yoongi’s number is 53, and the screen reads 41. he sighs, looking around, slightly bored. there’s a variety of people around him— mostly young, as you have to be in order to donate, some heavily dressed in leather, others holding onto religious objects, or saying soft prayers under their breath. then, there are the folks like himself, the unemployed, the hungry, the poor. yoongi fits in the first one, albeit at that very moment, he’s also hungry. the screen emits a cheery song, and numbers roll to 45. a few people stand, walking towards the single door awaiting at the back, a nurse taking them. his phone reads two in the morning. yoongi yawns. “have you ever done this?” a man asks the girl sitting beside him, voice somewhat nervous. she nods. a couple of times .
to be fair— yoongi has thought of doing it, too. giving a portion of his blood away for money isn’t that big of a deal. he’s healthy enough, it’ll take his body just a few hours of sleep to recover from it. namjoon, the altruistic one, does it all the time. we’re helping other people, hyung, he often says. yoongi huffs, crossing his arms. they’re not really people anymore. numbers roll again, his amongst them. he stands, slightly nervous now that time has come. the nurse who leads the group to the door smiles gently. she’s pale, but she breathes. behind the door, a very long corridor, red doors adorning the walls. yoongi feels sickly.
“if you don’t feel fine,” the nurse is saying, in a kind timbre. “press these,” she hands them small black devices like car keys. “we’ll stop right away.” she offers them a smile. yoongi tries not to look at her teeth. “we assure you no one is going to hurt you. here’s some tips on how to heal in the next few days—” when yoongi finally finds the door assigned to him, 53, he’s shaking slightly, hands full of papers and the small device. it takes him a deep breath and some minutes to raise his hand and knock. most people in his group have gotten in already. the door unlocks. yoongi holds the doorknob, and enters.
it’s very different from what he was expecting. it isn’t the sterile whiteness of blood collection clinics, nor the faded greens of hospitals. the room is slightly darkened, with walls of a deep burgundy, small but cold, a bed against one corner, a reddish armchair on the other. sitting on it, a boy . it’s a boy for all he knows, although his clothes are pressed. it’s a boy with big eyes, wavy brown hair, fleshy lips, skin coloured like caramel. yoongi swallows. “hey,” the boy says after a moment, looking startled. “i’m— i’m jungkook.”
“min yoongi,” he finds the will to get slightly closer, holding out his health documents. jungkook looks over it with just a hint of curiosity. then, he smiles, huffing. “— what?”
“you’re older than me,” jungkook shrugs, putting the papers down. his tone is playful, almost cute, his inflections all said in nice, boyish hues. yoongi wonders how old he truly is, if he’s as old as the century like the vampires on television. “should i call you hyung ?” yoongi doesn’t answer, nervous, so the boy stands, taller, gangly, maybe, gesturing towards the bed. it takes a full minute for yoongi to sit. he wonders briefly if they have a scheduled time. he wonders a whole lot of things. the bed is comfortable, tall like a hospital bed, so yoongi stares at jungkook at eye level. “you’re new, right?”
“it doesn’t hurt,” jungkook smiles, and his big front teeth are well adorned by a pair of fangs. he’s pretty despite of it (and because of it, too), yoongi realises awkwardly, blinking, averting his eyes. jungkook approaches him, and yoongi shudders. “i don’t need a lot of it, anyway.”
“why do you come here for feeding, then?” the question rolls out of yoongi’s tongue in brash hues. he flushes, blood heating his cheeks. “i mean—”
“ah,” jungkook seems to laugh rather nervously. “i’m— really bad at charming people into it.”
it makes yoongi huff, his demeanor, and how his features sort of soothe into less sharp ones, he’s just a boy . jungkook scratches the back of his head, looking a bit at loss. “is it your first time?” the question makes jungkook snort, and maybe it’s the light and how red it is, but he looks flushed. it isn’t real , yoongi tells himself.
“well— technically, yes,” jungkook’s fangs seem to retract the slightest, maybe as ashamed as he is. “i had— a first experience already, but—” the stammering is almost endearing, but also worrying. “i was just turned, a few months ago.” oh. yoongi blinks, confused. “it was hard to stop.”
a dull silence settles between them. yoongi’s heart rate increases, and maybe jungkook can hear it, for his eyes lower to his chest, then back up, quickly. he opens his mouth to say something else, yoongi touches the device given to him. “are you going to hurt me?” he asks, voice lower. jungkook shakes his head vehemently, hair getting messy. yoongi sighs. “a fucking baby vampire.”
“i’m not a baby— !” jungkook takes a step closer, a slight snarl in his tone, but it goes away fairly quickly, as soon as he notices yoongi leaning back and away from him. he looks like a grumpy kid who’s hungry. “well, okay, i’m young — but i won’t— i won’t hurt you.”
yoongi stares at him, holding his gaze. he seems earnest, at least. his fingers loosen around the device in his pocket. “—okay.” he takes off his sweatshirt briskly, leaving it on the bed. “just — be done with it.”
“right.” jungkook looks about him, as if analyzing how to move next. “— arm?”
“i don’t want to see it,” yoongi looks away, skin becoming red with heat, even though goosebumps go down his body from the cold air. jungkook swallows, and his fangs peek from between his lips, pointy. he seems — staggered, maybe, overwhelmed, perhaps.
when jungkook finally moves, it’s in very slow motion, yoongi reckons, as if he’s scared. he’s obviously hungry, from the way he stares at his jugular. he meets yoongi’s eyes for a moment before pulling his shirt a bit down, leaving the crook of his neck exposed, the patch of skin possibly flushed. there’s no hot air coming out of his mouth when he gets closer, and his hands are cold when he delicately holds yoongi’s arms. “can i?” jungkook mutters, and he’s so close yoongi can smell him, fresh laundry on his clothes, peach on his hair.
no bite comes, just the touch of velvet-like lips, slightly wet, against skin. yoongi shudders, hands curling on bedsheets, nervous. it seems more intimate than it needs to be, but he’s heard the stories— how eventually letting a vampire feed on you will stop hurting to become something else, and that people eventually yearn it. it’s a strange thought. yoongi just feels scared and thrown. he finally feels teeth grazing the curve of his neck, and yoongi presses his eyes closed, hard, when they break through flesh. it’s painful. it’s dizzying, almost. the smell of iron lifts, making yoongi sick. jungkook grabs onto him more strongly, settling between yoongi’s knees, pulling him close as if to hug. the intimacy of it all feels corrupt. yoongi’s entire body goes numb, numb, numb, and his head falters, falling against jungkook’s shoulder. when jungkook stops, he lets out a gasp, a long ah , as if he’s just gulped down a cold drink in summer. it’s — a nice sound, yoongi thinks, briefly, confused. lips touch his neck again, making him coil, but there’s no teeth, just softness. it last a second, maybe two, then jungkook is pulling back quickly. “you— okay?” he asks.
there’s blood staining his lips, blood turning his teeth red, blood on his tongue. yoongi blinks, breathing heavily, nodding. it isn’t entirely okay. his neck hurts, as if he’s had pulled a muscle, and his fingers tingle. “i guess,” he mumbles, still weak.
“here,” jungkook pulls a battered backpack from behind the armchair, rummaging through it before taking out a small bar of ghana chocolate. “this will help.”
chocolate does help, and yoongi lets it melt on his tongue, breathing more easily. his neck stops hurting so much, his hands feel more like his own. “thank you,” he says, cheeks red again. “— do you always have chocolate for your food?”
“no, it’s — it’s mine,” jungkook smiles a little, a red sort of smile. “it’s bad for me, but i can’t break habit.” then he adds, hastily: “you’re not— you’re not food.”
yoongi huffs, amused at his naive demeanor. “you have my blood on your teeth.”
a small knock on the door startles them both, and a nurse comes in, the same pale, smiley one from before. she has a raised eyebrow. yoongi feels like they’ve been caught doing something bad. “you’ve been in here for almost an hour,” she tells him, tone polite, but firm. she glances at jungkook with a knowing sort of air about her. “we were worried.”
“we were just— talking,” jungkook offers, stepping a bit further away, shoulders shrinking at the flimsy scolding. yoongi nods, agreeing, silently.
“well, it’s time for yoongi-ssi to leave.”
and leave he does, without any words exchanged, or any mild goodbyes. he gets paid on the wait out, fifty thousand won for the feeding of one jeon jungkook, he learns his full name. a secrecy signature is signed, he’s given chocolate cookies, a door is opened to him. yoongi stops by the curb, nighttime engulfing him. it’s a strange feeling.
(03:04) do you feel weird after doing it
no reply comes, of course, it’s late into the night. namjoon is probably sleeping. yoongi sighs. he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for there. a few people come out, some stumbling around as if drunk, other messy and grinning, like they’ve just spent an hour making out with someone. yoongi blushes again, touching his neck. time to go home, then.
morning is way passed when yoongi stirs awake, around two in the afternoon. his house is quiet, empty. ever since namjoon moved out, silence has been more poignant. at least before there was yeontan and taehyung and namjoon and their mess. now it’s rather lonely. yoongi groans, stretching, but a sharp pain on his neck makes him flinch. he fumbles on his feet, making a beeline to the bathroom. the two small holes aren’t there anymore, all that is left a combination of purple skin and crimson bruise. it’s ugly, and it hurts. yoongi sighs, defeated. fifty thousand won , he reminds himself, three, four, five times.
the healing instructions are wrapped around the money he’s gotten. clean the bruise with alcohol if it gets purple, to kill off any remaining bacteria. yoongi scowls, disgusted. just then he hears the door open, and the cheery sound of namjoon’s voice come through. “so you did it!” he says, happily.
“yeah,” yoongi replies, in monotones. namjoon appears in the threshold a moment later, eyes smiling. it falters after a moment, when they find the bruise on his neck.
“— you let them bite your neck ?”
maybe it’s the worried tone on his voice, but yoongi quickly pulls his collar up. “isn’t that what they do?”
“well, not really, not at the clinics,” he rolls up his sleeve, showing the healing bruise next to his wrist. “it’s not supposed to be that personal.” namjoon eyes yoongi suspiciously. “hyung,” he says, softly, elongated syllables and all. “do you know their name?”
“it’s jeon something— jeon jungkook, maybe.”
“ oh .”
“what?” yoongi walks out of the bathroom and briskly away, towards the kitchen, blushing the slightest. he feels all around uncomfortable.
“it’s just —,” namjoon hums, maybe trying to find the words he needs, following yoongi closely. “they don’t really care about introducing themselves in the ten minutes you’re there with them.”
ten minutes you’re there with them . yoongi blinks, staring at the now opened fridge, having completely forgotten what he was after, or if he was after anything in the first place. the nurse’s voice drifts in his mind: you have been in here for almost an hour. he swallows, finally grabbing a water bottle, closing the door. his thoughts are suddenly foggy. “i read it on the document i signed at the end,” he lies. “i wasn’t there long.”
“next time, go for the arm,” namjoon suggests, nodding, grabbing a glass and offering it to yoongi. “it heals much faster.”
“yeah, i’ll— i’ll do that.”
they change subjects, talking about namjoon’s classes, and yoongi’s job search, and yeontan. yoongi makes them a few packages of instant ramen, which they slurp down rather quickly, as namjoon needs to leave (“i’m handing in the first part of my final assignment,” he says proudly. “the plantae will never be the same.” yoongi huffs, smiling.). “are you bartending tonight?”
“yeah, at six,” yoongi sighs.
“we’ll try to go and see you,” namjoon smiles, patting his back. yoongi smiles, too, but knows they probably won’t. taehyung recently started canvas painting classes early in the morning, namjoon babysits yeontan when he isn’t home, or has class himself. plus, his bartending gigs are often boring, and only he drinks. “take care of that bite, hyung.”
the bar isn’t that crowded that night, it’s only a wednesday. it’s a nice one, this time, in itaewon, and most of the customers are foreigners with their broken korean to whom he can’t really talk to properly. he’s alone, the waiter having just left near the eleven, so yoongi is polishing a small pile of leftover glasses as midnight rolls by, humming alongside the song that drifts out of the speakers, filling the air with the indie rock of the 90s. his tips were good, at least. “—are you still open?”
yoongi startles, not realising someone had walked in, too engrossed in his mindless job. he looks over his shoulder, turning his body the slightest, words going amiss as soon as he finds the eyes that widen in surprise at seeing him. jeon jungkook is wearing a big jacket and a hat and his black face mask is pulled down his chin. his eyes are light, a blend of grays and inhuman hues of blue. yoongi finds himself blushing for no good reason. “yeah,” he finally says, nodding, looking away. “for another hour.”
“can i get a bloody mary, then?”
the short glass he’s holding is put down, and yoongi sighs before walking over where jungkook’s sitting, leaning against the counter to look him in the eye. jungkook seems to swallow, but he doesn't blink. “can i see some id?”
at this, jungkook huffs, glaring, before grabbing his wallet. the id that slides over the sticky counter is black, like all vampire ids. deceased, 22 . yoongi glances at the picture, the pretty boy smile and the pretty boy fangs. too young to be dead. with a shrug, he offers the id back. “we have o+ only.”
“like yours,” jungkook comments, clearing his throat. “i mean,” he shrugs. “that’ll do.”
fancier, more modern bars will always keep a small stock of blood for fanged visitors, and the bar owner keeps the bags in the wine cellar, alongside the red wines, maybe ironically so. when yoongi comes back up, jungkook has properly removed his mask and jacket, revealing naked arms that are coloured the same caramel of his complexion. “i thought vampires didn’t tan,” he says, absentmindedly, as he starts preparing jungkook’s drink. “i mean—,” he stammers, the same way jungkook has done a minute before. “you look healthy.”
“i just turned,” jungkook replies casually, as if it’s not that big of a deal that he has recently died. yoongi isn’t a believer of religions, but something curls in his stomach nonetheless, a fear he has no explanation for. dying isn’t dying anymore, now you can just live forever. “i still look like myself.”
“what will you look like in a few years then?” most of the time, yoongi tastes the cocktails he makes before handing them out, but this time he just slides it over the counter, disgusted. jungkook looks pleased as he wraps his fingers around the glass, eyes glowing clearer.
jungkook thinks for a moment, teeth against his bottom lips. “still like me,” it’s his answer, albeit it sounds rather gloomy. maybe jungkook hasn’t got the time to think about his immortality yet— he hasn’t got the time to properly discern the consequences of his choices. yoongi observes him, the glow on his eyes fading, until he comes out of it, sniffing his drink, taking a sip. “yours tastes better,” he comments, but the insides of his mouth are red.
“that’s been sitting in the fridge for a few days,” yoongi points out, but he feels his ears burning. it’s not a compliment to be told his blood tastes good, he tells himself. you’re not food, min yoongi . “and there’s vodka in it.”
“yeah, i like it,” jungkook grins, fangs red, teeth red.
other customers approach the bar, wanting to close their tabs, and yoongi moves away, leaving jungkook to his drink to deal with cash and credit cards. he gets a few more tips, and nods to the foreigners who leave a moment later. then it’s only the both of them and all the glasses yoongi has to polish before leaving, too. jungkook looks around, curious, eyes big. he doesn’t look like a vampire — if anything, he looks like a college kid who’s up later then they should. he finds yoongi’s eyes, staring at him, and he coughs a bit, as if choked, looking somewhere else, maybe finding the bruise on yoongi’s neck, appearing just slightly under his black shirt. yoongi can almost feel his skin burn, so he holds a hand up, touching his neck. “i’m not your food, baby fangs,” he warns, with a slight scowl, blushing furiously now.
“— i know,” the reply is sharp. yoongi is— slightly scared. jungkook may be a young vampire, but he’s a vampire nonetheless. stronger, faster, with better sight. and yoongi is only very human. the next sentence, though, is said much softly: “i didn’t mean to hurt you that bad.”
you didn’t , yoongi thinks, but it is a lie, after all. so he shrugs, going back to polishing glasses, still rattled. “next time, go for the arm,” he repeats the words namjoon says, almost without thinking. it makes jungkook blink, mouth opening slightly as if surprised, all stained bloody. yoongi sighs. “with your other— donors, i mean.”
“ah,” jungkook hums, gulping down the last drops of his drink, licking the corner of his lips. “yes. i— usually do.” it gets silent, of course, because the topic is awkward. not a lot of vampires are willing to discuss their feeding habits, especially with the people they already took blood from. yoongi focus on his glasses, on the job he needs to finish in order to go home. jungkook picks up his phone, the colours of the screen reflecting on his eyes. at some point, he startles. “i guess i should go, you need to close, right,” he mumbles, grabbing his wallet. “how much—”
“it’s on the house,” yoongi swallows, cheeks burning the slightest. “the blood is old, i can’t charge you.”
they stare at each other, before jungkook nods, sniffing. “thanks,” he does take money out of his wallet, pulling down on the counter next to his empty glass. “this is for you, then.” he stands, sits down, quickly grabs a pen, scribbles something, and stands again, bowing a few times, dashing out. yoongi stands for a moment, watching him disappear into the dark outside.
he huffs, walking over the door to lock it. yoongi smiles just a bit when he pockets the cash left behind, shaking his head. it’s only an hour later that he sees, while on the bus, swaying a bit with the movement, that jungkook has written something on one of the bills, with stained black sharpie. a phone number . yoongi looks out of the window, suddenly flustered. he’s gotten phone numbers before, got hit on, but it’s always easy to let go of it, to toss papers out, to forget faces real fast. jungkook’s face— stays, weirdly enough. his bruise tingles, as if knowing. yoongi looks out, to the dimly lit streets, his own face reflected back at him.
his number that time is 37. he asks for 53, voice low, but only gets a glare in return and his documents back. resigned, yoongi sits to wait, and it’s after two, and the night air fills the corners of the clinic. the same process rolls by, the same nurse, the same watery smile, the same corridor full of red doors. yoongi isn’t so nervous this time, not for reasons he should be. behind his door, it isn’t jungkook, but a girl, a teenager . ten minutes, namjoon had said, and this time it is as it follows: he sits on the bed, offers his arm out, the girl bites in without any words, pain clinging to yoongi’s bones, his head getting slightly dizzy. when he’s about to fall, eyes closing, she stops, cleaning her mouth with the back of a small, manicured hand, and she leaves without another word, disappearing behind another door to another corridor. yoongi blinks, feeling out of place, feeling lost, his wrist hurts and bleeds down on the floor.
this time, the nurses tend to his bleeding, adding an ointment to it, why didn’t i bleed before , yoongi asks himself, curious. the chocolate cookie helps, and he munches on it as he steps out, breathing sharply the brisk air of outside, between sighs. “what were you expecting,” he asks himself with a scoff. “ you’re just food .” he takes his phone out, staring at the screen, quickly rolling down his contact list until he finds jungkook’s name. it’s been a few weeks now. yoongi doesn’t know why he kept the number, why he kept scrolling names until he stumbled onto jungkook’s every other day. someone leaves the building, startling him. it isn’t anyone he knows. when he looks back at his phone, his heart skips a rapid beat. calling jungkook . “fuck,” he hisses, just as a tiny voice picks up on the other side, and he hears it faint through the speakers. hello? yoongi almost heaves, nervous, glaring at his phone screen as if it is something that’ll explode at any given minute. jungkook’s voice comes out again, another small hello? . yoongi swallows, raising the device until it touches his ear. “hello,” he says, hoarsely.
“ who’s this ?”
“it’s—,” his throat is dry. yoongi isn’t sure why he’s so thrown, why his fingers feel clammy, why he’s breathing so weirdly. “it’s no one.” he hangs up, shoving the phone into his pocket, walking away, towards the nearest bus stop. fewer buses run at that time at night, so he waits, one leg shaking in anxiety. his phone stirs, then stops.
(02:59) no one?
yoongi huffs, typing wrong number , hitting send.
(03:02) min yoongi-ssi?
“shit,” he sighs, defeated. lying is stupid at this point. yoongi takes some time to reply, some time to find a good way to counter the awkward situation, the whys of his calling after two in the morning. his phone rings, then, jungkook calling . yoongi lets it ring for a minute. “hello,” he clears his throat, blushing. “yeah, this is— this is yoongi.”
“ i think i’ve recognised your voice before ,” jungkook seems to smile through his voice. “ i— thank you for calling back .”
