Chapter Text
The smell of blood is thick in the air, permeating between the cracks and crevices of the abandoned hut, diminishing the world into a quiet standstill.
Mingyu notes the scent is still fresh—it is more pungent than those he smelled before—and he attempts his best at keeping his steps quiet and breathing silent. He treads upstairs, the floorboards barely making a sound when it should have creaked under even the lightest weight upon it. The years of practice and even more years of having his life at stake has Mingyu forgoing such trivial yet fatal mistakes.
He can’t afford to make any. Not when he deals with creatures as elusive as the night sky, one look at the wrong direction and they are able to envelope you in the sweet, alluring illusion of cold death. Mingyu has had his fair share of fangs nearly grazing his carotids to tell that he is far more skilled than others in his field.
Some say he cheats, that him being alive is only due to the circumstances of his birth and nothing else. Others say the lack of scars to tell of his hunts prove Mingyu to be nothing but a spoiled man who has his work done for him. Both weren’t true, not entirely, but he prefers if the gossip surrounding him starts and stops at the second one.
Mingyu doesn’t care, doesn’t have the capacity to do so. All those chatter turns into white noise in the night, a form of distraction he abandons in the wake of his mediation.
Being an empty slate helps, Mingyu makes less mistakes that way. But even the most foolproof plans has their failings as well.
Mingyu halts at end of the stairs, allowing himself one last relaxed breath before he slips into a familiar state of readiness. His muscles are tense, a taut wire about to snap in two and send sparks of electricity flying in the air. The only constant is his heartbeat, slow and steady, keeping his nerves grounded.
Moonlight is streaming in the otherwise dreary hallway, coming from a room where the smell of iron is strongest. Mingyu opens and closes his palms once, twice, before rushing into the room.
Mingyu thinks he has seen enough to be prepared for anything, but believes are made to be proven wrong in this world and Mingyu freezes.
The pool of red on the floor is the least of Mingyu’s concern, but standing on it, pristine black shoes dipping in the liquid and staining red, is a man, no, a—
And Mingyu realises he’s stayed still for a second too long.
A blur of motion and Mingyu’s back slams on the wooden wall. A shudder vibrates throughout the whole hut. The hand encircled around his neck is ice cold, an immovable iron grip, and Mingyu thinks it as odd. His neck is obstructed this way.
Icy red pierces him, staring him down as if taunting Mingyu to provide a challenge. To claw and struggle. But Mingyu knows any form of resistance is futile.
“Aren’t you quite late, Mr. Hunter?” The creature asks, voice deep and somber.
Mingyu growls, baring teeth. “Well, you’re still here aren’t you?”
“Oh? How curious.” His red eyes glanced down before moving back up. “And yes, I am present. But I don’t see how a barehanded hunter is going to change anything, much less a captured one.”
Mingyu stays quiet, despises the truth in his words, but remains still. Not allowing himself to give in to the goading is key, so Mingyu opts to stare at the scarlet irises. They’re watching Mingyu intensely, scrutinising what is visible, and a ghost of something Mingyu doesn’t recognise swirls inside them.
“I see you’re not struggling. I’m not sure if you’re smart— ” The hand around Mingyu’s neck tightened. “Or a complete and utter fool.”
Mingyu has the urge to free himself by force, an instinctual reaction when his windpipe is constricted and he has trouble breathing. Yet the dull numbness growing inside Mingyu’s chest hollows him of any purpose, like it has done for a long time, and so Mingyu stays in place, body unmoving.
He doesn’t miss the flicker of horror passing through the man’s face.
“Do it, then,” Mingyu says with great struggle. “I know you’ll be relieved there’s one less of us roaming around, vampire.”
The pressure on his neck disappears and Mingyu knows he should move, attempt to keep his life and strike back, but he closes his eyes. A breeze of wind passes his face, carrying a heavy scent of roses, and Mingyu takes a deep breath, bracing for the inevitable.
But it never comes.
