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Seokjin’s chair creaked as he stretched, waving his arm. He’d gotten home from work and immediately pulled open his laptop again as he sank down onto their little blue couch, while shoveling takeout noodles from a place down the street into his mouth. Typically, this was not a good sign for the state of Seokjin’s job responsibilities, except for the fact that he was practically humming when he walked in.

“Yoongi-yah, look.”

Yoongi frowned.

I think this pig’s a little undercooked,” said D.Va.

“Yoongi-yah… look.”

Yoongi aimed his cursor back at Roadhog, and frantically tried to keep what little advantage he’d had. Roadhog took aim at him, and Yoongi winced in real life as the shot hit, and pulled D.Va closer.

“Yoongi-yaaahhh,” whined Seokjin, “fine, don’t look at me…”

Yoongi bent in closer to the screen, and tried to take advantage of the close range at least—but—

“Fuck,” said Yoongi, as Roadhog’s scrap gun drained his health.

“Yoongi-yah,” said Seokjin, “now that you’re dead, look at this.”

“Fine,” said Yoongi, leaning back, and peering over his monitor, just long enough to see Seokjin expand a video on his screen to full size. There, in the title card of the video, was his roommate, with a cheeky grin that Yoongi knew very well, pretending to fumble with a calculator. “What, they put you on the new promo video?”

“Yeah,” said Seokjin, as if this was something to be proud of. The respawn timer ticked down, Yoongi watched again as the kill cam showed him just exactly how he died, and then Yoongi was back in the game. “They didn’t want to hire an actor. They said I did a great job last time!”

“I’ll bet,” said Yoongi.

He turned his attention back to his own screen, but Seokjin left his video playing in the background, with his own voice extolling the virtues of the financial planning services his company offered. Yoongi recognized what he knew as his roommate’s posturing voice, alternately boisterous and theatrically shocked, though over the sound of the game in his headphones he couldn’t quite make out the selling points that Seokjin-on-screen was listing.

But he could feel, underneath the words, a certain thrum of power. No doubt, the humans at the company thought they’d just lucked out with a particularly handsome associate who happened to be good onscreen, too. It was true, too, if you thought about it. Seokjin just had a little bit of help along the way, and no qualms whatsoever about using it for advertisements.  He hadn’t gone all in—hadn’t, like so many others (as he liked to point out any time he and Yoongi sat down to watch a movie), decided to get in front of a screen all day every day. Just a little bit. Just enough to make himself entirely invaluable in any marketing department that was lucky enough to hire him.

Yoongi happened to glance back up again, as Seokjin-on-screen gave a wide, charming grin. Yoongi knew what to look for, the sharp canines just hidden under Seokjin’s movie-star-perfect lips, the glint in his eye that, in a camera lens, flickered crimson. It didn’t really work on him, of course, being a werewolf, but he could still feel it, the way that the sun warmed him but didn’t burn the way that it did Seokjin.

“They said they saved a ton of money on makeup costs,” said Seokjin, “and a ton of time touching up the clips of the closeups.”

“What’d you tell them your beauty regimen was?”

The real Seokjin cackled.

“Getting enough sleep! I wanted to say sucking out their souls, but I didn’t think it would go over well.”

Yoongi snorted.

“You’ll go in tomorrow and they’ll all be napping at their desks.”

“Good,” said Seokjin, “No meetings. I’ll get a lot of work done.”

The Overwatch match ended, Yoongi’s team losing by a hair, and Yoongi pulled off his headphones. There was an itch growing under his skin—he wasn’t merely tilted after losing the match, and he knew it, and Seokjin looked him up and down, and then glanced over at the calendar on the wall. Seokjin knew it, too.

“Yeah,” said Yoongi, before Seokjin could ask. “It’s tonight.”

“You took the potion?” said Seokjin, and Yoongi could smell the worry on him, coppery and sweet. “I forgot to check earlier this week—”

“Yeah, no worries, I picked it up myself,” said Yoongi, “on my way home from the store. Hobi says hi, by the way.”

“Oh,” said Seokjin, “that’s good. Is it—”

“Naptime now?” said Yoongi. “Yeah. I already ate.”

“Of course,” said Seokjin.

He always worried, every month. Yoongi might have told him that he’d managed this on his own for years before Seokjin came along, but it was kind of nice to be fussed over.

Yoongi bundled himself into a blanket stolen from Seokjin with a pattern of little blue whales on it, and he sank down onto the couch, already feeling the bone-deep ache in his hips and knees and shoulders and back that generally signaled the transformation. Ache wasn’t the right word, exactly. Hoseok’s potions worked much like painkillers, in that Yoongi felt everything still, and wasn’t bothered by any of it. He drew up his feet beside him, pulled the blanket over his head, and tried not to sigh too heavily.

On the street, cars raced past, a dog barked—Yoongi felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at that—and people in the apartments all around talked and laughed. There was a bird, somewhere. Inside the apartment, the fridge, the lights, his computer, and Seokjin’s computer all hummed, and contrary to popular belief, Seokjin himself breathed softly, a heartbeat underneath that cold dead skin of his. Hoseok’s potion, already well into effect, made Yoongi’s eyes feel heavy, and just out of curiosity, once, he flexed his claws, but immediately afterwards was too tired to keep them out.

“Want me to keep the light on?”

Yoongi murmured something that was supposed to be no, but which came out as a growl. Seokjin turned the lights off. Yoongi buried his head further in the couch. He wanted to get up, to open the front door and run, to chase anything that happened to come across his path. But he also wanted to sleep.

“Goodnight, Yoongi,” said Seokjin.

“Goodnight, Seokjin,” Yoongi tried to say. It was probably a long, low whine.

He knew that Seokjin stood there looking at him for a moment, he felt a hand ruffle his hair, and there seemed to be an eternity before he heard Seokjin’s footsteps padding away. But somehow, he didn’t let himself think about it, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, Seokjin was busy frying something savory-smelling.

“Holy shit,” moaned Yoongi, in part because it smelled so damn good, and in part because sitting up after a transformation night was always dizzying, and his head hurt. Hoseok did his best—his potions were better than any Yoongi had gotten from any other witch, but even he couldn’t do anything about the migraines that followed. “Can I have some? Jin-hyung, please?”

He got up, toes curling against the carpet, no claws to stick. Some part of him always wanted to walk on tiptoe afterwards, and he padded over now, peering at the little cubes of ham and little diced pieces of onion that Seokjin was rolling around in a pan until they turned brown around the edges. The eggs were out next to him, flipped open, and day-old rice in a tupperware container had been pulled out of the fridge, too.

He reached out, and got swatted away with Seokjin’s spatula.

“Not yet!” said Seokjin. “Wait until it’s done!”

“Fine.”

“Go sit on the couch.”

“Fine.”

Yoongi retreated, lying down until his head rested on the arm of the couch. He might have dozed off again for a few minutes, because he had vague memories of a forest he had never seen and a heart-pounding hunt, and he came back to himself every few minutes with a start. It felt like a long time, in the way of unplanned naps, but it must not have been truly very long because Seokjin was suddenly putting a little bowl in front of him full of very, very good smelling food.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” said Seokjin, and Yoongi had to fight the feeling that he’d just spent half the day waiting for Seokjin to finish making egg fried rice. He could only have been awake for about twenty minutes, after all. The day after was like a really bad hangover, always. “You always look so cute when you’re tucked under the blankets, like a little puppy. I always feel bad waking you up.”

“You know what they say,” said Yoongi. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

That was how it was, between them. Quiet, and comfortable.


“Yoongi-yah?” said Seokjin, from the doorway. “Are you home?”

It was a testament to how devastatingly boring their lives were that the first odd thing that registered for Yoongi was, why is he asking? I’m always home at this time. The second odd thing that registered was the note of panic in Seokjin’s voice.

The third odd thing was the smell of blood, coppery and burning to Yoongi’s senses. Yoongi had never moved so quickly in his life, shutting his laptop without even saving the latest version of the mix he was making, and it was a good thing, too, because Seokjin was standing in their doorway, with a man slumped against him. Seokjin was practically carrying him.

“What the hell?” said Yoongi, and then, for some reason, he added—like it wasn’t obvious, “that’s a lot of blood.”

“Can I put him on the couch?”

Yes!” Yoongi practically yelled, and then he realized that Seokjin was probably asking, is it okay if we get blood on the couch?, and how did you even answer that with a probably-almost-dead guy in front of you? Seokjin deposited the guy—who had dark curly hair, and sharp, handsome features, except for the part where his face, neck, and shirt were covered in blood—onto their shared little couch.

“Um,” said Seokjin, “he, um, has to stay here for a few days.”

“Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?”

“Sorry,” said Seokjin, folding his hands together, and ducking his head. Yoongi held his hand up in front of the guy’s face, and—yep, still breathing. “It was… too late?”

“Too late,” repeated Yoongi, blandly, and then the words caught up with him. “You didn’t.”

“He was going to die?”

