music flows through the building, filling each room with the chill tune and keeping any kind of silence fall over the party. faces of unfamiliar people pass by taeyoon’s eyes from his spot in the main room. some of them make eye contact with him, some even look as if they want to stop and talk but seem to realize he isn’t wanting to talk. if the slight glare he gave anyone who so much as let their eyes linger on him was a good enough give away.
he wasn’t really here for fun--despite that being the overall purpose of a party. the teen sitting with a drink in his lap and his phone in his hand. no, he wasn’t here for fun, but mostly just for something to do. a place where there’s enough noise to drown out the noise in his head. keep his own thoughts from over taking him and drowning him in the comfort of cheap drinks and poorly dressed people.
he knows most people here are university students but that’s no excuse for the lack of fashion. he’s seen maybe four people dressed well.
maybe it’s his own pickiness. of the fact everything he has on his designer in some way.
his eyes raise from his phone to sweep around the room again, wondering if anyone here was actually someone he knows or if he was going to continue sitting here doing nothing but scrolling his phone. he thought about maybe finding someone to dance with or even just going to mingle when his eyes landed on someone who appeared to have just arrived. his brows raised as he took in the sight of @feykyuhwan and more importantly, the way he is dressed. is this guy lost? sure, no one here has top fashion but they all look like they belong as a party.. but this guy?
that’s all it took for taeyoon to abandon his spot on the couch and make his way to the new guy. a friendly smile pulling across his lips as he got close enough to be heard over the music and chatter ( though the music wasn’t too loud in here, it was still loud ). “you look kind of lost? are parties not your thing?” despite his words there no judgement in his voice.
he already wished kyu a happy birthday, before he went to school, and before kyu would inevitably fall asleep with the blazing sun still in the sky.
it’s a strange one, and kijung won’t pretend to know how it feels to kyuhwan. it’s his first birthday as a vampire, and so close to the anniversary of his brother’s death. it is the first birthday when he will never age-- a reminder of the age he never truly reached and won’t for all of eternity. (kijung assured it.)
kyuhwan had cake every year, and kijung even misses the memories of all of his excuses not to eat any to kyu’s family when he was over and they offered it to him. i don’t like cake. he never liked anything they offered him, of course-- he couldn’t eat it. kyuhwan can’t anymore either. he’ll never be able to taste cake again.
somehow, it makes kijung want to cry.
he hopes he never stops celebrating the day kyuhwan was born-- that he never loses that gratitude, even when kyu is 1000 years old and it feels like just another day in infinity, no milestone, no landmark in life. it’ll always mean something to kijung. maybe he’ll stop finding unique things to do for him, but he’ll never forget his birthday. he’ll always find a way to tell kyuhwan how thankful he is he was born.
this time, it’s kijung dragging kyu up stairs to a rooftop they may or may not be allowed on.
he was determined to find something that was better at night to show kyu-- a reminder that everything is not so dark, even if he can no longer feel the sun. their part of the city stretches out before them, all twinkling lights. “10 million people are down there,” he comments, staring out.
it’s not all he has up his sleeve, however, although more accurately, it’s in his bag, alongside his camera that he brought along with him for the occasion. there’s something that’s still burning a hole in it.
“i have your gift,” he says after a while, and he reaches into his bag, pulling out a book. it’s the dragon lady, the book he borrowed from his best friend kwangsoo before he died. it’s the book kijung had in his bag the day he realized he was gone. he could never get rid of it, even with its constant reminder of loss. he always left it in boxes and the back of bookshelves, theoretically forgotten, associated pain out of his mind.
he is sure the dragon lady will always make part of him ache, just as much as he is sure kwangsoo wouldn’t want it to. he would probably chide him: don’t hang on to something that makes you so sad when someone else could love it instead. he could almost hear it in his voice if he still remembered the sound of it.
maybe kyu can love it instead. he hands it to him. “this was kwangsoo’s,” and his voice is quieter than he intends. kyuhwan already knows kwangsoo’s story-- he knows all the stories now, spoken through tears after a nightmare. “i hung onto it for a long time, but i always thought he wouldn’t want me to. i borrowed it from him and was supposed to give it back but...i never got the chance to,” and he pauses again. “i was thinking that giving it to my current best friend would be close. it feels like the right thing to do.”