“you left your number,” yoongi says, and there’s some sort of timidness bracing his words. he’s not usually like that. so he inhales, finding some sort of confidence back. “— so i’m calling.” what for , he doesn’t know. one only leaves a phone number behind for obvious reasons. to call back, it also implies reasons. yoongi doesn’t know exactly what his reasons are, or if he’s just confused by jungkook’s allurement, by the charm he claimed not to have, or if it is, perhaps, the bite and how it felt, or none of this things. maybe his subconscious just wants him to do something about his loneliness. “i’m sorry i’m calling so late.”
jungkook seems to chuckle. “ i am— it’s fine ,” he resigns himself to say. “ i just woke up .”
“ah,” he huffs. “of course.”
“ are you at the bar? ”
“no,” yoongi sits back, crossing one arm around his body, looking down the empty road. “waiting the bus at the donation clinic.”
“ you ,” jungkook halts, seemingly surprised. when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “ how was it? i mean— ,” but possibly he doesn’t know what he means, because jungkook stammers, his words going all over the place, amiss.
“painful,” yoongi scowls.
“ can we— can we meet somewhere? ”
meeting somewhere also implies things, also requires reasons. yoongi feels himself flush once again. it isn’t always he’s asked out, and when he is, he feigns a lack of interest that often pushes people away. it’s not like he doesn’t like people, but when you’re a bartender, those get old. the phone numbers, the you’re cute , the i’m going to the bathroom, just so you know . jungkook had sat there all the same, at the bar, with a drink made of blood and fangs red. yoongi still feels them on his neck. “no,” yoongi says after a while, remembering the phone call. “i’m— tired, i’m going home.”
“ that’s okay, ” but jungkook sounds disappointed, it stains his vowels. “ maybe another time. ”
“yeah,” he nods to no one in particular. the bus finally appears, turning a corner. yoongi stands, legs still a bit weak. the bandage on his wrist is bloodied. “— what did you do that time,” he asks, then, out of chance. “i didn’t bleed.”
there’s a small moment of silent. “i— well,” jungkook’s words have a hard time coming out. “maybe i just didn’t bite that hard.” a cough follows, and yoongi frowns, waving for the bus. “i need to go— good night, yoongi-ssi.”
the call is dropped just as yoongi climbs in the bus, pressing the back of his phone to the small screen, sitting down a moment later. he opens naver, fingers quickly typing, vampire biology . since vampires came out, becoming a part of society, there has been some studies over their biology, their breeding patterns, their strange, inhuman ways. still, it’s all very much gray areas, as the community prefers to keep its secrets in order not to become human experiments. they’re not wrong to do it, yoongi thinks, scrolling through articles, some okay, some vicious and disgusting. one calls his attention, and he reads. vampire blood will help human wounds heal faster, but we have yet to see the effects on long term diseases — yoongi glares. jungkook wouldn’t have given him blood. it’s illegal. he would have noticed, too. the use of vampire blood has its strange characteristics, many still unknown, such as a stronger bond to the vampire and longer periods of arousement . he chokes on his spit, coughing. so that’s why he couldn’t shake the thoughts of jungkook away. “fucking—” his fingers type quickly.
(03:26) you gave me your blood
(03:26) to heal my bruise
no reply comes for a while. yoongi’s stop comes, and he jumps out. jongno-nu sleeps around him, the streets mildly empty, just neon signs of noraebangs keeping him company. a few blocks from his house, the smell of fresh fish comes out from a restaurant on the corner, a small truck unloading piles of it. yoongi nods at the early morning workers, already used to their faces, the smell almost homely. jungkook hasn’t replied. “you’re going home?”
the voice isn’t familiar, and yoongi feels himself freeze, maybe involuntarily. a figure has dislodged itself from the darkness of an alleyway, as if it belonged to it. yoongi can see her, and smell her, from the corner of his vision. she’s young and small and dark, dark, dark. “yeah,” he replies, trying to sound resolute.
“i’m lost,” she whines, voice so velvet light, yoongi feels it down his stomach. he breathes out, blinking. “help me find my way back, will you, ahjussi?” that’s how it works, then, the charm , the pheromones, the biology of a vampire. yoongi can’t move, and he nods, even if his head is screaming not to. he knows she’ll drain him dry, and yet yoongi’s body doesn’t respond, paralyzed by the hues in her voice. she takes his wrist with cold, cold, cold hands, colder than jungkook’s, deader hands, bringing him closer to the dark. but then— then lights are on, bright ones, and she startles, disappearing as quickly as she can, her smell fading, and yoongi finds himself able to move on his accord once again. the boys unloading the truck stare at him, worried.
“we thought you didn’t look like you know her,” one of them says, putting the light of his phone down. yoongi finds himself shaking slightly.
“no, i— i don’t,” he swallows. “thanks.”
he more or less runs home, locking himself in the apartment quickly, even though he knows vampires aren’t allowed homes uninvited. yoongi never had a close call before, and it feels odd. his phone stirs in his pocket as he walks towards where he keeps his harder liqueur.
(03:59) i shouldn’t have, i’m sorry. it was just a little, to help the healing.
the whisky goes down burning. his wrist is still bleeding against the bandage.
(04:03) will it go away?
yoongi is sure jungkook knows what he’s talking about— the weird attraction, the thoughts . they don’t belong to him, they’re part of the blood bond.
the phone is left forgotten on the table, then, and yoongi walks into the shower, clothes and all, feeling slightly dirty. he removes the now soaked clothes slowly, letting them fall on his feet, where water pools pinkish, so hot it burns a little. it’s healing, in a way. jungkook’s phone number is deleted, later on, when the first sunbeams have crossed the threshold of his windows, past five. it’s better that way , he thinks. vampires aren’t people . he only sleeps when the sun is fully up, staining his bedroom colours yellow.
“— are you still open?”
yoongi recognises the voice this time. it’s been over a month, maybe more, he can’t recall. jungkook didn’t try to contact him either. he sighs, turning to look behind his shoulder. “for another fifteen minutes, jungkook.”
jungkook looks good— he’s a pretty one, anyway, but he looks good. still caramel skinned and healthy looking like a living human being. he’s dressed in black, of course, pants ripped at the knees. yoongi swallows, looking away. it isn’t the blood, he tells himself, the blood has probably left his system already. there’s nothing on his neck, or his wrist. he hasn’t gone back to the clinic, either. jungkook looks around to the empty bar. it’s only a monday. a slow, gloomy day. “can i get a bloody mary?”
“— okay.” yoongi sighs, putting the bottles he’s holding down. “we only have a- today.” he doesn’t wait for jungkook’s reaction, disappearing into the wine cellar, coming back with the blood. jungkook’s on his phone then, seemingly unbothered. yoongi wants to know why he’s there, why he came looking for him again, but the questions don’t leave his mouth. “fuck,” he mutters, looking at his hands, seeing them again. the current stream of thoughts have blinded him for a second, and the knife he’s been cutting lemons with sliced right in. he raises his eyes to look at jungkook.
his irises are blown, dark and heavy and he stares at yoongi’s cut, fangs protruding, touching his bottom lip, nose sniffing. yoongi can— smell him, this time, so he stops breathing altogether, holding air inside his lungs. “i’m sorry,” jungkook says then, startling himself, standing up, knocking the bar bench down. “this isn’t—,” he looks panicked, eyes back to blue, clearer. yoongi exhales. “i’m sorry— i’m not going to hurt you.”
somehow, yoongi believes him. jungkook picks up the bench, scratching the back of his head, looking embarrassed. yoongi washes the blood away under running water, and it stings. “— does it taste that good?” the question is said in lower tones, confused ones, troubled ones.
“yours,” jungkook nods softly. “yes.”
the drink is finished, and yoongi lets his own blood drip into the glass, sliding it over the counter, eyes finding jungkook’s. “a treat, then,” he says, before putting his cut finger between his lips, sucking on the blood, the iron filling his tongue with tannins. jungkook watches him, taken aback, flustered, looking younger than he is. however, when yoongi speaks again, his voice is dry. “drink and go, jungkook.”
he turns his back away from the boy, going back to his own tasks, ignoring the eyes that follow him, the sound of the drink going down jungkook’s throat, his blood, someone else’s blood, ice tinkling against the glass. “yoongi-ssi,” he calls, and yoongi forces himself to look at him. “i—,” he licks the corners of his mouth. “i didn’t want to scare you.”
“you didn’t,” the reply comes easily, even though it is a lie. “you’re a baby.” it makes jungkook snort, and he wipes his mouth slowly with a paper napkin. yoongi can still see his fangs. “— why are you here?”
silence, and jungkook plays with the ice left on his glass. yoongi can’t help but be curious, despite wanting nothing to do with vampires. jungkook’s — alluring in a way that isn’t only his pheromones or other weird shit like that. yoongi would have looked at him any other way, anyone would. “i thought you were interesting,” the answer is mumbled. yoongi blushes all the way down. “i— i wanted to—but i don’t know if you, if you would—,” jungkook sighs, exasperated. “i just wanted to talk— to you. and apologise for that time.”
the way he stumbles on his words makes him look like a teenager in front of a crush. yoongi sighs, getting closer, leaning again into jungkook’s personal space, making him lean back, surprised, flustered, perhaps. “go home, jungkook.” there’s some sort of heartbreak in jungkook’s clear eyes, and then there’s some sharpness, some darkness, things that aren’t human. yoongi stares, unable to move. “ don’t .”
so jungkook doesn’t, then, blinking, looking away. he stands up, leaving money on the counter. there are no phone numbers written on it, nothing left behind. “i’m sorry,” he bows slightly. “it was nice meeting you.”
yoongi looks down at the glass jungkook drank from, the red shape of his lips against it, the leftover blood mixing with the melting ice. the door opens, yoongi closes his eyes. he doesn’t want him to go. it’s confusing, and his head hurts. “wait, jungkook.” they stare at each other, and suddenly yoongi doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know why he called, doesn’t know what he wants. no, no, no , he tells himself. still, words come out: “maybe,” he clears his throat. “i’ll be here tomorrow.”
it’s an invitation, both of them know it, clear like the daylight jungkook can’t see any longer. jungkook seems to smile a little, then he nods, no words spoken, leaving a moment later. yoongi drops the glass, and it shatters by the sink.
tomorrow comes with rain and thunder and a storm that seems unlikely to the month of april. taehyung is lounging on the couch, half-asleep, yeontan snoring lightly against him, while yoongi and namjoon sit at the small kitchen table, coffee between them. “what did you want to talk about, hyung?” it’s close to three in the afternoon, and the cloudy weather casts shades on namjoon’s face.
“i went to donate blood again,” he starts, not knowing how to introduce the topic of jeon jungkook.
“i knew you’d see the good in it,” namjoon smiles, sipping his coffee. “they only need a small amount, and it is proved that the more we donate, the less are the statistics of us being—“
murdered . “i know,” yoongi nods. donating isn’t the issue, it’s not even important to what he wants to truly talk about. “the vampire gave me his blood,” namjoon’s sunny expression falters. “i mean— it,” the pronoun sounds off. “to heal my wound, after he bit me.”
namjoon looks over to where taehyung sleeps, as if worried about something. “the one who bit your neck,” he says, after a moment. yoongi nods, weakly. “that was months ago.”
“i know.” yoongi inhales, sitting back, hands curled around a mug that grows colder by the minute. “i— saw him again, a few times.” namjoon’s stare is piercing. “i can’t shake him off.”
that’s the truth, yoongi thinks. he can’t shake jungkook off. they’re not friends, not anything— but yoongi keeps thinking about the way his lips are stained red after drinking a bloody mary. every time it makes his skin burn perilously, and he has awaken a number of times in the middle of the night, the sound of jungkook’s voice inside his head. “it’s the blood, hyung,” namjoon says over his thoughts. yoongi looks up at his expression. he looks— apologetic. “i mean, unless you’re genuinely interested,” shit. “otherwise, it has to be the blood.”
“— what do i do, then?”
“do you want to see him?”
yoongi thinks for a moment, trying to go through muddled thoughts. “yes, but— but i’m not sure why.” he’s sure why, he’s very sure why (the small curve of jungkook’s lips, the way he felt pressing between his legs as he bit him, his soft hair, the tanned skin that looks so good—).
“then you know the decisions you make might not be entirely your own,” namjoon drinks the rest of his coffee. yoongi hasn’t touched his. “maybe not even his.” he shrugs. “— take care, hyung.” he watches as namjoon stands up, putting both of their mugs into the sink. “you know i’m a willing donor and that i’m pro-rights, but there are still things we don’t understand about them, and we must be respectful enough not to force them into showing it to us. it might not be something we’ll like.”
yes, namjoon is political about it, but he’s also right . there are a lot of things still left in dark. there are obscure things left hidden within the vampire community, otherworldly things, magical, maybe, like the glimmer in jungkook’s eyes. yoongi shudders slightly. “i’ll take care,” he nods, finally. it seems like a deja vu.
“— when are you seeing him again?”
his eyes go to the clock over the fridge, the hours slowly passing. “tonight.”
namjoon huffs. “don’t hurt yourself, hyung.” and maybe he means too many things at once. he and taehyung leave after a while, yeontan licking yoongi’s cheeks as he says goodbye. the house is quiet again, inviting in its comfortable emptiness. yoongi decides for a nap— a long one, of over two hours. when he stirs awake, nighttime has already taken over the city. it still rains.
because of the nasty weather, the bar is deserted for most of the night. a few very wet people walk in, grateful for their heating system, ordering warm cognac. it isn’t a day for cocktails or cold beers, apparently. yoongi keeps glancing towards the door, wondering if jungkook is going to show up, scolding himself for thinking about it, for letting himself fill with anxiety upon seeing him again. there’s nothing about jungkook that he truly knows, aside from his age, his pretty looks, his obituary.
jungkook stops on the other side of the threshold past midnight. he’s soaked, hair dripping, jacket dripping, pants wet, shoes soggy. he waves, staring at yoongi with wide eyes as if not expecting to see him there, and maybe if he still could breathe, he’d have been heaving. “i— i’m sorry i’m late.”
“did you run here?”
“no,” jungkook shakes his head vehemently, and water rains down the collar of his shirt. he smells earthly, like grass after it pours. it’s a good smell. yoongi cracks a small smile, huffing. “can i come in?”
his eyebrows raise, because yoongi doesn’t necessarily understand the question. maybe it is the harsh sound of rain and the open door, maybe it is the fact jungkook never needed an invitation before. “yeah,” he says, calmly. jungkook does so, then, shaking in his wet clothes, running a hand through his hair. yoongi feels his mouth getting dry. “—bloody mary?” he gets a nod in return. “there are towels in the staff bathroom.” yoongi points to the end of the bar. “first on the right.” as jungkook disappears behind closed doors, yoongi prepares his drink. it isn’t o+, but a b- this time. he’s done with it by the time jungkook comes back into the room, lesser clothes, less wet, holding his shoes on one hand. “the floor is disgusting,” he comments.
“my shoes are too wet,” jungkook replies, sitting down a moment later. “i don’t want to get sick.”
“you won’t,” the reminder makes jungkook snort as he sips on the bloody mary. “too dead for that.”
“—yeah, i guess.”
maybe the sarcastic commentary isn’t something they’re allowed to do as acquaintances that are mildly interested in each other, so a noisy sort of silence follows, filled with the loud song of the storm outside, the glasswasher, the ice machine vibration. yoongi pours himself a drink, whisky, neat, before removing his apron and leaving the backbar to join jungkook, sitting next to him. jungkook follows his movements. “i’m min yoongi,” yoongi clears his throat. “i work here during the week when the bartender isn’t around. i’m from daegu, and i’m twenty-six.” he leaves the queue for jungkook.
“i’m jeon jungkook,” a smile comes along with his words. “i— was turned five months ago. i’m going to be twenty-two for a while. my parents live in busan.” jungkook swirls his drink on the glass, looking mildly embarrassed again. “i— think you—”
“ taste good ?”
“yes— i mean, no ,” he presses his eyes closed, scrunching his nose. yoongi snorts, almost laughing. “you taste good, but that’s not the point.” a short pause, and yoongi downs his whisky. he should get more. “i’m not good at this.”
“you’re young,” yoongi offers, but he isn’t good at it himself. he’s been in that situation before, but the strangeness of their acquaintance makes everything more difficult. it’s difficult not to go back to how jungkook pressed himself against him, the sound of it all, the shared intimacy, the pain, the ghosts of feelings that followed him weeks later. he startles when jungkook touches his hand, the one cut the night before, finger running against the scabs that have formed overnight. it tingles, the cold touch, tingles all the way down his body. “your fangs are showing.”
jungkook pulls his hand away, hiding his mouth behind it, eyes wide. “they— it’s—”
“ fang boner , we know,” yoongi laughs, and it’s throaty and low because he’s holding back the best he can, feeling his cheeks get hot. he leans against the counter, grabbing the bottle of johnny walker black. it’s not the best, but it is the one he can afford. “so, what do you—”
“do you want to go somewhere else?” jungkook asks, putting his glass down. “to eat, maybe, and then we can—” find a room, sleep together, never talk to each other again , yoongi’s stream of thoughts are worrying. don’t get yourself hurt , namjoon had said. the decisions you make might not be your own, maybe not even his . but jungkook carries on, a finger drawing patterns in the water that has pooled on the wooden counter: “there are those late nights movie showings now.”
yoongi turns to look at him, surprised. “you want to watch a movie?”
“yeah,” jungkook nods, smiling, finding yoongi’s surprised expression. “i mean— only if— i don’t want to rush and—”
i don’t want to rush . yoongi sighs, smiling to himself mostly, gulping down his second glass in seconds. a welcomed wave of relief washes over him, his shoulders losing the heavy weight he’d been carrying. “yeah, we can watch a movie.” he stands, organising the bar benches, grabbing a hold of one of his cleaning cloths, starting to wipe the surfaces. jungkook stands, too, going behind the bar to put his empty glass in the dishwasher. “you don’t need to do anything, i won’t take long.”
“i have to pay you,” jungkook reminds him, softly. “i haven’t paid for the last two.”
“you can pay for my food,” yoongi shrugs. “it’s fine.” he knows he’ll have to give some sort of explanation for the third time in a row that he uses up the blood they keep but it doesn’t show up on the final cash up. i was glamoured , he had said, the first time jungkook had stopped by. jungkook starts polishing glasses. “jungkook—”
“i’ll help,” and the way it is said makes yoongi immediately nod, accepting the offer blankly. they both stop moving, wary. “i didn’t mean to—”
yoongi finds it in himself to move again, swallowing dry spit. he shudders, just a bit, cold for no good reason. “does it happen a lot?” he asks, voice small. “you— not controlling it.”
“yes,” yoongi finishes cleaning all the tables, the smell of alcohol filling up the room. jungkook moves on to find the glassware cabinet, nodding when yoongi points him the right one. “it takes a few years.”
somehow it’s difficult to imagine such thing. it’s difficult and somewhat sad to imagine living like that— with uncontrollable, endless thirst and the kind of allurement that bends people’s will. he glances over at jungkook, at how he looks so commonplace but not commonplace at all, at how his clothes fit him, how his rolled sleeves show off tan, lean arms, how his waist is small and his shoulders, too, how his hair has dried a bit, soft looking, wavy. jungkook raises his eyes at him, then, and yoongi stumbles on the nearest chair, flustered. it makes jungkook smirk, huffing. “i can finish the rest tomorrow,” yoongi coughs, slightly, looking the other way. “we should get going.”
“i can— go faster, if it helps,” jungkook offers. yoongi raises his eyebrows, curious. so jungkook does go faster— faster than yoongi’s human eyes, already at fault without his glasses, can really fathom. he’s a blur, a blur of car crash colours and the hint of neon of the liqueur signs. then he stops, a minute or so later. the bar is all done, clean. jungkook scratches the back of his head, shrugging. “just a trick.”
