12:03

(...)

pulling away, his eyes flutter shut. he presses his forehead against the moroi’s and lets out a ragged breath, exhausted. “jongdae,” yixing says, “you are the whole world to me.” and it’s silly but he can’t think of anything else to say. he doesn’t want to say anything else, maybe just kiss jongdae again and let him pierce whatever part of yixing’s body he wants.

because maybe, just maybe, zhang yixing loves his moroi charge in a way he shouldn’t.

Yixing catches Jongdae off guard, fingers clasping quickly onto the fabric of the other’s collar as he rocks back. A culmination of the best part of their lifetimes; Jongdae’s pining heart is so close to bursting as he willingly participates in what he shouldn’t. Girlfriend, disappointed mothers and societal taboo aside, the feeling that comes with the storm that has finally hit, is exhilarating. His pulse, already quick from stress, thrums loud in his ears as he reciprocates with a matched level of enthusiasm, no fear of inflicting pain as he tugs the other closer. 

      There’s a memory that comes to mind. Jongdae is sixteen and his mother has him near           convinced that girls are for him but his best friend doesn’t buy it. Flirty dares and                     liquor stolen from their parents’ cabinets results in his first kiss- with a boy. It's sloppy,             borderline awkward- but- enlightening for two reasons; 1) girls were definitely not                   Jongdae’s cup of tea and 2) as nice as his friend was, Yixing came to mind- and stayed            there. Naturally, the male had felt guilty for weeks for having such a thought about his              unaware friend, deep rooted crush growing with time despite how hard he tried to dispute it.

Well, if only sixteen year old Jongdae could see himself now. Engaging in a rough kiss with a man, laced with the taste of alcohol and blood— kissing Yixing, Would he perhaps have seen Yixing not as something unattainable but rather, a possibility? Knowing his habitual second-guessing, probably not. Even then as they sat with foreheads pressed, breathing uneven after the kiss and noses brushing, Jongdae’s mind already begins to spin with the intent of souring the experience. Yixing’s words, however, stop it short. His thoughts stutter to a stop- God, his name has never sounded better coming from the lips of another. It’s immature, but Jongdae has half a mind to ask Yixing to repeat it, but instead he grins to himself. Something small and satisfied just for him, accompanied with a barely-there-kiss, brief contact made, just shy of something sweet and affectionate.

“I needed to hear that.” Voice low, as though afraid to shatter whatever it is that’s happening, his grip upon the other’s collar loosens, hands instead resting upon Yixing’s broad chest. So warm beneath his fingers. “You...” What to say? Once again, words escape him at the most frustrating of times, despite the validation of physical contact from Yixing. You can’t rely on Yixing to make the decisions, take the blame and speak for you, forever, Jongdae. Rather than trying to finish his sentence with words, the male closes the gap, his first act of bravery that early morning. He may not have been the one to break the tension, but to ignore the urge to run, to deny, to do the right thing- Jongdae has never felt as emboldened as he does right then and there in Yixing’s lap, kiss lingering this time. There’s something vulnerable in the way that his lips chase the other’s, his need for Yixing exposed, desperate. 

I love you, is what sits on his tongue, but, I want you is more apparent in his actions; his fingers are knotted behind Yixing’s head, forearms resting upon his shoulders- so close. He’s missed the casual skinship that comes with his bestfriend. Missed having someone to ramble on to (Baekhyun never shuts up), missed his comforting presence when visited by his parents and missed seeing his cheek occasionally dimple thanks to something Jongdae had said.

 Rain is symbolic. Peace, sadness, mellow piano songs and plush blankets; to wake up with arms around his waist should startle Jongdae. But it doesn't, chest warm with content and an airy sigh befitting being held by the one that he longs for the most. Yixing brings forth a sense of security, peace- sadness. His chest constricts, eyes fluttering open as a surge of panic rumbles through his sternum like thunder. Blurry eyes and a fluttering heart are glad to see a familiar strong jawline. He breaths out, a soft huff as slender fingers brush over Yixing's cheek. /He's there/, it's okay, Jongdae. This angle suits Yixing well. Eyes closed, dim lighting just enough to show the profile of his face and an arm wrapped around Jongdae's waist- a very nice view indeed. He wants this too much, enjoys being addled by sleep and the warmth of the other, to question the presence of the damphir. Yixing has been gone for two weeks, but this Yixing- he's here, as real as the raindrops drumming against his roof. This Yixing chose him. Chose his shortcomings, his lifestyle, his love. 