Yoongi stared, shocked, down at the kid—and he could see, now, that this was practically a kid, barely in his early twenties (as opposed to himself, twenty-eight, and Seokjin, who had an apparent age of late-twenties). There was blood all down Seokjin’s shirt, and the normal red tint in his eyes (obvious only to Yoongi, who knew him well, because Seokjin normally kept himself well fed) was utterly gone, swallowed up in a warm, dark brown.

“You found him like this,” said Yoongi, desperately. “Seokjin, tell me you didn’t do this.”

There was a horrible, rattling gasp from the couch. Both Yoongi and Seokjin turned, but it was Seokjin who moved first, sitting up the kid and helping him cough up… whatever. Yoongi looked away.

He could smell it now, of course. The sharp, sweet smell of decay, which he’d thought had just been Seokjin walking in, of course was stronger than normal, and somehow sharper. All vampires, to Yoongi’s nose, smelled slightly different, but still recognizably vampiric.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” said Seokjin. “Here, c’mon.”

And he bit into his own wrist, and offered it up. Yoongi felt nauseous, and also, horribly, curious. He’d never seen this before—he’d actually never even seen Seokjin feed from any live humans (he tended to keep his blood bags in specialized containers, and he had a separate fridge for them. Yoongi had seen him suck them down like, essentially, a protein shake, though sometimes if he felt fancy he used a wine glass). The kid, whose eyes were a vivid, nearly-glowing red, latched onto Seokjin’s wrist like he was in the desert and it was water.

Seokjin caught Yoongi watching, and gave him a small smile. When the kid was done drinking, Seokjin pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapped it around the kid, and got back up.

“We need to talk,” hissed Yoongi, and Seokjin’s face fell, but he followed him into the kitchen.

“I went to the bar with one of my friends,” whispered Seokjin, as though a newly-minted vampire wouldn’t have extra sharp hearing powers. He didn’t need to specify which bar. Yoongi knew Dionysus, which served cocktails that even got vampires tipsy—a feat which required a variety of ingredients not typically stocked, since alcohol itself didn’t do it. Dionysus was probably the least seedy vampire bar in town (no live feeding on the premises, strict policies regarding human entry—a bar of vampires, for vampires), which was why Seokjin frequented it. Sometimes he asked Yoongi to go with, as he’d done earlier tonight, but—well, things came up. Yoongi had never been.

“Yeah, I know,” said Yoongi.

“I wish you had come with,” said Seokjin, pale. “When we left, I found him a couple alleys down on my way home. I was by myself at that point, and I… He wasn’t breathing. Some bastard drained him.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” said Yoongi. “But isn’t there some sort of protocol?”

“Well, you’re not really supposed to,” said Seokjin, “except, there really wasn’t a lot of time to make a decision.”

Yoongi covered his face.

“This cannot be happening,” he moaned.

“I’m sorry,” said Seokjin, quietly. “I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Is he…” said Yoongi, with no idea what he was about to ask.

“Dead?” said Seokjin, “Yeah. Do we have to bury him? No, probably not. Depends on how he reacts.”

“How long does he have to stay here?”

“I don’t know,” said Seokjin, suddenly a little sheepish. “It’s different for everyone. For me, I forget. A couple of days.”

Yoongi had once asked Seokjin how old he was, and he hadn’t gotten a clear answer. Older than electric lights, Seokjin had said, grinning. There was a loud gasp from the other room, and Seokjin was gone before Yoongi could even register him moving. He followed Seokjin back, and found the kid on the couch sitting up again.

“What’s your name?” asked Seokjin, kindly.

“Taehyung.”

“Ah, that’s nice,” said Seokjin, and Taehyung nodded.

“Did you kidnap me?” Taehyung asked.

Seokjin looked at Yoongi, as if Yoongi would have any way of answering that question. Yoongi shrugged helplessly.

“You smell bad,” said Taehyung, pointing to Yoongi, and then he looked surprised at himself. “Wait, that was rude. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Do you think I smell bad?” Yoongi asked Seokjin, who grimaced.

“Don’t you think I smell bad?”

Ouch. That had been true, once, but now Yoongi lived with him, and Seokjin smelled like home. Seokjin turned back to Taehyung.

“Taehyung,” said Seokjin, lightly, “do you have anyone you live with? Does anyone need to know that you’re staying somewhere else for a few days?”

“I am?”

“Yes,” said Seokjin, and it was just a single word, but something purred underneath his voice, something that spoke of warmth and trust and safety. Yoongi had never seen Seokjin use his charm so casually. “You’re staying here with me and Yoongi, okay?”

“Okay,” said Taehyung.

“Does anyone have to know where you are?” said Seokjin again.

“I live alone.”

“I did something that I shouldn’t have had to do,” said Seokjin, “and I’m very sorry. I made a decision for you that you should have been allowed to make. You were hurt.”

“You fixed me,” said Taehyung, wonder creeping into his voice. “How’d you do that? Why do I feel really weird?”

“You’re kind of drunk,” said Seokjin.

Well, that wasn’t in the lore.

“Is that because you were drunk?” said Yoongi, caught between shocked and appalled, and finding only nervous laughter in the middle. “Seokjin, is he vampire-drunk because you were vampire-drunk?”

“Do you know who hurt you?” said Seokjin, soldiering on.

“Not really,” said Taehyung. “I just remember falling. I remember you carrying me. I really want to go back to sleep now.”

“Wait,” said Seokjin, “does anyone else need to know where you are?”

Taehyung shook his head, and lay back down, getting gross flakes of dried blood all over their nice couch. Yoongi got up to tug the blanket over him again, and leaned down, trying to sniff as surreptitiously as possible. Seokjin, sweet and sharp—a scent that Yoongi was fairly sure was Taehyung himself—and something else, too, something sharp-smelling, coppery and burnt. Something not Seokjin and not, he thought, Taehyung.

Seokjin leaned back, and tilted his head towards the ceiling. He sniffled.

“I wouldn’t trust me, either,” said Seokjin, quietly, his voice suddenly going hoarse. “But it’s true.”

“I know you,” said Yoongi, and he was surprised to find that he believed it. “It’s okay. We’ll help him.”

“Thank you,” said Seokjin, and he wiped at his eyes.

“What do you need me to do?” said Yoongi.


1 year prior

Yoongi looked around the cafe for the man who’d texted a strangely, charmingly childish selfie earlier. Something in his face had tugged at Yoongi’s heart, maybe his sweet smile or his soft eyes. Yoongi had texted back a picture of himself, and harbored no illusions that it was similarly sweet, but at least Kim Seokjin would know who to look for.

Look for me!, the message had said, I’m at the back. But go get coffee first. :)

Sure enough, there was a man sitting alone, flicking through something on his phone, wearing a fuzzy-looking blue sweater roughly the hue of the picture that Yoongi had seen. He had a very tall coffee next to himself, and a blueberry muffin. And there was something else, too, a sweet, sharp smell at the back of Yoongi’s throat, that he recognized as—

Yoongi shoved his phone in his pocket. He almost hoped that he was wrong, that he was picking up on someone else in the cafe, but as he got closer, it only grew more obvious. Yoongi could have kicked himself. He should’ve known, from the way that Seokjin’s selfie had been so stupidly cute. Nobody was that cute without supernatural help.

“Oh,” said Seokjin, when Yoongi approached. Yoongi didn’t sit down. “You’re—”

He didn’t say it. Yoongi didn’t say it, either. That sweet sharp smell burned, and only now he saw the red glint in Seokjin’s eyes. He hadn’t been looking for it in the photos.

“Yeah,” said Yoongi. “Still wanna be roommates?”

“Didn’t you get a coffee?” said Seokjin.

“I ordered, yeah,” said Yoongi, “I figured I’d come over here and introduce myself, but…”

“What, do you need an invitation, too?” said Seokjin, grinning brightly up at him. “I thought that would just be me!”

Yoongi was spared the necessity of coming up with a reply to this, which was easily the most civil conversation he’d ever had with a vampire—and huh, social media pictures really weren’t a good way of figuring out if someone was a serial killer or not. Who would have thought?—because the barista called out his name.

“I’ll, uh, be right back,” said Yoongi.

It took Yoongi far too little time to get his coffee, dump in some sugar, and stir it all around. By the time he was done he hadn’t come up with a better plan than go talk to the vampire and let him down easy, which was a really weird way of thinking about it but this was going to be a really weird day. This meant that when he did go back to the seat at the little wooden table, he was utterly unprepared for Seokjin saying, “I know you probably had a tough time searching for a roommate, especially given your condition. But I know—how it is, managing something like that. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have said online, but I didn’t know you’d—”

“Be who I am,” said Yoongi. “You didn’t know I’d know what you were right away. You were just going to hide it. That’s why I didn’t say anything, either, though, so fair’s fair.”

“What do you do during—your cycle?” said Seokjin. “Sorry, I wouldn’t ask, but I think it’s a fair roommate question.”

