Masterlist time 😺 I’m Star ⭐️ & I hope you enjoy my works and um yeah… *blows 10 million kisses and shuffles away awkwardly*
I’m into a lot of groups, but I write bgs NCT, Enhypen, and &Team so far.
About me: 20s. Artsy POC girly. Swag4life + yearning heart = me. I hope my work can provoke some emotion for ya! Or even a small laugh~
Rules: Don’t be rude. I don’t tolerate that irl, so I definitely won’t tolerate that here 🙂↕️ I’m down for spicy antics, but I don’t currently write full on smut. My inbox/ asks = always open. Don’t spam like pls. Let's have fun together!
In a different universe where everything is beautiful and intense
Masterlist below the cut :3
[last updated: Jan. 18, 2026]
✪ : Most popular | ✿ : Underdog spotlight
Enhypen
A Difficult Friendship 3.1k - Heeseung
Your and Heeseung's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them.
An Easy Beginning 10k | Part 2 11k - Heeseung ✿
On your one night out every 6 months, you meet a charismatic musician who sneaks his way into your heart under the guise of a business relationship. The problem is, you already have a boyfriend. Note: This is the prologue for 'A Difficult Friendship'
Two Idiots & a Video Call 2.1k - Jake
You and Jake plan a trip to visit his family in Australia. While he leaves on Wednesday, you're stuck at home until Friday. Fortunately, you're only one call away.
Yes or No 3.1k - Jake
Haechan can find you in any crowd at any party, but he can't cope with the idea of you leaving him behind.
Maybe. (Part 2 of 'Yes or No') 3.6k - Jake
Find him if you change your mind, he said. Maybe you should've just gone home.
Tasteless 17k Part 2 21k - Jake ✪
After over a century of meaninglessness, Jake just wants a normal life. Then you come along, setting his normalcy on fire. (Daywalking Vampire au)
&Team
Landro Boy Series 3 parts | 21k total - Nicholas ✪
It was a neighborhood legend that Wang’s Washers was secretly conducting illegal business to keep the lights on. You never actually expected them to sell drugs. You also didn't expect the guy responsible for all of this to be so hot... Summer's full of suprises.
NCT
A Difficult Friendship 3.1k - Mark
Your and Mark's friendship has always revolved around ignorance and self-control. Meaning, you both ignore your feelings and control the urge to act on them.
Yes or No Series 3 parts | 12.5k - Haechan ✪
Haechan can find you in any crowd at any party, but he can't cope with the idea of you leaving him behind. That won't stop you from seeing the world beyond his shitty apartment. Are feelings enough to hold the two of you together?
I haven’t commented on Heeseung’s departure from Enhypen, but I have been keeping up with it and besides the sheer devastation, I realized something:
Some of y’all will just accept whatever the fuck is being told or done to you. For a time where so much calls for change and reform, some of y’all ask zero questions.
While I don’t agree with every tactic, I’m proud that engenes are standing for something they believed in, more importantly, something they believe to be unjust. The ‘respect’ some people speak of is really obedience. Our money and time directly feed the pockets of these people, they are not owed our unwavering compliance, we are owed their consideration. All and all, the situation really feels like a bad dream. The suddenness, the disorganization, all of it. He was my original bias and the reason I got into the group 5-ish years ago. My heart breaks profoundly for the boys as they navigate this uncertainty.
Think of it like this: The company offered fans a pill. Some took it, some refused, and others said “if you want me to take this, you at least have to give me a glass of water.” I think we all at least deserve a nice, tall glass of undiluted explanation.
“He wants to…” “He doesn’t want to…” All of it is speculation. Even the people who are preaching against parasocial delusion are being oddly parasocial through their self righteous certainty. This isn’t about someone’s opinions, it’s about doing things the right way. Belift failed to do things the right way; this is the consequence.
synopsis :: you decide to get a new tattoo and who better to ask than your amazing boyfriend!
tags :: fluffy n short, suggestive, foul language, biting, potentially bad use of mandarin (I tried I swear), daddy mentioned (umm I can explain—), soft nicho!, tattoos, established relationship.
A/N: first andteam fic gulp...everyone act natural! Apologies if the mandarin wasn't perfect or more common in mainland china 💔 i promise ik nicho is taiwanese but a girl can only do so much with what she is given 💔 (omw to find a taiwanese hottie to add to my roster to ask for language exchange #forscience.)
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Sketching down on your notebook you let out a final sigh of frustration.
This design looks like shit.
Crumbling the paper and throwing it on your bedroom floor along with the rest failed attempts you plop face down on the sheets, utterly defeated by your lack of motivation until a light bulb blares on your head.
Nicholas.
──────────────────────
Granted, you could draw, decently at that too but your boyfriend's hands were blessed by some divine art god.
You also weren't a licensed professional who can stick needles in anyone let alone yourself.
Planning your next tattoo was always the most excruciating process because you were just too indecisive which is funny given how many unironic tattoos you have.
you grab your phone,
you: WANG YIXIANG.
5 minutes later you finally get a reply.
nicho-neko 🤍: full government name..
nicho-neko 🤍: whatever I did I'm sorry pls don't kill me
You stifle a laugh at his reaction before your phone started ringing.
"Baby are you trying to give me a heart attack before 30?" He sighed.
"You're not that far from 30 anyway."
He let out another overdrawn sigh, "come open the door, angel."
"What?" You let out surprised.
He cuts the call before you can question him further.
Opening the door you are met with the sight of Nicholas in his usual comfortable attire adored with silver jewelry, so effortlessly sexy it was unfair.
"Fancy seeing you here." You tease, arms crossed.
He chuckles, unfazed by your "nonchalant" attitude.
His arm snakes around your hips pulling you tight into his embrace.
Letting out a squeal of surprise at his sudden sharp movements you are caught off guard.
"A LITTLE WARNING WOULD BE APPRECIATED YA KNOW." Your voice muffled by his warm hoodie.
His lips graze your neck and ears slowly biting.
"Nicho!" You hiss at his teasing.
"Now tell me, what's troubling my pretty angel?" He whispered gently like it was a secret between just you two.
You slowly lead him to your bedroom but before you open the door you warn, "don't laugh please."
"no promises." He smiled already expecting the sight that greets him, unmade sheets ruined from tossing and turning, pens scattered, and paper sketches thrown everywhere.
A true chaos that only an artist can understand.
Nicholas let out a soft laugh, not in mocking, more in like "been there" way.
Still, you pout, your body slumping dramatically on your bed like a dying Victorian queen.
"This is the end, I lost my spark."
Nicholas carefully picks up a random paper, eyes scanning the sketch with surprise.
It was already perfect so he didn't understand why you were so harsh on yourself.
"Angel, this is literally perfect are you joking."
You sat up, ears turning red at his praise which wasn't totally lost on him how much you loved it when he praised you.
He carefully helped you tidy up the mess you created in a span of 4 hours.
He sat next to you, knee to knee.
"Here, we can revise it together, what do you need it for anyway?"
"A new tattoo, obviously!" You roll your eyes.
He laughs, "of course, got a placement in mind?" He raised his eyebrow.
You nod pointing right under your cleavage.
You watch his eyes turn dark, less than innocent scenarios clouding his mind.
You click your finger in front of him, "hellooo?? Earth to creep." You playfully call out.
"I'm not a creep?!" He acts offended, hand on his chest all scandalized.
"Sureee buddy! Anyways, thank you for helping babe." You give him a sweet peck on the lips. Excited to get it done already.
──────────────────────
A week later you finally got had your appointment, his schedule finally freed up enough to get you a spot in his shop.
Your excitement seemed to fade into anxiety.
You weren't sure why you were so nervous right now, almost as if you were getting your first tattoo all over again and it wasn't like this was the first time you had your boyfriend ink you either.
"Sit." He instructed, "—still." Prefacing with a soft smile noting how nervous you were and failing to hide it.
"I am still!" You counter.
"Hmm."
To prove your point you hold your breath to be more still.
"Christ, you can breathe, y/n, don't go passing out on me now." He laughed in disbelief at your pettiness, secretly he adored it.
Finally exhaling you flop back on the black leather chair.
"It won't hurt…too much, that is if you stop squirming." He gently reassured.
One hand gloved and the other holding the machine, after prepping everything he made his way to you.
"You comfortable?" He asked waiting for your answer.
"A little." You whispered suddenly not trusting your voice when he is effectively looming over your figure.
"I'll be gentle, promise." He kissed the crown of your head.
Your nerves calmed down a little, you simply nod seeing him get to work after he applied the stencil and checked for any mistakes. Once pleased with his work he starts.
A few minutes later your brain sparks with another idea, you smirk internally.
"Lăogōng, qīngqīng." [husband, softly] You cutely tell him, seeing how focused he was you couldn't help but want to tease him.
Mischief evident in your eyes as you looked at him with a faux pout and glazed eyes.
His hands carefully stopped working when he heard those words leave your lips. Head lifting to look at you like you grew two of your own.
"Qīngqīng?" He laughed in question.
"Tòng." [hurts] Your pout getting more and more exaggerated as you nod.
Catching onto your antics he decided to entertain you.
"Zěnme la, kělián de băobèi?" [what's wrong, poor baby?] His hand grab your chin, sharp eyes almost claiming your soul, "gào sù bà bà xiăng yào shén me." [tell daddy what u want] he whispered sinfully.
when he realize you were backing down his grip tightens as he leaned closer, close enough to where you were able to smell the gum he was chewing on not long ago.
You lightly slap his shoulder, "gè biàn tài" [pervert] you scold, face hot.
Nicholas only laughs at your embarrassed face, eyes wide, flush creeping all the way down to your neck and ears.
"Tài kẻ ài." [so cute] He stole a kiss catching you more off guard.
You pretend to hate it and frown.
"hoe…" you hadn't realized you spoke out loud until you felt a smack! on your exposed thigh.
You gasp at his audacity.
"Behave, we're almost done anyway." He warned hiding his amused smile.
"Lăo—" He gave you another spank on the other thigh this time.
"You're actually insane." He shook his head laughing turning around to grab and turn on the ink machine again to resume his work.
"And you're turned onnn, gè biàn tài."
"Y/n, I'm serious." He put on his best stern face which was hard (pun not intended) given how soft you looked laid out on his chair, hair splayed out and lips red from being bitten over and over again.
"Bà bà, wo yào zuò ài." [daddy, I want to make love] you grab his collar, giving him your best bambi eyes, truly testing his unlimited patience that was somehow running out by the second.
The sigh that left was his lips was felt by at least 10 generations.
You giggle, loving how easy it was to get him flustered.
"You're banned from learning any more." He scolded with his cheeks red making it harder for you to take him seriously.
"Hăo de hăo de." [okay okay] you hum, lying still so he could finish his magnum opus.
45 minutes later after comfortable silence settled between you two as his gaze remained focused on the details, he finally finished, proud smile on his lips.
"Did so well, hěn wèi nǐ jiāo'ào bǎobèi." [I'm so proud of you, baby] He placed kisses down your stomach, making his way up towards your chest and neck, lips worshiping your body like a temple.
"Nicho." You gasp, not meaning for it to sound more like a moan when he placed a mark right on top of your heart.
The intimate act leaving your heart pounding louder against your ribcage.
"Hmmm." His hands held your hips, possessive and purposeful with every touch they make.
He carefully pulled away to clean up the ink then apply antibiotic ointment to reduce the irritation or any infections.
You get up checking the tattoo on the big mirror, skin still a little red underneath but you were pleased.
"What do you think?" He asked standing behind you, arms wrapping around you and sneakily groping your chest.
"Perfect." You place your hands on top of his, turning your head enough to capture his lips in a slow and sensual kiss filled with tongue and desire.
"You. Are. Perfect." He sighed between each breath, big and warm hand moved up holding your nape now.
Safe to say the tattoo wasn't the only thing red and wet.
I’m amazed by the construction of the Tasteless universe, everything is so well written. I loved the emotional depth and the attention to detail each character has (especially Jake — obviously — with all the care, concern, and even the moments when he was hard to deal with). I would definitely love to see more of this universe explored someday with the other characters.
THANK YOU, THIS IS SO KIND ASDFGH@#$%
I love love love this universe, so I am definitely open to exploring it more in the future. I really wanted them all to have dimension to keep it interesting for me as a writer. Spoilers below
Like imagine seeing a glimpse of the boys and Ni-ki at the nightclub he used to work at. Or the nursing home. OR like figuring out what made Heeseung an asshat toward humans lol. OMG wait-- seeing how Jungwon & Heeseung's night (when Jungwon left the housewarming to go to Karaoke) went in part one... ok I'm gonna shut up before I bite off more than I can chew but yeah you get the point 😌
I really enjoyed Tasteless so I was super excited when I saw that part 2 was out. I liked both parts so much that I will definitely be re-reading them soon.☺️
The timing of part 2 is actually so good because I feel like it matches the fugitive theme of Enhypen’s new album really well. Some of the songs even remind me of this story when I hear them. Idk if that was on purpose, but either way I thought it was great.
Amazing job and tysm for the great story.❤️❤️
Re-read?! 🥹 The idea of my story being re-read quality is like mindblowing, thank you!
I didn't even realize with the matching fugitive theme at first, but I think it's a realllly happy coincidence lol. When I was looking at the Stealer teaser tho, I was like, yes, absolutely, I need to have Enhypen running through someone's town causing havoc immediately. I'm so happy you enjoyed!!!
Small Town Vampire au ft. lots of angst, jealousy, fluff, strong suggestive content, & splashes of humor | Total Wc: 38k | Check each part for more specific guidelines!
Synopsis: After over a century of meaninglessness, Jake just wants a normal life. A nice house and a stable job, that's all. Then you come along, setting his normalcy on fire. Can a vampire truly savor something as fragile as human connection? Is it even worth savoring? A love worth killing for meets a love worth dying for.
Status: Complete!
Part One: Riverfield
Moodboard One
Part Two: The House
Moodboard Two
Guest Starring: Jungwon (Enhypen), Heeseung (Enhypen), Ni-ki (Enhypen), Taesan (Boynextdoor), Taehyun (TXT), minor mention of Sungho + Leehan (Boynextdoor), and some instrumental OCs
A/N: I might explore some shorter works between this pair or the other enha members in the universe x reader (shout out the person who suggested this!), so for now, this masterlist will remain a living document~~ Pls give part 2 lots of lovies!
Synopsis: Jake's been one of the most powerful beings in the world for centuries. He's not looking for excitement anymore. He just wants a simple life. And he's finally found it in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Then you walk in, setting his normalcy on fire.
Themes: Small town au, aged up (mid-late 20s), slight soulmates/ reincarnation au, angst!, fluff, Vamp Enha, blood + gore/ violence!, reader's menstruation, suggestive content, obsession, dub con!/ assault (brief + not Jake!), drinking/ alcohol!, house party, worklife, hurt/ comfort, death, lots of jealousy, general dark themes & moral grey-ness
A/N: I can't believe I made it longer lmao?? Anyway, I'm extremely proud of this, and I hope you guys enjoy! Sending love & hugs since it's kinda dark. Read warnings^^
Ft. Reader x Taesan (BoyNextDoor), Jungwon (Enhypen), Heeseung (Enhypen), a few OCs, slight Sungho (BoyNextDoor) & Leehan (BoyNextDoor)
Blue twilight mists the crisp fall air. The sky hasn’t fully awakened yet, so dim streetlamps litter the asphalt with pockets of yellow. A gust of wind blows a few dead leaves off a tree as Jake makes his way down the aisle of parked cars and striped lines.
He tosses a set of keys in his hand, a coffin keychain jingling against the metal. Ahead of him stands a car dealership, the only one in the area. This is Jake’s playground.
He whistles a tune as he unlocks the door, his shoes clicking against the shiny tile floor. As he makes his way past BMWs and high-end sedans to his office, he’s greeted by a wall adorned with his framed portrait 10 times over. A moderately different tie in one, shorter bangs in another, but all him nonetheless. Always with his same sharp smile, canines on full display, like he likes it.
Jake has been casting away in this small countryside town for a little over a year, been working here for almost 11 months. His life has become pleasantly predictable. In this town, there are all but 3 supermarkets, 2 public schools, and 1 county jail. Cloudy weather and quiet streets are constant. By 9 PM on a Monday, the majority are tucked away at home.
This level of mundane is the type of normal Jake dreamed of when he was with his old coven. When he was still trying to manage the veil of his demons. When his desire felt unquenchable.
Now, he’s satisfied doing what he does best. What better job for a mind controling vampire than a salesman?
He taps on the wall of pictures before entering his windowless office, watching the rising sun in the reflection of the glass. It was going to be another beautiful day.
Paperwork decorates Jake’s wooden desk. A pen cap in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind his ear. He flips through the pages, crossing out old numeric values and adding new ones. Then, a knock on the door.
“It’s open.” His voice was hoarse from sitting in silence.
A co-worker steps into the office, shutting the door behind himself. “You look busy.”
“Business is busy.” Jake places the cap on his pen and drops it on his desk. “What brings you to my office, Taesan?” He sits up, putting on a more friendly tone. Jake always prided himself on being a down-to-earth manager. After all, the job wasn’t serious enough for him to want to exert any sort of real discipline.
The tall man leans against a white wall, sipping leisurely from his cup of lukewarm coffee. “A couple of us are heading out for lunch. Was wondering if you wanted to join?”
Jake smirks, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think I’m going to say?”
The younger man sighs, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “One of these days you’re gonna get sick of turning us down.”
“One of these days you’re going to learn how to prep a meal in advance.”
They both turn to face the mini fridge and microwave in the corner of Jake’s office. The microwave was just for show, he never actually uses it. Taesan’s eyes linger on the gold lock on the side of the refrigerator, holding the doors shut.
“A lock’s a bit excessive, no?” The younger one tilts his head, almost teasing.
Jake shrugs, a neutral smile on his face. “I don’t like when people touch my food.”
“Whatever puts your mind at ease.” Taesan reaches for the doorknob.
Jake can hear Taesan’s judging thoughts, but he’s pleased by the boy’s lack of curiosity. That’s one of the things he loved about being out here: people rarely ask questions.
He opens the door, suddenly stopping and turning back. “It’s a pretty slow day. Do you want us to leave anyone on the show floor?” Please say no, he thinks.
“It’s fine, I’ll handle it—” What is that smell? Jake freezes entirely, the last syllable still hanging off his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut, lightheaded.
“You okay, boss?” Taesan bends down, trying to find the man’s line of sight.
Jake attempts to respond, but all he can manage is a low stutter. His brows knit together, and his palm digs into his forehead in search of relief. What the fuck is happening? He snaps his eyes open, staring ahead until the two blurry Taesans merge into one clear co-worker.
“Jake? Sir?” Taesan shuts the door, unsure of what to do. “Is everything alright?”
The debilitating smell fades with the door closed. Jake blinks, quickly trying to reorient himself.“Sorry, migraine… I think.”
“Do you need some water or—“
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jake’s voice is stern. “You guys can get out of here, enjoy your lunch break.” He smiles without looking up.
Taesan looks about the room, visibly concerned. “But-“
“Go.” Jake’s irises flash a deep crimson red. Without hesitation, Taesan robotically turns and grabs the doorknob. His shoulders are high and his eyes unblinking as he does so. He exits, closing the door behind himself, like a mindless puppet. That same scent creeping in for the split second the door was ajar.
Jake hates using his gift of coercion on his co-workers. He finds it awkward, the way their memories blur and gap at the moment of command. It’s a tricky phenomenon to explain. Regardless, Jake needed to be alone immediately.
Wandering toward the office door, Jake whiffs the remnants of the smell. He listens as his co-workers noisily make their way out of the dealership.
In the months that he’d been here, he’s never found himself particularly triggered by anything. All the blood here was the same because all the people here were the same. Jake’s been around for centuries; he wasn’t chasing excitement anymore.
He stands behind the door, cracking it a sliver open to get one more hint of the odor. Yup.
A cough rips through his throat. He’s not a fledgling; he can handle a little sweetness. This is blood, and syrup, and smoke. It smells like a delicacy he hasn’t tasted in over a hundred years.
What many failed to realize about his kind is that they aren’t all bound by darkness. Jake is one of the seven known daywalking vampires left in the world. He’s not confined by the sun, sickness, or death itself, so there was no way he could let a smell confine him to his office.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The parking lot full of options instantly overwhelms you. There are more cars in and around this dealership than there are people in this damned town. You find yourself window shopping as you journey down the concrete aisle toward the entrance. When you finally make it, you notice a sign on the door: “Out for Lunch”
You have to be joking. There is no way you’re turning around now. If you had to drag yourself outside during your period, you were going to make the trip at least somewhat useful.
“Hello?” You knock on the glass experimentally. In the shadowy distance, you see what looks like a man. Blocking the sun from your eyes, you lean into the glass.
“Excuse me?” You tap the glass again. “Are you open? Seems like you might be the only one not out eating.” You force a laugh, trying to sound friendly.
That’s one of the things you hate about this town, all the fake fucking laughing. Everyone’s always feigning an amicable attitude, forcing smiles and pretending to be polite. Like one big theatrical performance. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way you can get anything done properly around here, so you do it too.
Don’t tap the glass. The thought travels through your mind like a foreign agent. You straighten, taking an involuntary step back. Both hands return to your sides stiffly, and it runs your blood cold. Maybe you don’t need to buy a new car today.
Jake uses your distraction to disappear into his office. He feels weak, like his knees could buckle if he stood there any longer. He shuts the door behind himself, instantly reaching for a bottle of peppermint oil he keeps in his desk drawer. He keeps it on hand to mask the smell of unexpected killings and other everyday odors.
He can’t believe he smelled you from the parking lot. That is not normal. Sure, vampires can be sensitive, but he’s worked hard to suppress his senses. Jake hates losing control, it makes a dull rage simmer from within his bones. He douces his hands in the fragrant oil and rubs it over his hair, neck, and hands, hoping it’ll mask the scent of the customer, you.
Before he even steps outside his office, he can feel that you’re leaving. It’s like he can hear your footsteps on the pavement. Conflict rushes through him as he steps back onto the showfloor to see that you did indeed turn around.
You’re really just going to leave? He huffs, frustrated by the questions mixing in his head. The least you can do after nearly giving him a panic attack is buy a car, so he can get the commission.
You were going to try and catch a bus home. That was the updated plan. Your feet falter as you walk away from the dealership’s shiny windows. Then comes the ring of a wind chime.
“Can I help you?” The employee shouts from the entrance. His head barely peeks out.
You pivot to get a better look at him. He looks pale under the cloudy sky. “I’m looking to buy a car. Can you help with that?”
He doesn’t say anything, he just scrunches his nose and opens the door further.
You saunter back to the entrance, a strong smell of peppermint filling your nostrils. You stare at the man skeptically as he lends you a similar distrusting gaze.
“Almost thought you guys were closed.” You watch as the man’s body takes up most of the doorframe.
“We’re not.”
You nod. Yeah, that much is obvious at this point. “Can I come in?” You point past him to the empty show floor.
Jake isn’t entirely convinced you’re not some evil, vampire-adjacent creature sent to disturb his peace. He can’t bring himself to formally invite you in. “Do what suits you.” He looks you up and down, stepping away as your hand reaches for the door.
Rude. You catch the door before it can fully close and walk in. It’s spacious, and the cars are all polished enough to see your reflection in the hood.
Jake lets you wander, grateful for the distance. He mulls over the familiar scent. Being a vampire exempts him from death, but standing in the same room as you feels like he’s suffering in purgatory. Between a memory and the present. Maybe he could just have one little taste—
He loosens his tie with a sigh. Taesan needs to hurry up.
The employee of the month wall catches your attention. An eerie feeling lingers as the worker’s photographed eyes follow you around the room. You swipe a finger across the hood of a Chevrolet. “Today must be my lucky day.” You try to cut the tension.
The employee hums, jaw tense. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re the guy in the pictures, aren’t you?” You point to the wall of accolades. “I don’t have much of a knack for cars, and apparently, you’re really good at your job.” You force another smile that goes unreciprocated.
He says nothing, his eyes narrow and blank.
“I’m looking for a mid-size Sedan.” You continue.
“Budget?” His voice is dry.
“It’s flexible, my job sponsors it.” You pause. “I don’t want anything fancy, though. Just something to get me around.”
From a fair distance, he points to a car a few paces to the right. “Consider the Accord.”
You walk to the vehicle, circling it like a vulture. After a moment, your eyes land back on him expectantly. “Is that all you’re going to say about the car? That doesn’t seem very employee-of-the-month of you.”
Jake blinks, caught off guard. “You said you don’t know about cars…”
“I still wanna know how it handles, I have to drive it after all.”
“The Honda Accord is top of its class. It’s practical and efficient. Very user-friendly, no one’s ever disappointed by it.” Jake grows lightheaded as he explains, the words jumbling out of his mouth oddly fast.
You sigh, a bit unimpressed. The weight of the decision feels too big for his practiced blurb.
“You’re welcome to take it for a test drive,” Jake says from a measurable distance.
“That’d be great, actually. Can we go now?” You turn to face him, beaming as if he read your mind. Unknowingly, he might’ve.
He takes a step forward, but the aroma proves to be too much. He is not going to be able to survive being in a car with you. He adjusts his tie, stepping back. “The rest of our staff should be returning soon. One of them is sure to help you.”
“Oh.” You linger awkwardly in the quiet room.
“Feel free to look around for now.” Jake smiles tensely before excusing himself to his office.
Once he’s in the office, he slides down the closed door, burying his head between his knees. Sweat collects on his forehead as he pants like a dog. His gums swell from the instinctual sharpening of his fangs. Your smell has drained his stomach of any satisfaction. He tilts his head back, eyebrows strained in pain. He needs to eat something.
He stands on shaky legs and makes his way to the minifridge, drawing keys from his pocket. He twists open the golden lock from earlier. Inside the fridge lie stacks of pint-sized blood bags. Jake reaches for one, smells it, then puts it back. Too bitter.
He reaches for another. This one has a smell almost sweet enough to rival yours, but it’s sour. He sighs, this’ll have to do. Usually, he’d drink from the tube, but the urge to bite takes over. He pierces the bag with his fangs, slumping against the wall as he does so. The haze in his brain starts to clear.
Jake isn’t a non-violent vampire, but he’s definitely pro-convenience. Blood bags are portable, and you don’t have to worry about any cleanup. Regardless, Jake knows what he is, and he knows death is a part of the deal. When his hunger calls for it, he shuts his brain off and keeps his eyes low.
Right now, he can’t do that because he’s at work and you’re a customer and he still has too many fucking thoughts swirling in his head. Why is your smell so… distracting?
When the bag is empty, he licks at it, determined to get every last drop. With the aroma in the air, it almost feels like he’s tasting you instead of an anonymous hospital visitor. This’ll have to do, he repeats to himself.
On the other side of the wall, you busy yourself with your phone as you try to ignore your cramps. You’ve recently picked up Pokémon Go again because there’s nothing else to do in this dead-end area. There’s a Gulpin a few blocks away, but you already have a couple of those. All that’s left is to stare into the parking lot and wait.
Behind you, a door clicks. The employee of the month is back.
“Are you from around here?” Jake clears his throat. He’s planted a yard or two away from you.
“Um, no.” You stuff your phone into your bag. “I’m not.” When you face him, he seems less pale than before.
Jake hums, looking off into space. “Didn’t think so.”
You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m also from out of town.” That’s all he says.
You nod, you suppose an outsider would recognize a fellow outsider. You tilt your head at him, suddenly paying more attention. He has a handsome face. “There aren’t too many of us around here. Your name’s Jake, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“The wall.” You point. There's a plaque with his name on it under every photo. You’d be an idiot not to catch on.
“Right.” He mumbles.
A moment of silence passes.
“Are you sure you can’t take me on that drive yourself? Today’s my day off, and I’d kind of prefer not to spend it wasting away at a car dealership.”
Jake laughs, like a real laugh. You didn’t realize you said anything funny. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Even on a full stomach, he has to practically cement himself to the floor to be around you.
“Well, is there somewhere I can sit, maybe?” You shift in place, awkwardly.
“Uh,“ Jake starts, but is quickly cut off by the sound of a wind chime.
Taesan and a gang of others pile in. Your eyes follow the noise.
“I’m just saying, if you want a family, a sports car is useless. And I, for one, want a family someday.” A mild-mannered employee carries on calmly.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sungho. A car like that is supposed to be for the driver. I can’t spend the rest of my life in a minivan.” A tall gentleman adds.
“Guys,” they all look up at the sound of Jake’s voice. It’s quiet, but sharp. “We have a customer.”
Taesan raises a brow as Jake adjusts his tie for the umteenth time. The group of men all turn to face you at the same time, like a school of fish.
“She’s interested in the Accord. Can one of you take her on a test drive? I have a few things to take care of.” Things being: getting as far away from you as possible and planning his next meal. He thinks he’ll hunt by a bar, he needs to feel drunk tonight.
Taesan steps forward, meeting your eye with a delicate smile. “Hi, sorry for the wait. I can help you with that test drive if you’re still interested.”
You soften, thankful for the warmth in his tone. He seems more like an employee of the month than Jake. “That’d be great, thank you.”
“Leehan, grab the keys for spot 33.” Taesan turns to the tall man infatuated by luxury cars. “I’m Taesan by the way,” He faces you with an outstretched hand.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Late that night, Jake drives to his home near the edge of town. The blood of a drunken bastard drips from the corner of his mouth, giving him a nice buzz. When it’s dark like this, he rarely cares to clean himself. Who would he be doing it for? It’s past 10 pm, everyone’s already tucked in bed.
As he rolls down the desolate road, street lamps flickering occasionally, he gets hit by that scent again. His foot switches to the brake immediately, like there’s a deer in the lane. What— Why is this happening? He glances around, chest heaving.
This neighborhood is empty, that’s why he picked it. There are 4 scattered families, 2 empty houses, and a park down the road. He watches as a car drives past him in the opposite direction, the smell lingering after the taillights are no longer visible.
His head spins, and his fangs throb uncontrollably. He licks at the blood drying on his bottom lip, then turns into his driveway with a hand over his nose. He needs to get inside now.
As he exits his car, using his hand as a mask, he notices a house across the street with all of its lights on. Every window is flooding that ugly fluorescent color. He tsks, reaching for his house keys. Humans are so wasteful.
He glares at the house one last time while he opens the front door. There aren’t any curtains, so he can see straight inside. He blinks as a figure walks past a window wearing something familiar. For the first time in at least 50 years, Jake feels his heart sink. He didn’t even know that could still happen.
Across the street, protected by glass and cheap drywall, stands you holding a large brown box with the word ‘kitchen’ written on it. You shiver, nearly dropping the box. Someone’s watching you.
He slams the door shut as you turn toward him. This was supposed to be his safe space. Somewhere, he could act normal. Somewhere, he could forget about everything. Dizziness surrounds him. He can’t go on like this. It’s decided: he needs to drain you.
He went to his blacked-out bedroom in the windowless basement of his house. With gray walls and minimal decoration, there was only a lamp to help him move around. Still, the room felt overstimulating, knowing you were next door.
The thing about Jake is that he rarely gets tired. He can be quite lethargic at times, but he wouldn’t quite categorize it as exhaustion. Most of the daywalkers he knows can go without rest for days. At his old coven, they all view sleep as more of a hobby than a necessity.
For the following days, Jake watched you restlessly from his living room window, his hunger growing otherworldly—the sound of your heartbeat drums in his ears from yards away. When you take out the trash, he can feel the blood rushing through your veins. Your heart rate is so much faster than everyone else out here, it’s like you’re teasing him.
Still, you’re his neighbor. And if the brand new Accord in your driveway is any proof, you’re also a customer. Jake knows he can’t just kill someone so closely tied to his livelihood. He’s not that reckless. It would require finesse.
On the fourth night, Jake lies in his bed staring at the ceiling. Three oil diffusers work simultaneously in the darkness. They were more effective at giving him a headache than masking your scent. He’s thinking about why the smell feels so familiar when suddenly, it fades, present, but not strong.
He finds himself sitting up in bed, startled by the absence. It feels like someone pulled a blanket off of his shivering body, and the memory foam of his mattress grew stiff. Maybe something’s wrong with your blood pressure?
Withdrawal makes him grow uneasy, so he rests his eyes, but all that awaits him are nightmares.
Like clockwork, every hour, he wakes up trembling in fear. The recurring images of a house engulfed in flames and bloodied sidewalks. It’s his first time dreaming since he got here. He finds himself rummaging for a pack of cigerettes to ease his mind.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You wake up the next day feeling refreshed. Your period finally came to an end last night, a truly pleasant start to the weekend. Maybe life isn’t actually as miserable as it felt last week.
The day starts with unpacking and decorating. You’ve been working so much, you haven’t had time to finish customizing the space. Nor have you had a chance to grow accustomed to how dreadfully quiet this neighborhood is. There aren’t even any birds to chirp.
You fill the house with music as you organize knick-knacks, books, and stationery supplies. Luckily, the majority of your furniture is already in place. That’s one of the perks of working for a furniture company. All that’s left are the finishing touches.
Having curtains up, so you spend the morning in a sports bra and sweat pants. You’re rearranging the giant rug in your living room for the fifth time when you hear your doorbell ring. You freeze, dropping the rug.
Shit. Where is—You reach for the hoodie you abandoned on your couch earlier, toss it on, and pause the music. You move so fast, you feel winded.
Putting on your friendliest face, you answer the door. “Hel-“ The syllabals die in your throat when you see who it is. Employee of the month guy? You blink. “Oh… Hi.”
Jake stands before you with a circular dish in his hands and a surprisingly warm smile. His hair blows in the wind, leaving a few strands out of place, and his eyes are a bit tired. “Good morning.”
“You- um, yes. Good morning.” You stammer out, internally face-palming yourself. “What are you doing here?”
“I actually live across the street.” Jake shifts in place awkwardly. He sounds warm and polite, a lot more so than when you first met him.
Your eyes double in size. “Really?”
“Really.” He lets out a small laugh. “I saw that a new neighbor moved in, so I thought I’d stop by and give a proper welcome.” He playfully shakes the dish that lies atop his right palm.
You buffer as you speak to the unexpected visitor. If he can tell, he doesn’t say anything. “That’s kind of you.”
“So you went with my recommendation?” He gestures to one of the two cars in your large driveway.
You laugh to yourself, head falling a little. “It is top of its class.” You mimic his words from a few days ago.
A slow smile creeps onto your neighbor's face, and he looks away bashfully. “Funny.”
You lean against the doorframe, arms lazily wrapped around your torso just to give your hands something to do. A breeze sends a few dead leaves flying through your lawn and into Jake’s hair. Without thinking, you reach for the decaying plant and remove it.
When you meet eyes again, Jake suddenly seems much more alert. Startled even, he shivers. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Just wanted to swing by and extend a quick welcome to the neighborhood.”
You straighten, realizing how poor a host you’ve been. “Can I get you something to drink? I can’t believe I have you standing out in the cold.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother—“
“Not at all! I’ll make some tea, and we can open up whatever this is.” You smile, stepping further into your house, opening the door for him.
Jake stands rooted at your front stoop, observing your home from the outside. This is his least favorite part about being a vampire.
“Are you coming?” You quirk a brow, unsure about his sudden hesitancy.
“Depends. Is that an invitation?”
“Yes…” You snort, walking further into the space. Weird.
“Just making sure,” he smiles, finally stepping inside. He slowly follows you to the kitchen, whistling a tune to himself.
You pull out an electric kettle and some coffee mugs. The kind with quippy comments on them, like ‘hot stuff’ and ‘might be beer’. Dishes are yet to be fully unpacked, so these two will have to do. You keep the ‘hot stuff’ one for yourself and set ‘might be beer’ to the side for him. Hopefully, he has a sense of humor.
Jake watches you maneuver about the kitchen, trying to remember how you arranged things. Your heart rate has been all over the place since you opened the door. Fast, slow, over and over again. Now it’s slow again. It makes you fun to listen to.
Your scent is stronger up close, but not nearly as offensive as when he first met you. The one time he found himself truly struggling was when your wrist slid past his nose to take something out of his hair. The action alone was jarring for him, very… overly familiar. He tried to tap into your mind at that moment, but it was like he hit a brick wall. He can’t read you at all.
“What do you like in your tea? Honey? Sugar?” You turn to him from your spot, crouched in front of a cabinet.
“Honey is fine.” Jake smiles. He isn’t actually going to drink the tea. He’s only requesting it to seem normal.
You hum, retrieving a golden bottle from a low shelf.
“So, what brings you here?” Jake’s eyes scan the space intently. “To Riverfeild, I mean.”
“Work.” You say, knees cracking as you stand. A sharp ding blares through the kitchen, signaling that the kettle is ready. You fill each of the mugs with honey, hot water, and a tea bag.“Careful, it’s hot,” as you slide the mug to him at your small dining table.
He hums, briefly looking to the mug, then back to you. “What do you do?”
“I’m a relocation manager for a furniture company, so when a store’s failing, they send me.” You raise your mug, blowing on the steamy liquid. “I guess this town isn’t crazy over new couches.”
“They’re not too crazy about new cars either, so don’t take it personally.” It’s phrased like a joke, but his voice comes out flat.
“That explains why we live in the same neighborhood.” You take a sip of the tea, instantly burning your tongue. With a pain-stricken face, you rest your mug on the counter.
He bows his head, hiding his amusement. Even with the mug labeled ‘hot stuff,’ you weren’t very cautious. You only gave it one measly blow.
“So, what’s in the pan?” You perk up, trying to regain his attention.
Jake looks to you, traces of a smile still on his face. He peels back the foil, revealing a cherry pie. It’s a little crispy around the edges, but perfectly golden in the center. “Not much of a baker.”
Biting your lip, you lean back against the counter. A pie? That’s actually pretty cute.
You’re not super into cherries, but you’re also not the type to turn down a kind gesture. You turn to fetch two plates from a cabinet.
“I don’t want any. It’s my gift to you.” He insists, watching as you put the extra plate away with a minor pout and move to grab a knife. You sit at the small dining table in front of him, glancing up at him from time to time, your heart rate steadying out to a subtle thump.
“So how’ve you been finding the neighborhood?” His hands tuck into his pockets.
“Everything's fine so far.” You shrug, cutting a slice. The red goo from the cherries oozes out as you lift it onto your plate. Instinctually, you lick at the bit that gets on your thumb. “I’m not used to the quiet yet, though.”
He hums, nodding blankly. He stopped listening the moment you cut the pie.
Jake’s offered cherry pie to dozens of mortals. He likes how it resembles blood. They always look like half-starved fledglings by the end of their slice—the thick red syrup on the edge of their lips, like you have right now.
It looks good on you. He hums again, licking his lips.
“Is it always this dead?” You look up at him, snapping him from his daze.
He furrows his brows. “What?”
“The area. Is it always this… boring?” You lick the syrup around your mouth.
His adam's apple bobs noticeably. “You could say that.”
“Well, if you’re sick of being bored, I’m having a small housewarming tonight. It’ll just be me and a few co-workers, but you’re free to join.” It's a spur-of-the-moment gesture, really.
“Don’t know a lot of people yet?”
You shake your head, continuing to eat.
That’s good. For him at least. It’ll make it easier when he decides to go through with things.
“I’ll see if I can stop by.” He pretends to drink his tea, letting the steam touch his lips.
Grasping your mug, you tilt your head at him. Something about him itches a scratch deep in the depths of your memory. “I’m having the weirdest deja vu right now. Is there any chance you used to live in East Geles or Khisstin?” You list city names with uncertainty.
He shakes his head. “Never been.”
Your ringtone rips you from your thoughts. You fetch the phone from your pocket and cringe, “One sec, it’s my boss.” You stand, chair scraping the floorboards. Clicking the accept button, you exit the kitchen. “Hi, Benson?”
While you're gone, he pours half of his cup of tea down the drain of the kitchen sink. He looks at the mess on your plate, realizing he can’t remember what cherries taste like. He dips the tip of his pinky finger into the scarlet mush and brings it to his lips, immediately recoiling with disgust. It was foolish for him to expect anything else.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
When Jake returns to his house, he’s immediately hit by a familiar presence, taking the pep out of his step. Which sucks because talking to you was actually kind of nice.
Suprise.
Jake rolls his eyes; he knows that voice, that familiar calling from inside his head. He turns to see Jungwon sitting in the driver’s seat of Jake’s parked car, reading a book. Jungwon looks to him with a smirk.
Jake sighs. “Can’t you at least try to act normal?”
“I didn’t want to wait in the cold.” Jungwon opens the car door and steps onto the concrete driveway. He creases the page he was reading and closes the book.
“That’s trespassing.” Jake walks to his front door, retrieving the keys from his pocket. “You could get arrested for shit like that.”
He tsks, following closely. “Arrested?” He looks at Jake, amusedly observing him from head to toe. “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” Jungwon gives him a hearty pat on the back.
“It gets duller every day.” Jake smiles at the familiar face. “It’s good to see you.” He pushes the front door open.
“Likewise.” Jungwon softens. “May I?”
“Of course.” They enter the quiet house and stand side by side in the living room, looking out the window.
“I’m glad I finally get to see where you ran off to.” Jungwon folds his arms, fixated on the empty street. “So this is Riverfeild, huh?”
“In all its glory.” Jake’s hands find his pockets.
Jungwon is Jake’s old coven leader, the oldest among the daywalkers. He was turned young, wandering around aimlessly, before Jake was even born. His powers are the strongest, and his mind is the most perceptive. Even with the members scattered around the world, he can reach them telepathically, like emailing their minds. Jake doesn’t even know how to do that.
“You’re having nightmares again.” Jungwon doesn’t ask, he tells.
Jake stiffens. Of course, that’s why he’s here. “I’m not a kid. You didn’t have to come check on me.”
“What’re they about?” He asks with hesitancy. When Jake doesn’t respond, he hums skeptically. “I think I’ll stick around for a few days.”
“Are you babysitting me?” Jake looks to his friend with a raised brow.
He laughs. “No, I’m looking out for my knucklehead coven brother. You’re the only one who doesn’t keep in contact, you know?”
“I was going to reach out after I got settled—“
“Sure you were.” Jungwon rolls his eyes, pushing Jake’s shoulder. “Besides, I heard something about a party tonight.” He smirks cheekily.
“You were eavesdropping?” Jake fixes him with a look.
“I wasn’t not eavesdropping.” His smirk deepens.
“You know, with great power comes great responsibility. I was having a private moment.” Jake stresses, drawing a hand to his face. He has to learn how to block that idiot out of his mind.
“I’m a vampire, not Spiderman.” Jungwon snorts, walking further into the house, blatantly unbothered. “Besides, she’s cute.”
“How do you know that?” Jake calls after his friend, mildly alarmed.
Jungwon smiles, letting his friend worry in silence. Jake's always been on the slower side when it comes to insight; that’s why he’s so easy to read. He’s too busy crunching numbers and assigning reason to notice little things like a benign crush. Jungwon had a hunch because of the nightmares, but it became crystal clear upon his arrival. Jake’s obliviousness would be amusing if it weren’t so unpredictable.
Looking back from his place down the hall, Jungwon breaks the silence. “I could feel your reaction to her, Jake.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
As cars piled into your driveway and eventually your front lawn, Jake felt his desire to go out diminish, but Jungwon was annoyingly determined. They sit on Jake’s couch watching as yet another guest arrives at what was supposed to be an intimate get-together.
“Don’t be lame, I want to see how Riverfeild lets loose.” Jungwon whines, enthusiasm oozing from every word. He already has his jacket on, ready to walk across the street at any moment.
“She’s not even from here. She just moved in like a week ago.” Jake huffs, unmoving.
“Well, everyone else is, right?”
Jake doesn’t say anything. His eyebrows draw together with annoyance.
“Exactly,” Jungwon says triumphantly. His voice drops as he goes on. “Think about it, one of them might get so drunk they forget where they parked. Could make it real easy to—”
Jake tuts.“I don’t hunt in the neighborhood.”
Jungwon stands, adjusting his clothes. “Good thing I’m not you.” He makes his way to the door. “I’m bored and I’m tired of asking. Are you coming or not?”
That’s how Jake ended up at your doorstep, ringing the bell begrudingly. He could barely smell you with all the people here stinking up his nostrils. That is, until you open the door.
“Employee of the month,” you look at him with a confident smile and a drink in your hand. “And friend.” You nod, turning to the other man whose dimples are on full display.
“Jungwon,” he clarifies, reaching past Jake to shake your hand.
“Nice to meet you.” A tingling sensation travels through your entire body as your hands meet. You blink. Simple as that, your mind goes completely blank.
“You’re not gonna leave us out here in the cold, are you?” Jungwon laughs smuggly.
“Right, come in!” You urge them in enthusiastically, grabbing Jake’s shoulder. “Drinks are in the kitchen alongside some chips and salsa. But no double-dipping.” You warn, looking directly at Jake as you close the door.
He laughs, confused. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Just making sure.” You speak like you know him more than you do.
“I’m not a double dipper.” Jake defends before realizing he doesn’t even eat human food; therefore, he has no reason to actually feel offended.
“That sounds awfully similar to something a double dipper would say.”
Jungwon cuts in, smugly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
You smile, patting Jungwon’s shoulder affectionately before wandering into the sea of people with a distinct end destination in mind: on the couch right next to—
Jake’s mouth falls open as you plop down unsettlingly close to his coworker, Taesan. Tall and handsome, Taesan, whose hand very naturally makes its way onto your thigh. He leans in to say something, and you laugh loud enough to be heard over the music. For the second time since you’ve moved in, Jake’s heart sinks.
“That explains it,” Jungwon whispers amusedly to Jake.
“Explains what?” Jake says without looking away.
“She smelled a little…” He purses his lips, looking for the appropriate word.
“Sweet?” Jake answers thoughtlessly.
Jungwon laughs. “I was going to say excited.” With dull curiosity, his focus shifts to Jake. “Thought it was one of us. Do you know him?”
“We work together.” Jake’s voice a mere whisper.
“I guess the living belong with the living.” Jungwon pats Jake’s shoulder sympathetically, then moves toward the kitchen.
Yeah fucking right. Jake is not about to get outdone by his fresh-out-of-college, barely-knows-how-to-tie-his-shoes ass coworker. It was bad enough that Taesan is 110% planning to steal his employee of the month title, the idea of him having you is easily enough to ruin his night.
And it does.
While Jungwon is chatting up a storm to anyone with half a pulse, Jake has become one with the wall in your living room, watching your every move. He still can’t seem to tap into your head. Every time he tries to read you, it’s fuzzy at best. Regardless, Taesan’s thoughts were disturbingly clear.
It was worse than wanting to fuck you; Taesan wants to date you. For some reason, that particularly made Jake feel sick. He was so immersed in your conversation that he didn’t notice Jungwon stepping in front of him.
“Relax.” Jungwon snaps a finger in Jake’s face.
Jake shakes his head, blinking back into reality.
“Your eyes were changing color,” Jungwon warns.
Whenever their kind gets too worked up, their eyes shift to a bold crimson, sending a final threat to unassuming prey. Jake looks away, trying to regain normalcy. “Didn’t realize.”
“Are you gonna talk to her?” Jungwon says cheekily.
Jake scoffs, stretching his hands over his head. “Don’t want to.”
“Then stop looking at her.” Won chides.
Jake smirks, caught red-handed, “Fine.” His hands settle back at his sides as he turns to his friend.
“Some people were talking about heading to a bar for some karaoke. I might join them and grab a bite.”
“Have fun.” Jake slumps against the wall.
Instantly surprised, “You're not interested?”
Jake fakes a yawn, “Tired.”
“Riverfield’s made you really boring.” Jungwon drags out the ‘e’ in really. “The Jake I know would’ve been on his third kill by now.”
“People change.” Jake shrugs. “Besides, I’m not bored.”
Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” At that, he turns and walks away, joining a loud group of bodies near the front door.
As Jake watches his friend blend into the background, he begins to consider whether he has inherently become boring by living here. Maybe not feeling boredom is a bad sign. Gradually, he focuses back on the party and you sitting on the— Where did you go?
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You lean back on your palms with your feet dangling off the edge of your tall mattress. Cool night air filters through an open bedroom window. In front of you, at your vanity, stands Taesan wearing a cheeky smile that twists something deep in your gut.
In his tall glory, he smiles down at a photo on the mirror that you promised to show him earlier. It’s a print of you and your first car, the same hunk of junk that sits in your driveway next to the Accord.
He sports a sweater and jeans. You’ve hung out a few times since he took you on a test drive, but this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of his usual work attire. There’s something refreshing about seeing him in your bedroom now, shedding a layer of formality.
He hums. “It’s a nice car, I’m surprised you’re having a hard time selling it.”
“Don’t be fooled, that picture is super outdated.” The photo shows you as a teen in an unflattering pair of overalls and a vibrant smile next to a black jeep.
“What did you call it again?” Taesan looks to you over his shoulder.
You smirk, still twiddling your feet. “His name is Michaelangelo.”
“That’s definitely… a choice.” He laughs, fully facing you. “Like the painter?”
“Or the ninja turtle.” You shrug.
He laughs even louder, walking closer so you have to look up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“You don’t see the orange stripe on the side?”
Shoulders shaking with amusement, he stands between your legs at the edge of the bed. When you look up at him again, his eyes are different, softer. He looks at you like you’ll fly away, and it makes your mouth run dry.
Grabbing his wrist, you tug gently, urging him to sit beside you. “My neck’s gonna break in half if I keep looking up at you like that.” You huff, a little breathlessly, suddenly feeling like you had half a glass too much.
“Am I too tall for you?” He jokes, sinking into the mattress beside you.
You hum thoughtfully. “I’d have to spend a little more time with you to figure that out.”
“That sucks because I’m actually a super busy guy.” He teases.
A giggle slips out of you. “Oh, really?”
He smiles at you, not caring enough to answer the question. Mellow blush on the tips of his ears makes an appearance as he leans a little closer. “I’m really glad I came tonight.”
“Me too.” All the base in your voice is gone as you notice him notice your lips.
It’s going to happen, you think, and he does too. After years of moving around for work, you’re finally going to taste what it feels like to settle down with a good guy. Second by second, the space between you two shrinks. Then, there is none.
He kisses you. With lips as soft as they look, he brings a hand to cradle your cheek. His palm is warm, but his fingertips are cool from the breeze. You find yourself scootching closer to him on the bed. The fringe of his hair tickles your face as the kiss deepens and his free hand inches up your thigh, just resting there, radiating heat.
You part, both breathing a little heavier. Your eyes shyly land on your lap. Each of his hands returns to his sides, leaving you vulnerable to the evening chill. When you look back up, his eyes are different.
He stares through you. Like he’s dissociating. The blankness of his expression drains the life from your face.
Was it a bad kiss? You discreetly check your breath.
“I have to go now.” His voice sounded colder than the wind.
“Oh,” You blink. “Are you sure? I was thinking we could—“
“No, I should leave.” He stands so quickly it throws you off balance.
“Well, let me walk you to the door—“
“No!” He says firmly, facing the door. “Just… stay here.” He says, looking away from you with tense shoulders like you disgust him.
You shrink into yourself from your position on the bed. “Oh,” is all you can say. With that, he leaves, shutting the bedroom door loudly behind himself, making you flinch. Straight away, your eyes start to burn. The distant party music feels more depressing with the room empty.
When Taesan exits the room, his knees go weak, and his head is dizzy. A hand clutches the wall as he tries to gather his bearings. The pounding in his head nears unbearable, and his memory feels like it’s been snatched from his grasp—how did he get out here again?
“Sleep,” is the last thing he hears as he loses consciousness, dropping with a thud.
Jake blinks from above Taesan’s body, eyes shifting back into a neutral brown. He looks around the empty hallway, then at his coworker’s limpness. His once pronounced anger settles into numbness as he realizes he might’ve gone too far. Sighing, he lifts Taesan off the ground and towards the door. He mumbles needless lies about him “needing to handle his alcohol better.”
He takes him out to the front stoop and leans his body against the railing of the shallow staircase. Remorse runs through his brain as he looks at the whites of Taesan’s eyes below half-closed lids. His conscience forces him to call a cab for the guy.
After successfully packing Taesan into the backseat of a cab, the plan was to go home, but somehow he had misplaced his keys. The moment he rings the bell, a drunk guy urges him inside and away from the cold. Jake retraces his steps until he sees the famous coffin keychain on the floor outside your room.
He tries to ignore your rapid, stuttering heartbeat from the other side of the door. Curiosity gets the better of him. He snatches up his keys and leans against the wall, silently hoping you’re not crying, but he can hear you sniffle.
It’s not like he killed Taesan, he just… sent him home. Surely that isn’t so bad. Something primal wouldn’t let him listen to your heart race for his coworker. And to hear his thoughts was a cruel torture, salting the wound.
He could smell the bloomings of something serious. The happy, normal life he craved. Yeah, fuck that. All of it made him sick with envy. The thought is enough to turn his eyes a fiery hue.
Then, you open your bedroom door.
You look a lot calmer than he was expecting, makeup intact and face uncommitted to any emotion.His eyes dip back to dark brown as he tampers with his keys.
Gaze glued to his side profile, you speak. “Can I help you?”
He’s quiet, keys flipping endlessly in his palm.
“The party’s that way.” You point to the living room down the hall.
Jake nods, unable to look you in the eye. “I’m not looking for it.”
“What are you looking for, because the bathroom’s not here either.” Your tone is harsh.
“My keys,” he jingles the set. “And some quiet.”
You exhale heavily, standing next to him on the wall. Leaning your head back, you look off into space. The music booms, but it’s being choked by chatter. It all just sounds like mush at this point. Close and distant at the same time.
“Do you like this neighborhood, Jake?” Your voice feels foreign in your mouth.
“There’s better ones in town.” Apathy laces his tone. “What do you think?” He looks to you.
“Minus the quiet, it’s fine.” Emotion starts to crawl back up your throat. “I was planning to be here for a while.”
“Was?”
You nod in response, and Jake hums, something shifting inside of him.
“If you want to leave, you should leave.” He scans your face. A sliver of him wants you gone. That way, he’ll forget, Taesan will forget, and everything will be normal again.
“I didn’t say that.” You face him with a serious look. For a beat, it feels like you’re looking at an old friend. His gaze is so familiar that you almost want to reach out and touch him. It makes your eyes burn, so you look away, clearing your throat. “I just have no reason to stay. That’s all.”
Jake, suddenly overwhelmed by a similar onslaught of emotions, looks to his shoes. He bites his lip. It feels like the conversation is dead and buried, but a final sentence leaks from his lips as if against his control: “Do you want one?”
As simple as it is, the comment sends a flock of butterflies to your stomach. You smile, not saying a word.
Jake didn’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking; the gloss of your eyes is enough, and with that, the guilt starts to sink in.
“I’m gonna get a drink.” You gesture toward the kitchen down the hall. “You can join me if you want.” Delivering the last part as nonchalantly as possible, you start walking.
He pauses, “I don’t drink.”
“Didn’t ask if you did.” You shrug, heading off.
For a while, he lets you go, then his feet start moving. At that moment, he decides to keep you company for the night, giving you a reason, even if it’s only for a little while. He follows you around your house for about an hour while you sip Pinot Grigio and spark up small talk with guests. Based on his observations, you don’t know half of the people there, and you work with annoying ass town charmer Benson, who’s a nasty drunk. One by one, people trickle out of the house. The last person leaves at 11:54 p.m. It’s still pretty early.
After another glass, you’re sharing stories on the couch. And another after that, you’re asking and convincing him to go on a walk.
As expected, the sidewalks are empty, and the lamposts continue to flicker. The air is cool, but the wind isn’t overbearing. Dead leaves crunch relentlessly under the heels of your feet. “Did you have fun tonight?” You swirl the wine in your plastic cup absentmindedly.
“Yeah, I had a good time.” He isn’t sure if he’d categorize it as fun.
“Good,” You hum.
His eyes linger on you. “Did you have fun?”
Your feet come to a stop, thinking. It’s easier to ignore the question altogether. Focusing on your house from down the block, an idea pops into your head. “Jake?”
He makes a curious sound.
“Do you want to race?”
His movement halts as he quirks a brow, “With a drink in your hand?”
You chug the remainder. “What drink?”
He bites his lip, sizing you up as you stretch. “This is cute, but you’re drunk.”
“Barely,” You protest in a brattier voice than you’d like.
“The sidewalk’s uneven. Let’s not—“
“Last one back is a rotten egg!” You shout, bolting off.