 The sky rumbles. Jongdae closes his eyes and moves closer. His hands come up empty, nails digging into nothing but wrinkled material. He refuses to open his eyes, foggy conscience clearing with the true reality slowly starting to shine through. In this half awake state, for just a few seconds longer, Jongdae can pretend. In the darkness, there is comfort,  a place to escape to and Yixing's face- the Yixing that he remembers before life went south.

 His friend hasn't smiled genuinely, in years. Dimple inducing, pulse quickening, so sweet you could get a cavity- inducing smiles- Yixing had them. Losing one's closest friends is a harsh reality check, enough to permanently dim youthful radiance. They weren't even twenty, fresh out of school and recently allocated to their miroi charge; Jongdae burrows further into his blankets, unwilling to face the memories flooding in. Three damphirs, three miroi- dead. Jongdae had never been close to the miroi, but the damphirs lost... He had known them. Knew what made them laugh, what made them mad, unhappy and excited. He knew bits of their lives before they came to his highschool, knew what hobbies they sought out in rare downtime from training. He knew their faces, baby fat nearly all gone, bodies lithe after years of training and eyes bright. They knew Yixing better than Jongdae could ever hope to know him- after all, a miroi can be as empathetic as they like to the sacrifice of a personal life that damphirs make, but they ultimately don't know the feeling of having their future stolen. They were taken too soon. A future death at the hands of a strigoi was spoken of, basically accepted by damphirs- but it always hits the community hard when the youngest in their ranks are killed. 

Yixing lost his closest friends, his naivety and his smile. Jongdae lost his ability to always know what to say. There are no words of comfort. He sighs into the fabric of his pillow. Reality hurts. Rolling onto his back, Jongdae’s eyes open. He’s alone. No Yixing. No warmth. Nothing beneath his fingers but linen. Just reality and his thoughts for company. 

Today is the day that Jongdae leaves without warning. His bag is already packed, escape from his temporarily assigned guardian planned. All he has to do is get up, but the intrusive thoughts of young faces now buried deep within the ground and the possible consequences of him going missing, weigh his body down like led. Balled fist rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he’s half convinced himself to reconsider his plan to leave when a message lights up his phone that sits on his night stand. A warning from his guardian is displayed in bold font:

OSH: Your mother is on her way over. I’ll see you in ten. Her guardian gave me the heads up that she intends to talk about marriage prospects. Brace yourself. 

(…)

and then—

release.

a gasp inadvertently escapes his lips. sharp pain is dulled by the sudden high yixing has come to expect, but it’s… different. strange. more raw and furious, a heady sensation threatening to pull him under. teeth clenched, he forces himself to ease his breathing.

don’t lose yourself.

but you want to.

another gasp. his throat is parched, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. can’t breathe, can’t think, don’t, don’t stop—

and god, it’s jongdae, not sooyoung. jongdae, the one constant yixing has in his life, the one person he can count on to be there. the one person he was fine dedicating his life to until—

but there is no room for bitterness now, not when yixing’s fingers are winding themselves in jongde’s hair, pulling him closer. not when his back arches, offering him more, deeper, take it take me—

i’m yours anyway.

Yixing responds to his bite, with all too much familiarity. Giddy gasping and fingers that encourage Jongdae to keep going; he’s caught up in his irresponsible ways, teeth sunken in as far as they can reach, body instinctively pressing close. His eyes close and a groan broils up from the depths of an aching chest. She Sooyoung, has been in this position before. She knows how Yixing tastes and now so does he- Jongdae doesn’t want to think of her, would rather become wholly wrapped up in the rich taste of the other’s blood than think of the beautiful miroi with Yixings heart in her hands. He can smell her, traces of perfume causing his throat to constrict.

Jongdae wants to gag.

It hits him fast, teeth drawing out with ease. Jongdae’s heart thrums, the urge to run climbing through his ribs as though rungs on a ladder. Sitting up, he wipes at his mouth with a shaky inhale, his brain a mess of mixed signals. He’s attracted to the smear of crimson against his neck, to the delicate gasps, to the fluttering heart beneath him. He wants Yixing, needs Yixing, loves Yixing. Yet Sooyoung is there, on his skin, in his mind, in his bed, in his life- he is not Jongdae’s to mark, yet that’s all that Jongdae wants. 