Yoongi tried to search for any part of himself that was annoyed at how personal the question was.

“Yeah, it’s fair. I have medication I take,” said Yoongi. “I sleep it off. It sucks the next day, but it’s better than redoing the drywall. Before my last roommate moved out, I just locked my door.”

His old roommate thought he just got blitzed for a day and a half at a time. Yoongi could imagine worse things to be accused of, like losing them the security deposit.

“I see,” said Seokjin. “So you don’t hurt anyone, and no one sees you.”

“What do you do when you’re hungry? That’s fair to ask, too, right?”

Seokjin shrugged. He really had broad shoulders, thought Yoongi absently. On his social media it might have been a trick of the camera angle, but in real life, he was really broad-shouldered.

“I have friends who help me go grocery shopping, you might say.” Seokjin grinned again. “Cruelty-free. That’s how it’s done these days, you know. No castles, or luring innocent young maidens in disreputable establishments. Of course, you can find disreputable establishments—if you want—but I just like normal vampire bars—”

And then his ears turned bright red, and he cleared his throat, and took a sip of coffee. Yoongi kind of fell in love right then, with the way that Seokjin’s ears went all red.

“What kind of music do you like?” said Yoongi, and he only realized it was abrupt when it was too late. “Do you have a job?”

“Uh,” said Seokjin, “I guess I like hip hop, R&B, but I wish I was a rock singer. I work in marketing? What about you?”

“I’m a rapper,” said Yoongi, “uh, not professionally, just kind of on the side. For fun. Other than that, I work at a record store.”

“That’s cool,” said Seokjin. He didn’t say you must really like music, which was a point in his favor. He didn’t ask if Yoongi was trying to make it big, which made two points in his favor. “Do you like things to be messy, or clean?”

“Uh,” said Yoongi, “don’t be gross and leave food lying around, and do dishes.”

“Why’d your last roommate move out?” said Seokjin.

“Got a job halfway across the country,” said Yoongi. “You?”

“I’m the roommate who moved out ‘cause I got a job halfway across the country.”

“You excited?”

“Eh,” said Seokjin, but he was smiling, in a sort of twinkly-eyed way. “I’m good at what I do, and this new job pays well. You can’t ask for a lot more than that!”

Yoongi knew that vampires were supposed to be sort of supernaturally charming, but he also was immune to specifically vampires, and he had his own supernatural senses, and, stupidly, all of them were telling him right now that Seokjin was just like this.

They continued like that, rapid-fire back and forth, but it wasn’t exhausting, the way that it might have been with anyone else. Every few seconds a question came to Yoongi’s mind, and he blurted it out, like it wasn’t personal. Seokjin countered with questions of his own, but instead of feeling like a tennis match or a duel, it was just…simple. Easy.

Yoongi finished his coffee, and Seokjin finished his, and somehow they were still talking.

“Do you have friends here?” said Yoongi.

“I do,” said Seokjin. “Just… not ones I would move in with. Ahh, wait, are you asking if I’m going to want to throw crazy parties all the time? Yoongi, I’m old. Are you going to be throwing parties all the time?”

“Not much of a party guy,” said Yoongi. Not much of an anything guy, actually.

“Oh, well, that’s fine,” said Seokjin, “if I can have friends over. But mostly we go out.”

Yoongi nodded.

“So, what,” said Seokjin. “What happens now? Do you want to be roommates?”

“I was thinking we could—think about it,” said Yoongi, “for a day or so.”

Every supernatural sense he had said to run, of course—to run until that burning sweet smell wasn’t tickling the back of his throat, to get out of the line of sight of Seokjin’s red-tinted eyes, that the smile that dazzled him could so quickly turn sharp.

“Of course,” said Seokjin, unfazed. “Take the time that you need!”

Yoongi made it home, to the half-empty apartment, looked at the wall calendar he’d taped up right next to the fridge of the moon phases—realized that, if Seokjin moved in, he’d get to keep it there, easy and in plain sight, no questions asked—and he opened up his phone.

I want to be roommates, Yoongi texted.

Great! sent Seokjin, almost immediately, like he’d been waiting, and followed it up with several cute stickers of a happy-looking cat.

“Huh,” said Yoongi, out loud.


present day

The first day after Taehyung’s change was easy enough. It was rainy and cold, which meant that Yoongi didn’t mind staying inside, and he and Seokjin turned the television to some historical drama that they didn’t have to think too hard about. Taehyung mostly slept through it, and Seokjin called off of work to sit in the living room with him and crouch on a chair, watching him with haunted eyes. Yoongi went to work, as if he didn’t have a sleeping baby vampire in his living room, managed to sell records and keep the store from burning down or dissolving into chaos, and even managed to do some cleaning up of the back room, and stopped by Hoseok’s on the way back.

You couldn’t find Hoseok’s place unless you knew where it was, between two buildings, in a space where there certainly was not enough for a tiny shop. The door jingled as he walked in. Hoseok stopped counting money at the register.

“Yoongi!” said Hoseok.

It wasn’t a charm. Yoongi had once checked, and Seokjin had confirmed for him (and Seokjin knew charms better than anyone else Yoongi had ever met besides Hoseok himself probably). It was just simply that as soon as you walked into Hoseok’s shop, and Hoseok spoke to you, you felt a little bit lighter.

It might have been the kitschy Halloween decorations that said WELCOME!, which stayed up all year round because Hoseok thought they were funny caricatures of his typical clientele, and everyone forgave him for that anyway. It might have been the bookshelves next to the cozy-looking chairs around the fireplace (whose chimney went nowhere visible from the outside—Seokjin and Yoongi had once gone around the whole block to check, and couldn’t even find the smoke), which Hoseok had set up because his place was as much a general store for the supernatural as it was a bookshop for witches. Sometimes, when you walked in, someone was sitting in one of the chairs flipping through the book for a spell. Yoongi was never sure if anyone actually bought the books. It might have been the little strings of fairy lights that served as the main source of illumination, along with the fire in the fireplace, which somehow managed to be both more than enough to read by and also comfortingly dim. It might even have been the hint of scented candles, which was mild enough to avoid overwhelming even Yoongi’s sense of smell.

The shop just looked almost like a home, with the refrigerator (full of snacks for the supernaturally inclined, which couldn’t be gotten anywhere else), except for Hoseok’s counter and cash register.

“Hey, Hobi.”

“Here for the usual? You’re early.” Hoseok didn’t even wait for an answer before he started digging around in the cabinets underneath his register, where he kept the various medications for the supernatural. “How was last month?

“It was easy,” said Yoongi, making a beeline for the fridge. “I think you’re getting better at it every month. And if you have any O-negative for Seokjin, too. We ran out before his next case arrives.”

“He just came by the other day for the same reason, I could have sworn!” said Hoseok. “Ahh, there’s none in the fridge right now.”

“He’s been trying to eat at home more to save money,” lied Yoongi.

Hoseok nodded knowingly, but didn’t move from behind the counter. Instead, he called out, “Jimin?”

“O-negative?” A blonde kid that Yoongi had never met before poked his head out from between the strips of bright red curtains that marked the stock room.

“Yeah,” said Yoongi, and the blonde kid—presumably Jimin—disappeared. “I didn’t know you had an assistant.”

“He’s new,” said Hoseok.

The kid pushed aside the curtains, arms full with a case of blood bags, and Yoongi darted forward to open the fridge door for him.

“Thank you,” said Jimin, with a sincerity that took Yoongi aback, and, up close, Yoongi realized he had a sweet face, and a charming smile. In a black sports coat, a buttoned-up gray shirt and dress pants, he was more formally dressed than Yoongi would have expected for Hoseok’s store, and indeed more formally than Hoseok himself, who today was wearing a bright yellow sweater that said YOU GOOD? on the front. But the multiple piercings and rings, Yoongi thought, hinted at a likely much more interesting sense of style when he wasn’t on the job.

Jimin started packing blood bags into the fridge, and Yoongi took three of them from the case.

“Jimin, this is Yoongi,” said Hoseok, brightly. “Yoongi, this is Jimin. He’s my new assistant!”

“Nice to meet you!” said Jimin. “I heard so much about you! Um, all good, of course.”

“You’re a regular,” said Hoseok. “I tell him about all my regulars. Jimin, Yoongi lives with Seokjin.”

“I remember,” said Jimin, as though it really mattered to him.

“Are you in training to be a witch, too?” said Yoongi.

Jimin nodded quickly. Yoongi got the sense that he was, if not shy, exactly, eager to make a good impression, and a little bit nervous. Yoongi decided he was rooting for Jimin.

“Nobody’s better than Hoseok,” said Yoongi.

“I know! I’m so lucky.”

Yoongi brought his purchases up to the front, and Hoseok slipped the medications and the blood bags into a bag for him, and, after a moment’s thought, and a quick once-over of Yoongi (who felt self-conscious in his plain black sweatshirt, suddenly) plucked something from a display stand. He dropped it into the bag, too—a little silver pendant, curiously shaped, on a leather loop. Yoongi started to count out extra won, on top of the charge for the blood and the medication, but Hoseok shook his head.

