he looks at him with a bit of a gleam in his eyes, almost like he’s holding back a laugh. “i’d like to see someone try and catch me,” yujin mumbles, and wraps his arm around his chest a little bit more securely, the irony of the situation not lost on him. underneath his shirt, and covered by his jacket, there’s a small bundle, moving around every second or so. in terms of disguises, it’s not the best that he’s ever thought up, but it’s the best he could do on short notice.
he pats the bundle quietly and hushes it under his breath, using his free hand to grab his wallet and slide out his credit card to pay for what he’d ordered— an iced coffee, a cup of water, and whipped cream. on the side.
and it could be that he’s just the type of guy to want his whipped cream on the side, but he stares at the worker for an extra second with wide eyes when the lump under his shirt tries to push through his collar and he coughs and adjusts, taking back his credit card and quickly putting away his wallet so he can address the situation with two hands.
he moves and hopes that kijung is following, at least, as he tries to angle himself against a wall so it’s not as obvious what he’s trying to hide underneath his shirt, while still appearing nonchalant, like he’s waiting for his coffee order like everyone else milling about in the shop.
“look, i couldn’t just leave him there. he’s just a puppy, and he didn’t have a collar, and he kept making these whimpering noises and so. i took him,” yujin’s whispering, shifts a bit and blows air up from his mouth to get the several strands falling into his eyes out of the way so that he could see a little better.
“i’ll feed him, put up posters to see if anyone’s looking for him, but— he was just so thin when i found him, i don’t think anyone has been taking care of him. so he’s better off with me anyways. even if i am bringing him into this establishment that does not allow pets,”
yujin isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince kijung or himself at this point, the small puppy curled up against his chest incredibly well behaved for being hid behind a shirt and a leather jacket. he’s stopped shaking, though, so yujin considers it a win, patting him gently over the cotton as they wait.
looking to kijung, his eyes shine a bit underneath the warm light. “and you won’t.. turn us in, will you? we’re both too young to be on the run,” he says, a slight pout to his mouth, and a small, responsive whimper from the bundle cradled against his chest.
normally, kijung probably wouldn’t say something. he isn’t known for being particularly helpful, more likely to leave others to their own devices, especially these days, if they aren’t someone he treasures (and those people are rare.)
it’s just that kijung, even for as cold as he is, is an animal lover, and it’s easy enough to guess what the other male is up to. well, maybe it’s not a helpful comment so much as it is a sarcastic one, though it could be. if kijung notices, after all, it’s a warning that anyone else could as well. then again, kijung could smell the dog as soon as the man walked into the coffee shop with it.
he watches as the man somehow manages to order something even with a puppy in his jacket, and kijung uses it as his excuse to exit the line without ordering anything. there’s nothing for a vampire at a cafe after all, and if he pretends he’s simply accompanying this man with a glaringly obvious dog against his chest, it makes matters easier for him too.
kijung doesn’t really need to be convinced of why one would pick up a lost puppy, because he knows he would do the same. bringing him into an establishment that doesn’t allow pets? unlikely. he can’t imagine coffee would be worth the risk and the trouble, not being able to drink it aside. “why didn’t you just wait to get coffee?” he asks flatly. “how are you even going to carry everything?” he realizes that question might backfire as soon as it leaves his mouth. something like a you can carry it! and yes, kijung can, but...this wasn’t on his agenda for the day. he wanted a peaceful afternoon of reading and people-watching in the corner of a cafe he frequents, not to be part of some undercover puppy rescue mission.
kijung suspects turning the man in won’t be necessary, and that he’s already found out. what’s an employee to do, however, other than ask him to leave? and kijung doesn’t think that’s a bad option. he’d probably prefer it, actually. “you aren’t helping him having him around so many people.” he won’t turn them in, though. that much is probably obvious; if he wanted to he would’ve already. well, he still could if this guy gets on his nerves.
he’s trying to get away from all of the blood and the death, because he’s tired. he’s not tired of telling huangjun he loves him, but of it being heavy with the knowledge that it could be the last time, as he walks out the door. he’s tired of that look in huangjun’s eyes, the unspoken do you really have to go? every time he picks up his crossbow again. he always thought the answer was yes. he has to go, or he isn’t himself. he has to go, it is his purpose, what use is he if he’s not a weapon?
