a/n: THIS TOOK SOOO LONG TO WRITE omgg i’m so exhausted but i wanted to do the vampire x human trope so bad, i dont know if i did it good to be honest? but here’s me trying, lol. I hope y’all liked it.
A family secret, a forbidden whisper, words that should never be spoken aloud because if you did, they would probably mock you with a cruel laugh that cuts like a knife. They would call you crazy, look at you with disdain, and that contempt, though painful, is less damaging than the possibility of being believed. Because if they believe you, then the world would become an even darker place. They would turn you into an object, into an experiment they approach with eyes full of fear and unhealthy curiosity. They would ask you to stay away, with tears of pure horror rolling down their cheeks, begging you to disappear.
As you walk to school with Baku and Gotak, your thoughts are a whirlwind consuming you. Your gaze is lost on the horizon, distant, oblivious to your surroundings, and Baku can't help but notice. He raises an eyebrow, curious, and breaks the silence by asking if you're okay. You take a bitter breath, feeling the tremble in your mouth, as if your words were fragile and weighed tons. And then, without fully thinking it through, you drop the question that has been stuck in your mind, the one you feared so much: “Hey, what would you do if I were a vampire?”
Baku and Gotak look at each other, puzzled. A moment so brief it feels eternal. Was it a mistake to say it? Maybe they suspected the truth, maybe they were about to distance themselves from you, or worse, hurt you. Your hands tremble uncontrollably and your heart races, pounding against your chest, cruelly reminding you how stupid you were to open that door. You're about to bring your fingers to your mouth to bite your nails and calm the anxiety burning inside you, but their laughter explodes in the air, unexpected, full of life and carefreeness. You look up and see their wide smiles, free of fear, dissolving for a moment that black fog clouding your mind.
“It’d be fucking awesome,” says Baku with contagious enthusiasm, laughing as his hair sways with his joy. “My blood type is A positive, I'm sure it's worth millions, vampires would line up for a drop.” His laugh is so genuine that it seems nothing bad could touch him, as if his world were completely different from the one you live in. Gotak looks at you with some confusion but doesn’t miss the chance to add with an air of authority earned after years of devouring vampire movies and books. “Depends what kind of vampire,” he says, and his voice fills with the pride of someone who knows every rule by heart. “If you were one of those old-school ones, we couldn’t take pictures because you wouldn’t show up in mirrors, and you couldn’t go to the beach because you’d get incinerated. Sounds awful, honestly. But if you're the kind that has super strength and can walk in daylight, then yeah, that’d be really cool.”
You watch them talk, imagine the taste of their blood, whether it would be sweet like honey or maybe sour like an ice-cold lemonade. But you're still trapped in the lie, in that secret that slowly drowns you, like a river trying to break a dam and only manages to drown in its own current. You feel guilty as your mouth fills with saliva thinking about what the boys’ blood might taste like.
“If you were a vampire, then that would explain how you can wake up so early. Look at your eye bags, dummy, you probably stay up playing games on your phone. You're gonna fail the test,” commented Baku while pointing at you. His scolding sounded like that of an old man, even though he had no right to complain since his grades weren’t much better than yours.
“Ah, it’s Sieun!” Gotak waved his right arm in the air upon seeing that they were at the school entrance, and Sieun was waiting for them to go in. His gaze, as always, so empty, so dark and captivating. Your skin bristles when you see how the shirt highlights his collarbone. If only you could be alone with him for a few seconds and sink your fangs into him, surely his blood would be bitter, like coffee. Your cheeks flush at the thought, but you shake your head in denial. You shouldn't think of your friends that way, like they’re food, it’s disgusting, you know?
“Good morning,” said Sieun. His bangs were slightly messy from the wind, but his gaze was aggressively steady and fixed on you. The boys and you now walked into the school; the bell was about to ring, so each of you went to your respective classes. Baku and Gotak were in the same one, but you were with Juntae and Sieun.
Once class started, your mind did nothing but torture itself. Your mouth felt a strange itch inside, it was probably irritation. Your hands began to sweat coldly, and you realized that fantasizing about your friends’ blood was starting to take its toll on you. You quickly reached into your backpack, grabbed a small vial that was inside, and headed to the bathroom.
