I kinda wanna draw a different version of Saeran every year, I did GE Ray for their birthday last year and GE Suit the year before that, so this year it was VAE Saeran's turn 😼
Thinking about comforting VAE Saeran with cuddles after he wakes up from a nightmare so horrible it pulled Ray out of the front and left him horrified in panic too (could be maid AU or could not be but you know me)
It felt like there was a weight on his chest.
An impossible weight that wouldn't go away no matter how much he tried to claw at his skin. Like a pillar, a support beam, concrete that'd nearly been the death of them but also had been the reason why they hadn't died. Neither Ray nor Saeran died that night even though that was what they set out to do when they pressed the button. They lived through that night, and the days following it, clinging to the idea that something would put them out of their memory.
Nothing ever did, though. Rather, in the heat of dust and ash, a man extended his hand and dug them out of the dirt to ensure they lived. They had been upset at him, bitter and angry that he would come to save them after they'd already been destroyed beyond repair, but he promised a better life if they gave him a chance.
They took that chance, but they didn't know taking it wouldn't change the pain that came from living after a nightmare. That nightmare was their reality every time they closed their eyes! It wouldn't go away, it wouldn't stop, and it wouldn't let them get restful sleep.
Burn, burn, burn, that nightmare growled. You're on fire!
These memories jolted Ray awake every night until he threw himself out of bed. Normally, that would pull them out of the flashback, but for some reason, this time was different. This time was worse. Saeran felt every last inch of the flames stroke his sensitive skin like a gust of pollen chasing after someone with an allergy. Angry hives tingled and hissed whenever something touched his skin.
His clothes, the air, the blanket, the bed, the dirt, the hardwood floor, the melted PC and all its parts creeping across the—
It felt like he was there again.
The scars from that night hadn't disappeared. They burrowed deeper and deeper inside of his chest until he could no longer distinguish his reality from fiction. Night time was the worst because Ray could feel the smoke begin to creep up his throat and singe his skin, screaming until he could no longer remember the sound of his voice, and when he could no longer withstand the memory that danced between past and present?
Saeran stepped in to spare him the pain. But, there was no one who could do the same for him. He was a protector, he was supposed to be strong, and here he was, gasping for air as he wondered if he was trapped in a burning building or in a bedroom with someone who had nothing but love in their heart for both him and Ray.
It felt like he was going to die.
Wilting away just like a dying flower in an abandoned garden with no gardener left to save him.
I don't want to die! Saeran's mind pleaded with itself. I don't want Ray to die, either! I don't want us to die! Don't leave us here to die! I need to survive so I can make him happy! I need—
"Saeran," a voice whispered his name. He couldn't tell where it came from, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and see the blue sky taunting him. It taunted him for hours as he wondered if that God they once heard about would stop mocking them with a Hell that felt personally catered to them. A sky they could never touch as they lay in agonizing pain.
Make it stop... make it stop...!
"Saeran, can you hear me?"
Something touched his shoulder and he yanked his body away from the source. He winced at the static that came with it, but it was just enough to make him open his eyes. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he realized he wasn't sitting in a pile of rubble, but he wasn't in the bedroom, either.
I'm not... lying in the dirt?
He was in a living room. His back was propped up against a couch and the faint smell of ash still choked his lungs as he sucked in a hot breath. He noticed a fireplace in the corner of the room, and a giant patch of water spread across the floor as if someone doused the fire not long ago. His heart continued to surge against his ribs even as his eyes settled on a vision of someone who normally brought him peace and security.
Your concerned eyes were on him but you had placed your hands in your lap where he could see them and know that they wouldn't try to touch him again.
Not Mint Eye.
Somewhere else.
Where?
"Where...?"
"Saeyoung's cabin," you answered, slowly and clearly so as not to make him feel any more confused. "He offered to let us stay here for the weekend so you could enjoy the fresh snow."
"No, I'm... I'm not... I'm supposed to be..." he trailed. He was supposed to be in the rubble of Mint Eye where nobody could ever find him. He wasn't free from that place. They were meant to die there. That was a fact he felt to be certain when he woke up. But, if he was there, there wouldn't be a chance in hell you would be there.
He hadn't met you until after the explosion. He wouldn't go anywhere his brother frequented unless he had forgiven him... unless there had been a change in his world that made him see different from what his liar of a Savior told him. He couldn't be in that wretched building, nor could Ray... not as long as he sat in this room with you.
How could his body betray him when he was the one who always brought Ray out of the memory?
How could his mind betray him and leave him in a blurry haze where nothing felt right?
How could he not be strong enough?
"I'm scared," he eventually admitted.
Your gentle eyes didn't leave his. "What can I do for you, honey pie? It doesn't matter what it is, even if you can only think of one word to ask for it. I'm here for you."
What did he want?
"Hold me," he whispered. The agonizing itch was still there but the thought of your touch didn't sound repulsive. It sounded better than the alternative. He didn't want the pressure of the pillar to eat him alive. If he had to be crushed, he wanted it to be in your arms instead. "I need you to hold me."
So, with open arms, you pulled him against your chest and he buried his face against your chest in the hopes of finding a firm heartbeat to confirm this wasn't a dream. It couldn't be a dream if you felt warm. A dream would never let him know someone's warmth when all he ever felt was the flames. Flames were nothing compared to a tender touch born of love.
Thump, thump, thump...
It felt alive in ways he didn't.
Neither he nor Ray had told you what happened to them in detail, but there would come a day when they would have to do it.
"I've got you," you said. "I don't know what frightened you so much... but I promise I'll hold you as long as you want me to. You don't have to be afraid alone... neither of you have to be. Not Ray, and not you, Saeran."
At least, he had the peace of mind of knowing you would love them all the same.
Summary: It's hard to rebuild your life from scratch when you thought you could never look ahead with any hope in your heart again. Natasha could never fully grasp all the hardships that Ray had to fight through in the two years they have spent apart, unknowing of each other's lives. But she was determined to never stray from his path again.
Notes: For day 5 of Mystictober: Rain! ~ 2.7k words. Hurt/comfort. Depiction of a PTSD episode.
Credit: dividers by @/saradika-graphics, picrew used for header - here!
