This time when you pull away again, you catch the exact moment confusion shifts into realization. His eyes darken considerably, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. The hand on your back flexes, fingers pressing into your skin even through your shirt.

"Are you..." he starts, voice already rough and lower than usual. He swallows hard, and you watch his throat work. "Are you doing that on purpose?"

The barely restrained frustration in his tone sends heat pooling in your stomach. You try to look innocent, biting back a smile. "Doing what?"

Sungho’s jaw clenches, and you see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, a familiar sign of him trying to steady himself. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just watches you with those intense dark eyes, and you can practically see him trying to maintain control.

Then slowly, deliberately, he leans back in. Both hands come up to frame your face, and the way he holds you is almost possessive. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Don't," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped even lower. It's not a request—it's a warning. "Don't pull away again."

But of course, you do.

The sound he makes is devastating, somewhere between a groan and your name, rough and frustrated. In one smooth movement, his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling firmly in your hair. It's not painful, but definitely controlling. His other hand grips your hip hard enough that you feel the heat of his palm through the fabric.

"I'm trying," he breathes out, and you can hear how strained his voice is, "to be patient with you."

He pulls you closer—or maybe pushes himself closer, you're not sure—until there's no space between you at all. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel his heart racing against your chest, feel the tension coiled tight in his muscles.

“But you keep—” He breaks himself off with a sharp breath, the words failing him. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut as if he needs the contact to steady himself, as if proximity is the only thing keeping him anchored. When he opens them again, the look on his face is raw, unguarded, almost desperate.  “Do you have any idea,” he asks quietly, voice strained, “what you’re doing to me?”

His hand in your hair tightens just slightly, angling your head back. The movement is controlled but barely, and you can see the exact moment his carefully maintained composure starts to crack.

"One more time," he warns, voice barely above a whisper but somehow more intense for it. His lips hover just barely above yours, so close you can feel his breath. "Pull away one more time and I won't be gentle anymore."

It should probably intimidate you, but instead it sends a thrill down your spine. You can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of restraint, can see the war between his natural control and his desire written plainly across his face.

"I'm serious," he continues, and now his lips brush against yours with every word. "I'm trying so hard to be good, to take my time, but you're making it impossible."

His hand slides from your hip to your lower back, then lower still, pulling you even more firmly against him. The kiss he gives you then is harder, more demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with clear intent. When his teeth catch your bottom lip, you gasp, and he takes full advantage, kissing you deeper until you're dizzy with it.

He pulls back just enough to speak, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. "So be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, and the please is unspoken but clear in his tone. "Stop teasing me, got it sweetheart?"

When he kisses you again, it's with single-minded focus, like kissing you is the only thing that matters in the world. His hand tightens in your hair, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough that his fingers brush bare skin. The touch makes you shiver, and you feel him smile against your lips.

"That's better," he breathes, sounding almost relieved. "Much better."

This time, you don't even think about pulling away.

ˋ ⌞⋮ RIWOO .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Riwoo kisses with complete focus and surprising intensity hidden beneath a gentle exterior. His hands are soft where they rest on your waist, his lips moving against yours with careful attention, like he's trying to get every detail just right.

You almost feel bad for what you're about to do.

Almost.

When he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, you pull back just slightly. His eyes flutter open immediately, wide and confused, lips still parted. "Did I... did I do something wrong?" he asks softly, concern evident in his voice.

"No," you assure him quickly, leaning back in. "You're perfect."

He relaxes at that, a shy smile crossing his face before you kiss him again. This time he's a little more confident, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt. You feel him sigh contentedly against your lips, and that's when you pull away again.

"Oh," he breathes out, and you can see him trying to figure out what's happening. His eyebrows furrow adorably, head tilting like he's solving a puzzle. "Are you... do you need a break? We can—"

You cut him off with another kiss, and this time you feel the exact moment he realizes what you're doing. His sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers suddenly grip your waist a little tighter, the slight tremor that runs through him.

When you pull back the third time, his reaction is completely different.

“You’re teasing me,” he says, the words barely audible, more confession than accusation. His ears have gone pink, heat creeping up his neck, but his eyes give him away—there’s a new intensity there, a shadow beneath the softness you know so well. “You're doing this on purpose.”

Before you can respond, he's leaning back in, and this time his kiss is less careful. His hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you closer with more force than you expected from him. When your lips meet, you can feel the desperation already building in the way he kisses you—deeper, more insistent, like he's trying to keep you from pulling away through sheer determination.

But you do it anyway.

"Please," he breathes out, and the sound goes straight through you. His voice is shaky, strained. "Please don't— I can't—"

He cuts himself off, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel him trembling, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. When you look at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he's trying to compose himself.

"This is torture," he whispers, and there's a whine in his voice that makes your stomach flip. "You're torturing me."

His hands are restless now, one sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blade, the other moving to your hip and squeezing. You've never seen him like this—usually so controlled, so precise in his movements, now barely holding himself together.

"Riwoo," you murmur, and his eyes snap open.

The look he gives you is devastating, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and red from all the kissing, cheeks warm with colour. It’s not just desire, but a soft, aching plea tangled with a frustration you’ve never seen on him before, unfamiliar and vulnerable, like he’s losing control that it both unsettles and exposes him.

"I need—" he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. His voice drops lower, rougher. "I need you to stop pulling away. I don't... I can't think when you do that."

To prove his point, he kisses you again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he angles your face exactly how he wants it. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, and the feeling of his palm against your bare skin makes you gasp.

He takes advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, and you feel him shaking with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control. His thumb traces patterns on your skin that make you shiver, and he makes this small sound in the back of his throat that's pure need.

When you start to pull back again, his grip tightens instantly.

"No," he says firmly, and the command in his voice surprises both of you. His eyes widen slightly, like he can't believe he just said that, but he doesn't take it back. "Stay. Please stay."

The "please" softens it, but there's still an edge of desperation that makes your heart race. He's looking at you like the thought of you pulling away again might actually break him.

"I'm trying so hard to be good," he confesses, voice cracking slightly. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you can feel his breath hot against your neck. "But you keep— every time you pull away, I—"

He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he presses a kiss to your neck, then another, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. The hand in your hair tightens, and suddenly he's pulling your head back gently, exposing more of your neck to his lips.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice dropped so low it feels almost dangerous. “To see me lose control.”

His kisses trail up your neck, along your jaw, until his lips are hovering over yours again. He's breathing hard, chest heaving, and you can see the internal war playing out across his face—the Riwoo who’s always gentle, always careful, pressed up against a need that’s sharper, more urgent, tugging insistently at his restraint.

"Well, congratulations," he whispers, and then he's kissing you again with an intensity that steals your breath. "You won."

This time when his tongue slides against yours, when his hands grip you tighter, when he presses impossibly closer, you don't even think about pulling away. You couldn't if you wanted to, not with how he's holding you, kissing you like he's been starving for it.

"No more teasing," he breathes between kisses, and it's still soft, still Riwoo, but there's steel underneath it now. "I can't take any more. Please."

And the way he says please—broken, desperate and so, so honest—makes you want to give him everything he asks for.

ˋ ⌞⋮ JAEHYUN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Jaehyun kisses like he's enjoying every second of it—which, knowing him, he absolutely is. There's a smile on his lips even as they move against yours, his hands warm and secure on your waist, thumbs tracing idle patterns that make you want to melt into him.

His hair has gotten longer recently, falling into his face as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and you can't resist reaching up to run your fingers through it. He makes a pleased sound at that, leaning into your touch.

That's when you pull away.

His eyes open slowly, still half-lidded and hazy, a confused smile playing on his lips. "Hm?" 

You just smile innocently and lean back in, kissing him again before he can question it. He responds immediately, enthusiastically, one hand sliding up your back. But just as he's really getting into it, you pull away again.

This time, his eyes sharpen with understanding.

“Oh,” he says, the confusion easing as his smile shifts into a knowing curve. “Oh—I get it now.”

Before you can say anything, he's laughing that bright, delighted laugh of his. "You're messing with me right now. You're actually messing with me."

"I don't know what you mean," you try, but he's already shaking his head.

"Okay, okay," he says, still grinning. "So we're playing games? I love games."

He leans back in, but this time when you try to pull away, his hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you in place firmly enough that you can't escape. His kiss is deeper this time, more purposeful, and you feel him smile against your lips.

Then he pulls away first.

"How does it feel?" he asks, voice teasing. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as he watches your reaction with obvious amusement. "Not so fun when it happens to you, right?"

Two can play this game, apparently.

He kisses you again, and just when you're sinking into it, he breaks away with a playful smirk. "Oops."

"Jaehyun—"

"What?" He's grinning fully now, eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To play around?"

His hair falls forward into his face as he leans closer, and you reach up to brush it back without thinking. His expression shifts slightly at the touch, eyes darkening just a fraction, but the smile remains.

"You keep touching my hair," he observes, voice a little lower now. "Do you like it longer?"

Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and this time you can feel the teasing energy start to shift more intensely. His fingers tangle in your hair, mimicking your earlier action, and when you gasp softly, he makes a satisfied sound.

You pull away again—you can't help it, it's too fun—and this time his reaction is different.

"Okay," he says, and his voice has lost some of that playful edge. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and you watch his jaw clench slightly. "Okay, you need to stop doing that."

"Why?" you ask innocently, and his eyes flash.

"Because," he says, leaning in close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks, "I'm trying really hard to play along and be fun about this, but you're making it really difficult."

His hair falls forward again, tickling your face, and he makes a frustrated sound. In one smooth motion, he reaches back and gathers his hair, tying it up into a small ponytail with the hair tie he keeps on his wrist. The movement makes his arms flex, his jaw set in concentration, and you can't help but stare.

He notices, of course. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips. “You like that, don’t you, princess?”

He kisses you again, and with his hair out of the way, it's different—more intense, more focused. His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you can feel the shift in his energy. The playfulness hasn’t disappeared, but beneath it is a seriousness that wasn’t there before, an insistence that asks instead of teases, that wants instead of jokes.

When you try to pull away this time, he doesn't let you.

"Nuh-uh," he murmurs against your lips. "My turn now."

His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeper. There's a confidence in the way he takes control, like he's done playing your game and has decided to start his own. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and you feel him smile when you shiver.

"See, the thing is," he says, pulling back just enough to speak, "I was having fun letting you tease me. It was cute." His thumb traces your jawline as his eyes lock onto yours. "But now I'm thinking about all the ways I could tease you back."

To prove his point, he kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, and one of them tangles in his ponytail without thinking, tugging slightly.

The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

"Oh, so you can pull my hair but I can't—" He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, his hand comes up to thread through your hair, gripping gently and tilting your head back. "That's not very fair, is it?"

His lips return to your neck, kissing and biting softly, and you can feel him smiling against your skin when you gasp. “There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “That’s the reaction I was looking for.”

When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are darker than before, pupils blown wide. "No more pulling away," he says, and it's not quite a command but not quite a request either. His hand tightens slightly in your hair. "You had your fun. Now let me have mine."

He kisses you again, and this time there's no teasing, no games. Just intensity, heat and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, sliding up to cup your face, back down to grip your hips.

When you instinctively try to pull back just slightly, probably out of habit more than anything, his grip tightens immediately.

"What did I just say?" he asks, but he's smiling even as he says it. He presses his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

His hair tie has come slightly loose, a few strands falling free to frame his face, and without thinking you reach up to fix it. He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

"Or," he says, eyes glinting with mischief again, "you could just take it out. Since you seem so interested in my hair."

When you do, his hair falls forward, messy and perfect, and he shakes his head slightly to settle it. The movement is casual, but the way he's looking at you is anything but.

"There," he says, leaning in close again. His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Now you can touch it all you want."

And when he kisses you this time—deep, slow and purposeful, his fingers threading through your hair to mirror your touch in his—you forget all about teasing him.

You forget about everything except the way he's holding you, kissing you, like he plans to make up for every single time you pulled away.

"See?" he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile. "Told you I'd be fun.”

ˋ ⌞⋮ TAESAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Making out with Taesan is always intense. He doesn't do anything halfway. When he kisses you, it's with complete focus, like nothing else in the world exists. His hands are firm on your waist, his lips moving against yours with purpose and confidence that makes your head spin.

So really, you should've known better than to tease him.

But you do it anyway.

The first time you pull away, his eyes open slowly, dark and slightly unfocused. He doesn't say anything, just looks at you with a quiet question in his gaze. When you lean back in without explanation, he accepts it, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss.

The second time you pull away, you feel the change immediately.

His fingers tighten on your waist—not painfully, but noticeably. His eyes are sharper now when they meet yours, more alert. He's figured it out.

"What are you doing?" His voice is low, quiet, but there's an edge to it.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't quite hide your smile.

Taesan's jaw clenches. He doesn't move for a moment, just watches you with that intense gaze that always makes you feel like he can see right through you. Then, slowly, he leans back in. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm and possessive.

"Don't," he says simply, right before his lips meet yours.

This kiss is different, harder, more demanding. His tongue sweeps against yours with clear intent, his hand tightening in warning when he feels you start to pull back. But you do it anyway, breaking the kiss with a soft laugh.

The look he gives you could melt steel.

"You think this is a joke?" His voice is dangerously quiet, and the tone in his voice makes heat pool in your stomach. He's not smiling. Not even a little bit.

"Maybe a little," you admit.

Wrong answer.

In one fluid motion, Taesan shifts, and suddenly you're the one being pressed back against the couch. He's hovering over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other still gripping your hip. His hair falls forward slightly, shadowing his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

"You want to play games with me?" he asks, voice still low, a controlled tone that somehow feels more threatening than if he were actually angry. "Okay. Let's play."

He leans down, but instead of kissing your lips, he goes for your neck. His mouth is hot against your skin, teeth grazing lightly before he soothes the spot with his tongue. When you gasp, you feel him smile against your throat.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. "You can dish it out but can't take it?"

