#lhs

the dirt road to your grandmother’s cottage at the forest’s edge had vanished. thunder shattered the air.  you spun, disoriented, unable to remember the path you had taken.

darkness thickened and rain lashed harder. each breath came ragged as you stumbled through the woods, running for what felt like hours, terror and exhaustion gnawing at your resolve.

at last, desperate for shelter, you slumped beneath a tree, lungs burning. but as thunder flared, it illuminated a distant silhouette.

you squinted through the rain.

the storm worsened, cold sinking through your clothes, urging you onward. if you didn’t find cover soon, hypothermia would claim you.

so, you ran. branches whipping at your face, until the trees parted and a manor rose before you. ancient, proud, battered but unbroken. it looked every bit a hundred years old, ready to survive a hundred more.

you sprinted through rusted gates, across a wild, overgrown courtyard once beautiful.

the wind howled, pushing you onward, until you threw yourself against the entrance doors. they groaned and gave way, and in—you tumbled, landing hard on a dusty floor.

for a moment, you lay gasping, surrounded by grandeur and decay. furniture draped in cobwebs and carpets dulled by time.

you felt out of place in a place so grand. mud and rainwater marked every step you took across the old rug.

“hello?” you called, turning slow circles, eyes wide as you took in every detail. “is anyone home?”

your voice echoed through empty halls. the only light came from lightning, painting the space in ghostly flashes.

outside, the storm raged. but within, nothing.

no creak, no drip, only the silence that comes before something happens.

then, a sound. faint, almost imagined.

“hello?” you tried again, shivering. “i—i’m sorry for barging in.”

a deeper creak echoed from the direction of the grand hall, followed by a voice, low and velvet-smooth. “you’re not allowed in here.”

you turned. the voice came from the stairwell, where a figure stood, framed by thunder-lit windows.

“i—i’m sorry,” you stammered, walking closer to hear and see him better. “the storm… i got lost. i just needed shelter.”

he descended a few steps, each movement measured and soundless. “these grounds aren’t open to the public.”

“it wasn’t safe out there,” you insisted, voice trembling, hands waving desperately as you pointed toward the storm outside, trying to make him understand what you were running from. “trees were falling, and the lightning—”

the words caught in your throat. the thunder rolled again, swallowing the rest of your sentence.

he tilted his head slightly, eyes catching the flicker of light from the window, reflecting the storm like glass.

when he finally spoke, his voice was calm. too calm. “and what makes you think you’re safer here than outside?”

you shivered, not just from the cold, but from the iciness that threaded his words.

thunder rumbled, and the only other sound was the rain drumming on the windowpanes as he descended, each step silent, shrouded in the stillness of the storm, as if time itself paused to watch him descend.

he paused on the landing, shadows clinging to his face. “i fear you don’t know what you’ve walked into.”

reality crashed in. exhaustion faded. replaced by a sharper fear. that you had invaded a stranger’s home. in the middle of nowhere.

“out there, you’re at nature’s mercy.” he paused at the bottom of the stairs, hand resting on the rail, face still cloaked in shadow. “in here…”

you edged backward, never breaking eye contact with his silhouette. the shadows clung to him, refusing to let go, stretching with him as he moved. the air hummed. alive, wrong.“i should go.”

he nodded, almost amused. “you can try.” his hands clasped behind his back, his smile a challenge. “but i don’t think you’ll be able to.”

he stepped from shadow to light. his skin was so pale it seemed to repel color, gleaming like porcelain in the storm’s glare, no pores, no warmth.

he didn’t blink, not even when you gasped. his eyes appeared black at first, but lightning revealed flashes of crimson, as if a wound ran deep behind them. 

you stumbled back, your heel catching on the frayed edge of an old rug, the musty smell of dust and decay rising around you. he didn’t move, but the air pressed heavier on your lungs, as if the walls themselves were squeezing the breath from your chest, until panic finally broke through your restraint.

you spun and ran, legs burning, your footsteps echoing down endless marble corridors lined with portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow your every move.

“help!” your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “help me!” the cry was swallowed by the vastness, bouncing from gilded mirrors to vaulted ceilings, lost in the labyrinth of the manor.

the halls twisted endlessly, each turn revealing more locked doors and dust-choked passageways. the cold brass handles rattled beneath your trembling hands, refusing to yield. windows lined the walls, their panes fractured with age, but through them you saw only the storm: trees thrashing, lightning clawing at the darkness, rain blurring everything beyond the glass.

your knees buckled, heart thundering in your ears. the roar of the storm outside grew monstrous, less like thunder and more like the fists of ancient spirits pounding at the walls. trapped, just as you were, desperate to escape.

you spun around. a long, empty hall stretched before you, lined with looming grandfather clocks and cracked portraits faded by time. lightning flashed, illuminating the ornate moldings and the glint of shattered chandelier crystals across the floor.

he was closer now and you hadn’t heard a single footstep.

you lurched back, colliding with a candelabra perched atop a side table. it toppled over, candles scattering across the polished marble, one flame sputtering desperately before going out—

darkness rushed in, thick and absolute, swallowing everything in its wake.

