Willingly or not, the blame is his to bear. The sound alone is something that carves its way into his chest, hollowing Caleb out with a chill worse than any Linkon or Skyhaven winter could ever begin to replicate. A frozen hell. He can’t tell what’s worse, the whimpering or the broken calls of his name, both an equally cruel kind of torture. Frankly, he wants neither, still stuck in the horror of recalling the childhood he wants to bury six feet under, if only for a moment. It’s chilling.

When he eventually takes a breath of his own, mind finally back in body, Caleb’s by y/n’s side immediately, his firearm discarded on the nearest surface he can find. Maintenance doesn’t matter anymore. It can come later. Everything can come later. Pulling away the covers where they cover her face, the cavity in Caleb’s chest grows even larger, a crater of his own making. Y/n’s crying, hushed sobs and anguish twisting her face as he cradles it in his hands. This shouldn’t be happening. She should never be tormented like this.

Not because of him.

“I need you to wake up for me pips,” he tries first, wiping away stray tears with the pad of his thumb. The warmth of it burns him, a stark reminder of what Caleb couldn’t protect her from. But he can’t afford to wallow in pity any longer, not when she clearly needs him. Leaning over her sleeping figure, his hand finds y/n’s shoulder, squeezing as gently as he can while he tries again to wake her.

“This… it’s just a nightmare pipsqueak. You’re safe, you’re okay, I promise. It’s not real. None of it is real.”

Please… y/n, please, please just wake up. I need you to wake up.

Waking up is a long process. Especially when y/n realises where she actually is and who’s mere inches away from her face. Dreaming of a dead man only to wake up to him in front of her is certainly a strange feeling, y/n thinks. Though, it’s less disembodied thought and more current reality as the lingering echoes of a safe haven going up in flames moulds itself back into Caleb’s very worried and very alive face. For a few precious seconds, y/n’s consciousness takes its sweet time coming to terms that she’s awake now, the lingering exhaustion pulling at her eyelids as she blinks away the last remnants of sleep. She’s awake now, for the most part, staring into purple eyes that are most definitely gazing right into her red ones. No one’s said anything yet, but y/n doesn’t really want to be the first one to speak. What’s Caleb going to hear if she does?

The pain? The helplessness? Or perhaps the aching void that whispers into y/n’s ear and insists that nothing she sees now is real?

Minutes later, and y/n still hasn’t said much of anything, wordlessly sitting herself up in bed while Caleb disappears for a moment, saying something about making her old favourite drink. When he returns, he presses the mug of tea into her frozen hands—they’re cold? When did that happen? — and y/n can only spare a glance at the contents within.

“Thought I finished these already?”

“…you did; bought some extra on the way back.”

Well, fair enough. The gaping void in her chest settles bit by bit, soothed by the comforting warmth between her hands. She’s less hollow now, more present in the active moment with one part of her soul sitting on the edge of her bed. Who looks almost as wrecked as she’s just been feeling. And through y/n’s careful observation over the top of her mug, Caleb’s as stiff as a board. A board that smells like gunpowder.

Actually, when did he—

“I am so sorry I didn’t get here soon enough, y/n.” Huh?

“Caleb,” she breathes out, “what, what are you talking about?”

“The nightmare.”

Right. That. She can only remember parts of it now, miniscule whisps of heartache that will probably also vanish in the next hour or so. It isn’t the first time that y/n’s had this kind of nightmare, anyway. She’ll be fine. Unlike Caleb, apparently, who looks anything but fine.

“You still got here either way, what else should I say? It’s not like I chose to have a nightmare tonight.”

It’s the truth; Caleb knows it, he knows y/n knows it, and yet there’s no convincing those deep-set fears of his otherwise. Ge needs to be there to protect her from these things, and he couldn’t. Not tonight. Even as his knee bounces with the spiral of his thoughts, Caleb isn’t immune to wishing he could find some kind of permanent solution to y/n’s predicament. Perhaps their favourite doctor knows someone, or make a referral, or—

Y/n’s hand lands on his thigh, and the spiral stops.

“I really do appreciate that you’re here, Caleb,” she sighs, “but these nightmares aren’t going anywhere, and I still can’t get it to stop. I thought you were dead for so long, that I tried avenging you and Josephine, tried figuring out how to exist in a world without you, alone.”

Her revelation keeps going, unveiling everything she’s had to endure in his absence, and Caleb can do nothing else but listen. He must. It’s the least he can do, a tangible effort he hopes she’ll appreciate as far as the hand squeezing his own can tell him.

“…sometimes, I’ll wake up and still think you’re dead—until I can get a hold of you, at least.”

“Then,” he asks, now desperate to know for himself. “Earlier, when I woke you up, did you..?”

Y/n nods.

“Felt like I was seeing a ghost for a bit. Got really weird when the ghost started touching me, though.”

And now he’s laughing. In fact, they’ve both got the giggles.

“You just had to say it like that, didn’t you?”

“Made you laugh, didn’t I? I’ll take it.”

Maybe he will ask Zayne for those therapy referrals after all. For both of them—they fucking need it.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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“Staying focused, huh?” Yunho deadpans. The suppressed tension dissipates from his shoulders as his expression softens, the man shifting out of his seat, now mission orientated. “I’ll get you something, don’t worry.”

Walking up to the counter so fast he’s nearly jogging, Yunho takes several deep breaths of his own, nerves eating away at him under his skin. Y/n’s sugar is dropping fast, and he really needs to get her something to drink. The quicker the better, preferably. There’s only one other person in front of him in line, but he really can’t be wasting time. Especially not right now. Fiddling with his sleeve to pass the time, Yunho tries not to be impatient, willing the person ahead to hurry up with his eyes alone. How long does it take to order?

Finally. His turn to order. A quick glance at the menu, and Yunho’s resolute on getting the fastest drink that can be made, his gaze returning to where he was sat just moments ago. In fact, he hardly registers what’s being said by the person over the counter, reciting his order on autopilot and paying all without pulling his eyes away from y/n.

“…here’s your drink, sir.”

“Right, right, thank you so much.”

Again, Yunho isn’t aware of his feet carrying him back to the table, the nerves only dissipating once y/n’s back in his field of view. He knows he shouldn’t be this worried, he just can’t help it. Not when Yunho’s seen first-hand what hypoglycaemia does to one of his closest friend. And he’s going to do everything he can to prevent that from happening.

Y/n watches Yunho set the drink down like it’s a tactical weapon, breaking the rush of heartbeat in her head, partially confused at her friend’s huge display of concern. Not that she doesn’t appreciate it, of course. Being this low sucks. Reaching for the drink—a lemonade, by the looks of it—she takes slow sips, leaning into the straw instead of picking it up and risking spilling the entire glass. She’s far too shaky for that. The lemonade’s actually pretty good, now that she thinks about, far better than the Americano she chugged earlier in the pursuit of staying alert. And it’s actually doing its job of helping her sugar levels climb back up.

There is just one thing though.

“Are… are you gonna keep watching over me?” Y/n asks halfway through her drink, because Yunho is doing exactly that. Watching.

“Mhm. Until you finish.”

“Hm. Alright then.” With iron-clad conviction like that, what is y/n supposed to say?

By the time the drink is pretty much done, y/n’s at least half sure there’s a hole being burnt into the side of her head. Each breath feels easier. Her hands, steadier. Relief is a tender thing after the minutes spent shaking, a feeling y/n basks in just a little bit longer before she inevitably has to refocus on her studies. Her degree isn’t going to achieve itself, unfortunately. So she sets the glass aside, picks up her pen and returns to her notes. They beckon to her, and y/n sighs before getting back to her studying.

“Thanks for the drinks, Yunho,” she says in between her notes, mildly relieved that Yunho doesn’t look so concerned anymore. “Hmm… next round of study snacks on me.”

It is the least y/n can do after Yunho saved her skin.

“In that case, I want tteokbokki with extra cheese. Oh— and ramen.”

“Why the hell not? Sure.”

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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“On your left!” Xavier calls out, his voice cutting through the voice in y/n’s head that starts rattling off every battle strategy they’ve ever mastered, keen on finding a viable solution to all of this. There has to be something. Something they can do to weaken this godforsaken creature. Following their partner’s lead, y/n turns their head and oh—

It’s swinging right at them.

Oh shit.

Over a year’s worth of hunter’s training goes out the window, y/n’s breath catching in their throat as the Wanderer’s cleaver gets closer. And closer. They can’t even move— why can’t they move it’s right there—

There are few that understand fear quite the way Rafayel does, that understand how it takes root in his lungs and steals away every breath. It seeps into every interaction, twists his words of concern into accusations of abandonment and wilting apologies once the words leave his mouth. Of course, Rafayel knows far too well that y/n nor the others never truly mean to abandon him, what with all their collective reassurances to stay and proving time and time again that they will be there despite his fears.

It helps.

He likes to think he’s made his peace with it, after all this time. It’s been eight centuries and counting, that’s more than enough time for him. The cruel beast doesn’t even faze him that much anymore, merely nipping at his heels like a petulant little creature demanding his attention. With enough effort, he hardly realises it’s even there. Ignores its voice like one would with an overly spoilt child.

Except as of ten minutes ago, Rafayel has never felt so damningly afraid.

His feet have been carrying him as fast he can go, the breaking news report of the Wanderer attack still burning a fresh image behind his eyes. The location is a familiar one, the very same market square him and his loves had been walking through a couple of days before on a date, now rubble as he begins to approach. Xavier and y/n are here somewhere, he knows it. Can feel it. But just where are they both—

“Get outta the way!” Rafayel screams, leaping across to tug y/n into his arms and away from the giant cleaver. The two tumble, crashing to the ground while the Lemurian takes most of the damage, holding y/n tightly against his chest.

“…Raf—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? God, why didn’t you move?! It was coming right at you!” Concern nips at the edge of his words the longer his ranting continues, arms frantic as Rafayel insists on checking y/n over. He’d do the same to Xavier, make sure his star is just fine, but the other man’s still in the midst of the fight, moving like the silent force of nature he is. He can do it later. And even as y/n brushes his concerns over with a huff, it doesn't make him feel any better. Doesn't quell the worry in his chest.

What if he hadn't been there in time? If he hadn't already been nearby?

“I’m fine, honey,” y/n says, probably for the hundredth time, “we’re both fine. It’s just getting hard for the both of us. Bloody thing isn’t taking any damage.”

The blades form in Rafayel’s hands before he hears anything else, intricate metal made to kill dancing between his fingers. He doesn't need to hear anything else. Disposing of this monster won’t take long, not if Rafayel can help it. But...he's not reckless enough to not call for backup. As confident as the Lemurian is in his abilities, this fight would go much easier with help. Help that's little more morally grey than he is. Tempering the tsunami bubbling underneath, he reaches for his phone, pinging their collective group chat before handing the device to y/n for safekeeping.

As soon as he makes eye contact with Xavier, however, he’s wasting no time. Weapons in hand and fire licking at the ground, Rafayel launches right into the thick of battle the ocean’s wrath behind him. Violet burns in his eyes as he wields his daggers, striking the beast over and over, determined to succeed where his lovers couldn't. Sure, they’re both trained hunters, but Rafayel is no stranger to combat, no stranger to the thrill of the fight and certainly capable of killing things that get in his way. And this Wanderer is exactly that.

In his way.

“Y/n was right,” Xavier grits out, forced to his knee to catch his breath as he and Rafayel catch their breaths, his sword stuck firmly into the ground. “Our weapons aren't doing anything to it.”

“How observant of you, pretty boy.”

“Oh hush.” But he can't deny the way his face heats up at the sardonic praise, shaking his head in attempt to focus on the task at hand. He's not immune to Rafayel's quips and teasing, never has been, really, but they have to focus now. “I thought you told the others to come and help?”

They defeat another Heart Knave as it approaches. Ruthless and effective.

“I did! Not my fault Winter Soldier and that damn crow are taking so long!” And well, Xavier supposes the artist is right. “All that machinery between them for what?”

He leaves Rafayel to his frustrated mutterings after that, content to deal with the more manageable Wanderers that spawn in. Better that than waiting for reinforcements. Though a fond smile does make its way onto his face, soft and warm against the sharp precision of his sword. Like this, fighting Wanderers that barely pose a threat, it gives Xavier space to think. About y/n. About the odd little family he's become a part of. How he now might be able to last until the next spring. It's odd. Four other people. And there's space in his heart for all of them.

Content that all of the smaller threats have been dealt with, Xavier’s mind turns to y/n. As much as he trusts his partner’s skills, he can’t help the concern that blooms in his chest. They’re unarmed now, and he hasn’t spotted them since he and Rafayel decided to continue fighting. So, he looks, and searches, and prays he hasn’t lost them.

His heart pauses. Then resumes in quick succession as he finds them coordinating an evacuation for the handful of people still caught in the crossfire.

Just in time for a Fleet ship to descend.

“Not too late to the party, am I?” Caleb chuckles, his voice warm and optimistic and far too close to y/n's ears. It jolts them, and they blink through the surprise, looking to Xavier who confirms exactly what they're thinking. In fact, Xavier even points upwards, and y/n's even more baffled.

Caleb's personal ship, hovering a good few hundred feet in the air.

Because of course.

“...how the fuck are you here?”

“Wo-o-w, pipsqueak, how heartless. Aren’t you happy to see me?” And they are, save for the indignant grumbling at how pleased Caleb is at his own teasing. But it's fine. They can get their own back later. “Anyway, Raf pinged this location, I figured you'd need the help, what's it lookin' like down there? ...Apart from big, blue and ugly, obviously.”

Biting back their retort that Caleb could just analyse the battlefield for himself, y/n takes stock of what—regrettably little—progress has been made in defeating the enemy.  It’s bleak. This battle needs to end soon, otherwise the market square risks being reduced to ruin entirely, the rubble and debris already starting to pile up. But y/n’s running out of options. If their firearms, Xavier’s light sword and Rafayel’s blades aren’t doing much of anything, what else could they possibly throw at this Wanderer?

Unless—

“You carry artillery in that thing, right?” They ask, catching the blade that Rafayel offers and re-joining the fight. Caleb confirms with an affirming grunt, which is more than enough for y/n to suggest their idea. “We need to disable it's protoshield to do any sort of meaningful damage, try firing at the thing!”

“You got it, captain.”

If this doesn't work, y/n might consider pulling their hair out. Or contacting Jenna and begging the woman to send reinforcements. They’re on edge, watching closely as Caleb's aircraft line up the shot with the precision of a needle, heart beating widely in their chest.  It's not often y/n gets to see Caleb like this, in Colonel Xia mode, putting his knowledge of air-based combat to use, but EVER be damned if it isn't enticing. They can already picture it; the furrow of his brow, how his gaze sharpens, the set of his jaw...

Rafayel whistles. The wave of bashfulness that follows is mortifying.

“Down, cutie,” the artist laughs, joining y/n's side as they try to hide their face behind their hands. Unsuccessfully. “We can all jump the pretty apple after we're done giving that bastard hell— ah, ah, hey! Don't swat me, you know you want to!”

And y/n sort of, maybe, kind of wishes the man wasn't right. Pursing their lips and swatting Rafayel again for good measure, their attention is drawn back to the fight when Caleb's aircraft fires, the sheer force of the blast nearly knocking all three of them off their feet. Shards of the Wanderer's armoured scales go flying, landing amongst the rubble as the smallest sliver of a weak spot is exposed. Finally. Tension pours out of everyone, a waterfall of relief that has even Xavier nearly buckling against the pillar all three of them have been taking cover behind. The Colonel's voice echoes in y/n's and Xavier's ears, equal parts relief and pride in the man's chuckle.

It's not the biggest opening, but it is something. Y/n can work with that.

“’I've got enough juice in this baby for one more,” Caleb announces as y/n watches him line up another shot, echoing the confidence of a man endlessly skilled in combat. Reliable skills. Skills they trust. “Just say when, cap'.”

The beast swings. Not yet. Deafening roars. Rafayel stares, impatient. Their fellow hunter poised, a blade waiting to strike.

Not yet.

The swinging stops. Red, pulsing energy coils around y/n's wrists—

“Now!”

Sylus doesn't often indulge in days off, days where the comings and goings on the N109 Zone are relegated to the furthest reaches of his mind and he can devote his time and affections to those who each hold a piece of his heart. An emperor cannot simply relinquish his control whenever he wishes. So he presses his foot on the acceleration, ego tugging on the corner of his lip when Zayne rushes to hold onto the seat, the two still clad in clothes from their lunch date. He makes a note to take the good doctor joyriding some other day, so he can see that alluring burst of emotion one more time.

Though now, all that's on Sylus' mind is pushing his vintage convertible past its limits if it'll mean him and Zayne will get to that damned market faster. The speedometer ticks forward, inching itself towards breaking double the motorway's speed limit but it's still not fast enough. Definitely not fast enough.

“Remind me darling, what's our current ETA?”

Sylus doesn't need to look over to see the exasperated pull of his lover's brow.

“You expect me to reach for my phone like this?” Zayne retorts.

Pulsing energy seeps through the vehicle, Sylus' Evol an obedient tool as it reaches for Zayne’s phone, handing it to the man beside him with a flourish. There's a huff, followed by the younger man both reading out their ETA—a solid ten minutes—and still grasping the seat like a lifeline. Ten is good. Ten is very good.

But Sylus can do better.

“Let's do five.”

“Sylus Qin that is—” He steals a kiss. His Evol explodes around them.

Zayne looks terrified. Possibly even fascinated.

Very little in life has the same thrill akin to flying, but travelling this fast? It's close enough. The roof comes down, rushing wind sweeps through his hair and bites of freedom have never tasted so good. Bathed in the red energy of Sylus' Evol, the car is a blur, a cocky smirk on the owner's face as a glimmer of an explosion rings out in front of them. A wing of a plane appears after the smoke clears and oh. Sylus laughs, smug, amused and fond all the same. Of course.

It's not long after that Sylus finally manages to pull up, just in time for the Colonel’s personal aircraft to line up again, but that’s when he sees it. The beast stops swinging, but the cleaver raises in time with his beloved’s command and—

“Now!”

Zayne’s not even thinking, running on sheer instinct alone as he throws the wall of ice up in time for the Wanderer’s cleaver to come crashing down.  His heart pounds, years of combat training rearing its head as he throws up another wall of ice to cover himself and check on everyone. Caleb’s only just landed after jumping from his now wreck of an aircraft, y/n’s roughed up from fighting but they’re in reliable hands, and both Xavier and Rafayel aren’t sporting any significant damage.

At least for now his heart can relax while he and Sylus figure out what on earth to do with the Wanderer before it destroys anymore of the surrounding market—or what’s left of it.

“There doesn’t seem to be much damage done to it, what do you suggest we do?” He asks, shrugging off his dress coat. “I suppose you’ve all—?”

“We’ve tried everything, really,” Xavier sighs, sparkles of light hovering around the light blade Zayne’s seen him wield time and time again. “Our weapons don’t seem to be doing anything to it, just… slowing it down.”

Everything?

“What about blunt-force? Or hand-to-hand combat?” And Zayne can’t help the knowing smile that tugs on his lips at the collective reaction to his words. He can’t blame them, really, for not thinking about it when fighting against a creature of that size, but their options are clearly limited. “Very well. You four should stay here and recover for the moment, Sylus and I can handle the threat.”

A threat that’s actively getting ready to swing its cleaver again.

His discards his dress coat, wrapping it around y/n’s shoulders—that hunter’s uniform surely can’t be suitable for this weather—and joins Sylus to confront the beast. Ice climbing up his veins as he clenches his fist, ready to do something. Is landing a fist going to be feasible? At all? When Zayne cautions a glance over at Sylus, the man’s already in position, cracking his knuckles and it has the odd effect of filling Zayne with an ounce of confidence.

He's seen the man fight before, knows the kind of damage that Sylus is capable of…they might be able to pull this off, if the half-baked idea forming in his head actually works in practice. With his ice, Sylus’ energy and their combined physical strength—

“Looks like you’ve got a plan, doctor?” Comes the expensive chuckle, red, gleaming energy already overtaking the environment. “Go on, do share with the class.”

“I would, though it looks like you already know, Sylus.”

Chains, thick, heavy and forged of pure energy and frigid ice weave their way around the beast, trapping it in place just as the cleaver reaches its peak. The doctor watches while a fiend lands successive punches, each one more devastating than the last. Shards of the beast go flying, each piece exploding into a cloud of energy. So Zayne throws a boulder of ice, and Sylus? Sylus’ foot connects with the ice, the impact sending the boulder right at the Wanderer and its devastating cleaver.

The weapon comes crashing down like a tsunami. Displaced rubble flies everywhere as Zayne runs up and across steps of ice, his Evol growing like a gauntlet around his clenched fist. Wanderer now unarmed, the doctor can truly put his combat expertise to good use.