maybe not all vampires, but jinwoo definitely does get fed up with moving around from time to time. maybe he’s so tired because his mind just won’t shut up; maybe that’s exactly why he likes sitting down, so he can close his eyes and let the images sparkle behind the lids.
he can’t pinpoint why, but this particular night he’s simply tired of existing. so he hops on a subway car on his way home from areum’s bar, and is all too prepared to let his body fall flat against the metal seat and take a restless nap going nowhere in particular.
however, as soon as he sits down, his senses pick up a scent. it’s young, it’s innocent, it’s fresh, but it’s not human. it’s a scent he doesn’t get to smell too often, and he immediately follows the trail with his eyes until they land on kyuhwan, sitting by himself on an empty wagon ahead. jinwoo takes a few seconds to gather himself, pats down the dust on his jacket, and makes way to the fledgling, elegant strides taking him to sit right across from the other.
he stares intently at kyuhwan until his gaze is met, his smile charming and cunning in equal amounts. “you’re new, aren’t you?”, he almost whispers though there is no one else in the wagon. “fairly new, indeed. are you alone?”
kyuhwan texting him is normal, so kijung doesn’t think anything of it when his phone buzzes, special notification he set only for kyu just so he knows to check in case there’s an emergency. the texts he receive certainly count as one: 'mom and dad are scared' 'mom saw my eyes and called a priest' 'i'm in my room they think they locked me in' 'what do i do?'
kijung texts back ok, hold on, i’m coming over, and when mei asks him why he springs up off the couch, he just says “kyu,” and practically flies out of their apartment. he tries to answer kyu’s last question when he’s on the way there. what do they do? because it’s not just kyu. kijung refuses to leave him alone in this-- alone in anything, after turning him the way he did, after turning him at all.
he shows up on the lee family’s doorstep without any prior notice, and he can read the distress on the face of kyu’s parents, even as it’s marred with confusion at his appearance. “kyu texted me,” he explains, just barely. they let him in, and as soon as he passes the threshold, he looks to the kitchen, and the blood sprayed across the floor, and he winces, face always too expressive of the emotions he’d rather hide.
“can i see him?” he asks, and maybe it’s his complete composure in the face of the blood and panic that convinces them, but eventually they nod, and step aside, leaving kijung to make his way to kyu’s room. as he does, he tries to formulate a plan.
it’s difficult, though. he just wants to see him. maybe they can make the plan together. it’s kyu’s family, after all, and kijung isn’t always known for handling situations with care. this seems too sensitive for him to decide what to do with on his own.
he knocks on kyu’s door, utters an “it’s me,” before he lets himself in. so much for locking him in. it’s a sad sight; his heart settles somewhere in his stomach, as does guilt.
it’s not the guilt he should feel. it’s not this happened because of me. i made him a vampire and he never wanted this. he’s suffered so much because of me. this could ruin everything with his family, and i regret it. instead it’s i should’ve been here. i’m his sire. i should prevent these things. it’s my job to protect him, but maybe the sense of responsibility is the same in the end.
he leans against the door to shut it, quickly, just in case kyu is so crazed that he might escape and harm his parents. it’s the least kijung can do to prevent something like that. “kyu,” he says, and maybe it’s a little too urgent, or maybe appropriately so. it’s clear he needs blood as soon as possible, and to kijung, there’s one obvious solution. they can worry about the rest later. “bite me.”
( tw: death, blood and sadness. so much death and so much sadness. )
( YOUR HAIR WAS LONG WHEN WE FIRST MET. )
hwan is bright eyed and curious, but a little quiet, too. it’s ki’s first impression of him.
they are nothing if not obedient sons, and maybe that’s why, after hwan’s father mumbles something to him, hwan no longer meets his eyes.
they are but eight years old, out on the docks, accompanying their fathers in the closest their village may come to a business meeting: fish for new nets. their fathers laugh, old friends bonded through trades that work so closely together, and ki hears hwan’s father say something like i’d give you this for free, but i’ll take the fish.
the boys are alone, and they wait, not looking at each other, pointedly, and ki knows why. he is too lowly for camaraderie, not worthy of hwan’s attention or time. ki doesn’t mind. it’s just how things are. his mother was a kisaeng and he inherited her status; he is not ashamed of her, even as everyone says he should be. he has never been angry at her for a moment. so hwan doesn’t speak to him, and ki knows why.
still, his eyes wander over to the other boy, now crouched in the dirt, poking at it with a stick. ki observes, and now he is the curious one. hwan stands up suddenly, casting one long glance at their fathers, deep in conversation, then waddles over to ki.