“please,” you whispered, chest burning.

please, please, please.

his reply was gentle, almost mournful. “you shouldn’t have found this place.”

thunder rattled the windowpanes. you pressed into the wall, every door refusing to open, as if the house itself had sealed your fate.

his voice slid through the dark, low and commanding, as if the storm outside bent to his will. “stop running.”

you turned. he was there, unnervingly close. lightning sculpted knives of shadow across his face. “please,” you begged. “let me go.”

he watched you, fascinated, pained. “if it were up to me, i would.”

his words hung heavy. for the first time, you felt the house itself breathing, the floorboards pulsing faintly, the air alive with thunder.

“but the house…” he murmured, gaze lifting to the trembling chandelier above. its crystal pendants swayed with the thunder, scattering broken light across the floor. “it knows.”

you blinked, unsure if you heard him right. “know what?” you asked, voice barely steady.

he tilted his head, and for a moment, the shadows shifted, as though the walls were listening. “that i’m starving.”

the words fell like stones, heavy, final.

you stared at him, every breath burning your throat. “you’re…”

he turned his face slightly, and in that brief flicker of light, the truth revealed itself. his pupils dilated into red, veins blooming faintly beneath his skin like ink drawn too deep.

“i’m trying not to be.” his eyes flared in the stormlight, veins etched blue under skin stretched too tight. he looked both fragile and terrifyingly alive. “the doors aren’t locked by mercy, but by hunger.”

the house groaned in answer, old wood straining. you swallowed, dread creeping up your spine. “what do you want from me?”

“nothing,” he said. his features softened. “if you wait. if you stay still… you can leave when the sun rises. the house will let you go.”

“and if i don’t?”

a sorrowful smile. “then it will feed me.”

the storm’s roar faded beneath a deeper sound: the house’s sigh, a chilling agreement.

you curled in the corner, knees drawn to your chest. the doors loomed just feet away, but you already knew. they wouldn’t open. you had tried, again and again and again, until your hands bled. now the house was silent, listening. he remained nearby, half-shadow, eyes glowing faint red.

“why aren’t you… doing it?” you whispered, not sure if you wanted an answer. the question lingered in the charged air between you, trembling with desperation and dread.

his head tilted, puzzled, as if the meaning behind your words took a moment to reach him. “killing you?”

you pressed yourself against the wall, nails digging into the plaster until they split. your whole body shook. from the cold, from exhaustion, from the realization that the only reason you were still alive was because he chose it.

thunder cracked. for a long time, he said nothing, face etched with a weariness older than the house itself. finally, he spoke. “you think that’s what i want?”

you couldn’t answer.

“the house wants you,” he said under his breath. “not me.”

you swallowed.

“it knows i’m hungry. i’ve been starving for a very long time.” his tone carried only sorrow. “it won’t let me die. it feeds me when i’m too weak to fight. sometimes it brings people who wander too close.” he looked at the doors. “but i won’t harm you.”

you hugged your knees tighter. “why?”

his gaze caught yours, red bleeding into candlelight’s gold. “because i don’t want to be a killer anymore.”

a shiver prickled your skin. but you saw then, his hands shaking, not with hunger, but restraint. dark veins laced his wrists.

“you asked why i’m not killing you,” he murmured, looking away. “because i’m tired of being a monster. of being nothing more than a vampire who kills to exist.”

the words hovered between you.

outside, the rain calmed to a steady patter, and you thought you heard the house sigh, a deep, contented breath. he leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. “just wait until morning. when the sun rises, it’ll let you go.”

you didn’t move. you didn’t even dare to.

the fire flickered once, a weak pulse of light in the suffocating dark. and in that fleeting moment, you saw him. really saw him.

it hollowed the air from your lungs. centuries of hunger were carved into his face, every line and shadow a story of how long he’d gone without warmth, without blood, without sleep.

the light vanished, and what remained was silence, thick, waiting. somewhere behind the walls, the house breathed again. it was gradual and heavy, like it was drawing air through rotting lungs.

you hugged your knees to your chest, listening. your own heartbeat felt too loud, reckless. you were afraid even that sound might wake something else.

the night stretched endlessly. time broke apart and the storm outside dulled to a steady rhythm, but the quiet inside only sharpened it, every drop of rain against the glass felt like a whisper at your ear.

you tried to stay awake. god, you tried. but exhaustion pulled at your bones, subtle and cruel. your head began to dip, your eyelids heavy—

until you heard the doors groan open, hinges protesting as if the house itself struggled to let you go. pale morning crept through the cracks.

you didn’t trust it was real. only when the doors stood wide, mist curling outside, did you force yourself up, every limb trembling. you glanced back, empty halls, spent candles, dust reclaiming its kingdom. no sign of him remained, only the metallic tang of iron lingering in the air.

you paused at the threshold. the morning felt strange, gossamer, watchful.

then, a voice drifted from within the manor, low as a sigh, “go.”

you froze. “what about you?”

he smiled faintly, but it wasn’t kindness, it was the kind of smile carved from grief. “it doesn’t open for me.”

the way he said it, flat, resigned, made something inside you ache.