He reaches the peak, face to face with the Wanderer and Sylus is there. Ready and waiting.

“Ready?” His fiend asks.

Zayne is more than ready.

“Let's finish this.”

Sylus needs no other prompting after that. It's not every day he gets to fight alongside the good doctor, but now he might just have to extend his sparring invitations to the younger man. Zayne's been holding out on him.  His Evol is ferocious as it crackles to life once more, hungry for bloodshed.

Weaving red around the both of them, Sylus lands blow after blow to the Wanderer, each strike in time with Zayne's in a wicked symphony. They make easy work of it, breaking the enemy piece by piece until it's a crumpled—but alive—heap within the chains keeping it bound. Sylus lands his fist directly at its chest, and almost poetically so, he finds the beast’s core. A bright red, amalgamated mess of a protocore finally exposed to the air. Finally.

Their predator is now prey.

Sylus rolls his shoulders, exhaling at the satisfying crack that follows. Nothing like a battle to stretch his limbs. It’s time for grand finale, one which he and Zayne will be orchestrating. So he joins the man he loves as they stand—on platforms formed of red ice—above the weakened creature, staring down at it with shared fury and heaving breaths. It’s time to end this.

There’s stunned laughter as Sylus and Zayne descend, the Wanderer now nothing more than the protocore nestled away in the fiend’s hand. Y/n can’t believe it. It’s actually over. The sigh of relief that passes through them is immense, leaning into the closest pair of arms that eagerly wrap around them. Now that it’s all said and done, frankly all they want to do is sleep. Preferably until the weekend. Shrugging off Zayne’s coat and handing it over as their boyfriend walks over, y/n takes the chance to really look at what he’s wearing. Sylus too, looks like a handsome devil. More so than usual.

Huh.

“I see we interrupted something,” Caleb hums, practically reading y/n’s thoughts and stealing the words out of their mouth. “Lunch date?”

“Right as always, Colonel. Better make it a six-person date, now that we’re all here, hmm?” Sylus answers easily, still as smug as ever. And Y/n can’t even argue with his suggestion, gently prying Rafayel’s arms from their waist and pulling the artist along to walk towards the vintage car parked nearby. Light conversation gives way to comfortable silence, a collective relief washing over everyone now that the battle is done.

Sure, there’s an entire market square that's been reduced to rubble, but no one's been hurt, so mission accomplished. Pretty much.

“Actually,” y/n sighs, draping themselves over Xavier and Rafayel's lap in the backseat of the Cadillac. “You know what I really want right now?”

Five sets of eyes turn.

“To get a fucking massage.”

“As long as it's on my card, sweetie.”

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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“On your left!” Xavier calls out, his voice cutting through the voice in y/n’s head that starts rattling off every battle strategy they’ve ever mastered, keen on finding a viable solution to all of this. There has to be something. Something they can do to weaken this godforsaken creature. Following their partner’s lead, y/n turns their head and oh—

It’s swinging right at them.

Oh shit.

Over a year’s worth of hunter’s training goes out the window, y/n’s breath catching in their throat as the Wanderer’s cleaver gets closer. And closer. They can’t even move— why can’t they move it’s right there—

There are few that understand fear quite the way Rafayel does, that understand how it takes root in his lungs and steals away every breath. It seeps into every interaction, twists his words of concern into accusations of abandonment and wilting apologies once the words leave his mouth. Of course, Rafayel knows far too well that y/n nor the others never truly mean to abandon him, what with all their collective reassurances to stay and proving time and time again that they will be there despite his fears.

It helps.

He likes to think he’s made his peace with it, after all this time. It’s been eight centuries and counting, that’s more than enough time for him. The cruel beast doesn’t even faze him that much anymore, merely nipping at his heels like a petulant little creature demanding his attention. With enough effort, he hardly realises it’s even there. Ignores its voice like one would with an overly spoilt child.

Except as of ten minutes ago, Rafayel has never felt so damningly afraid.

His feet have been carrying him as fast he can go, the breaking news report of the Wanderer attack still burning a fresh image behind his eyes. The location is a familiar one, the very same market square him and his loves had been walking through a couple of days before on a date, now rubble as he begins to approach. Xavier and y/n are here somewhere, he knows it. Can feel it. But just where are they both—

“Get outta the way!” Rafayel screams, leaping across to tug y/n into his arms and away from the giant cleaver. The two tumble, crashing to the ground while the Lemurian takes most of the damage, holding y/n tightly against his chest.

“…Raf—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? God, why didn’t you move?! It was coming right at you!” Concern nips at the edge of his words the longer his ranting continues, arms frantic as Rafayel insists on checking y/n over. He’d do the same to Xavier, make sure his star is just fine, but the other man’s still in the midst of the fight, moving like the silent force of nature he is. He can do it later. And even as y/n brushes his concerns over with a huff, it doesn't make him feel any better. Doesn't quell the worry in his chest.

What if he hadn't been there in time? If he hadn't already been nearby?

“I’m fine, honey,” y/n says, probably for the hundredth time, “we’re both fine. It’s just getting hard for the both of us. Bloody thing isn’t taking any damage.”

The blades form in Rafayel’s hands before he hears anything else, intricate metal made to kill dancing between his fingers. He doesn't need to hear anything else. Disposing of this monster won’t take long, not if Rafayel can help it. But...he's not reckless enough to not call for backup. As confident as the Lemurian is in his abilities, this fight would go much easier with help. Help that's little more morally grey than he is. Tempering the tsunami bubbling underneath, he reaches for his phone, pinging their collective group chat before handing the device to y/n for safekeeping.

As soon as he makes eye contact with Xavier, however, he’s wasting no time. Weapons in hand and fire licking at the ground, Rafayel launches right into the thick of battle the ocean’s wrath behind him. Violet burns in his eyes as he wields his daggers, striking the beast over and over, determined to succeed where his lovers couldn't. Sure, they’re both trained hunters, but Rafayel is no stranger to combat, no stranger to the thrill of the fight and certainly capable of killing things that get in his way. And this Wanderer is exactly that.

In his way.

“Y/n was right,” Xavier grits out, forced to his knee to catch his breath as he and Rafayel catch their breaths, his sword stuck firmly into the ground. “Our weapons aren't doing anything to it.”

“How observant of you, pretty boy.”

“Oh hush.” But he can't deny the way his face heats up at the sardonic praise, shaking his head in attempt to focus on the task at hand. He's not immune to Rafayel's quips and teasing, never has been, really, but they have to focus now. “I thought you told the others to come and help?”

They defeat another Heart Knave as it approaches. Ruthless and effective.

“I did! Not my fault Winter Soldier and that damn crow are taking so long!” And well, Xavier supposes the artist is right. “All that machinery between them for what?”

He leaves Rafayel to his frustrated mutterings after that, content to deal with the more manageable Wanderers that spawn in. Better that than waiting for reinforcements. Though a fond smile does make its way onto his face, soft and warm against the sharp precision of his sword. Like this, fighting Wanderers that barely pose a threat, it gives Xavier space to think. About y/n. About the odd little family he's become a part of. How he now might be able to last until the next spring. It's odd. Four other people. And there's space in his heart for all of them.

Content that all of the smaller threats have been dealt with, Xavier’s mind turns to y/n. As much as he trusts his partner’s skills, he can’t help the concern that blooms in his chest. They’re unarmed now, and he hasn’t spotted them since he and Rafayel decided to continue fighting. So, he looks, and searches, and prays he hasn’t lost them.

His heart pauses. Then resumes in quick succession as he finds them coordinating an evacuation for the handful of people still caught in the crossfire.

Just in time for a Fleet ship to descend.

“Not too late to the party, am I?” Caleb chuckles, his voice warm and optimistic and far too close to y/n's ears. It jolts them, and they blink through the surprise, looking to Xavier who confirms exactly what they're thinking. In fact, Xavier even points upwards, and y/n's even more baffled.

Caleb's personal ship, hovering a good few hundred feet in the air.

Because of course.

“...how the fuck are you here?”

“Wo-o-w, pipsqueak, how heartless. Aren’t you happy to see me?” And they are, save for the indignant grumbling at how pleased Caleb is at his own teasing. But it's fine. They can get their own back later. “Anyway, Raf pinged this location, I figured you'd need the help, what's it lookin' like down there? ...Apart from big, blue and ugly, obviously.”

Biting back their retort that Caleb could just analyse the battlefield for himself, y/n takes stock of what—regrettably little—progress has been made in defeating the enemy.  It’s bleak. This battle needs to end soon, otherwise the market square risks being reduced to ruin entirely, the rubble and debris already starting to pile up. But y/n’s running out of options. If their firearms, Xavier’s light sword and Rafayel’s blades aren’t doing much of anything, what else could they possibly throw at this Wanderer?

Unless—

“You carry artillery in that thing, right?” They ask, catching the blade that Rafayel offers and re-joining the fight. Caleb confirms with an affirming grunt, which is more than enough for y/n to suggest their idea. “We need to disable it's protoshield to do any sort of meaningful damage, try firing at the thing!”

“You got it, captain.”

If this doesn't work, y/n might consider pulling their hair out. Or contacting Jenna and begging the woman to send reinforcements. They’re on edge, watching closely as Caleb's aircraft line up the shot with the precision of a needle, heart beating widely in their chest.  It's not often y/n gets to see Caleb like this, in Colonel Xia mode, putting his knowledge of air-based combat to use, but EVER be damned if it isn't enticing. They can already picture it; the furrow of his brow, how his gaze sharpens, the set of his jaw...

Rafayel whistles. The wave of bashfulness that follows is mortifying.

“Down, cutie,” the artist laughs, joining y/n's side as they try to hide their face behind their hands. Unsuccessfully. “We can all jump the pretty apple after we're done giving that bastard hell— ah, ah, hey! Don't swat me, you know you want to!”

And y/n sort of, maybe, kind of wishes the man wasn't right. Pursing their lips and swatting Rafayel again for good measure, their attention is drawn back to the fight when Caleb's aircraft fires, the sheer force of the blast nearly knocking all three of them off their feet. Shards of the Wanderer's armoured scales go flying, landing amongst the rubble as the smallest sliver of a weak spot is exposed. Finally. Tension pours out of everyone, a waterfall of relief that has even Xavier nearly buckling against the pillar all three of them have been taking cover behind. The Colonel's voice echoes in y/n's and Xavier's ears, equal parts relief and pride in the man's chuckle.

It's not the biggest opening, but it is something. Y/n can work with that.

“’I've got enough juice in this baby for one more,” Caleb announces as y/n watches him line up another shot, echoing the confidence of a man endlessly skilled in combat. Reliable skills. Skills they trust. “Just say when, cap'.”

The beast swings. Not yet. Deafening roars. Rafayel stares, impatient. Their fellow hunter poised, a blade waiting to strike.

Not yet.

The swinging stops. Red, pulsing energy coils around y/n's wrists—

“Now!”

Sylus doesn't often indulge in days off, days where the comings and goings on the N109 Zone are relegated to the furthest reaches of his mind and he can devote his time and affections to those who each hold a piece of his heart. An emperor cannot simply relinquish his control whenever he wishes. So he presses his foot on the acceleration, ego tugging on the corner of his lip when Zayne rushes to hold onto the seat, the two still clad in clothes from their lunch date. He makes a note to take the good doctor joyriding some other day, so he can see that alluring burst of emotion one more time.

Though now, all that's on Sylus' mind is pushing his vintage convertible past its limits if it'll mean him and Zayne will get to that damned market faster. The speedometer ticks forward, inching itself towards breaking double the motorway's speed limit but it's still not fast enough. Definitely not fast enough.

“Remind me darling, what's our current ETA?”

Sylus doesn't need to look over to see the exasperated pull of his lover's brow.

“You expect me to reach for my phone like this?” Zayne retorts.

Pulsing energy seeps through the vehicle, Sylus' Evol an obedient tool as it reaches for Zayne’s phone, handing it to the man beside him with a flourish. There's a huff, followed by the younger man both reading out their ETA—a solid ten minutes—and still grasping the seat like a lifeline. Ten is good. Ten is very good.

But Sylus can do better.

“Let's do five.”

“Sylus Qin that is—” He steals a kiss. His Evol explodes around them.

Zayne looks terrified. Possibly even fascinated.

Very little in life has the same thrill akin to flying, but travelling this fast? It's close enough. The roof comes down, rushing wind sweeps through his hair and bites of freedom have never tasted so good. Bathed in the red energy of Sylus' Evol, the car is a blur, a cocky smirk on the owner's face as a glimmer of an explosion rings out in front of them. A wing of a plane appears after the smoke clears and oh. Sylus laughs, smug, amused and fond all the same. Of course.

It's not long after that Sylus finally manages to pull up, just in time for the Colonel’s personal aircraft to line up again, but that’s when he sees it. The beast stops swinging, but the cleaver raises in time with his beloved’s command and—

“Now!”

Zayne’s not even thinking, running on sheer instinct alone as he throws the wall of ice up in time for the Wanderer’s cleaver to come crashing down.  His heart pounds, years of combat training rearing its head as he throws up another wall of ice to cover himself and check on everyone. Caleb’s only just landed after jumping from his now wreck of an aircraft, y/n’s roughed up from fighting but they’re in reliable hands, and both Xavier and Rafayel aren’t sporting any significant damage.

At least for now his heart can relax while he and Sylus figure out what on earth to do with the Wanderer before it destroys anymore of the surrounding market—or what’s left of it.

“There doesn’t seem to be much damage done to it, what do you suggest we do?” He asks, shrugging off his dress coat. “I suppose you’ve all—?”

“We’ve tried everything, really,” Xavier sighs, sparkles of light hovering around the light blade Zayne’s seen him wield time and time again. “Our weapons don’t seem to be doing anything to it, just… slowing it down.”

Everything?

“What about blunt-force? Or hand-to-hand combat?” And Zayne can’t help the knowing smile that tugs on his lips at the collective reaction to his words. He can’t blame them, really, for not thinking about it when fighting against a creature of that size, but their options are clearly limited. “Very well. You four should stay here and recover for the moment, Sylus and I can handle the threat.”

A threat that’s actively getting ready to swing its cleaver again.

His discards his dress coat, wrapping it around y/n’s shoulders—that hunter’s uniform surely can’t be suitable for this weather—and joins Sylus to confront the beast. Ice climbing up his veins as he clenches his fist, ready to do something. Is landing a fist going to be feasible? At all? When Zayne cautions a glance over at Sylus, the man’s already in position, cracking his knuckles and it has the odd effect of filling Zayne with an ounce of confidence.

He's seen the man fight before, knows the kind of damage that Sylus is capable of…they might be able to pull this off, if the half-baked idea forming in his head actually works in practice. With his ice, Sylus’ energy and their combined physical strength—

“Looks like you’ve got a plan, doctor?” Comes the expensive chuckle, red, gleaming energy already overtaking the environment. “Go on, do share with the class.”

“I would, though it looks like you already know, Sylus.”

Chains, thick, heavy and forged of pure energy and frigid ice weave their way around the beast, trapping it in place just as the cleaver reaches its peak. The doctor watches while a fiend lands successive punches, each one more devastating than the last. Shards of the beast go flying, each piece exploding into a cloud of energy. So Zayne throws a boulder of ice, and Sylus? Sylus’ foot connects with the ice, the impact sending the boulder right at the Wanderer and its devastating cleaver.

The weapon comes crashing down like a tsunami. Displaced rubble flies everywhere as Zayne runs up and across steps of ice, his Evol growing like a gauntlet around his clenched fist. Wanderer now unarmed, the doctor can truly put his combat expertise to good use.

He reaches the peak, face to face with the Wanderer and Sylus is there. Ready and waiting.

“Ready?” His fiend asks.

Zayne is more than ready.

“Let's finish this.”

Sylus needs no other prompting after that. It's not every day he gets to fight alongside the good doctor, but now he might just have to extend his sparring invitations to the younger man. Zayne's been holding out on him.  His Evol is ferocious as it crackles to life once more, hungry for bloodshed.

Weaving red around the both of them, Sylus lands blow after blow to the Wanderer, each strike in time with Zayne's in a wicked symphony. They make easy work of it, breaking the enemy piece by piece until it's a crumpled—but alive—heap within the chains keeping it bound. Sylus lands his fist directly at its chest, and almost poetically so, he finds the beast’s core. A bright red, amalgamated mess of a protocore finally exposed to the air. Finally.

Their predator is now prey.

Sylus rolls his shoulders, exhaling at the satisfying crack that follows. Nothing like a battle to stretch his limbs. It’s time for grand finale, one which he and Zayne will be orchestrating. So he joins the man he loves as they stand—on platforms formed of red ice—above the weakened creature, staring down at it with shared fury and heaving breaths. It’s time to end this.

There’s stunned laughter as Sylus and Zayne descend, the Wanderer now nothing more than the protocore nestled away in the fiend’s hand. Y/n can’t believe it. It’s actually over. The sigh of relief that passes through them is immense, leaning into the closest pair of arms that eagerly wrap around them. Now that it’s all said and done, frankly all they want to do is sleep. Preferably until the weekend. Shrugging off Zayne’s coat and handing it over as their boyfriend walks over, y/n takes the chance to really look at what he’s wearing. Sylus too, looks like a handsome devil. More so than usual.

Huh.

“I see we interrupted something,” Caleb hums, practically reading y/n’s thoughts and stealing the words out of their mouth. “Lunch date?”

“Right as always, Colonel. Better make it a six-person date, now that we’re all here, hmm?” Sylus answers easily, still as smug as ever. And Y/n can’t even argue with his suggestion, gently prying Rafayel’s arms from their waist and pulling the artist along to walk towards the vintage car parked nearby. Light conversation gives way to comfortable silence, a collective relief washing over everyone now that the battle is done.

Sure, there’s an entire market square that's been reduced to rubble, but no one's been hurt, so mission accomplished. Pretty much.

“Actually,” y/n sighs, draping themselves over Xavier and Rafayel's lap in the backseat of the Cadillac. “You know what I really want right now?”

Five sets of eyes turn.

“To get a fucking massage.”

“As long as it's on my card, sweetie.”

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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Zayne | Li Shen

Now, Zayne’s definitely bought a few bars of the stuff before, probably in university on the back of a recommendation from his older classmates. Used to use it almost religiously when he was doing his student placements and silently mourned when he (somehow) ran out. Sure, he tried to figure out which seller he got them from, but to no avail unfortunately.

Until he reunites with you. His childhood sweetheart.

He finds a little time after an international conference to do some shopping and finds something he hasn’t managed to find in quite some time. A bar of black soap, just like the one he vividly remembers using. So of course he buys a few, intent on bringing some back for you.

Oh, and don’t worry, he remembers the moisturiser. Dry hands are never a thing with Dr Li.

Rafayel | Qi Yu

Rafayel is no stranger to black soap. Mr Artiste and Travels the World for Art? Of course he’s a frequent buyer, being a world-famous artist with a passion in various artistic mediums is messy work. He particularly likes using it for his hands and face after a long day to kickstart his nightly skin care routine.

Oh and he absolutely has his favourite vendors, people he’s supported from day one and would promote in a heartbeat if someone asked him for recommendations. The moment you even mention wanting to buy some, either for yourself or as a gift, Rafayel is descending upon you with the name of his favourites. He’s got you covered.

Will also have you covered with a good moisturiser, because of course he will. You’re his beloved muse; it’d be a travesty if he didn’t gift you the best of everything.

 Sylus | Qin Che

Listen, you’re going to be hard-pressed to find an industry that Sylus hasn’t invested either time or money into. He has a business portfolio that’d make the cast of Dragon’s Den weep with joy, of course he’s in the business of distributing the stuff. In fact he’s probably the one the other guys are indirectly buying it from in the first place. So it’s only really a matter of you saying you want a bar or two. Then he’s immediately having two of the best ones from his distribution plant delivered directly to your door.

Honestly, Sylus has every aspect of your skin care covered once you give him the all-clear. All the best products, date nights spent doing each other’s face masks etc… just say the word and he’s down. He uses the stuff pretty frequently himself, though he does prefer his own type of moisturising soap. He can’t deny that it’s rather good for getting rid of all the grime that his work can bring.

Life in the N109 Zone is messy, what self-respecting crime lord would be caught looking anything other than their best?

Caleb | Xia Yizhou

The thing with Caleb is, while he may not have directly sought these out before, as soon as he figures out you use them, he’s doing all kinds of research. Where he can get them, the benefits black soap has for your skin, how best to use it, everything. He has to know. He even goes as far as to buy a bar of it for himself to test it out.

And of course, the natural progression of Caleb’s testing is that he becomes just as keen to use the stuff as much as you are. He doesn’t even mean to, but it ends up replacing the bottle of hand soap he was using before and then gets used just as much.