“you’re ki,” he points out, timid, and yet bold all at once-- bold not to ask, bold to approach at all.
ki nods. “yes. you’re hwan,” he states back, with even more certainty. hwan nods in his own form of confirmation, then looks down. ki’s eyes drift down too, to hwan’s tiny fists balled up at his sides. suddenly, hwan extends one to him, and opens it up to reveal a tiny rock.
hwan offers it to him with a, “don’t tell father.”
ki hesitates, a little confused, but as it fades it ushers in appreciation, and even at his young age, he is...moved. he takes the rock, and he grins.
∞ 1636 ∞
the sun approaches the horizon, light of day fading. ki long sent his little brother home, well ahead of nightfall, even earlier than usual. there are rumors of strangers in the north: invaders, impending war. it leaves their village on edge, preparing to fight just in case, but all largely assuming if anything, they will capture the capital. they will leave them alone. maybe the king will call in soldiers from their village to help, but that’s all.
he and hwan are not soldiers, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. they know.
maybe it’s why they talk about such mundane things. it’s catch up; they haven’t seen each other in too long, hwan married now, ki preparing for his own wedding.
“how are you doing?” hwan asks, all gentle concern, and ki smiles, close-lipped, reassuring.
“i’m fine,” he answers, because he must be. it’s been more than a year since his father’s death-- since the entire world was placed on his shoulders, the son of a kisaeng now head of the family, now lowering their social status and raising his own simultaneously. he tries not to be a burden to them. he tries to guide them well. “heon is already doing my job better than me,” he speaks fondly of his younger brother, seven years old, around the age he and hwan properly met. hwan laughs, and small smiles linger on both of their faces.
“your fiance. what is she like?” hwan asks, looking over at him, and his best friend’s smile fades into a look of almost startled realization. “sorry for all of the questions, it’s just...been a little while.”
“ah, no, it’s okay” he laughs a little, suddenly a little bashful. “i mean, she’s really nice. we weren’t sure anyone would ever want to marry me...i’m sure her family is only letting her marry me because i’ve proven i can be the head of my house even as the son of a kisaeng. she doesn’t treat me like i’m worse than her.”
there are still insecurities, however. “do you think i’ll be a good husband? do you think i’ll be able to do this?”
he can feel hwan’s impending response in the air, but the beat of hooves drowns them out. they both freeze in their tracks, and ki reaches for the knife he uses to gut fish, strapped to his side.
ki snaps out of it first, and tugs hwan to hide behind a nearby bush, up against a tree for extra cover. they crouch behind it, and ki feels his best friend shaking beside him. he carefully grabs his arm, holding it, trying to steady him. they both hold their breath as the men get off of their horses mere meters in front of them. they speak to each other in a language ki can’t understand. (i saw two boys here. where are they? find them.)
they do. the man sneaks up behind them and grabs them both by the collar, and they both are paralyzed with fear. ki looks at hwan, his friend’s eyes full of panic, both of them still, not wanting to fight, wanting to preserve their life, hoping they will let them go.
one of the men can speak korean, and he asks them questions, the most compelling being who are you? maybe, if ki wasn’t the dirt beneath everyone’s feet, they would take him and try to get money for him. he hopes, for once, his low status saves him. they ask, and each boy gives them their names. they hope it saves them, even with knives pressed to their throats.
it doesn’t. ki doesn’t understand why he’s the one released, or what it means when the man with power over the others says you’re going to come with me. he doesn’t understand why. he doesn’t understand why, but the man pulls him forward, away from hwan, away from everything. it’s when he fights back, digging his feet into the dirt, that he truly panics, because he realizes he is not stronger than him. it’s like he and hwan realize at the same time, wide eyes meeting, full of tears.
hwan begs. no, please. please don’t take him. he didn’t do anything, what do you have to gain? please give him back. please stop. please, i’ll do whatever you want.
ki sobs, and he shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak. don’t say that. don’t say that. you don’t know what they’ll do.
he still fights against the arms holding him. “hwan!” he yells to him, voice wracked with emotion. “hwan, i’ll find you again!” he swears, right when his legs fail him, right when his captor succeeds in tugging him backwards, further and further away. he says it. he will do everything he can, but they both know it may not be a promise he can keep. “i’m sorry!”
will someone shut him up? the man taking him away says in his native language.
it’s the cue-- it’s the knife that makes a river of flow from hwan’s neck, and ki screams and he screams. even as the light fades from hwan’s eyes, his arms are still outstretched toward ki, and ki reaches for him too even though he knows he will never make it-- even though it is far too late.
kyu.....hwan......