His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, and you feel him trace slow patterns on your skin. It's deliberate, teasing, and completely unfair. When you try to squirm, his grip on your hip tightens, holding you still.

"Stay," he commands softly, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.

He kisses up your neck, along your jaw, getting closer and closer to your lips but never quite getting there. When you turn your head to try to kiss him, he pulls back just enough to stay out of reach, and the smirk on his face is absolutely infuriating.

"Not so fun, is it?" he asks, voice laced with dark amusement. "Being teased?"

"Taesan—"

"What?" He tilts his head, looking at you with false innocence that doesn't match the heat in his eyes at all. "I'm just doing what you did to me. That's fair, right?"

His hand slides higher under your shirt, thumb brushing just below your ribs, and you arch into the touch without meaning to. He notices, of course. He notices everything.

"So sensitive," he observes, and there's satisfaction in his tone. His hand moves back down, tracing patterns that make you shiver. "I barely even touched you."

When he finally kisses you again, it's overwhelming. Deep and consuming, like he's trying to prove a point. His body presses close to yours, and you can feel the tension wound tight beneath his skin, the barely restrained control as he holds himself back.

You try to pull away—instinct, maybe, or maybe you just want to see what he'll do—and his reaction is immediate.

His hand flies up to grip your chin, firmly turning your face back to his. "Don't," he warns, and his voice has gone even lower, rough with frustration. "I'm not playing anymore."

There’s a dangerous edge in his gaze now, sharp enough to steal your breath. He’s always been intense, but this is different. This is Taesan with his patience worn down, his restraint fraying, control slipping just enough to show what he’s been holding back.

"You wanted my attention?" he asks, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "You have it. All of it. So stop running away."

He kisses you again, harder this time, almost punishing. His hand slips back into your hair, fingers curling with just enough force to steal a breath from you, and he doesn’t hesitate, using the moment to pull you closer, to deepen the kiss until the world tilts and everything feels hazy around the edges. His other hand grips your waist, thumb pressing into your hip bone hard enough that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

"This is what you do to me," he breathes against your lips, and for the first time you hear how affected he actually is. His voice is ragged, strained. "You drive me crazy. You know that?"

His forehead drops to yours, and you can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining control. His breathing is heavy, chest heaving against yours.

"Every time you pulled away," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "all I could think about was how to make you stay. How to make you want me so badly you couldn't even think about leaving."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and the raw intensity in his gaze steals your breath. "So here's what's going to happen," he says, voice dropping into that commanding tone again. "You're going to stay right here. You're not going to pull away. And you're going to let me kiss you until I'm satisfied. Understood?"

It's not really a question.

When you nod, his expression softens slightly. "Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends warmth flooding through you.

This time when he kisses you, it's slower but no less intense. Thorough. Possessive. Like he's claiming you with every brush of his lips, every slide of his tongue. His hands roam your body with purpose, touching, gripping and holding like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he finally pulls back—minutes or hours later, you've lost track—his lips are swollen and red, his eyes dark and satisfied.

"You're so pretty," he says, voice still rough. His thumb traces your jaw gently, a stark contrast to how tightly he was holding you moments ago. 

He settles beside you, pulling you against his chest, and you can still feel his heart racing. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, and he brings it to his lips.

"Next time you want to tease me," he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "remember how this ended."

It's a warning and a promise all at once.

And the really dangerous part? You're already thinking about doing it again, just to see what happens.

ˋ ⌞⋮ LEEHAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Leehan kisses the way he does everything else—with a calm, unhurried confidence that somehow makes your heart race more than any urgency could. His hands are gentle on your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as his lips move against yours with patient precision.

There’s an almost meditative quality to it—how he takes his time, as if he has all day to learn the shape of your mouth. It’s the same focused attention he gives anything that holds his interest—steady, observant, fully present.

Which is exactly why you're curious to see what happens when you disrupt that carefully maintained composure.

When you pull away the first time, he doesn't react much. Just opens his eyes slowly, looking at you with that serene expression he always has, like nothing in the world could disturb his peace. He tilts his head slightly, a small questioning smile on his lips, but he doesn't say anything. Just waits.

You lean back in, and he accepts it without hesitation, picking up exactly where you left off. His kiss is deeper this time, more intentional, and you feel one of his hands slide to the back of your neck, fingers spreading through your hair.

Then you pull away again.

This time, you catch the faintest flicker in his eyes. Not confusion, not frustration, more like… focused interest. Like he’s watching an experiment unfold and quietly filing away observations.

"Interesting," he murmurs, voice still soft and even. His hand stays where it is in your hair, not gripping, just resting. "Are you testing something?"

The casual way he asks it makes you laugh. Leave it to Leehan to treat this like a curious phenomenon rather than actual teasing.

"Maybe," you admit.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning your face with that focused attention he usually reserves for his fish tanks. "I see." Then, simply : "Continue."

It's such a Leehan response that you can't help but smile as you kiss him again. This time his hand tightens just slightly in your hair—barely noticeable, but you feel it. When you pull away for the third time, you're watching for his reaction.

His eyes open slowly, and there’s a shift you can’t ignore. The calm is still there, carefully maintained, but beneath it simmers a heat that hadn’t surfaced before. He looks at you for a long, deliberate moment without saying a word, and the silence feels heavy, charged, far more unsettling than anything he could have spoken.

"Three times," he observes quietly. His thumb traces your bottom lip with deliberate slowness. "You've pulled away three times now."

"Have I?" You try to sound innocent.

"Mm." His gaze drops to your lips, and you watch his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. "You have."

He leans in again, but this time it's different. Slower. More purposeful. His eyes stay open, locked on yours until the last possible second, and when his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is deeper than before. Consuming. His hand in your hair shifts, fingers curling just enough to keep you in place without being forceful.

When you try to pull away this time, you realize you can't move far. His grip isn't painful, isn't even really tight, but it's firm. Decisive. And the message is clear : he's done letting you control this.

He breaks the kiss himself, but stays close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “I’ve been patient with you,” he murmurs, voice low and even, controlled that it feels almost mesmerizing. There’s an undercurrent to it now, a quiet shift that makes your stomach tighten, that sends awareness sparking through you. His gaze stays locked on yours as he adds, just as softly, “But I think we’re past that.”

His free hand lifts to cradle your face, the touch gentle but unmistakably claiming, a quiet possessiveness threaded through the softness of the gesture. "Do you know what happens when you test someone's patience?" he asks, and it's clearly rhetorical because he continues without waiting for an answer. "You find out exactly how much control they actually have."

He kisses you again, and this time there's no mistaking the intensity behind it. It's still controlled, still measured, but you can feel the restraint it's taking. His tongue slides against yours with clear intent, and the hand on your face angles your head exactly where he wants it.

"I have a lot of patience," he murmurs against your lips. "But even I have limits."

When his hand slides down from your face to your throat, his thumb against your pulse point, you gasp softly. You feel him smile.

"Your heart is racing," he observes, voice still that same quiet, almost clinical tone. But his thumb traces circles on your neck that are anything but clinical. "Interesting. Are you nervous?"

You shake your head, and his smile grows slightly.

"No? Then what?" His eyes search yours with genuine curiosity, edged with a darker intent. "Excited? Anticipating what I'll do next?"

He’s analyzing you even now, reading every reaction—and somehow that makes it worse.

"Let me tell you what I think," he says, leaning in close enough that his breath fans across your lips. "I think you wanted to see what would happen if you pushed me. You wanted to know what I'd be like when I stop being patient."

His hand tightens just slightly around your throat—not restricting, just present, just enough to remind you it's there. "Would you like to see?"

Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and it's completely overwhelming. Still controlled, still measured, but intense in a way that makes your head spin. His hand stays on your throat, feeling every gasp, every quickening of your pulse, while his other hand finally releases your hair to slide down your back.

When he pulls you closer, you can feel his heart beating against your chest, faster than usual but still steady.

"You're not pulling away now," he notes, pulling back just enough to speak. There's satisfaction in his tone, quiet but unmistakable. "Why is that?"

His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back, and the skin-to-skin contact makes you shiver. He notices immediately, of course he does. He notices everything.

"Cold?" he asks, but there's a knowing look in his eyes that says he knows exactly why you shivered, and it has nothing to do with temperature.

"Leehan—" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one somehow even deeper than the last.

"Shh," he soothes between kisses, hand moving in slow circles on your back. "No more talking. No more pulling away. Just focus on this."

When his hand slides higher up your back, fingers tracing your spine, you arch into him without meaning to. His other hand tightens on your throat in response just for a second, just enough to make you gasp, before relaxing again.

"See?" he murmurs, and there's a smugness in his tone now. "You're much better when you stay still. When you let me do what I want."

He kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. "I could do this for hours," he says conversationally, like he's commenting on the weather. "Just finding all the spots that make you react. Learning exactly what you like."

"But first," he says, pulling back to look at you again, "you're going to stay right here and let me kiss you properly. No more games. No more pulling away." His thumb brushes across your throat, feeling your pulse jump. "Can you do that for me?"

It's phrased as a question, but the look in his eyes makes it clear there's only one acceptable answer.

When you nod, his smile is small but genuinely pleased. "Good," he says softly, leaning in again. "That's very good."

And when he kisses you this time—slow, deep and absolutely devastating—you understand exactly what he meant about patience. Because Leehan doesn't rush anything. He takes his time, thorough and methodical, until you forget you ever wanted to pull away in the first place.

Until all you can think about is how to get him to never stop.

ˋ ⌞⋮ WOONHAK .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗

Kissing Woonhak is sweet and a little clumsy in the most endearing way. He's still figuring things out, but he makes up for any lack of experience with sheer enthusiasm. His hands rest nervously on your waist, and you can feel how fast his heart is beating when you're this close.

So of course, you decide to make it worse for him.

The first time you pull away, his eyes fly open immediately, wide and startled like a deer in headlights. "Wait, what— did I mess up?" His voice pitches up slightly in panic. "Was that bad? I can do better, I promise, just—"

"You're fine," you assure him with a laugh, leaning back in before he can spiral further.

He relaxes instantly, shoulders dropping as he lets out a relieved breath. "Okay, okay good, because I've been practicing— I mean, not practicing, but like, thinking about— you know what, never mind." His ears are already bright red as he kisses you again, and you can feel him smiling against your lips.

That's when you pull away the second time.

"Okay, what—" He blinks at you, confused. Then his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "Wait. Are you doing that on purpose?"

You try to keep a straight face. "Doing what?"

"THAT!" He gestures wildly between you. "The pulling away! You're messing with me right now!"

When you don't deny it, his mouth drops open in betrayal. "Oh my god, you ARE! I can't believe— I was so worried I was doing something wrong!"

"You weren't," you say, grinning now.

"Then why—" He stops, processing, and then his expression shifts between embarrassment and indignation. "You're TEASING me? Seriously?"

He runs both hands through his hair, laughing in disbelief. "I'm already so nervous and you're just— wow. Okay. That's how we're playing this?"

Before you can respond, he's leaning back in with renewed determination. "Fine. You know what? I'm not gonna let it get to me. I'm just gonna— we're just gonna kiss and it's gonna be great and you're not gonna—"

You pull away again.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" His voice cracks spectacularly, and he falls back against the couch dramatically, covering his face with his hands. "This is torture! Actual torture! I'm being tortured!"

You're laughing now, and he peeks at you through his fingers. "You think this is funny? My heart can't take this kind of stress! I'm too young!"

"You're so dramatic," you say, but you're smiling.

"I'M dramatic?" He sits back up, pointing at you accusingly. "You're the one playing mind games! Do you know how hard it is to focus when you keep— when you—" He gestures vaguely, too flustered to finish the sentence.

His whole face is red now, and he's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Every time you pull away, I think I did something wrong and my brain just goes—" He makes an explosion sound effect with his hands. "Like that. Complete malfunction."

"Want me to stop?" you ask, taking pity on him.

"YES! No! I don't know!" He groans, flopping against the couch again. "This is so confusing. You're so confusing. Why are you like this?"

After a moment of internal crisis, he sits back up with a determined look. "Okay. Okay, I'm gonna try one more time, and you have to promise not to pull away because I don't think my heart can handle it."

"I promise," you say, and he eyes you suspiciously.

"Really?"

"Really."

He studies your face for a long moment, clearly trying to determine if you're trustworthy. Finally, he nods. "Okay. But if you do it again, I'm— I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be something! A consequence! There will be consequences!"

The threat would be more effective if his voice wasn't shaking slightly and if he didn't look absolutely adorable while making it.

When he leans in this time, he's extra careful. His hand comes up to cup your face gently, and he pauses just before your lips meet. "You promised," he whispers, and for all the control in his posture, there’s a fragile note beneath it, almost pleading, almost vulnerable.

"I promised," you confirm.

This kiss is different—slower, more confident now that he's not worried about you disappearing. His other hand finds yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing like he's anchoring himself. When you don't pull away, you feel him relax completely, even smiling against your lips.

After a few moments, he pulls back himself, and the smile on his face is so bright and genuine it makes your heart squeeze. "See? We can do this! When you're not being evil, we're actually really good at this!"

"Evil is a strong word," you laugh.

"You literally tortured me for fun," he points out, but he's grinning now. "That's pretty evil. I'm dating a villain."

He's still holding your hand, thumb tracing patterns on your skin, and the simple affection of it is so Woonhak it makes you smile.

"Don't do that again though," he says quietly. "My heart rate still hasn't gone back to normal. I think you took years off my life."

"So dramatic," you repeat.

"So mean," he counters, but he's leaning in again anyway, bumping his nose against yours playfully. "You're lucky you're cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"Don't fish for compliments, you already know you are," he mumbles, ears going red again. "Now can we please just kiss like normal people? No more games?"

And when you agree, his relieved sigh is so loud and exaggerated that you can't help but laugh against his lips.

Even as he kisses you again—sweet, enthusiastic and unmistakably Woonhak—he pulls back every few seconds just to check that you're still there, like he doesn't quite trust that you won't disappear again.