but lately he’s realized he doesn’t. he doesn’t really have to go. he can just stop. there’s no one to tell him otherwise anymore, even if he can’t shake that still-present fear of disappointing his parents. disappointing jaekyung. disappointing daeyong. what’s the point of all of the training they suffered together if jaeyong throws it away? will all of his scars fade into some reminder of his dark past instead of the badges of honor he always thought they were?
there are still so many questions, but among it all, there is a certainty: telling huangjun he loves him every time he walks out the door, wrapping his arms around him at the end of a day, and no, maybe none of it is guaranteed. he knows better than to believe the universe owes him any more days on this earth, but jaeyong knows more than he’s known anything that he will go to his grave feeling that same love.
he just wants it to be later. he used to always say if he lived to be old he didn’t do something right-- always believed the mark of a successful hunter was an early death in a blaze of glory and a name in the mouths of peers for years to come.
maybe it still is. maybe jaeyong simply can’t be a successful hunter and live the life he wants anymore.
when he closes his eyes, he no longer dreams of all of the ways in which he’d like to die. instead, he is somewhere warmer than he’s ever known, always with a hand to hold. instead, he lives a whole life next to huangjun; they do stupid, mundane things that will never be entirely mundane as long as they’re involved. they cook together and argue over whether eating a werewolf would be cannibalism or not; they get married in an aquarium or on the beach or in the mountains or by themselves in a courthouse or anywhere, really. they leave the city, they leave seoul and all of the danger entangled in jaeyong’s very being behind, they buy a house with a back porch and a view that’s magnificence is only eclipsed by huangjun himself. they sit on the porch in rocking chairs made to grow old in, over tea and the sunset every night for decades. jaeyong lives to see the day that he can count more wrinkles on his skin than scars, and gets to assure huangjun he is still beautiful even with his own.
he fights against the part of himself that says he shouldn’t want it every day. it’s ingrained in him, this belief that love is a waste of time, that he has a higher purpose and more important things to attend to.
maybe he does, but to jaeyong, there is nothing more important than huangjun living a life of peace, and staying by his side through it all. maybe it’s been the case since december, since the day jaeyong asked huangjun to be his boyfriend, when they went to that christmas festival and put their wishes inside of ornaments soon to hang from a towering tree, joined by countless others. huangjun’s safety and happiness. that was his wish then, and jaeyong thinks it’ll be his wish for the rest of his life.
it’s for that reason that he’s content to hang up his crossbow and let it gather dust. he knows with every arrow he fires, he is one step closer to his luck running out. with every life he takes, he puts his own in further jeopardy. as long as he’s still a hunter, he has one foot in an early grave, and he doesn’t want to die.
it isn’t out of fear, but because there’s so much left he wants to do; because he told huangjun he wouldn’t leave him, and it’s a promise he intends to keep.
but jaeyong is still a song. vengeance and violence are in his blood. he is made for carnage more than anything else, a knife sharpened over the course of years to cut down every foe in his path. home is with huangjun, but home is also the flow of red from a slit throat, the vacancy in the eyes of a body without a soul. the darkness beckons to him. duty still calls. kill supernaturals. protect humanity. (protect huangjun. by hunting them, does he keep him safe or put him in more danger?)
he doesn’t take notes to track supernaturals anymore, or...at least he hasn’t in a few days. he still can’t help but notice details, though-- the signs of a vampire. he sees them on his way home from work. he stores them away in his mind involuntarily. he fights the itch. he looks at the enchanted ring on his hand-- the one he won from the vampire gala he snuck into, the one that detects supernatural activity --more than usual without noticing.
it’s irresponsible to let a clumsy vampire roam free, isn’t it? they’re dangerous.
(they’re dangerous. all the more reason not to get involved. let the rest of the world burn.)
jaeyong knows, deep down, that fate will bring he and this vampire together eventually, and he’s right. unfortunately, the poor, stupid thing is a regular customer at the record store. if jaeyong didn’t put it together based on the timing of his ring’s shifting colors, he puts it together when the vampire trails him on the way back to his car. it’s particularly late; jaeyong stopped by a bar after work to meet some of his friends. the streets are quieter than usual, at least as far as seoul’s bustle goes. it’s nights like these that the secret world of the supernatural comes to life.
jaeyong pulls a gum wrapper out of his pocket, then pauses. the footsteps behind him continue, maybe even quicken, and jaeyong ducks into a nearby alleyway, using the wrapper as a ploy. he tosses it in the closest dumpster, and when he turns around, is met with red eyes and gnashing teeth.
jaeyong sighs. “you want to eat me? you’re going to think about how shitty your experience is now that i’m dead every time you go to buy music. can you really live with that guilt?” jaeyong can’t help but joke, but his heart isn’t in it. still, he’s covered in knives, because old habits die hard, and there’s a difference between hunting and being prepared. one is in his hands before the vampire even notices.