( WE COULDN’T BRING THE COLUMNS DOWN. )
there aren’t many koreans in venice. maybe it’s why, even with hwan’s death still heavy and fresh on his heart despite 200 years passing, he clings to sunghyuk so.
they meet by one of the canals, a kijung known as sungki sitting by the water, staring out. when he does, it almost feels like home. he feels inches away from pulling a net full of fish out of the water, selling most and bringing some home to feed his family. his little siblings feel just barely out of reach. when he closes his eyes, everything even sounds different.
it’s a weighty kind of melancholy. he’s submerged in it when he hears-- feels --someone else approaching, and when he turns around to look, the sight that greets him is surprising. they both look at each other with wide eyes, and then the stranger laughs lightly, although it’s a little shy.
“are you korean?” sungki asks with little fear or regard for manners anymore. the other nods. “are you?” sungki nods as well.
“sorry if i startled you,” he apologizes. sungki shakes his head-- almost reassures him it’s okay, but the stranger speaks instead. “you-- looked lonely, is all.”
is he? maybe. he has mei; she is family now, but...friends? it feels like he has been alone for so long.
maybe his silence is telling. either way, the other boy asks, “can i...?” and sungki nods and scoots over, making room for him to sit beside him.
“i’m sunghyuk.”
“sungki.”
“oh! we have the same first syllable. what are the odds of that?” sunghyuk smiles, and sungki can’t help but do the same, even if it’s muted, as his smiles all are now.
they sit in silence for a while, and sungki has so many questions, but he’s afraid to ask them, lest they get turned on him and he have to lie. there’s so much about his life he can’t say though he wants to. the depth of his loneliness becomes quickly apparent in how willing he is to tell this relative stranger he’s a vampire just so he can be honest-- just so he can speak and be heard, because sunghyuk has warm, welcoming eyes and sungki’s heart tells him he can trust him.
he doesn’t though, even when sunghyuk asks him, “how did you get to italy, if you don’t mind me asking?” even though it’s tentative.
he and mei have a story for this. “i was...am...an orphan. a woman from china found me wandering the streets in incheon and she brought me back to china with her. we’ve been traveling ever since.” we’ve been here for a few years though, he almost says, but it will give away his age, so he doesn’t. sunghyuk sports no skepticism on his face, and sungki judges him as trusting, too.
“how about you?” he returns, and sunghyuk’s smile falters a little.
“i’m a servant for a man here,” he explains, but he seems to predict sungki’s comments of sympathy, and quickly adds, “it’s not a bad life, but i’m not supposed to be out here right now, so please don’t tell anyone.”
“of course,” sungki swears.
“what places have you traveled? what was it like?” sunghyuk is so curious, and it makes sungki smile a little. he can’t help but tell him.
∞ 1836 ∞
they meet weekly for two years, sunghyuk always sneaking away from the family he served to sit with sungki by the canal, talking about everything and nothing all at once.
it’s at the end of year one that he tells him he’s a vampire, and the beginning of year two where sunghyuk, even in all of his trusting glory, finally believes him. it’s not until sungki exhausts himself of all of his stories-- of everything he learned in history, all of his notable memories traveling throughout the asian continent, the details of his low status from birth and how he was saved from it. maybe it’s the last point that really drives it home, further commonality found between them, and even more when sungki tells stories of his sire and sunghyuk relates to it.
it’s probably that which leads sungki to say, “i could help you escape, you know.”
it’s met with a great deal of anxiety from who is undoubtedly now his best friend. (sunghyuk made it easy, and he doesn’t remember the last time he was so happy, if he ever was.)
eventually, sunghyuk agrees, and it’s a relief for sungki, who can’t help but imagine sunghyuk in his place, with his now dead sire, treated the same way as sungki was, with a look at him, isn’t he pretty? it makes his stomach churn, so when sunghyuk says okay, he’s glad.
they succeed, too. sunghyuk sneaks out in the middle of the night, and then sungki and mei whisk him away into their protection, mei prepared to erase the memories of anyone that might come looking.