It's easy to think less when you’re entire drunken being is concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. You’re sick of thinking. Wanting is exhausting. It’s all meaningless old news. Aside from your first glass of wine, the wind is the most refreshing thing you’ve tasted— correction: it’s better than wine.
You're halfway back to your front porch.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Time to slow down.” Jake calls behind you.
You giggle, closing your eyes in bliss. “Or you could speed up.”
As you approach the edge of your front lawn, an elevated block of pavement catches against your toe. Eyes shooting open in panic, you hit the ground hard. Your dress does little to protect you as your knee scrapes the ground, tainting the concrete with red.
Jake’s mid sigh when he hears you groan. At first, a look of concern overtakes him, then the smell hits, rendering him motionless.
Blood runs down your shin as you swear to yourself. In disbelief, you bring a finger to the wound—the touch stings. The skin of your knee is busted like you’re a kid again, but it hurts worse than you remember.
You’re talking to him. Jake knows that. He just can’t hear what you’re saying. Your lips move lazily like the blood against your knee, and Jake’s fangs begin to throb harder than before. His head is pounding, and slowly the double vision kicks in. He braces his hands on his knees and shuts his eyes before you can see them change.
You call his name, beginning to stand. Tiny scratches litter across your body, and you wince. “A little help, please?” You turn to Jake, who's bent over panting. A lamppost highlights the gleam of sweat on his forehead. “I wasn’t going that fast, was I?”
His brows furrow in pain.
“Jake—“
Like a crack in a dam, his self-control breaks. He rushes to you at an inhumane speed, grabs you, and zips you to his house. It’s all done before you can even finish your question.
Once you’re in his guest bedroom, peering up to him with cloudy eyes of confusion, he takes a second to look at you. The hem of your dress is covered in blood, and your chest is heaving like you can’t catch enough air. The adrenaline seems to be too much for you.
He kneels on the floor, so he’s eye level with your body on the bed. Fixated on your knee, he leans in, inhaling deeply. He groans, face palming into the bed.
You stutter out syllables like a broken record.
Jake mumbles pleas into the mattress, trying to restrain himself. “Can I have you?” He looks at you in the dark room with eyes red as blood. His fangs are fully expanded behind his lips, and his fingertips twitch as he fights to keep his claws at bay. He babbles mindlessly, senses going into overdrive. “I need you- this. I need—“
“Okay.” The word quiet against your lips.
Freezing, he can’t tell whether you agreed for his sake or your own, but he permits himself anyway. He licks the blood drying on your calf and up the length of your leg like a man starved. It sends a shiver down his spine. He finally knows why he can’t get enough of you.
He suckles at your wound, tongue scraping over little bits of gravel and debris carelessly. His body feels like it’s on fire. This must be what cherries taste like, he thinks.
His tongue presses firmly on the wound, and it hurts. “Wait, what are you—“
“Sleep.” At the sound of his command, your head hits the pillow. Climbing on the bed, he settles between your legs and lifts your dress until it nears your hips. He can smell what Jungwon was talking about earlier, and it drives him dizzy. He wants you to want him.
Still, his focus remains on the artery pulsing through your upper thigh. The blood flow is loud like a ringing in his ears. He grazes his fangs against your skin, his eyes closed shut. His brain won’t turn off. How can he kill when he can’t stop thinking? Every thought deepens the hesitation, until finally he sighs.
He lies there trying to will himself to bite, but your taste reminds him of nightmares. It’s like he can smell the smoke when his fangs touch your skin. He can’t do it. Overcome with frustration, he extends the claw on his pointer finger and digs it into your skin. He slices a thin line on your inner thigh, running his tongue along it as blood seeps out.
With his head on your thigh, he leisurely cleans every drop with his mouth. He could’ve fallen asleep if it wasn’t for a knock at his front door.
His eyes flutter open, unveiling the infamous red once again. Closing the door behind himself, he travels to the main entrance in a daze, face covered in crimson.
“Let me in.” Jungwon’s voice deepens from the other side of the door.
Jake flinches, opening it. “Fine, come in—“
Immediately, Jake is hit by a firm shoulder as a different coven brother shoves past him: Heeseung, his least favorite. They had a falling out over a kill and hadn’t spoken for years.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jake gawks.
Heeseung scoffs. “Says the one with blood all on his face.”
“Were you crying?” Jungwon reaches a hand toward Jake’s face, but it’s swatted away.
Jake didn’t realize it earlier, but he was indeed crying. Tears had started running down his face the moment he tasted you. “Answer my question.” Jake glares at the leader.
“He wanted to get out, so he spent the night with me.” Jungwon sighs, stepping into the house and closing the door. “You look awful.”
Heeseung spent most of his time away from people. He lived a quiet life in a rural mountaintop, killing farmers and seducing milk maids. He was never too fond of the modern world.
“What’s with the smell?” Heeseung asks from down the hall, creeping dangerously close to the guest bedroom.
“Stop sticking your nose around my house.” Jake’s voice is like gravel.
“I could smell it from outside. Might as well tell us—”
“He’s feeding. Don’t ask useless questions.” Jungwon slides off his shoes and jacket, then walks to the couch. He plops down, tired. “Is it the girl?”
“What girl?” Jake feigns innocence.
Jungwon looks to Jake, eyes briefly flashing red. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Jake and Heeseung straighten, fear-struck by the switch.
“There’s blood on the sidewalk out there. Did you kill her?” Jungwon settles back into the couch calmly.
“I can hear a heartbeat,” Heeseung’s brows furrow. “Feels like I can hear a million fucking heartbeats, how do you guys live in places like this?” He sucks his teeth.
Jake doesn’t say anything, letting the room fall silent.
“Whatever. Don’t mind us, we’ll stay out of your way.” Jungwon’s eyes close; he looks like he’s had a long night.
“Good.” Jake’s voice is hardly audible. Part of him wants to talk, but with someone like Heeseung around, he isn’t sure it’s in his best interest. He wants to mention what it felt like to taste you, about why you felt so—
“Is her heart rate supposed to be that fast?” Heeseung asks, growing a bit concerned.
“Leave him alone, Hee.” Jungwon sighs.
Jake stands between Jungwon and Heeseung in the center of the living room. Unable to look them in the eye, he twiddles his fingers. “It’ll slow down when she’s calm. Her adrenaline is really high right now.”
“When she’s calm?” Heeseung stiffens, immediately glancing at Jungwon with a look of disbelief. “Do you hear this?”
Jungwon remains unmoving on the couch. “Let’s not do this. I had a long night.” He rests his head back on the headrest. “Everyone in this town is bitter and out of tune. I don’t have the energy to argue.”
“I can’t kill my neighbor.” Jake reasons.
“Am I missing something? Why is he acting all soft?” Heeseung walks to the couch where Jungwon sits. His face twisted with confusion.
“I’m not acting soft, it’s just too risky,” Jake mumbles.
”Is it?”Jungwon faces Jake with a cutthroat glare. “Then why’d you bring her home?”
“I didn’t mean to. She fell, and the smell just—“ An irked sigh cuts through his thoughts. Jake looks to the door of his guest room, running a finger over his bloodstained lips anxiously. If he says what he’s thinking, they’re bound to find him crazy. “She tastes like…” His words trail into nothingness.
Jungwon’s eyes light up with realization. “Minnie.” The name comes out rough on his tongue. That would explain the nightmares. He, too, could vaguely smell the resemblance.
Jake flinches. The lover who defined his human heart was hardly ever mentioned and seldom by name. She was his betrothed when he was given the dark gift in the early twentieth century, a woman beyond her years. The only mortal to voluntarily offer themselves to fulfill his bloodlust, a victim to his hunger, and the conservatism of the time. Her life was stolen in a house fire orchestrated by the church to drive the devil out of town. Jake wasn’t even home.
Heeseung fixes on Jake’s blank expression. “This is ridiculous,”
“I swear on her grave.” Jake’s voice has yet to surpass a whisper.
“Shouldn’t we have a second opinion?” Heeseung baits, licking his fangs.
Jake hisses, lurching forward. “Try it and I’ll kill you.”
Heeseung narrowly dodges him, boasting a grin. “So you want to keep her?”
Jake shrinks into himself, embarrassed by hearing it out loud. His mouth doesn’t move. Is it so wrong for him to want a companion again?
“Like a pet?” Hee adds with a laugh.
Jake looks up, glaring. “She’s a human being, dickhead.”
“But you aren’t.” Jungwon stands, walking over so he’s toe-to-toe with the homeowner. “Infatuation isn’t an excuse for recklessness. What happens when she wakes up and the last thing she remembers is your red eyes staring down at her?”
“She’s drunk, she won’t—“
“Or when you’re hungry and she has a papercut?” Jungwon cocks his head. “This is dangerous, and you know it.“
Jake stutters, backing away from his leader. “I- I just want some time.”
“That’s not how people work. Humans-” Jungwon sighs. “They expect different things. It’s like a puma mating with a panda. It won’t work.”
Jake’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t know that! I can’t just let Minnie—“
“She’s not her, Jake.“ Jungwon’s snaps.
“You said you weren’t babysitting me.” Jake narrows his eyes coldly.
The leader sighs. “Still, I can’t let you—”
“This shouldn’t even be a discussion. If you wanted companionship, you should’ve never abandoned your coven.“ Hee rasps.
“One more fucking word and I will slam you through the floor.” Jake's head whips toward Heeseung.
Heeseung scoffs. “Typical. Prioritizing a stranger over your brother.” Without realizing it, all of their eyes had changed color.
“Enough,” Jungwon places a hand in the air, flinging Heeseung and Jake’s bodies into the walls on opposite halves of the room. It’s not enough to cause damage, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, then turns to Jake, who gapes for air. “Do you absolutely need this?” He stoops down to his level. “Are you truly that lonely?”
Jake weakly bows his head, the pain too intense for words. Across the room, Heeseung lies unconscious with his chin to his chest.
“Fine,” Jungwon regains his composure. “It’s your mess. But now, I am babysitting you.” He returns to his full height, stepping over Jake’s body on the floor.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Heeseung and Jungwon left the following morning, although there’s a rumor that Jungwon moved to a neighboring city to keep an eye on things. That was three months ago.
“Wake up.”
You whisper, crawling into Jake's lap while he manspreads wildly on your couch. His eyes are closed as he leans against the headrest. In his t-shirt and sweatpants, the scene feels oddly homely, and it makes you move extra slowly to preserve the fragility of it all.
He hums, but you’re not convinced.
You lean to the side of his face, gently blowing in his ear. He squeezes your hips as a reply.
“Come on, you’re missing the movie.” You complain directly into his ear.
“We already watched this one,” Jake mumbles into your hair.
The movie ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ plays on your TV, lighting the space as the story continues without any attention. Save for a scented candle, it’s the only reason you can see each other’s faces right now.
“That doesn’t mean you can fall asleep.” You boop his nose.
A smile spreads across his face the moment you make contact. Grabbing your finger, “I’m not sleeping.”
“Don’t hit me with the ‘I was resting my eyes’ bullshit.”
“Then, I’m just… enjoying your presence, without looking.” Jake’s hand moves to rub soothing circles on your waist.
“Jake.”
He relents, peeking his eyes open. Your hair is messy from lying around for hours, and your shirt is halfway off your shoulder. The candle flame from the coffee table behind you gives off a halo-like glow. It makes him forget why he wanted to close his eyes in the first place.
Plucking a feather out of your hair, he snickers. “Too many feathers on these throw pillows.”
“I got them for free.” You attempt to climb off his lap, but his hands anchor your hips down.
“Stay with me.” Wrapping his arms snuggly around your middle, he pulls you toward him until you can settle into the crook of his neck.
You sigh, naturally leaning into him. “Fine, but just for a little while.”
A chill passes over you as his cold fingertips slip under your shirt, and he laughs into your hair. Your squirming makes him hold you tighter. “You smell nice.” The words roll off his tongue.
“You always say that,” You say, carding a finger through his hair.
He kisses the crown of your head. “It’s always true.”
This is the average Sunday night between the two of you. By sunset, you and Jake are to be tucked away on a couch somewhere, half watching a movie and half lazing around. A few days after you woke up bandaged and hungover in Jake’s bed for the first time, he asked you out to see a movie. Unfortunately for him, the town cinema was rundown, with nothing to offer besides lukewarm popcorn, so he promised a do-over at his place. Since then, traditions have slowly been forming.
Traditions like lowly lit living rooms and long-winded conversations. He never sat too close. He never pushed or lingered. Jake was a gentleman. He even managed to help sell your car to his friend at the scrap yard.
And by ‘friend’, he meant himself. Jake has his own tradition of driving to a lot on the outskirts of town to sit in the old hunk of junk that is Michaelangelo as a means of helping him adapt to your scent. Of course, it’s nothing like the real thing, but after a decade of ownership, your essence was practically absorbed into the seats.
By the third movie night, he could sit a little closer. On the fourth, he kissed you. At the end of the fifth, the tension nearly killed you. Before he could even take his shoes off for the sixth, you were on top of him.
Time didn’t make sense, feelings didn’t make sense, but it felt right. Being with Jake was like breathing.
But it isn’t perfect. After years of dealing with deadbeat men and moving around, you're ready for a proper relationship. Someone to come home to. Someone who will actually spend the night, regardless of “having to work early,” as Jake puts it.
You pull away enough to look at him. Staring at him was like a hobby these days.
“Hi,” he breathes out the word.
You sit atop him, playing with his long dark strands.
He sighs. “I need a trim.”
“I like it.”
Your gaze is so soft that it makes him blush. All the power in the world couldn’t make him immune to your sunlight. Close isn’t close enough.
“Come here, Minn—“ His tongue trips on the familiarity of it all.
“Min?” You tilt your head at him. An innocent curiosity graces your features.
Jake swallows, a well-known guilt washing over him. “Mine,” he corrects.
You smile, tucking a hair behind his ear. “Does that make you mine?”
“Always.” He plants a kiss on your lips. “In every lifetime.”
Jake is always like this, saying absurdly romantic things, almost inappropriate for your indistinguished love affair. Your stomach was like a cage of butterflies. Leaning in, you meet his lips. It’s more than the peck he gave you. He hums happily into the kiss, landing a small smack on your ass.
A giggle rips through you, and he takes it as a chance to deepen the kiss. Bodies moving closer, saliva mixing messily. You tilt his head up so you can kiss him properly, and he shifts beneath you. Placing a firm hold on your chin, he pulls your jaw down to gain more access. It was a steady battle of dominance.
You tug at the fringe decorating the nape of his neck, and he groans. Smiling, you kiss him harder. You were winning. He squeezes your hips, then—
“Ouch.” You pull away, bringing a hand to your bottom lip. “You nicked me.”
Shamelessly licking his lips, “Sorry, I got carried away.”
“Yeah, no shit.” You laugh, licking at the small cut in your mouth. You hunch forward, sinking your teeth into his bony shoulder.
He smirks, hands fiddling with the elastic waistband of your sweats. “What’re you doing over there?”
“Biting you back.” You say as you come back up, and Jake bursts into laughter. Smoothly, he shifts so your butt is on the couch, subtly pushing you into the cushions as he hovers over you. “I’ll do you one better.” He smiles mischievously, trailing down your body. “I’ll eat you alive.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The dealership was busy these days. Between inventory checks and paperwork, Jake watched as you and Taesan seemed to gradually lose contact. With each of you having gaps in your memory that night, things grew awkward. Eventually, the guilt of stealing you from Taesan subsided, and Jake started another new tradition: calling you during his lunch break.
“Look who it is.” You tease from the other side of the phone.
He cheeses, listening to you mumble at a worker through the phone. “Busy?”
“Not at all.” You walk away from the noise. “What’s up?” He can hear a door shut, like you walked into your office.
“Just wanted to hear your voice.” He sighs, looking to the mess of papers atop his desk.
“If I weren’t meeting the regional manager for lunch, I’d tell you to swing by. Well… you technically still can, you’d have to wait until after my lunch and pretend to buy a bedframe—”
“Regional ma- you mean Benson?” Annoyance laces his tone.
“Don’t say it like that.” Your voice loses its playfulness.
“I didn’t say anything.” Even without saying it explicitly, his tone could move mountains.
Benson, the boss who always seems to call when you’re off the clock, already took you out for lunch twice last week. Jake fucking hates that guy. A part-time drunk, full-time sweet talker, Benson is the kind of guy Jake would drain as a joke without remorse. Regardless, he’s latched onto you like a leech.
“You’re not the only person with employee of the month status.” You tease.
Rolling his eyes, “Might be employee of the year with how he treats you.”
“You’re making it weird.”
Yeah, because it is. He sighs. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
You hum over the line, deciding to use the opportunity to talk about the new friend you made today. She’s a heavily tatted middle-aged woman who chews tobacco and supervises the shipments. Enamored by your sharp wits, she basically adopted you on the spot.
Jake mumbles supportive nothings, grateful that the tension has faded on its own. He’s not sure when it happened, but he began rooting for you to make friends in town. Friends make people happy, and your happiness is of utmost importance to him.
“She’s hosting a happy hour on Friday. Said I could come and bring a friend.” An open-ended glint in your voice. “I was thinking of asking this really handsome guy who makes a mean cherry pie.”
Jake smirks, bashfully twisting back and forth in his office chair. “You know I don’t drink, my love.”
“I know, I know, but maybe you could just keep me company?” Your voice trails off timidly.
While he’s a big advocate for your friendships, Jake is uninterested in the concept for himself. People are too complicated. “I don’t think—“
You shush him profusely through the phone. “Sleep on it, okay? That’s all I ask.”
Weak to your assertiveness, Jake nods. “Okay.” Was he going to change his answer? Probably not. Is he going to tell you no right now? Absolutely no chance. “I can do that.”
As if sent by an enemy to purposely disrupt the moment, a loud series of knocks blares through your end of the line.
You sigh, lowering the phone and looking to the dark oak door of your beige office. The room-temperature coffee in the cup on your desk ripples from the impactful banging. “One minute!” You shout.
When you pick up the phone, Jake is babbling frustratedly about poor manners, and you smile. It was like having your own personal guard dog, but to you, Jake’s bark is worse than his bite. He rarely lets himself get worked up in person.
“What’s taking you so long?” Benson burst through the door. “You said 12:30,” he checks his watch, leaning a hand on the rickety armchair in front of your desk. It’s beige like everything else.
“I’m on a call.” You say awkwardly, covering the phone speaker.
“Oh, don’t mind me.” Benson rests against a wall, his cropped salt-and-pepper hair in disarray, as it usually is. He’s attractive in a small-town-guy kind of way, the premature gray part of his charm. The problem is that he knows his pull, so he does shit like walk into people’s offices unannounced.
“Sorry, can I call you later?” You deliver as sweetly as you can into the phone.
“Did he just walk in?” Jake asks almost in disbelief. “What an asshole.”
“I’ll talk to you when I get b—“
“Yeah, whatever.” He delivers coldly.
He ends the call before you can reply. Great, now you’re fighting. You turn to your boss, “Are you on a tight time frame or something?”
“Can’t I just be excited to see my new favorite employee?” Benson straightens with a smile. “C’mon, I’m craving Italian.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Jake doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the day, but he does show up at your doorstep wearing pajama pants and his work satchel that evening.
“Can I finish up some paperwork here? My place is a mess.”
You look to him, unconvinced, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t believe you.”
His lips form a thin line. “I’m behind on laundry.”
“Ask a friend, I’m busy,” you lie, reaching to close the door.
“I don’t have friends, I have you.” His hand holds the door open.
You roll your eyes. “That’s pretty unhealthy.”
He smirks, knowing you’re on the cusp of giving in. “Are you gonna let me in or not?” Arguments were always like this, sealed by some lukewarm resolution. “I’m sorry for overreacting earlier.”
You take his chin in your hands, and he softens instantly. “Relationships require trust, Jake.”
“I trust you.” He breathes out the words, eyes coming to a close. “I don’t trust him, but I’ll work on it.”
“Good.” Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a small tussle. “Now, be a good neighbor and give me some sugar.”
A smile overcomes his features as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. His hands mischievously wrap your waist, and he yanks you toward him on the stoop, kissing you messily. It’s all smiles and teeth, but you fall into it anyway.
The winter chill surrounds you as Jake’s cool fingertips dance underneath your shirt. The breeze flaps against his patterned pajama pants, and he squeezes you closer. So close, you’re nearly bending over backwards for him. He peppers kisses across you’re collarbones, punctuating them with apologies and leaving you a giggling mess.
“Okay— Okay!” You wiggle in his hold. “Come in, jeez. People are looking.”
In bed that night, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of decorative pillows and the subdued singing of crickets, Jake struggles to put his mind to rest. He holds your sleeping figure close to his chest as he watches the flames of a scented candle pulse on your bedside table. You always light it before bed, and Jake always blows it out. He loathes that reckless open flame.
During moments like this, he remembers he’s not human. With every deep breath, his fangs throb. It’s impossible to sleep next to you. Sometimes he gives in, opening a small cut on your hip or your calf to remind himself what cherries taste like. You never think twice about them in the morning.
It’s just past 1 AM.
Jake rolls you over gently, tucking a pillow behind your back. Your face scrunches up. For a minute, he’s sure he woke you, but your eyes remain shut. You’re having a nightmare. He stands, watching you twist and turn senselessly like a child. Do you always look this frail? Walking around the bed to blow out the candle, he places a hand over your forehead. “Sleep.” He mumbles, kissing where his hand once was.
At least now, you’ll dream of nothing. Shuffling to the door, he slips out of the room and into the darkness. Like always, you’ve triggered his appetite.
On his traditional late-night drive, he circles the outskirts of the city for any wandering souls. He drives lazily, barely signalling his turns, and still wearing the same pajama pants. Nothing’s striking his fancy so far. His mind keeps thinking about you, and how you’re home alone in your most vulnerable state.
What if there’s a buglurar? Or a gas leak? Or— Okay. He’s losing his mind.
He parks his car at the edge of a desolate city block. He looks at the closed shops in front of him and vows to attack the first person he sees. No more thinking. Soon enough, a pretty woman in high heels turns the corner. She whistles with her jacket half off her shoulder.
He licks his lips, waiting for her to get a little closer— Then, a scream.
A man runs to her, demanding the contents of her purse. His voice is husky and muffled by a black ski mask.
Jake sighs, exiting his car. He can see the gleam of a blade in the criminal’s hand. He sighs again, annoyed. Jake hates playing superhero.
“Get back in your fucking car.” He shouts, yanking the woman towards him. She struggles against him as he brings the blade to her throat.
She mouths pleas for help, but her voice is hoarse. The words hardly form into sounds. Lip gloss, pens, and gum wrappers fall from her open purse as the robber rummages carelessly.
Jake looks from the trembling woman to the masked man.
“Are you fucking stupid?” The masked man jostles the woman, and she whimpers. “I said, get back in the car!” He’s shouting so loud, his voice cracks.
Jake looks the woman in the eyes. They’re glossy like yours were at your housewarming. “When he drops the knife, you’re going to run. Okay?”
The lady doesn’t say anything. She just closes her eyes and cries silently. Tears mix with snot as she surrenders to her fate.
“I’m telling you one more time—“
Jake turns to the man, eyes flashing red. “I heard you.”
With stiff raised shoulders, the man’s grip loosens, the metal blade clanking against the pavement. Cries coming to a stop, the woman rushes away. The click of her heels on the sidewalk was the loudest noise in the dead of night. “Wha- What’s hap—“ The man stammers.
Jake shushes him. “Come here.”
His feet drag one after the other until he’s in front of the scarlet-eyed creature. Panting and squinting, he attempts to speak, but Jake hushes him over and over. His voice won’t work. His hands won’t work. His eyes welled with tears helplessly. “Muh muh— puhh— lee- lee- leeze.”
“Sshhhh.” Jake closes his eyes, inhaling his fear. Finally, his fangs sink into the flesh.
On the drive home, with the bitter blood of a criminal painting his lips, Jake realizes boring doesn’t mean safe. You need to be protected.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
It’s 6 PM on Friday, and you’re buzzing with excitement in your booth seat. Restaurant speakers play 2000s hits, and your co-workers are loudly arguing over the appeal of antique furniture, but you can’t hear it. All your focus goes to the text on your phone screen.
Jake: Be there in 10
You can’t believe he actually agreed to show up. He said it casually over the phone during his lunch break. Like it was nothing. Now you’re nursing a cocktail waiting for the sound of a windchime to bring you back to life.
Finally, that familiar ringing.
Nearly breaking your neck, you turn to the door, and there he is in his typical puffer coat with his hair mussed from the wind. He pushes up a pair of glasses on the edge of his nose, suddenly catching your eye. A soft smile forms on his lips, and it’s enough to make you all but melt into the sticky restaurant floors.
You smooth out the creases on your sweater and pants as he makes his way over.
“Who are we looking at?” Your tobacco-chewing co-worker, Susan, grins at you across the table.
You bow your head bashfully. “A friend.”
“A friend?” She quirks a brow.
You nod, eyes closed, trying to calm the heat spreading across your face.
“Excuse me,” Jake scootches past a few of your colleagues to sit next to you on the tattered booth. The smell of peppermint lingers on his clothes. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Your arms awkwardly wrap around your torso as you look to him.
“So you’re the friend?” Susan says in a teasing tone.
“Jake is fine.” He reaches a hand across the table, and she meets it kindly.
You watch, enthralled. Sure, you’ve gone out with Jake before, but you’ve never seen him socialize. Usually, he acts like an imaginary friend, saying things only you can hear and laughing at jokes only he knows.
“You okay?” He turns to you, slipping his jacket off.
You nod aggressively. “Just happy you’re here,” you say, squeezing his arm. Up close, you notice a spec of something red on the corner of his mouth. “Even if it’s with tomato sauce on your face,” swiping at the spec.
He looks at the red smear on your thumb as you wipe it on a napkin. “Sorry.”
“You look good,” you think aloud as he slips his jacket off.
He smirks, leaning in so only you can hear. “You look better.”
“Who’s four-eyes?” Benson calls from beside you, words lacing together from the booze. He taps your thigh to get your attention, and it quickly snatches Jake’s eye.
“A company friend,” Susan delivers sarcastically.
You blink. “Oh. Benson, this is—“
“We’ve met.” Jake nods at him, interrupting. “I sold you a car.”
“Which one?” Benson chides. “Got a couple.” He nudges your shoulder, snickering. The table breaks into low laughter, finally paying your section some attention.
Jake shrugs, a tight smile on his face. “Guess it doesn’t matter.”
“So you work at the dealership?” Susan leans on the table.
“Yeah, for a little over a year now.”
“Add a realtor, and you guys could be the corporate Power Puff Girls.” Benson huffs, tapping your thigh again for emphasis.
“Funny.” Jake tuts, gaze on your legs. If he weren’t sitting with a dozen people, Jake would’ve forced Benson’s hands into his pockets. Instead, he scoops up your knees and places your calves in his lap. You sip your drink to hide your surprise.
“Well, I think you two look just fine as a duo.” Susan delivers pointedly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up like Mark and Minah.”
You choke on your drink, playing it off with a cough. “Marriage is a jump.“
“Yeah, Sue. A little overly ambitious.” Benson speaks into the bottom of his glass.
“It’s just a piece of paper.” Jake laughs to himself.
You grow a little stiff. “It’s a commitment.”
“It’s an excuse to throw a party,” He says under his breath.
“It’s a ceremonial agreement.” You press.
Jake gives your knee a firm squeeze. “Forget I mentioned it.”
The two of you have never talked about long-term goals before. Jake wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d spend the rest of your life together, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t open to it. Why would you go out with someone you see no future with? The thought makes your head spin.
Benson chuckles beside you, patting your leg once again. “That basically sums up why my first wife and I didn’t last.”
“Which one was your first wife again?” Jake asks, running a finger over his lips. “I get mixed up so easily.” The table laughs, someone obnoxiously jostling Benson into you. Jake doesn’t smile or relent. He remains fixed on Benson, who narrows his eyes with a grin.
“Alright, wise guy.” Your boss leans back into his seat, locking eyes with a waiter. “Let’s get the new guy a beer. Maybe it’ll loosen the stick in his ass.” He mumbles the last part.
Jake waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh, then you’re going to be plain miserable hanging out with us,” Susan pouts sympathetically.
Benson scoffs, his smugness unwaivering. “C’mon, Sue. Who are we to judge if he likes to watch?” His tone is overly suggestive.
This is how the night continues. Jake says something, and Benson somehow manages to make it the butt of a joke. A perpetual cycle of humorless teasing. Even while Jake grows quiet, Benson will toss an off-handed remark about asking the ‘wise guy’. Every time you shut him down, he taps your leg, insisting that it’s ‘all a joke’ in an increasingly sloppy cadence.
“I need a cigarette.” Susan stands, stretching. Like most others, she’s about three beers in.
“I’ll join you,” Jake slips your legs off of his.
You watch them b-line for the exit.
Jake stands with his jacket open, unfazed by the cold. Susan holds a cig between her teeth, struggling against the wind to light it until Jake cups a large hand around the flame. She inhales, lending him a smile, then a cigarette of his own.
They loiter silently, smoking and watching cars pass. It’s already dark outside, but the lamposts on this side of town don’t flicker.
“Don’t mind Ben. He’s just busting your balls.” Susan breaks the silence.
Jake nods between drags.
“It’s a good thing. Means he likes her.” She tries to be reassuring.
He focuses more on the cigarette than her voice as she rambles. Then, the windchime rings. You step outside the restaurant and next to Jake, holding your coat close.
Susan looks between the two of you and flicks her cig on the ground. She snubs it with her shoe. “Three's a crowd.” With that, she waltzes back in.
The silence stretches.
“He’s touchy.” His voice is low, like he doesn’t want you to hear it.
“Unfortunately.” You mutter, both looking out to the street. Cars glide by, shining bright yellow and red headlights onto the sidewalk. Since when does he even smoke cigarettes?
“Is that really the kind of friendship you want?”
“It’s the kind I have access to.” You face him. “I’m making the best of a shitty situation…”
“Or you like the attention.” He suggests under his breath.
Scoffing, “He doesn’t pay me any more attention than anyone else.”
“You’re not that naive.” He takes a drag, burning it down to the bud.
Like flipping a switch, your body fills with anger. “Maybe I am, since I thought the guy I’ve been seeing for 3 months, but isn’t officially my boyfriend, would believe in marriage.”
He furrows his brows and tosses the bud on the ground. “You’re really stuck on that?”
“Well, it’s a pretty big deal, Jake.” You swivel in front of him, forcing him to face you.
“Didn’t you say marriage was a jump anyway? Why does it matter—“
“Because partners should have compatible goals!” You lose your temper.
He calls your name, frustratedly. “We have a good thing. Can’t we keep it at that?“
“No, because I want to get married.” You look away, something about it all felt humiliating. “I want a family, Jake.” The cold forces you to dig your hands into your pockets. “And you’re just the guy who leaves before morning.”
Fixing his gaze on a distant cloud, he shakes his head. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“It’s been 3 months, how the hell should I know?” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “But I deserve to understand what I’m getting into.”
“There isn’t anything to get into!” He runs a hand over his face, and it distorts his words.
You freeze. The implications of his words sat heavily on your heart. They rolled over your shoulders and down your back like ice water as you looked up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He reaches to grab your arm, but your feet move before your brain, widening the gap between you two. “I shouldn’t have—“
“No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did because what the fuck did that mean?” Your brows knit together tightly. Suddenly, a woman in a trucker hat approaches, tapping you on your shoulder.
“Susan in there?” If she can tell you’re arguing, she doesn’t make it obvious.
You sigh, recognizing her as your coworker’s spouse. You nod, and she returns the gesture before walking inside. The burn from Jake’s gaze forces your eyes elsewhere.
He watches the crown of your head as you look down, kicking at gravel. Not being able to do anything— to fix anything— makes him panic. His eyes shift around relentlessly as he tries to latch onto your thoughts, even for a whisper.
“I don’t like having my time wasted, Jake.” Your voice is finite as you stare into space. The sharp edges of a rock beneath your shoe are the only thing grounding you to the sour moment.
“I’m not…” His hand anxiously fidgets with the car keys in his pocket. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I’m looking for someone consistent.” When you turn to him, he’s stripped of his usual confidence. “I want dinner dates and shared cups of coffee in the morning. If you can’t do that for me, then go home.”
Jake peers up at the night sky. The bittersweetness of it all makes his eyes sting.
Nodding, you take a deep breath. “I’ll catch a ride with Sue." You swing the restaurant door open, and the song of windchimes echoes as Jake lingers alone on the pavement.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“And you’re sure you don’t mind?” Susan asks as she and her partner hoist a senseless Benson into your living room. He stumbles onto your couch with a lazy smile.
“It’s fine, I’ll just call him a cab.” You jog to your kitchen to grab him a bottle of water.
“I hate to do this, but if we don’t head back to the restaurant, Amber’s forgetful ass will be without a phone for the weekend.” Susan jabs an elbow at her date.
“I never would’ve forgotten it if I weren’t playing designated driver for you in the first place.” She tsks.
The couple goes back and forth teasing while you place the ice water in Benson’s loose grasp. “Thanks again for the ride,” you toss them a final smile.
“No worries, sweetheart!” Susan hurriedly pulls Amber out the door, leaving you in silence.
Benson holds the cold bottle to his face, trying to cool the fire from within him. He almost looks unrecognizable like this.
“Drink some water, while I figure out your ride.” You kick his foot lightly with your own and pull out your cellphone. He drinks with an unrivaled thirst, and it makes you snort. “I’m quitting if you spill that on my couch.”
“What do I win if I don’t spill it?” He screws on the bottle cap.
“Better sales.” You chide dryly.
He grumbles. “You always talk about work.”
“Because we work together—“ Without warning, he reaches for your wrist and pulls you toward him on the sofa. You tumble into his lap helplessly, and his arms cage your waist. “Okay. That's enough.” Placing your hands on his shoulders, you attempt to pry yourself away.
“Don’t be so uptight.” His words slur.
“Let go of me.” You warn, applying more force. Feathers shed from your throw pillows and onto the floor as you struggle.
He nuzzles into you, squeezing painfully tight. “What about all our lunch dates, huh?” His voice shows an unfamiliar edge. “Were you just leading me on?”
The doorbell rings. Benson places a hand over your mouth as you attempt to shout, but you bite his finger. You free yourself as he whines in pain. It feels like your heart could leap out of your chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You spit, adjusting your clothes and stumbling away from him.
“You bitch.” He looks at his finger while it throbs in pain.
“Get out of my house before I call the police.” You pull out your phone, immediately typing the familiar three numbers.
He chuckles, the noise turning into hiccups. “That’ll still give me 15 minutes.”
The threat sends fear through your entire being. “Fuck you,” you press call.
The bell goes off again as Benson stands. Abruptly, he yanks you close and backhands you. The force sends you hurdling toward the floor. The phone flies out of your hand, and his ring slices a cut into your cheek. The ringing at the door has switched to a prominent banging. “Do me a favor and shut up.” Benson sniffles, making his way to the door.
He opens it to reveal Jake. His fist is still in the air, and a crease between his brows.
“What?” Benson slurs.
Jake stares without a word, his jaw tense.
Benson looks him up and down, his footing unsteady. “Can I help you?”
“Is Y/N home?” Jake says flatly.
He glances at your cowering figure on the living room floor, then back to Jake. “She’s in the bathroom.”
“You’re lying.” Jake remains fixed on the man with a sloppy feather in his hair. He can hear the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat and wait— does he smell blood? “Can I come in?”
Benson scoffs, attempting to close the door.
“Her headlights are on.” The words rush out of Jake’s mouth.
Benson squints, stepping onto the dark porch to get a look a the Accord. “I don’t see any—“
With swiftness, Jake grabs Benson’s forearm. His grip presses tighter and tighter until Ben drops to his knees, wailing in pain. Only then, as the man begs, do his eyes blend to a deep red. He doesn’t loosen his hold until he hears a snap over the symphony of crickets on your lawn.
You scramble away from the door, shaken by Benson’s visceral cries of pain. The entirety of your body trembles with fear as your boss lets out a silent scream, looking at his mangled arm.
“Y- you broke my arm,” Benson shouts. “You little—“ He uses the adrenaline to rush forward, and they both fall down the shallow set of steps. Using his good hand to strangle Jake, “I’ll fucking kill you!” Benson blubbers the phrase over and over like a madman.
Peeking through your living room window, you watch as Jake sneers, flipping the two of them over. He bears his fangs animalistically.
“What are y—“
Jake tears a chunk of flesh from the man’s neck as he screams. He drinks until his feet stop kicking and the skin runs grey. You watch, frozen in place. Jake wipes the blood from his face and pushes the body aside. He sits on the bottom step panting.
Your heart sinks as you rise on shaky legs. Feet moving to the door, you stand in disbelief.
As if teleported from thin air, Jungwon appears, briskly moving toward your beloved neighbor. “For fuck’s sake.” He looks at Benson’s limpness.
“How did you…” Jake slurs, dazed by the alcohol running through his system.
“I was watching.” He points to a blinking red light on Jake’s living room window seal. A sad smile graces his lips.
Jake nods dumbly, obviously out of it. His victim drank enough for a small village. From a distance, police sirens blare down the quiet suburban blocks. “Shit.” Jake winces.
Jungwon grabs Benson’s shoulders and glances at you. “Is this your car?”
You blink, watching him drag the corpse toward the back wheels of your Sedan. Your head nods, without asking your mind.
“Good, go get your keys,” Jungwon says, turning to Jake. “Get up.”
Jake fumbles up, joining his leader, who pries the trunk open with brute force. Jungwon’s strength is so incomprehensible that he shakes the car. Jake lifts the body, hauling it inside once the trunk is open. When it’s done, he turns to face you, and the look on your face crushes him.
Your hands are shaking, and mascara stains your cheeks. It’s like you’ve seen a monster— it’s like he’s a monster.
He tries to speak, but shame steals his voice. It’s all over. He lost control. He bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
The slamming of the trunk lid makes you shiver. The sirens were creeping closer. “Keys, Y/N.” Jungwon faces you sternly, and you nearly trip rushing to grab your purse.
“She hates me.” Jake breathes.
Jungwon sighs. “Regardless, she’s in this now. She either leaves with you or you drain her.”
“I can’t—“
“I’m not asking you, Jake.” Jungown glares. “I’m calling Heeseung. Maybe you can stay with him until this blows over.” With that, he walks away.
He nods with glossy eyes. In that moment, he realizes his power is no gift, it’s a curse. It ruins everything. It strips him of everything. He wishes he could go back and kill his maker. There is nothing romantic about death.
Making your way back to the door, you stare at the back of his head. The wind blows through his hair like the first time he showed up on your doorstep. Seeing him covered in blood made it hard to breathe, and the shine in his eyes was indescribable. It was the kind of desperate look that haunts nightmares.
You totter to the front of him, raising a wet cloth. With shaky hands, you dab away the blood on his cheeks.
Jake closes his eyes at the contact, filling his undead lungs with air. “I have to leave now,” he mumbles under the sirens.
You nod, chewing your lip as stray tears spill from your eyes.
“I’m um,” He lets go of a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about everything. I- I’m not—”
The color of the cop cars becomes clear in the distance. You drag the cloth over his lips, silencing him as you clean the last of it. “Can I ask you something?”
He sighs, nodding.
“H-how did you um,” your voice shakes like a leaf in the wind. Clearing your throat, “What made you come over?” The thought plagued your mind more than the murder.
Jake’s eyes open, glancing at the rag in your hand. “I knew something was wrong.”
You retrieve the cloth, wringing out the liquid. “But how—“
“I could feel you.” He looks at you, gaze soft and familiar. “Your heart was racing.” His voice is small.
Starring at him like you always do, something shifts. He still looks like your Jake. You swallow harshly, the spit traveling down like a rock in your throat. Relationships require trust. “What do we do now?”
He blinks. It’s like he’s experiencing you for the first time. You don’t smell or look like anyone else. You’re just you. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, but he knows he’ll spend the rest of eternity thanking the stars for this gift. With one look, you have given him a taste of what it feels like to be normal.
“Dump the body, then head north,” Jungwon wanders over, fixed on Jake. “Heeseung agreed.”
You’re not sure who that is or where you’re going, but you know it’ll be with Jake. Your face calms as you walk toward the passenger seat. “Can you drive?” You hold the keys out to Jake, who stares dumbfounded.
“I uh,” He glances to Jungwon, who’s equally as surprised. The leader’s shock turns into a smile as Jake turns back to you. “Yes. I can.” He straightens, making his way to the driver's seat as you duck into the vehicle.
With a trunk full of blood, the two of you ride through the desolate streets of Riverfeild until the sirens fade into your memory and the clouds turn to clear skies. Through it all, Jake holds your hand atop the console. Whatever's next, you’ll face it together.
Finals and my internship were breaking tf outta my ankles, then when I got some free time, BAM more work 😔 Had to go into hibernation (get it because my new pfp with the bear hat 🤠) fr tho like I literally forgot there was a comeback and everything but we're back!
I finally dropped something, tryna be active again 😌
Synopsis: Where is Benson Clark? You're one of the few who know the ugly truth-- the only living person, really. He's where your undead boyfriend left him. If you fled town to protect this secret, and it's working, why is everything still falling apart?
Themes: Small town au, runaway au, aged up (mid-late 20s), angst!, humor, fluff, Vamp Enha, violence/ gore, road trip, isolation/ loneliness, suggestive content, kissing, hurt/ comfort, death + mortality, guilt!, jealousy, eating, reading, vomit, Blue Collar Jake x Stay-at-Home Reader, Benson is your old boss, drinking, social media, panic attack/ melt down, guns, lots of vampirism, moral greyness, buckle up pls it's a journey...
Ft. Heeseung (Enhypen), Ni-ki (Enhypen), Jungwon (Enhypen), Taehyun (TXT), Taesan (BoyNextDoor), Sion (NCT Wish), & a few ocs
A/N: 3 billion years later [Spongebob voice]. Ahhh I'm sorry! Part 2 came to me a lot slower + school was schooling, but I'm back! <3 TYSM guys for the love on this au!!!
Days like this were deceiving. The sun sits high, but the wind naws at whatever warmth it could’ve provided the surface. Luckily, you’re in your car, where neither of those factors can reach you. With your knees to your chest, you sit in the passenger seat, mesmerized by the rushing water a few paces from where you’re parked.
The vehicle sits on a bed of sand and gravel at the bank of a river you’ve never seen. Everything from the last few days has been unfamiliar. The crash of the waves is louder than your old neighborhood ever was. Regardless, that’s old news. Riverfield was three towns ago.
The driver’s door opens, and your eyes follow the sound.
In tumbles Jake, wearing a pair of overly baggy jeans, a hoodie, and a cap. He sits in the driver's seat for a moment without closing the door. His jeans have wet patches below the knee and various dirt stains. The hood and cap are so far pulled over his head that you can hardly see his face.
Realization hits you, and you shiver, unable to ask.
“It’s done.” He answers anyway, taking the cap off to muss his hair.
You don’t say anything. The visual of him dragging your boss’s limp, decaying carcass toward the center of the raging white waters runs through your head, making the air feel thin. Is this really what your life has become?
“Do you want the radio?” Jake reaches for the vehicle controls, but stops as you shake your head. He hums awkwardly, like the sound is an accident. “Sorry, might’ve tracked in a little mud.”
At that, you meet his eye. Voice a mumble, “I don’t understand why you had to do it this way.”
Jake blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”
You shrug, resting your knees in the chair so you’re sitting criss-cross. “Couldn’t you, like, make the body disappear or something? Use your demonic powers and—“
“Demonic powers?” Jake smirks, closing the door and facing you.
You have been on the road for 2 days, but there hasn’t been much clarification on what the fuck happened to bring you here. Yes, Jake killed a man. Yes, you saw it. Yes, it took place on your front lawn. And yes, Jake did it with his bare fucking hands in the most graphic way you can imagine. Still, you don’t actually understand what happened. The memory’s like a hazey nightmare.
Before now, Jake has spent most of his time trying to make sure you’re comfortable. He’s bought you good food at every town you’ve passed. He’s told jokes. He always keeps a grounding hand on your thigh. Neither of you spoke much.
“I’m sorry, do you prefer the phrase ‘dark magic’?” You jest sarcastically, drawing air quotes with your hands.
“I’m not a demon, Y/N.” He says confidently. One of his new habits is the inability to hold eye contact with you for prolonged periods of time, so his attention shifts to rubbing his palms on his denim-clad thighs. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”
“You just dumped his gray-skinned body in a river.”
He hesitates, “Yeah… but—“
“And you have super strength.” You deadpan.
Laughing, “Super strength is a silly way to put it—“
“Your eyes were red.” You want him to admit it. To put your mind at ease.
“Yes.” He nods. “That doesn’t mean I’m from Hell.” He meant it as a joke, but his mind stutters over the words with uncertainty.
“Where are you from?” You raise a brow.
“I grew up—“
“Jake.” Your voice drops as you fix him with a stern look.
He sighs. He’d never imagined this. Sure, he mulled over the idea of you finding out, but he always thought you’d run away after, not ask him a million questions. Turns out he’s the one not ready to talk. “Can I show you instead?”
His nervous demeanor rattles you. Still, you nod, fingers playing with a loose thread on the sweater you thrifted a town over.
Jake runs a hand over his face, mumbling to himself. He looks at you earnestly and slowly flashes his fangs. His canines extend until they stick out past his full lips. Instinctually, his tongue runs across them.
You stare blankly. Your emotions have been on vacation since the incident. “What are you saying?” You see his lips move, but the words won’t register. He’s a what?!
“Vampire,” He repeats flatly without retracting the dangers in his mouth.
Your brows knit together. “But you’re in the sun?”
He nods. “I’m a little sensitive, but it doesn’t really affect me.”
Something about it felt like a prank. “You can be honest, I won’t freak out.”
“I’m being serious,” he laughs incredulously. “Why do you think Benson’s body was that color?”
He waits briefly for an answer, but your heart sinks in silence.
“That’s what people look like without blood.” He delivers bluntly in an attempt to convince you. “That’s what the fangs are for.”
Suddenly, the river outside the window feels interesting. You need to look away— to distract yourself. It all makes your head spin.
Jake sits patiently, hands folded in his lap, thumbs twiddling aimlessly.
“That doesn’t make sense.” You shake your head in denial.
He sighs, retracting his fangs. “What would make you believe me?”
Eyes still trained out the window, you sigh. Murder should be convincing enough, but this is Jake we’re talking about. Sweet, golden retriever, stay-at-home all the time, Jake. You look at him hesitantly. “If it’s true, then bite me.”
Jake tuts, immediately rejecting the idea. “I’ll pass.”
“Then bite an animal,” you press.
“I bit Benson.” His patience thins. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Turn into a bat. Do something.”
“Can you not be stubborn right now? I already—”
“You asked what would make me believe you, that’s what—“ With your mouth still hanging open, your voice disappears. Squeaks are all your vocal cords can manage. Turning to Jake, you grab your throat. There’s no pain, only absence.
“Stop.” He brings a finger to his lips in a hushing motion, his voice almost foreign. He’s not shouting, but he isn’t asking either. “Relationships require trust, right?”
You gape at him in response, unable to do anything else.
“You’re just going to have to believe me.”
Throat still squeaking, your brows furrow. Suddenly, sound returns to your throat, and you gasp. “What- What did you—“ You pant frantically.
“Breathe.” He inhales deeply through his nose, then exhales slowly out of his mouth. It takes a while, but you follow along. He doesn’t stop until you’re able to match his pace.
“What w-was that?” The lack of control sends your mind into a frenzy and leaves your body jittery.
“Proof.” He focuses on the window. “And it’s all you’re getting.”
You sit quietly, reviewing what just happened. The waves crashing against the rocky shore fill the space between you two. Believing him feels like the better option— the correct option. “Did you ever do that to me before?”
He takes a moment before nodding. “I’ve put you to sleep a few times.”
Oh. Your eyes shift around in thought. “Did you… drink from me?” The words trickle out, staggered like independent thoughts.
Shifting the car from neutral to drive, he pauses. “I’ve had a taste from time to time.” Using his palm, he spins the steering wheel to pull back onto the dirt road that took you here. Back through thickets of trees, where condom wrappers and empty bottles litter the ground.
The crackle of tires against the gritty earth and the fading sound of waves are all there is. His confession was still ripe in your mind, but no further explanation is given until he’s about to merge onto the freeway.
“I think.” Looking left to right for oncoming traffic, he starts. “I think you taste like cherries.” The car picks up speed as you join the current of vehicle fish.
You cringe slightly. Really, cherries? “Yuck.”
“What’d you want to taste like?” He smiles fondly, glancing at you.
“Cinnamon and spice.” You say, thinking of the children's rhyme. “And everything nice,” you mumble to yourself.
Jake snorts. “You want to be an overpriced seasonal latte?”
“I assumed I’d have a little more kick.” You observe his profile.
Shaking his head smugly, “Nah. You’re perfectly sweet.”
“Like a cupcake?” You press. That sounds more ideal.
“Like a cherry, Y/N.” He confirms, smirk unshakeable.
“Or a cherry pie? I can get down with your cherry pie—“
“Like a real cherry you’d pick off a tree.” He turns to you for a moment. “No added sugars, butter, or preservatives. Just cherries.”
You huff, sitting back in your seat. Arms folded across your chest, you watch the trees that line the road zoom by the passenger window. Jake’s hand makes its way atop your thigh, and he rubs mindless patterns into your ill-fitting jeans. All of your clothes were bought in a rush from a second-hand store a couple of stops back. Same town where you got the license plates changed from a shady bear-belly-having man with missing teeth.
Calling your name softly, “I like cherries.” His tone was like a blooming flower, delicate and persistent.
Shifting so you’re leaning on your side, facing him in the stiff leather seat, you watch his fingers bend and twist. He grazes your clothed knee. His fingerpads dance against your thigh like sunlight on water. It’s almost tickle-ish.
This entire situation would be unbearable without Jake’s tenderness. You would’ve gone mad. He’s like your anchor, your lifeline. Being on the run just made you want him more, like him more, need him more. Benson’s death was a trauma bond, fusing the two of you.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“How much further?” You ask about an hour later, as you reach for a half-empty bag of Goldfish once forgotten in the cupholder.
Jake motions at a mountain in the distance. It’s a clear day, so you can see snow scattered at the peak. At least it’s closer than yesterday. “About a day left of driving.”
You slouch into the chair, defeatedly, and he laughs.
“We just started,” he muses.
“My body aches.” You whine.
He coos at you, pouting. “My poor baby.”
You sigh and reach a hand toward his hair. “Coffee break?”
“You don’t need the caffeine.” He tsks.
“Hot chocolate?” You card through his nape. “And I’ll buy a book so I can stop bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me,” he relents, checking signs for the nearest exit.
Simple as that, you’re sitting on the tattered pleather barstools of a retro dinner with a menu as long as a book and half as big as a billboard. You lean forward on the counter, barely skimming the monstrous list. Next to you, Jake swivels back and forth on his stool, hands buried in his hoodie pockets. Without a menu of his own, he glances over your shoulder.
“Do they really need a sandwich for every day of the week?” He’s a lot closer than you’re expecting, his breath like feathers on the side of your neck.
“Absolutely not,” you flip the menu closed as a gloomy young waitress in a stripped sweater approaches.
She clicks a pen to her notepad. “How can I help you?”
“One hot chocolate, please.” You smile, resting your chin on your hand.
“Make that two,” Jake adds beside you. “Both in takeaway cups.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him as the waitress nods and walks away. “Didn’t realize your kind drank hot cocoa.”
He laughs, smoothing a hand over your spine. “That’s for you. I’m thinking ahead.”
“I’m not that greedy,” you grumble as the waitress walks over with 2 steaming paper cups. She places them in front of you on the countertop.
“Plus two cups means we can do this,” Jake picks up the small cup and grins down at you, barely containing his excitement. He holds the cup out to you, his pinky extended comically.
You snort, sitting up enough to meet him halfway. You knock your cup into the side of his. “Cheers,” you say unanimously. He hums, lowering his cup, as he watches you take a lengthy sip of the chocolate goodness. It’s not as sweet as you were hoping, but the film of whipped cream helps. Your eyes follow the steam flowing from the small opening in the lid.
Jake never drank hot chocolate as a child. It was always tea, and not the sweet kind either. His family was humble, so there was no milk or chocolate. Rarely, they'd offer sugar as his parents tried to impress a guest. On occasions, they bought honey to make hangwa. Perhaps your sweet tooth is why your blood is so syrupy.
He takes a whiff of the steam, trying to memorise its scent. That is, until he realizes you’re staring at him. “What?”
Staring is nothing new between the two of you, but the pensive look in your eye was unfamiliar. “I was thinking.”
“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” He smirks, inhaling more steam.
“Aren’t you,” you give him a once-over. “Hungry?”
He blinks.
“If what you said is true—”
“It is.” He points.
“—You’ve barely left my side in over 2 days.” Taking another sip, your eyes don’t move from him. You could say he’s a bit paler. “Don’t you need… sustenance?”
What an awkward way for you to invite him to go kill something.
“I uh,” Jake buffers. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry, but admitting it felt like writing ‘monster’ on a sticky note and slapping it on his forehead. “I’ll be alright.”
“We still have another day of driving.” Your mind wanders back to the image of his fangs. Maybe… Extending your forearm to him, “Do you want—“
He shakes his head profusely in disagreement. It’d be better if he didn’t get used to your taste. He doesn’t want to form any habits and complicate an already complicated situation. “If you’re worried, I’ll try to find something.” He dismisses the thought as soon as it comes out of his mouth.
“I think you should.” Your voice is oddly calm.
How the hell is he supposed to kill someone while you know he’s out killing someone? That’s too honest for him. He doesn’t want to become your murder-happy boyfriend. That’s not his thing.
He scratches the back of his neck. “That’s a little weird, don’t you think?”
Replaying the words in your head, you can’t help but agree. It is weird, but isn’t weird normal at this point? You take another leisurely sip. “Well, do whatever you have to do. I don’t want you passing out behind the wheel.”
Something odd happens to Jake’s chest: a squeeze and a jump all at the same time. His stomach feels like someone is tickling his intestines.
You laugh, it’s light and airy. “Why are you so shocked?” Moving a few messy strands out of his face, you smile. “People don’t let people they like starve. That’s not new.”
People, he’s people. That same feeling bubbles up. You give him butterflies.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The first hot chocolate is finished in no time, so you take off to find a bookstore as promised. Jake holds your cup as you make your way down random streets in search of Literary Atlantis, yes, that’s the real name of the bookstore.
When you finally make it through the heavy wooden doors of the shop, you b-line straight to the young adults section and pull out Twilight. While he laughed for a solid 10 minutes at the sight, he’s stunned when it’s actually part of your purchase. You looked at him and whispered ‘for research’ before waltzing out with your receipt.
Save for occasional motion sickness, the day carries on seamlessly, filled with driving, reading, and room-temperature hot cocoa. You watched the sun set past the edge of your mountain destination, orange and pink spilling over the white and grey ridges.
As the dark sky bled into a blueish-black, Jake suggests something new: staying in a motel. Before today, Jake had driven through the night to make up for time wasted lolly-gagging throughout the day. Of course, that was somewhat because you were still harboring a body. Now, he can afford to relax for a few hours.
It’s a dingy 2-story building, but the rooms aren’t bad. In the center sits a queen-size bed with a maroon-patterned comforter, and a matching carpet covers the floor. The warm bulb of a lamp flickers against the outdated wooden fixtures and generic decorations. Everything smells like mothballs and fabric softener.
The first thing you do is kick off your shoes and sink into the surprisingly plush mattress. Jake checks a white mini fridge in the corner for water, tossing one on the bed for you.
“Any alcohol?” You roll over to face him as he crouches in the corner.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He teases, closing the refrigerator.
A whine rips through your throat, you muffle it by stuffing your face in a pillow, and Jake laughs. You rotate like a rotisserie chicken, agonizing. The unwaivering guilt from seeing your boss’s mangled, rotting arm sits heavily on your chest. “One glass, to take the edge off.” You insist, beg really.
“You don’t need wine for that.” Jake stands, unzipping his hoodie.
“But I do.” You insist.
“Wanna bet, you don’t?” He tosses his hoodie on a vacant armchair and crawls onto the bed, not stopping until he’s on top of you with that look in his eyes. The kind that makes your stomach twist.