Locked in the last stall of the row, your hands trembled as they tightly gripped that vial, which, unsurprisingly to no one, contained blood. Your father gave you those vials of blood donated from hospitals so you could hold back from becoming some kind of wild animal, thirsty for blood, attacking the first thing that crossed your path.
With a gulp full of urgency, you decided to drink that liquid that tasted like pure glory. It was warm and slightly thick; your pupils dilated from the sheer pleasure you felt, your eyes rolling back for a few moments. Your legs trembled and seemed about to give out, but you quickly leaned against the stall door. After a few minutes trying to pull yourself back together, you walked out of the bathroom with a satisfied smile, but seeing yourself in the mirror, your mind scolded you for the disgusting and inhuman act you had just committed, and you lowered your gaze to the floor.
Maybe it’s not that vampires can’t see themselves in the mirror,maybe they just don’t want to, because of the guilt of what they are, you thought.
When you got back to class, you were surprised at how loud and cheerful everything had become. Everyone seemed happy. Confused, you looked at Sieun, your seatmate, and he seemed to understand your look instantly.
“There’s a school trip tomorrow. Looks like the principal ended up agreeing at the last minute. Kangha school will be going too, the principal wanted to spend as little as possible, so we’re sharing the trip with them,” he replied with a tired look. Sieun hated school trips with his whole soul, but they were mandatory since they were also used for evaluations.
“Don’t be like that! I swear we’ll have lots of fun as a group. Give it a chance, yeah?” You looked at Sieun with pleading eyes as you shook his arm, like it was a little game between the two of you.
“If any of you snores, I’m throwing a pillow at you.” He replied with such a serious face that you couldn’t help but laugh until you cried. You loved the feeling of happiness and how warm it was. If it were your last day alive, your final words would be a soft laughter so pure and sincere that it would sweeten the whole room.
꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ｡- ༝ -｡ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱
You’re excited, more than you allow yourself to admit. Four days away from the routine, far from the gazes that dig too deep, far from the constant weight of having to pretend that everything about you is normal. You cling to that excitement like a silk rope that keeps you anchored to the ground, as if in those four days you could exist without needing to remind yourself that you’re not like the others. You packed carefully. Four vials of blood, one for each day. You hid them among your clothes and personal items, protected by folded fabrics and a double zipper. You did what you had to do.
The bus smells of poorly slept youth, synthetic jackets, opened sweets, and shared headphones. You sit next to Sieun, as always. His silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s almost a form of company. Baku and Gotak are right behind you, arguing about movies or fights, and Juntae is sitting alone in the opposite row because the trip is already upsetting his stomach and no one wants to risk him throwing up on them. Everything settles into a familiar rhythm. There’s something beautiful in that routine, in the way you can lose yourself among them and pretend you’re nothing more beneath the skin.
When you get off the bus to reorganize by classes, you’re too distracted to notice it at first. But then you feel a gaze, heavy, tilted, interested. You look up, and there he is. Seongje.
You had never spoken to him, but you knew him by sight, or being honest by his terrible reputation, that aura of his that floats around as if nothing affects him too much. His attention falls on you unexpectedly, without warning, and when he smiles, it’s like he knows something you don’t. It’s annoying how calm he seems with his own existence.
He intercepts you with the naturalness of someone who’s never asked permission to do anything, and without saying much, grabs your bag like it’s funny, like he knows you, like he can afford to do it. He shakes it in the air with a mocking smile, and although to anyone else it would be just a harmless joke, your blood runs cold in your fingers.
You feel your body go numb. Your throat tightens. The vials are inside, protected, but not indestructible. Every movement he makes with the bag is a threat of exposure, a whip cracking straight at your chest. You try to keep control, not to draw attention, not to seem as desperate as you really are, but your eyes betray you.
“Give it back,” you say, in a low voice, too tense to sound like a simple request. He laughs, confused, with that smile that never fades, like he doesn’t understand why you take it so seriously. Then, in an act that could be carelessness or just clumsiness, he lets go of the bag into the air.
