love ablaze

by sprbs

Summary:

“Hyunjin!”

He whips his head up, eyes wide, jolts from the startle and falls back onto his ass. Something’s grabbing at his hand then—the voice chitters, but the words are lost on Hyunjin, who can’t hear over the thump of his heartbeat in his eardrums. He wrenches his arm from the person’s grasp with a doggish snarl. How dare they take this feeling from him? This pleasure?

--

or, After an unexpected and unwanted turning, Hyunjin has to deal with two things: his newfound vampirism, and his budding feelings for his roommate, Minho.

Notes:

hello!! shockingly, i'm posting something not seungbin haha. thanks to all my friends who read or beta-ed this multiple times over, i love u very very much.

 

Hyunjin’s never felt quite like this before.

 

It isn’t pain that rips through every inch of his body. Rather, it’s something akin to searing heat, like his heart pumps magma instead of blood. The lava sloshes through his veins violently, his temperature rising with each step he takes down the hall. His heart beats so loudly it deafens the stomp of his boots against the carpeted floor, pounding against his chest with such a hot intensity he feels he is going to be the first human source of a volcanic eruption.

 

The memories of the night’s events are hazy in his current state; he can only make out images of human-like shapes shrouded in shadows, but the dull sensation in his neck—like an itch beneath his skin—is an unwelcome reminder.

 

He briefly ponders if these are his final moments with a dry laugh that hurts to force out—he's never toed the line of life and death so close, the homebody Hyunjin usually is. How horribly ironic it is that his life almost comes to an end when he decides to be sociable for once.

 

Almost there, he thinks as he trudges towards his apartment, only a dozen doors down now, letting the thoughts of the last few hours dissipate. He repeats those two words like a mantra. It’s a lifeline for his consciousness that’s flickering like a television with a snapped antenna; it’s hanging by its pinky finger, when Hyunjin’s shaky fingers finally grasp the doorknob. He has to rest all of his weight on the handle to twist it open, thankful it’s been left unlocked as he drags his feet through the entranceway.

 

Hyunjin flicks his eyes across the living room, searching for his housemate, Minho.

 

“Hyung,” he calls out once he spots the brunette on the couch through his darkening field of view, but his voice sounds like it's coming from a loudspeaker half a mile away, and he’s been submerged underwater with cotton shoved deep in his ears. “Minho-hyung, please.”

 

When Hyunjin’s knees hit the carpeted floor, another pair of legs follow soon thereafter. Something warm engulfs Hyunjin, caressing his face gently—the sort of warmth one would expect to receive from a doting mother. It’s so unlike the fire coursing through Hyunjin’s veins, threatening to burn him from the inside out. 

 

Somewhere deep in the swirling abyss of his mind, Hyunjin allows himself to let go.

 

“What did you do, Hyunjinnie?” is the last thing he hears before his mind cuts to black, and he plunges into darkness.

 

“Hyunjinnie. Hey. Wake up, Jinnie, please,” reverberates throughout the cavernous darkness of his mind after some seconds. The voice is familiar, but he can’t put a name or face to it. It repeats itself, calling his name louder and louder, jostling Hyunjin between conscious states. 

 

The voice tugs his consciousness back into the light.

 

Hyunjin blinks his eyes open, wincing at the splitting headache that’s slowly replacing the fire that had been filling his lungs. His vision is blurry at first, but the longer he stares at the pretty face in front of him, the more crystal the picture becomes. When he recognizes it’s Minho before him, he smiles weakly.

 

“There you are,” Minho says. Despite Hyunjin’s current mud pit of a brain, his heart flutters, for his tone is not unlike the tender one reserved for his cats. It’s rarely reserved for Hyunjin—or any of their other friends, for that matter. “What stupid thing did you do this time, huh?” he continues, and Hyunjin grins at the juxtaposition between his harsh words and fond voice. That’s the Minho he knows.

 

Eyes fluttering, he tries to shove a sentence through the mass caught in his throat, yet he only manages to croak out, “Neck,” praying it’s enough information for Minho to realize what happened. And it is, apparently, since Hyunjin can pinpoint the exact moment recognition passes over Minho’s face in the form of parted lips and widened eyes. Minho’s gentle fingers graze over the ache in his neck and Hyunjin winces at the resulting sting.

 

“You got bit,” Minho mumbles quieter than Hyunjin’s ever heard him. Hyunjin whimpers, then nods. “We can figure out the details later,” the elder then says, “but for now let’s get you into bed, Hyunjinnie. I know the first thing anyone should do during the turning process is get rest.” Minho’s tone is not unkind, but the air between them thickens, and when Minho hoists Hyunjin to his feet seconds later, he feels like he’s wading through molasses. He’s too tired to understand what it means and too focused on walking without collapsing he isn’t even able to think about it. So, he just lets Minho guide him silently down the hall to his bedroom, his soft breath tickling his ear.

 

His blazer is tugged off his shoulders. He sighs with relief at the lack of constriction and goes limp-noodle when Minho tugs his shirt off. With eyes fluttering shut, he can’t manage to be embarrassed while bearing his bare torso to Minho, especially when he shoves Hyunjin’s head through the hole of one of his sleep shirts moments after. He whines as Minho manhandles him into the cotton, tugging his boneless arms through the sleeves. Minho’s grumbling mingles with the ring in his ears that crescendos each second he’s awake, fighting tooth and nail to not be drowned out. He’s on the precipice of awake and asleep, swaying between the two in a sort of limbo.

 

“I’m not going to take off your pants, so if you want to sleep in sweaty leather, that’s your choice, Hyunjinnie,” Minho says, his voice once again jolting Hyunjin awake. 

 

Nodding, Hyunjin weakly unbuttons his pants and zips down the fly, letting his abdomen relax without the high-waisted restriction. And then, the headache roars in a vengeful return, thudding against the inside of his skull like a bass drum. He groans, hands snapping to cradle his head, pants forgotten. Despite his snark, tutting a, “Poor Hyunjin,” that might usually sound condescending, Minho tugs Hyunjin’s pants off by the bottom leg hole. He struggles,the leather stuck to him like a second skin, but manages to peel it from his legs and slip sleep shorts over his ankles. Even though his body screams in protest, Hyunjin manages to tug them up to his waist.

 

He immediately falls back, shrouding himself in the familiar warmth of his blanket, and drifts into a deep, dreamless slumber.

 

---

 

When he finally wakes up, Hyunjin thinks he’s been out for at least two days. It's immediately clear the Sandman spent a lengthy amount of time with Hyunjin while he slept; he almost has to pry apart his eyelids with his fingers. Even when he does manage to open his eyes, it's a battle to prevent them from fluttering back shut.

 

The blanket sticks to his bare, sweaty legs, so he tosses it off with a grimace and sits up against the heavy weight upon his chest. A headache bursts behind his eyes the second he’s upright, spotting his vision with black and the colors of the rainbow. He winces, groans, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes like it will shove the pain away. 

 

The headache doesn't fade away even after he swallows down some ibuprofen. Rather, it subsides into a dull, throbbing, pain, one he can manage.

 

Aside from the searing migraines, there are no apparent changes to Hyunjin's body. After poking around his canines with his tongue, he deduces he doesn't have fangs. He doesn't yet feel a thirst for blood (only voracious human hunger), and the sunlight peeking through the blinds doesn't burn his skin. It's just warm. His heart thuds in his chest, he still has a pulse. He still feels human—he must still be human then, right? 

 

Some moments later, Hyunjin discovers his phone resting on the bedside table, plugged in. His arm darts out to reach for it, and the second the device is in his clutches, a tiny thought makes an emergence—phone screens are reflective.

 

Hyunjin isn’t well educated on the lives of vampires. He doesn’t know the difference between fact and fiction that’s been perpetuated by human media, and he doesn’t have vampire friends to question. Aside from drinking blood, the lack of reflection is the vampire stereotype which unsettles Hyunjin the most—he doesn’t understand the how or the why. Much of the supernatural world remains uncomprehended by humans, the science behind supernatural creatures breaking every natural law discovered by mankind.

 

Does Hyunjin want to confront the fact he may not have a reflection? Losing his reflection, to Hyunjin, means losing himself. He’ll no longer see himself smile in real-time, won’t know how others perceive him. It sends a shiver down his spine.

 

Eyes darting between his hands and his phone, Hyunjin’s fingers twitch. He’s seconds from ripping the bandaid off. Then, the door creaks open, and all fortitude he had possessed melts away.

 

Minho enters the room, the door clicking behind him quietly.

 

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” says Minho. He presses the back of his hand to Hyunjin’s forehead. It’s ice cold against his skin, reprieve from the fire still smoldering within him, like lemonade on a scorching summer afternoon. Hyunjin shuts his eyes instinctively, but Minho draws his hand away as quickly as it came.

 

“It doesn’t seem like you’re running as high of a fever anymore, but you’re still a little warm.” Minho pushes Hyunjin’s legs to the side so he can sit on the bed next to him. “You conked out for like, eighteen hours straight, Hyunjinnie. That’s almost your record of most hours slept in a row.”

 

Hyunjin laughs and rolls his eyes.

 

“How are you feeling?” Minho asks when Hyunjin doesn’t fill the silence. “Have you started sparkling yet, Edward Cullen? Please don’t get any of your gay vampire dust over the furniture, it’s enough dealing with the cat hair on the upholstery.”

 

Hyunjin lifts his leg in a threat despite the screaming stiffness preventing him from really using his leg as a weapon. Well, and the look Minho gives him when he does lift his leg—just a second of that and he’s already lowering his leg back down with a whimper. Minho smiles prettily when he does.

 

“I’m not gonna sparkle!” Hyunjin then protests, arms crossing over his chest. “Has Twilight ruined the perception of vampires this much? I can’t imagine how full-fledged vampires feel.” 

 

“My point still stands. Anyway, are you feeling hungry?”

 

Hyunjin’s stomach has been growling for the past five minutes. “Yes,” he says.

 

“Then go make yourself some food.” Despite the pout set into Hyunjin’s face, Minho leaves the room with a snicker and a cheeky wave. What a bastard, Hyunjin thinks, but even Hyunjin’s innermost thoughts can’t be mad at Minho—he expected nothing less. It’s his hyung’s charm.

 

Any playful annoyance Hyunjin managed to accrue melts away with Minho’s return, the elder cupping a steaming bowl of soup between his hands. 

 

“I made too much and didn’t want to add any more leftovers to the fridge,” Minho grumbles as he rests the bowl on Hyunjin’s bedside table. “Don’t think I made this for you or anything.” Hyunjin knows it isn’t true, but he locks the retort away behind a fond grin. Minho cares deeper than anyone he knows, no matter how often he pretends to not.