“You need some help right now,” said Hoseok, lightly. “No charge.”

“Help with what?” said Yoongi. He looked at the label on the display stand, but it just said JUST IN CASE with a little heart next to it, in blue pen with what was clearly Hoseok’s handwriting. Hoseok always drew hearts rounder than they should have been. Hoseok smiled.

“That would be telling.”

“I hate when you do that,” Yoongi told him, utterly insincere, and Hoseok laughed out loud. “I know you only do it so you can be right later on about something. Can’t trust witches.”

“You can give the pendant back,” said Hoseok.

“No!”

Jimin giggled, and Yoongi heard it in his laughter then, answering a question that Yoongi hadn’t even formed in his head yet—Jimin was a siren, or part-siren anyway.

“See you later,” said Yoongi. “Nice meeting you, Jimin.”

The door jingled again as he left.


The second day was… less easy. Taehyung was no longer sleeping easily, but turning fitfully, and occasionally groaning. They’d managed to wake him up long enough to get him to change into some old pajamas of Yoongi’s, but aside from that, he barely even ate. Yoongi was off that day, and Seokjin had called out sick again, so they’d turned on the same historical drama and then watched approximately five minutes of it before they realized that they were both too focused on Taehyung to pay attention to anything else. At first, Yoongi thought something had gone wrong, but Seokjin shook his head.

“Are you saying this is normal?” asked Yoongi, feeling his voice rise. “Because it doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to be normal.”

Somewhere in the past day and a half, Yoongi realized, he’d grown fond of Taehyung, though he didn’t truly know him at all, and the most interaction that he’d had with him was Taehyung telling him that he smelled bad. But Taehyung was in his home, sleeping on his couch, and Seokjin had picked him (if unwillingly). All of that, Yoongi realized, made him basically family.

(Family that they didn’t know anything about. They didn’t even know if they were supposed to call anyone to make sure that Taehyung called out sick from work, let alone tell them that he was—well, dead, but okay.)

“This is the scariest part,” said Seokjin. “The magic takes time to set in. If he rejects the transformation, it’s going to happen today or tomorrow.”

Also, Taehyung snored.

“Why is he still breathing?”

“I breathe,” said Seokjin. “I thought you knew that.”

“It’s just funny,” said Yoongi. “A vampire snoring.”

“It’s habit,” said Seokjin. “Just like the way that my heart beats. I can’t stop it, any more than anyone else could.”

“Don’t get defensive,” said Yoongi, laughing, and then there was a knock at the door.

“Are we expecting anyone?” said Seokjin. Yoongi shook his head. They sure as hell hadn’t been, or they wouldn’t be in sleepwear still.

By unspoken mutual agreement when someone unknown knocked at the door, Seokjin tended to answer, with his ability to ward off unwanted visitors selling things and send them on their way. He opened the door now, leaning into the doorway.

“Hello!” he said, chipper as ever.

“Hello!” said an equally cheerful voice that Yoongi didn’t know, and then a very tall werewolf in a suit and a coat, with a scar across his face and a file folder tucked under his right arm stepped into the room, past Seokjin somehow. He must have moved like water, thought Yoongi. Seokjin was broad-shouldered, and tall, and to slip past him…

The hair on the back of Yoongi’s neck stood up—if he’d been in wolf form, he would have been growling. As it was, involuntarily, he found himself hunching his shoulders and glaring at the man.

“No need for that,” said the man, and he flashed a toothy smile at Yoongi, along with what was clearly a government badge in a little black leather wallet, although Yoongi would have had no way of knowing if it was fake. When he smiled, very deep dimples appeared in his cheeks, and the scar across his face stretched. He dropped the badge back inside the inner pocket of his coat. “I’m Kim Namjoon, case worker with the Supernatural Integration & Support Agency, SISA. Nice to meet you.”

“Case worker…?” said Seokjin.

“Kim Seokjin, I presume,” said Namjoon, shifting to tuck the file folder under his left arm, and holding out his hand. Seokjin took it warily. “Nice to meet you, Seokjin. When’s the last time you turned a vampire?”

“Uh,” said Seokjin.

“Besides Kim Taehyung here.”

“Back in 1900 or so…?”

Namjoon nodded.

“That’s correct,” said Namjoon, and only then did Yoongi realize that Namjoon had actually, in fact, been testing Seokjin. “Back in the ‘90s, SISA was created. You wouldn’t know about us, since the last time you turned anyone was in 1905—and I have to say, we’ve always been a little strapped for cash, so publicity hasn’t exactly been top of mind for us. We check on newly-turned supernaturals in order to make sure that they’re integrating effectively into society. And that they have resources throughout the turning process. You set off our alarms when you turned Taehyung.”

Seokjin looked utterly stunned. Yoongi had never seen him so flustered. His ears were bright red.

“I didn’t know you turned anyone before,” said Yoongi. “You never told me that.”

“Am I in trouble?” said Seokjin.

“That depends,” said Namjoon, pleasantly. “How far along is Taehyung?”

Seokjin gestured silently at the couch. Namjoon peered over, keeping his hands folded behind his back.

“Ah,” said Namjoon, “the difficult phase. So it’ll be a day or two before I can talk to him, I suppose. If he survives.”

“Sorry,” said Seokjin, as though any of it were his fault.

“Why don’t I sit down, and you can tell me about it?” said Namjoon. He picked up the silvery pendant from Hoseok’s that Yoongi had left on the table several days ago. “Ah, do you know Hobi?”

“Yeah,” said Yoongi. “Sometimes I think everyone knows Hobi.”

There was some shuffling to find some seats for everyone, and they had to pull some chairs from Seokjin and Yoongi’s little dining room table—Taehyung slept through the whole thing—and Yoongi made coffee, while Seokjin explained the vampire bar, the way that he’d found Taehyung, and the choice he’d made. Namjoon nodded carefully, and he looked over at Yoongi.

“So, how long have you been living with your boyfriend?”

Yoongi choked on his coffee.

“Roommate,” he said, once he could breathe again. When he looked at Seokjin, Seokjin was a bright, almost painful-looking red. “And a little over a year now. Um, we’re roommates. I put out an ad when my old roommate moved out, and that’s how I met Seokjin. We got along, so it works out.”

“That’s interesting,” said Namjoon. “You don’t see vampires and werewolves living together very often. I wouldn’t have expected you to take such an interest in the affairs of vampires under normal circumstances. Apologies for the assumption.”

It was Yoongi’s turn to go red.

“I could say the same for you,” said Yoongi.

“Oh, well, that’s easy,” said Namjoon. “Unlike vampires, I can walk in uninvited, and unlike a human I can easily and quickly distinguish between humans and vampires, among other things. I need to be able to do both in order to quickly understand a situation. Most of my coworkers are vampires, of course, but in the special cases, they send me.”

His eyes flickered over Taehyung.

“And a random turning is a special case?” said Seokjin.

“Nowadays, yes,” said Namjoon. “Taehyung’s only the fifth unexpected turning we’ve seen all year. The sixth if you count a planned one that we were advised of. Most are unexpected, of course—as I mentioned, SISA isn’t that well known. Some of the bigger hives and packs reach out to us when they want a new member, and have a candidate in mind, but… well, there’s been resistance from other quarters. Anyway. The point is, I’m here to help you and Taehyung manage this effectively. I’ve already contacted his employers to let them know that he’ll be out for the next five days as well. His family believes he has been in a car accident, it’ll be up to him what he wants to tell them when he wakes up. I can help him with that.”

He opened the file folder he’d been carrying, and began to flip through the pages. He handed a paper to Seokjin—a plain eight-and-half-by-eleven inch sheet that was formatted as a simple checklist. Yoongi could read the title on it.

So You’ve Sired Someone: Supporting New Vampires Through The First 30 Days

“This one’s for Taehyung, when he wakes up,” said Namjoon, and set another sheet of paper on the coffee table. A little card was stapled to it up at the top, on which Yoongi read the name Kim Namjoon.

Yes, You Do Have to Be Invited In: What to Expect From Your New Immortality

“Well,” he said, “I do have to get going. That's my number on the card. Can you call me when Taehyung wakes up? Or have him call me, too. Alternately, may I come back in three days regardless?”

Yoongi looked to Seokjin, who had already turned to him to check for his reaction. Seokjin nodded, so Yoongi nodded, too.

“I would have called if I'd known,” said Seokjin. Namjoon held up his hands.

“No problem, that’s what we're here for. I’m here to help Taehyung and to help you, too.”

Seokjin nodded, and saw Namjoon out. When he shut the door behind Namjoon, he began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” said Yoongi.

“I just—” said Seokjin, in between hiccupy giggles, “I had no idea! Can you imagine? I’ve been alive for 800 years, and I had no idea!”

“I don’t like him,” said Yoongi.

Seokjin wiped his eyes, and sat down across from Yoongi again.

