Chapter Text
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The classroom is bustling with life when he arrives, collective whispers of his peers creating much more noise than they most likely intend to, a lazy attempt at maintaining silence.
With hurry he scans the open seats, not resting his gaze on anyone for too long, awkward eye contact being something he avoids with a burning passion.
His skin prickles with the weight of a few inquisitive stares. It’s normal, to a certain extent at least, with a new class comes the curiosity of who you’ll share the next fourteen weeks with. If they should be friended, or treated as a passing stranger.
However, in Jeno’s case the curious stares may be the direct result of his own mistake. It isn’t anything too extreme, he just enrolled into the wrong class. Or more correctly, right class, wrong timing.
What happened was, in his previous semester, Jeno had not been able to juggle six courses simultaneously, five out of which were inclusive to his Humanities program. He had no choice but to drop the sixth course despite it being the class he was looking forward to the most. It was an Intro to Photography course, and Jeno, who practiced photography as a hobby, had seen this as an opportunity to gain some formal knowledge in the subject.
Once the winter semester ended though, and course enrollments opened up for the spring/summer semester, Jeno had re-enrolled for the same elective, planning against returning back home for the summer.
Enrolling had been a piece of cake. However, what he did not realize, it still baffles him just how he could miss such a huge detail, was that he enrolled himself into an evening class. Particularly, one after sunset, late into the evening.
The problem was that these classes, the ones after dark, were catered towards the supernatural counterpart of the population.
The timing was specifically for those that labeled themselves creatures of the night, another category of the supernatural kind. Not that it was completely unheard of for a human to sit in one of these classes. However, the ratio of humans to supernaturals was embarrassingly low. So low that for every eight superhumans, there would be two regular humans.
Jeno could have dropped out, but he found the timing to be manageable alongside his other responsibilities.
Aside from willingly sacrificing sleep, he wanted something else to do that would keep him occupied during the hours outside his shift at the university library. With that in mind, next to the anxiety of being in a classroom infested with those much more superior than him, he had mindfully negotiated and convinced the half of his mind that urged him to drop out, not to actually go through with it.
Now he wants to curse at himself for undermining the icky feeling of being stared at as an exotic animal. Convincing himself that it would be okay - no worries is far from it actually being okay and having no worries. But he does not allow the spike in his heartbeat, the flood of regret or any other heavy emotion he is hit with let him waver.
The thing is, Jeno is rare.
To keep things as simple, the reasoning behind this dates back to the beginning of time.
The world was said to be a place humans had shared with other creatures. These creatures were special in many ways, they wore the skin of mankind, however -under it or over it, they were much, much more.
Over earth’s generous years of existence, these people, who were more than your average persons, were given many different titles. The various types of their being categorized and named accordingly.
Now, in the 21st century, these people, who were more than just human (probably weren’t human at all), were known as the Supernatural . Unlike the beginning of time though, things have changed. As some preferred to say, they have evolved.
The evolution began from something both the supernatural, and the human-kind had in common; their love for sex .
Of course, exceptions were and are present but not significant enough to prevent generalization. With their love of sex and open-giving hearts came the intermingling of regular people with their superior counterparts. So much so that, over the years the numbers of pure humans or any other pure species has decreased drastically. The population now consists of mostly hybrids, be that humans with the supernatural, or one supernatural kind with another.
Pure breeds aren’t extinct, but when anyone comes across one, they have reactions that vary from utter shock to poorly concealed spirit of inquiry.
Which is exactly why Jeno is somewhat of a spectacle. Even more so in spaces dominated by supernatural hybrids. Jeno’s parents, both mother and father respectively, are very normal and very not exciting, humans .
His grandparents too were without a doubt, from head to toe, inside out, entirely, belonging to the human race. Going further up his ancestors was of no use because they too were - surprise surprise, humans.
So Jeno was one of the purest breeds of mankind one could ever have the pleasure or displeasure –depending on the being –of meeting. Nowhere had his family’s lineage been crossed over into a supernatural’s, not from either of his parents’.
Jeno is as human as one can possibly be.
He kept telling himself it wasn’t that big of a deal while he signed up for this class. It still doesn’t bother him too much. So, what if a few people stare at him? Gluing their eyes to every miniscule move he makes, every nervous tick he loses against. Even though each and every gaze that lingers on him for a second too long makes his stomach sink and skin crawl, so what ?
He’s aware that once class starts not many will pay him the same attention. By their next class he’ll become someone they saw last week, and eventually no one will bother sparing even a glance in his direction. The initial fire of their interest doused with water.