 

Minho stays up for hours beyond his usual bedtime to help Jeongin study after he chides the boy for being lazy, complains about the mess of Jisung’s apartment but helps him tidy up when Jisung is overwhelmed. That’s just how he is.

 

Hyunjin isn’t sure if it’s the soup that warms his belly or the thought of his roommate, but he’s happy all the same, smiling around his spoon.

 

This time, Minho doesn’t leave, deciding to curl onto Hyunjin’s bed with one of the cats. Hyunjin watches the older while he coos and pets the cat, either Soonie or Doongie with the flick of its orange tail. It isn’t the soup , a voice whispers in his ear, but he shoves it away, saves it for another time. Ideally centuries away.

 

Minho’s presence while he spoons vegetables and broth into his mouth comforts him. The two don’t speak while Hyunjin eats, but the room feels full, lively, like home. He doesn’t feel alone.

 

So much unlike yesterday night.

 

Hyunjin stares down into his soup with furrowed brows like the broth is responsible for the memories flooding back. Images of the night prior flicker through his mind. The night sky, strobing lights, a fanged smile.

 

Hyunjin’s appetite washes away in an instant.

 

“Hyunjin? Is everything alright?”

 

Hyunjin shakes his head. Despite the weight creeping into his chest, he doesn’t cry, eerily calm when he speaks. “I just thought about last night.”

 

Minho sits up, the cat saunters out of his room. Soonie.

 

“You can talk if you want, or let it go. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

 

Despite himself, Hyunjin smiles. 

 

And he talks.

 

The spring had yet to shake off the winter chill among the warm whispers of a fast approaching summer, so the night was chilly in a delightful sort of way—cool air nipping at the exposed skin of his arms after he shrugged off his blazer.  Warm where Jisung’s arm was thrown around his shoulders. 

 

Jisung guided him towards a club one of his magic-using friends had recommended to him, a supernatural-friendly, LGBT-friendly bar in the center of downtown. “The best of both worlds,” Jisung had said.

 

The moment they stepped into the club, Hyunjin knew Jisung was right. Hyunjin wasn’t fond of clubbing or the nightlife in general, preferring to stay curled up into an armchair with a book, but as a self-discovering young college student he’d visited a fair number of gay bars. None of those bars, however, felt like this.

 

Instead of stifling air rising from sweaty bodies packed like sardines, the air was supercharged, as if crackling along his skin. He liked this better; Jisung, too.

 

“I feel like my magic is concentrated here,” Jisung had said. Hyunjin didn't have a drop of magical blood, but if he were ever to perform any sort of magic, it would be here he’d be able to.

 

It wasn’t long before they were sucked into the sea of bodies, but still attached at the hip, neither particularly fond of leaving their best friend behind. Hyunjin didn’t mind holding hands with Jisung while they danced with other men. Jisung was a little bit of home in an intriguing yet unfamiliar environment.

 

He followed Jisung to the bathroom at some point, resting against the wall just outside. Despite how often their friends tease them for being inseparable, Hyunjin was above holding his hand while he took a piss.

 

“Hey beautiful, mind helping me for a second? My friend is a little drunk.”

 

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but looked for the source of a voice, which turned out to be a pretty boy with an even prettier fanged smile that had Hyunjin’s heart stuttering. There was something alluring about the sharp edge of his teeth, appealing to Hyunjin’s most carnal side. Maybe he liked vampires more than he thought. 

 

“As much as I wish I could, I’m waiting for my friend to finish up in there.”

 

The vampire was gone in an instant, but his presence lingered in Hyunjin’s mind long into the night. He wasn’t sure what was so intriguing about the man, as it was so unlike himself to be so interested in a stranger. Throughout the night he found part of himself hoping the grazes on his waist were from the vampire, but each time he turned around in the hold of whomever touched him, his lips curled into a frown.

 

Some time after midnight, hours of dancing and a drink or two with Jisung—who by then had left with a striking werewolf and  a promise to keep him updated—the vampire approached Hyunjin. It wasn’t long before the vampire—Jiwon, he’d whispered into Hyunjin’s ear—led him outside with eyes aflame.  

 

If the energy in the club was merely static and supercharged, the energy between Hyunjin and Jiwon was a brewing lightning storm.

 

In a blur, Jiwon pinned Hyunjin against a wall outside the club. The bricks dug into his back, thin fabric doing little to protect his skin, but he didn’t care. He nosed at the sharp line of Hyunjin’s jaw, down his neck with appreciative murmurs. A fire crackled beneath Hyunjin’s skin.

 

But in an instant, that fire was stomped out.

 

First came ice to overtake the smolder, then mind-numbing pain, coursing deep beneath his skin and spreading like a hellish parasite. His body ached with such fervor it trumped each of his senses; he no longer felt the draping of fabric across his chest or the sickening scent of the vampire’s woody cologne. Soon, the pain flared into hellfire.

 

He was left ablaze there in the alley next to a club, hardly a thought to his name. Against his burning limbs, and a mind he had to wrestle to cooperate, he managed to book an Uber home.

 

“That’s all I remember,” Hyunjin confesses while staring at his reflection in his soup. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment on Minho’s face.

 

“I’m sorry,” Minho says. Hyunjin doesn’t know why he’s apologizing.

 

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin replies anyway. “Fangs are kinda sexy.”

 

The joke falls flat, but Minho still snorts and it brings a halfhearted smile to Hyunjin’s face.

 

“As long as you’re okay, Hyunjinnie.”

 

---

 

It’s a little over a week before the realization that his life is going to change forever hits Hyunjin like a freight train.

 

By now, his body has allowed him some brief reprieve from his rapidly changing biology. His fever broke two days ago and his headaches are less frequent, albeit still a vexing occurrence that prevents him from sleeping as well as he used to. Instead of a blazing wildfire coursing through his veins, the heat has dulled into a calm heat, like he’s too close to a bonfire on a chilly autumn evening.

 

He’s only sitting at his desk, doing all sorts of ‘somethings yet nothings’ — Googling research topics for an essay his literature professor hasn’t officially assigned yet; rewriting his notes from lecture the Friday before he was turned; setting a reminder on his phone to text Jisung later about getting lunch this coming weekend, even if he was capable of doing it now.

 

And then among his idle thoughts of the evening’s plans and what’s for dinner s, it strikes like a cobra: I’m not human anymore. I’m slowly changing into a vampire, and my life will never be the same.

Hyunjin’s phone clatters against the desktop as his hands go limp, and in place of his usual wince at dropping his phone, tears run down his cheeks. 

 

In this modern age, those of the supernatural world and the human world have an odd but amicable bond, brought about only by fierce supernatural activism and change, and Hyunjin knows this—it’s the first thought the glowing cherub on his shoulder (which looks suspiciously like his friend, Felix) whispers against the shell of his ear.

 

And yet, the evil on his opposing shoulder reminds him that magical creatures are far too often banished to roam in the night, where nightclubs are more welcoming of “societal deviance” than the library.

 

Hyunjin has a strong support system, a small thought wriggles in the back of his mind. His friend Chan is a werewolf who was turned at a young age, Felix is a magic user adept in the art of healing. Jisung. His human friends are vigilantly supportive of the community. So why is he so terrified?

 

Hot tears drip onto his desk. He grabs the edge of the table when his hands begin to shake, desperate for some kind of tether before he loses himself completely.

 

How could I have been so stupid?  He asks himself, on his knees before his conscience with clasped hands and a bared soul. Searing pain ripples along the skin of Hyunjin’s neck, goosebumps rise when phantom fingertips drag over the skin there, just like that night.

 

The door creaks open; he vaguely registers it in the recesses of his mind that remain calm, but doesn’t turn to look, only squeezes his eyes shut and wills the tears to stop. 

 

“Hey, Hyunjinnie, I heard a—” comes Minho’s voice, ringing far too loud even if Minho and Hyunjin both exist a few dozen decibels above a normal person. “Hyunjinnie?” Something about the tone of his voice pushes Hyunjin over the edge and he lets out a sob. Pathetic, he tells himself as Minho rushes to his side, carding a hand through his hair, cradling his head like an infant. 

 

The longer his emotions twist and writhe into something ugly, the looser his grip on a rational train of thought becomes. Yet, he squeezes his eyes shut, wills his mind to focus on his senses. He grounds himself through touch. The rough itch of the carpet against his legs left exposed by his shorts; the dull scratch of Minho's blunt fingertips against his scalp; the cotton pills pressed against his cheek from Minho's old pullover. 

 

Hyunjin cries into Minho’s shoulder, each sweet whisper into his ear coaxing the floodworks to drain until they’re left dry.

 

He's never cried in front of Minho, not like this. When they watch dramas together, huddled close on their secondhand couch, Hyunjin has few qualms over tears slipping down his cheeks to the tune of a sorrowful soundtrack, and he doesn’t mind when Minho teases him every time he dabs at his eyes with a tissue. But he’s never bared pain like this to Minho.

 

Soon, the flow of tears begins to ebb, but Hyunjin’s left with sticky, burning eyes and a nose rubbed raw from the times he swiped away the snot with the back of his hand or on Minho’s hoodie (in hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have snotted all over Minho, even if he's wearing an old sweatshirt. He can already taste wet tissues in his mouth and imagine the subsequent half-hour he'll need to pick the paper remnants from his mouth, lest he swallow them).

 

“What’s wrong, Hyunjinnie?” asks Minho, gently coaxing Hyunjin’s face away from its hiding spot while also coaxing his attention back to reality. He blinks rapid-fire down at the younger, pouts in a too-cute way that doesn’t suit the sharp lines of his face. “Are you reflection-less now?”

 

Despite himself, Hyunjin giggles—vampires do have reflections, he’d found out the other day when his reflection in his powered-off phone’s screen made him jump.

 

“No, hyung,” Hyunjin says, a little congested and wet from all his crying. “I just had an epiphany over my sudden lack of humanity, no biggie.” He waves it off, desperate to let the conversation end there, but Minho frowns. 

 

“Humanity isn’t exclusive to humans. It doesn’t change anything about you, Hyunjinnie. You’re still my second favorite dongsaeng to annoy, except you’re gonna get pointy teeth and drink sweet, iron-y goodness.”

 

Bile bubbles up into his throat at the thought of drinking blood, but he squashes the disgust. He’s mulled over the most unappealing certainties of his newfound vampirism enough for one day.