“why?”

his gaze drifted upward, following the line of a cracked marble column to the unreachable ceiling above, where sunlight tried and failed to spill through. dust floated in its path like pale ghosts.

“because i’m the reason it was built.”

you frowned, confusion knotting with dread. “what do you mean?”

he began to approach unhurriedly as if every step were an echo of a memory he didn’t want to relive. his feet made no sound against the cold marble, but the house shifted around him. the curtains stirred, the chandeliers trembled, as though the structure itself recognized his movement.

when he stopped a few feet away, the air grew heavier. the light dimmed.

“this place was never cursed,” he said, voice quiet but edged with centuries of exhaustion. “i was.”

he looked around the hall, at the cracked portraits, the rotting velvet, the chandeliers hanging like ribs from the ceiling, and a bitter laugh escaped him, so soft and so broken.

he approached so carefully, like a predator sizing up its prey. measured. “the house came after.” the light caught his face. marble-smooth, cracked with invisible age. “centuries ago, i killed enough to make the world remember. villages, families, and whole towns were lost. when i was human, i believed hunger made me powerful. but eternity is no gift. it’s a sentence.”

he surveyed the dawn-lit hall, walls seeming to breathe. “so the house came. it took my name, my reflection, my heartbeat. it gave me walls instead of a grave.” you stepped back as the air chilled around him. “it keeps me alive, not out of mercy, but spite. each year, it forces me to remember the faces i took, the lives i ended. it keeps me fed just enough to survive the regret.”

he met your gaze, and you saw not a monster, but something far worse: sorrow.

“you asked why i didn’t kill you. because i don’t deserve to take another life. i’ve done it enough to fill centuries.”

behind you, the doors opened wider, dawn spilling across the floor. he stepped back, stopping where sunlight hissed against his sleeve.

“go,” he whispered, almost begging. “before it closes again.”

you lingered, the sound of his voice threading through the cold air, quiet, but heavy enough to make you hesitate.

the doors gaped open behind you, the pale light of dawn spilling across the threshold, gold bleeding into the gray mist outside. the air smelled different beyond it, alive, new, but your body refused to move.

“what will you do?” you asked.

his eyes flickered toward the light that dared to reach him. it stopped just short of his feet, as if even the sun was afraid to touch him.

“what i always do,” he murmured. “wait… and remember.”

the words cracked somewhere deep in him, breaking the quiet composure that had wrapped him all night. for the first time, his face looked unnervingly human, universally lonely, lonely, lonely. the faintest smile trembled on his lips, and when he breathed, his teeth caught the light, sharp, glinting like glass. a reminder of what he is.

“that’s what eternity’s for, isn’t it?” he whispered, voice trembling with something between grief and irony. “remembering what you can’t undo.”

a shiver ran down your spine. the wind slipped through the open doors again, curling around you both, carrying the scent of rain and soil, the sound of a world still living.

you looked at him one last time, at the way the shadows clung to him like a second skin, unwilling to let him go.

the cold bit your cheeks, the morning alive and watchful. for a moment, you thought you heard the house sigh.

and when you glanced back, the manor had vanished. only the mist remained, drifting through the trees like a ghost awaiting dawn.

weeks slipped by, each one blurring into the next. but the forgetting part was difficult. was impossible. the memory of that night clung to you, as persistent as the chill in your bones.

still, the nightmares found you. crimson eyes flashed in the darkness, fangs gleamed like shards of moonlit glass, every motion sharp and predatory.

nothing like a human, everything like a beast built for the hunt.

you woke gasping, heart pounding, always convinced his gaze lingered on your throat. you muttered reassurances into the empty room. it was only fear. just a memory, you survived. and you would never see him again.

until tonight.

you blinked, the wind biting at your cheeks, your breath swirling in ghostly ribbons. the chill was too keen, too sharp to be part of a dream.

shadowed trees pressed in with familiar menace, the air vibrating with that old, dreadful hum you had sworn never to feel again. you glanced down at your bare feet on cold earth, thin pajamas plastered to your skin. your heart gave a sick lurch.

you pinched yourself. nothing changed.

the iron gates groaned open before your fingertips could brush the cold metal. the sound was heavy, aged and knowing. almost as if the manor itself was welcoming you home.

“no,” you whispered, backing a step. “no, not again.”

but rationality dissolved with every gust of wind. whether this was a dream or sleepwalking or something else entirely, you couldn’t tell anymore.

you stepped through. the courtyard grass swayed in the breeze, alive despite the rot clinging to the stones. when you looked up, you saw him — a shadow framed by a high window, tall and still, watching.

the manor doors swung wide on their own, spilling a thin wash of candlelight across marble floors dulled by dust. you stood rooted, every instinct screaming at you to flee, yet unable to move.

then he appeared.

he stood at the threshold, careful not to cross it.

as though there was an invisible line he couldn’t bring himself to break.

