here?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Minho was lying on the bed beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes soft, fully human looking. No hunger. No darkness. Just Minho.

“I want to know you better” the vampire murmured, voice warm in the quiet.

And Jisung - god help him - smiled. Something tiny and fluttering kicked inside his chest. Something that felt impossible and ridiculous and far too real.

Minho’s gaze wandered around the room until it snagged on the poster taped crookedly to the wall.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“ Haku. From Spirited Away.” Jisung followed his eyes, amused by Minho’s curiosity.

The vampire looked back at him. “Is it a movie?”

His jaw dropped.

“Wait -  you’re centuries old and you’ve never seen Spirited Away? That’s -  that’s actually a crime.”

Minho laughed, soft, almost shy. “Should we watch it together?”

And Jisung didn’t even think, he leaned forward and kissed him. Minho tasted like cherry lip balm, sweet and a little sticky. The taste startled him enough that he pressed in harder, sliding his tongue into Minho’s mouth, deepening it until the room blurred around them.

The next night, he opened his eyes to the faint smell of chalk and old varnish.

A music classroom. His old classroom.

He was sitting on the piano bench, fingers already resting on the keys like the dream had placed him there intentionally. Minho sit beside him, taking it all in with quiet awe.

“Another night of getting to know me better?” Jisung said, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Where are we?” Minho asked, slowly spinning his head, taking in the empty chairs, the dust, the forgotten instruments.

“My old workplace” Jisung hummed. “I used to teach kids music. Before -”

His throat closed around the memory. Felix.

“Before you started killing my kind?” Minho teased gently.

Jisung shook his head with a quiet, breathy laugh. Then Minho leaned down, nuzzling their noses together, voice a low rumble against his skin.

“Play for me.”

“What?” Jisung let out a startled laugh. “Right now?”

“Come on, baby” Minho murmured at his shoulder, a smile audible in his tone. “Play for me.”

So he did.

His fingers fell into the keys like water, muscle memory guiding him through an old melody he hadn’t touched in years. It hit him instantly - the nostalgia, the ache, the love he’d had for this place and the kids who used to fill it with noise.

Minho didn’t speak. He just watched, eyes tracing every motion, drinking him in like the music itself was a confession.

Somewhere in the middle of the piece, a tear slid down Jisung’s cheek. He didn’t even notice until Minho’s thumb brushed it away, slow and careful, catching the drop like it mattered.

“Beautiful” Minho whispered.

And that’s when Jisung woke - heart aching in a way it hadn’t dared ache in two long, brutal years.

And last night, he didn’t just slip into sleep. Jisung fell through it.

And when he opened his eyes again, he was standing in an unfamiliar house. Wooden beams, paper doors, the soft glow of an oil lamp flickering against the floor. The air felt old, warm, full of something that wasn’t his.

A woman sat on the floor, humming a delicate melody to herself. Her hair was tied with a small flowered pin. She was younger than him, younger than Minho - dressed in a hanbok that looked like it belonged to the late Joseon dynasty. An orange cat curled beside her, flicking its tail lazily.

Jisung bowed instinctively.

“Hello.”

Minho appeared at his side, moving like the dream was his to command. His hand found Jisung’s waist without hesitation, a calm, familiar anchor.

“She can’t hear you” he said quietly. “She’s just an echo.”

Jisung turned to him. “An echo?”

“Of my memories” Minho murmured, stepping forward, leaning against the wooden frame as if he had stood in that same spot a hundred times before. “Her name was Kim Haeryung.”

Jisung followed him, leaning beside him, eyes fixed on the woman who hummed without ever looking up.

“Who is she?”

“When you showed me the things you miss” Minho said softly, “I thought I should show you someone I miss.”

Jisung swallowed. “Was she human?”

“No.” Minho crouched in front of her, voice dipping into something almost reverent. “She was a witch. Her magic was faint, just a thread left in her blood. Nothing powerful. Nothing dangerous. The only magic she really had was… her.” His lips twitched in a small smile. “Her smile. Her voice. The way she could never walk past a stray cat without stopping. That’s how we became friends, actually.”

The fondness in his voice punched something sharp into Jisung’s chest.

“Did you love her?” he asked before he could stop himself.

The sting of jealousy was stupid. Ridiculous. But real.

“No.” Minho answered simply. “She was a friend.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died” Minho whispered. “Like almost everything in my life.”

Jisung blinked at the sudden heaviness. The woman in the dream hummed on, unaware of the grief clinging to the room.

“She got sick. She didn’t want me to turn her. And I couldn’t anyway - not then. My maker…” Minho trailed off, shaking his head. “He doesn’t exactly allow that.”

Jisung felt that truth settle under his skin. Heavy. A rule that shaped centuries.

He moved closer, hand sliding into Minho’s, squeezing once. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“Her last wish was for me to take care of her son” Minho continued.

“Did you?” Jisung asked quietly.

“I did. Not personally - I couldn’t stay close. But I made sure he had people. Food. Education. A place to sleep.” Minho huffed a laugh. “He was an annoying kid. Followed cats around like he was one. But he looked more like a stray puppy”

Jisung smiled despite himself.

“One night, when he was older, he got mixed up with the wrong people” Minho continued. “When I reached him he was dying. Too late to heal.”

Jisung’s breath caught.

“Did he die?”

“No.” Minho’s eyes flickered. “Not technically.”

Jisung froze. “You turned him.”

Kim Haeryung.

Her son.

Kim Seungmin.

The realization hit like a strike to the ribs.

“He wasn’t thinking straight” Minho muttered. “His last human words were -  ‘Who’s going to feed the cats?’” A quiet scoff. “Idiot. He was her son once. Then he became mine. In some twisted way.”

He shook his head, though there was warmth hidden under the irritation.

“He’s my best friend now. Has been for centuries. And there were many, many years where I wanted to kill him myself. But I’m glad he’s still here.”

Jisung’s throat tightened.

Kim Seungmin.

