#feysang

| tw: blood |

some things never change. it’s good; it’s a reminder he needs. it’s why he’s with sang; it’s why his knife is wet with blood from a vampire’s severed head. in jaeyong’s world, so changeable and rocked by new and unfamiliar, this stays the same: the blood, the knife. 

the hunting partner, not so much. that changes. it used to be daeyong, a presence he thought would never change but did. now, it differs. he goes on more solo hunts these days, sometimes his cousin, sometimes friends, and sometimes sang, who really...lies in his own category. they’re friends. usually. regardless, there is camaraderie here-- a shared bloodlust, and subsequently a shared understanding, that jaeyong can’t trust he’ll find anywhere else. and so he trusts sang, for better or worse.

he’ll probably deserve anything sang does with that trust. 

for now, he has sang by his side, a knife dripping with blood, and a craving for violence that isn’t quite satisfied yet. it feels good. familiar, like where he’s supposed to be. he raises the blade, getting a closer look of it, then presses his tongue to it briefly. he tastes the blood in his mouth, and his face twists in distaste.

“damn, they just don’t make vampire blood like they used to,” he comments. it’s not the first time he’s licked a bloody knife. probably won’t be the last. he wonders if the blood’s taste changes from vampire to vampire, or its just his taste that’s changed.

some things never change, but there’s a lot that does. it used to be daeyong. his twin brother, presumed dead a year ago, now essentially confirmed otherwise. if daeyong was dead, his ghost certainly would’ve come back to haunt him on halloween. did he, however? no.

“pretty sure my brother is a werewolf,” he says good-naturedly, like it’s small talk, like he’s just making pleasant conversation, even if he hasn’t spoken of this with anyone other than huangjun. he doesn’t know what makes him say it now.

@feysang

he sleeps a little easier on the nights that there’s another warm body in his bed heating the blankets and sheets around him. maybe it’s the feeling of something real, something solid to reach out and hold onto should he wake up in a cold sweat, disoriented and unable to tell reality from night terrors. but those dreams don’t haunt him so much, not when he’s pulled into sleep by his own exhaustion and the rhythmic sound of someone else’s breathing next to him. his sleep is blissfully quiet. if he stirs, it’s only to roll over into a more comfortable position.

sang always stays the night. sang is one of the very few that seoyun calls back, talks to outside of those fleeting intimate moments, and on very good days might consider a friend. he didn’t think he could do friends with benefits; the promise of never seeing a one night stand ever again was a comfort in a sense, the assuredness that nothing would ever come with strings attached, complications. it’s uncomplicated with sang too. seoyun can’t explain how or why, it just is.

morning comes with cool gray light and an overcast sky, the half-drawn blinds leaking bleary light onto the bodies still laying in bed. seoyun enjoys his last few moments of peaceful rest before he lets his eyes blink open and find last night’s companion still there next to him. he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, but the long sigh that he breathes out is one of contentment. he just lets the cold autumn light paint them both pale, desaturated shades. some might wish for warm, golden rays, but seoyun appreciates the peace of the moment more than the beauty.