brighter days

It’s impossible to tell whether Seyoon’s experienced that level of heavy-handed mind fuckery, but he seems to know something about it. Even so, the hunter would never guess exactly what crosses Jaerim’s mind. 

His face would be red if he could still blush. The confidence with which he ran his fingers through Seyoon’s hair suddenly seizes gingerly within him, leaving him frozen for half a second while Seyoon smiles up at him. The moment passes quickly, and Jaerim draws his hand back by the time Seyoon stands, pressing it into his pocket once more, where he quietly digs his fingernails into his palm.

It hasn’t been long enough since he died that he’s forgotten what being a mortal is like. Hell, the embrace is burned so vividly into his mind that half of the time he still thinks of himself as a mortal. He’s drawn such a tight boundary between himself and the beast to keep it from swallowing him, and yet it’s still a part of him. It still dictates his hunger, and his hunger dictates him, and everything is so deeply intertwined that he can’t make heads or tails of it. 

He is a monster. That’s an indubitable fact. However, in spite of everything… he still has capacity for thought, for empathy, for self-awareness. Everything that makes up human consciousness, he has it. 

Jaerim rolls his shoulders. He looks upwards, gathering his thoughts. To be honest, he’d rather not think about this at all, but then Seyoon leans over with a glint of playful scrutiny behind his gaze as he examines Jaerim closely, and he can’t help but play along. 

          “Hey, Seyoon…” His lips curl into a grin around the syllables. “Why would I tell you my plans?” 

He bumps his shoulder against the other, pushing into his space with the same impish look. “You’re too impatient for surprises, aren’t you?” 

Laughter fizzles behind his lips, leaving him in a half-hearted scoff. 

          “Just walk.” 

The sad truth is that Jaerim is completely ‘bitchless’, to borrow Seyoon’s phrasing, though the vulgarism isn’t even remotely far from what he’s heard from his brothers and sisters. He isn’t ready to admit that Seyoon’s the first mortal he’s taken notice of, though; that he’s been shamelessly stalking him for the past five weeks, so he swiftly moves on from the topic as they near their destination. 

          The bowling alley’s been abandoned for the latter half of the decade, as far as Jaerim can tell, which makes it entirely possible that Seyoon hung around here before its doors abruptly closed and never reopened. It wasn’t hard to deduce that the place had been used for money laundering when Jaerim broke in a few nights ago, given that everything inside was still in place, from bowling pins to racks of shoes, and a dozen or so cabinets that were gathering dust in the arcade section. He even found bookkeeping. 

None of it is what Jaerim brought Seyoon for, though. He leads them to the back alley, where an employee parking space is fenced off by a tall, concrete partition. Jaerim jumps six-feet up with the grace and balance of a cat, turning on his heels and squatting down to pull Seyoon up, over, and onto the other side. 

          The lamppost at the edge of the property is all that illuminates the small lot, empty save for a singular pool table that sits near the back door, completely out of place. Jaerim doesn’t make a grand showing of it; he’s somewhat embarrassed of his make-shift date spot, and too reserved to even admit out loud that it’s an attempt at a date. Still, he spent a handful of hours walking around the neighborhood until he found this place. 

Since there’s no electricity, he saw no other way but to drag the pool table outside. And, for the first time in… What, years? Jaerim walked into a mini-convenience store and paid for a 12-pack of beer with money stolen from a guy’s back pocket that he ambushed for feeding… Not too far from here, actually. 

The beer’s still ice-cold in a small cooler that he found inside. Although dirty, it serves its purpose as Jaerim drags it over and leaves it next to the table for Seyoon’s discovery. It’s the same cheap beer he’d been drinking at the party.

Boo, all these mysteries.

Seyoon had already told this guy ten things about himself, while Mr. I-Am-Too-Good-For-Small-Talk had revealed basically nothing. Like, he already knew Jaerim was a vampire, therefore a monster and a killer, and had literally witnessed him feeding on a dude. That was the big secret out of the bag, so the guy might as well stop worrying about the rest? Like, come on.