“i told you not to come back,” he breathed.

you swallowed, throat tight as if unseen fingers were closing around it. “i didn’t mean to. i think i… sleepwalked.”

his brow furrowed. “sleepwalked?”

you nodded once, shivering.

he studied you for a long moment, eyes easing in reluctant amusement. “do you have a death wish?”

you tried to laugh, but it came out thin and unsteady. “to die and become your blood bag? sure.”

he tilted his head, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips. “scared?”

“i am,” you admitted. “but i don’t know what terrifies me more. you or this place.”

he exhaled slowly, pacing just inside the doorframe. “as long as you don’t step in, you’re safe. don’t come too close.”

instead, you lowered yourself onto the cold stone steps, wrapping your arms around your knees. “is it hard?”

he stilled. “what is?”

“starving.”

he hesitated, then lowered himself to the ground across from you, knees drawn to his chest, though he kept a careful distance between you. “not as much as being alone.”

something in your chest ached at the quiet way he said it.

you didn’t move. you didn’t run. you just listened.

he spoke of what came before. a life he could barely remember, family faces turned to fog, centuries spent watching cities rise and rot, music mutate, languages go silent in the dark.

the world, he said, forgot him faster than he could ever forget it. the house was it his prison, built to protect the world from him, or his punishment for what he has become.

when the first light of dawn began to creep through the trees, you found yourself studying him in silence. the gentle curve of his mouth almost looked human, but his skin caught no warmth from the sun. his beauty wasn’t mortal. it was still, ageless, the kind that belonged to things that outlived time.

but the sadness. the sadness never left.

he stood unhurriedly, stepping back into the darkness as the morning light brushed the threshold. “you should go,” he murmured. “for good this time.”

you rose, hesitating. “i never got your name.”

his eyes caught yours, the red cooling to a weary gold in the uncertain light. “monsters like me,” he murmured, “don’t deserve names.”

the words were a confession, and his smile was a knife edge. sinful, sorrowful, and final.

you could only nod.

he lingered there, half hidden in the dark. “don’t come back, y/n.”

you turned to leave, and though the house creaked behind you, restless and breathing, you thought you heard something else beneath it.

regret.

“there must be something seriously wrong with you.”

that’s what you told yourself as well, a mantra repeated so often it nearly sounded like truth.

because here you were. again.

your nth night of sleepwalking, the world between dreams and waking blurring at the edges. somehow, your bare feet had carried you through the thick, dew-soaked grass, past the empty fields and silent woods, back to him.

back to the manor that shouldn’t exist, whose silhouette haunted your memory even in daylight.

the iron gates loomed open, yawning wide like the jaws of some ancient beast, as if waiting just for you.

beyond them, the gravel path shone wet and silver under a bruised sky. the wind carried the scent of rain and old stone, sharp and cold, mingling with the sweet decay of autumn leaves. in the distance, the manor’s windows burned faint gold, little squares of fire against the night.

an invitation or a warning, you couldn’t decide.

“are you coming back on purpose to see me, darling?”

his voice drifted through the mist, velvet and teasing, curling around you like a silk ribbon. it seemed to rise from the shadows themselves, both nowhere and everywhere at once.

he stood at the threshold, half-shadowed beneath the archway, the faint light from the hallway catching the sharp line of his jaw.

his eyes glinted. a predator’s glimmer, or maybe something softer. like an invitation wrapped in danger. every inch of him seemed carved for the night, out of elegance and secrets.

heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment prickling your skin. “don’t you think i’d have dressed better than duck pajamas if i did?” you managed, folding your arms across your chest in a flimsy shield.

he looked you up and down, eyes tracing the outline of your ridiculous pajamas with a measured pace that made you squirm.

then that smirk. the one that always made you forget how to breathe. curved his lips, cruelly handsome, far too aware of what effect he had on you.

“absolutely adorable,” he decided.

your neck heated, a flush creeping down your throat. you looked away, pretending a sudden fascination with the shadows at your feet, crossing your arms to hide the way your body betrayed you. but you could still feel his gaze. steady, lingering where your pulse beat just beneath your skin, as if he could sense every flicker of your heart.

“i would’ve worn shoes too,” you muttered, glancing down at your battered feet.

the blisters were angry and raw, splitting your skin in painful little crescents. a physical reminder of your nights lost to this place, to him, the evidence of your body’s betrayal written in every step.

caution lights flickered in your mind: monster, monster, monster.

he hummed, the sound vibrating low in his throat, then nodded toward the open doors. “come on. let’s get you cleaned up.” his words were gentle, but there was an undercurrent of command. a familiarity with being obeyed.

you froze at the threshold, toes curling against the cold marble.

you hadn’t stepped inside since that night. your first night.

since the truth had clawed its way out of the dark and shown you exactly what he was. the memory flickered. blood. moonlight. the impossible gleam of his eyes. your heart stuttered, torn between fear and the reckless ache that always brought you back.