“ alright ,” yoongi nods. “won’t ask.”
they leave the bar minutes later, under one single, half-broken umbrella. the rain isn’t that harsh anymore, just a mild sheet of water drizzling down the buildings around them. jungkook talks about itaewon, pointing to places he used to be found at before he turned. he speaks with both excitement and some sort of longing, but yoongi doesn’t point it out, they’re not— close, or intimate enough, not friends, just acquaintances who want things secret. the train, still running, is a mixture of strange-looking, obvious vampires, late night workers and what society has called fang bangers . yoongi looks around, to eyes that steal glances at them, wondering if they know what jungkook is, if they judge what he himself is doing. despite it all, vampire and human relationships are still seen as unrealistic, maybe even dirty. “are you worried,” jungkook asks, as if he can read his mind. yoongi meets his eyes. “of what people will think?”
will implies a future, a continuation of their red thread. it implies the morning after and phone calls and learning each other’s favourite animal. a future implies dealing with his own mortality in face of jungkook’s timeless youth. “i don’t think about those things,” he mumbles. “i’m just hungry.” he notices how jungkook’s eyes flicker down to his throat before he purses his lips. “are you hungry?”
“i’m,” jungkook stumbles closer when the train stops, and once again their personal space is shared, and he’s taller, and that is just slightly intimidating. yoongi doesn’t look away, defiant. “yes.” then he looks down, seemingly embarrassed. “you smell good.”
it gives yoongi a vague sense of power, knowing that, even with jungkook’s biological superiority, he’s still just a boy who gets flustered in front of someone he wants to— kiss, maybe, drain out of every ounce of blood, more likely. he wonders how far he can take this without getting hurt. probably not too far. “it’s called a shower,” he says, dryly, then. it makes jungkook smile, at least, makes the awkwardness slowly wash out. “this is us.”
they hop off the train in hongdae, where restaurants are usually open late, or at least later now, after the great revelation. street buskers still crowd the sidewalks, and young people blend in with tourists and others alike, a small sea of umbrellas of all colours. at night, it’s harder to see human from vampire. jungkook looks comfortable in the open streets, even with the mild rain. he drags yoongi to a barbecue place, and no one seems to notice, not even after a while, that yoongi is the only one doing the eating. he chews, watching jungkook carefully cut the meat for him, scissors already dirty with grease. “we can order more sides, too,” he’s saying, sleeves rolled up again, face illuminated by yellow warm lights. “want some kimchi?” he notices yoongi’s expression when he looks up. “— what?”
“doesn’t it bother you?” yoongi asks, the steam making him sweat a little. “all of this.”
the scissors are dropped beside the grill, and jungkook sits back, looking around. “no,” he finally says. “it’s what i’ve always done— before, at least.” he looks at the sizzling beef between them, and a thing of a grin flourishes on his face. “i just wish i could eat, too.” yoongi grabs a slice of raw meat between his chopsticks, offering to him. jungkook laughs, making a face. “ i’m not a dog , hyung.” the word is carefree, it comes out of his mouth easily as if there has always been intimacy between the two of them. yoongi doesn’t mind it, smiling too.
“what happens if you eat?” yoongi wonders, flipping the slices on the grill, sniffing.
“i throw up,” jungkook replies simply. he pushes yoongi’s hands away gently, doing the work for him instead, piling beef after beef on top of his rice bowl. yoongi isn’t used to it, to being taken care of. it’s — nice. it feels nice. jungkook’s presence is nice. “i sometimes still drink milk, but it’s bad.”
“hm,” yoongi chews, humming in slight pleasure. it’s been a while since he ate meat. it isn’t often that he can afford it, and namjoon and taehyung hardly ever have the time to buy him, either, and he doesn’t ask, of course. when they do go out, they split, anyway. “thank you,” he says, then. “for buying me food.”
“i— don’t mind,” jungkook touches his hair, and his ears. there’s no hint of fangs anywhere. he’s just a boy. a boy from the present, and eventually, from the past. they talk about meaningless things, then, or at least things that still don’t have meanings for the both of them, their nights, jungkook’s dropping out of college, yoongi’s bartending skills, the movie they end up missing. yoongi doesn’t feel time pass, and maybe that’s how jungkook feels all the time. as if time is also just one of their meaningless conversation cards.
it’s around four when they leave the restaurant, the last customers to do so, and yoongi feels all warm from the soju and the food and jungkook’s body close to him under the umbrella. the trains have stopped already. “do you want to go home with me?” yoongi asks, then, the question they’ve both been waiting for, the one with the what ifs and why nots , the reason why they’re doing what they’re doing. it’s not the blood bond, yoongi tells himself. he wants to take jungkook home. he wants to. “we’re not close, but there are buses.”
“i don’t know, i’m—,” jungkook swallows, hands in pockets, looking down. “i’m hungry.” ah. “i think it won’t be a good idea.”
the words almost leave his tongue, but yoongi has the sense to stop them. you can feed on me . they scatter, making him blush copiously at even thinking about it. it’s painful and it isn’t right. “yeah, sure,” he nods, sniffing, abashed. “maybe another time.”
they sit down at the closest bus stop, awkwardly apart, looking away from each other. yoongi’s body is— hot, slightly shivery, maybe, a hint frustrated. he sees his bus approach from down the street, so he stands. jungkook does so, too, holding his wrists feebly. yoongi feels the touch right in the innermost parts of his body, flinching. “i want to go,” jungkook says, low and throaty and his fangs are out. “next time, i want to go.”
yoongi nods, lightheaded. he stares at the tongue behind the fangs, at the mole under jungkook’s lip, then up at his eyes again, to the way they glimmer, alien and human all at once. “next time.” the bus comes, it comes and passes, because yoongi forgets to wave at it. he snaps out of it, cursing. “ shit —” he quickly gestures to a lonely taxi, regretting the money he’ll spend on it. jungkook holds his hand then, bills between them. yoongi glares. “ no— ”
“just for tonight,” jungkook shrugs. “pay me back another night.” a kiss is stolen, a very quick thing of a touch, because maybe none of them can handle themselves at that time. the sky has started shifting colours, the horizon just a dash of weaker indigo, the above the darkest there is. “—we can watch a movie then. your treat, hyung.”
okay , yoongi mumbles, hazed, climbing into the backseat of the car, watching jungkook wave, one moment there, one moment gone. he says his address, but can’t remember anything else, legs pressed, knuckles between his teeth. the cold shower he walks into is somewhat allaying to the burning of his body. when he steps out, morning is already dripping through his blinds. there are a few messages on his phone, forgotten on the bed. most of them are namjoon’s, one is an unidentified number. yoongi lays down, with a sigh, picking it up and scrolling through the messages. jungkook’s deleted number is saved once again.
(05:57) until next time, hyung
yeontan wakes him up, that late saturday afternoon, barking on the other side of the closed door to his bedroom. he yawns, stirring in his slumber, limbs still too comfortable. taehyung’s voice follows, mumbling something about hyung needs to sleep, he works late. it makes yoongi smile. he had left namjoon and taehyung on the living room earlier to take a needed nap, the long nights at the bar taking a toll on him. saturday and sunday, though, he’s unemployed and broke. “we left you some food,” namjoon knocks on the door softly. “don’t forget to apply for that job you saw the other day.”
yoongi hums, mumbling thank you, take care, you two . orange sunlight bleeds in from between his blinds, giving his furniture sunset edges. he palms around the bed for his phone, raising it to his face, watery eyes from the light. almost six. it’s been a few days from the night they went out, and jungkook has sent a few timid messages, to which yoongi has replied. it’s almost a formal exchange— not on friends level, nor on any other level, to be fair. they’re both walking around shards of glass, it seems like, pointy ones that hurt (and if it hurts, it bleeds).
(17:43) i’m going to stay home tonight
he presses send, inhaling. jungkook’s probably still sleeping. we’re dead during the day , a vampire had told the news the other night, and yoongi had watched it with curiosity, as he counted the bar bottles for their stocktake. we can’t be dangerous if we’re dead . yoongi stares at his ceiling for a moment, postponing the decision, before finally sending jungkook his address. he wants things, and jungkook wants things, and that’s what there is to it. nothing else, nothing— deeper.
the shower he takes is a long one, lasting until it’s nighttime out, maybe past seven,until his fingers are wrinkled as if he’s old. his fingers are still wrinkled by the time his doorbell rings, by the time he looks up at jungkook, on the other side, in the lit corridor. “you’re early,” yoongi comments, noticing the soft pillow marks on jungkook’s face, his ruffled demeanor, eyes swollen. “— did you just wake up?”
“yeah,” jungkook nods, voice hoarse. “can i come in?” yoongi opens the door wider, but jungkook doesn’t move. he explains, apologetic: “you have to say—“
“i invite you into this house, jeon jungkook,” yoongi says it with a thick joseon accent, and it makes jungkook breaks out into chuckles as he steps in, kicking his shoes off quickly. he smells good, yoongi can tell. it’s on his skin and his hair and on his clothes. shampoo and laundry detergent, all sweet, flowery. “have you eaten?”
“had a bite,” jungkook says it casually, touching the objects around him, poking namjoon’s figurines. yoongi feels a strange hint of fear curl inside his stomach. a bite means a person who willingly or not gave away their blood. jungkook seems to notice his distress, stopping by the kitchen threshold. “i keep blood bags at home.” yoongi’s cheeks heat up, ashamed of his own thoughts, and he finally moves to close the door, trying to find something to do with his jittery hands. “i told you— not good at charming people.”
that’s a half lie , yoongi thinks, absentmindedly. “you shouldn’t anyway,” he points out, dragging his feet towards the kitchen to make himself some coffee. “it’s probably illegal.”
“some people like it.” the sound of the coffee machine fills the room, the smell homely. yoongi leans against the counter, jungkook does so beside him, the kitchen too small for the two of them, maybe. “they say it feels good.” it’s an awkward subject of conversation, and yoongi shifts on his feet. “did it hurt— that time?”
a pause. the coffee maker beeps. “yeah,” yoongi answers earnestly, filling his mug a moment later. he glances over at jungkook’s mild upset expression. he blows on his coffee, sipping the steamy liquid, feeling it burn his tongue, suddenly too aware of jungkook’s presence in his kitchen. it’s blunt, like a sharp edge of a nail sticking out of furniture. he’s there, in his home, undead and good looking, and yoongi invited him, for purposes that do not belong in the kitchen. “—what are you doing tonight?”
“ah,” jungkook hesitates. “i thought we— i thought i was— staying here.”
“it’s early,” yoongi shrugs, repeating himself, but feels his ears hot, his neck, his chest. “didn’t you want to watch a movie?” the offer makes jungkook smile, nodding vehemently, pushing himself off the counter and away, out into the living room. yoongi blinks, huffing, hearing the noise of the tv a moment later. maybe he’s nervous, too. the channels skip, and the walls yoongi can see are illuminated blue. he leaves his coffee unfinished, with a sigh, moving on to grab a bottle of red wine he had opened the other day, walking towards the living room, too. “— do you mind if i drink?” jungkook shakes his head negatively, already comfortably sat on the couch, his socks mismatched. one’s iron man, the other has a hole on the side. he’s found cinemax, and what seems like train to busan . yoongi allows himself to sit slightly closer this time, pulling his legs up under him. the wine doesn’t taste as good as the first time he had it, but it’s alcohol nonetheless, and it helps. something happens on the screen that gets jungkook flinching, a hand involuntarily curling around the fabric of yoongi’s sweatshirt. it makes yoongi’s heart flinch, too. “— scared?”
“no,” jungkook replies, bravely, staring at the screen with fixed eyes as if to prove a point, side profile a mix of sharpness and softness. he doesn’t let go of yoongi. “are you, hyung?” yoongi isn’t looking at the television, so he just hums, unaffected. jungkook finally looks at him, then down at his glass, the wine tears staining the sides from where yoongi has drank from. “i never had wine before.” he raises a hand, poking the side of the glass.
yoongi pulls his hand away. “that’s a shame,” he grins, gulping down the rest of it, grabbing the bottle swiftly to pour himself some more. the warmth of alcohol spreads down his body. he licks the corner of his mouth, turning to look at jungkook again, who’s pulling on his sweatshirt still. “want to try?”
“if there’s no blood, it’ll make me sick,” jungkook sighs, no air coming out of his mouth. they’re close enough now that yoongi would have felt it. his eyes go back to the screen, to the protagonist that cries inside the doomed train. he grabs the remote again, checking the movie that will follow, in such normalcy that yoongi can’t help but stare. jungkook leans back, finally letting go of yoongi’s clothes to put his arm over him on the couch, untouching, but close. yoongi looks away, drinking the contents of his glass in seconds. it makes jungkook chuckle. “you shouldn’t drink that fast, hyung.”
“i’m used to it,” yoongi yawns, wine making him all soft and sleepy. “i’ve been drinking for longer than you.”
“maybe for now,” jungkook replies playfully, but there’s a strange pang inside yoongi’s chest just then, an ache that recalls how fragile is his own life in face of jungkook’s ageless one. that in ten years, if they happen to meet perchance, yoongi will be older, different, and jungkook will look just the same. “— what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he’s quick to say, reaching to hold the bottle again, but jungkook stops him halfway by grabbing it first, pretending to be interested in it, reading the small letters on the label, sniffing the contents, raising his eyebrows. yoongi gives up waiting with a snort, putting his glass down. jungkook smiles victorious, the bottle placed out of yoongi’s reach. “you win, baby fangs.”
he doesn’t expect jungkook to lean closer, and closer still; until yoongi can trace the scar on his cheek, knowing it’s human and not vampire. “— your breath smells like it,” jungkook says sheepishly, touching longer strands of his hair. yoongi feels self-conscious at once, trying to move away just to be held by jungkook. “no, i don’t mean it in a bad way—,” yoongi stares, unblinking, mouth closed, reddish. “i mean— if i— if i kiss you maybe i can taste it, too.”
yoongi swallows, before nodding weakly. “no fangs.”
“no fangs,” jungkook repeats urgently before crashing their lips together. it’s soft, that’s yoongi’s first thought, how soft jungkook’s mouth is. they move tentatively, jungkook getting closer, parting his lips, yoongi leaning in, a hand touching jungkook’s neck. it’s an unchoreographed dance, with overlapping hands that touch, and noses that get in the way, and teeth and all that those tannins that make their throats dry. yoongi pulls back first, breathing through his nose, face probably scarlet. “it’s good,” jungkook mutters, voice raspy. “i like wine.” his fangs are showing, pointy, tongue between them. yoongi stares, and maybe jungkook notices, because he raises a hand to cover his mouth quickly. “i didn’t mean to.”
“can i,” yoongi doesn’t know what he’s asking. his heart beats harshly against his chest in a way that is painful. “can i see them properly?”
it’s with some embarrassment that jungkook puts his hand down, staring at him with dark dark doe eyes, wide and expectant. yoongi reaches out, then, but jungkook holds his wrist. “don’t get hurt, hyung.” it is the same thing namjoon has told him all those weeks ago. yoongi nods, flustered, looking away, back to the television where credits roll. they adjust themselves on the couch, leaning against each other, closer now that the first barrier in intimacy has been properly broken. yoongi’s body is wired, too aware of jungkook’s body next to him, his lack of heat, the cold fingers that softly massage the knots on yoongi’s shoulders, prying under his shirt just lightly, as if not to scare. “what do you want to watch now?”
“nothing,” he replies, knowing jungkook is staring at him. “i don’t mind, you choose.” then he clears his throat. “pass me the wine.”
the bottle is given back with an airless, mildly upset sigh, and yoongi pours the rest of it in his glass. jungkook watches his drink, and yoongi wonders if he can hear the liquid going down his throat, or his pulse beating in his neck, or how terribly awry his heart has gone, nervous and jumpy. jungkook’s fingers on his back get more caring, slower movements down his spine, up his neck, and yoongi‘s sigh is stuttery, the pain welcoming. “you’re tense,” jungkook comments, seeing the slight frown of pleasure in yoongi’s face. their eyes meet briefly, and jungkook coughs, a strangled sort of noise leaving his mouth. “sorry, i,” he stammers. “i’m nervous.”
“have you,” yoongi tries, swallowing his wine. “have you done it before?”
jungkook completely halts, hands leaving yoongi‘s body quick, and maybe, if alive, yoongi likes to think he’d blush all the way down his chest. “not all the way,” he looks down. “i thought— i thought it’d feel better if i was in love.” the romantic sort of hues in vowels, full of wishful thinking, makes yoongi ashamed of himself, for better choice of words. he didn’t think of love. love takes time and not a bite at a donation clinic. jungkook is young, after all, both human and vampire.
“we’re not in love,” yoongi finally says, putting his glass down. love is a concept too difficult to imagine when one end of the thread goes forever.
“no,” jungkook shakes his head briefly, and he sounds forlorn. yoongi looks up at him, watching him suck on his bottom lip, picking the skin between teeth while his fingers play with fabric of his clothes.
“— it’s fine if you don’t want to do it,” yoongi tells him, then, the fever inside his stomach getting weaker. they shouldn’t, anyway. it’s too soon. “we can watch whatever’s on the television. or go to that cinema you wanted to go.” it makes jungkook happy, the prospect of a less tiring night, a small thing of a smile curling his lips as he nods.
“yeah, i guess.”
but some things are more difficult than others, for both of them. it’s difficult to watch a movie when jungkook is so forward with his touches, so intimate with the way he sometimes looks at yoongi, leaning in to kiss the side of his mouth out of whim, so unrealistically warm when he pulls yoongi closer, wrapping arms around him, clingy and boyish and smelling of perfume. the movie that has started goes on for a while, something about a lost prince, about a war, yoongi can’t seem to pay attention. the wine makes him soft, soft and wanting, all at once, and sleepy and needy. it’s a terrible, terrible mixture. “jungkook,” he says it, then, and the boy angles his face to look at him, eyes weirdly blue. maybe he notices on the blush of yoongi’s cheeks, or the way yoongi’s staring, but he notices it.
“can i kiss you again?” he asks, then, and yoongi barely nods, pulling himself up until they’re kissing, until jungkook has his back against the arm of the couch, until yoongi feels his legs between his own. jungkook makes some sort of noise, and his fangs come out, and yoongi flinches, pulling away, a sharp sting numbing his lips. “ hyung. ” it’s done now, though. yoongi takes a hand to his chin, where blood drips from, warm and metallic. “i didn’t meant to—“
his fingers get stained as he tries to wipe it, but there’s a rip on his bottom lip, and it bleeds profusely. yoongi finds jungkook’s eyes, how fast they become all dark, all heavy and alluring. “it’s fine, i’ll wash it off,” he starts, shaken, trying to move away, only to feel a grip on his wrist. jungkook swallows. it’s disgusting, yoongi’s brain tells him, in blaring, alarming screams. it isn’t right. still, slowly, he holds air inside his lungs, offering bloodied fingers to jungkook. “—just a treat.”
“i can’t,” jungkook shakes his head, but his grip on yoongi’s wrist is still strong, almost painful.
“it’s fine,” yoongi tells him, letting go of hot air, smelling jungkook in every inch of the room around them. his fingers tremble, his whole body does, and fear grows alongside more immoral feelings. “go on.” for a second, they don’t move, holding still, legs still tangled, yoongi sitting awkwardly on jungkook’s lap, heat between them. blood drips from his chin and onto his clothes. jungkook moves, then, and yoongi can only hear white noise and the screaming of his own mind as he feels jungkook’s tongue on the tip of his fingers, as he closes his eyes, pulling yoongi closer and closer, some sort of desperation in the way he works his way through the blood. “maybe that’s enough,” yoongi finally says, breathy. the taste in his mouth is saline, his fingers are wet.
“hyung,” jungkook mutters, leaning in, touching his nose to yoongi’s jawline, and it quickens yoongi’s pulse even more. he’s afraid his heart won’t handle it. “— you taste good .”
“you told me that already,” for a moment, yoongi thinks jungkook won’t hold back, that the thirst will take over, that his life is hanging on a very loose thread. “i need to clean up.”
jungkook nods, then, hold getting weaker until he lets go of yoongi completely, and when they look at each other, his eyes are back to the watery blues. “i can help,” he offers, and it’s obvious, from how his demeanor has changed, that he’s embarrassed, maybe hot in the same places yoongi is. yoongi’s about to say no, but jungkook’s already standing, already walking towards the corridor he assumes the bathroom is, coming back a minute later with a roll of toilet paper. “press it hard.”
he picks up the empty bottle of wine and glass while yoongi sits back on the couch, head up as if it’d help the bleeding to stop, and a moment later there’s the sound of dishes being washed. yoongi stares at the stained ceiling, heart bewildered. jungkook is surprising in a way he hasn’t expected. he isn’t a one night stand, he can’t be, even though that’s all they both want, maybe. yoongi can’t really see straight. i thought it’d feel better if i were in love . he huffs. “— what are you thinking about?”
jungkook’s has his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. the distance is necessary, yoongi reckons. the smell of everything is alarmingly sweet— jungkook’s body, his blood. “what we’re doing.” he replies, shrugging.