The only issue?

This man really does not moisturise as much as he should. I’m talking chapped lips, ashy elbows, all of it. So please, just give him the black mum treatment, grab his (pretty) face and smother him in some good quality moisturiser. His dermatologist will thank you later.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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Rafayel | Qi Yu

Rafayel sets you down on the sofa, brings you whatever you need and completely clears his schedule. Meeting with Thomas? Yeah that can wait. Oh, he needs to review his latest exhibition? Not a priority anymore. Convinces you to try a bath to see if it helps with the pain and refuses to hear any apologies if you two had plans that had to be cancelled.

Sylus | Qin Che

Sylus bundles you up in his arms, takes you to bed, and has whatever it is you need at your fingertips. Another one who refuses to hear out any apologies about cancelling plans and brushes it off with the fact he can get it booked for you two another time. He stays with you the entire time and has the twins take care of any minor issues. If needed, he will call any specialist doctors to the base to monitor your condition.

Caleb | Xia Yizhou

Caleb refuses to let you so much as move, insisting on helping you do almost anything and everything. Stays home from the fleet to look after you bc "who else but me is going to help you, pipsqueak?" and gives you massages periodically in between helping distract from the pain. Cooks every meal and insists on feeding you himself (indulge him, he enjoys taking care of you)

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Rafayel | Qi Yu

Rafayel sets you down on the sofa, brings you whatever you need and completely clears his schedule. Meeting with Thomas? Yeah that can wait. Oh, he needs to review his latest exhibition? Not a priority anymore. Convinces you to try a bath to see if it helps with the pain and refuses to hear any apologies if you two had plans that had to be cancelled.

Sylus | Qin Che

Sylus bundles you up in his arms, takes you to bed, and has whatever it is you need at your fingertips. Another one who refuses to hear out any apologies about cancelling plans and brushes it off with the fact he can get it booked for you two another time. He stays with you the entire time and has the twins take care of any minor issues. If needed, he will call any specialist doctors to the base to monitor your condition.

Caleb | Xia Yizhou

Caleb refuses to let you so much as move, insisting on helping you do almost anything and everything. Stays home from the fleet to look after you bc "who else but me is going to help you, pipsqueak?" and gives you massages periodically in between helping distract from the pain. Cooks every meal and insists on feeding you himself (indulge him, he enjoys taking care of you)

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Because what else can the man do, when he can’t offer any semblance of a normal life? A normal relationship? In a world away from this one, the next lifetime maybe, where the two of them don’t have to be on their guard at every hour of the day. The thought’s enticing, a fleeting daydream Changbin entertains when he gets a chance like this to just sit with his mind.

There was another, before y/n, he recalls with a rueful smile. All cunning smiles, playful and dangerous, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing that was only ever docile for him. He craved that feeling then, that rush, and still craves it to this day. Misses the way he could forget about the family business and just…exist.

Except there’s no use pestering the dead.

“Hey, Changbin-ah?”

“Hm?” Is the answer that comes out of his mouth, y/n’s inquisitive gaze looking right at him as he blinks himself out of reverie.

“I’m ready to go now, thanks for hanging back.” Y/n’s gratitude comes easy, soft smiles as they undo the wrappings on their hands. And Changbin drinks it all in, despite how undeserving he is. He’s greedy for their companionship, despite his determination to not cross any lines, laughing along with the conversation they strike up on the way back to his car.

It's only a quick five-minute drive to y/n’s home, yet Changbin wants every second to last. Tapping his dingers against the steering wheel doesn’t help either. The clock still ticks on, and he’ll still have to part with y/n tonight, the one in question dozing off beside him in the passenger seat. He could…hypothetically drive around the block a couple more times to savour their company just a while longer, avoid the creeping weight of responsibility that awaits as soon as he gets home, but he shoves that idea aside. Changbin knows he’s been selfish with y/n’s attention more than enough for tonight.

And they’ll know if the journey takes any longer than it needs to.

Y/n always does.

“…up you get, sleepyhead,” is what y/n eventually hears, Changbin watching them with fond eyes. “We’re here. C’mon, get out of my car.” And wow. Not like the man hadn’t begged them to let him drive the pair of them to the gym and back. But whatever.

Perhaps they’re still tired, or it’s the sudden tension, but y/n isn’t so immune to the look in Changbin’s eyes anymore. Its depth pulls them in, threatening to drown y/n in its well of emotion. And maybe, just maybe, they can excuse their lack of a filter on exhaustion for now.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He’s playing dumb. Y/n knows he is.

“…like that. Like you’re looking for answers to something you can’t ask.”

There’s silence, after that. For a few long seconds, even the air is still. Breaking eye contact now feels wrong, a sin y/n didn’t even realise they could commit, but they have to. They’ll drown in Changbin’s gaze otherwise. Clearing their throat and rushing to collect their things, y/n exits the car. The slam of the door isn’t intentional. Each step to their front door is heavy, laden with unspoken words and all y/n wants to do now is head inside and process what on earth’s just happened.

A car horn. Changbin waves at them, expression light.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Y/n waves back.

“Yeah.”

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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“Honey, you've been in here since dawn,” he sighs wistfully, hanging against the doorframe to y/n's office, where they sit at the desk, fingers flying along the mechanical keyboard. It's usually a pleasing sound, when it's not hindering the brunch date Felix is highly eager to get started. “We agreed on a brunch date, remember? C'mon, you need a break, you've been at this for hours.”

And y/n, lovely y/n, finishes typing the end of their sentence, finally spinning around in their chair to face him. They almost look relieved to see him standing there, and Felix tempers the butterflies in his stomach, the sheer amount of love directed his way threatening to make his heart burst. He can't help it, not when there's an endless amount of love in his heart that has nowhere else to go but out, and y/n is just so...

God, they're just so lovable.

“Isn't the deadline for this the end of the week?” He asks, pushing himself off the doorframe, crossing the short distance and pulling y/n up off the chair and into his arms.

“It is, yeah,” they admit, “but I'd rather get as much down while I can than leave it to chance. You know how hard it gets.”

He does. Felix gets it—his own late nights spent in the practice room, going over choreography again, and again, and again until he perfects it, until it's right and his chest heaves as proof of his efforts—so he doesn't put it against, y/n, merely happy that they've saved their work and shut down their computer so they can get ready.

“This is that same brunch place we went to last weekend, right? With the homemade jam?” They ask in between shrugging a jacket on.

God, he just can't help it anymore.

“Mhm,” he hums, steals a kiss and grins. “So let's go, I'm gonna start getting hungry.”

“Alright, alright~ I'm coming.”

Lovely. Just so, so, lovely.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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Y/n’s supposed to be coming back from their overseas mission tonight, their flight in particular tracked on his phone just so Sylus can be there on time to pick them up. It’s been several—three—torturous weeks without his beloved’s presence, phone calls and texts barely making up for the lack of a certain hunter at home and in his arms. Sure, Sylus could have coincidentally found himself there and kept an eye on y/n from a distance, but he’s already promised y/n that he’ll wait for them to arrive.

He's never broken a promise made to his beloved, and he doesn’t intend to start doing so now.

So lost in thought as he walks, that Sylus freezes the moment he hears laughter so familiar that it hurts. It tears him out of the confines of his mind, forces him to take in the scene facing him with growing horror. A growing horror as Sylus recognises what it is exactly that he’s looking at.

Y/n sits in a chair—no, a throne—regarding him with dangerously amused indifference, one of Sylus’ weapons resting precariously in their lap. Their smile is a precious thing, something Sylus covets for himself like the selfish dragon he once was. But not this. Not the cruel, calculating expression wearing his beloved’s face.

“What is all of this?” He asks, quiet against the ringing in his ears. “Sweetheart... what are you doing?”

Y/n doesn't answer him, doesn't grant Sylus anything more than the upturn of their lips and a short huff. Like they never even heard him, and whatever his beloved is reacting to has nothing to do with the words that spill out of his mouth. He wants to reach out, hold them close and ask, no, plead for them to stop entire charade. Instead, his body moves on its own, a puppet on strings he can’t see, slave to a force he can’t reason with.

Vitriol pours out of his mouth; accusations of murder Sylus knows to be false. False because y/n would never kill in cold blood. Where his hands are stained red frequently, he can count on one hand the amount of times y/n has willingly joined him in staining their hands with human blood.

So why? Why is he saying all of this?

He blinks again, and Sylus wants to be sick, hands shaking as he’s stood over y/n. Holding firearms usually comes so naturally, a comfortable weight on a normal day, but not this. Anything but this, where y/n wears his smirk, pulling him closer until his hulking form encompasses them on the chair. The barrel of the gun presses against their chest, and this time Sylus doesn’t stop himself from begging.

“Sweetheart, kitten, please,” he chokes out, pulling his hand away only for y/n to yank it right back. He’s sure he still has his Evol, nestled away in the depths of his shared soul, but it’s not listening to him. Not obeying his desire to stop this. “Don’t make me do this to you, anyone else but you.”

“Why? Do you need help?” Y/n coos, wrapping their hand around the gun and pressing Sylus’ finger on the trigger, teasing it the very same way he did months ago.

A mistake, it was a mistake. I misjudged, please, forgive me.

“Go on, shall I help you? Yes, no, maybe so?”

His words. Those were his words. Oh, Sylus really feels sick now. Understanding hits him in waves, drowning him in the truth of the current situation. How could he possibly forget? How dare he forget the way he first treated his beloved back then; still stuck in the delusion that they remembered the past the two of them shared? Everyday, he’s tried to make amends, apologise for his brutish desperation in the face of their reunion. And y/n, sweet, precious y/n, they’ve forgiven his sins time and time again.

But Sylus can’t forgive himself, not when his actions hurt the love of his life in ways he could never fathom. He feels it now, he assumes; the dream, fear, concealed fury that that threatens to burst the seams of self-control. All the emotions his beloved—

The gun goes off.

“No, no, no— shit, my love, no.” Sylus cries, flinging the weapon aside to who knows where in favour of stemming the flow of blood. There’s so much, spilling past his fingers and drenching their shirt. It fills his mouth, cloying in the back of his throat, drowning his senses. Desperation digs its claws into him like he’s never felt before, pushing at him to fix this, cursing Sylus for being able to stop all of this blood from spilling.

Y/n’s eyes have lost their glow, yet their voice echoes, a mockery of his failure. His futile attempt at trying to outrun fate.

“Sylus?

It hurts, twists and squeezes his heart until it cracks.

“Sylus, love? C’mon, please, you need to wake up.”

How can he wake up, when they won’t be there in his arms?

“Sy—”

Y/n’s eyes are warm as Sylus bolts upright, warm and concerned and not at all lifeless as they search his face. His chest heaves, too hesitant to check his hands for what Sylus is too scared to even think of. But he doesn’t need to, his beloved bringing his hands to their face, miraculously blood-free. It doesn’t make sense, he felt the gun go off, felt the blood seep through his fingers.

“Darling, I— I don’t understand…”

“It was a nightmare, Sy,” y/n answers, a soothing balm to the terror in his chest. “You’re here, with me, I promise. Whatever it was, it won’t hurt you.”

Sylus almost wants to refute their claims, make a case for why that particular nightmare will never truly leave him, but he says nothing. Instead, he basks in their embrace, pulling y/n flush against his chest so he can feel their heartbeat and breathing in their scent until it overpowers the blood he swears he can still taste on the back of his tongue.

“…feeling any better?” They ask, and Sylus’ heart grows more than he thought possible. God, they’re just so sweet.

“Now that I’m sure you’re in my arms, I am.” As long as y/n’s with him, no matter where the two of them are, Sylus’ heat will always be whole. “Thank you for comforting me, my heart.”

“Anytime.”

“Mhm! After Skye accompanied us on our outing last time, and since he’s been here to pick you up a few times, I figured I’d lend these for you to read!” Her fellow hunter answers, al bright-eyed and genuine. They go on a little longer, comparing Sylus—Skye, as far as her coworkers know—to the kind of dark romance male leads that are going viral online. A Zade Meadows kind of man, is the consensus y/n gets once her coworker is done explaining and bids her a good night before getting ready to head home themselves.

And while Sylus is… the way that he is, y/n’s having a hard time believing the very same leader of Onychinus would be capable of doing any of the things she’s heard these male leads do. To other people, sure, y/n’s seen Sylus exert his authority in a myriad of violent ways, but the Sylus Qin she knows is a man weak to her affections, amongst other things.

“Thanks for letting me read them,” she chooses to say after a beat, “I’ll try and get him to read them with me. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the comparison.” Moments after her coworker heads out of the office and is out of earshot, y/n snorts a laugh behind her palm.

As if he’d appreciate it. Which is exactly why y/n plans on taking these books with her to Sylus’ house—castle—tonight.

Driving into the N109 Zone after a long day, a long week in fact, is comforting, the never-ending darkness surrounding y/n as she rides her bike to her destination. The broach is fastened to her coat, a silent badge of protection in the place where shadows exist even in the dark. But it’s not long until she arrives outside the front door of her home away from home, and the home of her favourite crow.

“Pretty bird..?” Y/n calls out, helmet tucked under arm as she wanders around the oddly quiet walls of Sylus’ home. Sure, her bike is parked out front, and the hunter very clearly recalls hearing distinct caws as she left work, but the sprawling expanse of a home is pin-drop silent. Even by N109 standards, it’s quiet. Slipping her shoes off in favour of comfortable slippers, y/n continues her search, her helmet discarded on a side-cabinet.

An endless swath of doors, that’s what y/n decides Sylus’ home is after she opens the nth door to no success. Just where is this man?

Familiar hands wrap around her waist.

“Hello, sweetie.” Sylus smiles, cradling his hunter close against his chest. There are traces of blood on his clothes, a smear or two across his cheek, but that doesn’t matter. Not when his y/n has come all this way to see him. What an honour he’s been bestowed. “A pretty kitten decided to come all this way just to see me. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Do you enjoy scaring the hell out of me?” Y/n complains, trailing her words off with warm laughter that he could drown himself in. “Anyway, where have you been? The house was dead silent, it was weird. Thought you weren’t doing anything today.”

“I had to take care of some… last-minute business with the twins, it kept me longer than I’d have liked.” He admits, unfurling his arms from around y/n’s delectable waist when she wriggles around to go do something. There’s a pep in her step, an excitement that Sylus knows very well means she’s up to something. Or she has something to show him. Either is good.

But there’s still the pressing matter of blood on him and his clothes.

“I’ll head into the shower, sweetie.”

Heading out of the shower a full thirty minutes later and noticeably blood-free, Sylus is met with a stack of books on his dresser as he reaches for his robe, y/n watching him from her spot on the edge of his bed. It doesn’t take long, just a couple of glances between the literature and y/n, for him to come to his conclusion.

“I didn’t know we were expanding our library,” he purrs, sneaking in a forehead kiss and bringing some of the books with his Evol. “Did you buy these? Pardon the assumption, kitten, but I know your taste and… this isn’t exactly it.”

She snickers and oh, he’s not wrong. He’s being set up, lovingly, of course.

“Well, if these aren’t your taste,” he says, “enlighten me with your plans, since we’re evidently going to be reading these for the next few days.”

And, well. The next few days are interesting, to say the least.

He peruses the novels in between meetings, digesting chapter after somewhat delusional chapter, disbelief nearly a permanent expression on his face each time one of these novels are in his hands. How anyone finds any of this… literature, something of actual substance is a mystery and the sooner he can give these sorry excuses for published books back to y/n to return to her colleague, the better. Everything about the ‘romance’ stories he’s been reading leaves a rotten taste in his mouth, worsened further by the fact that this is how y/n’s colleagues think Sylus treats his beloved.

All accusations that couldn’t be further from the truth. Frankly, he’s a little insulted.

He should go and correct this mistake.

“Boss! We’ve got a lead on the group peddling fraudulent weapons out of the old warehouse!” Kieran announces, Luke already heading off to the armoury to gear up. “Shall we get the jump on them?”

So much for seeing his pretty hunter tonight. He’ll just have Mephisto watch her instead.

Just what is so good about these anyway? It’s the only thing that’s been on y/n’s mind all night, tucked in bed with one of the dark romance novels out of the set she’d given to Sylus. A flask of jasmine tea sits on her bedside drawer, the drink and her several plushies around her bed much more interesting than the book in her hand.

If she’s having such a hard time right now, sure her favourite crow isn’t faring any better. She can almost see it now; the displeased hum, his lips curled into a frown and the distinct furrow of his brows.

And of course, the only thing better than thinking about a grumbling Sylus, is to see it in person. Obviously.

Humming along to her playlist early on in the morning as she goes about preparing breakfast, y/n startles at the knock on her door. It’s god-awfully early today, ruling out anyone she could think of off the top of her head. Her hunting partner doesn’t get up for a few more hours at the very least, and there’s no delivery to pick up…

“Morning to you too, sweetie. Off to work?” Sylus grins as she opens the front door, bending down to greet her and with a familiar looking stack of books tucked away under his arm. “Why don’t I drop you off? You can take these back with you as well.”

“How did you know I had to get to work early today?” Y/n certainly doesn’t remember texting Sylus anything other than good morning and a series of happy crow emojis, so she watches him step inside and look towards her balcony. Locking the door behind her before following his line of sight, y/n deadpans.

The crow is there. What a surprise.

“So, would you like that lift to work, kitten?”

Sylus’ motorcycle comes to a stop outside the doors of the Hunter’s Association, the hum of the engine replaced by a fresh dawn breeze as y/n removes her helmet. Her bag is several times heavier, courtesy of Sylus’ effective persuasion during breakfast. Persuasion she couldn’t exactly say no to.

“Sweetie, you can’t possibly believe any of this is good reading material,” Sylus groans, leaning against y/n’s kitchen counter while she eats breakfast. It’s probably the most offended she’s seen him in a while, and out of everything that could annoy Sylus this much, it’s the borrowed book in his hand. “This is frankly a waste of paper and the publisher’s expertise, who allowed this to be released to the public?”

Trying not to laugh through a mouthful of food is proving quite the challenge.

“Some really stubborn people, I imagine. Safe to say you don’t agree with the author’s version, then?” Y/n replies, finishing the rest of her breakfast, pure satisfaction on her face at Sylus’ indignant grumblings. It certainly makes up for Mephisto watching her from the balcony like a glorified spy camera. “Here I was think you didn’t care much for romance. Silly me~”

“The only silly thing here, sweetheart,” his voice echoes out, in time with large, warm hands wrapping around y/n’s waist. “Is the ridiculous notion your colleagues have that I’d be anything like the bastards in those books. Where did that idea come from, hm?”

Surely he’s just messing with her.

“You know exactly why, c’mon.”

“No, enlighten me.”

Her desk is just as tidy as it was when she left it, except for a croissant and her favourite morning coffee from Tara. Setting herself up doesn’t take too long, and all y/n’s left with are the books she needs to return. Books she’d rather never have to look at or read again, thanks very much. Though, there’s nothing she can do about it just yet, when the book’s owner has yet to show up.

With remarkably little callouts, there’s nothing much else for y/n to do but catch up on her remaining reports. Her hands fly across the keyboard, filling out line after line with practically no interruption.

“Y/n!” The same voice from last time calls out, breaking her out of her concentration as her colleague bounds over with enthusiasm. “How were those books I lent you? Any good?”

…is there a polite way to say absolutely horrifying and utterly dreadful?

“Definitely pretty interesting,” Y/n nods, pushing her chair away from her desk to reach for her bag. Might as well return the affronts to literature to their proper owner while she’s at it. “Skye had a read of a few as well, don’t think he’ll be reading anymore now.”

The books exchange hands, finally out of her possession, and y/n’s phone buzzes. Of course it does. Of course he’s watching.

Pretty Bird: Finally, took you long enough sweetie. Good riddance [12:54]

Pretty Bird: Let’s agree to never punish our eyes with that garbage ever again. Deal? [12:54]

Miss Hunter: As long as you agree to pick me up after work, Sy [12:56]

Pretty Bird: Then I guess we have a deal. See you after work, my love [13:00]

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

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“…and what I’m really trying to say is that I need a break. A long one, I think.” Wooyoung’s chest heaves as he gets the last word out, fists clenched tightly in his lap. So tight in fact that he’s digging his nails into his palms, pain blooming underneath that he’s hardly registering. Sitting here like this, in Editor Lee’s office awaiting a verdict like he’s on trial is beyond daunting, and it’s doing his racing heart no favours at all. His ears are ringing too. And despite the fact Wooyoung knows for certain that his boss is watching him, the name plaque on the desk looks leagues more interesting than the prospect of meeting the older man’s gaze.

At least if his request gets denied and discarded much like his last failed submission, Wooyoung won’t have to look into the eyes of MayFly Arts’ Chief Editor, Lee Minho.