Mingyu blinks and the world slowly comes back into view. The vampire is crouching on the window, a position farthest from Mingyu, halfway in his escape. An unfathomable expression is creasing his face, the lines showing sadness as clear as the moon in a cloudless night sky. Mingyu forbids his mind to stray and wonder what it all means.
“You shouldn’t throw your life away that easily, hunter. It’s far too short and too precious for you to do so, especially yours.” He stares at Mingyu, then turns and jumps, dark coat fluttering in the wind.
It takes a while for Mingyu’s legs to regain their function, propelling him forward to the glassless window. His feet stomps over the puddle of blood, splattering the thick liquid on his trousers but Mingyu doesn’t care, mind muddled as he stares at the open field. There are no traces of the vampire, only the wind-rustled grass causing movement and sound.
Mingyu’s head pounds, heart following suit like a parade going through town, trampling through Mingyu’s being and ripping his seams apart. He breathes harshly through his teeth, forcing them to stay intact by sheer will, and Mingyu knows it is imperfect but he manages, he always do.
He contemplates on tracking the vampire, but a tug in the pit of his stomach tells him he isn’t the one Mingyu’s looking for. No murderer would say the words he said. No vampire would tell Mingyu that.
Mingyu turns, ignoring the creeping void venturing down his chest.
The room is empty except for the jarring patch of red on the wooden floor, its edges already starting to crust and dry. Mingyu looks around, searching for signs of fighting, of a body being dragged, but he finds nothing. The killer is meticulous, careful enough to lure—or trick, Mingyu suspects—the noble lady to a hut in the middle of nowhere, conduct murder and disappear with the body. Perhaps hearing Mingyu’s steed beforehand.
A faint smell of water is present, but a small river is nearby and Mingyu deems it worthless to track. Mingyu pointedly ignores the rose-hued air intruding his sense and trudges back downstairs and out of the hut. The crisp air is a welcomed change.
His horse, Cheonji, is faithfully waiting a distance away, her chestnut fur glistening under the moonlight as she grazes the nearest patch of grass. Mingyu whistles, the sound sharp in the quiet wilderness and Cheonji trots over to him.
“I’m going to have to leave you in that nice stable just south of town next time.” Mingyu says, hand traveling down Cheonji’s neck.
Mingyu takes off his coat and puts it in the bag adjacent to Cheonji’s saddle before heaving himself up. A nudge from his left leg and they are off, galloping through the dirt path towards the town in the distance, lighting up the dark horizon like a lighthouse beaconing travellers in.
It’s cold, Mingyu can tell by the puffs of air Cheonji is emitting but even so, his vein runs as if it’s alight.
He needs to warn the king, tell him of the impending massacre that awaits the town.
☽
“Your Majesty, I’ve found her— “
“Please spare me the details, I’ve had enough to deal with today and I have no need of recurring nightmares from your tale.” The king sighs, dignity ebbing away from his being. He has his eyes covered with his hands, body leaning forward in his throne yet refusing to spare a glance at Mingyu. “Tell me, hunter, what do you propose?”
King Hyuk’s voice echoes in the vast great hall of the palace, thundering inside Mingyu’s head from how loud it is. The candles flicker, casting swaying shadows on the stone walls, wordlessly witnessing their exchange.
“If you’re willing to trust me, and it’s in your best interest that you do, then I’d ask you to let me do my job,” Mingyu says, eyes transfixed on the King’s slouched form. “I ask of no interference nor restrictions, aid is welcome but only by my discretion.”
Mingyu doesn’t particularly care about formalities, not when it’s directed to someone who’s unfit to be king, but the tensing of King Hyuk’s shoulders sent a coldness down his spine. But Mingyu persists. He keeps his countenance as it usually is; a passive indifference, a craft he mastered for more than a decade.
The king bolts upward, taking arrogant strides towards Mingyu. He’s noticeably shorter than Mingyu, but his stance and aura is assiduous, an astute display of authority. Mingyu ought to be intimated by the man standing in front of him, but he peers down at the king, undaunted.