(part of sungki considers turning him. he talks about it with mei when sunghyuk is asleep. “then we’ll be able to travel together forever, and we won’t lose him,” he tells her. then i won’t lose him. mei tells him it will be sunghyuk’s choice, and sungki agrees, and decides to ask him.)
the day he asks, they’re on their way back to their usual spot by the canal. it’s a risk to go anywhere familiar, they know, but it’s just not the same. sunghyuk goes ahead of them. he’s going to get there first, sungki’s eyes still trained on him, smile still on his face. he’s about to break into a run to catch up when he pauses.
there’s something in the air: an unfamiliar scent that makes sungki’s hairs stand on end.
“hey, sunghyuk, come ba--” he doesn’t finish the sentence before something collides with his best friend, knocking him out of sungki’s field of vision, and it’s now that he runs. he turns the corner just in time to see a hooded figure stab a knife into sunghyuk’s jugular, and sungki screams. the figure disappears, almost into thin air, and part of him wants to chase. part of him wants to destroy them, but more than that, there is a best friend, and he can save him. he can.
“sunghyuk,” he cries. he catches him in his arms before he properly hits the ground. he can hear the way he chokes on air, eyes wide and full of fear. “please hold on, please, please, please,” sungki begs him as they drop to the floor, his best friend’s head in his lap. he fumbles around for the knife he carries with him in his pocket. he hears sunghyuk whimper-- sees his weak hand reaching for him even as sungki digs the knife into the flesh of his palm. “i’m going to save you, i’m going to,” he swears, and he clumsily drips his blood across his friend’s face, and into his mouth, and--
he is met with nothing but sunghyuk’s vacant, lifeless stare, and the pit that opens in his stomach at the realization that he is too late; his best friend is already gone. “sunghyuk i’m sorry...i’m so sorry,” he sobs.
he wails, and then he buries him, and he waits anyway. he keeps track of the time, seated, unmoving, beside his makeshift grave. day one. he is sick with worry, wracked with tears and the feeling that it is all for nothing. day two. he is determined. no, i wasn’t too late. he tells himself he’ll come back. he tells himself he saved him. day three. he waits, and he shakes, and he waits, and the tears set in again. day four. he sobs and he sobs, and it is over, and it was too late.
( THE HISTORY BOOKS FORGOT ABOUT US. )
returning to korea marked the return of optimism for a while, now kiyong a lighter version than the names that came before him, even less than 100 years after sunghyuk’s death. he is just so eager to be home; his heart is open whether he realizes it or not.
it closes for his protection when japan occupies his country, but once they are gone, he opens back up, a little more healed, a little more tired of loneliness, even as used to it as he is in his near 350 year old life.
it’s this heart that finds its way to a certain kwangsoo, and subsequently, a new best friend.
it starts with a library: a new one, the national library of korea, a symbol of freedom from the japanese rule to kiyong. most knowledge is freedom to him, education always a sign of the higher class in his time, only ever to receive an education once he found mei. suddenly, it’s like the entire world is cracked open, ripe to be learned about-- read about.
he goes every day that he can, sometimes with mei, usually alone.
kwangsoo does too, or at least it seems that way. it takes many visits in common before they actually speak, and it’s kiyong that steps through the door and approaches him.
“what are you reading these days?” he asks. “i see you here all the time.”
kwangsoo laughs lightly. “my favorite is historical fiction, but i’ve been reading a lot of traditional poetry these days?”
kiyong’s face lights up. “sijo?” kwangsoo nods in confirmation, and kiyong can’t help the grin that stretches across his face-- the first in too long. “i love sijo.” sijo, the poetry of the kisaeng. he didn’t get to really read any until the early 1900′s, and it always made him think of his mother-- made him wonder if he could ever read something that she wrote. she would’ve been a great storyteller. in moments like this, he misses her without even knowing her, but the recollections are all pleasant. it’s warm.
“kisaeng were amazing, weren’t they?” he muses aloud with a small smile.
kwangsoo nods. “i would’ve loved to have met one.”