It rained a lot this Fall. Summer didn't linger for too long, taking its warmth and clear skies with it almost as soon as its last days on a calendar have come to their end. Natasha didn't mind the cooler weather or the gray clouds above. Truth be told, she didn't pay much attention to the seasons before she met Ray. Ray, who could discover beauty even in the most ordinary of days. She didn't realize she was taking something as simple as a walk to work for granted until she found herself stuck in a windowless room staring at computer screens day in and day out.
It was only seven months for her. But for Ray, it was all he's ever known. She was so saddened by that thought. It used to choke her up at night when the regrets of what could have been were at their strongest. She was glad that these regrets were over now that she had been given a second chance, in spite of all the odds. A chance to make good on her promises and not close her heart up ever again.
However, she was aware that Ray had it harder. While her and Saeyoung have battled with their grief for those two years, he had a completely different battle he had to face alone. Naturally, Jihyun and Saeran were there to support him - just like she had Saeyoung - but there were certain things that Ray had to handle on his own in order to achieve his peace.
She knew Ray didn't like rain or thunderstorms. It rained on that life-changing day. She remembered it well. Her eyes repeatedly re-reading over the words on the screen, as if they would change shape if only she wished hard enough, while her ears gradually filled with the static of white noise and the numbing sound of raindrops hitting the window of the hospital room.
She lost him on that day. Unexpectedly, tragically.
It was also raining on the day Rika got kidnapped. Saeyoung's cries of hate and despair alike completely drawing out the storm raging outside the cabin, as if he was a wrathful deity unleashing all of his sorrow and fury onto the earth bellow for everything it took from him. It was scary to see. No, it was even more than scary; it was heart-wrenching. She remembered wishing there was someone who could share in her grief. But on that day, she simply wanted to bear the entire burden of it herself, if only no one else had to suffer the way she saw Saeyoung suffer.
She wondered if it was raining wherever Ray was on those days, too. If he felt some of their grief and shared it with them. She wouldn't be surprised, if so. Even if the thought of that was painful.
Nowadays, with all four of them learning to live together little by little, things weren't tinged with that familiar melancholy of grief that became her normal. However, the scars of the past manifested themselves in awkward silences and nasty words. She knew things wouldn't be easy, even with their miracle of Ray and Saeran returning back into their lives. She did, however, occasionally still find herself wishing she could go back in time. If only to take away the sadness now permanently tinged in Ray's eyes.
She assumed that was why she was so tense today, her fingers tapping nervously over the rim of her teacup. Her pretty much being all by herself with Saeyoung out on some business with Vanderwood also didn't help. The rain outside the windows was pouring down heavily, the weight of the water droplets banging on the roof like a constant reminder of her ever-growing sense of unease. It was not surprising to not see Ray out and about today because he disliked the rain. He'd usually lock himself away in his room and wait it out in his headphones, and her and Saeyoung would leave him to it instead of trying to pull him out outside when he wasn't feeling like it.
But it's been hours and he still hasn't come out even for as little as a glass of water. That wasn't like him. One part of her felt obligated to check on him, and another didn't want to bother him. Still, she sat by and didn't do anything once in the past. She deeply regretted it. Reckless or not, she'd just drive herself stir-crazy sitting this one out.
Si, she rose from the table and promptly hurried up to Ray and Saeran's room with a determined huff. It was the farthest one away, with large windows giving the full view of their backyard. Saeyoung ensured that he could sit there and look up at the sky whenever he wished. But it probably wasn't so pleasant for him right now. After a minute or two of hesitation by the door, she eventually knocked softly to see if it would work.
"...Ray? It's Natasha. I just... wanted to check if you're okay or not. I could bring you some warm tea, if you want?"
No answer.
Natasha frowned. That's unusual. He might be reserved sometimes, but never to the extent of completely disregarding her. She would have thought he was asleep if it wasn't for the rainstorm outside. None of this helped calm her nerves. Barging in on his personal space probably wasn't the nicest thing to do, but if not her, then Saeyoung would do so later.
"I'm... gonna come in unless you tell me no. Is that okay with you?"
No answer.
But that's an answer in and of itself. With a turn of the door handle, she entered the room, squinting slightly since it was darker than she was used to. That in itself wasn't surprising, he'd always cover the windows when it rained, and she knew that darkness helped with his migraines that would come and go every other day. The fact that he wasn't present, however, was surprising. Instead, she could see his bathroom door left slightly open, the only source of light spilling onto the floor from it.
"Ray?" She called out, the worry seeping into her voice despite her attempts to remain composed for his sake, in case he might need some help. She paddled over to the bathroom, paused at the threshold, and decided to softly knock on that door as well. She could hear the sound of running water from the sink, but no other noises whatsoever. Which was concerning as well as just plain odd. She still felt somewhat guilty for just barging in without his say-so, even if she wouldn't turn back, so she tried one last time for good measure: "Is it okay if I come in?"
Still no answer.
She took a deep breath and fully opened the door, eventually entering the small bathroom. Though, she stopped as soon as she did, startled by what she was seeing. Fortunately, Ray was present and appeared to be unharmed, at least physically. But the same certainly couldn't be said for his emotional state, even from a single glance at him. He sat hunched over on the toiled seat, his hands digging into its edges with such force that she could see them shaking slightly.
But what pained her the most was the look on his face. He wasn't in tears. Nor was he screaming or gasping for air. Instead, he resembled a living doll, his eyes so glazed over that they appeared glassy as he stared ahead without moving an inch. It's like he wasn't even here fully. He saw her and heard her, but it's obvious that he didn't really notice she was there at all. Or even the room itself for that matter.
Her heart tightened in her chest. Did he try to handle it by himself? It was a painful thought. But it wasn't important right now. As she took careful steps towards him, she could hear how weak his breathing was, as if his lungs were not getting nearly enough fresh air to get him through it. She kneeled in front of him, not wanting to look down at him like this.
"Ray... Ray, can you hear me? It's me... Natasha. I'm here," she said softly, less out of an attempt to start an actual conversation, and more as a means to just let him hear her voice here with him. To gradually hopefully get him out of this. He may have been quiet, but she could see the anguish going on behind those dull eyes of his. She cautiously leaned over and placed her hands on top of his, her thumbs skimming across his knuckles. They were cold, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Hers, however, were warm.
Slowly, little by little, she managed to get him to let go of the toiled seat, letting her take hold of his hands completely as she brought them to her, still rubbing small circles over his wrists as she did.