"Just making sure," he explains each time, and honestly? It's perfect.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

Jake has been casting away in this small countryside town for a little over a year, been working here for almost 11 months. His life has become pleasantly predictable. In this town, there are all but 3 supermarkets, 2 public schools, and 1 county jail. Cloudy weather and quiet streets are constant. By 9 PM on a Monday, the majority are tucked away at home.

This level of mundane is the type of normal Jake dreamed of when he was with his old coven. When he was still trying to manage the veil of his demons. When his desire felt unquenchable. 

Now, he’s satisfied doing what he does best. What better job for a mind controling vampire than a salesman?

He taps on the wall of pictures before entering his windowless office, watching the rising sun in the reflection of the glass. It was going to be another beautiful day.

Paperwork decorates Jake’s wooden desk. A pen cap in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind his ear. He flips through the pages, crossing out old numeric values and adding new ones. Then, a knock on the door.

“It’s open.” His voice was hoarse from sitting in silence.

A co-worker steps into the office, shutting the door behind himself. “You look busy.” 

“Business is busy.” Jake places the cap on his pen and drops it on his desk. “What brings you to my office, Taesan?” He sits up, putting on a more friendly tone. Jake always prided himself on being a down-to-earth manager. After all, the job wasn’t serious enough for him to want to exert any sort of real discipline. 

The tall man leans against a white wall, sipping leisurely from his cup of lukewarm coffee. “A couple of us are heading out for lunch. Was wondering if you wanted to join?” 

Jake smirks, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

The younger man sighs, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “One of these days you’re gonna get sick of turning us down.”

“One of these days you’re going to learn how to prep a meal in advance.” 

They both turn to face the mini fridge and microwave in the corner of Jake’s office. The microwave was just for show, he never actually uses it. Taesan’s eyes linger on the gold lock on the side of the refrigerator, holding the doors shut.

“A lock’s a bit excessive, no?” The younger one tilts his head, almost teasing.

Jake shrugs, a neutral smile on his face. “I don’t like when people touch my food.”

“Whatever puts your mind at ease.” Taesan reaches for the doorknob. 

Jake can hear Taesan’s judging thoughts, but he’s pleased by the boy’s lack of curiosity. That’s one of the things he loved about being out here: people rarely ask questions.  

He opens the door, suddenly stopping and turning back. “It’s a pretty slow day. Do you want us to leave anyone on the show floor?” Please say no, he thinks.

“It’s fine, I’ll handle it—” What is that smell? Jake freezes entirely, the last syllable still hanging off his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut, lightheaded. 

“You okay, boss?” Taesan bends down, trying to find the man’s line of sight. 

Jake attempts to respond, but all he can manage is a low stutter. His brows knit together, and his palm digs into his forehead in search of relief. What the fuck is happening? He snaps his eyes open, staring ahead until the two blurry Taesans merge into one clear co-worker. 

“Jake? Sir?” Taesan shuts the door, unsure of what to do. “Is everything alright?”

The debilitating smell fades with the door closed. Jake blinks, quickly trying to reorient himself.“Sorry, migraine… I think.”

“Do you need some water or—“

“I’m fine, thanks.” Jake’s voice is stern. “You guys can get out of here, enjoy your lunch break.” He smiles without looking up. 

Taesan looks about the room, visibly concerned. “But-“

“Go.” Jake’s irises flash a deep crimson red. Without hesitation, Taesan robotically turns and grabs the doorknob. His shoulders are high and his eyes unblinking as he does so. He exits, closing the door behind himself, like a mindless puppet. That same scent creeping in for the split second the door was ajar.

Jake hates using his gift of coercion on his co-workers. He finds it awkward, the way their memories blur and gap at the moment of command. It’s a tricky phenomenon to explain. Regardless, Jake needed to be alone immediately.

Wandering toward the office door, Jake whiffs the remnants of the smell. He listens as his co-workers noisily make their way out of the dealership. 

In the months that he’d been here, he’s never found himself particularly triggered by anything. All the blood here was the same because all the people here were the same. Jake’s been around for centuries; he wasn’t chasing excitement anymore.

He stands behind the door, cracking it a sliver open to get one more hint of the odor. Yup.

A cough rips through his throat. He’s not a fledgling; he can handle a little sweetness. This is blood, and syrup, and smoke. It smells like a delicacy he hasn’t tasted in over a hundred years. 

What many failed to realize about his kind is that they aren’t all bound by darkness. Jake is one of the seven known daywalking vampires left in the world. He’s not confined by the sun, sickness, or death itself, so there was no way he could let a smell confine him to his office.

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

The parking lot full of options instantly overwhelms you. There are more cars in and around this dealership than there are people in this damned town. You find yourself window shopping as you journey down the concrete aisle toward the entrance. When you finally make it, you notice a sign on the door: “Out for Lunch”

You have to be joking. There is no way you’re turning around now. If you had to drag yourself outside during your period, you were going to make the trip at least somewhat useful.

“Hello?” You knock on the glass experimentally. In the shadowy distance, you see what looks like a man. Blocking the sun from your eyes, you lean into the glass.

“Excuse me?” You tap the glass again. “Are you open? Seems like you might be the only one not out eating.” You force a laugh, trying to sound friendly.

That’s one of the things you hate about this town, all the fake fucking laughing. Everyone’s always feigning an amicable attitude, forcing smiles and pretending to be polite. Like one big theatrical performance. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way you can get anything done properly around here, so you do it too.

Don’t tap the glass. The thought travels through your mind like a foreign agent. You straighten, taking an involuntary step back. Both hands return to your sides stiffly, and it runs your blood cold. Maybe you don’t need to buy a new car today.

Jake uses your distraction to disappear into his office. He feels weak, like his knees could buckle if he stood there any longer. He shuts the door behind himself, instantly reaching for a bottle of peppermint oil he keeps in his desk drawer. He keeps it on hand to mask the smell of unexpected killings and other everyday odors. 

He can’t believe he smelled you from the parking lot. That is not normal. Sure, vampires can be sensitive, but he’s worked hard to suppress his senses. Jake hates losing control, it makes a dull rage simmer from within his bones. He douces his hands in the fragrant oil and rubs it over his hair, neck, and hands, hoping it’ll mask the scent of the customer, you.

Before he even steps outside his office, he can feel that you’re leaving. It’s like he can hear your footsteps on the pavement. Conflict rushes through him as he steps back onto the showfloor to see that you did indeed turn around. 

You’re really just going to leave? He huffs, frustrated by the questions mixing in his head. The least you can do after nearly giving him a panic attack is buy a car, so he can get the commission. 

You were going to try and catch a bus home. That was the updated plan. Your feet falter as you walk away from the dealership’s shiny windows. Then comes the ring of a wind chime. 

“Can I help you?” The employee shouts from the entrance. His head barely peeks out. 

You pivot to get a better look at him. He looks pale under the cloudy sky. “I’m looking to buy a car. Can you help with that?” 

He doesn’t say anything, he just scrunches his nose and opens the door further. 

You saunter back to the entrance, a strong smell of peppermint filling your nostrils. You stare at the man skeptically as he lends you a similar distrusting gaze. 

“Almost thought you guys were closed.” You watch as the man’s body takes up most of the doorframe.

“We’re not.” 

You nod. Yeah, that much is obvious at this point. “Can I come in?” You point past him to the empty show floor.

Jake isn’t entirely convinced you’re not some evil, vampire-adjacent creature sent to disturb his peace. He can’t bring himself to formally invite you in. “Do what suits you.” He looks you up and down, stepping away as your hand reaches for the door. 

Rude. You catch the door before it can fully close and walk in. It’s spacious, and the cars are all polished enough to see your reflection in the hood. 

Jake lets you wander, grateful for the distance. He mulls over the familiar scent. Being a vampire exempts him from death, but standing in the same room as you feels like he’s suffering in purgatory. Between a memory and the present. Maybe he could just have one little taste—

He loosens his tie with a sigh. Taesan needs to hurry up.

The employee of the month wall catches your attention. An eerie feeling lingers as the worker’s photographed eyes follow you around the room. You swipe a finger across the hood of a Chevrolet. “Today must be my lucky day.” You try to cut the tension.

The employee hums, jaw tense. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re the guy in the pictures, aren’t you?” You point to the wall of accolades. “I don’t have much of a knack for cars, and apparently, you’re really good at your job.” You force another smile that goes unreciprocated.

He says nothing, his eyes narrow and blank.

“I’m looking for a mid-size Sedan.” You continue.

“Budget?” His voice is dry.

“It’s flexible, my job sponsors it.” You pause. “I don’t want anything fancy, though. Just something to get me around.”

From a fair distance, he points to a car a few paces to the right. “Consider the Accord.”

You walk to the vehicle, circling it like a vulture. After a moment, your eyes land back on him expectantly. “Is that all you’re going to say about the car? That doesn’t seem very employee-of-the-month of you.”

Jake blinks, caught off guard. “You said you don’t know about cars…”

“I still wanna know how it handles, I have to drive it after all.”

“The Honda Accord is top of its class. It’s practical and efficient. Very user-friendly, no one’s ever disappointed by it.” Jake grows lightheaded as he explains, the words jumbling out of his mouth oddly fast.

You sigh, a bit unimpressed. The weight of the decision feels too big for his practiced blurb.

“You’re welcome to take it for a test drive,” Jake says from a measurable distance. 

“That’d be great, actually. Can we go now?” You turn to face him, beaming as if he read your mind. Unknowingly, he might’ve.

He takes a step forward, but the aroma proves to be too much. He is not going to be able to survive being in a car with you. He adjusts his tie, stepping back. “The rest of our staff should be returning soon. One of them is sure to help you.”

“Oh.” You linger awkwardly in the quiet room.

“Feel free to look around for now.” Jake smiles tensely before excusing himself to his office.

Once he’s in the office, he slides down the closed door, burying his head between his knees. Sweat collects on his forehead as he pants like a dog. His gums swell from the instinctual sharpening of his fangs. Your smell has drained his stomach of any satisfaction. He tilts his head back, eyebrows strained in pain. He needs to eat something.

He stands on shaky legs and makes his way to the minifridge, drawing keys from his pocket. He twists open the golden lock from earlier. Inside the fridge lie stacks of pint-sized blood bags. Jake reaches for one, smells it, then puts it back. Too bitter.

He reaches for another. This one has a smell almost sweet enough to rival yours, but it’s sour. He sighs, this’ll have to do. Usually, he’d drink from the tube, but the urge to bite takes over. He pierces the bag with his fangs, slumping against the wall as he does so. The haze in his brain starts to clear. 

Jake isn’t a non-violent vampire, but he’s definitely pro-convenience. Blood bags are portable, and you don’t have to worry about any cleanup. Regardless, Jake knows what he is, and he knows death is a part of the deal. When his hunger calls for it, he shuts his brain off and keeps his eyes low. 

Right now, he can’t do that because he’s at work and you’re a customer and he still has too many fucking thoughts swirling in his head. Why is your smell so… distracting?

When the bag is empty, he licks at it, determined to get every last drop. With the aroma in the air, it almost feels like he’s tasting you instead of an anonymous hospital visitor. This’ll have to do, he repeats to himself.

On the other side of the wall, you busy yourself with your phone as you try to ignore your cramps. You’ve recently picked up Pokémon Go again because there’s nothing else to do in this dead-end area. There’s a Gulpin a few blocks away, but you already have a couple of those. All that’s left is to stare into the parking lot and wait.

Behind you, a door clicks. The employee of the month is back. 

“Are you from around here?” Jake clears his throat. He’s planted a yard or two away from you. 

“Um, no.” You stuff your phone into your bag. “I’m not.” When you face him, he seems less pale than before. 

Jake hums, looking off into space. “Didn’t think so.”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m also from out of town.” That’s all he says. 

You nod, you suppose an outsider would recognize a fellow outsider. You tilt your head at him, suddenly paying more attention. He has a handsome face. “There aren’t too many of us around here. Your name’s Jake, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“The wall.” You point. There's a plaque with his name on it under every photo. You’d be an idiot not to catch on.

“Right.” He mumbles. 

A moment of silence passes. 

“Are you sure you can’t take me on that drive yourself? Today’s my day off, and I’d kind of prefer not to spend it wasting away at a car dealership.”

Jake laughs, like a real laugh. You didn’t realize you said anything funny. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Even on a full stomach, he has to practically cement himself to the floor to be around you. 

“Well, is there somewhere I can sit, maybe?” You shift in place, awkwardly.

“Uh,“ Jake starts, but is quickly cut off by the sound of a wind chime.

Taesan and a gang of others pile in. Your eyes follow the noise.

“I’m just saying, if you want a family, a sports car is useless. And I, for one, want a family someday.” A mild-mannered employee carries on calmly.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sungho. A car like that is supposed to be for the driver. I can’t spend the rest of my life in a minivan.” A tall gentleman adds.

“Guys,” they all look up at the sound of Jake’s voice. It’s quiet, but sharp. “We have a customer.”

Taesan raises a brow as Jake adjusts his tie for the umteenth time. The group of men all turn to face you at the same time, like a school of fish. 

“She’s interested in the Accord. Can one of you take her on a test drive? I have a few things to take care of.” Things being: getting as far away from you as possible and planning his next meal. He thinks he’ll hunt by a bar, he needs to feel drunk tonight.

Taesan steps forward, meeting your eye with a delicate smile. “Hi, sorry for the wait. I can help you with that test drive if you’re still interested.”

You soften, thankful for the warmth in his tone. He seems more like an employee of the month than Jake. “That’d be great, thank you.” 

“Leehan, grab the keys for spot 33.” Taesan turns to the tall man infatuated by luxury cars. “I’m Taesan by the way,” He faces you with an outstretched hand.