“don’t make me do this,” jaeyong threatens, but it lacks its usual punch. it’s more pleading than anything else. he could just let the vampire feed on him, and only kill him if it seems like he has no intention of stopping. he could run, he could-- he could--
the vampire lunges at him, and then it’s all over too quickly. vampire: dead, jaeyong: murderer.
there’s blood on his shirt, blood on his hands again, and the first thing he wonders is how he’ll explain this to huangjun. he feels...guilt. not for killing the vampire, no, but because it’s a certain type of failure-- failure to prove to himself that he can be something more than this, that he is a human being capable of normalcy.
the second thing he wonders is how he’ll get away with this. when he actually hunted, he always had a backpack with him with a change of clothes for moments like these, but tonight did not go according to plan.
time to make a new plan, then. that plan: get back to his car as soon as possible.
he turns around, exits the alleyway, and he is not alone. he can feel it before he even properly turns the corner, but when he faces his new companion, it’s...unfortunate. well, it would be unfortunate to be caught by anyone like this, but it’s yujin. what are you doing in a place like this?
“fuck,” jaeyong mutters. caught red-handed. he looks down at his hands. quite literally.
a jaeyong of the past would come up with some lie. he would play shaken up, scared for his life, human whose world just got flipped upside down. he would cling to yujin, suddenly an anchor in his storm of confusion and fear.
today’s jaeyong, however, is tired. he looks down at his hands, and his ring that glows, even after the death of the vampire. he looks back up at yujin, and the fact that he isn’t freaking out right now. is he...?
jaeyong will take his chances. they’re both monsters, after all. yujin will just learn jaeyong’s why first. there’s no getting around it now.
he motions dramatically to the blood on his shirt. “there you have it. why i’m a monster.” at first, he leaves it at that, but an addendum seems necessary, both for clarity and to lighten the mood, as jaeyong always insists upon doing. “he was a bigger one, though. red eyes, massive fangs, the whole shebang.” he raises an eyebrow, and asks an important question: “do you think i’m insane?”
it’s a test. do you know about the supernatural? but it could be interpreted differently. jaeyong is covered in blood, after all, which is not a typical mark of sanity. jaeyong wouldn’t be surprised if the answer to both questions, spoken and unspoken, is yes.
“would you mind walking with me? thanks,” jaeyong doesn’t give yujin a chance to answer before he starts walking, simply expects him to follow or maybe run from him. jaeyong’s number one mission now, however, is to make sure yujin is the only one that catches him. they’re friends, after all. what secrets is yujin willing to keep for him? that may be the most interesting answer of all.
iseul has seen the vampire around, always lurking by the entrance of the bar; animated, touchy and loud. and so, he has heard the other’s proposition too, a private deal just between the two of them; no third parties, no stuffy back rooms, no need to satisfy a different set of fangs each time they come around and be subjected to subpar rates. he could offer top dollar, is open to negotiation and can set up a better atmosphere for a much better experience. even separated by a good amount of distance, iseul can hear how persuasive the vampire can get. it’s always a ‘ yes, anything you want, of course ’ from him and even as iseul’s trying to pin down an appointment for the night, he notices that more often than not, the humans leave with him. ( and more often than not, iseul never sees them again but there’s a myriad of reasons why that could be. he is not about to go down the worst line of thought. it’s not something for him to bother himself with, he can barely take care of himself. right, right. )
before he was led to the backrooms, iseul had seen the vampire getting along amicably with another human and he had thought that was it for the night, he’s done it yet again and before he could dwell on it further, iseul shelved it into the back of his mind, out of reach and out of sight. he has more than enough things to worry about, he can’t take on more. so, imagine his surprise when he steps out of the bar, takes 2 steps and is cornered by the very same vampire he’s only seen and heard from a distance. alarm bells go off in iseul’s head immediately but he is frozen in his spot as the vampire introduces himself and starts the spiel iseul has only heard in passing. except it’s so loud and the vampire is leaning forward and iseul can’t help but take a step back and he advances, maintaining their distance. he should sidestep the vampire, should move around him and turn him down, be firm about it! alas, it’s so much easier said than done and iseul can only barely stutter out rejections, eyes darting around, hoping desperately he reads the rejection from iseul’s behaviour and just give up his attempt.