"Well, okay, dodge my question, but just know that I am not gonna be nobody's bitch." Seyoon insisted as he bumped Jaerim back, with greater force than necessary. "I do low commitment, short distance, and casual situationships only." He kept on following, though. "Like, if I can't even be convinced to be this hot forty-year-old's sugar baby, I definitely cannot deal with- whoa."

He was this close to launching into a story about his latest bar adventure when he realized that they'd arrived.

Oh shit, this was a date, wasn't it?

An illegal, trespassing sort of date, but one nevertheless.

For a second, Seyoon just stared. It was dark, but his eyes were bright, almost as if they were lit from within. A flicker of amusement moved through them, like the first spark before a flame could catch.

"And you got me beer." Seyoon sighed. It was a happy sound.

He took the cue stick and cracked open a can. There was no music playing, so he started joyfully humming a tune that would have worked well as background. Guess it was always nice when a guy tried. Even though he didn't have to, because honestly, Seyoon was never that difficult when it came to real babes. Whether they were walking red flags or not.

"You think you are gonna win because you are a supernatural creature and all that, but you are about to get your ass kicked."

Was Seyoon certain he was going to win? Absolutely not. But he leaned over the table with all the confidence of a man who'd never accept defeat. He squinted at the racked triangle of balls, adjusted his grip, readjusted again for fun, then struck.

Fate could have embarrassed him, but it didn't. The cue ball shot forward, cracked into the triangle, and sent colors scattering in every direction. When a striped ball dropped clearly into the corner pocket, Seyoon was already overjoyed. So when a solid followed it into the side, he was actually gobsmacked.

He should really play it cool...

Seyoon doesn’t realize what he implies whenever he mindlessly complains, like the not-so-subtle reminder that Jaerim knows where he lives, and the fact that he sat around waiting for him, and now that he expects a ‘next time’ before he even knows where Jaerim’s taking him tonight. He can’t tell if it’s confidence or a lack of self-preservation, but it does endear him to Jaerim past the original intent to seek his blood. The strange mixture of resistance tied with willingness excites him more than he’d care to admit. 

          “Whatever,” he sulks, looking toward the street. He’d almost forgotten the ridiculous lie he told Seyoon at the cemetery. To Jaerim’s credit, it’s not entirely unlikely that the guy who fell from a rooftop could also fall into a lake. 

          “Can’t I just show up at your apartment?” 

That seems like the best solution, and whether Seyoon likes it or not, it’s the only one. If Jaerim tips off the Second Inquisition freaks because he tried sexting, he’ll be the ridicule of the entire city, and then it’ll only be a matter of time before either the Inquisition, Camarilla, and hell, even the Anarchs find and kill him. A vampire who can’t keep the Masquerade is a nuisance to all. 

Elias is teaching him all about that. 

          The hunter doesn’t wait around for explanations a second time. Jaerim walks a few paces ahead before he realizes Seyoon’s not following, and when he turns around, he finds him sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. He blinks at him once, twice, unsure what to make of the sight. In the end, Jaerim ends up walking back, staring at the crown of Seyoon’s head with a thoughtful look. His hair is still disheveled despite his efforts, and Jaerim takes the freedom to rake his fingers through the dark strands now that he’s been given the opportunity. 

          “You’re done walking anyway,” he points out, mindlessly carding his fingers through and ignoring the first half of Seyoon’s questioning. “I guess it’s possible you’ve been there before,” he offers nonetheless. “It’s a place that’s abandoned.” 

"Feels nice."

It did.

Pleasantly, it reminded him of childhood - when he was truly young, wild, and free. Seyoon spent his earlier days in muddy shorts, every rip stitched and restitched until the fabric carried a map of squiggled repairs. His grandmother used different colored threads each time to make it fun, so that he'd wake up the next morning to a little surprise. Every afternoon she'd scoop him onto her lap and run her fingers through his hair like this, expertly tugging free bits of acorn and pine needles. Pieces of flowers and broken twigs he'd picked up on his adventures.