It's all the reassurance he can give himself at the moment, so with a skittish inspection of the room, he finds a seat from where he stands in the doorway. The first bench attracts him since it’s closest to the door and prevents him from taking extra unnecessary steps farther into the foreign space.
He strides to the chair with his chin tucked and head hanging low, dark brown strands catching the ends of his lashes.
Once he’s settled, shrugged out of his messenger bag and plaid scarf, (May has chilly nights and Jeno has always been a bit sensitive to the cold), he rummages through his bag and takes out things he’ll need during class. His pencil case, and a new notebook that has a plain black DIY cover he’s left bare.
His journal is in his bag as well, its weathering brown leather speaking of its overuse. He does not take that out though -just briefly runs his fingertips over the worn edges for some sense of comfort to ease the onslaught of nerves swarming through him. He pulls out his phone at the end, finding it wedged under the journal.
On his phone, waiting for whoever the professor is, he opens up snapchat and taps twice on his screen to switch to the front camera, angling it far enough to ensure his scarf had not rubbed off any of his foundation.
Convinced that nothing had been disturbed, he clicks his phone off, setting it on the table next to his notebook, straightening it out and rearranging his things.
A few seconds pass with Jeno staring at the clock hanging above the whiteboard and chewing his bottom lip, when the professor stumbles in, briefcase trailing behind him as it hangs off his tail?
The man is short, bald, and chubby, and has two pointy crimson horns protruding from his forehead -right above his temples on each side -a demon kind most likely.
The professor’s presence itself brings him enough of a distraction to keep himself from scratching at the itch over his neck. People will finally stop stealing glances at him, and will hopefully stop audibly whispering the guy in the gray hoodie --I think he’s a human, like only a human .
It does not, however, stop entirely. Not that Jeno expected it to.
His professor has a loud personality, a colorful animated way of speech alongside big gestures and flailing arms, easily drawing everyone’s attention to him.
It reminds him of a person he once knew.
He subtly shakes his head, flinching away from such a thought, the loud booming voice speaking a mile a minute in front of him and his own interest in the subject making it an achievable task.
His heart, though, plummets the next second in reaction to two words his professor utters. A thud so loud he fears those with exceptional hearing sitting in his vicinity may have heard it. The demon man, now owning up to his kind Jeno thinks, keeps repeating those two words in his following sentences and ultimately they become the only thing plaguing his mind.
Group project
The bane of his existence. Jeno really, really detests group projects.
All his previous group project experiences have been literal shit, always ending with him being the pushover doing most of the work. Aside from that, he just does better on his own, his full potential only comes out when he works by himself. In the company of others, he becomes too conscious of what they might think about him, about his suggestions, about the work he puts forth.
It isn’t that Jeno fears rejection or a dismissal of his ideas. It’s just that some people lack a filter, and some are simply mean.
He’s had group members be downright rude to him (often because of his lack of supernatural qualities), or to other students within a group. On top of that, complaining to professors usually has little to no outcome at all. They expect the students to talk it out like the smart adults they are, however there isn’t much talking sense into someone that refuses to listen. So, it’s mostly the possibility of being grouped together with a less than likable personality that feeds his fear of group projects.
It happens way too often, and given his own history, Jeno dreads the company of difficult, hostile people.
The professor announces that he has already assigned the groups; he will call their names out and he expects them to find their group mates, sit with them and get well acquainted because for the coming seven weeks, they’ll be working together.
Jeno really wishes he could drop the course right this second, which he should, and might, but he loves photography, and the group project will only last half the semester, he should at least sit through the first class, right? Later, he can decide whether his hobby of taking pictures is worth potentially suffering in a group. He should also first meet whoever his group members are before deciding that it’s going to be a not so fun experience. Who knows, by some miracle it could be the opposite.
He needs to stop self-sabotaging.
With that in mind, he sits patiently, his cold hands pressed between his thighs and eyes zoomed in on the right horn protruding from his professor’s forehead, anticipating the call of his name.
The other students, as they hear their names, begin seeking out their own group mates. The shuffling, and again, pathetic attempts at whispering causing a ruckus that provokes their instructor to strain his vocal chords and speak even louder than before.
With his voice bouncing off the walls, the next name he yells out coincidentally happens to be Jeno’s. Despite sitting with his ears and mind expecting the familiar sound of his name, he still flinches at the call, knees hitting the underside of his desk and back pulling straight from its initial slouch.
“Lee Jeno” the professor repeats, looking over the paper held between his claws, a pair of beady eyes searching.