 

“I know.” Jeongin beat him on that front long ago, much to the younger’s irritation. Toss the two of them in a room and Minho wouldn’t leave Jeongin alone unless he was forced to stop through physical means. Jeongin pretends to hate it. “It just sucks going through like, a second puberty at twenty-one. ”

 

Minho pats Hyunjin’s head and pulls him to his feet. “I think you can handle it. Plus, I’ll be here to nag you through your vampire-y mood swings! I think it’ll be fun, like I’m raising a dog and Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. Four pets!”

 

Hyunjin doesn’t quite understand how Minho’s brain works, yet he feels comforted, warmth bursting from his chest.

 

He mirrors the elder’s smile and rolls his eyes, but he’s thankful he has Minho—seesawing emotions are only the tip of the iceberg that is the turning process, much of which Hyunjin has yet to start—he doesn’t think he could go through this alone.

 

---

 

Much to Hyunjin’s surprise, the first distinctly vampiric symptom he experiences is photosensitivity (that’s the fancy term he learnt when he looked up what it means to be a vampire). He doesn’t smolder beneath the sun’s rays, nor does the light damage his retinas with a second of exposure—but his body definitely reacts to being outside in a different way. Hyunjin’s skin burns much easier than before, even when he cranks up the SPF on the sunscreen he purchases. If he’s out in direct sunlight for too long, he gets a rash and a mild itch, much like a sun allergy.

 

It’s a minor inconvenience at best, especially with emerging treatments devoted to vampires, like the sunscreen with anti-allergenic properties that Minho had dropped into his lap the day Hyunjin started complaining about sunburns. Hyunjin can’t say he understands the biology behind the reason for photosensitivity, but he’s thankful he isn’t shriveling up every time he goes outside. He’s not exactly accustomed to being nocturnal.

 

Which, in fact, comes as another surprise to Hyunjin; he has no nocturnal instincts, and vampire blogs indicate that nocturnalism amongst vampires isn’t a well-documented phenomena, especially amongst those born as humans and later turned.

 

(“If anything, nocturnalism is a purely social phenomenon within certain vampire communities, borne out of the need for safety rather than a biological clock. In modern times, more vampire communities follow a diurnal way of life, much like the average human,” Minho had read to him one night after barging into his room. “No need to worry, Hyunjinnie! You aren’t banished to the nighttime. I still get to whack you with a pillow every morning. I’m sure you’re overjoyed.”

 

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but some part of him was saddened at the idea he wouldn’t have Minho to bother him awake anymore, even if it was quite the violent event. ‘Special bonding time,’ Minho had called it. He might be a little right, but he’ll never admit that to anyone, especially not Minho.

 

Minho slinked away after that, leaving Hyunjin with a soft smile.)

 

So, Hyunjin still rises and falls with the sun, wakes up in the morning to his own screaming accompanied by the thwacks of Minho’s pillow. He’s thankful to have retained some level of consistency between two distinct periods of his life, human and vampire.

 

The changing process is a slow one, despite human media depicting overnight transitions. A couple of weeks pass without any noticeable change to Hyunjin’s body besides the photosensitivity.

 

Then comes the hunger.

 

His day begins like any other—Minho smacking him awake, wanting to chow down the moment his eyes crack open. But breakfast this morning doesn’t satiate the hunger that brews deep in his stomach.

 

Into the day, his stomach no longer grumbles, he’s unable to even lift a utensil to his mouth, yet he’s starving. It’s the kind of hunger you can feel spreading into your chest cavity, like your body is eating itself from the inside out. You haven’t eaten in so long the hunger rests on the back of your tongue.  

 

In the middle of the day, Hyunjin quivers so violently a glass of water slips from his grasp and shatters when it smacks into the linoleum floors of their kitchen. He doesn’t know why he bends down to pluck the shards off the tiles, doesn’t know why hot tears run down his cheeks—but he regrets it.

 

He smells the blood before he feels the pain.

 

There’s a tinge of sweetness among the smell of iron, drawing Hyunjin in. Did blood ever smell so wonderful? 

 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

 

The blood plops against the floor, Hyunjin stares.

 

Saliva pools in his mouth the longer he eyes the substance, he swallows when he tilts his hand just right and the light glints off the redness. Something tells him to bring his bleeding palm up to his mouth, so he does.

 

At the first taste of blood upon his tongue, euphoria bursts from the center of his chest, spreads throughout the rest of his body in droves. He laps the blood as it leaks from the slice on his palm, whimpering when the flow isn’t fast enough for his liking. Not even the fanciest pastries taste as sweet as Hyunjin’s blood. He needs more.

 

“Hyunjin!”

 

He whips his head up, eyes wide, jolts from the startle and falls back onto his ass. Something’s grabbing at his hand then—the voice chitters, but the words are lost on Hyunjin, who can’t hear over the thump of his heartbeat in his eardrums. He wrenches his arm from the person’s grasp with a doggish snarl. How dare they take this feeling from him? This pleasure?

 

Cradling his hand like an old lover, Hyunjin drinks from it once more, sighs as the warmth trickles down his throat. He tries to bite into his hand, desperate for the blood to pour out faster, but his teeth are too blunt to break the skin.

 

Moment by moment, the euphoria retreats from his limbs, settling into a candled fire in the center of his chest. Satisfaction. 

 

He licks at the wound until the blood which seeps from it no longer tastes like liquid sugar, and that’s when pain sears into his palm. Hyunjin cries out and rips his hand away from his mouth. 

 

When Minho’s face moves into his view, he realizes what he’s done. 

 

A tinny taste when he runs his tongue along his teeth. The wetness that coats his lips and the surrounding skin. The growing redness where the blood from his hand pools as his hand continues to bleed. The gut-curling hunger he’s been cursed with all day is gone. He drank.

 

“No, no, no, ” he cries. He can’t be here anymore, can’t let Minho see him like this. Would the elder be disappointed he’s given in to his vampiric instincts? Minho would avoid Hyunjin now that he’s seen the bloodlust in the younger’s eyes—he’d avoid him until their lease was up with terrified glances anytime Hyunjin would enter the room. Tell their friends he was a monster.

 

That’s what he has become, after all. A monster.

 

“Jinnie—” Minho reaches out towards him, eyes downturned. Hyunjin squeezes his eyes shut, he can’t bear the disappointment. Instead, he runs. Runs to his bedroom and locks the door behind him, crawls under the covers like the comforter is going to save him from the monster chasing him. The comforter does little, it seems, when the monster you’re running from is yourself, Hyunjin thinks bitterly. He shoves his face into his pillow and pleads for it to erase the images of his bleeding hand from his mind and the taste of blood on his tongue. Shame burns in his gut, hot and blue. He doesn’t forget.

 

It haunts him in his dreams when he eventually falls asleep. He dreams of himself but he watches from the outside looking in—the rage he watches crackle in his own eyes horrifies him like nothing before. The dream morphs into increasingly awful scenes of his family, his friends, Minho  suffering because of him. Blood on his hands. The pleasant warmth after he’s had his fill of blood.

 

Hyunjin pounds on the invisible wall, begging his mind to just let him stop himself, but his mind doesn’t relent. So he yells until his throat burns.

 

He wakes up to his own blood-curdling screams. 

 

When Minho rushes into the room and pulls Hyunjin into his arms, Hyunjin doesn’t have the strength to push him away. He curls into the warmth like a moth drawn to a flame. Teeth worry at his lips—careful so he doesn’t puncture the skin—to prevent the tears from falling. Monsters don’t have the right to cry.

 

“Jinnie,” Minho murmurs, but it’s the loudest sound in the room. A hand cradles his face, thumb swiping across his mouth to wipe the blood away. Minho wipes it on Hyunjin’s shirt, he almost lets out a giggle. Almost. But the tenderness in Minho’s voice is almost enough to send the dam in Hyunjin’s tear ducts crumbling, but he resists. Ignores the warm flare in the center of his chest.

 

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?” Hyunjin asks. Am I a monster?  Hyunjin really wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to face the answer, whether it’s affirmation or a lie that would spill from Minho’s lips. Any human would think a blood-sucking creature to be a monster, especially one unable to control their urges.  

 

“Are you stupid? Minho says, but not without a tinge of fondness. His words still grate on Hyunjin's heart. “I have no reason to leave—” When Hyunjin protests, Minho cuts him off, “— and if you think I’d leave because I saw you drinking blood, you’re extra stupid. I literally knew I was going to see you drink blood the night of your turning.”

 

Minho takes a deep breath, Hyunjin braces himself.

 

“I just wish you hadn’t been so hungry you were unable to resist the sight of blood. I could’ve bought you some of those fledgling blood bags, you know. The ones with the extra vampire nutrients for vampire babies and stuff,” Minho confesses in a small voice, the most timid Hyunjin’s ever heard him. Loud, bold Minho, being timid. Hyunjin never thought he’d see the day. Something in his gut curls, unwelcome albeit pleasant, at Hyunjin being the cause of such a thing. He doesn’t think too much about the implications, saves it for later.

 

“I didn’t even know I was hungry. Just thought I was sick.” Hyunjin clutches at Minho’s shirt, hides his face in shame. He smells nice, H yunjin thinks. Like a campfire. Like home.

 

“You need to read up more on this stuff, dumb little vampire,” Minho coos. “You need to learn about the changes your body is going through so you know what to expect. I know more than you.”

 

Hyunjin frowns, but the emotional weights lift off his chest and mind enough that he can finally bring himself to scoot away from Minho’s hold.

 

“You do?” Hyunjin asks, brows raised. Interesting.

 

Minho rolls his eyes like the question’s answer was obvious. “Clearly. I actually spent my time researching a vampire’s transition.” Then, almost like an afterthought, he adds, “You know. Like you need to research how to take care of specific breeds of dogs when you bring them home. Since you’re my fourth pet and all.” If Hyunjin were a bit more perceptive, he’d notice the slightest difference in the tint of Minho’s ears. 

 

“Yeah, like a pet,” Hyunjin says. “Whatever makes you sleep better at night about caring.” He sticks his tongue out at the older. 

 

“Tomorrow,” Minho says, in lieu of responding to Hyunjin’s teasing, “you need to buy some blood so I don’t find you like that again.”

 

Disgust washes through Hyunjin, and he suddenly can’t meet Minho’s eyes. Drinking blood for the rest of his life isn’t a thought Hyunjin has confronted head-on, but he wishes he could be as nonchalant about it as Minho.

 

“Hyunjin.”

 

He doesn’t look up.

 

“I can tell you’re apprehensive about it, but it’s just a part of your life now, okay? Think of it like...an iron supplement.”