he has to be careful, it’d be the end if he accidentally entered into a deal with this vampire ( or any vampire for that matter but in present time, this vampire ). afraid that he’d somehow let slip an ‘ okay ’ or even an ‘ i’ll consider ’ or any answer indicative that he is anything but a hard ‘ no ’ , iseul opts to stay silent and inch himself backwards and away from the vampire.
areum has lived quite a while, she’s experienced a lot of things and even has lived through different eras within history, and at this point it’s gotten to be a bit boring for her really. she had run out of things to do, long having given up living life as some college student or some employee off somewhere at some small business. after living a few hundred years she had begun causing a bit of trouble at times due to boredom, that or just because she wanted to see how humans would act in certain situations.
it was true that she had her little side business where she could enjoy a bit of torture when it came to her clients, though there were times when she found herself wanting to do something else to fill that bit of void she felt deep down.
she rarely really went out to clubs or parties, usually just sitting at home and enjoying the peace and quite of her own personal space, but the times that she did head out she made sure to cause at least a little bit of damage to those around her. no, she didn’t do anything too major that would get her into some sort of trouble with the council, though she did make sure to at least cause a scene as some sort of entertainment for herself.
tonight she had made it one of the nights where she dressed up nicely, well for a party that is, and was currently glancing around the area of the room to find her first target for the night. it wasn’t like it would be too hard for her to do seeing as the majority of people within the club were either almost drunk or were even too drunk to the point that they were stumbling around like a bunch of morons. typical humans.
her gaze lands on someone across the room, eyes narrowing just slightly as a smirk forms. it isn’t long before she makes her way over towards them, making sure to look as casual as possible, however without meaning to she manages to bump into another male which causes her to stop in her tracks. he looked a bit familiar, maybe someone she had seen at some point, though there was also the fact that she had seen millions of people over the years so she didn’t really bother making it a point to memorize faces anymore really.
areum doesn’t apologize to the male, instead she turns to look off when she hears a bit of commotion going on a little ways away from her and the male she had just bumped into, using her hearing to tune into what’s happening. her smirk returns as she realizes that the two men, one trying to pick a fight while the other is just trying to enjoy his time, are arguing over some spilled drink and she’s forgotten the stranger who is standing right next to her. he was the least of her worries right now, in fact even as she thought this she suddenly turns to face him and speaks. “do you want to have a little fun?” her tone is sinister as she asks the stranger this question, figuring that if by some chance he was even somewhat like her that he would want to have a little bit of a show to entertain him as well.
if he didn’t, well she would just enjoy it all herself. either way, her task was to get this little argument that was currently happening to escalade into something more that just words.
yujin listens to his question and can only call forward laughter. it crooks the side of his mouth, and there’s something about the sound of it that is hollow and empty, that does not denote mirth, only a certain kind of sadness, one that could be born to develop into that sort of sound. he remembers looking at himself in the mirror and seeing nothing but a puppet. can see the strings holding his shoulders and his arms up. the strings pulling on the edges of his smile. oh, he’s gotten so good at that, but not at making it sound convincing. not yet.
“they are made. it’s a result of environment. of those around them. of the things they see, they do, they hear. i think i should know,” he looks down to the ground, kicking at the dirt with his boots, heavy, clunky things that are an extension of himself, that make him feel like he couldn’t be lifted off of his feet and made to do a dance. though, if he thinks about it, he will dance if he is told to.
there’s not much of a difference.
“maybe i’m a different kind of monster, though. i am not one of my own volition. my parents see me as an extension, a means to a cause, something that they can use. they think that.. all of these years— just because i was born to them, i was ready and able to bolster all of that fucked up shit they’re doing. am i their monster? am i their puppet? am i their doll?”
it’s moments like these that make him remember the dirt caked underneath his fingernails. the dream that came right before he got his magic, how it felt to have his whole body light up like fire, like pinpricks of heat, like fireworks popping and fizzing in the sky but instead it was a whole light show, and someone had set every single one on fire at once, and it was a crescendo of light and color and sound so loud all you could do was cover your ears and feel it in your chest.
“i was born into this world and i didn’t ask for any of this. i didn’t get a moment, a chance, to even figure out what i wanted. i was told what i did. i still am. i’m reminded every single day. that my life is worth nothing more than what they ask of me, what i can show them. how i can help them. and i’m tossed to the side until i’m relevant again,”
he scoffs, running a hand through his hair, remembering the mud caked through, remembering the time he was drenched in rain, the time he was drenched in sweat, shaking, when he couldn’t control the flames from his palms.
if he was expecting it now, it comes away clean. chipped paint on fingernails, mismatched rings, shaking hands. he curls it into a fist and releases, takes a breath.