“Your kind isn’t unwelcome here, hunter, you lot do provide necessary services. But you,” he says, circling Mingyu and gesturing harshly at Mingyu’s whole being. “For you to roam my capitol and do as you please without supervision? Ridiculous. I know who you are, Kim Mingyu.”
“Then you know what I’m capable of.”
The king laughs behind him, venomous. “Oh, I do. I’m well versed in your various…feats, and I must say I’m impressed. For one person to be capable of such brutal deeds, you can’t blame me for being afraid, can you?”
“Your people are in danger.” Mingyu turns, facing the king. “I’ve seen how this vampire works, it’s careful, it’s going to strike again and you’ll have no way to deal with it.”
“I’m well aware. My guards will catch the beast sooner or later, we don’t need you.”
A twinge of annoyance ticks in Mingyu’s brain but he doesn’t show it. He keeps his reaction minuscule—he curls his fingers tightly, but with not enough force for his nails to break through his leather gloves.
“At what cost? How many lives are you willing to lose before that?”
Hyuk lowers his eyebrows, holding Mingyu in a glare. Mingyu doesn’t bother to address him as king anymore, not even inside of his head.
“That’s none of your concern— “
“A king without his people is nothing but a man.”
Hyuk’s breath hitches, body going stiff. He steps forward, getting close enough that Mingyu could feel his body heat radiating in small waves. Mingyu smells anger, a sliver of fear and after a moment of what probably is Mingyu’s most intense staring, resignation. Hyuk turns around, heading back to sit on his throne, the tension never leaving his body.
“Chan.” Hyuk claps his hands. A door opens and from it emerges a man who bows immediately upon entering the room. “Please escort this fine hunter here to the war room, and call the captain.”
Chan bows once more, and leads Mingyu out of the great hall through the long, winding corridors of the palace, each new corner presenting Mingyu with the sensation of suffocating under misery, hidden under layers of stone. They stop in front of a room, the double mahogany doors are imposing, they groan when opened and Mingyu wonders how rarely the room is used.
“The captain will be with you in a minute,” Chan says, but doesn’t leave the room.
Mingyu nods in response, eyes roaming the war room.
“Thank you, mister hunter,” Chan says, voice small and hesitant. Mingyu turns back to face him, head cocked. “I heard your conversation with the king, so thank you. Going against his majesty like that for us…you’re a good man.”
“I’m the farthest thing from a good man. I’m merely choosing what I feel is right, the lesser evil. Better the vampire’s bloody head on my hands than your people’s.”
Chan visibly stiffens, and Mingyu glances away. It’s better this way, he thinks, Chan doesn’t deserve to be deceived. With one final bow, Chan leaves the room, dread and haste in his steps.
Mingyu resumes his observation of the room; It’s spacious, walls lined with various armours and weaponry, dark wooden shelves tucked in the far wall filled to the brim with books and parchments, and several flags with the kingdom’s insignia hang from the ceiling. In the middle stands a square oak table, the map of Karrea engraved on its surface. Mingyu traces his hand over the map, over the mountains in the North to the treacherous seas in the East before stopping at the centre.
There, in the centre of it all, is Sol. As if living up to its name, Sol is the core of Karrea, the other towns and regions surrounding it akin to planets orbiting the sun.
It certainly has the potential to be as incandescent as the sun, but not now, not under Hyuk’s rule.
Time passes until Mingyu hears the captain coming, his footsteps echo reverberate with sureness, and Mingyu isn’t startled when he talks without warning.
“A magnificent piece of work isn’t it?”
Mingyu glances up, “It is. Lee Jihoon knows how to work with wood; you would think he’s a wood elf for his proficiency with them.”
“Ah, so you know of him.” The captain moves forward, joining Mingyu in admiring the table. “You must know who I am, but I’m Seungcheol, head of Sol’s guards.”
“Pleasure.”