Time seems to slow as you watch it fall. The impact on the ground isn’t loud, but in your mind, it sounds like an explosion. You rush to pick it up immediately, your heart pounding violently and you can barely fake calm. You hold it close to your chest and hide your panic as best you can. There’s no time to check. No chance to confirm if the damage is already done. You have to move. The teachers are calling names, ordering students by class, and Seongje has already walked away.
Hours later, when night has fallen and everyone has been sent to their shared rooms, you slip into the bathroom with the bag in your hand. You open it with trembling fingers, holding your breath, as if your life depends on what you’ll find inside.
And of course, you find it.
The smell of dried blood mixes with that of your wet, stained clothes. The vials have broken— all of them, or at least most. One still drips at the bottom like a poorly closed wound. There are shards scattered among your things, some embedded in the seams, others floating in the dark liquid that has soaked your books and the lining inside. Your stomach churns, but not from hunger, from frustration,fear and helplessness.
You knew this trip could get out of control, but not so soon. Not like this. You hold onto the sink for a few seconds, breathing deeply, swallowing your rage, your desperation. But you don’t cry. You don’t break. You look at yourself in the mirror and see the same face that every morning pretends to be just another student, another friend, another person.
Still, you convince yourself.
Four days. You can endure. You’ve been through other situations, worse moments. You can resist this hunger like you’ve resisted so many other things. You take what you can save, clean the visible mess, organize what’s necessary to avoid suspicion, and leave the bathroom with a smile.
꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ｡- ༝ -｡ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱
The first day of the trip passes with walks, group photos, and rushed lunches under the shade of the trees. The rooms are assigned by class, but the common area in the cabin becomes the meeting point for everyone. After dinner, most students gather in the main hall, forming small groups on the couches or the floor, sharing snacks, cards, and half-held-back laughter.
You sit in a corner, on one of those low, old sofas that creak with every movement. Sieun is next to you, leaning back, arms crossed, brows slightly furrowed, but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable. In fact, for the first time in a long time, he looks calm. As if being by your side anchors him, though he’d never say it. And then, Seongje enters the room with that aura of pride that surrounds him.
The noise doesn’t stop, but there’s something about his presence that shifts the atmosphere. As if the way he walks demands space. He stops when he sees you and smiles. That smile of his that doesn’t ask permission, just settles in and takes up the space. He approaches directly, no beating around the bush.
“So here you are,” he says, with a casual tone but loaded with intent. He’s not aggressive, but definitely not neutral.
You don’t answer. You give him a look meant to be cutting, but he takes it like a prize. He laughs a little and sits on the edge of the sofa, way too close for your comfort.
“Why are you always so serious? You should smile more, or you’ll scare everyone off. Though I kinda like that… it has its charm.”
Your eyebrow arches without planning to. It doesn’t annoy you enough to want to push him away, but you don’t like it either. It’s not that he totally bothers you, but you don’t like feeling like you’re part of a game you never asked to play. He keeps talking as if he doesn’t notice any of that, or worse, as if he does and enjoys it.
“Hey, do you like guys who insist? ‘Cause I’m good at that. Persistent,” he adds with a smirk.
And you can’t help but sigh. You don’t want to be rude, not now, not in front of everyone, so you just turn your face away, making it clear you won’t play along. But he doesn’t back off. He stays there, half reclined, looking at you like you’re a puzzle that fascinates him. Like your way of shutting down is, instead of a barrier, an invitation. And that’s what irritates you the most about him.
Baku and Gotak, sitting nearby, quickly notice the situation. Gotak elbows Sieun, who stays quiet, eyes fixed on you and Seongje as if seeing something he doesn’t like.
“Hey, Sieun, she’s gonna get stolen, aren’t you gonna do anything?” Gotak says, laughing.
Baku joins in right away, gently pushing Sieun’s shoulder with a mocking smile.
“What’s up, jealous or what? Let’s see if Seongje steals her and you don’t even notice.”
The boys laugh like it’s a silly game, as if they don’t know those words, unintentionally, have stuck a thorn. Sieun doesn’t answer, doesn’t smile, doesn’t shake it off like he usually does with heavy jokes. He just lowers his gaze for a second, his lips tighten, and his shoulders stiffen slightly.
There’s nothing explicit. No words, no obvious gestures. But you see it. You feel it. The way his body slightly closes off, how his eyes no longer watch the room but only Seongje. And you.