“I do.” Your voice is faint as you gaze up at him. His eyes were filled with so much heat that your mind goes blank. From a look alone, your breathing had gone heavy.
Shaking his head, “You don’t.” His voice leaves no room for doubt as he rests the firm weight of his lower body against you. Without warning, his lips meet yours. You gasp, and he takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss, tilting his head so his nose brushes your cheek. It’s messy and all-consuming like he’s been waiting all day to pry your mouth open with his own.
He kisses you torturously slow, like he’s dedicated a week in his calendar just for kissing. The kind that makes your eyebrows knit together, and your mind flood with filth. Every small sound draws a smile to his face, but he doesn’t stop. He nips and licks until your lungs are void of oxygen, forcing you to break away.
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, panting slightly, using his nose to push down the flimsy collar of your sweater as his lips plant kisses across the freshly exposed area. He felt like he was going crazy. Teasingly, he extends his fangs and grazes across your pulse.
A sharp inhale comes from your lips, and he smirks against your skin.
“Kidding.” He squeezes your waist, trying to ground himself.
“Sharp,” you mumble, still dazed.
A low laugh resonates in his chest. “That’s the point.” He rests on his elbows to look at you, smirking and licking his lips. “Get it? Point.”
You huff. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
“You’re prettier.” He burrows his head in your chest. “By a lot.”
His hands move across your body like he doesn’t know what to do first. In all honesty, he’s been holding this back since he revealed his secret to you in the car earlier. You were so composed, so calm. Then you asked him to bite you, and he nearly stained his pants. Sure, it wasn’t the right time, but fuck, you were offering yourself to him. It was like a twisted fantasy.
He pulls away to lift the hem of your sweater so it sits under your bust. Moving down your body to relish in the newly revealed skin, he murmurs to himself. “Missed this.”
You go to push his bangs out of the way to see his face, but his eyes are closed. He’s completely immersed in you. Scanning his face, “Me too.”
With his head resting on your stomach, he toys with the hem of your jeans. He locks eyes with you as he pops the button and drags down the stiff zipper so slowly it has you squirming. “Your heart is racing.” He rolls over to peel the denim off of you.
The rhythm in your chest stutters. “That’s your fault.”
Jake smiles bashfully. He looks at the cute floral underwear you bought at a discount store as he settles back between your legs. “I’m sorry?” He teases.
“You should be.” Why are you so fucking out of breath? His fingers snap the elastic band of the floral garment against your skin, and your stomach tenses. Liking your reaction, he does it again.
“You know,” he says, glancing at your face. “There’s one thing sweeter than this,” he points a finger at your thumping heart. Face to face with the elastic of your underwear, he drags his hand down your stomach. “So sweet, I should call you sugar.”
His breath mingles on your skin. Your hips raise instinctually, but he pins you down. “Stop teasing,” You huff.
Hands rubbing roughly along the expanse of your stomach, “Or what?” He plucks at the elastic once more.
“Or I’ll think you’re lying,” you bait, trying to steal back some of the power.
He smiles, fingers hooking around the waistband. “I guess I’d better prove it then.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You watch from under the covers as Jake redresses with haste.
A belt loops around his waist to secure his baggy jeans. “And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” He looks to you, but your eyes are closed again. He calls your name.
Eyes fluttering open, “Yes, I’m sure.” You lend a tired smile. “Go. I’ll be here.”
He looks at you for a moment, uncertainty written across his face. “If you need me—“
“I’ll call you,” you finish the sentence for him. “Now go before we both change our minds.”
He laughs at your grumpiness. “Lock up when I leave, yeah?”
You hum, too tired to talk.
Laughing some more, he rushes out the words like second nature. “Okay, I love you. I’ll be back soon.”
With that, he’s out the door, and you’re wide fucking awake because he’s never said that before. “I love you,” you repeat into the empty room. Those are the words for it, aren’t they? This feeling… love. You turn on the TV to distract yourself.
You flip past soap operas and late-night talk shows mindlessly, looking for something nostalgic. Then a familiar name catches your ear on the news.
“The search for the missing Benson Clark continues on a regional scale as the police struggle to find a lead, causing locals to take to social media.” A news anchor with a highly practiced accent rattles off robotically.
Everything from your scalp to your toes runs cold. Your fingers freeze against the remote.
“—Sadie Clark, Benson’s only daughter, uses her online following of over 20,000 to call for action. Known for several popular dance challenges, she strays from her usual content in a heartrending testimony. Let’s take a look.” The TV speaker blares into the space like it’s the only sound in the world.
A soft-featured teenage girl appears on the screen with glossy eyes. You didn’t know he had a child. Her voice blends into white noise as your eyes sting and your brain turns to static. Your mouth hangs open as you try to catch every other word.
“Support my mom—Unimaginable loss—Private Investigator—Dad—Alive.“
At some point, you’d clicked the TV off, but the words still danced in your skull. Your body is shaking, and your lungs are tight. The air in here isn’t working, and your gut churns. Panicking, you rush to the bathroom, emptying your stomach into the porcelain toilet bowl. Acid burns your throat, but the guilt hurts more.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“Can you talk to me? Please?”
The car sits parked on a desolate road on the outskirts of a rye field. It’s just past 5 pm, and you’re about 20 minutes from Heeseung’s house, maybe less. The only sound surrounding you is the wind.
Jake sighs behind the wheel. Oh, right, the wind and Jake. “Is this because of what I said last night?” His voice is small as he looks to his lap.
You snap up, facing him. “What? No.” You pause, mumbling. “I um, share those feelings.”
He blinks a dozen times, starting to talk, then stopping. He does this three times, while his eyebrows twitch between confusion and excitement. “You,” He points at you. “Love me?” He points at himself.
You nod, avoiding his eye.
“Oh,” he clears his throat. “Good to know.” His shoulders relax. Now he’s at a loss for words.
The field steals your attention in the quiet.
“Then, what is it? You haven’t said anything in hours.” He scans your face for a hint. “You’ve barely even looked at me.”
The wind wobbles the car as he waits for you to reply. It’d been a gloomy day full of cloudy skies and scattered showers. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but your mind remained a storm.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” The question comes out in a whisper.
“Who’s they?” His brows remain furrowed.
You shurg faintly. “The police… Or his family.”
He looks past you, out the window. It appears he’d forgotten this is your first time in a situation like this. He’d done this countless times. There’s no thrill or anxiety, there’s just doing. To him, getting caught wasn’t an option.
“I uh,” he tries to phrase it in a way that won’t dismiss your worries. “I think we’ve done everything we can to prevent that from happening.”
“We didn’t change our names.” You fix him with a serious look.
Amused, “Do you want to change our names?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying?” He presses.
“Accessory to murder— Second degree murder, these are big charges.“ The more you talk, the more weary you get.
Jake makes a skeptical sound. “We’re not being charged with anything.”
“Not yet, but his family hired a P.I., and I know—“
“You don’t know. You’re speculating.”
Does he have to be so stubborn? “Well, I know we killed someone.”
“I killed someone.” His voice is flat. “And I did it because he assaulted you. To say I regret it would be a lie.” He explains calmly. “Nothing is going to happen to you or me, that’s a promise.”
An eerie feeling remains in the vehicle as his words struggle to reach you. The late-night TV segment loops in your head. “They’re talking about it on the news, Jake.“
He sighs, fully facing you. That familiar gloss covers your irises, and it makes his heart sink.Hesitantly, he reaches for your hand and holds it in his. “Look outside.”
You roll your eyes.
“I’m serious,” he says, squeezing your palm.
“I’m looking.” Your voice is void of amusement as you watch the rye tussle with the wind outside your window.
“What do you see?”
The beige stocks span the entirety of the visible road, only interrupted by a barn and a house on the far, far left. With the clouds hanging low and grey, it looks like a painting. There are no birds, no rodents, no anything. “Nothing, I see nothing.”
“We are in the middle of nowhere.” He affirms you. “The road is so empty that I barely had to pull over. No one is getting in or out of here without us noticing. I don’t care if it’s the mailman, all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll handle it.”
You huff, releasing more tension than you knew you were holding. Your eyes move from the field to your conjoined hands.
“Okay?” He bends into your line of sight.
You nod, meeting his gaze. He’s beyond serious, eyes sharp and intense.
“With words.” He lets go of your hands.
“I understand.” You mumble.
“What do you do if you’re scared?”
“I call you.” Your voice comes out faint as you look to your lap.
“Hmm?” He leans in. “I can’t hear you.”
Looking up more confidently, “I call you.”
“Good.” He softens. “And I’ll answer.” With that, the air finally seems to calm, both inside and outside of the car. He switches the gears back into drive, continuing down the desolate road. Just a few more minutes til this is over.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Jake eases the car past an old wooden fence and onto a road lined by dead trees. A few paces ahead stands a large house with a chimney billowing smoke, a spacious porch, and an abundance of windows. It’s two stories tall and features several lanterns around the exterior. The first floor lights are on.
Jake pulls into the driveway next to a pickup truck. You each grab coats and belongings from the backseat and head outside. Thin patches of icy snow scatter the dead grass.
It's an awkward walk through the driveway as Jake practically drags his feet. This was the part he had been dreading. The ‘I told you so’ and that fuck ass grin. He’s already annoyed by the time he reaches the doorstep.
You stand behind him in your larger puffer. “Are you gonna knock or should I?”
Right. You can see him staring at the door. Sighing, “I got it.”
Another moment passes.
“Any day now…” You mutter into your coat, hands balled in cold fists. It’s chilly enough to see your breath.
At this point, he’s sure Heeseung’s on the otherside of the door. He can sense it. Cracking his neck, he knocks, and the door swings open almost instantly.
A handsome man, a bit taller than Jake, stands in front of the door smugly. He looks at Jake, then slowly glances at you shivering behind him. Attention returning to Jake, he folds his arms and places a hand over his mouth, barely containing his amusement.
“Get it over with.” Jake rolls his eyes, bored.
“I honestly don’t even know where to start.” A laugh laced through his words.
“How about ‘come in’?” Jake says dryly.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” He turns to you.
You blink, suddenly unsure if you should trust him. “Sugar…” You say it almost like it’s a question, and you don’t miss the small snort Jake releases beside you.
Heeseung smirks. “The real one, please.” His demeanor softens. “I’m not gonna go blab it around town.”
“Y/N,” you say, mildly embarrassed.
“Okay.” He smiles. “Come in, Y/N.”
Turning to Jake, you step into the house, confused. The temperature change is immediate, and your shoulders slump in relief.
Jake stands at the door, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Really, Hee?”
Heeseung turns to you, eternally smirking. “Do you want some tea, Y/N?”
“That’d be nice.” You replied with furrowed brows, still glancing at Jake. “Are you—“
“C’mon, I’ll show you where it is.” Heeseung releases the door, slamming it in Jake’s face. He confidently strides to the kitchen to put on a kettle of water.
From behind the door, Jake pokes his tongue at his cheek. He stands there, expecting it to be a short-lived joke, but no.
Inside, Heeseung boils the water, reveals his surprising assortment of teas, fills your mug, shows you where you’ll be sleeping, and gifts you a fresh set of pajamas. When you ask about Jake, he just shrugs and says, “I guess he didn’t want to come in.”
As you shower and get changed, Jake sits on the stairs of the front porch in equal amazement and annoyance. He’s not so affected by the cold as he is dumbfounded by Heeseung’s pettiness. After about an hour, he loses patience and starts swearing at the front door. Nothing happens. Then he throws a rock.
Finally, Heeseung opens the door, overcome with laughter. “Alright, alright. You can come in.”
Jake stands from his position on the porch step. His face is pale and ashy from the wind, making Heeseung laugh harder. “Fuck you and that stupid ass rule. I heard growling out there.” Jake stomps past Heeseung like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Your nose is running,” Heeseung says between wheezes.
Jake sniffles, sitting in front of the active fireplace in the warm living room. He flips him the middle finger while watching the flames dance.
At the sound of the commotion, you wander from the guest room. “What’s going on?”
He turns around, glaring at you in a way that is too dramatic to take seriously. “How could you?”
Looking from left to right, you raise a brow. You’re dressed in fuzzy pajamas, and your skin is still dewy from a shower. “What did I do?”
Jake’s mouth falls agape. “Have you never heard the ‘vampires need to be invited in’ rule?”
You blink, lost. “Why would I memorize a fact about something I didn’t know existed?”
Jake rolls his eyes, but what really grabs your attention is Heeseung’s scrutinizing gaze. He observes you with sharp eyes as he sinks onto the couch. Slowly, he fixes back on Jake, “We should talk house rules.”
Don’t use his second-floor bathroom
No unannounced guests
No garlic (powdered seasoning excluded)
No hunting alone
Jake must work full-time at Heeseung’s garage
The fifth rule particularly caught the room off guard, Jake immediately springing up in objection. “What?!”
“Didn’t Jungwon tell you?” Heeseung’s brows furrow. “No way you thought I’d harbor you and your pet fugitive for free—”
“Excuse me?” You interject from your comfy corner of the couch. A pillow rests in your lap as you sit criss-cross apple sauce.
“No offense.” He waves you off dismissively.
“No way.” Jake paces about the fireplace, shaking his head frantically. “Can’t I just pay rent?”
“I own this house, I don’t need your money.” Heeseung glowers. “Besides, we’re down a few hands at the shop.”
Jake looks to the ceiling like it’ll swallow him whole. He’s sure Jungwon’s somewhere having one hell of a laugh right now. Before he can muster up another alternative, your stomach growls violently into the quiet.
You hunch forward, arms wrapping your torso. Fantastic, you internally face-palm yourself.
Like the flip of a switch, Jake jolts into concerned boyfriend mode. “Food—Do you have food?”
Something between a laugh and a scoff escapes Heeseung. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jake huffs. “Fine, I’ll make a run.”
Standing, the homeowner takes long strides toward the kitchen. He reaches into an empty cabinet, retrieving 3 lonely items: a pack of pasta, a jar of sauce, and a box of Poptarts. He places them on the counter and folds his arms. “I’m better with tea than I am with food.”
You bring a hand to your mouth to stop from bursting into laughter.
Heeseung sucks his teeth, embarrassed. Looking at Jake, “What’s her deal?”
“Most adult women don’t get too excited about Poptarts,” Jake smirks.
“I mean her mind,” Hee glares. “I can’t read her.”
Jake shrugs. “She’s always like that, your guess is as good as mine.” After a month of struggling to read your mind, Jake gave up. He assumed you were either a simpleton or that witches are real, and one cursed you with the gift of secrecy. Who knows?
“You guys are talking like I’m not in the room—“
“Are you thinking right now?” Heeseung stares at you, eyes narrow.
What does he think you are, an idiot? All you do is think. Like right now, you’re trying to decide if he’s rude on purpose or just a natural-born asshole. “Take a guess,” you glare back.
“Great,” Heeseung sighs. “You’re both smartasses.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The sun doesn’t come out for an entire week after you arrive, and neither do you. Jake convinces Heeseung to lend him a few rest days to recover from the drive. That means approximately 7 days of starfishing across the guest room mattress and staring at the pines across from Heeseung’s porch until you went crosseyed. 7 days of nonsensical questions like “Do vampires use the bathroom?”
Each time, Jake’s hands immediately stutter in whatever they’re doing. Whether it be twirling your hair or brushing his teeth, there was always a pause. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” He replied thoughtfully to your shitty question while folding laundry. You started to ask another, but he threw a t-shirt at your head.
Some moments are so normal, you find yourself thinking nothing has changed. That is, until Jake starts working.
The first alarm is at 6:00 am. Fucking hell.
Even with curtains, the guest room is too bright for Jake. He lies shirtless on his back with his arms tossed over his face and a scarf over his eyes. Your sleeping figure clings to him like a sloth on a tree. A pesky wind chime audio blares on, and Jake groans.
You stir as he hits snooze, but he drags you back down. “Few more minutes.” He slurs, scarf still wrapped around his eyes. He’s not sleeping; he just can’t bring himself to get out of bed.
A few more minutes turn into an indistinct period of meh. That’s when Jake starts to hear a voice in his head.
Wake up. Heeseung mentally calls to him from the kitchen.
Go away, Jake grumbles.
If I don’t hear footsteps in the next 2 minutes, I’m leaving you. Heeseung says, tossing his car keys in his palm impatiently.
Jake hums drowsily, Great idea.
Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say because within 90 seconds, Heeseung is pounding on the guest room door with the strength of ten men. “Outside in 10 or I take Sugar to work instead.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.
Jake groans again, squeezing you once, then rolling you off of him. He uses his supernatural prowess to speed run his morning routine and slaps on the navy jumpsuit Heeseung left out for him. With a final kiss on your forehead, he trudges outside.
Heeseung leans against the porch fence, fiddling with a toothpick in his mouth. He’s in an old construction jacket and matching navy coveralls. “About time.”
Jake’s steel-toed boots thud against the outdoor wood as he exits the front door, a beanie hat half covering his eyes. The walk to the pickup truck is quiet. The drive is even quieter.
Wiggling the toothpick between his teeth, Heeseung turns onto a dirt road through a grove of trees. He shifts into park, abruptly withdrawing his keys. “C’mon,” He exits the vehicle without waiting.
Wincing at the slam of the door, Jake hesitantly hops out of the truck. The sound of birds chirping, insects, and earthy footsteps fills his ears. He follows blindly through trees until Heeseung stops short, causing Jake to walk into his back. “What are we—“
“Ssshhhh.” Heeseung crouches slightly, focused on rustling bushes. Breakfast, he points at a small set of antlers Jake hadn’t noticed before.
In the blink of an eye, Heeseung pounces on the bush with fangs on full display. The animal makes a disgruntled sound, kicking up on its hind legs as the apex predator cages it against the ground, razor-sharp teeth digging into the animal's thick neck as birds scatter. It huffs, nostrils flaring violently while Jake watches, horrified.
Standing, “Here.” Heeseung gestures to the near limp creature. The legs twitch as the eyes go lifeless.
“Did you— Did you just kill a dear?” Jake balks.
“You kill human beings.” Heeseung deadpans.
Still stunned, “But germs—bacteria-“
“Do you know what they put in a box of Poptarts these days?” Heeseung crosses his arms. “Now eat.”
He sucks his teeth and waddles through the grass wearily, eyes glued to the roadkill. Blocking out his thoughts, he sinks to his knees on the damp grass. Fangs piercing holes through the thin fur, he drinks. It tastes— good? Refreshing even. Is this what natural tastes like?
Heeseung snickers, watching his brother relish in a newfound thirst. “Good, right? I call it blood-water. I have it once every few weeks to keep me fresh.”
That was the last time Jake doubted Heeseung that morning. He doesn’t doubt him when they toss the drained deer into the back of Heeseung’s pickup truck, or when they end up dropping it off at an old gift shop planning to use the head for taxidermy. Nor does he doubt the way people honk their horns in neighborly recognition as they roll through town. Is he shocked? Yes. Doubtful? No.
He does, however, doubt the platinum blonde head of hair sitting at the back of the garage with an old Gameboy console in his hands. “Ni-ki?” He blinks from the large doorway.
The blonde’s eyes widen, immediately turning in his seat. “Wha—“
Jake beams, nearly tackling the latter. He ambushes him with nugies and pinches while the blonde fights to keep his game system from hitting the ground. It’s really been years. Niki was turned the youngest. They found him deep in a Japanese forest, surviving off of squirrels and rabbits. Last he knew, the boy was working the door for a nightclub in the East.
“How did- When— I’m lost.” Ni-ki looks between the immortal beings.
“Jake and his little sidekick criminal are in town for a while,” Heeseung says, toothpick hanging loosely from his lip.
“And that wasn’t worth a text? An email? A mental note?” Ni-ki exclaims.
“Forgot,” Heeseung shrugs, tending to a car propped on a hydraulic lift.
“Since when do you live here?” Jake plops down next to Ni-ki, highjacking the Gameboy.
“I don’t, I just help out a few times a week.” As he looks at Jake, the years of distance seem to roll off his shoulders.
Breaking out in a boyish grin, Jake pushes him. “Still don’t like being alone, huh?”
Pushing him back, “Seems like you got sick of it too.”
With a breathy, embarrassed laugh, Jake bows his head.
“What was that?” Ni-ki bursts into laughter at his friend’s shyness. “Is it anyone I know?” He nudges Jake profusely.
Sliding from under the car, Heeseung cuts in. “She’s a meatbag.”
“No one asked you,” Jake grumbles.
“Pretty, but still a meatbag.” He slides back under the car, amused.
Ni-ki releases a nervous laugh, “He’s joking?”
Jake smiles, biting his lip. “Nah, it’s true.” He sighs. “Can’t you just say she’s alive? Meatbag is so… dehumanizing.”
“We’re ‘dehumanized’, that's the whole idea,” Ni-ki speaks like it’s obvious.
“Ignore him. He thinks she’s his dead wife.” Heeseung chuckles from his position on the creeper.
“Correction, she was my fiancée.” Jake tuts. “And I don’t think that… anymore.” He mumbles the last word.
Ni-ki glances between Jake and the car on top of Heeseung's body with knitted brows. It was like starting a drama 2 seasons in. “You lost me again.”
Hee rolls out so they can see his eyes and the tip of his nose. “Good, now pass me a torque wrench.”
To say the least, the day isn’t awful. One could even say Jake enjoyed himself. Two mortal employees came in around 10 am to help re-wrap a few cars with busted paint. Even those guys are moderately cool. There’s a running joke in the garage where Ni-ki and Heeseung ask the mortals to grab something, then immediately fill their minds with the Macarana song, making them forget the task completely.
“Sion, grab me a lug from the cart over there,” Heeseung says, squatting by a tire.
Nodding, “On it—“
Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena~
Suddenly, the young man is standing in the center of the room with his palms facing up and his hips swinging. The first time Jake sees it, he erupts with laughter, tools clanking onto the floor and hands shooting toward his mouth. Ni-ki, the culprit, faces the wall to hide a smirk.
“The wrench, Sion.” Heeseung raises a brow at the dancing mechanic.
Shaking his head wildly, Sion reorients himself. “My bad, what’d you ask for?”
“Lug,” Ni-ki clears his throat to cover a laugh.
“Right!” Sion snaps, walking toward the cart. He continues to hum the melody long after the mind control has stopped.
Jake had forgotten what it was like to be around other vampires. Any time one of them slipped up, another was already tossing out an excuse to cover their tracks. There was always that subtle feeling, a knowingness in the air hinting at an arrogant secret. They’re better than everyone else.
It’s cocky, but it’s true. He hadn’t remembered brotherhood feeling so easy.
They close the shop right as the afternoon shifts into evening, the sun drifting out of sight. Jake bounces on his heels as Heeseung pulls down rickety old aluminum shutters over the entrance.
The garage is in a lonely part of town. Their only neighbor’s are a bank and a shabby gentlemen's club. Perfect for someone to drop off their car, cash out at the bank, and dash to the club to wait out the repairs. Jake’s seen it happen twice today alone.
Ni-ki’s already waiting in the middle seat of Heeseung’s truck, Gameboy in hand.
“Where do you usually eat around here?” Jake asks casually, eyes on the gentlemen’s club. A neon outline of a dancing woman twinkles distractingly.
Laughing, “Can’t you wait 5 minutes to find out?” Heeseung locks the gate and stands. He makes his way to the driver's seat with careless ease.
When Jake joins them in the vehicle, the radio is on, playing old folk songs. The audio quality is awful, but Heeseung hums along anyway. Ni-ki’s nose deep in a Mario adventure game when the device screen flickers off. He hits it once, then twice. Sighing, he turns to Heeseung. “Batteries?”
“Check the glove box.” The latter says while pulling off.
He reaches over Jake’s lap and opens the glove compartment, practically banging it into the man’s knees. Niki rummages through old mail, napkins, hand lotion, and—
“You have a gun?!” Jake shouts, in utter shock.
Heeseung laughs so hard he almost swerves. “Calm down. A lot of people out here have them.”
Jake shudders in disgust. “Primitive,” he mumbles to himself. “Anything they can do with that, you can do with your bare hands.”
“I happen to like my bare hands.” Heeseung smoothly flips on his turn signal, ready to merge lanes. “We don’t all go ripping chunks out of people’s necks like you.”
Ni-ki finds a half-empty pack of batteries and shuts the compartment door. Jake blinks, leaning forward to look at Heeseung, who’s all too smug. He’s talking about Benson. “How did—“
“Jungwon sent me the video. I couldn’t help myself.” He bites his lip, amused.
Ni-ki glares between the two. “What are you guys, best friends now?”
“I’ll tell you about it later.” Jake ruffles the younger vampire’s head. “Can you drop me home first?”
“Separation anxiety?” Heeseung smirks, eyes glued to the road.
Jake slumps into the chair, red-handed.
The truck owner waves at him dismissively. “Zip there on your own, I’m hungry.” Zip, that’s what they call their superspeed. Jungwon coined the phrase before ‘zipper’ was even a common thing.
“No- wait, I wanna meet her.” Ni-ki pockets the device and slaps a large hand on the dashboard. “To home.”
Heeseung snorts, “You don’t even live—“
“Onward!” Ni-ki slaps the dashboard again, and Jake can’t help but laugh.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
This was your first day home alone, and to say the least… it wasn’t amazing. You lingered in bed for a while. The fireplace had simmered out by 10 am, so you decided to dig through every closet on the first floor until you found a decent comforter, then proceeded to wrap yourself in it like a burrito.
You tried to start the fire on your own, but that shit is surprisingly difficult. Fearing that you’d light the house ablaze, you decide to look up a tutorial. That’s when tragedy struck: there is no wifi. So you snagged a poptart, buried your nose in a book, and submerged your body under a mountain of blankets.
The cabinets were stocked thanks to a grocery store run you made, so at least you didn’t starve. Regardless, the repetitive image of grey rotting flesh made it hard to build an appetite. Dark thoughts lingered easily now that you were alone. It was like the ticking of a haunting clock, slowing down the day.
When you hear the doorknob turn, you nearly jump up from your spot on the couch. Finally, people.
The boys tumble in noisily as you try to make your blanket cocoon more presentable. You sit up straight with a derpy smile, eyes glued to your man’s sharp features. There’s a spec of oil under his left eye, and his fingernails are a little dirtier than you remember.
There’s a third young man behind them with platinum hair and high cheekbones. He doesn’t busy himself with taking off his boots like the others; he just shuts the door and stares at you.
“H-hello,” voice horse from not talking. Your hair points wildly toward the ceiling support beams.
He offers you a curt nod, his face as blank as a sheet of copy paper.
“Thought you said no unannounced guests?” You chide as Heeseung straightens.
“That applies to you, not me.” He tosses you a wink before making his way to the kitchen to wash his hands. Facing you while he dries off, he finds himself smiling at how small you look surrounded by fuzzy blankets.
“What?” You narrow your eyes at him.
“Nothing,” he turns to grab some fresh newspaper and firewood for you.
“Better be nothing.” Jake plops down on the couch next to you. He slides the zipper of his jumpsuit down until it sits at his hips, revealing a plain t-shirt. Possessively, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. “Ni-ki, this is my companion.” He tells your name while his large hands come up to smooth out your hair with a soft smile.
“Companion?” You taste the title on your tongue.
“It’s a vampire thing,” Heeseung explains, now crouched in front of the fireplace.
Ni-ki’s eyes double in size as he whips toward Heeseung. He chokes on his saliva. “He’s kidding—inside joke,” he sputters. “Super lame inside joke—”
Heeseung flares his fangs at him, and Ni-ki’s mouth drops in horror.
Jake cheeses, leaning into you. “She knows, dummy.”
You nod aggressively, “Found out the hard way.”
Covering his face with both hands, Ni-ki exhales like it’s a chore. You don’t miss how his knees buckle. “That scared the shit out of me. Thought I was gonna have to kill her.”
That effectively cuts the tension as Heeseung bursts into laughter, and Jake lets out a low chuckle. “You’d be six feet below sea level before you could even drop your fangs.” He smirks, pulling you closer. His voice drips with certainty in a way that sends a rush through your gut.
Scoffing, “You couldn’t outrun a dog.” Ni-ki finally slips off his jacket.
“Good thing you’re slower than one.” Jake turns to the blonde. A laugh escapes you, and he uses it as ammunition. “See, even she agrees.”
“Says the one who was crying over growling in the woods.” Heeseung tsks, causing Ni-ki to ambush him with a handful of follow-up questions.
You find yourself fixed on your lover’s face. Something about it feels new. You can’t tell if it’s just the attitude or the faint hint of gasoline on his skin. Taking his face in your hands, the room feels a bit quieter. You scan his features, and he scans yours, both looking for something unknown to the other.
“Missed you today,” your voice hardly fights the chatter. “It’s boring without you.”
“Poor baby,” he leans in, planting a kiss on your lips. A crease forms between his brows. “Your hands are freezing.”
You smile as he slides your hands off his face and into his larger palm. “Yours are cold, too. You know that, right?”
Jake blinks, squeezing your palms. Right. There’s no warmth for him to offer you. His lips press together, mentally drifting elsewhere. He always forgets that part.
A chill runs through you as you stare at your conjoined hands. They’ve never felt so…is lifeless the word? You push the thought away, smiling. “I tried to start the fire by myself this morning, but apparently I’m an idiot.”
His nerves ease at that. “Why didn’t you look it up?”
“I tried, but there's not one bar of wifi in this god-forsaken house.”
“We’ll fix that.” He lands another peck. When he pulls away, he sinks into the couch, a droopy look in his eye as he leans back. “What’d you do today?”
“I got halfway through my book,” you sigh, falling into him.
He hums. “Is it any good?”
“Sure,” you shrug indecisively. Nothing about it really stuck to your ribs. “At this rate, I’m gonna need a personal library though.”
“I’ll pick up some titles on my way back tomorrow.” His hand tangles in your hair aimlessly, petting and stroking at leisure.
You turn to him and notice his eyes are closed. “You and books?”
A laugh sounds from within his chest. “Is that a problem?”
“I’ve never even seen you hold a book.”
“I was tied up with work in Riverfield.” His hands ruffled more roughly to punctuate his point. “We used to have a book club, actually.” He gestures to the two men literally playing with fire at the far end of the room.
“Yeah, and I’m a ninja turtle.” You deadpan at him.
He pushes the hair out of your face, hosting a shit-eating grin. “With that forehead, you could be.”
You hunch forward, playfully swatting at his chest.
Heeseung exhales sharply from the corner. “If we stay here any longer, I’m gonna die a second time.” He blinks boredly at Jake.
“You’re leaving?” You ask, disappointment stringing your words together.
“Meal run.” Jake sighs, eyes barely opening.
Shoulders dropping, “Thought you might be here to help me cook dinner.”
He stiffens, eyes sprouting open. That sounds nice… Jake hasn’t done that before, not even when he was alive. His stomach does that thing again, then his lips start moving without thinking. “I- I could- I mean, we could do that.”
“No, you can’t.” Heeseung butts in. “Rule number 4: No hunting alone.” He practically pries Jake off of you while Niki chuckles near the door.
Jake huffs, flattening out his uniform. “Bitter is an ugly color on you,” Jake frowns at Heeseung, who just sticks his tongue out. “I’ll do it tomorrow—help you cook, I mean.” He turns to you with a smile, irises twinkling in the warm lamplight as he scurries on his boots. “Tomorrow and the next day. And the next day after that, and the—“
“Oh my god. Shut up.” Heeseung yanks Jake outside before his shoes are fully tied.
“Bring me back a hot chocolate!” You shout as the door closes, overcome with giggles.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Windchimes ring as Jake and Heeseung step into an empty 24-hour diner with a big LED sign flashing the words ‘Come Right On In!’ Their heavy work boots beat against the tile.
Behind them, through the glass doors, stands Ni-ki. He leans against the rear bumper of the vehicle with a red-stained toothpick in his mouth, occasionally glancing at two disturbingly human-shaped figures under a tarp in the bed of the truck. That same static-ridden music leaks through the speakers.
“What’d she ask for again?” Heeseung rings a bell and then leans against the counter. He rings it again, and again, until Jake’s hand grabs his wrist.
An older woman in a busty top and an apron approaches them. “How can I help you boys?”
“One small hot chocolate to go.” Jake smiles, the inside of his mouth tinted red from feeding under an hour ago.
“It’s a good night for something sweet, isn’t it?” She works her way over to a machine to fix up the order, hot water gurgling out the spout.
Jake hums, “Sure is,” filling in small talk to be polite. When she returns with a paper cup and a napkin, Heeseung trails closer.
“That’ll be 3.50, sweet pea.” She rests the cup on the counter, expectantly.
“You know, you have the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen.” Heeseung eyes her cheekily. “Let me see it one more time.”
She smiles, pure blush and butterflies. “You must be a real heartbreaker, aren’t you?”
Heeseung shrugs, and Jake watches him with vague disinterest, digging into his pocket for his wallet. Then Heeseung steps directly in Jake’s view of the lady, blocking him completely. “I’m an appreciater of beautiful things.”
She swats at the air bashfully. “Flirting won’t make it free, dollface.”
“It might.” Heeseung tilts his head at her, irises seeping into a familiar crimson. His eyes trail over every detail of her being, and her body grows stiff. Licking his blood-stained lips, he commands her gaze, all too cloudy to actually see anything. “Right?”
The woman blinks, shoulders drawing in, and mouth going slack. A pregnant pause chokes the air. “Right,” her voice comes out cold, nothing like the blithe drawl she used on them earlier. “On the house.” She states absently, lips barely moving to shape the sounds.
Heeseung grasps the cup on the table with a grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Instantly, he pivots toward the door, causing her shoulders to loosen and her vision to clear.
“A-Any time.” She stammers as Heeseung leaves, Jake close behind him. The noise of the windchime makes the lady flinch, a small squeal escaping her as a hand instinctively clutches a gold cross pendant nestled between her cleavage.
Jake watches her frantic movements, and he can’t help but feel a little bad. He jogs after the thief, “What the fuck was that?”
“Finesse,” Heeseung replies smoothly. Turning to Ni-ki, “Hop in.” And he does, spitting the bloodied toothpick on the black concrete with reckless abandon.
“Over four dollars?” Jake presses as he enters the vehicle, slamming the door. The steaming hot cocoa waddles in its cup holder.
Heeseung laughs, leading Ni-ki to follow suit as they back out of the parking lot.
“What?” He stares in confusion and vague annoyance.
“Silly Jake,” Ni-ki pats his shoulder, knowingly. “We don’t pay for anything in this town.”
“Especially past nightfall,” Heeseung adds matter-of-factly. “Their safety is my payment.”
Jake leans back in his chair, brows tense. As far as he knew, none of them was short on money. The coven was adamant about financial literacy; immortality aside, you can’t live this long without some weight in the bank, and they’d be stupid not to use their abundance of time to acquire it. He stares out the window, observing dead trees with Christmas lights that line the sidewalk. “So what? You guys just piss on mortals any chance you get?”
“Spare me the saint shit, will you?” Heeseung sucks his teeth. “We’re not pissing on them, we’re just not pretending to be them.” He says sharply, so sharply that it forms a cut in Jake’s consciousness.
Pretending to be them, Jake mulls over the words. What’s that supposed to mean? Is he insinuating that Jake, as unapologetic as he is, is attempting to cosplay as a burger-loving bafoon? Jake scoffs, pretending to be human. The only pretender he knows is the song by Foo Fighters that loops the radio stations in this town.
The car creeps onto a dark street corner, devoid of a lamp post. It's the kind that would make any woman’s skin crawl. Heeseung puts the truck in park, then looks to Jake with a raised brow. Jake glances around uncertainly.
“He’s looking at you like that ‘cause I have to get out.” Ni-ki snorts. “This is where I zip.”
Jake blinks, a small “oh” leaving his lips. He exits, and Ni-ki slides out after him. They dap hands, the connection forming a hollow clap. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Nah, I work tomorrow.”
Jake nods, “Still at that nightclub?”
Ni-ki laughs hard, full-blown, folding forward with his hands in his jacket pockets. “It really has been years, huh?” Turning to Jake fondly, “I work at an old folks' home.”
Jake buffers. That makes absolutely no sense. His mouth opens, but his lips quickly shut into a tight line. With a crease between his brows, he turns to Heeseung.
“Why are you looking at me like we’re conspiring against you?” Heeseung chuckles. “That club you’re talking about shut down 2 years ago.” He says, amused, leaning an arm on the steering wheel.
Jake’s in utter disbelief. “No way you tolerate elderly people for a full work day.”
Shrugging, “I like it, they’re pretty straightforward.” The tall blonde starts walking backwards toward a thicket of trees. “Besides,” he purses his lips. “I’m basically just an extremely well-adapted… super good-looking, old person myself.” He delivers mellowly before taking off, his figure a blur of colors in the darkness of night.
Jake mounts the truck, taking his seat with a sigh. “A nursing home? Really?”
“We volunteered together, he said it was rewarding.” Heeseung grins at Jake’s displeasure. “Might not be economists, but we dabble in philanthropy.” He switches gears and pulls off the curb, casual as ever.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
5:47 pm the next day.
“You’re gonna kill me.” Jake grimaces as you turn around from your spot at the stove.
Spoon still stirring a giant pot of broth, you raise an eyebrow, then gasp— Jake is at the once spotless kitchen island with brown and beige sheddings surrounding him. He was supposed to be peeling potatoes for your stew, but it looks like he and the peeler got into a brawl, and the peeler won.
Potato skin is everywhere—the floor, the counter, his hair. There’s even a spec on the wall. “How did you…” The question dies in your throat from pure shock.
“Before you say anything, I haven’t cooked since before you were born.” Jake raises a hand in defense.
“That was literally the simplest job I could think of,” laughter bubbles in your chest.
“This is not simple.” He laments. “Like at all.”
Your knees nearly buckle with amusement.
“What even is this?” He raises the small potato peeler in his hand, inspecting it judgmentally. His palm practically swallows the black plastic handle. “I’ve never seen this torture device in my life.”
You can barely string words together from laughing. “I gave you a step-by-step tutorial!”
“And I thought I understood.” Laughing at himself and the mess around him. “But when you walked away, all I could remember was the fact that you smelled like maple syrup.”
You stiffen. “…I had pancakes for lunch.”
He snorts. “For lunch?” Jake retrieves the wooden spoon from your hand and gets to work at the stove.
“Shut up and stir the pot while I get a broom.” As you circle the kitchen island, Heeseung opens the front door, car keys in palm.
“Ready to—“ He pauses instantly at the mess, mouth agape. Turning to Jake, then to you, rinsing and repeating until he lands back on you. “Why does it smell like maple syrup in here?”
Jake points to Heeseung with the spoon in his hand, hot broth flicking across the space. You and Heeseung hardly duck quickly enough to avoid it. “That’s what I said! Right—”
“Put the weapon down,” Heeseung looks to a fresh splatter on his once spotless kitchen walls.
“My bad,” Jake snickers.
“Do you not see the potatoes? Why is no one focusing on that?” You cut in exasperatedly, a broom and dustpan in hand.
“All the more reason to be confused about the syrup smell.” Heeseung deadpans.
Jake smirks, grabbing a paper towel. “She had pancakes for lunch.” He walks to the wall to clean off the soupy liquid.
“For lunch? Is that like a new thing?” Heeseung turns to you.
“Maybe the pantry’s empty?” Jake adds, thinking. “That’d explain why she’s eating like potatoes are new technology.”
“I’m prepping for several days, dickheads.” You sweep up some of the peelings scattered across the floor. The washed potato skin sticks to the floor as the broom bristles struggle to scrape it up.
Heeseung laughs, walking up and grabbing a half-skinned spud. “You could’ve saved 1840s Ireland with this shit.”
Jake bursts with laughter as you glower at Heeseung, who carries on obliviously. “No, seriously—“ Hee turns to you, dropping his potato at your sharp gaze. It rolls gracelessly across the floor until it hits the leg of a couch, covering the room in silence. His smile fades the longer you scowl at him. “Jake, tell your gangster-apprentice to stop looking at me like that.”
Shrugging coyly in self-defense again, “I don’t control Mad Dog. You know what happened to her last victim?” Jake teases.
The conversation shift sends a shiver down your spine. You’re Mad Dog. Mad Dog has a victim— you have a victim. A ringing takes over your hearing; the dustpan and broom come to a stop in your grasp. Is that a joke to them? Your stomach churns and your mouth fills with saliva. A victim like Be—
“What?” Heeseung smirks.
“She beat the shit out of him with a pillow.” Jake grins at you casually. “And all he did was set an alarm for work.” He’s talking about himself.
You swallow the sickness that was crawling up your throat. The lingering cold sweat on your forehead comes to a halt, and so does the ringing. You laugh, it’s weak, and the action doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
Heeseung chuckles, eager to shit-talk his bud. “I don’t know, seems to me like you were asking for it. She woke you up, didn’t she?”
“I was already awake!” Jake protests.
They bicker mindlessly, both secretly loving the raillery. You only hear bits and pieces of it, the word victim acting as a parasite in your brain. By the time the food is done, your appetite has plummeted into nothingness. If they notice, they don’t say anything. Jake just kisses your forehead and leaves. The loud truck engine rumbles from the driveway as you stare solemnly at your bowl of soup on the dining table.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Days pass slowly, decorated by new and old traditions. New traditions like Jake coming home to help you cook after closing up at the garage. And old ones, like him vanishing before you wake up each morning. When you’re lucky, bird songs and the howling wind beating against the side of the house distract you from the loneliness.
The house seemed more yours than anyone else's. You were the only one there most of the time. All the cutlery is organized how you like it, next to a fridge with the food you craved, and furniture rearranged for your convenience. The only outliers are the thick shudders Jake ordered for the guest room windows, and that brain-numbing peppermint odor that settles in when he comes home late.
In the spirit of getting acclimated, you applied for an indefinite leave at the furniture company. Heeseung helped you get it written off as a medical emergency through his friends at the local hospital. By ‘friends’, he meant he fucked a doctor, and by ‘help’, he meant he could manipulate her into forging some documents.
That was the first time you saw it.
You trailed behind him into the emergency room lobby, a manila folder in hand and an awkward smile ready to go, but when he made it to the desk, his eyes did that thing. The color of roses bloomed through his pupils. “Can I speak to Dr. Harper?” He said, and the receptionist nearly toppled over in her chair to fulfil the request. It was the same thing Jake did to you in the car.
“How do you do that?” You asked on the ride home.
“Do what?” He remained fixed on the road.
“Control people.”
He paused, slightly dumbstruck. Thinking, “It’s not control… It’s like an exchange.”
You blinked at him, lost.
“I give them a taste of something that feels far away, and they do what I ask in return.”
“What’s the faraway thing?” You raised a brow.
“Honesty.” He said right away. “Most humans are liars, secretly waiting to be told what to do.”
You scoffed. “That’s your superiority complex talking.”
Then he laughed to himself. “It’s true, you just have to die to realize it.” That same smirk laced around his lips. “And I don’t have a superiority complex.” He said it like it was some made-up phrase.
You pushed his shoulder and said something like “You’re full of shit,” which he didn’t deny. You both laughed and listened to the fuzzy radio play until you made it home.
You made pasta for dinner mostly by yourself because the guys seemed more occupied with themselves than with the tranquil study of boiling water. There was always something for them to talk about, even if they pretended otherwise. You watched and listened while slicing cherry tomatoes, awestruck by how fascinating Jake spoke. He never seemed this fascinating while you were in Riverfield.
That night, Jake didn’t come home until 2 in the morning. Recalls of his wild night—like every night— lull you back to sleep by 2:30.
When you’re alone so often, the few words you do exchange seem to latch onto the ridges of your brain. You’re still running over what Heeseung meant in the car days later as you hear a knock at the door.
“One second!” You shout, placing a fresh cup of tea on the kitchen counter. Someone is supposed to come by to install wifi today. Slippers shuffling against the hardwood, you open the door to reveal Jake in nothing but his work coveralls and a hoodie. “Oh- um— Hi.” Your heart flutters, and you know he catches it because his eyes glance at your clothed chest.
He grins. “Someone’s jumpy.”
“Shut up, I’m surprised—you surprised me.” You correct unconvincingly.
“I live here, remember?” He teases.
You roll your eyes, “Barely.” The comment is more true than you let on. “You here before sunset is like a deviation from reality.”
“So…” He traces your figure. From your cardigan to your slippers. “You don’t want me here?” His tone is a breath below sarcastic.
Joke or not, your heart does a dip at the possibility, and again, of course, he notices. “You’re basically begging me to leave you on the stoop. You know that, right?”
He fights a smile. It’s an embarrassingly short battle with a devastating final blow: a laugh. Clocking your bluff, he moves on swiftly. “I’m suddenly craving coffee.” He glances at the kitchen. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” you nod, giggling at his nonsense as you shut the door. “But we both know you don’t drink coffee, so—”
“I was thinking you drink coffee, then we kiss for a little while.” He wanders toward you until your back grazes the door. The hint of gasoline mixed with his cologne makes your head spin. “Same thing.” He shrugs.
“Sucks for you,” you place a hand on his chest, sliding down til it rests below his ribs. “I’m having tea today,”
He glances between your hand and your face, unbothered by time, or logic, or anything but you, for that matter. “What kind of tea?”
“Ginger,” your voice drained of all its heat under his heady gaze.
He licks his lips. “And you think that’s gonna make me want to kiss you less?”
Giving him a once-over, “You want my lip oil all over you when the wifi guy gets here?”
“Need it, actually.” He sighs like it’s true, calmly encroaching on your space until he’s beside the shell of your ear. “Kinda want you to smell like me when he gets here, too.”
Your train of thought evaporates. When he pulls back, you’re in a daze. He kisses your lips, then your cheek, and works his way down your neck at a torturous pace. He reaches your pulse and hums. You match the noise without realizing, and his hands trace your hips, hugging, squeezing, anything to get you close.
Perhaps Jake should visit more often. Between working early, hunting late, and Heeseung always fucking being there, moments like this were sparse. Today’s only possible because Jake brought up the very valid safety concern of you being alone in the middle of nowhere with a nameless stranger.
He didn’t even plan to kiss you, but you look so kissable. And now you’re arching into him, and you’re chasing his lips, and you’re gripping his hair, and he whines and— “How much time before he gets here?” He pulls away, chest heaving.
Your stomach does a flip. There aren’t birds chirping or wind whistling. The only sound is your heartbeat, full and loud.
Then, a knock on the door.
You jolt forward, clutching your chest. Right— wifi. The entirety of your face goes ablaze. You almost shove Jake away from you, trying to calm your breathing. Damn him for distracting you. “Back up.”
Jake blinks. “I hate everything.”
“One moment,” you call out for no real reason since the door is right behind you.
“I’m staying,” he toys with the drawstring of your sweatpants.
You swat his hand. “Fine, but do it over there,” pointing to the couch.
He bites his lip and gives you those eyes. “One more—“
“Go over there!” You point again, pulling your cardigan closed. He trudges to the couch in defeat as you open the door.
A young man with dark, fluffy hair and enormous brown eyes stands in front of you with a stern look on his face. He wears a black puffer and small hoop earrings. “Hi, wifi upgrade?” He’s straight to the point.
“Uh, yeah. Come in.” You step aside, his piercing gaze throwing you for a loop.
“Great.” He sighs, walking in. His bag clunks against the hardwood.
You glance at his shoes, they’re sporty for a tech guy. Before he can walk in any further, “We’re a no-shoes household, would you mind?”
The man turns to you, slipping off his jacket. He’s in a starched blue long-sleeve polo with a logo and a nametag on his right pectoral. He stares simply, then his eyes roam toward Jake, manspreading on the couch in his work boots. “He has shoes on.”
You glance between the men with a tight-lipped smile. “He’s not supposed to.”
“Mhm.” He nods, tucking his jacket under his arm and sliding out his footwear to reveal pristine white socks. “Your turn,” he looks to Jake. He’s entirely expressionless, not teasing, not pressing, just telling.
Jake glowers at the man, slowly untying his laces with one hand. He kicks his boots off remissively.
“Thanks,” glancing at his shiny nametag, “Taehyun.” You smile, awkwardness tainting the quiet.
“Over the phone, you mentioned having trouble locating the modem?” The tech moves on, unscathed by the tension.
You blink. “That’s the box thing, right?”
Vaguely amused, “Yeah, the box thing.” You shake your head, and he nods, pushing his sleeves above his elbows. “That’s alright, I’ll help look.”
The two of you go back and forth reviewing places the modem might be, so he can connect the new router and be on his merry way. Forced conversation quickly evolves into an imaginary corkboard with red string and mystery tape as you search. Turns out you’re both the obsessive, easily fixated type. “Not in here!” You shout from the forbidden second-floor bathroom. “Or here!” He calls from a linen closet in the hallway. Jake hovers close by, aimlessly scrolling his phone, 30% helping, 70% watching.
“Is there a basement?” Taehyun asks, hair a little mussed from searching. “Maybe we could check there?”
You snap your fingers, zooming down the stairs. “Basement— of course! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“Where is it?” Taehyun meets you at the bottom of the stairs, bright eyes shining under the overhead lights. He rests a hand on the banister beside you.
You turn to Jake, silently asking.
“We don’t have a basement.” He leans against a wall, phone loosely in his palm. The two of you deflate like sad balloons. Sighing, “But there’s a storm shelter in the front—“
Before he can finish talking, each of you rushes to a pair of shoes. “Your jacket!” Jake calls your name in vain as you follow the blue-shirted boy out. He plops back on the sofa with a huff. No way he’s stepping outside just to ask to come back in.
Taehyun pries the large metal cellar doors open, unbothered by the small cobwebs underneath. You find the modem tucked messily in a corner and conclude the search with an aggressive high-five that sends dust flying all over the place. Ultimately, Taehyun decides to redirect the new router to the living room. While he packs up, you offer him some tea, and he doesn’t oppose.
“I left the password and network name on an index card.” He approaches the kitchen, gesturing to the living room behind him. “It’s on the coffee table.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” You pass him a steaming hot mug of ginger tea, and Jake nearly throws up in his mouth from his position on the couch.
“No worries.” He takes a long sip, eyes landing on a book you left on the countertop. This has to be the thirteenth paperback he’s seen since he got here. “Are you a teacher or something?” He glances at you.
You almost choke on your tea. “Me? What— no. I work in sales.” Or worked now, you guess? Your mind trips on the words. “Why?” You take a sip.
“You have a lot of books.” He says it with a light laugh, like it’s obvious.
There are some on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, in your room, on the windowsill; books are everywhere. Laughing, “I guess I do.”
“Seems like you need a shelf more than a router.” He jokes calmly.
“He was supposed to build one for me, actually.” You toss a thumb over your shoulder at Jake, who’s pretending not to listen.
Taehyun spares Jake an unreadable look. “Hmm.” Is all he says as he faces you. “Do you review them?”
“Review what?”
“The books,” he takes a sip. “I’m sure you have something interesting to say.”
You open your mouth to brush him off, but stop short. The possibility had never crossed your mind. You tilt your head at him, “Maybe I will.”
A soft smile blooms on his face. “You should.” He takes another leisurely sip before placing his mug down. “I'd better get going.” The tech extends a hand for you to shake. It’s warm and firm in your grasp.
“Thank you again, sorry for the trouble.” Something in you is disappointed to see the mild-mannered specialist leave.
“Don’t mention it, I had fun.” He squeezes your hand once before letting go. His socked feet head toward the door, and step into his shoes.
It’s quiet, but not awkward. You meet him at the door, mug still in hand. When his coat is on, you reach for the knob, but he stops you.
“I got it,” he insists, opening the door. “Let me know if you ever need help with that bookshelf.” He says it loud enough for Jake to hear, but sincere enough to leave you a little flustered.
Caught off guard, you laugh. “I- um, We’ll see,” is all you can think to reply. You shut the door, yet somehow it feels colder inside than it does outside. It’s like someone opened a window. You turn to see Jake, phone on his chest and eyes fixed on you. Ah, he’s the open window.
“We’ll see?” He quirks a brow at you.
You sigh, working your way to the kitchen to wash out Taehyun’s mug. “I was trying to be polite. It slipped out.”
“That’s a little past polite, don’t you think?” He stares at your backside as you turn on the water.
“Maybe?” You shrug indecisively, already tired of the topic. There was still a sip or two left in the mug, and the sticky residue of honey settled at the bottom. Rinsing it out, you grab a sponge.
“What does maybe mean?” He stands, stalking toward you in the kitchen.
“It means I don’t know, Jake. It was literally the first thing that came to mind.” You turn to him, dishsoap still between your fingers. “I guess I’m not as great at talking as I used to be.”
He stares at you wordlessly for a while, until you spin back around to finish cleaning the mug. He doesn’t speak until it sits in the drying rack. “I should probably head back to the garage.”
Your brows furrow as you face him. “Already?”
Glancing between you and the new router, “I was really only supposed to stay til the guy left…”
Somehow, your brows manage to squish even closer together. “Seriously?”
He glances about the room, boyish and confused. “Yeah, the guys and I agreed that I’d make sure everything was safe, then I’d zip back. I’m not just ditching work.” He laughs like it's obvious.
A strict quiet returns as you swallow his words. Dread fills your being, suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of being alone again. It was hardly an hour. “Can I go with you?”
“I don’t know…”
“I’ll stay out of the way— I can play Ni-ki’s game or something.”
“Today’s a busy day.” He smiles at you softly. “You’d be bored out of your mind.”
“No different than here.” You try to smile.
“At least now you have wifi.” He’s already making his way to his boots.
You watch him lace up, oblivious to your anguish. If we argue, he can’t leave. “Maybe I should see about Taehyun and that bookshelf then.” You mumble.
Jake goes rigid on the couch.
“Since you’re leaving. Again.” You add, louder, making him turn to you. “I’m alone all day, could use a friend.”
Something nasty almost slips off Jake’s tongue at that. Something the two of you haven’t talked about since the incident— your horrible taste in friends. Instead, “He wouldn’t make a good friend.”
“Why not?” You poke at his resolve.
Because he wants to fuck you. “You know why.” He finishes his laces and stands.
“I can’t read people’s minds, so no. I don’t know.” You make your way to him across the room.
“You’re smart enough to figure it out.” He huffs.
“Pretend I’m a toddler.” You urge him to continue. “Explain it to me.”
“What game are you playing?” Jake eyes you incredulously, like you’re the crazy one.
“The one where my boyfriend talks to me for more than 15 minutes.” The dam breaks.
“I’ve been here for an hour.”
“Yeah, on your phone—“
“What else am I supposed to do when you’re flirting the wifi guy out of his underwear?” He cocks his head at you.
“I wasn’t flirting.” You sneer. “Sorry for being excited to talk about myself for once.”
He releases a humorless laugh. “We talk about you.”
Sighing, “We don’t.”
“Yes, we do—“
“No. We don’t, Jake.” You stare at him, the truth heavy on your tongue.
“Fine.” Jaw tense, narrowing his eyes at you. What are you even on about? “Pretty sure he left his number next to the password. Why don’t you give him a call since you like to talk so much?”
The words pierce through your chest. “Maybe I will.” You taunt bitterly.
“You should,” he mocks the man from earlier. In a blur of glares and gritted teeth, Jake leaves, slamming the door behind himself.
It shakes the house, and you flinch. You feel like screaming. You shuffle to the kitchen, your breath shakes on every exhale. The familiar sting behind your eyes rises, and your legs begin to tremble. Before you know it, you’re sinking to the ground in tears. They flow unrestrained, salting your top lip and blurring your vision.
He left anyway.
You can’t help but wonder how things got here— alone in the middle of the fucking woods. You miss the movie nights. You miss your boring beige office. You miss miserable fucking Riverfield. You miss living.
You find yourself nose deep in social media, reminiscing about times with your coworkers, and clips you shared from your freshly decorated living room. Susan and Amber just celebrated 10 years together. You smile for the first time in hours.
At some point, your feed swaps from selfies to missing person flyers, and your phone nearly slips from your grip. The cropped salt and pepper hair, that wild grin, the ring on his finger that cut your cheek. Everyone you know has reshared it. And the hashtag, #BringBensonHome. Was the man who groped you, and abused your kindness really that adored? Everyone’s typing verbose paragraphs about how he’s a loving father and a free spirit. Is that really what he’ll be remembered as?