God, he can hear it now already, can’t he? Editor Lee’s tongue clicking in disappointment before the bombshell is dropped on him and Wooyoung will be left to pick up the pieces of his career from the bottom of his broken heart. He’ll have to find a new job. Go through interview after interview. Promote himself like some cheap sellout artist. Rework his resume over and over again. All the hassle he hasn’t had to do in the last five years because there is no way he's walking out of this office with his job still intact—

“Jung Wooyoung-ssi?” Is what breaks Wooyoung out of his spiral, the unusually calm voice of Editor Lee gently taking hold of his attention. The older man has never looked at him so…warmly before, as far as he remembers, that it makes Wooyoung shrink back even further into his seat. He’s sure he looks like some sort of frightened prey animal, now that he thinks about it. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

A trick question. It has to be.

“Uhh…that I should get back to work?” Wooyoung all but squeaks out, somehow maintaining eye contact. Yet that also happens to be the wrong answer…? Seriously, how is he getting this all wrong? He’s the highest rated columnist in their department, figuring this out should be child’s play.

Editor Lee’s face falls, expression morphing into what the columnist can only describe as concern. Can’t be concern for himself, surely, his recent performance has been plummeting faster than those dumb cars-dropping-in-different-gravity videos Changbin shows him during their lunch breaks. Watching in abject horror as his boss gets up out of his chair and walks on over to sit in the chair beside him, Wooyoung has absolutely no frame of reference for his reaction to the next ten words that come out of the Chief Editor’s mouth.

“I’ll grant you your career break, Wooyoung. You deserve it.”

Oh. Well then.

Just like that. Just like that, the rope of tension and fear and potential unemployment are cut and Wooyoung’s shoulders all but slump in relief. He’d cry if he hadn’t already spent a good ten minutes in bathroom before this unleashing the flood gates of tears he was keeping at bay. Instead, he blinks, entirely astonished all the while he thinks he’s breaking out into a smile. Maybe. Hopefully. Honestly it’s been so long since he’s genuinely smiled the action itself feels odd.

“Thank you, sir, really, I appreciate this more than you could—”

“There is one thing I’m going to ask of you though,” Editor Lee begins, and frankly, at this point there’s nothing Wooyoung won’t do for this man after the generosity he’s been bestowed. “And it’s to return to work with fresh eyes and some real inspiration. We both know you’ve been less than happy with your work—as good as it is regardless—so you’re going to go home after work today, rest, and I’m not going to hear a word from you until after those six months are up. Sound good to you?”

“That sounds good. Really good.”

And it still sounds good as Wooyoung punches in the code to his apartment and steps inside, kicking his shoes to the side and dropping his things on the closest surface before making a beeline for his sofa and unceremoniously plopping down on it. It’s almost surreal, now that he’s sitting here at home, thinking about the weight that’s been lifted off of his chest. His first major time off work in god knows how long—five years, three months and ten days, not that anyone’s counting—and Wooyoung almost can’t believe it. Almost. There’s so much he wants to do with the time off he has, the only problem now is figuring out what to do first, staring into the void of his unlit TV screen with only his reflection staring back at him.

What to do…what to do…

He could call someone. The last time he managed to find time to hang out with Yeosang was a few weeks ago, and the other man should be finishing his shift right about now…

It’s the sound of coffee machines and distant background chatter that greets Wooyoung as soon as his lifelong friend answers the video call, Yeosang balancing his phone off of something or other as he unties his apron. In the few seconds of silence between the two of them, Wooyoung unabashedly allows his eyes to linger on his friend’s physique, a low whistle slipping past his lips. Not like he can be blamed, right? Sue him for having pretty best friends.

“Are you done ogling me now?” Yeosang deadpans from the other side of the phone, the other man’s device clearly in his hands as he watches Wooyoung nod like a satisfied cat. But it’s all clearly just fine when Yeosang continues, “My shift’s over, I’m almost done grabbing all of my stuff, how are you? Everything alright?”

“Oh, it’s more than alright over here; I have news~” Wooyoung starts, sitting up in preparation for his big reveal. As the columnist’s longest friend, Yeosang’s been his biggest ever supporter in operation Take a Goddamn Break. “I am happy to report that I have done it!”

“Done it..?”

Wooyoung nods. Again.

“Done…” a few seconds of confused Yeosang mutterings later, realisation strikes the other man like a freight train. “Your career break?! Your boss allowed you to take a break?”

Wooyoung almost wants to cry with relief, grinning through incredulous laughter as Yeosang almost appears to pack his things together at record speed. His heart feels warm, overjoyed that Yeosang is just as happy as he is. He chats with Yeosang for a little while longer, listening to other man recount his day as well, hanging onto every word with enthusiasm.

“Hey, how do you feel about a celebration?” Yeosang blurts out, his eyes looking at something past the screen that Wooyoung can’t quite make out. “A successful operation calls for one…and the guys at work really recommend this one takeout place I’m looking at right now.”

…Fuck it, why not?

Decked out in casual clothes, a spread of fried chicken and cans of beer between them, Wooyoung cuddles right up against Yeosang as he reaches for another chicken drumstick, nearly cackling at the drama on screen alongside his friend’s half-stumped half-frustrated commentary on the plot. In all honesty, Wooyoung can’t even remember the name of whatever it is that they’re watching, having far too much fun acting like the pair of them are naïve university students again staying up late before a nine am lecture and not the busy—and overworked, one would argue—working adults that they are. And it’s no crime, returning to the bliss of their younger years, if just for the night.

So, he indulges himself in another piece of fried chicken, graciously moving to the side so Yeosang can get up and grab an extra can from the fridge. A can of what, he doesn’t recall, and neither does he recall Yeosang ever looking so…buff before. Has he been working out? And how didn’t he notice when he was using the other man like a glorified body pillow?

“I’m going to start charging you, you know that?” There’s a cold press on Wooyoung’s forehead. Looking up from the Yeosang-shaped wall of muscle to the man himself with a sheepish smile, and with a much closer view of the barista than before, the smile morphs into something more curious. Searching.

“Mhm,” is the columnist’s non-committal response, squinting his eyes to get a closer look. Yeah, no, surely there’s something different. “Sang-ah, I should’ve asked, but when did all of this happen? Swear the last time I saw you, there was considerably less muscle. I mean— not that I’m complaining!”

Yeosang clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he goes to sit down, ever the bashful man about his own appearance. It’s almost too easy to make him flustered, and Wooyoung wants to take advantage of that fact, but he’s feeling merciful tonight. And the subject of his questioning has provided him with an offering. Another can of beer. Sweet.

“So~?”

“Alright, alright,” Yeosang concedes, “I started going to the gym with some of the hyungs from work, and they helped me stick to my old workout plan. It’s really helped…clearly.”

“What about the looking like you haven’t seen the sun in three months?” Wooyoung asks, leaning in close. In turn, Yeosang also leans back, deftly opening his can with the free hand not currently holding the columnist a normal distance away from his face.

“I’ve been streaming more now; it’s properly taken off and everything. So…I haven’t really been outside much lately. That a good enough answer, Mr Journalist?”

“I am a columnist thank you very much!” And yes, of course it is, Wooyoung doesn’t say.

“Eh, same thing.”

A weekend later and with the beginning of his career break well underway, there’s nothing much for Wooyoung to do at the impeccable time of five in the morning. And there’s no hope of getting back to sleep. His body clock is far too adjusted for that. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling won’t give him all the answers and neither will photosynthesising from the sunlight filtering through his blinds, so Wooyoung hauls himself up, swinging his legs over the edge and stretches like a well-rested cat. If he can’t already think of something to do with his time, he’ll just have to enjoy breakfast and take a walk around the town he’s called home for the last few years. A pretty solid plan, right?

Breakfast comes and goes—an iced americano and that pain aux raisin Yeosang brought last night—quickly enough that Wooyoung’s out of apartment building and in the fresh air to still see the odd office worker making their way to work. A glance at his phone reveals it’s seven thirty, a time that’d usually have him in the midst of his commute. But he’s not doing that. He doesn’t have to do that now.

It's pretty freeing, actually.

Tugging his coat closer around his body, Wooyoung sticks his hands in his pockets and continues walking along the pavement. It’s not long before he’s nearing the high street, and even then he’s already passed a few buildings and stores he’s never noticed before. Between work and the commute to his downtown office, Wooyoung’s less familiar with his own neighbourhood that he probably should be. There’s the odd convenience store he’s been inside a couple of times, sure, but other than that?

Damn, he’s practically a stranger here. Is he that much of workaholic?

Determined to familiarise himself with the neighbourhood, Wooyoung keeps up his tidy little routine for the next week or so. He visits the stores nearby, spends an evening or two in a café (okay, these are alright, but not exactly to his slightly particular tastes) and befriends a music store owner named Yeonjun. The latter of which took him a few hours; the fastest he’s made a friend, in fact.

“Is this new..?” Wooyoung mutters under his breath as he takes a left turn onto a quaint alley he’s only just noticed during his walks. It’s a tea and coffee shop, he thinks upon taking a few steps closer and huffs a laugh when he catches sight of the sign. A Bite for Tea. Of course it’s a pun. “Might as well take a look inside then.”

The inside of the place itself is…well, it’s warm, inviting and just the sort of place he’d have recommended in one of his articles a few months ago, if he had known of its existence. A cozy little find, or something along those lines. He takes a breath, and the immediate hit of coffee and a myriad of other kinds of tea in the air wrap around him like a gentle hug. And he’s smiling at nothing in particular. What the hell—in a good way, he thinks. The door’s already shut behind him, a door chime above his head sounding out that he’s only just noticed, and if he leaves now he’ll look only a little out of his mind.

No big deal.

“Uh, hi,” he says, approaching the counter and trying not to stare at the—damn, he’s blushing—man at the counter. “Can I get an iced americano with caramel, please?”

“Sure thing,” the barista grins, “do you want anything else with that? All the baked goods are made in-house.” And surely, Wooyoung’s eyes travel over the counter at the tidy display of baked goods and everything looks homemade. In that artisan-bakery-but-not-snobbish way.

A few minutes later and he’s sitting at one of the handful of tables, sipping on his coffee between bites of lemon drizzle cake and jotting down ideas in his Notes app. Between the citrus sweetness of the cake and the atmosphere in this coffee shop, Wooyoung’s never felt so inspired. There are ideas pouring out of him, filling up the notes page faster than he’s ever written before. He takes another bite of the cake, catches himself almost moaning at the taste—seriously, this is witchcraft, how is it this good?!—and makes a promise to visit the coffee shop more often. This place is inspiration turned physical. The fact this has been a few minutes away from his apartment for who knows how long, and he’s not known about it? Absolutely criminal.

Yes, it’s technically his fault for burying his head in work. So what? Still a crime.

He brings a journal with him now, each day that’s stepping foot inside A Bite for Tea and taking advantage of the surge of creativity it’s giving him. It’s not exactly any kind of work that he’s writing, just some short stories and prose, but he is writing and that’s what counts here. Without fail, every single baked treat he orders (by far his favourite has to be either the cinnamon sugar croissant loaf or those ‘everything’ bagels Wooyoung swears he’d sell his soul for) is practically perfect and has that fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth he adores. Every single time he’s stopped by these last few days, oddly enough.

Y/n doesn’t put too much faith in stereotypes, or overdone tropes, but he’s certainly been picking up on pattern lately. A new regular of his, if a week straight of visiting the coffee shop meets the criteria, likes sitting in the exact same spot. Under the window y/n affectionately nicknames the ‘sun-canopy’ with a drink, snack and journal in hand. Like a cat basking in the sun’s warmth. Or one of his coven’s members on their days off.

It's a thought that makes the coffee shop’s owner grin as he pulls a fresh batch of bagels out of the industrial-sized oven, setting it aside to cool and dusting his hands on the apron tied around his waist. It’s still pretty early, no later than nine am at most and thanks to a quick peek out front, there’s no one at any of the tables yet. Apart from Reddie, but the Abyssinian cat gets a pass.

Just enough time to dash upstairs and retrieve the thing he had delivered last night.

Right on time. Y/n perks up as Journal Writer™ enters the shop around half noon, congratulating himself on timing when he’d bake the latest batch of bagels. They’ve just finished cooling, definitely still warm to touch and the smell of them alone is making y/n’s mouth water. He’ll just have to settle with toasting one later and having it with that spiced preserve he’s been saving. Or perhaps with a cup of blood-infused tea. Journal Writer looks to the display case and for a moment, y/n’s worried he might have assumed wrong.

“Can I get an iced americano and an everything bagel, please?” Whatever worries he had a minute ago are gone, because the raven-haired man orders exactly what y/n was expecting. He fulfils the order, a pleased smile etched onto his face.

It’s rare for his vampiric intuition to fail him.

Y/n hears rather than sees the confused hmm while he’s giving the coffee shop counter a quick wipe down, peering up and unable to resist the amused huff that slips past his lips. The sight itself is pretty picture-worthy; Reddie curled up right where Journal Writer plans to sit down, leisurely batting the little reserved sign on the table. Storing the cloth and disinfectant under the counter where it belongs, y/n steps around it and closes the short distance before gathering the cat in his arms, admonishing her with a gentle tap on the forehead.

“Sorry about her,” y/n says, giving in and giving the cat a few scritches before sending her on her way. “Reddie’s not usually the type to sit on the tables. Let me give it a quick wipe down for you.”

Returning behind the counter to grab wipes and a couple tissues, y/n gives the table a once over, catching the confused look his new regular’s giving him out of the corner of his eye. Why’s he looking at him like that..?

He follow’s Journal Writer’s gaze, and right. The reserved sign.

“Ah right, I should have mentioned, but the sign’s actually there for you.”

“Huh? Really?” And y/n has to be forgiven for the way he can practically feel his pupils dilating at the sight in front of him. Journal Writer looking at him with wide eyes, raised brows and lips parted in surprise. With enough focus, he can hear a pulse, steady but strong, picking up the pace a little and—

No. He’s not even hungry. Y/n can hold off until sunset.

“Yeah,” y/n starts off, straightening up. “I know it might be a little… much, but I’ve noticed you’ve liked sitting at this table for the past week or so. Since this place doesn’t get too much attention, I figured putting the sign here wouldn’t be too much hassle.”

Y/n leaves that conversation with a few new pieces of information to himself. First, that Journal Writer’s affinity for the sun-canopy isn’t something he’s imagined up, and that his new regular is pretty cute. And human, though y/n really should have noticed that by now. Though with the modest customer base the coffee shop does have, it’s hard to deny that y/n assumes most people who walk through the doors aren’t human.

In between serving the handful of customers that show up over the next few hours, sustaining his cravings with the flask he keeps in the kitchen and looking after Reddie, y/n admires the way the sunset begins to creep over the sky. Or what of the sunset he can see from the front counter. It’s beautiful, painting soft pinks and orange overhead and dusting the side-street the coffee shop sits on in a cozy glow. With hardly anyone in the coffee shop, y/n excuses himself—to no one in particular—and makes a spiced mug of peppermint tea, letting the warmth of the mug seep into his hands as he watches the last remnants of daylight pass by.

Until a very familiar car parks by out front. The Coven is here.

“Councillor Jung,” Y/n says, discarding the half-empty mug on the counter and making his way round. “Is something the matter? You don’t make unannounced visits unless—”

“I need to, I know.” Councillor Jung Hoseok answers stoically, finishing y/n’s sentence. The older vampire merely looks back towards the car, where Councillor Min helps someone—a fledgling, no doubt—out of the grey SUV and into A Bite for Tea. The sight alone sends a chill down y/n’s spine the longer he takes in the young fledgling’s dishevelled appearance.

Who is this and what on earth happened?

“We knew you were open to emergency cases,” Councillor Jung continues while y/n remains in shock. “And we’ve only just had this young lady’s case come in, may we speak inside?”

“Yes, yes of course, come on upstairs. We can speak inside my apartment.” Y/n stammers out, clearing his throat and leading the two older men up to his home above the coffee shop. His mind races, the mere sight of the fledgling stirring up possibilities that the vampire rather not imagine.

He doesn’t even register Councillor Min’s comment on the human currently half-asleep at the table.

Wooyoung’s still thinking about it. It’s been a good few days since he’s been to the coffee shop—a full month since his career break started too, now that he thinks about it—and Wooyoung cannot stop himself from questioning what on earth it was that he heard that evening. Nor does it help the fact that he was half-asleep when it happened, dragging himself out of A Bite for Tea that night with a yawn and languid steps. It’s maddening, he realises while taking a spoonful of the omelette rice he made earlier, letting the TV play without paying much attention to it anymore.

Is something going to happen to his new favourite spot? Why did he hear two strange voices talking about fledglings and maintaining a regular feeding schedule?

“I’m losing my mind. I have to be.” Wooyoung announces to his empty apartment, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth and nearly choking on said rice when he’s jump scared by a loud sound effect from the TV show he’s been ignoring. He takes several deep breaths, trying to steer his mind in another direction entirely.

It doesn’t work.

He seriously can’t stop thinking about it.

He finishes the rest of his lunch in a huff, frustrated over his inability to figure out what exactly he heard that night and why he’s so fixated on it. With nothing else to distract himself from the incoming spiral, Wooyoung practically jumps off the sofa, putting his bowl away in a hurry and searching for his phone—which he swears he left in his room, god knows where.

Just as he thought, the blasted device is exactly where he left it, waiting for him on his desk and Wooyoung snatches it up as he sinks into his desk chair. The brief dopamine hit plummets like a stone when he unlocks the device and reads the latest message from Yeonjun, an understanding pout on his face.

Jjun: Woo mate I’m so so sorry :(( [14:32]

Jjun: Gonna have to cancel tonight, shelving unit dropped on my leg + stuck in A&E rn [14:33]

The mental picture alone makes Wooyoung grimace, pins and needles shooting down to his legs as his mind ever so kindly makes the mental image more and more realistic. Either way, that’s his plans out of the window, leaving the man with nothing concrete to do for the rest of the day other than veg out on his sofa and catch up on his drama watch-list. Or get back to playing Baldur’s Gate 3, his last save leaving him with much to look forward to. But while he can wallow in the misery of no longer having plans later, what he should do right now is let Yeonjun know that everything’s perfectly fine. Minus the possible broken leg, of course.

Woo: Dw! It’s all good ^-^ [14:46]

Woo: Be careful in future tho lmao, if you need me to pick you up after you’re done, lmk! [14:46]

Jjun: I will, and dw, my cousin’s here with me, but thanks :D [14:50]

Scrolling through his phone for a few more minutes while he mindlessly spins back-and-forth in his chair, Wooyoung loses himself to the joys of online window shopping, adding more and more things to his various wish lists. He’ll get round to buying some of them eventually, just maybe when he can afford to spend more time working from home. And building his dream desk setup. Though he does treat himself to a new keyboard, humming in satisfaction when one of his many wish lists gets ever so slightly smaller.

“…do you want me to bring takeout again?” Yeosang asks from the other end of the call, Wooyoung ever so grateful that his childhood friend is willing to indulge his boredom.

“Nope~ just bring yourself, I’ve got some cheesecake in the fridge from the dessert place we like.” He chuckles, making his way over to the fridge and taking another look at the majestic slices of cheesecake sitting inside. “You’re not streaming today, right? That’s tomorrow?”

“Mhm, I’m thinking of doing something cozy,” he hears Yeosang hum, “there’s a few indie games I want to play, take my mind off of work, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. On your way?”

“Like, five minutes away, yeah. See you then.”

Hearing the sound of his door code being entered in successfully, Wooyoung hurries up bringing the cheesecake to the living room, setting it down on the coffee table and covering it with the cloche. There’s no one else it could possibly be, so he relaxes against the sofa as Yeosang invites himself inside, placing his shoes off to the side and collapsing onto Wooyoung’s sofa with a huff.

Ah. It’s a no questions asked kind of mood.

Apart from the sound of Yeosang letting off steam and the soft echo of oncoming rain outside, Wooyoung’s apartment is rather quiet, a serene stillness that not even the dimmed noise of his TV could disturb. It’s rather nice, actually. He’s not thinking about what happened the other night—or what he thinks happened—and he gets to spend the rest of the day with company he’s all too fond of. And the more he listens to Yeosang, the more he’s adding in quiet assertions of his own, engrossing himself in the retelling of a Karen who just wouldn’t leave the café, Yeosang’s place of work, alone.

“…honestly, Hyerin noona was a good five seconds away from calling the cops,” Yeosang giggles, obviously coming to the end of his retelling, “I swear, the temperature dropped like, a whole ten degrees, she was so angry.”

“She’s your boss, right? Does she actually work front of house?” Wooyoung asks, then shuffles Yeosang’s head off of his lap to get up. “Hey— do you want hot chocolate? I bought some from this artisan place.”