“Why?”

“He knows too much about us, and he just walked in,” said Yoongi, and that set Seokjin off all over again.

“You’re territorial!


Kim Taehyung—and it was strange, now, to have his full name, it made him more real, as if the unliving, breathing body on their couch hadn’t already done that—woke up the next day, while Yoongi was at home alone with him (Yoongi’s day off). They’d kept his phone charged for him, since luckily, he had a Samsung just like Seokjin’s, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in calling anyone except his parents and siblings.

Yoongi read over the checklist that Namjoon had given him.

“I’m so thirsty,” moaned Taehyung, and Yoongi grabbed him a bag of blood from Seokjin’s fridge.

“Here,” said Yoongi, “drink this.”

Taehyung stared at the bag.

“Do I just… puncture it with my teeth?” he said. “This looks kind of gross. Seokjin-hyung was just feeding me from his wrist. Don’t you have straws?”

This led to Yoongi calling Seokjin on his phone, and setting it on speaker, and putting it on their little coffee table next to the pendant that Hoseok had given him.

“Uh,” said Yoongi, “what do we do?”

“Taehyung—” said Seokjin, “give me a second, I’m going outside.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Taehyung. By the time that Seokjin spoke again, he was out of breath.

“Okay, so, the smoking table was busy, I had to go down the sidewalk a ways,” said Seokjin. “You wouldn’t think it would be so hard to find privacy in an office! Anyway. Taehyung, can you show your teeth to Yoongi? Just like I showed you.”

Yoongi looked at Taehyung. Taehyung went, “Aaahhh.”

“You’re not showing me your teeth,” said Yoongi. “Like, you are, but not your fangs.”

“Think about how hungry you are,” advised Seokjin, over the phone. “Just sort of… imagine it happening. They should flick out.”

“Aaahhhh,” said Taehyung, more forcefully this time.

Aaahhhh,” said Yoongi, baring his own fangs as an example. It wasn’t possible to do a full transformation outside of the moon cycles, but he could do enough to scare a human if he needed to, sharp fangs and gold eyes, ears shifting to a more pointed shape. It got kind of itchy though, if he tried so hard that fur started growing along his back.

“Aaahhh!” yelped Taehyung. “What! Seokjin-hyung doesn’t look like that? Why did your eyes go gold? Will mine do that?”

“I’m a werewolf. No big deal,” Yoongi advised, because Taehyung didn’t need to hear about the twenty-eight years of life that he had lived where it was, indeed, a very big deal. “Just listen to Seokjin.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Think about blood?” said Seokjin. “Uh, can you hear Yoongi’s heartbeat? Think about that.”

Aarrrghhhhhh!

“Is it working?” said Seokjin. Taehyung, with a mouth of purely square teeth bared, looked at Yoongi with hope in his dark crimson eyes.

“No,” said Yoongi.

Seokjin sighed.

“Yoongi, go get a knife from the kitchen, and poke a hole in the bag, please. Taehyung, you can try it with your human teeth, but you’ll probably just make a mess.”

This was easy enough to accomplish, and Taehyung ended up sucking the blood out of the bag.

“We should get straws,” said Yoongi, to Seokjin, over the phone. “Like the hard plastic reusable ones.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” said Seokjin, but Yoongi was already ordering them online. Taehyung went back to sleep.

The three of them called Kim Namjoon again on the fourth day, when Taehyung was up and walking around. Namjoon spoke to Taehyung for a couple of minutes and was apparently satisfied enough to schedule an appointment for the next day.

“But seriously, I have a case worker?” said Taehyung, confused, over the sounds of Seokjin making dinner, which turned out to be fried chicken.

“Yeah,” said Yoongi. “I guess he’s just there to make sure that we’re not like…”

“Keeping you in thrall,” said Seokjin, flat-voiced, over the sizzling stove. He wasn’t facing any of them, but Yoongi desperately wanted to know what expression was on his face. He’d never heard that tone from Seokjin before. Seokjin poked at the chicken.

“Oh,” said Taehyung.

“It’s why people get turned, usually,” said Seokjin. “That’s why I was turned. I was a thrall for the first century or so, after my turning.”

He said it so plainly, except Yoongi knew all of those words, and shivered.

“I didn’t know that,” said Yoongi.

“You don’t know a lot of things about being a vampire,” said Seokjin. “It’s okay. You know enough about being a werewolf. Why should we burden you with the rest of it? Anyway, Taehyung, I didn’t turn you to be a thrall.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Taehyung, with a sweet sort of faith for a man who had been essentially held hostage in Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment for several days. “What’s a thrall?”

“Somebody who does what you say,” said Seokjin. “Somebody who brings home humans for you to feed on. Kind of like a… pyramid scheme of vampirism.”

“Oh,” said Taehyung. “That sounds awful.”

“It is. You don’t have to do what I say, or what anyone says, okay? Except if I ask you to do the dishes later ‘cause it’s your turn now.”

“Aren’t I a guest?” said Taehyung slyly, which sparked an entire argument between Seokjin and Taehyung. Yoongi felt fidgety, like he should have said something else. Like there was something Seokjin needed to hear, and Yoongi couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hey, what’s another item on Namjoon’s new vampire checklist?” said Seokjin, abruptly, after they played rock-paper-scissors to determine who would do the dishes, and Seokjin lost.

Try lots of foods! Your sense of taste will be different from what it was before, but you can still eat human food. Make sure you get plenty of fresh blood, though, or you’ll start to experience severe hunger pangs and psychological effects.

“Yeah,” said Seokjin. “Man, we’re so lucky. I don’t even remember how food tasted when I was human any more.”

“Oh hey! I can still have garlic,” said Taehyung, brightly. “It says so right here.”

“Not if Seokjin’s the one cooking,” said Yoongi. “He’s allergic.”

“I still can get allergies?! That’s so unfair!”


Namjoon requested a private audience with Taehyung, but since Taehyung couldn’t be trusted out in public yet, Seokjin and Yoongi were banished to Yoongi’s room.

“I like the way your room looks,” said Seokjin. “I’m never in here.”

He pointed to the walls, where Yoongi had put up records as wall art. There were speakers, too, that Yoongi had installed, and music posters—mostly classic hip hop artists, but a few modern ones, too. In between, there were sound-canceling foam squares, for when Yoongi was doing mixes. Yoongi liked his room very much.

There were also scratches near the door, running deep into the wall, which Yoongi had spackled over and repainted, though he’d done a poor job of it. When the landlord took a notion and came to inspect things, Yoongi tended to move his dresser to cover them up.

“You work in a record store, you kind of get used to picking up albums you like,” said Yoongi.

“Do you?” said Seokjin, quietly. “That’s nice.”

“You can sit down,” said Yoongi. “You’re like, pacing.”

Seokjin didn’t sit. Yoongi watched him, walking back and forth across the room, and felt a sudden rush of fondness.

“I’m worried.”

“For Taehyung?”

“For me, too!” said Seokjin. “What if I’m in trouble for turning him?”

Saving him,” said Yoongi.

“Taking him away from his family and friends forever,” said Seokjin.

“Death would’ve done that anyway. At least now he gets a little more time, and he can decide what to do with it.”

Seokjin sighed.

“But it’s not just friends and family. I switch jobs every ten years,” said Seokjin. “I haven’t lived in the same city for longer than ten years since, oh… you would think of it as the year 1800. It gets harder to ditch people with social media, though. Anyway, normally housing situations don’t last that long. A year or two, at most.”

“Were you going to leave me?”

Two years seemed like an impossibly long amount of time to live with someone else, to Yoongi, who’d never had anything permanent, ever, except maybe the record store, and that only because they barely knew him. And his music, and that only because it was basically anonymous.

And yet, Yoongi thought, it also seemed impossible that Seokjin was planning to leave him. Yeah, sure, Yoongi knew better than anyone else, no one stayed forever, but the fact that Seokjin had a ticking timer in the back of his head? Seokjin, who was literally immortal?

“Yeah, if you didn’t leave me,” said Seokjin, “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” said Yoongi.

Seokjin really stopped pacing at that, and then his ears turned red.

“What are you saying?”

“Just,” said Yoongi, struggling for words. “You don’t have to. I think we’re really good roommates.”

Seokjin smiled, his real, embarrassed smile, the one that made Yoongi’s heart trip in his chest. He hoped Seokjin didn’t know everything.

“I think so too.”

“I’m glad I live with you.”

“Even five years is a really long time,” said Seokjin. “I’ve lived 800 or so, but it’s still—people get married, they have kids, they want to move jobs… Especially at your age. Especially nowadays. Don’t you want to find someone and move in with them? You won’t be thinking of me by then.”

“Don’t assume anything,” said Yoongi, like it was up for debate, somehow, and Seokjin’s ears went even redder, all the way down his neck this time. It was so stupidly cute that Yoongi had to ignore it.

“I forgot about Taehyung,” said Seokjin, suddenly. “What do you think Namjoon is saying to him now?”