“i won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. “i promise.” he offered his hand, palm up and impossibly still, as if he had been carved from marble. “you’ll be out by morning.”

his voice was solemn, almost pleading.

a promise, or maybe a prayer.

you should’ve run. every instinct screamed at you to turn away, to flee into the night.

instead, as if pulled by invisible threads, you reached out and took his hand.

his hand was freezing , elegant and bone-pale, skin stretched over the delicate architecture of bone. yet when his fingers closed gently around yours, the chill barely registered.

it was the gentleness that undid you.

his impossible red eyes flicked down to where your hands met, his thumb tracing the seam of warmth between you, as if he were trying to memorize the sensation. for a moment, you wondered if he was afraid you would disappear.

“come on,” he murmured, and with the barest pressure, pulled you inside, past the line where the night ended and the manor’s secrets began.

the manor seemed endless now.

each hallway unfurling in directions you didn’t remember, the air thick with dust and memory. the wallpaper peeled in curling ribbons, portraits watched from gilded frames, and the floor creaked beneath your steps as if the house itself breathed.

it felt alive, shifting as you walked, watching with a hunger as old as stone.

he stopped before a small study. a room that might once have been grand, but now sat in disrepair. bare shelves lined the walls, broken furniture slumped in the corners, and the scent of cedar lingered, faded but persistent.

he moved through the room with quiet precision, searching through drawers and cabinets until he found what he needed. scissors. gauze. a tin box with a faded red cross. a long-forgotten first aid kit.

“sit,” he said, nodding to the couch in the center of the room. the cushions protested under your weight, dust motes swirling in the lamplight.

you obeyed, folding your legs awkwardly beneath you, trying not to think about how vulnerable you must look.

he knelt in front of you, drawing your leg carefully over his knee. his fingers brushed your ankle, ghost-light and barely there, steadying you as he examined your feet. he studied the scars and the dirt between your toes, the thin lines of blood beading from fresh cuts, and the old wounds that had not yet faded.

his gaze was clinical but gentle, a contradiction you couldn’t untangle.

he cracked his neck, as if bracing himself for something painful. then, with care, he began to clean your wounds. each touch was careful. respectful, almost. his cold fingers trembled when the gauze brushed your blood, and you saw the effort it took not to linger, not to give in to older, darker habits.

“you’re shaking,” you whispered, voice barely louder than the wind rattling the windows.

he didn’t look up. “instincts,” he murmured, words heavy with the weight of centuries. “i’m trying to remember how not to be hungry.”

you hesitated, searching his face for something you couldn’t name. “how do you stop yourself from giving in?”

that earned you a faint, almost fragile smile. “i remind myself i like having you around,” he said, with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

silence settled over the room, warm and dangerous, like the moment before a storm breaks.

then, under his breath, “it wants something from you.” his gaze flicked upward, wary, as if the house itself might be listening.

your heart skipped. “what does?”

“the house,” he continued, glancing at the ceiling as though it could hear him, as though the timbers themselves might whisper secrets. “it keeps bringing you back to me.”

“i know,” you whispered. “to feed.”

he shook his head. “no. if it wanted that, it would’ve sent someone else.”

he laid your foot down gently, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, then lifted his gaze to meet yours. too beautiful. too inhuman. as if he were carved from moonlight and sorrow. “it wants something else.”

you swallowed. “what could it possibly want?”

“i don’t know yet.” his voice was quiet, almost lost in the silence of the manor, but there was a resolve in it that anchored you.

he stood, moving with that impossible grace, and gently pulled you up with him. his hand lingered in yours, fingers cool and strong, as if reluctant to let go. as if by holding on, he could shield you from whatever darkness the house might conjure. “but i won’t let it hurt you.”

the promise glimmered between you, fragile and fierce. it felt like a vow spoken not just to you, but to the walls and shadows, to the centuries of secrets lingering in the manor’s bones.

for a fleeting second, the world shrank to that one, trembling pledge.

when he smiled. small and fleeting, a crack in the mask he wore for the world. you forgot, just for a moment, that he was a monster.

in the lamplight, his features relented, the sharpness of his eyes dulling, revealing a trace of someone who might have once known hope. the lines of suffering etched into his face faded, and all that remained was a man reaching for something like forgiveness.

“i won’t hurt you either,” he murmured, his voice so gentle it barely seemed to belong in this place of echoes and old regrets. it was an oath and a confession, whispered to the hush between you.

“i don’t doubt that,” you said quietly, your words trembling with a truth you couldn’t quite understand. you searched his face, trying to read all the things he’d never said. the centuries of loneliness, the ache of wanting to be believed.

“yeah?” he stepped closer, the air tightening around you. “you trust me that much?”

his gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering there. hungry, wistful. there was an unspoken question in the space between you, a yearning that vibrated in the very air.

“i know i shouldn’t,” you answered, your voice barely more than a breath. the admission hung between you, heavy and bright, as dangerous as it was honest.

he took a breath that wasn’t really a breath, chest rising and falling in a mimicry of life. “yes,” he whispered, almost to himself. “you shouldn’t.”

the words trembled in the half-light, sounding more like a warning than a reproach.

then his head snapped up. sharp, sudden, as if he’d caught the scent of something on the wind. for a moment, he was all tension and instinct, every line of his body drawn tight as a bowstring.

like a predator catching the pulse of prey, every sense sharpened to a single, electric moment. the room seemed to shrink, shadows crowding closer, as if even the manor itself was holding its breath.

he rose to his full height, closing the space between you in a single, fluid motion before stopping just short. his presence seemed to fill the room, every inch of him focused on you. his eyes flicked to your chest, and you realized he could see, could hear, the frantic rhythm of your heart beneath your ribs, pounding an upbeat song meant only for him.

when he spoke, his voice was low, trembling with something darker, something ancient and hungry that curled at the edges of his words. it was both a caress and a threat, velvet and steel all at once.