The vampire who turned Felix. The vampire whose name sat almost at the top of Jisung’s kill list.Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.

“I had a best friend too” he whispered.

Minho squeezed his hand back. “What happened to him?”

Jisung swallowed the truth that clawed up his throat.

Your best friend turned him into a monster.

“I -  he died.”

“I’m sorry” Minho murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Jisung’s temple.

And the dream crumbled - violently. He jolted awake with a sound he didn’t recognize, chest heaving.

Felix’s pitch-black eyes and bloody fangs burned behind his eyelids, refusing to fade.

He couldn’t breathe.

###

In the middle of his push-ups, his phone started ringing. Jisung groaned into the floor, then pushed to his feet and snatched it up.

“Congratulations!” Changbin’s voice boomed so loud Jisung had to hold the phone away.

“What?” he breathed, wiping sweat off his jaw.

“You’re officially coming back to work. There’s a bounty. And I need my best hunter here.”

A bounty.

Jisung felt his pulse spike - god he missed this.

“Someone finally slapped a price on a vampire head?”

“Yep. And not just any vampire - Goo Jihoon. Meet me in an hour at the building.”

Jisung let out a low whistle. Goo Jihoon.

“See you there.”

An hour later he was riding the glass elevator up the Seo Organization tower, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Hunters passing in the hallway nodded at him - one even clapped his shoulder with a “Good to see you back.”

He ignored both and knocked on Changbin’s door.

“God, I hate this place” he muttered the moment he stepped inside.

“Me too.” Changbin didn’t look up from his seat. “But hey, nostalgia. I grew up in here.”

“That’s honestly tragic.”

Changbin rolled his eyes and slid a tablet across the desk. Jisung dropped into the chair and picked it up.

“So. Goo Jihoon, huh?”

“Yep” Changbin said, grinning. “Anonymous client. Big bounty for Jihoon’s ashes.”

“How big?”

“Five hundred fifty thousand.”

Jisung stared. “Wow. Someone really wants him gone.”

He scrolled the file. Goo Ji-hoon was a club manager in Gangnam. A club for vampires and donors, thrill-seekers, idiots chasing venom highs. Rumors of non-consensual feeding. No-killing rule constantly violated. Cleanup teams sweeping up blood like it was confetti.

A nest the Organization tried to burn down for years. Too many irrelevant vampires to sift through. Only two real hits in the past two years and one of those kills was his.

But Jihoon? Big message. Big risk.

His gaze snagged on the basics:

Goo Ji-hoon

450 years old

Maker: Sim Jian

Bloodline: Lee Minhyuk (no known contact with previous generations)

“Four-hundred-fifty?” Jisung muttered. “Old leech.”

“Mm.” Changbin leaned back. “And from a large bloodline. Not a strong one, but still.”

“Age alone makes him nasty. Older vamps hit harder, heal faster, cheat death easier.” Jisung raised an eyebrow. “How many hunters are you sending?”

“You.”

Jisung blinked. “Me?”

“You - and a few others who’ll go inside the club with you at the beginning of the operation. Safety net. We’re taking him and the others during peak chaos. Saturday night. Packed donors, packed vampires, music so loud no one hears a scream. You guys walk in as a group of friends out to ‘have fun.’”

“Oh, so we’re going undercover.”

“Exactly. But you’re the one taking him down. I trust you the most.”

Jisung smirked. “Can I pick the hunters? I don’t party with amateurs.”

Changbin smirked right back. “Go ahead. You’ve got until Saturday to prep. Tell me if you need anything specific.”

“Oh, I already made a list.” Jisung tapped his pen against the tablet and scribbled.

Changbin read it. “Silver wire?”

“Disguised as jewelry. They’ll check for silver around the neck, so no necklaces.”

“Jeongin can handle that.”

Jisung stood, stretched, and headed for the door.

Back to work. Back to the hunt.

And god, he’d missed the feeling.

Saturday came faster than he could blink. Days blurred into each other - planning, prepping the team, memorizing every possible escape route - while nights bled into unfamiliar places, pale fingers on his skin, Minho’s touch somehow always warm when it shouldn’t be.

Jisung was conflicted, but tonight he had a job.

He stood in line outside the club wearing a grey long-sleeved crop top that ended right above his stomach, low baggy jeans, and - god - a black skirt layered over it. He hadn’t planned this outfit. At all. But Jeongin shoved it at him because “you’re undercover clubbing, not going on a jog” and then somehow talked him into perming his black hair again and letting him do makeup.

“You look pretty tonight, Sung” Jooyeon said with a knowing smirk.

Jisung shot him a glare. “Focus. Mission.”

Nari and Jiwan snorted behind them.

He picked three hunters for this. Lee Jooyeon, the closest thing he had to an actual friend aside from Changbin and Jeongin. Nari and Jiwan, sharp, fast, and very good at killing things that don’t die easily.

Exactly who he needed.

The security at the entrance - of course a vampire - checked their fake IDs with bored face.

“I need to check your pockets” he said. “And your purse too.”

He patted Jisung down quickly - hands skimming around his hips, close enough that Jisung had to swallow a curse - then moved to the others. He stopped when he reached Jooyeon.

“Are you nervous, boy?”

Jisung glanced sharply at the hunter.

Jooyeon gulped… then winked. “Sure. A hot guy’s about to put his hands on me.”

The vampire huffed, rolled his eyes, and waved them inside.

Music hit them loud. Bodies swayed on the dance floor, sweat and perfume hanging thick in the air. Jisung could pick out vampires instantly - their stillness, the way their eyes tracked movement too precisely.

“You know what to do” he said, and tugged Jooyeon toward the dance floor.

“You should’ve picked someone else - I can’t dance for shit” Jooyeon laughed.

Jisung laughed too, then dropped the smile as his eyes scanned.

“Tell me what you see.”

“One leech at every entrance” Jooyeon murmured. “One behind the bar - can’t tell if he’s nest or staff. Another guy pretending to be human. Badly.”