And then you understand that something in him twisted at that moment. That there’s a part of Sieun that hates how Seongje looks at you. And maybe, even if he never says it out loud, he hates even more that you didn’t reject him immediately.
But you can’t think about that now. Not when your stomach starts to burn, and the memory of the broken vials returns like a stone weighing down your chest. You have no blood. No more reserves. And the more people surround you, the more they move, the more the air smells of warm bodies and clinking glasses, the harder it is to ignore.
You’re in the middle of laughter and glances, surrounded by everything that should be warm, but inside you feel like you’re on the edge of an abyss. It’s not hunger yet, but it’s the beginning of something you know will grow, slow and violent.
On the second day, the sun falls gently through the trees, filtering in golden beams that tremble with the wind. The walk planned by the teachers feels more like an excuse to keep you busy, but it doesn’t bother you. The air is clean, the forest feels immense, and for a moment you manage to forget the metallic taste that lives at the back of your tongue. You walk close to Sieun, not by chance, but because he decided to keep pace with you, without seeking conversation or drifting away. As if his simple presence was a way to tell you he’s still there.
The other students are ahead or behind, scattered, talking among themselves, taking photos, laughing at any nonsense. Sieun says nothing for several minutes, just walks with his hands in his pockets, eyes raised toward the tall branches. But after a while, he breaks the silence with a voice that sounds less harsh than usual.
“The air here feels different. It’s like… lighter.”
You turn to look at him, a little surprised by the observation. He doesn’t usually comment on things like that, doesn’t often put into words what he likes. You nod, letting a smile slip out.
“Yes… like all the weight you carry on your back dissolves a little.”
He looks at you, tilting his head slightly. His eyes are calmer today, as if the distance from the city had emptied him of noise. They’re still intense, but there’s something vulnerable behind them. Something you barely recognize.
“I never liked school trips,” he says, looking forward again. “But I think this one… isn’t that bad.”
It’s not a big confession, but coming from him, you feel it as a small crack opening in his wall. And then you stop, right in front of him, as if you want to freeze this moment. You look at him directly, with a sincere smile that holds no hidden meaning. No mockery, no doubt. Just gratitude that he’s there, with you, sharing the same step, the same comfortable silence.
He stays still. Doesn’t say anything. But there’s something in his eyes that changes. As if your gesture hit him harder than he expected. As if your smile, so simple, so real, had unintentionally disarmed him. And for a moment, the world feels calm.
꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ｡- ༝ -｡ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱
On the third day, that calm breaks.
You barely slept last night. The darkness of the room gave you no peace, and every movement, every foreign breath, stabbed at the back of your neck like a prick. Your stomach growled low but persistent, like a trapped creature starting to bite the walls of its cage. With every hour, the hunger became less bearable, sharper, more physical. It was no longer just an annoyance. It was a need beginning to take shape, threatening to sink its fangs into you from within.
You washed your face several times in the bathroom, hoping the cold water would extinguish something. But nothing changed. Your reflection in the mirror looks paler, your eyes more sunken. And though you smile at everyone during breakfast, you know you can’t fake it for much longer.
During the day’s activities, you feel everything starting to shake. Your body is tense, your steps slower. Every human scent that passes nearby feels amplified. It’s not desire. It’s not pleasure. It’s hunger. Pure. Empty. Uncomfortable. Unbearable.
Even the group’s sounds start to bother you. Others’ laughter echoes too loudly, the heat of the sun burns more than usual, and even the friction of clothing becomes unbearable on your skin. Sometimes, someone talks to you and you don’t understand what they’re saying until several seconds later. Your mind isn’t here anymore. It’s fighting to keep control. It’s surviving.
He says nothing. Doesn’t ask. But his gaze lingers longer on you. He watches you with something that doesn’t seem like ordinary concern. It’s pure attention. Like he’s trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite fit.
You try to move away a little. Pretend you need some air. Walk aside, away from the group, pretending to check your phone or take a selfie. But you’re not okay. You know it. And worst of all, there’s still one more day left. Just one, you keep repeating to yourself.
꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ｡- ༝ -｡ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱
The fourth day of the school trip arrives with your body exhausted and your mind foggy. Your steps are unsteady, almost mechanical. Every fiber in your being screams at you to stop, that you can’t go on.