“your heart,” he said softly, almost reverently, as if it were a secret only he could hear. “it’s loud.”

the words sent a chill across your skin. in that moment, you felt as if you belonged entirely to him.

body, breath, heartbeat.

you couldn’t move, rooted to the spot by the gravity of his attention, by the impossible pull between fear and longing. the world narrowed to the space between your bodies, to the air charged with things that could never be spoken aloud.

he lifted his hand, hovering just above your chest, fingers spread as if to catch the echo of your heartbeat. he didn’t touch you, but you could feel the air chill between you, the fine hairs on your arms rising in anticipation. the moment stretched, fragile as spun glass.

his voice broke the hush. “is that for me?” the question lingered, entangled with the frantic rhythm of your heart.

you swallowed hard, the sound too loud in the silence. your throat working convulsively as you tried to steady yourself. you could feel your pulse everywhere. in your ears, your wrists, your chest. thumping out your secret.

caution lights dimmed in your mind, the word ‘monster’ losing its edges.

in your silence, he found his answer.

“it’s beating for me,” he said finally. not a question, but a claim, a statement that trembled with longing and ownership.

his eyes met yours, burning with a hunger that was more than blood. it was the hunger to be remembered, to be loved, to matter.

he smiled faintly, lips barely curving, the expression caught somewhere between affection and hunger. for a moment, you wondered if the difference mattered. perhaps, for him, the two had always been intertwined.

“good,” he murmured, the words sent shivers down your spine. “all mine.”

it was a dangerous thing to want to belong to a monster, and yet you did.

then he pulled back. quickly. like he had burned himself on your touch, or perhaps on his own desire. something flickered across his face. fear, regret, longing, longing, lon—gone as fast as it appeared.

you let out a shaky breath, pretending to study the books scattered across the shelves while he busied himself putting away the gauze.

the absurdity of it struck you. a vampire with a med kit, tending wounds instead of causing them. the thought almost made you laugh. almost.

instead, you clung to the small, trembling hope that you might yet save each other from yourselves.

one book caught your eye, its pages brittle with age and lined with a script you didn't recognize at first. when you picked it up, papers fluttered to the floor like wounded birds, scattering across the faded rug. you bent to gather them and froze. your hand hovering over a scrap of yellowed paper.

a portrait slipped free, the ink ghostly, the image blurred by time and touch. you reached for it with trembling fingers, heart hammering, a strange sense of trespass prickling at your skin.

the ink was fading, the edges frayed, but the face was unmistakable. his face was calmer, younger, but undeniably him. a shock of dark hair, the same haunted eyes, a mouth caught between laughter and sorrow. you traced the lines of his jaw with your gaze, as if memorizing him for the first time.

in the corner, written in old cursive, was a name. beautiful, looping letters that seemed to belong to another world.

𝓁𝑒𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔.

you whispered it in your mind, tasting the syllables, feeling the weight of history press against your tongue.

you turned it over in your hands, memorizing the shape of each letter before slipping it back between the pages. it felt like a secret. something precious and dangerous, meant to be kept close to your heart.

“do you ever wear anything other than suits?” you asked, forcing casualness into your voice, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble beneath it. you needed to anchor yourself in the ordinary, even as the world tilted around you.

he was buttoning his jacket, the fabric catching the light, adjusting his cuffs with the kind of practiced elegance that only centuries could teach. “i’m making sure i’m dressed for my final funeral,” he said, tone light and dressed in humor, but it edged with something darker. “if it ever comes.”

his hands stilled for a moment, and you wondered if he was thinking of all the funerals he’d already attended. his own, perhaps, most of all.

you looked away, not wanting him to see the questions in your eyes. “what were you like before?” the words slipped out, faint and hesitant, as if you were afraid of breaking the fragile peace between you.

he only smiled.

a small, sad smile that said more than words ever could, before taking your hand again. his fingers twined with yours, cold but steady, offering comfort and challenge at the same time. “come.”

he led you through another corridor, shadows stretching long and patient along the walls. the hush of your footsteps was swallowed by the thick, velvet dark. when the hallway opened, you saw it. a grand piano in the center of a forgotten hall, its surface dust-laden and its shape noble even in neglect.

he brushed the dust from the keys, a strange reverence in his movements, as though he was greeting an old friend. “i haven’t touched this in years. it’s out of tune.” his fingers hovered over the ivory, remembering melodies long since faded from memory.

you smiled faintly, the corners of your mouth lifting despite everything. “then we’ll play out of tune.” you settled on the bench beside him, the piano’s presence grounding you, reminding you of the world outside the manor’s spell.

his laugh was quiet, startled. the sound of something that hadn’t existed for centuries, brittle and beautiful.

he played, soft and halting, fingers coaxing uncertain music from the keys. the melody shivered through the air, fragile and lingering, weaving memories into the dust.

when you missed a note, laughter slipped from you. unguarded, bright, ringing in the stillness. it filled the hall through cracks in old stone, warming the gloom, daring joy to return to this forgotten place.

he froze, staring as if the sound itself hurt, his fingers suspended above the keys. for a moment, he looked so young, so lost, that you ached to reach for him.