 

Hyunjin laughs, a pitiful sound pushed out of his mouth as he wrings his hands together, but a laugh all the same. Hyunjin has long admitted he’ll never be able to navigate the meandering maze of Minho’s mind and usual train of thought—the spark in his chest at Minho’s sweetness, however, is a new development, one that’s becoming harder to ignore as the days go on.

 

When Hyunjin doesn’t respond, Minho continues. “If I must,  I can toss back a shot of blood. Just to make you feel better.”

 

Minho looks at everything but Hyunjin when he finally looks up. 

 

“You don’t need to do that,” Hyunjin says in a small voice, even if he’s touched at the thought.

 

“The point is, Hyunjin,” the older man says, mirroring Hyunjin’s soft tone as he speaks, “drinking blood is nothing to be ashamed of. Being a vampire is nothing to be ashamed of, seriously. You’re basically a special human, you know? And even if you weren’t, that would be okay. I know it’s scary, but it’s going to be okay.

 

You aren’t a monster.

 

You aren’t going to be like the guy that turned you.”

 

As if Minho’s resolute words were kindling, the fire buried in Hyunjin’s chest flares, spreads to his cheeks and ears in a blush. It’s a strange contrast to the embarrassment burning in the pit of his stomach.

 

But, Minho is right—he isn’t like the vampire who turned him that night some weeks ago. Acknowledging that his vampirism doesn’t snatch his humanity from his grasp is a work in progress, one that will take a lot of convincing. But maybe, with Minho here with him, he can learn to believe he isn’t a monster.

 

---

 

True to his word, Minho lugs Hyunjin to the store the next day to purchase fledgling blood. The blood is packaged in a variety of ways for easy access to fledglings who’ve yet to develop their fangs, and despite the teasing he faces from the older, the bloodboxes, cute little cartons that resemble a child’s juicebox. Vampire-related products (along with other supernatural creatures’ dietary needs) lining the shelves along with human food, in a way, comforts Hyunjin. Makes him feel normal, like just another person making a shopping trip.

 

Yet, he can’t help the paranoia that bubbles up as he fills their cart with  bloody drinks along with their normal list. Are the mothers pulling their children away from Hyunjin when they realize what he is? Do the other patrons sneer in disgust as he mulls over which variety of blood to purchase?

 

Minho, seemingly noticing his constant state of panic, insists no one cares. Other customers are just focusing on their shopping, he says, and there literally was just someone who bought blood and no one batted an eye, he points out.

 

And it works—each reassurance mumbled into Hyunjin’s ear quells the bubble of anxiety in his stomach. By the time they check out and wheel their groceries to Minho’s car, his panic is long gone, and he finds himself excited to see what his new drinks are like.

 

(Spoiler: he actually kind of likes them. Surprisingly, there’s a sharp taste difference between blood types—Hyunjin finds he likes type O the best. He doesn’t blush when Minho reveals his blood type is O, not at all.)

 

---

 

“Hyung, hyung, hyung.” Jeongin’s voice is insistent as it cuts through the ambient music playing from his earbuds. He's poking the end of his pen into Hyunjin's shoulder hard enough he can hear the incessant clicking like its a beat beneath the lo-fi tune.

Hyunjin pulls an earbud out and gives Jeongin a glare without any real heat behind it--he'd been focused in on studying for his Classics final, but he could never really be mad when Jeongin sends him a pretty, dimpled smile after breaking his concentration. Or ever mad at Jeongin . "Yes?" he says.

"Can you help me with this? I still don't understand integration even after Minho-hyung explained it to me."

Hyunjin hums, music now paused. Last week, Minho studied calculus with Jeongin long into the night, explaining the ins and outs in the softest of tones. Now, he smiles at the memory--the grin on Minho's face when Jeongin completed practice questions correctly, his drooping eyes but persistence to help the younger to survive in a hellish class.

" Hyunjin. Can you stop thinking about Minho-hyung for a second and help me? I know he helped you get an A with this professor too."

While blinking and clearing his throat, heat rises to Hyunjin's cheeks. Was it really that easy to tell he was thinking of Minho?

Over grumbled denials, Hyunjin glances once over the half-finished study guide Jeongin printed out some hours ago. With squiggly integrands and a plethora of variables swimming in his vision, he promptly decides he doesn't understand a single thing.

"You're on your own, kid."

"Hey!" Jeongin says, lips pushed out into the kind of pout that makes Hyunjin want to poke his cheeks like they're in high school again. "I know you have Minho brainrot, but I'm sure you remember something from a class you took last semester!"

"I wasn't even thinking about Minho!"

Jeongin peers at him through half-lidded eyes, scrutinizing his every facial expression. "You're like, an open book--no, you're even more obvious than that. You're practically speaking how you feel just by making a face," he starts lowly. When Hyunjin starts to splutter in response, he continues, "Don't even deny it. You always get this far-away, dreamy look in your eyes when someone so much as mentions Hyung, even if it's in passing! You literally did it just now, and you do it all the time. Ask Jisung, he'll agree with me."

Hyunjin sighs. As fervently as he denies, he had been thinking of Minho, but he'd never hear the end of it if he so much as hinted at admitting it.

"Let me see your worksheet and I can check over your work."

Hyunjin, nor anyone for that matter, could ever deny Jeongin of anything, even if he was a little shit. One fox-like smile or a pout of pink lips had all their friends caving in seconds. Even Jeongin's wide smile when he agrees to help, however cheeky, has Hyunjin melting into a puddle on his chair right in the middle of the library.

They spend a few hours like that, nestled in a secluded yet comfortable corner of the library, integration and derivation whispered across the table they share. So when Hyunjin arrives home later that evening, running on fumes and the double-charged latte he'd chugged that morning, he's more than thankful he's no longer obligated to think.

"Hey, Hyunjinnie," Minho greets from the living room, all three cats perched precariously on his lap--in danger of falling off, but seemingly content. Some animal documentary is on the television, volume low. He looks cozy with the cats, clad in cotton shorts and a hoodie he needed to toss out years ago, and some part of Hyunjin wishes he could curl up next to him just like one of the cats and absorb his warmth.

It's through the resulting yawn, a moment of sudden clarity, he realizes there's some truth to Jeongin's words. He thinks of Minho an awful lot lately.

Since they moved in together, Minho has occupied many of Hyunjin's usual thoughts. Minho asked me to pick up food for the cats, he tells himself when his mind wanders on his drives to the store; Minho is in his literature class right now , he thinks when his eyes flicker towards the clock on his desk.

Yet, those are the most fleeting thoughts of Hyunjin's day, conjured and shoved away in a matter of seconds. Now, Minho's residence in his mind is a constant—instead of rarely appearing, he rarely leaves. He's Hyunjin's last thought before he sleeps, first thought in the morning.

Oh.

"Earth to Hyunjin? You seem tired, Hyunjinnie. You need to go get some sleep so I don't have to stare at your sad tired face."

Yeah. Maybe he does.

 

---

 

“Okay, so,” Hyunjin begins, stirring his Americano with the straw. “I think you know why I’ve called you here this afternoon.”

 

Across from him, Changbin raises a brow and rests his elbows on the table between him. “I really don’t,” he says. The Rolex around his wrist glints off the fluorescent lighting of the cafe.

 

Before he continues, Hyunjin takes a sip of his Americano and smiles when the flavor bursts on his tongue. It’s slightly bitter but with a tinge of sweetness in the aftertaste, just how Hyunjin likes it—after all, he did order a special roast with a shot of type O blood. He tries not to think of Minho, but he thinks of him anyway. Bastard.

 

“I am….having thoughts. Too many of them, really, about something...or rather, someone,” he says, fighting the warm blush that arises on his cheeks the more he thinks about...thinking about Minho. 

 

Changbin nods, understanding what Hyunjin meant despite his vague wording. That’s just how Changbin is—he understands the feelings of everyone around him, even if they don’t resonate with him. When Changbin doesn’t understand, he asks and listens until he does. It’s why he’s always been a sort of rock to Hyunjin, both literally and physically.

 

After Minho, Changbin was the first he told about the night he was turned.  Not a single chiding word spilled from Changbin’s words that night, only promises to help Hyunjin through his journey and an assurance he’d do anything for him. If Minho is a warm campfire on a chilly autumn evening, then Changbin is the fire which flickers in the fireplace of his family home.

 

In another universe, Hyunjin probably would have loved Changbin more than a brother. In this universe, Changbin’s engagement ring glitters up at him from where his hands lie clasped on the table.

 

“Is that a bad thing?” Changbin’s tone is genuine, no implication behind his words.

 

But Hyunjin doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he shrugs. “Maybe not...but it’s just, weird, I guess. I’m not used to it and I’m not really sure what it means.”

 

"Does it have to mean something?"

 

Lips between his teeth, Hyunjin thinks. He supposes it doesn't have to mean something, but his heart tugs at his mind, tells him there's a reason for why Minho has been on his mind every damn day for the past month and a half since his turning. And not in the usual way he thinks of Minho.

 

"Hey," Changbin's voice and a tap to his forehead startle him away from his thoughts. "I can practically hear you think. Now—do you want me to listen or do you want to hear my thoughts?"

 

"Your thoughts."

 

"I think," he starts, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge, "that it doesn't have to mean anything. But, with how much you're agonizing over it, it seems like it does mean something—something you aren't quite ready to admit yet."

 

Hyunjin avoids his eyes, twists his beaded bracelet around his wrist.

 

"This person—" Hyunjin knows Changbin knows who he's talking about, but remains vague anyway, so he laughs, "—is important to you. We all know that. Y ou, " he taps Hyunjin's sternum, "need to evaluate what their importance is to you, and if it's the same as, say, Jisung's importance to you. Okay?"

 

Hyunjin nods.

 

Why does Lee Minho make this so difficult?

 

---

 

Two months after the night of his turning, Hyunjin develops excruciating mouth pain. No vampire blog or Instagram advice account could have prepared him for the ache that radiates from his canines. It’s worse than his wisdom teeth, and each tooth was severely impacted when those had started to come in. Even pain relievers do little to quell the agony he feels.

 

This is only the first step, Hyunjin knows. When fledgling vampires begin to develop their fangs, the process begins with intense pain as the human canines are forced out of the gums. Hyunjin is a little scared of being toothless, but his fangs are supposed to grow in fast—within a week of his canines falling out, research tells him, his fangs will be fully grown in. 

 

Fangs mark the conclusion of a fledgling vampire’s transition into a fully-developed vampire. After this, they’ll be able to feed like they were truly meant to: right from the source. Hyunjin doesn’t think he’ll be able to drink from anything li ving ; the thought sends shivers down his spine. Drinking blood forced its way into Hyunjin’s daily routine, and as the months went on, he gradually became used to it. Dealing with cravings was still a hassle, since he had the tendency to forget to drink enough blood for the day, like the days when the most blood he gets is a shot in his daily Americano.