“me too,” kiyong replies, almost a sigh, undeniably wistful. maybe kwangsoo notices, but if he does, he doesn’t ask.
they introduce themselves to each other, and it’s not the last time they run into each other at the library by chance, until eventually, it isn’t chance anymore. they learn they go to the same school, and they study together, at the library first, then each other’s respective houses. it’s usually kiyong that corrects kwangsoo, even though he’s in a lower grade than him. (he’s been in lower grades for years.)
kiyong corrects all of the fiction kwangsoo reads about the joseon dynasty too, surely to the point that it almost irritates him, but he still gives kiyong every book he finishes so he can read it himself.
one day, when they’re splayed out in kwangsoo’s room: “hey, kiyong...how do you know so much about the joseon dynasty? i keep studying it so i can figure out what’s accurate and what isn’t myself, but...some of the stuff you tell me i haven’t read anywhere.”
and so kiyong tells him, and kwangsoo in all of his good-natured skepticism asks him to tell him about his life. (and so kiyong does. after, kwangsoo believes him.)
tensions grow between the north and south. many of their friends join the military to help protect their country, but kiyong is too young. kwangsoo, thankfully, doesn’t. he chooses to work toward being a doctor instead, and kiyong is thankful.
( “hey, ki, you didn’t give me back my copy of the dragon lady,” kwangsoo points out.
“oh,” kiyong realizes, and he laughs a little. he turns on his heel and speedwalks away, like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime in which he kept someone else’s book for too long. “i’ll get it back to you next time i see you! i’m sorry!” he calls over his shoulder.
“no, you can keep it!” kwangsoo calls back, and he can hear the smile in his voice.)
∞ 1650 ∞
one of their friends becomes injured before the war even properly starts. he’s placed in seoul national university hospital, and kwangsoo goes to the library less in favor of visiting instead. kiyong tails him often, sitting with them in the hospital. it’s kwangsoo and their friend responsible for most of the chatter, kiyong often reading, content to be present without making small talk. neither of his friends give him a hard time about it, for which he is thankful.
the war breaks out then. kiyong reads all the news he can every day, and kwangsoo still visits the hospital as it grows full of more soldiers and civilians injured alike.
he knows something is horribly wrong when he doesn’t see kwangsoo for a week. kiyong goes to the library every day and sits, waiting in their usual place, eyes trained on the shelf where they met: kwangsoo’s favorite. his best friend’s copy of the dragon lady burns a hole in the library table.
the news comes in later. massacre at seoul national university hospital. 900 suspected dead, and tears well up in his eyes before he even finishes reading.
he shows up on kwangsoo’s doorstep unannounced even though he already knows in his heart what happened. but he has to know for sure. maybe not, maybe--
he is greeted by kwangsoo’s mother, eyes red from crying, and he sees tears well up in her eyes again as soon as he meets them-- as soon as she sees him. his own vision blurs, because he knows, and kwangsoo’s mother sobs, unable to say a word.
“he’s gone,” and it’s not a question even though it should be, because kiyong knows. of course he knows. (he should’ve known from the start.)
she nods in confirmation, and kiyong almost forgot the agony. he almost thought this time, he could escape it.
he falls to his knees.
( THE BIBLE DIDN’T MENTION US, NOT EVEN ONCE. )
"kijungie,” kyuhwan says, and kijung hums in acknowledgement.
“what was the capital of the joseon dynasty in 1500?” kijung can hear him holding back laughter.
“fucking,” kijung replies in exasperation. “seoul! but that’s a trick question because it was hanseong. that’s so stupid,” but when kyuhwan laughs, he laughs too. “at least ask me something nobody but me would know.”
“but if nobody but you knows it, then how do i know what to ask?”
“don’t act like you haven’t already asked me 100 questions, kyu. 100 is like...an understatement at this point.”
“okay,” kyuhwan agrees. “what was king injo like?”
“ugh. he was a pussy, is what he was.”
(it started over shared sheet music, with a kijung encased in the hardest shell, swearing off of friendship, and a kyuhwan too soft to be ignored. kwangsoo was an outlier-- a result of eagerness and optimism in a lonely kiyong, but this time, kyu approached first. it was kyu that asked him over to practice for their upcoming show, and then to study, and then to talk about everything and nothing all at once. they were fast friends, and kyuhwan made it hard for kijung to want to fight it, because he was just so lonely. kyu began to fill some of the holes in kijung’s 400 year old heart, and so he so desperately hung on.)
∞
it’s strange, looking out at the horizon in incheon. everything is different except the horizon. there is still a dock, built up now, surrounded by boats far more extravagant than hwan’s ki could’ve ever imagined.
still, the horizon is the same.