“Are you-” A jittery thought process has always been a detrimental aspect of his personality; Jongdae grounds himself by zeroing in on Yixing’s undone top button- did I buy this for him? Even with traces of Sooyoung, he finds parts of himself too (his mind is too foggy to remember for certain if this was one of his purchases or not). He wants to ask if Yixing is okay, but the question doesn’t make it out, hunger still gnawing at him. Days without feeding- stupid Jongdae! "Yixing, can I-” Yet again, unable to finish his question as his thumb grazes over his guardian’s lip, blood already beginning to dry. Jongdae can’t finish what he’s started because he doesn’t actually know what that is. And it hurts. Can you what? Drink some more? Apologize? Love without fear of rejection or pressure? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

Jongdae is a messy mix of euphoric and sad. His gaze has a desperate quality, mirth-filled shine missing as he looks down at the other. Once again, Jongdae is spineless when faced with choosing what path to take, eyes imploring the other to do something... Anything.

(...)

“my blood would be sweeter than his.” it takes yixing a minute to realize the petulant statement came from him, slurred and needy in a way he’s never sounded before. but it’s too late to go back; he’s crossed a line. “what do you want me to say? would you have me begging on my knees?” laughing darkly, yixing pushes back and makes a show of sinking to his knees, head tilted back to expose his neck. “do you want me to groan out your name? i’m not offering to fuck you, just a snack to tide you over.”

a traitorous part of his brain says otherwise, but yixing refuses to acknowledge it. instead, he continues kneel, heart hammering in his chest. “want…” rolling the word around in his mouth, he sighs and sinks lower. “i want you to be safe.” he swallows past the lump in his throat. “i won’t be your guardian after tonight, but that does not mean i will stop caring about you.” locking eyes with jongdae, yixing digs his nails into his own neck with as much force as he can muster and comes away with fingers stained red. “do it.” a pause, and something in his eyes dims. “please.”

Maybe he is delirious. Dazed, hungry and upset; Jongdae sees jealousy in Yixing’s eyes, so clearly, he isn’t in his right mind. Yixing doesn’t get jealous when it comes to Jongdae. No, no, no. You’re not seeing things clearly. His eyes close, head dizzy as the other cages him in, frustration dully echoing off the walls. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ He doesn’t have the strength to reply, ‘Because I want you to care’. He craves his jealousy, his attention, his anything. Jongdae is starved in more than one way—

“Excuse you?” Hissed out, his eyes open at the suggestive words harshly thrown at him. ‘Sucking off your best friend’; Jongdae understands the sensual connotations of feeding between miroi, but Yixing’s words are so painfully hypocritical, judgemental even, as though he isn’t the one with a miroi girlfriend who uses him as her own personal blood bag (Jongdae’s chest tightens at the thought of finding her marks upon his guardian’s neck). Plus, acting as though the other deserves to be privy to his love life (or lack thereof). His retort dies in his throat, however, with Yixing’s unexpected statement.

Of course his blood would taste better- it’s a given. But yet again, the connotation behind his words has Jongdae thrown for a loop and his fist clenches at his side. ‘My blood would be sweeter’— Go to hell. He doesn’t speak, only watches as the sound of material rustling accompanies Yixing’s fluid movement, still so strong as he kneels. It should be a position of weakness, fragility, submission, yet it is anything but that. Everything is just one sarcastic punchline for the other. Jongdae is a sad joke, dishevelled locks falling into his eyes as he glares down.

“Fuck you.” Words contradicting his actions once more, although softly spoken as his knees find the tiles, he reaches for Yixing despite his mind telling him to turn away. Don’t do it. He’ll hate you more. “You can make whatever noises that you want. I won’t tell your girlfriend, won’t need to thanks to the mess you’ve made on your neck… ” Eyes stare pointedly at the shallow marks- so messy. Then again, the situation is far from conventional, so for it to end in a less-than clean cut way, is extremely fitting for the pair. Yixing’s anger is fading, he can tell because his words have gone from accusatory and frustrated to resigned, eyes dull as Jongdae’s hands find their way to his chest once more. His own eyes flicker, aggravated— “If you cared,” Lips with a natural upward quirk are missing their normal warmth as he bares his teeth, a perfectly broken smile just for Yixing, “You would’ve taken my advice, and left. But clearly, you can’t wait to be given a solid reason to leave.”