It takes a moment for Jeno to realize the man wants to know who and where he is, and once his brain processes this, he’s quick to jerk his hand up and then bring it down a bit, holding it next to his shoulder.
He’s given a small smile and nod with the acknowledgement; his hand falling in his lap, the other finding it immediately to begin their nervous fidgeting.
“Lee Mark, and Na Jaemin, you three will form a group.”
The professor continues with his task but Jeno is left staring holes into his head or just staring into space, he’s unable to differentiate. The nerves previously simmering on the surface now seem to boil over, spilling past the edge. His heart hammers against the walls of his ribcage so loudly he can hear the thundering beats in his ears, dominating any other sound forcing its way through.
Only when an unfamiliar weight settles itself over his left shoulder does he jolt back into his surroundings, blinking away the mist in his eyes to see a friendly face smiling down at him. It’s accompanied by a voice as warm as the hand still clutching at his shoulder, testing out the syllables of his name.
Jeno blinks just a few more times, shaking his head the slightest bit at being so easily swayed and controlled by his anxiety, crap .
“Lee Jeno, right?” He’s asked by the kind, handsome face. The man slips his hand off of his shoulder, and Jeno tries to mirror the smile offered to him, nodding, still a bit shaken up to speak.
“Cool, I’m Mark Lee, mind if I grab a seat beside you, we’re in the same group.” The man, Mark adds, still smiling, probably unsure whether or not Jeno has heard the names of his fellow group members.
He nods again though, internally berating himself for coming off as slow or dumb from the get go. Whichever one Mark may be thinking.
He’s generously given another dazzling smile, one wider than the first, and the man shuffles into the gap between his chair and the desk behind him and from there into the seat to Jeno’s left.
Jeno lets the man settle in, in the meantime fiddling with the keychain hooked onto his pencil case –a small wolf plushie with the initials JS printed over it (a gift from his best friend). His skin itches- prickles uncomfortably and there, in the general direction of his chest, deep inside, a continuous pinch tugs at him.
He cannot fight the restlessness moving through him in harsh waves and fidgets yet again just as a presence drops itself, heavy and unapologetically harsh, into the empty seat on his right. A notebook is carelessly thrown onto the desk in front of them, a single pencil landing on top shortly after.
Na Jaemin .
Jeno does not need an introduction from this individual, he already knows who the man is, hell , the entire student body knows who Na Jaemin is.
The man is similar to Jeno, one of pure descent, a consistency in his lineage that many supernaturals lack. The only difference is where he himself is a pure human, Na Jaemin is much superior to his lowly Homo sapien self; the man is a pure-blooded vampire .
Belonging to a bloodline of vampires that has not been contaminated by other species, makes this specific student somewhat of a campus celebrity.
Jeno knows Na Jaemin; knows only as much as everyone else does.
The man wears skin the color of light sand, his inky black eyes much darker and sharper in contrast –and thin lips, always turned downwards, probably never felt a smile, only an unimpressed smirk at best.
He has thick, silver-blond hair that often hangs over his forehead and on some occasions is styled off to the side. Jeno has seen the man in passing enough times to know.
Na Jaemin is undeniably attractive, and aside from his obviously clean genepool, his physical characteristics also bring in the large numbers of his devoted fanbase.
Another trait that contributes to Na Jaemin’s popularity is the mark at the base of his throat –in the center, right above his collarbones –the mark of his soulmate.
The mark of a human .
The world Jeno lives in is not that simple. They have humans, they have those that are not humans, they also have those that are in between.
They also have mother nature playing cupid, matchmaking beings that more than often not, work out beautifully. Other times not so much. His own best friend Jisung, who had found his mate earlier on in life, mutually decided to stay as friends.
There aren’t any repercussions if soulmates decide not to dedicate themselves to one another. However, if they do, it is a beautiful, fulfilling reunion. Many soulmate couples have described it as a feeling incomparable to anything else life has to offer. It is something unique to each individual couple, something so special that it only exists for them.
Some people choose not to have that, and that too is okay.
No one suffers. Most of the time.
In Jeno’s world, these marks are not personal, they are not for hiding. Instead, they are expected to be worn with pride, to be shown off. But of course as in any other case, there are exceptions to this as well.
Soulmate marks are impersonal to some extent; people ask about them all the time as if talking about the weather or asking for your name. If the skin on your neck is unmarked, then there are questions of why when the answer is obvious, that they simply have not found their mate yet .
To Jeno it is bothersome, but not something he allows his mind to obsess over. He opts to ignore this crucial part of the world he lives in, as much as possible. Which is an extreme sport in itself when ninety percent of the people Jeno crosses paths with unabashedly have their soulmate marks on display.