No one’s talking about you or Jake. They’re all about him. Wondering where he is. Praying that he’s safe. It felt like your body was being swallowed by a black hole. Guilt condemns you to your bed, but the bitter tang of hatred won't let you sleep.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
A few yards from the house, through a bundle of trees that landscapers probably should’ve cut down years ago, lies a wooden shack with no windows. There, Heeseung stores loose car parts, rusty lawn mowers, and other clunky whatnots. There’s a small furnace for heat and a generator for electricity.
Sometimes he uses the space for work. Other times, to get away. Most times, he’s focused on the giant plastic barrel of hydrofluoric acid in the corner. That’s where the bodies go.
Jake, Heeseung, and Ni-ki always linger here after a feeding, watching their crimes melt away in that god-awful barrel. They put up some chairs, lights, and Jake used throw pillow knowledge— that he acquired from you— to turn an old clawfoot bathtub into a bed of sorts.
Heeseung lies in the pillow-lined tub while Jake and Ni-ki claim chairs around it.
“Do you think she made anything cool for dinner?” Ni-ki asks, looking off into space. No one’s been to the house since Jake slammed the door on you.
“Why does it matter? You can’t eat it.” Jake grumbles.
“I don’t know, I like watching her.” He shrugs.
“She mentioned fried rice yesterday,” Heeseung says with his eyes closed. “Bet that was good.”
“She doesn’t cook when she’s upset,” Jake concludes the food talk.
For a minute, precisely 64 seconds, they let it go.
“Can we head in now?” Heeseung twists uncomfortably in the tub, his legs hanging awkwardly over the edge.
Jake shakes his head. “She’s not sleeping yet.”
“Her heartbeat has been even for like 2 hours. She’s sleeping, man.” Heeseung insists.
Jake bites his lip, brows furrowed. “That's not what she sounds like when she’s sleeping.” He’s surprised they can’t tell. “She’s reading or something.”
Ni-ki peers at Jake, cautiously. “I’m with Hee on this. We’ve been here for a while…”
“Are you afraid to see her? Is that it?” Heeseung sits up abruptly. “I get it, mortals can be complicated, but you didn’t even tell us what—“
“You know what? You guys can go, I’ll be here.” Jake gives them a tight-lipped expression, curt and withdrawn.
Ni-ki sighs. “Jake, man, come on—“
“If she’s bothering you that much, you should just drain her.” Heeseung cuts in. He looks to Jake with unmatchable intensity.
Niki sucks his teeth, “Not the time.”
“I’m serious.” Heeseung’s glare is as cold as ice. “You act like you didn’t bring her here to live out some pointless Bonny and Clyde fantasy. If you’re going to shit yourself over an argument, you should’ve killed her when you bit her boss.”
Jake stares at Heeseung, unmoving. “I’ll see you inside.”
You don’t sleep a wink that night. Consequently, Jake never comes home.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
7:00 am the next day, Heeseung knocks on your door.
The shudders cast the room in unfamiliar darkness. A blanket is tucked up to your nose as you stare at the ceiling. “Come in,” your voice hoarse from hours of silence.
The door eases open with a creak. “Morning,” Heeseung waddles in wearing his work uniform. “It’s dark. Should I open a window?”
“No.” You sit up at the headboard.
Heeseung hums curtly, making his way to your side of the bed. He pulls the string for the lamp on your nightstand without asking. With the new light, you notice a mug in his left hand. “Here.”
You accept the offering, bringing it to your lips. It’s ginger tea. “Thanks.”
Hee nods, twiddling his thumbs. “You look exhausted.”
You roll your eyes.
"I mean it.” His voice was full of concern
“I believe you.” You sigh, looking past him out the door. “Where’s Jake?”
“He’s… around.” He shrugs. “Somewhere.”
Eyes lingering on your tea, “Can I ask you something?”
Heeseung nods, an earnest glint in his eyes. “I’ll try my best to answer.”
“Does he seem… different to you?” You whisper, hesitantly.
Heeseung blinks. “No, why?”
You don’t say anything, sipping in silence.
Heeseung sits on the edge of the bed, an equally contemplative expression on his face. “The Jake you know is different from the Jake I know.” He looks to you, placing a hand on your knee. “Right now, he’s acting like the Jake I know. Does that make sense?”
“I don’t understand why there can’t just be one Jake.” You think aloud. “There’s one me, one you—“
“You can’t be a vampire and a boyfriend at the same time.” He says softly. “To be a vampire, you have to kill the boy.”
The words hover over your head. You nod, not entirely understanding.
Sensing that, Heeseung squeezes your knee and stands. “Eat something, okay?” He ruffles your already messy hair.
You snicker, “Like you care.”
He gasps dramatically. “C’mon, you know I’d mourn for a solid 5 minutes if you died.”
“What happens after the 5?” You smirk, taking a sip.
“I’d turn the guest room into an Airbnb.” He shrugs cheekily from the doorway. With that, he leaves, and your chest feels a little lighter.
Around noon, Jungwon calls you from an unknown number. Apparently, Heeseung put him up to it since Ni-ki had work and Jake was still ‘being dramatic.’ The call is enough to force you to eat. The best you can manage is a pack of ramen. Jungwon stays on the phone until you’ve finished every last morsel.
You chat about everything and nothing. He makes you laugh relentlessly and tells you to pursue a book blog like Taehyun said. He even promises to visit soon, as long as you post your first review today. It’s a good distraction.
By 5 pm, you’re posting your first review. It’s just a few sentences and scribbled annotations, but it’s something. By 5:12, it gets some engagement. At 5:18, you stumble into a Discord server for avid readers. By 5:33, you’re so deep in a discussion that you almost don’t notice Jake not coming home.
Unfortunately, as the sun sets, so does your mood. The infamous news segment fragments— Support my mom—Unimaginable loss—Private Investigator—Dad—Alive—start to whirl through the abyss that is your brain. You clear your mind with a hot shower, stewing until your fingers are pruney.
When you re-enter the room, freshly moisturized and a bit sluggish, Jake is sitting at the foot of the bed. A plastic bag rests in his lap.
You move past him without a word, pulling fresh pajamas out of the dresser.
“Thought you might be hungry,” He places the bag on the bed.
You slam the drawer shut, tossing on pants and a t-shirt.
He clears his throat tentatively. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
You rummage through the plastic bag: cutlery, napkins, a tub of fried rice, and a large wonton soup. Before you can say anything, Jake tosses a bag of chocolate truffles from his pocket onto the bed.
“For your sweet tooth.” He adds.
Rain starts to pick up outside the bedroom window. You stare at the chocolates, eyes slowly moving toward him.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” His eyes glimmer under the warm lamp lighting.
“Why didn’t you come home?”
“I was waiting until you fell asleep.” He says plainly.
You sigh, suddenly feeling too heavy for words.
He looks from your slow rising chest to your glossy eyes. In a whisper, “Are you okay?”
A damning prickly sensation arises in your throat. You bite down on your bottom lip that trembles against your wishes.
The shift was instantaneous. Jake panics. “Hey— hey. C’mere.” He tugs on your wrist until you’re standing between his legs. When he sees tears on your cheeks, he shoots to his feet. “Whoa- hey. Talk to me, please? Can you talk to me?” He sweeps hair out of your face. “Help me fix this, yeah? What’s going on?”
Your shoulders shake, head falling into the crook of his neck. You can’t speak, your voice is broken— your mind is broken. It’s not just him, it’s everything. White noise pierces your ears inconsolably.
Jake holds you close, saying sweet nothings as he draws patterns into your back. He tries to use his own deep breathing to regulate you. In moments like this, he wishes he had a heartbeat, maybe feeling that would calm you down.
You pull back to look at him, his eyes flickering between red and mahogany as. You sniffle as he dries tears from your cheeks. “Can you put me to sleep?” Your voice hushed and raw.
He scans your features, an ache in his chest. “Okay,” his voice swallowed by the rain.
He guides you around the bed, gently lowering you onto the mattress. To your surprise, he slips off his coveralls and joins you under the blanket. Craddling you against his chest, “Are you sure?”
You nod against him, and he draws back. You look at him, sniffling, completely pliant in his hold. The cool sensation of his fingers under your shirt grounds you.
He strokes your skin with leisure, irises gradually consumed by the color of cherries. His waterline shines. Rest, baby. The word passes from his mind to yours, and your lids grow heavy. Your vision blurs second by second, until there’s only darkness.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“Hey.”
Something cool taps your nose. “Wake up,” a distant voice calls you.
Stirring slightly, you turn on your side. Right when your breathing calms, your eyes pry open against your own free will. In front of you, crouched by the head of the bed, is Jungwon with eyes the hue of strawberries. He’s in slacks and a henley shirt.
He blinks at you, smiling warmly, irises shifting back into blackish-brown. “Hey, sleepy head.”
You shift, squinting, the lamp light too bright for your newborn eyes.
“Been a while,” he tilts his head at you boyishly.
Sitting up on your elbows, “When did you get here?” Your voice is like gravel, and your throat is morbidly dry.
“Yesterday.”
You blink, sitting up further. “How long have I—“
“Six days.” He interrupts gently. “Not exactly a cat nap.” He huffs, standing. He helps you sit up at the headboard.
Crust lines your eyes so badly that they can hardly open. Jake’s side of the bed is neatly tucked up, but a strong peppermint smell tells you he’s not too far.
“I got something for you.” Jungwon steals your attention. “Join us when you’re ready.” He pats your head once, then strides out of the room.
When the door shuts, you’re met with silence. There aren’t any birds or wind, and surprisingly, there aren’t any thoughts either. You groggily peel yourself from the sheets and check the window. It’s dark, and a thin layer of snow dusts the property.
6 whole days. You scoff.
You decide to shower, tossing on a house dress, a long, hanging piece of fabric. It’s a shame you don’t have any nice clothes here; you would’ve worn something prettier to re-debut in the waking world.
The instant you crack the door open, you hear voices. For reasons you’re unsure of, Jake’s already making his way over to you, linking your arms to help you walk to the living room.
“Good morning.” He smiles.
You snort. “It’s like 7 pm.”
To that, he shrugs. “It’s morning somewhere.” He guides you gently to the couch.
“Right,” you reply skeptically.
Ni-ki, Heeseung, and Jungwon are scattered about the space. Jungwon stirring something at the stove, Heeseung tending to the fireplace, and Ni-ki filling a cup of water to pass to you. Each with their own doting task. It’s jarring more than anything.
You accept the glass from Ni-ki. Taking a sip, “Is the ice maker broken?”
He shakes his head. “Room temperature is better for you.” He plops down next to you on the sofa, diligently watching you drink.
Jake slips a thin paperback out of his back pocket, then sits on the other side of you.
“What’s that?” You point at the book in Jake’s lap.
“It’s yours.” He squeezes your knee. “I went through your books. Didn’t realize how depressing all the plots were, so I decided to pick up a new one.” He says with a shy laugh.
The Book of Delights is printed on the cover. You reach for the paperback, skimming a few pages. It’s a collection of essays, some sticky notes already littered throughout. “Never heard of it.”
Jake shrugs. “It’s pretty good.”
“He was reading it to you in your sleep.” Ni-ki laces his words with coughs in an attempt to be discreet, but it’s dreadfully obvious.
“Really?” You look between the two. The fire crackles loudly at the far end of the den.
“Stories help boost brain activity. You were asleep for a while, so I don’t know—“
“He was worried.” Ni-ki butts in, leaning toward your ear.
“Will you shut up?” Jake takes the book from your hands and swats the younger vampire’s knee.
Jungwon approaches with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and your eyes nearly double in size. You scan the room. Is this a dream? “You guys… cooked?”
“Relax, it’s from a can.” Heeseung jests, sitting on the hearth and leaning back against the fireplace mantel. A toothpick lies lazily between his lips. “The takeout Jake got you went bad since you decided to collapse into a coma.” He emphasizes the last part.
“You’re saying that like it’s my fault.”
Heeseung narrows his eyes at you. “It is.”
“He was the one who put me to sleep,” you argue, taking the steaming bowl from Jungwon. After you take it, he rests in an armchair across from you.
“He’s not Maleficent, dumbass. You were supposed to sleep through the night and wake up like a normal person.” The words spill out of Heeseung’s mouth with a particular sharpness. His arms fold across his chest. “But you had to be fucking dramatic…” He mumbles to himself, looking off.
You scoff. “What is your problem—“
“He’s just upset because you scared him.” Jungwon answers before you finish asking. “Six days is a long time. We’re all a bit frazzled, that’s all.” He fixes Heeseung with a look while he huffs in the corner.
“Six days…” Jake mumbles to himself beside you. He twiddles his thumbs, eyes glued to his lap when he says it. It was more of a thought than anything to say out loud.
Startled isn’t the word for it. Jake was scared. It’s mind-boggling how one second you’re in his arms, looking up at him, and the next you're unmoving in your shared bed for 144 hours. Those 6 days were the longest moments of his century-long life. He thought he had done something wrong. You didn’t even stir. It was like coming home to a corpse every evening.
You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up.
Jake clears his throat. “Eat your food while it’s hot, yeah?” He lends you a brief smile.
An untouchable tension settles over the room. The kind no one wants to address, but everyone knows is there. You’re not even sure why. Everyone’s looking at their laps, or their shoes, or their fingers like they have something new to offer. The clinking of your metal spoon against the glass bowl and the popping flames are the only things saving you from silence.
“The soup is good,” you attempt to lighten the mood.
Jungwon smiles. “I’m glad.”
More silence.
Your eyes wander to a small, rounded dent in the wall. It’s near where Jake splattered hot broth a few weeks ago. “So… um, did anything interesting happen while I was asleep?”
Jake and Heeseung blink, eyes wandering toward the indent. Jake looks at Heeseung, who remains frozen.
~
On day 2, Jake wandered into the kitchen with a forlorn face, his feet barely picking up from the ground as he moved. He sat at the dining table wordlessly, staring at an inaccurate clock on the wall.
“So?” Heeseung urged from the island counter. He tapped his foot anxiously.
Jake didn’t say anything; he just sat with his brows knitted together. After a while of nothingness, he spoke. “When I crawled inside her head, it was like there was nothing there.” He turns to the homeowner. “There was nothing to latch onto. It’s like her consciousness sank into a corner— I can’t command a mind that… lost.”
“What are you saying?”
Jake hesitated, quickly growing rigid. “I think we need Jungwon.”
“Are you kidding me?” Heeseung shook his head in disbelief. “You did it, Jake. Not Jungwon, you. So go try something else.“
“I don’t have that sort of control, I can’t reach that far—“
“She’s your girlfriend. No one can reach further than you.”
“Hee, you’re not listening to me—“
“No. You’re not listening to me.” He lamented. “Go try again.”
Jake stands, sucking his teeth. The pegs of the chair scrape against the floorboards. “How about you go try since you can’t fucking understand what I’m telling you.”
Heeseung bit his cheek, his body trembling with anger. He already tried to wake you a day ago. He closed his eyes to hide his frustration. “It’s been 2 days, Jake.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “She’s your responsibility, you fix it.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’ve been trying, asshole,” He hisses. “I can’t-”
“Jake, come on—“
“I said, I can’t.” Within an instant, Jake’s hand is wrapped around Heeseung’s neck, slamming the back of his head into the kitchen wall.
~
Heeseung clears his throat. “No, nothing interesting.”
Silence follows. Jake sits beside you, tapping his leg.
Then, “I finally cleared Mario Run on the Gameboy.” Ni-ki murmurs beside you.
Heeseung’s brows draw together. “You’ve had that thing for like a decade.”
“I’ve taken breaks…” Ni-ki sinks a little deeper into the couch.
“Yeah, lunch breaks,” Jake smirks under his breath.
“Excuse me for trying to share some actual positive news,” Ni-ki huffs, his bottom lip too protruding to be anything other than pouting.
Heeseung scoffs. “Would’ve been super positive if it came 9 years ago.”
Tension slowly shifting, you decide to joke in the main way you know how. “So you're saying it'd be better without me there?” You jest toward Heeseung.
Heeseung pauses, eyes peering at you. “I see you didn’t run out of smart ass juice.”
Jake lets out a humorless laugh. “Anything without you is inherently worse than it could’ve been.” He turns to you with a soft sort of dazed look.
Your cheeks set ablaze. “You’re crazy,” you brush off the compliment, sinking into the couch in bashful defeat.
“That reminds me!” Jungwon stands, dimples prominent as ever. He grabs a gift bag from the floor near the shoes at the front door.
It crinkles noisily as he places it at your feet. You recognize the contents instantly. “My candles!” You shove the bowl of soup into Ni-ki’s lap— thankfully not spilling any— and reach into the bag. Inside lie 4 vanilla-scented candles, the kind you used to light before bed. “Finally, something other than peppermint.”
Jake pouts. “I thought we liked the peppermint?”
“It’s in the walls now, Jake.” You pat his lap sympathetically.
Ni-ki nods, “It’s at the garage too.”
Pout shifting into a frown, “She’s not going to pick you Ni-ki.”
“She doesn’t have to, I know what we have.” The blonde folds his arms.
The bickering falls into the background as you cross the room to focus back on the gift giver. “Thank you, Jungwon.”
He shrugs with a smile, “Jake’s idea, I just called the locksmith.”
You blink. “You got these from my actual house?”
“Jake couldn’t remember the brand name. I wanted to get it right, you know?” His eyes gleam with warmth. “Maybe now you can get some sleep the natural way.”
Something about the shine in his irises makes you hope a little more, too. The ache in your chest loosens a bit. “It’s worth a try.”
He stares at you, thoughts swirling through his head. From the faint bags under your eyes to the occasional trembling in your breathing. He’s surprised something so frail could survive so long in a circle like this. “They’ve really taken to you.” He smiles.
“Some more than others.” You laugh coyly.
Another pregnant pause as Jungwon tries to navigate his next move. He can’t help but wonder how this story ends. Treading lightly, “Sorry to have you miss the holidays with your family.”
You snort, knowing your family has been estranged for years. “Not much to miss.”
For a second, his breath catches. His mouth opens and closes without a peep. “Well then, I guess you’re right where you should be.” He smiles. “With family.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” the ache in your chest clearing a little more.
The night carries on without a hitch. Full of banter, laughter, and ease. The soup could’ve used a little salt, but there isn’t much else you’d change. You chat until you’re tired again. Jungwon even brought you some wine— again, per Jake’s suggestion.
While they were loud, and weird, and sharp-tongued at times, this really is your dysfunctional version of a family. It’s not what you imagined, but it’s better than the lonely nights after transferring to a new city. It almost makes the nights alone here feel worth it.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
When you go to bed, candle burning, a heavy quilt over your shoulders, Jake lies facing you. One of his hands reaches out to brush your waist. You can feel his eyes looking back at yours in the dark. This is the kind of moment you’d kill for a week ago. You scootch closer.
He laughs quietly. “You’re giving me those eyes.”
“What eyes?” The alcohol gives your voice a sultry edge.
“Your bedroom ones.”
“We’re in a bedroom,” you smirk, inching closer.
“But you’re tipsy.” His hand drags from your hips to under your ribs, then back down.
You huff defeatedly. “Right.” That doesn’t stop you from looking at each other with enough tension to split an atom.
“You can come closer if you want.” Jake murmurs.
Like a game of cat and mouse, you crawl a little closer, and he coaxes you a pinch further. Eventually, you’re near enough for Jake to hook your leg around his waist since it’s ‘more comfortable that way.’ Your heart races like a madman. Between that and your scent, he’s losing his mind. He has no choice but to close his eyes.
“Are you tired?” Your hand rubs circles on his stomach.
He shakes his head.
You clear your throat, focusing on drawing lazy patterns with your hand. “Did you have fun tonight?”
He smiles nostalgically at the question. “It was the most fun I’ve had in days.”
“Me too,” you whisper without thinking. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”
Jake doesn’t say anything because he knows it won’t be. It’ll be Monday in a few hours, and everything delicate will disappear.
You bury your face in a pillow, groaning at his silence. “Didn’t you miss me?” You murmur half at Jake and half into the cushion.
His brows furrow. “Of course I did.”
“Then why can’t we…” You face him again, “you know.”
He sighs. “You should be taking it easy.”
“I was tired, not sick.” You tease.
“What happened wasn’t normal, so I’m not really sure about that…” He trails off apprehensively.
“You’re acting like I’m on my deathbed.”
“Because I thought you were a day ago.” His words are like a razor’s edge. That’s what’s consumed him since you got up: you were almost dead. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
Humming in understanding, you slide your hand to his back. You smooth over his shirt mindlessly. A question lies hesitantly on the tip of your tongue until the silence drives it out. “What if I was…”
Jake squeezes his eyes shut, dragging you closer. “I’m glad you weren’t.”
“Right,” you mumble against him.
The weight of mortality smothers your chest. What if one day the boys leave for work and your aching heart just gives out? Or if the fireplace decides to spit embers onto the hardwood while you’re sleeping? What if your body can’t bear the guilt and is secretly eroding away as you lie there?
You rest on his chest, silence beneath his ribs. Whispering, “Will you remember me?”
He half-sits up, almost knocking you off balance. “What?”
“I really hope you do.” You close your eyes, thinking aloud. “At least for a little while.”
His stomach churns. Why would you suggest such a horrible thing? “I uh-“
“Maybe we’ll meet again in a billion years when the sun blows up.” You smile. “And you’ll kiss me, and we’ll be dead together.” Fatigue gradually fills your being. Yawning, “The guys’ll be there too, like a proper reunion.”
He lies back down, wordlessly wrapping a cool arm around you. It’s like you’re a carton of milk, waiting to expire. The image of you old and spoiled, sends a chill down his spine. How long before age reworks your mind and you outgrow him? Or he outgrows you? He tensely stares at the ceiling as a solemn quiet returns.
“Do you think I’d be a good vampire?” You say sweetly, propping on an elbow to look at him. The tipsiness brings all your curiosity to the surface.
Jake’s still staring at the ceiling. “There are no good vampires.” That’s a line he’d learned from Heeseung a while ago.
You laugh, placing a hand on his cheek. “Untrue.” A finger runs across his bottom lip.“Can I see them?” You poke at his lips.
He looks to you, chest rising and sinking slowly. He extends his fangs, barely opening his mouth, but you pry it wider to stare.
You run a fingerpad under his teeth. As you meet his fang, you pause, tracing the sharp edge. Without breaking his gaze, you press the pad of your finger into the spike. “If I had a pair of these, do you think we’d be happy?”
Are you not happy now? Before he can respond, you dig your finger into his canine, drawing blood. His brain goes blank, and his limbs limp. You push a little harder, and he groans. All his focus goes to sucking your finger into his mouth.
It’s too good. Maybe you’d be fine with one less finger. He holds your wrist in place until you wince.
Suddenly self-aware, his eyes shoot open. He jerks away from you, tumbling off the bed and dragging the blanket with him. His breathing is ragged, and his eyes changed.
You shrink into yourself. “I’m sorry—“
“No, I’m sorry.” He stands, putting more distance between you. Fuck, the room is spinning. “I uh, need some air.” He slings the blanket over you and zips away.
You don’t see him again until morning— technically, not see, but you hear the shower running. He must’ve slipped in while you were sleeping. You only got a few hours of proper shuteye, the empty room keeping you up.
A phone vibrates against the mattress. You reach to silence it, thinking it’s Jake’s alarm, but it's not.
INCOMING CALL FROM: Taesan Han
Your hand freezes. That’s your phone. After months of no contact, you watch it ring until the screen goes black. A dark feeling bubbles inside you, but you refuse to succumb to that today. Crawling out of bed, you start to put an outfit together.
Minutes later, Jake wanders in. He smells of soap and rusty metal in his work coveralls. “Oh,” he says, spotting you in a pair of jeans. When’s the last time you wore jeans? “Good morning…?”
“Morning,” you respond, digging through a drawer.
“You’re going somewhere?”
“Yup.” The question— His presence, it annoys you. He left you last night.
He watches you, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “Kinda sudden, don’t you think?”
“Thought I’d run some errands.” You shrug, sliding on your right sock. “Have you seen my keys?”
“You don’t have a set of house keys.”
“My car keys,” you correct, finally looking at him.
He eyes you skeptically. “On the mantle.”
“Thanks,” you kiss him on the cheek and head to the bathroom to freshen up.
Jake stands there, blinking at the door. “… Alright then.”
You leave the house around the same time, both boys unanimously balking at you as you bend into your vehicle.
“You sure that thing has gas?” Heeseung asks from the wheel of his truck, a toothpick on his lip.
“If it doesn’t, I’ll just loop around to the shed for a tank.” You shut the car door.
He narrowly observes you. “You know about the shed?” He yells.
You switch on the ignition, engine blaring. “I’m not stupid,” you shout past the glass. They leave the lot first while you leisurely search for a bookstore and supermarket on your phone. You decide to go to the center of town, where all the best produce goes.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The bookstore comes first on your list. You browse old wooden shelves for anything half interesting, maybe even a cookbook this time. A gardening hardcover catches your eye, maybe you’ll grow something in the spring. As you brush the cover, your phone goes off. Pulling it from your purse—
INCOMING CALL FROM: Taesan Han
You tsk, stuffing it away. Not today. You purchase the gardening book from a friendly cashier. When you step out of line with your bag, you notice a woman a few guests behind you doing the same. She has on a huge-brimmed sun hat in the middle of winter. The bottom of her face is wrapped in a scarf.
She stands in your way as you try to leave. “Excuse me,” you practically push past her.
Taesan calls again between the bookstore and the supermarket parking lot. You mozzy through the aisles, picking at this and that. Since when has the grocery store been so loud? And nauseatingly bright? You haven’t been around this large a crowd in ages.
Somehow, amongst all these people, you manage to come across Sun Hat again. While looking for pasta sauce, you see her hesitantly pushing an empty cart past your lane. Between the calls and the hag, you were starting to feel a bit paranoid.
Then, more buzzing from your purse. You huff as another customer squeezes past you in the aisle. Whatever. You answer it, tongue sharp. “Hello?”
A low gasp from the otherside of the line. “O-oh. H-Hi.” Taesan stammers out. “Long time no-“
“Why are you calling me?”
He goes quiet. “Sorry… I just haven’t seen you around in a while.”
You scoff. “Okay? We haven’t hung out in forever.”
“Yeah, but there’s like 2 supermarkets in Riverfield, I feel like I would’ve—“
“Why are you calling me, Taesan?” You press again. You make your way to the frozens section.
He takes a deep breath. “I want you to know I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
You pause, shopping cart jolting. “What?”
“I know people are saying cruel things right now, but I don’t believe them. I swear. It’s all housewife gossip to me—“ He rambles.
“What are you talking about?” You cut in. “What gossip?”
“The office homewrecker thing, with your boss? It's all everyone talked about last week. C’mon, you’re not actually out of town right now… are you?”
Someone in front of you reaches for a bag of peas, their squeaky cart wheels making you flinch.
Another pause. “You didn’t really run off with Benson, did you?” He says in a hush.
As the question tumbles out, you notice the Sun Hat Lady again. She stares lowly from the edge of the ice cream freezer. Does she know Jake? Should you call him?
Tasean calls your name wearily from the line.
“Sorry, I have to go.” You end the call. When you look back up, Sun Hat Lady is approaching you, cart still barren. Maybe time to call Jake. You open your phone.
“Excuse me?” Her voice was posh and frail. She clutches an index card, lowering her scarf with her free hand. Slowly, she reads your full government name from the note. “I’m sorry, is that your name?”
You jerk away instinctually. “Why are you following people you don’t know around stores?”
“I’m looking for a person with that name. Is that you?” She presses, her words sort of bleeding together desperately.
Your pulse quickens as you stare.
“I know I seem crazy,” she laughs, taking off her hat to reveal blonde curls. “You see,” her voice trembles. “I’m looking for my husband.” She nods gently. “A private investigator and I seem to believe he’s run off with a younger woman from work.”
She takes a step forward, and you pull back. Your fingers fumble to type Jake’s name. “I’m sorry, I don’t—“
“The girl looked just like you and had that name.” She swallows. “And the name matched a writer’s blog with an IP address in this town— crazy, I know.” She laughs, looking down.
You manage to press call, creeping the device toward your face.
Stepping closer, “It’s just— he didn’t say anything, you know? There were no signs. Just poof! Gone.” She snaps. “I wonder, what kind of woman does that to a man?”
You fully back out of the aisle, heart pounding. Tucking the shopping cart in a corner, you b-line for the exit. What the fuck? You hustle down the lot toward your car. The overcast sky covers the town in a dim haze. Jake speaks from your phone speaker. “Hello? Y/N?”
Lifting the device, “Sorry— sorry. I um, wow.” You exhale, shaking.
“Something happen?” Drills sound in the background.
You open the car door. “No way she’s…”
“We have a daughter, you know?” The woman screams out, suddenly outside and full of rage. “She’s sixteen. That’s old enough for her to know how much of a whore someone like that must be.” Her words twist venomously.
You flinch, dropping your keys. “I’m sorry, Miss. You have the wrong person.”
“What’s going on?” Jake urges.
“I don’t even want him anymore, I promise! I just need to put my mind at ease,” she pleads. “So Sadie’ll stop asking…” Her eyes are glossy, and her voice breaks.
“Miss, I didn’t—“
A wrench drops over the phone. “Where are you?” Jake starts moving.
“I’m uh— the grocery store.“ You say in a breath.
“Where?” Keys jingle through the phone.
“I know it’s you,” the woman exhales, wiping a tear. “I recognize your face from that little party. And your friend with the dimples. Did you have him make a run home for you? Too scared to show your face?” She scowls.
You lose your patience. “Back up from my car.”
“Is Benson here?” She says scornfully. “Is this the town you two play ‘house’ in?” She looks around, reaching into her purse.
“Who is that?” Jake balks.
You crouch down to retrieve your keys. “I’m at the outlet on Hill Street.” You state in a hurry. “I need you to come get me. She’s been following me, I can’t—“ You rattle anxiously, sheltering yourself in your car. You watch through your rear mirror as she digs through her bag. “Jake?”
“I’m on my way,” you hear an engine rev violently.
“Don’t drive.” As the words slide off your tongue, you hear a BANG. You jump, covering your ears.
The blonde stands behind your vehicle, gripping a small chrome revolver. She shot your back tire. “I came a long way. I want answers, that’s all.” She loosens her grip.
You reverse out of your spot in panic. The air hisses as it leaves your tire. She shoots again, hitting your license plate. And again, shattering your back window. You slam on the brakes, screaming and ducking in your seat.
“Drop it,” Jake shouts, appearing in the middle of the parking lot. His eyes bulging red. He pants with twigs in his hair. The gun hits the pavement, firing once more into the distance. “Sleep.”
The gunwoman faints onto the concrete, the fresh snow dampening her clothes.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“I can’t go on like this.” Heeseung paces the living room.
Everyone’s gathered in the house for an emergency meeting. You haven’t stopped shaking yet, so they wrap you in 2 heavy blankets while they discuss this morning. They mull over safety concerns until the greater question presents itself: Can you ever be safe as a human?
“She might as well be made out of glass. Leaving her like this is impossible.” Heeseung delivers tensely to Jungwon.
“She’s not changing for your convenience,” Jake rasps from beside you on the couch.
“What was your plan in the first place?” Ni-ki leans over the kitchen counter. “Obviously, you wanted her to be turned eventually?” He speculates urgently.
Jake sighs, “I didn’t have a plan—“
“That’s not true. You knew you wanted it to be temporary.” Jungwon shakes his head profusely. “If he wanted to convert her, he would’ve said that.” He turns to the others.
“Then the arrangement’s off, she can’t stay here.” Heeseung’s hands draw a line. “I can’t be responsible for this. It’s too unpredictable. I’m not a babysitter.”
Ni-ki sucks his teeth. “And have her further away? That doesn’t make any sense.”
They’ve been talking over you for the past 40 minutes. With each suggestion, they grow louder. “Guys—“
“What about training? Martial arts?” Jungwon thinks aloud.
“Or a gun,” Heeseung offers.
“A gun? The thing that literally almost killed her today?” Jake says incredulously.
“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.” Heeseung shrugs.
Ni-ki socffs. “That’s exactly why I think she should be turned.”
“Quit suggesting that!” Jake snaps.
“I don’t mind,” your voice infiltrates the tense air. They all face you. “Turning me makes the most sense.”
You could hear a pin drop; everyone was eerily still. “No,” Jake firms.
That’s your breaking point. “I’ve given up my entire life to follow you into the woods over a murder I didn’t even fucking commit, and you have the audacity to tell me no?”
Jake’s jaw flexes. “This isn’t the life you want.”
“Why else am I here?” Your voice cracks. “I’m rotting away in this cabin for what exactly? To be sent away or killed someday? All this time wasted—“
“Think about what you’re asking,” Jungwon warns.
“I know what I’m asking.” Your words like a promise. “For the first time since I’ve stepped into this stupid house, I’m asking you not to leave me out.” You turn to Jake.
A hush covers the room.
“You’d be changing your vision from color to black and white,” Jake whispers to you.
“Things have felt like black and white for a while now.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You lie on the cold kitchen island with your eyes closed. The pillow under your head feels flat and useless. 97, 98, 99, 100. You’ve been counting your heartbeat mindlessly in clusters of 100, smelling the savory remnants of your last meal.
“Aim here,” Heeseung places two fingers directly on your pulse, murmuring to Jake. “The artery, not the vein. It’s quicker that way.”
“And keep it clean,” Jungwon folds his arms. “No distractions.”
A pink and orange sunset spills onto the walls. 23, 24, 25… Ni-ki smoothes a hand over your hair, comfortingly. He covers your ears, muffling the voices. 31, 32, 33…
Jake nods along, his fingers trembling. The pajamas he wears feel too informal for the occasion. He bites his lips til they’re raw, placing a hand on your warm, fidgeting leg.
Your eyes crack open to look at his hand, then his face. You lend a weak smile, and the guys take it as a sign to disperse to Heeseung’s room upstairs.
He kisses you when you're alone. Soft and reverent. It’s a tender apology between lips. I’m sorry, this is all I can offer you. He pulls away glass-eyed. “Do you want to go cherry picking with me?”
That earns a bitter-sweet laugh. "Yeah," you smile, sniffling.
"Then close your eyes." He whispers softly.
And you do, imagining the sun on your skin and dirt paths lined with leafy cherry trees. 98, 99— Pressure settles into your neck. You picture holding the smooth fruit in your palm, snapping the thin stem in half. 5, 6, 7… Pins and needles prickle through your toes, then your hands. You can hear him whimpering. 14, 15… 16… The imaginary sun drains of its heat. 21… 22… Darkness.
Tears stream down his cheeks as the sound in your chest fades. He'd never made a vampire before. His legs give out when your skin starts to imitate that dull grey.
Your boots crunch over dead leaves as you narrowly avoid rodent feces. Birds squawk through the canopy of scrawny tree branches. You can hear a creak rushing down a hill and the symphony of pounding animal hearts. It’s overwhelming. “And why are we here instead of at the garage?” You've been working with them on the business side of things lately, trying to broaden his clientel and clean up his records.
Heeseung and Jake walk calmly ahead of you. “Trust me, baby,” is all Jake offers.
Reaching a small clearing, they stop. Two gazelles congregate near a bush. It’s like something out of a storybook. Heeseung whistles, calling one of them toward where you all hide in trees. It inches closer, nose wiggling.
Without warning, Jake pounces on the gazelle, sending the other one running, and the birds flapping off. It huffs and kicks as he pierces the low fur.
You flinch, watching him drink.
“Go on,” Heeseung nudges your shoulder.
You look at him, then Jake, who’s holding the animal out for you. Creeping up to the animal, you kneel. Your fangs were already throbbing. “Sleep,” you coax the animal's distressed eyes closed before earning a taste. The warm liquid seeps past your lips. Brows furrowing, “This is unbelievably good.”
“We call is blood-water,” They say at the same time.
“Alright, alright, my turn.” Heeseung laughs, taking his position.
Your face is painted a messy scarlet when you stand. You’re not very good at technique yet.
Jake kisses it off your lips, smearing the last bits away with his thumb. He always keeps a pack of wet wipes in the car for you, but it’s so much better to clean you up this way. Your red eyes stared at him in a daze, fangs clashing with each other. He thinks about the first time he saw you with cherry syrup on your chin, a fledgling in the making.
Something tells him that's the last pie he’ll ever make.
A/N: Hoping it felt worth the wait! I was stressing out trying to make this perfect lol. She might not be perfect, but she's mine, and that's enough :D Please affirm me, I'm losing my mind
<Thank you so much for reading! Likes, reblogs, & comments always appreciated!>
Synopsis: You met Nicholas, a reserved laundromat employee by day and weed dealer by night, 2 weeks ago. Your paths drawn together by fate (and marijuana). Regardless of the initial attraction, he ghosts you. Unfortunately for him, you guys have a meddling mutual friend: Byun Euijoo.
Themes/ Elements: College + summer AU, weed smoking! + smoker reader, tension, teasing, swearing, partial nudity, fluff!, slight angst/ miscommunication, humor, a kiss, feelings, shorter reader, English lit major reader, Nicho works at his dad's laundromat, eating junk food, lots of dialogue, music mentioned, ending is a little rushed
A/N: Love this universe down! Shout out @starrihan for triggering this & @kpapidontknowme for test reading. This can sorta be read as a one-shot, but I'd strongly recommend reading part one
The sun beams down onto you in a way that is impossible to escape. Your black tank top absorbs the heat without remorse. “Fuck.” Probably shouldn’t have worn black today.
It’s still the middle of summer, but you’re on campus for a moment to figure out something with the registration office. You wanted to drop a class, and luckily, you were successful. It would’ve been completely painless if not for the damned high noon sun.
You’re trudging through campus, on your way to the nearest bus stop, when a familiar voice stops you in your tracks.
“Hey!” Euijoo calls you from behind. His voice is bright like the sun. He jogs over to you with a smile.
You turn around, your body relaxing as your feet come to a stop. “Hey, yourself.”
“Whoa, you’re sweating.” He says more to himself.
You blink at him, lips forming a thin line. “Y’know, some thoughts are better left inside our heads.”
He laughs and pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “Sorry, I don’t always think before I talk.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” You nod.
“Let me start over.” He clears his throat. “Hi, Y/N. Crazy running into you here, you look radiant as ever.”
A laugh escapes you at that. You decide to play along. “Why, thank you. You’re too kind.”
He relaxes a little, seeing you laugh. “What’re you doing here?”
“I had a hot date at the registration office. You?”
He hums and nods in understanding. “I’m taking a summer class.”
You grimace. “Bummer.”
He laughs. “Yeah, it is.”
It falls quiet for a moment. You both kind of stand around awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as you search for something to say.
“So, what’re you about to get into?” EJ tilts his head pleasantly.
“I was just going to hop on the bus and take my ass home. It’s too hot to be outside.” You speak definitively. “What about you?”
“Class just ended, so I’m heading over to Nicho’s to smoke. You’re free to join if you’d like.”
You hum skeptically. “I don’t know, I don’t think he likes me.”
Euijoo gawks at that. “What? What makes you think that?” He looks at you like you just turned blue and grew a second head.
“I haven’t heard from him since the party.” You shrug.
You threw your party a whole two weeks ago and haven’t heard a word from him, which is shocking because you spent hours together that night. You exchanged socials and everything. You even stopped at the laundromat— in a very casual, super friendly, non-thirsty way— to see if he was in, but you couldn’t find him. He was a ghost. A sexy, unobtainable ghost.
“Most people don’t hear from Nicho ever, so don’t take it too personally.” He retorts with a smirk.
You sigh, “It's fine, I don’t wanna make it awkward—“
“I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. Come on, I’m driving.”
You start to say another lame excuse, but perk up at the mention of a car. You raise a brow. “You’ll drive?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yes, I’ll drive— is that really all you needed to change your mind?”
“Does your car have air conditioning by chance?” You bite your lip, torn on your decision.
“It does,” EJ says with a slow smirk. “So does Nicho’s place.”
Shit. Your air unit has been malfunctioning for the past two days. You scheduled a handyman to come in tomorrow, but that feels like forever now.
You hum contemplatively. “I see.”
“I bet that sounds pretty good to you right now, doesn’t it?” He nudges your shoulder, still smirking.
You hum some more. “Shouldn’t you call Nicholas and ask first?”
Euijoo puffs, waving a hand dismisively. “Nah, Nicho loves surprises. The more the merrier.”
…
You arrive at a sleek building, a couple of stories high. The lobby has shiny tile flooring, but no working elevator, so you’re forced to walk up four tretorus flights to the drug dealer's humble abode, carrying two slightly inconvenient paper cups of creamy goodness.
EJ offered to stop for food, and of course, you couldn’t turn away when he offered to get you a milkshake. Now the condensation of the cold drink sticks to your hands, like the persistent layer of sweat on your forehead.
Your cheofer’s long, two-steps-at-a-time, strides up the stairs gave you no room to stop and catch your breath. Your chest is heaving by the time you reach his apartment door labeled 4B. Funny enough, it kind of reminds you of when you first met the anti-social young man at your apartment across town. Life really is one big circle.
While you attempt to catch your breath and smooth down the frizzy flyaway hairs you’re sure are poking out, Euijoo rings the doorbell with his free hand. His other carries a greasy paper bag full of fast food.
DING DONG
Once more.
DING DONG.
You can hear stomps and a muffled, groggy voice from behind the door. Euijoo snickers, trying to hide his amusement. You turn to him.
“He hates when I do this.” He explains, clearly enjoying the prospect of pissing his friend off. “One more time?” He asks you, but he presses the bell before you can properly get out an answer.
DING DONG
He laughs, but it’s quickly cut off when an angry-looking, really pretty boy answers the door. Like really pretty—
“I will personally get you a key to this apartment.” He looks straight at EJ, eyes bored like a kid at school. He’s wearing a polo shirt and dark denim jorts.
“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” EJ tilts his head coyly.
Pretty boy sighs. “Who are you?” He looks at you now, his eyes still a bit dull.
“Hi. I’m Y/N.” You smile awkwardly, you attempt to raise a milkshake-clad hand and wave, but it just looks like you're shaking the drink.
“What? Is that for me?” He raises a brow at you.
Your mouth makes a small ‘o’ shape before you shake your head. “No… My bad. I was uh, trying to wave.” You smack your lips together in an even more awkward expression. You bring the paper cup back to your side.
“Oh.” He nods, equally awkward.
“This is Harua, one of Nicho’s roommates.” Euijoo turns to you with a soft smile, effectively diffusing the uneasy atmosphere. “Don’t worry. His bark is worse than his bite.” He whispers the last part to you with a smirk.
Harua looks at you with furrowed brows. “What’d he say?”
You open your mouth to speak, but again EJ interjects before you can form a proper word.
“I asked her if she thinks you’re ever gonna let us in or if we’re gonna keep talking in the hallway like a bunch of weirdos.” He says without missing a beat.
“He said something about me, didn’t he?” Harua keeps his gaze on you.
You timidly nod in response.
Harua sighs, finally looking back at Eujioo, who seems slightly wounded by your snitching. “Whatever, man. Nicholas is in the shower. I gotta finish getting ready for work.” He finally steps away from the door, allowing you all to enter. He leaves the two of you, busying himself further in the apartment.
EJ holds the door open for you. “Maki here?”
“He’s in his room,” Harua calls from down a hallway.
When you enter the apartment, you’re immediately hit with the scent of sage and citrus. They have an open floor plan, so you can see their living room and kitchen all at once. The decor is modern and minimal; everything is surprisingly neat. A balcony sits directly ahead of you, as promised, functioning more or less as a window for the space.
Once you’re in, Euijoo moves past you to slip his shoes off. “I’ll be right back. You can put the shakes on the counter. Make yourself comfortable.” He smiles at you before dropping the food on the counter and making his way down a hallway
You mimic him, slipping off your shoes to the best of your ability without any free hands. The only comforting thing in this unfamiliar place is the cool air, as promised. You sigh in relief.
You shuffle over to the kitchen and place the drinks down as told. Great, now you’re alone. You tap a finger on the counter, looking at the melted whipped cream. You quickly decide the milkshakes might be better off in the refrigerator. You open the refrigerator and place them inside next to a couple of takeout containers when you hear a floorboard creak.
“How do you know EJ, again?” Harua appears out of absolutely nowhere, sliding a belt into the loops of his jorts. He has a bag on his shoulder now, and you can smell his newly sprayed cologne.
“Oh.” You jump, turning to face him. “We both go to A.N.D. University.”
Harua nods, buckling the belt. “How is it? I’m transferring there next semester.”
You shrug. “I like it enough.”
He nods, making intense eye contact. His expression is neutral, but friendlier than before. “Cool,” is all he says.
You stand looking at each other for a moment. Thankfully, it’s less awkward than the first time. You’re each trying to lock a new face into your memories.
“When you see Maki, tell him it’s his turn to do the dishes. I doubt he’s gonna keep hiding out in his room now that there’s a girl here.” He makes his way to the shoe organizer by the door and slides on a pair. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Good luck at work.” You smile at your soon-to-be schoolmate.
He sighs. “Thanks, I think I’ll need it.” He smiles at you for the first time. He doesn’t actually show any teeth, but it feels like an accomplishment nonetheless. He walks off, the door slamming behind him.
You wander about the space, awaiting Eujioo’s return, when you hear a doorknob turn somewhere down the dark hallway. You walk over to see who it is and are met with a half-naked Nicholas as he attempts to exit the bathroom, blinding white light flooding out of the room behind him.
He freezes with his hand on the knob when he notices you. His eyes fill with panic. He wears only a bath towel, lowly on his hips. Droplets of water drip from his hair to the valley of his collarbones, then down his chest.
Your jaw drops. Between the shock and the beauty of it all, you’re pretty sure you stop breathing for a second. Maybe three. He’s more muscular than you would’ve originally anticipated, but before you can make any other observations, he scurries back into the bathroom and shuts the door with a slam.
A door further down the dark hallway opens. Eujioo makes his way toward you with a face of mild concern. “Everything okay? What was that loud bang?” He stands in front of you, glancing from left to right, visibly confused.
“Nothing.” You respond way too quickly, furrowing your brows and tucking your lips like a witch suddenly stole your voice.
EJ laughs skeptically. “Why’re you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird, you’re being weird.” You deflect with a shrug.
“Did you just run around the room or something? Why’re you breathing like that?”
“What are you, a cop? Stop asking me so many questions.” You laugh breathlessly.
He looks at you, judgment ever-present on his face. “Did Nicholas get out of the shower yet?”
Behind the inquisitive man, you can see Nicho sneak out of the bathroom, now wearing a wrinkly shirt and the same towel on his bottom half. He slips into his room across the hall.
“How would I know anything about that?” You babble a bit too high-spirited for your own good.
“You’re in the living room. I thought you might’ve heard or seen something.” He speaks like it’s obvious because it kind of is.
“Well, call me Stevie Wonder because I didn’t see a thing.” You say, walking to the couch and plopping down gracelessly. You decide the safest bet is to face the balcony, so the taller man can’t see through your web of lies.
“Right…” Euijoo nods, not buying a word you’ve said.
“He’s in his room. Probably getting dressed.” A boy with deep dimples pops up behind Euijoo. He chews on a piece of gum.
Where the fuck do these young men keep spawning from? You flinch in your seat, apparently the only one startled by his sudden appearance.
He approaches you on the couch. “Hi, I’m Maki.” His minty breath fills the air between you.
“Oh, um, Harua said it’s your turn to do the dishes.” You relay before you can forget.
Maki’s smug look falters, his lips forming a tight line. “Of course he did.”
Euijoo walks to the kitchen counter and checks the bag of food. “Damn, the fries are getting cold.”
“Should we just eat without him?” Maki faces EJ with a mischievous look.
“Do that and I’ll never smoke with you again,” Nicholas says from behind Maki in the hallway. He walks into the space stiffly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes shifting toward you every few seconds. He’s wearing a new, less wrinkly, fitted t-shirt and high-quality sweatpants.
“Good morning, princess,” EJ teases from his position leaning against the countertop.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone.” Nicholas glares at EJ.
“Surprise.” EJ smirks, throwing a fry from the bag into his mouth.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Nicholas approaches the latter with a stern look.
“What if I said no?” The same smirk on his face, and a new fry in his mouth.
Nicholas grabs his shoulder and faces both of their bodies away from the living room. They have a hushed conversation in the kitchen area while Maki unknowingly blocks your view of the drama.
“So, you smoke?” Maki asks casually, clearly unbothered by the bickering.
“Yeah.” You respond, only half paying attention.
“Like how much?” He raises a brow.
“Enough to be here right now.” You raise a brow back at him.
“Touché.” He nods, satisfied by your answer. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Y/N. I go to school with Euijoo.” You decide it’s better to just say everything at once.
Maki’s eyes double in size as he stifles a laugh. “Oh.” He coughs and clears his throat, trying to disguise his shocked reaction.
He draws your undivided attention at that. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. Something was in my throat.” He waves a hand at you dismissively, still struggling to hold his laughter.
“Oh, really?” You deadpan at him, unconvinced. “You sure that wasn’t just your body rejecting the lie you’re telling?”
“No, it was actually my body forcing me to mind my business.” He delivers rather matter-of-factly. Smugness is evident in his tone.
“Touché.” You imitate the boy with a mocking tone.
EJ claps his hands, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. He makes his way over to the armchair next to you. He beams, bringing a refreshing light into the space as if he weren’t arguing with the host momentarily ago. “Let’s smoke. The food is getting cold.”
Alright. You’re sure of it now, something's off. You should’ve taken your sweaty ass home. It’s definitely awkward, like you predicted, and Nicholas 110% does not ‘love surprises’ like Euijoo said. Why is everyone looking at you like you’re an alien? What were Euijoo and Nicho talking about? And why didn’t Maki do the goddamn dishes yet?
You turn to Euijoo, your voice hardly above a whisper. “Maybe I should go.”
The boy’s jaw drops. “No, don’t go. I just put the fries in the air fryer.”
You rise to your feet, preparing to insist and make a swift exit. “I think I’ll just catch the bus-“
“You’re leaving?” Nicholas approaches the living room with a fry in his mouth. He only spares you a glance before reaching for a tin box on the coffee table. He opens it, revealing several joints rolled to perfection. Did he just keep that there at all times?
Nonetheless, you don’t want to interrupt their bro-time any more than you already have. “I don’t want to intrude.” You lend him a small smile, which he doesn’t see because his nonchalant ass isn’t even looking at you.
“You’re not.” He says, placing a joint behind his ear and another between his lips. He closes the tin, and the metal pieces clank against each other. He walks to the glass sliding balcony door and opens it.
Maki wanders past Nicho onto the balcony. He leans on the rail and looks at you with a knowing smile. That cocky, secret harboring, bastard.
Nicholas looks at you from the open doorway, removing the unlit joint from his mouth. The stale summer air is already creeping in. “You came here to smoke, right?” His eyes are unreadable, and it’s easy to want to shrink under his gaze.
“Yeah.” You say quieter than you’d like.
He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and retrieves a small pink lighter. “Well,” he takes the cylandrical object between his lips once more and lights it. He takes a drag, gaze consistently on you. He blows the smoke behind him and off the terrace. “I’m smoking now.”
You’ve learned few things over the course of your life. One of them being that if fine shit invites you to smoke, you go smoke. You blink at the handsome man.
Nicholas turns to fully join Maki on the balcony.
EJ eagerly jumps to his feet. “Told you he doesn’t hate you.” He leans down, so only you can hear him.
“That doesn’t exactly prove anything.” You retort slowly, still reeling from Nicho’s scandalizing eye contact.
He tsks. “Fine. If you wanna take your lukewarm fries and go wait at a bus stop under the blazing afternoon sun, be my guest.”
You sigh, giving EJ a look that telepathically tells him to ‘shut up’.
EJ bites his lip, knowing he won. “That’s what I thought.” He walks to the balcony, confident that you’ll follow him.
And you do. Once you step out, you close the door behind you. The space is large enough to fit all of you comfortably with a small two-seater table off to the side. You stand with your hands at your sides like the emoji while they pass the spliff around. There’s barely any wind, so it burns nice and slow.
Nicho passes to Maki, Maki passes to Euijoo, and finally Euijoo passes to you.
You take a small tug from the joint, testing it out. You can hear Euijoo snicker from beside you, vaguely unimpressed by your weak pull. You decide to show out on your next drag. It’s not quite Nicholas' level, but it’s enough to make Euijoo wordlessly put his hands up in surrender.
You attempt to pass to Nicho without looking, but he’s too preoccupied with the view to notice. “Here,” you nudge his shoulder with your hand holding the joint.
His brows shoot up in surprise, like you just interrupted his daydream. He pinches the filter end, fingers brushing yours slightly. He takes a long drag, inspecting the joint for canooing. He whips out his lighter and attempts to fix the uneven burning.
“So what’s your major?” Maki doesn’t say anyone’s name in particular, but you know he’s talking to you.
This pulls your eyes away from Nicholas and to the smug guy still leaning on the railing. “English literature.” You look the boy up and down. “Are you in school?”
“I’m taking a gap year.” He shrugs.
“That implies that you’ll eventually go back to school.” Eujioo laughs, doubtful of the younger man.
“I’ll go when I’m ready. I just wanna get my money up first.” Maki takes the joint from Nicholas like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t even have to look. You wanted that. He takes a drag, coughing out a cloud of smoke.
“What would you study?” Eujioo tilts his chin up at the boy in challenge.
He passes the joint to EJ. “Marine biology.” He delivers with a definitive smirk.
Euijoo and Nicholas burst out laughing. EJ nearly drops the joint, folding himself forward with reckless giggles.Maki didn’t quite seem like the type who would be interested in marine biology.
“I have never heard you use the words marine or biology in my entire life.” Euijoo sputters out, still catching his breath. His smile only disappears when he has to close his lips around the paper.
“Fuck you guys.” Maki laughs, finding it a tad absurd even to himself. “I could totally be a biological marine.”
“Marine biologist.” You correct with a small snicker of your own. Nicholas snorts. You mutter a small ‘thanks’ to EJ as the joint works its way back to you in the rotation. You instantly take a drag.
“You knew what I meant.” Maki rolls his eyes, lolling his head to the side in annoyance.
“I’m not sure if you even knew what you meant.” You retort with your own smug mug, you blow the smoke down out of your mouth. The boys egg you on with low chuckles under their breath.
Maki sucks his teeth. “Fuck you—”
Nicholas glares at him from the corner of his eye. His eyes void of any amusement.
Maki scoffs at the sudden subliminal threat pointed in his direction. His offended expression gradually melts into one of mischief.
You take another drag, bigger now that you’ve grown more comfortable.
“That reminds me, I heard Nicho fucked up a couple of guys at your party a few weeks ago. Is that true?” Maki asks as you inhale the smoke.
That makes you choke. You cough uncontrollably at the unexpected comment, smoke coming out of your mouth and nose at the same time. You cover your mouth with your elbow, struggling to pull yourself back together. That little fucker threw you off on purpose.
Euijoo pats your back supportively, but is still generally amused by the drama.
You pass to Nicho, eyes teary from borderline dry heaving a second ago. “W-What?” You stammer.
“I didn’t beat anyone up.” Nicho takes the joint from you without looking. His eyes are locked on Maki, shooting daggers at the troublemaker. “I just,” he furrows his brows and takes a pull, searching for his words. He exhales the smoke, up and over your head. The joint is almost done. “I helped Y/N get her point across.”
“Somehow, that was more alarming than you saying you kicked someone’s ass.” Maki blinks, growing mildly uneasy.
EJ laughs, nodding violently. “You sound like a mobster.”
You laugh to yourself, finally feeling the effects of the herbal flower. “He kind of was like a mobster.”
They all turn to you at that, their expression vary from interested to uneasy.
“Not in a bad way or anything. No one died, it was just really badass.” You clarify, suddenly panicking with the increased amount of attention on you. Nicholas’ gaze is the softest, so you lock in on him. You look at him with low red eyes, the memory fond and vivid behind your eyes. “It was cool,” you say almost inaudibly. Like it was nothing.
Nicholas clears his throat, nodding at nothing as he kills the last bit of the joint, tossing the clip into a potted plant. There were several filters littered atop the soil. A faint red in his eyes and on the tips of his ears. Why is he flustered?
“You good, bro?” Maki teases, dimples on full display.
He side eyes Maki. “It’s out, let’s eat.” Nicho rolls his shoulders to relieve the new tension settling in his body. His shirt rides up a little with the movement, and it's almost enough to activate the feral dog in you. He brushes past you to slide open the balcony door.