"That's it... That's good, that must feel a little bit better, doesn't? I'm right here, do you feel me? Right here in front of you? Can you look at me?" He didn't say anything, but she felt a bittersweet rush of pride in her chest as he shakily switched his attention to her. It's such a small action, but it probably took him a mountain of effort. She exhaled a little in relief, though, because it was a great indication of him doing better than she thought. "Good... That's good, focus on me ok? Focus on the sound of my voice. How about I tell you about that book I finished reading today? I wanted to share it with you for a while now. It's about a princesd that..."
So, she talked. She talked about everything and nothing in particular. What's important is that she didn't stop. As Ray gradually emerged from the mental prison of his own memories, her presence remained unwavering. He didn't have to understand or answer in any way. He simply needed something to draw him out of it. To give him a safety rope to cling on to.
At last, she felt his fingers quiver in her palms, then start to shake, then grab hold of her with what was likely too much force, but she ignored it. She wouldn't let go even if he was to claw at her like a scared wild animal.
"Nat... Natasha...?"
She heaved a small sigh of relief when she met his worn, misty stare. It was far from a joyful sight for sure, but she was just happy to have him back. She gave a nod. "Yes, Ray, it's me. I'm here. We're here. At home."
Our home. Even if the concept was still alien to her, it served as a reminder of his safety.
Keeping one of his hands steady in her grasp, she let go of the other one to reach up and gently stroke some bangs away from his eyes, not minding the cold sweat that was sticking to his forehead. "...Do you want the water faucet to stay on?"
He nodded. She didn't need anything more than that. They sat there for a long while, her silently crouching in front of him as he looked down at her from the toilet seat. She could see that he was trying to mirror her breathing, and so she focused on taking calm, even breaths to help him fill his lungs again. She could see he was fatigued, and who could blame him? Who knows how long he's been frozen up like this, unable to even take a proper breath because of the tendrils of his past slowly crushing him from the inside out.
The thought pained her. Finally, she spoke up, her voice soft and quiet: "Ray... How long have you been like this?"
He looked down, almost ashamed. It pained her further. Squeezing his fingers, she raised his hand to her lips and planted a gentle kiss there, staying for a few seconds. She decided to interject before he could apologize or start beating himself up: "-I think you were very brave to handle it on your own. I'm proud of you. You were very strong."
Maybe she was being a little too coddling, but she couldn't help herself. She heard Ray exhale, his fingers still shaky in her grasp. But then again, he would likely be unsteady and weak like this for some time.
"You're... very sweet, Natasha... But I'm- anything but strong. If just a little bit of rain is enough to make me fall apart... what does it say about me?"
Her heart ached for him. There was truth in his words. She'd be a fool to just discard them as lies. Ray was much more self-aware than most people realized. But it pained her to know how much he was struggling regardless. She gazed up at him again.
"I... can't say that it's pretty or heroic, no... But you... Came into the bathroom to get away from the noise, right?" He nodded yes, his gaze averted. She went on: "And did you turn on the faucet to draw out the noise?"
Another nod. She cupped his cheek tenderly, running her thumb across the rough surface of his healed scar. He didn't look at her, but he didn't scurry away from her touch, either. When he was so tired and unsteady, that was all the permission she needed.
"So you did all you could to get yourself through this. You should be proud of that, Ray."
He huffed, a somewhat sardonic sound. However, it was definitely not meant at her, as evidenced by him leaning into her palm and reaching up to hold it against his skin.
"Yes... and I still failed."
She couldn't say much to that. That being said, she could at least divert his attention.
"Well... then it's good I decided to check on you."
He exhaled a choked little laugh at that, finally meeting her eyes again. He was far from cheerful, even miserable, really, but it was a joy just to have him fully present rather than somewhere terrible and terrifying in the limits of his own memories. After a moment of silence, he spoke again: "It... It was raining. When I woke up."
He didn't need to elaborate on all the gory aspects that now made the rain so challenging for him. She didn't need to hear them, either. She only knew that the rain would drag him back under the rubble, bringing with it all of the agony, terror, and confusion. She couldn't even imagine what that must feel like. To relive your worst moment at any time, with no way out, no matter how hard you try.
With a soft sigh, she leaned up, gently resting her forehead up against his. To let him know she's there. Fully, flesh and bone, not just a ghost. In a way, she too needed this reminder.
"Good thing it's not raining here, then," she whispered, giving him a smile that was both half-hearted and genuinely tender alike. Things weren't going well. And she couldn't tell him otherwise. Sometimes it was difficult, uncomfortable, messy, and even humiliating. But at least he wasn't alone in all this anymore, and neither was she, nor Saeyoung, or even Saeran. They were all marked by different scars from a past that was too harsh to return to. At least they didn't have to carry them alone anymore.
Ray exhaled, a few quiet tears sliding from his lashes onto his cheeks.
"...Yes."
He didn't return her smile, but he didn't need to. When he wasn't feeling well, she didn't need him pretend otherwise for her. She just needed him to let her be there for him when the world got too heavy to make sense of.
After so long apart, it was inevitable for them to me again.
He resigned to the idea that's been feed to him. However, his other half isn't exactly thinking the same.
The moment they stood together in front of the big doors forced his heart to swell up into his throat. The wodden color of warm brown reached his consciousness only in vague shapes, he couldn't really focus on a specific detail on the door. He stood as straight as a candle; unsure how to approach the entire situation.
“Do you need some more time?”
Jihyun's voice was soft when reaching out to the younger man beside him, stiffer than he'd like to admit. His voice was welcoming, warm even the moment he noticed his distress, however, he only shook his head.
“No, no… I am okay. Let's go inside.”
Mint colored hair fell forward after Jihyun titled his head to see his face better; much to his displeasure. He breathed through before rocking back to his heels for a second, taking in more air. It would be fine and it's nothing that's having business leaving his heart to almost hammer out of his chest.
The two, big hands on his shoulders caught him off guard. Turned with ease in order to be face to face, and Jihyun looked at him the way he'd done quite a lot lately. Fresh determination inside his shining eyes that paired ever so well with the new found calm he'd claimed over time. Yet a honest expression of strict feelings that kept his face wrinkle free.
“I mean it, Saeran. If you feel too nervous then we can go in a little later. This small amount of time won't do anything.”