People whisper about Na Jaemin, sometimes in wonder and appreciation, other times with pity. That someone of such affluence and prestige has a lowly human for a mate. He wears such a weak mark without an ounce of care, how admirable of him! He must really love his soulmate, they’re so lucky!
They are of course curious about who Na Jaemin’s human is. Curious as to why they’ve never seen them, because in order for a soulmate mark to appear on the skin, the person has to have met their mate.
The black ink only surfaces once both parties come face to face for the very first time. It happens the second they meet eyes with one another.
The mark that represents a human, the mark upon Na Jaemin’s skin, looks like a single droplet in the midst of dripping. Similar to a drop of blood oozing out of an incision and trickling down in a straight line.
Which means that whoever Na Jaemin’s mate is, they carry the mark of a vampire; two black incisions that are meant to mimic a vampire’s bite, at the base of their throat –in the center, right above their collarbones.
No matter how high of a pedestal Na Jaemin was put upon by the entire student body, Jeno struggles to view the royal vampire in the same light.
To Jeno, the man is scary. Maybe intimidating is the word he’s looking for, but it’s not enough. Too less to describe what he feels.
Despite acknowledging the charming aspects that have people smitten with Na Jaemin, Jeno cannot help but see things about Na Jaemin that produce an opposite sentiment in him towards the man.
The self-assured walk the vampire possesses, the arrogant lift to his chin, the displeased furrow between his brows, and the cold behavior he subjects others to. The man makes it known through his disposition that he believes he is above everyone else.
It’s not attractive whatsoever in Jeno’s eyes. It is Repulsive.
This reminder only has him moving on autopilot when he scoots his chair the slightest bit closer to his partner on the left. On second thought, remembering that he is most definitely acting as a barrier between the two men, he slides his chair back enough so his group mates have a view of one another.
It earns him another smile from Mark Lee.
The man really loves to smile, he thinks, it feels real too, not just done to uphold some sort of friendly facade.
Out of curiosity, or some sort of magnetic pull, Jeno casts a glance to his right just for a second, his mind instantly registering the all black ensemble and frigid stare he looks directly into. It’s like a current travels down his spine, quicker than he can fathom, but present enough to leave his heart shaken and lungs gasping for air. It’s more than enough for him to quickly pull his eyes away and glue them to his fists curling over his knees.
The pinching in his chest grows tenfold; a subtle shiver thrumming through him as an aftershock.
It would probably be more favorable for Jeno to keep his focus to his left.
As if reading Jeno’s mind, or probably the stiff line of his shoulders and discomfort on his expressive face, Mark Lee breaks the silence.
“So I guess I’ll start, I’m Mark Lee, you guys can call me Mark or hyung, or both I don’t mind” he laughs kindly, continuing “fourth year, specializing in architectural engineering, nice to meet you guys.”
Jeno internally marvels at architectural engineering , he must be smart he thinks, smart and kind.
“Ah!” Mark attracts their attention again.
“I’m a werewolf, an Alpha. ” He puffs out with a prideful stance that dissolves into a laugh.
The act Mark puts on tugs Jeno’s lips into a genuine smile. Especially because the joke is clearly aimed towards him, since their other member clearly does not seem to be someone that would find another supernatural being’s high status impressive.
Mark reminds Jeno of his two best friends. They too are werewolves, both Alpha males, and the kindest, most wonderful beings he has ever had the pleasure of meeting and allowing into his life (the last bit Jeno can’t say whether it applies to his classmate or not).
Jeno’s smile may have delighted the elder more than it should have. Given him the impression that he is more than just a bundle of frenzied nerves, because the next moment finds Mark with his arm draped over Jeno’s chair, and his free hand holding an extended thumb and forefinger under his own chin, an eyebrow arching above a gaze settled entirely on Jeno.
“Ever been in the presence of a handsome Alpha Jeno-ssi?” Another theatrical display.
This one is so absurd and out of place Jeno finds the elder comedic, bringing out a quiet laugh from him that shows only in the width of his grin and shake of his shoulders.
Mark Lee is very friendly, overly friendly even, but only with him, so far at least. He understands this because even he can feel the intense brooding from his right side. It rattles Jeno a bit, the animosity radiating from his right while his left is warm and coaxing smiles out of him one after another.
It’s like being suspended between fire and ice.
As any sensible person would do, he focuses on the warmth, especially now that he feels a tiny bit familiar with Mark, even if it’s only because he’s a werewolf, an Alpha, is kind, and very obviously trying to make him feel comfortable.