Strange how a monster's touch could remind him of that.

"This shouldn't work on me, you know." Seyoon leaned down on the hand under his chin, tilting his head until the soft padding of his cheek was pressed against unnaturally cool skin. "Your vampire mind stuff." He smiled. "You guys shouldn't be able to dazzle me, or whatever." Seyoon had not one, but two wards against those fine supernatural tricks. Last time he checked, they were both perfectly intact. Which meant, unfortunately, this was all him.

"Anyway." He tipped his chin off of Jaerim's hand and pushed himself up to stand again. "You are being really nice for a vampire."

Seyoon was back to following. To this abandoned location (also potentially his doom?) Jaerim wanted to take him.

"Is this a let-me-learn-about-hunters-through-this-idiot thing? If so, sorry to disappoint, because I legit know nothing. Fell asleep during Know Thy Enemy: Vampire 101, pissed off most of my hardworking colleagues, and got kicked out of all the juicy gossip group chats."

He’s left staring at the empty window and fills the space with a scoff. It only takes a minute at the receiving end of Seyoon’s restless energy to shift his mood for the first time in the past month, to pull something more than apathy and disdain from him. It’s ironic that he’s more at ease around a hunter than his “family”. It’s been five years and most of his siblings still hate him, still remind him of his initiation ritual with cackles, overjoyed that they pushed him to the brink of final death, and spiteful that he survived through it. 

A blank look overtakes his face as he lowers his head and steps out of the lamplight. If he blinks, one of them could appear beside him—could rip this from him in an instant. Jaerim stops breathing. His attention is drawn to the parameter, searching for recognition, for the beast’s hackles to rise. A minute passes—they’re alone. He blinks, finally, when Seyoon appears through the entrance doors ten seconds later.

          Jaerim notes the backpack with a cursory glance. Self-defense weapons? Any previous hangups fueled by five ongoing years of mind-breaking trauma is replaced by the urge to push Seyoon into the bushes and do appallingly immoral things to him without a second thought. 

          “Sounds like you were expecting me,” Jaerim teases in lieu of greeting.

He begins walking backwards, already leading them down the sidewalk, watching Seyoon with a glint in his dark eyes. It doesn’t even occur to him to put on the pretense of sheepishness for showing up—uninvited and unannounced—five weeks after their little event at the rooftop. There’s a few things Jaerim likes to keep close to his chest, like the fact that his sire would disembowel him if he found out that he’s entertaining… whatever this is. 

"Oh, we are close enough to be taking each other places now?" Seyoon raised a brow. This sounded like a horrible idea. Very much resembled a hey, I wish to eat you in the comfort of my favorite old cabin!

So why on earth was he actually following the vampire to his potential doom? Stupidity? Oh no. At this point, it was perhaps time to be honest and acknowledge Seyoon's true weakness - his brain was fully operational, just outvoted by...something else.

At least if it was not far, Seyoon might be familiar with the place already. He wondered, casually, what tickled Jaerim's fancy. Abandoned factory? That really narrow alley between two condemned buildings? Empty underground parking garage? A dark backyard shed? Seyoon's job meant he wandered around most of the local creepy supernatural squatting spots.

Except normally, when he was out fishing in those places, he'd be dressed cuter, with his hair properly fluffed up for presentation purposes. Jaerim had shown up unexpectedly, and he had to move fast, so he still had a piece of hair sticking up in the back of his head and possibly drool tracks that had not been completely wiped clean.

"Next time, can you call or text ahead?" Seyoon continued to wrestle that stubborn strand self-consciously as they walked. "Oh, right, you don't have a phone. How do vampires even communicate, bro? Am I gonna start getting messenger pigeons? A raven? A blood-soaked handwritten letter tied to a brick?" Maybe Seyoon should stop reading vampire romance novels and pretending it was research.

A produce cart?

You know what, that might not be the worst idea. Sure, he'd smell like rotten vegetables for a week, but he also wouldn't be married.