He hushed his racing brain one more time. For a moment he's speechless, wondering how often that actually happened over the short years he spend alongside his old guardian. It's not that he's not wanting to see these familiar faces, it's everything evolving around them. He didn't know what's changed about them specifically. He sighed when closing his eyes, reaching up to put his hand over Jihyun's.
“I'm okay.” He promised firmer. “Please… Just go in first, that way I have a second to process my surroundings.”
Jihyun kept his eyes straight as if trying to see through his soul for any particular lie. But Saeran meant it; he's ready despite his nerves threatening to snap. The older one took in a deep breath, patting his shoulder much too gently and finally letting go of him.
“Okay then. Let's meet them.”
Without another exchange of looks or words, Jihyun grabbed the doorknobs and turned them open. The noises of the party broke through immediately and the atmosphere did a one-eighty considering the smell of food, drinks and people hit forcefully. The lights inside the big hall lightning up the main floor brightly, a little too bright in Saeran's opinion.
He blinked at the pain it caused, lifting his hand up out of reflex. He didn't expect to find so many people in the room, he'd suspected perhaps hundred. Two hundred maximum. But this easily could've been a doubled number of faces, it caused his hands to shake from the pressure he's suddenly finding himself under.
“Don't worry.” Jihyun's voice reached out between the million others.
Saeran watched how he offered his hand in the middle of public. The smile lingering on the older one's face between doting and considerate, could be both at once for all he knew. It's embarrassing given some of the strangers already turned their attention to the scene he's involved in. Although it's maybe childish in some sense he's unwilling to see, he took Jihyun's hand tightly.
It's an instant reassurance that he's not alone right in the heat of the moment. Jihyun had strangely developed this trait of providing him his hand when seemingly overwhelmed. Not that Saeran complained, it's a nice gesture of care. It's difficult to get used to regardless. He's more than grateful though, it's not something somebody has given to him that openly before.
Jihyun began to lead them through the mass skillfully, like he knew exactly where to go. The people's voices lingered in his ears as the shimmer of the stage at the right side of the room kept attacking his eyes. The red curtains fit perfectly well to the red carpet running along the entire floor. The walls a golden touch, exactly like the lights and pattern in the ceiling.
He felt out of place by how fancy everything appeared. It's not quite right he was going across this hall. This very building he'd sworn to tear down one day, bury the dust deep into the ground right next to its occupiers. Days became blurry afterwards and now it could be laying back centuries ago, on the other hand it's just yesterday where he thought of demolishing it all.
“Wait here, Saeran. I will announce your presence as soon as I spoke to them.”
Fuzzy feeling, he thought to himself. His own steps came to an standstill, Jihyun let go of his hand altogether and suddenly he stood by himself behind the stage inside the darker part of the party. Ironical, a little fainted voice in the back of his head mumbled, quickly he suppressed it.
He peeked around the corner due to his insatiable curiosity. His hand against the wall's burning and he's certain the place itself is already flaming independently. But finally he could see them all in the very center of their successes.
Jaehee and Jumin stood with their usual professional attitude when discussing something that must've been important as usual. Yoosung and Zen lending an helping hand since the blond college student carried a list of his own. They looked… carefree. Happy. But there were two faces that had oxygen pressed out of Saeran's lungs right away.
She's present, too. He'd not seen her in what felt like an eternity. Eternity? Eternal...? The memories bubbled up to the surface when seeing her smile beam underneath the artificial light. She wore a pink dress, exactly how she did the day she arrived at Mint Eye two years ago. A lot more fancy today, of course. Her hair's braided back, showing the every inch of her face which hadn't changed in the slightest.
She was still pretty. Still the girl owning positive vibes, lovely attitude with her hands always being busy in some way or another. He'd not expected to feel his cheeks get warmer at the sight of her; especially now where the issue at hand wasn't his territory to play in. She's not the only face leaving his knees to wobble, though.
That red hair of childhood struck harder than prayed; the string of bitterness rose into his mouth. He wore these glasses he didn't even need in the first place. That happy suit in a lot more brighter shade than any of the two ever preferred. They both liked dark clothing most. It's true, his brother was an adult now. Simultaneously he's stayed the boy that he'd been since forever.
So many feelings woke up in a single second, just watching them laugh, speak and interact that easily with each other's concerning. They acted as themselves without a care in the world to play pretend. The RFA truly reminded of a close family.
“I've been waiting for this moment.”
Jihyun told her, to which she gazed back in confusion at first. Not long after her face shifted into pure shock, all their reactions were similar when thinking about it. Saeran's hand on the edge of the wall had strengthen the grip drastically until the tips of his fingers turned whiter than his skin.
No, he couldn't do this. Seeing them this way, peaceful and complete, where's his right interrupting this for the countless time? V assured he's wanted numerous times throughout their recovery together. Telling him they were searching, praying he survived in order to meet. Was it true?
Right there in the shadows of the greater good, far away and known by only the cloak of invisibility, he was home. All his life he's spend time in the dark by himself. There was too much light that it burned his retina, the warmth of the room letting sweat run down his back uncomfortably. This wasn't his home in the past, it wouldn't be in the presence and never be in the future.
The urge to turn on his heels and run until his body broke down filled his veins. He couldn't meet them like this, they shouldn't see him. He remembered well what exactly he'd done to the members of the organization and no matter how much time passed; this couldn't be his life. It implied so much happiness. That's nothing he's confident believing in. He couldn't be that happy without consequences.
“I have a news many of you wouldn't have expected – I'd like to introduce a new member of the RFA.”
Jihyun's tone of excitement tore him from spinning thoughts circling around his head. His body took a step back due to fear; he's aware what's about to happen. He didn't want it. He could not want it.
“I should have discussed it beforehand with the rest, but time was not so gracious with me.”
The short hint of a chuckle made Saeran's stomach sink. He couldn't smile at them if they were to find his presence soon. Should he shake hands with them? Apologize for all the destruction he'd done? Be silent and simply stand in the corner like decoration? He didn't know. Unconscious, his scar itched until he scratched it slightly.
“A new member...? But he did not discuss anything with us..” Jumin questioned.
Yoosung followed with a suspicious hint to his voice. “I think my skin is crawling right now..”
He swallowed, it's not that easy making out their words despite the short distance. People shut their mouths one after another; he's feeling the tips of his ears pulse the longer he was conscious of his body. He pressed a fist out of pure helplessness against his chest, hard and tight.