“do you want to go to—”
“no,” yoongi cuts in, softly. “i mean— what are we doing? you and me.” jungkook looks puzzled. “what is this?”
no reply comes, not for a while. jungkook walks over, sitting next to yoongi again. yoongi watches him, just slightly wary. “i came here to sleep with you,” his voice is so small yoongi barely hears him. but it’s there, in full words, anyway. “but i— i wouldn’t mind,” jungkook glances his way. “more.”
yoongi finally removes the toilet paper from his mouth, looking at the stain, then at jungkook again. he doesn’t feel it bleed anymore, but the numbness is still there. they don’t talk for another small portion of time, and jungkook raises his hand just wipe blood from yoongi’s chin, a gesture so gentle it embarrasses him. “i drink a lot,” yoongi finally says, exhaling. “i don’t have a consistent job, so i most often than not run out of food. i like being left alone most days. i haven’t dated in years,” the list goes on, but jungkook’s lips curl into a smile. “i’m not pretty like— like you.” he sniffs, looking the other way. jungkook gets closer, close enough his lips touch the side of yoongi’s neck kindly.
“i’m dead,” he says, low and raspy, starting to wrap himself around yoongi again. it makes yoongi chuckle. “— i win, hyung.” a hand rubs against his belly, and down his thighs, in such a slow way yoongi bites down on his lip. “and you’re,” he sounds shy, head buried against the crook of yoongi’s neck. “you’re soft and warm.”
“— do you want to go to bed?”
they stare at each other, dark dark dark eyes and yoongi’s human ones. jungkook only nods, standing, offering his hand out, for yoongi to take. it takes him a moment to hold it, embracing the cold that it brings, muttering no biting , seeing jungkook grin as he steps inside his room. it’s a simple room, yoongi thinks, absentmindedly. a bed, a piano, a desk with a laptop forgotten on it. nothing more. “do you play?” jungkook asks.
“used to,” yoongi replies, starting to take off his clothes, only to be stopped by jungkook sitting on the bench, fingers playing do re mi fa on the keys, chuckling to himself.
“would you teach me?” he looks over his shoulder at yoongi, eyes widening, going from his face to his unbuttoned jeans, grin getting smaller, almost gone. jungkook swallows. “—another time.”
“yeah,” yoongi nods. “another time.”
jungkook watches as yoongi takes off his clothes, blushing and nervous, but pushing it through nonetheless. “you’re really,” jungkook mumbles, touching his hair. “really—“ he doesn’t really finish the sentence, as yoongi takes the few steps that keeps them apart, tugging on jungkook’s clothes until he’s also undressing, squirming when yoongi touches his ribs, ticklish. “really,” the word is airy, despite his lack of working lungs. they fall onto bed rather messily, kissing and holding against each other. jungkook shudders as yoongi touches his thighs briefly, butterfly touches all over him. “ really .”
“you’re not making any sense,” yoongi tells him, pulling himself up, staring down at jungkook. “how do you want to do this, jungkook.” he asks, softly. “what do you want?”
“to bite you,” the words come out all at once, fangs out, eyes dark for a lingering moment. yoongi huffs, embarrassed. jungkook blinks the darkness away. “i mean— sorry, it’s just—“
“i get it,” yoongi moves to touch the insides of jungkook’s thighs, watching him frown, biting his lower lip. it’s awkward at first to move against each other, to touch curves and edges, to kiss down, down each other’s bodies. there’s a lot of talking, from both of them, a lot of detailing, can i do it like this ?, is it okay? , have you done this before? , and it takes a long time until any of them is brave enough to really get to the point. yoongi does first, because his entire body is a haywired mess. “turn around,” he demands, and jungkook only nods, and his hair is starting to get damp, maybe from yoongi’s sweat, not his own.
the first touch of his tongue has jungkook groaning, and yoongi hears the moment his fangs puncture through his mattress. “that feels good,” he says, muffled, fingers curled around fabric. “i never— ahokay ,” it makes yoongi grin, jungkook’s consistent wording being broken by what he’s doing. he dares a bit more, pushing in, feeling jungkook clench his muscles, a broken sort of moan leaving his mouth. he has brought his arm against his mouth, biting, and the blood stains the bed sheets. he mutters some i’m sorry through his other mindless sounds, but yoongi isn’t paying attention. “i can’t take it anymore,” he says, raspy through bloodied fangs. “ hyung. ”
he doesn’t really understand what’s going on before their bodies are turning on the sheets and yoongi finds himself with his back against the bed, tongue still out, air knocked out of his lungs. jungkook stares down at him, blood down his chin, teeth red, eyes dark, hands pushing against yoongi’s shoulder. “are you going to hurt me?” yoongi asks weakly, swallowing, fingers holding softly onto jungkook’s hip bones. jungkook shakes his head, as if trying to tell even himself that no, no, i won’t hurt you . “jungkook,” yoongi repeats, gently, touching lower, down between legs, feeling jungkook’s nails against his skin. they both shudder as yoongi’s pace gets slightly faster. “is it good?”
“yeah,” jungkook nods, smelling of blood and sweetness. finally he blinks, white returning to blue eyes, and yoongi breathes out more easily. “can you—,” he leans closer, lips hovering over yoongi’s, fangs scraping. “can you do— that again—,” the touch gets weaker, and jungkook’s nose touches yoongi’s jawline. “just do that again, i’ll behave—” yoongi snorts, finding his love drunk words funny. “don’t laugh.”
“okay,” yoongi is still chuckling when jungkook lays down beside him, pulling him close, maybe pushing him down with ungainly, needy hands. there are fingers in his hair, then, pulling almost painfully on his scalp, and jungkook’s thighs press against his shoulders, carelessly tossed over them minutes ago, and jungkook is a mess, a mess of bloodied arms and fangs and ripped bedsheets. yoongi can’t find it in himself to breathe, nor to stop, too enthralled in the noises jungkook makes, in the ways he whines and touches himself loosely, just to have his hands pushed away by yoongi. “do you like this that much?” yoongi asks at some point, and he’s sure there’s saliva coating his chin and that he looks like a car crash.
“ yes ,” jungkook says it through his teeth, through fangs that perforate lips that heal a moment later.
“can i use my fingers?” he does touches jungkook with the tips of his fingers, hearing him hold his breath as if air still could pool inside his lungs, nodding eagerly. “i’ll go slow—“
“no,” the small word is stuttered, and jungkook raises his head to look at yoongi through messy strands of oily hair, lips bloody, fangs out. he looks like he’s entirely made of sin, that his golden skin is made of atoms of uttermost vileness. yoongi is starstruck, taken aback, even. “not slow— not slow —“ yoongi only nods, coarsely.
so it isn’t long until jungkook’s back is against the headboard, legs around yoongi’s hips, blood dripping from the arm he keeps biting on, eyes closed, muffled moans leaving his throat, and yoongi has his forehead against his shoulder, hips already tired, because jungkook never tires. he’s slow with his movements, so close to the edge he’s sweating, trying not to end it without jungkook, staring down at the messy blood and body fluids on jungkook’s torso. he wonders, in between hazy thoughts full of fumes, if it’s always this bloody sleeping with vampires, if there’s pleasure in biting more than pleasure in fucking. so when yoongi spiels, he doesn’t know what he’s hoping for— maybe release, maybe pain, possibly both. “— bite me.”
“ i want to ,” jungkook’s voice is nothing but lower vowels followed by throaty, whiny moans. “but, hyung—“
“— is it going to hurt?”
“ ahn— yeah, yes—”
“do it,” the urgency in his voice is the same urgency that jungkook holds him, then, fangs against his neck so quickly yoongi doesn’t have time to properly adjust, and when they go in, cutting through flesh, yoongi finds himself moaning, too, the feeling spreading down his legs, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it’s so good . jungkook grabs onto him more forcefully, keeping yoongi moving against him roughly, the sound of everything unorthodox. the numbness is different this time. it isn’t numbness, maybe, but sharpness of needles, spreading, growing in heat, and yoongi isn’t one to whimper, but he does so then, pain followed by release, his thrusting getting weaker, lungs heaving. jungkook comes not long after, yoongi’s hands working him up, and he moans, too, fangs deep within yoongi’s skin. “please stop, it’s too much,” yoongi whispers when they don’t stop, body completely wasted. jungkook pulls away, then, biting on his wrist, offering to yoongi. “no— it’s— it’s not right,” yoongi mumbles, embarrassed, dizzy.
“you’ll heal faster,” jungkook offers, lovingly. yoongi’s mind is a mess, he wants it, but he’s scared of it, it’s wrong . jungkook’s blood tastes like sweet things, like something he can keep on having forever. it makes him want to keep going, thrusting against jungkook, hearing him plaint, too oversensitive. yoongi is burning. he feels both sick and alive, and his head hurts, his skull being pulled apart by the mess happening in his body. “hyung, i can’t take it anymore ” jungkook pleads, and yoongi only nods, and they finally pull apart completely, legs untangling. there are bruises on the sides of yoongi’s body, where jungkook has held on too strongly. “— i’m sorry.”
“it’s — it’s fine.”
they lay down together, staring at the ceiling, naked bodies stained red, bed sheets a bloodbath, dry blood on cheeks. yoongi startles when jungkook holds his hand gently. after all of that, it feels somewhat wrong to hold hands. “that felt good,” he says, timidly. “really good, i—,” yoongi turns his head, looking at jungkook’s profile, how the blood has dried down his neck and on his cheeks, and there’s a smirk on his face. “i want to do it again.”
yoongi finds himself chuckling. “i can’t do it again,” he points out. “not right now.” jungkook’s smirk broadens as he finds yoongi’s eyes. they stare at each other for a second longer than they should, maybe, until yoongi clears his throat, sitting up. “i need a shower.”
“can i—,” but jungkook stops himself, looking flustered. “i’ll change your sheets, while you—”
“the bathtub is big enough for both of us.” so it’s twenty minutes later and they sit in hot, pinkish water, yoongi’s legs over jungkook’s legs, bathroom silent if not for the constant dripping of the sink. yoongi stares at the ceiling, head back, feeling jungkook’s fingers massage his calves. he sighs, touching the bite on his neck, the one that now is just a scrape. he thinks of jungkook’s blood now running through his body, the side effects that will follow, the dreams, the wanting. when he looks down, jungkook’s staring, wet hair pushed back, pretty eyes. he looks good, grown up, even, less boyish. yoongi’s chest fills up with warmth. “you’re really pretty.” it’s not what he wants to say, but it comes out anyway, unabashed. it’s a stupid thing to say, but it is the only thing that crosses his mind.
“am i your type?” jungkook grins, cheeky. yoongi blinks, nervous, before huffing, looking away. i don’t have a type. jungkook splashes him with water, making yoongi smile. “so maybe, we can,” he starts, unsure. “do this again, and maybe, date .”
ah. yoongi pulls his legs up towards himself, then, arms hugging his bony knees, head resting on them. from under his wet fringe, he looks at jungkook and his expectant gaze. “do we really have to,” he wonders, voice low. “i’m— not like you.” he sighs. “at some point, you’ll realise it.” and then it’s going to hurt, yoongi thinks. “i’m no good either way.”
“— you’re my type,” the confesion makes yoongi smile, nonetheless.
“no,” jungkook reaches forward, and water spills on the sides of the tub, until he’s holding yoongi’s hand, making him blush all the way down. “you, just— you.” yoongi swallows, suddenly so flustered he can’t really look at jungkook straight. “you have a nice tummy, hyung,” they both laugh weakly. “and you— you’re really good at that thing you did with your—”
“alright,” yoongi cuts in, embarrassed. “i get it.” he huffs. “ you like me .”
“no, i—,” and jungkook stammers, letting go of yoongi’s hand, scratching the back of his head. “i mean— i might, if we—”
“ date .” they stare at each other, and jungkook nods vehemently. yoongi likes the thought of being wanted, it feels good all around. still, it doesn’t feel right to play with jungkook’s feelings that way. there’s nothing for neither of them in that deal— and eventually falling in love, if it happens, will have them hanging themselves on short rope. yoongi doesn’t want to die, not like that. he likes the sunlight that drifts through his windows. “maybe we can talk about that next time.” and when jungkook just looks mildly heartbroken, yoongi sighs, grabbing him, pulling him closer until he has his back against yoongi’s chest, arms wrapped around him.
they stay like that for a while, listening to water drip, jungkook playing with yoongi’s fingers, yoongi’s cheek against his hair. “your fingers are wrinkling,” jungkook comments. “mine too.” he seems to smile. yoongi doesn’t, looking down at their entwined fingers, and thinking that’s the only way they could ever grow old together, in any given scenery. dipped in water. it makes him sad for no good reason. “i wonder what time it is.”
“late,” yoongi replies, yawning.
“you can go to sleep, hyung,” jungkook offers, kindly. “i can— go home.”
“yeah, i should— i should sleep.”
they leave the bathtub together, dripping on the white floor, yoongi wrapping a towel around jungkook’s body, drying his hair, and it makes it messier. jungkook borrows his clothes, because yoongi mumbles something about not minding, and yours need washing . they both make their way to the bed, changing the sheets, jungkook pointing out patterns in the blood, and yoongi throws a pillow at him, this looks like a murder scene . it’s near five, yoongi realises, bewildered, by the time they’re finished, by the time they must say goodbyes. “so, i’ll— i’ll get going.” jungkook finally says, looking at the window, where through the blinds they can see the sky starting to change colours. yoongi follows his gaze.
“— what happens if you don’t make it home in time?”
“i’ll— get burned a little,” a small shrug follows.
“stay, then,” yoongi pulls the sheets down, offering the right side of the bed. he remembers the words of that vampire on the interview. “you can’t be dangerous if you’re dead.”
“i’m really hungry when i wake up,” jungkook says in small words. “hungrier than i was— earlier.”
“i can get some blood bags.”
to be honest, he’s never truly had anyone staying after sex, not for long anyway, not even in the past, when his feelings were raw and all over the place. his bed has always been his, yoongi’s, unshareable space. the right side is always empty, and he’s fine with it. when jungkook lays down, though, it doesn’t feel so wrong to have him there. yoongi smiles when jungkook unassumingly clings to his body, curling around him to fit. “i like the sound of your heartbeat,” he mumbles, somehow sleepy. he chuckles, a second later. “it’s quicker now.” yoongi huffs, smile getting wider. jungkook gets closer, nose sniffing the crook of yoongi’s neck. yoongi feels himself shudder. “hyung,” he whispers, softly. “can we do it again?”
yoongi groans, feeling his body grow a degree hotter. “i’m tired,” he replies, even though he allows jungkook’s hands to roam down his body, squirming just a bit when it touches him in places still sensitive, bony fingers stroking, making him curl his toes. it doesn’t take that long until he’s panting the slightest, teeth against lips, eyes closed, and jungkook’s fangs scrape ever so softly against his shoulder. “the sun is coming up,” yoongi tells him, breathy, and he tries to move away, but jungkook doesn’t let him. “ ahjungkook .”
“yes,” the touch gets slightly more daring, and yoongi complains, thrashing weakly. “but it’s dark in here, it’s fine.” he continues, slow and steady, until yoongi is grabbing onto jungkook’s wrist, urging him to go slightly faster. “i can go faster in another way,” jungkook offers almost cheekily, and yoongi remembers how his eyes couldn’t even see jungkook move back at the bar, and shakes his head, nervously, muttering no, no, it’s fine, just, a bit more, a bit, ahyeah, face hiding against the pillow.
there’s some light struggle, some yoongi fighting the urge to push against the feeling between his legs, to grab onto jungkook, but jungkook’s a stronger body, even sleepy, and he likes to get yoongi almost mewling just to slow down. “ ah —it’s late, it’s fine, i’m almost, ah , i’m almost—” yoongi mumbles after a while, voice nothing but slurred consonants clashing against teeth, knees folded, close to his chest. jungkook only hums, his movements getting sloppier, more eager, and then yoongi notices, the slight streaks of daylight starting to contour the furniture with the whiteness of a cloudy day. “ bite me again ,” he says, because he knows it’ll end then, heat unbearing pooling in his stomach, so close, so close . he gasps as fangs press against his skin, pushing in, kindly, a lovebite . “ jungkook— “ he comes undone a moment later, trembling, panting against his pillow, with jungkook’s hands between his legs and his teeth digging into him, drawing little blood, almost nothing now, just enough yoongi feels it in the euphoria wave that hits him, i like it, i like that , the words are scattered against the pillow. he moans almost awkwardly when jungkook runs his hands against him, fingers pressing, until yoongi finally pushes him away, holding on his hands, feeling the stickiness on them. yoongi is all red, a redness like blood. there’s a sting on his shoulder, from the bite.
“i want to do it again,” jungkook says, but his voice is sleep-laced, and his hands go limp, and he falls into slumber almost instantly, body suddenly heavy, so heavy. yoongi elbows him slightly, muttering his name, to no avail. jungkook is dead as a doornail, dead for the day. yoongi can’t help but laugh nervously at the bizarreness of the situation, and at how embarrassed he is of coming apart so easily. he gets up, cleaning the sheets the best he can, jungkook’s hands, changing, once again, into cleaner clothes. he leans against the door, then, when the sun fully drips in, missing the bed for a meter, just for now. it’ll colour it in full later, warming the sheets. jungkook’s body is pale, eyes with purple eyelids, purple lips, purple tongue showing between the gap of his teeth, fangs still out, still slightly pink. a corpse, for better or for worse. something aches in yoongi’s chest, something bothersome. he walks over to the window, closing the blinds completely, shutting daylight out.
he approaches the bed slowly, reaching out to touch soft strands of hair, fingers just grasping before yoongi pulls away. that’s too intimate, perhaps, too caring . “sleep well, baby fangs,” he mumbles, through a small smile, before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
“wake up, sleepyhead—” the voice belongs to namjoon, just like the hand that shakes him lightly, until he’s sitting up, in the early afternoon. he hasn’t slept enough. his body feels sore in wrong places. yoongi blinks, too many times. “why are you sleeping on the couch, hyung?” his eyes find the darkened corridor that leads to his room. “monster under your bed?”
“something like that,” he breathes out, groaning as he stands, pushing past namjoon to walk towards the kitchen.
“you don’t look good,” namjoon points out, patting his back kindly as he follows him closeby, and yoongi notices the smell of coffee enthralled with something spicy, takeouts neatly packed on the counter. yoongi doesn’t reply, not for a while, gulping down hot coffee as if it’d allay the weird thirst he’s feeling. namjoon clears his throat, standing by the counter, eyeing him suspiciously. “— and that bite?”
at this, yoongi chokes, spilling coffee. “it’s— it’s nothing,” he tries, ashamed, turning the other way. namjoon huffs, amused. “alright,” yoongi stands by the counter, too, feeling namjoon’s gaze on him, knowing it isn’t judgemental, just worried. “i slept with a vampire.” he closes his eyes for a moment. “he had to stay over.”
it takes a moment for namjoon to add: “and you don’t share your bed.”
“—no, i don’t.” a hum follows.
for a second, yoongi thinks he’ll get a lecture, but namjoon quietly moves on to unwrap their food, portions being unceremoniously put into the microwave, bowls being taken out of cabinets. it’s only when they’re sitting down at the table, mouths full of bibimbap, cans of coca-cola sizzling, that namjoon speaks again. “you don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” he starts, carefully. yoongi feels himself starting to blush, his ears hot.
“does it feel good when you do it?” yoongi picks on rice, swallowing. “donating, i mean.”
namjoon seems to analyse him, chewing quietly. “no,” he shrugs. “it doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel any particular way.” he glances knowingly at yoongi. “maybe it only feels good if you want it to.”
coughing, yoongi stands to grab some water, hiding his face from namjoon’s witty eyes. yes, maybe that’s right. it’s the people who search for it that say it feels good, the ones with reddish marks on their skin and glassy eyes full of haze. “he’s nice,” he finds himself wanting to say, as if that proves any point. it doesn’t, not really. “he’s—“
“he’s alright ,” namjoon offers. “if you like him, then he must be some good.”
i don’t like him , the sentence almost leaves yoongi’s tongue, but he remembers the way jungkook made him feel, not only in bed, but before. it doesn’t mean it’s a like on a deeper level. “it’s not like that,” he mutters, shoving food down his throat, nervous. “we’re— i don’t know.”