“every century,” he whispered, voice barely more than a sigh, “i’ve waited for death to sound like mercy.” his eyes warmed, the red fading. “but when you laugh…” he exhaled, trembling, as if the sound itself could save him. “i forget i’m being punished.”

you looked at him, and for the first time, he didn’t look like a monster. he looked like a man remembering how to be alive, how to hope, how to be seen by someone who might want him to stay.

the last note faded into silence, and your voice broke it—gentle but steady, trembling with all the things you wanted to ask and couldn’t.

“why won’t you tell me your name?” you asked again, your heart pounding.

he turned toward you, expression unreadable, shadows deepening in his eyes. “names are for people who still exist.” his words settled between you like dust, heavy and final.

“you exist,” you said in a whisper. “i’m looking right at you.” the truth of it vibrated in the silence, reckless and bright.

a faint smile curved his lips. “you’re looking at what’s left of me.” his voice was mellow, edged with a loneliness that seemed to echo through the years.

his fingers trembled against the keys, an ache in every line of his body. you wanted to reach for him, to offer warmth and forgiveness, but your hand hovered in the space between, unsure.

“do you miss it?” you asked, voice small in the vastness of the hall, barely daring to disturb the fragile peace.

“what?” he asked, looking at you as if from a great distance, as if he already knew the question but had never dared answer it.

“your name. hearing it,” you clarified, letting the question hang between you, shimmering and dangerous.

a shadow crossed his face, eyes shuttering. “it used to mean something,” he said, each word heavy. “back when i thought i deserved to be remembered.” his voice trembled, carrying the weight of all the years he had spent trying to forget.

you frowned. “everyone deserves that,” you insisted, reaching for him in words if not in touch.

he shook his head, a sound between a sigh and a laugh, ancient sorrow in every line. “you say that because you haven’t seen what i’ve done.” his eyes flickered away, haunted by memories you couldn’t name.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. the words caught in your throat, heavy with all that you knew and all that you chose to forgive.

because you already knew. it was there, in the secret corners of the manor and in the ache that lived behind his eyes.

you had found it. his name.

hidden in a forgotten journal, written in elegant, steady ink, the letters curling like ivy across the page. the discovery had felt illicit, as if you’d uncovered a secret meant only for ghosts.

heeseung. the name echoed in your chest, a promise and a prayer, something you were almost afraid to touch.

it felt wrong to speak it aloud, as if naming him would shatter the spell or call down an old curse. some things belonged to silence, to memory, to the hush between heartbeats.

wrong to bring him back into a world that had already buried him. a world that had chosen to forget, even as you tried to remember.

so you kept it secret. his name. tucked it deep inside yourself, somewhere safe, somewhere sacred.

tucked between your heartbeat and your breath, where even the house couldn’t steal it from you.

the warning still pulsed somewhere deep. softer now. almost forgotten:m. monster... maybe not.

“you brought me a flower?”

his voice, low and wavering, rippled through the emptiness. it was the kind of sound that lingered in the air long after it faded, echoing off stone and memory alike.

you froze in the doorway, the bloom trembling in your grasp.

the petals, fragile and impossibly white, looked almost luminous against your skin. he didn’t move, didn’t even blink. centuries of waiting had taught him the art of stillness. the kind born not from patience, but from resignation.

your fingers tightened around the stem. “your gardens are dead,” you said, barely above a whisper. “i thought… maybe they needed something that wasn’t.”

he turned at last, slowly. even the air seemed to shift with him, as if the room itself drew breath. his gaze flicked between you and the flower, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. which of you, he seemed to wonder, was more out of place in these haunted halls?

“my gardens stopped growing long before you were born,” he murmured, stepping forward. “nothing lives here for long.” a shadow crossed his face. first disbelief, then something sadder, more profound. “you shouldn’t have done that.”

“why not?” your voice felt small, a fragile thing in the vastness of the house. “it’s just a flower.”

heeseung stopped mere feet away. hesitantly, his hand reached out, trembling as he accepted the stem. his cold fingers brushed yours, sending a chill through your bones. he studied the bloom as if afraid it might crumble at his touch.

“it’s not just a flower,” he whispered. “it’s a reminder.”

“of what?”

he looked up, and centuries weighed down his gaze. “that things can’t live here,” he said, voice breaking. “that i can’t.”

you longed to protest, to tell him he was wrong—

that perhaps he could—

but the words tangled in your throat and fell away.

he exhaled, the sound ragged. “you bring me things that don’t belong here. warmth, laughter, the sound of a heartbeat. every time, i forget what i am.”

he set the flower gently on a dust-shrouded table. the moonlight caressed its petals, making it glow.

soft, stubborn, alive. against the decay, it was defiance incarnate.