“Please give a round of applause for our newest member.”
And suddenly people were actually clapping. Saeran knew they're waiting for him, his mind went completely blank when acting on auto pilot, coming forth from the wall into the lightened side of the party hall. A variety of eyes staring holes through his tense limbs; there's not a single thing on his mind other than staring back.
He grazed the RFA, not one without wide eyes coming back. However, the second he met the ones oh-so very familiar, he's stuck in a slow motion. Saeoyung stood right there in front of him, mouth hanging open it what he assumed to be bewilderment.
“Saeran!!!”
“..!?”
It scared him to the bone. Hearing his own name being shouted by a voice he'd never imagine would even remember his existence. His ocean colored eyes widened in a different kind of shock as his older twin brother urged forward clumsily.
“You're Saeran, aren't you? It must be you!”
He yelped way too loud, way too emotional. His amber started getting wet once the tears reached the corners. Saeran felt torn, unable to keep his eyes at one point of the other's face. Exactly like before, he was left speechless. The hug that followed only added oil to the flames. His arms shot up instinctively; out of unwell emotions he'd rather forget about.
“You're alive. Thank you so much for being alive.”
The hug's strong and content, the grasp of his brother something he's sure he couldn't ever escape. His body continued to have grown a few inches taller than him, a little bigger than him, a little healthier and stronger. Nonetheless, Saeran wasn't sure who of them was weaker in that second.
“...See? I told you there is nothing to worry about.”
Jihyun tried talking to Saeran, affirmation of that kind he's not yet used to. He started shaking from head to toe, then. That scent knocking him over internally, reminding him of the ice cream under the sunny sky they shared in the past. That weird unconditional love he gave up shamefully quick.
“It must be you. Say something, Saeran...”
He pulled back to take him by the upper arms, for a brief thought he worried Saeoyung would shake him. Instead he stared in obvious desperation. What could he say? What should he say? It's luck he's standing on his feet right now and didn't fainted in the middle of the charity event.
“Saeran. It feels like you'd go away if I hold you. Don't go away! Don't you ever leave me now!”
God they pierced through deeply, each and every single world of that stupid man across from him. He shook his head slightly; unable to think of anything or find an action that could prove he's not mentally absent. Saeoyung's torturing stare finally broke away because of Jihyun, who stood behind him with the rest.
“Thanks, V. You have my gratitude for eternity.” His voice slipped at the edges.
“You saved my brother, didn't you?”
Jihyun's warm smile twisted into a painful one. “…I'm sorry I hurt him in the first place.”
He only received half of their conversation, busy scanning his other half closely. The last time he had seen his brother's face that up close was...
“.. You remember me. Even though my face is like... what it's like now.”
The second the meaning fell over his lips, he felt stupid. Supposedly should've said something touching or real for the thick air to finally dissolve. Saeyoung's head snapped back, eyebrows rising as high as they could as his grip tightened to the point of edging on hurtful.
“What are you talking about? Of course I remember my brother.”
Why did this hurt so much, but at the same time got this immense weight of doubt and shame falling down his shoulders in featherlight manner? Why did hearing that connection coming out of the other's mouth had him want to cry his soul out of his body? Why was he cursed to be melancholic even in the moments of true happiness?
“Let's never part again. Now let's stay together, safe and sound.”
Saeyoung pulled him into another hug, almost more aggressive then the one previously. Saeran this time managed laying his arms around his brother in return; to actually take hold of him after he's been unreachable for years. An emotional flame right there underneath his skin, immeasurable in comparison to a wildfire.
“...Saeyoung.”
There. He said the name out loud. A name so very conflicting to his heart. Going from the most precious word, to an insult to his faith and back to something soothing. The looks of the other RFA members filled to the brim with empathy, sadly Saeran didn't realize. He registered his own tears that ran down his cheeks, becoming more and more the longer he held his brother.
“It IS you...”
Feeling the nod, Saeyoung buried his face into the crock of his neck. The shaking of his shape unmistakably a sign of a silent cry with which Saeran was more familiar with than enjoyable. Instead of thinking over past memories, he gave the tears a pass since they're liberating. Hugging back and hiding into the suit of his older brother, mimicking his doing, almost too close to breathe properly. Yet neither could care one bit.
They stood there for mintues inside each other's arms. Hours? He didn't need to know. All he needed was to internalize the fact he finally go back the one thing he's been craving all his life. Looking for, fighting for in the first place. Crying out for endless times.
VAE Saeran x MC / Reader [*Party, but with angst, ya know?]
The first time he sees you again, you are spinning across the ballroom to the melody of the orchestra – unknowingly dancing circles across the pieces of his heart.
Saeran watches you from afar, just as he always has. It has been two years and the sight of you still takes his breath away. Your very existence makes his entire body hum and ache; makes the earth itself cave right underneath him because you are still as beautiful as he remembers.
Under the light of the chandeliers, your gown shimmers and reflects off the marble tile, envelops your skin in glistening gold. He finds you radiant– a golden angel, hauntingly beautiful.
His heart swells suddenly, awestruck by the way you shake your head, throw your head back in laughter – he’s too far away to hear it, but he knows it carries sunshine.
If he could bottle it up into a music box – wind it up when the darkness threatens to overwhelm him – he would.
He would.
But he can’t. Because it is not him you are dancing and laughing with; you are somewhere else entirely – in a faraway land where dreams come true and you can live out your happily ever after in V’s arms.
He’s not welcome in that fairytale.
His heart churns and twists, drugs his entire being until it leaves every cell numb. The trajectory of the truth burns straight through his guts.
Once, he had allowed himself to believe the delusion that he could someday become someone worthy of you. That was before he knew the truth; before he gave himself over to the darkness and lost himself in filthy ideologies and the desperate need to belong somewhere.
He had fallen in love with you then – hopelessly, desperately. Ray, who clutched at your skirts and daydreamed of kissing you on cotton candy clouds; Saeran, who couldn’t stand the sight of you because you made him feel and question his very existence.
But then is not now. The years have passed... and now is something else. He is someone else – yet every fragment of memory and shattered dream that remains of him, still belongs entirely to you.
He is still in love with you, and it hurts, because you have never – not once – been his.