“Did you know he’s from Daegu?” said Yoongi. “He told me yesterday.”

“Oh,” said Seokjin, and he stopped pacing, “like you?”

“Like me,” said Yoongi. “Hey, I mean it. Come sit down.”

Seokjin sat down next to him, ran his hand over the dark gray bedspread, and Yoongi threw an arm over his shoulder. It was dangerous, honestly—Seokjin could hear Yoongi’s heart racing under his skin, and Yoongi had no doubts that Seokjin was hearing and smelling all sorts of truths about him that Yoongi had never wanted him to know—but he couldn’t bear it any longer, he had to… help. Somehow.

And curiously, Seokjin leaned into him, nuzzling into Yoongi’s neck. Did he know? Yoongi swallowed. Hadn’t he said that Yoongi smelled bad?

“I think you did the right thing,” said Yoongi.

“It’s Taehyung who has to forgive me,” said Seokjin. “But I appreciate the effort. Thank you.”

“It’s not a favor,” said Yoongi. “Or flattery. You don’t have to thank me.”

It wasn’t like Yoongi hadn’t met other supernatural individuals before, but he’d never actually lived with any of them. But there was Seokjin, who kept as close track of the moon cycles as Yoongi himself did, who told Yoongi it was okay to sleep in their living room in his full-moon form if it was more comfortable after years of feeling trapped in his own little bedroom. Seokjin, who saw Yoongi’s werewolf form and patted his head like full-moon-Yoongi wasn’t a snarling mass of angry teeth and claws who had to be sedated so he wouldn’t hurt anyone, and who woke him up in the morning with fried rice anyway. Yoongi didn’t like to see Seokjin, who had done more than anyone else for Yoongi’s own ability to look in the mirror, fear himself so much.

When Seokjin shifted, he was close enough to kiss, their noses almost touching. Yoongi opened his mouth, maybe to say something—maybe to do something really stupid, like actually kiss his roommate—and Seokjin was still there—

“Guys!” said Taehyung, opening the door. Yoongi and Seokjin jumped apart, as though they’d been doing something they weren’t supposed to. “Namjoon says he thinks I’m okay to go home if I want. He doesn’t think I’m going to snap and eat anyone, and he says the transformation’s over. And he says he found Jeon Jungkook for me! He says Jungkook will meet me, if I want. And you too, Seokjin.”

“Who the hell is Jungkook?” said Yoongi, mystified.

Seokjin’s face lit up.

“Jungkook’s alive?


Seokjin had disappeared into his room to speak on the phone with Jungkook (who Yoongi eventually gathered was the person that Seokjin had turned in 1905) as soon as Namjoon left. Taehyung moved back home the next day, cleared to go back to work with a doctor’s note that someone from SISA had managed to wrangle for him to cover the time lost. Yoongi drove him home, while Seokjin armed him with a full case of O-negative. Seokjin and Yoongi would alternate checking in on him, along with Namjoon, and then there was Jungkook.

Yoongi had tried not to eavesdrop on Seokjin’s conversation, but caught a few phrases like “I’m so sorry” and “I didn’t know.” When he came out, his eyes were red-rimmed. Yoongi pretended not to notice.

“We have to clean up,” said Seokjin, sniffling. “Jungkook’s coming on Thursday!”

This began what Yoongi could only describe as a marathon cleaning session, as though Seokjin’s own parents were coming to visit, in between Seokjin’s work days and Yoongi’s work evenings.

Yoongi helped—super strength did make it easier to move around the couch to vacuum, but on the day of the visit, Yoongi got a headache and ended up opening all the windows and staying out of the way of Seokjin and the spray bottle filled with lemon-scented cleaning chemicals.

“Yoongi-yahhh,” called Seokjin, an hour or so prior to the appointed time, from the shared bathroom in the hallway, and fully decked out in an apron, rubber gloves, sponge in hand, spray bottle in the other, over his business-casual work wear of a button-down shirt with a ridiculous floral pattern and black pants. “I’ll love you forever if you do the dishes.”

“Fine,” said Yoongi, getting up, and then there was a knock at the door. Yoongi plugged the sink, turned on the hot water, and waited for the sink to fill up.

“That can’t be him,” said Seokjin, peering through the keyhole—and, cleaning accoutrements and all, he flung open the door. “Come in!”

Someone—presumably Jungkook—had only needed this invitation to tackle Seokjin in a hug. Neither of them let go, and as one four-legged clumsy disaster, they made their way backwards into the room. Seokjin swung them around, and plunked Jungkook down on the couch. Yoongi watched, dishes entirely forgotten, as Seokjin began to laugh, squeaky and hiccupy.

Jungkook had shown up to this reunion in ripped black skinny jeans, and a black leather jacket. He looked younger than Taehyung, even, and he hung off of Seokjin like a barnacle. Yoongi, who had not yet recovered from Seokjin nuzzling his face into Yoongi’s neck several days prior, felt very strange indeed watching this display.

“I thought you died!” said Seokjin, pinching his cheeks.

“Well, yeah,” said Jungkook, “I’ve been dead for a hundred and sixteen years, or so. You were there.”

“So rude,” sighed Seokjin, “making fun of me for a hundred years of grief! Yoongi-yah! Come sit down and meet Jungkook!”

Yoongi startled. The water was still on, and steam was beginning to cloud the air around him. He flipped off the water. Jungkook would just have to ignore any dirty dishes.

“I thought this was probably Yoongi,” said Jungkook. He gave Yoongi a nod, without letting go of Seokjin. “Seokjin and Taehyung said a lot about you.”

“I don’t know a lot about you, but it’s nice to finally meet the reason I’ve been cleaning my house for four days,” said Yoongi, and thankfully Jungkook laughed, while Seokjin wailed. Yoongi sat down across from them, and felt curiously like a third wheel.

“Don’t tell him that!”

“Hyung,” said Jungkook, “you didn’t even take off your rubber gloves.”

“You showed up early!”

Seokjin’s face flooded red, and he tore off the gloves and the apron.

“Yoongi,” said Seokjin, “We figured it out on the phone the other day. Jungkook moved out after we got into trouble in Busan. We thought it was better to separate at that time. But then he went traveling for a few years, and all my letters were getting returned, and then I got run out of Gwacheon—things were harder back then, we didn’t have blood banks, so if you can imagine, we were doing things the old fashioned way—”

Seokjin shuddered.

“Anyway,” continued Jungkook, as though he had been the one to start the sentence. “When hyung got run out of Gwacheon, all my letters to him got returned, he hid so well I really thought he was dead.”

“I wouldn’t have covered my tracks so well if I hadn’t thought you were dead!”

“Maybe if you didn’t panic over a few unreturned letters—”

“The point is, Yoongi,” said Seokjin, “never take the internet for granted!”

“I won’t,” promised Yoongi gravely, and Seokjin and Jungkook both burst out into laughter again.

“But seriously, what do you do for fun around here?” said Jungkook. Seokjin thought for a moment. Jungkook reached out for something, and picked up a silvery pendant off the table. “Wait, do you know Hobi?”

Everyone knows Hobi,” said Seokjin.

“Does Taehyung know Hobi?”

Seokjin and Yoongi looked at each other.

“Not… yet?” said Seokjin.


Yoongi had never actually been inside Dionysus before, but he flashed his ID at the bouncer and the man didn’t bat an eye. Jungkook sailed through, Seokjin was a regular, and Hoseok and Jimin, invited at the last minute and definitely not vampires, didn’t garner any suspicion anyway—Yoongi suspected they were regulars here too, though Taehyung, who was practically vibrating with excitement, got an extra look.

“First time,” said Seokjin, affectionate and almost indulgent. The bouncer nodded.

“Have a good night, kid,” he said, and let them in. It was small, and cozy inside, with scattered groups of people in little conversations at the tables and at the bar, and there was someone singing on a little stage, which had red velvet curtains at the sides. Seokjin led them across, aiming for a little corner booth—

Namjoon?!” said Taehyung.

“Uh, hi?” said Namjoon, who was sitting at the bar by himself. “Hey, Hobi, Jimin.”

There was a burst of chatter, as Taehyung tried to ask if all supernaturals knew each other, Jimin explained that they didn’t, Hoseok invited Namjoon to sit with them, and Jungkook asked if things were always like this, a question to which Jimin only shrugged. Seokjin bumped against Yoongi’s shoulder, as they slid into the booth, Yoongi and Seokjin at the back, followed by Namjoon.

“This is fun,” Seokjin said, low enough so that only Yoongi could hear.

“This is weird,” said Yoongi, but he was grinning, because Jimin was pulling Taehyung along by the hand, Hoseok shepherding them from behind, and Taehyung looked like he was having the time of his life.

“I haven’t seen so many people in days!”

And then it wasn’t weird, somehow, when Namjoon left and came back with a round of drinks for everyone, including a vampire cocktail for Taehyung.

I wanted to buy him his first,” whined Seokjin.