Fuck him. Fuck Yixing. Grip growing tighter, Yixing’s shirt crinkles beneath his fingers as, with a feral gleam in his eyes, Jongdae pushes his (soon to be ex) guardian backwards. He’d lie if he said the thud that comes with Yixing’s back hitting the tiles, wasn’t the tiniest bit satisfying (a thought laced with guilt, that’ll prove to be useful in the coming days when Jongdae has time to regret), over the other in an instant. “Don’t say you care… Just don’t.” He says, straddled over his waist and hands firmly planted on either side of Yixing’s head, not breaking eye contact despite the temptation of spilled blood calling to him. “It doesn’t count for anything. You can care as much as you want about a person, but that won’t stop them from fucking you over. Or you, from ruining them. Case and point.”

They’re both angry, destructive, born with expectations and parent issues. Perhaps him and Yixing were fucked from the beginning— the destruction of their friendship was always in the works.

Do it, don’t care anymore Jongdae.

“Fuck you, Zhang Yixing.”

It’s with a mixture of emotions that Jongdae finds his nose pressed against exposed skin, lips hovering over the pre-made puncture wounds, eyes closing as he struggles to keep his focus.  Cursing the other feels apt at the moment, mumbled into Yixing’s neck. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. SIX—

Teeth sink in. So easy. Of course it is, it shouldn’t surprise Jongdae that Yixing isn’t resistant to his fangs. Yet, it feels so jarring to break the skin of someone who, for as long as Jongdae could remember, has seemed indestructible. Impervious to taunts, to bullying, to long days full of hard work, and even longer nights spent training. Strong and unattainable; Yixing, it turns out, is made of glass and he too, can be broken.

(...)

yixing isn’t sure if he’s speaking for jongdae’s benefit or his own anymore. “you and baekhyun—it’s always been you and baekhyun right from the beginning. i feel like i’m pushing for something he already has and i never stood a chance.” there’s more threatening to spill out of his mouth, anger replaced by raw vulnerability pulled from the deepest depths of his mind. but all of that slams back inside, pushing yixing away from the verge of falling over. his girlfriend’s name on jongdae’s lips sounds wrong, as does everything he says about her. wrong, wrong, not—”stop,” he forces out. “stop.”

his hand reaches up to cup jongdae’s face, thumb running lightly over the moroi’s bottom lip. “you don’t know me,” he says again, voice low, his head pulsing, his mind churning, his neck hot. “you don’t know what i want. you don’t know what i need—don’t be arrogant enough to force your perceptions on me.” he gently probes deeper, contact with his canine breaking skin. yixing pulls his hand away to see a drop of blood beading on his thumb. “you’re hungry,” he says flatly. probably his fault—failure of zhang, failure of a guardian, failure of a friend.

“take me if you need to.”

“I shouldn’t. It’s my fault for letting work get in the way”

Even now, Yixing still puts Jongdae first, and he hates it. Hates how his pupils dilate at the scent of fresh blood mingling with the sharp bite of alcohol, his throat constricting, betraying him. Hates how he instinctively relaxed into the other’s touch, heart clenching as skin brushed against skin.

What Jongdae hates most of all, is that he wants to—

Let instinct take over, teeth aching at the thought of becoming acquainted with the thrumming pulse hidden within Yixing’s neck. Wants to so badly engage in something so personal after straying so far from the other. He wants it to mean something, anything.

Jongdae wants Yixing, yet Yixing doesn’t want him. He offered out of duty, out of pity, out of necessity. Not because he wants to experience the high that comes with feeding. Thrown into the open, his idea is a muddled mix of good intentions and something hurtful; they both know the connotations that come with a damphir allowing themselves to be fed upon by their charge… Plus, how would Yixing’s girlfriend take to seeing bite marks from someone else?

Not very well, he imagines. Still, his fingers reach up, longing thinly veiled beneath pursed lips and sad eyes. Smooth; Jongdae hates himself.