Jisung hummed. “My side’s useless. People dancing, someone feeding in the corner but looks consensual… ish.”

He turned around, back pressing flush to Jooyeon’s chest so they faced the same direction. Jooyeon’s hands settled on his hips.

It felt wrong. Not like the cool fingers tracing his skin last night.

“Two leeches guarding the vip lounge” Jisung said, narrowing his eyes. “Stairs behind them.”

“How the hell do we get in there?” Jooyeon muttered.

A movement to the right caught Jisung’s eye - familiar blond hair slicked back, blue fitted shirt, black slacks, and goddamn. He shouldn’t be there.

Minho.

“Stick to the plan” Jisung said quickly. “I found my way in.”

He slipped through the crowd before Jooyeon could respond.

It was a really stupid plan. 

Minho was just about to step in front of the two security guards when Jisung slid beside him, fingers wrapping around his arm, leaning in like a drunk lover.

Minho’s nostrils flared sharply. His head whipped toward him.

“Jagiya” Jisung breathed, eyes hazy, lips in a soft pout. “You’re here again, did you miss me?”

Minho’s eyes narrowed, just for a heartbeat. Then his jaw ticked.

“Mr. Lee, is everything alright?” one guard asked. “Is this human imposing itself too much?”

Imposing itself?

Please.

The only thing imposing itself lately was Minho invading Jisung’s dreams every damn night.

Minho snapped his gaze up.

“He’s harmless. One of my favorite… donors.”

The guards exchanged a knowing look.

“Well then” one said, opening the glass door to the stairs. “Would you like to come inside? Mr. Goo will join you soon.”

Minho unwrapped Jisung’s grip only to grab his wrist tightly instead. Firm. “Come on, jagiya” he murmured, pulling him.

They slipped inside, the door shutting behind them with a soft click. Jisung’s senses dialed up hard, eyes scanning for exits - corners, curtains, stairways, anything that could be useful if this went sideways.

Minho didn’t slow. His grip stayed firm on Jisung’s wrist as he led them deeper into the vip lounge. Rows of velvet booths curved along the walls, dark cushions swallowed by bodies pressed too close together. Humans and vampires tangled like ivy - wrists held to hungry mouths, lips brushing throats, blood glistening in thin streams down skin.

Jisung’s chest tightened. He’d never actually seen a donor lounge from the inside.

On his right, a vampire bit into his own wrist, blood rolling warm and bright. Two human immediately leaned in, licking from the source like it was nectar. The vampire spotted Jisung watching and crooked two fingers in a lazy, welcoming gesture. 

Come here. Join in.

Before Jisung could glare, Minho paused and yanked him in closer, shoulder to shoulder. His head tilted just enough to show his eyes to the vampire in the booth.

The other vampire froze. Hunger turned into horror.

His black eyes flicked from Jisung to Minho, and he bowed so fast his forehead nearly cracked the table. The humans blinked in confusion before ducking their heads, confused but obedient.

Minho tugged Jisung forward again.

They reached the final booth - a wide leather seat framed by a massive glass wall overlooking the dance floor. A one-way mirror. Jisung hadn’t been able to see it from below.

Minho shut the booth door behind them, and the music vanished instantly. A soundproof bubble.

Then Minho shoved him into the seat. Jisung hit the cushion with a surprised huff. Minho sat beside him, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his head to the side, lips pressing hard to the spot beneath his ear.

His voice scraped cold against Jisung’s skin.

“Shut up and listen.”

His free hand slid to Jisung’s jaw - positioning him, angling his head to expose more neck. But Jisung knew what he was really doing, covering his mouth from the cameras.

Jisung’s whisper barely moved his lips.

“Why are you here, Minho? You can’t be here”

Minho’s breath ghosted over his throat. “What? I should be asking you that.”

There was no point lying now. He’d dug himself this deep.

“There’s a bounty on Goo Jihoon.”

Minho went still.

“Are you insane?” he hissed. “Is money really worth dying tonight?”

“It was never about the money” Jisung breathed. “You know that.”

The vampire scoffed under his breath, then pressed a soft, infuriating kiss to Jisung’s neck.

“Stupid hunter.”

Heat rolled through Jisung’s stomach.

“The dreams - ” he started.

“All real” Minho murmured against his skin. “But not now.”

“Then tell me why you’re here” Jisung tried again, a knot tightening under his ribs. “ You shouldn’t be here”

A slow exhale, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Goo Jihoon has unfinished business with Chan. My maker. I’m here to make sure he gets the message.”

Jisung opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant but Minho’s body went rigid.

His lips brushed Jisung’s ear.

“Play dumb” he whispered. “And look clueless.”

And the door opened.

Minho pulled back from Jisung’s neck, his eyes flicking from black to normal just in time, then he straightened as three vampires stepped inside.

“Lee Minho” Jihoon greeted with a wide, lazy smile as he bowed his head before dropping into the chair across from them.

Minho returned the bow, then looked to the other two.

“Kim Na-ra. Jae Daehyun.”

Jisung felt his stomach drop. He knew those names - Jihoon’s right and left hand. One over a hundred years old, the other pushing two-fifty. It was hard to overpower one of them, let alone three. 

And Minho… what side was he even on right now?

The two vampires bowed back. Jisung kept his gaze down, trying to be a shadow.

“Who’s that?” Jihoon asked.

Fuck. So much for being a shadow.

“A donor” Minho answered smoothly. “Little pet of mine. Cute, but stupid sometimes.”

Jisung’s fingers tightened into fists under the table.

“I didn’t know you kept one.” Jihoon chuckled. “Hundreds of years and I’ve never seen you with a human clinging to your side. Look at me.”

Jisung lifted his eyes. Straight at the vampire he was supposed to kill tonight.

“Oh, I see why you picked this one” Jihoon murmured. His gaze slid to the empty glasses. “Would you share him with us?”