“monsters are made. i was made into this. i was made into who i am,” yujin breathes shakily, like taking breath into his lungs are igniting embers he can’t calm down.
“the real question is— do you believe monsters can be saved?” he asks, bouncing the thought back, feeling almost like he’s a pot about to boil over. there’s still a bit of a curve to the edge of his lips, almost sharp, but the look in his eyes is all that is needed.
they’re dark, devoid of nothing. he makes sure of it.
it’s enough to answer his own question.
do you believe monsters are born or made? jaeyong doesn’t know if there’s a right answer to that question, or one at all, but tonight, he’s thinking of it.
maybe what he should’ve asked is do you believe heroes are born or made, and how do they know they aren’t the monster? maybe there’s something about fate, or something about destiny. maybe the universe marks souls as good and evil from the moment they enter the land of the living, left to live out some pre-determined life of heroics or carnage.
[ tw: abuse ]
maybe monsters are made through scalding hot water, through tiny fingers curled around knives as soon as they can hold anything, through blood, through being thrown off a boat with sandbags tied to your feet, through sweat, through being buried in a box underground, through tears, through being tied up in a warehouse overnight.
they wanted to make him a hero, his parents did. he and daeyong were to be two of the greatest hunters the world had ever known, saving humanity from the real monsters that walked the earth, those both made and born in a more literal sense. he used to fall asleep every night looking forward to the flesh his knife might sink into the following day, used to dream of the blaze of glory he would go down in one day.
jaeyong doesn’t know what he is anymore. not a hero, certainly. a monster? maybe.
he asks because he’s curious, because he knows yujin carries burdens of the same weight. part of him asks as a test, to see if he falters at all, to see if yujin knows the truth about the world they walk-- about the creatures that lurk in the darkness.
he listens as yujin speaks, and he lights a cigarette. first, he stares at the brick wall across from them, and with i should know, looks sideways at his friend. he listens then, smoking, trying not to let the words cut too deep, but they do. they resonate; they hit too close to home. you aren’t a monster, jaeyong wants to say, but he doesn’t know that, does he? he didn’t know the lead singer of his band was a werewolf for more than a year, until he spotted the bite on his stomach, and they still don’t talk about it. in the grand scheme of things, despite considering him a friend, jaeyong knows yujin so little.
until now, perhaps. until opening this flood gate, and he listens, watches the toll it takes on yujin to even speak, wonders if he would look the same if he opened up like this.
he thinks of huangjun, and of telling him the story of how he killed his girlfriend-- an accident, the result of paranoia, of thinking she was a werewolf when she wasn’t.
(”was she a monster?”
“i thought she was, but she wasn’t. i saw one when i looked at her, though.”
“sometimes i see one when i look at you.”)
then, of laying in bed with him last august.
(“i’m gonna make you like it.”
“like what?”
“being a monster like me.”)
he used to be a monster. how does one believe they’re a hero and a monster all at once? jaeyong did. are all heroes not monsters to someone? the villains always have some reason to oppose them; they always think they’re right. who is right? who is wrong? they’re questions jaeyong ponders these days, with all of the love in his blood, when his crossbow bolts become a little harder to shoot than they once were, when he realized his parents were wrong for what they did to him. if they were wrong, is he? what if humans are the real monsters? what if all of his violence, all of his purpose, all of his believed heroics were for nothing in the end? were for evil?
(“do you think you can fix me, huangjun?”
“you know what happens if i can’t.”)
but he could. he did. jaeyong used to resent it; he used to wonder if huangjun broke him instead, shattered that perfect machine his parents molded him into, gripped so tightly onto his heart and shook up his insides. he knows now that he’s better this way, even with all the inconvenience that comes with a heart that isn’t cold.
“i know they can,” he replies, without further elaboration. “you should get away from your parents. they sound like shit,” and he laughs. if yujin knew the depth of jaeyong’s experience, he would probably find it funny too. (maybe yujin should know.)
he wonders about yujin’s experience, and what he possibly could’ve done to call himself a monster-- what his parents could’ve made him do. that fucked up shit they’re doing. he wants to ask, but he decides, at least for now, out of respect for yujin’s vulnerability, he won’t. maybe yujin will end up telling him anyway.