Jeno appreciates it and allows himself to be just the slightest bit himself .
Despite his wariness of others, Jeno hesitates to label himself as antisocial. Over time, the boundary between being open or closed off has blurred. It's unclear whether his guarded demeanor is genuine or simply just an act. Scarred by past experiences that have eroded his once unabashed personality, Jeno has constructed a fragile façade that collapses easily under even the slightest hint of kindness.
While some may deem him gullible, when met with consideration and kindness, he sees no reason to retreat. For Jeno, denying kindness is more exhausting than fulfilling. Accepting kindness is simpler than rejecting it, and Jeno cautiously reaches out, hesitant but willing to receive.
“What if I said yes?” He teases.
Jeno feels a smidgen of pride at being able to voice the question without his voice shaking. He still wishes his volume would have been a little louder, more sure sounding, less cautious.
The affronted gasp that leaves Mark’s mouth, so over exaggerated, the man’s almond eyes resembling two large saucers, has an audible giggle passing through his own lips.
If the other man had not already introduced himself as an architectural engineer, Jeno would have assumed him to be a theater major.
“Jeno-yah, just where could you have possibly met an Alpha handsomer than me? I’ve met hundreds and they were all a five at best, in front of me, a solid ten!”
Jeno doesn’t miss how the older male drops the formalities; over-friendly indeed but Jeno doesn’t mind it, in fact he’s grateful that the man didn’t wait for him to do it. Maybe he already knew Jeno would not be the one to initiate any sort of informality.
“My two best friends -one of them is my cousin actually” Jeno begins “they’re both Alphas, and I would say they’re pretty high up on the handsome scale, in fact -they’re both a twelve .” Jeno shows him a grin that most definitely lifts his eyes into tiny crescents, a light flutter he recognizes as love tickling his tummy at the thought of his best friends.
Jeno expects the noise of mock offense that leaves the man he’s turned towards.
“I’m pretty sure you’re just being biased Jeno-yah, I’m like a fifteen, twenty on a good day.”
“But you just said you were a ten?” with a tilt of his head, he asks, rebuttals coming with more ease now.
The smile slips off of Mark Lee’s face, and his eyes narrow –calculating, another performance of his, head nodding slowly as if drawing some conclusion.
“You’re a cheeky brat aren’t you? They do say it’s the innocent looking ones you have to look out for.” Mark shakes his head, feigning despair.
Jeno does not feel the slightest bit bad. He only shrugs his shoulders in response, a mischievous quirk to the corner of his mouth, pondering over what to retort with. Should he say something about being labeled a cheeky brat or should he question what made the older see him as innocent.
However, before he even gets the chance to choose, much less open his mouth, someone else cuts into their friendly exchange.
“Are introductions over?”
The abrupt change in voice and tone both filter into Jeno’s ears. A low drawl from his right, increasing the same incessant twitch in his chest that he had successfully ignored through conversation with Mark.
Jeno is not entirely sure what has the surface of his skin breaking out into goosebumps. Was it the raw texture of Na Jaemin’s voice, or the blatant annoyance and dislike packed into his words? Not only does an eerie chill settle into his bones, it also freezes the warmth once present in the air around them.
Before Mark responds, he very characteristically himself, meets eyes with Jeno, an amused frown passed onto him with a comedic raise of his brows –as if asking him what their group member’s deal was.
“We’re terribly sorry, please do introduce us to yourself Na Jaemin-ssi.” The sentence is spoken with an ease Jeno is learning that is completely Mark Lee , not allowing a home to the awkwardness Jeno was anticipating. It aids in soothing his own nerves.
Out of common courtesy, Jeno turns his head towards the male on his right, the one who he had in one way or another, been showing his back to –not consciously though. Probably the result of a subconscious defense mechanism.
Fortunately for Jeno, Na Jaemin is faced towards the white-boards in front of them and staring at something only the man himself knows. The lack of his burdening stare allows Jeno to assess the man a bit more closely. The jut of his sharp jaw, the shadows contouring his face under the black baseball cap.
Just looking at the man makes a ball of anxiety rise in Jeno, and it’s not surprising to him in the least, he knows it stems from Na Jaemin’s own actions. Take just now for an example, he could have halted Jeno’s conversation with Mark in a more civil manner, not in whatever passive aggressive way he chose to.
Jeno watches Na Jaemin’s jaw clench before he opens his mouth, leaning back into his chair, still not deeming him or Mark worthy of his attention, which Jeno is still utterly grateful for.