Also, how dare this guy look so amused when he was over here suffering?

"You are having a lot of fun at my expense, Ji Canyue." He stepped forward, the tip of his index finger running casually under the prince's chin. It was his best effort to mimic flirtation.

"You heard nothing - there's no wedding, and there will never be one." Cang Yuan opened the window for his friend before turning back to continue his task of packing. He had several outfits folded, a few trinkets that he'd purchased recently as gifts for his sisters, and what was left of his coins. That should be enough, right?

Wait, no, he's going to need food, too.

CLOSED STARTER ― @apricxty.

               IT’S BEEN FIVE WEEKS SINCE THEY PARTED WAYS ON THE ROOFTOP. Jaerim tried with all his capacity for self-control to stay away, to keep a firm distance, but he’s never been the type to deny himself anything. He’s dreadfully aware of what consequences he’d meet if he was discovered visiting a mortal—not just a mortal, a mortal hunter—and yet something inextricable leads him back to this street. Elias, his brothers and sisters, the cult—let them all be damned. He would rip their heads off and set their corpses ablaze to sustain the calm he feels while standing outside of Seyoon’s apartment, to see the lights come on at his window when he gets home late, to see him fall asleep with them on after he stumbles up hopelessly drunk. 

          He’s been watching him for the past five weeks. Of course he has. Jaerim takes advantage of the fact that he’s gotten into Elias’ good graces recently; that he pays less attention when he’s concerned with the Camarilla that’s been closing in on their whereabouts bit by bit. He finishes the jobs the cult sends him on and returns here every fourth or fifth night, standing perfectly still among the shadows while the horrors of his missions, his actions, his unlife sink in. Seyoon’s nightly routine is the busiest during the weekends, which is why it’s Saturday that Jaerim decided on; he won’t have anything to do tomorrow. This is the distraction he latches on to like a lifeline.

And so he planned accordingly: Jaerim washed the dirt and blood off his old pair of black denim jeans (he’s been spending a lot of time in abandoned warehouses), stole a hoodie off a guy’s corpse before he bled all over it, and prepared a decent—well, passable—spot to take Seyoon to in a half-baked effort to be alone with him. 

He doesn't expect to be let inside his apartment, okay?

          The street is quiet as he crosses it. A blue Sedan is parked out in front of the building, and a small handful of other old models dot the rest of the temporary parking spots up and down the street. It’s 11PM, forty minutes before midnight, as Jaerim leans down to grab a pebble from the cheap landscaping that lines the edge of the apartment complex. It’s a deceptively underprivileged neighborhood. Given the lack of kindred presence, the area is safer than Jaerim expected. He wonders if Seyoon has anything to do with it. 

          He throws three pebbles at his window before he sees the curtains move. Jaerim throws a fourth and aims it at Seyoon’s face. It harmlessly dinks off the glass before landing somewhere in the bushes. When he finally pops his head out, Jaerim is standing in the yellow light of the lamppost, finally within view.

Seyoon was not expecting to see the sulky vampire again.

Obviously.

But, like, that bastard really didn't show up, eh? It's been five whole weeks, and at this point, the silence was an attack on Seyoon's ego. Ugh. Maybe this was karma's way of paying back for all the times he had ghosted a person after making out at a party.

On this fine Saturday evening, Seyoon was trying to work on a stupid paper. He'd fallen asleep halfway through and was drooling onto his keyboard when he heard the first pebble against his window. He got up lazily, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and raked his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame one particular stubborn piece that was sticking straight up.

Wait. What the fuck. Was that the vampire asshole he was totally not hoping to see again, standing in the lamplight and grinning as if he had not dipped for over a month? Why was he throwing pebbles like he had learned courtship from a Taylor Swift song?

Seyoon pushed open his window and leaned over the sill. He realized he was smiling and immediately wiped it off, adopting a half-hearted scowl instead.