Jisung felt sweat trickle down his spine. Panic was starting to sing in his veins. Minho’s hand slid onto his thigh under the table and squeezed once - a warning or reassurance, he couldn’t tell.

“No.” Minho tilted his head. “He’s not for sharing.”

“I see.” Jihoon smirked, then gestured toward the security camera.

Two women entered - tight black dresses, high red heels.

“Hello, pretty” the vampire  murmured as he took one of their hands and sliced her wrist. Blood streamed into a glass.

Jisung’s stomach lurched.

Na-ra did the same with the second woman. Two more glasses filled. When they were done, the vampires licked their way around the cuts, wounds sealing instantly. Jisung had heard about vampire healing - never seen it so casually.

The women staggered out, shaky on their feet.

Jihoon slid a glass across the table to Minho. Jisung watched pale fingers curl around the crystal, watched Minho lift it toward his lips. Something twisted in him. A feeling sharp, ugly, absolutely none of his business. It wasn’t the blood. Minho was a vampire, of course he drank.

It was the fact he was about to drink from some stranger while Jisung sat right there.

“Oh? Are you jealous, pretty?” Jihoon drawled, catching every flicker of emotion on Jisung’s face.

Minho’s head snapped toward him, eyes locking onto Jisung’s like he was trying to read every thought in his skull.

Jisung felt stupid. Exposed.

“Don’t worry your pretty head” Jihoon said lightly. “Your vampire is too well-mannered to refuse blood offered by a host. Vampires have their own etiquette, you know.”

“Is he mute?” Na-ra asked, her gaze hungry as it dragged down Jisung’s body.

“He’s not your concern” Minho replied, voice cutting clean through the room. He slid an arm around Jisung’s waist and pulled him in until Jisung was tucked against him, face hidden in the crook of Minho’s neck like he belonged there.

“Let’s get to business.”

###

In Minho’s head, every alarm was screaming.

This was supposed to be quick - walk in, rattle Jihoon’s bones a little, walk out, go home, slide into Jisung’s dreams and kiss him stupid.

That was the plan.

The stupid romantic skill he’d somehow learned after a thousand years - dreamwalking. Ridiculous. Jisung made him learn things he didn’t even know existed.

But instead of climbing into bed and appearing in his dreams, he walked straight into a fucking nightmare.

Because Jisung - his stubborn, suicidal little hunter -  was on a mission he had no business taking.

Whoever placed a bounty on Jihoon’s head must’ve hated hunters. This club was a fortress. Cameras on every corner, nests mixing with regular vampires, donors who would gladly tear a hunter apart with their bare hands.

Everyone in this place despised hunters.

Except Minho.

“You and Chan made an agreement” Minho said, voice flat, fingers drifting absently across the bare line of Jisung’s stomach.

That damn shirt. That body. He nearly fell to his knees when he saw what he walked in wearing - like Jisung was begging to be dragged into a corner and ruined.

“That’s correct” Jihoon replied lightly. “Is there an issue?”

“What was the main part of the agreement?” Minho asked, his voice turning cold.

Jihoon sipped from his glass, blood staining the tip of his fangs. “That all donors are here willingly. And that there is no killing.”

Minho felt Jisung go perfectly still beside him. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“And what’s the difference between Side Effects and Levanter?” he asked.

Jihoon laughed. “Levanter is fancier?”

“Wrong.” Minho’s voice dropped. “Levanter didn’t need to cover up twenty-six dead humans in the last six months.”

Minho slammed his hand onto the table. Hard. The force rattled the booth and sent blood from glasses spilling, Jisung jerking back against him, eyes wide.

Minho knew he didn’t look human anymore - eyes black, fangs out.

And Jisung didn’t fear him. Not even a flicker.

But Jihoon and his lackeys? They were terrified. Exactly as they should be.

“Goo Ji-hoon” Minho said, voice low and lethal “you’re going to fix this place. Or the next thing dripping across your floors will be your own blood.”

Jihoon’s fingers tightened around his glass until it shattered. “It’s not like you or Chan never left a city burning behind you. Or those insane siblings - pretending to be enlightened now. Or your loyal dog, the one who followed you for centuries. I heard he even turned a human recently?”

Jisung’s head snapped toward Jihoon at that.

Minho leaned forward, resting both hands on the table.

“Don’t” Minho hissed. “Don’t speak about my family.”

His voice carried a chill that sucked the air from the room. “I’m not excusing any of us. I never have. I’m here to remind you that we have rules. Every one of us - including you.”

Jihoon opened his mouth. 

Minho cut him off. “Think very carefully about whether what you’re about to say is worth my time.”

He rose, dragging Jisung with him, their bodies brushing, the hunter still held close like something precious.

“I expect this place fixed. You have three weeks. Four hundred years means nothing to Chan. Or to me.”

Jihoon lowered his head.

And he bowed.

They were seconds from walking out when Jisung’s head snapped toward the glass wall overlooking the dance floor. His whole body went tense.

And then he hissed loud.

“Fuck.”

Na-ra arched a brow. “Oh, he speaks.”

Minho followed Jisung’s line of sight and his stomach sank. Below them, a hunter was being dragged across the entire bar counter. Glass exploding. 

Fuck.

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, sharp with sudden recognition as he looked from the scene below… back at Jisung.

“You - ”

Jisung’s wrist flicked. The bracelet unraveled into a long silver wire.

Of course he hid a weapon on him.

Of course he came prepared to die.

Before Minho could get a word out, Jihoon launched himself. One second Jisung was standing, the next his back slammed into the glass wall so hard it spider-webbed around them.

Jisung choked on the impact, air ripped from his lungs.

Minho saw red.

Na-ra and Daehyun lunged at him at once. Loyal idiots. Minho didn’t even slow down.  

He grabbed Daehyun by the skull and tore it clean off like wet paper. Ash burst everywhere.

Na-ra froze for a single heartbeat - long enough. Minho was on her, hand straight through her chest, fingers curling around her heart. A twist. And she was nothing but dust.