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

Late that night, Jake drives to his home near the edge of town. The blood of a drunken bastard drips from the corner of his mouth, giving him a nice buzz. When it’s dark like this, he rarely cares to clean himself. Who would he be doing it for? It’s past 10 pm, everyone’s already tucked in bed.

As he rolls down the desolate road, street lamps flickering occasionally, he gets hit by that scent again. His foot switches to the brake immediately, like there’s a deer in the lane. What— Why is this happening? He glances around, chest heaving.

This neighborhood is empty, that’s why he picked it. There are 4 scattered families, 2 empty houses, and a park down the road. He watches as a car drives past him in the opposite direction, the smell lingering after the taillights are no longer visible.

His head spins, and his fangs throb uncontrollably. He licks at the blood drying on his bottom lip, then turns into his driveway with a hand over his nose. He needs to get inside now.

As he exits his car, using his hand as a mask, he notices a house across the street with all of its lights on. Every window is flooding that ugly fluorescent color. He tsks, reaching for his house keys. Humans are so wasteful. 

He glares at the house one last time while he opens the front door. There aren’t any curtains, so he can see straight inside. He blinks as a figure walks past a window wearing something familiar. For the first time in at least 50 years, Jake feels his heart sink. He didn’t even know that could still happen.

Across the street, protected by glass and cheap drywall, stands you holding a large brown box with the word ‘kitchen’ written on it. You shiver, nearly dropping the box. Someone’s watching you.

He slams the door shut as you turn toward him. This was supposed to be his safe space. Somewhere, he could act normal. Somewhere, he could forget about everything. Dizziness surrounds him. He can’t go on like this. It’s decided: he needs to drain you.

He went to his blacked-out bedroom in the windowless basement of his house. With gray walls and minimal decoration, there was only a lamp to help him move around. Still, the room felt overstimulating, knowing you were next door.

The thing about Jake is that he rarely gets tired. He can be quite lethargic at times, but he wouldn’t quite categorize it as exhaustion. Most of the daywalkers he knows can go without rest for days. At his old coven, they all view sleep as more of a hobby than a necessity. 

For the following days, Jake watched you restlessly from his living room window, his hunger growing otherworldly—the sound of your heartbeat drums in his ears from yards away. When you take out the trash, he can feel the blood rushing through your veins. Your heart rate is so much faster than everyone else out here, it’s like you’re teasing him. 

Still, you’re his neighbor. And if the brand new Accord in your driveway is any proof, you’re also a customer. Jake knows he can’t just kill someone so closely tied to his livelihood. He’s not that reckless. It would require finesse. 

On the fourth night, Jake lies in his bed staring at the ceiling. Three oil diffusers work simultaneously in the darkness. They were more effective at giving him a headache than masking your scent. He’s thinking about why the smell feels so familiar when suddenly, it fades, present, but not strong.

He finds himself sitting up in bed, startled by the absence. It feels like someone pulled a blanket off of his shivering body, and the memory foam of his mattress grew stiff. Maybe something’s wrong with your blood pressure?

Withdrawal makes him grow uneasy, so he rests his eyes, but all that awaits him are nightmares.

Like clockwork, every hour, he wakes up trembling in fear. The recurring images of a house engulfed in flames and bloodied sidewalks. It’s his first time dreaming since he got here. He finds himself rummaging for a pack of cigerettes to ease his mind.

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

You wake up the next day feeling refreshed. Your period finally came to an end last night, a truly pleasant start to the weekend. Maybe life isn’t actually as miserable as it felt last week.

The day starts with unpacking and decorating. You’ve been working so much, you haven’t had time to finish customizing the space. Nor have you had a chance to grow accustomed to how dreadfully quiet this neighborhood is. There aren’t even any birds to chirp. 

You fill the house with music as you organize knick-knacks, books, and stationery supplies. Luckily, the majority of your furniture is already in place. That’s one of the perks of working for a furniture company. All that’s left are the finishing touches. 

Having curtains up, so you spend the morning in a sports bra and sweat pants. You’re rearranging the giant rug in your living room for the fifth time when you hear your doorbell ring. You freeze, dropping the rug.

Shit. Where is—You reach for the hoodie you abandoned on your couch earlier, toss it on, and pause the music. You move so fast, you feel winded.

Putting on your friendliest face, you answer the door. “Hel-“ The syllabals die in your throat when you see who it is. Employee of the month guy? You blink. “Oh… Hi.”

Jake stands before you with a circular dish in his hands and a surprisingly warm smile. His hair blows in the wind, leaving a few strands out of place, and his eyes are a bit tired. “Good morning.” 

“You- um, yes. Good morning.” You stammer out, internally face-palming yourself. “What are you doing here?”

“I actually live across the street.” Jake shifts in place awkwardly. He sounds warm and polite, a lot more so than when you first met him. 

Your eyes double in size. “Really?”

“Really.” He lets out a small laugh. “I saw that a new neighbor moved in, so I thought I’d stop by and give a proper welcome.” He playfully shakes the dish that lies atop his right palm.

You buffer as you speak to the unexpected visitor. If he can tell, he doesn’t say anything. “That’s kind of you.”

“So you went with my recommendation?” He gestures to one of the two cars in your large driveway. 

You laugh to yourself, head falling a little. “It is top of its class.” You mimic his words from a few days ago. 

A slow smile creeps onto your neighbor's face, and he looks away bashfully. “Funny.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms lazily wrapped around your torso just to give your hands something to do. A breeze sends a few dead leaves flying through your lawn and into Jake’s hair. Without thinking, you reach for the decaying plant and remove it. 

When you meet eyes again, Jake suddenly seems much more alert. Startled even, he shivers. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Just wanted to swing by and extend a quick welcome to the neighborhood.”

You straighten, realizing how poor a host you’ve been. “Can I get you something to drink? I can’t believe I have you standing out in the cold.” 

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother—“

“Not at all! I’ll make some tea, and we can open up whatever this is.” You smile, stepping further into your house, opening the door for him.

Jake stands rooted at your front stoop, observing your home from the outside. This is his least favorite part about being a vampire. 

“Are you coming?” You quirk a brow, unsure about his sudden hesitancy. 

“Depends. Is that an invitation?”

“Yes…” You snort, walking further into the space. Weird. 

“Just making sure,” he smiles, finally stepping inside. He slowly follows you to the kitchen, whistling a tune to himself. 

You pull out an electric kettle and some coffee mugs. The kind with quippy comments on them, like ‘hot stuff’ and ‘might be beer’. Dishes are yet to be fully unpacked, so these two will have to do. You keep the ‘hot stuff’ one for yourself and set ‘might be beer’ to the side for him. Hopefully, he has a sense of humor.

Jake watches you maneuver about the kitchen, trying to remember how you arranged things. Your heart rate has been all over the place since you opened the door. Fast, slow, over and over again. Now it’s slow again. It makes you fun to listen to.

Your scent is stronger up close, but not nearly as offensive as when he first met you. The one time he found himself truly struggling was when your wrist slid past his nose to take something out of his hair. The action alone was jarring for him, very… overly familiar. He tried to tap into your mind at that moment, but it was like he hit a brick wall. He can’t read you at all. 

“What do you like in your tea? Honey? Sugar?” You turn to him from your spot, crouched in front of a cabinet.

“Honey is fine.” Jake smiles. He isn’t actually going to drink the tea. He’s only requesting it to seem normal.

You hum, retrieving a golden bottle from a low shelf. 

“So, what brings you here?” Jake’s eyes scan the space intently. “To Riverfeild, I mean.”

“Work.” You say, knees cracking as you stand. A sharp ding blares through the kitchen, signaling that the kettle is ready. You fill each of the mugs with honey, hot water, and a tea bag.“Careful, it’s hot,” as you slide the mug to him at your small dining table.

He hums, briefly looking to the mug, then back to you. “What do you do?”

“I’m a relocation manager for a furniture company, so when a store’s failing, they send me.” You raise your mug, blowing on the steamy liquid. “I guess this town isn’t crazy over new couches.”

“They’re not too crazy about new cars either, so don’t take it personally.” It’s phrased like a joke, but his voice comes out flat.

“That explains why we live in the same neighborhood.” You take a sip of the tea, instantly burning your tongue. With a pain-stricken face, you rest your mug on the counter. 

He bows his head, hiding his amusement. Even with the mug labeled ‘hot stuff,’ you weren’t very cautious. You only gave it one measly blow. 

“So, what’s in the pan?” You perk up, trying to regain his attention. 

Jake looks to you, traces of a smile still on his face. He peels back the foil, revealing a cherry pie. It’s a little crispy around the edges, but perfectly golden in the center. “Not much of a baker.” 

Biting your lip, you lean back against the counter. A pie? That’s actually pretty cute. 

You’re not super into cherries, but you’re also not the type to turn down a kind gesture. You turn to fetch two plates from a cabinet.

“I don’t want any. It’s my gift to you.” He insists, watching as you put the extra plate away with a minor pout and move to grab a knife. You sit at the small dining table in front of him, glancing up at him from time to time, your heart rate steadying out to a subtle thump.

“So how’ve you been finding the neighborhood?” His hands tuck into his pockets. 

“Everything's fine so far.” You shrug, cutting a slice. The red goo from the cherries oozes out as you lift it onto your plate. Instinctually, you lick at the bit that gets on your thumb. “I’m not used to the quiet yet, though.”

He hums, nodding blankly. He stopped listening the moment you cut the pie. 

Jake’s offered cherry pie to dozens of mortals. He likes how it resembles blood. They always look like half-starved fledglings by the end of their slice—the thick red syrup on the edge of their lips, like you have right now. 

It looks good on you. He hums again, licking his lips. 

“Is it always this dead?” You look up at him, snapping him from his daze.

He furrows his brows. “What?”

“The area. Is it always this… boring?” You lick the syrup around your mouth.

His adam's apple bobs noticeably. “You could say that.”

“Well, if you’re sick of being bored, I’m having a small housewarming tonight. It’ll just be me and a few co-workers, but you’re free to join.” It's a spur-of-the-moment gesture, really.

“Don’t know a lot of people yet?” 

You shake your head, continuing to eat. 

That’s good. For him at least. It’ll make it easier when he decides to go through with things. 

“I’ll see if I can stop by.” He pretends to drink his tea, letting the steam touch his lips. 

Grasping your mug, you tilt your head at him. Something about him itches a scratch deep in the depths of your memory. “I’m having the weirdest deja vu right now. Is there any chance you used to live in East Geles or Khisstin?” You list city names with uncertainty.

He shakes his head. “Never been.”

Your ringtone rips you from your thoughts. You fetch the phone from your pocket and cringe, “One sec, it’s my boss.” You stand, chair scraping the floorboards. Clicking the accept button, you exit the kitchen. “Hi, Benson?”

While you're gone, he pours half of his cup of tea down the drain of the kitchen sink. He looks at the mess on your plate, realizing he can’t remember what cherries taste like. He dips the tip of his pinky finger into the scarlet mush and brings it to his lips, immediately recoiling with disgust. It was foolish for him to expect anything else.

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

When Jake returns to his house, he’s immediately hit by a familiar presence, taking the pep out of his step. Which sucks because talking to you was actually kind of nice.

Suprise. 

Jake rolls his eyes; he knows that voice, that familiar calling from inside his head. He turns to see Jungwon sitting in the driver’s seat of Jake’s parked car, reading a book. Jungwon looks to him with a smirk. 

Jake sighs. “Can’t you at least try to act normal?”

“I didn’t want to wait in the cold.” Jungwon opens the car door and steps onto the concrete driveway. He creases the page he was reading and closes the book.

“That’s trespassing.” Jake walks to his front door, retrieving the keys from his pocket. “You could get arrested for shit like that.”

He tsks, following closely. “Arrested?” He looks at Jake, amusedly observing him from head to toe. “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” Jungwon gives him a hearty pat on the back. 

“It gets duller every day.” Jake smiles at the familiar face. “It’s good to see you.” He pushes the front door open.

“Likewise.” Jungwon softens. “May I?”

“Of course.” They enter the quiet house and stand side by side in the living room, looking out the window. 

“I’m glad I finally get to see where you ran off to.” Jungwon folds his arms, fixated on the empty street. “So this is Riverfeild, huh?” 

“In all its glory.” Jake’s hands find his pockets. 

Jungwon is Jake’s old coven leader, the oldest among the daywalkers. He was turned young, wandering around aimlessly, before Jake was even born. His powers are the strongest, and his mind is the most perceptive. Even with the members scattered around the world, he can reach them telepathically, like emailing their minds. Jake doesn’t even know how to do that. 

“You’re having nightmares again.” Jungwon doesn’t ask, he tells. 

Jake stiffens. Of course, that’s why he’s here. “I’m not a kid. You didn’t have to come check on me.”

“What’re they about?” He asks with hesitancy. When Jake doesn’t respond, he hums skeptically. “I think I’ll stick around for a few days.”

“Are you babysitting me?” Jake looks to his friend with a raised brow.

He laughs. “No, I’m looking out for my knucklehead coven brother. You’re the only one who doesn’t keep in contact, you know?” 

“I was going to reach out after I got settled—“

“Sure you were.” Jungwon rolls his eyes, pushing Jake’s shoulder. “Besides, I heard something about a party tonight.” He smirks cheekily.

“You were eavesdropping?” Jake fixes him with a look.

“I wasn’t not eavesdropping.” His smirk deepens.

“You know, with great power comes great responsibility. I was having a private moment.” Jake stresses, drawing a hand to his face. He has to learn how to block that idiot out of his mind.

“I’m a vampire, not Spiderman.” Jungwon snorts, walking further into the house, blatantly unbothered. “Besides, she’s cute.”

“How do you know that?” Jake calls after his friend, mildly alarmed.

Jungwon smiles, letting his friend worry in silence. Jake's always been on the slower side when it comes to insight; that’s why he’s so easy to read. He’s too busy crunching numbers and assigning reason to notice little things like a benign crush. Jungwon had a hunch because of the nightmares, but it became crystal clear upon his arrival. Jake’s obliviousness would be amusing if it weren’t so unpredictable.