“You don’t want it.” Tumultuous mood ever present, he finds himself on an emotional upswing after his moment of self-pity. Bitterness swells in his chest, crooked grin finally showing itself for the first that early morning as elongated eye-teeth dig into his bottom lip. If he’s going to antagonize over the moment he let his closest companion go, may as well make a complete dick of yourself, right Jongdae?  Cupping the back of the other’s neck, his thumb brushed against where he normally feeds from as he adds, “Right Yixing? You’ve never been curious to know how it feels to have my sink my teeth into you, to feel that level of endearment for me... It sure is something else. I let Baekhyun feed from me once — it felt relieving to break something so taboo, but could I do that with you?” 

Well, that’s one cat out of the bag; Jongdae should be mortified to what he has just admitted, but his thoughts lay in disarray, ruined the moment that Yixing arrived at his doorstep. In fact, he’s proud for having been able to keep something like that from the other, a secret just for himself. “I’ve considered it before, but I never asked. “ His voice is soft, nails grazing gently against skin as he pulls his hand away. That’s the most physical contact he’s had in weeks and it hurts.  The reaction he’s certain he’ll get from mention Baekhyun’s name pettily soothes the sting of pulling away, however.

“I don’t think I can, though. Not unless you asked me to, and meant it. If you feel like well and truly destroying all that has happened between us, then ask. If not, then leave— I’ll sort myself out. Either way, you were right; you won’t be my guardian anymore.” Eyes search for anything to signify that this whole shitshow isn’t completely one sided, fist clenched by his side.

(...)

a hair’s breadth between them, he stares into jongdae’s eyes and finds a myriad of emotions, idly wondering what the man sees in his expression. hurt? betrayal? anger? fear? a combination of all? yixing doesn’t know himself. “say anything else jongdae, anything else, but do not presume to speak of—of—” he breaks off, unable to even say the man’s name. “you want—but what? to hurt me? mission fucking accomplished.” a humorless bark of laughter escapes his mouth. “of all people, i never expected—but i don’t know you after all, do i? and you don’t know me.”

he’s never wanted to hurt someone more. the thought scares him and he recoils, pulling his arm away from jongdae’s throat. chest rising and falling with each laboured breath, yixing’s still too close but he can’t move away. how easy it would’ve been to crush jongdae’s throat. i am not my father. what did his father do but hurt someone he lo—

cared about.

good god. god.

Look at him. Look at what you’ve done Jongdae. Haggard breathing, alcohol tinged breath and raw emotion that he’s never truly seen Yixing display- Jongdae has done this. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight, doesn’t dare move as the stronger male pushes him more and more into the wall. Jongdae deserves a lot more than having his character questioned, almost wishes that the other would hit him or say something worse. Yixing could’ve brought up the fact that neither of his parents particularly care about him, just a necessity in a loveless marriage. He could’ve pointed out his father’s numerous affairs with damphir women, an unknown amount of damphir offspring existing who knows how close to home. Better yet, the fact that no one has ever loved Jongdae, the way that he has loved them, would’ve been an excellent place to start.

He doesn’t deserve to cry. Yet it happens, eyes welling up when Yixing backs off some. He accused Yixing of throwing himself a pity party, yet there Jongdae stands, a tear ghosting down his cheek as he turns his head to the side, prolonged eye contact with the other disrupted.

“I know you.” Don’t you dare Jongdae- “I know you, Zhang Yixing.” He mumbles.

“You don’t drink. You don’t shout. You never tell me to back off, when you should. You’ve worked hard to learn an entire other language and even now, you remain so articulate… You were quiet and studious during school. You’re an excellent guardian, always so aware and a quick learner. You’re nothing but good… You’ll never be him— that was cruel of me.” Teeth sinking into his lower lip to stop it from trembling, his hand pushes against Yixing’s chest, warm underneath cool bones. It gives him just enough space that he can breathe again.

“I need you to back up. I haven’t had time to feed for a few days now.” His hand doesn’t move, remaining in place in order to secure the distance between them. “You know me. I work until I drop. I’m an only child, selfish and entitled. I’m not close with either of my parents, nor did they like the fact that I didn’t try very hard to be popular in school. I’m loud and I cause all sorts of trouble for you, always have. Sneaking off with Baekhyun and ditching classes. Insisting on taking public transport because it’s more interesting than being confined in the back of a darkly tinted vehicle with guardians everywhere… Emotional and selfish- I’d say you know me well by now.”