"Here to kill me? Took you long enough. My god, I thought your kind was supposed to be more efficient." He gave an exaggerated eye roll. "Could have saved me from two papers and one exam." Seyoon didn't raise his voice, even though there was some distance between the window and his vampire visitor. A normal person might have trouble hearing him, but supernatural freaks came with their perks.

He feels Seyoon’s warm breath brush against his skin as he complains into the device and looks up, gazing at his lips as he talks. It’s a better distraction. Jaerim doesn’t move away to grant privacy, he only leans closer and nudges his nose against Seyoon’s cheek, giving him an impatient look when their eyes meet. 

     It’s been years since Jaerim’s had sex. He’s lured mortals into dark corners, into dirty stalls in club bathrooms and dusty couches in basements with the intention to sink his teeth into them before they can even get a hand down his pants. The bite is enough for them to believe that something happened, that he gave them an incredible time—so, so goddamn mind-blowing that they can’t even remember—and it’s how he feeds about a third of the time. He mostly ambushes them in alleyways, but sometimes, the social dance is necessary.

Like now. 

He thinks.

Jaerim suddenly isn’t sure. 

Seyoon isn’t a regular mortal. He’s not someone who can be tricked that easily, yet the uncomfortable tension in his chest tells him another story, one where Jaerim isn’t trying to trick him for his blood. It’s the sort of tension that he’s only ever associated with desire—when he was still alive. Jaerim hasn’t slept with anyone in years because he can’t; can’t feel pleasure, can’t force the rush of blood inside his body to make it work, and yet desire tugs at him incessantly; a feeling he thought he’d forgotten finds him like a crashing wave. 

Jaerim's impatient look was met with a quick kiss of comfort. Seyoon's mind was on the phone conversation, but his body was well-practiced in the art of soothing brooding lovers.

The rest of the call was short and very one-sided. The asshole coordinator fed him the basic information despite his earlier protests, and Seyoon hung up the moment he heard enough. He didn't say he was going to show up, but by now, people understood how he communicated.

It was unfortunate that his weakness was so obvious and that there were certain types of work he could never truly say no to.

"I gotta go," he said, but didn't immediately move to peel himself away from Jaerim. Instead, he let his fingers - the ones that had been running gently along the vampire's jawline - drift lower. Until he was holding a monster's cold, dead hand, the pad of his thumb running over each moon of Jaerim's nails.

The gesture almost seemed laced with sadness, which didn't make much sense, even to Seyoon. Shouldn't he be grateful that something had stopped him from making a mistake?

"You don't go back and eat folks at this party, and I don't tell my people about you?" He eventually let go, pushing himself up and off. "Fair, right? Let's play nice." Seyoon dusted himself off, gently rubbing at a muddy stain on his pants.

"Don't doubt me," he added, shooting Jaerim a look. "I keep my promises, 'kay?" Seyoon planted his hands on his hips as if daring the vampire to fight him on this. "If I lie, you can probably come and find me. It's not like you don't know where I live."

Telling her to ignore her therapist's words and talk to him anyway sounded suspiciously like what a hallucination would say. She has to weigh that as heavily as her mind can possibly do in it's fucked up state. If he was a hallucination...it's not like he could hurt her at all. Even so, why not allow herself this? A dream, if that's what it is, or a hallucination, maybe her mind is trying to make up for it's ceaseless, sober horrors, by giving her something interesting to do. "I guess we can talk, you seem fine." Not malevolent at all, right? Right. She's managed to convince herself it is fine.

"The Painting....? That's kind of a gaudy title, isn't it?" She hums, though he seems to like it enough. It's certainly not the kind of nickname she would come up with herself but.....hallucinations could do whatever they wanted it. They could defy the laws of the living whenever they wanted and simply because they wanted. "Its not like the worst name ever though.....it's suits you." She tries not to offend the man in front of her, a shrug following her words because it seems normal enough for her.