Looking back from his place down the hall, Jungwon breaks the silence. “I could feel your reaction to her, Jake.”

࿇ ࿇ ࿇ 

As cars piled into your driveway and eventually your front lawn, Jake felt his desire to go out diminish, but Jungwon was annoyingly determined. They sit on Jake’s couch watching as yet another guest arrives at what was supposed to be an intimate get-together. 

“Don’t be lame, I want to see how Riverfeild lets loose.” Jungwon whines, enthusiasm oozing from every word. He already has his jacket on, ready to walk across the street at any moment.

“She’s not even from here. She just moved in like a week ago.” Jake huffs, unmoving.

“Well, everyone else is, right?”

Jake doesn’t say anything. His eyebrows draw together with annoyance.

“Exactly,” Jungwon says triumphantly. His voice drops as he goes on. “Think about it, one of them might get so drunk they forget where they parked. Could make it real easy to—” 

Jake tuts.“I don’t hunt in the neighborhood.”

Jungwon stands, adjusting his clothes. “Good thing I’m not you.” He makes his way to the door. “I’m bored and I’m tired of asking. Are you coming or not?”

That’s how Jake ended up at your doorstep, ringing the bell begrudingly. He could barely smell you with all the people here stinking up his nostrils. That is, until you open the door. 

“Employee of the month,” you look at him with a confident smile and a drink in your hand. “And friend.” You nod, turning to the other man whose dimples are on full display. 

“Jungwon,” he clarifies, reaching past Jake to shake your hand.

“Nice to meet you.” A tingling sensation travels through your entire body as your hands meet. You blink. Simple as that, your mind goes completely blank. 

“You’re not gonna leave us out here in the cold, are you?” Jungwon laughs smuggly.

“Right, come in!” You urge them in enthusiastically, grabbing Jake’s shoulder. “Drinks are in the kitchen alongside some chips and salsa. But no double-dipping.” You warn, looking directly at Jake as you close the door.

He laughs, confused. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Just making sure.” You speak like you know him more than you do. 

“I’m not a double dipper.” Jake defends before realizing he doesn’t even eat human food; therefore, he has no reason to actually feel offended. 

“That sounds awfully similar to something a double dipper would say.”

Jungwon cuts in, smugly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

You smile, patting Jungwon’s shoulder affectionately before wandering into the sea of people with a distinct end destination in mind: on the couch right next to—

Jake’s mouth falls open as you plop down unsettlingly close to his coworker, Taesan. Tall and handsome, Taesan, whose hand very naturally makes its way onto your thigh. He leans in to say something, and you laugh loud enough to be heard over the music. For the second time since you’ve moved in, Jake’s heart sinks.

“That explains it,” Jungwon whispers amusedly to Jake. 

“Explains what?” Jake says without looking away. 

“She smelled a little…” He purses his lips, looking for the appropriate word.

“Sweet?” Jake answers thoughtlessly.

Jungwon laughs. “I was going to say excited.” With dull curiosity, his focus shifts to Jake. “Thought it was one of us. Do you know him?” 

“We work together.” Jake’s voice a mere whisper.

“I guess the living belong with the living.” Jungwon pats Jake’s shoulder sympathetically, then moves toward the kitchen.

Yeah fucking right. Jake is not about to get outdone by his fresh-out-of-college, barely-knows-how-to-tie-his-shoes ass coworker. It was bad enough that Taesan is 110% planning to steal his employee of the month title, the idea of him having you is easily enough to ruin his night. 

And it does.

While Jungwon is chatting up a storm to anyone with half a pulse, Jake has become one with the wall in your living room, watching your every move. He still can’t seem to tap into your head. Every time he tries to read you, it’s fuzzy at best. Regardless, Taesan’s thoughts were disturbingly clear. 

It was worse than wanting to fuck you; Taesan wants to date you. For some reason, that particularly made Jake feel sick. He was so immersed in your conversation that he didn’t notice Jungwon stepping in front of him. 

“Relax.” Jungwon snaps a finger in Jake’s face.

Jake shakes his head, blinking back into reality. 

“Your eyes were changing color,” Jungwon warns. 

Whenever their kind gets too worked up, their eyes shift to a bold crimson, sending a final threat to unassuming prey. Jake looks away, trying to regain normalcy. “Didn’t realize.”

“Are you gonna talk to her?” Jungwon says cheekily.

Jake scoffs, stretching his hands over his head. “Don’t want to.”

“Then stop looking at her.” Won chides.

Jake smirks, caught red-handed, “Fine.” His hands settle back at his sides as he turns to his friend.

“Some people were talking about heading to a bar for some karaoke. I might join them and grab a bite.”

“Have fun.” Jake slumps against the wall. 

Instantly surprised, “You're not interested?” 

Jake fakes a yawn, “Tired.” 

“Riverfield’s made you really boring.” Jungwon drags out the ‘e’ in really. “The Jake I know would’ve been on his third kill by now.” 

“People change.” Jake shrugs. “Besides, I’m not bored.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” At that, he turns and walks away, joining a loud group of bodies near the front door. 

As Jake watches his friend blend into the background, he begins to consider whether he has inherently become boring by living here. Maybe not feeling boredom is a bad sign. Gradually, he focuses back on the party and you sitting on the— Where did you go?

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

You lean back on your palms with your feet dangling off the edge of your tall mattress. Cool night air filters through an open bedroom window. In front of you, at your vanity, stands Taesan wearing a cheeky smile that twists something deep in your gut. 

In his tall glory, he smiles down at a photo on the mirror that you promised to show him earlier. It’s a print of you and your first car, the same hunk of junk that sits in your driveway next to the Accord. 

He sports a sweater and jeans. You’ve hung out a few times since he took you on a test drive, but this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of his usual work attire. There’s something refreshing about seeing him in your bedroom now, shedding a layer of formality. 

He hums. “It’s a nice car, I’m surprised you’re having a hard time selling it.” 

“Don’t be fooled, that picture is super outdated.” The photo shows you as a teen in an unflattering pair of overalls and a vibrant smile next to a black jeep.

“What did you call it again?” Taesan looks to you over his shoulder.

You smirk, still twiddling your feet. “His name is Michaelangelo.”

“That’s definitely… a choice.” He laughs, fully facing you. “Like the painter?”

“Or the ninja turtle.” You shrug.

He laughs even louder, walking closer so you have to look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“You don’t see the orange stripe on the side?”

Shoulders shaking with amusement, he stands between your legs at the edge of the bed. When you look up at him again, his eyes are different, softer. He looks at you like you’ll fly away, and it makes your mouth run dry. 

Grabbing his wrist, you tug gently, urging him to sit beside you. “My neck’s gonna break in half if I keep looking up at you like that.” You huff, a little breathlessly, suddenly feeling like you had half a glass too much. 

“Am I too tall for you?” He jokes, sinking into the mattress beside you.

You hum thoughtfully. “I’d have to spend a little more time with you to figure that out.”

“That sucks because I’m actually a super busy guy.” He teases. 

A giggle slips out of you. “Oh, really?”

He smiles at you, not caring enough to answer the question. Mellow blush on the tips of his ears makes an appearance as he leans a little closer. “I’m really glad I came tonight.”

“Me too.” All the base in your voice is gone as you notice him notice your lips. 

It’s going to happen, you think, and he does too. After years of moving around for work, you’re finally going to taste what it feels like to settle down with a good guy. Second by second, the space between you two shrinks. Then, there is none.

He kisses you. With lips as soft as they look, he brings a hand to cradle your cheek. His palm is warm, but his fingertips are cool from the breeze. You find yourself scootching closer to him on the bed. The fringe of his hair tickles your face as the kiss deepens and his free hand inches up your thigh, just resting there, radiating heat.

You part, both breathing a little heavier. Your eyes shyly land on your lap. Each of his hands returns to his sides, leaving you vulnerable to the evening chill. When you look back up, his eyes are different.

He stares through you. Like he’s dissociating. The blankness of his expression drains the life from your face. 

Was it a bad kiss? You discreetly check your breath.

“I have to go now.” His voice sounded colder than the wind. 

“Oh,” You blink. “Are you sure? I was thinking we could—“

“No, I should leave.” He stands so quickly it throws you off balance.

“Well, let me walk you to the door—“

“No!” He says firmly, facing the door. “Just… stay here.” He says, looking away from you with tense shoulders like you disgust him.

You shrink into yourself from your position on the bed. “Oh,” is all you can say. With that, he leaves, shutting the bedroom door loudly behind himself, making you flinch. Straight away, your eyes start to burn. The distant party music feels more depressing with the room empty. 

When Taesan exits the room, his knees go weak, and his head is dizzy. A hand clutches the wall as he tries to gather his bearings. The pounding in his head nears unbearable, and his memory feels like it’s been snatched from his grasp—how did he get out here again?

“Sleep,” is the last thing he hears as he loses consciousness, dropping with a thud.

Jake blinks from above Taesan’s body, eyes shifting back into a neutral brown. He looks around the empty hallway, then at his coworker’s limpness. His once pronounced anger settles into numbness as he realizes he might’ve gone too far. Sighing, he lifts Taesan off the ground and towards the door. He mumbles needless lies about him “needing to handle his alcohol better.” 

He takes him out to the front stoop and leans his body against the railing of the shallow staircase. Remorse runs through his brain as he looks at the whites of Taesan’s eyes below half-closed lids. His conscience forces him to call a cab for the guy.

After successfully packing Taesan into the backseat of a cab, the plan was to go home, but somehow he had misplaced his keys. The moment he rings the bell, a drunk guy urges him inside and away from the cold. Jake retraces his steps until he sees the famous coffin keychain on the floor outside your room. 

He tries to ignore your rapid, stuttering heartbeat from the other side of the door. Curiosity gets the better of him. He snatches up his keys and leans against the wall, silently hoping you’re not crying, but he can hear you sniffle. 

It’s not like he killed Taesan, he just… sent him home. Surely that isn’t so bad. Something primal wouldn’t let him listen to your heart race for his coworker. And to hear his thoughts was a cruel torture, salting the wound. 

He could smell the bloomings of something serious. The happy, normal life he craved. Yeah, fuck that. All of it made him sick with envy. The thought is enough to turn his eyes a fiery hue.

Then, you open your bedroom door. 

You look a lot calmer than he was expecting, makeup intact and face uncommitted to any emotion.His eyes dip back to dark brown as he tampers with his keys.

Gaze glued to his side profile, you speak. “Can I help you?”

He’s quiet, keys flipping endlessly in his palm.

“The party’s that way.” You point to the living room down the hall.

Jake nods, unable to look you in the eye. “I’m not looking for it.”

“What are you looking for, because the bathroom’s not here either.” Your tone is harsh. 

“My keys,” he jingles the set. “And some quiet.” 

You exhale heavily, standing next to him on the wall. Leaning your head back, you look off into space. The music booms, but it’s being choked by chatter. It all just sounds like mush at this point. Close and distant at the same time. 

“Do you like this neighborhood, Jake?” Your voice feels foreign in your mouth. 

“There’s better ones in town.” Apathy laces his tone. “What do you think?” He looks to you.

“Minus the quiet, it’s fine.” Emotion starts to crawl back up your throat. “I was planning to be here for a while.”

“Was?” 

You nod in response, and Jake hums, something shifting inside of him.

“If you want to leave, you should leave.” He scans your face. A sliver of him wants you gone. That way, he’ll forget, Taesan will forget, and everything will be normal again. 

“I didn’t say that.” You face him with a serious look. For a beat, it feels like you’re looking at an old friend. His gaze is so familiar that you almost want to reach out and touch him. It makes your eyes burn, so you look away, clearing your throat. “I just have no reason to stay. That’s all.”

Jake, suddenly overwhelmed by a similar onslaught of emotions, looks to his shoes. He bites his lip. It feels like the conversation is dead and buried, but a final sentence leaks from his lips as if against his control: “Do you want one?”

As simple as it is, the comment sends a flock of butterflies to your stomach. You smile, not saying a word.

Jake didn’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking; the gloss of your eyes is enough, and with that, the guilt starts to sink in. 

“I’m gonna get a drink.” You gesture toward the kitchen down the hall. “You can join me if you want.” Delivering the last part as nonchalantly as possible, you start walking.

He pauses, “I don’t drink.” 

“Didn’t ask if you did.” You shrug, heading off.

For a while, he lets you go, then his feet start moving. At that moment, he decides to keep you company for the night, giving you a reason, even if it’s only for a little while. He follows you around your house for about an hour while you sip Pinot Grigio and spark up small talk with guests. Based on his observations, you don’t know half of the people there, and you work with annoying ass town charmer Benson, who’s a nasty drunk. One by one, people trickle out of the house. The last person leaves at 11:54 p.m. It’s still pretty early. 

After another glass, you’re sharing stories on the couch. And another after that, you’re asking and convincing him to go on a walk. 

As expected, the sidewalks are empty, and the lamposts continue to flicker. The air is cool, but the wind isn’t overbearing. Dead leaves crunch relentlessly under the heels of your feet. “Did you have fun tonight?” You swirl the wine in your plastic cup absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I had a good time.” He isn’t sure if he’d categorize it as fun. 

“Good,” You hum.

His eyes linger on you. “Did you have fun?”

Your feet come to a stop, thinking. It’s easier to ignore the question altogether. Focusing on your house from down the block, an idea pops into your head. “Jake?”

He makes a curious sound.

“Do you want to race?”

His movement halts as he quirks a brow, “With a drink in your hand?”

You chug the remainder. “What drink?”

He bites his lip, sizing you up as you stretch. “This is cute, but you’re drunk.”

“Barely,” You protest in a brattier voice than you’d like.

“The sidewalk’s uneven. Let’s not—“

“Last one back is a rotten egg!” You shout, bolting off. 