“do you miss them? your family?” kyuhwan asks from where he sits beside him by the water.
(he wanted to show kyu where he lived 400 years ago. he wanted to show him the paths his feet walked before they were immortal, and when he still planned to die-- still prepared his family for the day it would come, still dreamed of love, still dreamed of a future. he wanted to take him to goryeosan mountain to see the azaleas that bloomed their in vibrant purple. he never did it for anyone else.)
"yes. i wonder what happened to them all the time...without me..." his voice grows quiet near the end, and he just stares out at that horizon, gaze distant.
there is still so much kyuhwan doesn’t know. he feels it bubbling to the surface, and he feels himself ready to release it all, if his best friend is ready to hold it.
"you didn't stay?"
he didn’t talk about it, too afraid sharing would produce attachment to someone who would inevitably die, early or late, both too soon. (of course, it happened anyway.)
“didn’t get a choice to.”
kyuhwan hesitates, clearly confused when he asks, “what does that mean?”
"do you remember studying about the manchu invasion? in the 1600's?” he begins, and kyuhwan nods beside him. “i was 17 then. i turned 17 in the middle of it, anyway. i was captured and taken to china afterwards. i think king injo surrendered to the manchu on the day i was turned. maybe the day before."
“...captured by who?” it’s with more trepidation, and kijung can practically feel his dread. no, the story isn’t good. anything kyu feels is justified.
"he was a manchu soldier. and a vampire. i tried to get away, but then he poisoned me...to keep me from running anymore, and tricked me into thinking his blood would make me better. then..." he shakes his head.
he can’t remember the last time he explained it-- maybe never in this detail. he didn’t have to tell mei. she could simply look at him and know. it’s different now, here, not so far from the ground that will always be stained with hwan’s blood for him. it makes his tongue loose, makes the emotions fresh, makes old wounds throb again, but there’s something calming in saying it: the truth. nothing to save anyone else, nothing to maintain a picture perfect image; it is nothing but his life.
“i...” kyuhwan breathes. “i’m sorry.”
kijung shakes his head again. "you don't need to apologize. it was just...bad luck. i wish i could find some reason for it. i've been trying for 400 years, but i think some things just happen, and there's no reason for it at all."
"were you afraid?"
kijung doesn’t even notice it’s a bombardment of questions, one after another, like his soul has been waiting to answer for years. he feels a tightness in his throat, new desperation, that familiar feeling of injustice he thought he stifled.
in the end, he nods, small.
"i was afraid i would die at first. then i was afraid they would do worse to me than death. i think i was most afraid for...my family. my father died the year before and i was the firstborn son. i was going to get married soon. my sister...my little brothers...the next son in line was ten years old. sometimes i wish i couldn't think about it anymore, but...i think i need to remember." a pause. "did you know mei can erase memories? like i can make things warm. sometimes i thought about asking her to erase them. but..."
“what’s worse than-- oh.” thankfully, kyuhwan doesn’t have further questions on this realization, and instead, he says, "you shouldn't. you shouldn't forget them. they're out there somewhere. you have to keep their memory alive."
kijung nods a little, even if he isn’t sure he believes it. the last part, however, he agrees with. "they're nothing to anyone but me. sometimes i think about all of the wars i witnessed and all of the people that died, and how no one remembers their names. thousands of people-- more than thousands --just disappearing just like that. no one remembers them anymore unless they're unlucky enough to be like me."
they sit in silence for a while, air heavy. kijung almost apologizes, keenly aware of how he might’ve ruined this trip with the remnants of his grief.
“i’ll remember you, ki,” kyu offers, voice soft, words gentle, as everything is from his mouth. “even if you weren’t a vampire, i would. i would try to make sure no one forgot you.”
the tears come suddenly, but maybe they lurked below the surface all along. he cries quietly, but it’s obvious enough for kyuhwan reach for his hand and hold onto it. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry,” kyu apologizes.
kijung just shakes his head. “no,” he says through tears, voice wet with them. “i think i just needed to cry. i think...it’s worth crying about.”
“yeah.”