She does pause for a moment because...shouldn't he know her name if she's imagining him? Then again, she never knows what is going on anyway. "My friends call me Barbie, also gaudy." She mentions, humming. It first her more than her name did...she hated it on principle since her parents were the ones who gave it to her. Though, she's pulled out of her thoughts when he talks about going somewhere. "Paris?" She asks, gazing after him as he just steps into the painting in front of them.

"She definitely advises about going off with strangers." She agrees, reaching out for his hand anyway and stepping into the painting after him. "I don't have anything to do anyway, let's go."

And together, they fell from the sky.

Wind rushed to meet their faces, tugging at clothes, hair, and even lashes. The Painting's expression did not change as the world spun around. Obviously, he was used to this.

He kept his eyes on Barbie the entire descent.

Observing.

Before they could hit the ground, another painting frame appeared. It was made of a different material from the one they had entered previously and expanded just enough to swallow them both. Instead of colliding against hard pavement, The Painting and his companion drifted out of the second canvas and landed softly on a patch of grass.

It was wet, though.

"See that?" The Painting lifted a hand toward the distance. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, gold against velvet black. But he was not pointing at it, but at what appeared to be clumps of darkness that were pooling around its base. "Negative energy is gathering. It'll swallow one first." He made a little chomping gesture with his hand. "Then another. Eventually, the whole world will be inside it, pressed into one thing. That's when everything ends."

He spread his arms and twirled, as if he were still in the sky, falling.

Jaerim makes a face when the sugary icing touches his lips, frowning like it’s dirt instead of sugar. He wipes it off with the back of his hand, twice, and sticks his tongue out at Seyoon. Sweet food tastes like ash, like someone made paste out of cremated animal remains. Still, Seyoon’s playful little jab gives Jaerim the invitation he needs to reach out—to touch him—to test another boundary. 

He grabs hold of Seyoon’s wrist, pushing the pastry away, and uses the momentum to close in. Jaerim closes his eyes as he casts their lips together, lips half-parted. He holds him in place with a gentle squeeze around his wrist, tilting his chin to the side to push ever closer. 

Seyoon’s pulse is finally at his mouth. He fights back the urge to to bite down, to squeeze tighter, because he can feel it, he can hear the blood pumping from his heart through his veins, can feel it rush to his face to warm it—the tiniest hiccup when their lips first touch, like he wasn’t sure of Jaerim’s intentions. It’s almost enough to make him groan; the proximity, the rush of warm blood beneath only a thin layer of tender skin; he wants to latch on to Seyoon like ivy, to crawl into every crevice.

Seyoon heard his own heartbeat first, each thump echoing in his ears. His body always made its decision before his mind did, and this time, it chose to remain perfectly still.

And wait.

He saw Jaerim's shut eyes before he felt his lips, and his brain went momentarily offline. It took a second longer than necessary for him to realize he was being utterly unromantic, and to squeeze his eyes shut as well. Another moment slipped by before his shoulders relaxed, before his breathing eased into the pattern of intimacy he was familiar with.

So there they were, technically enemies who should never take their eyes off each other, kissing. The strange part was that it didn't seem wrong. In fact, Seyoon thought it felt really, really right.

He barely noticed the phone buzzing until Jaerim pulled away briefly. Seyoon, annoyed, literally took the thing out of his pocket and tossed it so he'd no longer feel its irritating vibrations as he chased the vampire's mouth. His cell slid across the wet rooftop, rescued from potential doom only by the curve of his hula-hoop. Then, Seyoon, as he draped himself over Jaerim, caught the name flashing on the screen next to the neon glow.

Fuck.

He pulled away. Or rather, more like ripped himself away with reluctance. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he was doing the right thing as he fished for his phone. Because this whole wanting-to-hook-up-with-a-bloodsucker thing was madness, and let's be real, Jaerim was probably going to tear his throat out halfway through sex the moment the rooftop stragglers cleared out and politely left them the space.

Why did he do all of that for Seyoon?