“Yeah, that’s her. I mean, she’s not always at the front but she says it’s good for business or whatever that she spends at least some of her time out of her office.” Yeosang nods and then nods again when he processes the request tacked on to the end.

Well then, hot chocolate for two it is then.

Clicking his tongue along to the rhythm of nothing in particular, Wooyoung leans against his kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. The seconds feel like minutes, especially when he could be back in his living room enjoying the rest of Yeosang’s Karen story. In fact, he could do just that, since his kettle likes taking its sweet time the more water Wooyoung forces it to boil. So, he pushes himself off the counter, dramatically spinning around on his right foot so he can make his way back to his living room sofa.

Except his left foot catches on the leg of his laundry stand. Sending him careening towards the laminate flooring.

“Wooyoung!” Is the sound that greets him when he opens his eyes, and not the sound he was expecting: his body slamming against the floor. In a daze as Yeosang stands him the right way up and checks him over, Wooyoung can barely get a word out over the rushing sound of his panicked heartbeat in his ears nor the sound of the kettle—the little traitorous machine—finally done boiling. When he doesn’t respond beyond merely nodding when Yeosang asks if he’s okay, Wooyoung allows himself to be walked back to the sofa.

How did he not immediately faceplant his kitchen floor? How did Yeosang make it all the way over to him in that span of time?

“You’re okay, right?” Yeosang asks, having apparently finished prepping the hot chocolate and brought it to the coffee table. “Do you need me to call 112 or—”

“How did you do that?”

The dumbfounded look Wooyoung gets in return absolutely does not help.

“Yeosang I swear to God,” he stresses, reaching for his own mug of hot chocolate. “You know what I’m talking about. How the hell did you catch me in time?” Wooyoung’s question hangs in the air, tension building between them thick enough it could wrap around the living room in layers of uncomfortable warmth. All of a sudden, it feels like an interrogation, and the both of them take strangely long gulps of the beverage in their hands.

Well, shit.

If this has anything to do with his best friend looking strangely different lately, Wooyoung might just start spiralling even more than he already was these past few days. First he starts hearing these strange people walk inside the café he frequents, and now Yeosang is capable of crossing the entire expanse of his living room in the seconds it took for him to lose his balance and nearly fall over?

“I was already getting up when you started falling over.” Yeosang shrugs, unmuting the TV and paying attention to the show they were both ignoring a few minutes ago, sipping on his own hot chocolate.

He doesn’t know why, but Wooyoung can tell that that answer is bullshit. It has to be.

No less than five minutes after he finds himself alone in his apartment again, Wooyoung makes a beeline for his laptop. He needs to find an answer to this…thing that’s been plaguing him, otherwise he’s going to go stir-crazy. Entering his password and opening the browser as soon as he’s able to, Wooyoung’s fingers dart across the keyboard in record speed, entering his highly pressing question into the search bar.

My best friend doesn't look like himself and he's faster than usual. Is something wrong?

He’s met with a few odd-looking adverts, websites that lead to questionable services and finally, finally, the thing he’s looking for. Technically. It’s a reddit thread, with an alarmingly similar title, but it’s got what he needs, so Wooyoung clicks on it anyway.

“The fuck..?” The man mutters, reading further and further along the thread. Everything he’s reading matches up with all the weird nonsense he’s been going through, yet Wooyoung can’t wrap his head around it. It’s all so outlandish, something out of a fantasy novel or a young teen’s favourite fanfiction, but it just makes sense. “Turned— born— vampires?!”

If what he’s reading is true, and it’s slowly staring to seem so, then that means Yeosang is a…

No, he can’t be! Who would even do such a thing..?

Nausea settles in Wooyoung’s chest as he shuts the laptop, not bothering to turn it off properly. A chilling dread works its way through every part of his body, stealing the breath out of his lungs the more he dwells on everything he’s learnt. It keeps him trapped at his desk. Keeps his body frozen despite the way his subconscious yells at him to write something, to do something, anything about his discovery. The retro clock on his desk ticks away the seconds, only made louder by the stillness in the air until Wooyoung inhales sharply and almost knocks himself out from the sudden oxygen spike. Staying like this surely can’t be good for his health. He needs to move, work off the anxious ball of stress winding itself around his heart, he…

He needs to sleep.

“I need a drink.”

Three days. Three days of fretting and pacing around his apartment later and Wooyoung is without a doubt a mess. How in the world is he not supposed to be? The things he learned in that reddit thread still haunt him, ever in the back of his mind. Even as he finishes tying the laces on his shoes and steps out of his home, intent on getting outside. His journal’s been untouched lately too. Maybe checking in on Yeonjun or finding a new trinket to buy will distract him from the image he keeps flicking back to of Yeosang being attacked and turned into a vampire against his will. Or visiting that stationary store near the train station—his supply of washi tape has been slowly depleting.

Frankly, whatever it is, he needs to get out of the house and get some fresh air.

After a few hours outside, a good number of purchases in his bag and a surprisingly little number of stress-inducing thoughts, Wooyoung’s feeling much better. The breeze is gentle, rustling the leaves that remain now that the weather’s growing colder. He tugs his scarf just that little bit tighter around his neck while he continues to walk through town, a breathy chuckle slipping past his lips as a chill makes his way down his spine.

The chill leaves him as soon as he steps inside A Bite for Tea, door chime sounding out above as warmth wraps around him. It’s only been a few days, yet it’s like coming home after months away. Home to a cozy coffee shop with its handful of customers and swathes of inspiration.

“The usual?” Is what greets Wooyoung as he approaches the counter, coupled with a charming smile from the man opposite him. For a moment, he loses himself in the added familiarity of it, until he clears his throat and finally gets round to ordering.

“Yeah, but a regular americano this time, I think.”

“Sure thing. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll bring it to your table.”

Y/n’s worried. No, he’s… concerned? Reasonably unnerved? With how Journal Writer’s practically staring a hole into the untouched mug of coffee and oddly still, it bugs him. It was only a few minutes ago that his human regular was looking at him with a pleasant smile, after all. Surely it’s none of his business. He’s here to serve his customers with good coffee—spiced or otherwise—and food, not to push any buttons by asking questions. Yet y/n has plenty of questions he wants answers to, mostly about Journal Writer and why he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

When noon begins to bleed into late afternoon and even the evening without any sort of sign that Journal Writer’s feeling better about whatever it is, y/n sighs, washing a mug while his eyes keep trailing over to his regular by the sun-canopy. It wouldn’t be fair to keep ignoring it now—given the fact he’s had Lily, the fledgeling from a few nights ago, pester him to go and do something about that guy for the last few hours now. He puts the mug away, dries his hands, and sighs again. Time to find out what’s up with Journal Writer.

Luckily enough, it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be any more people coming into the shop today, so y/n abandons his post behind the counter. He leaves the sign on the door, in case anyone does decide to show up, and walks over to the sun-canopy. Journal Writer still hasn’t looked up from the rather bare journal page, and y/n chuckles, knocking the table and light-heartedly raising a brow when his presence is acknowledged.

“Knock-knock,” he says, pulling out a chair to sit down. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, that’s alright.” Journal Writer answers, briefly looking up from his journal to y/n and shrugging. Only to look to the coffee shop counter, back to y/n, and right back to the counter. “Aren’t you usually behind the counter..? Are you allowed to..?”

Y/n laughs. God, he’s cute.

“I’d certainly hope so; I run the place after all.” He explains, watching the realisation dawn on the man in front of him. But since he’s sitting here for more than just a bit of small talk, y/n gets right to it. “But I, uh, I actually wanted to come over here and ask if you were okay? You spent a few hours just sorta…staring into space.”

“…I did?” Y/n nods. Journal Writer’s mouth falls into a silent oh. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“You can talk to me about it, if you want. Customer confidentiality and all that jazz.”

“Isn’t that for doctors?” Journal Writer asks with an amused tilt of his head, which y/n shrugs to. Semantics, he muses. Which is all takes for Journal Writer to laugh, call him curious and begin unloading everything that’s been worrying about.

It’s…well, it’s a lot.

“…and frankly, it’s really not that I’m worried about there being vampires in town or anything! I’m sure the majority are absolutely great! Wonderful, even! But Yeosang’s my best friend, and I have no idea how on earth he even turned. Whether he was forced to turn into one, attacked or didn’t know what he was getting into. I don’t even know when he was turned! And we’ve been friends for a decade; we tell each other everything!” Journal Writer forces an exhale as he barrels through the final part of his rant, talking as fast as the frantic heartbeat that y/n’s picking up.

 Journal Writer’s desperate fretting the longer he goes on only helps to fester concern for the supposed turned vampire his regular’s talking about, y/n’s own temporary fledgling case fresh on his mind. Again, the vampire silently reminds himself, this is technically none of his business. It really isn’t. Yet the reminder doesn’t do anything about the growing desire to do something and help.

“…it’s probably not that big of a deal anyway, but I can’t stop myself from worrying, you know?” If only the—now that he’s really noticing—brunet knew how much that was true.

“Yeah, I get what you mean, it’s hard not to worry.” Y/n admits, then grimaces when he glances outside at how dark it is. “You’re free to tell me I’m overstepping, but will you be okay heading home tonight? It’s already pretty dark outside, and I do live just upstairs—"

Journal Writer giggles. If there was more blood in his system, y/n would be blushing right now.

“Thanks, but uh… I’ll be fine, my place isn’t too far away from here. I’m Wooyoung, by the way. Jung Wooyoung. And thank you, again, for listening to me talk your ear off. I appreciated it.”

“No problem, I’m glad I could help.” He says, and then promptly remembers that he hasn’t introduced himself yet. Or at all, since he’s vicariously known Wooyoung. “Oh— and I’m y/n. Y/n l/n.”

Somehow the rest of that conversation ends with numbers being exchanged. Mostly in the guise of y/n knowing when to expect the brunet in the shop. Wooyoung’s off soon after that, bowing his head as he leaves the coffee shop and leaving y/n with an unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

A feeling that makes its way past y/n’s lips as a surprised huff an hour or so later as he finishes closing the shop and the dots connect themselves. Journal Writer. What a coincidence.

It doesn’t escape y/n either that he kept quiet about his own vampirism.

Wooyoung’s really starting to regret not accepting the coffee shop owner’s offer to stay the night, teeth practically rattling as he walks home. Clutching onto his coat isn’t helping either, the fabric not as equipped to the chill of winter as the columnist thought. It’s overcoat weather, frankly. The kind of weather that calls for hand warmers and thick scarves that wrap around like a blanket. Two items of clothing that Wooyoung decidedly chose not to wear tonight, instead betting his luck on a cotton trench coat and a pair of gloves.

He swears under his breath the moment he feels the air change around him. Hairs off the back of his neck stand up, alerted by the sudden stillness, both by Wooyoung and whatever it is that has him on edge. He’s not alone, and everywhere except the spots under the streetlights is practically pitch black. It can’t be anything, not when Wooyoung’s come to know these streets like the back of his hand over the last thirty or so days. Surely it’s nothing.

Still, he picks up the pace, walking with a lot more purpose now.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m going to be fine…” He whispers, repeating the mantra like a prayer while keeping an ear out for footsteps of any kind. There aren’t any.

But he’s still being followed. He just knows it.

Come on, one more street to cross and we’ll be there, Wooyoung reminds himself, letting his subconscious do the talking now that he’s too scared to utter a sound. His heartbeat’s loud enough as is, thank you very much. Walking so fast he’s almost jogging, it’s sheer luck that he’s not tripping over himself or anything else, barely focused on where he’s landing his feet. There’s just one more stretch of road ahead of him to cross before he’s on his street, before he can begin to count himself lucky and—

“Oh, stop running already.” A voice snarls, and Wooyoung’s being thrown against a lamppost.

His head hits on impact, a throbbing pain blooming like roses as he’s dazed and stumbles for balance. Everything happens so fast, the hands forcing him still, fangs grazing spot where his neck meets his collarbone, biting down and his blood rushing, rushing out of him. His attacker gulps it down greedily, audible, stomach-turning sounds of elation echoing in his ear all while Wooyoung body grows colder and colder by the second. This is it; he belatedly realises, this is where he’s going to die.

His face grows wet with tears. It isn’t supposed to end like this.

A last burst of adrenaline gives him enough strength to shove his attacker off, sending them only a few feet away, yet the assailant—some feral-looking vampire—doesn’t seem to mind. They head off, sprinting off into the darkness and leaving Wooyoung to crumple to the ground as the agony truly starts to kick in. His mouth opens in a silent scream, clutching at the open wound with both hands as blood continues to pour out of it, coating his hands, his clothes and filling the air with its iron-clad scent.

“Call…call, I need to—” call someone, he gasps, freeing one hand to rifle for his phone and shaking as he unlocks it. A wave of dizziness washes over him as he opens the dial menu, shaking like an autumn leaf as he presses on the first number in his recently dialled list. It doesn’t really matter who it is anymore, all Wooyoung needs is someone to help him.

It rings once. Then again. Then again.

“…Wooyoung-ssi? Is everything alright?”

Wooyoung’s phone clatters to the ground, the man already unconscious.

Y/n’s face pinches into a frown when there’s no response, the concern mounting even more the longer hears nothing but wind from Wooyoung’s end of the call. He sits up on the sofa, shifting Reddie off of his lap and muttering an apology when she meows in protest. He tries again, calling the other man’s name again and cursing when there’s still nothing. Like that’d solve anything.

Does he need to find him? He needs to find Wooyoung.

“Lily!” He calls out, having hung up the call and shrugged on a coat and shoes. She stumbles out of her room, eyes curious and watching him with trepidation. “I need to go look for someone; keep an eye on the apartment for me, hm?”

“Sure, uh, no problem. Are there rogues out?” She asks, unaware that y/n’s now thinking of worst-case scenarios. Councillor Jung had said rogue activity was picking up with the drop in temperature, why hadn’t he thought about that earlier?

“Hopefully not,” he says anyway, a placating smile that probably looks a tad too forced. “Optimism never hurt anyone.”

Oh, hells below, it’s freezing. Optimism be damned, y/n blows warm air between his hands as he runs down the street, trying to locate what’s expecting—and frankly dreading—to be Wooyoung hidden away somewhere. Hopefully just frozen to the bone and not…he pushes the thought away, not even willing to entertain the idea. The man was very much human just a few hours ago, and y/n can only wish that Wooyoung stays that way when he finds him. All he remembers is that Wooyoung was heading home, but he doesn’t know where the hell that is and he’s been running around town for the last ten minutes, thanking whoever can hear him for vampiric speed.

Desperation clings to y/n like a parasite, cloying heavy in his mouth with each frigid breath. There’s no way he’s going back to his apartment tonight unsuccessful. He just needs to keep looking, because if his unfortunately pessimistic gut-feeling is correct, the state he’ll find Wooyoung in won’t be good.

There’s a slumped body in the distance.

“Wooyoung-ssi!” Y/n calls out, praying he’s correct. He all but sprints over, skidding to a stop and kneeling down to examine the body. It is him, and y/n nearly cries out in relief until his senses catch up with him and he smells it. Blood.

It coats Wooyoung’s clothes, creates a small stain on the ground and y/n’s gaze is laser-focused as he searches for the source, a pit settling in his stomach at the nasty and vicious bite wound. It’s grim to look at, but y/n can’t afford to either keep staring or allow himself to taste the other man’s blood from the way the scent clogs his nose and reaches the back of his throat. The man’s still alive and getting him somewhere safe is what matters, not his own hunger.

He needs to try and wake Wooyoung up.

Y/n takes a deep breath—not that he needs the oxygen—and shakes the man’s shoulder, calling on Wooyoung repeatedly in a frantic attempt to get him to wake up. Seconds feel like minutes, y/n trying whatever he can to get a response. It’s freezing cold, so the faster that Wooyoung is awake and able to accept the vampire’s help, the better. Preferably in the next minute, because the chill is starting to seep through the thick overcoat he’s wearing.

“…y/n?” He hears Wooyoung breath out hoarsely, and latches onto it as a sign on life. Honestly he’ll take anything right now.

“That’s right, it’s me. I need you to stay awake, okay?” He asks, lacing his tone with as much reassurance as he can, though Wooyoung stares at him through delirious eyes. “It’s not far to my apartment, we’ll head there.” He hoists Wooyoung up, muttering apologies while he manoeuvres around to grab some of the things that have clattered to the ground, namely the same phone that dialled him earlier that evening.

Y/n: Bringing a friend back, he’s not doing too well [21:23]

Y/n: Bring the first aid kit and some spare clothes from my wardrobe to the living room for me? [21:24]

Lils: Got it! [21:25]

Lils: Hope your friend’s okay tho [21:25]

Y/n pockets his own phone after that, giving the almost empty streets and a dazed Wooyoung his full attention. They’re almost there, making slow progress, but still making progress, nonetheless. Readjusting his hold, y/n makes it to the other side, but frowns when Wooyoung becomes even more of a dead weight. It doesn’t deter him, merely making y/n hold onto him tighter with each passing step.

And then y/n feels Wooyoung grow limp, slumping in his arms.

“Hey, Wooyoung— look at me, hey,” y/n pants, patting Wooyoung’s face a tad more firmly now, jaw clenched, and brows pinched in effort. “You gotta stay awake, c’mon, just a little bit longer. I know you can make it, just hold on for me.”

Come on, come on, be alive dammit. There’s ringing in y/n’s ears when he presses his fingers to Wooyoung’s neck, searching for a pulse. It’s hardly even there, a weak echo of the strong and very much alive heartbeat he heard a few hours ago. Trembling as he pulls his hands away, y/n stares at the face cradled in his hands, a lump in his throat at thought of what he has to do. He can’t, but he has to. He doesn’t want to sink his fangs into Wooyoung, to turn him against his will but y/n needs to.

He needs to. He doesn’t know how old Wooyoung is, but the man’s too young to die. Not yet.

So, he opens his mouth, sinks his fangs into Wooyoung’s neck and drinks what’s left.

Lils: You still outside? [21:40]

Y/n: Got caught up.  [21:49]

Y/n: I’ll be picking up extra blood tmrw morning. We’ll need it [21:51]

Waking up feels like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. Everything’s much sharper, much clearer and Wooyoung isn’t sure he knows what the hell is going on. Between the strange ache in his gums and the pounding well, everywhere, headache, the columnist’s pretty sure today sucks. He blinks at the ceiling, staring at it a few minutes more trying to piece together just what about it looks so unfamiliar. Last he remembers, he was walking home after unloading his anxieties to the owner of A Bite for Tea, then got freaked out and—

Oh, right. This isn’t his ceiling.

“What the hell?!” He exclaims, shooting up into a vague sitting position and wincing when the motion worsens his headache. He’s not home, nowhere he recognises and in so much pain Wooyoung can hardly piece together his next thought. Squinting only relieves so much, so he abandons it all together, simply opting to look around and figure out where he is. He hears footsteps, snapping his head in the direction of the sound and freezing at the sight of a young woman staring right back at him, a hoodie drawn around her body.

“You finally up?” The woman says, observing him before turning to one of the doors. “Y/n, your friend’s awake!” She’s gone after that, entering a kitchen and leaving Wooyoung to stew in his confused shock.

Somehow the knowledge that he’s in y/n’s home puts Wooyoung’s mind at ease. At least he’s not in a complete stranger’s home, which isn’t the same as actually being at home, but it’s better than nothing. He’s pretty much left alone in the living room again, minus the oddly familiar cat wandering around, and there’s no time like the present to do a bit of snooping.

Adjusting and tightening the towel around his hips as he leaves the bathroom, y/n gives Reddie an appreciative scritch behind the ears before heading to his room in search of a change of clothes. The last eighteen hours have put him through the wringer, the sudden weight of new responsibilities bearing down on him. But it’s alright now; Wooyoung’s okay, the Council understand the situation and all he has to do now after getting dressed is have a conversation with the newly-turned vampire about it all.

Except the newly-turned vampire in question isn’t in the living room, but in his bedroom..?

“Wooyoung-ssi?” Y/n starts, the rest of his question hanging in the air as said air thickens with awkward tension. Wooyoung’s gawking at him, either mortified at being discovered or staring at his physique, and y/n can really only chuckle. It doesn’t help that the other vampire is wearing his clothes—after the bloodstained items were carefully stripped away to be dry-cleaned—making y/n traitorously think about how cute it looks.

“Is everything—”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” A gust of wind travels past y/n as Wooyoung bolts out of his room, unwittingly using his new physical capabilities. Physical capabilities that y/n’s going to have to explain in detail. He sighs, closing his bedroom door and opens his wardrobe.

Today is going to be a long day.