The air fryer beeps relentlessly, making it clear the cooking timer is done. Cool air hits you instantly alongside that same sage-citrus scent. A chill runs up your spine at the sudden shift in temperature. You’re still watching Nicho like a hawk as everyone walks past you to enter the apartment. Euijoo calls your name from the kitchen, shaking you from your daze.
He dumps the fries onto a big plate while Maki and Nicho heat the lukewarm burgers in the microwave. Nicholas picks at his nails, drawing Maki’s attention to his hands.
Maki jerks his head back, confused. “Are you wearing rings in the house?” Nicholas sports not one, but three silver rings dispersed between his ten fingers. That’s a lot to just be hanging out at home.
“So? You’re wearing a necklace.” Nicho says unbothered, removing the food from the microwave.
“Well, yeah, but I never take this necklace off—“
“Leave the man alone,” Euijoo interjects. “He pays his bills. He can wear his rings if he wants.” He chuckles beside the tense boys as he finishes arranging the fries. He grabs a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and heads to the couch, where you sit patiently.
“Oh shit. The milkshakes.” You say under your breath, standing before your mind can register it. As you turn, you notice Nicholas with the two familiar paper cups in hand. He works his way to the couch.
Without a word, EJ digs out two coasters from wherever the fuck and lays them out for the boy. Once he’s done, he relaxes into the same armchair from earlier.
“Who’s are these?” Nicholas asks as he rests the melted drinks on the coasters.
“Probably those two.” Maki points at you and EJ, tossing three fries in his mouth at once. He plops onto the floor in front of the coffee table, so he can munch away till his heart's content.
“Actually, it’s for me and you.” You say to Nicho shyly. “I told Euijoo to get you a milkshake as compensation for me popping up out of nowhere.” You deliver with an awkward laugh.
Nicholas licks his lips, “Oh.”
In all honesty, he’s pretty sure the thing in his chest keeping him alive took a little break at the sound of your words. When Euijoo said you wanted to come over to smoke during their side-convo in the kitchen, Nicholas was entirely ready to accept the fact that you wereusing him. He’s had a fair share of opportunistic individuals take advantage of him for free weed, and he suspected you to be one of them. What else would you want from him?
Your relationship started with flower, and it was going to end with flower as far as he was concerned. Now he’s not so sure what to think.
You grow uneasy from his silence. “Is that okay?” You look up at him with innocent eyes.
He doesn’t usually like sweet treats, but he nods in approval anyway. His mouth is too dry to speak. Is something burning? He’s sure he’s short-circuiting.
Euijoo crunches loudly on a fry. “Sorry, some of the fries are a little burnt.”
At least that explains the smell. He’s not completely crazy.
“Nicholas?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
“Hmm?” He blinks.
“Are you gonna sit down?” You ask with a small giggle.
He hadn’t realized he was the only one still on his feet. He journeys around the coffee table and sits on the same couch as you with a healthy amount of distance.
You scootch closer to him, grab the half-melted milkshake, and take a sip. A cool sensation slides down your throat. Melted or not, you were gonna drink it.
Nicho grabs his own, sipping while stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye. It's been a while since he’s had a milkshake. Maybe it’s the high talking or the fact that you got it for him, but it tastes pretty good.
Maki passes around the freshly heated, wrapped cheeseburgers until each of you has one. He then turns on a Bluetooth speaker. “Anyone want aux?” His eyes scan the room before returning to his food.
“I got it,” EJ sighs, taking his phone from his pocket. ‘Open Arms’ by SZA starts to play, he hums along almost immediately, then drops his phone beside him on the couch cushions.
The room falls into a comfortable quiet as the music fills in the empty space. From the crispy crunch of French fries to the delicate rustling of the sandwich wrappers, everything feels natural. You don’t feel like a sore thumb. You’re just a couple of kids with the munchies enjoying the fuck out of some fast food. This is what summer days were for.
Small conversations come and go. You talk about the weather, which leads to a discussion about global warming, then Maki morbidly brings up the concept of an apocalypse. EJ quickly derails that with a comment about The Lego Movie, restoring the carefree atmosphere.
You can practically feel your bones dissolve as you melt into the plush couch. The colors of the room seem more vibrant than when you first walked in with Euijoo over an hour ago. The sun is getting lower, and an orange hue overtakes the sky outside.
Your head rests on the back of the sofa. You turn to Nicholas and observe as he chews with a mouthful of food. You decide to stare until he notices you. So far, that’s 2 minutes and counting. Without your noticing, the conversation shifts to a debate on the best fruit.
“No one wants to hear you argue oranges again, Ju. We get it already.” Nicholas sighs, rolling his head back. “I vote bananas.”
“That’s a basic ass answer.” Maki laughs.
“How can a fruit be basic?” Nicholas narrows his eyes at the boy on the floor. “What do you want me to say? Kiwi?”
A small laugh escapes you. Kiwi is a funny word.
Nicholas turns to you at the soft noise. Are you laughing at something he said? He lets out a shy, dry laugh of his own. A weird sense of pride settles in his chest as he meets your gentle gaze. You look fully relaxed.
Maki and EJ continue to argue about whether kiwi should actually be in the running as an unsung hero.
Nicholas shifts his head toward you on the back of the couch, a mirror of your posture. You look at each other, bodies sprawled across the seat.
“Never imagined you saying that word.” You say, still amused.
“What word?” His eyes scan across your face, secretly thinking of how to make you smile again. “Kiwi?”
You giggle again. It’s like you’re five years old, but something about the way it rolls off his tongue feels absurd.
A slow smile blooms on his face. “Kiwi.” He double checks his theory.
“Stop it.” You raise a finger to your mouth, trying to silence your laughter.
“What’s so funny about kiwi?” He laughs incredulously, not really sure what’s funny.
“It’s the way you say it.” A lazy smirk on your face.
“Am I saying it wrong or something?” He furrows his brows, the words falling slowly from his lips.
Your smirk deepens. “No,” you say lightly.
He leans in slightly, confused by what you mean. “Then what is it?” He looks across your face for a hint.
“It’s just a funny word.” You shrug. “And you make it funnier.”
He takes in your reaction with a small hum. You really are a mystery to him. He’s staring.
“Is there something on my face?” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still smiling.
“No…”
“You were staring.” Your voice comes out smaller as you grow shy.
Whoops. His eyes shift around the room for a moment. “You’re one to talk,” he deflects.
You huff out a dry laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He fixes you with a knowing look. His lids low due to his heavy accusations. “In the hallway.” He speaks in fragments like it's obvious.
You look away from him, remembering him leaving the bathroom earlier. “That was an accident.”
“Sure.” A cocky grin on his face.
“I’m serious!” You defend. “How was I supposed to know it was you?”
“I live here Y/N.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know you’d be naked?” You whisper-yell at the amused young man. You cover your face with your hands. “Wear some clothes next time.”
“First of all, I did after I noticed you.” He holds a hand out to stop your excuses. “Second of all, this is my house. I can’t be at fault here.” He laughs.
Slowly, you drag your hands off your face. You could drown in your embarrassment. “Fine. I’m sorry.” You grumble.
He doesn’t say anything until you turn to look at him again. When you do, he looks away. “It’s alright, I don’t really care.”
You observe his side profile while he pretends not to notice.
Maki and Euijoo busy themselves with the plate of French fries and the nearly empty bottle of ketchup.
“The food was good.” Nicho’s voice is low.
“It was.” You nod.
He turns to you. “Thank you.”
You blink at him, caught off guard at his sudden eye contact. “It was mostly Euijoo’s idea.”
“Then thank you for going with him to pick it up.” He lends a thin-lipped smile.
“I just sat there. Didn’t do much.” You play with your fingers in your lap.
“Can you just accept the thank you?”
“Oh,” you mumble, glancing around his serious expression. “You’re welcome.”
He hums, looking at the ceiling again. You do the same.
Euijoo jumps to his feet, slidding one of the last fries into his mouth. He looks down at Nicholas. “Maki and I wanna smoke some more.”
“Go ahead, I’m good.” Nicho shrugs.
Maki stands, his knees cracking from being on the floor so long. “Y/N?” He asks, pointing to the terrace.
You peer up at him, shaking your head no.
“Can I?” EJ reaches for the joint tucked behind Nicholas’ ear with a cute smile. Nicholas nods, turning his head, so the boy can grab it more easily. “Many blessings, kind sir.” Euijoo retrieves the joint and forms prayer hands to thank Nicho. He and Maki exit onto the balcony, closing the door behind themselves.
Euijoo’s playlist continues. ‘Summertime Magic’ by Childish Gambino purrs through the speaker.
Both of you sit staring at the ceiling for a while until your thoughts grow too heavy.
“I stopped by the laundromat last week.”
He hums. “Picking up your friend’s clothes again?”
You exhale lazily through your mouth, suddenly hesitant to reveal why you really went. “No.”
“Personal load?” He asks, half paying attention. Most of his energy is going towards his mind, his thoughts vast and endless.
You snort. “That sounds so weird.”
“Like a personal load of laundry—“ He clarifies.
“No, no. I get it.” You suppress a laugh. “It just sounds wrong.”
“I didn’t realize you have teenage boy humor.” He rolls his eyes, his voice surprisingly warm.
You simmer. “I was just checking in.” You deliver awkwardly, working your way back to the original topic. “On things…”
He snickers, turning to you. “Checking in on things?” Sarcasm laced through his words. “Is that your cute way of saying you wanted to buy weed from me?”
A genuine laugh escapes you at that. Your ears grow hot at his insinuation. Did he think you were cute? “No.” You sing the word, drawing out the ‘o’ for an extra five seconds.
“No?” He quirks a brow.
“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’.
“I’m out of guesses.” He looks back at the ceiling.
You sigh, it’s now or never. “I wanted to see you. Thought you’d be there.” You inspect your nails, acting as nonchalant as possible.
His mind goes quiet. He doesn’t say anything.
“You didn’t text me after the party, so I thought you might be more of an in-person type of guy.” You double down, still cleaning your nails that weren’t dirty to begin with.
His silence stretches between the two of you, making your mouth feel dry.
“Didn’t think you’d remember me.” He mumbles.
“Well, I do. Now what?” You turn on your side to face him, resting your head against your hand on the couch.
Nicholas glances at you with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”
“I told you I remember you. Now you have to say something.”
He smirks. “Something.”
“You’re an idiot.” You glare.
Laughter spills from his lips. “You put me on the spot. What am I supposed to say?” He rests his head so he’s facing you.
“Say something nice.”
“Something nice.”
You push his shoulder roughly and fold your arms across your chest in protest. He just laughs. It’s loud and unrestrained.
“You’re actually the worst. Do you know that?” You deadpan.
“God forbid a man follows instructions.”
His joking hits you like a soft rejection. “On that note, I think I’ll join Maki and Euijoo outside.” You sit up, looking for your phone to take with you onto the balcony. It’s wedged between couch cushions. You grab it and attempt to stand, but Nicholas grabs your wrist.
“Okay, calm down.” He insists. His grip only lets go once you sink back into the sofa.
You stare at him expectantly, still visibly annoyed.
“I think you’re nice.”
“Nice?” You parrot back to him with a quirked brow.
“Yeah. I like how you treat people.” He avoids your gaze.
You weren’t sure what you imagined he’d say, but that definitely wasn’t it. You hadn’t realized he’d been paying that much attention to you. “Oh.”
He scoffs. “Oh?”
“Yeah, oh.”
“What kind of reaction is that?” He narrows his eyes at you.
“I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“What did you think I was gonna say?” He sits up, inspecting you more closely.
“That I was pretty or something.” You say shyly, a bit embarrassed at how it sounds. You were expecting a shallow compliment, not an evaluation of your personality.
“You are pretty.” His voice casual. “But that’s obvious—”
“Obvious?” You blink.
He rolls his eyes. “Can you stop repeating every other word I say?”
“Sorry, just didn’t realize it was obvious.” You make air quotes when you say the last word.
He scans your relaxed figure on the sofa from head to toe. Your hair is a little messy, and the gloss on your lips has dulled significantly, but you’re still very obviously pretty to him. He forces his eyes back to the ceiling. “I think the kind of person you are is more important than how you look.”
“And what kind of person am I?” Your body leans toward him without you realizing.
He huffs, a humorless laugh, and closes his eyes. “I already said it. You’re a nice person.”
You look at his closed eyelids, admiring his lashes. The genuineness of his tone makes you shy. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Nicholas keeps his eyes closed, a small soft smile on his face.
The conversation naturally comes to an end, and tunes hum lowly through the air. You rest your head on the couch near his, eyes almost coming to a close—
The glass terrace door slides open with a loud creaking noise. The boys pile into the space with reckless laughter. The thick smell of weed and heat wafted through the open door. You jump away from your spot at Nicho’s side, while the young man remains unbothered. Maki closes the door, it makes a distinct click sound.
“It’s hot as fuck out there.” Maki uses the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his face.
Euijoo coughs, clearing his throat. “Can I borrow a bottle of water?” He looks between Maki and Nicholas.
“How do you borrow water?” Maki teases.
Euijoo laughs, already making his way toward the refrigerator. “Good point.”
They loudly exchange jokes while scavenging the kitchen for a light snack, slamming cabinets and rustling through boxes.
Nicholas sucks his teeth at the disturbance. “I’m not doing this.” He stands and looks back at you. “Come on.”
You follow him to his room down the hall. He shuts the door and huffs, leaning on the wooden surface once you’re both inside.
You stand awkwardly in the center of his room, noticeably less high now. You watch as he walks to his dresser and pulls a small vaporizer pen from his sock drawer. He flops back onto his bed, then takes a hit. He offers it to you silently.
You grab it from him and take a hit. “Why didn’t we just smoke from the pen earlier?” A large cloud of odorless smoke spreads in the air.
“These things aren’t good for you.”
“Neither is smoking.” You laugh. You take another hit, then pass it back. And just like that, you’re loosening up again.
“This is my personal stash.” Nicho takes the pen and hits it immediately.
Maki doesn’t even know I have this.”
You nod absentmindedly as you glance around his room. It’s dark and neat. Golden sun spills through the window blinds. He has a bunch of clothes.
“Wanna sit?” He pats the bed next to him.
You sit next to him, leaning back on the palms of your hands. The room is quiet. It’s peaceful. You sit like this for a while, occasionally passing the pen back and forth. You stare around the room while Nicholas stares at you. Only he would be lame enough to have a pretty girl all to himself in his bedroom and still have absolutely nothing to say.
“I can feel you staring.” You giggle, not sparing him a glance. You could almost hear his mind racing.
He sits up, eyes fixed on you. It’s now or never. “I was wondering… Are you seeing anyone?”
A wave of deja vu hits you from when you were sitting in your room with him a few weeks ago. Sitting thigh to thigh, looking at each other like there’s something under the surface that you can’t quite interpret. You remember this feeling.
“Well, I’m seeing you right now.” You attempt to cut the tension, a smirk on your face and an abnormally fast beat in your chest.
“Good one.” His voice is dry. He looks at your red eyes, then your lips. He blinks, landing back on your eyes.
He waits.
“I um. No. I’m not.” You fumble under the pressure of his gaze.
He hums, looking down at his lap. His confidence wavers. “I’m not gonna send you home with any free weed.” He slowly searches your face for a reaction, but you remain unmoved. He honestly would’ve if you asked.
You look left to right, bewildered by his comment. “I didn’t think you would…”
“Then why did you come here?”
“Because Euijoo invited me to smoke.” You deliver like it’s obvious. “And I was curious.”
“About what?”
“Is this an interrogation or something?” You scoff, light-heartedly, looking away.
Nicholas retreats slightly. “Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No— no. It’s fine.” You chew on your bottom lip. You can feel him impatiently observing what you’ll do next. “I was curious about you.” Your voice a whisper.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
You both turn at the sound of a hand pounding against Nicho’s door.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Y/N? I’m trying to head home soon. Do you want me to drop you off?” Euijoo shouts from behind the shut door.
“One sec!” You shout back, looking at Nicholas, who is already looking at you.
“You can go if you want,” Nicholas mumbles.
“I feel like I shouldn’t.”
He snickers at that. “It’s fine. Get home while there’s still light outside.” He rests a hand on your knee and squeezes.
“But we’re not done talking.” You huff.
“You’re right. We’re not.” He says calmly.
“Then I don’t wanna—“
He kisses you on the cheek. It’s chaste, but the sensation lingers. Red spreads from his cheeks to his ears, he looks at his hand on your knee, collecting his thoughts.
You blink, unsure of what you were originally going to say.
KNOCK KNOCK
“Hello?” Euijoo’s tone is a bit more nervous than before.
“She’ll be out in a sec!” Nicho calls out to his friend. He glances at your face, a laugh escaping at your expression. “I work at my Dad’s Thursday through Sunday.” He squeezes your knee again, his hand slipping away quickly after.
“Are we gonna talk about this?” You point at your cheek. It still tingles from the impression of his lips.
“Yeah, later.”
“When?” You press.
He laughs, a contentment settling in his chest. “Tomorrow. I get off at 7.”
<Hope you enjoyed this little add-on! I was gonna post sooner, but I smoked a new strain before writing and it made me anxious LMAO. Y'all be safe out there 🫡>
<Likes, comments, and reblogs much appreciated!>
Update: Part Three is complete. Check out the masterlist here
The concept of this person writing this and releasing this in September of last year and Nico saying in a video after their Korean debut that his favorite fruit is bananas….
Synopsis: Jake's been one of the most powerful beings in the world for centuries. He's not looking for excitement anymore. He just wants a simple life. And he's finally found it in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Then you walk in, setting his normalcy on fire.
Themes: Small town au, aged up (mid-late 20s), slight soulmates/ reincarnation au, angst!, fluff, Vamp Enha, blood + gore/ violence!, reader's menstruation, suggestive content, obsession, dub con!/ assault (brief + not Jake!), drinking/ alcohol!, house party, worklife, hurt/ comfort, death, lots of jealousy, general dark themes & moral grey-ness
A/N: I can't believe I made it longer lmao?? Anyway, I'm extremely proud of this, and I hope you guys enjoy! Sending love & hugs since it's kinda dark. Read warnings^^
Ft. Reader x Taesan (BoyNextDoor), Jungwon (Enhypen), Heeseung (Enhypen), a few OCs, slight Sungho (BoyNextDoor) & Leehan (BoyNextDoor)
Blue twilight mists the crisp fall air. The sky hasn’t fully awakened yet, so dim streetlamps litter the asphalt with pockets of yellow. A gust of wind blows a few dead leaves off a tree as Jake makes his way down the aisle of parked cars and striped lines.
He tosses a set of keys in his hand, a coffin keychain jingling against the metal. Ahead of him stands a car dealership, the only one in the area. This is Jake’s playground.
He whistles a tune as he unlocks the door, his shoes clicking against the shiny tile floor. As he makes his way past BMWs and high-end sedans to his office, he’s greeted by a wall adorned with his framed portrait 10 times over. A moderately different tie in one, shorter bangs in another, but all him nonetheless. Always with his same sharp smile, canines on full display, like he likes it.
Jake has been casting away in this small countryside town for a little over a year, been working here for almost 11 months. His life has become pleasantly predictable. In this town, there are all but 3 supermarkets, 2 public schools, and 1 county jail. Cloudy weather and quiet streets are constant. By 9 PM on a Monday, the majority are tucked away at home.
This level of mundane is the type of normal Jake dreamed of when he was with his old coven. When he was still trying to manage the veil of his demons. When his desire felt unquenchable.
Now, he’s satisfied doing what he does best. What better job for a mind controling vampire than a salesman?
He taps on the wall of pictures before entering his windowless office, watching the rising sun in the reflection of the glass. It was going to be another beautiful day.
Paperwork decorates Jake’s wooden desk. A pen cap in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind his ear. He flips through the pages, crossing out old numeric values and adding new ones. Then, a knock on the door.
“It’s open.” His voice was hoarse from sitting in silence.
A co-worker steps into the office, shutting the door behind himself. “You look busy.”
“Business is busy.” Jake places the cap on his pen and drops it on his desk. “What brings you to my office, Taesan?” He sits up, putting on a more friendly tone. Jake always prided himself on being a down-to-earth manager. After all, the job wasn’t serious enough for him to want to exert any sort of real discipline.
The tall man leans against a white wall, sipping leisurely from his cup of lukewarm coffee. “A couple of us are heading out for lunch. Was wondering if you wanted to join?”
Jake smirks, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think I’m going to say?”
The younger man sighs, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “One of these days you’re gonna get sick of turning us down.”
“One of these days you’re going to learn how to prep a meal in advance.”
They both turn to face the mini fridge and microwave in the corner of Jake’s office. The microwave was just for show, he never actually uses it. Taesan’s eyes linger on the gold lock on the side of the refrigerator, holding the doors shut.
“A lock’s a bit excessive, no?” The younger one tilts his head, almost teasing.
Jake shrugs, a neutral smile on his face. “I don’t like when people touch my food.”
“Whatever puts your mind at ease.” Taesan reaches for the doorknob.
Jake can hear Taesan’s judging thoughts, but he’s pleased by the boy’s lack of curiosity. That’s one of the things he loved about being out here: people rarely ask questions.
He opens the door, suddenly stopping and turning back. “It’s a pretty slow day. Do you want us to leave anyone on the show floor?” Please say no, he thinks.
“It’s fine, I’ll handle it—” What is that smell? Jake freezes entirely, the last syllable still hanging off his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut, lightheaded.
“You okay, boss?” Taesan bends down, trying to find the man’s line of sight.
Jake attempts to respond, but all he can manage is a low stutter. His brows knit together, and his palm digs into his forehead in search of relief. What the fuck is happening? He snaps his eyes open, staring ahead until the two blurry Taesans merge into one clear co-worker.
“Jake? Sir?” Taesan shuts the door, unsure of what to do. “Is everything alright?”
The debilitating smell fades with the door closed. Jake blinks, quickly trying to reorient himself.“Sorry, migraine… I think.”
“Do you need some water or—“
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jake’s voice is stern. “You guys can get out of here, enjoy your lunch break.” He smiles without looking up.
Taesan looks about the room, visibly concerned. “But-“
“Go.” Jake’s irises flash a deep crimson red. Without hesitation, Taesan robotically turns and grabs the doorknob. His shoulders are high and his eyes unblinking as he does so. He exits, closing the door behind himself, like a mindless puppet. That same scent creeping in for the split second the door was ajar.
Jake hates using his gift of coercion on his co-workers. He finds it awkward, the way their memories blur and gap at the moment of command. It’s a tricky phenomenon to explain. Regardless, Jake needed to be alone immediately.
Wandering toward the office door, Jake whiffs the remnants of the smell. He listens as his co-workers noisily make their way out of the dealership.
In the months that he’d been here, he’s never found himself particularly triggered by anything. All the blood here was the same because all the people here were the same. Jake’s been around for centuries; he wasn’t chasing excitement anymore.
He stands behind the door, cracking it a sliver open to get one more hint of the odor. Yup.
A cough rips through his throat. He’s not a fledgling; he can handle a little sweetness. This is blood, and syrup, and smoke. It smells like a delicacy he hasn’t tasted in over a hundred years.
What many failed to realize about his kind is that they aren’t all bound by darkness. Jake is one of the seven known daywalking vampires left in the world. He’s not confined by the sun, sickness, or death itself, so there was no way he could let a smell confine him to his office.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The parking lot full of options instantly overwhelms you. There are more cars in and around this dealership than there are people in this damned town. You find yourself window shopping as you journey down the concrete aisle toward the entrance. When you finally make it, you notice a sign on the door: “Out for Lunch”
You have to be joking. There is no way you’re turning around now. If you had to drag yourself outside during your period, you were going to make the trip at least somewhat useful.
“Hello?” You knock on the glass experimentally. In the shadowy distance, you see what looks like a man. Blocking the sun from your eyes, you lean into the glass.
“Excuse me?” You tap the glass again. “Are you open? Seems like you might be the only one not out eating.” You force a laugh, trying to sound friendly.
That’s one of the things you hate about this town, all the fake fucking laughing. Everyone’s always feigning an amicable attitude, forcing smiles and pretending to be polite. Like one big theatrical performance. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way you can get anything done properly around here, so you do it too.
Don’t tap the glass. The thought travels through your mind like a foreign agent. You straighten, taking an involuntary step back. Both hands return to your sides stiffly, and it runs your blood cold. Maybe you don’t need to buy a new car today.
Jake uses your distraction to disappear into his office. He feels weak, like his knees could buckle if he stood there any longer. He shuts the door behind himself, instantly reaching for a bottle of peppermint oil he keeps in his desk drawer. He keeps it on hand to mask the smell of unexpected killings and other everyday odors.
He can’t believe he smelled you from the parking lot. That is not normal. Sure, vampires can be sensitive, but he’s worked hard to suppress his senses. Jake hates losing control, it makes a dull rage simmer from within his bones. He douces his hands in the fragrant oil and rubs it over his hair, neck, and hands, hoping it’ll mask the scent of the customer, you.
Before he even steps outside his office, he can feel that you’re leaving. It’s like he can hear your footsteps on the pavement. Conflict rushes through him as he steps back onto the showfloor to see that you did indeed turn around.
You’re really just going to leave? He huffs, frustrated by the questions mixing in his head. The least you can do after nearly giving him a panic attack is buy a car, so he can get the commission.
You were going to try and catch a bus home. That was the updated plan. Your feet falter as you walk away from the dealership’s shiny windows. Then comes the ring of a wind chime.
“Can I help you?” The employee shouts from the entrance. His head barely peeks out.
You pivot to get a better look at him. He looks pale under the cloudy sky. “I’m looking to buy a car. Can you help with that?”
He doesn’t say anything, he just scrunches his nose and opens the door further.
You saunter back to the entrance, a strong smell of peppermint filling your nostrils. You stare at the man skeptically as he lends you a similar distrusting gaze.
“Almost thought you guys were closed.” You watch as the man’s body takes up most of the doorframe.
“We’re not.”
You nod. Yeah, that much is obvious at this point. “Can I come in?” You point past him to the empty show floor.
Jake isn’t entirely convinced you’re not some evil, vampire-adjacent creature sent to disturb his peace. He can’t bring himself to formally invite you in. “Do what suits you.” He looks you up and down, stepping away as your hand reaches for the door.
Rude. You catch the door before it can fully close and walk in. It’s spacious, and the cars are all polished enough to see your reflection in the hood.
Jake lets you wander, grateful for the distance. He mulls over the familiar scent. Being a vampire exempts him from death, but standing in the same room as you feels like he’s suffering in purgatory. Between a memory and the present. Maybe he could just have one little taste—
He loosens his tie with a sigh. Taesan needs to hurry up.
The employee of the month wall catches your attention. An eerie feeling lingers as the worker’s photographed eyes follow you around the room. You swipe a finger across the hood of a Chevrolet. “Today must be my lucky day.” You try to cut the tension.
The employee hums, jaw tense. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re the guy in the pictures, aren’t you?” You point to the wall of accolades. “I don’t have much of a knack for cars, and apparently, you’re really good at your job.” You force another smile that goes unreciprocated.
He says nothing, his eyes narrow and blank.
“I’m looking for a mid-size Sedan.” You continue.
“Budget?” His voice is dry.
“It’s flexible, my job sponsors it.” You pause. “I don’t want anything fancy, though. Just something to get me around.”
From a fair distance, he points to a car a few paces to the right. “Consider the Accord.”
You walk to the vehicle, circling it like a vulture. After a moment, your eyes land back on him expectantly. “Is that all you’re going to say about the car? That doesn’t seem very employee-of-the-month of you.”
Jake blinks, caught off guard. “You said you don’t know about cars…”
“I still wanna know how it handles, I have to drive it after all.”
“The Honda Accord is top of its class. It’s practical and efficient. Very user-friendly, no one’s ever disappointed by it.” Jake grows lightheaded as he explains, the words jumbling out of his mouth oddly fast.
You sigh, a bit unimpressed. The weight of the decision feels too big for his practiced blurb.
“You’re welcome to take it for a test drive,” Jake says from a measurable distance.
“That’d be great, actually. Can we go now?” You turn to face him, beaming as if he read your mind. Unknowingly, he might’ve.
He takes a step forward, but the aroma proves to be too much. He is not going to be able to survive being in a car with you. He adjusts his tie, stepping back. “The rest of our staff should be returning soon. One of them is sure to help you.”
“Oh.” You linger awkwardly in the quiet room.
“Feel free to look around for now.” Jake smiles tensely before excusing himself to his office.
Once he’s in the office, he slides down the closed door, burying his head between his knees. Sweat collects on his forehead as he pants like a dog. His gums swell from the instinctual sharpening of his fangs. Your smell has drained his stomach of any satisfaction. He tilts his head back, eyebrows strained in pain. He needs to eat something.
He stands on shaky legs and makes his way to the minifridge, drawing keys from his pocket. He twists open the golden lock from earlier. Inside the fridge lie stacks of pint-sized blood bags. Jake reaches for one, smells it, then puts it back. Too bitter.
He reaches for another. This one has a smell almost sweet enough to rival yours, but it’s sour. He sighs, this’ll have to do. Usually, he’d drink from the tube, but the urge to bite takes over. He pierces the bag with his fangs, slumping against the wall as he does so. The haze in his brain starts to clear.
Jake isn’t a non-violent vampire, but he’s definitely pro-convenience. Blood bags are portable, and you don’t have to worry about any cleanup. Regardless, Jake knows what he is, and he knows death is a part of the deal. When his hunger calls for it, he shuts his brain off and keeps his eyes low.
Right now, he can’t do that because he’s at work and you’re a customer and he still has too many fucking thoughts swirling in his head. Why is your smell so… distracting?
When the bag is empty, he licks at it, determined to get every last drop. With the aroma in the air, it almost feels like he’s tasting you instead of an anonymous hospital visitor. This’ll have to do, he repeats to himself.
On the other side of the wall, you busy yourself with your phone as you try to ignore your cramps. You’ve recently picked up Pokémon Go again because there’s nothing else to do in this dead-end area. There’s a Gulpin a few blocks away, but you already have a couple of those. All that’s left is to stare into the parking lot and wait.
Behind you, a door clicks. The employee of the month is back.
“Are you from around here?” Jake clears his throat. He’s planted a yard or two away from you.
“Um, no.” You stuff your phone into your bag. “I’m not.” When you face him, he seems less pale than before.
Jake hums, looking off into space. “Didn’t think so.”
You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m also from out of town.” That’s all he says.
You nod, you suppose an outsider would recognize a fellow outsider. You tilt your head at him, suddenly paying more attention. He has a handsome face. “There aren’t too many of us around here. Your name’s Jake, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“The wall.” You point. There's a plaque with his name on it under every photo. You’d be an idiot not to catch on.
“Right.” He mumbles.
A moment of silence passes.
“Are you sure you can’t take me on that drive yourself? Today’s my day off, and I’d kind of prefer not to spend it wasting away at a car dealership.”
Jake laughs, like a real laugh. You didn’t realize you said anything funny. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Even on a full stomach, he has to practically cement himself to the floor to be around you.
“Well, is there somewhere I can sit, maybe?” You shift in place, awkwardly.
“Uh,“ Jake starts, but is quickly cut off by the sound of a wind chime.
Taesan and a gang of others pile in. Your eyes follow the noise.
“I’m just saying, if you want a family, a sports car is useless. And I, for one, want a family someday.” A mild-mannered employee carries on calmly.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sungho. A car like that is supposed to be for the driver. I can’t spend the rest of my life in a minivan.” A tall gentleman adds.
“Guys,” they all look up at the sound of Jake’s voice. It’s quiet, but sharp. “We have a customer.”
Taesan raises a brow as Jake adjusts his tie for the umteenth time. The group of men all turn to face you at the same time, like a school of fish.
“She’s interested in the Accord. Can one of you take her on a test drive? I have a few things to take care of.” Things being: getting as far away from you as possible and planning his next meal. He thinks he’ll hunt by a bar, he needs to feel drunk tonight.
Taesan steps forward, meeting your eye with a delicate smile. “Hi, sorry for the wait. I can help you with that test drive if you’re still interested.”
You soften, thankful for the warmth in his tone. He seems more like an employee of the month than Jake. “That’d be great, thank you.”
“Leehan, grab the keys for spot 33.” Taesan turns to the tall man infatuated by luxury cars. “I’m Taesan by the way,” He faces you with an outstretched hand.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Late that night, Jake drives to his home near the edge of town. The blood of a drunken bastard drips from the corner of his mouth, giving him a nice buzz. When it’s dark like this, he rarely cares to clean himself. Who would he be doing it for? It’s past 10 pm, everyone’s already tucked in bed.
As he rolls down the desolate road, street lamps flickering occasionally, he gets hit by that scent again. His foot switches to the brake immediately, like there’s a deer in the lane. What— Why is this happening? He glances around, chest heaving.
This neighborhood is empty, that’s why he picked it. There are 4 scattered families, 2 empty houses, and a park down the road. He watches as a car drives past him in the opposite direction, the smell lingering after the taillights are no longer visible.
His head spins, and his fangs throb uncontrollably. He licks at the blood drying on his bottom lip, then turns into his driveway with a hand over his nose. He needs to get inside now.
As he exits his car, using his hand as a mask, he notices a house across the street with all of its lights on. Every window is flooding that ugly fluorescent color. He tsks, reaching for his house keys. Humans are so wasteful.
He glares at the house one last time while he opens the front door. There aren’t any curtains, so he can see straight inside. He blinks as a figure walks past a window wearing something familiar. For the first time in at least 50 years, Jake feels his heart sink. He didn’t even know that could still happen.
Across the street, protected by glass and cheap drywall, stands you holding a large brown box with the word ‘kitchen’ written on it. You shiver, nearly dropping the box. Someone’s watching you.
He slams the door shut as you turn toward him. This was supposed to be his safe space. Somewhere, he could act normal. Somewhere, he could forget about everything. Dizziness surrounds him. He can’t go on like this. It’s decided: he needs to drain you.
He went to his blacked-out bedroom in the windowless basement of his house. With gray walls and minimal decoration, there was only a lamp to help him move around. Still, the room felt overstimulating, knowing you were next door.
The thing about Jake is that he rarely gets tired. He can be quite lethargic at times, but he wouldn’t quite categorize it as exhaustion. Most of the daywalkers he knows can go without rest for days. At his old coven, they all view sleep as more of a hobby than a necessity.
For the following days, Jake watched you restlessly from his living room window, his hunger growing otherworldly—the sound of your heartbeat drums in his ears from yards away. When you take out the trash, he can feel the blood rushing through your veins. Your heart rate is so much faster than everyone else out here, it’s like you’re teasing him.
Still, you’re his neighbor. And if the brand new Accord in your driveway is any proof, you’re also a customer. Jake knows he can’t just kill someone so closely tied to his livelihood. He’s not that reckless. It would require finesse.
On the fourth night, Jake lies in his bed staring at the ceiling. Three oil diffusers work simultaneously in the darkness. They were more effective at giving him a headache than masking your scent. He’s thinking about why the smell feels so familiar when suddenly, it fades, present, but not strong.
He finds himself sitting up in bed, startled by the absence. It feels like someone pulled a blanket off of his shivering body, and the memory foam of his mattress grew stiff. Maybe something’s wrong with your blood pressure?
Withdrawal makes him grow uneasy, so he rests his eyes, but all that awaits him are nightmares.
Like clockwork, every hour, he wakes up trembling in fear. The recurring images of a house engulfed in flames and bloodied sidewalks. It’s his first time dreaming since he got here. He finds himself rummaging for a pack of cigerettes to ease his mind.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You wake up the next day feeling refreshed. Your period finally came to an end last night, a truly pleasant start to the weekend. Maybe life isn’t actually as miserable as it felt last week.
The day starts with unpacking and decorating. You’ve been working so much, you haven’t had time to finish customizing the space. Nor have you had a chance to grow accustomed to how dreadfully quiet this neighborhood is. There aren’t even any birds to chirp.
You fill the house with music as you organize knick-knacks, books, and stationery supplies. Luckily, the majority of your furniture is already in place. That’s one of the perks of working for a furniture company. All that’s left are the finishing touches.
Having curtains up, so you spend the morning in a sports bra and sweat pants. You’re rearranging the giant rug in your living room for the fifth time when you hear your doorbell ring. You freeze, dropping the rug.
Shit. Where is—You reach for the hoodie you abandoned on your couch earlier, toss it on, and pause the music. You move so fast, you feel winded.
Putting on your friendliest face, you answer the door. “Hel-“ The syllabals die in your throat when you see who it is. Employee of the month guy? You blink. “Oh… Hi.”
Jake stands before you with a circular dish in his hands and a surprisingly warm smile. His hair blows in the wind, leaving a few strands out of place, and his eyes are a bit tired. “Good morning.”
“You- um, yes. Good morning.” You stammer out, internally face-palming yourself. “What are you doing here?”
“I actually live across the street.” Jake shifts in place awkwardly. He sounds warm and polite, a lot more so than when you first met him.
Your eyes double in size. “Really?”
“Really.” He lets out a small laugh. “I saw that a new neighbor moved in, so I thought I’d stop by and give a proper welcome.” He playfully shakes the dish that lies atop his right palm.
You buffer as you speak to the unexpected visitor. If he can tell, he doesn’t say anything. “That’s kind of you.”
“So you went with my recommendation?” He gestures to one of the two cars in your large driveway.
You laugh to yourself, head falling a little. “It is top of its class.” You mimic his words from a few days ago.
A slow smile creeps onto your neighbor's face, and he looks away bashfully. “Funny.”
You lean against the doorframe, arms lazily wrapped around your torso just to give your hands something to do. A breeze sends a few dead leaves flying through your lawn and into Jake’s hair. Without thinking, you reach for the decaying plant and remove it.
When you meet eyes again, Jake suddenly seems much more alert. Startled even, he shivers. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Just wanted to swing by and extend a quick welcome to the neighborhood.”
You straighten, realizing how poor a host you’ve been. “Can I get you something to drink? I can’t believe I have you standing out in the cold.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother—“
“Not at all! I’ll make some tea, and we can open up whatever this is.” You smile, stepping further into your house, opening the door for him.
Jake stands rooted at your front stoop, observing your home from the outside. This is his least favorite part about being a vampire.
“Are you coming?” You quirk a brow, unsure about his sudden hesitancy.
“Depends. Is that an invitation?”
“Yes…” You snort, walking further into the space. Weird.
“Just making sure,” he smiles, finally stepping inside. He slowly follows you to the kitchen, whistling a tune to himself.
You pull out an electric kettle and some coffee mugs. The kind with quippy comments on them, like ‘hot stuff’ and ‘might be beer’. Dishes are yet to be fully unpacked, so these two will have to do. You keep the ‘hot stuff’ one for yourself and set ‘might be beer’ to the side for him. Hopefully, he has a sense of humor.
Jake watches you maneuver about the kitchen, trying to remember how you arranged things. Your heart rate has been all over the place since you opened the door. Fast, slow, over and over again. Now it’s slow again. It makes you fun to listen to.
Your scent is stronger up close, but not nearly as offensive as when he first met you. The one time he found himself truly struggling was when your wrist slid past his nose to take something out of his hair. The action alone was jarring for him, very… overly familiar. He tried to tap into your mind at that moment, but it was like he hit a brick wall. He can’t read you at all.
“What do you like in your tea? Honey? Sugar?” You turn to him from your spot, crouched in front of a cabinet.
“Honey is fine.” Jake smiles. He isn’t actually going to drink the tea. He’s only requesting it to seem normal.
You hum, retrieving a golden bottle from a low shelf.
“So, what brings you here?” Jake’s eyes scan the space intently. “To Riverfeild, I mean.”
“Work.” You say, knees cracking as you stand. A sharp ding blares through the kitchen, signaling that the kettle is ready. You fill each of the mugs with honey, hot water, and a tea bag.“Careful, it’s hot,” as you slide the mug to him at your small dining table.
He hums, briefly looking to the mug, then back to you. “What do you do?”
“I’m a relocation manager for a furniture company, so when a store’s failing, they send me.” You raise your mug, blowing on the steamy liquid. “I guess this town isn’t crazy over new couches.”
“They’re not too crazy about new cars either, so don’t take it personally.” It’s phrased like a joke, but his voice comes out flat.
“That explains why we live in the same neighborhood.” You take a sip of the tea, instantly burning your tongue. With a pain-stricken face, you rest your mug on the counter.
He bows his head, hiding his amusement. Even with the mug labeled ‘hot stuff,’ you weren’t very cautious. You only gave it one measly blow.
“So, what’s in the pan?” You perk up, trying to regain his attention.
Jake looks to you, traces of a smile still on his face. He peels back the foil, revealing a cherry pie. It’s a little crispy around the edges, but perfectly golden in the center. “Not much of a baker.”
Biting your lip, you lean back against the counter. A pie? That’s actually pretty cute.
You’re not super into cherries, but you’re also not the type to turn down a kind gesture. You turn to fetch two plates from a cabinet.
“I don’t want any. It’s my gift to you.” He insists, watching as you put the extra plate away with a minor pout and move to grab a knife. You sit at the small dining table in front of him, glancing up at him from time to time, your heart rate steadying out to a subtle thump.
“So how’ve you been finding the neighborhood?” His hands tuck into his pockets.
“Everything's fine so far.” You shrug, cutting a slice. The red goo from the cherries oozes out as you lift it onto your plate. Instinctually, you lick at the bit that gets on your thumb. “I’m not used to the quiet yet, though.”
He hums, nodding blankly. He stopped listening the moment you cut the pie.
Jake’s offered cherry pie to dozens of mortals. He likes how it resembles blood. They always look like half-starved fledglings by the end of their slice—the thick red syrup on the edge of their lips, like you have right now.
It looks good on you. He hums again, licking his lips.
“Is it always this dead?” You look up at him, snapping him from his daze.
He furrows his brows. “What?”
“The area. Is it always this… boring?” You lick the syrup around your mouth.
His adam's apple bobs noticeably. “You could say that.”
“Well, if you’re sick of being bored, I’m having a small housewarming tonight. It’ll just be me and a few co-workers, but you’re free to join.” It's a spur-of-the-moment gesture, really.
“Don’t know a lot of people yet?”
You shake your head, continuing to eat.
That’s good. For him at least. It’ll make it easier when he decides to go through with things.
“I’ll see if I can stop by.” He pretends to drink his tea, letting the steam touch his lips.
Grasping your mug, you tilt your head at him. Something about him itches a scratch deep in the depths of your memory. “I’m having the weirdest deja vu right now. Is there any chance you used to live in East Geles or Khisstin?” You list city names with uncertainty.
He shakes his head. “Never been.”
Your ringtone rips you from your thoughts. You fetch the phone from your pocket and cringe, “One sec, it’s my boss.” You stand, chair scraping the floorboards. Clicking the accept button, you exit the kitchen. “Hi, Benson?”
While you're gone, he pours half of his cup of tea down the drain of the kitchen sink. He looks at the mess on your plate, realizing he can’t remember what cherries taste like. He dips the tip of his pinky finger into the scarlet mush and brings it to his lips, immediately recoiling with disgust. It was foolish for him to expect anything else.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
When Jake returns to his house, he’s immediately hit by a familiar presence, taking the pep out of his step. Which sucks because talking to you was actually kind of nice.
Suprise.
Jake rolls his eyes; he knows that voice, that familiar calling from inside his head. He turns to see Jungwon sitting in the driver’s seat of Jake’s parked car, reading a book. Jungwon looks to him with a smirk.
Jake sighs. “Can’t you at least try to act normal?”
“I didn’t want to wait in the cold.” Jungwon opens the car door and steps onto the concrete driveway. He creases the page he was reading and closes the book.
“That’s trespassing.” Jake walks to his front door, retrieving the keys from his pocket. “You could get arrested for shit like that.”
He tsks, following closely. “Arrested?” He looks at Jake, amusedly observing him from head to toe. “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” Jungwon gives him a hearty pat on the back.
“It gets duller every day.” Jake smiles at the familiar face. “It’s good to see you.” He pushes the front door open.
“Likewise.” Jungwon softens. “May I?”
“Of course.” They enter the quiet house and stand side by side in the living room, looking out the window.
“I’m glad I finally get to see where you ran off to.” Jungwon folds his arms, fixated on the empty street. “So this is Riverfeild, huh?”
“In all its glory.” Jake’s hands find his pockets.
Jungwon is Jake’s old coven leader, the oldest among the daywalkers. He was turned young, wandering around aimlessly, before Jake was even born. His powers are the strongest, and his mind is the most perceptive. Even with the members scattered around the world, he can reach them telepathically, like emailing their minds. Jake doesn’t even know how to do that.
“You’re having nightmares again.” Jungwon doesn’t ask, he tells.
Jake stiffens. Of course, that’s why he’s here. “I’m not a kid. You didn’t have to come check on me.”
“What’re they about?” He asks with hesitancy. When Jake doesn’t respond, he hums skeptically. “I think I’ll stick around for a few days.”
“Are you babysitting me?” Jake looks to his friend with a raised brow.
He laughs. “No, I’m looking out for my knucklehead coven brother. You’re the only one who doesn’t keep in contact, you know?”
“I was going to reach out after I got settled—“
“Sure you were.” Jungwon rolls his eyes, pushing Jake’s shoulder. “Besides, I heard something about a party tonight.” He smirks cheekily.
“You were eavesdropping?” Jake fixes him with a look.
“I wasn’t not eavesdropping.” His smirk deepens.
“You know, with great power comes great responsibility. I was having a private moment.” Jake stresses, drawing a hand to his face. He has to learn how to block that idiot out of his mind.
“I’m a vampire, not Spiderman.” Jungwon snorts, walking further into the house, blatantly unbothered. “Besides, she’s cute.”
“How do you know that?” Jake calls after his friend, mildly alarmed.
Jungwon smiles, letting his friend worry in silence. Jake's always been on the slower side when it comes to insight; that’s why he’s so easy to read. He’s too busy crunching numbers and assigning reason to notice little things like a benign crush. Jungwon had a hunch because of the nightmares, but it became crystal clear upon his arrival. Jake’s obliviousness would be amusing if it weren’t so unpredictable.
Looking back from his place down the hall, Jungwon breaks the silence. “I could feel your reaction to her, Jake.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
As cars piled into your driveway and eventually your front lawn, Jake felt his desire to go out diminish, but Jungwon was annoyingly determined. They sit on Jake’s couch watching as yet another guest arrives at what was supposed to be an intimate get-together.
“Don’t be lame, I want to see how Riverfeild lets loose.” Jungwon whines, enthusiasm oozing from every word. He already has his jacket on, ready to walk across the street at any moment.
“She’s not even from here. She just moved in like a week ago.” Jake huffs, unmoving.
“Well, everyone else is, right?”
Jake doesn’t say anything. His eyebrows draw together with annoyance.
“Exactly,” Jungwon says triumphantly. His voice drops as he goes on. “Think about it, one of them might get so drunk they forget where they parked. Could make it real easy to—”
Jake tuts.“I don’t hunt in the neighborhood.”
Jungwon stands, adjusting his clothes. “Good thing I’m not you.” He makes his way to the door. “I’m bored and I’m tired of asking. Are you coming or not?”
That’s how Jake ended up at your doorstep, ringing the bell begrudingly. He could barely smell you with all the people here stinking up his nostrils. That is, until you open the door.
“Employee of the month,” you look at him with a confident smile and a drink in your hand. “And friend.” You nod, turning to the other man whose dimples are on full display.
“Jungwon,” he clarifies, reaching past Jake to shake your hand.
“Nice to meet you.” A tingling sensation travels through your entire body as your hands meet. You blink. Simple as that, your mind goes completely blank.
“You’re not gonna leave us out here in the cold, are you?” Jungwon laughs smuggly.
“Right, come in!” You urge them in enthusiastically, grabbing Jake’s shoulder. “Drinks are in the kitchen alongside some chips and salsa. But no double-dipping.” You warn, looking directly at Jake as you close the door.
He laughs, confused. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Just making sure.” You speak like you know him more than you do.
“I’m not a double dipper.” Jake defends before realizing he doesn’t even eat human food; therefore, he has no reason to actually feel offended.
“That sounds awfully similar to something a double dipper would say.”
Jungwon cuts in, smugly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
You smile, patting Jungwon’s shoulder affectionately before wandering into the sea of people with a distinct end destination in mind: on the couch right next to—
Jake’s mouth falls open as you plop down unsettlingly close to his coworker, Taesan. Tall and handsome, Taesan, whose hand very naturally makes its way onto your thigh. He leans in to say something, and you laugh loud enough to be heard over the music. For the second time since you’ve moved in, Jake’s heart sinks.
“That explains it,” Jungwon whispers amusedly to Jake.
“Explains what?” Jake says without looking away.
“She smelled a little…” He purses his lips, looking for the appropriate word.
“Sweet?” Jake answers thoughtlessly.
Jungwon laughs. “I was going to say excited.” With dull curiosity, his focus shifts to Jake. “Thought it was one of us. Do you know him?”
“We work together.” Jake’s voice a mere whisper.
“I guess the living belong with the living.” Jungwon pats Jake’s shoulder sympathetically, then moves toward the kitchen.
Yeah fucking right. Jake is not about to get outdone by his fresh-out-of-college, barely-knows-how-to-tie-his-shoes ass coworker. It was bad enough that Taesan is 110% planning to steal his employee of the month title, the idea of him having you is easily enough to ruin his night.
And it does.
While Jungwon is chatting up a storm to anyone with half a pulse, Jake has become one with the wall in your living room, watching your every move. He still can’t seem to tap into your head. Every time he tries to read you, it’s fuzzy at best. Regardless, Taesan’s thoughts were disturbingly clear.
It was worse than wanting to fuck you; Taesan wants to date you. For some reason, that particularly made Jake feel sick. He was so immersed in your conversation that he didn’t notice Jungwon stepping in front of him.
“Relax.” Jungwon snaps a finger in Jake’s face.
Jake shakes his head, blinking back into reality.
“Your eyes were changing color,” Jungwon warns.
Whenever their kind gets too worked up, their eyes shift to a bold crimson, sending a final threat to unassuming prey. Jake looks away, trying to regain normalcy. “Didn’t realize.”
“Are you gonna talk to her?” Jungwon says cheekily.
Jake scoffs, stretching his hands over his head. “Don’t want to.”
“Then stop looking at her.” Won chides.
Jake smirks, caught red-handed, “Fine.” His hands settle back at his sides as he turns to his friend.
“Some people were talking about heading to a bar for some karaoke. I might join them and grab a bite.”
“Have fun.” Jake slumps against the wall.
Instantly surprised, “You're not interested?”
Jake fakes a yawn, “Tired.”
“Riverfield’s made you really boring.” Jungwon drags out the ‘e’ in really. “The Jake I know would’ve been on his third kill by now.”
“People change.” Jake shrugs. “Besides, I’m not bored.”
Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” At that, he turns and walks away, joining a loud group of bodies near the front door.
As Jake watches his friend blend into the background, he begins to consider whether he has inherently become boring by living here. Maybe not feeling boredom is a bad sign. Gradually, he focuses back on the party and you sitting on the— Where did you go?
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You lean back on your palms with your feet dangling off the edge of your tall mattress. Cool night air filters through an open bedroom window. In front of you, at your vanity, stands Taesan wearing a cheeky smile that twists something deep in your gut.
In his tall glory, he smiles down at a photo on the mirror that you promised to show him earlier. It’s a print of you and your first car, the same hunk of junk that sits in your driveway next to the Accord.
He sports a sweater and jeans. You’ve hung out a few times since he took you on a test drive, but this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of his usual work attire. There’s something refreshing about seeing him in your bedroom now, shedding a layer of formality.
He hums. “It’s a nice car, I’m surprised you’re having a hard time selling it.”
“Don’t be fooled, that picture is super outdated.” The photo shows you as a teen in an unflattering pair of overalls and a vibrant smile next to a black jeep.
“What did you call it again?” Taesan looks to you over his shoulder.
You smirk, still twiddling your feet. “His name is Michaelangelo.”
“That’s definitely… a choice.” He laughs, fully facing you. “Like the painter?”
“Or the ninja turtle.” You shrug.
He laughs even louder, walking closer so you have to look up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“You don’t see the orange stripe on the side?”
Shoulders shaking with amusement, he stands between your legs at the edge of the bed. When you look up at him again, his eyes are different, softer. He looks at you like you’ll fly away, and it makes your mouth run dry.
Grabbing his wrist, you tug gently, urging him to sit beside you. “My neck’s gonna break in half if I keep looking up at you like that.” You huff, a little breathlessly, suddenly feeling like you had half a glass too much.
“Am I too tall for you?” He jokes, sinking into the mattress beside you.
You hum thoughtfully. “I’d have to spend a little more time with you to figure that out.”
“That sucks because I’m actually a super busy guy.” He teases.
A giggle slips out of you. “Oh, really?”
He smiles at you, not caring enough to answer the question. Mellow blush on the tips of his ears makes an appearance as he leans a little closer. “I’m really glad I came tonight.”
“Me too.” All the base in your voice is gone as you notice him notice your lips.
It’s going to happen, you think, and he does too. After years of moving around for work, you’re finally going to taste what it feels like to settle down with a good guy. Second by second, the space between you two shrinks. Then, there is none.
He kisses you. With lips as soft as they look, he brings a hand to cradle your cheek. His palm is warm, but his fingertips are cool from the breeze. You find yourself scootching closer to him on the bed. The fringe of his hair tickles your face as the kiss deepens and his free hand inches up your thigh, just resting there, radiating heat.
You part, both breathing a little heavier. Your eyes shyly land on your lap. Each of his hands returns to his sides, leaving you vulnerable to the evening chill. When you look back up, his eyes are different.
He stares through you. Like he’s dissociating. The blankness of his expression drains the life from your face.
Was it a bad kiss? You discreetly check your breath.
“I have to go now.” His voice sounded colder than the wind.
“Oh,” You blink. “Are you sure? I was thinking we could—“
“No, I should leave.” He stands so quickly it throws you off balance.
“Well, let me walk you to the door—“
“No!” He says firmly, facing the door. “Just… stay here.” He says, looking away from you with tense shoulders like you disgust him.
You shrink into yourself from your position on the bed. “Oh,” is all you can say. With that, he leaves, shutting the bedroom door loudly behind himself, making you flinch. Straight away, your eyes start to burn. The distant party music feels more depressing with the room empty.
When Taesan exits the room, his knees go weak, and his head is dizzy. A hand clutches the wall as he tries to gather his bearings. The pounding in his head nears unbearable, and his memory feels like it’s been snatched from his grasp—how did he get out here again?
“Sleep,” is the last thing he hears as he loses consciousness, dropping with a thud.
Jake blinks from above Taesan’s body, eyes shifting back into a neutral brown. He looks around the empty hallway, then at his coworker’s limpness. His once pronounced anger settles into numbness as he realizes he might’ve gone too far. Sighing, he lifts Taesan off the ground and towards the door. He mumbles needless lies about him “needing to handle his alcohol better.”
He takes him out to the front stoop and leans his body against the railing of the shallow staircase. Remorse runs through his brain as he looks at the whites of Taesan’s eyes below half-closed lids. His conscience forces him to call a cab for the guy.
After successfully packing Taesan into the backseat of a cab, the plan was to go home, but somehow he had misplaced his keys. The moment he rings the bell, a drunk guy urges him inside and away from the cold. Jake retraces his steps until he sees the famous coffin keychain on the floor outside your room.
He tries to ignore your rapid, stuttering heartbeat from the other side of the door. Curiosity gets the better of him. He snatches up his keys and leans against the wall, silently hoping you’re not crying, but he can hear you sniffle.
It’s not like he killed Taesan, he just… sent him home. Surely that isn’t so bad. Something primal wouldn’t let him listen to your heart race for his coworker. And to hear his thoughts was a cruel torture, salting the wound.
He could smell the bloomings of something serious. The happy, normal life he craved. Yeah, fuck that. All of it made him sick with envy. The thought is enough to turn his eyes a fiery hue.
Then, you open your bedroom door.
You look a lot calmer than he was expecting, makeup intact and face uncommitted to any emotion.His eyes dip back to dark brown as he tampers with his keys.
Gaze glued to his side profile, you speak. “Can I help you?”
He’s quiet, keys flipping endlessly in his palm.
“The party’s that way.” You point to the living room down the hall.