“Na Jaemin, second year, accounting major” he pauses, turns his head to focus directly past Jeno at Mark, and states “pure blooded vampire.”
Even though Jeno is spared from being at the receiving end of that lethal glare, his stomach still feels like a weight more than he can bear has been mercilessly dropped into it. A newfound restlessness gathers within him as an almost tangible tension brews right before him. He gulps, not realizing just how much saliva had built up behind his pursed lips.
But for all the turmoil Jeno feels, afraid of what will happen next, a brawl between an Alpha werewolf and a vampire of high eminence could escalate into thick pools of blood, yet Mark only blinks in return and says
“wow.” Loud and lacking the enthusiasm the word usually carries.
If Jeno had not been feeling as unsettled as he indeed was, he would have found the mind to laugh at the indifferent response.
Na Jaemin clearly is not fond of the reply because his previous animosity seems to go up a notch, visible in the deep furrow between his brows and the glare he shamelessly directs at Mark. He stays like that for a few seconds, a few seconds in which Jeno cannot help himself from staring at the man.
Surely he knew that the vampire was somewhat of an entitled ass, but he was not aware of the extent it reached.
He feels disheartened by the man’s presumptuous act, sick, and borderline disgusted. A pile of disappointment growing into a small hill in the deep recesses of his mind. The intensity of these emotions only increase when Na Jaemin shifts those unkind eyes onto him.
It throws him off, and the only thing he can immediately do in return is stubbornly try to match the other man’s stare with his own, his mild irritation fueling the reaction.
When a few seconds pass and Jeno’s eyes are still held captive within Na Jaemin’s gaze, he forces himself out of the compelling urge to stay in place by blinking rapidly and pressing his eyes closed for a short moment –mentally urging his breath to flow in and out of his lungs at a steadier pace.
“Your turn Jeno-yah.” Mark calls for him, offering him a reassuring smile, nodding at him as if placating him. The hand still holding onto the back of his chair, lifts briefly, patting his back, encouraging him.
Jeno nods in the general direction of the werewolf, his eyes lowered onto the anxious fists reluctant to loosen their grip over the hem of his hoodie.
With an unwillingness that is apparent in his slow –hesitant movements; he rearranges himself in his seat so his body faces forward, not leaning too much towards Mark despite his words being directed towards the Alpha. Jeno doesn’t see any point in exchanging pleasantries with their vampire group mate.
With an inhale that fills more air than his lungs can hold, creating a new means of discomfort in his chest, Jeno allows his voice to break the tense silence that seems to surround the trio.
“As you already know, I’m Lee Jeno, I’m in my second year as a history major” he breathes out, casting half a glance to his right “just--um I’m just a human.”
There’s a sharp tug at his chest once the words are spoken -one which he habitually ignores, but it is the truth. He is only a completely normal –boring human , nothing special or interesting unlike his two groupmates.
Probably sensing Jeno’s dejection, Mark is quick to steer the conversation into a new direction. However, once the question is out, Jeno wishes it had been something else, anything other than a question about soulmates .
“Guess we’re the only ones without a soulmate; haven’t found the one yet Jeno-yah?” Mark asks with a nod of his head to the unmarked skin of his neck.
The question rings in his ears, loud and deafening like a siren, stirring an ounce of panic in him. His hand without much thought raises to touch between his collarbones –only to hover over the bone for a second before dropping back into his lap.
It is the unsure expression on Mark’s handsome face, a little bit of regret, maybe for asking about a soulmate, and the pity seeping into it, that grounds Jeno enough to stop the trembling in his lips and the hopeless slouch in his shoulders.
With a renewed smile, shoulders squared, and a tight twist to the cap of the bottle he collects his sorrows in, Jeno shakes his head, the black strands of his hair swaying with the movement.
“Nope, not yet.” His answer is short, his voice light, and thankfully it’s enough to replace Mark’s guilt twisted features with an understanding smile.
If Jeno still undergoes the discomfort of having his heart squeezed, he pays it no mind. For now convincing himself to forget he has the ability to feel. He can deal with the damage later on, in his own time.
His pain is his burden alone, concealed from the world. However, it would be incorrect to say that no one knows the extent of his suffering. Of course, his two best friends know what Jeno has shared with them, what they have seen for themselves. However, there is one other person that is witness to the torment he has endured and endures on a daily basis. A torment that has stretched across an indefinite, immeasurable span of time.
Nex to him, on his right, Na Jaemin shifts in his seat, pulling his notebook onto his lap, grabbing his pencil, and flipping through the pages, ignoring them even more.