 

Now, though, as Hyunjin stands defeated before the bathroom mirror wielding a toothbrush, he regrets ever getting so comfortable with being a vampire.

 

(He knows he’s being a bit over the top, but he’s never dealt with pain well!)

 

Simply put, Hyunjin is unable to brush his teeth. At the slightest graze of the bristles over his canines, he recoils and resists the urge to hiss at the offending tooth brush. Touching his teeth, especially his canines and the teeth surrounding, sends a sharp shock of pain throughout his entire face. Each time he tries to be more gentle than before, he’s awarded with the same outcome.

 

It seems his cries of agony don’t go unheard, since twenty minutes into the most arduous task of his life, there’s a knock at the bathroom door. When Minho shuffles in, Hyunjin looks up at him, pouts, then glances at his toothbrush.

 

“Why are you being so loud?” Minho asks, looking unfairly pretty for how early it is—Hyunjin almost physically has to shake the revelation out of his brain. 

 

“My teeth hurt way too fucking bad for me to brush my teeth,” he responds, exasperated. “But I can’t just not brush my teeth, hyung, I don’t want to walk around with nasty teeth and morning breath all day.”

 

“Mouthwash?”

 

“That doesn’t clean my teeth.”

 

Minho hums in thought until he runs off, leaving Hyunjin there in the bathroom with knitted brows and forgotten toothpaste dripping onto the counter. He’s only gone for moments, though, brandishing a small vial of something when he returns.

 

At Hyunjin’s curious glance, he says, “I saw this at the store the other day and decided to pick this up in case someone needed it, you know.”

 

Hyunjin must be dreaming when he sees pink tinge the elder’s cheeks. In all his years of knowing Minho, he’s only seen him blush enough times to count on one hand, and half of those were when he was drunk. He must be seeing things, he decides—maybe Minho applied some makeup today. His brows do look clean. Definitely makeup, definitely not a blush that makes Hyunjin’s cheeks heat a little too.

 

The air seems to thicken, so Hyunjin distracts himself by reading the label when Minho hands over the vial. Oral Numbing Gel, he reads against racing thoughts of MinhoMinhoMinho and gentle flames flickering in his chest.

 

After his talk with Changbin a few weeks ago and subsequent similar texts, Hyunjin still hasn’t confronted what Minho’s importance to him means. Any time the the first seed of a thought pertaining to it germinates, Hyunjin squashes it down and tends to other things.

 

Once more, he’s ripped from his thoughts as Minho speaks. “Open up,” Minho says, somehow having reclaimed the vial of numbing gel from Hyunjin’s hands. With no hesitation, the younger parts his lips. Eyes squeezed shut, Hyunjin tries to ignore the fiery pain that comes with each swipe of the applicator over his gums. Thankfully, it’s over fast. When Minho tells him to rinse his mouth, he rinses his mouth.

 

When he runs his tongue over his teeth, there’s still a slight spike of pain, but it’s manageable now. He’s about to thank Minho for the gel until the other speaks.

 

“Hold still,” Minho says, cupping under Hyunjin’s jaw with one hand and grabbing his toothbrush with the other. Immediately, Hyunjin’s face bursts into flames as the most ferocious blush he’s ever had crawls down his neck. Minho pays no mind, though, as he gently begins to brush Hyunjin’s teeth.

 

Armed with the numbing gel, Hyunjin is capable of brushing his own teeth. So why is he letting Minho press him to the bathroom sink to brush his teeth? A roaring fire bursts in his chest, rivaling his burning face.

 

He starts in the back of the mouth, furthest away from the pain, and Hyunjin’s heart sinks into the furthest recesses of his stomach. In this position, slouched enough so Minho seems taller,  his back against the countertop with Minho crowding his personal space, Hyunjin is hyper-aware of everything. He feels Minho’s comforting campfire-warmth seeping into his skin where their legs touch. He watches Minho’s downturned eyes as they focus on being gentle with the most tender parts of his mouth.

 

Hyunjin doesn’t know where to look, so his eyes flick over the older’s face—then, they settle on Minho’s lips, mesmerized. Have they always looked so pink and soft?  Like most of his Minho-related thoughts, Hyunjin stomps on this immediately, but another, fleeting thought attacks where his back is unguarded.

 

I want to kiss him.

 

This thought, he isn’t able to quell before it consumes his entire train of thought.

 

He wants to kiss Lee Minho and he wants to kiss him bad.

 

It’s now that Changbin’s words come rushing back to him. You need to evaluate what their importance is to you, he’d said. The following realization isn’t exactly the cliche puzzle piece clicking into place, nor is it a sudden life-altering epiphany. Instead, it’s akin to Hyunjin turning a page to a new chapter in his favorite book and barely-contained excitement at the mystery the chapter’s title holds.

 

Love.

 

Hyunjin thinks he loves Minho.

 

In their tiny half-bath bathroom, Hyunjin realizes he’s in love with Minho.

 

It’s not romantic by any stretch of the word. But, in a way, it is freeing, it is right.

 

---

 

“Let me get this straight,” Changbin says, setting his mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table. It’s an expensive-looking thing made of intricate designs carved into cherry wood, and the only thing in the room Hyunjin can focus his eyes on. “You think you’re in love with Minho, but only because he’s taking care of you?”

 

Hyunjin wrings his hands together as shame burns pink in his cheeks. “When you say it like that…”

 

“It sounds dumb?” Changbin finishes and snorts. “Maybe. I know I said to think about his importance to you, but are you sure you aren’t overthinking it?” Out of the corner of his eye, Hyunjin can see the concern etched into Changbin’s knitted brows.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

In the week or two since Hyunjin’s realized he’s in love with Minho, all he’s done is think. In the wee hours of the morning when he’s unable to sleep, all he can think of is Minho. His pretty pink lips sucked between his teeth when he concentrates; his hair, newly dyed black after months of orange; the rippling muscles beneath his skin when he exercises in their living room. Every thought of Minho stokes the flames crackling beneath the skin of his cheeks and in the pit of his stomach.

 

Yet, amongst the cracks in a fragile and newfound elation, doubt creeps in.

 

Is he really in love with Minho? Or is he confusing love for a deep sense of appreciation since Minho has taken care of him throughout his turning?

 

Hyunjin squirms on the leather couch, wincing as it makes the most horrendous noise beneath him.

 

“I don’t know if I’m just appreciating what he does for me and confusing it with love or not,” he says after a long while. Floorboards creak behind him. Someone presses a warm kiss to the crown of his head and pats his shoulder like a father.

 

“Don’t get too far in your head, Jinnie,” the perpetrator—Chan—says. “That wonderful mind of yours needs a break sometimes, okay? It’s okay to go with your gut feeling and try something out with him if Minho returns your feelings. You know he’ll always be accommodating.”

 

Hyunjin knows Chan’s right, but as his mind tosses around the thought, guilt burns in his chest,

 

“Anyway,” Chan says after a moment, dragging away his hand from Hyunjin’s shoulder and subsequently the loving warmth radiating from his skin. “I’m going to the studio for a little while. Come visit me a little more okay, Hyunjinnie? Hyung misses you. Changbin gets too much of your attention.” And then, to Changbin, he says, “Bye, baby.”

 

Changbin doesn’t speak until the door clicks shut.

 

“He’s right, you know. I want to tell you to think, but maybe think a little less, okay? Overthinking doesn’t do you any favors, and I don’t want to see you spiral.” Changbin pats his thigh and Hyunjin nods.

 

“Thanks, hyung,” he says after mulling it over.

 

He leaves later that evening with a warm hug and a promise to take a chance.

 

---

 

Hyunjin can’t live up to his promise.

 

He thinks. And thinks. And thinks. Convinces himself that if he never went out that night, he wouldn’t think he's in love with Minho. I must be confused, he thinks. Minho refuses to vacate every crevice of his internal monologue, though, sticking like glue—but the more he thinks about the thud of his heart in his chest when Minho smiles, the more turmoil curls in his gut.

 

So he stops letting Minho take care of him. He doesn’t remind Minho to pick up more blood on his next shopping trip, nor does he ask Minho to apply his medicated sunscreen to his face when he leaves for class.

 

It works for a little while—but Minho is relentless in his care.

 

“Hyunjinnie,” he says one day while crossing under the arch that separates the living room from the kitchenette. “Have you been drinking enough? You’re totally out of blood.”

 

Hyunjin freezes where he sits on the couch and grips the remote tighter, cheeks burning like he’s been caught.

 

“I ran out the day before yesterday,” Hyunjin says but nausea slithers up his throat and threatens to choke him. He actually ran out last week. Hunger is creeping up on him day by day, becoming harder to ignore. “I just forgot to buy some, so I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”

 

The air is so thick Hyunjin can taste it on his tongue—does Minho feel it too? It closes in the longer the silence between them drags on. Minho just stands there with furrowed brows and downcast eyes and the nausea squeezes in his throat like a boa constrictor.

 

“You know I went to the store yesterday.” Minho’s voice is barely lighter than a murmur but the quiet room carries it to Hyunjin’s ears with ease. “I asked you if you needed anything, even—” he sighs, Hyunjin resists the urge to let out a sound at the tone of his voice, absent of its usual teasing lilt “—just remember to tell me next time, okay?”

 

Just like that, he leaves to his room, and Hyunjin is left sitting on the couch with a heavy heart and mind.

What is he doing?

 

In the evening, Minho approaches Hyunjin for the first time since that morning. Hyunjin, having sat in the living room for hours, didn’t see him leave his room once. He doesn’t want to think about why.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

The question catches Hyunjin off-guard as he pulls a mug out of the cupboard, linoleum lending far too much to the element of surprise. Socked feet are inaudible over the kitchen tiles, a fact Minho’s used to his advantage over the course of their time as roommates, scaring Hyunjin in the late hours of the night far too many times to count.

 

Hesitation—his first mistake.

 

“I’m fine, hyung,” he says after a moment too long. Even to his own ears, it sounds like a lie. Instead of letting rationality give way to racing thoughts, he distracts himself by preparing tea. He sets the dark kettle on the stove with warm water, clicking the burner on to medium high, deliberates over which blend of tea to drink, should he add sugar? Minho’s presence remains heavy behind Hyunjin’s back as he shuffles around the kitchenette.

 

“Hyunjin, you don’t have to lie to me.”

 

Hyunjin almost lets the mug he’s still holding slip between his fingers when he jumps.