“he’s sleeping on the right side of the bed.”
namjoon has a small smile on his face, the one that makes the dimples adorning it just barely show up. the food is too spicy, and it makes yoongi sweat just slightly, or maybe he’s just nervous, or maybe he’s truly sick. it’s a lot of maybes, a lot of feelings he needs to sort. namjoon stays with him for a while, but doesn’t touch on the subject again (instead he speaks of taehyung, and how they managed to grow a sunflower, albeit it is still a small one) (it makes yoongi smile, almost longingly) (“you could come back to living with us, you know, or us with you,” namjoon offers quietly. “yeontan misses you.” “i was the odd one out,” yoongi shrugs).
for some reason or multiple others, yoongi feels restless, especially after getting home from grocery shopping, milk and blood bags kept in the fridge. he sits on the couch, seeing the news pass by on the television, not paying attention, eyes glancing to the darkened corridor, heart racing at every creak and noise of the furniture, hours spent both fearing and wanting the moment the sun goes down. it doesn’t for a while, of course, so he stands, knees hurting from the being in the same position too long, walking over to the door of his room, cracking it open. jungkook hasn’t moved, stuck in death and purple haze. yoongi wonders, out of all things, if he dreams.
— it’s six thirty-three when yoongi hears the door to his bedroom opening. he’s in the bathtub, shallow water almost cold now, hair still dripping down his back. yoongi swallows dryly. he’s been waiting, curious, for jungkook to wake up. “hyung?” the voice echoes from the living room.
“here,” he calls, after a while, staring at the door left unlocked on purpose.
jungkook walks in a few minutes later, each one of them laced with expectation. he’s messy haired, holding the blood bag he found, already half dry. “good morning,” he says, voice hoarse, eyes following yoongi’s folded knees to his shoulders to his eyes.
“— it’s almost seven—“ but jungkook gulps down the rest of his food, tossing it on the sink before pulling up his shirt, and yoongi stops talking, staring, blushing. his pants come off a moment later, and he quickly finds his way into the bathtub, turning on the running water, grabbing the sides of yoongi’s body shamelessly. yoongi flinches. “you’re so cold.”
“the water is warm,” jungkook says, and the bathtub is slippery and dangerous but jungkook finds his way until he’s sitting between yoongi’s thighs, sniffing on the crook of his neck, arms and legs wrapped around him. “we can pretend.” teeth carefully follow the contours of yoongi’s bones, tongue following. “ i’m hungry .”
“i bought you blood bags,” yoongi points out, shivering.
“they’re not yours,” jungkook complains, against skin.
if he allows, yoongi thinks, it implies things that might not be right. it provides allowance for bonds to exist, and it’s too soon for that. so he pulls away slowly, holding jungkook shoulders, keeping him at a small distance. “you can’t have mine right now,” his tone is stern, even if his body betrays him. jungkook nods as he longingly stares at yoongi’s throat. “you can’t.”
“okay,” jungkook says, blue eyes finding yoongi’s finally, hands sliding down the sides of yoongi’s body, making him coil, because it tickles. they’re close enough yoongi is able to fully look at him, unabashed, the few hairs that are out of place in his thick dark eyebrows, the moles that adorn his nose, cheeks and chin, the slight purpleness on the skin under his eyes, his eyelashes, the shape of his mouth, how it’s just softly coloured crimson inside. it’s both a blessing and a curse those things will survive through decades. how many hearts they will break . yoongi blinks, confused at his own thoughts. “what are you thinking about?”
“nothing,” yoongi mutters, breathing out. jungkook huffs, smiling, leaning in to kiss him, but yoongi pulls back, making a face. “brush your teeth first.” and before jungkook can do anything, he pushes him away, moving to stand, balancing himself weirdly on the slippery surface. jungkook looks up, hands on the sides of yoongi’s thighs. he looks suddenly embarrassed. yoongi is, too, so he steps out of the bathtub, grabbing his towel, the sound of running water too loud.
jungkook takes a bath himself, it seems like, from the way his hair is also wet when he comes out of the bathroom too long after. he finds yoongi in the kitchen, chopping a set of vegetables, stew already brewing on the stove. jungkook approaches him slowly, slippers against the floor warning yoongi of his presence, looking over yoongi’s shoulder, breath smelling of mint and hair smelling of yoongi’s shampoo. “what are you making?”
“budae jjigae,” yoongi replies, quickly adding everything to the boiling pan.
“it smells good,” jungkook comments, and his hands rests on yoongi’s waist, and it makes yoongi’s heart race awkwardly️. “like home.”
it’s just a sentence, said casually, a comment on the smell of food, but yoongi stops stirring the pan, nervous. combined with the fingers that softly rub circles on his waist, and jungkook proximity, it’s more than it should be. “don’t you have somewhere to go?” it comes out harsher than he intended, in sharp endings full of defense. jungkook lets go of him almost immediately. “i mean,” yoongi presses his eyes closed for a minute.
“oh, i,” jungkook takes a step away, and he sounds surprised, but also hurt . “i can leave.”
“no,” he turns, glancing over his shoulder at jungkook’s expression, at the way he touches his hair. “no, it’s fine. i was just— wondering.”
“i shouldn’t have stayed,” jungkook says softly, shaking his head. yoongi turns completely, holding his spoon, and the sauce drips. “i’ll go.”
“i never done this before,” yoongi tells him, then, leaning against the counter. “the day after,” their eyes meet. “night.”
“i never done any of it.” they stare at each other, strangeness staining the air. yoongi feels properly embarrassed, remembering how they moved against each other, how jungkook felt on the bed, how the sounds he made were of pain and pleasure combined. to think he’s the first to make jungkook feel that way, the first in a long time, in time that stretches forever, it makes him feel something too warm. “do you mind if i have some more blood,” he says a moment later, looking at the way yoongi blushes down his neck. “it’s just— i need a bit more.”
“next to the milk,” yoongi points with his head.
he turns back to his food, mouth dry, hearing the fridge open, the moment fangs puncture plastic, sucking the blood out as if it’s chocolate milk. yoongi thinks he feels the bite on his neck tingle, but it isn’t real. jungkook makes a noise then, a muffled sort of whine, before tugging softly on yoongi’s clothes. “ ms—uk , h — ng ” the words he says don’t make sense. yoongi looks at him, at the dried out bag, at how it’s stuck on fangs too sharp. jungkook pulls on it, to no avail. “ —elp .”
yoongi snorts, laughing weakly at the situation, dropping his spoon to help jungkook, pulling gently at the blood bag, jungkook’s minty breath laced with iron. “retract your fangs, maybe,” he tells him, trying not to puncture a finger on the sharp ends. they struggle for a second too long, before yoongi finally frees him. jungkook lets out a hum, licking at his fangs before completely putting them away. “i don’t have medical waste bins on my apartment building,” yoongi points out, handing the empty bag to jungkook. “take them with you when you go.”
“yeah, sure,” a thing of a shyness has befallen jungkook, and he smiles in small ways. “thank you— for buying me blood. it isn’t cheap.”
“you can pay me next time, baby fangs.” he clears his throat, thinking about how namjoon paid for the blood because otherwise he couldn’t afford his own food, how namjoon had eyed him suspiciously and smiled, how he had vehemently said it is because i don’t want to become someone’s breakfast . “do you mind if it eat?”
“no,” jungkook gets closer again, leaving the blood bag on the counter. “— do you mind if i stay?”
they exchange looks once again, and yoongi’s still flushed as he shakes his head, muttering a small no, i don’t mind at all . he eats, being observed by jungkook, who likes to feed him, for some reason, holding chopsticks he doesn’t use himself, offering slices of carrots, and thin cuts of meat, small here, hyung, hyung, have this, this looks tasty, hyung , as he goes. yoongi only nods, sniffing, smiling sometimes, eating everything jungkook offers, even when he’s full. yoongi feels sleepy, then, allowing himself to lay down on the couch, groaning in pleasure as he stretches. jungkook watches him still, hovering the slightest. he thinks he feels himself fall asleep once or twice, jungkook’s face just a flicker at the corner of his vision.
but then comes the touching, the fingers on his back, massaging over his shirt, and yoongi sighs audibly at the welcomed pressure. “hyung,” jungkook’s tone is different, lower, maybe, sweeter. yoongi’s breath hitches when his shirt gets lifted, hands finding the way up over his ribs, pressing, a body above his own, heavy, grinding slightly. “can we do it again?”
“i don’t know,” yoongi forces himself to say, lazily so. it’s an easy decision, his body has made him aware of it already, ever since jungkook had stepped into the bathtub hours before. “i’m a person who has to work tomorrow,” it makes jungkook huff, amused.
“you work at night,” he says quite matter of factly, against yoongi’s neck.
“you’re going to ruin my sheets again,” yoongi complains, but his voice shudders a bit as jungkook touches up his thighs. “i only have two sets.”
jungkook chuckles, standing, finally, and he pulls on yoongi wordlessly, until he’s standing, too, complaining all the way to the bedroom that he doesn’t have the cash to buy new sheets, as they’re expensive these days— “i’ll buy you plastic sheets,” jungkook offers, smirking, kissing his cheek. it’s the kind of gesture that doesn’t belong to the context they’re in. yoongi snorts, pushing him onto bed unceremoniously as jungkook laughs at his own joke. it only fades when he notices the way yoongi swiftly undresses, the way he looks down at jungkook, and maybe it makes him suddenly aware of things to come.
“i want to know something,” yoongi says, voice slurred a bit already. “before we do anything.” jungkook waits, doe eyes expectant and dark. “did it feel better after you bit me— yesterday?”
“yes,” jungkook replies after a moment. “but i don’t have to, if you don’t—“
“i don’t want your blood after,” yoongi pushes jungkook’s legs apart briefly, reaching to pull at the hem of the sweatpants he’s borrowed. “it doesn’t— i can heal on my own.” jungkook stares, fangs showing between the small gap of his mouth. “don’t bite yourself, it’s messy,” pants are pulled down, briefs too. jungkook nods, even though yoongi knows it’s going to be difficult. “you can bite me later if you don’t,” he offers and jungkook shivers as yoongi runs fingers up his thighs when he lifts his legs the slightest. “turn around.”
“no kissing?” it makes yoongi look up, flushing suddenly. jungkook looks confused, and turned on, and beautiful. it isn’t just sex for him, it never has been, maybe. yoongi looks away, red on his cheeks. then jungkook stirs in motion, worried. “ah, i need to brush my teeth again—“
“no,” yoongi stops him, holding his shoulders to keep him on the bed. “it’s fine.” he leans, feeling his fingers against jungkook’s collar bones, pressing. jungkook waits, wishful, until their mouths meet, slowly at first as if it’s their first time kissing. yoongi waits until jungkook is more eager, until hands hold his hips, trying to bring him closer, waits until jungkook flinches at the way yoongi touches his chest, airless against yoongi’s breathing. “turn around,” he asks again, and jungkook only nods this time, complying quickly. yoongi kneels at the edge of the bed, carpet prickling at his skin. he pulls on jungkook’s legs, dragging him down towards him a little, and it makes jungkook gasp a throaty hyung from the friction. “sorry,” yoongi mumbles, smirking. “no blood on my sheets.” he reminds him, touching jungkook softly, his muscles clenching the slightest, rubbing against parts of him that feel good and looking at the way his back arches prettily, shoulder blades like wings. “i’ve only got two sets.”
“you said that— ngh ,” jungkook coils at the touch of yoongi’s tongue, sound caught in his throat. yoongi goes very slow, holding jungkook’s hips down, not allowing him much movement. the soft licks make him impatient, and jungkook brings a pillow close to bite, the fabric ripping very easily. yoongi gives him some more, then, and he moans softly, the sound staining everything around them a dangerous hue of magenta. the teasing goes on, soft touches of fingertips, kisses, the grazing of teeth on too sensitive skin. jungkook doesn’t breathe, but his body trembles erratically, yoongi’s tongue just barely touching, barely there, until jungkook cracks completely. “stop teasing me,” he demands, raspy, muffled by the fabric stuck to his fangs. yoongi chuckles, and jungkook sighs exasperated.
“you just ate my pillow,” he says, against the tanned skin of jungkook’s legs. “it’s punishment.” jungkook starts to move, starts to say something, but it all breaks into a stuttery lament when yoongi uses his tongue again, deeper this time, fingers pressing against skin. so good , jungkook seems to mumble as yoongi does so again, so good, hyung , and he does so again, hyung , and he does so again, hng — like that , and he does so again—
“that’s— enough,” jungkook pleads. “ i need to bite— “ his teeth puncture through the pillow again, the sound coming through his airless panting, and he grinds down on the bed, searching for other ways to feel good.
“you can bite me later,” yoongi offers kindly, wiping his mouth, entire body in flames. his knees hurt as he climbs on the bed almost sleepily, laying down next to jungkook, finding his dark, dark eyes. there’s a spark in them, then, a flash of a thing that scares yoongi, but it’s arousing all the same. jungkook lifts himself up, grabbing yoongi until he’s pushed against the headboard in an urgent kind of way. jungkook slides his legs to each side of his hips. yoongi swallows. “you can bite me later,” he repeats, reaching to touch jungkook with light, gentle strokes. jungkook frowns, eyes fluttering close, fangs nipping at skin, and his head falls over, chin against his chest, nails digging at yoongi’s shoulders. his mouth hangs open after a moment, pink tongue against his bottom lip. yoongi doesn’t know why he does it, but he does , his free hand touching jungkook’s chin, thumb running down a sharp fang. a long moan escapes jungkook’s throat. “—that feels good, too, huh.”
“ yeah ,” jungkook mumbles, yoongi’s thumb dangerously still inside his mouth. “hyung—“ later , yoongi mumbles, enthralled by the way touching his teeth changes jungkook’s whole demeanor, how it makes him writhe, moving against yoongi’s hand in between his legs. still, he doesn’t do it for long, because jungkook moves briskly and away, possibly having had enough.
“i won’t do it again,” he starts saying, patting jungkook’s hair softly, apologetic, hearing jungkook snort. “unless you— jungkook —” yoongi’s eyes widen as soon as jungkook goes down on him, and he closes them quickly, overwhelmed, groaning, words scattering apart. jungkook burns the same way ice does, in that blaringly painful way that allays bruises. yoongi can’t help but grab a handful of jungkook’s soft strands of hair, tugging at them, guiding sloppy movements. jungkook has sharp teeth , he remembers, and somehow the thought fills him up with heat, heat, heat, so much heat. “maybe that’s enough,” his sentence is breathy, helpless as he feels the pull down his stomach, brewing down his legs. he flinches as he feels teeth scraping, broken moan falling out of his tongue. “ jungkook. ”
“punishment,” jungkook says, grinning up at him, sharp teeth adorning his bunny ones. yoongi huffs, letting his head fall back against the headboard, until jungkook is close again, body close, mouth close, kissing the side of yoongi’s jawline, and down his neck, sniffing. not yet , yoongi mutters, and once more they’re shifting, adjusting, reaching out for each other, until yoongi is between jungkook’s legs again, holding onto his hip bones for balance, breathing heavily, whilst jungkook pants, pants and moans rhythmically to the way yoongi moves (it’s a sinful orchestra of ah, ah, ah, like that, yes, ah, ah, hyung, yes, ah, hyung), head thrown back, hand between his legs, touching carelessly.
“sit up,” yoongi mutters, strained, pulling jungkook up against him, trembling at the different kind of sensation. jungkook looks dazed, whining as yoongi adjusts his legs, and they’re so close, and the angle feels so good . yoongi moves slowly once more, drawing out a long moan from jungkook’s mouth. “ fuck ,” yoongi breathes out, moving again, feeling himself sweat.
“ hyung, please—, ” jungkook asks after what seems like hours, fangs all out, needy, scraping the skin of yoongi’s neck. yoongi finally nods, not able to sustain keep going, wanting the sting, the rupture, needing it , even. they both let out longing moans when jungkook’s teeth break skin, and yoongi keeps moving, moving until he feels jungkook let go completely, until he also comes, until he can’t move anymore, oversensitive and in pain. he doesn’t have to tell jungkook anything, because the boy pulls back, mouth stained red, and they stare at each other, legs still crossed in an intimate sort of embrace. every small movement makes yoongi shiver, fingers digging into skin. “you’re sweaty,” jungkook comments, smiling, eyes hazed.
“you have blood on your teeth,” yoongi says, through heaving lungs. he leans in slightly, touching his lips to jungkook’s, tongue grazing skin, tasting bitter iron. jungkook doesn’t allow himself to be kissed, turning his face away.
“i’ll brush my teeth first,” he says, suddenly shy. yoongi’s heart skips a beat. his eyes drop to the bite on yoongi’s neck. “it hurts, doesn’t it?”
“yeah,” the answer is honest, once again.
“—why do you let me do it, then?”
that’s a difficult question. why is always a difficult question. to be fair, yoongi doesn’t know why. it felt scary since the first time, since he sat on the bed and gave away his neck to be bitten. it felt awkward to have jungkook wrap around him like that, at the kind way he a kissed the crook of his neck before biting, at his gasp when he was finished, so lyrical. yoongi hasn’t been able to forget those, nor the way it feels in bed, when jungkook’s moving against him, and he’s hyper aware of everything. “it feels the same way you feel when i’m—,” he doesn’t finish, suddenly embarrassed.
“like this,” jungkook moves the slightest, making yoongi gasp, nodding vehemently. jungkook sniffs just under his jawline, lips touching skin, feather-like. “it’s good then.”
“maybe,” he sighs, not wanting to say it out loud. yes, it’s good, it’s good, it’s good . “we should— i mean,” yoongi starts moving away, and jungkook shivers when he does so, suddenly too flustered, panicking at the way his heart deceives him by beating a million kilometers per second. he grabs tissues from the bed stand, holding them off towards jungkook. “i’ll get you a towel, you can shower before—” but he stops himself, suddenly. jungkook’s fingers are cold, cold, cold.
a strange sort of perception crawls all over yoongi’s skin, a sense of overbearing fear for what it means having his heart beat that way for jungkook. “— i sleep at night,” yoongi pulls old sweatpants over his own disgusting legs, to hide. “i’m human, i need— i need sleep and you,” he licks the corner of his lips, meeting jungkook’s eyes. “you see what i meant when i said i’m different than you.” he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so nervous, but he is, and it overwhelms him, making words come out of his mouth without a filter. jungkook’s entire expression changes to one of mild pain, from the frown to the way his eyes are wide to his lips pursed. yoongi stops by the bathroom door, leaning against it. “we can’t do more than just fuck whenever the other’s awake, and i can’t— i can’t spend my nights on dates with you, and you,” yoongi huffs. “ you burn under the sun , jungkook.”
there are a lot of things regarding vampires yoongi doesn’t know, but he doesn’t like finding out it’s blood that comes out of their eyes when they cry because of his careless words. jungkook swallows, and he wipes quickly at reddish eyes, but his tears leave a crimson stain on the side of his cheeks. yoongi knows how much of an asshole he was right away, he knows .
“yeah, i guess i do,” jungkook says, finally standing, holding onto his body to hide it as if yoongi hasn’t been touching it three minutes ago. “i don’t need a shower, i can go home.” he walks around the room, quickly picking up his clothing, getting dressed as he goes, shirt turned inside out, hair a mess. yoongi feels wrong all around. “i thought that—,” but he doesn’t finish, stepping out into the living room, stumbling on the corner of the tv stand.
“ jungkook —”
“i— thanks, for tonight and yesterday,” jungkook bows formally. “i had fun, and—,” he blinks, not knowing what to say, smiling too big, nervously. “you’re— really, i mean— i’ll go now.” but jungkook doesn’t go, he moves towards yoongi, stopping right in front of him, visibly heartbroken. “i’ll go now, hyung.”
they stare at each other, and yoongi can hear the blood running towards his ears, his head aching, the bite on his neck aching, heart aching. “don’t cry,” he finally says, breathing out, fingers reaching to touch jungkook’s trembling ones. “it’s just— i’m— i never done this.” jungkook’s eyebrows raise the slightest, confused. “i don’t have days after, and you—,” yoongi looks away, angry at himself for getting so nervous. “why are you crying? don’t cry, jungkook.”