Jake nods, unable to look you in the eye. “I’m not looking for it.”
“What are you looking for, because the bathroom’s not here either.” Your tone is harsh.
“My keys,” he jingles the set. “And some quiet.”
You exhale heavily, standing next to him on the wall. Leaning your head back, you look off into space. The music booms, but it’s being choked by chatter. It all just sounds like mush at this point. Close and distant at the same time.
“Do you like this neighborhood, Jake?” Your voice feels foreign in your mouth.
“There’s better ones in town.” Apathy laces his tone. “What do you think?” He looks to you.
“Minus the quiet, it’s fine.” Emotion starts to crawl back up your throat. “I was planning to be here for a while.”
“Was?”
You nod in response, and Jake hums, something shifting inside of him.
“If you want to leave, you should leave.” He scans your face. A sliver of him wants you gone. That way, he’ll forget, Taesan will forget, and everything will be normal again.
“I didn’t say that.” You face him with a serious look. For a beat, it feels like you’re looking at an old friend. His gaze is so familiar that you almost want to reach out and touch him. It makes your eyes burn, so you look away, clearing your throat. “I just have no reason to stay. That’s all.”
Jake, suddenly overwhelmed by a similar onslaught of emotions, looks to his shoes. He bites his lip. It feels like the conversation is dead and buried, but a final sentence leaks from his lips as if against his control: “Do you want one?”
As simple as it is, the comment sends a flock of butterflies to your stomach. You smile, not saying a word.
Jake didn’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking; the gloss of your eyes is enough, and with that, the guilt starts to sink in.
“I’m gonna get a drink.” You gesture toward the kitchen down the hall. “You can join me if you want.” Delivering the last part as nonchalantly as possible, you start walking.
He pauses, “I don’t drink.”
“Didn’t ask if you did.” You shrug, heading off.
For a while, he lets you go, then his feet start moving. At that moment, he decides to keep you company for the night, giving you a reason, even if it’s only for a little while. He follows you around your house for about an hour while you sip Pinot Grigio and spark up small talk with guests. Based on his observations, you don’t know half of the people there, and you work with annoying ass town charmer Benson, who’s a nasty drunk. One by one, people trickle out of the house. The last person leaves at 11:54 p.m. It’s still pretty early.
After another glass, you’re sharing stories on the couch. And another after that, you’re asking and convincing him to go on a walk.
As expected, the sidewalks are empty, and the lamposts continue to flicker. The air is cool, but the wind isn’t overbearing. Dead leaves crunch relentlessly under the heels of your feet. “Did you have fun tonight?” You swirl the wine in your plastic cup absentmindedly.
“Yeah, I had a good time.” He isn’t sure if he’d categorize it as fun.
“Good,” You hum.
His eyes linger on you. “Did you have fun?”
Your feet come to a stop, thinking. It’s easier to ignore the question altogether. Focusing on your house from down the block, an idea pops into your head. “Jake?”
He makes a curious sound.
“Do you want to race?”
His movement halts as he quirks a brow, “With a drink in your hand?”
You chug the remainder. “What drink?”
He bites his lip, sizing you up as you stretch. “This is cute, but you’re drunk.”
“Barely,” You protest in a brattier voice than you’d like.
“The sidewalk’s uneven. Let’s not—“
“Last one back is a rotten egg!” You shout, bolting off.
It's easy to think less when you’re entire drunken being is concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. You’re sick of thinking. Wanting is exhausting. It’s all meaningless old news. Aside from your first glass of wine, the wind is the most refreshing thing you’ve tasted— correction: it’s better than wine.
You're halfway back to your front porch.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Time to slow down.” Jake calls behind you.
You giggle, closing your eyes in bliss. “Or you could speed up.”
As you approach the edge of your front lawn, an elevated block of pavement catches against your toe. Eyes shooting open in panic, you hit the ground hard. Your dress does little to protect you as your knee scrapes the ground, tainting the concrete with red.
Jake’s mid sigh when he hears you groan. At first, a look of concern overtakes him, then the smell hits, rendering him motionless.
Blood runs down your shin as you swear to yourself. In disbelief, you bring a finger to the wound—the touch stings. The skin of your knee is busted like you’re a kid again, but it hurts worse than you remember.
You’re talking to him. Jake knows that. He just can’t hear what you’re saying. Your lips move lazily like the blood against your knee, and Jake’s fangs begin to throb harder than before. His head is pounding, and slowly the double vision kicks in. He braces his hands on his knees and shuts his eyes before you can see them change.
You call his name, beginning to stand. Tiny scratches litter across your body, and you wince. “A little help, please?” You turn to Jake, who's bent over panting. A lamppost highlights the gleam of sweat on his forehead. “I wasn’t going that fast, was I?”
His brows furrow in pain.
“Jake—“
Like a crack in a dam, his self-control breaks. He rushes to you at an inhumane speed, grabs you, and zips you to his house. It’s all done before you can even finish your question.
Once you’re in his guest bedroom, peering up to him with cloudy eyes of confusion, he takes a second to look at you. The hem of your dress is covered in blood, and your chest is heaving like you can’t catch enough air. The adrenaline seems to be too much for you.
He kneels on the floor, so he’s eye level with your body on the bed. Fixated on your knee, he leans in, inhaling deeply. He groans, face palming into the bed.
You stutter out syllables like a broken record.
Jake mumbles pleas into the mattress, trying to restrain himself. “Can I have you?” He looks at you in the dark room with eyes red as blood. His fangs are fully expanded behind his lips, and his fingertips twitch as he fights to keep his claws at bay. He babbles mindlessly, senses going into overdrive. “I need you- this. I need—“
“Okay.” The word quiet against your lips.
Freezing, he can’t tell whether you agreed for his sake or your own, but he permits himself anyway. He licks the blood drying on your calf and up the length of your leg like a man starved. It sends a shiver down his spine. He finally knows why he can’t get enough of you.
He suckles at your wound, tongue scraping over little bits of gravel and debris carelessly. His body feels like it’s on fire. This must be what cherries taste like, he thinks.
His tongue presses firmly on the wound, and it hurts. “Wait, what are you—“
“Sleep.” At the sound of his command, your head hits the pillow. Climbing on the bed, he settles between your legs and lifts your dress until it nears your hips. He can smell what Jungwon was talking about earlier, and it drives him dizzy. He wants you to want him.
Still, his focus remains on the artery pulsing through your upper thigh. The blood flow is loud like a ringing in his ears. He grazes his fangs against your skin, his eyes closed shut. His brain won’t turn off. How can he kill when he can’t stop thinking? Every thought deepens the hesitation, until finally he sighs.
He lies there trying to will himself to bite, but your taste reminds him of nightmares. It’s like he can smell the smoke when his fangs touch your skin. He can’t do it. Overcome with frustration, he extends the claw on his pointer finger and digs it into your skin. He slices a thin line on your inner thigh, running his tongue along it as blood seeps out.
With his head on your thigh, he leisurely cleans every drop with his mouth. He could’ve fallen asleep if it wasn’t for a knock at his front door.
His eyes flutter open, unveiling the infamous red once again. Closing the door behind himself, he travels to the main entrance in a daze, face covered in crimson.
“Let me in.” Jungwon’s voice deepens from the other side of the door.
Jake flinches, opening it. “Fine, come in—“
Immediately, Jake is hit by a firm shoulder as a different coven brother shoves past him: Heeseung, his least favorite. They had a falling out over a kill and hadn’t spoken for years.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jake gawks.
Heeseung scoffs. “Says the one with blood all on his face.”
“Were you crying?” Jungwon reaches a hand toward Jake’s face, but it’s swatted away.
Jake didn’t realize it earlier, but he was indeed crying. Tears had started running down his face the moment he tasted you. “Answer my question.” Jake glares at the leader.
“He wanted to get out, so he spent the night with me.” Jungwon sighs, stepping into the house and closing the door. “You look awful.”
Heeseung spent most of his time away from people. He lived a quiet life in a rural mountaintop, killing farmers and seducing milk maids. He was never too fond of the modern world.
“What’s with the smell?” Heeseung asks from down the hall, creeping dangerously close to the guest bedroom.
“Stop sticking your nose around my house.” Jake’s voice is like gravel.
“I could smell it from outside. Might as well tell us—”
“He’s feeding. Don’t ask useless questions.” Jungwon slides off his shoes and jacket, then walks to the couch. He plops down, tired. “Is it the girl?”
“What girl?” Jake feigns innocence.
Jungwon looks to Jake, eyes briefly flashing red. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Jake and Heeseung straighten, fear-struck by the switch.
“There’s blood on the sidewalk out there. Did you kill her?” Jungwon settles back into the couch calmly.
“I can hear a heartbeat,” Heeseung’s brows furrow. “Feels like I can hear a million fucking heartbeats, how do you guys live in places like this?” He sucks his teeth.
Jake doesn’t say anything, letting the room fall silent.
“Whatever. Don’t mind us, we’ll stay out of your way.” Jungwon’s eyes close; he looks like he’s had a long night.
“Good.” Jake’s voice is hardly audible. Part of him wants to talk, but with someone like Heeseung around, he isn’t sure it’s in his best interest. He wants to mention what it felt like to taste you, about why you felt so—
“Is her heart rate supposed to be that fast?” Heeseung asks, growing a bit concerned.
“Leave him alone, Hee.” Jungwon sighs.
Jake stands between Jungwon and Heeseung in the center of the living room. Unable to look them in the eye, he twiddles his fingers. “It’ll slow down when she’s calm. Her adrenaline is really high right now.”
“When she’s calm?” Heeseung stiffens, immediately glancing at Jungwon with a look of disbelief. “Do you hear this?”
Jungwon remains unmoving on the couch. “Let’s not do this. I had a long night.” He rests his head back on the headrest. “Everyone in this town is bitter and out of tune. I don’t have the energy to argue.”
“I can’t kill my neighbor.” Jake reasons.
“Am I missing something? Why is he acting all soft?” Heeseung walks to the couch where Jungwon sits. His face twisted with confusion.
“I’m not acting soft, it’s just too risky,” Jake mumbles.
”Is it?”Jungwon faces Jake with a cutthroat glare. “Then why’d you bring her home?”
“I didn’t mean to. She fell, and the smell just—“ An irked sigh cuts through his thoughts. Jake looks to the door of his guest room, running a finger over his bloodstained lips anxiously. If he says what he’s thinking, they’re bound to find him crazy. “She tastes like…” His words trail into nothingness.
Jungwon’s eyes light up with realization. “Minnie.” The name comes out rough on his tongue. That would explain the nightmares. He, too, could vaguely smell the resemblance.
Jake flinches. The lover who defined his human heart was hardly ever mentioned and seldom by name. She was his betrothed when he was given the dark gift in the early twentieth century, a woman beyond her years. The only mortal to voluntarily offer themselves to fulfill his bloodlust, a victim to his hunger, and the conservatism of the time. Her life was stolen in a house fire orchestrated by the church to drive the devil out of town. Jake wasn’t even home.
Heeseung fixes on Jake’s blank expression. “This is ridiculous,”
“I swear on her grave.” Jake’s voice has yet to surpass a whisper.
“Shouldn’t we have a second opinion?” Heeseung baits, licking his fangs.
Jake hisses, lurching forward. “Try it and I’ll kill you.”
Heeseung narrowly dodges him, boasting a grin. “So you want to keep her?”
Jake shrinks into himself, embarrassed by hearing it out loud. His mouth doesn’t move. Is it so wrong for him to want a companion again?
“Like a pet?” Hee adds with a laugh.
Jake looks up, glaring. “She’s a human being, dickhead.”
“But you aren’t.” Jungwon stands, walking over so he’s toe-to-toe with the homeowner. “Infatuation isn’t an excuse for recklessness. What happens when she wakes up and the last thing she remembers is your red eyes staring down at her?”
“She’s drunk, she won’t—“
“Or when you’re hungry and she has a papercut?” Jungwon cocks his head. “This is dangerous, and you know it.“
Jake stutters, backing away from his leader. “I- I just want some time.”
“That’s not how people work. Humans-” Jungwon sighs. “They expect different things. It’s like a puma mating with a panda. It won’t work.”
Jake’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t know that! I can’t just let Minnie—“
“She’s not her, Jake.“ Jungwon’s snaps.
“You said you weren’t babysitting me.” Jake narrows his eyes coldly.
The leader sighs. “Still, I can’t let you—”
“This shouldn’t even be a discussion. If you wanted companionship, you should’ve never abandoned your coven.“ Hee rasps.
“One more fucking word and I will slam you through the floor.” Jake's head whips toward Heeseung.
Heeseung scoffs. “Typical. Prioritizing a stranger over your brother.” Without realizing it, all of their eyes had changed color.
“Enough,” Jungwon places a hand in the air, flinging Heeseung and Jake’s bodies into the walls on opposite halves of the room. It’s not enough to cause damage, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, then turns to Jake, who gapes for air. “Do you absolutely need this?” He stoops down to his level. “Are you truly that lonely?”
Jake weakly bows his head, the pain too intense for words. Across the room, Heeseung lies unconscious with his chin to his chest.
“Fine,” Jungwon regains his composure. “It’s your mess. But now, I am babysitting you.” He returns to his full height, stepping over Jake’s body on the floor.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Heeseung and Jungwon left the following morning, although there’s a rumor that Jungwon moved to a neighboring city to keep an eye on things. That was three months ago.
“Wake up.”
You whisper, crawling into Jake's lap while he manspreads wildly on your couch. His eyes are closed as he leans against the headrest. In his t-shirt and sweatpants, the scene feels oddly homely, and it makes you move extra slowly to preserve the fragility of it all.
He hums, but you’re not convinced.
You lean to the side of his face, gently blowing in his ear. He squeezes your hips as a reply.
“Come on, you’re missing the movie.” You complain directly into his ear.
“We already watched this one,” Jake mumbles into your hair.
The movie ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ plays on your TV, lighting the space as the story continues without any attention. Save for a scented candle, it’s the only reason you can see each other’s faces right now.
“That doesn’t mean you can fall asleep.” You boop his nose.
A smile spreads across his face the moment you make contact. Grabbing your finger, “I’m not sleeping.”
“Don’t hit me with the ‘I was resting my eyes’ bullshit.”
“Then, I’m just… enjoying your presence, without looking.” Jake’s hand moves to rub soothing circles on your waist.
“Jake.”
He relents, peeking his eyes open. Your hair is messy from lying around for hours, and your shirt is halfway off your shoulder. The candle flame from the coffee table behind you gives off a halo-like glow. It makes him forget why he wanted to close his eyes in the first place.
Plucking a feather out of your hair, he snickers. “Too many feathers on these throw pillows.”
“I got them for free.” You attempt to climb off his lap, but his hands anchor your hips down.
“Stay with me.” Wrapping his arms snuggly around your middle, he pulls you toward him until you can settle into the crook of his neck.
You sigh, naturally leaning into him. “Fine, but just for a little while.”
A chill passes over you as his cold fingertips slip under your shirt, and he laughs into your hair. Your squirming makes him hold you tighter. “You smell nice.” The words roll off his tongue.
“You always say that,” You say, carding a finger through his hair.
He kisses the crown of your head. “It’s always true.”
This is the average Sunday night between the two of you. By sunset, you and Jake are to be tucked away on a couch somewhere, half watching a movie and half lazing around. A few days after you woke up bandaged and hungover in Jake’s bed for the first time, he asked you out to see a movie. Unfortunately for him, the town cinema was rundown, with nothing to offer besides lukewarm popcorn, so he promised a do-over at his place. Since then, traditions have slowly been forming.
Traditions like lowly lit living rooms and long-winded conversations. He never sat too close. He never pushed or lingered. Jake was a gentleman. He even managed to help sell your car to his friend at the scrap yard.
And by ‘friend’, he meant himself. Jake has his own tradition of driving to a lot on the outskirts of town to sit in the old hunk of junk that is Michaelangelo as a means of helping him adapt to your scent. Of course, it’s nothing like the real thing, but after a decade of ownership, your essence was practically absorbed into the seats.
By the third movie night, he could sit a little closer. On the fourth, he kissed you. At the end of the fifth, the tension nearly killed you. Before he could even take his shoes off for the sixth, you were on top of him.
Time didn’t make sense, feelings didn’t make sense, but it felt right. Being with Jake was like breathing.
But it isn’t perfect. After years of dealing with deadbeat men and moving around, you're ready for a proper relationship. Someone to come home to. Someone who will actually spend the night, regardless of “having to work early,” as Jake puts it.
You pull away enough to look at him. Staring at him was like a hobby these days.
“Hi,” he breathes out the word.
You sit atop him, playing with his long dark strands.
He sighs. “I need a trim.”
“I like it.”
Your gaze is so soft that it makes him blush. All the power in the world couldn’t make him immune to your sunlight. Close isn’t close enough.
“Come here, Minn—“ His tongue trips on the familiarity of it all.
“Min?” You tilt your head at him. An innocent curiosity graces your features.
Jake swallows, a well-known guilt washing over him. “Mine,” he corrects.
You smile, tucking a hair behind his ear. “Does that make you mine?”
“Always.” He plants a kiss on your lips. “In every lifetime.”
Jake is always like this, saying absurdly romantic things, almost inappropriate for your indistinguished love affair. Your stomach was like a cage of butterflies. Leaning in, you meet his lips. It’s more than the peck he gave you. He hums happily into the kiss, landing a small smack on your ass.
A giggle rips through you, and he takes it as a chance to deepen the kiss. Bodies moving closer, saliva mixing messily. You tilt his head up so you can kiss him properly, and he shifts beneath you. Placing a firm hold on your chin, he pulls your jaw down to gain more access. It was a steady battle of dominance.
You tug at the fringe decorating the nape of his neck, and he groans. Smiling, you kiss him harder. You were winning. He squeezes your hips, then—
“Ouch.” You pull away, bringing a hand to your bottom lip. “You nicked me.”
Shamelessly licking his lips, “Sorry, I got carried away.”
“Yeah, no shit.” You laugh, licking at the small cut in your mouth. You hunch forward, sinking your teeth into his bony shoulder.
He smirks, hands fiddling with the elastic waistband of your sweats. “What’re you doing over there?”
“Biting you back.” You say as you come back up, and Jake bursts into laughter. Smoothly, he shifts so your butt is on the couch, subtly pushing you into the cushions as he hovers over you. “I’ll do you one better.” He smiles mischievously, trailing down your body. “I’ll eat you alive.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The dealership was busy these days. Between inventory checks and paperwork, Jake watched as you and Taesan seemed to gradually lose contact. With each of you having gaps in your memory that night, things grew awkward. Eventually, the guilt of stealing you from Taesan subsided, and Jake started another new tradition: calling you during his lunch break.
“Look who it is.” You tease from the other side of the phone.
He cheeses, listening to you mumble at a worker through the phone. “Busy?”
“Not at all.” You walk away from the noise. “What’s up?” He can hear a door shut, like you walked into your office.
“Just wanted to hear your voice.” He sighs, looking to the mess of papers atop his desk.
“If I weren’t meeting the regional manager for lunch, I’d tell you to swing by. Well… you technically still can, you’d have to wait until after my lunch and pretend to buy a bedframe—”
“Regional ma- you mean Benson?” Annoyance laces his tone.
“Don’t say it like that.” Your voice loses its playfulness.
“I didn’t say anything.” Even without saying it explicitly, his tone could move mountains.
Benson, the boss who always seems to call when you’re off the clock, already took you out for lunch twice last week. Jake fucking hates that guy. A part-time drunk, full-time sweet talker, Benson is the kind of guy Jake would drain as a joke without remorse. Regardless, he’s latched onto you like a leech.
“You’re not the only person with employee of the month status.” You tease.
Rolling his eyes, “Might be employee of the year with how he treats you.”
“You’re making it weird.”
Yeah, because it is. He sighs. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
You hum over the line, deciding to use the opportunity to talk about the new friend you made today. She’s a heavily tatted middle-aged woman who chews tobacco and supervises the shipments. Enamored by your sharp wits, she basically adopted you on the spot.
Jake mumbles supportive nothings, grateful that the tension has faded on its own. He’s not sure when it happened, but he began rooting for you to make friends in town. Friends make people happy, and your happiness is of utmost importance to him.
“She’s hosting a happy hour on Friday. Said I could come and bring a friend.” An open-ended glint in your voice. “I was thinking of asking this really handsome guy who makes a mean cherry pie.”
Jake smirks, bashfully twisting back and forth in his office chair. “You know I don’t drink, my love.”
“I know, I know, but maybe you could just keep me company?” Your voice trails off timidly.
While he’s a big advocate for your friendships, Jake is uninterested in the concept for himself. People are too complicated. “I don’t think—“
You shush him profusely through the phone. “Sleep on it, okay? That’s all I ask.”
Weak to your assertiveness, Jake nods. “Okay.” Was he going to change his answer? Probably not. Is he going to tell you no right now? Absolutely no chance. “I can do that.”
As if sent by an enemy to purposely disrupt the moment, a loud series of knocks blares through your end of the line.
You sigh, lowering the phone and looking to the dark oak door of your beige office. The room-temperature coffee in the cup on your desk ripples from the impactful banging. “One minute!” You shout.
When you pick up the phone, Jake is babbling frustratedly about poor manners, and you smile. It was like having your own personal guard dog, but to you, Jake’s bark is worse than his bite. He rarely lets himself get worked up in person.
“What’s taking you so long?” Benson burst through the door. “You said 12:30,” he checks his watch, leaning a hand on the rickety armchair in front of your desk. It’s beige like everything else.
“I’m on a call.” You say awkwardly, covering the phone speaker.
“Oh, don’t mind me.” Benson rests against a wall, his cropped salt-and-pepper hair in disarray, as it usually is. He’s attractive in a small-town-guy kind of way, the premature gray part of his charm. The problem is that he knows his pull, so he does shit like walk into people’s offices unannounced.
“Sorry, can I call you later?” You deliver as sweetly as you can into the phone.
“Did he just walk in?” Jake asks almost in disbelief. “What an asshole.”
“I’ll talk to you when I get b—“
“Yeah, whatever.” He delivers coldly.
He ends the call before you can reply. Great, now you’re fighting. You turn to your boss, “Are you on a tight time frame or something?”
“Can’t I just be excited to see my new favorite employee?” Benson straightens with a smile. “C’mon, I’m craving Italian.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Jake doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the day, but he does show up at your doorstep wearing pajama pants and his work satchel that evening.
“Can I finish up some paperwork here? My place is a mess.”
You look to him, unconvinced, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t believe you.”
His lips form a thin line. “I’m behind on laundry.”
“Ask a friend, I’m busy,” you lie, reaching to close the door.
“I don’t have friends, I have you.” His hand holds the door open.
You roll your eyes. “That’s pretty unhealthy.”
He smirks, knowing you’re on the cusp of giving in. “Are you gonna let me in or not?” Arguments were always like this, sealed by some lukewarm resolution. “I’m sorry for overreacting earlier.”
You take his chin in your hands, and he softens instantly. “Relationships require trust, Jake.”
“I trust you.” He breathes out the words, eyes coming to a close. “I don’t trust him, but I’ll work on it.”
“Good.” Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a small tussle. “Now, be a good neighbor and give me some sugar.”
A smile overcomes his features as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. His hands mischievously wrap your waist, and he yanks you toward him on the stoop, kissing you messily. It’s all smiles and teeth, but you fall into it anyway.
The winter chill surrounds you as Jake’s cool fingertips dance underneath your shirt. The breeze flaps against his patterned pajama pants, and he squeezes you closer. So close, you’re nearly bending over backwards for him. He peppers kisses across you’re collarbones, punctuating them with apologies and leaving you a giggling mess.
“Okay— Okay!” You wiggle in his hold. “Come in, jeez. People are looking.”
In bed that night, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of decorative pillows and the subdued singing of crickets, Jake struggles to put his mind to rest. He holds your sleeping figure close to his chest as he watches the flames of a scented candle pulse on your bedside table. You always light it before bed, and Jake always blows it out. He loathes that reckless open flame.
During moments like this, he remembers he’s not human. With every deep breath, his fangs throb. It’s impossible to sleep next to you. Sometimes he gives in, opening a small cut on your hip or your calf to remind himself what cherries taste like. You never think twice about them in the morning.
It’s just past 1 AM.
Jake rolls you over gently, tucking a pillow behind your back. Your face scrunches up. For a minute, he’s sure he woke you, but your eyes remain shut. You’re having a nightmare. He stands, watching you twist and turn senselessly like a child. Do you always look this frail? Walking around the bed to blow out the candle, he places a hand over your forehead. “Sleep.” He mumbles, kissing where his hand once was.
At least now, you’ll dream of nothing. Shuffling to the door, he slips out of the room and into the darkness. Like always, you’ve triggered his appetite.
On his traditional late-night drive, he circles the outskirts of the city for any wandering souls. He drives lazily, barely signalling his turns, and still wearing the same pajama pants. Nothing’s striking his fancy so far. His mind keeps thinking about you, and how you’re home alone in your most vulnerable state.
What if there’s a buglurar? Or a gas leak? Or— Okay. He’s losing his mind.
He parks his car at the edge of a desolate city block. He looks at the closed shops in front of him and vows to attack the first person he sees. No more thinking. Soon enough, a pretty woman in high heels turns the corner. She whistles with her jacket half off her shoulder.
He licks his lips, waiting for her to get a little closer— Then, a scream.
A man runs to her, demanding the contents of her purse. His voice is husky and muffled by a black ski mask.
Jake sighs, exiting his car. He can see the gleam of a blade in the criminal’s hand. He sighs again, annoyed. Jake hates playing superhero.
“Get back in your fucking car.” He shouts, yanking the woman towards him. She struggles against him as he brings the blade to her throat.
She mouths pleas for help, but her voice is hoarse. The words hardly form into sounds. Lip gloss, pens, and gum wrappers fall from her open purse as the robber rummages carelessly.
Jake looks from the trembling woman to the masked man.
“Are you fucking stupid?” The masked man jostles the woman, and she whimpers. “I said, get back in the car!” He’s shouting so loud, his voice cracks.
Jake looks the woman in the eyes. They’re glossy like yours were at your housewarming. “When he drops the knife, you’re going to run. Okay?”
The lady doesn’t say anything. She just closes her eyes and cries silently. Tears mix with snot as she surrenders to her fate.
“I’m telling you one more time—“
Jake turns to the man, eyes flashing red. “I heard you.”
With stiff raised shoulders, the man’s grip loosens, the metal blade clanking against the pavement. Cries coming to a stop, the woman rushes away. The click of her heels on the sidewalk was the loudest noise in the dead of night. “Wha- What’s hap—“ The man stammers.
Jake shushes him. “Come here.”
His feet drag one after the other until he’s in front of the scarlet-eyed creature. Panting and squinting, he attempts to speak, but Jake hushes him over and over. His voice won’t work. His hands won’t work. His eyes welled with tears helplessly. “Muh muh— puhh— lee- lee- leeze.”
“Sshhhh.” Jake closes his eyes, inhaling his fear. Finally, his fangs sink into the flesh.
On the drive home, with the bitter blood of a criminal painting his lips, Jake realizes boring doesn’t mean safe. You need to be protected.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
It’s 6 PM on Friday, and you’re buzzing with excitement in your booth seat. Restaurant speakers play 2000s hits, and your co-workers are loudly arguing over the appeal of antique furniture, but you can’t hear it. All your focus goes to the text on your phone screen.
Jake: Be there in 10
You can’t believe he actually agreed to show up. He said it casually over the phone during his lunch break. Like it was nothing. Now you’re nursing a cocktail waiting for the sound of a windchime to bring you back to life.
Finally, that familiar ringing.
Nearly breaking your neck, you turn to the door, and there he is in his typical puffer coat with his hair mussed from the wind. He pushes up a pair of glasses on the edge of his nose, suddenly catching your eye. A soft smile forms on his lips, and it’s enough to make you all but melt into the sticky restaurant floors.
You smooth out the creases on your sweater and pants as he makes his way over.
“Who are we looking at?” Your tobacco-chewing co-worker, Susan, grins at you across the table.
You bow your head bashfully. “A friend.”
“A friend?” She quirks a brow.
You nod, eyes closed, trying to calm the heat spreading across your face.
“Excuse me,” Jake scootches past a few of your colleagues to sit next to you on the tattered booth. The smell of peppermint lingers on his clothes. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Your arms awkwardly wrap around your torso as you look to him.
“So you’re the friend?” Susan says in a teasing tone.
“Jake is fine.” He reaches a hand across the table, and she meets it kindly.
You watch, enthralled. Sure, you’ve gone out with Jake before, but you’ve never seen him socialize. Usually, he acts like an imaginary friend, saying things only you can hear and laughing at jokes only he knows.
“You okay?” He turns to you, slipping his jacket off.
You nod aggressively. “Just happy you’re here,” you say, squeezing his arm. Up close, you notice a spec of something red on the corner of his mouth. “Even if it’s with tomato sauce on your face,” swiping at the spec.
He looks at the red smear on your thumb as you wipe it on a napkin. “Sorry.”
“You look good,” you think aloud as he slips his jacket off.
He smirks, leaning in so only you can hear. “You look better.”
“Who’s four-eyes?” Benson calls from beside you, words lacing together from the booze. He taps your thigh to get your attention, and it quickly snatches Jake’s eye.
“A company friend,” Susan delivers sarcastically.
You blink. “Oh. Benson, this is—“
“We’ve met.” Jake nods at him, interrupting. “I sold you a car.”
“Which one?” Benson chides. “Got a couple.” He nudges your shoulder, snickering. The table breaks into low laughter, finally paying your section some attention.
Jake shrugs, a tight smile on his face. “Guess it doesn’t matter.”
“So you work at the dealership?” Susan leans on the table.
“Yeah, for a little over a year now.”
“Add a realtor, and you guys could be the corporate Power Puff Girls.” Benson huffs, tapping your thigh again for emphasis.
“Funny.” Jake tuts, gaze on your legs. If he weren’t sitting with a dozen people, Jake would’ve forced Benson’s hands into his pockets. Instead, he scoops up your knees and places your calves in his lap. You sip your drink to hide your surprise.
“Well, I think you two look just fine as a duo.” Susan delivers pointedly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up like Mark and Minah.”
You choke on your drink, playing it off with a cough. “Marriage is a jump.“
“Yeah, Sue. A little overly ambitious.” Benson speaks into the bottom of his glass.
“It’s just a piece of paper.” Jake laughs to himself.
You grow a little stiff. “It’s a commitment.”
“It’s an excuse to throw a party,” He says under his breath.
“It’s a ceremonial agreement.” You press.
Jake gives your knee a firm squeeze. “Forget I mentioned it.”
The two of you have never talked about long-term goals before. Jake wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d spend the rest of your life together, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t open to it. Why would you go out with someone you see no future with? The thought makes your head spin.
Benson chuckles beside you, patting your leg once again. “That basically sums up why my first wife and I didn’t last.”
“Which one was your first wife again?” Jake asks, running a finger over his lips. “I get mixed up so easily.” The table laughs, someone obnoxiously jostling Benson into you. Jake doesn’t smile or relent. He remains fixed on Benson, who narrows his eyes with a grin.
“Alright, wise guy.” Your boss leans back into his seat, locking eyes with a waiter. “Let’s get the new guy a beer. Maybe it’ll loosen the stick in his ass.” He mumbles the last part.
Jake waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh, then you’re going to be plain miserable hanging out with us,” Susan pouts sympathetically.
Benson scoffs, his smugness unwaivering. “C’mon, Sue. Who are we to judge if he likes to watch?” His tone is overly suggestive.
This is how the night continues. Jake says something, and Benson somehow manages to make it the butt of a joke. A perpetual cycle of humorless teasing. Even while Jake grows quiet, Benson will toss an off-handed remark about asking the ‘wise guy’. Every time you shut him down, he taps your leg, insisting that it’s ‘all a joke’ in an increasingly sloppy cadence.
“I need a cigarette.” Susan stands, stretching. Like most others, she’s about three beers in.
“I’ll join you,” Jake slips your legs off of his.
You watch them b-line for the exit.
Jake stands with his jacket open, unfazed by the cold. Susan holds a cig between her teeth, struggling against the wind to light it until Jake cups a large hand around the flame. She inhales, lending him a smile, then a cigarette of his own.
They loiter silently, smoking and watching cars pass. It’s already dark outside, but the lamposts on this side of town don’t flicker.
“Don’t mind Ben. He’s just busting your balls.” Susan breaks the silence.
Jake nods between drags.
“It’s a good thing. Means he likes her.” She tries to be reassuring.
He focuses more on the cigarette than her voice as she rambles. Then, the windchime rings. You step outside the restaurant and next to Jake, holding your coat close.
Susan looks between the two of you and flicks her cig on the ground. She snubs it with her shoe. “Three's a crowd.” With that, she waltzes back in.
The silence stretches.
“He’s touchy.” His voice is low, like he doesn’t want you to hear it.
“Unfortunately.” You mutter, both looking out to the street. Cars glide by, shining bright yellow and red headlights onto the sidewalk. Since when does he even smoke cigarettes?
“Is that really the kind of friendship you want?”
“It’s the kind I have access to.” You face him. “I’m making the best of a shitty situation…”
“Or you like the attention.” He suggests under his breath.
Scoffing, “He doesn’t pay me any more attention than anyone else.”
“You’re not that naive.” He takes a drag, burning it down to the bud.
Like flipping a switch, your body fills with anger. “Maybe I am, since I thought the guy I’ve been seeing for 3 months, but isn’t officially my boyfriend, would believe in marriage.”
He furrows his brows and tosses the bud on the ground. “You’re really stuck on that?”
“Well, it’s a pretty big deal, Jake.” You swivel in front of him, forcing him to face you.
“Didn’t you say marriage was a jump anyway? Why does it matter—“
“Because partners should have compatible goals!” You lose your temper.
He calls your name, frustratedly. “We have a good thing. Can’t we keep it at that?“
“No, because I want to get married.” You look away, something about it all felt humiliating. “I want a family, Jake.” The cold forces you to dig your hands into your pockets. “And you’re just the guy who leaves before morning.”
Fixing his gaze on a distant cloud, he shakes his head. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“It’s been 3 months, how the hell should I know?” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “But I deserve to understand what I’m getting into.”
“There isn’t anything to get into!” He runs a hand over his face, and it distorts his words.
You freeze. The implications of his words sat heavily on your heart. They rolled over your shoulders and down your back like ice water as you looked up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He reaches to grab your arm, but your feet move before your brain, widening the gap between you two. “I shouldn’t have—“
“No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did because what the fuck did that mean?” Your brows knit together tightly. Suddenly, a woman in a trucker hat approaches, tapping you on your shoulder.
“Susan in there?” If she can tell you’re arguing, she doesn’t make it obvious.
You sigh, recognizing her as your coworker’s spouse. You nod, and she returns the gesture before walking inside. The burn from Jake’s gaze forces your eyes elsewhere.
He watches the crown of your head as you look down, kicking at gravel. Not being able to do anything— to fix anything— makes him panic. His eyes shift around relentlessly as he tries to latch onto your thoughts, even for a whisper.
“I don’t like having my time wasted, Jake.” Your voice is finite as you stare into space. The sharp edges of a rock beneath your shoe are the only thing grounding you to the sour moment.
“I’m not…” His hand anxiously fidgets with the car keys in his pocket. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I’m looking for someone consistent.” When you turn to him, he’s stripped of his usual confidence. “I want dinner dates and shared cups of coffee in the morning. If you can’t do that for me, then go home.”
Jake peers up at the night sky. The bittersweetness of it all makes his eyes sting.
Nodding, you take a deep breath. “I’ll catch a ride with Sue." You swing the restaurant door open, and the song of windchimes echoes as Jake lingers alone on the pavement.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“And you’re sure you don’t mind?” Susan asks as she and her partner hoist a senseless Benson into your living room. He stumbles onto your couch with a lazy smile.
“It’s fine, I’ll just call him a cab.” You jog to your kitchen to grab him a bottle of water.
“I hate to do this, but if we don’t head back to the restaurant, Amber’s forgetful ass will be without a phone for the weekend.” Susan jabs an elbow at her date.
“I never would’ve forgotten it if I weren’t playing designated driver for you in the first place.” She tsks.
The couple goes back and forth teasing while you place the ice water in Benson’s loose grasp. “Thanks again for the ride,” you toss them a final smile.
“No worries, sweetheart!” Susan hurriedly pulls Amber out the door, leaving you in silence.
Benson holds the cold bottle to his face, trying to cool the fire from within him. He almost looks unrecognizable like this.
“Drink some water, while I figure out your ride.” You kick his foot lightly with your own and pull out your cellphone. He drinks with an unrivaled thirst, and it makes you snort. “I’m quitting if you spill that on my couch.”
“What do I win if I don’t spill it?” He screws on the bottle cap.
“Better sales.” You chide dryly.
He grumbles. “You always talk about work.”
“Because we work together—“ Without warning, he reaches for your wrist and pulls you toward him on the sofa. You tumble into his lap helplessly, and his arms cage your waist. “Okay. That's enough.” Placing your hands on his shoulders, you attempt to pry yourself away.
“Don’t be so uptight.” His words slur.
“Let go of me.” You warn, applying more force. Feathers shed from your throw pillows and onto the floor as you struggle.
He nuzzles into you, squeezing painfully tight. “What about all our lunch dates, huh?” His voice shows an unfamiliar edge. “Were you just leading me on?”
The doorbell rings. Benson places a hand over your mouth as you attempt to shout, but you bite his finger. You free yourself as he whines in pain. It feels like your heart could leap out of your chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You spit, adjusting your clothes and stumbling away from him.
“You bitch.” He looks at his finger while it throbs in pain.
“Get out of my house before I call the police.” You pull out your phone, immediately typing the familiar three numbers.
He chuckles, the noise turning into hiccups. “That’ll still give me 15 minutes.”
The threat sends fear through your entire being. “Fuck you,” you press call.
The bell goes off again as Benson stands. Abruptly, he yanks you close and backhands you. The force sends you hurdling toward the floor. The phone flies out of your hand, and his ring slices a cut into your cheek. The ringing at the door has switched to a prominent banging. “Do me a favor and shut up.” Benson sniffles, making his way to the door.
He opens it to reveal Jake. His fist is still in the air, and a crease between his brows.
“What?” Benson slurs.
Jake stares without a word, his jaw tense.
Benson looks him up and down, his footing unsteady. “Can I help you?”
“Is Y/N home?” Jake says flatly.
He glances at your cowering figure on the living room floor, then back to Jake. “She’s in the bathroom.”
“You’re lying.” Jake remains fixed on the man with a sloppy feather in his hair. He can hear the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat and wait— does he smell blood? “Can I come in?”
Benson scoffs, attempting to close the door.
“Her headlights are on.” The words rush out of Jake’s mouth.
Benson squints, stepping onto the dark porch to get a look a the Accord. “I don’t see any—“
With swiftness, Jake grabs Benson’s forearm. His grip presses tighter and tighter until Ben drops to his knees, wailing in pain. Only then, as the man begs, do his eyes blend to a deep red. He doesn’t loosen his hold until he hears a snap over the symphony of crickets on your lawn.
You scramble away from the door, shaken by Benson’s visceral cries of pain. The entirety of your body trembles with fear as your boss lets out a silent scream, looking at his mangled arm.
“Y- you broke my arm,” Benson shouts. “You little—“ He uses the adrenaline to rush forward, and they both fall down the shallow set of steps. Using his good hand to strangle Jake, “I’ll fucking kill you!” Benson blubbers the phrase over and over like a madman.
Peeking through your living room window, you watch as Jake sneers, flipping the two of them over. He bears his fangs animalistically.
“What are y—“
Jake tears a chunk of flesh from the man’s neck as he screams. He drinks until his feet stop kicking and the skin runs grey. You watch, frozen in place. Jake wipes the blood from his face and pushes the body aside. He sits on the bottom step panting.
Your heart sinks as you rise on shaky legs. Feet moving to the door, you stand in disbelief.
As if teleported from thin air, Jungwon appears, briskly moving toward your beloved neighbor. “For fuck’s sake.” He looks at Benson’s limpness.
“How did you…” Jake slurs, dazed by the alcohol running through his system.
“I was watching.” He points to a blinking red light on Jake’s living room window seal. A sad smile graces his lips.
Jake nods dumbly, obviously out of it. His victim drank enough for a small village. From a distance, police sirens blare down the quiet suburban blocks. “Shit.” Jake winces.
Jungwon grabs Benson’s shoulders and glances at you. “Is this your car?”
You blink, watching him drag the corpse toward the back wheels of your Sedan. Your head nods, without asking your mind.
“Good, go get your keys,” Jungwon says, turning to Jake. “Get up.”
Jake fumbles up, joining his leader, who pries the trunk open with brute force. Jungwon’s strength is so incomprehensible that he shakes the car. Jake lifts the body, hauling it inside once the trunk is open. When it’s done, he turns to face you, and the look on your face crushes him.
Your hands are shaking, and mascara stains your cheeks. It’s like you’ve seen a monster— it’s like he’s a monster.
He tries to speak, but shame steals his voice. It’s all over. He lost control. He bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
The slamming of the trunk lid makes you shiver. The sirens were creeping closer. “Keys, Y/N.” Jungwon faces you sternly, and you nearly trip rushing to grab your purse.
“She hates me.” Jake breathes.
Jungwon sighs. “Regardless, she’s in this now. She either leaves with you or you drain her.”
“I can’t—“
“I’m not asking you, Jake.” Jungown glares. “I’m calling Heeseung. Maybe you can stay with him until this blows over.” With that, he walks away.
He nods with glossy eyes. In that moment, he realizes his power is no gift, it’s a curse. It ruins everything. It strips him of everything. He wishes he could go back and kill his maker. There is nothing romantic about death.
Making your way back to the door, you stare at the back of his head. The wind blows through his hair like the first time he showed up on your doorstep. Seeing him covered in blood made it hard to breathe, and the shine in his eyes was indescribable. It was the kind of desperate look that haunts nightmares.
You totter to the front of him, raising a wet cloth. With shaky hands, you dab away the blood on his cheeks.
Jake closes his eyes at the contact, filling his undead lungs with air. “I have to leave now,” he mumbles under the sirens.
You nod, chewing your lip as stray tears spill from your eyes.
“I’m um,” He lets go of a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about everything. I- I’m not—”
The color of the cop cars becomes clear in the distance. You drag the cloth over his lips, silencing him as you clean the last of it. “Can I ask you something?”
He sighs, nodding.
“H-how did you um,” your voice shakes like a leaf in the wind. Clearing your throat, “What made you come over?” The thought plagued your mind more than the murder.
Jake’s eyes open, glancing at the rag in your hand. “I knew something was wrong.”
You retrieve the cloth, wringing out the liquid. “But how—“
“I could feel you.” He looks at you, gaze soft and familiar. “Your heart was racing.” His voice is small.
Starring at him like you always do, something shifts. He still looks like your Jake. You swallow harshly, the spit traveling down like a rock in your throat. Relationships require trust. “What do we do now?”
He blinks. It’s like he’s experiencing you for the first time. You don’t smell or look like anyone else. You’re just you. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, but he knows he’ll spend the rest of eternity thanking the stars for this gift. With one look, you have given him a taste of what it feels like to be normal.
“Dump the body, then head north,” Jungwon wanders over, fixed on Jake. “Heeseung agreed.”
You’re not sure who that is or where you’re going, but you know it’ll be with Jake. Your face calms as you walk toward the passenger seat. “Can you drive?” You hold the keys out to Jake, who stares dumbfounded.
“I uh,” He glances to Jungwon, who’s equally as surprised. The leader’s shock turns into a smile as Jake turns back to you. “Yes. I can.” He straightens, making his way to the driver's seat as you duck into the vehicle.
With a trunk full of blood, the two of you ride through the desolate streets of Riverfeild until the sirens fade into your memory and the clouds turn to clear skies. Through it all, Jake holds your hand atop the console. Whatever's next, you’ll face it together.
Thank you guys for 1k likes! To celebrate such a huge milestone, here's the Moodboard for Part 2, which should be done by the end of the year :P Taglist is also open now :P
Idk why there's a mature content label for a moodboard, carry on as usual lol
My Masterlist ;; Tasteless Part 1 ;; Tasteless Part 2
Daywalker Vampire Jake x f!reader | Wc: 21.3k
Synopsis: Jake killed a man. Yes, you saw it. Yes, it happened on your front lawn. And yes, Jake did it with his bare fucking hands and teeth in the most graphic way you can imagine. But what happens now?
Themes: Small town au, runaway criminals, aged up au (mid-late 20s), loose soulmates au, angst, humor, fluff, Vamp Enha, blood + gore/ violence, roadtrip au, isolation/ loneliness, strong suggestive content, hurt/ comfort, death, heavy guilt, eating, reading, vomit, Blue Collar Jake x Stay-at-Home Reader, cursing, romantic slump?, friendship?, lots of vampirism, just buckle up for the ride
Guest Starring: Heeseung (Enhypen), Niki (Enhypen), Taehyun (TXT), Taesan (BoyNextDoor), Jungwon (Enhypen), Sion (NCT Wish), & a few OCs
A/N: Soo excited for this :3 The vibe is a little different, but I absolutely love it! Like I'm barking at my screen. Estimated release is the end of the year, & I'll be making a taglist (comment/ send asks to be added!) Check out the Pt 1 mood board here
Synopsis: The fine, reserved dealer you've had your eye on finally asks you out... Or well, sort of asks you out. He didn't really say whether or not it's a date. Now you're left to decipher the indistinct difference between red and beige flags. But he's so cute tho!
Themes/ Elements: University au, summer au, food/ eating, weed smoking + stoner reader!, swearing, tension, mild angst, fluff!, humor, suggestive content, flirting, kissing, overthinker reader!, English lit major reader, slight bad trip, minor jump scare?, everyone's messy af
A/N: 8k+? Each part just keeps getting longer lol. Luvah prnounced like 'lover' btw. For lore behind the luvah mythology click here (non vital)
ft. Chaewon (Le Sserafim), Xiaojun (NCT/ WayV), Harua (&team), mentions of Maki (&team), a bunch of made-up random people...
“It’s official! I know who my husband is going to be!” You shout from the front door of your apartment, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. You slip off your shoes, dancing your way toward the fragrant-smelling kitchen. “And he’s exactly who you think he is.”
Your roommate, Chaewon, stands at the kitchen stove, with an amused look in her eyes. She’s in house shorts and a lousy t-shirt. “You mean your landro boy?” She slips on a pair of oven mitts and opens the cooking contraption, removing a loaf of bread.
“Landro boy is no more. He’s lover boy now.” You extend your index finger matter-of-factly. “Also, it smells like heaven in here. Did you make bread from scratch?” You ogle, resting on a stool at the kitchen counter.
“Thanks, I got bored. Took a couple of things from work too.” She rests the pan on the stove and slips off the gloves.
You notice a takeaway container of veggies. You hum, plopping a baby carrot into your mouth.
“So are you gonna explain?” She snickers at your distracted state.
You blink at her with blank eyes, a piece of zucchini between your teeth. “Sorry, munchies. Remind me to go snack shopping.”
“Focus. Explanation first, snacks later.” Chaewon throws an oven mitt at you.
“Right.” You straighten up in your seat, ready to dramatise the happenings of your day for your live-in bestie. “I went to his house today.” You nod pleasantly.
“Okay?” Chaewon leans forward onto the counter.
“We talked and smoked, and I now know for a fact that he doesn’t hate me.”
She raises an eyebrow at you. “Is that so?”
“It is.” You hum.
“And how do we know that?”
“He kissed me on the cheek before I left.” You deliver definitively.
Your roomie snorts, thoroughly amused. “The way you walked in here shouting, I almost thought you got some.”
You scoff, clutching your imaginary pearls. “My dear friend, what do you think of me?” You act scandalized, drawing a laugh from your one-woman audience. “Besides,” you pause for dramatic effect. “The future is full of endless opportunities, especially since he asked to see me again tomorrow.”
Her laughter seizes at that. She switches from skeptical to excited. “Like a date?!”
You shrink into yourself slightly. “Well, I don’t really know.”
“How don’t you know?” The excitement in her voice wavers.
“He just said he wants to talk.” You make air quotes. “But he called me nice and pretty, and he asked if I was seeing anyone, so maybe.”
Chaewon hums judgingly. “Strike one,” is all she adds.
“Go easy on him, Chae. The dating pool in this city is atrocious. I’m just happy he’s house-trained, a win is a win.” You banter to your surprisingly unenthusiastic audience.
“You barely know this guy, it’s only a win because he’s hot,” she chides. “He could’ve properly asked you out.”
“I’m not disagreeing.” You shrug, downing another baby carrot.
A comfortable silence settles between the two of you.
“So what’s the plan?”
You blink, a lost expression blooming on your face. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t walk into this defenseless. Last time you went out with a dealer, you ended up wasting half of your semester in your room listening to sad music and smoking cheap weed.”
You huff. “First of all, Nicholas isn’t my dealer. He’s just a guy whom I happened to buy weed from once.” You put up a finger for emphasis. “Second of all, that guy was a serial-cheating asshole. He was more run through than a football field.”
“I hear most guys like that are. How do you know lover boy is any different?”
You sigh. “I forgot how synical you are of men. Makes this a lot less fun.”
The bored look in your eyes sends Chaewon into a fit of laughter. “Don’t get me wrong! I’m happy for you, I just want you to be careful.”
“I will be.” You lend her a soft smile. “Luckily, I don’t think Nicholas is like that.”
“I trust your judgement.” Chaewon nods, supportively, trying to match your energy a bit more now. “Worst case scenario, you can always tell if he’s a manwhore by the way he acts during sexy time.” She wiggles her eyebrows, picking up a vegetable and eating it.
It’s your turn to snort now. “What’re you talking about?”
“If he’s sincere, he’ll be nervous.” She speaks confidently with a mouth full of food.
“That’s not a real thing.” You roll your eyes.
“Sure it is. I live and die by that rule.” She makes prayer hands, looking up dramatically.
“That doesn’t make it true, Chae.” You tilt your head at her, unconvinced.
“Yeah, well, you calling him your husband doesn’t mean he’s gonna marry you.”
You grab the oven mitt she threw at you earlier and launch it at her across the table.
She ducks down quickly enough to dodge it. “Suddenly I’m having a change of heart.” She slowly inches back to her full height. “Should we rent a wedding dress for tomorrow or do you wanna keep it casual?” She jokes, making both of you giggle.
…
6:54 PM
You stare at the blue awning, rereading the words “Wang’s Washers” for the umteenth time. You’d been standing outside the laundromat for the past ten minutes, worrying if your punctuality is too chalant for a first-time hang-out.
It’s humid as ever. You’re able to survive the evening air with a maxi skirt and a tank top. The sun is still out, deceiving your sense of time. One more minute, then you’ll head inside.
As you scroll your phone mindlessly, awaiting the end of your one-minute prison sentence, you notice two girls around your age stumble out of the establishment. One of them has a hand over her mouth and eyes the size of golf balls. The other giggles and sputters, stuffing a small black pouch into her purse.
One of their feet knocks into a silver water dish meant for stray cats near the entrance. The metal clanks loudly against the girl's shoe, stealing your attention. Water splashes onto the pavement.
“Shit.” She mutters under her breath, still obviously reeling from whatever just happened inside the laundromat. She laughs breathlessly. “You did not prepare me for him to look like that.”
The other young lady tsks. “Now you understand why I’ve been gatekeeping him.” They both stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a few steps away from the front of the shop.
“That ship has sailed. He could barely keep his eyes off of me.” The friend retorts cockily.
“Yeah, right. Get in line.” The other scoffs, checking her appearance with her phone camera. “I heard from a friend that he’s packing more than a few grams if you know what I mean.” She pockets the device with a smug look.
“I think I’m more of a visual learner.” The other friend jokes, causing the pair to erupt with laughter as they walk down the road.
Well then. That conversation had a lot less to do with Ocean Breeze laundry detergent than you were expecting.
You stand with a dumbfounded expression, feet rooted to the concrete. They must’ve just come from talking to Nicholas. Chaewon’s warnings echo in your head as you glance into the distance.
No. You shake your head, determined not to be deterred. So what if girls talk about him? You push at the glass doors of the laundromat before you can talk yourself out of it again. It’s 7 o’clock on the dot now. You’re perfectly on time… Maybe too perfect.
Pushing the doubt aside, you walk to the front desk of the near-empty establishment. A couple is sitting on chairs in the corner, and an old man in the back is folding clothes. The roaring sound of rickety electronic fans and the low buzz of TV fill the space. When you notice there’s no one to greet you, you ring the bell atop the counter.
DING
You wait patiently, observing the details of the long-standing family business. It’s a little worn down, but it’s clean, and it smells really good. You can understand how Nicholas has managed to sell weed here undetected. It’s a tranquil business. The soap powder and damp clothing completely disguise the scent of the drugs he’s undoubtedly hiding in the back room.
As you busy your mind counting as many floor tiles as possible, a whiff of cologne hits your nose. Looking up, you lock eyes with the man of the hour.
The laundromat heir walks out of the backroom with a crossbody bag on his shoulder and his phone in his hand. He wears a black tee, distressed jeans, and an unfamiliar pair of glasses.
He slides his phone into his pants pocket, a smile overtaking his features when he sees you. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes softly observing your outfit. “Hi.”
“Hey,” your voice sounds more winded than you’d like. He looks good. You understand why the girls seemed to be up in arms about him earlier.
“You look pretty.”
“You too.” You reply, head empty. “I like the glasses.”
“Maki said you might.”
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day, I guess.”
Your comment goes unaddressed aside from his all-consuming gaze. He bites his lip, buffering momentarily. “Should we…?” He points at the door.
“Yeah,” you nod more than necessary, taking a step back from the furniture that divides you.
He walks from behind the counter, shouting something in Mandarin to his father, who you see walking out of the shop’s customer bathroom. The old man stretches his back, waving lazily at his son before wobbling off to sit and watch TV somewhere. They exchange a couple of words you don’t understand, but you try to follow along anyway.
All of a sudden, you feel a warm arm cascade over the length of your shoulders.
“Are you hungry?” Nicholas asks, his voice warm and fuzzy.
You glance between his eyes and his hand on your shoulder, face growing hot. “I could eat.” Your voice calm while a flurry of butterflies rage in your stomach.
“Good.” He drags you out of the establishment, holding the door open for you with his free hand. “There’s a place with really good dumplings around here. Do you like dim sum?”
The stale air hits you instantly. Does going out to eat mean this is a date? “I like dum sum.” Your brows crease as you overanalyze.
He laughs at your thoughtful expression. “Then I guess we’re getting dim sum.”
“I guess we are.”
“Stop copying me.”
“Or what?” You cock your head at him.
“Or I’m gonna force you to sit down and enjoy a meal with me.” He leans in, smugness written across his face.
“Oh no, I’m so scared.” You cover your mouth, feigning terror.
He laughs, looking away from you.
The two of you walk side by side. You decide to wrap an arm around his waist to avoid it awkwardly bumping into his side. You’re still shocked by how lean he is when your hand makes contact. It sends your mind back to the infamous shower incident, but you drop-kick the thought out of your head as quickly as humanly possible.
Neither of you stresses conversation. The occasional bird chirps, and passing car stereos fill the silence for you. It only takes you a few minutes to reach the restaurant; it's a quaint eatery decorated with bright reds and neutrals. There are a few patrons scattered about the space, mostly families, and a single diner or two.
Nicho enters before you, his arm finding its way back to his side, while yours does the same. As he steps in, a boyish host with sharp features and distinguished eyebrows approaches him. Nicho smirks, clapping their hands together in a handshake.
“Man, it’s been too long!” The host beams.
“And whose fault is that?” Nicholas jests.
“I guess we’ll never know.” The pair shares an amused knowing look that goes completely over your head. You stare at the exchange as if the answer will reveal itself through their silence. This brings the host’s attention to you. His thin lips form a genuine smile. “And to whom do I have the pleasure?” He delivers smoothly.
“This is Y/N.” Nicholas gestures at you, stationed passively behind him.
“Hi, I’m Xiaojun.” The striking individual extends a hand out for you to shake.
“Nice to meet you.” You slip your palm into his, smiling. His shake is absurdly delicate, like he’s holding a flower petal and doesn’t want to rip it off the stem.