There’s something calming about being able to feel Yixing’s heartbeat beneath his palm, a deeply pained frown creasing his brow as he looks at his hand. Still so reliant on him.

If a challenge is what Yixing craves, Jongdae is prepared to give him one. Frustration radiates in his core, painfully warm as his friend’s eyes drill into his own;

“You have the hard-done by, woe is I, fuck all miroi, damphir voice down. Or is that a strigoi’s habitual thinking? Hard to tell- maybe you should ask your father?” He snips, the bottle he holds crinkling under the pressure of his grip as he stares the other down. Cocky, hateful, yet comfortable on Jongdae’s couch, waltzing right in- Yixing acts as though Jongdae was the one that put walls up first, yet he’s the one that pries at Yixing. Always the first to approach, to question, to smile, to welcome him close.

Yixing looks like a starved wolf, teeth barred, eyes livid and words spat, trying to get a shot at Jongdae’s throat. Far from a lap dog. He’s always been that way, back against a wall and hackles raised. Jongdae has rolled over time and time again (determined to show that he is no threat), but with the mention of strigoi, he’s bearing his own teeth.

“…That was fucked.” He exhales, eyes dropping once more to the floor, refusing to see the fallout of his words. If it were anyone else, it’d be a pinnacle moment of learning to stand up for one’s self, but there is nothing to stand up for with Yixing. He’s already deeply wounded, mentions of his father re-opening barely stitched together flesh.

“If you want to leave, then fine. Go. I want you here- my actions contradict it but I want you. I changed and you don’t like it, or maybe you haven’t liked me all long because really, I’m just as bad as the rest of them. So go. Forget about all of this. I shouldn’t have asked you here.”

Jongdae is not proud. This is not him- not them. He doesn’t fight Yixing, doesn’t chase him away- Jongdae does not hurt Yixing. Yet he mentioned his father. Disgusting. “Excuse me.” Jongdae feels grimy, eyes pricking (slender fingers quick to wipe away any trace of his heartache) as he turns away. Polished shoes scuff against tile in his haste to walk away, headed for the kitchen. No glance over the shoulder, he prays that the other doesn’t follow. Jongdae has cried enough in front of Yixing growing up- he needs no help in this circumstance to prove that he’s still the emotional, selfish miroi that Yixing grew up with.

Because that’s all that this is, Jongdae’s immaturity running rampant because Yixing dared to love someone other than him. Selfish and stupid- Jongdae’s speciality. Jongdae’s this, Jongdae’s that, Jongdae, Jongdae, Jongdae. His head aches as he comes to a halt in the entranceway to the kitchen, hand resting on the frame and head hung as he breathes out a shaky,

he feels—

ugly.

zhang yixing does not drink. alcohol pollutes the mind and dulls the senses, grandfather always says. as far as he knows, the elder has never touched a single drop of liquor in his life and expects the same discipline from his daughter and grandson. guardians from the zhang family are held up to a certain standard; the legacy of hundreds of years of exemplary service a heavy mantle on their shoulders. unfortunately, yixing is in no state to feel ashamed or regretful over trampling on generations of tradition. he cares only about one thing: getting home before his buzz wears off.

his phone beeps. fishing it out of his pocket, yixing stares at the notification on the bright screen, mind struggling to grasp its meaning. one missed call. one missed call from kjd—kim jongdae—and he fights the urge to hurl it at the wall. yixing is far, far too drunk and tired to continue this fight. whatever petty steam was fueling him earlier has long since dissipated—nothing left but regrets and the fleeting thought that grandfather is right, his mind is polluted. mind, heart, lungs, all.

against his better judgement, he brings the phone up to his ear and presses play. as much as he would like to, yixing knows he cannot avoid jongdae forever. they’re guardian and charge; in spite of this ‘vacation,’ he still has a responsibility towards the moroi. the fact is hard to remember hearing jongdae’s heated words, the worst of threats delivered in a clipped tone that belies his annoyance. and then the quiet addition (“this isn’t us”) at which yixing lets out a bark of laughter, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “you know nothing about me,” yixing mutters.  