Sat on the sofa after a lengthy explanation of Wooyoung’s new predicament—that y/n would rather never have to do ever again—y/n clears his throat, the deafening silence hanging over the space creating a heavy blanket of tension. In fact, he can feel the hole that his newest fledgling is staring into the side of his head, unable to maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds at a time lest he feel even more guilty. Not for saving Wooyoung’s life. He could never feel guilty for that. Instead, y/n counts the already visible changes; the pallor tone of the man’s skin, visible heightened awareness of their current surroundings, and how y/n’s clothes hang on Wooyoung’s body. The last change he notices makes the older vampire (thanks to Wooyoung revealing he’s twenty-five. God, so young. Too young.) clear his throat again, too aware that he quite likes the image beside him.

“Let me get this straight,” he hears Wooyoung say, finally breaking the silence. “I’m vampire now?”

“A turned vampire, yeah.”

“Because you turned me, after I called you for help? Since you’re a vampire as well?”

“That’s right.” Y/n answers, voice strained. “You were succumbing to the blood loss and… I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave you there to bleed out in the cold.”

The silence is there again, until Wooyoung hums in a way that y/n hopes is acceptance. It’d be hard to take back his actions now anyway. And if Wooyoung chooses to avoid the coffee shop from here on out, he’ll understand.

“Right, okay… makes sense. I think. What about that girl who lives here? Did you turn her as well?” Wooyoung asks, and this, y/n can answer confidently. It’s something he’s passionate about, after all.

“Her name’s Lily, and she’s only really here for the month or so, until some things in her life settle.” He explains and definitely doesn’t think about why Wooyoung almost looks relieved, watching and listening to him intently. “I work with the National Coven to provide shelter to struggling new fledgelings, give them somewhere to stay whilst they get their life back in order. Usually after being unknowingly turned or their Sire disappearing far too soon. I guess you could say it’s a bit like fostering young people, just… with vampires.”

Wooyoung’s looking at him with a raised brow as his explanation comes to an end, a question clearly on the younger vampire’s lips. Is something the matter, y/n’s own expression says, brows raised as well. The silent counter-question translates easily apparently, since Wooyoung voices what’s on his mind.

“What about that coffee shop? I swear I remember you saying that were the owner…”

“I am, and well, it’s downstairs, so I might head down later to—hey! What’s with that look? The coffee shop really is downstairs, I’m serious! Do you want me to show you?”

“Sure, why not? Lead the way.”

Taking another sip from his new flask and in his own clothes again a few days later, Wooyoung counts down the seconds to when he knows Yeosang finishes his afternoon shift. There’s a conversation he needs to have now. Tell his best friend a secret that he suspects Yeosang should have told him as well. He watches the last few people leave the café, and then promptly starts getting impatient. Just what’s taking him so long? Tapping his foot, he zeroes in on the sound of familiar humming and pushes himself off the wall, almost predatorial in the way he waits for the moment to strike.

…That’s a new instinct.

“You. Come with me.” Yeosang’s only a few steps out of the café before Wooyoung’s pulling him in the other direction, towards the park across the road. Sure, the other man’s complaining, but for all his strength, Wooyoung isn’t feeling Yeosang pulling back.

“Young-ah, the hell?! What’s going on?” Yeosang questions as he stumbles towards the park bench, catching himself in time to sit down. Wooyoung forces an exhale and sits beside him, readying himself to let the floodgates spill open. “You’re acting odd, is everything okay?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you became a vampire?” He spits out, then runs a hand through his hair. Y/n did mention that he’d be more impulsive, but damn, he sounds like a right arse. He just wants the truth. “And don’t… don’t act like I haven’t caught on, I spent a whole day freaking out about this, alright? You already lied once; you owe me~”

He watches Yeosang try to come up with an answer, opening and closing his mouth enough times that Wooyoung lovingly calls him a fish, and then finally seem to admit defeat.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry about me,” Yeosang admits, “and I asked for this, Woo. No one attacked me or anything, promise.”

Lucky bastard, Wooyoung finds himself thinking. Not that he isn’t grateful that Yeosang’s vampirism was a choice, he is, but he would have liked to have been given that same choice. Yeosang looks at him strangely, repeats the first word and Wooyoung blinks, confused. Huh?

Did he say that out loud?

“What do you mean, lucky?” Oh, he absolutely said it out loud. “Jung Wooyoung? What. Do. You. Mean.” Yeosang frowns, leaning in closer like he’s trying to summon the answer through the power of eye contact alone. So Wooyoung smiles, a new set of sharp fangs poking past his lips.

“…surprise?”

Y/n’s not expecting any surprises by late afternoon, especially after the last few nights he’s been having. So, he nearly jumps out of his skin when the doors to A Bite for Tea all but fly open, Wooyoung stumbling inside as he’s pulled inside by another person—a friend?—until he’s made to sit at one of the tables. It almost looks like his fledgeling’s been scolded; hands clasped on the table like a child after dropping their parent’s prized vase. The sight’s endearing, and Y/n almost laughs from where he’s standing behind the glass display case at the front, still plating the slices of banana bread that have finished cooling.

He straightens up as Wooyoung’s friend approaches the counter, looking around like a man on a mission until y/n gently clears his throat, the friend zeroing onto him with a precision that y/n recognises. A turned vampire, he has to be. Whether this is the same friend y/n remembers Wooyoung mentioned being so concerned about a while ago, he can’t tell.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, uh— do you know who y/n is? I heard he owns this coffee shop, and I need to speak to him.” The friend asks, looking less agitated with each word. “If he’s not here, can you send a message?”

“No need to, you’re speaking to him.” Y/n replies, a brow raising as he watches Wooyoung’s friend’s expression shift. From surprise, to relief, to something he can only really describe as… stern. All in a matter of seconds, too. “What is it you need to say?”

Instead of an answer right there and then, y/n ends up following the man to the table and taking a seat, still utterly confused. Looking between the two sat opposite him, he catches Wooyoung muttering I tried to stop him I swear, still looking very much like a scolded child, and what this is all about becomes abundantly clear very quickly.

“…and it was already freezing outside, there was no way I was going to let him succumb to the blood loss as well. There really was no other choice, and I felt responsible. Wooyoung-ssi had called me, so I was determined to help.” Y/n says, rounding off his explanation of the events leading up to Wooyoung’s vampirism, a solemn sincerity hanging over his words. Recalling the night itself isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world, and the born vampire excuses himself to give Wooyoung and his friend—Yeosang, who is the friend y/n remembers hearing about—space to…discuss, process, or say whatever it is they need to say, judging by the silent verbal conversation he sees the two having.

“I’ll be back at the counter if you need anything.” And he tucks his chair in, heading to the front counter to get back to his role as A Bite for Tea’s owner.

Now, Wooyoung doesn’t need anything from his new Sire yet, or whatever Yeosang called y/n, but Wooyoung sticks around long after his friend leaves the coffee shop, instead keeping himself busy with his phone and the cat. In between looking through social media, watching the odd cooking video and stroking the cat’s fur as she passes by, the newly turned vampire ends up staying in the shop until closing, a new brand of curiosity springing forth within his subconscious.

The kind of curiosity that y/n can help him with.

“Hey, y/n-ssi,” he says, helping the older vampire stack up chairs while said vampire sweeps the floor. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do Sires and the vampires they turn have any kind of, I don’t know, relationship? Like a mentor and mentee kinda thing, or…?” Wooyoung doesn’t know what other kind of relationship he’s picturing when the question comes out of his mouth, or what he wants to picture either. So, he pauses his impromptu job of stacking chairs to turn to y/n, watching the cogs turn in the other man’s eyes.

“Well, as far as I know, it tends to just be different for everyone.” Y/n answers. It’s a satisfying enough answer for now, though knowing himself, Wooyoung’s fully aware he’ll be digging through that response for a clearer answer, something more defined he can fall back onto. “I was meaning to ask the last time you were here, but do you want me to go over some basic vampiric fundamentals someday? There are some things like the Coven, where to get blood and etcetera that’ll make life a lot easier for you.”

Huh. He hadn’t thought about that stuff yet.

“Why not?” Wooyoung replies, blasting through his vampiric speed to get the last of the chairs stacked up. “I’m pretty much always free, is there a time that suits you?”

It’s a back and forth, practically a negotiation when Wooyoung realises just how busy y/n actually is with these other responsibilities the older man apparently has. But eventually the date of his vampire classes is set for the next upcoming weekend, and Wooyoung gathers his things in order to head home.

“See you at the weekend!” He calls out as he leaves, y/n off somewhere in the coffee shop’s kitchen.

“It’s a date!” Y/n laughs, calling out in return.

…hopefully it will be.

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“…and what I’m really trying to say is that I need a break. A long one, I think.” Wooyoung’s chest heaves as he gets the last word out, fists clenched tightly in his lap. So tight in fact that he’s digging his nails into his palms, pain blooming underneath that he’s hardly registering. Sitting here like this, in Editor Lee’s office awaiting a verdict like he’s on trial is beyond daunting, and it’s doing his racing heart no favours at all. His ears are ringing too. And despite the fact Wooyoung knows for certain that his boss is watching him, the name plaque on the desk looks leagues more interesting than the prospect of meeting the older man’s gaze.

At least if his request gets denied and discarded much like his last failed submission, Wooyoung won’t have to look into the eyes of MayFly Arts’ Chief Editor, Lee Minho.

God, he can hear it now already, can’t he? Editor Lee’s tongue clicking in disappointment before the bombshell is dropped on him and Wooyoung will be left to pick up the pieces of his career from the bottom of his broken heart. He’ll have to find a new job. Go through interview after interview. Promote himself like some cheap sellout artist. Rework his resume over and over again. All the hassle he hasn’t had to do in the last five years because there is no way he's walking out of this office with his job still intact—

“Jung Wooyoung-ssi?” Is what breaks Wooyoung out of his spiral, the unusually calm voice of Editor Lee gently taking hold of his attention. The older man has never looked at him so…warmly before, as far as he remembers, that it makes Wooyoung shrink back even further into his seat. He’s sure he looks like some sort of frightened prey animal, now that he thinks about it. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

A trick question. It has to be.

“Uhh…that I should get back to work?” Wooyoung all but squeaks out, somehow maintaining eye contact. Yet that also happens to be the wrong answer…? Seriously, how is he getting this all wrong? He’s the highest rated columnist in their department, figuring this out should be child’s play.

Editor Lee’s face falls, expression morphing into what the columnist can only describe as concern. Can’t be concern for himself, surely, his recent performance has been plummeting faster than those dumb cars-dropping-in-different-gravity videos Changbin shows him during their lunch breaks. Watching in abject horror as his boss gets up out of his chair and walks on over to sit in the chair beside him, Wooyoung has absolutely no frame of reference for his reaction to the next ten words that come out of the Chief Editor’s mouth.

“I’ll grant you your career break, Wooyoung. You deserve it.”

Oh. Well then.

Just like that. Just like that, the rope of tension and fear and potential unemployment are cut and Wooyoung’s shoulders all but slump in relief. He’d cry if he hadn’t already spent a good ten minutes in bathroom before this unleashing the flood gates of tears he was keeping at bay. Instead, he blinks, entirely astonished all the while he thinks he’s breaking out into a smile. Maybe. Hopefully. Honestly it’s been so long since he’s genuinely smiled the action itself feels odd.

“Thank you, sir, really, I appreciate this more than you could—”

“There is one thing I’m going to ask of you though,” Editor Lee begins, and frankly, at this point there’s nothing Wooyoung won’t do for this man after the generosity he’s been bestowed. “And it’s to return to work with fresh eyes and some real inspiration. We both know you’ve been less than happy with your work—as good as it is regardless—so you’re going to go home after work today, rest, and I’m not going to hear a word from you until after those six months are up. Sound good to you?”

“That sounds good. Really good.”

And it still sounds good as Wooyoung punches in the code to his apartment and steps inside, kicking his shoes to the side and dropping his things on the closest surface before making a beeline for his sofa and unceremoniously plopping down on it. It’s almost surreal, now that he’s sitting here at home, thinking about the weight that’s been lifted off of his chest. His first major time off work in god knows how long—five years, three months and ten days, not that anyone’s counting—and Wooyoung almost can’t believe it. Almost. There’s so much he wants to do with the time off he has, the only problem now is figuring out what to do first, staring into the void of his unlit TV screen with only his reflection staring back at him.

What to do…what to do…

He could call someone. The last time he managed to find time to hang out with Yeosang was a few weeks ago, and the other man should be finishing his shift right about now…

It’s the sound of coffee machines and distant background chatter that greets Wooyoung as soon as his lifelong friend answers the video call, Yeosang balancing his phone off of something or other as he unties his apron. In the few seconds of silence between the two of them, Wooyoung unabashedly allows his eyes to linger on his friend’s physique, a low whistle slipping past his lips. Not like he can be blamed, right? Sue him for having pretty best friends.

“Are you done ogling me now?” Yeosang deadpans from the other side of the phone, the other man’s device clearly in his hands as he watches Wooyoung nod like a satisfied cat. But it’s all clearly just fine when Yeosang continues, “My shift’s over, I’m almost done grabbing all of my stuff, how are you? Everything alright?”

“Oh, it’s more than alright over here; I have news~” Wooyoung starts, sitting up in preparation for his big reveal. As the columnist’s longest friend, Yeosang’s been his biggest ever supporter in operation Take a Goddamn Break. “I am happy to report that I have done it!”

“Done it..?”

Wooyoung nods. Again.

“Done…” a few seconds of confused Yeosang mutterings later, realisation strikes the other man like a freight train. “Your career break?! Your boss allowed you to take a break?”

Wooyoung almost wants to cry with relief, grinning through incredulous laughter as Yeosang almost appears to pack his things together at record speed. His heart feels warm, overjoyed that Yeosang is just as happy as he is. He chats with Yeosang for a little while longer, listening to other man recount his day as well, hanging onto every word with enthusiasm.

“Hey, how do you feel about a celebration?” Yeosang blurts out, his eyes looking at something past the screen that Wooyoung can’t quite make out. “A successful operation calls for one…and the guys at work really recommend this one takeout place I’m looking at right now.”

…Fuck it, why not?

Decked out in casual clothes, a spread of fried chicken and cans of beer between them, Wooyoung cuddles right up against Yeosang as he reaches for another chicken drumstick, nearly cackling at the drama on screen alongside his friend’s half-stumped half-frustrated commentary on the plot. In all honesty, Wooyoung can’t even remember the name of whatever it is that they’re watching, having far too much fun acting like the pair of them are naïve university students again staying up late before a nine am lecture and not the busy—and overworked, one would argue—working adults that they are. And it’s no crime, returning to the bliss of their younger years, if just for the night.

So, he indulges himself in another piece of fried chicken, graciously moving to the side so Yeosang can get up and grab an extra can from the fridge. A can of what, he doesn’t recall, and neither does he recall Yeosang ever looking so…buff before. Has he been working out? And how didn’t he notice when he was using the other man like a glorified body pillow?

“I’m going to start charging you, you know that?” There’s a cold press on Wooyoung’s forehead. Looking up from the Yeosang-shaped wall of muscle to the man himself with a sheepish smile, and with a much closer view of the barista than before, the smile morphs into something more curious. Searching.

“Mhm,” is the columnist’s non-committal response, squinting his eyes to get a closer look. Yeah, no, surely there’s something different. “Sang-ah, I should’ve asked, but when did all of this happen? Swear the last time I saw you, there was considerably less muscle. I mean— not that I’m complaining!”

Yeosang clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he goes to sit down, ever the bashful man about his own appearance. It’s almost too easy to make him flustered, and Wooyoung wants to take advantage of that fact, but he’s feeling merciful tonight. And the subject of his questioning has provided him with an offering. Another can of beer. Sweet.

“So~?”

“Alright, alright,” Yeosang concedes, “I started going to the gym with some of the hyungs from work, and they helped me stick to my old workout plan. It’s really helped…clearly.”

“What about the looking like you haven’t seen the sun in three months?” Wooyoung asks, leaning in close. In turn, Yeosang also leans back, deftly opening his can with the free hand not currently holding the columnist a normal distance away from his face.

“I’ve been streaming more now; it’s properly taken off and everything. So…I haven’t really been outside much lately. That a good enough answer, Mr Journalist?”

“I am a columnist thank you very much!” And yes, of course it is, Wooyoung doesn’t say.

“Eh, same thing.”

A weekend later and with the beginning of his career break well underway, there’s nothing much for Wooyoung to do at the impeccable time of five in the morning. And there’s no hope of getting back to sleep. His body clock is far too adjusted for that. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling won’t give him all the answers and neither will photosynthesising from the sunlight filtering through his blinds, so Wooyoung hauls himself up, swinging his legs over the edge and stretches like a well-rested cat. If he can’t already think of something to do with his time, he’ll just have to enjoy breakfast and take a walk around the town he’s called home for the last few years. A pretty solid plan, right?

Breakfast comes and goes—an iced americano and that pain aux raisin Yeosang brought last night—quickly enough that Wooyoung’s out of apartment building and in the fresh air to still see the odd office worker making their way to work. A glance at his phone reveals it’s seven thirty, a time that’d usually have him in the midst of his commute. But he’s not doing that. He doesn’t have to do that now.

It's pretty freeing, actually.

Tugging his coat closer around his body, Wooyoung sticks his hands in his pockets and continues walking along the pavement. It’s not long before he’s nearing the high street, and even then he’s already passed a few buildings and stores he’s never noticed before. Between work and the commute to his downtown office, Wooyoung’s less familiar with his own neighbourhood that he probably should be. There’s the odd convenience store he’s been inside a couple of times, sure, but other than that?

Damn, he’s practically a stranger here. Is he that much of workaholic?

Determined to familiarise himself with the neighbourhood, Wooyoung keeps up his tidy little routine for the next week or so. He visits the stores nearby, spends an evening or two in a café (okay, these are alright, but not exactly to his slightly particular tastes) and befriends a music store owner named Yeonjun. The latter of which took him a few hours; the fastest he’s made a friend, in fact.

“Is this new..?” Wooyoung mutters under his breath as he takes a left turn onto a quaint alley he’s only just noticed during his walks. It’s a tea and coffee shop, he thinks upon taking a few steps closer and huffs a laugh when he catches sight of the sign. A Bite for Tea. Of course it’s a pun. “Might as well take a look inside then.”

The inside of the place itself is…well, it’s warm, inviting and just the sort of place he’d have recommended in one of his articles a few months ago, if he had known of its existence. A cozy little find, or something along those lines. He takes a breath, and the immediate hit of coffee and a myriad of other kinds of tea in the air wrap around him like a gentle hug. And he’s smiling at nothing in particular. What the hell—in a good way, he thinks. The door’s already shut behind him, a door chime above his head sounding out that he’s only just noticed, and if he leaves now he’ll look only a little out of his mind.

No big deal.

“Uh, hi,” he says, approaching the counter and trying not to stare at the—damn, he’s blushing—man at the counter. “Can I get an iced americano with caramel, please?”

“Sure thing,” the barista grins, “do you want anything else with that? All the baked goods are made in-house.” And surely, Wooyoung’s eyes travel over the counter at the tidy display of baked goods and everything looks homemade. In that artisan-bakery-but-not-snobbish way.

A few minutes later and he’s sitting at one of the handful of tables, sipping on his coffee between bites of lemon drizzle cake and jotting down ideas in his Notes app. Between the citrus sweetness of the cake and the atmosphere in this coffee shop, Wooyoung’s never felt so inspired. There are ideas pouring out of him, filling up the notes page faster than he’s ever written before. He takes another bite of the cake, catches himself almost moaning at the taste—seriously, this is witchcraft, how is it this good?!—and makes a promise to visit the coffee shop more often. This place is inspiration turned physical. The fact this has been a few minutes away from his apartment for who knows how long, and he’s not known about it? Absolutely criminal.

Yes, it’s technically his fault for burying his head in work. So what? Still a crime.

He brings a journal with him now, each day that’s stepping foot inside A Bite for Tea and taking advantage of the surge of creativity it’s giving him. It’s not exactly any kind of work that he’s writing, just some short stories and prose, but he is writing and that’s what counts here. Without fail, every single baked treat he orders (by far his favourite has to be either the cinnamon sugar croissant loaf or those ‘everything’ bagels Wooyoung swears he’d sell his soul for) is practically perfect and has that fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth he adores. Every single time he’s stopped by these last few days, oddly enough.

Y/n doesn’t put too much faith in stereotypes, or overdone tropes, but he’s certainly been picking up on pattern lately. A new regular of his, if a week straight of visiting the coffee shop meets the criteria, likes sitting in the exact same spot. Under the window y/n affectionately nicknames the ‘sun-canopy’ with a drink, snack and journal in hand. Like a cat basking in the sun’s warmth. Or one of his coven’s members on their days off.