If Seungcheol is bothered by Mingyu’s curt reply, he doesn’t show it.
Seungcheol raps the table with his knuckle, repeating the movement several times. It’s only after a moment of contemplating, his thoughts churning so loudly that Mingyu practically hears them, that he speaks.
“Jihoon’s able to craft a map with such thorough details only due to his travels, certainly,” His right hand hovers above the table, travelling through the regions along with his words. “Long, treacherous travels where he was able to roam Karrea without fear of time, or any permanent injuries.”
Alarm trickles down Mingyu’s spine, slow but rapid enough for Mingyu to grow wary of Seungcheol. Shoulders tensed, Mingyu doesn’t bother hiding his state of unease.
“Don’t fret, he’s a close friend of mine. I know all about him,” Seungcheol says, a ghost of a smile forming on his face. “What I’m saying is, Mingyu, I trust you.”
Mingyu has the urge to laugh. He doesn’t know what Seungcheol’s words are worth. “Such a weighted statement for someone you just met, captain.”
“Perhaps, but…” Seungcheol walks over to the far wall, hands skimming over the books, “you will have to trust me too, Mingyu, the way the people blindly trusts the king.”
Mingyu hums, “And what gave you the idea that I’d do such a thing? Do you think me as gullible as them?”
“No, but a certain someone told me you’re an excellent judge of character.”
“The line between confidence and arrogant is thin in you, I see.”
Seungcheol sighs, facing Mingyu. “I merely want the best for the people, and I know you do too. Both me and my guards won’t get in your way, and I’ll help you if you require it.”
Mingyu quiets down, hands tapping the masterfully crafted table. Mulling over this matter would only be a waste of time, Mingyu figures, and surely Seungcheol has more important things to worry about. Dying by Mingyu’s hands certainly not one of them, if he ever decides to deceive him.
“I concede then, captain. I must admit this is quite tiring,” Mingyu says, gesturing between the both of them. “Forgive me for being so prejudiced, since your king was quite indignant on letting his people be slaughtered like sacrificial lambs.”
A furrow settles in Seungcheol’s face, shadows of something bitter and livid passing through before disappearing. His hands shake, barely visible but Mingyu notices—he always does.
“You’re right, it’s tiring and not to mention late. Let’s continue this in the morning, preferably over breakfast.” Seungcheol crosses the threshold until he’s out the door, motioning Mingyu to follow. “You’re welcome to stay the night in the guard’s quarters. I’ll show you to your room.”
Mingyu ambles behind Seungcheol, having dropped his guard at the captain’s words. And if Mingyu was honest with himself, it has been a long day, and a mattress—even a cold and stiff one—is more than he could ask for.
As soon as they arrive, Seungcheol bids him good night, promising he’ll show Mingyu to breakfast in the morning and leaving Mingyu to his own devices.
The lone bed in the corner beckons Mingyu to let himself rest.
Taking off all his gear feels like stripping himself bare. He starts with his outer coat and gloves, and then his boots, crusted with dried blood that has Mingyu grimacing. Mingyu will have to clean it up later.
Dressed in only his tan-coloured garb and trousers, Mingyu settles down in the middle of the bed, leg crossed and hands settled comfortably above his thighs. His mind dips, the buzzing and jumbled thoughts ebbing away and morphing into a stream, flowing constantly, an uninterrupted river of cerebration.
Meditation has always been a pivotal part in Mingyu’s life. It allows him to alleviate all his burdens, to wipe himself clean. The capability of compartmentalising his memories to conceal the parts that held him back has been honed through years and years of Mingyu reliving the torturous events in his filed of work as nightmares. Only for him to realise that he’s such an inconsequential existence in the grand scheme of things.
For all that he couldn’t control in the world, Mingyu finds solace in the fact that he’s in full control of his own psyche. But Mingyu must be a fool to think as such.
A flash of red and the river ripples.
It happens again, the current spiralling out of balance, Mingyu’s own headspace disrupted.