∞ summer, 2019 ∞
he sees death in him, so much so that he seeks out a witch-- a fortuneteller, to ask if it’s just his paranoia or if it’s true.
he will die young, he says, and it’s enough to already break kijung’s heart.
he already considered making him a vampire, in an increasingly frenzied need to avoid more loss-- before, before he even knew of its inevitability. mei told him the same as she did before, with sunghyuk: it will be his choice.
kijung doesn’t ask. he makes the choice for him, with blood in a wine glass, wine down kyuhwan’s throat.
there is time. he knows there is time-- time to change his mind, time to turn him, but he also doesn’t know. he doesn’t know when death will come for his best friend. he decides he must make it never for his sanity, for the selfishness that grips his heart, for his centuries of mourning, because he has been alone so long, and he is so tired.
they wander from the kitchen into the living room, kijung trailing behind kyu, and he puts his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. “hey, kyu,” and his friend turns around, blinking, curious.
kijung could be a good liar, but not with kyuhwan. surely the gravity of the situation shows on his face. but he thinks of an eternity with him, and the world feels a little brighter.
“i’m sorry,” he says regardless.
kyu smiles at him, soft. “sorry for wha--”
kijung doesn’t let him finish. he grabs his face and snaps his neck quickly. he hopes it’s painless. god, he hopes so. (he knew, if he let him finish-- if he looked at him for too long --he wouldn’t be able to do it, and every second that ticked on was one second closer to losing him forever.)
his best friend is still dead on the floor. dead, dead, dead. this time, his hands are the murder weapon.
(he loses his composure. his plan falls apart, just like kijung falls to the floor. he pulls kyuhwan’s head into his lap, and he weeps like he’s lost him forever. maybe it’s because, deep down, he knows all he’s done is make kyuhwan a different kind of doomed.)
( YOU ARE MY SWEETEST DOWNFALL. )
it is kyuhwan’s face. kyuhwan with a slit throat on the captain’s orders, kyuhwan assassinated, turning the waters of the canal red, kyuhwan's face on a wartime newspaper as a symbol of loss kyuhwan just out of reach.
he wakes up with a jolt, face already streaked with tears. his hand wanders in the dark, to his side, to the rise and fall of a chest close enough to touch, close enough to confirm he isn’t gone. kijung breathes.
kyu stirs. “kijung...?” he asks sleepily, and he must hear the tears, because he sits up suddenly too. kijung takes in his face-- the look of concern, and he sees it even in the dark. “what happened?”
“nightmare,” kijung replies simply, and he wipes at his tears, centering himself in the reality of a kyuhwan immortal.
“it’s okay. you’re safe,” and they are words kijung has told him so often-- words his fledgling shouldn’t have to say to him, but they’re needed. kijung breathes, and kyu finds his hand and holds it in silence for a while.
“do you want to talk about it? would that help?”
would it? maybe. he’s never told anyone before. god, he’s never told anyone.
“my friends...” he whimpers. “i saw...you. i saw you die, but they were memories. it was just you dying over and over, the way all of my other best friends died. i saw you--” his voice cuts out, and he can feel kyuhwan’s expectancy, like he knows he isn’t done, but kijung doesn’t know that.
he doesn’t know what he should say, or what he shouldn’t. “do you...do you want to know? do you want to know how they died? i’ve...never told anyone before.”
PEONY …accuse your muse. / send a flower! ❀ / @feykyuhwan / accepting!
It’s always at nighttime that things take a turn for the strange. It must be something traditional and related to the limits of human eyesight; having something to compare it to now, Harin realizes how blind ordinary people really are. What was it like before they even had streetlights to help them? Relying on the moon, on flickering fires … he’s not envious, but then again, it’s not like modern technology did anything to help him in his hour of need, either.
Outside the subway station, above the general unpleasantness of gasoline and cigarette smoke, he smells vampire. But there’s something unusual about it, in a way that he can’t place, otherwise he’d be inclined to ignore it. This late, there aren’t many choices to narrow it down, and Harin’s gaze settles on the kid.
Oh; that’s always a shame to see. He looks young. Not that there’s ever a good time to be changed into something brutal, but it bears more of an echo of a life cut short this way. (Then again, appearances do deceive. Likelier than not, he’s older than Harin. Maybe by a few hundred years. There’s just no way to tell without asking, and why should it be his business?)
Harin’s steps have stalled, and he’s been rooted in place long enough that it’s surely obvious by now where is attention is fixed. Less so why it’s fixed, but he imagines that the other has picked up on the same inhuman cues. That’s always nice; it spares some of the need for introductions.
“There’s something different about you.” Might as well voice his confusion. “Why?”