 

“I’m not lying, hyung, I promise.”

 

Every lie drives a metaphorical stake into his heart and leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat (though that could be the hunger, he supposes), but he’s quick to reason with himself. He is okay, isn’t he? If obsessing over the possibility of having feelings for your roommate falls under the umbrella of okay, then Hyunjin is absolutely peachy. Never been better.

 

The hunger pangs disagree, but what do they know? Nothing.

 

“If you say so.”

 

Under the whistling of the kettle, the kitchenette is quiet. Quiet enough for Hyunjin’s ears to hear Minho’s breathing behind him, waiting for an achingly long time before leaving with a sigh. A heavy weight settles in his chest after his departure, and not even the comforting warmth of his chai tea between his hands can subdue the ice that fills his veins.

 

In their handful of years of friendship, Hyunjin can count on one hand the number of times the air between he and Minho has been anything but comfortable. And now, with the tension between them almost palpable, guilt creeps in alongside the growing iciness under his skin. He made Minho upset. 

 

Distracting thoughts laying a cloud over Hyunjin’s mind, he runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks. In an instant, he lets out a yelp, forgetting about his tender gums. Just a few days before, Hyunjin’s canines were finally shoved out of his mouth. Like a first grader excited to lose their first tooth, he simply pushed them the rest of the way out with his tongue, letting out a delighted laugh when they dropped into his hand.

 

It was a little weird losing adult teeth, but elation fills Hyunjin’s veins when he thinks of finally being awarded reprieve from his aching gums. Toothlessness is taking some getting used to, but of course, Minho makes it easier.

 

(“You know, Jinnie,” he’d said, tooth pinched between his fingers, examining it like a lab specimen. “Some people make jewelry out of teeth. Just get some string and a drill—”

 

“Hyung, no .”)

 

Hyunjin isn’t pulled out of his thoughts until he sips his tea and nothing comes. There I go, he thinks, frowning down at the loose tea leaves and spices remaining in the bottom of the mug. Thinking about Minho again. But in place of the usual bitter coin-taste that settles on Hyunjin’s tongue when he thinks of Minho like this...is warmth. Huh.

 

A tiny flame flickers in his chest, persevering in the face of the cold still lingering inside. Cradling his empty mug, cold hands sucking up whatever warmth is left in the ceramic, Hyunjin leans against the counter. 

 

Amidst the uncertainty and guilt, the fire is hopeful. Perhaps he has a lot more thinking to do. And some apologizing.

 

---

 

The next day, Minho acts no different than he usually would. In the morning, he wakes Hyunjin via the pillow-to-face technique with whispered enticements of a possible breakfast, which has Hyunjin’s mouth watering the instant his eyes slip open.

 

Despite suggesting it was a possibility at best, Minho serves the two a weekend breakfast, gives Hyunjin a glass of the blood (in an opaque glass, the only way he can drink loose blood) he’d picked up at the supermarket yesterday after whatever happened in the kitchen.

 

The energy in the pseudo-dining area shoved into the corner of their living room is warm, like they’re sitting across from each other with a campfire between them instead of a rickety, second-hand patio table. Elbows fight for space and knees knock together, but it’s comfortable, the air is easier to breathe.

 

Curled beneath his covers last night, very much awake, Hyunjin let himself think of Minho. Stamping out the thoughts before they could light was hurting Hyunjin, hurting Minho. Nothing tramples the warm flame dancing within him quite like disappointment etched onto his hyung’s face or sadness seeping through his concerned words. 

 

He’d realized thinking of Minho brings him more joy than he’d ever thought. Thinking of Minho’s importance to him, however, still lets butterflies free in his stomach, no matter how much Chan and Changbin’s words linger.

 

“Hey, hyung,” he says, shoving pieces of pancake in his mouth to fight off the blush he can feel rising into his cheeks. “I’m sorry for worrying you yesterday.”

 

Minho hums.

 

“There’s just been a lot on my mind, so I forgot about taking care of my vampire-y needs, I guess.” 

 

Minho hums again, not an unpleasant sound, but very Minho. In lieu of further verbal response, Minho holds his fork towards Hyunjin, hand cupped beneath it, tines stabbed into a bit of waffle from his plate. Without hesitation, the younger leans over to take a bite and revels in the pleased noise it pulls out of Minho.

 

“Better not happen again, you stupid vampire.”

 

---

 

Wednesdays are undoubtedly the worst day of Hyunjin’s week, every week. He has two lectures and a lab back to back to back with only enough time to speed walk from the North end of campus to the South end. His packed schedule only allows him to wolf down half a granola bar in front of the lab building, three minutes before the period is set to begin.

 

By the time he toes his shoes off in the foyer that evening, exhaustion is well-settled in his muscles and bones. However, his stomach only has little time to growl before Minho’s voice rings out from another room.

 

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

 

He freezes mid-stretch, tummy exposed to the cool air, eyes wide.

 

“Yes?” he calls back hesitantly.

 

“Come here, please. I’m in the kitchen.”

 

Hyunjin is puzzled, anxiety making his stomach writhe. Minho sounds...angry—not his usual brand of playful anger, empty threats spilling from quirked lips. 

 

Minho is never angry.

 

Wringing his fingers behind his back, Hyunjin pads to the kitchen. He sucks in a deep breath the moment he crosses the arch into the kitchenette. Despite his heart pounding so hard he feels it in his ears, when he sees Minho, the first thing he thinks is cute.

 

Over a hoodie with its sleeves pushed to his elbows and a pair of shorts, he’s wearing an apron Minho’s grandma gifted them as a housewarming present. Domestic, Hyunjin’s brain supplies. So while the elder stands there, hands on his hips like an angry parent, his brain clashes in a strange juxtaposition between fear and something... pleasant. 

 

He meets Minho’s eyes, and upon seeing the angry fire flickering in his pupils, promptly averts his gaze to the floor, tracing the tile grouting with his eyes, tongue prodding at the beginnings of his fangs poking through his gums. Sharp.

 

“You promised me you wouldn’t forget to tell me when you ran out of blood, Hyunjin. You’ve probably been out for what, a week again? I may not have the fine-tuned senses of supernatural creatures like you, but I can practically smell the hunger on you, Hyunjin.”

 

Familiar hunger pangs remind Hyunjin it has almost been a week since he’s last drunk. Again. He opens his mouth to refute Minho anyway, but finds he can’t, letting out a sad croak before clamping his mouth shut.

 

Nothing burns quite like hearing Minho’s disappointment, a raging hellfire burning him alive. The elder’s words, however true, grate against his conscience. 

 

When he continues, voice dropped to a softer tone, tears prick at Hyunjin’s eyes.

 

“You told me you’re okay, Jin, but I can’t find it in myself to believe you. What’s going on in that head of yours? If you’re still struggling with drinking, I get it, I just want you to tell me so you don’t hurt yourself. We can find other ways for you to drink without you feeling weird about it. The offer for me to drink with you is still up, I’m curious about the taste anyway…”

 

“It’s not that, hyung, I—”

 

He trails off, Minho raises a brow. Never before has he wanted the floor to cave in and swallow him up so badly. Blood rushes in his ears like white water rapids, his gut churns. Hyunjin’s at a crossroads and the longer he hesitates the deeper of a hole he knows he’s digging himself. If he lies, Minho won’t believe him. If he tells the truth, he risks his friendship with Minho.

 

“Well, Hyunjinnie?” Anger returns, but dissipates with a sigh and a wave of the hand. “Whatever—”

 

“It’s because my mind’s been so consumed with whether I really love you or not, hyung,” Hyunjin interrupts with the first of his tears spilled over and clenched fists. Something angry bubbles in his gut like hot magma. When the words leave Hyunjin’s lips, they take a piece of his heart with him. It leaves an angry hole and leaves Hyunjin feeling wronged, like the admission was ripped from his hands instead of something he gifted to Minho. “I needed to find out if I loved  you or if it was just the feeling of having someone take care of me while my body and emotions were all over the place.”

 

Hyunjin’s ears ring with Minho’s silence, only momentary, but Hyunjin doesn’t give him time to respond anyway as sadness rushes to fill the gap in his heart. “Just give me some space for like an hour, please,” he says wetly, voice cracking.

 

So he leaves the kitchenette for the sanctuary of his bedroom, nails dug into his palms, and Minho doesn’t follow.

 

Curled into a bat-printed blanket Minho bought him as a joke gift, Hyunjin mulls over his words for a long time. It’s because my mind’s been so consumed with whether I really love you or not, hyung. It leaves a bitter taste in his throat to think about, but Hyunjin knows he’s forced himself into making a decision, for his sake and Minho’s.

 

Does he love Minho?

 

As he traces the outline of a cartoon bat with the tip of his finger, Hyunjin thinks of his last conversation with Changbin and Chan.

 

“Don’t get too far in your head, Jinnie. That wonderful mind of yours needs a break sometimes, okay? It’s okay to go with your gut feeling and try something out with him if Minho returns your feelings. You know he’ll always be accommodating,” Chan had said.

 

Blush blooming on his cheeks and warmth pooling in his chest, Hyunjin admits to himself that trying something with Minho brings a smile to his face. Movie nights could be spent with Hyunjin curled into Minho’s side, gripping the elder’s hand when tears inevitably sting at his eyes. After a long day of classes, he could flop into Minho’s bed (which, somehow, is much softer than his) with one of the cats and nap. When Minho would yell at him to stop stealing his bed, he’d only burrow further into the warm covers with a happy sigh.

 

Oh.

 

So perhaps Hwang Hyunjin really is in love with Lee Minho.

 

His heart pounds at the idea.

 

Lying flat on his back now, long, dark hair fanning out atop the pillow like a halo, Hyunjin stares at the ceiling with a hint of a smile. Guilt still chews at his insides, anxiety crawls in his stomach but hope easily shoe-horns itself in his heart alongside it, a bright, flickering flame. With a hand clutched over his chest, Hyunjin sighs.

 

Maybe, for once in his life, he should take a risk. If there was any risk Hyunjin deems worthy of taking, this would be it. Given that Minho returns his feelings, it’d be a risk that ends well.

 

He’s going to take it.

 

Clad in a blanket turned shawl, Hyunjin emerges from his room before his mind can wander any further. Few times has Hyunjin been so nervous. Now, the nerves overwhelm him, filling every empty space in his body until he bursts at the seams, but he has to mend whatever strange air inhabits every space Minho and he occupy at the same time

 

He lays eyes on Minho immediately, the elder perched on the couch with an arm thrown over the back, head turned at the creak of Hyunjin’s door.