It's easy to think less when you’re entire drunken being is concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. You’re sick of thinking. Wanting is exhausting. It’s all meaningless old news. Aside from your first glass of wine, the wind is the most refreshing thing you’ve tasted— correction: it’s better than wine. 

You're halfway back to your front porch.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Time to slow down.” Jake calls behind you.

You giggle, closing your eyes in bliss. “Or you could speed up.” 

As you approach the edge of your front lawn, an elevated block of pavement catches against your toe. Eyes shooting open in panic, you hit the ground hard. Your dress does little to protect you as your knee scrapes the ground, tainting the concrete with red. 

Jake’s mid sigh when he hears you groan. At first, a look of concern overtakes him, then the smell hits, rendering him motionless.

Blood runs down your shin as you swear to yourself. In disbelief, you bring a finger to the wound—the touch stings. The skin of your knee is busted like you’re a kid again, but it hurts worse than you remember.

You’re talking to him. Jake knows that. He just can’t hear what you’re saying. Your lips move lazily like the blood against your knee, and Jake’s fangs begin to throb harder than before. His head is pounding, and slowly the double vision kicks in. He braces his hands on his knees and shuts his eyes before you can see them change. 

You call his name, beginning to stand. Tiny scratches litter across your body, and you wince. “A little help, please?” You turn to Jake, who's bent over panting. A lamppost highlights the gleam of sweat on his forehead. “I wasn’t going that fast, was I?”

His brows furrow in pain.

“Jake—“ 

Like a crack in a dam, his self-control breaks. He rushes to you at an inhumane speed, grabs you, and zips you to his house. It’s all done before you can even finish your question. 

Once you’re in his guest bedroom, peering up to him with cloudy eyes of confusion, he takes a second to look at you. The hem of your dress is covered in blood, and your chest is heaving like you can’t catch enough air. The adrenaline seems to be too much for you.

He kneels on the floor, so he’s eye level with your body on the bed. Fixated on your knee, he leans in, inhaling deeply. He groans, face palming into the bed. 

You stutter out syllables like a broken record.

Jake mumbles pleas into the mattress, trying to restrain himself. “Can I have you?” He looks at you in the dark room with eyes red as blood. His fangs are fully expanded behind his lips, and his fingertips twitch as he fights to keep his claws at bay. He babbles mindlessly, senses going into overdrive. “I need you- this. I need—“

“Okay.” The word quiet against your lips.

Freezing, he can’t tell whether you agreed for his sake or your own, but he permits himself anyway. He licks the blood drying on your calf and up the length of your leg like a man starved. It sends a shiver down his spine. He finally knows why he can’t get enough of you.

He suckles at your wound, tongue scraping over little bits of gravel and debris carelessly. His body feels like it’s on fire. This must be what cherries taste like, he thinks. 

His tongue presses firmly on the wound, and it hurts. “Wait, what are you—“

“Sleep.” At the sound of his command, your head hits the pillow. Climbing on the bed, he settles between your legs and lifts your dress until it nears your hips. He can smell what Jungwon was talking about earlier, and it drives him dizzy. He wants you to want him. 

Still, his focus remains on the artery pulsing through your upper thigh. The blood flow is loud like a ringing in his ears. He grazes his fangs against your skin, his eyes closed shut. His brain won’t turn off. How can he kill when he can’t stop thinking? Every thought deepens the hesitation, until finally he sighs. 

He lies there trying to will himself to bite, but your taste reminds him of nightmares. It’s like he can smell the smoke when his fangs touch your skin. He can’t do it. Overcome with frustration, he extends the claw on his pointer finger and digs it into your skin. He slices a thin line on your inner thigh, running his tongue along it as blood seeps out.

With his head on your thigh, he leisurely cleans every drop with his mouth. He could’ve fallen asleep if it wasn’t for a knock at his front door. 

His eyes flutter open, unveiling the infamous red once again. Closing the door behind himself, he travels to the main entrance in a daze, face covered in crimson. 

“Let me in.” Jungwon’s voice deepens from the other side of the door.  

Jake flinches, opening it. “Fine, come in—“

Immediately, Jake is hit by a firm shoulder as a different coven brother shoves past him: Heeseung, his least favorite. They had a falling out over a kill and hadn’t spoken for years.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jake gawks.

Heeseung scoffs. “Says the one with blood all on his face.”

“Were you crying?” Jungwon reaches a hand toward Jake’s face, but it’s swatted away.

Jake didn’t realize it earlier, but he was indeed crying. Tears had started running down his face the moment he tasted you. “Answer my question.” Jake glares at the leader. 

“He wanted to get out, so he spent the night with me.” Jungwon sighs, stepping into the house and closing the door. “You look awful.”

Heeseung spent most of his time away from people. He lived a quiet life in a rural mountaintop, killing farmers and seducing milk maids. He was never too fond of the modern world. 

“What’s with the smell?” Heeseung asks from down the hall, creeping dangerously close to the guest bedroom.

“Stop sticking your nose around my house.” Jake’s voice is like gravel. 

“I could smell it from outside. Might as well tell us—”

“He’s feeding. Don’t ask useless questions.” Jungwon slides off his shoes and jacket, then walks to the couch. He plops down, tired. “Is it the girl?”

“What girl?” Jake feigns innocence.

Jungwon looks to Jake, eyes briefly flashing red. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Jake and Heeseung straighten, fear-struck by the switch.

“There’s blood on the sidewalk out there. Did you kill her?” Jungwon settles back into the couch calmly. 

“I can hear a heartbeat,” Heeseung’s brows furrow. “Feels like I can hear a million fucking heartbeats, how do you guys live in places like this?” He sucks his teeth.

Jake doesn’t say anything, letting the room fall silent. 

“Whatever. Don’t mind us, we’ll stay out of your way.” Jungwon’s eyes close; he looks like he’s had a long night. 

“Good.” Jake’s voice is hardly audible. Part of him wants to talk, but with someone like Heeseung around, he isn’t sure it’s in his best interest. He wants to mention what it felt like to taste you, about why you felt so—

“Is her heart rate supposed to be that fast?” Heeseung asks, growing a bit concerned. 

“Leave him alone, Hee.” Jungwon sighs.

Jake stands between Jungwon and Heeseung in the center of the living room. Unable to look them in the eye, he twiddles his fingers. “It’ll slow down when she’s calm. Her adrenaline is really high right now.” 

“When she’s calm?” Heeseung stiffens, immediately glancing at Jungwon with a look of disbelief. “Do you hear this?”

Jungwon remains unmoving on the couch. “Let’s not do this. I had a long night.” He rests his head back on the headrest. “Everyone in this town is bitter and out of tune. I don’t have the energy to argue.” 

“I can’t kill my neighbor.” Jake reasons. 

“Am I missing something? Why is he acting all soft?” Heeseung walks to the couch where Jungwon sits. His face twisted with confusion. 

“I’m not acting soft, it’s just too risky,” Jake mumbles.

”Is it?”Jungwon faces Jake with a cutthroat glare. “Then why’d you bring her home?”

“I didn’t mean to. She fell, and the smell just—“ An irked sigh cuts through his thoughts. Jake looks to the door of his guest room, running a finger over his bloodstained lips anxiously. If he says what he’s thinking, they’re bound to find him crazy. “She tastes like…” His words trail into nothingness. 

Jungwon’s eyes light up with realization. “Minnie.” The name comes out rough on his tongue. That would explain the nightmares. He, too, could vaguely smell the resemblance.

Jake flinches. The lover who defined his human heart was hardly ever mentioned and seldom by name. She was his betrothed when he was given the dark gift in the early twentieth century, a woman beyond her years. The only mortal to voluntarily offer themselves to fulfill his bloodlust, a victim to his hunger, and the conservatism of the time. Her life was stolen in a house fire orchestrated by the church to drive the devil out of town. Jake wasn’t even home. 

Heeseung fixes on Jake’s blank expression. “This is ridiculous,”

“I swear on her grave.” Jake’s voice has yet to surpass a whisper.

“Shouldn’t we have a second opinion?” Heeseung baits, licking his fangs. 

Jake hisses, lurching forward. “Try it and I’ll kill you.”

Heeseung narrowly dodges him, boasting a grin. “So you want to keep her?”

Jake shrinks into himself, embarrassed by hearing it out loud. His mouth doesn’t move. Is it so wrong for him to want a companion again?

“Like a pet?” Hee adds with a laugh. 

Jake looks up, glaring. “She’s a human being, dickhead.” 

“But you aren’t.” Jungwon stands, walking over so he’s toe-to-toe with the homeowner. “Infatuation isn’t an excuse for recklessness. What happens when she wakes up and the last thing she remembers is your red eyes staring down at her?”

“She’s drunk, she won’t—“

“Or when you’re hungry and she has a papercut?” Jungwon cocks his head. “This is dangerous, and you know it.“

Jake stutters, backing away from his leader. “I- I just want some time.” 

“That’s not how people work. Humans-” Jungwon sighs. “They expect different things. It’s like a puma mating with a panda. It won’t work.”

Jake’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t know that! I can’t just let Minnie—“

“She’s not her, Jake.“ Jungwon’s snaps.

“You said you weren’t babysitting me.” Jake narrows his eyes coldly.

The leader sighs. “Still, I can’t let you—”

“This shouldn’t even be a discussion. If you wanted companionship, you should’ve never abandoned your coven.“ Hee rasps. 

“One more fucking word and I will slam you through the floor.” Jake's head whips toward Heeseung. 

Heeseung scoffs. “Typical. Prioritizing a stranger over your brother.” Without realizing it, all of their eyes had changed color.

“Enough,” Jungwon places a hand in the air, flinging Heeseung and Jake’s bodies into the walls on opposite halves of the room. It’s not enough to cause damage, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, then turns to Jake, who gapes for air. “Do you absolutely need this?”  He stoops down to his level. “Are you truly that lonely?”

Jake weakly bows his head, the pain too intense for words. Across the room, Heeseung lies unconscious with his chin to his chest.

“Fine,” Jungwon regains his composure. “It’s your mess. But now, I am babysitting you.” He returns to his full height, stepping over Jake’s body on the floor.

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

Heeseung and Jungwon left the following morning, although there’s a rumor that Jungwon moved to a neighboring city to keep an eye on things. That was three months ago.

“Wake up.” 

You whisper, crawling into Jake's lap while he manspreads wildly on your couch. His eyes are closed as he leans against the headrest. In his t-shirt and sweatpants, the scene feels oddly homely, and it makes you move extra slowly to preserve the fragility of it all. 

He hums, but you’re not convinced. 

You lean to the side of his face, gently blowing in his ear. He squeezes your hips as a reply. 

“Come on, you’re missing the movie.” You complain directly into his ear.

“We already watched this one,” Jake mumbles into your hair.

The movie ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ plays on your TV, lighting the space as the story continues without any attention. Save for a scented candle, it’s the only reason you can see each other’s faces right now. 

“That doesn’t mean you can fall asleep.” You boop his nose.

A smile spreads across his face the moment you make contact. Grabbing your finger, “I’m not sleeping.” 

“Don’t hit me with the ‘I was resting my eyes’ bullshit.” 

“Then, I’m just… enjoying your presence, without looking.” Jake’s hand moves to rub soothing circles on your waist. 

“Jake.”

He relents, peeking his eyes open. Your hair is messy from lying around for hours, and your shirt is halfway off your shoulder. The candle flame from the coffee table behind you gives off a halo-like glow. It makes him forget why he wanted to close his eyes in the first place.

Plucking a feather out of your hair, he snickers. “Too many feathers on these throw pillows.”

“I got them for free.” You attempt to climb off his lap, but his hands anchor your hips down.

“Stay with me.” Wrapping his arms snuggly around your middle, he pulls you toward him until you can settle into the crook of his neck.

You sigh, naturally leaning into him. “Fine, but just for a little while.”

A chill passes over you as his cold fingertips slip under your shirt, and he laughs into your hair. Your squirming makes him hold you tighter. “You smell nice.” The words roll off his tongue.

“You always say that,” You say, carding a finger through his hair.

He kisses the crown of your head. “It’s always true.”

This is the average Sunday night between the two of you. By sunset, you and Jake are to be tucked away on a couch somewhere, half watching a movie and half lazing around. A few days after you woke up bandaged and hungover in Jake’s bed for the first time, he asked you out to see a movie. Unfortunately for him, the town cinema was rundown, with nothing to offer besides lukewarm popcorn, so he promised a do-over at his place. Since then, traditions have slowly been forming. 

Traditions like lowly lit living rooms and long-winded conversations. He never sat too close. He never pushed or lingered. Jake was a gentleman. He even managed to help sell your car to his friend at the scrap yard. 

And by ‘friend’, he meant himself. Jake has his own tradition of driving to a lot on the outskirts of town to sit in the old hunk of junk that is Michaelangelo as a means of helping him adapt to your scent. Of course, it’s nothing like the real thing, but after a decade of ownership, your essence was practically absorbed into the seats. 

By the third movie night, he could sit a little closer. On the fourth, he kissed you. At the end of the fifth, the tension nearly killed you. Before he could even take his shoes off for the sixth, you were on top of him. 

Time didn’t make sense, feelings didn’t make sense, but it felt right. Being with Jake was like breathing.

But it isn’t perfect. After years of dealing with deadbeat men and moving around, you're ready for a proper relationship. Someone to come home to. Someone who will actually spend the night, regardless of “having to work early,” as Jake puts it.

You pull away enough to look at him. Staring at him was like a hobby these days.

“Hi,” he breathes out the word. 

You sit atop him, playing with his long dark strands.

He sighs. “I need a trim.”

“I like it.” 

Your gaze is so soft that it makes him blush. All the power in the world couldn’t make him immune to your sunlight. Close isn’t close enough.

“Come here, Minn—“ His tongue trips on the familiarity of it all. 

“Min?” You tilt your head at him. An innocent curiosity graces your features.

Jake swallows, a well-known guilt washing over him. “Mine,” he corrects.