“Alright, you two must be hungry.” Xiaojun claps loudly, retrieving his hand from your grasp. “Should I sit you guys near the bathroom, or are you potty-trained now, Nicholas?” His voice is so friendly, you almost miss the sarcasm. He grabs two menus off a shelf.
“Ignore him. We’ve been neighbors since I was 5, and he hasn’t matured since.” Nicholas covers his mouth as he whispers to you.
A little laugh makes its way past your glossed lips. You turn to Xiaojun. “I think we’ll take our chances.”
Xiaojun tsks. “She’s a betting woman. I like her.” He walks his way to a two-seater table near a front corner of the eatery. The table sits against the large glass storefront windows. He places the menus down with care.
You sit with your back to the entrance, effortlessly distracted by people walking by on the other side of the thick glass. The sun is starting to set.
The host hovers close to your sorta-date as he settles onto the slightly wobbly chair. Before Nicholas can address the weird looming presence, Xiaojun snickers, leaning to the boy’s seated height. “Heads up, these are shark-infested waters.” The boy’s thick brows draw together, a crease forming. “They’re both working tonight.”
You look behind your chair, inspecting the decorative potted plant for signs of a hidden camera, because there is no way this man just whispered that to your nonconfirmed-lover-boy. It would make more sense for you to be on a prank show.
You blink. Both? As in two separate… Sharks?
Nicholas grabs the host's shoulder with a tight-lipped smile. “Word from the wise, try not to use the word infested in a restaurant.”
Catching onto Nicholas’s effort to dance around his comment, Xiaojun retreats, briskly moving away to fetch the two of you some water.
You fall into a comfortable conversation with Nicholas, attempting to conceal the fact that you are constantly checking the horizon for any potential sharks. You talk about your days, both having worked for the better portions of the hours so far. Nicholas seems to be more comfortable than before; you feel your own shoulders relax every time he says something mildly dorky or smiles a little too unrestrainedly.
“Did you smoke before this?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. Your question cut him off, but it can’t be helped now.
Nicholas laughs, caught off guard. “No, why?”
You blow a raspberry with your lips thoughtlessly. Leaning an elbow on the table, you prop your head up on your hand. “I don’t know. I guess you look really relaxed.”
“Do I?” A smile materializes out of thin air. He leans in, resting an arm on the table. “Say more.”
That makes you chuckle. For some reason, you feel embarrassed. “I don’t wanna psychoanalyze you and make it weird.”
“It’s not weird if I ask you to do it.” His voice is deep, but soft, like he just woke up.
“Something about you feels like you’re on a beach drinking bottomless mimosas.” You wanted to throw in a comment about him looking like he has a stick up his ass on a semi-regular basis, but you keep that part to yourself.
He hums, sipping his glass of water. It’s ice cold, and you’re sure the condensation makes his hand wet. He wipes his palm on his jeans under the table.
“Do you come here often?” The question rolls off your tongue aimlessly.
“When I was younger, yeah. My parents are friends with the owners.”
“Maybe that’s why.” It’s your turn to sip water. The ice clinks around in your glass.
He scoffs humorously, gaze casting down at his clothed legs.
You lower the glass from your lips. “You know, like this place activates your inner child or something.” You over-elaborate. Why is he laughing? You look at the rosy tips of his ears, was it that amusing? You go back to drinking.
He shakes his head, looking up, but not quite meeting your eyes. “Right. Definitely not because I’m happy to spend time with the girl I’m interested in.”
That instantaneously sends the ice-cold liquid rushing down the wrong pipe. You cough into the glass of water. Now why the fuck would he say that so casually—
“Hi, are you two ready to order?” A waitress walks up to your table, pen and notepad in hand.
Nicholas, who was laughing his ass off a moment ago, turns to her. The humor slides off his cheekbones, a drastic shift in atmosphere occurs. “Uh, can we have another minute?”
The young lady taps her pen against the wad of paper in her hand. She’s glaring at him. Not the vilified ‘Gen-Z’ stare, no. She’s actually glaring, like he killed her pet dog.
You’re still wiping water from your chin as you watch the staredown unfold. Eager to confront her bloodlusty gaze, you prepare your most polite voice. “Um, excuse me—“
“Like an actual minute, or are you still a liar?” She snides at Nicho, not even sparing you a glance.
Well, that didn’t seem very professional. Who the fuck is she?
Nicholas tucks his lips, conjuring all of the patience in his being before replying: “Give us five then.”
“Kitchen closes soon.” She throws one final dig, then disappears back into whatever cave she crawled out of. Her lengthy ponytail sways as she walks away.
This must be the shark—or at least one of them. You turn back to Nicholas, who reads the menu expressionlessly. His resting bitch face is slowly reappearing.
“I’m guessing you guys know each other?” You say, lifting your own menu for the first time since you’ve sat down.
“Kind of.” Is all he offers. Secretly, he’s kicking himself for choosing to take you somewhere in his neighborhood.
Chaewon’s words hit you, again, like a chill up your spine. No, that's ridiculous. You hum to yourself, amused. Certainly, some middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a camera crew will be making an appearance before the end of your meal to let you in on the practical joke that must be taking place.
“What does kind of mean?” Your eyes remain glued to your menu.
“She’s Xiaojun’s sister.” He says casually.
You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. See, everything has a reasonable explanation. Looking back on it, the physical resemblance is definitely there. “Their energies sure are… different.”
Nicholas tuts, placing his menu back on the table. There wasn’t much need for him to look anyway; he’s been here a million times. “Don’t hold it against her. She just hates me specifically.” He stretches in his seat, arms lifting over his head.
“What’d you do? Break her favorite Barbie doll as a kid?” You give him a once-over.
He lets out a weak, dry laugh, picking his menu back up. He glances down at it. “What’re you getting?”
The menu is a dense and easily overwhelming. If you were left up to your own devices, you’re 1000% sure you’d need more than 5 minutes. “What do you recommend?”
He throws out a few suggestions. Eventually, you land on something that you’re sure you’ll like. Almost instantly after you’ve decided, Xiaojun’s sister approaches the table with the remnants of a scowl across her face and takes your orders. She leaves just as quickly as she had appeared.
“So…” Nicholas drums his fingers on the table quietly.
“So…” You mimic his tone of voice.
“How’d you meet Euijoo?” He fights the urge to roll his eyes at his lackluster question.
“We took the same class a couple of semesters ago. After that, we kept bumping into each other, and now he’s my second favorite party guest.” You nod as if to agree with yourself.
“Who’s the first?” Nicho tilts his head curiously.
For a second, you look at him as if her were stupid. That was your version of flirting. Unfortunately, the ball ended up so far away from the basket that it went flying over his head.
“What?” He asks innocently.
Mildly ashamed of the absolute air ball you just threw, you sip from your water.
Nicholas blinks. “Wait— Was it— Are you talking about me?” He says incredulously, leaning forward. “Am I supposed to be number 1?”
You nod in a barely noticeable way.
“Aw, that’s cute.” He coos.
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, placing your drink back down.
“So I’m your favorite party guest?” He pridefully salts the wound.
Huffing, you reply, “Not anymore.”
“But I avenged your broken vase.”
“After you rejected smoking with me.” You point an accusatory finger at him.
He rolls his eyes now. Sassy. “Yeah, after you stole from me.”
“I didn’t steal it. Your father gave it to me.” You slouch, a faint pout on your lips.
“And you kept it.” He pushes back, smugly.
You cross your arms. You’d rather hold your tongue than admit defeat.
Sure, some might say you stole it. And maybe that same some is right. Still, it’s not very nice to hear it out loud. His word held no bite, only a smooth, challenging flare. Thinking back on it, the entire situation was absurd.
Your brows knit together. “How’d that even happen anyway?”
Nicholas lost the point as he stared at your thoughtful pout. “How’d what happen?”
“There’s no way you keep your bud next to the actual laundry orders, is there?”
Nicholas laughs, somewhat embarrassed. It’s kind of stupid to admit it. “Well…”
Your jaw drops. “That’s insane. You’re a crazy person.”
“I swear I’ve never had a slip-up before.” He defends himself urgently.
“Shouldn’t you at least use different bags? Like one goes in paper bags, and the other goes in plastic.” The food arrives as you do your best to strategize a better system. It’s seeming hot, the smell fills your nose, and as if on command, your stomach growls.
“Someone’s hungry.” Nicho teases.
You glare at him wordlessly.
“Besides, it’d be really fucking weird if my dad picked up on me using different bags all of a sudden. It’d turn into a lecture about how plastic doesn’t grow on trees or something.” He shrugs, reaching for his chopsticks.
That part hadn’t crossed your mind. You hum in understanding. “I guess you’ve had a while to figure this out.”
He shakes his head, not quite agreeing, but also not distinctly disagreeing. “Only like 2 years.”
“What made you start selling?” You grab your own chopsticks now.
He peeks at you from the corner of his eye, growing a little weary of all the questions.
You retreat instantly, noticing how it sounded. “I promise I’m not a cop. I was just curious.” A hand atop your heart.
He eases. “My friend had a connection with a plug, and I really wanted to move out of my parents’ place. Living with them and working at the ‘mat was like hell.” He takes a bite.
You do the same. There wasn’t much to say. It’s easy to sympathize with his situation. You can’t imagine what you’d do if you had to be around your family 24/7.
“And now I live with children, so I guess the grass is always greener on the other side.” He cracks a smile, lightening the mood.
The meal carries on in small pockets of conversation. Some are light and humorous, and others are a bit more sentimental. Nicholas is easy to talk to. The way his eyes stare back at yours, the way his head nods, it all feels very tender. He takes active listening to a new level. A level that you’re not sure if you’ve experienced before. And it’s kind of… nice. Second by second, he managed to dismantle your cynicism until you found yourself talking more than usual without trying.
As customers trickle out the doors and onto the now dark sidewalks, you finally become aware of how long you’ve been sitting in the same place. Both plates are empty, and your water glasses have been refilled at least three times. It's like you're dancing around a game of chicken, waiting for one of you to choose what happens next.
Right now, you’re in a discussion about what made you choose to study English literature. You haven’t had this conversation in a while, and it makes your tongue feel abnormally heavy with uncertainty. Why did you choose this major again?
“I think…” You hum. “I think I was super interested in reading at first. I wanted to be well-read, but I didn’t really know where to start, so I decided to take a few courses. It kind of just stuck.”
Nicholas nods. Both of his elbows rest leisurely on the table, and his hands are clasped together. His silver rings glimmer in the warm restaurant lighting. “Do you still like it?”
The bulbs flicker occasionally as if personally asking you to go home. You stretch your legs under the table, the lack of movement has left you stiff. “I think so.” As you answer, your stretched foot knocks into Nicholas’, and you immediately draw your foot back to your side of the table.
He raises a brow at you.
“Sorry. That was an accident.”
He says nothing as his foot now hovers over your own. He lowers it, stepping square on your toes. It’s not firm enough to hurt, yet heavy enough to establish his presence.
You slip your foot from under his, but it’s no use. He steps on your covered toes again, a knowing smirk on his face.
You retreat once again.
Without blinking, he finds your foot and steps on it again.
“Are you really playing footsie with me right now?” Slight shock across your face.
“Oh, are those your feet under the table?” He points down, voice oozing sarcasm.
You kick the side of his shoe-clad foot. The contact makes a low thud sound; he must be wearing boots or something. You tut at him triumphantly, silencing him.
Before you get the chance to do a victory dance, he leans back in his chair. His legs move forward, bumping yours, as he sinks into the seat. With his newfound leverage, he cages your knees between his own.
Even when you try to break free, your thighs remain pinned together by his hold. You sigh with defeat. “Alright, let me go.”
He sits up a little. “What’s the magic word?”
“Please?” You attempt.
He shakes his head cutly. “Wrong.”
You huff, slumping into your chair. Your eyes move to the scraps on your plate. “Open-sesame-seeds.” You deadpan.
He snorts. “Funny, but no.”
“Okay, seriously. My knees are gonna rub together and start a fire.”
He shrugs, smirking.
“But I have to use the bathroom.” You pout.
“Then break free.”
With all your might, you push at his thighs hard, breaking free and knocking both of your legs into the stem of the table in the process. Your nearly empty water glasses tremble, and your chopsticks roll off the table.
The plastic sticks bounce across the tile noisily, conjuring Xiaojun’s attention. He jumps from his hunched-over, half-sleep state and jogs to pick up the used kitchen utensils that have somehow made it over a yard away. He looks around for the culprit as if you and Nicholas aren’t the only two people still there.
You stand, embarrassed. “We’re gonna fight before the night is over.” You point two fingers at your eyes, then at his. It’s not very threatening.
He barely catches the threat; he’s too busy laughing. “Smoke, the magic word was smoke.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?”
“I'm sorry. I didn’t realize you were gonna hulk smash the fucking table.” Nicholas wipes away tears. “I was gonna use it to transition into me offering to smoke you out.”
Xiaojun taps your shoulder from behind before you can respond. “I think you dropped this.”
You turn and glare at him.
“Or maybe you threw it across the floor on purpose…” The employee backtracks nervously.
“I think we’ll take the check,” Nicholas interjects.
Xiaojun scoffs, looking down at his friend. “No shit, Sherlock. We close in like 10 minutes.”
“Where’s your restroom?” You butt in.
“Straight back there.” Nicholas and Xiaojun answer unanimously, pointing in the same direction. Xiaojun instantly looks at his friend, annoyed.
“Why would you answer? I’m the one who works here.” He narrows his eyes at the boy.
You decide to take the help and go. They’ll figure it out themselves.
“She’s my date, why wouldn’t I answer?” Nicholas speaks as if Xiaojun is stupid.
Your footsteps stutter. Oh. So this is a date… You all but skip to the bathroom with a newfound sense of enthusiasm. After all, your date is waiting for you.
As you’re about to exit the bathroom stall to wash your hands, you hear a small knock. You open the door to find a small girl in thick glasses and pigtails staring at you with a familiar set of dark, distrustful eyes. She can’t be any older than 10.
She stands right outside your stall door, blocking your path to the sink.
“Oh, hi there.” You smile regardless of her scowl. She’s just a child after all. Maybe she can’t see well.
She remains, silent and stiff as a rock.
Okay then. You squeeze past her and make your way to the sink. You look down to turn on the faucet. When you look back up, you see the same little girl glaring at you in the reflection of the mirror. You jump, shocked. You laugh to yourself, attempting to shake off the nerves.
You go back to washing your hands. “Can I help you with something?”
She doesn’t say anything, and it’s genuinely starting to freak you out. Finally, as you move to dry your hands with a paper towel, she speaks up:
“Stay away from Nicholas.” She says it like a threat.
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She barks in her squeaky voice. Like a wild chiquaqua.
You’re not very interested in arguing with someone else's child, but you can’t just stand there and be berated either. “Listen, little missy—“
“He likes a lot of girls all the time. You’re not special,” She sasses ineloquently, like she’s sharing gossip with her friends at the lunch table.
You’re a bit speechless. What are you even supposed to say to that? You lend the girl an awkward smile before you toss your paper towel into the bin and shuffle out of the bathroom.
Nicholas stands by the front door, chatting casually with Xiaojun. He has your purse on his shoulder and a mint in his mouth.
You approach the men werrily.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Nicholas’s attention lands on you, eyes filled with concern.
Yeah, the ghost of Nicho’s past. You shake your head, feigning nonchalance.
“Do you want to go home? I can call you a cab—“
“No, no, it’s fine.” You will not let an Anabelle doll dictate the end of your night. “You said you wanted to smoke me out, remember?” You push at his shoulder playfully.
He looks at you skeptically. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, the night is still young.” You attempt to perk yourself up.
The host claps. “Well, I hope you two love birds enjoy the rest of your night because I’m ready to close up and go home.”
At that, the two of you walk into the humid night air. Nicholas calls a cab, even though his place is in the neighborhood. You offer to walk, but he insists since the sun has already set. The time you spend in the cab, walking up the four flights of stairs to his apartment, taking off your shoes at his front door, and sneaking into his bedroom passes like a flash. Your mind is busy running a relay race through an obstacle course of thought.
“Do you wanna just smoke my pen?” Nicho stands at his dresser, expectantly waiting. He removes his glasses and places them atop the large piece of furniture.
You blink back into reality, leaning against his desk. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
He opens his drawer and pulls out the pen that the two of you shared yesterday. He saunters over to you, taking a pull. The smoke blows up and over your head. “What’s on your mind?”
You shake your head dismissively. “I’m just tired.”
“You can sit on my bed if you want.” He takes another drag and passes the pen to you.
“I’m okay right now.” You breathe in the thick smoke, feeling the weight mingle with the air in your lungs. You exhale, fanning away the haze. Your eyes travel through his room, noticing the ring collection on his nightstand and the 2 clothing racks pushed against his wall. “Your room is like a department store.”
He rubs the back of his neck, walking over to his bed to sit. “I’m really into fashion.”
“Is that what you want to do long term?” You take another pull.
He smiles shyly. “I’m in school for it.”
You cough at the unanticipated response. How hadn’t you asked him about school yet? “Jeez, I’m horrible. I didn’t even know you were in school.” You face palm.
“I didn’t bring it up.” He shrugs, taking the pen from your outstretched hand. He hits it immediately.
That does nothing to stop the guilt in your stomach. “I should’ve asked.”
“You can still ask me now.” He says, amused.
You remove your hand from your face, sighing.
He takes another drag, once again blowing the smoke up and away. “I’m waiting.”
“Hey Nicholas, what do you study?” You play along, voice innocent and enthusiastic.
“Thank you for asking, Y/N. I actually study fashion design.” A satisfied look on his face. He leans back onto the palms of his hands. He passes you back the pen.
You hum at his cute, bubbly way of speaking. “It’s crazy how your life kind of revolves around clothes.”
He blinks, caught off guard. “I never thought about it that way.” His eyes were momentarily more alert. He looks at you like he has more to say, but nothing comes out.
“Do you actually know how to make clothes and everything?” You blow smoke away from him.
He laughs, relaxing again. “That’s like asking a literature major if they know how to read.”
“I don’t see a sewing machine.” You shrug, unconvinced. On your next hit, you start to feel a comfortable weightless sensation like your body was transforming from a bag of rocks to a bowl of jello. With your jello-like hand, you pass the pen back to its owner.
He takes it, smoking leisurely. “It’s big as shit, so I keep it in my closet.”
“Proof or it didn’t happen.” You smirk.
“Another time, I’m too lazy to move right now.” A new pink hue is in his eyes as he looks up at you.
An idea strikes you, and your progressively droopy eyes double in size. “Or you can make me something.” You bat your lashes at him.
He leans back a bit further onto his hands. A careless smile on his lips. “What do you want?”
“Really?” You gasp, placing a hand over your heart. “You’d actually make me something?”
“Yeah, why not?” He jeopardizes his comfortable position to hand over the vaporizer.
“I was half joking when I said it.” You deadpan, hands slowly dragging the device to your mouth.
“Well, I’m being serious, so what do you want?”
“You can just make me like a scarf or something.” You raise and drop a shoulder indecisively as you take another pull.
He laughs, his head falling backwards. “It’s the middle of summer. What’re you gonna do with a scarf?”
“I don’t want to stress you out with something complicated.”
“You picking something lame like a scarf is stressing me out, actually.” He looks at you, his head still thrown back a bit. His eyelids are lower than before. “It has to be something you’d wear.”
You take a long pull, blowing the smoke up like Nicholas had been. “Do you have anything in mind?”
He looks at you for a long moment. His eyes scan the entirety of your figure shamelessly like he’s wearing black-out sunglasses.
You shift self-consciously, taking another hit just so you have something to do with your hands. The nerves force a cough from your lips as you exhale. You didn’t realize the colors in his room were so vibrant.
“Do you like long skirts like that?” He cuts through your thoughts, eyes glued to the flowy material of your maxi skirt.
“Wouldn’t be wearing it if I didn’t.”
“I can make you something like that.”
“That’s way too much. I can’t ask that of you.”
He huffs humorously. “You didn’t ask, I offered.” His gaze heavy and sincere. “Can I get a closer look at it?”
You hold the pen in your sweaty palm, nodding. The floor boards feel cool on your socked feet as you stalk toward the boy. You stand between his widely spread legs. It feels like the ground is vibrating as you watch him observe your lengthy garment.
He sits up straighter and pinches the loose fabric between his fingers. “Can I have the pen?” He looks up at you momentarily, his unoccupied hand facing palm side up.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” You mutter, placing the device in his palm.
He breathes in from it right away, smoke flooding out through his nose soon after. His other hand messes with the fabric brainlessly for a while longer. “I think I can do this.” He nods to himself.
“Cool,” is all you can manage.
He takes another hit, then extends the pen toward you. “Do you want more?”
“I’m good right now.” With the way you’re barely hanging onto your sanity, you think it’s in your best interest to decline.
The device lights up as he takes one last drag before tossing the stick behind him onto his bed. He blows down and to the side since you’re in front of him now. He bites his lip, eyes glancing from you to a random object in his room. He busies his mind with a question. “Do you have a time you need to be home?”
“I’m not in a rush.” You sway from side to side aimlessly.
“Then do you want to sit down? I feel weird being the only one sitting.” He lets out a timid laugh.
“I feel like I’ll sink right through the mattress if I sit down now.” You laugh.
A larger chuckle escapes him at that. “Are you high yet?”
“I’m definatetly not not high.”
“Me too.” He leans back onto his palms, smiling. “This cart’s pretty strong, sorry. I probably should’ve said something.”
You shrug, not bothered enough to respond with words.
He smirks up at you. “Don’t worry, I’m a good trip sitter. I won’t even mention the monster under the bed.”
For a second, your brain considers the possibility of a real life monster sleeping under Nicholas’ bed feeding on dust bunnies and lost socks. The thought quickly shifts into one of vague amusement. You push his shoulder. “You’re an asshole.”
He doesn’t say anything. Not even a slight reaction crosses his face.
Why is he silent, like there actually is a monster under the bed?
You shudder, looking down at the floor. “Oh my god, you really are an asshole. Now I feel weird about having my feet on the floor.” You huff, shoving his shoulder a little rougher and climbing into his lap without thinking. You bunch up your skirt and straddle his legs, covering your eyes with a hand.
Nicholas snorts, bringing a contradictory hand to your back to rub soothing circles. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. There’s no monster.” He wasn’t expecting the joke to lead to this. Normally, he’d probably be as rigid as a steel bar, but the haze of the weed calms his nerves.
“Sure, there’s no monster, but now I feel like a bug's gonna crawl from under there or something.” You lean your head on his shoulder.
Nicholas laughs even harder at this, his hand still running up and down your back.
His laughter makes you laugh. “It’s not fucking funny.” You say literally while laughing. You shove his shoulder hard, and from this new position, it completely knocks him back onto the bed. Watching him flop, shock written across his face, turns your laughter into a silent wheeze.
He throws an arm over his eyes. What you don’t realize is that your laughter is traveling through your entire body and onto his body in an extremely vulnerable spot. He peeks up at you and that was single-handedly his worst decision so far. He either needs you to stop laughing or he needs to disassociate. Whatever it is, it needs to happen now or your seat is going to become a lot less comfortable.
His body feels warm underneath yours. It’s surprisingly grounding. Your laughter finally simmers as you become aware of the fact that you are sitting on top of your date in his bedroom. You blink at him, noticing his red ear and neck. “Are you warm? Am I like smothering you?” You ask, concerned.
“I’m good.” His voice is tight. At least you stopped laughing.
“What now, Mr. Trip-Sitter?”
“We could watch a movie or something.”
You stare at the man sprawled beneath you with hooded eyes. Placing a hand on his abdomen, you come to the realization that you don’t want to watch a movie. You don’t know if you really want to talk, either. And you definately don’t want another damn kiss on the cheek. You want to—
“What?” His voice is small, his eyes now uncovered and looking straight at you.
“Hmm?” You blink, dazed.
“You’re staring.” He explains, voice low and gravely.
“I am?”
“You are.” He places his hands loosely on your hips, messing with the material of your skirt.
You lean forward, closing in on the gap between your face and his.
His hold on your hips is firmer from anticipation. He looks at your lips, licking his own.
Suddenly, the odd events of the night and your roommate’s haunting advice come crashing down on you, causing your back to straighten. You squint down at him, the whirlwind of thoughts in your head making you sensitive to the low light in the room. “What’s going on here?”
He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t seem nervous at all.” You say accusatorily, like it's a bad thing.
He’s completely lost now. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Good guys are supposed to get nervous.” You say without thinking.
He sits up, confusion and slight offense written across his face. “Good guys— Nervous about what—”
You sigh, panicking. “Fuck. The little girl said you were no good.” You cover your face with your hands. It's hard to say where this overwhelming onslaught of emotions came from, but they’re definitely punching you in the gut right now.
“Little girl?” He speaks with disbelief.
“Stop repeating everything I say.”
“I’m confused.“He grabs your wrists, dragging your hands away from your face. “Are you okay? Are you having a bad reaction to the weed?” You’re scaring him now. He brings your wrists down to your sides, then leans back to rest on his palms again.
You look at him with earnest, red eyes. “The little girl at the restaurant told me to stay away from you.”
“What girl? Are you talking about the waitress?”
“No.” You huff. “There was a little girl, like 10 years old, with pigtails in the bathroom.”
“Pigtails…” He mumbles to himself, trying to jog his own memory. “Jun’s sister?”
“No I said she was 10—“
“Xiaojun has 2 sisters.” The crease between his brows finally dissolves. “One’s in elementary school.”
“Why do both of them hate your fucking guts?”
Nicholas avoids your gaze at that question.
“Okay, I’m getting off of you no—“ You bunch up your skirt, preparing to stand, but he grabs your wrist yet again.
“Wait- Jun set me up on a few dates with Liya, the waitress, and it didn’t work out.” He blurts quickly, determined to get you to stay. “I guess she made a smear campaign against me to her little sister.”
“She also said that you’re a womanizer.” You poke a finger at his chest.
“The 8-year-old said that?” He raises a brow at you.
You narrow your eyes at him. “She said you like a lot of girls.”
Nicholas sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’m around a lot of girls. I’m studying fashion design, the classes are dominated by feminine energy. That doesn’t mean I like them.” His tone makes it seem like this isn’t the first time he’s heard this misconception.
You hadn’t thought of that before. Maybe it would’ve been better to just ask earlier. Still, one thing weighs heavily on your heart. “Well, why aren’t you nervous to touch me?” You say almost in a whisper, looking away from the boy beneath you.
“Nervous? Why do you keep talking about being nervous? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“My roommate said if a boy is sincere, he’ll be nervous to touch you.” You mumble.
He pauses at how timid you sound. “I mean, I guess I’m a little on edge, but I’m just happy to be near you.” He glances around the room, searching for his words. “I already know how I feel about you. There’s no point in me worrying about whether or not you’ll reject me because that’s up to you. I’ll just have to deal with whatever that choice is.”
You don’t say anything. The two of you stare at each other solemnly, feeling the weight of his words.
Playfulness flashes across his features. “Honestly, I don’t think I felt nervous until you a few minutes ago when you started talking about random little girls.”
You laugh at that, and Nicho smiles.
He calls your name. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.” You chew your bottom lip anxiously.
He moves your hand from your side to the center of his chest. He covers your hand with his own, the rings cold against your skin. You can feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt.
“Your heart's beating really fast.” You speak lowly, afraid to disrupt the fragility of the moment.
“Yeah, you scared me sober.” He laughs.
And you do too. Slowly, his heart rate settles into the pace of a slow song. You keep your hand pressed against him the entire time; it calms your nerves just as much as his. You hadn’t realized how miraculous the heart could be. Silence isn’t really silence as long as you’re alive. There’s always a drum in the background. It’s peaceful.
Your head falls forward onto his shoulder.
“Are we okay now?” Nicholas squeezes your hand.
“We’re okay,” you sigh, slipping your hand away from his chest. You reach for the abandoned weed pen on Nicho’s comforter. “I owe you a high.” You take a long pull, then lean in until your lips faintly brush against his. You can hear him gulp.
You tilt your head, eyes eternally locked on his, and exhale into his mouth.
He sucks up the smoke without hesitation, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The smoke drifts out of his nose.
You press your lips flush to his, then pull away. He tastes like the mint he was eating back at the dim sum place.
“Okay, now I’m nervous.”
You snicker, placing a hand over his heart once again. It’s beating a little faster than normal, but still steady. Your eyes travel from your hand on his chest to his lips and you feel a stutter in the stable rhythm. You brush the tip of your nose against his affectionately. “We can just stay like this for a while if you want.” You say pulling away from him.
He blinks. He doesn’t want to do that. He scans your face, taking in how relaxed and content you seem. This must’ve been how he looked to you at the restaurant. You glow under the warm light of his bedside lamp.
You take a small hit from the pen as you wait for him to say something.
He reaches for the device near your lips and brings it to his own. Pulling the smoke into his lungs, he blows the haze out to the side. He places the pen down on his mattress. Without warning, he draws you closer by your hips and connects your lips in a slow, languid kiss. Your hand is smushed between your chests as your bodies press together, the kiss deepening.
Yeah… You hope Chaewon doesn’t wait up.
…
2:18 AM
You stand in the kitchen sipping from a glass of water like a wild animal. One of Nicho’s t-shirts clings to your frame and your hair points toward the sky as you chug the refreshing liquid. You look like a hot mess, but you couldn't feel bothered enough to care. Suddenly, you hear the floorboard creek.
Harua stands in the hallway, staring at you with his famous bored expression.
You freeze, cup still tilted 90 degrees in front of your face. Maybe if you stay completely still he’ll think it's a dream.
A gradual smile overtakes his sweet features. For the first time, he looks genuinely happy. “Congrats.” He says sweetly.
“Thanks,” you reply with the cup still up to your face. Your voice echos in the plastic cylinder.
He turns to leave you to your revenous conquest of their water supply when something pops into his head. “When you guys wake up, tell Nicho it’s his day to do the dishes.” At that, he walks back to his room down the hall.
Synopsis: Jake's been one of the most powerful beings in the world for centuries. He's not looking for excitement anymore. He just wants a simple life. And he's finally found it in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Then you walk in, setting his normalcy on fire.
Themes: Small town au, aged up (mid-late 20s), slight soulmates/ reincarnation au, angst!, fluff, Vamp Enha, blood + gore/ violence!, reader's menstruation, suggestive content, obsession, dub con!/ assault (brief + not Jake!), drinking/ alcohol!, house party, worklife, hurt/ comfort, death, lots of jealousy, general dark themes & moral grey-ness
A/N: I can't believe I made it longer lmao?? Anyway, I'm extremely proud of this, and I hope you guys enjoy! Sending love & hugs since it's kinda dark. Read warnings^^
Ft. Reader x Taesan (BoyNextDoor), Jungwon (Enhypen), Heeseung (Enhypen), a few OCs, slight Sungho (BoyNextDoor) & Leehan (BoyNextDoor)
Blue twilight mists the crisp fall air. The sky hasn’t fully awakened yet, so dim streetlamps litter the asphalt with pockets of yellow. A gust of wind blows a few dead leaves off a tree as Jake makes his way down the aisle of parked cars and striped lines.
He tosses a set of keys in his hand, a coffin keychain jingling against the metal. Ahead of him stands a car dealership, the only one in the area. This is Jake’s playground.
He whistles a tune as he unlocks the door, his shoes clicking against the shiny tile floor. As he makes his way past BMWs and high-end sedans to his office, he’s greeted by a wall adorned with his framed portrait 10 times over. A moderately different tie in one, shorter bangs in another, but all him nonetheless. Always with his same sharp smile, canines on full display, like he likes it.
Jake has been casting away in this small countryside town for a little over a year, been working here for almost 11 months. His life has become pleasantly predictable. In this town, there are all but 3 supermarkets, 2 public schools, and 1 county jail. Cloudy weather and quiet streets are constant. By 9 PM on a Monday, the majority are tucked away at home.
This level of mundane is the type of normal Jake dreamed of when he was with his old coven. When he was still trying to manage the veil of his demons. When his desire felt unquenchable.
Now, he’s satisfied doing what he does best. What better job for a mind controling vampire than a salesman?
He taps on the wall of pictures before entering his windowless office, watching the rising sun in the reflection of the glass. It was going to be another beautiful day.
Paperwork decorates Jake’s wooden desk. A pen cap in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind his ear. He flips through the pages, crossing out old numeric values and adding new ones. Then, a knock on the door.
“It’s open.” His voice was hoarse from sitting in silence.
A co-worker steps into the office, shutting the door behind himself. “You look busy.”
“Business is busy.” Jake places the cap on his pen and drops it on his desk. “What brings you to my office, Taesan?” He sits up, putting on a more friendly tone. Jake always prided himself on being a down-to-earth manager. After all, the job wasn’t serious enough for him to want to exert any sort of real discipline.
The tall man leans against a white wall, sipping leisurely from his cup of lukewarm coffee. “A couple of us are heading out for lunch. Was wondering if you wanted to join?”
Jake smirks, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think I’m going to say?”
The younger man sighs, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “One of these days you’re gonna get sick of turning us down.”
“One of these days you’re going to learn how to prep a meal in advance.”
They both turn to face the mini fridge and microwave in the corner of Jake’s office. The microwave was just for show, he never actually uses it. Taesan’s eyes linger on the gold lock on the side of the refrigerator, holding the doors shut.
“A lock’s a bit excessive, no?” The younger one tilts his head, almost teasing.
Jake shrugs, a neutral smile on his face. “I don’t like when people touch my food.”
“Whatever puts your mind at ease.” Taesan reaches for the doorknob.
Jake can hear Taesan’s judging thoughts, but he’s pleased by the boy’s lack of curiosity. That’s one of the things he loved about being out here: people rarely ask questions.
He opens the door, suddenly stopping and turning back. “It’s a pretty slow day. Do you want us to leave anyone on the show floor?” Please say no, he thinks.
“It’s fine, I’ll handle it—” What is that smell? Jake freezes entirely, the last syllable still hanging off his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut, lightheaded.
“You okay, boss?” Taesan bends down, trying to find the man’s line of sight.
Jake attempts to respond, but all he can manage is a low stutter. His brows knit together, and his palm digs into his forehead in search of relief. What the fuck is happening? He snaps his eyes open, staring ahead until the two blurry Taesans merge into one clear co-worker.
“Jake? Sir?” Taesan shuts the door, unsure of what to do. “Is everything alright?”
The debilitating smell fades with the door closed. Jake blinks, quickly trying to reorient himself.“Sorry, migraine… I think.”
“Do you need some water or—“
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jake’s voice is stern. “You guys can get out of here, enjoy your lunch break.” He smiles without looking up.
Taesan looks about the room, visibly concerned. “But-“
“Go.” Jake’s irises flash a deep crimson red. Without hesitation, Taesan robotically turns and grabs the doorknob. His shoulders are high and his eyes unblinking as he does so. He exits, closing the door behind himself, like a mindless puppet. That same scent creeping in for the split second the door was ajar.
Jake hates using his gift of coercion on his co-workers. He finds it awkward, the way their memories blur and gap at the moment of command. It’s a tricky phenomenon to explain. Regardless, Jake needed to be alone immediately.
Wandering toward the office door, Jake whiffs the remnants of the smell. He listens as his co-workers noisily make their way out of the dealership.
In the months that he’d been here, he’s never found himself particularly triggered by anything. All the blood here was the same because all the people here were the same. Jake’s been around for centuries; he wasn’t chasing excitement anymore.
He stands behind the door, cracking it a sliver open to get one more hint of the odor. Yup.
A cough rips through his throat. He’s not a fledgling; he can handle a little sweetness. This is blood, and syrup, and smoke. It smells like a delicacy he hasn’t tasted in over a hundred years.
What many failed to realize about his kind is that they aren’t all bound by darkness. Jake is one of the seven known daywalking vampires left in the world. He’s not confined by the sun, sickness, or death itself, so there was no way he could let a smell confine him to his office.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The parking lot full of options instantly overwhelms you. There are more cars in and around this dealership than there are people in this damned town. You find yourself window shopping as you journey down the concrete aisle toward the entrance. When you finally make it, you notice a sign on the door: “Out for Lunch”
You have to be joking. There is no way you’re turning around now. If you had to drag yourself outside during your period, you were going to make the trip at least somewhat useful.
“Hello?” You knock on the glass experimentally. In the shadowy distance, you see what looks like a man. Blocking the sun from your eyes, you lean into the glass.
“Excuse me?” You tap the glass again. “Are you open? Seems like you might be the only one not out eating.” You force a laugh, trying to sound friendly.
That’s one of the things you hate about this town, all the fake fucking laughing. Everyone’s always feigning an amicable attitude, forcing smiles and pretending to be polite. Like one big theatrical performance. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way you can get anything done properly around here, so you do it too.
Don’t tap the glass. The thought travels through your mind like a foreign agent. You straighten, taking an involuntary step back. Both hands return to your sides stiffly, and it runs your blood cold. Maybe you don’t need to buy a new car today.
Jake uses your distraction to disappear into his office. He feels weak, like his knees could buckle if he stood there any longer. He shuts the door behind himself, instantly reaching for a bottle of peppermint oil he keeps in his desk drawer. He keeps it on hand to mask the smell of unexpected killings and other everyday odors.
He can’t believe he smelled you from the parking lot. That is not normal. Sure, vampires can be sensitive, but he’s worked hard to suppress his senses. Jake hates losing control, it makes a dull rage simmer from within his bones. He douces his hands in the fragrant oil and rubs it over his hair, neck, and hands, hoping it’ll mask the scent of the customer, you.
Before he even steps outside his office, he can feel that you’re leaving. It’s like he can hear your footsteps on the pavement. Conflict rushes through him as he steps back onto the showfloor to see that you did indeed turn around.
You’re really just going to leave? He huffs, frustrated by the questions mixing in his head. The least you can do after nearly giving him a panic attack is buy a car, so he can get the commission.
You were going to try and catch a bus home. That was the updated plan. Your feet falter as you walk away from the dealership’s shiny windows. Then comes the ring of a wind chime.
“Can I help you?” The employee shouts from the entrance. His head barely peeks out.
You pivot to get a better look at him. He looks pale under the cloudy sky. “I’m looking to buy a car. Can you help with that?”
He doesn’t say anything, he just scrunches his nose and opens the door further.
You saunter back to the entrance, a strong smell of peppermint filling your nostrils. You stare at the man skeptically as he lends you a similar distrusting gaze.
“Almost thought you guys were closed.” You watch as the man’s body takes up most of the doorframe.
“We’re not.”
You nod. Yeah, that much is obvious at this point. “Can I come in?” You point past him to the empty show floor.
Jake isn’t entirely convinced you’re not some evil, vampire-adjacent creature sent to disturb his peace. He can’t bring himself to formally invite you in. “Do what suits you.” He looks you up and down, stepping away as your hand reaches for the door.
Rude. You catch the door before it can fully close and walk in. It’s spacious, and the cars are all polished enough to see your reflection in the hood.
Jake lets you wander, grateful for the distance. He mulls over the familiar scent. Being a vampire exempts him from death, but standing in the same room as you feels like he’s suffering in purgatory. Between a memory and the present. Maybe he could just have one little taste—
He loosens his tie with a sigh. Taesan needs to hurry up.
The employee of the month wall catches your attention. An eerie feeling lingers as the worker’s photographed eyes follow you around the room. You swipe a finger across the hood of a Chevrolet. “Today must be my lucky day.” You try to cut the tension.
The employee hums, jaw tense. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re the guy in the pictures, aren’t you?” You point to the wall of accolades. “I don’t have much of a knack for cars, and apparently, you’re really good at your job.” You force another smile that goes unreciprocated.
He says nothing, his eyes narrow and blank.
“I’m looking for a mid-size Sedan.” You continue.
“Budget?” His voice is dry.
“It’s flexible, my job sponsors it.” You pause. “I don’t want anything fancy, though. Just something to get me around.”
From a fair distance, he points to a car a few paces to the right. “Consider the Accord.”
You walk to the vehicle, circling it like a vulture. After a moment, your eyes land back on him expectantly. “Is that all you’re going to say about the car? That doesn’t seem very employee-of-the-month of you.”
Jake blinks, caught off guard. “You said you don’t know about cars…”
“I still wanna know how it handles, I have to drive it after all.”
“The Honda Accord is top of its class. It’s practical and efficient. Very user-friendly, no one’s ever disappointed by it.” Jake grows lightheaded as he explains, the words jumbling out of his mouth oddly fast.
You sigh, a bit unimpressed. The weight of the decision feels too big for his practiced blurb.
“You’re welcome to take it for a test drive,” Jake says from a measurable distance.
“That’d be great, actually. Can we go now?” You turn to face him, beaming as if he read your mind. Unknowingly, he might’ve.
He takes a step forward, but the aroma proves to be too much. He is not going to be able to survive being in a car with you. He adjusts his tie, stepping back. “The rest of our staff should be returning soon. One of them is sure to help you.”
“Oh.” You linger awkwardly in the quiet room.
“Feel free to look around for now.” Jake smiles tensely before excusing himself to his office.
Once he’s in the office, he slides down the closed door, burying his head between his knees. Sweat collects on his forehead as he pants like a dog. His gums swell from the instinctual sharpening of his fangs. Your smell has drained his stomach of any satisfaction. He tilts his head back, eyebrows strained in pain. He needs to eat something.
He stands on shaky legs and makes his way to the minifridge, drawing keys from his pocket. He twists open the golden lock from earlier. Inside the fridge lie stacks of pint-sized blood bags. Jake reaches for one, smells it, then puts it back. Too bitter.
He reaches for another. This one has a smell almost sweet enough to rival yours, but it’s sour. He sighs, this’ll have to do. Usually, he’d drink from the tube, but the urge to bite takes over. He pierces the bag with his fangs, slumping against the wall as he does so. The haze in his brain starts to clear.
Jake isn’t a non-violent vampire, but he’s definitely pro-convenience. Blood bags are portable, and you don’t have to worry about any cleanup. Regardless, Jake knows what he is, and he knows death is a part of the deal. When his hunger calls for it, he shuts his brain off and keeps his eyes low.
Right now, he can’t do that because he’s at work and you’re a customer and he still has too many fucking thoughts swirling in his head. Why is your smell so… distracting?
When the bag is empty, he licks at it, determined to get every last drop. With the aroma in the air, it almost feels like he’s tasting you instead of an anonymous hospital visitor. This’ll have to do, he repeats to himself.
On the other side of the wall, you busy yourself with your phone as you try to ignore your cramps. You’ve recently picked up Pokémon Go again because there’s nothing else to do in this dead-end area. There’s a Gulpin a few blocks away, but you already have a couple of those. All that’s left is to stare into the parking lot and wait.
Behind you, a door clicks. The employee of the month is back.
“Are you from around here?” Jake clears his throat. He’s planted a yard or two away from you.
“Um, no.” You stuff your phone into your bag. “I’m not.” When you face him, he seems less pale than before.
Jake hums, looking off into space. “Didn’t think so.”
You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m also from out of town.” That’s all he says.
You nod, you suppose an outsider would recognize a fellow outsider. You tilt your head at him, suddenly paying more attention. He has a handsome face. “There aren’t too many of us around here. Your name’s Jake, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“The wall.” You point. There's a plaque with his name on it under every photo. You’d be an idiot not to catch on.
“Right.” He mumbles.
A moment of silence passes.
“Are you sure you can’t take me on that drive yourself? Today’s my day off, and I’d kind of prefer not to spend it wasting away at a car dealership.”
Jake laughs, like a real laugh. You didn’t realize you said anything funny. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Even on a full stomach, he has to practically cement himself to the floor to be around you.
“Well, is there somewhere I can sit, maybe?” You shift in place, awkwardly.
“Uh,“ Jake starts, but is quickly cut off by the sound of a wind chime.
Taesan and a gang of others pile in. Your eyes follow the noise.
“I’m just saying, if you want a family, a sports car is useless. And I, for one, want a family someday.” A mild-mannered employee carries on calmly.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sungho. A car like that is supposed to be for the driver. I can’t spend the rest of my life in a minivan.” A tall gentleman adds.
“Guys,” they all look up at the sound of Jake’s voice. It’s quiet, but sharp. “We have a customer.”
Taesan raises a brow as Jake adjusts his tie for the umteenth time. The group of men all turn to face you at the same time, like a school of fish.
“She’s interested in the Accord. Can one of you take her on a test drive? I have a few things to take care of.” Things being: getting as far away from you as possible and planning his next meal. He thinks he’ll hunt by a bar, he needs to feel drunk tonight.
Taesan steps forward, meeting your eye with a delicate smile. “Hi, sorry for the wait. I can help you with that test drive if you’re still interested.”
You soften, thankful for the warmth in his tone. He seems more like an employee of the month than Jake. “That’d be great, thank you.”
“Leehan, grab the keys for spot 33.” Taesan turns to the tall man infatuated by luxury cars. “I’m Taesan by the way,” He faces you with an outstretched hand.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Late that night, Jake drives to his home near the edge of town. The blood of a drunken bastard drips from the corner of his mouth, giving him a nice buzz. When it’s dark like this, he rarely cares to clean himself. Who would he be doing it for? It’s past 10 pm, everyone’s already tucked in bed.
As he rolls down the desolate road, street lamps flickering occasionally, he gets hit by that scent again. His foot switches to the brake immediately, like there’s a deer in the lane. What— Why is this happening? He glances around, chest heaving.
This neighborhood is empty, that’s why he picked it. There are 4 scattered families, 2 empty houses, and a park down the road. He watches as a car drives past him in the opposite direction, the smell lingering after the taillights are no longer visible.
His head spins, and his fangs throb uncontrollably. He licks at the blood drying on his bottom lip, then turns into his driveway with a hand over his nose. He needs to get inside now.
As he exits his car, using his hand as a mask, he notices a house across the street with all of its lights on. Every window is flooding that ugly fluorescent color. He tsks, reaching for his house keys. Humans are so wasteful.
He glares at the house one last time while he opens the front door. There aren’t any curtains, so he can see straight inside. He blinks as a figure walks past a window wearing something familiar. For the first time in at least 50 years, Jake feels his heart sink. He didn’t even know that could still happen.
Across the street, protected by glass and cheap drywall, stands you holding a large brown box with the word ‘kitchen’ written on it. You shiver, nearly dropping the box. Someone’s watching you.
He slams the door shut as you turn toward him. This was supposed to be his safe space. Somewhere, he could act normal. Somewhere, he could forget about everything. Dizziness surrounds him. He can’t go on like this. It’s decided: he needs to drain you.
He went to his blacked-out bedroom in the windowless basement of his house. With gray walls and minimal decoration, there was only a lamp to help him move around. Still, the room felt overstimulating, knowing you were next door.
The thing about Jake is that he rarely gets tired. He can be quite lethargic at times, but he wouldn’t quite categorize it as exhaustion. Most of the daywalkers he knows can go without rest for days. At his old coven, they all view sleep as more of a hobby than a necessity.
For the following days, Jake watched you restlessly from his living room window, his hunger growing otherworldly—the sound of your heartbeat drums in his ears from yards away. When you take out the trash, he can feel the blood rushing through your veins. Your heart rate is so much faster than everyone else out here, it’s like you’re teasing him.
Still, you’re his neighbor. And if the brand new Accord in your driveway is any proof, you’re also a customer. Jake knows he can’t just kill someone so closely tied to his livelihood. He’s not that reckless. It would require finesse.
On the fourth night, Jake lies in his bed staring at the ceiling. Three oil diffusers work simultaneously in the darkness. They were more effective at giving him a headache than masking your scent. He’s thinking about why the smell feels so familiar when suddenly, it fades, present, but not strong.
He finds himself sitting up in bed, startled by the absence. It feels like someone pulled a blanket off of his shivering body, and the memory foam of his mattress grew stiff. Maybe something’s wrong with your blood pressure?
Withdrawal makes him grow uneasy, so he rests his eyes, but all that awaits him are nightmares.
Like clockwork, every hour, he wakes up trembling in fear. The recurring images of a house engulfed in flames and bloodied sidewalks. It’s his first time dreaming since he got here. He finds himself rummaging for a pack of cigerettes to ease his mind.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You wake up the next day feeling refreshed. Your period finally came to an end last night, a truly pleasant start to the weekend. Maybe life isn’t actually as miserable as it felt last week.
The day starts with unpacking and decorating. You’ve been working so much, you haven’t had time to finish customizing the space. Nor have you had a chance to grow accustomed to how dreadfully quiet this neighborhood is. There aren’t even any birds to chirp.
You fill the house with music as you organize knick-knacks, books, and stationery supplies. Luckily, the majority of your furniture is already in place. That’s one of the perks of working for a furniture company. All that’s left are the finishing touches.
Having curtains up, so you spend the morning in a sports bra and sweat pants. You’re rearranging the giant rug in your living room for the fifth time when you hear your doorbell ring. You freeze, dropping the rug.
Shit. Where is—You reach for the hoodie you abandoned on your couch earlier, toss it on, and pause the music. You move so fast, you feel winded.
Putting on your friendliest face, you answer the door. “Hel-“ The syllabals die in your throat when you see who it is. Employee of the month guy? You blink. “Oh… Hi.”
Jake stands before you with a circular dish in his hands and a surprisingly warm smile. His hair blows in the wind, leaving a few strands out of place, and his eyes are a bit tired. “Good morning.”
“You- um, yes. Good morning.” You stammer out, internally face-palming yourself. “What are you doing here?”
“I actually live across the street.” Jake shifts in place awkwardly. He sounds warm and polite, a lot more so than when you first met him.
Your eyes double in size. “Really?”
“Really.” He lets out a small laugh. “I saw that a new neighbor moved in, so I thought I’d stop by and give a proper welcome.” He playfully shakes the dish that lies atop his right palm.
You buffer as you speak to the unexpected visitor. If he can tell, he doesn’t say anything. “That’s kind of you.”
“So you went with my recommendation?” He gestures to one of the two cars in your large driveway.
You laugh to yourself, head falling a little. “It is top of its class.” You mimic his words from a few days ago.
A slow smile creeps onto your neighbor's face, and he looks away bashfully. “Funny.”
You lean against the doorframe, arms lazily wrapped around your torso just to give your hands something to do. A breeze sends a few dead leaves flying through your lawn and into Jake’s hair. Without thinking, you reach for the decaying plant and remove it.
When you meet eyes again, Jake suddenly seems much more alert. Startled even, he shivers. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Just wanted to swing by and extend a quick welcome to the neighborhood.”
You straighten, realizing how poor a host you’ve been. “Can I get you something to drink? I can’t believe I have you standing out in the cold.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother—“
“Not at all! I’ll make some tea, and we can open up whatever this is.” You smile, stepping further into your house, opening the door for him.
Jake stands rooted at your front stoop, observing your home from the outside. This is his least favorite part about being a vampire.
“Are you coming?” You quirk a brow, unsure about his sudden hesitancy.
“Depends. Is that an invitation?”
“Yes…” You snort, walking further into the space. Weird.
“Just making sure,” he smiles, finally stepping inside. He slowly follows you to the kitchen, whistling a tune to himself.
You pull out an electric kettle and some coffee mugs. The kind with quippy comments on them, like ‘hot stuff’ and ‘might be beer’. Dishes are yet to be fully unpacked, so these two will have to do. You keep the ‘hot stuff’ one for yourself and set ‘might be beer’ to the side for him. Hopefully, he has a sense of humor.
Jake watches you maneuver about the kitchen, trying to remember how you arranged things. Your heart rate has been all over the place since you opened the door. Fast, slow, over and over again. Now it’s slow again. It makes you fun to listen to.
Your scent is stronger up close, but not nearly as offensive as when he first met you. The one time he found himself truly struggling was when your wrist slid past his nose to take something out of his hair. The action alone was jarring for him, very… overly familiar. He tried to tap into your mind at that moment, but it was like he hit a brick wall. He can’t read you at all.
“What do you like in your tea? Honey? Sugar?” You turn to him from your spot, crouched in front of a cabinet.
“Honey is fine.” Jake smiles. He isn’t actually going to drink the tea. He’s only requesting it to seem normal.
You hum, retrieving a golden bottle from a low shelf.
“So, what brings you here?” Jake’s eyes scan the space intently. “To Riverfeild, I mean.”
“Work.” You say, knees cracking as you stand. A sharp ding blares through the kitchen, signaling that the kettle is ready. You fill each of the mugs with honey, hot water, and a tea bag.“Careful, it’s hot,” as you slide the mug to him at your small dining table.
He hums, briefly looking to the mug, then back to you. “What do you do?”
“I’m a relocation manager for a furniture company, so when a store’s failing, they send me.” You raise your mug, blowing on the steamy liquid. “I guess this town isn’t crazy over new couches.”
“They’re not too crazy about new cars either, so don’t take it personally.” It’s phrased like a joke, but his voice comes out flat.
“That explains why we live in the same neighborhood.” You take a sip of the tea, instantly burning your tongue. With a pain-stricken face, you rest your mug on the counter.
He bows his head, hiding his amusement. Even with the mug labeled ‘hot stuff,’ you weren’t very cautious. You only gave it one measly blow.
“So, what’s in the pan?” You perk up, trying to regain his attention.
Jake looks to you, traces of a smile still on his face. He peels back the foil, revealing a cherry pie. It’s a little crispy around the edges, but perfectly golden in the center. “Not much of a baker.”
Biting your lip, you lean back against the counter. A pie? That’s actually pretty cute.
You’re not super into cherries, but you’re also not the type to turn down a kind gesture. You turn to fetch two plates from a cabinet.
“I don’t want any. It’s my gift to you.” He insists, watching as you put the extra plate away with a minor pout and move to grab a knife. You sit at the small dining table in front of him, glancing up at him from time to time, your heart rate steadying out to a subtle thump.
“So how’ve you been finding the neighborhood?” His hands tuck into his pockets.
“Everything's fine so far.” You shrug, cutting a slice. The red goo from the cherries oozes out as you lift it onto your plate. Instinctually, you lick at the bit that gets on your thumb. “I’m not used to the quiet yet, though.”
He hums, nodding blankly. He stopped listening the moment you cut the pie.
Jake’s offered cherry pie to dozens of mortals. He likes how it resembles blood. They always look like half-starved fledglings by the end of their slice—the thick red syrup on the edge of their lips, like you have right now.
It looks good on you. He hums again, licking his lips.
“Is it always this dead?” You look up at him, snapping him from his daze.
He furrows his brows. “What?”
“The area. Is it always this… boring?” You lick the syrup around your mouth.
His adam's apple bobs noticeably. “You could say that.”
“Well, if you’re sick of being bored, I’m having a small housewarming tonight. It’ll just be me and a few co-workers, but you’re free to join.” It's a spur-of-the-moment gesture, really.
“Don’t know a lot of people yet?”
You shake your head, continuing to eat.
That’s good. For him at least. It’ll make it easier when he decides to go through with things.
“I’ll see if I can stop by.” He pretends to drink his tea, letting the steam touch his lips.
Grasping your mug, you tilt your head at him. Something about him itches a scratch deep in the depths of your memory. “I’m having the weirdest deja vu right now. Is there any chance you used to live in East Geles or Khisstin?” You list city names with uncertainty.
He shakes his head. “Never been.”
Your ringtone rips you from your thoughts. You fetch the phone from your pocket and cringe, “One sec, it’s my boss.” You stand, chair scraping the floorboards. Clicking the accept button, you exit the kitchen. “Hi, Benson?”
While you're gone, he pours half of his cup of tea down the drain of the kitchen sink. He looks at the mess on your plate, realizing he can’t remember what cherries taste like. He dips the tip of his pinky finger into the scarlet mush and brings it to his lips, immediately recoiling with disgust. It was foolish for him to expect anything else.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
When Jake returns to his house, he’s immediately hit by a familiar presence, taking the pep out of his step. Which sucks because talking to you was actually kind of nice.
Suprise.
Jake rolls his eyes; he knows that voice, that familiar calling from inside his head. He turns to see Jungwon sitting in the driver’s seat of Jake’s parked car, reading a book. Jungwon looks to him with a smirk.
Jake sighs. “Can’t you at least try to act normal?”
“I didn’t want to wait in the cold.” Jungwon opens the car door and steps onto the concrete driveway. He creases the page he was reading and closes the book.
“That’s trespassing.” Jake walks to his front door, retrieving the keys from his pocket. “You could get arrested for shit like that.”
He tsks, following closely. “Arrested?” He looks at Jake, amusedly observing him from head to toe. “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” Jungwon gives him a hearty pat on the back.