“— you put the blood next to the milk,” jungkook comments absentmindedly, voice a bit strained. “like it’s normal.” he huffs, red eyes puffy. a new stream of bloody tears runs down his face, but jungkook smiles nonetheless. “i had a good time, hyung,” he nods, wiping his face briskly, sniffing. “i don’t regret it.”
how fast some things end , yoongi thinks, dull pain inside his chest. jungkook looks at him one more time before leaving, front door closing swiftly a few meters away. it’s early, not that much after midnight. yoongi sits on the couch, staring at the darkened corridor where the door to his bedroom is left ajar, dim white light pouring out of it.
(“he lost everything because he thought he had it all figured out,” the tv host says, as yoongi blinks awake, and maybe it’s a dream, but it isn’t. it says almost four in the morning on the screen, and some late talk show is on. “which makes him kind of stupid,” the audience laughs alongside the host. yoongi sighs, reaching for the remote, turning it off.)
yoongi holds the black device on the palm of his hand, documents on the other, and it’s one twenty-one at night. he’s number 53. it wasn’t out of luck— but out of bribe, really, a small (not small at all) amount of his tips given away. he could just call jungkook, but he can’t seem to be brave enough to pick up the phone and do it. the red door looks ominous, and he inhales before knocking softly. it opens, just like that first time. jungkook isn’t wearing a vampire costume this time, no pressed clothing that hug his edges, but sweatpants and a shirt too big, and he looks heartbrokenly forlorn on the burgundy chair. he startles when yoongi walks in, hands coming to grab at the arms of his chair, eyes widening. “— hyung .”
it’s been a few weeks, once again. a few weeks where yoongi has played their entire argument back and forth in his mind, sometimes out loud to namjoon and a copious amount of alcohol. there’s no future with a vampire , he had repeated, to which namjoon had replied, softly, it means something if you’re considering one, hyung . “i—,” yoongi starts, nervous. “i wanted to talk to you.” jungkook doesn’t say anything, staring, waiting. yoongi can smell him, and iron, which means he’s fed at least once. someone else was here before, giving themselves away for him. the thought makes him jealous. “— i—”
“can i have your documents?” the sentence is said rather coldly, and jungkook reaches out a hand. yoongi blinks, confused, before holding them out for him. you know me already , yoongi wants to say. “bed, please.”
somehow, it’s difficult not to do what jungkook’s saying, which may be the pheromones still clinging to the refurbished air, and yoongi’s head feels hazy as he sits down, confused, looking at jungkook on eye level. jungkook still looks young, and pretty, and hurt. “you’re right at being angry at me,” yoongi says, pulse quickening when jungkook gets closer, grabbing onto his wrist, hard enough to be painful. “— are you going to hurt me?”
jungkook’s expression seems to thaw, and he blinks away his possible anger, fingers loosening around yoongi’s wrist. “no, i—,” he starts, voice low. “i just need to eat.”
“— alright.” but jungkook doesn’t move, his eyes travelling around yoongi’s face, to the purple under his eyes, the paleness of his cheeks, his throat, the side of his neck. yoongi stares at him, because he can’t seem to look anywhere else. “i’m sorry.” jungkook nods, bringing yoongi’s arm closer, thumb caressing purple veins on his wrist. it’s a loving kind of touch, a careful one. yoongi doesn’t feel like he deserves it. “i’m sorry,” he says it again.
when teeth sink into his arm, breaking into skin painfully, yoongi flinches, holding the will to pull quickly away. it hurts, this time. it hurts all over, inside and out. his hand come to hold onto jungkook’s shoulder, as if to push him away, and jungkook notices it, maybe, because he stirs, stepping back, chin dripping blood. yoongi feels lightheaded, arm falling limp on the bed. “hyung,” he seems to sigh, eyes dark, dark, dark. “why’d you came here,” he mumbles, biting the tip of his fingers, smearing his blood on yoongi’s wound hastily. “it’s not a good place to talk.”
“later, then,” yoongi mumbles, still a bit hazy. “let’s talk later.”
“a proper— date,” jungkook’s eyes fade down to watery blues. yoongi searches in the back pocket of his jeans, lifting himself a bit, jungkook holding weakly on his arm, to keep him steady. he shows the slips of paper, sort of wrinkled on the corners, the avengers written on it. “i bought movie tickets for those late night sessions you wanted to go.”
it’s nice to see jungkook huff, a small smile finding its way to his sour expression, a boyish sort of grin. yoongi likes it, he likes it . “okay,” jungkook pats his arm. “now go, hyung.”
“i’ll wait for you outside.”
he moves slowly, hopping off of the bed, looking up at jungkook because he’s suddenly tall again, tall and close and pretty the way he is. yoongi breathes out, feeling his wrist hurt. jungkook takes a chocolate cookie out from his backpack, still hiding behind the armchair like the first time. “to help,” he mumbles, looking just ever so shy. yoongi wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t think it’s the right thing to do, not right then, not before they talk. “i’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
“i’ll wait for you.” — and yoongi waits for jungkook under the faint lights of the street corner, until he comes walking from an alleyway, as if born out of the darkness that stains it. there’s no darkness in the way he is, though, just messy hair, too large sweatshirt, his backpack carelessly tossed over his shoulder. yoongi finds himself holding his breath, until they’re near, looking at each other. jungkook looks away first, lips pressed together. “did you,” yoongi starts, not knowing what to say. “did you have enough to eat?”
just a nod follows, and jungkook reaches for the lose threads of yoongi’s bandage, pulling on them softly, fingers touching his wrist carefully. “ the avengers ,” he says, after a moment. “i really wanted to watch it.” it makes yoongi smile, oddly proud of himself for making the right choice. he starts walking, still too embarrassed to properly speak, not knowing what to say and how to say it, the apologies piling up inside his throat. jungkook follows, feebly holding onto his wrist still, maybe not to hurt, maybe because he’s embarrassed, too. for a while, it’s only their steps and yoongi’s breath and heartbeat staining the air.
“do you want to walk there?” yoongi finally asks. “we can— talk.”
“i didn’t mean to cry,” jungkook seems to sigh, touching his hair, pulling his hoodie up to cover it. “it’s gross when i do.” it’s kind of gross, yes , yoongi agrees playfully, but he finds himself searching for jungkook’s fingers to hold onto, the cold almost welcoming. “i guess, i—,” yoongi glances at him, at his worried expression. “i liked—,” he swallows, finding yoongi’s eyes. “i liked waking up in your bed.”
yoongi’s chest fills up with an alluring kind of warmth, but there’s shame laced with it, as yoongi remembers he couldn’t find it in himself to share his bed. “jungkook,” he starts, pulling onto jungkook’s arm softly to stop him from crossing the road without looking. “i never share my bed,” yoongi breathes out, feeling his ears hot. “i don’t know how to share it,” they cross together, closer now, gravitating towards each other. “— and we’re—“
“different,” jungkook offers, melancholy in his eyes. yoongi stops them, the street quiet, a soft spring breeze ruffling jungkook’s soft strands of hand.
“yeah— no , we—“ he swallows, staring up at jungkook, and eyes that still look mildly hurt.
“i wasn’t always like this,” the words are shaky, as if jungkook’s cold, and yoongi gets closer involuntarily. they must look weird, standing with no space between them, holding hands. they must look— more . “i was really happy when you,” he shrugs. “when you put the blood next to the milk.”
yoongi feels himself blushing entirely. it’s such a small thing, he wonders, how come it made you so happy? jungkook touches his ear, pressing the skin, pushing hair behind it. “i regret the things i’ve said,” yoongi finally pushes the words out. “i— liked you being there,” jungkook huffs, smiling.
he leans in, getting closer, so close yoongi thinks he’s going to get kissed, and he wants it . jungkook brushes soft lips against his jawline, though, before muttering, cheeky: “ hyung ,” yoongi closes his eyes, nails digging into jungkook’s palm. “maybe you are starting to like me.”
“i made you cry,” yoongi tilts his head slightly, allowing jungkook to sniff down the collar of his shirt. “maybe i’m just a fucking asshole.” jungkook nods, and he lets go of yoongi’s hand to hold onto his waist, bringing the crook of his neck closer, fangs just slightly scrapping. yoongi lets out a stuttery kind of breath. anyone could walk by. anyone could look through their windows and see— two men , but worse, a human and a vampire. jungkook mumbles something, you smell good, hyung . “i want to get to know you,” he says, shivering as jungkook nips at his skin. “really know you, i want to—,” jungkook is grinning when he pulls back, fingers still pressing onto yoongi’s waist. “i want to know your favourite animal, and—“
“dogs,” jungkook answers right away, fangs still out. “i like dogs.”
“dogs don’t like vampires,” yoongi points out️.
“no,” jungkook shakes his head. they stare at each other before snorting, laughing weakly. arms wrap more tightly around him, then, and jungkook’s smile is pretty. “what’s your favorite avenger ?”
“i’ll answer that after the movie,” yoongi tries walking away, only to be held back softly. “— jungkook .” a car passes by, and yoongi startles, worried at their proximity. “we should go, it’s late.”
“no, it’s early,” it’s an endearing grin that curls jungkook’s lips, and yoongi can’t help but kiss it, quickly, making it wider. “we can get something to eat.”
so they find their way into an open restaurant, one that is cheap enough yoongi doesn’t get embarrassed for not being able to afford, and the ahjumma brings them side dishes and bowls of rice and jungkook grabs onto everything, sniffing, the scents seemingly making him happy. “how did it happen,” yoongi can’t help but ask, watching him carefully. “ why .” jungkook looks up, expression faltering. he pulls back, hands going to hide inside pockets. yoongi feels as if he crossed lines. “i mean, you don’t have to—“
it’s a choice, for most vampires. it’s a heavy one, one that lingers for centuries, maybe full of regret at some point, but it’s a choice. nowadays, there’s bureaucracy in turning, there are files to be signed, money to be put on special ids, different obituaries. it’s not just a happening, a whim. yoongi can’t help but think why would jungkook choose that when he looks at life with such fond eyes. “car crash,” he shrugs, after a moment. yoongi raises his eyebrows, the food suddenly not tasting good. “it was either this or true death, so my parents, they— they—“ they chose having you forever than not having you at all . yoongi feels horribly sad all at once, chest aching bitterly. “but it’s fine, i’m— adjusting.”
“you are,” yoongi nods, feeling his mouth dry. he doesn’t feel like eating anymore. “you make a good vampire.” jungkook huffs, looking down at his hands, which suddenly seem very interesting. “jungkook,” their eyes meet, and jungkook’s glimmer, reflecting light. yoongi forgets what he wants to say almost immediately. he wants to comfort jungkook somehow, but he doesn’t know how or if he should. “you’re—,” yoongi pushes rice in his mouth quickly. “you’re cute for a dead person.”
at least it makes jungkook breaks out into a giggle, and the way he scrunches his nose, slightly timid and youthful and adorable— yoongi can’t help but smile, too, cheeks red. “eat more, hyung,” jungkook offers food on his chopsticks, and yoongi takes it without questioning. but then he’s lowering his voice, grinning, leaning over the table. “you need it for later.” for later implies things that make yoongi choke, and he slaps jungkook’s arm jokingly, and it makes him cackle.
“the movie is two hours long,” yoongi comments, furiously red now. “by the time we leave, it’ll be almost sunrise.”
“no, i,” he wants to take jungkook home and straight to the bed, but at the same time, yoongi wants other things rather than just a night. other things , many other things. “i wanted to take you out on a date.” jungkook nods, touching his hair like he does when he’s embarrassed, fangs showing a bit. “and mine are dogs, too, i mean, my favourite animal,” he offers. “i like dogs.”
“good thing you’re not a vampire,” jungkook laughs weakly, offering yoongi more food. he chews on it, slowly, just slightly sad-struck.
“yeah,” the word is small. jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. “good thing.” yoongi quickly shakes the odd feeling off, sighing. “come on, we’ll— we’ll miss the movie.”
the movie is two hours long, indeed, and yoongi thinks he can feel each and every minute pass dangerously slow sitting next to jungkook, watching him giggle with the cheesy lines, his eyes so wide at the action, tongue licking the blood he’s sipping from the corner of his mouth. there are other vampires around, other humans, too, a mixture that makes jungkook feel at ease, but yoongi feels nervous, nervous all around. i can’t spend my nights on dates with you , he had said, weeks before. it’s a lie, he realises. a foolish, silly lie. “you’re not paying attention to the movie,” jungkook whispers at some point, leaning close. yoongi only shakes his head, staring. “you can’t choose a favorite avenger that way, hyung.”
“it’s whoever you like,” yoongi tells him, earnestly. jungkook touches yoongi’s thigh carefully. for a second, yoongi thinks he knows what jungkook wants, what are the intentions in such soft, easy touch. he’s wrong, though, because jungkook moves to hold his hand instead, entwining cold and warm fingers, adjusting himself on the seat until he can put his head on yoongi’s shoulder. it makes yoongi huff, smiling, looking away from the screen because he can’t suddenly pay attention. something blows up, and hopefully the noise hides the beating of his deranged heart. i can spend all my nights on dates with you. the thought startles him, and yoongi swallows, nervous.
the movie eventually ends, but jungkook keeps him sitting there because there’s always post-credit scenes, hyung. by the time they’re out, the four a.m. has slowly rolled by, and the usual change of colours in the horizon is starting. they walk together for a few blocks, towards the train stations that are almost opening again, jungkook excitedly reliving every minute of the movie, making yoongi laugh with the sound effect he produces. “i can’t believe you haven’t watched iron man, hyung,” he shakes his head, tugging onto yoongi’s sleeve. they aren’t holding hands anymore, but each other’s sleeves, every other step they take. “tony stark is the greatest superhero of all time .”
“alright, fanboy,” yoongi is still laughing, even though it’s weakly. he sees the station at the end of the block, the early workers waiting for its opening already. “you don’t have to wait with me.”
“i’m close to home,” jungkook shrugs. “i can wait, we can,” he looks around, pushing hair behind his ear. “wait together.”
it’s such a simple, human thing. to wait for the train together. such a commonplace way of spending time with people you — enjoy, like . yoongi finds himself blushing. “sure,” he nods, and then he takes the first step, this time, holding jungkook’s hand. “we can wait together.” it makes jungkook happy, from the way his smile is suddenly so big, from the way he pulls yoongi close, kissing his cheek. “jungkook,” yoongi starts, nervous. “maybe you can,” he sighs, and it’s truly nerve wrecking. “maybe you can sleep at my place.”
jungkook’s eyes widen, and his big smile falters just a tad out of surprise. then he sniffs, looking away, seemingly unaffected. “maybe you can sleep with me instead.” the offer is posed very gingerly, quiet in a way. yoongi raises his eyebrows, puzzled. “you wouldn’t have to wait for the train.”
“— do you live by yourself?”
“yeah,” he pulls on yoongi’s hand. “come on, hyung.”
it’s an easy decision in his mind, but yoongi stands still, some sort of wariness muddling his thoughts, the worrying intrinsic to his human side. the home of a vampire seems suddenly like a strange place for a person. they’re people too . “if i wake up first,” yoongi asks, licking his lips. “can i leave?”
jungkook seems to find the question amusing. “you can leave anytime,” he nods, odd smile on his face. “i won’t hurt you, hyung.”
“— okay, then.”
jungkook’s apartment isn’t that far, but they take a taxi, just because time is a foe. it isn’t as large as yoongi’s, but it is newer, on a higher-end condominium, those that are tall and glassy and modern, different from the short, stubby, old building where yoongi lives. the contrast is clear. “there’s not much,” jungkook warns him, opening the door with a password, and yoongi thinks whatever’s not much is far above what he owns, anyway. the apartment is clean and quite small, a shoe box of fancy furniture and sleek, twenty-first century angles. “i don’t spend much time here.”
“where do you spend time?” yoongi looks around, curious. the door to what is probably a bedroom was left ajar.
“i — go to the gym,” jungkook explains almost timidly, opening the blinds to a glittering city around them. the glass is tinted, shading every light a deeper yellow. “most nights i just — walk around.” it’s the kind of lonesome side yoongi isn’t expecting. somehow, in his mind, in popular belief, maybe, vampires, these alien nocturnal creatures, party and rave and murder after the sun goes down. it isn’t like that at all. as if knowing what yoongi is thinking, jungkook chuckles, adding: “we’re just like normal people, hyung.” he yawns, eyes finding the windows again. it’s probably past five now. “we just live in the dark.”
yoongi only nods. jungkook smiles, pointing with his head towards the door besides the couch, the one slightly opened, inviting. jungkook’s bedroom smells of the same sweetness that comes from his body, as if drenched in it. it’s only then yoongi recognises the smell, a sharp sting in his chest— there are lilies by the window, white ones, looking serene under the moon. there’s also a coffin, and a bed, and yoongi feels like he’s walked into a funeral home all of a sudden. jungkook notices his distress right away, panic seemingly reaching him. “you sleep in a coffin,” yoongi points out dully, expression blank.
“no, i,” and jungkook laughs nervously, approaching the wooden coffin, easily holding it up, making it hit the ceiling with a loud noise, flinching. he carries it over the closet, where it ultimately doesn’t fit. yoongi can’t seem to blink. “i— tried , but it’s really uncomfortable, you can’t move—”
“you don’t move when you’re dead,” yoongi says it flatly, words just coming out of his mouth, and he’s still staring at the coffin. jungkook steps into his line of vision, and yoongi’s eyes finally lift towards him. he looks— worried, maybe. “you don’t really, i— i’ve seen it, that time.”
a short pause follows, and it’s heavy with awkwardness. “— you can leave if you want to,” jungkook offers. “i shouldn’t— i’m sorry, i just thought—”
“i don’t want to leave,” the answer is said clumsily, as if yoongi is too eager to say words and they stumble out. he doesn’t want to leave, but— there’s a coffin in the room . jungkook is looking at him nervously, waiting the buts , the maybes , the what ifs . “it’s — weird, you’re weird —,” at this yoongi huffs, and it makes jungkook’s expression melt into something less worrying. “but i don’t want to leave.”
a smile curls jungkook’s lips upwards prettily, and he moves fast, then, faster than yoongi’s eyes can see, until he’s holding a small pile of clothes in front of yoongi, so much closer now, alluringly sweet. “you can borrow my clothes this time,” jungkook says, expectant. “and— we don’t have to—”
“just sleep,” yoongi nods, blushing as he softly pushes jungkook towards the bed, until he’s sitting down, almost dropping the clothes from shaky arms. his eyes get wide and big as yoongi starts undressing, and it always seems to be this way, all that strange admiration in the way he’s watched, all that youthful expectation. jungkook doesn’t move, but yoongi can see him swallow and look away after a moment. yoongi covers himself in clothes that fit him oddly, and that smell of laundry and lilies. “aren’t you going to get dressed? the sun is coming up soon.”
“— yeah, yes, i’ll—” he pushes hair behind his ear, getting up, so close he has to hold onto yoongi for balance. yoongi smiles, touching the buttons on jungkook’s jeans, watching him hold airless breath, a ghost sort of reaction from his previous mortality. “ hyung. ” yoongi huffs, lifting his sweatshirt, until he pulls it over jungkook’s head, tossing it on the floor. pants are pushed down next, and jungkook is pushed onto the bed again so yoongi can take them off properly. jungkook shudders, fangs out, as his thighs are touched softly, and the back of his knees, and his calves. but then yoongi is pulling away, walking over a nearby wardrobe to pull sweatpants out of them, swinging them over jungkook’s head. “ah— hyung .” the whiny tone makes yoongi snort.
“you don’t have time, baby fangs,” he points out. “you’ll be dead until dark in minutes.”
“then, can we kiss—?”
they move on the bed, yoongi crawling lazily over to the left side, feeling arms already wrapping around him, easily bringing him closer, and closer, and closer, a leg between his, pressing, and jungkook buries his face on his neck, sniffing down his throat. “you said kiss,” yoongi complains, but doesn’t move away. jungkook pulls back a little, and his smile makes yoongi’s heart beat faster. it’s a nice smile .
“i like the sound of your heartbeat, hyung.” jungkook yawns, and yoongi waits until he’s blinking away sleepiness to kiss him, and somehow he thinks this kiss is different than any other kisses they’ve shared. it feels better when you’re in love .