Why would he even join their conversation? The man already has a soulmate. How nice it must feel to wear the mark of your soulmate and be praised for it, for not being questioned about their whereabouts if they’re never seen by your side. Jeno thinks Na Jaemin would know.
A bitter taste spreads over his tongue.
“Well I think” Mark’s voice snaps him out of his mind again, demanding his attention “your soulmate will most likely be a werewolf.” The man states with a confidence Jeno wishes he himself possessed.
He doesn't bother voicing out his question of how the older established what his soulmate would be, he only tilts his head to the side, a curious frown expressing his wish to know more.
Mark rolls his eyes, the answer being obvious according to him.
“You said you have two best friends, both werewolves, both alphas; now you have another friend, myself , and I too am a werewolf and an alpha, it’s like a sign Jeno-yah , with all these alphas surrounding you, you should expect a strong alpha to sweep you off your feet in the future.” He pulls his lips into a cheeky grin and sends him a wink that actually produces a real smile on his face.
Jeno looks away from the wolf, cheeks warm and smiling. His hands untangle from the material they have caused stubborn wrinkles in.
“Yeah I guess, I sure do hope so.” He mumbles, accompanied by a dull throb somewhere in his chest that only he feels.
The chair to his right lets out a high screech as it’s moved backwards, pulling both his and Mark’s attention. They raise their heads at Na Jaemin standing, notebook held within a tight fist, olive-colored veins protruding over the back of his hand and disappearing under the beginnings of his sleeve. He doesn’t grant them a glance, offers them only a view of his side-profile. The bones under the skin of his jaw constrict and Jeno watches the beige skin pull taught.
“I’m leaving first.” Na Jaemin grits out, as if speaking through his teeth, low and awfully rough.
He doesn’t wait for a response, and leaves as quickly as he had spoken, only a ghost of his forbidding presence remaining.
Jeno turns away, a shuddering breath stuttering past his lips that has his head and entire body for that matter, feeling much lighter –floaty even.
“What’s his issue?” Mark asks, though he knows an answer is not expected from him.
Jeno only shrugs in response and begins to gather his things, hastily shoving them into his bag, their professor letting them go early since it’s their first class.
Before they part ways, Mark exchanges numbers with him, protesting loudly in mock offense when he glances at the very formal Mark Lee Sunbae Jeno saves him under. The man only grants him permission to leave once he changes it to a very less reserved Mark Hyung , even making him verbally say the name five times much to Jeno’s embarrassment to ensure that all formalities have died between them.
The walk back to his tiny studio apartment is something Jeno is thankful for tonight, as opposed to other days when all he wants is his bed within his reach.
Jeno eagerly welcomes the slight chill present in the air. The cooling breeze caresses his face in tiny intervals, allowing him to focus more on the calm, silent night around him, instead of the ear-splitting cries coming from within him, demanding to be heard.
When Jeno thinks it’s probably one of those days where he inevitably loses to himself, despite his efforts not to, he hears the familiar chime of a notification coming in from his bag. His phone is in his hands only after a bit of struggling with the zipper and searching for the device inside his bag.
The name displayed on the screen brings an immediate smile to his lips, a reflex more than anything.
Jisungie
How was the class?!!?!?!
Take any pictures???????lolol
You:
That was lame
And nope
………..
His thumbs hover over the open keypad as his teeth gnaw at the flesh of his lips, debating if he should ask for some company tonight. Jeno knows very well that all he has to do is speak the words, and his best friend -both of them in fact, would be more than eager to offer him a hand to hold or a warm embrace. But asking is always difficult. Jeno doesn’t want to appear weak. However, denying himself comfort from his favorite people is the last thing he wants to do today. He’ll take a blow to his pride this once (just like he has many times before).
You:
Are you available for cuddles?
Jisungie:
Of course, always
But u okay hyung?
He can almost hear Jisung’s voice overflowing with worry, and he shakes his head, a fondness he only ever keeps for his best friends warming him.
You:
Tbh I don’t
feel that great
Jisungie:
I’m on my awy
way***
What happened though??
You:
Jaemin
“I wonder how much makeup it takes to cover up a mate’s mark, but you would know that, wouldn’t you Jeno?”
The familiar drawl –a low rasp, reaches his ears from a few feet in front of him. Jeno stills. The only thing that moves is his head to whip up at the voice’s sudden entry, his large eyes wide as he observes the newcomer.
Na Jaemin stands before him, a small distance apart and still in his all black ensemble. His cap isn’t as low on his face anymore, maybe to ensure that Jeno receives the entirety of his glare without any hindrance.