“It’s okay, hyung,” said Taehyung, “you can buy me the second!”

He took a sip, and his brows furrowed.

“It doesn’t… do I still get drunk? It tastes so good though!”

“Oh, it’s virgin,” said Namjoon, and, at Taehyung’s head tilt, and Yoongi’s raised eyebrows, he clarified, “not the blood, specifically, it’s just not going to make you tipsy. I didn’t think that would be a good idea, on your first night out? This is your first night out, right?”

“Yeah, it is. Um, that’s nice of you,” said Taehyung. “Thank you.”

Namjoon,” said Hoseok, “we brought him here to get plastered!”

“It would be unprofessional of me to condone that,” said Namjoon, but he winked, and Taehyung laughed. Yoongi’s drink was the same as Namjoon’s, sweet and strong and a strange, opaque yellow—

“This is good,” said Yoongi. “It tastes… strange, but I think I like it.”

“Full moon,” said Namjoon.

“What?”

Seokjin sipped on something that Yoongi suspected was the non-virgin version of Taehyung’s drink, and Yoongi watched the smile cross his face. Their thighs touched, underneath the table, and though there was room, Yoongi didn’t want to move.

“The cocktail. It’s called a Full Moon. It has a lot of flavors in it that only werewolves can taste. It’s not really that strong, alcohol-wise, but it’s my favorite. You’re probably picking up on something floral, right?” said Namjoon, and when Yoongi involuntarily frowned, puzzled, and took another sip to confirm, Namjoon added, “This place is mostly for vampires, but they have a couple special menus, for other supernaturals—hasn’t Seokjin ever brought you here?”

“I tried so hard,” said Seokjin. “I really wanted him to come along with! But he never wanted to.”

“Wait, what?” said Yoongi, forgetting entirely about floral flavors.

Yoongi was struck by the way that Seokjin’s cheeks creased in a too-big embarrassed smile, the way that his hair fell into his dark eyes. In the low light, Yoongi couldn’t see the red of Seokjin’s eyes, but he could see the tips of his fangs, and smell—

His hand was on Seokjin’s thigh, somehow. He pulled it back. Seokjin didn’t even blink.

“Oh, you know,” said Seokjin, “like two months ago, when I said my friend was visiting, and you could come with us to the bar if you wanted? But you were putting together a new song. And then a little while before that, that Friday I had the worst day at work and I said I was going out, but then… anyway, I shouldn’t have forgotten, that was right on the full moon, so it was dumb of me to ask. You know. There were other times, too. I think I messed it up every time.”

“I thought you were just being polite,” blurted out Yoongi. “That you just felt weird about me being at home alone.”

Every part of him which was currently brushing against Seokjin burned, and Yoongi’s face burned, too. Seokjin shifted, so he could face Yoongi with his whole upper body, which had the side effect of him dropping his arm over the back of the booth. Yoongi should have felt trapped. He didn’t.

“No!” said Seokjin, righteous indignation creeping into his voice, and something swelled in Yoongi’s chest. “Why do you think I kept asking you? And then I felt really weird after the third or fourth time, so I stopped, but… I thought maybe it would make you less sad on full moon nights if you came out more often on the nights in between and saw werewolves here, or something. You know, just people having fun. It’s okay to have fun being us.”

Oh.

“I know,” said Yoongi, and it came out weird and hoarse, like he couldn’t bear to say it with his whole voice, but he also couldn’t stop himself from saying it, either, “you remind me of that every day.”

“Oh,” said Seokjin, faintly. “I do?”

“Yeah, you do. You make me so happy, Seokjin. I’d never been so happy, before we moved in together.”

“Yeah,” said Seokjin. “That’s why I wanted… Yoongi, you make me so happy, too.”

Something against Yoongi’s cheek, in the corner of his vision—and he realized, shortly, that it was Seokjin’s thumb, caressing his face. Yoongi shut his eyes and leaned into the touch before he realized what he was doing, and they both froze, and it was only then that they realized the entire table was looking at them.

“Out,” said Hoseok, tugging on Taehyung next to him, and Jimin started scooting. “Out, out, Jungkook, you too—”

“Don’t boss me around, I’m 100 years older than you,” said Jungkook, who was evidently slightly tipsy.

Are you?” said Hoseok, “How do you know?”

Jungkook moved.

“Uh,” said Seokjin, “what is everyone moving for?”

“We don’t want to keep seeing this!” said Taehyung.

“We think you need to go talk somewhere else,” said Hoseok. “Like, home, maybe? Get a room?”

“Will you—”

“We’re fine,” said Jimin, laughing. Yoongi grabbed Seokjin’s hand. They barely made it out the door of the bar before Seokjin pulled him into a kiss.


It was way too easy to lead Seokjin down the little blank hallway of their apartment, where neither of them had claimed the space to decorate, and into Yoongi’s room.

“What if Jungkook or Taehyung comes back here?” mumbled Seokjin. “What if they need something?”

“They're not going to come back here,” said Yoongi. “Taehyung hasn’t been out in weeks, so Hobi and Jimin and Jungkook and Namjoon are going to take good care of him. And Jungkook can find his own place to stay.”

Seokjin kissed him again, slow and steady, and Yoongi melted into it. It was so easy, too. He was immune to Seokjin’s charm, that was one of the perks of being a werewolf, but it didn’t feel that way. Yoongi felt dizzy—Seokjin bent him down on the bed.

“Yoongi,” said Seokjin, quietly, “Is it okay if I, uh, drink?”

“What?” said Yoongi, startled out of the moment.

Seokjin went bright red, all the way down his face to his neck.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” said Seokjin. “It’s just… being close to you, all night, hearing your heartbeat—I really want to know what you taste like.”

It shouldn’t have been so hot, but there was a pleading tone in Seokjin’s voice. Yoongi smirked, and, with a snarl, brought out his teeth, pleased by Seokjin’s sharp gasp. He knew the effect was different from Seokjin’s own fangs, knew it turned his eyes golden and his expression wolfish, but hey, if Seokjin hadn’t wanted him, werewolf and all, he wouldn’t have asked. He bit into his right wrist, until he tasted copper, and then he extended his arm to Seokjin.

“Go ahead.”

Seokjin took his hand reverently, looking up at Yoongi’s face, and—oh, fuck. He closed his lips over the wound on Yoongi’s wrist.

It felt like a kiss, chaste at first, and then, as Yoongi’s blood began to pump in his chest and Seokjin’s eyes began to flare bright red, it was significantly less so. When Seokjin finally pulled off, there was blood on his lips, between his teeth, and he licked it away.

“That all you wanted?” said Yoongi, feeling bold.

He wouldn’t have been able to push Seokjin down onto the bed unless Seokjin wanted it—he wasn’t so naive as to think that, but it was still almost too easy, to roll him into position, to line up their hips and pin Seokjin’s wrists above his head with his left hand.

“C’mon,” said Yoongi, holding the wounded wrist over Seokjin’s mouth again, hovering an inch or so above. Seokjin strained to reach, but couldn’t make it. “I know you’re hungry.”

“I told you, I’m not hungry,” managed Seokjin, voice hoarse. “I don’t need it. But—but…”

“But you want it,” said Yoongi.

Yes,” mumbled Seokjin, and he strained to reach Yoongi’s wrist. “Yes, please…”

Yoongi allowed it, allowed his wrist to drop down. Seokjin’s eyes flickered shut.

Tentatively, he rolled their hips together, and Seokjin moaned against his wrist, so he did it again, and licked a stripe up Seokjin’s neck just for fun, where Seokjin’s undead pulse pounded. That’s going to be my blood, pumping through him, thought Yoongi, everyone we know is going to smell me on him—in him, and know that he’s mine. Not just sex, but in his veins, in his heart.

It was unreasonably fucking hot. Seokjin rolled his hips up and against him, spread his legs for a better angle—of course he was no less shameless in bed than he was anywhere else, and Yoongi laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” mumbled Seokjin, turning his face away. There was a smear of blood on his cheek. “What’s so funny?”

Yoongi let go of Seokjin’s wrists, and Seokjin’s hands found his waist, nails skimming along his skin, and even though it stung, to stick his wounded wrist down Seokjin’s pants and stroke him, it was worth it for the way that Seokjin gasped beneath him and fucked up into his hand.

“It’s not funny,” said Yoongi. “I just—Like I told you. You make me happy.”

Sometime, another time, Yoongi hoped they’d do more than just a couple of fumbled handjobs in Yoongi’s bed, but for now he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching Seokjin long enough to decide on anything else, and when Seokjin’s nails dug into his back, and Yoongi’s own hard-on was starting to slick up the inside of his boxers with precome, Seokjin mumbled, “let me, Yoongi, please.”