Mingyu frowns, hands tightening. He has faced distracting thoughts before, the things he has seen made it impossible not to have them but this—
He couldn’t get him out of his mind.
Mingyu was a few hours in his sleep when he blinked awake to the sound of fluttering wings near his window.
The crow is staring at him, black beady eyes unblinking. Mingyu has half a mind to get rid of it, but its eyes are knowing, and the smell of roses—Mingyu wouldn’t be able to ignore it even if he tries to.
“You’re his, aren’t you?” He asks, sitting up.
Crow caws, the sound far too shrill this early in the morning, jolting Mingyu even more alert. It’s perched on the window, black feathers blending in with the dark sky behind it. Perhaps it was due to his recurring appearance in Mingyu’s meditation that drew Crow here.
“Why did he send you?” He tries again.
It must sound ridiculous, talking to a bird like this, but like any familiar, Crow has been imbued with magic. In the simplest terms, it was an extension of its master, whom Mingyu is pretty sure he knows. The way it watches Mingyu so intently is a give-away, if not any, and when Crow jumps towards him, he could feel a faint hum of magic emitting from it.
Mingyu senses no malicious intention, and so he extends his hand, allowing Crow to perch on his forearm. Then, as if hearing Mingyu’s thoughts, and finding the most violent way to prove him wrong, Crow bites Mingyu’s thumb.
Blood starts trickling from the small, open wound and Mingyu moves before it could stain the sheets. Crow follows him, winds flapping and much to Mingyu’s horror, drinks the blood from Mingyu’s thumb with its dark beaks.
At once, Mingyu falls. He’s lost control of his head, plummeting down a trench, down and down—
And at the bottom of it, the image a vivid contrast against the darkness, is a man.
He’s starring at the starless sky, back turned against Mingyu. His slender frame is illuminated by the moon, graceful shadows cascading around him. In a moment of desperation, to try and regain control, Mingyu reaches out and the man turns, red eyes flashing wide. He’s seen Mingyu, he sees Mingyu and his mouth moves.
Wonwoo.
Mingyu is back on the floor, head spinning and stars in his vision. He moves, sitting up and cradling his head in his hands. An hour has probably passed, perhaps only inside his head, when Mingyu finally has the strength to pull his head up, blinking away the white noise impeding his body. The wound on his finger is perfectly healed, gone without trace.
“Wonwoo?” Mingyu says, the name foreign on his tongue. He glances at crow, perching on the frame of the bed. “Wonwoo. Is that your master’s name?”
“Yes.”
Crow’s voice is high-pitched, a ladylike quality in it and Mingyu hears it inside his head. For Crow’s beak did not move an inch.
His stomach dives. “Are we…?”
“No, you don’t have to worry, hunter.” Crow blinks languidly at Mingyu. “It’s temporary, it’ll be gone by tomorrow. Or when I will it to be.”
Relief floods through Mingyu, he certainly doesn’t want to be tied down by a blood contract now, nor anytime in the future. It’s for the sake of hunting vampires—he’d be more susceptible to more tricks if he were bound by one.
“My master offers his sincerest apology.”
Mingyu snorts, “For nearly strangling me to death?”
Crow bows, the movement beyond curtsey for an animal. “He deeply regrets it, but I am pleased to see that you’re intact, hunter.”
“It’s Mingyu,” he says, before realising with a smudge of dread that he just offered his name to a vampire. Well—its familiar, but it’s the same nonetheless. “And I heal fast, your master did not hold back. If it was someone else, they’d have trouble breathing for the rest of their lives.”
“Again, he’s sorry. He’d like to converse with you in person.”
Mingyu stands, walking over to the water basin on the dresser to give himself a much needed splash of cold water. An invitation to meet a vampire is an invitation to death, if Mingyu had ever received one, and Mingyu wrings his hand, suddenly intrigued. He’d like to meet Wonwoo, he realises.