He knows the other is fishing for a reason, for something solid to latch onto. But it’s not that Jaerim expects to be taken seriously, to be led to his apartment after all that was revealed just now. He can’t bank on successfully wooing the hunter into letting him dig his fangs in—his offer is merely to push a boundary, to test where he stands with a mortal who kills his kind for a living, who receives some sense of karmic justice for extinguishing the undead that walk among the living. It’s a tactic borne from impulse, to not even hide his desire, his hunger; to drink from another before him with the gentle touch of an angel, all to lower his defenses. 

But to show him that he's not just a mindless killer? Jaerim isn’t sure if that’s part of it. 

He leans in then, just a bit, if only to avoid thinking that there’s truth in Seyoon’s facetious conjectures. Jaerim rests his weight on his right hand. His chin grazes his shoulder as he gazes closely at him.

Like Seyoon, he doesn’t respond directly, but his words are confirmation enough: 

"No."

Seyoon responded without batting a lash.

"I am not scared of anything if it just involves me." As long as nobody else was at risk, Seyoon could not care less. "But perhaps that's a problem."

He shrugged, turning the doughnut between his fingers. It was a bit late to learn to fear for himself again.

Seyoon had felt too much of it on that night seven years ago - his throat was so tight that every swallow sounded loud. His hands didn't tremble, for they went numb until they no longer seemed to belong to him.

Fight, run, freeze, hide.

Every muscle inside his body barked a different command, but his mind was so overwhelmed by sheer terror that it just kept on telling him to disappear.

Yet here he still was.

After that, he became strangely calm in the face of danger. It was as if he'd spent all of his fear in one night, and whatever was supposed to make him flinch had gone quiet for good.

"Is it so terrible to want to make a mistake?" Seyoon mumbled. Were the words meant for Jaerim, or himself? Perhaps both. "Life is so short. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes." He leaned a tad closer. "Maybe it's okay," he said. "Especially if it's just gonna be once."

Seyoon glanced over, and sure enough, Jaerim was still watching him.

Damn it, he really did like this bloodsucker's eyes. And his stupid face. It was so unfair.

So, in a rather childish act, instead of offering it to his own mouth, Seyoon lifted the last bite of his doughnut and bumped it against Jaerim's lips. Icing sugar might have looked silly on Seyoon's face, but it looked even more ridiculous on Mr. Serious Vampire's.

to use such a grand phrase to describe one's cooking skill seems, at first, almost amusing to him. the very same words he has heard time and time —sometimes for himself, more often for his siblings, or the other scholars and prodigies or even generals who held their places at court.

and here she is with her braised meat. a soft chuckles escapes him, "your mother would be right."

then she calls him a 好人, and something in his chest pulls tighter, for a moment. he has been called many things in his life. a conqueror. someone who did what needed to be done, by whatever means necessary. but good? that word has not quite sat beside his name in a very long time. he does not correct her, but he does wonder, briefly, if her opinion of him would change if she truly knew who he was.

the thoughts linger for a while, but he doesn't dwell on it any further. "刘县令？我来此处本也想着与他会上一面。" he repeats, brows furrowing slightly as her words hang between them. 比他女儿还小. 第五房小妾. the more she speaks, the more it seems like each word settles into his chest, each one heavier than the last.

"a magistrate who takes girls as young as his own daughter as wives," he says slowly, repeating the words again as if weighing just how serious her accusation is, "and no one has stopped him." he has heard and seen of happenings like this, while he isn't quite as surprised, but the disappointment remains regardless. as if he had hoped, foolishly, that the world outside the walls he has tried so hard to cleanse and restructure might have become something better after all his efforts. it clearly hasn't.

his gaze drifts to the guards seated closest to him, and the young man meets his eyes for only a second before nodding. the guard rises from the bench, murmurs something about taking a walk after a full meal, and disappears into the crowd. by the time he returns, wen jingzhan would have the answers about 刘县令 and more specifically, about his connections.

"不如 ... 姑娘就把我当成我家大人，和我说说有什么法子？" he says with an intrigued tone, his words measured but casual, "我家大人事务繁忙，怕是来不及。"

"啊? 你真的想知道吗?"