“It gets duller every day.” Jake smiles at the familiar face. “It’s good to see you.” He pushes the front door open.
“Likewise.” Jungwon softens. “May I?”
“Of course.” They enter the quiet house and stand side by side in the living room, looking out the window.
“I’m glad I finally get to see where you ran off to.” Jungwon folds his arms, fixated on the empty street. “So this is Riverfeild, huh?”
“In all its glory.” Jake’s hands find his pockets.
Jungwon is Jake’s old coven leader, the oldest among the daywalkers. He was turned young, wandering around aimlessly, before Jake was even born. His powers are the strongest, and his mind is the most perceptive. Even with the members scattered around the world, he can reach them telepathically, like emailing their minds. Jake doesn’t even know how to do that.
“You’re having nightmares again.” Jungwon doesn’t ask, he tells.
Jake stiffens. Of course, that’s why he’s here. “I’m not a kid. You didn’t have to come check on me.”
“What’re they about?” He asks with hesitancy. When Jake doesn’t respond, he hums skeptically. “I think I’ll stick around for a few days.”
“Are you babysitting me?” Jake looks to his friend with a raised brow.
He laughs. “No, I’m looking out for my knucklehead coven brother. You’re the only one who doesn’t keep in contact, you know?”
“I was going to reach out after I got settled—“
“Sure you were.” Jungwon rolls his eyes, pushing Jake’s shoulder. “Besides, I heard something about a party tonight.” He smirks cheekily.
“You were eavesdropping?” Jake fixes him with a look.
“I wasn’t not eavesdropping.” His smirk deepens.
“You know, with great power comes great responsibility. I was having a private moment.” Jake stresses, drawing a hand to his face. He has to learn how to block that idiot out of his mind.
“I’m a vampire, not Spiderman.” Jungwon snorts, walking further into the house, blatantly unbothered. “Besides, she’s cute.”
“How do you know that?” Jake calls after his friend, mildly alarmed.
Jungwon smiles, letting his friend worry in silence. Jake's always been on the slower side when it comes to insight; that’s why he’s so easy to read. He’s too busy crunching numbers and assigning reason to notice little things like a benign crush. Jungwon had a hunch because of the nightmares, but it became crystal clear upon his arrival. Jake’s obliviousness would be amusing if it weren’t so unpredictable.
Looking back from his place down the hall, Jungwon breaks the silence. “I could feel your reaction to her, Jake.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
As cars piled into your driveway and eventually your front lawn, Jake felt his desire to go out diminish, but Jungwon was annoyingly determined. They sit on Jake’s couch watching as yet another guest arrives at what was supposed to be an intimate get-together.
“Don’t be lame, I want to see how Riverfeild lets loose.” Jungwon whines, enthusiasm oozing from every word. He already has his jacket on, ready to walk across the street at any moment.
“She’s not even from here. She just moved in like a week ago.” Jake huffs, unmoving.
“Well, everyone else is, right?”
Jake doesn’t say anything. His eyebrows draw together with annoyance.
“Exactly,” Jungwon says triumphantly. His voice drops as he goes on. “Think about it, one of them might get so drunk they forget where they parked. Could make it real easy to—”
Jake tuts.“I don’t hunt in the neighborhood.”
Jungwon stands, adjusting his clothes. “Good thing I’m not you.” He makes his way to the door. “I’m bored and I’m tired of asking. Are you coming or not?”
That’s how Jake ended up at your doorstep, ringing the bell begrudingly. He could barely smell you with all the people here stinking up his nostrils. That is, until you open the door.
“Employee of the month,” you look at him with a confident smile and a drink in your hand. “And friend.” You nod, turning to the other man whose dimples are on full display.
“Jungwon,” he clarifies, reaching past Jake to shake your hand.
“Nice to meet you.” A tingling sensation travels through your entire body as your hands meet. You blink. Simple as that, your mind goes completely blank.
“You’re not gonna leave us out here in the cold, are you?” Jungwon laughs smuggly.
“Right, come in!” You urge them in enthusiastically, grabbing Jake’s shoulder. “Drinks are in the kitchen alongside some chips and salsa. But no double-dipping.” You warn, looking directly at Jake as you close the door.
He laughs, confused. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Just making sure.” You speak like you know him more than you do.
“I’m not a double dipper.” Jake defends before realizing he doesn’t even eat human food; therefore, he has no reason to actually feel offended.
“That sounds awfully similar to something a double dipper would say.”
Jungwon cuts in, smugly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
You smile, patting Jungwon’s shoulder affectionately before wandering into the sea of people with a distinct end destination in mind: on the couch right next to—
Jake’s mouth falls open as you plop down unsettlingly close to his coworker, Taesan. Tall and handsome, Taesan, whose hand very naturally makes its way onto your thigh. He leans in to say something, and you laugh loud enough to be heard over the music. For the second time since you’ve moved in, Jake’s heart sinks.
“That explains it,” Jungwon whispers amusedly to Jake.
“Explains what?” Jake says without looking away.
“She smelled a little…” He purses his lips, looking for the appropriate word.
“Sweet?” Jake answers thoughtlessly.
Jungwon laughs. “I was going to say excited.” With dull curiosity, his focus shifts to Jake. “Thought it was one of us. Do you know him?”
“We work together.” Jake’s voice a mere whisper.
“I guess the living belong with the living.” Jungwon pats Jake’s shoulder sympathetically, then moves toward the kitchen.
Yeah fucking right. Jake is not about to get outdone by his fresh-out-of-college, barely-knows-how-to-tie-his-shoes ass coworker. It was bad enough that Taesan is 110% planning to steal his employee of the month title, the idea of him having you is easily enough to ruin his night.
And it does.
While Jungwon is chatting up a storm to anyone with half a pulse, Jake has become one with the wall in your living room, watching your every move. He still can’t seem to tap into your head. Every time he tries to read you, it’s fuzzy at best. Regardless, Taesan’s thoughts were disturbingly clear.
It was worse than wanting to fuck you; Taesan wants to date you. For some reason, that particularly made Jake feel sick. He was so immersed in your conversation that he didn’t notice Jungwon stepping in front of him.
“Relax.” Jungwon snaps a finger in Jake’s face.
Jake shakes his head, blinking back into reality.
“Your eyes were changing color,” Jungwon warns.
Whenever their kind gets too worked up, their eyes shift to a bold crimson, sending a final threat to unassuming prey. Jake looks away, trying to regain normalcy. “Didn’t realize.”
“Are you gonna talk to her?” Jungwon says cheekily.
Jake scoffs, stretching his hands over his head. “Don’t want to.”
“Then stop looking at her.” Won chides.
Jake smirks, caught red-handed, “Fine.” His hands settle back at his sides as he turns to his friend.
“Some people were talking about heading to a bar for some karaoke. I might join them and grab a bite.”
“Have fun.” Jake slumps against the wall.
Instantly surprised, “You're not interested?”
Jake fakes a yawn, “Tired.”
“Riverfield’s made you really boring.” Jungwon drags out the ‘e’ in really. “The Jake I know would’ve been on his third kill by now.”
“People change.” Jake shrugs. “Besides, I’m not bored.”
Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” At that, he turns and walks away, joining a loud group of bodies near the front door.
As Jake watches his friend blend into the background, he begins to consider whether he has inherently become boring by living here. Maybe not feeling boredom is a bad sign. Gradually, he focuses back on the party and you sitting on the— Where did you go?
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
You lean back on your palms with your feet dangling off the edge of your tall mattress. Cool night air filters through an open bedroom window. In front of you, at your vanity, stands Taesan wearing a cheeky smile that twists something deep in your gut.
In his tall glory, he smiles down at a photo on the mirror that you promised to show him earlier. It’s a print of you and your first car, the same hunk of junk that sits in your driveway next to the Accord.
He sports a sweater and jeans. You’ve hung out a few times since he took you on a test drive, but this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of his usual work attire. There’s something refreshing about seeing him in your bedroom now, shedding a layer of formality.
He hums. “It’s a nice car, I’m surprised you’re having a hard time selling it.”
“Don’t be fooled, that picture is super outdated.” The photo shows you as a teen in an unflattering pair of overalls and a vibrant smile next to a black jeep.
“What did you call it again?” Taesan looks to you over his shoulder.
You smirk, still twiddling your feet. “His name is Michaelangelo.”
“That’s definitely… a choice.” He laughs, fully facing you. “Like the painter?”
“Or the ninja turtle.” You shrug.
He laughs even louder, walking closer so you have to look up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“You don’t see the orange stripe on the side?”
Shoulders shaking with amusement, he stands between your legs at the edge of the bed. When you look up at him again, his eyes are different, softer. He looks at you like you’ll fly away, and it makes your mouth run dry.
Grabbing his wrist, you tug gently, urging him to sit beside you. “My neck’s gonna break in half if I keep looking up at you like that.” You huff, a little breathlessly, suddenly feeling like you had half a glass too much.
“Am I too tall for you?” He jokes, sinking into the mattress beside you.
You hum thoughtfully. “I’d have to spend a little more time with you to figure that out.”
“That sucks because I’m actually a super busy guy.” He teases.
A giggle slips out of you. “Oh, really?”
He smiles at you, not caring enough to answer the question. Mellow blush on the tips of his ears makes an appearance as he leans a little closer. “I’m really glad I came tonight.”
“Me too.” All the base in your voice is gone as you notice him notice your lips.
It’s going to happen, you think, and he does too. After years of moving around for work, you’re finally going to taste what it feels like to settle down with a good guy. Second by second, the space between you two shrinks. Then, there is none.
He kisses you. With lips as soft as they look, he brings a hand to cradle your cheek. His palm is warm, but his fingertips are cool from the breeze. You find yourself scootching closer to him on the bed. The fringe of his hair tickles your face as the kiss deepens and his free hand inches up your thigh, just resting there, radiating heat.
You part, both breathing a little heavier. Your eyes shyly land on your lap. Each of his hands returns to his sides, leaving you vulnerable to the evening chill. When you look back up, his eyes are different.
He stares through you. Like he’s dissociating. The blankness of his expression drains the life from your face.
Was it a bad kiss? You discreetly check your breath.
“I have to go now.” His voice sounded colder than the wind.
“Oh,” You blink. “Are you sure? I was thinking we could—“
“No, I should leave.” He stands so quickly it throws you off balance.
“Well, let me walk you to the door—“
“No!” He says firmly, facing the door. “Just… stay here.” He says, looking away from you with tense shoulders like you disgust him.
You shrink into yourself from your position on the bed. “Oh,” is all you can say. With that, he leaves, shutting the bedroom door loudly behind himself, making you flinch. Straight away, your eyes start to burn. The distant party music feels more depressing with the room empty.
When Taesan exits the room, his knees go weak, and his head is dizzy. A hand clutches the wall as he tries to gather his bearings. The pounding in his head nears unbearable, and his memory feels like it’s been snatched from his grasp—how did he get out here again?
“Sleep,” is the last thing he hears as he loses consciousness, dropping with a thud.
Jake blinks from above Taesan’s body, eyes shifting back into a neutral brown. He looks around the empty hallway, then at his coworker’s limpness. His once pronounced anger settles into numbness as he realizes he might’ve gone too far. Sighing, he lifts Taesan off the ground and towards the door. He mumbles needless lies about him “needing to handle his alcohol better.”
He takes him out to the front stoop and leans his body against the railing of the shallow staircase. Remorse runs through his brain as he looks at the whites of Taesan’s eyes below half-closed lids. His conscience forces him to call a cab for the guy.
After successfully packing Taesan into the backseat of a cab, the plan was to go home, but somehow he had misplaced his keys. The moment he rings the bell, a drunk guy urges him inside and away from the cold. Jake retraces his steps until he sees the famous coffin keychain on the floor outside your room.
He tries to ignore your rapid, stuttering heartbeat from the other side of the door. Curiosity gets the better of him. He snatches up his keys and leans against the wall, silently hoping you’re not crying, but he can hear you sniffle.
It’s not like he killed Taesan, he just… sent him home. Surely that isn’t so bad. Something primal wouldn’t let him listen to your heart race for his coworker. And to hear his thoughts was a cruel torture, salting the wound.
He could smell the bloomings of something serious. The happy, normal life he craved. Yeah, fuck that. All of it made him sick with envy. The thought is enough to turn his eyes a fiery hue.
Then, you open your bedroom door.
You look a lot calmer than he was expecting, makeup intact and face uncommitted to any emotion.His eyes dip back to dark brown as he tampers with his keys.
Gaze glued to his side profile, you speak. “Can I help you?”
He’s quiet, keys flipping endlessly in his palm.
“The party’s that way.” You point to the living room down the hall.
Jake nods, unable to look you in the eye. “I’m not looking for it.”
“What are you looking for, because the bathroom’s not here either.” Your tone is harsh.
“My keys,” he jingles the set. “And some quiet.”
You exhale heavily, standing next to him on the wall. Leaning your head back, you look off into space. The music booms, but it’s being choked by chatter. It all just sounds like mush at this point. Close and distant at the same time.
“Do you like this neighborhood, Jake?” Your voice feels foreign in your mouth.
“There’s better ones in town.” Apathy laces his tone. “What do you think?” He looks to you.
“Minus the quiet, it’s fine.” Emotion starts to crawl back up your throat. “I was planning to be here for a while.”
“Was?”
You nod in response, and Jake hums, something shifting inside of him.
“If you want to leave, you should leave.” He scans your face. A sliver of him wants you gone. That way, he’ll forget, Taesan will forget, and everything will be normal again.
“I didn’t say that.” You face him with a serious look. For a beat, it feels like you’re looking at an old friend. His gaze is so familiar that you almost want to reach out and touch him. It makes your eyes burn, so you look away, clearing your throat. “I just have no reason to stay. That’s all.”
Jake, suddenly overwhelmed by a similar onslaught of emotions, looks to his shoes. He bites his lip. It feels like the conversation is dead and buried, but a final sentence leaks from his lips as if against his control: “Do you want one?”
As simple as it is, the comment sends a flock of butterflies to your stomach. You smile, not saying a word.
Jake didn’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking; the gloss of your eyes is enough, and with that, the guilt starts to sink in.
“I’m gonna get a drink.” You gesture toward the kitchen down the hall. “You can join me if you want.” Delivering the last part as nonchalantly as possible, you start walking.
He pauses, “I don’t drink.”
“Didn’t ask if you did.” You shrug, heading off.
For a while, he lets you go, then his feet start moving. At that moment, he decides to keep you company for the night, giving you a reason, even if it’s only for a little while. He follows you around your house for about an hour while you sip Pinot Grigio and spark up small talk with guests. Based on his observations, you don’t know half of the people there, and you work with annoying ass town charmer Benson, who’s a nasty drunk. One by one, people trickle out of the house. The last person leaves at 11:54 p.m. It’s still pretty early.
After another glass, you’re sharing stories on the couch. And another after that, you’re asking and convincing him to go on a walk.
As expected, the sidewalks are empty, and the lamposts continue to flicker. The air is cool, but the wind isn’t overbearing. Dead leaves crunch relentlessly under the heels of your feet. “Did you have fun tonight?” You swirl the wine in your plastic cup absentmindedly.
“Yeah, I had a good time.” He isn’t sure if he’d categorize it as fun.
“Good,” You hum.
His eyes linger on you. “Did you have fun?”
Your feet come to a stop, thinking. It’s easier to ignore the question altogether. Focusing on your house from down the block, an idea pops into your head. “Jake?”
He makes a curious sound.
“Do you want to race?”
His movement halts as he quirks a brow, “With a drink in your hand?”
You chug the remainder. “What drink?”
He bites his lip, sizing you up as you stretch. “This is cute, but you’re drunk.”
“Barely,” You protest in a brattier voice than you’d like.
“The sidewalk’s uneven. Let’s not—“
“Last one back is a rotten egg!” You shout, bolting off.
It's easy to think less when you’re entire drunken being is concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. You’re sick of thinking. Wanting is exhausting. It’s all meaningless old news. Aside from your first glass of wine, the wind is the most refreshing thing you’ve tasted— correction: it’s better than wine.
You're halfway back to your front porch.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Time to slow down.” Jake calls behind you.
You giggle, closing your eyes in bliss. “Or you could speed up.”
As you approach the edge of your front lawn, an elevated block of pavement catches against your toe. Eyes shooting open in panic, you hit the ground hard. Your dress does little to protect you as your knee scrapes the ground, tainting the concrete with red.
Jake’s mid sigh when he hears you groan. At first, a look of concern overtakes him, then the smell hits, rendering him motionless.
Blood runs down your shin as you swear to yourself. In disbelief, you bring a finger to the wound—the touch stings. The skin of your knee is busted like you’re a kid again, but it hurts worse than you remember.
You’re talking to him. Jake knows that. He just can’t hear what you’re saying. Your lips move lazily like the blood against your knee, and Jake’s fangs begin to throb harder than before. His head is pounding, and slowly the double vision kicks in. He braces his hands on his knees and shuts his eyes before you can see them change.
You call his name, beginning to stand. Tiny scratches litter across your body, and you wince. “A little help, please?” You turn to Jake, who's bent over panting. A lamppost highlights the gleam of sweat on his forehead. “I wasn’t going that fast, was I?”
His brows furrow in pain.
“Jake—“
Like a crack in a dam, his self-control breaks. He rushes to you at an inhumane speed, grabs you, and zips you to his house. It’s all done before you can even finish your question.
Once you’re in his guest bedroom, peering up to him with cloudy eyes of confusion, he takes a second to look at you. The hem of your dress is covered in blood, and your chest is heaving like you can’t catch enough air. The adrenaline seems to be too much for you.
He kneels on the floor, so he’s eye level with your body on the bed. Fixated on your knee, he leans in, inhaling deeply. He groans, face palming into the bed.
You stutter out syllables like a broken record.
Jake mumbles pleas into the mattress, trying to restrain himself. “Can I have you?” He looks at you in the dark room with eyes red as blood. His fangs are fully expanded behind his lips, and his fingertips twitch as he fights to keep his claws at bay. He babbles mindlessly, senses going into overdrive. “I need you- this. I need—“
“Okay.” The word quiet against your lips.
Freezing, he can’t tell whether you agreed for his sake or your own, but he permits himself anyway. He licks the blood drying on your calf and up the length of your leg like a man starved. It sends a shiver down his spine. He finally knows why he can’t get enough of you.
He suckles at your wound, tongue scraping over little bits of gravel and debris carelessly. His body feels like it’s on fire. This must be what cherries taste like, he thinks.
His tongue presses firmly on the wound, and it hurts. “Wait, what are you—“
“Sleep.” At the sound of his command, your head hits the pillow. Climbing on the bed, he settles between your legs and lifts your dress until it nears your hips. He can smell what Jungwon was talking about earlier, and it drives him dizzy. He wants you to want him.
Still, his focus remains on the artery pulsing through your upper thigh. The blood flow is loud like a ringing in his ears. He grazes his fangs against your skin, his eyes closed shut. His brain won’t turn off. How can he kill when he can’t stop thinking? Every thought deepens the hesitation, until finally he sighs.
He lies there trying to will himself to bite, but your taste reminds him of nightmares. It’s like he can smell the smoke when his fangs touch your skin. He can’t do it. Overcome with frustration, he extends the claw on his pointer finger and digs it into your skin. He slices a thin line on your inner thigh, running his tongue along it as blood seeps out.
With his head on your thigh, he leisurely cleans every drop with his mouth. He could’ve fallen asleep if it wasn’t for a knock at his front door.
His eyes flutter open, unveiling the infamous red once again. Closing the door behind himself, he travels to the main entrance in a daze, face covered in crimson.
“Let me in.” Jungwon’s voice deepens from the other side of the door.
Jake flinches, opening it. “Fine, come in—“
Immediately, Jake is hit by a firm shoulder as a different coven brother shoves past him: Heeseung, his least favorite. They had a falling out over a kill and hadn’t spoken for years.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jake gawks.
Heeseung scoffs. “Says the one with blood all on his face.”
“Were you crying?” Jungwon reaches a hand toward Jake’s face, but it’s swatted away.
Jake didn’t realize it earlier, but he was indeed crying. Tears had started running down his face the moment he tasted you. “Answer my question.” Jake glares at the leader.
“He wanted to get out, so he spent the night with me.” Jungwon sighs, stepping into the house and closing the door. “You look awful.”
Heeseung spent most of his time away from people. He lived a quiet life in a rural mountaintop, killing farmers and seducing milk maids. He was never too fond of the modern world.
“What’s with the smell?” Heeseung asks from down the hall, creeping dangerously close to the guest bedroom.
“Stop sticking your nose around my house.” Jake’s voice is like gravel.
“I could smell it from outside. Might as well tell us—”
“He’s feeding. Don’t ask useless questions.” Jungwon slides off his shoes and jacket, then walks to the couch. He plops down, tired. “Is it the girl?”
“What girl?” Jake feigns innocence.
Jungwon looks to Jake, eyes briefly flashing red. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Jake and Heeseung straighten, fear-struck by the switch.
“There’s blood on the sidewalk out there. Did you kill her?” Jungwon settles back into the couch calmly.
“I can hear a heartbeat,” Heeseung’s brows furrow. “Feels like I can hear a million fucking heartbeats, how do you guys live in places like this?” He sucks his teeth.
Jake doesn’t say anything, letting the room fall silent.
“Whatever. Don’t mind us, we’ll stay out of your way.” Jungwon’s eyes close; he looks like he’s had a long night.
“Good.” Jake’s voice is hardly audible. Part of him wants to talk, but with someone like Heeseung around, he isn’t sure it’s in his best interest. He wants to mention what it felt like to taste you, about why you felt so—
“Is her heart rate supposed to be that fast?” Heeseung asks, growing a bit concerned.
“Leave him alone, Hee.” Jungwon sighs.
Jake stands between Jungwon and Heeseung in the center of the living room. Unable to look them in the eye, he twiddles his fingers. “It’ll slow down when she’s calm. Her adrenaline is really high right now.”
“When she’s calm?” Heeseung stiffens, immediately glancing at Jungwon with a look of disbelief. “Do you hear this?”
Jungwon remains unmoving on the couch. “Let’s not do this. I had a long night.” He rests his head back on the headrest. “Everyone in this town is bitter and out of tune. I don’t have the energy to argue.”
“I can’t kill my neighbor.” Jake reasons.
“Am I missing something? Why is he acting all soft?” Heeseung walks to the couch where Jungwon sits. His face twisted with confusion.
“I’m not acting soft, it’s just too risky,” Jake mumbles.
”Is it?”Jungwon faces Jake with a cutthroat glare. “Then why’d you bring her home?”
“I didn’t mean to. She fell, and the smell just—“ An irked sigh cuts through his thoughts. Jake looks to the door of his guest room, running a finger over his bloodstained lips anxiously. If he says what he’s thinking, they’re bound to find him crazy. “She tastes like…” His words trail into nothingness.
Jungwon’s eyes light up with realization. “Minnie.” The name comes out rough on his tongue. That would explain the nightmares. He, too, could vaguely smell the resemblance.
Jake flinches. The lover who defined his human heart was hardly ever mentioned and seldom by name. She was his betrothed when he was given the dark gift in the early twentieth century, a woman beyond her years. The only mortal to voluntarily offer themselves to fulfill his bloodlust, a victim to his hunger, and the conservatism of the time. Her life was stolen in a house fire orchestrated by the church to drive the devil out of town. Jake wasn’t even home.
Heeseung fixes on Jake’s blank expression. “This is ridiculous,”
“I swear on her grave.” Jake’s voice has yet to surpass a whisper.
“Shouldn’t we have a second opinion?” Heeseung baits, licking his fangs.
Jake hisses, lurching forward. “Try it and I’ll kill you.”
Heeseung narrowly dodges him, boasting a grin. “So you want to keep her?”
Jake shrinks into himself, embarrassed by hearing it out loud. His mouth doesn’t move. Is it so wrong for him to want a companion again?
“Like a pet?” Hee adds with a laugh.
Jake looks up, glaring. “She’s a human being, dickhead.”
“But you aren’t.” Jungwon stands, walking over so he’s toe-to-toe with the homeowner. “Infatuation isn’t an excuse for recklessness. What happens when she wakes up and the last thing she remembers is your red eyes staring down at her?”
“She’s drunk, she won’t—“
“Or when you’re hungry and she has a papercut?” Jungwon cocks his head. “This is dangerous, and you know it.“
Jake stutters, backing away from his leader. “I- I just want some time.”
“That’s not how people work. Humans-” Jungwon sighs. “They expect different things. It’s like a puma mating with a panda. It won’t work.”
Jake’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t know that! I can’t just let Minnie—“
“She’s not her, Jake.“ Jungwon’s snaps.
“You said you weren’t babysitting me.” Jake narrows his eyes coldly.
The leader sighs. “Still, I can’t let you—”
“This shouldn’t even be a discussion. If you wanted companionship, you should’ve never abandoned your coven.“ Hee rasps.
“One more fucking word and I will slam you through the floor.” Jake's head whips toward Heeseung.
Heeseung scoffs. “Typical. Prioritizing a stranger over your brother.” Without realizing it, all of their eyes had changed color.
“Enough,” Jungwon places a hand in the air, flinging Heeseung and Jake’s bodies into the walls on opposite halves of the room. It’s not enough to cause damage, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, then turns to Jake, who gapes for air. “Do you absolutely need this?” He stoops down to his level. “Are you truly that lonely?”
Jake weakly bows his head, the pain too intense for words. Across the room, Heeseung lies unconscious with his chin to his chest.
“Fine,” Jungwon regains his composure. “It’s your mess. But now, I am babysitting you.” He returns to his full height, stepping over Jake’s body on the floor.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Heeseung and Jungwon left the following morning, although there’s a rumor that Jungwon moved to a neighboring city to keep an eye on things. That was three months ago.
“Wake up.”
You whisper, crawling into Jake's lap while he manspreads wildly on your couch. His eyes are closed as he leans against the headrest. In his t-shirt and sweatpants, the scene feels oddly homely, and it makes you move extra slowly to preserve the fragility of it all.
He hums, but you’re not convinced.
You lean to the side of his face, gently blowing in his ear. He squeezes your hips as a reply.
“Come on, you’re missing the movie.” You complain directly into his ear.
“We already watched this one,” Jake mumbles into your hair.
The movie ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ plays on your TV, lighting the space as the story continues without any attention. Save for a scented candle, it’s the only reason you can see each other’s faces right now.
“That doesn’t mean you can fall asleep.” You boop his nose.
A smile spreads across his face the moment you make contact. Grabbing your finger, “I’m not sleeping.”
“Don’t hit me with the ‘I was resting my eyes’ bullshit.”
“Then, I’m just… enjoying your presence, without looking.” Jake’s hand moves to rub soothing circles on your waist.
“Jake.”
He relents, peeking his eyes open. Your hair is messy from lying around for hours, and your shirt is halfway off your shoulder. The candle flame from the coffee table behind you gives off a halo-like glow. It makes him forget why he wanted to close his eyes in the first place.
Plucking a feather out of your hair, he snickers. “Too many feathers on these throw pillows.”
“I got them for free.” You attempt to climb off his lap, but his hands anchor your hips down.
“Stay with me.” Wrapping his arms snuggly around your middle, he pulls you toward him until you can settle into the crook of his neck.
You sigh, naturally leaning into him. “Fine, but just for a little while.”
A chill passes over you as his cold fingertips slip under your shirt, and he laughs into your hair. Your squirming makes him hold you tighter. “You smell nice.” The words roll off his tongue.
“You always say that,” You say, carding a finger through his hair.
He kisses the crown of your head. “It’s always true.”
This is the average Sunday night between the two of you. By sunset, you and Jake are to be tucked away on a couch somewhere, half watching a movie and half lazing around. A few days after you woke up bandaged and hungover in Jake’s bed for the first time, he asked you out to see a movie. Unfortunately for him, the town cinema was rundown, with nothing to offer besides lukewarm popcorn, so he promised a do-over at his place. Since then, traditions have slowly been forming.
Traditions like lowly lit living rooms and long-winded conversations. He never sat too close. He never pushed or lingered. Jake was a gentleman. He even managed to help sell your car to his friend at the scrap yard.
And by ‘friend’, he meant himself. Jake has his own tradition of driving to a lot on the outskirts of town to sit in the old hunk of junk that is Michaelangelo as a means of helping him adapt to your scent. Of course, it’s nothing like the real thing, but after a decade of ownership, your essence was practically absorbed into the seats.
By the third movie night, he could sit a little closer. On the fourth, he kissed you. At the end of the fifth, the tension nearly killed you. Before he could even take his shoes off for the sixth, you were on top of him.
Time didn’t make sense, feelings didn’t make sense, but it felt right. Being with Jake was like breathing.
But it isn’t perfect. After years of dealing with deadbeat men and moving around, you're ready for a proper relationship. Someone to come home to. Someone who will actually spend the night, regardless of “having to work early,” as Jake puts it.
You pull away enough to look at him. Staring at him was like a hobby these days.
“Hi,” he breathes out the word.
You sit atop him, playing with his long dark strands.
He sighs. “I need a trim.”
“I like it.”
Your gaze is so soft that it makes him blush. All the power in the world couldn’t make him immune to your sunlight. Close isn’t close enough.
“Come here, Minn—“ His tongue trips on the familiarity of it all.
“Min?” You tilt your head at him. An innocent curiosity graces your features.
Jake swallows, a well-known guilt washing over him. “Mine,” he corrects.
You smile, tucking a hair behind his ear. “Does that make you mine?”
“Always.” He plants a kiss on your lips. “In every lifetime.”
Jake is always like this, saying absurdly romantic things, almost inappropriate for your indistinguished love affair. Your stomach was like a cage of butterflies. Leaning in, you meet his lips. It’s more than the peck he gave you. He hums happily into the kiss, landing a small smack on your ass.
A giggle rips through you, and he takes it as a chance to deepen the kiss. Bodies moving closer, saliva mixing messily. You tilt his head up so you can kiss him properly, and he shifts beneath you. Placing a firm hold on your chin, he pulls your jaw down to gain more access. It was a steady battle of dominance.
You tug at the fringe decorating the nape of his neck, and he groans. Smiling, you kiss him harder. You were winning. He squeezes your hips, then—
“Ouch.” You pull away, bringing a hand to your bottom lip. “You nicked me.”
Shamelessly licking his lips, “Sorry, I got carried away.”
“Yeah, no shit.” You laugh, licking at the small cut in your mouth. You hunch forward, sinking your teeth into his bony shoulder.
He smirks, hands fiddling with the elastic waistband of your sweats. “What’re you doing over there?”
“Biting you back.” You say as you come back up, and Jake bursts into laughter. Smoothly, he shifts so your butt is on the couch, subtly pushing you into the cushions as he hovers over you. “I’ll do you one better.” He smiles mischievously, trailing down your body. “I’ll eat you alive.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
The dealership was busy these days. Between inventory checks and paperwork, Jake watched as you and Taesan seemed to gradually lose contact. With each of you having gaps in your memory that night, things grew awkward. Eventually, the guilt of stealing you from Taesan subsided, and Jake started another new tradition: calling you during his lunch break.
“Look who it is.” You tease from the other side of the phone.
He cheeses, listening to you mumble at a worker through the phone. “Busy?”
“Not at all.” You walk away from the noise. “What’s up?” He can hear a door shut, like you walked into your office.
“Just wanted to hear your voice.” He sighs, looking to the mess of papers atop his desk.
“If I weren’t meeting the regional manager for lunch, I’d tell you to swing by. Well… you technically still can, you’d have to wait until after my lunch and pretend to buy a bedframe—”
“Regional ma- you mean Benson?” Annoyance laces his tone.
“Don’t say it like that.” Your voice loses its playfulness.
“I didn’t say anything.” Even without saying it explicitly, his tone could move mountains.
Benson, the boss who always seems to call when you’re off the clock, already took you out for lunch twice last week. Jake fucking hates that guy. A part-time drunk, full-time sweet talker, Benson is the kind of guy Jake would drain as a joke without remorse. Regardless, he’s latched onto you like a leech.
“You’re not the only person with employee of the month status.” You tease.
Rolling his eyes, “Might be employee of the year with how he treats you.”
“You’re making it weird.”
Yeah, because it is. He sighs. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
You hum over the line, deciding to use the opportunity to talk about the new friend you made today. She’s a heavily tatted middle-aged woman who chews tobacco and supervises the shipments. Enamored by your sharp wits, she basically adopted you on the spot.
Jake mumbles supportive nothings, grateful that the tension has faded on its own. He’s not sure when it happened, but he began rooting for you to make friends in town. Friends make people happy, and your happiness is of utmost importance to him.
“She’s hosting a happy hour on Friday. Said I could come and bring a friend.” An open-ended glint in your voice. “I was thinking of asking this really handsome guy who makes a mean cherry pie.”
Jake smirks, bashfully twisting back and forth in his office chair. “You know I don’t drink, my love.”
“I know, I know, but maybe you could just keep me company?” Your voice trails off timidly.
While he’s a big advocate for your friendships, Jake is uninterested in the concept for himself. People are too complicated. “I don’t think—“
You shush him profusely through the phone. “Sleep on it, okay? That’s all I ask.”
Weak to your assertiveness, Jake nods. “Okay.” Was he going to change his answer? Probably not. Is he going to tell you no right now? Absolutely no chance. “I can do that.”
As if sent by an enemy to purposely disrupt the moment, a loud series of knocks blares through your end of the line.
You sigh, lowering the phone and looking to the dark oak door of your beige office. The room-temperature coffee in the cup on your desk ripples from the impactful banging. “One minute!” You shout.
When you pick up the phone, Jake is babbling frustratedly about poor manners, and you smile. It was like having your own personal guard dog, but to you, Jake’s bark is worse than his bite. He rarely lets himself get worked up in person.
“What’s taking you so long?” Benson burst through the door. “You said 12:30,” he checks his watch, leaning a hand on the rickety armchair in front of your desk. It’s beige like everything else.
“I’m on a call.” You say awkwardly, covering the phone speaker.
“Oh, don’t mind me.” Benson rests against a wall, his cropped salt-and-pepper hair in disarray, as it usually is. He’s attractive in a small-town-guy kind of way, the premature gray part of his charm. The problem is that he knows his pull, so he does shit like walk into people’s offices unannounced.
“Sorry, can I call you later?” You deliver as sweetly as you can into the phone.
“Did he just walk in?” Jake asks almost in disbelief. “What an asshole.”
“I’ll talk to you when I get b—“
“Yeah, whatever.” He delivers coldly.
He ends the call before you can reply. Great, now you’re fighting. You turn to your boss, “Are you on a tight time frame or something?”
“Can’t I just be excited to see my new favorite employee?” Benson straightens with a smile. “C’mon, I’m craving Italian.”
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Jake doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the day, but he does show up at your doorstep wearing pajama pants and his work satchel that evening.
“Can I finish up some paperwork here? My place is a mess.”
You look to him, unconvinced, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t believe you.”
His lips form a thin line. “I’m behind on laundry.”
“Ask a friend, I’m busy,” you lie, reaching to close the door.
“I don’t have friends, I have you.” His hand holds the door open.
You roll your eyes. “That’s pretty unhealthy.”
He smirks, knowing you’re on the cusp of giving in. “Are you gonna let me in or not?” Arguments were always like this, sealed by some lukewarm resolution. “I’m sorry for overreacting earlier.”
You take his chin in your hands, and he softens instantly. “Relationships require trust, Jake.”
“I trust you.” He breathes out the words, eyes coming to a close. “I don’t trust him, but I’ll work on it.”
“Good.” Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a small tussle. “Now, be a good neighbor and give me some sugar.”
A smile overcomes his features as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. His hands mischievously wrap your waist, and he yanks you toward him on the stoop, kissing you messily. It’s all smiles and teeth, but you fall into it anyway.
The winter chill surrounds you as Jake’s cool fingertips dance underneath your shirt. The breeze flaps against his patterned pajama pants, and he squeezes you closer. So close, you’re nearly bending over backwards for him. He peppers kisses across you’re collarbones, punctuating them with apologies and leaving you a giggling mess.
“Okay— Okay!” You wiggle in his hold. “Come in, jeez. People are looking.”
In bed that night, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of decorative pillows and the subdued singing of crickets, Jake struggles to put his mind to rest. He holds your sleeping figure close to his chest as he watches the flames of a scented candle pulse on your bedside table. You always light it before bed, and Jake always blows it out. He loathes that reckless open flame.
During moments like this, he remembers he’s not human. With every deep breath, his fangs throb. It’s impossible to sleep next to you. Sometimes he gives in, opening a small cut on your hip or your calf to remind himself what cherries taste like. You never think twice about them in the morning.
It’s just past 1 AM.
Jake rolls you over gently, tucking a pillow behind your back. Your face scrunches up. For a minute, he’s sure he woke you, but your eyes remain shut. You’re having a nightmare. He stands, watching you twist and turn senselessly like a child. Do you always look this frail? Walking around the bed to blow out the candle, he places a hand over your forehead. “Sleep.” He mumbles, kissing where his hand once was.
At least now, you’ll dream of nothing. Shuffling to the door, he slips out of the room and into the darkness. Like always, you’ve triggered his appetite.
On his traditional late-night drive, he circles the outskirts of the city for any wandering souls. He drives lazily, barely signalling his turns, and still wearing the same pajama pants. Nothing’s striking his fancy so far. His mind keeps thinking about you, and how you’re home alone in your most vulnerable state.
What if there’s a buglurar? Or a gas leak? Or— Okay. He’s losing his mind.
He parks his car at the edge of a desolate city block. He looks at the closed shops in front of him and vows to attack the first person he sees. No more thinking. Soon enough, a pretty woman in high heels turns the corner. She whistles with her jacket half off her shoulder.
He licks his lips, waiting for her to get a little closer— Then, a scream.
A man runs to her, demanding the contents of her purse. His voice is husky and muffled by a black ski mask.
Jake sighs, exiting his car. He can see the gleam of a blade in the criminal’s hand. He sighs again, annoyed. Jake hates playing superhero.
“Get back in your fucking car.” He shouts, yanking the woman towards him. She struggles against him as he brings the blade to her throat.
She mouths pleas for help, but her voice is hoarse. The words hardly form into sounds. Lip gloss, pens, and gum wrappers fall from her open purse as the robber rummages carelessly.
Jake looks from the trembling woman to the masked man.
“Are you fucking stupid?” The masked man jostles the woman, and she whimpers. “I said, get back in the car!” He’s shouting so loud, his voice cracks.
Jake looks the woman in the eyes. They’re glossy like yours were at your housewarming. “When he drops the knife, you’re going to run. Okay?”
The lady doesn’t say anything. She just closes her eyes and cries silently. Tears mix with snot as she surrenders to her fate.
“I’m telling you one more time—“
Jake turns to the man, eyes flashing red. “I heard you.”
With stiff raised shoulders, the man’s grip loosens, the metal blade clanking against the pavement. Cries coming to a stop, the woman rushes away. The click of her heels on the sidewalk was the loudest noise in the dead of night. “Wha- What’s hap—“ The man stammers.
Jake shushes him. “Come here.”
His feet drag one after the other until he’s in front of the scarlet-eyed creature. Panting and squinting, he attempts to speak, but Jake hushes him over and over. His voice won’t work. His hands won’t work. His eyes welled with tears helplessly. “Muh muh— puhh— lee- lee- leeze.”
“Sshhhh.” Jake closes his eyes, inhaling his fear. Finally, his fangs sink into the flesh.
On the drive home, with the bitter blood of a criminal painting his lips, Jake realizes boring doesn’t mean safe. You need to be protected.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
It’s 6 PM on Friday, and you’re buzzing with excitement in your booth seat. Restaurant speakers play 2000s hits, and your co-workers are loudly arguing over the appeal of antique furniture, but you can’t hear it. All your focus goes to the text on your phone screen.
Jake: Be there in 10
You can’t believe he actually agreed to show up. He said it casually over the phone during his lunch break. Like it was nothing. Now you’re nursing a cocktail waiting for the sound of a windchime to bring you back to life.
Finally, that familiar ringing.
Nearly breaking your neck, you turn to the door, and there he is in his typical puffer coat with his hair mussed from the wind. He pushes up a pair of glasses on the edge of his nose, suddenly catching your eye. A soft smile forms on his lips, and it’s enough to make you all but melt into the sticky restaurant floors.
You smooth out the creases on your sweater and pants as he makes his way over.
“Who are we looking at?” Your tobacco-chewing co-worker, Susan, grins at you across the table.
You bow your head bashfully. “A friend.”
“A friend?” She quirks a brow.
You nod, eyes closed, trying to calm the heat spreading across your face.
“Excuse me,” Jake scootches past a few of your colleagues to sit next to you on the tattered booth. The smell of peppermint lingers on his clothes. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Your arms awkwardly wrap around your torso as you look to him.
“So you’re the friend?” Susan says in a teasing tone.
“Jake is fine.” He reaches a hand across the table, and she meets it kindly.
You watch, enthralled. Sure, you’ve gone out with Jake before, but you’ve never seen him socialize. Usually, he acts like an imaginary friend, saying things only you can hear and laughing at jokes only he knows.
“You okay?” He turns to you, slipping his jacket off.
You nod aggressively. “Just happy you’re here,” you say, squeezing his arm. Up close, you notice a spec of something red on the corner of his mouth. “Even if it’s with tomato sauce on your face,” swiping at the spec.
He looks at the red smear on your thumb as you wipe it on a napkin. “Sorry.”
“You look good,” you think aloud as he slips his jacket off.
He smirks, leaning in so only you can hear. “You look better.”
“Who’s four-eyes?” Benson calls from beside you, words lacing together from the booze. He taps your thigh to get your attention, and it quickly snatches Jake’s eye.
“A company friend,” Susan delivers sarcastically.
You blink. “Oh. Benson, this is—“
“We’ve met.” Jake nods at him, interrupting. “I sold you a car.”
“Which one?” Benson chides. “Got a couple.” He nudges your shoulder, snickering. The table breaks into low laughter, finally paying your section some attention.
Jake shrugs, a tight smile on his face. “Guess it doesn’t matter.”
“So you work at the dealership?” Susan leans on the table.
“Yeah, for a little over a year now.”
“Add a realtor, and you guys could be the corporate Power Puff Girls.” Benson huffs, tapping your thigh again for emphasis.
“Funny.” Jake tuts, gaze on your legs. If he weren’t sitting with a dozen people, Jake would’ve forced Benson’s hands into his pockets. Instead, he scoops up your knees and places your calves in his lap. You sip your drink to hide your surprise.
“Well, I think you two look just fine as a duo.” Susan delivers pointedly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up like Mark and Minah.”
You choke on your drink, playing it off with a cough. “Marriage is a jump.“
“Yeah, Sue. A little overly ambitious.” Benson speaks into the bottom of his glass.
“It’s just a piece of paper.” Jake laughs to himself.
You grow a little stiff. “It’s a commitment.”
“It’s an excuse to throw a party,” He says under his breath.
“It’s a ceremonial agreement.” You press.
Jake gives your knee a firm squeeze. “Forget I mentioned it.”
The two of you have never talked about long-term goals before. Jake wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d spend the rest of your life together, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t open to it. Why would you go out with someone you see no future with? The thought makes your head spin.
Benson chuckles beside you, patting your leg once again. “That basically sums up why my first wife and I didn’t last.”
“Which one was your first wife again?” Jake asks, running a finger over his lips. “I get mixed up so easily.” The table laughs, someone obnoxiously jostling Benson into you. Jake doesn’t smile or relent. He remains fixed on Benson, who narrows his eyes with a grin.
“Alright, wise guy.” Your boss leans back into his seat, locking eyes with a waiter. “Let’s get the new guy a beer. Maybe it’ll loosen the stick in his ass.” He mumbles the last part.
Jake waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh, then you’re going to be plain miserable hanging out with us,” Susan pouts sympathetically.
Benson scoffs, his smugness unwaivering. “C’mon, Sue. Who are we to judge if he likes to watch?” His tone is overly suggestive.
This is how the night continues. Jake says something, and Benson somehow manages to make it the butt of a joke. A perpetual cycle of humorless teasing. Even while Jake grows quiet, Benson will toss an off-handed remark about asking the ‘wise guy’. Every time you shut him down, he taps your leg, insisting that it’s ‘all a joke’ in an increasingly sloppy cadence.
“I need a cigarette.” Susan stands, stretching. Like most others, she’s about three beers in.
“I’ll join you,” Jake slips your legs off of his.
You watch them b-line for the exit.
Jake stands with his jacket open, unfazed by the cold. Susan holds a cig between her teeth, struggling against the wind to light it until Jake cups a large hand around the flame. She inhales, lending him a smile, then a cigarette of his own.
They loiter silently, smoking and watching cars pass. It’s already dark outside, but the lamposts on this side of town don’t flicker.
“Don’t mind Ben. He’s just busting your balls.” Susan breaks the silence.
Jake nods between drags.
“It’s a good thing. Means he likes her.” She tries to be reassuring.
He focuses more on the cigarette than her voice as she rambles. Then, the windchime rings. You step outside the restaurant and next to Jake, holding your coat close.
Susan looks between the two of you and flicks her cig on the ground. She snubs it with her shoe. “Three's a crowd.” With that, she waltzes back in.
The silence stretches.
“He’s touchy.” His voice is low, like he doesn’t want you to hear it.
“Unfortunately.” You mutter, both looking out to the street. Cars glide by, shining bright yellow and red headlights onto the sidewalk. Since when does he even smoke cigarettes?
“Is that really the kind of friendship you want?”
“It’s the kind I have access to.” You face him. “I’m making the best of a shitty situation…”
“Or you like the attention.” He suggests under his breath.
Scoffing, “He doesn’t pay me any more attention than anyone else.”
“You’re not that naive.” He takes a drag, burning it down to the bud.
Like flipping a switch, your body fills with anger. “Maybe I am, since I thought the guy I’ve been seeing for 3 months, but isn’t officially my boyfriend, would believe in marriage.”
He furrows his brows and tosses the bud on the ground. “You’re really stuck on that?”
“Well, it’s a pretty big deal, Jake.” You swivel in front of him, forcing him to face you.
“Didn’t you say marriage was a jump anyway? Why does it matter—“
“Because partners should have compatible goals!” You lose your temper.
He calls your name, frustratedly. “We have a good thing. Can’t we keep it at that?“
“No, because I want to get married.” You look away, something about it all felt humiliating. “I want a family, Jake.” The cold forces you to dig your hands into your pockets. “And you’re just the guy who leaves before morning.”
Fixing his gaze on a distant cloud, he shakes his head. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“It’s been 3 months, how the hell should I know?” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “But I deserve to understand what I’m getting into.”
“There isn’t anything to get into!” He runs a hand over his face, and it distorts his words.
You freeze. The implications of his words sat heavily on your heart. They rolled over your shoulders and down your back like ice water as you looked up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He reaches to grab your arm, but your feet move before your brain, widening the gap between you two. “I shouldn’t have—“
“No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did because what the fuck did that mean?” Your brows knit together tightly. Suddenly, a woman in a trucker hat approaches, tapping you on your shoulder.
“Susan in there?” If she can tell you’re arguing, she doesn’t make it obvious.
You sigh, recognizing her as your coworker’s spouse. You nod, and she returns the gesture before walking inside. The burn from Jake’s gaze forces your eyes elsewhere.
He watches the crown of your head as you look down, kicking at gravel. Not being able to do anything— to fix anything— makes him panic. His eyes shift around relentlessly as he tries to latch onto your thoughts, even for a whisper.
“I don’t like having my time wasted, Jake.” Your voice is finite as you stare into space. The sharp edges of a rock beneath your shoe are the only thing grounding you to the sour moment.
“I’m not…” His hand anxiously fidgets with the car keys in his pocket. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I’m looking for someone consistent.” When you turn to him, he’s stripped of his usual confidence. “I want dinner dates and shared cups of coffee in the morning. If you can’t do that for me, then go home.”
Jake peers up at the night sky. The bittersweetness of it all makes his eyes sting.
Nodding, you take a deep breath. “I’ll catch a ride with Sue." You swing the restaurant door open, and the song of windchimes echoes as Jake lingers alone on the pavement.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
“And you’re sure you don’t mind?” Susan asks as she and her partner hoist a senseless Benson into your living room. He stumbles onto your couch with a lazy smile.
“It’s fine, I’ll just call him a cab.” You jog to your kitchen to grab him a bottle of water.
“I hate to do this, but if we don’t head back to the restaurant, Amber’s forgetful ass will be without a phone for the weekend.” Susan jabs an elbow at her date.
“I never would’ve forgotten it if I weren’t playing designated driver for you in the first place.” She tsks.
The couple goes back and forth teasing while you place the ice water in Benson’s loose grasp. “Thanks again for the ride,” you toss them a final smile.
“No worries, sweetheart!” Susan hurriedly pulls Amber out the door, leaving you in silence.
Benson holds the cold bottle to his face, trying to cool the fire from within him. He almost looks unrecognizable like this.
“Drink some water, while I figure out your ride.” You kick his foot lightly with your own and pull out your cellphone. He drinks with an unrivaled thirst, and it makes you snort. “I’m quitting if you spill that on my couch.”
“What do I win if I don’t spill it?” He screws on the bottle cap.
“Better sales.” You chide dryly.
He grumbles. “You always talk about work.”
“Because we work together—“ Without warning, he reaches for your wrist and pulls you toward him on the sofa. You tumble into his lap helplessly, and his arms cage your waist. “Okay. That's enough.” Placing your hands on his shoulders, you attempt to pry yourself away.
“Don’t be so uptight.” His words slur.
“Let go of me.” You warn, applying more force. Feathers shed from your throw pillows and onto the floor as you struggle.
He nuzzles into you, squeezing painfully tight. “What about all our lunch dates, huh?” His voice shows an unfamiliar edge. “Were you just leading me on?”
The doorbell rings. Benson places a hand over your mouth as you attempt to shout, but you bite his finger. You free yourself as he whines in pain. It feels like your heart could leap out of your chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You spit, adjusting your clothes and stumbling away from him.
“You bitch.” He looks at his finger while it throbs in pain.
“Get out of my house before I call the police.” You pull out your phone, immediately typing the familiar three numbers.
He chuckles, the noise turning into hiccups. “That’ll still give me 15 minutes.”
The threat sends fear through your entire being. “Fuck you,” you press call.
The bell goes off again as Benson stands. Abruptly, he yanks you close and backhands you. The force sends you hurdling toward the floor. The phone flies out of your hand, and his ring slices a cut into your cheek. The ringing at the door has switched to a prominent banging. “Do me a favor and shut up.” Benson sniffles, making his way to the door.
He opens it to reveal Jake. His fist is still in the air, and a crease between his brows.
“What?” Benson slurs.
Jake stares without a word, his jaw tense.
Benson looks him up and down, his footing unsteady. “Can I help you?”
“Is Y/N home?” Jake says flatly.
He glances at your cowering figure on the living room floor, then back to Jake. “She’s in the bathroom.”
“You’re lying.” Jake remains fixed on the man with a sloppy feather in his hair. He can hear the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat and wait— does he smell blood? “Can I come in?”
Benson scoffs, attempting to close the door.
“Her headlights are on.” The words rush out of Jake’s mouth.
Benson squints, stepping onto the dark porch to get a look a the Accord. “I don’t see any—“
With swiftness, Jake grabs Benson’s forearm. His grip presses tighter and tighter until Ben drops to his knees, wailing in pain. Only then, as the man begs, do his eyes blend to a deep red. He doesn’t loosen his hold until he hears a snap over the symphony of crickets on your lawn.
You scramble away from the door, shaken by Benson’s visceral cries of pain. The entirety of your body trembles with fear as your boss lets out a silent scream, looking at his mangled arm.
“Y- you broke my arm,” Benson shouts. “You little—“ He uses the adrenaline to rush forward, and they both fall down the shallow set of steps. Using his good hand to strangle Jake, “I’ll fucking kill you!” Benson blubbers the phrase over and over like a madman.
Peeking through your living room window, you watch as Jake sneers, flipping the two of them over. He bears his fangs animalistically.
“What are y—“
Jake tears a chunk of flesh from the man’s neck as he screams. He drinks until his feet stop kicking and the skin runs grey. You watch, frozen in place. Jake wipes the blood from his face and pushes the body aside. He sits on the bottom step panting.
Your heart sinks as you rise on shaky legs. Feet moving to the door, you stand in disbelief.
As if teleported from thin air, Jungwon appears, briskly moving toward your beloved neighbor. “For fuck’s sake.” He looks at Benson’s limpness.
“How did you…” Jake slurs, dazed by the alcohol running through his system.
“I was watching.” He points to a blinking red light on Jake’s living room window seal. A sad smile graces his lips.
Jake nods dumbly, obviously out of it. His victim drank enough for a small village. From a distance, police sirens blare down the quiet suburban blocks. “Shit.” Jake winces.
Jungwon grabs Benson’s shoulders and glances at you. “Is this your car?”
You blink, watching him drag the corpse toward the back wheels of your Sedan. Your head nods, without asking your mind.
“Good, go get your keys,” Jungwon says, turning to Jake. “Get up.”
Jake fumbles up, joining his leader, who pries the trunk open with brute force. Jungwon’s strength is so incomprehensible that he shakes the car. Jake lifts the body, hauling it inside once the trunk is open. When it’s done, he turns to face you, and the look on your face crushes him.
Your hands are shaking, and mascara stains your cheeks. It’s like you’ve seen a monster— it’s like he’s a monster.
He tries to speak, but shame steals his voice. It’s all over. He lost control. He bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
The slamming of the trunk lid makes you shiver. The sirens were creeping closer. “Keys, Y/N.” Jungwon faces you sternly, and you nearly trip rushing to grab your purse.
“She hates me.” Jake breathes.
Jungwon sighs. “Regardless, she’s in this now. She either leaves with you or you drain her.”
“I can’t—“
“I’m not asking you, Jake.” Jungown glares. “I’m calling Heeseung. Maybe you can stay with him until this blows over.” With that, he walks away.
He nods with glossy eyes. In that moment, he realizes his power is no gift, it’s a curse. It ruins everything. It strips him of everything. He wishes he could go back and kill his maker. There is nothing romantic about death.
Making your way back to the door, you stare at the back of his head. The wind blows through his hair like the first time he showed up on your doorstep. Seeing him covered in blood made it hard to breathe, and the shine in his eyes was indescribable. It was the kind of desperate look that haunts nightmares.
You totter to the front of him, raising a wet cloth. With shaky hands, you dab away the blood on his cheeks.
Jake closes his eyes at the contact, filling his undead lungs with air. “I have to leave now,” he mumbles under the sirens.
You nod, chewing your lip as stray tears spill from your eyes.
“I’m um,” He lets go of a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about everything. I- I’m not—”
The color of the cop cars becomes clear in the distance. You drag the cloth over his lips, silencing him as you clean the last of it. “Can I ask you something?”
He sighs, nodding.
“H-how did you um,” your voice shakes like a leaf in the wind. Clearing your throat, “What made you come over?” The thought plagued your mind more than the murder.
Jake’s eyes open, glancing at the rag in your hand. “I knew something was wrong.”
You retrieve the cloth, wringing out the liquid. “But how—“
“I could feel you.” He looks at you, gaze soft and familiar. “Your heart was racing.” His voice is small.
Starring at him like you always do, something shifts. He still looks like your Jake. You swallow harshly, the spit traveling down like a rock in your throat. Relationships require trust. “What do we do now?”
He blinks. It’s like he’s experiencing you for the first time. You don’t smell or look like anyone else. You’re just you. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, but he knows he’ll spend the rest of eternity thanking the stars for this gift. With one look, you have given him a taste of what it feels like to be normal.
“Dump the body, then head north,” Jungwon wanders over, fixed on Jake. “Heeseung agreed.”
You’re not sure who that is or where you’re going, but you know it’ll be with Jake. Your face calms as you walk toward the passenger seat. “Can you drive?” You hold the keys out to Jake, who stares dumbfounded.
“I uh,” He glances to Jungwon, who’s equally as surprised. The leader’s shock turns into a smile as Jake turns back to you. “Yes. I can.” He straightens, making his way to the driver's seat as you duck into the vehicle.
With a trunk full of blood, the two of you ride through the desolate streets of Riverfeild until the sirens fade into your memory and the clouds turn to clear skies. Through it all, Jake holds your hand atop the console. Whatever's next, you’ll face it together.