 

“Hyung,” Hyunjin says, quivering through the wobble of his lip. Hold it together, Hyunjin. You can do this.

 

Minho just looks, expression unreadable until he breaks into a small smile that has Hyunjin’s heart doing flips in his chest. “Didn’t even need an hour, huh?” He checks his wrist, but he’s not wearing a watch—and he never has. Hyunjin laughs. “That was only forty-five minutes, are you sure you’re ready?"

 

Just like that, some of Hyunjin’s nerves fizzle away, lost in the air. He nods.

 

Minho beckons him with a cock of his head.

 

So he takes a deep breath, and sits next to Minho. The air’s still impossibly thick, like a sea of cotton candy swallows them up, but it isn’t tense.

 

Minho breaks the silence first. "You're really stupid, Hyunjinnie," he mumbles and turns toward him. Hyunjin's heart hammers harder than before, a dull, thudding bass drum against his chest, pounding to the rhythm of the colorful thoughts swirling in his head like an orchestra.

 

At Minho's words, he knits his brows.

 

"You shouldn't neglect your needs just because you're trying to figure out if you're in love with me. Blood. Is. Essential, you dumb bat," he chastises softly, a finger prodding his sternum with each word. Hyunjin bites back the retort that he's not a bat, that only ancient and long-gone vampire families were capable of shifting into bats.

 

"Secondly," he starts, "I hope it's obvious that I...like you, or whatever. Love, I guess. I wouldn't offer to drink blood for just any vampire."

 

Minho can't meet Hyunjin's eyes while he speaks and it delights Hyunjin. With reddening ears, Minho wrings his hands together.

 

Hyunjin never thought he'd live to witness Minho outwardly expressing nervousness. Confident Minho reduced to a bumbling, blushing young man. 

 

But Minho's words ring loud in his ears while Hyunjin beams, his chest's fire dancing and flickering with so much joy Hyunjin can barely contain himself. Minho loves Hyunjin, Hyunjin loves Minho. It's as simple as that.

 

"I did decide my feelings for you were real," Hyunjin responds, suddenly bashful.

 

"Of course they would be. You're obsessed with me. Just can't get enough, right, Hyunjinnie?"

 

He laughs. Still, Minho's blush belies his confidence (Hyunjin thinks it's cute). Then, he hums—he'll let Minho get away with this for now. Later? Not so much.

 

"Yeah, yeah, hyung."

 

"Sounds like you miss the taste of tissues, Hyunjinnie. I'd watch out. I'm not afraid to stick my hand in a mouth with fangs if it means making you eat paper when you're being a brat."

 

With a snort, Hyunjin rests his head on Minho's shoulder, reveling in the way he can hear the elder gulp from this distance with a pleased smile. Minho doesn't push him away—he'd never admit it to a soul outside their house (he eyes Dori in the corner of the living room. When he saunters off, Hyunjin knows the kitten is going to gossip with the other cats. Nothing escapes them.), but he might even tug him closer.

 

Minho radiates heat like the campfire Hyunjin knows he is. A shining campfire that draws Hyunjin in like a moth to a lamp, a fire he knows won't ever burn him. Sure, a fire with no capability to burn makes little sense, but neither do Hyunjin and Minho, two colorful flames flickering in tandem and growing with the kindling of their warm love.

 

---

 

In the earliest hours of the morning, where the time between the days blur into one, Minho rouses Hyunjin from his sleep. He’s curled around one of the cats, face pressed into a pillow he’s secretly holding hostage from Minho’s bed, when gentle hands shake his back.

 

As a deep sleeper, it takes the younger more than a few minutes to finally stir with a whine bubbling from the back of his throat and squinting with the bright light that pours in from the hallway. “Hyung?” he asks, searching while his eyes adjust to the dark. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Peachy,” says Minho, and Hyunjin can hear the way he speaks through a smile. “But get up, I want to take you somewhere.”

 

“Isn’t it like two in the morning?”

 

“Three, actually. But come on, I want to take you somewhere. No need to wear anything special, just put on something warm since it’s cold outside. I don’t need to lug a bloodsucking ice cube everywhere. I’ll be waiting by the door.”

 

With a gentle pat to his butt, Minho’s gone. He’s left in the darkness of his room, moonlight peeking through the slits in his blinds and a now awake cat headbutting his hand that lays flat on the bed. He’s so sleepy his brain runs on autopilot from there on out, not having the heart to question why in the hell Minho wants to go somewhere at three a.m.

 

In some time, Minho’s tugging Hyunjin—shrouded in Minho’s too-short sweatpants and largest hoodie—out of their apartment building. The air nips at the exposed skin of his ankles, but Minho’s fingers locked with his own are warm.

 

“We’re going on a date,” Minho declares into the night, loud and bold in the absence of life that makes Hyunjin’s toes curl in his tennis shoes.

 

His brain also short circuits.

 

It’s been a little over a week since Hyunjin and Minho confessed to each other in the dim light of their living room, and the two haven’t done anything explicitly romantic. Minho still bothers Hyunjin awake in the same way, still complains about making him food but fills his bowl up to the brim, still reminds Hyunjin the cats like him better. Sometimes, Minho will give him a soft, kittenish smile that has Hyunjin’s heart thudding hard against his ribs, or he’ll notice the wonderful shade of pink Minho turns when Hyunjin catches him staring.

 

Other than that, nothing. They aren’t even boyfriends— at least, Hyunjin doesn’t think so. Instead of declaring their commitment to one another after confessing, they fell asleep on the couch sitting side by side to the tune of an old drama rerun. The morning after, nothing. 

 

So, a date with Minho, after a week of romantic radio silence, makes Hyunjin’s heart flutter.

 

“A date?” He swallows around the dryness spreading through his mouth, licks his cracked lips.

 

“Of course,” Minho says, like it’s obvious. “We’re having a convenience store date. You know, the real cheesy ones.”

 

Beneath the technicolour shine of neon signage and the warm streetlights, with ears aglow and lips quirked into a one-sided smile, Minho looks beautiful. His dark, unstyled hair sways in the early morning’s breeze, his soft hand encasing Hyunjin’s own squeezes ever so slightly. No, Hyunjin thinks, Minho is absolutely ethereal.

 

Minho is ethereal in a way that rivals the magic only a full moon’s night possesses, illuminating the darkness around him like he himself was plucked off its surface. And yet, he shines like the sun and Hyunjin’s gravitated towards him like a celestial body. Hyunjin loves him so much his heart blazes like a wildfire in his presence, spreading uncontrollably and scalding hot but Hyunjin can’t get enough.

 

Pulling Hyunjin out of his thoughts with a tightened grip, Minho says, “Don’t go daydreaming about those blood popsicles now, Hyunjinnie. Did you even bring any money? Who said Hyung was going to buy you anything?” 

 

A laugh spills out of Hyunjin’s mouth. “You didn’t tell me to bring it, hyung. Don’t pretend like you don’t buy everything I stare at for more than a few seconds.”

 

“You know what, I think I’m going to leave you here so you can walk back home and I can have a date with myself.” 

 

(He makes no move to release Hyunjin’s hand.)

 

The walk to the convenience store isn’t long, and it’s a familiar one. Late nights like these, after hours of studying during finals weeks, Minho, Hyunjin, and the rest of their friends would make regular trips to this corner store to purchase gobs of sour candy and cans of extra-charged espresso drinks to fuel their sputtering engines.

 

Seconds after they arrive, Minho tugs him in front of the ice cream cooler. “Pick something.” 

 

Hyunjin, true to nature, snatches one of the type O flavored popsicles, and Minho barks out a pretty, prideful laugh. Hyunjin’s cheeks burn like he’s been caught, and he grumbles obscenities under his breath at the older.

 

“Go on ahead, Hyunjinnie,” Minho says a few minutes later as they walk to the counter, taking the basket away from Hyunjin. He can’t help but feel Minho sounds suspiciously bashful, and beneath the fluorescent, artificial lighting, his ears look a bit flushed. However, Hyunjin learned long ago to not question his Hyung lest he suffer dire consequences, like being force fed paper or becoming victim to a vicious tickling session. 

 

So he waits outside the dinky corner store, arms withdrawn in his hoodie to preserve body warmth, shivering when the breeze tickles his bare ankles.

 

Minho walks out a surprising amount of time later, walks by without a second glance towards Hyunjin, like he’s expecting the younger to follow like a clingy puppy. Unfortunately, he’s right.

 

“Hyung,” Hyunjin says through a pout, shoving his arms back through the sleeves and bumping shoulders with Minho. “Don’t just leave me behind like that.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

Hyunjin huffs.

 

Minho clears his throat and roots through one of the bags he’s carrying, a reusable one he probably just bought because of the environmental implications of plastic bags. “Anyway, here is your popsicle.”

 

Hyunjin smiles around his popsicle, letting the distinct tinge of Type-O sweetness flood his mouth. In hindsight, popsicles in the chilly spring nighttime wasn’t the most well-thought out idea the two of them have had. And yet, with Minho, an entire twin pop shoved between his mouth and stretching it in a way that makes Hyunjin giggle uncontrollably, he doesn’t feel any of the chill he should.

 

Then, under the warm glow of a flickering streetlight, around halfway home, Minho asks him to stop.

 

Minho’s grip on the bag handles are iron-tight. “Close your eyes, Hyunjinnie.” His tone is gentle, all usual mirth and tease stripped away and leaving the barest bones of his tender voice. 

 

Hyunjin’s heart flutters like tissue paper in the wind. Something about the air between them has Hyunjin’s heart rate picking up ever so slightly.

 

“I’m going to put something in your pocket and you aren’t going to look at what it is until I tell you to. If you peek, I will push you down an open manhole, got it?”

 

Hyunjin stifles a giggle but nods.

 

He’s vibrating with anticipation when Minho’s hand reaches into the pocket of his stolen hoodie and deposits something light and soft. Barely able to contain himself, Hyunjin bounces on the balls of his feet until he hears Minho’s voice cut through the thick air.

 

“Okay. You can look.” Minho’s voice is sweet and soft, something Hyunjin would hug if it were tangible—he smiles. 

 

Hyunjin has to wrestle the item out of the confines of the hoodie pocket—it’s soft and squishy beneath his grip, a plushie.

 

It’s a tiny bat, peering up at him with beady little eyes that glimmer in the soft glow of the streetlight overhead. Hyunjin’s first instinct is to roll his eyes. Since the night of the turning, Minho has been adamant about comparing Hyunjin to bats. Pointing out bats on the television and calling them Hyunjin; purchasing bat-themed items and depositing them on Hyunjin’s duvet without a word; sometimes using Bat to refer to Hyunjin more than his name.