He turned, ready to tear Jihoon apart and froze for one stunned second.

Jisung was still alive.

Bleeding, but alive.

A silver wire looped tight around Jihoon’s neck, cutting into the vampire’s flesh. The hunter’s arms trembled with the effort, his face smeared with blood from a gash across his cheekbone.

Another bruise was already blooming beneath his eye.

And Minho smelled it - Jisung’s blood - sweet, warm, dizzying.

Jihoon had hit him.

Jihoon had put his fucking hands on him.

The rage snapped.

Minho crossed the distance in a blur and ended Jihoon’s four-hundred-year existence in a single brutal motion - spine crushed, head ripped free.

Jisung pulled the silver wire, and the severed head finally dropped.

Jihoon turned to ash at their feet.

Minho stood there breathing hard, chest heaving, eyes pitch black. The ghost of Jisung’s blood still clung to the air, taunting him, reminding him how close that had been.

Fucking hell. 

Chan was going to kill him.

He stepped toward Jisung, every instinct sharp and frantic, scanning him for injuries. No broken bones. No wheezing. No internal bleed. Minho’s ears strained anyway, hunting for anything - any small sound - that meant danger.

He would not let him die.

Not here.

Not ever.

“Are you alright?” Minho asked, voice low, afraid to touch him again, afraid he’d find damage he’d missed.

Jisung didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Minho’s face with both hands, dragging their foreheads together until their noses brushed. His breath warm, steady.

“Hey..” Jisung said softly, calm in a way Minho wasn’t. “I’m alright. I’m okay, Minho. Everything’s fine. But you need to get out of here”

And Minho - supposedly the predator, the old one, the one fear should never touch - felt that moment of Jisung slamming into the glass flash through him again. Felt the terror of it. The helplessness.

“We need to run” Minho murmured against Jisung’s lips, barely a breath of space between them. “It isn’t safe here.”

Jisung pulled back just enough to glance at the dance floor below. “You need to go. Now. I need to help them” he said.

Most humans were out. Less witnesses now. 

Minho’s fingers closed around Jisung’s wrist. And he led him toward the exit.

A few regulars looked up from the humans they were feeding on, hissing at the scent of vampire blood coating Minho and Jisung. But none stepped forward.

They knew exactly what Minho was.

And they weren’t nearly stupid enough to test him.

The moment they stepped through the ruined glass doors and into the dance floor, Minho knew the building was already gone. Hardly any humans left and those who remained were either scrambling toward exits or lying in pieces. More vampires poured from the back halls, wild-eyed, feral.

They should run. Jisung should run.

Minho stayed glued to his side anyway.

Jisung slid across the bar floor, dropping beside the hunter who’d been thrown like a ragdoll minutes earlier. The man’s chest was moving - shallow, painful, but moving.

“He’s alive” Minho said, right before another vampire lunged at Jisung from above the counter. Minho ripped the bastard apart without blinking. “Couple broken bones, but your hunter friend will survive.”

The relief in Jisung’s eyes hit him harder than any punch ever had.

Minho didn’t have time to savor it.

A uv grenade exploded.

White and burning, detonated behind his eyes. Minho staggered backward with a hiss that scraped out of his throat raw and furious.

Another blast. Another scream of light.

Another wave of pain that dug into his skull like knives.

New hunters were flooding in. All of them armored, disciplined. Cutting down every vampire still standing. Jihoon’s nest didn’t stand a chance. Someone had set this up perfectly. A slaughter.

Minho covered his ears, but it did nothing. The high frequency burned under his skull, crawling through bone, blistering nerves that shouldn’t even be able to hurt anymore. Another blast cut him off. Minho staggered, clutching his head tighter, fangs bared, face twisted in agony.

“Minho!” Jisung again - too far, too muffled, like Minho was underwater.

He tried to turn toward him and then he felt the bullets before he heard them. And the sound -  sickeningly wet. 

The whole magazine emptied into his back.

Every impact a punch of pure hell.

Uv.

He knew instantly - his skin blistered, rupturing around each entry point. Some bullets passed through, sizzling through muscle. Others stayed buried, melting him from the inside.

He grabbed the edge of the bar to stay upright, vision stuttering between too bright and absolute black. Thousand years alive and he had never - never - felt pain like this. Minho ripped at his shirt buttons, skin peeling, patches already blackened, smoking.

Fuck.

He might actually die.

Here.

Jisung’s hands were suddenly on him, bracing him, dragging him up before he collapsed fully to the floor.

“Minho - no - no, no.” Jisung’s voice cracked, full panic. “Come on - stay with me - stay with me - ”

“Jisungie…” Minho choked out, vision tunneling. “I don’t think I’m going to live this one.”

The sound Jisung made Minho felt it more than he heard it.

A break.

“Don’t you - don’t you dare - ” Jisung pressed a hand to Minho’s blistered chest like he could hold him together. “Don’t you fucking dare die now. I’m not letting you.”

Minho tried to focus on him. On his scent, on the shape of him, on anything but his eyes kept cutting out, going black, flickering back for a second before fading again. He was dying. He can’t remember the last time when he was fully fed. A sip from Jihoon’s donor wasn’t enough. He couldn’t heal.

Jisung dragged him somewhere, Minho felt movement, walls brushing past, heat and cold and chaos.

But he couldn’t see him anymore.

Couldn’t hear him properly.

Only felt the tremble in Jisung’s hands.

“Jisungie…” he tried again, reaching for something - someone - anything.

„ Look at me. Look at me!”

Darkness swallowed him whole.

###

Jisung dragged Minho out of the club, adrenaline doing most of the work because Minho was deadweight - literally limp, heavy and unresponsive.

He didn’t think. He just acted.

He smashed the window of the nearest car, hauled Minho inside, and sped off. Streetlights smeared through his vision, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. There was only one place he could go, one place no one would look for them yet.

His apartment.