but maybe jongdae is right and this isn’t them, but what is, then? he and jongdae haven’t even been a ‘them’ for weeks now. what can yixing possibly achieve by going to jongdae’s? will they spend the night sniping at each other? will they rehash the same arguments, driving their relationship further into the ground? what’s the point?

a couple of drinks later, yixing is warmer and bolder than before, standing in front of jongdae’s front door with cheeks red from the cold or drink or the effort of holding in a thousand things he wants to say—take your pick. brushing his hair out of his eyes, he gives the door a sharp knock and steps back. his key is lord knows where and—this place doesn’t feel like home anymore, regardless. he refuses to just waltz in.

the thought pains him.

waiting for yixing  makes jongdae’s skin scrawl with unease, akin to a million fingers dragging across a chalkboard. this is unknown territory— they don’t fight, they don’t fight, they don’t fight. guardian dismissed and a far too large apartment all to himself, silence worsens his growing headache as his ears strain for a tell-tale knock. jongdae dreads to think of the lecture he would receive if his mother knew how he’d been acting for the past month; uncalled for comments, dismissive attitude, clinging to one friend and pushing away help- that’s not how one survives in the upper-class miroi world. you need your connections, your family and more importantly, your guardian. yet, his one has all but run away from his unfair jealousy. although, quietly, he thinks, sometimes it’s fair to be short with zhang yixing. years of friendship, and jongdae had found out only through a friend of a friend that his guardian was seeing a miroi woman. what a guardian does in their downtime, is up to them. however, having someone who used to be so close, slowly slip away while you’re left in the dark—jongdae is hurt. she leaves him smelling of lavender and his smile lingers for hours; delicate fingers leaving marks on smooth skin.

he burns at the thought of how easy she has it, waltzing into yixing’s life as though it’s so damn easy to do. skin alight, it’s a jarring contrast to the cool marbled floor upon which he sits. waiting for yixing is bizarre, unused to prolonged silence with the ticking of a clock for company. top two buttons undone, bottled water, jongdae sits in the entranceway, burning, burning, burning. he’s jealous. but mostly hurt. hurt by the silence, by the distance— by yixing’s disinterest. disinterest may not be the right word, for the other has taken plenty of digs at his miroi charge since the disintegration of their friendship began… jongdae doesn’t know the right words for anything anymore, really. he uses the word friendship, but was it really one when jongdae has been always in love and yixing is just… yixing?

he needs to feed. that’s why he’s so out of skin, he tells himself. you’re not like this jongdae. jongdae is kind, generous and calm; knock, knock, knock.

jongdae is not calm.

it takes but a second for him to react, jumping to his feet and frustratingly desperate to open the door (he should let yixing sit outside for a bit, just to sate his bitterness somewhat). he wasn’t sure what he expected, nor why it hurts to see the other with his usual look of—

yet again, jongdae doesn’t know the correct words, nothing apt to say about a yixing that smells of alcohol with flushed skin and a bone to pick with him. throat dry, jongdae does what he does best and avoids yixing, eyes firm on the ground as he asks the other to come in. moving to the side with his jaw clenched, he holds out the bottle of water that he’s been clinging to for the past hour to the other.

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] To quote, “Ha.” [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I’m not [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I’m not jealous. I’m not trying to say anything. I simply [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] It’s fine.

📩 sent after fifteen minutes.

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Left the bar and on my way home. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I don’t know what we could possibly say to each other that would matter [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] But do as you wish

[ ✉  ➝ ignore ] Are you serious right now? Nothing to say? [ ✉  ➝ ignore ] Why are you so irate with me? Because I don’t like your girlfriend? [ ✉  ➝ ignore ] Shame that she’s obviously not around to keep your fragile ego intact.   [ ✉  ➝ ignore ]  If I was doing as I wished, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

The last text sends with an irritated scowl as Jongdae makes his way to an awaiting car, ushered into its protective confines by an awaiting guardian. When his back makes contact with smooth leather, his lithe form melts, exhausted bones swallowed up by comfort. It’s ridiculous- he and Yixing don’t fight, better yet, not by text. It’d be a lie to say that it’s not a situation of his making, although today’s fight hadn’t been picked by him. The scathing intent behind the other’s words, ties itself around his thoughts, phone gripped tightly by bony fingers, turning white from pressure.  Softly, he instructs the driver to take him home, eyes closing as the miroi forces himself to take a moment before he calls, greeted by not the focus of his frustration, but rather, an automated message bank.