You were pretending. But there you were, with the widest and emptiest smile you could muster, talking with the others as if you didn’t have fire in your throat or fog in your head. The hunger was eating you from within, and yet, you denied it. Denied it. Because admitting it would be giving up.
And Sieun, of course, noticed.
He didn’t ask. He just looked at you with that expression of his: cold on the outside, full of questions he never asks. He grabbed your arm firmly enough for you to understand you weren’t going to argue. He took you to the infirmary, and you let yourself be guided because you didn’t have the strength to even fake an ‘I’m fine.’
Inside, you lay down on the bed. The white ceiling stretched like a dirty sheet over your eyes, and everything was spinning. Your gums hurt. Your fangs were barely showing, with that uncomfortable and shameful feeling you hated to feel in public. It was torture.
Sieun was checking the shelves, looking for something, anything. His movements were meticulous, methodical, as if everything in his mind was calculated. Until it wasn’t.
The metallic sound was brief, dry. It stopped. It wasn’t serious, a scalpel misplaced that cut his index finger. Just a thin line of blood, but for you it was like a gunshot. The smell came like a thick perfume, an invisible smoke that filled your lungs and blurred your vision. You sat up abruptly, your hands acting before your mind, and grabbed his hand between yours. You didn’t think. You just felt.
You took his finger to your mouth. You didn’t bite it. It wasn’t that. It was more intimate than that. Your tongue brushed the wound slowly, as if that gesture could return you control, as if the taste of his blood, warm, almost sweet could hold you a little longer. Sieun didn’t move immediately. His body tensed, his breath caught for a second. Only then did he pull away, slightly startled. His face was flushed.
“What are you doing?” His voice was low, trembling, not so much out of fear but confusion.
You stayed still, looking at him, and for the first time in days you felt cold. You stood up like a spring, trying to fix what was already broken. You forced a clumsy laugh.
“They say… saliva helps disinfect wounds, right?” The silence afterward was unbearable. “I just… I just wanted to check.”
Sieun lowered his gaze for a second. He was about to say something, but in your rush to walk away, your feet tripped on the bed’s leg. You fell forward, crashing into his body. He stepped back, his back hitting the wall. You were on top of him. Close. Too close.
Your forehead almost touched his jaw, and you could feel the heat coming off his skin. He didn’t push you away. He didn’t move. His eyes locked onto yours. For the first time, they didn’t seem impenetrable. For the first time, you saw something burning in them just like you.
His hand, warm, trembled a little as he placed it on the back of your head. His voice was deep, resolute, as if it wasn’t really him speaking. “If that’s what you need… do it. Bite me. Drink. I’m not going to run.”
Your fangs hurt from holding back. Your throat was fire. Your eyes filled with tears before closing, not out of weakness, but because of everything that meant. You leaned in with reverence. With hunger. With fear. And you sank your fangs into his neck, slowly.
The first contact was electric.
His body tensed, but he didn’t stop you. He rested his head on the wall, and you heard how his breathing became denser, more contained. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t pleasure, It was surrender.
The blood filled you as if you hadn’t breathed in years. You felt its warmth run down your throat, and something inside you unraveled. The sleeping monster calmed. The hunger went out. And, even stranger, you felt peace. As if what you were doing, as unthinkable as it was, made sense.
When you pulled away, your eyes met his. He said nothing. He just wiped the blood trail from your lip with his thumb. Your heart raced so fast it hurt. And then you saw the scalpel. You took it, hands trembling, and pressed it against your chest.
“If you want to kill me… do it. You must be disgusted by me. By this. I can’t live hiding what I am. Not after this.”
Your words were shards. Your voice barely a breath. Sieun watched you in silence. His expression was not rejection. It was something harder to name. Pain, maybe. Understanding.
Gently, he took the scalpel from your hands. He set it aside, then wrapped you in his arms. His breath brushed your neck, right where you had bitten him.
“I’m not disgusted, nor afraid of you. I just don’t want you to keep carrying this alone,” he whispered.
He hugged you tightly, without judgment, without fear. And in that embrace, you understood that something had broken between you. But also, something had been united.