Jeno does not know what to do, his fingers clench around his phone, even as it notifies him of another message, but Jeno cannot look away from the man before him.
Why is he here?
All the discomfort, the disappointment, the hopelessness –the sour taste of defeat, everything rushes over him within a second of being in the vampire’s presence.
His chest rises and falls with the quickening of his heartbeat, while his throat feels like it's closing up, stealing from him the ability to breathe soundly.
What does Jaemin want from him, why is he here? His mind begins to raise questions.
“ Why do you cover it up?” Jaemin speaks again, and it is the accusation in his tone that has Jeno’s dejection dissolving into bitter disbelief.
He cannot believe the entitlement Jaemin possesses. What gives him the right to sound like he is the one who has been wronged? Jeno tries to search the other’s eyes for something, that this was just a sick joke, something – anything !
But they stand with a distance of miles between them.
Even if he did find something tangible -something to latch onto that would explain why Jaemin thinks he can stand here and question Jeno, he wouldn’t know what it is or what it signifies. because Jeno doesn’t know Jaemin like that. He can’t look at the man and instantly know what he wants, or what he feels.
They don’t know each other like that. Never have, and never will.
“People ask questions” Jeno utters –channeling some of that disbelief to strengthen his resolve, not shying away from the obsidian gaze.
He continues, a bit louder this time.
“and I don’t want to tell them my soulmate rejected me.” ignored my very existence , Jeno thinks to himself.
The sting that accompanies these words, along with a handful of memories he hates remembering but cannot ever forget, is not new. The only thing that is new is the way the man in front of him looks away for a moment, the same clench of his jaw and a tongue poking out to run over chapped lips.
Jeno does not move his eyes away, waits until the vampire turns back to him, the pale face set in stone.
“When that dog asked you-” Jeno catches a flash of crimson –so quick it probably was his mind playing tricks on him, this entire scenario seems as much, like it’s a fever dream and Jeno is unwillingly lucid “— why did you say you have no mate, why did you lie ?”
Having to hear these words from Jaemin , in his voice, packed with a dangerous calm that does a good job of concealing what his words don’t. Jeno cannot control the moisture filling his eyes. His exasperation and distress finally rise to the surface; however he refuses to let the tears spill.
At least not in front of Jaemin. He won’t let the other man have the satisfaction of knowing that he still has the ability to impact Jeno.
He may be weak, sometimes he thinks he isn’t, but Jeno has suffered a lot at the hands of the man before him. And it is that suffering that is keeping him there, head held high –gaze aligned with the very reason he covers the mark on his neck.
The very reason he knows pain like one would a lover.
The very reason he does not have a soulmate by his side .
“I don’t want people to pity me when I tell them my mate doesn’t want me.” He says truthfully, calmly even.
Only his eyes betray him. They have blurred under the tears and he cannot see Jaemin clearly anymore.
“You could just say they live somewhere else, who’s telling you to be so honest?” Jaemin bites back without a second spared.
Jeno really cannot believe this man, how dare he? What right does he think he has?!
He clenches his jaw, his teeth grinding so hard Jeno is afraid they’ll break under the pressure.
“The lies I speak, Jaemin , are mine to choose, quite frankly I don’t know who you think you are to come here and demand anything from me.”
A hush falls over them for a moment, in which Jeno’s eyes burn with unshed tears, and his lips have finally begun to tremble; the dam waiting to break open.
Jaemin has become nothing but a blur of black outlined by the glow of yellow light coming from a nearby lamppost.
“I don’t want my mark on you hidden Jeno.” He says, not even the tiniest shift audible in his constant indifference.
It is not fair, not fair the shameless way he insists this of Jeno. As if Jaemin isn’t a thief with blood on his hands, landing demands on the very person he has stolen from, who he has once killed without an ounce of remorse.
It sickens him, then again, what did he expect?
He feels the familiar lifelessness that accompanies defeat. It seeps into his pores and settles into every hollow corner of him. There are many.
Jeno’s parting words come out quiet in the deafening silence surrounding them, a mumble of words he knows will reach his soulmate.
“We don’t always get what we want Jaemin, I would know that more than anyone.”
The first tear escapes and so does Jeno, rushing past the unmoving man standing in his path.
Jeno stuffs his phone into the pocket of his jeans with one hand, clasping his mouth tightly with the other so the noise of his harrowing sobs do not reach Jaemin’s ears.
Now his tears fall freely, like great splashing clouds of rain.
Jeno wishes he could feel nothing.
Suddenly, the night has gotten colder.