He got Minho into the elevator, half-carrying, half-dragging him. Tears ran down his face. His pulse was a mess. His breath came in broken gasps.

This couldn’t be happening.

He didn’t know what to do. Jisung didn’t know how to save him.

He couldn’t call Changbin because the Seo organization and their ambush was the reason Minho was dying in the first place. He couldn’t call Jeongin, it was too risky, it would go straight back to Changbin.

He lowered Minho onto the floor. Blood pooled beneath him - black, thick and wrong.

Everything was wrong.

“Wake up” Jisung whispered, then sobbed it, desperate. “Wake up, please.”

A buzz jolted the silence. Minho’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Jisung lunged for it.

Missed calls.

Channie

Hyune

Yeji

Seungmin

The screen lit up again - Seungmin calling.

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut and answered.

“Jesus, Minho. You scared the shit out of us - ” the voice snapped, sharp, unfamiliar.

“No - no - ” Jisung choked, swallowing a sob.

A second of silence. “Who are you? Where’s Minho?”

“You need to help me” Jisung begged. “He’s dying. He’s actually dying and I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me your name” Seungmin said, suddenly calmer. Too calm.

“Jisung.” He could barely get it out. “I’m Minho’s - I’m - ”

“Breathe” Seungmin said firmly. “Come on. With me. You need to breathe so we can help him.”

Jisung forced a shaky inhale. “Okay.”

“Good. Now tell me what happened.”

“Uv bullets” Jisung said quickly. “Why is he reacting like this? The sun never hurt him like - ”

“The sun’s different. Synthetic Uv reacts with vampire cells. Even his. It’s agony.” Seungmin hissed. “How many wounds?”

“I don’t know - twenty?” Jisung wiped at Minho’s chest, the wounds were overlapping, torn through one another. “It’s hard to see.”

“Is he still bleeding?”

“Yes, but it’s black. Sticky.” His voice cracked. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

And he could. The connection between them - the constant pull - was paper-thin now. Fading.

“Put me on speaker” vampire ordered. “You’ll need both hands.”

Jisung did, setting the phone beside Minho.

“Take his shirt off so you can see what you’re doing. Then get towels - dry and wet. You need visibility. After that, you need something to pull the bullets out. He won’t heal with them inside.”

Jisung ripped Minho’s shirt open, sprinted to the bathroom, grabbed whatever he could. Running back, he almost slipped - Minho’s blood soaking his socks.

He wiped Minho’s torso, forcing himself to look at the mess of wounds.

“Okay… eleven went straight through. Nine are still inside.”

“They’ll be shallow” Seungmin said. “His body tried to heal around them. Turn him onto his stomach. What tool do you have?”

“Long tweezers.”

“Good. Find the wounds with the black circles, those bullets are still inside.”

Jisung stared at Minho’s back, throat tight. “So I just… stab him with tweezers and hope I hit something?”

“Trust me” Seungmin said quietly “you can’t hurt him worse than this.”

So Jisung did. He pushed the tweezers into the wound until he hit something solid. He pulled. A metallic click and the bullet dropped to the floor.

“Fuck - I got one.”

“Good. Eight more. He’s still alive, Jisung. You’re doing well.”

“How do you know?” Jisung rasped.

“I’d feel it if he was gone” The vampire said. “He’s not. Keep going.”

So Jisung kept going. Bullet after bullet. Guided by a vampire who was almost at the top of Jisung’s hunter killing list. Funny how the universe works.

“The last one” Jisung breathed, letting it clatter onto the floor.

“Is he healing?” Seungmin asked.

Jisung checked. Nothing. No change. His stomach dropped.

“No” he whispered. “He’s not healing.”

“Turn him onto his back. He needs blood. Do you have blood bags?”

“No.”

“You don’t have blood bags?” Seungmin snapped.

“I’m not a vampire!” Jisung shot back.

“You’re… human?” Seungmin said, stunned. “You’re a human and you’re trying to keep him alive?”

“Yes, but it’s - complicated - ”

“Are you the hunter who’s staked him before?” Seungmin’s voice sharpened to a blade. “Is this a game to you? Killing him until you get it right?”

“No - ” Jisung sobbed. “I didn’t do this. Not this time.”

Not this time. 

“This time” The vampire repeated under his breath, then cursed. “Fuck.”

Panic ripped through Jisung again.

“You need to call Chan” he said, voice suddenly thick, cracking. “He won’t make it without blood. And when he wakes - Jisung, you need to run. Do you understand me? He’ll drain you. He won’t be able to stop himself.”

“There’s no time” Jisung whispered.

And he hung up.

It wasn’t something rational. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t even brave.

It was pure impulse. The kind that cracked straight down his spine and left him moving before he could think.

The thought of Minho actually dying made something inside him rupture.

He scrambled to his feet, sprinted to the kitchen, then back again. His knees hit the floor beside Minho’s head, hard and loud, but he barely felt it. He slid down the wall and took Minho’s weight into his lap. The vampire’s head rested against his thigh like he was just sleeping. Peacefully. Beautifully.

“Please” Jisung whispered, voice shaking. “Please don’t kill me for this.”

His fingers searched for the knife. Found it.

He didn’t let himself hesitate. Jisung drew the blade through his skin in one clean, practiced line. Blood welled instantly, warm and bright and human. His pulse jumped under the open cut.

He looked down at Minho for a heartbeat - really looked. The way his lashes brushed his cheeks. The soft curve of his mouth. The stillness that never looked peaceful on someone who was supposed to be immortal.

He’d never seen anything so unfairly beautiful.

Jisung exhaled shakily and pressed his bleeding wrist to Minho’s lips.

Nothing. So he used his other hand to pry Minho’s jaw open, fingers trembling as he tilted his wrist, letting the blood slide into the vampire’s mouth.

“Come on” he whispered. “Wake up. Wake up, Minho.”

Nothing. A full minute. Maybe more.

It felt like a lifetime stretched thin enough to break.