The ballad stops and V kisses your hand and looks at you like you have painted the stars in the sky for him.
You’re both laughing – carelessly, joyfully – leaning close together, your hands still in his. Sharing a private joke, maybe.
Saeran can’t remember the last time he was told a joke. Can’t remember the last time he laughed. His throat constricts and he coughs, trying to loosen the vice that has wrapped itself around it.
It is not the first time he is shockingly jealous of V, but it is the first time that it shakes him this much.
The flickering chandeliers and the clinking of champagne glasses suddenly becomes too much. He turns away, exits the ballroom through the French doors.
He can’t let himself get caught in the memories. When he gets caught in them, he obsesses, and when he obsesses, his thoughts start to spiral down, down, down – until there is nothing.
Nothing –
He stumbles through the empty hallways, the columns are tall and the walls so white and bright that it hurts his eyes– if he looks closely enough, he can see a filthy red rug, the faint silhouette of black robes surrounding him. Screaming.
He blinks and he’s staring into white marble again.
He keeps going.
Eventually, he finds himself outside, where he walks under an archway woven with purple wisterias and into an open space where the floor is cobblestone and he is surrounded by hedges and flowering trees. The sky is dark but sparkling with stars and he feels like he can finally breathe.
No one else is here, but the music of the string instruments carries over from the open windows in the ballroom. The sweet sound is softened by the breeze, the singing cicadas, the trickling of water from a garden fountain.
There is something eerily familiar about this place, as if he’s been here before, once upon a dream.
“Saeran!”
That voice, his name; time has passed, and he hasn’t forgotten the first time you called it when you followed him into Mint Eye, the first time you whispered it against his hair when he was forced to take the potion and he couldn’t stop weeping into your lap.
Or the first time you sobbed it when you clutched his broken hands and begged him to leave with you.
He hears the hurried footsteps on cobblestone and he turns, meets glossy eyes framed by black lashes that blink up at him.
Awe. Shock. Euphoria.
Saeran isn’t sure what he is feeling when you catch yourself against the flowered archway, exhilarated from chasing after him. His own heart is pounding so loud he’s sure you can hear it, but he finds he can’t look away from you.
The bottom of your gown is muddy, your hair wild in waves and flowing down your back.
You look like a princess, he thinks. Like magic.
There is almost an unnatural, otherworldly glow about you – lovely eyes, pretty mouth, kissed by the moonlight and butterfly wings.
“Hi Saeran,” you whisper – honeyed, sweet.
Looking at your beauty up close like this, it’s easier to remember the disgusting burn marks that now cover half of his body. The scars that prevent him from looking at his reflection with anything but revulsion.
He turns away from you but you lunge forward, stumbling into his back and catching his hand in yours; he gasps at the contact, tries not to marvel at the softness of it.
“Go back to the party,” he pleads, his voice is raspy. He feels as if he is going to cry and he does not want you see. “Please.”
“Why won’t you look at me?” You draw nearer, stand right in front of him so that he has no other choice but to.
And he does, prepares himself for the look of revulsion that he’s become so used to receiving from others. But your expression – soft, adoring – does not change.
“Saeran,” you frown, your tone sad and disapproving, “you are thinking badly of yourself. I can see it on your face. Why?” You reach out to touch him, trailing a fingertip down his jaw and his body shivers.
Heat rises to his cheeks in shame. “The scars are ugly. I – I didn’t want you to see them.”
“Nothing about you has ever been ugly, Saeran.” Your eyes are honest, and he wants to believe you.
The wind catches your hair and drags it over your eyes and he has to fight against the urge to lift his hand up and brush it away. Struggles against the desire to press his body against yours, bury his face in your neck and hope you will hold him the way you used to.
He looks up at you, hopes he doesn’t look as haunted as he feels. “Why are you so kind to me? Even after everything that I have done?”
You reach up, place your palm on his right cheek and lean forward, press a kiss against the marred flesh that remains of his left one. He feels teardrops, cold and small on his face – yours or his, he’s not sure.
“Is it not obvious?” your voice is soft, questioning. “I loved you, Saeran.”
“Are you saying these things because you’re angry at V?” His chest heaves, an underlying tone of panic laced in his voice. He feels inexplicably light-headed and tears of frustration are gathering in his eyes but he forces himself to blink them away.
“Of course not.” You look up at him sharply. “I have forgiven Jihyun for many things. But I am angry at him; for lying and hiding when his friends needed him. For not answering Saeyoung’s phone calls when he knew he was mourning you. I am angry for the things he allowed to happen to you.”
You stop a few meters from him and give him a humorless, tight-lipped smile.
“I do not know who Jihyun is,” you admit. “I don’t think I have ever known. Earlier, in the ballroom, I told him everything – he has chosen to leave again.”
“But he loves you,” his licks his lips, eyes uncertain, his voice sounds meek even to him. “You love him.”
You shake your head, your answering laugh is warm, without a trace of bitterness that might have been there if he’d said that to you two years ago.
“Saeran, I loved you,” you whisper, heavy teardrops running down to your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “I loved you so much I thought I would go mad from grief.”
“You…loved me?”
The question seems to hang in the space between you, unbidden.
“I have never stopped.”
He has always loved when the cherry blossoms bloom, when the flowered trees begin to turn pink and some shake loose; when the wind picks them up and blows them everywhere.
That’s what it feels like in his chest. Like it is full of pink petals caught in a spring breeze, spinning wildly out of control. A rainstorm of color.
Saeran cradles your face between his hands; you press your cheek against his palm and run your fingers over the arch of his cheekbones – lightly, lovingly.
“From the very beginning,” he murmurs against your lips. “You have been my entire world.”
Oh, and he recalls clearly, the light of you, the gravity of you; the way your entire being shone and dissolved him into the air when you kissed him in that garden years ago. When you made him believe in magic again.
Since that moment, you have been all he sees when he closes his eyes. Oh, and when your lips meet his, he wonders, if all of this has been one elongated wishful dream.
The clock chimes midnight. He opens his eyes, but he’s not dreaming; you are still there, beautiful and hopeful – and his.
The thoughts about vampire maid VAE Ray have consumed me I fear. And Saeran. There's no turning back. Save me vampire maid VAEs save me
You stood at the precipice of the door that led into the garden with an outstretched hand. "Are you sure there's no way I can convince you to step into the garden during the day, Ray?"