Crow proves herself to be impatient. She flies and lands on Mingyu’s shoulder, snuggling his neck, right where her master had circled his hands around. Mingyu shivers, finding the gesture comforting.
“He knows you’re wary, and it’s only logical for you to be, but it is his wish to talk. Your task may turn far easier with his assistance.”
The candles in the room flicker, and Mingyu steps out of whatever trance he fell into. It feels like he’s growing placid, unguarded and vulnerable. The walls are constructing themselves again, Mingyu doesn’t know when they disappeared—perhaps right after his conversation with Seungcheol—but they’re back in place with an ease that was unnerving.
Crow all but notices, and she grips Mingyu’s shoulder, claws sinking into flesh, readying herself for flight. She doesn’t quite leave yet, returning to her original position on the window.
Mingyu intents on letting her disappear without even an ounce of his acknowledgement. The stone walls has an interesting pattern if you look close enough.
“I’m sorry, Mingyu.”
It isn’t her voice. Mingyu spins, the motion pulling a muscle in his neck, and he expects to see something different but it’s just Crow, her eyes glazed over and posture rigid.
Hearing his name in that rich, velvety voice sent a jab right through Mingyu’s chest, west of his sternum. It’s a spell, Mingyu reasons, the erratic beating of his heart is due to a spell. It has never done this before, and Mingyu was sure it was impossible for his heart to do so.
“This…rogue vampire you’re hunting, I wish to help you.”
“Why? So you could reign over your feeding territory in peace?” Mingyu has asked a lot of questions today, but he doesn’t find it in him to be concerned.
“I understand how you feel,” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu has the feeling he wasn’t referring to what’s currently transpiring between them. “You might not want to at the moment, or even for eternity, perhaps. But my wish, no, my offer for you will remain open, always.”
Mingyu’s heart palpitates, the sound filling the muteness of the room.
“How do I find you?” Mingyu finds himself asking.
“I’ll be there.”
Mingyu has no idea what Wonwoo plans to do, nor what his own words weigh in the future. But before Mingyu could rebuke what seems to be his willingness to meet with Wonwoo, Crow disappears. Her body disperses into black mist, blending into the sky and leaving Mingyu alone once more.
Mingyu questions if everything was nothing but a dream.
☽
The town’s central square bustles with people during the day. Even with the sun battering down the town with remarkable heat, rays stinging on exposed skin and air hot enough for clothes to stick, people aren’t deterred when fun is concerned.
It’s only three hours past noon, but Mingyu spots several bottles of ale already half-empty, people dancing rather precariously on top of tables and even a group of them circling each other in a horrible attempt of re-enacting the great battle of Karrea.
Mingyu has done a decent job avoiding Sol in all his years, disliking the capitol for various reasons. He has no idea the people are so lively.
“Are the people always this…careless?”
Seungcheol, exhibiting the exact opposite of Mingyu’s confusion, is unfazed. They’ve been strolling through the town since noon, and although Mingyu doubts any attack would happen during daylight, familiarising himself with the layout of Sol is an added advantage to his arsenal. The vampire’s been quiet for the past few days, anyway.
“Most of the time, yes,” Seungcheol replies, eyes flickering to the throngs of people at the square. “But the royal banquet is near, and people tend to get excited for that.”
“The royal banquet?”
“It’s a bi-annual masquerade party. Overly exaggerated, in my opinion. Merely another sumptuous gathering where the rich can show the poor just how rich they are.”
Mingyu hums, keeping in pace with Seungcheol. “I see. They have a knack for that, the rich.”
“But food and alcohol runs throughout the whole city on those nights, and well, who can complain when free food is involved.” Seungcheol laughs, eyes crinkling.
The people cheered at seemingly nothing, and the music only gets louder, spurring on the dancing and laughing.
Mingyu’s eyes move pass the square, up into the stone buildings watching over the people. He finds beady black eyes staring back at him, vigilant. Crow is perched on the roof, and when Mingyu spots her, she vanishes in a flutter of dark feathers and smoke.