It's a thought that makes the coffee shop’s owner grin as he pulls a fresh batch of bagels out of the industrial-sized oven, setting it aside to cool and dusting his hands on the apron tied around his waist. It’s still pretty early, no later than nine am at most and thanks to a quick peek out front, there’s no one at any of the tables yet. Apart from Reddie, but the Abyssinian cat gets a pass.

Just enough time to dash upstairs and retrieve the thing he had delivered last night.

Right on time. Y/n perks up as Journal Writer™ enters the shop around half noon, congratulating himself on timing when he’d bake the latest batch of bagels. They’ve just finished cooling, definitely still warm to touch and the smell of them alone is making y/n’s mouth water. He’ll just have to settle with toasting one later and having it with that spiced preserve he’s been saving. Or perhaps with a cup of blood-infused tea. Journal Writer looks to the display case and for a moment, y/n’s worried he might have assumed wrong.

“Can I get an iced americano and an everything bagel, please?” Whatever worries he had a minute ago are gone, because the raven-haired man orders exactly what y/n was expecting. He fulfils the order, a pleased smile etched onto his face.

It’s rare for his vampiric intuition to fail him.

Y/n hears rather than sees the confused hmm while he’s giving the coffee shop counter a quick wipe down, peering up and unable to resist the amused huff that slips past his lips. The sight itself is pretty picture-worthy; Reddie curled up right where Journal Writer plans to sit down, leisurely batting the little reserved sign on the table. Storing the cloth and disinfectant under the counter where it belongs, y/n steps around it and closes the short distance before gathering the cat in his arms, admonishing her with a gentle tap on the forehead.

“Sorry about her,” y/n says, giving in and giving the cat a few scritches before sending her on her way. “Reddie’s not usually the type to sit on the tables. Let me give it a quick wipe down for you.”

Returning behind the counter to grab wipes and a couple tissues, y/n gives the table a once over, catching the confused look his new regular’s giving him out of the corner of his eye. Why’s he looking at him like that..?

He follow’s Journal Writer’s gaze, and right. The reserved sign.

“Ah right, I should have mentioned, but the sign’s actually there for you.”

“Huh? Really?” And y/n has to be forgiven for the way he can practically feel his pupils dilating at the sight in front of him. Journal Writer looking at him with wide eyes, raised brows and lips parted in surprise. With enough focus, he can hear a pulse, steady but strong, picking up the pace a little and—

No. He’s not even hungry. Y/n can hold off until sunset.

“Yeah,” y/n starts off, straightening up. “I know it might be a little… much, but I’ve noticed you’ve liked sitting at this table for the past week or so. Since this place doesn’t get too much attention, I figured putting the sign here wouldn’t be too much hassle.”

Y/n leaves that conversation with a few new pieces of information to himself. First, that Journal Writer’s affinity for the sun-canopy isn’t something he’s imagined up, and that his new regular is pretty cute. And human, though y/n really should have noticed that by now. Though with the modest customer base the coffee shop does have, it’s hard to deny that y/n assumes most people who walk through the doors aren’t human.

In between serving the handful of customers that show up over the next few hours, sustaining his cravings with the flask he keeps in the kitchen and looking after Reddie, y/n admires the way the sunset begins to creep over the sky. Or what of the sunset he can see from the front counter. It’s beautiful, painting soft pinks and orange overhead and dusting the side-street the coffee shop sits on in a cozy glow. With hardly anyone in the coffee shop, y/n excuses himself—to no one in particular—and makes a spiced mug of peppermint tea, letting the warmth of the mug seep into his hands as he watches the last remnants of daylight pass by.

Until a very familiar car parks by out front. The Coven is here.

“Councillor Jung,” Y/n says, discarding the half-empty mug on the counter and making his way round. “Is something the matter? You don’t make unannounced visits unless—”

“I need to, I know.” Councillor Jung Hoseok answers stoically, finishing y/n’s sentence. The older vampire merely looks back towards the car, where Councillor Min helps someone—a fledgling, no doubt—out of the grey SUV and into A Bite for Tea. The sight alone sends a chill down y/n’s spine the longer he takes in the young fledgling’s dishevelled appearance.

Who is this and what on earth happened?

“We knew you were open to emergency cases,” Councillor Jung continues while y/n remains in shock. “And we’ve only just had this young lady’s case come in, may we speak inside?”

“Yes, yes of course, come on upstairs. We can speak inside my apartment.” Y/n stammers out, clearing his throat and leading the two older men up to his home above the coffee shop. His mind races, the mere sight of the fledgling stirring up possibilities that the vampire rather not imagine.

He doesn’t even register Councillor Min’s comment on the human currently half-asleep at the table.

Wooyoung’s still thinking about it. It’s been a good few days since he’s been to the coffee shop—a full month since his career break started too, now that he thinks about it—and Wooyoung cannot stop himself from questioning what on earth it was that he heard that evening. Nor does it help the fact that he was half-asleep when it happened, dragging himself out of A Bite for Tea that night with a yawn and languid steps. It’s maddening, he realises while taking a spoonful of the omelette rice he made earlier, letting the TV play without paying much attention to it anymore.

Is something going to happen to his new favourite spot? Why did he hear two strange voices talking about fledglings and maintaining a regular feeding schedule?

“I’m losing my mind. I have to be.” Wooyoung announces to his empty apartment, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth and nearly choking on said rice when he’s jump scared by a loud sound effect from the TV show he’s been ignoring. He takes several deep breaths, trying to steer his mind in another direction entirely.

It doesn’t work.

He seriously can’t stop thinking about it.

He finishes the rest of his lunch in a huff, frustrated over his inability to figure out what exactly he heard that night and why he’s so fixated on it. With nothing else to distract himself from the incoming spiral, Wooyoung practically jumps off the sofa, putting his bowl away in a hurry and searching for his phone—which he swears he left in his room, god knows where.

Just as he thought, the blasted device is exactly where he left it, waiting for him on his desk and Wooyoung snatches it up as he sinks into his desk chair. The brief dopamine hit plummets like a stone when he unlocks the device and reads the latest message from Yeonjun, an understanding pout on his face.

Jjun: Woo mate I’m so so sorry :(( [14:32]

Jjun: Gonna have to cancel tonight, shelving unit dropped on my leg + stuck in A&E rn [14:33]

The mental picture alone makes Wooyoung grimace, pins and needles shooting down to his legs as his mind ever so kindly makes the mental image more and more realistic. Either way, that’s his plans out of the window, leaving the man with nothing concrete to do for the rest of the day other than veg out on his sofa and catch up on his drama watch-list. Or get back to playing Baldur’s Gate 3, his last save leaving him with much to look forward to. But while he can wallow in the misery of no longer having plans later, what he should do right now is let Yeonjun know that everything’s perfectly fine. Minus the possible broken leg, of course.

Woo: Dw! It’s all good ^-^ [14:46]

Woo: Be careful in future tho lmao, if you need me to pick you up after you’re done, lmk! [14:46]

Jjun: I will, and dw, my cousin’s here with me, but thanks :D [14:50]

Scrolling through his phone for a few more minutes while he mindlessly spins back-and-forth in his chair, Wooyoung loses himself to the joys of online window shopping, adding more and more things to his various wish lists. He’ll get round to buying some of them eventually, just maybe when he can afford to spend more time working from home. And building his dream desk setup. Though he does treat himself to a new keyboard, humming in satisfaction when one of his many wish lists gets ever so slightly smaller.

“…do you want me to bring takeout again?” Yeosang asks from the other end of the call, Wooyoung ever so grateful that his childhood friend is willing to indulge his boredom.

“Nope~ just bring yourself, I’ve got some cheesecake in the fridge from the dessert place we like.” He chuckles, making his way over to the fridge and taking another look at the majestic slices of cheesecake sitting inside. “You’re not streaming today, right? That’s tomorrow?”

“Mhm, I’m thinking of doing something cozy,” he hears Yeosang hum, “there’s a few indie games I want to play, take my mind off of work, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. On your way?”

“Like, five minutes away, yeah. See you then.”

Hearing the sound of his door code being entered in successfully, Wooyoung hurries up bringing the cheesecake to the living room, setting it down on the coffee table and covering it with the cloche. There’s no one else it could possibly be, so he relaxes against the sofa as Yeosang invites himself inside, placing his shoes off to the side and collapsing onto Wooyoung’s sofa with a huff.

Ah. It’s a no questions asked kind of mood.

Apart from the sound of Yeosang letting off steam and the soft echo of oncoming rain outside, Wooyoung’s apartment is rather quiet, a serene stillness that not even the dimmed noise of his TV could disturb. It’s rather nice, actually. He’s not thinking about what happened the other night—or what he thinks happened—and he gets to spend the rest of the day with company he’s all too fond of. And the more he listens to Yeosang, the more he’s adding in quiet assertions of his own, engrossing himself in the retelling of a Karen who just wouldn’t leave the café, Yeosang’s place of work, alone.

“…honestly, Hyerin noona was a good five seconds away from calling the cops,” Yeosang giggles, obviously coming to the end of his retelling, “I swear, the temperature dropped like, a whole ten degrees, she was so angry.”

“She’s your boss, right? Does she actually work front of house?” Wooyoung asks, then shuffles Yeosang’s head off of his lap to get up. “Hey— do you want hot chocolate? I bought some from this artisan place.”

“Yeah, that’s her. I mean, she’s not always at the front but she says it’s good for business or whatever that she spends at least some of her time out of her office.” Yeosang nods and then nods again when he processes the request tacked on to the end.

Well then, hot chocolate for two it is then.

Clicking his tongue along to the rhythm of nothing in particular, Wooyoung leans against his kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. The seconds feel like minutes, especially when he could be back in his living room enjoying the rest of Yeosang’s Karen story. In fact, he could do just that, since his kettle likes taking its sweet time the more water Wooyoung forces it to boil. So, he pushes himself off the counter, dramatically spinning around on his right foot so he can make his way back to his living room sofa.

Except his left foot catches on the leg of his laundry stand. Sending him careening towards the laminate flooring.

“Wooyoung!” Is the sound that greets him when he opens his eyes, and not the sound he was expecting: his body slamming against the floor. In a daze as Yeosang stands him the right way up and checks him over, Wooyoung can barely get a word out over the rushing sound of his panicked heartbeat in his ears nor the sound of the kettle—the little traitorous machine—finally done boiling. When he doesn’t respond beyond merely nodding when Yeosang asks if he’s okay, Wooyoung allows himself to be walked back to the sofa.

How did he not immediately faceplant his kitchen floor? How did Yeosang make it all the way over to him in that span of time?

“You’re okay, right?” Yeosang asks, having apparently finished prepping the hot chocolate and brought it to the coffee table. “Do you need me to call 112 or—”

“How did you do that?”

The dumbfounded look Wooyoung gets in return absolutely does not help.

“Yeosang I swear to God,” he stresses, reaching for his own mug of hot chocolate. “You know what I’m talking about. How the hell did you catch me in time?” Wooyoung’s question hangs in the air, tension building between them thick enough it could wrap around the living room in layers of uncomfortable warmth. All of a sudden, it feels like an interrogation, and the both of them take strangely long gulps of the beverage in their hands.

Well, shit.

If this has anything to do with his best friend looking strangely different lately, Wooyoung might just start spiralling even more than he already was these past few days. First he starts hearing these strange people walk inside the café he frequents, and now Yeosang is capable of crossing the entire expanse of his living room in the seconds it took for him to lose his balance and nearly fall over?

“I was already getting up when you started falling over.” Yeosang shrugs, unmuting the TV and paying attention to the show they were both ignoring a few minutes ago, sipping on his own hot chocolate.

He doesn’t know why, but Wooyoung can tell that that answer is bullshit. It has to be.

No less than five minutes after he finds himself alone in his apartment again, Wooyoung makes a beeline for his laptop. He needs to find an answer to this…thing that’s been plaguing him, otherwise he’s going to go stir-crazy. Entering his password and opening the browser as soon as he’s able to, Wooyoung’s fingers dart across the keyboard in record speed, entering his highly pressing question into the search bar.

My best friend doesn't look like himself and he's faster than usual. Is something wrong?

He’s met with a few odd-looking adverts, websites that lead to questionable services and finally, finally, the thing he’s looking for. Technically. It’s a reddit thread, with an alarmingly similar title, but it’s got what he needs, so Wooyoung clicks on it anyway.

“The fuck..?” The man mutters, reading further and further along the thread. Everything he’s reading matches up with all the weird nonsense he’s been going through, yet Wooyoung can’t wrap his head around it. It’s all so outlandish, something out of a fantasy novel or a young teen’s favourite fanfiction, but it just makes sense. “Turned— born— vampires?!”

If what he’s reading is true, and it’s slowly staring to seem so, then that means Yeosang is a…

No, he can’t be! Who would even do such a thing..?

Nausea settles in Wooyoung’s chest as he shuts the laptop, not bothering to turn it off properly. A chilling dread works its way through every part of his body, stealing the breath out of his lungs the more he dwells on everything he’s learnt. It keeps him trapped at his desk. Keeps his body frozen despite the way his subconscious yells at him to write something, to do something, anything about his discovery. The retro clock on his desk ticks away the seconds, only made louder by the stillness in the air until Wooyoung inhales sharply and almost knocks himself out from the sudden oxygen spike. Staying like this surely can’t be good for his health. He needs to move, work off the anxious ball of stress winding itself around his heart, he…

He needs to sleep.

“I need a drink.”

Three days. Three days of fretting and pacing around his apartment later and Wooyoung is without a doubt a mess. How in the world is he not supposed to be? The things he learned in that reddit thread still haunt him, ever in the back of his mind. Even as he finishes tying the laces on his shoes and steps out of his home, intent on getting outside. His journal’s been untouched lately too. Maybe checking in on Yeonjun or finding a new trinket to buy will distract him from the image he keeps flicking back to of Yeosang being attacked and turned into a vampire against his will. Or visiting that stationary store near the train station—his supply of washi tape has been slowly depleting.

Frankly, whatever it is, he needs to get out of the house and get some fresh air.

After a few hours outside, a good number of purchases in his bag and a surprisingly little number of stress-inducing thoughts, Wooyoung’s feeling much better. The breeze is gentle, rustling the leaves that remain now that the weather’s growing colder. He tugs his scarf just that little bit tighter around his neck while he continues to walk through town, a breathy chuckle slipping past his lips as a chill makes his way down his spine.

The chill leaves him as soon as he steps inside A Bite for Tea, door chime sounding out above as warmth wraps around him. It’s only been a few days, yet it’s like coming home after months away. Home to a cozy coffee shop with its handful of customers and swathes of inspiration.

“The usual?” Is what greets Wooyoung as he approaches the counter, coupled with a charming smile from the man opposite him. For a moment, he loses himself in the added familiarity of it, until he clears his throat and finally gets round to ordering.

“Yeah, but a regular americano this time, I think.”

“Sure thing. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll bring it to your table.”

Y/n’s worried. No, he’s… concerned? Reasonably unnerved? With how Journal Writer’s practically staring a hole into the untouched mug of coffee and oddly still, it bugs him. It was only a few minutes ago that his human regular was looking at him with a pleasant smile, after all. Surely it’s none of his business. He’s here to serve his customers with good coffee—spiced or otherwise—and food, not to push any buttons by asking questions. Yet y/n has plenty of questions he wants answers to, mostly about Journal Writer and why he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

When noon begins to bleed into late afternoon and even the evening without any sort of sign that Journal Writer’s feeling better about whatever it is, y/n sighs, washing a mug while his eyes keep trailing over to his regular by the sun-canopy. It wouldn’t be fair to keep ignoring it now—given the fact he’s had Lily, the fledgeling from a few nights ago, pester him to go and do something about that guy for the last few hours now. He puts the mug away, dries his hands, and sighs again. Time to find out what’s up with Journal Writer.

Luckily enough, it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be any more people coming into the shop today, so y/n abandons his post behind the counter. He leaves the sign on the door, in case anyone does decide to show up, and walks over to the sun-canopy. Journal Writer still hasn’t looked up from the rather bare journal page, and y/n chuckles, knocking the table and light-heartedly raising a brow when his presence is acknowledged.

“Knock-knock,” he says, pulling out a chair to sit down. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, that’s alright.” Journal Writer answers, briefly looking up from his journal to y/n and shrugging. Only to look to the coffee shop counter, back to y/n, and right back to the counter. “Aren’t you usually behind the counter..? Are you allowed to..?”

Y/n laughs. God, he’s cute.

“I’d certainly hope so; I run the place after all.” He explains, watching the realisation dawn on the man in front of him. But since he’s sitting here for more than just a bit of small talk, y/n gets right to it. “But I, uh, I actually wanted to come over here and ask if you were okay? You spent a few hours just sorta…staring into space.”

“…I did?” Y/n nods. Journal Writer’s mouth falls into a silent oh. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“You can talk to me about it, if you want. Customer confidentiality and all that jazz.”

“Isn’t that for doctors?” Journal Writer asks with an amused tilt of his head, which y/n shrugs to. Semantics, he muses. Which is all takes for Journal Writer to laugh, call him curious and begin unloading everything that’s been worrying about.

It’s…well, it’s a lot.

“…and frankly, it’s really not that I’m worried about there being vampires in town or anything! I’m sure the majority are absolutely great! Wonderful, even! But Yeosang’s my best friend, and I have no idea how on earth he even turned. Whether he was forced to turn into one, attacked or didn’t know what he was getting into. I don’t even know when he was turned! And we’ve been friends for a decade; we tell each other everything!” Journal Writer forces an exhale as he barrels through the final part of his rant, talking as fast as the frantic heartbeat that y/n’s picking up.

 Journal Writer’s desperate fretting the longer he goes on only helps to fester concern for the supposed turned vampire his regular’s talking about, y/n’s own temporary fledgling case fresh on his mind. Again, the vampire silently reminds himself, this is technically none of his business. It really isn’t. Yet the reminder doesn’t do anything about the growing desire to do something and help.

“…it’s probably not that big of a deal anyway, but I can’t stop myself from worrying, you know?” If only the—now that he’s really noticing—brunet knew how much that was true.

“Yeah, I get what you mean, it’s hard not to worry.” Y/n admits, then grimaces when he glances outside at how dark it is. “You’re free to tell me I’m overstepping, but will you be okay heading home tonight? It’s already pretty dark outside, and I do live just upstairs—"

Journal Writer giggles. If there was more blood in his system, y/n would be blushing right now.

“Thanks, but uh… I’ll be fine, my place isn’t too far away from here. I’m Wooyoung, by the way. Jung Wooyoung. And thank you, again, for listening to me talk your ear off. I appreciated it.”

“No problem, I’m glad I could help.” He says, and then promptly remembers that he hasn’t introduced himself yet. Or at all, since he’s vicariously known Wooyoung. “Oh— and I’m y/n. Y/n l/n.”

Somehow the rest of that conversation ends with numbers being exchanged. Mostly in the guise of y/n knowing when to expect the brunet in the shop. Wooyoung’s off soon after that, bowing his head as he leaves the coffee shop and leaving y/n with an unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

A feeling that makes its way past y/n’s lips as a surprised huff an hour or so later as he finishes closing the shop and the dots connect themselves. Journal Writer. What a coincidence.

It doesn’t escape y/n either that he kept quiet about his own vampirism.

Wooyoung’s really starting to regret not accepting the coffee shop owner’s offer to stay the night, teeth practically rattling as he walks home. Clutching onto his coat isn’t helping either, the fabric not as equipped to the chill of winter as the columnist thought. It’s overcoat weather, frankly. The kind of weather that calls for hand warmers and thick scarves that wrap around like a blanket. Two items of clothing that Wooyoung decidedly chose not to wear tonight, instead betting his luck on a cotton trench coat and a pair of gloves.

He swears under his breath the moment he feels the air change around him. Hairs off the back of his neck stand up, alerted by the sudden stillness, both by Wooyoung and whatever it is that has him on edge. He’s not alone, and everywhere except the spots under the streetlights is practically pitch black. It can’t be anything, not when Wooyoung’s come to know these streets like the back of his hand over the last thirty or so days. Surely it’s nothing.

Still, he picks up the pace, walking with a lot more purpose now.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m going to be fine…” He whispers, repeating the mantra like a prayer while keeping an ear out for footsteps of any kind. There aren’t any.

But he’s still being followed. He just knows it.

Come on, one more street to cross and we’ll be there, Wooyoung reminds himself, letting his subconscious do the talking now that he’s too scared to utter a sound. His heartbeat’s loud enough as is, thank you very much. Walking so fast he’s almost jogging, it’s sheer luck that he’s not tripping over himself or anything else, barely focused on where he’s landing his feet. There’s just one more stretch of road ahead of him to cross before he’s on his street, before he can begin to count himself lucky and—

“Oh, stop running already.” A voice snarls, and Wooyoung’s being thrown against a lamppost.