Ray's fingers nervously dug into his frilly sleeve as he shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm sure... I think your flowers are a lot more beautiful in the moonlight. I can admire them all I want during the day inside, you know. It's not that much different than when I look during the evening before I head home."
While you understood Ray was anxious around the sunlight because of his sensitive scars, you still didn't understand why he tried his best to avoid the light like the plague. You knew sun damage could be the harshest thing on someone like him with scars that didn't have many layers beneath them to quell the UV rays but in the same vein, there were all kinds of creams and shades he could wear if he wanted to be outside during the day.
He worked from sunrise to sunset, never once making a point to set foot outside of the B&B until it was time for him to leave. He was very good at his job and it was no wonder your parents wanted him to stay on full-time considering how clean he kept things. But, you knew the cute boy in front of you yearned to be where you were. He wanted to be a gardener, too. But, since you'd had that job since you were a little kid, he never stood a chance at taking your title from you.
Ray didn't want to.
Which, you had a feeling that was why he settled so nicely into the maid position. He was happy knowing you were happy, and while it was all fine and well for him to settle in comfort, you'd seen the look in his eyes before that said he wanted more. Why else would he stare at the garden all day while you worked? That hungry look in his eyes... that was a thirst for the dirt beneath his fingertips. There wasn't any other explanation to show for his anxiety.
You'd reassured him time and time again that he could have fun in the garden, too, and there would never be any threat to yours or his job... but he didn't listen.
He always stepped into the shadows whenever a hand offered to bring him into the light. If it wasn't the fear of getting new burns or the fear of trying to undermine your role, you hadn't the slightest idea what kept him from pursuing the view he often admired from afar.
It bummed you out to see him hold himself back. It reminded you of the days when you were first getting to know one another! Back then, Ray had been so afraid of making mistakes that he wound himself up like a wind-up doll and tried to stick his routine on autopilot. He did a good job like that but anyone who looked at him could see he wasn't having a good time. These days he could smile, giggle, and even cut loose on the job whenever you found time for a break. He wasn't stiff anymore, but this seemed to be the only spot he wouldn't budge on.
"Alright," your hand fell to your side as you tried to hide your obvious disappointment. "I'll see you at the end of my shift, then. I have to do some work on the other side of the property before I close up for the day. But, I expect to take an evening stroll before we go home, Ray. I may not be able to admire the flowers during the day, but I'll be sure to take advantage of your moonlight!"
"Of course, [Y/N]. I-I promise I'll wait for you."
Ray licked his lips, offering a gentle wave to send you on your way to finish your work, and unbeknownst to you listen to the sound of your beating heart as the blood began to pump harder and harder... mixed with your adrenaline and sweat. The sunlight was always a risk to his safety but it was always a benefit to yours. He couldn't act on desire if you were beyond his reach. He couldn't do something stupid if his fear of the sunshine kept him at bay.
But, it was getting harder and harder every day to control himself in this way. Your heart beat a little faster when you saw him. The scent that followed was delicious. He wanted to taste you... to know what your blood would feel like trickling down his throat... but to taste his perfect flower was to reveal what he was and what happened to his body a lifetime ago. People judged him enough for his scars, but his gnashing teeth?
That was another story.
You wouldn't think the same of him if you knew what he'd done in the past... nor would you be so willing to take a stroll with him all on your own. His heart may have been gentle but his fangs were not. He had no control over them when he thirsted for something sweet, and out of all the blood he'd ever smelled, yours was by far the sweetest. If he ever had a taste of you... it would be the end of him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from hurting you. The thought of his bloodlust being thrust upon you made him feel sick.
And yet, he fantasized about it.
He watched your every move as you dashed around the garden from the windows while he cleaned. He imagined dropping everything and running to your side. He imagined cornering you against the grass in earnest as you revealed your neck to him, quivering, whimpering, and all but sobbing for him to consume you. Those thoughts could've very well consumed him. Had you been there when that woman used him as a pawn, he might've changed you, too.
He hated the idea of taking away your right to choose if you lived or died, but he couldn't help but drool at the fantasy his mind cooked up every time you smiled at him. It wasn't as if you hadn't shared a small moment of intimacy with him already! You kissed him plenty since he confessed his feelings to you, and you'd almost gone further with his Saeran more times than he could count. The only thing that you had yet to see was their truest form... and as he stood there, gripping the broom in his hand so hard he feared it would shatter the wood, those thoughts found him again.
He wanted you.
No, he needed you.
Which was why he clenched his eyes shut and prayed for the feeling to stop before he did something he couldn't take back. Once he had a taste of your blood, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking it, not even if Saeran could step in to do something. Because, it was just as bad for Saeran. He wanted you, too. How much longer could either of them do this without marking you?
...
That particular question was answered at the end of their shift. It wasn't long into their evening stroll when you hoisted Saeran off his feet and propped him up against one of the stone walls that lined the garden edge. It was just tall enough for his legs to dangle but not tall enough to do much more than separate the flowers by section. Your body settled between his thighs, giving you the space to pepper his chest in kisses.
Saeran didn't need to breathe but he always did on purpose when you nuzzle your nose against his chest. It was a small gesture. The smallest for a human, anyway, but not for someone like him whose body responded to every act of admiration with gusto. He squished his thighs together to make sure you couldn't wiggle off, but you paid no mind to the little "prison" he caged you in.
You wanted to be there.
"That's my maid," you teased. The gentle words were always cheeky and tender against his skin. A hand tangled itself into his hair, itching every scratch that bothered him before you found him. "I didn't even have to train you to do that for me."
You never paid mind to how cold they were given just how readily your body transferred its heat but tonight was different. Every kiss you paved across their exposed collarbones made it harder to ignore his desires. Your fire was their fire. Your heat was his heat. The blood pumping in your veins was burning for him. It was burning for them in every way imaginable.
How could he hold back when your body was the one pleading for more?
He couldn't hold back. He refused to hold back. He needed you. He needed you like your body needed air to survive. He needed to taste your blood and confirm how sweet it was. He settled his mind when you smiled against the space where his heart would be. As his very precious gardener lifted their head to look him in the eyes, crimson washed over baby blue in a heartbeat. You didn't shiver or shudder when his true eyes appeared as Ray's heart once feared.