Which was how the two of them ended up jerking each other off, harsh breaths occasionally giving way to “please” and “like that” and “don’t stop” until Yoongi came first, still in his pants, and Seokjin said, “oh, wait, I was thinking about sucking you off—”

“The fuck do you mean wait?” panted Yoongi, cock still twitching. “I was waiting for like a year—”

“Yeah,” managed Seokjin, laughing, “sorry,” and then Yoongi managed to do something with his hand by accident that he knew he was never going to remember exactly, but which he was damned sure he would spend a lot of time trying to repeat, because it made Seokjin cry out and come, too.

Yoongi had to go out and grab a couple of washcloths to clean them up, and out of habit accidentally checked the couch—which of course was empty of Taehyung, now, thank fuck—and when he got back to the room, Seokjin was sitting up. Yoongi handed him one of the washcloths.

“Like a year?”

“Well,” said Yoongi, who felt much less embarrassed about saying it now that he’d made Seokjin come, “I liked you. Better than any of my other roommates.”

Seokjin was quiet, probably at least partly because he was unzipping his own pants and cleaning himself up as much as possible.

“You don’t mind?” he asked.

“What, the immortality thing, the undead thing, the werewolf thing…?” said Yoongi. “If you don’t, I don’t.”

“I want another pair of boxers,” said Seokjin suddenly, and Yoongi let him go out of the room and down the hall, even though it was a hell of a time in the conversation. When Seokjin came back—and Yoongi had worked himself up into a very near frenzy considering the possibility that he wouldn’t—Seokjin opened with, “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

At that, Yoongi felt much safer admiring the broad expanse of Seokjin’s chest, and the muscles on his legs, and the thin outline of his cock behind his boxers.

“So that’s settled then,” said Yoongi. “Stay.”

“Tonight, or forever?” said Seokjin.

“Yeah,” said Yoongi, “do I have to pick?”

Seokjin laughed, and climbed back into bed with him. The next morning, Yoongi plodded out to the kitchen in just his boxers and robe, and immediately had to turn around, go back to his room, and get dressed, because there were 5 people snoring in his living room. Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook had claimed the couch and were sleeping in a giant pile, Hoseok had set up a cushion for a pillow and brought a blanket onto the floor, and Namjoon was sleeping on one of the chairs at their table, head pillowed on his forearms like a student sleeping in class.

“Seokjin-ah,” he hissed. “Wake up!”

Seokjin rolled over, a sleepy smile on his face.

Yoongi was already rooting through his drawers for sweatpants that would fit Seokjin, who was only an inch and a half taller, but bulkier.

“They’re all out there!” whispered Yoongi. “All of them! Even Namjoon is sleeping on a chair!”

Seokjin sat up, suddenly awake, and pulling the blankets up around himself as though somebody was going to burst through their door at any moment. Taehyung, thought Yoongi, in a panic. Taehyung would totally burst through their door.

“How did they get in? When did they get in?”

“I don’t know!” said Yoongi. “They’re just… out there!”

He threw a pair of sweatpants at Seokjin.

“I can go to my own room and get some clothes,” said Seokjin.

“But then they’re going to know you weren’t in your room.”

“Yoongi,” said Seokjin, resting his chin on his hands, and smiling a very soft and slightly crooked smile, “I think they’re going to know anyway. When they see me walking out of your room. No matter whose sweatpants I’m wearing.”

Everyone knowing that they’d had sex was a significantly less sexy and significantly more mortifying thought in the morning than it had been the previous night. There was a loud whir from the kitchen, a sound which Yoongi recognized from Seokjin’s nine-to-five office-job mornings as the coffee grinder. Yoongi himself only typically drank the cold leftover second half of the pot, before heading out to work in the afternoon.

“I would have thought they’d have gone to Taehyung’s,” said Seokjin.

“Our place is closer to Dionysus,” Yoongi realized.

Seokjin scratched his head. Yoongi had a sudden and absolutely unprecedented urge to walk back over and comb his hair back into place, where it was thoroughly mussed from the night before.

“Do you think they’ll make us breakfast?” said Seokjin.


Seokjin ended up making breakfast himself—fried rice again, a giant batch of it for everyone with all the eggs they had left, and another pot of coffee was required before everyone was satisfied. Taehyung followed Seokjin around the kitchen like a duckling, drinking blood out of a bag with one of the straws Yoongi had purchased, and probably being more in the way than helpful (not that Seokjin would have told Taehyung to stop, Yoongi could see that Seokjin was enjoying the attention). Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook broke into the board game closet and were trying to pick something to amuse themselves with, as though this was their house.

Yoongi tried to remember the last time this house would have had so many people in it, and couldn’t. Namjoon was flipping through his file folder on the table and making notes on a form, somehow less rumpled than anyone else. Yoongi saw the name KIM TAEHYUNG at the top, and tried not to be nosy, but there was something that he had to ask Namjoon.

“Hey, do you have one of these for werewolves?” Yoongi asked, pointing to Taehyung’s new vampire checklist, which had been left on Yoongi and Seokjin’s table when Taehyung left, for their reference. Namjoon had given Taehyung another one.

“Thinking of turning anyone?” said Namjoon, but he flipped through his file folder again, and handed another sheet of paper to Yoongi. A New Moon: How to Prepare for The First Transformation.

“Yoongi!” called Hoseok, from across the room, in the process of clearing off the coffee table so that he, Jungkook, and Jimin could sit on the floor around it and play their game. “I’m taking my charm back!”

“Try to be mysterious,” said Yoongi. “I dare you. I don’t care. I’m not gonna ask.”

“Be that way! You should be thanking me!”

Yoongi waved him off.

“Witches,” he told Namjoon, who smirked.

He scanned the tips on the paper in front of him: We don’t recommend restraints! Werewolf forms can be much stronger than the human form, so it can be difficult to gauge the restraints needed, but more importantly, restraints increase anxiety, and any reactive behavior can be exacerbated.

“Thanks,” said Yoongi, to Namjoon, even though he’d been a werewolf for a little over twenty-eight years, and couldn’t remember his first transformation. He didn’t really know what he’d been looking for, anyways.

“Education programs for youth werewolves is something we’re working on,” said Namjoon. “But the trouble is that most of them who really need it tend to be difficult to find for the same reason, especially when they’re like yourself.”

Yoongi felt his hair stand on end.

“Sorry, yes,” said Namjoon, “I probably should have warned you. Yes, I know about you and your parents, too. That must have been hard, growing up all alone, with no one to help manage the monthly cycles. No pack, right?”

“What about you?” said Yoongi.

Namjoon smiled again.

“Like I said,” said Namjoon. “It’s hard with no pack. I don’t think it would have been easy to have been born a werewolf, either.”

“Yeah,” said Yoongi. “It’s not easy, either way.”

Namjoon grimaced, with a sheepish expression on his face, and then he turned to Yoongi.

“You know,” he said, “um, you have my number.”

“I’m dating Seokjin, I think,” said Yoongi, and while it was new enough that he found himself blushing, the whole thing was so very fucking weird that the happiness of saying it out loud was almost overwritten. “Um, so.”

Namjoon held up his hands, and couldn’t quite meet Yoongi’s eye, which was interesting. Yoongi had assumed that Namjoon would be cool and collected, wherever he went.

“I meant,” said Namjoon, “in my line of work, I don’t really, that is to say, I don’t meet a lot of people like me. Like I said. Werewolves without packs are hard to find, and most unexpected turnings that I get called into are packs. So if you ever want to talk. Werewolf to werewolf. I mean, I’m not telling you for your sake. I’m… asking. For my own.”

“Oh,” said Yoongi. “Oh. Yeah, sure. I don’t have a lot of werewolf friends, either.”

Namjoon stuck out his hand, and Yoongi took it, feeling—something. Pity, maybe?

“I wish I did have more werewolf friends,” said Yoongi, just to make the agreement clear, but this was also new enough that he stayed blushing.

“Great!” said Namjoon, a little too excitedly.

Yoongi kind of liked this less-cool side of Namjoon a lot, actually, but now things were awkward. Namjoon dropped his hand.

“You cheated!” said Hoseok from across the room.

“It’s not cheating to use my natural talents,” said Jimin primly. “Or to give advice.”

“It is if your natural talents and your advice make us pick the worst card so we lose,” said Jungkook, but Yoongi could hear awe in his voice.

“Out!” said Seokjin, and Yoongi managed to look up, just in time to see Taehyung get booted from the kitchen—for the crime of stealing food from the pan before it was ready, Yoongi figured, when Taehyung laughed and ducked back, swiped something from the pan, shoved it in his mouth, and fanned himself immediately.

“Ow! Hot!”

“I don’t feel sorry for you!” said Seokjin sharply, and Yoongi caught his eye, and Seokjin smiled.

“Yoongi-yah, come over here,” he said, and Yoongi did. Seokjin pulled him close by the belt of his robe, and Yoongi allowed himself to be pulled, allowed Seokjin to lean down and breathe in. It made him smile.

“Do I have to keep you company now that you banished Taehyung?”

“As long as you’ll have me,” said Seokjin, and to the whooping and hollering of what Yoongi realized, now, was all of their friends, Yoongi pulled him down for a kiss.