Then the wounds on Minho’s torso shivered. The ones that pierced straight through closed first, knitting together like they had never been there at all. The deep black-ringed wounds - the bullet extractions - took longer, but they healed too, skin tightening, smoothing, restoring.

Color returned next. A shade warmer. A little less corpse-like. Like Jisung was watching life crawl back under his skin.

Then Minho’s body jerked. Once.

Then again, harder.

His muscles spasmed, his throat working. Jisung’s hope slammed into his ribs so hard it hurt. And then Minho’s eyes snapped open.

Jisung recoiled on instinct, back hitting the wall. Those eyes were pitch black - no pupil, no iris - just hunger, cracked through with dark veins.

Minho wasn’t awake, wasn’t conscious.

Minho was starving.

His fingers clamped around Jisung’s wrist before the hunter could even think. The grip was hard. Possessive. Then the fangs slid into his skin.

Jisung gasped, sharp, broken sound expecting pain.

But what hit him was warmth. A rush of calm. A wave of safety. A sweetness curling under his skin like cotton candy dissolving on his tongue.His head fell back against the wall. Breath stuttering. Chest rising too fast.

Oh god.

It felt good.

Too good.

His thighs tensed. His stomach fluttered. Heat pooled embarrassingly low in his abdomen.

Fuck.

Minho drank greedily, desperately, like he’d been drowning and Jisung’s blood was air. Jisung felt each pull through his whole body, felt his heartbeat stutter as Minho took and took and took.

The phone screen kept lighting beside them.

Channie, Yeji, Hyune, Seungmin

Seungmin

Seungmin

Seungmin’s warning rang in his head.

You need to run.

He’ll drain you.

Jisung’s body felt warm.So warm. Everything was soft around the edges. Pleasant. Safe.

Like drifting.

“M - Min - Minho…” Jisung breathed, barely sound, barely air.

His eyelids slipped and his head dropped.

The world blurred, melted into warm and darkness. And still Minho fed. Jisung let his eyes close fully.

Warm.

Safe.

Fading.

### 

Coming back from death shouldn’t feel like this.

If anything, Minho expected cold. The hollow nothing vampires slip into when their bodies shut down. Darkness, frost, silence.

This was heat. A slow, rolling fire blooming under his skin, crawling through every vein like molten metal but gentle. Sweet and seductive.

He swallowed, and something thick and honey-warm slid down his throat. His fangs throbbed, melting in that taste, instinct clawing its way up his spine, screaming at him to drink, drink, take, claim.

Strength flooded him in waves. Not just returning - expanding and burning bright. He felt powerful. More powerful than he had in centuries.

Maybe he really did die and wake up as something else. Something wrong. Something reborn.

“M - Min - Minho…”

A whisper. Barely a sound. Fragile, fraying at the edges. But Minho would know that voice even if the world went silent.

Jisung.

His eyes snapped open like a blade leaving its sheath, a single flicker of rationality cracking through the hunger dragging him under.

The world sharpened.

And the first thing he saw was Jisung.

His hunter - slumped above him, head tipped back, lashes trembling against his cheeks. Skin pale. Breathing shallow enough Minho had to stare to catch the rise of his chest.

And the heartbeat -  too slow.

Much, much too slow.

Minho’s gaze dropped to their hands. Minho’s own mouth still latched around the soft flesh of Jisung’s wrist.

Blood on his tongue.

Jisung’s blood.

And everything inside him froze.

He tore himself back, fangs vanishing as instinct retracted like an animal caught in the spotlight. He licked over the wound automatically - muscle memory - and watched it seal shut in an instant. His voice broke as it left his throat.

“Jisungie…”

No response.

Jisung didn’t stir. His head lolled, pale lips parted, whole body sinking forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Hey. Hey - ” Minho cupped his cheek with a shaking hand. “Open your eyes. Come on.”

Nothing.

Panic, a cold, sharp kind stabbed through his ribs. It felt foreign, ugly, too human.

He fumbled for the phone, thumb slipping against the screen as he dialed the only person who might actually know what to do.

The call clicked.

“Jisung?” Seungmin’s voice came through immediately. “Are you alright? Is Minho awake?”

“Seungmin-ah” Minho rasped.

“Hyung?” Seungmin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “Thank god. Did you kill the hunter?”

“No - ” Minho shook his head, even though the other man couldn’t see him. “But he - he needs help. He needs medical help now.”

A moment. Seungmin’s tone sharpened.

“St. Elizabeth hospital. There’s another entrance through the back, Kyehoon will let you in. I’m on my way.”

“What -  wait.” Minho blinked, thrown. “Aren’t you supposed to be hiding in Europe? Anywhere but here?”

A soft, almost amused snort.

“I never left the city, hyung. Easiest place to hide is right under Chan’s nose.”

Minho stared at Jisung’s limp body in his arms, throat tightening.

Seungmin’s voice came again, firmer.

“Take him to the hospital, Minho. I’ll be there soon.”

And Minho reached the hospital with Jisung cradled in his arms.

There were moments - weak, dangerous ones - when he had imagined holding Jisung like this. The hunter tucked close, warm, fitting against his chest as if he belonged there. Almost melting into him.

But never like this.

Never with Jisung barely breathing, each shallow rise of his chest feeling like a countdown Minho couldn’t stop.

The back door swung open and a young man with dark, ruffled hair froze in the doorway. Kyehoon, probably. His nose flared instinctively, eyes flashing black for a split second as the scent of blood hit him.

“Don’t even think about it” Minho warned, voice low and sharp.

Kyehoon swallowed and stepped aside immediately, pushing the door wider. Minho didn’t wait - he stormed inside.

“Seungmin hyung will be here in two minutes” Kyehoon said quickly, already moving ahead of them. “Let’s get him on the bed.”

They passed through a maze of narrow corridors, the kind that didn’t exist in public hospitals. This place smelled old - layers of dried blood, vampire and werewolves and many other forms of magic soaked into the walls. A hidden clinic. A place for things that weren’t meant to survive daylight.