 

Minho stares at him, unblinking, hands wringing together in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “Check the tag.”

 

Only now does Hyunjin notice the heart-shaped tag attached to the bat’s wing. Humming, he gently thumbs the tag, lips growing into a smile. There are a number of words the gift tag may contain, a number of emotions they could evoke. One never knows with Lee Minho. For all he knows, the tag could be bare.

Though, with a deep breath, he takes the plunge and pushes the tag open. Letters are messily scrawled in a black pen at the end of its lifespan, so small Hyunjin has to squint.

 

“Boyfriend?” he reads aloud, brows raised as he registers the writing. In seconds, his head snaps up to search for Minho, but the elder is looking anywhere but Hyunjin, eyes downcast.

 

Tears blurring his vision, fire pressing against the back of his eyes, Hyunjin watches Minho finally meet eyes with him. Minho’s cheeks glow warmer than the orange light of the lamp, and Hyunjin feels the heat of his own blush creep into his cheeks.

 

“Asshole,” Hyunjin says fondly, curling his hand around the little bat while he pouts through his words. His voice is a bit wet, harder to control the more tears brew on his waterline. “You couldn’t have asked me out with, you know, words?” 

 

Hyunjin might grill him for it now (And let’s be honest—for the rest of the time they share together), but it’s so.. Minho. The Minho he knows and loves has a knack for expressing his affection through actions rather than words.

 

Minho laughs. It’s so bright and carefree in the quiet night, warmer than the light that illuminates the space between them, and it forces a laugh out of Hyunjin. It’s strange, Hyunjin thinks, the plethora of emotions exploding in his chest—each, with the moments passing, adding to the flame smoldering in his chest like kindling.

 

Shattering the moment in the only way he knows possible—by being an absolute nuisance—Minho tugs lightly on the dangling jewelry hanging from Hyunjin’s ear. “If that’s a no,” he says once he’s grabbed the younger’s attention, “you’re paying me back for the bat. I spent like, five bucks on it. I even have the receipt.”

 

Hyunjin bats his hand away. “Why would I say no? You’re even weirder than I thought.”

 

“Hwang Hyunjin.” Even through his deadpan, Minho can’t stifle the smile quirking on his pretty kitten lips. Hyunjin can’t stifle his mirroring grin either. “Do you want me to feed you this bat? Because I will feed you this bat.”

 

“You’re going to feed your boyfriend the stuffed animal you just bought him?”

 

Maybe Hyunjin’s imagining things when he hears the very audible choke escaping from Minho, maybe he isn’t. Either way, he’s delighted with himself.

 

Minho clears his throat. “So that’s a yes?”

 

“Yes, idiot-hyung. ”

 

---

 

(As it so happens, Hyunjin quickly discovers the title of boyfriend earns him no privileges when it comes to Lee Minho. If he believed he was safe from his signature brand of torment, he was gravely mistaken—for Minho quite literally chases him home, ripping the bat from his hands and physically threatening to make him eat it the instant the word idiot leaves his lips.

 

He’s out of breath from running and laughing harder than he ever has in his life, hands on his knees as he pants, the instant he makes it to the front of their apartment building. The bastard he is, Minho strolls up ten minutes later, not a hair out of place or a breath too raggedy—he’d walked the second Hyunjin began to run. 

 

Hyunjin’s come to adore the strange juxtaposition of the facets of Minho’s personality—tooth-numbingly sweet, caring almost to a fault, but unafraid to occasionally make Hyunjin fear for his life through tissues. Qualities all men should have, really.

 

Truly, Hyunjin wouldn’t have it any other way.)

 

---

 

And yet, Hyunjin realizes boyfriend Minho is strange in a way that friend slash roommate Minho never was. Strange in a way that makes Hyunjin’s heart flutter.

 

Boyfriend Minho corners Hyunjin in the kitchen while he’s making himself tea, always using the silence of his step to his advantage. Crowds him against the counter until it digs into his lower back, leans into his personal space until the tips of their noses are brushing together in a way that sends a shiver down Hyunjin’s spine. He’ll lie in wait, eyes half-lidded and a beautiful almost-black, the only noise between the two their mingling breaths. It always feels like forever before Minho closes the small distance between them, pressing their lips together in a kiss—chaste, but enough to stir the beginnings of heat in Hyunjin’s gut anyway.

 

But usually, he’ll pull away then, all flushed cheeks and a self-satisfied smile, and leave Hyunjin to stand in the kitchen with a thudding chest and an ache for something more. . Every single time.

 

It’s no big surprise to Hyunjin when arms wrap around his waist while he’s pouring a bag of chips into one of their large serving bowls. Minho is touchy, infuriatingly so, never enough to satiate the side of Hyunjin that craves close contact.

 

Yet, their friends—Jisung, Changbin, Chan—are sitting in their living room to celebrate the end of a hellish finals week for those of them still in school, waiting on the snacks, and neither Hyunjin nor Minho have informed anyone about their relationship status. Hyunjin, at least, would like to bask in the softness of a new relationship before their friends—namely Jisung and occasionally Changbin, since Chan is too much of an angel, bless his heart—hound them over every gritty detail concerning their relationship and its development.

 

“Hyung?”

 

Minho presses his lips against Hyunjin’s neck in a gentle kiss and Hyunjin lets him because of the damned warmth in his chest, before biting him in the most unsexy way possible. And Hyunjin didn’t even know there was an unsexy way to bite a neck. Curse his heart for stuttering at the feeling.

 

“The vampire becomes the vampire-d,” Minho says through a laugh, squeezing tighter around Hyunjin’s midsection.

 

Hyunjin snorts. “Not so sure that’s a verb.”

 

“It is now.”

 

Revelling in their prolonged contact, separated only by a wall and open archway from their friends, Hyunjin turns in Minho’s hold. Someone could walk in any minute, would likely yell to the rest of them about the compromising position they’d found Hyunjin and Minho in, but Hyunjin can’t find himself to care when Minho finally isn’t pulling away. 

 

He tugs Minho closer by the collar of his shirt until their chests are touching and the flames within them flicker simultaneously. Hyunjin smiles.

 

“Are you going to kiss me for more than a second this time?” he taunts.

 

Wordlessly, Minho takes the bait, tugging Hyunjin’s face down into a kiss, one Hyunjin can’t help but smile into. Butterflies twirl and loop in his stomach like it’s Hyunjin’s first kiss. There’s something alluring about kissing Minho so openly, about the chance one of their friends walks in and sees that yes, Hyunjin is the one so privileged to date Minho. 

 

It’s why he can’t stop. It’s why instead of pushing Minho away amidst a yell from somewhere in the living room to hurry the fuck up, Hyunjin only tugs him closer by the strands of his hair, kisses a little harder. Part of him wants to tug Minho so close they meld into one entity—he can’t get enough of Minho, or the softness of his pink lips, smooth from diligent use of lip balm, or the way Minho seems to radiate heat through the layers of clothing separating them.

 

Minho snakes his hands up Hyunjin’s untucked button down, smoothing against the skin of his back, leaving red-hot trails in their wake that send shivers down Hyunjin’s spine.

 

He’s so consumed by Minho he can’t hear the footsteps as they approach the kitchen on the apartment’s creakiest floorboards, nor can he hear the scandalized gasp that follows. When the voice comes next, somehow, Hyunjin feels no urgency to jump away like they’ve been caught, and neither does Minho.

 

“What the hell! You’ve been pokey getting the snacks because you’re canoodling with Hyung in the kitchen!?” 

 

Minho pulls away from Hyunjin, their lips parting with a faint smack. His ears pinken the instant he locks eyes with Jisung—whose hands are cupping his own cheeks like he’s seen something earth shattering—but with his lidded eyes and intense stare, he looks more annoyed Jisung interrupted them than shameful. 

 

Hyunjin’s heart thuds against his chest, but he isn’t sure if it’s from Jisung’s sudden appearance or the exhilaration of kissing Minho.

 

Jisung sighs. “You two have some explaining to do,” and while meeting Hyunjin’s eyes in a playful glare, “and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me a thing! We’re supposed to be best friends!”

 

Fondly, Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

 

Jisung leaves a few seconds later, stomping back into the living room while complaining about his growling stomach and two horndogs. Hyunjin laughs and Minho follows, their own bright, two-person symphony.

 

“Your fault,” Minho says when their laughter dies down.

 

Hyunjin half-heartedly pushes his shoulder. “Don’t lie, you ambushed me.”

 

And then, a shout from the living room, “No one cares! Bring the goddamn snacks before I start turning your furniture into food so I can eat it!” Right. Jisung wields an enormous amount of magical power in his tiny body and he isn’t afraid to use it to cause chaos like he has so many times before. That’s not something to be messed with.

 

“Guess we better,” Hyunjin says, shrugging.

 

With Jisung hogging all the snacks, finally quiet with his hunger satiated, Hyunjin and Minho withstand the barrage of questions from their friends. Changbin and Chan, huddled together in a plush armchair that wasn’t made for two people, smile at Hyunjin knowingly. He almost cowers under their gaze. At least they aren’t the proud type to boast about knowing before Jisung—he’d definitely complain over not knowing and whine to Hyunjin that his best friend privileges are hereby revoked.

 

Beneath the blabber of Jisung and Minho too-focused on pushing Jisung’s buttons, Hyunjin realizes his life has changed in more ways than one. Becoming a vampire wasn’t something Hyunjin ever anticipated happening, his limited contact with the supernatural scene protecting him from the dangers which don’t quite exist among humans.

 

And yet, despite the changes, violent and rapid in a way Hyunjin’s struggled, and still struggles, to deal with, part of him is thankful. Without the night of his turning, he may have never gotten the kick in the ass he needed to acknowledge the feelings for Minho that have been lurking beneath the surface much longer than he knew.

 

Poking around his fangs with his tongue, fully grown in and pain free, Hyunjin knows he still has a long way to go before he fully accepts certain aspects of being a vampire—even now, thinking about live-feeding sends shivers down his spine, and some days he remembers he’s drinking blood instead of some vaguely sweet, vaguely tangy drink, and feels guilty.

 

But with those who surround him—Chan, who pretend-nips Changbin’s cheek like a werewolf pup, Jisung, who threatens to hex Chan because he’s sick and tired of already being a fifth wheel, and Minho, who smiles at him with an unmatched warmth, squeezes where their hands are linked—Hyunjin thinks it won’t be too hard.

 

Hyunjin smiles back at Minho, eyes crinkling into adorable crescents, and lets the flame of his love for Minho roar in his chest.

Notes:

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