“jungkook,” yoongi says, against cold lips. jungkook only hums, nodding, their noses touching again. yoongi stares at the length of his eyelashes, the faint freckles on his cheeks, from the sunlight that used to touch him. he wonders what jungkook would feel like if he were warm, and living. he licks his lips, ready to say words that are difficult to say out loud. “i think i’m,” but jungkook stills, dying, dead, dead, dead . yoongi’s eyes drift to the window, sighing. he moves, adjusting his body to jungkook’s limp body, pulling blankets over the coldness around him. the windows are tinted, so the room remains dark. yoongi doesn’t fall asleep for a long time. “— falling in love.”
it’s dark when yoongi wakes up. it’s dark, even though his body knows it is daylight out, from the way the sky is coloured through the tint on the glass. yoongi yawns, stomach grumbling. jungkook hasn’t moved an inch, still a goner. where do you go when you die? the thought makes him huff, and yoongi pulls himself up and out of the bed halfheartedly, too comfortable.
the coffin leans ominously on the wall against the closet, the padding of a crimson colour. yoongi avoids looking at it for too long, walking out of the bedroom into the quiet living room. the kitchen looks unused. the microwave still has its plastic tags from when it came out of a box. yoongi peers into the fridge, worried, hungry . it’s ironic, he thinks for a second, before looking. his heart does a thing, aching, warmth spreading. in one of the shelves, amongst bags of blood, sits a package with his name on it. on the door, a carton of chocolate milk. yoongi feels — content. he smiles as he chews on soy sauce seasoned tofu and vegetable omelette and rice, wondering if jungkook took the time to make those himself or if he bought them thinking purposely and solely on yoongi’s late rising. his phone rings, then, buzzing on the counter. “ i see you haven’t slept home,” namjoon says, and there’s a smirk on his timbre.
“no,” yoongi says bluntly, unashamed. “i’m at jungkook’s.”
“ah, alright,” there’s barking in the background, as yoongi picks up a spoonful of rice. “i was hoping you could dogsit for us today, i have a presentation i can’t miss.”
“if you promise to pick yeontan up before nightfall, i guess you can bring him here.”
“— aren’t you going home?”
yoongi puts his empty dishes in the sink. “no, i want to stay,” he turns on the water, the sound transfering into the call, muffling yeontan’s happy barks. “it isn’t— i mean, i have things i need to say.” namjoon only hums, and yoongi knows he understands. there was also things namjoon wanted to say once, his chest full of it. “i’ll message you the address.”
“— dogs don’t like vampires, hyung.” namjoon reminds him. “it’s fine, he can be alone for a day.” he clears his throat. “so— you’re in love with a vampire.” at this, yoongi chokes, coughing bitterly, flustered, mumbling i don’t know, maybe, i have thought about it, no , and it makes namjoon laugh weakly at the other end. “you’re in love with a vampire.”
“announce it on naver, will you,” yoongi clears his throat, blushing, drying wet fingers on the side of his pants.
“does he know?”
“no— i don’t know, i— no, i guess.” the living room is dark, but yoongi manages to crack the window open, warm breeze filling in the corners of the room, a slit of sunlight pouring in. he sits right in front of it, letting it warm his face, eyes closed. the phone feels clammy against his ear already. well, he’s got time , namjoon says, before yelling at yeontan not to eat one of his figurines. he’s got time . yoongi blinks, the harsh light making his eyes tear up. jungkook has time, yes. yoongi doesn’t. “look, i have to go.”
“yeah,” namjoon seems to sigh. “— good luck, hyung.”
“you too,” yoongi smiles at no one in particular. “the plantae world isn’t ready for you.”
the phone is put down, only for a few minutes. yoongi types in the search bar, curious. dating vampires — no, that’s not right. i’m in love with a vampire . the results vary in genre, from blog posts about young woman dreading to find themselves in love with aggressive male vampires, to straight up porn. wrong search, maybe . he rolls down the screen, nibbling at his bottom lip. one article gets his attention, the subject reading how to date a vampire and not die. he snorts, giving up on the internet altogether, but the words remain, bothering him somehow. the sun shifts in the sky as the minutes pass. its heat burns on yoongi’s cheeks, but he likes it. yoongi likes the sun, likes how it stains his room yellow, how it drips over the bed, heating up his duvets. living without it seems gloomy and empty. he turns his head, looking at the closed door of jungkook’s room. how to date a vampire and not die . yoongi swallows, thinking of birthdays, and anniversaries, and growing old. he’s only known jungkook long enough to have some feelings, but the thought that they can’t progress over the early sinking of love it’s — sad, really. jungkook is someone who has forever to love and to lose and to love again and to lose again and to love again, whilst yoongi is only human, life a fleeting thing of a second, feelings as fragile as his body. there’s only so much you can spend loving someone else.
he stands, suddenly jittery. jungkook’s room is much colder than the living room as he walks in. yoongi stumbles towards the bed, sitting next to the unmoving body, watching the purpleness of his skin, how it blotches on his lips, almost blue in the dark. jungkook’s still pretty, the way his eyes look oddly peaceful, how his fingers are clutching the folds on the sheets, like a marble statue. yoongi doesn’t touch him, aware of boundaries, but he sits there, and then he lays on the other side of the bed, the left side, hand stuck under his pillow, staring at the boy, stone cold and pretty, lying next to him. “— i don’t know how to do this,” he says it out loud. “i hope you’re smarter than me for these things.” yoongi huffs. “probably not, you’re a baby.” his eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he yawns. “jungkook,” his fingers touch jungkook’s softly, holding. “— don’t hurt me when you wake up.”
(he dreams of—
euphoria, the feeling of it, and jungkook’s smile under the sun. it’s strange—)
“ hyung, ” it’s more like a chant than a call, maybe, yoongi thinks, stirring awake from dreams of endless sunlight. the body close to him is cold, cold, cold. his eyes find blue eyes the moment they open, and in the dark they gleam. the contours of jungkook’s face are barely lit by the moon outside, weak and alone in the darkness above. “you smell like the sun.”
“i opened your window earlier,” he admits, straining his eyes, trying to see better. it’s no use. “have you eaten?”
“no,” jungkook also admits quietly. “i was waiting for you to wake up.”
yoongi’s heart gets messy, scared, maybe. he’s still mildly afraid of jungkook, despite the growing need to have him close. he stutters as he speaks, mumbling: “it’s too early— i don’t feel like—”
“i was thinking you can order food for yourself and we could have dinner together,” all the words leave jungkook’s mouth fast, a stream of nervous sentences and convoluted letters, and yoongi stops talking, cheeks heating up almost immediately.
there’s a slight pause. “— have dinner together ,” yoongi repeats, astonished, weirdly happy, blinking. his heart is racing, he knows, and jungkook can hear every time it rams against his ribcage. “yeah, i’d— i’d like that.”
“good,” jungkook nods, and his nose bumps against yoongi’s when he leans in, and his fangs are out because he’s hungry, and yoongi smiles at the way the kiss is fast because jungkook still have little control over his thirst. he sucks on a blood bag as they move around each other, and yoongi doesn’t lock the door when he steps in for a shower, even though he knows jungkook won’t come in. there’s three drained bags on the table next to the couch by the time yoongi joins him again. jungkook looks at him sheepishly. “i was a bit hungry.”
“that’s fine,” yoongi huffs, sitting next to jungkook, legs curling under him. “you don’t have to order anything for me, i—“ i have no cash and i missed work to stay , he wants to say, but it’s embarrassing. jungkook touches the sleeve of the shirt yoongi borrowed, tugging at it.
“i ordered some food on yogiyo already,” jungkook looks positively shy, from the way his eyes are down to his hands, and the way his fangs keep picking on his bottom lip. “it’s from this, uh, restaurant i used to like,” he looks younger like that, speaking in such small words, and they’re all laced with the kind of longing that is different. “their food is really good, i remember.”
“— okay.” yoongi holds onto the fingers that tentatively play with his clothes, and jungkook startles, and maybe he’s blushing in another life, one where he still breathes. yoongi keeps hoping he could see that. it’s silly wishful thinking. “i’ll pay you back,” he says, sternly. “and you can,” he’s still staring when jungkook looks up. “you can have some of mine later.”
jungkook visibly swallows, but he grins a moment later, albeit a nervous one, jittery. “i should buy you dinner more often, hyung,” he says, cheeky. yoongi’s about to say no, you shouldn’t, i’m older, but jungkook leans forward, softly nipping at the skin of yoongi’s neck, cutting his complaint short, making him blush redder. “you smell like the sun,” he repeats, sniffing. “and my shampoo.”
“you smell of hemoglobin, or something,” the dry comment makes jungkook laugh, and yoongi joins him weakly.
the food arrives not long after, which is good, as it slowly becomes more difficult for jungkook to sit still around yoongi. he pours blood over unseasoned glass noodles, stirring it vigorously, looking pleased. yoongi watches him over his own serving, equally red but not bloody, stomach complaining. “glass noodles are basically water and starch,” jungkook’s saying, proud of his own discovery. “so i can eat with you, hyung.” he smiles too big, fangs big, teeth big. “we can pretend.”
“yeah,” yoongi agrees, because it makes jungkook happy, and, for more reasons than others, that has become weirdly important to yoongi. so they eat together, mumbling irrelevant words about the taste, changing small talk that leads nowhere, using formalities that don’t truly belong. it’s like they are suddenly too aware of too many things about each other. they are, yoongi is, he’s too aware of all the things jungkook does and says, aware of how much he likes to hear him talk, and how he doesn’t mind that jungkook likes to feed him with chopsticks that have touched blood. it’s a strange sort of reality. “i want to go to bed,” yoongi blurts out, then, interrupting a story about a friend whose name he never truly heard. jungkook blinks, bewildered for a second.
“i need to— brush my teeth,” he mumbles, shyly.
“it’s fine like that,” yoongi tells him, flustered, standing up, holding jungkook’s wrist. “i mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—“
“i want to,” jungkook nods vehemently, standing too, quickly following yoongi’s staggering steps into the bedroom, obeying the soft take off your clothes that yoongi demands, huffing when his back meets the mattress almost urgently. “hyung,” he says, as yoongi disposes of his clothes, too. “i probably taste like blood, i—“
“i don’t mind it,” yoongi pushes jungkook’s leg apart, kneeling between them, and jungkook trembles the slightest. he meets jungkook’s confused stare, swallowing. “i don’t mind that you taste like blood, jungkook.”
“— really?” yoongi nods, fingers touching over the fabric of jungkook’s briefs, and his eyes flutter closed, mouth opening the slightest in anticipation. yoongi likes the way the muscles on his stomach clench, defining pretty lines.
“really,” he voices, then, watching jungkook squirm as he presses harder between his legs, soft gasps leaving his mouth. “baby fangs,” yoongi calls, and jungkook’s eyes open, meeting his. his heart is beating too loud. “you’re easy to rile,” he chuckles as jungkook whines, tossing an arm in front of his face. “it’s really cute.”
“i’m not cute,” he complains, fangs poking fleshy lips, and they curl upward into a smile, because he likes being complimented. yoongi chuckles, poking his ribs, a long hyuuung coming out of jungkook’s lips, and he trashes at being tickled, cackling. then it’s yoongi’s turn to be rolled over, easily manhandled, pinned under a stronger body. “i’m not cute.”
“yes, you are,” yoongi looks at his face, the details in it, chest warm. jungkook’s grin soothes into some sort of admiration as he leans in gently, nudging yoongi’s jawline with his nose, trailing soft kisses, body grinding against yoongi’s, making his breath stutter, legs wrapping around legs. they do that for a while, the sort of needy kind of kissing, slow and burning between legs and chests and fingers. “jungkook,” he says after a while, breathy. “i need to tell you something.”
“okay,” jungkook hums, pulling back the slightest, eyes dark. he waits, patiently, not looking away. yoongi wonders if he knows . he doesn’t, from the way he tuts a moment later, a distress kind of noise. it makes yoongi smile. “you’re not saying anything.”
“maybe later,” yoongi shakes his head, hand wrapping around jungkook’s neck to bring him closer again, unspoken things being said by tongues and touches instead. kissing quickly becomes unbearable, becomes something that hurts instead of allays. “do you have anything— anything we—” the raspy words are full of embarrassment. it’s not the first time they’re sleeping together, and yet yoongi can’t bring himself to say a few things out loud. maybe it is because jungkook looks so young, so untouched . “because otherwise—”
“i bought everything, after— after that first time, since i really— i mean, i wanted you to—” jungkook slides a hand down yoongi’s side, exploring curves he has not dared touch just yet. yoongi flushes all over, chest stained pink, feeling suddenly like an amateur, a silly, young, lovestruck apprentice. it probably shows up on the way he looks at jungkook, because jungkook swallows, pursing his lips. “maybe i should stop talking.”
“yeah, that’s— that’s a good idea.”
there’s not a lot more talking, then. there’s a lot of moving, and a lot of noises, but not a lot of talking, not in coherent structures that make sense. jungkook’s mostly repetitive, broken strings of his favourite vocables pouring out of his mouth as his thighs press against yoongi’s shoulders, hands fisting cotton sheets that are already stained with blood from his lip biting. “—hyung— hyung ,” he calls, over and over again, as yoongi experiments with the way he moves his tongue, his fingers, making jungkook writhe the slightest. he lifts his head from the mattress, chin smudged with blood, lips bruised, watching yoongi with heavily dark eyes. “ hyung ,” he says it again, and it sounds breathy.
“no biting,” yoongi kisses the inside of his thighs softly. he feels sweaty already. “we do it like humans do.”
“i can’t,” jungkook closes his eyes, tossing his head back, frustrated, maybe timid. “what if i can’t do it without—“ he swallows, hand raising to wipe pinkish drool from the side of his mouth. yoongi licks a patch of skin that makes him gasp. “okay,” the vague nodding makes yoongi chuckle. “no biting, but,” fingers touch yoongi’s hair, then, pulling slightly, pleading on their own. “ more .”
“yeah, i’m getting to that,” it’s jungkook’s turn to laugh weakly, body shaking lightly. it’s a nice sound. yoongi’s heart skips. “actually,” he says, pulling back the slightest, blushing. his throat feels suddenly dry, fingers trembly. jungkook tugs on his hair. “can i— can i tell you something?” it takes a lot for yoongi to sit back on the bed, pulling jungkook up with him until they’re both on eye level, like the first time they’ve met. jungkook looks confused, eyes ever so often looking down at their naked bodies, stained red around his mouth. yoongi inhales, nervous. “i’m nervous,” he voices out loud, huffing. jungkook’s eyes fade out to his strange blues. “i have to tell you something, before we—,” he licks his lips. “have sex. again.”
it’s difficult, though. it’s the most difficult thing yoongi has ever said, he thinks, maybe because in his twenty-six years of living, he’s never said it once. “i like,” jungkook raises his eyebrows, eyes big and doe-like and pretty, waiting. “i mean, i— like,” the words are wrong, it isn’t like, not just like , not anymore. jungkook leans in just a bit, glancing down his throat before meeting his eyes again. yoongi’s body burns. “this.” no, what, shit — jungkook snorts, laughing. “no, no, that’s not—”
“i like this, too, hyung,” jungkook smiles too wide, and he doesn’t seem too bothered that yoongi has literally stopped eating him out to say that out loud. no, instead— instead he just looks amused. yoongi likes that side of him, too, the young one, the human, maybe. “maybe we can—“
“i like you,” he breathes the words out, sprawling them all over the bed, naked, as well. yoongi’s heart beats so fast he feels a sharp pain in between his ribs from tired muscles. jungkook’s pupils blow dark again, as he leans back softly, staring, aghast. “i like you, and i’m— feeling things, i can’t help it.” yoongi exhales. “i thought you should know, before—,” before it ends, before it becomes too heavy, yoongi doesn’t know. jungkook doesn’t seem to know, either, because he’s silent. “if you want me to leave, i can.”
“no,” jungkook’s hand comes to hold onto his wrist, as if scared yoongi will stand up and walk out. “what kind— what kind of things?” it isn’t easy to not look away, but yoongi remains still, breath still shallow. jungkook moves, reaching out to turn on the lamp beside the bed. yellow light floods everything around them.
“love, maybe, i don’t know, it’s—,” yoongi blinks, the sudden light exposing their nakedness, making him blush. jungkook’s fingers are still pressing against his wrist as if he’s counting his pulse. “forget about it,” he inhales, looking away finally, flustered. jungkook leans in, though, licking the words he wants to say out of yoongi’s mouth, so delicately it sends goosebumps down his spine. kissing leads to proximity again, leads to jungkook pulling yoongi’s legs over his own, leads to panting and exploring fingers. yoongi allows that for a moment, allows it because he wants it bad, but— “you don’t have to feel anything,” he says it out loud. “we don’t have to see each other anymore and it’ll— it’ll go away—“
“you put the blood next to the milk,” jungkook says weakly, lips against the skin just under yoongi’ ear. “like it’s normal.” he’s smiling, yoongi can tell. “i don’t want it to go away.” the grazing of teeth makes yoongi sucks in his breath, waiting. “ hyung ,” a nip, sharp pain like a needle, then jungkook’s lips, the cold of it all. yoongi grabs onto jungkook’s impossibly small waist. “you don’t mind that i taste like blood—“ blood, blood, blood that drips down yoongi’s back, he feels it, warm and thick. jungkook sucks softly on the side of neck, and the blood gets smeared by fingers that caress skin, staining. it feels unbelievably good, and warm, and it builds with every ounce of it that jungkook drinks. yoongi hides his hand between them, touching, and the first few strokes have jungkook moaning in the sweet way he does. it doesn’t take long, not with jungkook’s teeth buried into his skin, all that hot, hot pain spreading, and yoongi’s quick movements. they come one after the other, yoongi first, broken sort of noise escaping his throat, lightheaded, breathless, and jungkook not long after, moving to bite a bit down yoongi’s neck, on a spot he seems to like, whining when yoongi keeps on touching them to the point of oversensitivity. yoongi flinches when jungkook kisses the bruise, letting them go finally. he feels like he’s breathing for the both of them. “does it hurt, hyung?”
“yeah,” yoongi sighs, smiling a bit at the repetitive, worried question, forehead against jungkook’s shoulder. “but i like it.” jungkook’s hand come to touch his hair rather lovingly, fingertips against his scalp, massaging. “i like you.” he looks up, hazed and full of warmth and sticky and sweaty, and jungkook looks at him the same way. yoongi swallows, there’s so many feelings pooling in his chest, it’s overwhelming.
something pretty blows inside jungkook’s pupils. he kisses the already mending bruises again. “we still have to do it like humans do,” he mumbles, shyly. “no biting.”
“we need a bath first.”
“i don’t have a bathtub—”
“it’s fine, you can sit on the toilet and i’ll wash your hair.” jungkook lets out a happy sound, hopping out of bed, grabbing yoongi by the pulse. his bathroom is indeed small. a rectangular room with a toilet, a shower and a sink cramped together, cut in modern shades of marble. jungkook sits down, and yoongi shampoos his hair, massaging, hearing him hum, pleased. jungkook talks about mundane things, about the time he fought out his brother for the computer and ended up getting a scar, about missing busan’s saline scent, about the fact he wants to try and eat tteokbokki suited for vampires. yoongi adds small words in between, watching jungkook close his eyes as water drips down his face, his hair dark and long and curly when wet. “you hair is getting longer,” yoongi comments absentmindedly, pushing it back and away from jungkook’s eyes. jungkook has lazy fingers running up and down the sides of yoongi’s thighs.
it’s nice to have jungkook wash his hair, too, pulling his hair up into a soapy mohawk, laughing too loud about it, your roots are growing, hyung , he mumbles, happily. yoongi just nods, suddenly tired, sleepy, his body complaining for being awake. it’s nice to have jungkook towel his hair, as gently as he can, until it isn’t dripping anymore, and it’s nice to dress in clean clothes again, to not feel the sting of the bite on his shoulder. it’s nice to have jungkook wrap arms around his waist as they walk around the bedroom again, chin against his shoulder, inhaling. it’s nice to have— jungkook. period. “hyung,” jungkook says, low and worried. “you’re quiet.” then he adds, sounding forlorn: “did i hurt you too much?”
“no,” it’s the opposite, entirely , he wants to say, but doesn’t. “do you mind if i sleep?”
“— it’s late, you should.”