Minho barely managed to lay Jisung onto the hospital bed before the door opened again.

Seungmin entered fast, coat still half on, bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to Minho for half a second.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Minho said, voice tight “if he wakes up.”

Seungmin didn’t answer. His attention was already on Jisung as he set the bag down and snapped it open. His eyes widened for a second before his expression turned blank. 

“Only me and Kyehoon stay” he said. “Get out.”

Minho stiffened. “You’re joking. I’m not leaving him.”

Seungmin finally looked up. His eyes narrowed, dark and unyielding. “Let me work. Get. Out.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. No space for Minho’s fear, or guilt, or the sick twisting in his chest. Slowly, reluctantly, Minho backed toward the door, his eyes never leaving Jisung’s face.

He didn’t look peaceful. He looked gone.

The door closed.

Minho paced the corridor, restless, hands flexing at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to rip the door open and stay. He needed to know Jisung would be okay.

And the weirdest part - he did know. Somehow.

Jisung was still alive. Minho could feel it, stretched thin but unbroken, like a thread pulled tight between them. It made no sense. Vampires weren’t built like that. Kill one and the others wouldn’t feel a thing - maybe a very distant echo if it was your maker, or your fledgling.

There were exceptions, sure. Chan’s bloodline was infamous for it - so tangled they could feel each other’s pain, their fear, their presence. But that was family.

Jisung wasn’t family.

He was human. A hunter. And still, that lifeline existed.

Still, Jisung pulled at him.

Minho exhaled sharply and turned away, ducking into the first room on the right, too deep in his thoughts to register the danger immediately.

Another vampire.

Sitting casually in the corner, legs crossed. He looked up as Minho entered. Brown eyes. Freckles scattered across pale skin. Light hair. Too familiar. The kind that came from bloodlines tangled with Chan’s, with Minho’s.

Minho stopped and tilted his head.

“Hello, Felix.”

Felix blinked, clearly caught off guard too. One brow lifted. “You know me?”

“I know about you,” Minho said, taking a step closer before lowering himself onto the chair beside him. “I figured we’d meet eventually.”

Felix’s gaze flicked toward the closed door. “How’s your friend?” he asked. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I trust Seungmin” Minho replied easily, though the tension never quite left his shoulders. “He knows what he’s doing.” Then, quieter, almost fond “And my… friend is a tough guy. Stubborn too. He needs to wake up if only to stake me in the ribs again.”

Felix huffed a small laugh. “Sounds like a lovely friendship.”

Minho smiled despite himself. “It really is.”

“I had a friend like that once” Felix said suddenly. “Not the stabbing part - but the stubborn kind.” His fingers curled loosely in his lap. “We’re not friends anymore. But people like that, they don’t go easily.”

Minho studied him. “What happened?”

Their eyes met, just for a second.

“I tried to kill him.”

The words landed hard. Minho sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Shit” he muttered. “Yeah. That’ll ruin a friendship.”

Felix gave a humorless exhale, shoulders sagging. “It really does.”

Minho leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers if he waited long enough. It felt like a lifetime passed.

Then the door opened.

Seungmin walked in, hair slightly wrecked like he’d dragged a hand through it one too many times. His eyes flicked from Felix to Minho, then back to Felix again.

And then he dropped it.

“What is he?”

The words were too loud in a small room.

Minho straightened. “What?”

Seungmin didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed locked on Felix.

“Jisung” he said flatly. “He’s not human. So what is he?”

Minho froze. “What?”

Felix’s head snapped up. “Wait - my Jisung?”

Minho’s chair screeched as he shoved it back. “Your Jisung? ”

He pointed at himself. “He was my Jisung first.”

Minho was on his feet immediately, grabbing Felix by the shoulder. “What the fuck do you mean your Jisung?”

Seungmin sighed like a man watching toddlers near an open flame. “Both of you - stop. Minho’s Jisung,” he pointed, then shifted to Felix “used to be Felix’s Jisung. Now answer the question. What is he?.”

“I don’t know! What do you mean?” Felix threw his hands up. “He’s just - Jisung.”

“He should be dead” Seungmin snapped. “He isn’t. He’s alive. And there’s no trace on his throat of what happened two years ago. And he should be dead after what happened today with him and Minho. That’s impossible.”

Felix staggered back a step, hands going to his head. Then his eyes snapped to Minho, irises flooding black.

“Did you almost kill my Jisung?”

Minho’s eyes flashed black instantly. “He’s my Jisung now, did you miss that part?” He jerked his chin toward Seungmin. “And don’t start acting holy. You tried to kill him two years ago.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing!” Felix yelled. “I was newly turned. I couldn’t control it - and his blood - ” He froze. “His blood was weird.”

Seungmin’s head snapped up. “Weird how.”

“It didn’t taste like blood bags. Just… off.”

“Sweet?” Minho cut in, jaw tight. Even the thought of someone else feeding on Jisung made his teeth hurt.

Felix shook his head. “No. Not sweet. Just different. Wrong.”

Seungmin turned slowly to Minho. “Was it sweet for you?”

“Yes” Minho said without hesitation. “Everything about him is. He smells sweet. Tastes like nothing I’ve ever had. And after feeding - ” He clenched his fists. “I feel stronger.”

Seungmin exhaled sharply. “That means your hunter isn’t human.”

The words landed, but there was no time to process them.

“He’s stable” Seungmin continued briskly. “We’re moving him to a normal hospital. The Seo organization will be looking for him. This place isn’t safe - for him, for us, or for anything else that wanders in here.”

“What?” Minho snapped. “I’m not dumping him in a hospital and walking away.”

What if he woke up alone?

“You are” Seungmin said calmly, already turning toward the door. “Now move. We don’t have time to argue over this or whose Jisung is now”

Felix muttered “Still mine a little.”

Minho shot him a look. “Dream on.”

“Fucking children” Seungmin said dryly. “Let’s go.”