You smile, tucking a hair behind his ear. “Does that make you mine?”

“Always.” He plants a kiss on your lips. “In every lifetime.” 

Jake is always like this, saying absurdly romantic things, almost inappropriate for your indistinguished love affair. Your stomach was like a cage of butterflies. Leaning in, you meet his lips. It’s more than the peck he gave you. He hums happily into the kiss, landing a small smack on your ass.

A giggle rips through you, and he takes it as a chance to deepen the kiss. Bodies moving closer, saliva mixing messily. You tilt his head up so you can kiss him properly, and he shifts beneath you. Placing a firm hold on your chin, he pulls your jaw down to gain more access. It was a steady battle of dominance.

You tug at the fringe decorating the nape of his neck, and he groans. Smiling, you kiss him harder. You were winning. He squeezes your hips, then—

“Ouch.” You pull away, bringing a hand to your bottom lip. “You nicked me.” 

Shamelessly licking his lips, “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You laugh, licking at the small cut in your mouth. You hunch forward, sinking your teeth into his bony shoulder. 

He smirks, hands fiddling with the elastic waistband of your sweats. “What’re you doing over there?”

“Biting you back.” You say as you come back up, and Jake bursts into laughter. Smoothly, he shifts so your butt is on the couch, subtly pushing you into the cushions as he hovers over you. “I’ll do you one better.” He smiles mischievously, trailing down your body. “I’ll eat you alive.”

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

The dealership was busy these days. Between inventory checks and paperwork, Jake watched as you and Taesan seemed to gradually lose contact. With each of you having gaps in your memory that night, things grew awkward. Eventually, the guilt of stealing you from Taesan subsided, and Jake started another new tradition: calling you during his lunch break.

“Look who it is.” You tease from the other side of the phone.

He cheeses, listening to you mumble at a worker through the phone. “Busy?”

“Not at all.” You walk away from the noise. “What’s up?” He can hear a door shut, like you walked into your office.

“Just wanted to hear your voice.” He sighs, looking to the mess of papers atop his desk.

“If I weren’t meeting the regional manager for lunch, I’d tell you to swing by. Well… you technically still can, you’d have to wait until after my lunch and pretend to buy a bedframe—”

“Regional ma- you mean Benson?” Annoyance laces his tone.

“Don’t say it like that.” Your voice loses its playfulness.

“I didn’t say anything.” Even without saying it explicitly, his tone could move mountains. 

Benson, the boss who always seems to call when you’re off the clock, already took you out for lunch twice last week. Jake fucking hates that guy. A part-time drunk, full-time sweet talker, Benson is the kind of guy Jake would drain as a joke without remorse. Regardless, he’s latched onto you like a leech. 

“You’re not the only person with employee of the month status.” You tease.

Rolling his eyes, “Might be employee of the year with how he treats you.” 

“You’re making it weird.” 

Yeah, because it is. He sighs. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

You hum over the line, deciding to use the opportunity to talk about the new friend you made today. She’s a heavily tatted middle-aged woman who chews tobacco and supervises the shipments. Enamored by your sharp wits, she basically adopted you on the spot.

Jake mumbles supportive nothings, grateful that the tension has faded on its own. He’s not sure when it happened, but he began rooting for you to make friends in town. Friends make people happy, and your happiness is of utmost importance to him. 

“She’s hosting a happy hour on Friday. Said I could come and bring a friend.” An open-ended glint in your voice. “I was thinking of asking this really handsome guy who makes a mean cherry pie.” 

Jake smirks, bashfully twisting back and forth in his office chair. “You know I don’t drink, my love.”

“I know, I know, but maybe you could just keep me company?” Your voice trails off timidly.

While he’s a big advocate for your friendships, Jake is uninterested in the concept for himself. People are too complicated. “I don’t think—“

You shush him profusely through the phone. “Sleep on it, okay? That’s all I ask.”

Weak to your assertiveness, Jake nods. “Okay.” Was he going to change his answer? Probably not. Is he going to tell you no right now? Absolutely no chance. “I can do that.”

As if sent by an enemy to purposely disrupt the moment, a loud series of knocks blares through your end of the line.

You sigh, lowering the phone and looking to the dark oak door of your beige office. The room-temperature coffee in the cup on your desk ripples from the impactful banging. “One minute!” You shout. 

When you pick up the phone, Jake is babbling frustratedly about poor manners, and you smile. It was like having your own personal guard dog, but to you, Jake’s bark is worse than his bite. He rarely lets himself get worked up in person.

“What’s taking you so long?” Benson burst through the door. “You said 12:30,” he checks his watch, leaning a hand on the rickety armchair in front of your desk. It’s beige like everything else.

“I’m on a call.” You say awkwardly, covering the phone speaker.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Benson rests against a wall, his cropped salt-and-pepper hair in disarray, as it usually is.  He’s attractive in a small-town-guy kind of way, the premature gray part of his charm. The problem is that he knows his pull, so he does shit like walk into people’s offices unannounced. 

“Sorry, can I call you later?” You deliver as sweetly as you can into the phone.

“Did he just walk in?” Jake asks almost in disbelief. “What an asshole.”

“I’ll talk to you when I get b—“

“Yeah, whatever.” He delivers coldly. 

He ends the call before you can reply. Great, now you’re fighting. You turn to your boss, “Are you on a tight time frame or something?”

“Can’t I just be excited to see my new favorite employee?” Benson straightens with a smile. “C’mon, I’m craving Italian.”

࿇ ࿇ ࿇

Jake doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the day, but he does show up at your doorstep wearing pajama pants and his work satchel that evening.

“Can I finish up some paperwork here? My place is a mess.”

You look to him, unconvinced, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t believe you.”

His lips form a thin line. “I’m behind on laundry.”

“Ask a friend, I’m busy,” you lie, reaching to close the door.

“I don’t have friends, I have you.” His hand holds the door open.

You roll your eyes. “That’s pretty unhealthy.”

He smirks, knowing you’re on the cusp of giving in. “Are you gonna let me in or not?” Arguments were always like this, sealed by some lukewarm resolution. “I’m sorry for overreacting earlier.”

You take his chin in your hands, and he softens instantly. “Relationships require trust, Jake.”

“I trust you.” He breathes out the words, eyes coming to a close. “I don’t trust him, but I’ll work on it.”

“Good.” Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a small tussle. “Now, be a good neighbor and give me some sugar.” 

A smile overcomes his features as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. His hands mischievously wrap your waist, and he yanks you toward him on the stoop, kissing you messily. It’s all smiles and teeth, but you fall into it anyway. 

The winter chill surrounds you as Jake’s cool fingertips dance underneath your shirt. The breeze flaps against his patterned pajama pants, and he squeezes you closer. So close, you’re nearly bending over backwards for him. He peppers kisses across you’re collarbones, punctuating them with apologies and leaving you a giggling mess.

“Okay— Okay!” You wiggle in his hold. “Come in, jeez. People are looking.” 

In bed that night, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of decorative pillows and the subdued singing of crickets, Jake struggles to put his mind to rest. He holds your sleeping figure close to his chest as he watches the flames of a scented candle pulse on your bedside table. You always light it before bed, and Jake always blows it out. He loathes that reckless open flame.

During moments like this, he remembers he’s not human. With every deep breath, his fangs throb. It’s impossible to sleep next to you. Sometimes he gives in, opening a small cut on your hip or your calf to remind himself what cherries taste like. You never think twice about them in the morning.

It’s just past 1 AM.

Jake rolls you over gently, tucking a pillow behind your back. Your face scrunches up. For a minute, he’s sure he woke you, but your eyes remain shut. You’re having a nightmare. He stands, watching you twist and turn senselessly like a child. Do you always look this frail? Walking around the bed to blow out the candle, he places a hand over your forehead. “Sleep.” He mumbles, kissing where his hand once was. 

At least now, you’ll dream of nothing. Shuffling to the door, he slips out of the room and into the darkness. Like always, you’ve triggered his appetite.

On his traditional late-night drive, he circles the outskirts of the city for any wandering souls. He drives lazily, barely signalling his turns, and still wearing the same pajama pants. Nothing’s striking his fancy so far. His mind keeps thinking about you, and how you’re home alone in your most vulnerable state. 

What if there’s a buglurar? Or a gas leak? Or— Okay. He’s losing his mind. 

He parks his car at the edge of a desolate city block. He looks at the closed shops in front of him and vows to attack the first person he sees. No more thinking. Soon enough, a pretty woman in high heels turns the corner. She whistles with her jacket half off her shoulder.

He licks his lips, waiting for her to get a little closer— Then, a scream. 

A man runs to her, demanding the contents of her purse. His voice is husky and muffled by a black ski mask.

Jake sighs, exiting his car. He can see the gleam of a blade in the criminal’s hand. He sighs again, annoyed. Jake hates playing superhero.

“Get back in your fucking car.” He shouts, yanking the woman towards him. She struggles against him as he brings the blade to her throat. 

She mouths pleas for help, but her voice is hoarse. The words hardly form into sounds. Lip gloss, pens, and gum wrappers fall from her open purse as the robber rummages carelessly.

Jake looks from the trembling woman to the masked man. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” The masked man jostles the woman, and she whimpers. “I said, get back in the car!” He’s shouting so loud, his voice cracks. 

Jake looks the woman in the eyes. They’re glossy like yours were at your housewarming. “When he drops the knife, you’re going to run. Okay?” 

The lady doesn’t say anything. She just closes her eyes and cries silently. Tears mix with snot as she surrenders to her fate.

“I’m telling you one more time—“

Jake turns to the man, eyes flashing red. “I heard you.” 

With stiff raised shoulders, the man’s grip loosens, the metal blade clanking against the pavement. Cries coming to a stop, the woman rushes away. The click of her heels on the sidewalk was the loudest noise in the dead of night. “Wha- What’s hap—“ The man stammers.

Jake shushes him. “Come here.”

His feet drag one after the other until he’s in front of the scarlet-eyed creature. Panting and squinting, he attempts to speak, but Jake hushes him over and over. His voice won’t work. His hands won’t work. His eyes welled with tears helplessly. “Muh muh— puhh— lee- lee- leeze.”

“Sshhhh.” Jake closes his eyes, inhaling his fear. Finally, his fangs sink into the flesh. 

On the drive home, with the bitter blood of a criminal painting his lips, Jake realizes boring doesn’t mean safe. You need to be protected.

 ࿇ ࿇ ࿇

It’s 6 PM on Friday, and you’re buzzing with excitement in your booth seat. Restaurant speakers play 2000s hits, and your co-workers are loudly arguing over the appeal of antique furniture, but you can’t hear it. All your focus goes to the text on your phone screen.

Jake: Be there in 10

You can’t believe he actually agreed to show up. He said it casually over the phone during his lunch break. Like it was nothing. Now you’re nursing a cocktail waiting for the sound of a windchime to bring you back to life. 

Finally, that familiar ringing. 

Nearly breaking your neck, you turn to the door, and there he is in his typical puffer coat with his hair mussed from the wind. He pushes up a pair of glasses on the edge of his nose, suddenly catching your eye. A soft smile forms on his lips, and it’s enough to make you all but melt into the sticky restaurant floors. 

You smooth out the creases on your sweater and pants as he makes his way over.

“Who are we looking at?” Your tobacco-chewing co-worker, Susan, grins at you across the table. 

You bow your head bashfully. “A friend.”

“A friend?” She quirks a brow.

You nod, eyes closed, trying to calm the heat spreading across your face. 

“Excuse me,” Jake scootches past a few of your colleagues to sit next to you on the tattered booth. The smell of peppermint lingers on his clothes. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Your arms awkwardly wrap around your torso as you look to him.

“So you’re the friend?” Susan says in a teasing tone.

“Jake is fine.” He reaches a hand across the table, and she meets it kindly. 

You watch, enthralled. Sure, you’ve gone out with Jake before, but you’ve never seen him socialize. Usually, he acts like an imaginary friend, saying things only you can hear and laughing at jokes only he knows. 

“You okay?” He turns to you, slipping his jacket off. 

You nod aggressively. “Just happy you’re here,” you say, squeezing his arm. Up close, you notice a spec of something red on the corner of his mouth. “Even if it’s with tomato sauce on your face,” swiping at the spec.

He looks at the red smear on your thumb as you wipe it on a napkin. “Sorry.”

“You look good,” you think aloud as he slips his jacket off.

He smirks, leaning in so only you can hear. “You look better.”

“Who’s four-eyes?” Benson calls from beside you, words lacing together from the booze. He taps your thigh to get your attention, and it quickly snatches Jake’s eye.

“A company friend,” Susan delivers sarcastically. 

You blink. “Oh. Benson, this is—“

“We’ve met.” Jake nods at him, interrupting. “I sold you a car.”

“Which one?” Benson chides. “Got a couple.” He nudges your shoulder, snickering. The table breaks into low laughter, finally paying your section some attention.

Jake shrugs, a tight smile on his face. “Guess it doesn’t matter.”

“So you work at the dealership?” Susan leans on the table.

“Yeah, for a little over a year now.” 

“Add a realtor, and you guys could be the corporate Power Puff Girls.” Benson huffs, tapping your thigh again for emphasis. 

“Funny.” Jake tuts, gaze on your legs. If he weren’t sitting with a dozen people, Jake would’ve forced Benson’s hands into his pockets. Instead, he scoops up your knees and places your calves in his lap. You sip your drink to hide your surprise. 

“Well, I think you two look just fine as a duo.” Susan delivers pointedly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up like Mark and Minah.”

You choke on your drink, playing it off with a cough. “Marriage is a jump.“

“Yeah, Sue. A little overly ambitious.” Benson speaks into the bottom of his glass.

“It’s just a piece of paper.” Jake laughs to himself.

You grow a little stiff. “It’s a commitment.”

“It’s an excuse to throw a party,” He says under his breath.

“It’s a ceremonial agreement.” You press.