“you can go on about your,” he thinks for a moment, stepping away from jungkook, finally. “night.”
it takes a moment for jungkook to follow him into bed, wordlessly grabbing onto his chest, bringing him close into a cuddle. yoongi blinks, heart beating fast. jungkook raises himself a little, only to turn off the lamp again, pressing a soft kiss to yoongi’s cheek before laying down. yoongi’s eyes feel heavy, but he doesn’t fall asleep. “hyung, did i do something wrong?” jungkook finally asks, probably noticing how stiff yoongi’s muscles are, how tense he is.
“you don’t sleep,” yoongi says, as gently as he can. it all comes down to the same conversation. he sighs.
“i know, but you do,” jungkook brings him closer, a leg sliding in between yoongi’s. “i can pretend.”
ah, that sentence again . “— for how long you can pretend?” jungkook stills ever so slightly, fingers stopping the loving movements against yoongi’s chest. “i mean,” yoongi swallows. “there’s only so much pretend we can do, jungkook.” no words leave jungkook’s tongue. he sniffs, and his hold gets weaker. “at some point you’ll get bored of humans as most vampires do,” a choked huff follows, cynical.
“i won’t get bored of you,” jungkook finally says, almost childishly. it’s stubborn to think that way, yoongi reckons. forever is one-sided and that’s all that there is to it. “i— i never,” another sniff. “i don’t want to live forever, it’s stupid.”
at this, yoongi chuckles. “you’re not even one yet, baby fangs.”
“hyung,” and yoongi finds himself being rolled over, and the lights are dim once again, the room obscured by the deep night of outside. jungkook’s eyes shimmer, small portions of space dust gracing his irises. he looks obstinate, dark crimson in the corner of his eyes. don’t cry , yoongi thinks, briefly. “the way i have to live is scary,” jungkook’s words are hushed, as if he can’t say them too loud. “but you,” he swallows. “you put the blood next to the milk, like it’s normal, and i miss that,” he gets closer. “i miss being normal.”
“you’re normal,” yoongi doesn’t like the way jungkook suddenly sounds so at loss, how there’s a tremble underneath his vowels and consonants. he fights a yawn that makes jungkook smile a little. “there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“don’t,” jungkook comes closer, sniffing. “don’t push me away, then.”
yoongi hugs him back, cheek resting against soft strands of wavy hair, peach and lilies all over him, and he feels oddly— full. “jeon jungkook,” he asks softly, yawning again. “let’s date.” jungkook stirs, moving to look up again, surprised, a small really? leaving his mouth. “really.” a pleased sort of pur leaves jungkook’s mouth as he leans in to kiss yoongi’s mouth, smiling. yoongi swallows, nervous, nodding into the kiss. “do you want to do it again?”
“yeah,” jungkook giggles, already searching for skin under yoongi’s shirt. “like humans do.” and he drags his body over yoongi’s, almost suffocatingly close, making yoongi shiver at the coldness that seeps through the fabric of his clothes. “maybe we could,” he pulls back a little, staring down at yoongi, and he looks embarrassed. “make— love?” it’s endearing how small his words are, how abashed he looks, how young and eager and honest. yoongi blinks, flustered. “i mean,” jungkook hides his face on the crook of yoongi’s neck. “ never mind .”
a hand is raised to touch jungkook’s hair, fondly, and yoongi stares at the grayish colours in the ceiling. his heart feels ablaze, his body does to, but he also wants to try it, to do things with feelings, for once. “yeah, we can— we can do that,” he follows jungkook’s spine, up and down in slow movements. jungkook seems cozy, wrapped around him, humming.
“you’re so warm, hyung,” he mumbles, in his lovestruck voice. yoongi huffs, ready to say something ironic, words almost out, but jungkook continues and all his thoughts scramble. “—i think i’m in love with you.” yoongi’s heart flips, dripping colours red. “because the way you breathe makes me happy.” yoongi feels himself melting away, body so hot all of a sudden, drums where a heart was. he slides a hand under the hem of jungkook’s pants, caring, softly, fingers between curves, and jungkook presses against him. “ ah, hyung— “
“steady,” yoongi says languidly, up, and down, up and down, kissing the top of jungkook’s head. “no biting.”
“ ah—‘kay ,” jungkook’s legs press to yoongi’s sides, and he moves slowly, grinding awkwardly, moving alongside the rhythm of yoongi’s hand. the friction is good, and yoongi lets him, breathing a bit stained by it already. “take your clothes off, hyung,” he asks, voice raspy. yoongi shakes his head negatively, and jungkook startles sluggishly when yoongi changes speed, just to slow down again. “the drawer,” he speaks hastily. “everything’s in the drawer.”
“we’re going slow,” yoongi comments, moving his legs the slightest, pushing jungkook’s apart a bit more. jungkook laughs weakly, impatient, but agreeing.
“love,” he mutters, smile still in place, nuzzled against yoongi’s neck. “i like it,” they both chuckle, too fond of each other maybe, too embarrassed by the way the other moves, too taken by the gentleness of movements. yoongi dares a bit, pushing in just slightly, not a lot, making jungkook jump. “ drawer ,” he whines, fangs poking yoongi’s skin. “no biting,” jungkook reminds himself weakly, as yoongi moves to reach for the drawer. it doesn’t take long until jungkook’s panting, yoongi’s fingers drawing out throaty moans from his mouth alongside convoluted words that make little sense. it’s still sex and it smells like it, but it’s also jungkook’s caring words and the way he steal sloppy kisses, grinning. it’s a lot of things. “take off your clothes, hyung.”
so they lose clothes, pushing them out of each other’s bodies with knowledge now, certain of where to touch and where to press kisses, sure of the reaction certain things will have. jungkook giggles cheerfully when yoongi kisses his hip bones, just to throw his head back the next minute, as yoongi’s mouth burns his red, red skin. “do you want to do it different?” yoongi asks at some point, slightly hazed, placing a kiss on jungkook’s stomach.
“different?” jungkook pushes the words out, raising his head to look at him, hands feeble on the sides of yoongi’s hips. yoongi nods, crawling over him, fiercely red on the cheeks. “i never,” jungkook swallows. “i rather— i like when you—“ voice trailing off, he bites down his lip. yoongi huffs, amused. “do you want me to?”
“yeah,” yoongi shrugs. “but maybe another night, then.”
“what if i go really fast—“ the thought makes yoongi break out in laughter, and jungkook keeps the complaint going, astonished at yoongi not fearing his weird vampire speed. you sound like you’re a twilight character, jungkook . “i don’t want to hurt you—”
“that’s fine,” they kiss again, and jungkook gasps when yoongi pushes his legs up, bending his knees. slow , jungkook mumbles, shivering. “yeah, slow.”
they go slow, and soft, and tender, and warm, and lazy. jungkook’s moans are coloured pink, lyrical and pretty like him, and yoongi pants, pushing and pulling in rhythm with his messy breathing. they move around the bed, switching positions, sharing kisses that are too long, messing up jungkook’s sheets. it’s more difficult for jungkook to find release without biting, but he does so eventually, almost quietly against yoongi’s body, trembling, voice so low, it feels good, good, good, good . yoongi still pushes against him a few more times, body too enthralled in jungkook’s everything. they have done it enough to keep tissues by the bed at this point, and yoongi offers some to jungkook, who gently presses them against yoongi’s stomach, cleaning. yoongi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does, tired and wasted and cared for, heated body finding comfort in jungkook’s cool skin.
for six months, it goes on, and time is precious when it only counts for one. jungkook turns twenty-three only in his mind, and yoongi buys him a recipe book for vampires, and takes him out to eat tteokbokki (the ahjumma that makes them is a vampire herself, and she gives jungkook extra portions, saying he needs to grow) (it makes yoongi just slightly sad, for a minute). he eventually meets namjoon and taehyung and a barking yeontan, who eyes jungkook suspiciously before deciding he’s not worth the time. yoongi spends too much of his own time in jungkook’s newer apartment, one side of the fridge full of food, the milk placed next to blood bags. they wake up at sundown, and yoongi goes to work, a different bar now, less high-end, so jungkook brings his own blood to drink bloody marys, waiting until finish time so they can walk home together. they fight twice; once when yoongi gets sick just after christmas, and jungkook gets worried (“you should take care of yourself more, hyung!” “newsflash, baby fangs, i am going to die one day!”). a second time when yoongi refuses having his bills paid (“i can pay my own rent, jungkook, fuck off. ”). they make up fairly slowly, stubborn in the way they apologize. yoongi always the first to reach out to hold jungkook’s hand.
it’s the end of february, then, all of a sudden, and yoongi stares at the calendar on his phone, swaying lightly on the train back home. it’s only after eleven, but the freezing night has kept customers away, so the owner closed up earlier. i’m going home , he had texted, minutes ago. jungkook replied with silly emojis that made him smile. still, the calendar is there, mockingly reminding him that days are passing by. your birthday is coming up, hyung , namjoon had said days ago. it made yoongi slightly sick. they’re spending the week at yoongi’s, this time, in their endless shuffling between apartments. it’s too soon to decide on anything else, anyway. it’s too soon for a lot of things.
the smell of homemade food greets him at the door. “ah, hyung—!” jungkook calls from the kitchen when he hears the door close. it’s a proper mess inside, bowls on every surface, vegetables cut in weird chunks, a pot that definitely looks charred at the bottom. and yet, somehow, the seolleongtang boiling in another pan looks good and smells good. jungkook has a big smile on his face. he’s been working on it for days now. “come taste it—”
“did you wash off the blood from the meat?” yoongi asks, raising eyebrows at him. jungkook nods, offering him a spoonful, two days ago, hyung . “—it’s good.” before jungkook can say anything else, yoongi pulls him closer, wrapping arms around his waist, finding comfort in the way he smells like the laundry detergent they bought two weeks ago.
“— is everything okay?” jungkook asks quietly, hugging him back almost immediately.
“my birthday is coming up.”
“oh.” jungkook hums, understanding. now it’s easier for him to see the effects of passing time. it’s easier for him to measure it in the way yoongi’s body is affected by conditions around them, how it is fragile and weak in comparison. a birthday means a year less together, not a year more. “do you want to do something?”
“no,” yoongi sighs. “i don’t want to,” age. “think about it.”
thinking about it is all he has been doing for the past— months, ever since he acknowledged what his feelings were made of, what they implied. how to love a vampire and not die . it isn’t possible, he thinks. a truth death can catch anyone at anytime, vampire or human, but living on whilst loving those who time can’t touch — that’s another kind of death. yoongi has been battling his inner fears for some time now. what he wants and what he can have are walking different paths already. jungkook’s hand caress his back, pressing softly against him. it’s been a few days since he’s last seen sunlight. “hyung,” jungkook calls softly. “your soup is going to get cold.”
“ah, yeah, i should— i should eat it well.”
he does, being watched by a smiling jungkook who still picks up on his food, offering him bites. they talk, mindlessly, about things that yoongi forgets right away, unless they’re important somehow to jungkook. they’re probably not— the price of radish in the nearby supermarket, the night classes jungkook is taking but complains about it all the time (“ i hate studying, hyung! ”), the customers that annoy yoongi at work. it’s what they do every night. yoongi feels as if it’s wrong all of a sudden. it’s only much later that jungkook speaks, in very careful words, as yoongi breathes heavily in between his legs, listening in to any signs of a heart in jungkook’s chest: “you’re not okay.”
“no,” yoongi admits, raising his eyebrows at nothing in particular. jungkook’s unmoving, fingers softly entwined in yoongi’s hair, massaging.
“hyung,” and jungkook pulls him up the slightest, closer until yoongi’s head is beside his own on the pillow and they’re staring at each other. there’s bewildered in his eyes, and mild pain. they’re still half undressed, and unshowered. we need a shower . “— did i hurt you?”
it makes yoongi huff, smiling. “no, baby fangs,” jungkook kisses his nose, a peck. “jungkook,” yoongi reaches a hand, pushing jungkook’s fluffy hair away from his eyes. “i don’t want to live forever.”
there’s slight moment of confusion that crosses jungkook’s expression, before he snorts, chuckling. “neither do it.”
“but whatever i have to live,” he swallows, heart beating fast. he’s hyper aware of it, now, how it works within his body, pumping life into his veins, life that feeds jungkook once in a while. it aches for jungkook, it aches for wanting so much. “i want to live with you.” jungkook blinks, staring. “as i am, i want to live with you for as long as you want.”
“— are you confessing, hyung?” he teases, smirking. yoongi nods, blankly.
it’s certainly not what jungkook expects, because his expression falters, and he pulls back a little, raising himself from the bed. “what— what do you mean by that,” he stammers, words uneasy. “no,” the word makes yoongi flinch. “no, hyung, you’re— no ,” and jungkook stands, finally, leaving the bed, stomping around it. yoongi sits up, sighing.
“please,” yoongi asks quietly.
“hyung — no .” he’s picking up his things, stumbling on shoes and clothes left around, touching his hair, nervous. “no.” he repeats the mumbled word, shaking his head, pacing around the bedroom, arms full of the things he picks up but doesn’t put on. yoongi stands, finally, legs a bit weak still, and the closer he walks towards jungkook, the more he walks away, until his back is against the wall and yoongi is in front of him, breathing slowly. “i can’t do this to you.” yoongi exhales. “it’s a half-life, hyung.”
“it’s a half-life anyway, jungkook.” he looks down at their feet, and then up again, meeting eyes that are getting stained with red already. “it’s always going to be a half-life if i—” jungkook sniffs, hand coming up to wipe his cheeks, red staining everything. “this won’t happen again for me,” he reaches, touching jungkook’s wrist kindly. “it’s a stupid thing to say but— i’ve been dying since—” the words go astray, and yoongi feels his own eyes burn. “i wouldn’t mind a half-life if it’s spent with you.” jungkook doesn’t say anything back. he trembles, just slightly. yoongi feels his heart break. maybe it isn’t real, any of it. he takes a step back, hurt.
“— it’s dark where i am, hyung.”
“i know,” yoongi nods.
“there won’t be milk in the fridge anymore.”
“jungkook,” yoongi expels the air from his lungs. it seems useless now, to breathe. jungkook’s fingers, cold, cold, cold, hold his. “turn me.” make me, love me back, marry me, he says each word helplessly, as jungkook lets go of the clothes he holds, allowing himself to be kissed, i love you, hyung, i’ll miss you, i’ll miss you, i’ll come home, jungkook. they sway to a song that isn’t playing, the unchained melody that drips from yoongi’s still beating heart, and they dance, moving together, towards a bed still unmade. jungkook’s face is stained with blood, and yoongi feels it on his mouth, the iron, the sweetness.
(— okay .
the making of a vampire is painful, and in yoongi’s mind, it is hazy, foggy with smoke that doesn’t belong. it’s jungkook’s blood on his mouth, so much of it, to the point that he pushes him away, coughing, it’s okay, hyung, just a little bit more , and it drips down his chin, staining his clothes, hot and sticky all at once. just a bit more, just a bit more , and heat starts consuming him into a fever, eyes turning white, jungkook’s hands on his hair, soft, so soft, so loving. and then comes the pain, teeth sinking into his neck, deep, so deep, and yoongi doesn’t remember screaming, but he wants to, he wants so bad, so bad— numbness, it comes to take him soon enough, and jungkook doesn’t stop, please, please stop, jungkook, it hurts, it hurts so much . “just go to sleep, hyung,” the voice is lyrical, yoongi’s breath is shallow. he thinks of the sun, his heart slows down. there’s so much coldness in dying. he’s dying, yoongi swallows, mouth still full of blood, jungkook, i’m dying, “you’re only sleeping,” and jungkook sings something, humming lullabies, gulping down his blood. he smells decay in the air, and yoongi tries moving, but can’t. there’s no sensation on his fingers, or his legs, there’s only jungkook’s teeth and how it hurts him. there’s so much blood. his vision gets turvy. “it’s almost time, hyung,” jungkook mutters, kissing his neck, but yoongi can’t feel it. he knows he’s crying by then, maybe both of them are. yoongi isn’t religious, but somehow he starts praying, muttering words, save me, save me from this, i don’t want to go, what if i can’t come home, i don’t wanna lose you, don’t let me lose you — “now the day is over, night is drawing nigh, shadows of the evening steal across the sky,” jungkook mutters, and yoongi’s chest aches—
now the darkness gathers,
stars begin to peep,
birds and beasts and flowers,
soon will be asleep— dying, dead, dead to the world.)
march 9th is an odd night. it’s rainy, a fog curling its way on empty streets. yoongi smells the water on jungkook’s body as he climbs out of the shower, a bit past seven. he smells everything now— the dusk is mineral, like aged wine, and the night is a combination of street food and grease and car fumes. jungkook’s apartment is completely him, his skin that smells of honey, the peach shampoo on his wet hair. they hardly ever turn on the lights now, but yoongi can see him perfectly. “have you eaten?” jungkook asks, coming closer, nipping at the crook of yoongi’s neck with a smile.
“yeah, but i’m still hungry.”
“you’re going to be hungry for a long time, baby fangs,” jungkook snorts, slapping his ass playfully. yoongi tuts at him, not really bothered. “hyung,” and yoongi allows jungkook to wrap arms around him, chin on his shoulder. “—you still smell good.” yoongi huffs. “a bit dead, but still nice.”
“ yah, jeon jungkook, ” there’s a smile on his voice nonetheless, and warmth on his chest, despite the frigid cold of his skin. yoongi is somehow sure he could live a hundred years and still feel it, staining inside out. “namjoon and taehyung are already waiting, we should go.”
“or we could stay,” the kissing on his neck makes yoongi squirm, laughing weakly. “i’m your maker, you should obey me,” he tries, casually dismissing the formalities in his speech, only to coil when yoongi turns to slaps his shoulder playfully. jungkook has a big grin on his face, the kind that makes yoongi’s heart beat, despite being dead. it’s a good kind of life, despite the darkness that shades the corners of the apartment. jungkook leans in again, stealing a kiss. “happy birthday, hyung. you’re,” he thinks for a moment. “a few weeks old.”
“ a fucking baby vampire .”
they both laugh, and jungkook’s knees fold when they meet the bed, pushing yoongi softly against it, pulling on his t-shirt. we’ll be late , yoongi mumbles, but he likes the way jungkook kisses down his navel, and so their tardiness is soon forgotten. we can go fast, hyung , jungkook offers, cheeky, fingers playing with the zipper on his jeans. he shakes his head, droplets of water raining on yoongi, making him go yah! all over again.
it’s a half-life, yoongi agrees every once in a while, when he stays up until dawn, waiting for the sun to come up, glaring at the window as if defying it. jungkook has to pull him towards the bed so he doesn’t crumple on the floor, dead. it’s a half-lie when yoongi sits on a crimson armchair, pressed clothes, waiting for the third arm he’ll bite onto, ten minutes, no words exchanged. it’s a half-life when yoongi fails to avoid the food he wants to eat, head stuck in the toilet for hours, vomiting dark matter. jungkook wasn’t wrong about all of that. still, it isn’t a half-life when he wakes up to jungkook on his bed, and there’s nothing between them but time, time that stretches out into a red string, forever, entwined. yoongi knows he can do that everyday — night, for the rest of his half-life. “hyung,” and jungkook moans, yoongi moving against him slowly, clothes left forgotten. they’re late, they’re so late. yoongi’s phone rings in the living room. “ah— hyung. ”
“a bit more—”
“ yeah, yes —”
(there’s milk next to the blood, it’s a habit. no one drinks it, but it sits there until it goes stale, and yoongi or jungkook go off to buy it again. yoongi buys environmental heaters to put in their room, and plants that make the air humid, and it’s september, the start of autumn, but it feels like summer inside. the yellowness and warmth doesn’t burn. jungkook wipes his face, sniffing slightly, i’m so happy, hyung, it smells like the sun — “you can turn it off if it gets too hot,” yoongi tells him. jungkook pokes the lamps, grinning, streaks of red down his face. “jungkook,” yoongi calls, and his chest is warm again, a ghost of a thing from when he was alive, too. jungkook turns to look at him, impossibly pretty and stained, hair getting long again, curling at the tips. “— i love you.”
they kiss under the light of their own sun, windows tinted with the night out, at the foot of a bed that hasn’t been made in nights. “baby fangs,” jungkook giggles. “i love you, too.”)
(they live for 297 years, together, and then one day, they open the windows, hands held on the bed, bodies curled together. it’s warm, warm all over—)