Should she tell him? Manman had only meant to resort to her methods if the official channels failed.

"不是我信不过大哥, 只是我的法子有些..." She had the decency to look a little sheepish, though not nearly enough to suggest regret. "...上不得台面."

Ah well. She'd already come this far.

Manman poured herself a cup of tea and clasped both hands around it, her expression growing solemn in the way of someone about to reveal a terribly improper plan that she nevertheless believed was entirely justified.

"明天那刘县令来抬银花姐姐的时候, 我替她神不知鬼不觉地混进花轿." Yin Hua was the girl the old magistrate had set his sights on this time. Weddings were chaotic affairs. The bride hidden behind veil, relatives running about, servants shouting over one another, everyone too busy drinking and posturing to look too closely. Manman was confident she could trade places with Yin Hua without anyone realizing.

By the time the mistake came to light, Yin Hua would be long gone with her beloved and both their families, traveling downriver to a village beyond Liu County Magistrate's reach

"等那老贼醉醺醺的想着洞房花烛的时候, 我就把盖头揭了, 打得他满地找牙!" She felt rather giddy, just imagining it. "然后, 我再把他扒光了倒着吊到房梁下, 让他好好清醒清醒."

Of course, she would still need to make sure the old bastard could not come after her afterward. Manman's first idea was to quietly search his study while the wedding guests were still drinking in the courtyard. A man like that always had something hidden away. Ledgers, letters, dirty silver, evidence of bribes - anything useful would do. If she found even one solid thing, she could use it to ensure that perverted old fart never dared lay hands on another young woman again.

Was she worried about his guards? Not really. Skill wise, she doubted anyone in this county could even last ten moves against her.

many years from now, tonight's events will no doubt come to be remembered as having bordered on absurd --- perhaps even laughed about, someday. but for now, it's all even the most stony-faced officials can do to refrain from allowing their disgust to become even more plainly written on their faces --- let alone the more sensitive ones ( to say nothing of the maidservants waiting in the wings, no less ), who mostly look as if they're on the verge of fainting.

the silence that had followed the thud of the sizeable corpse on the table in unspoken offering is the very definition of deafening.

it's true: even nángōng xīyǔ can admit that at first glance, wild boars have few, if any, redeeming features. their fangs are large and ghastly, mouths twisted as if in a perpetual snarl, their beady eyes recessed beneath folds of leathery skin; their coats are wiry and oily; and up close, the smell of them is ... eye-watering, to say the least --- enough that at least one official has already begun dry-heaving.

--- but they're large, and their meat, however gamey, can feed a great deal of people, and their tusks and bones can be repurposed.

as his gaze slides slowly ( and with mounting amusement ) over the sea of pallid and terrified faces in the great hall, their expressions frozen in silent horror, he begins to realize that jīngchǔ is woefully lacking in visionaries and daring men.

"This is...a boar." One of the officials commented after a long stretch of silence at the table.

"Over two hundred jin." Xinglie replied with unmistakable pride. The palace steward weighed it himself. It was truly a magnificent beast - the finest of the mountains here. He smiled down at the gift offering he was presenting, marveling at how the dark bristled boar lay like a fallen lord, its coat still glossy with stubborn grandeur, even in death.

It took him another few breaths to realize he had, perhaps, made a mistake.

There were murmurs now. A few officials bent their heads together, whispering whether this was meant as a gift from a potential ally or some threat-laced display of martial strength.

Xinglie cursed these fools and their unnecessarily elaborate minds.

"I also brought this scroll from my father. It is a painting from your majesty's favorite artist."

That, at least, brightened the Emperor's eyes, and the tension in Xinglie's shoulders eased by a fraction.

How he hated this: Diplomacy. Courtly smiling. Currying favor with men who could turn a dead boar into some sort of declaration of war if given enough wine and spare time.

Just send him back to the battlefield already.

At this entire gathering, only one man seemed to have any proper sense.