His head hits on impact, a throbbing pain blooming like roses as he’s dazed and stumbles for balance. Everything happens so fast, the hands forcing him still, fangs grazing spot where his neck meets his collarbone, biting down and his blood rushing, rushing out of him. His attacker gulps it down greedily, audible, stomach-turning sounds of elation echoing in his ear all while Wooyoung body grows colder and colder by the second. This is it; he belatedly realises, this is where he’s going to die.

His face grows wet with tears. It isn’t supposed to end like this.

A last burst of adrenaline gives him enough strength to shove his attacker off, sending them only a few feet away, yet the assailant—some feral-looking vampire—doesn’t seem to mind. They head off, sprinting off into the darkness and leaving Wooyoung to crumple to the ground as the agony truly starts to kick in. His mouth opens in a silent scream, clutching at the open wound with both hands as blood continues to pour out of it, coating his hands, his clothes and filling the air with its iron-clad scent.

“Call…call, I need to—” call someone, he gasps, freeing one hand to rifle for his phone and shaking as he unlocks it. A wave of dizziness washes over him as he opens the dial menu, shaking like an autumn leaf as he presses on the first number in his recently dialled list. It doesn’t really matter who it is anymore, all Wooyoung needs is someone to help him.

It rings once. Then again. Then again.

“…Wooyoung-ssi? Is everything alright?”

Wooyoung’s phone clatters to the ground, the man already unconscious.

Y/n’s face pinches into a frown when there’s no response, the concern mounting even more the longer hears nothing but wind from Wooyoung’s end of the call. He sits up on the sofa, shifting Reddie off of his lap and muttering an apology when she meows in protest. He tries again, calling the other man’s name again and cursing when there’s still nothing. Like that’d solve anything.

Does he need to find him? He needs to find Wooyoung.

“Lily!” He calls out, having hung up the call and shrugged on a coat and shoes. She stumbles out of her room, eyes curious and watching him with trepidation. “I need to go look for someone; keep an eye on the apartment for me, hm?”

“Sure, uh, no problem. Are there rogues out?” She asks, unaware that y/n’s now thinking of worst-case scenarios. Councillor Jung had said rogue activity was picking up with the drop in temperature, why hadn’t he thought about that earlier?

“Hopefully not,” he says anyway, a placating smile that probably looks a tad too forced. “Optimism never hurt anyone.”

Oh, hells below, it’s freezing. Optimism be damned, y/n blows warm air between his hands as he runs down the street, trying to locate what’s expecting—and frankly dreading—to be Wooyoung hidden away somewhere. Hopefully just frozen to the bone and not…he pushes the thought away, not even willing to entertain the idea. The man was very much human just a few hours ago, and y/n can only wish that Wooyoung stays that way when he finds him. All he remembers is that Wooyoung was heading home, but he doesn’t know where the hell that is and he’s been running around town for the last ten minutes, thanking whoever can hear him for vampiric speed.

Desperation clings to y/n like a parasite, cloying heavy in his mouth with each frigid breath. There’s no way he’s going back to his apartment tonight unsuccessful. He just needs to keep looking, because if his unfortunately pessimistic gut-feeling is correct, the state he’ll find Wooyoung in won’t be good.

There’s a slumped body in the distance.

“Wooyoung-ssi!” Y/n calls out, praying he’s correct. He all but sprints over, skidding to a stop and kneeling down to examine the body. It is him, and y/n nearly cries out in relief until his senses catch up with him and he smells it. Blood.

It coats Wooyoung’s clothes, creates a small stain on the ground and y/n’s gaze is laser-focused as he searches for the source, a pit settling in his stomach at the nasty and vicious bite wound. It’s grim to look at, but y/n can’t afford to either keep staring or allow himself to taste the other man’s blood from the way the scent clogs his nose and reaches the back of his throat. The man’s still alive and getting him somewhere safe is what matters, not his own hunger.

He needs to try and wake Wooyoung up.

Y/n takes a deep breath—not that he needs the oxygen—and shakes the man’s shoulder, calling on Wooyoung repeatedly in a frantic attempt to get him to wake up. Seconds feel like minutes, y/n trying whatever he can to get a response. It’s freezing cold, so the faster that Wooyoung is awake and able to accept the vampire’s help, the better. Preferably in the next minute, because the chill is starting to seep through the thick overcoat he’s wearing.

“…y/n?” He hears Wooyoung breath out hoarsely, and latches onto it as a sign on life. Honestly he’ll take anything right now.

“That’s right, it’s me. I need you to stay awake, okay?” He asks, lacing his tone with as much reassurance as he can, though Wooyoung stares at him through delirious eyes. “It’s not far to my apartment, we’ll head there.” He hoists Wooyoung up, muttering apologies while he manoeuvres around to grab some of the things that have clattered to the ground, namely the same phone that dialled him earlier that evening.

Y/n: Bringing a friend back, he’s not doing too well [21:23]

Y/n: Bring the first aid kit and some spare clothes from my wardrobe to the living room for me? [21:24]

Lils: Got it! [21:25]

Lils: Hope your friend’s okay tho [21:25]

Y/n pockets his own phone after that, giving the almost empty streets and a dazed Wooyoung his full attention. They’re almost there, making slow progress, but still making progress, nonetheless. Readjusting his hold, y/n makes it to the other side, but frowns when Wooyoung becomes even more of a dead weight. It doesn’t deter him, merely making y/n hold onto him tighter with each passing step.

And then y/n feels Wooyoung grow limp, slumping in his arms.

“Hey, Wooyoung— look at me, hey,” y/n pants, patting Wooyoung’s face a tad more firmly now, jaw clenched, and brows pinched in effort. “You gotta stay awake, c’mon, just a little bit longer. I know you can make it, just hold on for me.”

Come on, come on, be alive dammit. There’s ringing in y/n’s ears when he presses his fingers to Wooyoung’s neck, searching for a pulse. It’s hardly even there, a weak echo of the strong and very much alive heartbeat he heard a few hours ago. Trembling as he pulls his hands away, y/n stares at the face cradled in his hands, a lump in his throat at thought of what he has to do. He can’t, but he has to. He doesn’t want to sink his fangs into Wooyoung, to turn him against his will but y/n needs to.

He needs to. He doesn’t know how old Wooyoung is, but the man’s too young to die. Not yet.

So, he opens his mouth, sinks his fangs into Wooyoung’s neck and drinks what’s left.

Lils: You still outside? [21:40]

Y/n: Got caught up.  [21:49]

Y/n: I’ll be picking up extra blood tmrw morning. We’ll need it [21:51]

Waking up feels like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. Everything’s much sharper, much clearer and Wooyoung isn’t sure he knows what the hell is going on. Between the strange ache in his gums and the pounding well, everywhere, headache, the columnist’s pretty sure today sucks. He blinks at the ceiling, staring at it a few minutes more trying to piece together just what about it looks so unfamiliar. Last he remembers, he was walking home after unloading his anxieties to the owner of A Bite for Tea, then got freaked out and—

Oh, right. This isn’t his ceiling.

“What the hell?!” He exclaims, shooting up into a vague sitting position and wincing when the motion worsens his headache. He’s not home, nowhere he recognises and in so much pain Wooyoung can hardly piece together his next thought. Squinting only relieves so much, so he abandons it all together, simply opting to look around and figure out where he is. He hears footsteps, snapping his head in the direction of the sound and freezing at the sight of a young woman staring right back at him, a hoodie drawn around her body.

“You finally up?” The woman says, observing him before turning to one of the doors. “Y/n, your friend’s awake!” She’s gone after that, entering a kitchen and leaving Wooyoung to stew in his confused shock.

Somehow the knowledge that he’s in y/n’s home puts Wooyoung’s mind at ease. At least he’s not in a complete stranger’s home, which isn’t the same as actually being at home, but it’s better than nothing. He’s pretty much left alone in the living room again, minus the oddly familiar cat wandering around, and there’s no time like the present to do a bit of snooping.

Adjusting and tightening the towel around his hips as he leaves the bathroom, y/n gives Reddie an appreciative scritch behind the ears before heading to his room in search of a change of clothes. The last eighteen hours have put him through the wringer, the sudden weight of new responsibilities bearing down on him. But it’s alright now; Wooyoung’s okay, the Council understand the situation and all he has to do now after getting dressed is have a conversation with the newly-turned vampire about it all.

Except the newly-turned vampire in question isn’t in the living room, but in his bedroom..?

“Wooyoung-ssi?” Y/n starts, the rest of his question hanging in the air as said air thickens with awkward tension. Wooyoung’s gawking at him, either mortified at being discovered or staring at his physique, and y/n can really only chuckle. It doesn’t help that the other vampire is wearing his clothes—after the bloodstained items were carefully stripped away to be dry-cleaned—making y/n traitorously think about how cute it looks.

“Is everything—”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” A gust of wind travels past y/n as Wooyoung bolts out of his room, unwittingly using his new physical capabilities. Physical capabilities that y/n’s going to have to explain in detail. He sighs, closing his bedroom door and opens his wardrobe.

Today is going to be a long day.

Sat on the sofa after a lengthy explanation of Wooyoung’s new predicament—that y/n would rather never have to do ever again—y/n clears his throat, the deafening silence hanging over the space creating a heavy blanket of tension. In fact, he can feel the hole that his newest fledgling is staring into the side of his head, unable to maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds at a time lest he feel even more guilty. Not for saving Wooyoung’s life. He could never feel guilty for that. Instead, y/n counts the already visible changes; the pallor tone of the man’s skin, visible heightened awareness of their current surroundings, and how y/n’s clothes hang on Wooyoung’s body. The last change he notices makes the older vampire (thanks to Wooyoung revealing he’s twenty-five. God, so young. Too young.) clear his throat again, too aware that he quite likes the image beside him.

“Let me get this straight,” he hears Wooyoung say, finally breaking the silence. “I’m vampire now?”

“A turned vampire, yeah.”

“Because you turned me, after I called you for help? Since you’re a vampire as well?”

“That’s right.” Y/n answers, voice strained. “You were succumbing to the blood loss and… I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave you there to bleed out in the cold.”

The silence is there again, until Wooyoung hums in a way that y/n hopes is acceptance. It’d be hard to take back his actions now anyway. And if Wooyoung chooses to avoid the coffee shop from here on out, he’ll understand.

“Right, okay… makes sense. I think. What about that girl who lives here? Did you turn her as well?” Wooyoung asks, and this, y/n can answer confidently. It’s something he’s passionate about, after all.

“Her name’s Lily, and she’s only really here for the month or so, until some things in her life settle.” He explains and definitely doesn’t think about why Wooyoung almost looks relieved, watching and listening to him intently. “I work with the National Coven to provide shelter to struggling new fledgelings, give them somewhere to stay whilst they get their life back in order. Usually after being unknowingly turned or their Sire disappearing far too soon. I guess you could say it’s a bit like fostering young people, just… with vampires.”

Wooyoung’s looking at him with a raised brow as his explanation comes to an end, a question clearly on the younger vampire’s lips. Is something the matter, y/n’s own expression says, brows raised as well. The silent counter-question translates easily apparently, since Wooyoung voices what’s on his mind.

“What about that coffee shop? I swear I remember you saying that were the owner…”

“I am, and well, it’s downstairs, so I might head down later to—hey! What’s with that look? The coffee shop really is downstairs, I’m serious! Do you want me to show you?”

“Sure, why not? Lead the way.”

Taking another sip from his new flask and in his own clothes again a few days later, Wooyoung counts down the seconds to when he knows Yeosang finishes his afternoon shift. There’s a conversation he needs to have now. Tell his best friend a secret that he suspects Yeosang should have told him as well. He watches the last few people leave the café, and then promptly starts getting impatient. Just what’s taking him so long? Tapping his foot, he zeroes in on the sound of familiar humming and pushes himself off the wall, almost predatorial in the way he waits for the moment to strike.

…That’s a new instinct.

“You. Come with me.” Yeosang’s only a few steps out of the café before Wooyoung’s pulling him in the other direction, towards the park across the road. Sure, the other man’s complaining, but for all his strength, Wooyoung isn’t feeling Yeosang pulling back.

“Young-ah, the hell?! What’s going on?” Yeosang questions as he stumbles towards the park bench, catching himself in time to sit down. Wooyoung forces an exhale and sits beside him, readying himself to let the floodgates spill open. “You’re acting odd, is everything okay?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you became a vampire?” He spits out, then runs a hand through his hair. Y/n did mention that he’d be more impulsive, but damn, he sounds like a right arse. He just wants the truth. “And don’t… don’t act like I haven’t caught on, I spent a whole day freaking out about this, alright? You already lied once; you owe me~”

He watches Yeosang try to come up with an answer, opening and closing his mouth enough times that Wooyoung lovingly calls him a fish, and then finally seem to admit defeat.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry about me,” Yeosang admits, “and I asked for this, Woo. No one attacked me or anything, promise.”

Lucky bastard, Wooyoung finds himself thinking. Not that he isn’t grateful that Yeosang’s vampirism was a choice, he is, but he would have liked to have been given that same choice. Yeosang looks at him strangely, repeats the first word and Wooyoung blinks, confused. Huh?

Did he say that out loud?

“What do you mean, lucky?” Oh, he absolutely said it out loud. “Jung Wooyoung? What. Do. You. Mean.” Yeosang frowns, leaning in closer like he’s trying to summon the answer through the power of eye contact alone. So Wooyoung smiles, a new set of sharp fangs poking past his lips.

“…surprise?”

Y/n’s not expecting any surprises by late afternoon, especially after the last few nights he’s been having. So, he nearly jumps out of his skin when the doors to A Bite for Tea all but fly open, Wooyoung stumbling inside as he’s pulled inside by another person—a friend?—until he’s made to sit at one of the tables. It almost looks like his fledgeling’s been scolded; hands clasped on the table like a child after dropping their parent’s prized vase. The sight’s endearing, and Y/n almost laughs from where he’s standing behind the glass display case at the front, still plating the slices of banana bread that have finished cooling.

He straightens up as Wooyoung’s friend approaches the counter, looking around like a man on a mission until y/n gently clears his throat, the friend zeroing onto him with a precision that y/n recognises. A turned vampire, he has to be. Whether this is the same friend y/n remembers Wooyoung mentioned being so concerned about a while ago, he can’t tell.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, uh— do you know who y/n is? I heard he owns this coffee shop, and I need to speak to him.” The friend asks, looking less agitated with each word. “If he’s not here, can you send a message?”

“No need to, you’re speaking to him.” Y/n replies, a brow raising as he watches Wooyoung’s friend’s expression shift. From surprise, to relief, to something he can only really describe as… stern. All in a matter of seconds, too. “What is it you need to say?”

Instead of an answer right there and then, y/n ends up following the man to the table and taking a seat, still utterly confused. Looking between the two sat opposite him, he catches Wooyoung muttering I tried to stop him I swear, still looking very much like a scolded child, and what this is all about becomes abundantly clear very quickly.

“…and it was already freezing outside, there was no way I was going to let him succumb to the blood loss as well. There really was no other choice, and I felt responsible. Wooyoung-ssi had called me, so I was determined to help.” Y/n says, rounding off his explanation of the events leading up to Wooyoung’s vampirism, a solemn sincerity hanging over his words. Recalling the night itself isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world, and the born vampire excuses himself to give Wooyoung and his friend—Yeosang, who is the friend y/n remembers hearing about—space to…discuss, process, or say whatever it is they need to say, judging by the silent verbal conversation he sees the two having.

“I’ll be back at the counter if you need anything.” And he tucks his chair in, heading to the front counter to get back to his role as A Bite for Tea’s owner.

Now, Wooyoung doesn’t need anything from his new Sire yet, or whatever Yeosang called y/n, but Wooyoung sticks around long after his friend leaves the coffee shop, instead keeping himself busy with his phone and the cat. In between looking through social media, watching the odd cooking video and stroking the cat’s fur as she passes by, the newly turned vampire ends up staying in the shop until closing, a new brand of curiosity springing forth within his subconscious.

The kind of curiosity that y/n can help him with.

“Hey, y/n-ssi,” he says, helping the older vampire stack up chairs while said vampire sweeps the floor. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do Sires and the vampires they turn have any kind of, I don’t know, relationship? Like a mentor and mentee kinda thing, or…?” Wooyoung doesn’t know what other kind of relationship he’s picturing when the question comes out of his mouth, or what he wants to picture either. So, he pauses his impromptu job of stacking chairs to turn to y/n, watching the cogs turn in the other man’s eyes.

“Well, as far as I know, it tends to just be different for everyone.” Y/n answers. It’s a satisfying enough answer for now, though knowing himself, Wooyoung’s fully aware he’ll be digging through that response for a clearer answer, something more defined he can fall back onto. “I was meaning to ask the last time you were here, but do you want me to go over some basic vampiric fundamentals someday? There are some things like the Coven, where to get blood and etcetera that’ll make life a lot easier for you.”

Huh. He hadn’t thought about that stuff yet.

“Why not?” Wooyoung replies, blasting through his vampiric speed to get the last of the chairs stacked up. “I’m pretty much always free, is there a time that suits you?”

It’s a back and forth, practically a negotiation when Wooyoung realises just how busy y/n actually is with these other responsibilities the older man apparently has. But eventually the date of his vampire classes is set for the next upcoming weekend, and Wooyoung gathers his things in order to head home.

“See you at the weekend!” He calls out as he leaves, y/n off somewhere in the coffee shop’s kitchen.

“It’s a date!” Y/n laughs, calling out in return.

…hopefully it will be.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @blankjournal

@cromernet, @illusionnet

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You take it in stride though, which Chan appreciates

Oh yeah, and this man is a hugger

A certified cuddler I’m telling you

I’m convinced he needs his arms around you for thirty minutes a day, every day, at least

Will have you sit in his lap while he works so he can get his daily y/n cuddles

Try to move and watch him whine I swear—

Do you not want his affection anymore??/j

Lmao but despite how busy the both of you are, date nights are wonderful

He plans dinner reservations on days you’re both free and refuses to listen to anyone asking him to work

Date nights are for the two of you and the two of you only <33

Walks hand-in-hand with you after dinner and you stop by a few stalls

If you happen to pass by an arcade, he’s gonna win you a plushie from the claw machine

Sure he spends a little too much on it, but it’s all good fun

Especially worth it to see your face when he does win a plushie

And sure, your friends are more than happy that you’re dating Chan

But they are a little jealous

Because who doesn’t want a relationship like yours

You lucky darling, you~

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

There is not a day that goes by where your name is not on this man’s lips

Every day without fail he finds a way to mention you in conversations with his friends

The members already have to hear this man singing your praises day in and day out

In fact, it was likely Chan that encouraged him to approach you in the first place, Minho at first just very content to admire you from a distance

Not that he wasn’t confident that you’d like him  

But that he’s a very, very, busy man with his idol career

And he wouldn’t want to force you to have to deal with the second-hand stress that clearly comes with dating an idol

Cue a montage of him coming to befriend you and slowly worming his way into your heart

Before you know it you also have a crush on this man

And somehow becomes a situation-ship?? Don’t ask me I don’t make the rules, I just write these things

You’re visiting him during practice with drinks and snacks for everyone, engaging with the other members and they love you

All the more reason for Minho to fall further and further in love with you

You’re sweet, care for him and love being around the important people in his life?? Just what did he do to deserve you—

The whatever-it-is between you doesn’t get defined for a while, but you’re both content atm

Bixby play I Like It/j

One day he slips and calls you his lover, but he says it with the upmost conviction

The man means it, I tell you

When you find out, from one of the kids (who said that—) you tease him with a “we’re lovers now are we?”

Which is exactly the moment you understand why a shy Minho is an adorable Minho

“If, well- you know…I think it fits.”

“I do too.” And he pulls you into one of those tight hugs where you can feel his heartbeat and good lord it’s doing double time

If somehow, he wasn’t already doing it before, Minho is now calling you nothing else but every fond pet name under the sun that he associates with you

Uses some of the odder pet names when he wants to hear you snort with laughter

“Hey there, kitten,” and the two of you are snickering bc neither of you can take that one seriously

Your collective friend groups roll their eyes when the two of you team up to cause chaos

Casually pulling harmless pranks on everyone who’s game

Oh, and he holds your hand. All the time. Absolutely everywhere

His hand kinda just seeks yours out on its own sometimes lmao

There’s just something about that shared warmth every time that he loves

That and he thinks it’s cute when you drag him around to show him something when you’re out on a date

Makes a huge fuss out of being taken somewhere and yet he’s willingly looking up the directions and driving the car, admonishing you for even suggesting that he doesn’t have to.

Excuse me will you accept his acts of service or what?? Let him love you dammit/lh

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @blankjournal

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @xavi-in-kpopland