#eterneli

The alley reeked of gunpowder and burnt ozone, the kind of stench that clung to your throat and wouldn’t let go. It was quiet now, save for the distant buzz of sirens and the rhythmic dripping of blood from somewhere unseen. Rain slicked the asphalt, painting everything in a sheen of silver. A shattered neon sign blinked half-heartedly above him, casting flickers of crimson over the wreckage.

Baekhyun stepped over a fallen body, his boots leaving wet imprints on the pavement. His jaw was tight, brows drawn low, movements sharp and impatient. His coat flared behind him, streaked with soot and slashed open at the hem.

And there, crumpled against the base of a brick wall like a discarded weapon, was Zero.

He was slumped over, breath shallow, blood pooling beneath his ribs where the blade had caught him just beneath the armor. His hand twitched, fingers curling in reflex, but his eyes — they were open, unfocused, staring past the elder like he didn’t recognize him.

Baekhyun knelt down, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanked hard. “You son of a bitch,” he spat. “You were supposed to cover the west flank.” He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, but his body sagged like the pain had finally cut too deep. Zero could feel the grip tighten, but it paled in comparison to the dagger lodged at his side. And when Baekhyun spoke again, his voice was cold, but there was something trembling under the steel; something that sounded a little too much like betrayal. “Don’t you dare check out on me. Not now.”

Still no response. Zero’s head lolled slightly, a faint grimace flickering across his features. Baekhyun let go of his shirt only to shove him harder, palm flat against his chest. “Get up.”

Nothing.

His voice dropped to a growl, something furious laced with a hint of desperation.

“I said get up.”

For a moment, the storm paused and the air went taut. Zero’s eyes slowly tracked to meet his; dull, bloodshot, but still alive. Still defiant. He coughed, a spray of red staining the collar of his shirt, and rasped out a humorless laugh. Baekhyun’s scowl deepened, but his hand hovered now. Not to strike, but to pull. “We’re not done here yet. So either you stand, or I drag you. Your choice.”

And like a dying flame catching wind, something flickered beneath Zero’s gaze. But resolve, but the memory of it. He moved, pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet. It wasn’t graceful, but enough. He shuts his eyes for a moment, jaw locked. Then his hand curled around the hilt embedded in his side.

Baekhyun didn’t stop him.

Zero drew in a slow, shaky breath, and yanked the blade free. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat, half snarl, half pain. Blood welled in the space the steel had left behind, but his grip tightened around the slick blade as if it tethered him to the present. His knees threatened to buckle, his body swayed, but he didn’t fall.

“You were always loud,” he rasped, voice rough like gravel, a flicker of dry humor lost beneath the weight of exhaustion. Baekhyun said nothing, watching him. Then, finally: “That’s more like it.”

...

it looked like the opening of a horror movie scene, she could feel an imaginary pan over to the landscape. jj, that's what they called her, had taken this moment to share with him. was it a beautiful moment? some would call it insanity, to her, it was bliss.

it felt as if she had seen this scene before. the elements of what makes an amusement park abandoned were seen in bits and pieces of the rustic view. the eeriness of it all was what made it serene. she takes a breath, oh. they weren't alone. how unsurprising.

she was useless in that moment. not in the sense that she couldn't do it, but it seems that he got it. there's a pout on her face, a sense of defeat. "that's a lot of blood." she states the obvious, though, sulking that she hadn't done anything. "sorry, i'll do better for the next one--" she laughs, watching the organ spill to the ground. a free hand gestures towards the body, did he need to do anything else? she was unsure, but curious. his nonchalant-like response made her laugh, taking up the space next to him to pat his back. "well, you just did whatever anyone else would do if they were to get jumped."

her eyes glaze over the body, eyes glinting with a crimson red color. there was adrenaline that rushed inside of her, jittery, ready to escape. she follows his suit, skipping over the body he had left behind.

as he had said the last sentence, she almost jumps for joy. noooo way? an opportunity to hunt with him? "shut the fuck up right now. you're speaking my language." the corner of her lips curl up to a smile. "am i up? i'm down for it. come on. someone's still after you, i can feel it."

“And I was living in my dad’s ball sack for longer than I’ve been alive too. You and I? We’ve got like… SO much in common.”, and truly, he meant that – as in, right now anyway. CK was far too drunk in the moment, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t something he wouldn’t say if he was sober. He’d just finished a set at one of the venues and decided that he and his group should live a little. It was a CK classic case of ‘if we die, we fucking die, but we die happy.’ Of course, Jae, his keyboardist, only stuck around for about 30 minutes before she abandoned him because he had already irked her enough and DK, his guitarist, – well, if he had to make a guess, he was face deep in D-cups having the time of his life. That thought alone made CK jealous enough to wander outside for some good ol’ fresh air.

“You want a drink? I got nips.”, added the overzealous drummer as he opened up his once pristine silk snake skin button up now stained in sweat, perfume, and alcohol. The only thing in view was his actual nipple. “My bad, didn’t mean to flash you these honkers.” He opens the other side where he actually had small nip bottles taped to his skin. See, he would have put it in his pocket, but those were reserved for hands or ‘borrowed’ cash. He’d never admit to pickpocketing. He’s above petty crime.

“If you’re already dead, it won’t kill you to drink, right?”, and no, he won’t ask what they meant by that because it simply just didn’t matter.