She’s always there, Mingyu’s gaze constantly finding her wherever he goes. It should have made Mingyu leery, ever the watchful eye that Crow is, observing his every move like a hawk waiting on its prey. The presence of eyes on his back, the tingling sensation, should have bothered Mingyu—but it doesn’t.
Seungcheol calls for Mingyu, and he turns, ignoring his thoughts about Crow.
They both strolled pass the local tavern for the second time that day, and after Seungcheol deems it enough, they parted ways. Mingyu advices Seungcheol and all of his guards to be on alert. Suspicious activities, late-night excursions, covert meetings—anything that lead to potential murder.
Mingyu had been hesitant at first, but Seungcheol, true to his previous words, has been nothing but accommodating. His guards had stayed out of Mingyu’s way and more than anything, they’ve been quite adept at gathering information in a wider scoop.
One of them is hanging about the tavern, face flushed from what Mingyu assumes is alcohol, voice loud as he boasts about whatever deeds he’s accomplished. Mingyu considers telling Seungcheol but falters; it’s none of his business.
He pushes past the main area of the tavern, passes the lady that owns the shop with a small smile, and up the stairs. Small as it is, the room the tavern offers is enough for Mingyu, being free from the suffocating walls of the palace is a welcomed reprieve.
The rooftop from where he could climb to from the window is just another unforeseen perk.
Mingyu opts for meditating on the roof after taking off his coat. He climbs with ease, padding over the steep protruding parts of the wall, over the edge of the roof and unto the rooftop.
Wind rustles his face as he sat down, sending contentment and sereneness through Mingyu. He closes his eyes, the image of the town under the glow of the sunset imprinted in his darkened vision.
Time passes curiously whenever Mingyu enters this state; it could pass slowly, letting Mingyu excruciatingly relive whatever atrocities he faced, or on rare, decent nights like these, Mingyu would be too lost in the river that time becomes an unknown concept to him.
Mingyu doesn’t know how much time has passed when a gust of wind drifts around him.
He smells him first before seeing him. The unmistakeable smell of roses, enclosing him, embracing him.
The moon is hanging in the sky when Mingyu finally opens his eyes, full and bright, casting down light on the world. Moonlight always manages to make even the barest of things look ethereal, and the town bathed in it is nothing short of something you would see in a painting by the most proficient artist.
It’s to his great amazement that Mingyu doesn’t find his eyes straying from the figure in front of him. He’s clad in all black, the ends of his long coat swaying softly with the wind. Mingyu couldn’t see his face, not when he’s facing away from him, but his stance, sure and composed, offers enough information.
Mingyu remembers the small silver dagger in his pockets, contemplates reaching for it, but his hands refused to move. Yet he stands, the movement soundless but surely not escaping the vampire in front of him.
Wonwoo turns, facing Mingyu, motion graceful and impossibly sylphlike that Mingyu has a hard time believing he was a monster that sucked blood for a living. Mingyu sees red, but it isn’t unkind, instead it regards Mingyu in a kind, melancholic gaze.
“Forgive me, Mingyu. It seems like impatience has gotten the best of me.” Wonwoo dips his head, moving from the edge and closer to Mingyu.
Mingyu is at a loss for words, body rigid as he watches Wonwoo stand in front of him.
“I’m not here to impose on you,” Wonwoo says, hands tight behind his back. “It’s the vampire from before, I’m sure it’s been in the back of everyone’s minds. And I stand true to what I said, I want to help you.”
“Why would you want to help me?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I don’t have any ulterior motives?” Wonwoo smiles, tight and bitter.
“I don’t have a reason to believe that you don’t.”
Wonwoo steps forward, hands hesitating above Mingyu’s shoulder. His eyes flicker to Mingyu’s, and when Mingyu doesn’t move, he puts his hands down. It’s the softest of touches, barely any pressure, and Mingyu’s heart rears.