“Good of you to pick up.” He should be the bigger person, but the surprise attack by an inebriated Yixing, has rubbed him the wrong way, sarcasm no longer being filtered out. “I’m heading back to mine.. Come in- I’m not asking nicely.  If you don’t make it before sunrise, I’ll personally search for you, with no guardian assistance. I hate texting, even more than I hate encouraging your pity party.” Terse, he goes to hang up but his conscience can’t rest easy, begrudgingly adding,

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Maybe. Maybe not. Not everything nice in my life is a result of you, Jongdae. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I… see. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Were we ever best friends? Or even friends? At this point, I don’t remember.

📩 sent after twenty minutes.

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] You care enough to ask? Color me surprised.

📩 sent after six minutes.

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] That was uncalled for. I am sorry. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I don’t know. So much going on. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Perhaps I shouldn’t come back.

[ ✉  ➝ ignore ] I’ve always been your friend, although clearly that’s not a thing in your memory. [ ✉  ➝ ignore ]  Years of trying to get you to be comfortable and know that  you can trust me- but yeah, you’re right, why would I ever care about your wellbeing?? ha.  MSG DRAFTED [ ✉  ➝ ignore ] Get your head straight. Are you seriously trying to guilt trip me for saying I’m close with Baekhyun, as though that diminishes growing up with you as well??

📩 sent after ten minutes. 

for a drunk text ➝ accepting!

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Did you know it takes a lot of alcohol to get a dhampir drunk? [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] attached: img.png [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Did you also know I sometimes wish I could hate you? I used to think partnerships worked best if guardians and their charges were friends, but maybe I was wrong. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I want to hate you. [ ✉  ➝ kjd ] I want a lot of things I cannot have.

📩 sent after ten minutes.

[ ✉  ➝ kjd ] Does Baekhyun make you happy?

[ ✉  ➝ ignore ] nice lighting in your photo. did I get you that shirt? [ ✉  ➝ ignore ] clearly, you don’t believe that. you’re fucking a miroi woman- seems like a pretty ‘friendly’ partnership between a guardian and a possible future charge. :)   MSG DRAFTED [ ✉  ➝ ignore ] ?? Baekhyun is my best friend- you know that. Of course he does. 

📩 sent after twenty  minutes.

10: Neck Kiss (building on this post)

It’s Friday and Jaebum is out at your run of the mill, hook-up culture encouraging nightclub thanks to Junmyeon. However, twenty minutes have passed since he’s seen his past co-worker whom had disappeared with a slurred mention of heading to the bathroom. He should probably go looking for his friend (Lord knows what trouble he’s getting into), uncomfortable without the company of a friend in a crowded place. It’s hard to switch off in his line of work, after all. Too many faces. Too many secrets. Drink clutched in hand, he goes to leave his post at the bar when a female with an all too familiar flirty grin catches his eye. Surrounded by friends, he hardly expects the waitress to notice him nor remember the out of place CCG investigator, outside of her work environment. Yet, like a sappy rom-com, their eyes meet; her gaze is strong and confident, widening ever so slightly in recognition- Jaebum’s is guarded and uncertain.

4: Forehead Kiss

Distance is all he’s capable of giving. Yet Yiyang is terrifyingly close.

Curled into his side, her body shakes and struggles with the simple task of breathing. Yiyang is warm- anger to frustration to sad resignation and hot tears on flushed cheeks, shaky breaths against the bared skin of his neck as she tries to self-sooth because he can’t do anything besides look straight ahead. Openly expressed emotion, so raw and warm; Jaebum is cold- arm limp around her shoulders, composed features and silence. Whimpered hiccups claw at his chest. Why can’t he support her the way she wants him to?

# 1 - ALONE [self para one: tw// ill, panic attack and blood] i. human- daughter  ii. roslyn- bon iver  iii. i’ll be good - jaymes young  iv. jesus christ - brand new v. constant muse - denison witmer  vi. resolution - matt corby  vii. valium - lisa mitchell  viii. i’m already gone - aces  ix. doing the right thing - daughter  x. luck now - big scary