Jake gives your knee a firm squeeze. “Forget I mentioned it.”

The two of you have never talked about long-term goals before. Jake wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d spend the rest of your life together, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t open to it. Why would you go out with someone you see no future with? The thought makes your head spin.

Benson chuckles beside you, patting your leg once again. “That basically sums up why my first wife and I didn’t last.”

“Which one was your first wife again?” Jake asks, running a finger over his lips. “I get mixed up so easily.” The table laughs, someone obnoxiously jostling Benson into you. Jake doesn’t smile or relent. He remains fixed on Benson, who narrows his eyes with a grin.

“Alright, wise guy.” Your boss leans back into his seat, locking eyes with a waiter. “Let’s get the new guy a beer. Maybe it’ll loosen the stick in his ass.” He mumbles the last part.

Jake waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t drink.” 

“Oh, then you’re going to be plain miserable hanging out with us,” Susan pouts sympathetically.

Benson scoffs, his smugness unwaivering. “C’mon, Sue. Who are we to judge if he likes to watch?” His tone is overly suggestive.

This is how the night continues. Jake says something, and Benson somehow manages to make it the butt of a joke. A perpetual cycle of humorless teasing. Even while Jake grows quiet, Benson will toss an off-handed remark about asking the ‘wise guy’. Every time you shut him down, he taps your leg, insisting that it’s ‘all a joke’ in an increasingly sloppy cadence.

“I need a cigarette.” Susan stands, stretching. Like most others, she’s about three beers in.

“I’ll join you,” Jake slips your legs off of his.

You watch them b-line for the exit.

Jake stands with his jacket open, unfazed by the cold. Susan holds a cig between her teeth, struggling against the wind to light it until Jake cups a large hand around the flame. She inhales, lending him a smile, then a cigarette of his own.

They loiter silently, smoking and watching cars pass. It’s already dark outside, but the lamposts on this side of town don’t flicker.

“Don’t mind Ben. He’s just busting your balls.” Susan breaks the silence.

Jake nods between drags. 

“It’s a good thing. Means he likes her.” She tries to be reassuring. 

He focuses more on the cigarette than her voice as she rambles. Then, the windchime rings. You step outside the restaurant and next to Jake, holding your coat close. 

Susan looks between the two of you and flicks her cig on the ground. She snubs it with her shoe. “Three's a crowd.” With that, she waltzes back in.

The silence stretches. 

“He’s touchy.” His voice is low, like he doesn’t want you to hear it.

“Unfortunately.” You mutter, both looking out to the street. Cars glide by, shining bright yellow and red headlights onto the sidewalk. Since when does he even smoke cigarettes?

“Is that really the kind of friendship you want?” 

“It’s the kind I have access to.” You face him. “I’m making the best of a shitty situation…”

“Or you like the attention.” He suggests under his breath.

Scoffing, “He doesn’t pay me any more attention than anyone else.”

“You’re not that naive.” He takes a drag, burning it down to the bud.

Like flipping a switch, your body fills with anger. “Maybe I am, since I thought the guy I’ve been seeing for 3 months, but isn’t officially my boyfriend, would believe in marriage.”

He furrows his brows and tosses the bud on the ground. “You’re really stuck on that?”

“Well, it’s a pretty big deal, Jake.” You swivel in front of him, forcing him to face you.

“Didn’t you say marriage was a jump anyway? Why does it matter—“

“Because partners should have compatible goals!” You lose your temper. 

He calls your name, frustratedly. “We have a good thing. Can’t we keep it at that?“

“No, because I want to get married.” You look away, something about it all felt humiliating. “I want a family, Jake.” The cold forces you to dig your hands into your pockets. “And you’re just the guy who leaves before morning.”

Fixing his gaze on a distant cloud, he shakes his head. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“It’s been 3 months, how the hell should I know?” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “But I deserve to understand what I’m getting into.”

“There isn’t anything to get into!” He runs a hand over his face, and it distorts his words.

You freeze. The implications of his words sat heavily on your heart. They rolled over your shoulders and down your back like ice water as you looked up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” He reaches to grab your arm, but your feet move before your brain, widening the gap between you two. “I shouldn’t have—“

“No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did because what the fuck did that mean?” Your brows knit together tightly. Suddenly, a woman in a trucker hat approaches, tapping you on your shoulder. 

“Susan in there?” If she can tell you’re arguing, she doesn’t make it obvious.

You sigh, recognizing her as your coworker’s spouse. You nod, and she returns the gesture before walking inside. The burn from Jake’s gaze forces your eyes elsewhere. 

He watches the crown of your head as you look down, kicking at gravel. Not being able to do anything— to fix anything— makes him panic. His eyes shift around relentlessly as he tries to latch onto your thoughts, even for a whisper.

“I don’t like having my time wasted, Jake.” Your voice is finite as you stare into space. The sharp edges of a rock beneath your shoe are the only thing grounding you to the sour moment.

“I’m not…” His hand anxiously fidgets with the car keys in his pocket. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“I’m looking for someone consistent.” When you turn to him, he’s stripped of his usual confidence. “I want dinner dates and shared cups of coffee in the morning. If you can’t do that for me, then go home.”

Jake peers up at the night sky. The bittersweetness of it all makes his eyes sting. 

Nodding, you take a deep breath. “I’ll catch a ride with Sue." You swing the restaurant door open, and the song of windchimes echoes as Jake lingers alone on the pavement.

 ࿇ ࿇ ࿇

“And you’re sure you don’t mind?” Susan asks as she and her partner hoist a senseless Benson into your living room. He stumbles onto your couch with a lazy smile. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just call him a cab.” You jog to your kitchen to grab him a bottle of water.

“I hate to do this, but if we don’t head back to the restaurant, Amber’s forgetful ass will be without a phone for the weekend.” Susan jabs an elbow at her date.

“I never would’ve forgotten it if I weren’t playing designated driver for you in the first place.” She tsks. 

The couple goes back and forth teasing while you place the ice water in Benson’s loose grasp. “Thanks again for the ride,” you toss them a final smile.

“No worries, sweetheart!” Susan hurriedly pulls Amber out the door, leaving you in silence.

Benson holds the cold bottle to his face, trying to cool the fire from within him. He almost looks unrecognizable like this. 

“Drink some water, while I figure out your ride.” You kick his foot lightly with your own and pull out your cellphone. He drinks with an unrivaled thirst, and it makes you snort. “I’m quitting if you spill that on my couch.” 

“What do I win if I don’t spill it?” He screws on the bottle cap.

“Better sales.” You chide dryly.

He grumbles. “You always talk about work.”

“Because we work together—“ Without warning, he reaches for your wrist and pulls you toward him on the sofa. You tumble into his lap helplessly, and his arms cage your waist. “Okay. That's enough.” Placing your hands on his shoulders, you attempt to pry yourself away. 

“Don’t be so uptight.” His words slur.

“Let go of me.” You warn, applying more force. Feathers shed from your throw pillows and onto the floor as you struggle.

He nuzzles into you, squeezing painfully tight. “What about all our lunch dates, huh?” His voice shows an unfamiliar edge. “Were you just leading me on?”

The doorbell rings. Benson places a hand over your mouth as you attempt to shout, but you bite his finger. You free yourself as he whines in pain. It feels like your heart could leap out of your chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You spit, adjusting your clothes and stumbling away from him.

“You bitch.” He looks at his finger while it throbs in pain.

“Get out of my house before I call the police.” You pull out your phone, immediately typing the familiar three numbers.

He chuckles, the noise turning into hiccups. “That’ll still give me 15 minutes.”

The threat sends fear through your entire being. “Fuck you,” you press call.

The bell goes off again as Benson stands. Abruptly, he yanks you close and backhands you. The force sends you hurdling toward the floor. The phone flies out of your hand, and his ring slices a cut into your cheek. The ringing at the door has switched to a prominent banging. “Do me a favor and shut up.” Benson sniffles, making his way to the door. 

He opens it to reveal Jake. His fist is still in the air, and a crease between his brows.

“What?” Benson slurs. 

Jake stares without a word, his jaw tense. 

Benson looks him up and down, his footing unsteady. “Can I help you?”

“Is Y/N home?” Jake says flatly.

He glances at your cowering figure on the living room floor, then back to Jake. “She’s in the bathroom.”

“You’re lying.” Jake remains fixed on the man with a sloppy feather in his hair. He can hear the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat and wait— does he smell blood? “Can I come in?”

Benson scoffs, attempting to close the door.

“Her headlights are on.” The words rush out of Jake’s mouth.

Benson squints, stepping onto the dark porch to get a look a the Accord. “I don’t see any—“

With swiftness, Jake grabs Benson’s forearm. His grip presses tighter and tighter until Ben drops to his knees, wailing in pain. Only then, as the man begs, do his eyes blend to a deep red. He doesn’t loosen his hold until he hears a snap over the symphony of crickets on your lawn.

You scramble away from the door, shaken by Benson’s visceral cries of pain. The entirety of your body trembles with fear as your boss lets out a silent scream, looking at his mangled arm. 

“Y- you broke my arm,” Benson shouts. “You little—“ He uses the adrenaline to rush forward, and they both fall down the shallow set of steps. Using his good hand to strangle Jake, “I’ll fucking kill you!” Benson blubbers the phrase over and over like a madman.

Peeking through your living room window, you watch as Jake sneers, flipping the two of them over. He bears his fangs animalistically.

“What are y—“

Jake tears a chunk of flesh from the man’s neck as he screams. He drinks until his feet stop kicking and the skin runs grey. You watch, frozen in place. Jake wipes the blood from his face and pushes the body aside. He sits on the bottom step panting. 

Your heart sinks as you rise on shaky legs. Feet moving to the door, you stand in disbelief. 

As if teleported from thin air, Jungwon appears, briskly moving toward your beloved neighbor. “For fuck’s sake.” He looks at Benson’s limpness.

“How did you…” Jake slurs, dazed by the alcohol running through his system.

“I was watching.” He points to a blinking red light on Jake’s living room window seal. A sad smile graces his lips. 

Jake nods dumbly, obviously out of it. His victim drank enough for a small village. From a distance, police sirens blare down the quiet suburban blocks. “Shit.” Jake winces.

Jungwon grabs Benson’s shoulders and glances at you. “Is this your car?”

You blink, watching him drag the corpse toward the back wheels of your Sedan. Your head nods, without asking your mind. 

“Good, go get your keys,” Jungwon says, turning to Jake. “Get up.”

Jake fumbles up, joining his leader, who pries the trunk open with brute force. Jungwon’s strength is so incomprehensible that he shakes the car. Jake lifts the body, hauling it inside once the trunk is open. When it’s done, he turns to face you, and the look on your face crushes him. 

Your hands are shaking, and mascara stains your cheeks. It’s like you’ve seen a monster— it’s like he’s a monster. 

He tries to speak, but shame steals his voice. It’s all over. He lost control. He bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. 

The slamming of the trunk lid makes you shiver. The sirens were creeping closer. “Keys, Y/N.” Jungwon faces you sternly, and you nearly trip rushing to grab your purse.

“She hates me.” Jake breathes.

Jungwon sighs. “Regardless, she’s in this now. She either leaves with you or you drain her.”

“I can’t—“ 

“I’m not asking you, Jake.” Jungown glares. “I’m calling Heeseung. Maybe you can stay with him until this blows over.” With that, he walks away.  

He nods with glossy eyes. In that moment, he realizes his power is no gift, it’s a curse. It ruins everything. It strips him of everything. He wishes he could go back and kill his maker. There is nothing romantic about death. 

Making your way back to the door, you stare at the back of his head. The wind blows through his hair like the first time he showed up on your doorstep. Seeing him covered in blood made it hard to breathe, and the shine in his eyes was indescribable. It was the kind of desperate look that haunts nightmares.

You totter to the front of him, raising a wet cloth. With shaky hands, you dab away the blood on his cheeks. 

Jake closes his eyes at the contact, filling his undead lungs with air. “I have to leave now,” he mumbles under the sirens. 

You nod, chewing your lip as stray tears spill from your eyes. 

“I’m um,” He lets go of a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about everything. I- I’m not—”

The color of the cop cars becomes clear in the distance. You drag the cloth over his lips, silencing him as you clean the last of it. “Can I ask you something?”

He sighs, nodding.

“H-how did you um,” your voice shakes like a leaf in the wind. Clearing your throat, “What made you come over?” The thought plagued your mind more than the murder.

Jake’s eyes open, glancing at the rag in your hand. “I knew something was wrong.”

You retrieve the cloth, wringing out the liquid. “But how—“

“I could feel you.” He looks at you, gaze soft and familiar. “Your heart was racing.” His voice is small.

Starring at him like you always do, something shifts. He still looks like your Jake. You swallow harshly, the spit traveling down like a rock in your throat. Relationships require trust. “What do we do now?”

He blinks. It’s like he’s experiencing you for the first time. You don’t smell or look like anyone else. You’re just you. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, but he knows he’ll spend the rest of eternity thanking the stars for this gift. With one look, you have given him a taste of what it feels like to be normal.

“Dump the body, then head north,” Jungwon wanders over, fixed on Jake. “Heeseung agreed.”

You’re not sure who that is or where you’re going, but you know it’ll be with Jake. Your face calms as you walk toward the passenger seat. “Can you drive?” You hold the keys out to Jake, who stares dumbfounded.

“I uh,” He glances to Jungwon, who’s equally as surprised. The leader’s shock turns into a smile as Jake turns back to you. “Yes. I can.” He straightens, making his way to the driver's seat as you duck into the vehicle. 

With a trunk full of blood, the two of you ride through the desolate streets of Riverfeild until the sirens fade into your memory and the clouds turn to clear skies. Through it all, Jake holds your hand atop the console. Whatever's next, you’ll face it together.

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<Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated + would absolutely make my day lol>

<& Thanks @kpapidontknowme for helping me maintain my sanity throughout this>