In fact, you leaned in even closer and made sure your hands held onto Saeran for dear life. The very creature that could've stolen a precious world away from you.
He whispered, "Do you trust me?"
Without hesitation, you replied, "Always."
You tilted your head to the side as he leaned in closer and nuzzled his nose against the space where your throat met your shoulders. It was just as sweet pressed against your skin as it was from afar, no, even sweeter. Your breath hitched as his fangs pierced your skin. He had been given the chance to indulge in your delicious body to his heart's content and he would be a damn fool to not try to satisfy himself.
Call him greedy, but he would never turn down such wonderful blood when it pleaded to be his.
The sound of your heart...
Thump, thump, thump, thump...!
It pleaded his name.
Saeran, Saeran, Saeran, Saeran...!
It would sound no different if Ray took you first. Ray... Ray... Ray... Ray! Your heart would've cried! You wanted him just as much as you wanted Saeran, after all. But, since he was the first to take his fill of you, he would indulge as if your heart was only crying out for him just this once. His tongue lapped at the marks he left behind to not miss a single drop of your essence. Not a single inch of you would be left for waste.
Your woozy hands remained around his shoulders as cradled you close to his chest. He no longer had a heart to call his own. Those years of humanity were long gone, but yours were not. Your heart was his heart in that very moment, desperately pleading to be not just his, but Ray's, too... forevermore. You could be their heart... a gentle beating heart that reminded him of what it felt like to be a human when they were anything but.
"That's our human," he praised, just as cheeky as you had once been before by echoing your words. "I didn't even have to train you to do that for me."
Perhaps I would like to teach VAE maid Saeran to dance after work in the garden 🫣
Saeran sighed. It wasn't a cause for irritation, nor was it for the sake of disdain. He just hadn't expected to see you working so late in the garden on your day off. You were no better than he or Ray were, so it wasn't like he could say he wouldn't do the same, but he expected to see you consider your off-days as precious since it gave you the time to work on your hobbies outside of gardening.
Not that gardening wasn't a big part of your life. He knew the quaint cottage where you lived had a garden that only bloomed as far and wide as it did because you spent hours working to maintain nature the way it needed to be. You fought to make a safe space for flowers, bugs, and wildlife alike if they stumbled into your home.
You weren't angry with the little scavengers who wanted a snack, but you made a point to leave any food for them a ways away from the house when you made an offering to their appetite so they wouldn't believe all humans to be the same. They could have safe scraps but never the fresh herbs and spices you used in the kitchen. How else could you make dinner with Saeran on your days off?
The herb garden helped him experiment with food without worrying about a price tag, after all!
Then again, what was the difference between you working on your garden and the one at the B&B? They both mattered to you since it would (probably) be your property someday, but not for a long time. You didn't have to worry as much about the B&B when you'd earned yourself a day away from the bumblebees that had made a home for themselves in the back of the property. At the very least, he wanted you to take a nap longer than twenty minutes.
How long had you been working outside while he'd been focused on cleaning the linen on the other side of the house, anyway? Even if it only occurred to you to stop by near the end of the day, it still put an indignant huff on his lips. You were just as stubborn as he was, if not more.
It made you a great team player, but if he had to scold you one more time for overdoing it, he might just nip your fingers in protest!
"And what do you think you're doing here so late, [Mx./Mr./Ms.] Gardener?"
You glanced over your shoulder with that damning smile on your face eating away at him, "Oh, Saeran! I'm so glad I caught you. I've been waiting for you, and it's a relief you found me before I had to find you first! I'm sure if you'd already left for the day, I'd have such a hard time doing what I wanted to do tonight!"
He raised a brow. "And that is?"
"I wanted to dance like nobody was watching." You extended your open palm. He stared at it for a moment as you continued, "That's one of my favorite things to do, actually. I've never seen you dance before and I thought you might be interested in joining me just this once."
"I don't know how to dance," he said, dryly.
That wasn't entirely the truth, but it wasn't an outright lie, either.
He had learned how to dance when he went to the cathedral as a little boy, but those memories were so far gone that he couldn't remember a single thing about what those nuns taught him. The essence of the memory was there, but it served him no good in the long run.
Now, it might have been a fresh memory for Ray, but... it certainly wasn't for him.
Saeran knew how to do plenty. He could bake, cook, whittle, sew, and even make puppets if he found the time to combine his skills to do it. But, dancing was far from that list. It never came up during his quest for revenge, and he saw no need to learn something that wouldn't do anything for him. It turned out he didn't need revenge, anyway, so it wasn't as if he lost out on learning how to dance.
He just didn't see a reason to pick it up.
Your damning reassurance struck him before he could finish another thought. "That's okay, I can teach you how to dance... if you'd like me to, anyway."
"...Isn't dancing just jerking your body around haphazardly?"
"I mean, that's one way to dance, although I don't know if I'd use that word to describe it. A lot of fast-paced dancing requires you to move your body on beat, and the faster the beat, the quicker you'll end up moving. So, not exactly jerking, no... more like learning how to be as fluid as possible in a short amount of time."
"Weird."
He took your hand regardless.
You smiled back at him, resting your other hand against the small of his back as you beckoned him to lean his body against yours. Ruffle and tulle tickled your waist as his dress swayed in the wind. "I'll lead, so don't you worry about a thing. All you have to do is listen to your body, Saeran. I move, you move, and so on and so forth. Some folks move to a number count to simplify things, but I've always listened to my body instead."
He wasn't sure he understood. But, it wasn't that hard to follow basic instructions. You took one step, and he took another after that. It was as if you were trying to fill the space between each other and create a circle of sorts as you spun around to the music you'd been playing on your phone. He could imagine the numbers you mentioned the more you swayed against him, one-two-three, one-two-three.
He didn't hate it.
There weren't too many people in this world he would relent control to, but if he had to pick anyone?
It would always be you, hands-down.
"I wonder how you'd look in a ballgown, Cinderella," you teased. It was as cheeky as ever. "It's lovely to dance with my favorite maid, but I can't help but wonder if you would enjoy this more with the right sort of outfit."
"That implies I'm cleaning because I don't have a choice, mind you," he chuckled. It was the only way he knew how to one-up you. "I don't need a ballgown to dance with my 'prince'. I'm happy where we are. I wouldn't change a thing."
Fortunately, now you were one left huffing and puffing as he laughed.