( ... ) “Go take a shower and stop getting rainwater all over my floors. I expect a full explanation after.” God knows he wants to maintain the bitter bark in his inflection, but she looks more like a dejected puppy washed up in the rain than the usual ice princess he’s grown far too accustomed to. Just like… Mi Young. And maybe that’s why his voice softens — not completely, but just enough. “You know where my clothes are. Get yourself a change.” He doesn’t glance at her again as he returns to his previous task at the kitchen island, where a myriad of wine glasses stand lined up like soldiers in formation. Yes, he doesn’t look — but the air shifts when she starts walking, and his ears pick up the soft thud of a closing door, followed by the familiar rush of hot water from the showerhead. A sigh — probably of relief — slips past now-stained lips after a sip of red wine spiked with fresh human blood. Karina is a handful, he reminds himself — but he already has two of those. So maybe, just maybe, he can keep sparing one.

Her fingers tighten around the towel he’d tossed her way, more out of instinct than gratitude. The fabric is heavy and irritating against her cold skin, but she clutches it anyways like it might keep her together. she doesn’t look at him, she couldn’t. “…I’m sorry,” she says quietly, her voice barley audible over the storm still cracking outside. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Contrary to her usual apathetic demeanor, there was no venom, no sarcasm — none of the familiar steel Baekhyun’s grown used to bracing himself for. Just those few words, fragile and stripped bear.

She stands there dripping in silence for a moment longer before slowly turning away, her steps sluggish as she heads down the hallway to the guest room. As she reaches the doorway, she pauses, her hand bracing the frame. “…You can lock it after,” she murmurs, not looking back. “If you want. I’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

xx / accepting

he doesn’t remember how he got here, doesn’t know if he’s thinking of this particular moment or his transformation from average boy to a terrifying monster. in each case, it had started out a normal night, cold but not so freezing he’d worn a coat. perhaps, on both occasions, that had been his first mistake. both nights the moon was high in the sky, casting a gentle glow on the city below, the streetlights blinding below the black sky, but even so, he’d managed to find himself in a dark patch hidden from the eyes of people ambling down the street. 

that was mistake number two, or maybe it was much further down the list. he couldn’t be sure, but he’d never forget the night sharp teeth sunk into his neck, the way the woman had grabbed him as he walked past, her grip tight and unforgiving. he’d never be able to erase the sight of dark red blood gathering at his collarbone, staining his white shirt and the way he’d whimpered in pain. his father would have had some choice words for him in that moment, but all he could do was grip at her hands so hard his knuckles turned white, but even with all his might he couldn’t get her to let go. it burned, it burned so badly he thought for sure he must be engulfed in flames, but there was no smoke, only pain. terrible, mind-numbing pain. 

jisoo is dragged away from the nightmare replaying in his mind by a new sensation of pain that has him yelping, his hands flying out to grip the other’s, his teeth biting down hard into his bottom lip to avoid letting out a pathetic noise such as the one he’d emitted the night he’d been bit. 

“p-please, stop it hurts so bad.” his voice is shaky, breaking a bit at the end as tears seep down his cheeks a gasp breaking free when baekhyun stops cleaning the wound and lets go, giving jisoo a chance to calm down. he thinks it shouldn’t hurt so bad, that being a monster would come with its own advantages, but so far all he’s experienced is overwhelming hunger, guilt, and misery. he sets his hands behind him and leans back into them as he positions himself in a way that makes the injury easier to wrap, keeping his eyes up away from the wound as blood still made him a little queasy, at least, if it was his own.

“i’m sorry. for everything. for crying. for getting hurt in the first place i-- i wasn’t paying attention like you told me to. i just got so hungry, i couldn’t think about anything else.”

he’s still hungry, but it’s at the back of his mind, his attention hyper-focused to the task at hand. he knows baekhyun will patch him up well, he’s done it before. the other has done more for him than anyone else since his transition, and jisoo couldn’t be more thankful, yet he was still slightly afraid. what kept him from reporting jisoo and getting him killed? that idea was always at the back of his mind, which is why most days he would avoid meeting with the other, but it was times like these that he couldn’t help but call upon the other.

he was so selfish. he frowns. one day he’ll repay him.

for @eterneli, from this meme status: still accepting if you’re okay with waiting forever

there are few things san finds more fascinating than a new immortal. correction: there are few things he watches more carefully than a man coming to terms with his newfound permanence. half of him perversely wants to watch them make the same mistakes that he did, to see them also fly too close to the sun. the other half of him prays for their soul. byun baekhyun, however, keeps san entirely too busy to do anything of the sort.

chungwoon seems to attract other immortal beings, perhaps because it’s one of the only places in seoul where the antiques being sold are as old as the person selling them. the bookstore is lined with history, the small joys of a past century suspended in the present. when baekhyun sauntered into the store for the first time, slender fingers dragging across rows of weathered spines like he owned them, san simply assumed he did. it never really occurred to him to question the fact that this boy with a baby face was calling him ‘kid’— after all, anyone with so much confidence in their seniority couldn’t be any younger than 200. imagine then, san’s chagrin upon finding out that the pianist was a paltry twenty-something, a mere millennial!

yet despite baekhyun’s uncanny knack for getting under san’s skin and his dogged insistence on calling him diminutive names, he makes a fairly decent customer and, surprisingly, even better company. (perhaps san is getting lonelier as the years go by, or maybe he just has something of a soft spot for the other.) sometimes he’ll let himself into the store after hours and imperiously order a latte, and sometimes, he’ll send san on a wild goose chase around the store, snapping out fickle orders just because he can. but when the sky mellows into a sunset glow, so does he. san likes the way baekhyun speaks sometimes, pensive and serene. “you remind me of the way flowers bloom so furiously in spring.” he has no immediate response.