“That’s true, and I’m not going to say I’m a good person, but I can tell that you are, Mingyu. I won’t let it take you, or lay waste to this city.”
A forlorn look presents itself on Wonwoo’s face as he stares at the city. His touch is cold, but his countenance is earnest, warm as a myriad of colours from candles and windows reflect in his eyes.
For a moment they stayed that way, Mingyu content on observing Wonwoo, not having the chance to do so before. Staring like this, Mingyu could see the softness surrounding Wonwoo, saturating him with inexplicable delicacy, a contrast to his sharp, otherworldly features.
Wonwoo focuses back on Mingyu, hand travelling from Mingyu’s shoulder to his neck, hovering over it, over where Mingyu could still feel his hand enclosed around it. Remorse, guilt— Wonwoo’s face displays his emotions so unabashedly.
Mingyu grabs Wonwoo’s hand, removing it from his shoulder, afraid of the beating in his chest. “Shouldn’t you be afraid of me? I hunt your kind for a living.”
Mingyu’s grip must be crushing but Wonwoo’s hand is soft against his calloused one, and Wonwoo doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t move an inch.
“I can ask the exact same thing to you, Mingyu.” Wonwoo tilts his head at Mingyu, smile stretching his lips until his elongated canines are visible, as if to prove a point. “Shouldn’t you be afraid of me?”
“I’m…I’m not,” Mingyu says, and it’s the truth. Mingyu senses no fear in his system, only anticipation of what’s to come.
“I guess I should say you’re quite foolish for that, but is it bad to say that I’m glad?”
Yes.
Mingyu’s hand stutters, letting Wonwoo’s slip out of his grip. Everything feels wrong; being vulnerable like this, letting Wonwoo wrack his being apart from simply a touch, a glance. But Wonwoo, Wonwoo makes it feel right.
With a shake of his head, Mingyu snaps out of his stupor, steeling himself and ridding himself of his wayward emotions.
“The vampire,” Mingyu says, taking a pointed step backwards, “it’s taking over your hunting grounds, isn’t it? Is that why you want to help?”
Mingyu chooses to ignore the anguish on Wonwoo’s face. It’s gone before Mingyu could try to comprehend it, anyway.
“Oh Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, taking a step backwards himself, causing an involuntary twinge in Mingyu’s chest, “I wouldn’t offer my help for such petty reasons. I’ve lived in abstinence for years.”
Mingyu almost gapes. “Abstinence? You don’t drink blood at all?”
Wonwoo shakes his head, and stares at the ground, as if recalling some respiteful memories. “No, I don’t.”
It’s unheard of; Mingyu has never heard tales of vampire choosing to be abstinent, let alone survive from the lack of blood.
The wind howls, and Mingyu swears Wonwoo is nearly translucent. He’s something corporeal, painfully beautiful yet barely there, swaying in the wind, not in control of his existence but merely accepting what the world does to him.
Every vampire Mingyu has met were menaces, a physical embodiment of terror and raw power, feasting on humans with not a hint of remorse. All Mingyu remembers from each of them is the chill, the electric might exuding from their beings. Wonwoo has none of that.
“How are you alive?” Mingyu asks with a breath.
“We don’t need to drink to stay alive.” Wonwoo moves again, his coldness ghosting on Mingyu’s skin. “Blood is more like alcohol, if anything; it gives you unimaginable strength and prowess, yet it consumes you, drags you into addiction, into madness. You surely must know about this, Mingyu.”
The rate with which dread engulfs Mingyu is fast, faster than Mingyu could realise his wall are gone again. Wonwoo knows, he’s seen Mingyu before.
“I don’t, I’ve never— “
A scream pierces the air, abruptly ending their conversation.
Mingyu’s heart dips back into its steady rhythm, he sprints, moving for the edge to climb down. He passes Wonwoo, who nods at him before disappearing in a wisp of smoke, a silent promise of going ahead, of fulfilling his promise.
Mingyu just has to trust Wonwoo. And hell, he does.