“i spent a hundred years trying not to want anything,” he admitted, eyes never leaving the bloom. “and now you’ve ruined that.”

“maybe that’s not a bad thing,” you offered, voice trembling.

a cruel, hollow laugh escaped him. “it is. because now i want something i can never have.”

his gaze found yours, tired and unbearably sad. the silence that followed was delicate, stretched so thin it threatened to snap.

“that’s when i knew,” he said, almost to himself.

you frowned. “knew what?”

“whatever brought you here didn’t mean to save me,” he whispered. “it meant to finish me.”

your heart lurched. “hee—” you stopped, his name burning on your tongue, a secret you weren’t meant to hold.

but he didn’t notice. his eyes remained on the flower, and his voice eased to reverence. “and the worst part? i think i’d let you.”

you didn’t dare breathe.

he watched the bloom, silent for so long you wondered if he would speak again. when he finally did, his tone was eerily calm. “do you know what the cruelest thing about this house is?”

you didn’t answer, afraid any sound might shatter him.

“it doesn’t let anyone in unless it wants to,” he said. “for centuries, people have passed through these woods. travelers, thieves, wanderers. but the doors never opened. not for them.” he met your gaze. “until you.”

you tried to force a smile. “i told you, i got lost.”

“yes,” he replied gently. “the first time.” his lips curled in the faintest of smiles. “but it keeps bringing you back.”

a chill crawled up your spine. “then why me?”

he didn’t hesitate. “because the house wants me dead.”

you stared. “that’s—”

“it’s poetic, isn’t it?” bitterness twisted his laugh. “it starves me, traps me, keeps me alive when i’ve begged it not to. and now it sends you. someone kind. someone living. someone i could never hurt.”

your pulse hammered. “that’s not why i’m here.”

he studied you, searching your face for any sign of deceit. “you think i don’t recognize mercy?” his voice broke. gentle. pleading. “you were meant to be my deliverance. the one thing it would allow to end me.”

you shook your head. “you’re wrong.”

“am i?” he murmured. “every door opened for you. every storm led you here. the house brought you back, even when you tried to stay away.” his gaze darkened. “it wants me gone. it’s tired of feeding me.”

you, you, you—foolish heart. you just wanted to be his.

but he looks at you now, and says fate disagrees.

you wanted to deny it, but memories surfaced unbidden: doors sealing shut, whispers in the walls, the house breathing around you.

he stepped closer, shadows deepening in his eyes. “don’t you see? it let me touch you. it let me want you. it never would have allowed that unless it meant for me to destroy myself in the end.”

the words struck something deep within you. “that’s not what this is.”

“then tell me what it is.”

“i—” your throat constricted. “i don’t know.”

he studied you, truly seeing you, before turning back to the table. already, the flower seemed to wilt beneath the weight of the house.

“that’s why you keep coming back,” he whispered. “not to save me. to finish me.”

you stepped forward, voice hoarse. “if that were true, you would already be dead.”

“maybe this is what the house wanted,” he said. “to make me love you, then let you destroy me. to give me the mercy of choosing when.”

then he smiled like a dying god.

the silence stretched thin as glass. even the house seemed to hold its breath.

a strained hush grew thick between you, broken only by the wind rattling the loose windowpanes. a sound like far-off weeping. finally, unable to bear the tension, he spoke, voice rough with something ancient and raw. “promise me something.”

your breath fogged in the cold, trembling from both fear and anticipation. “what?” you managed, your voice barely more than a shiver.

he took another step closer, the floor groaning under his weight. “when it becomes too much,” he said, his tone splintering, the first crack in his composure you had ever seen—“when i decide i can’t fight anymore… promise me you’ll do it. that you’ll end it. end me.”

you recoiled as if struck, tears springing unbidden, blurring the candlelit gloom. “no,” you gasped, the word almost wrenched from you. your hands balled into fists, nails pressing crescents into your palms.

he reached out, fingers icy and desperate, closing around your wrist. his grip was gentle but unyielding. “please,” he whispered, and the word was a lifeline, a plea that trembled between you and the abyss.

you met his gaze. his eyes were fathomless, voids that had seen every kind of ending. “why would you want that?” you choked, your voice cracking.

he drew in a shuddering breath, as if the answer cost him more than he had left to give. “because i want to choose it. for once. to die on my own terms. not as punishment, not as a curse. just… as myself. just once, i want the end to be mine.”

your mouth opened, but no words emerged. grief strangled your voice. your whole body shook.

his thumb, cold as moonlight, brushed a tear from your cheek. “you can. when it’s time,” he murmured, and for a moment, the sorrow in his face was so deep it threatened to swallow you both.

you stared at him. this beautiful, ruined thing barely holding himself together, and nodded through your tears, your agreement as much a surrender as a promise.

the rain started falling as your story unfolded. a tragedy, woven from threads of maybe, perhaps, and almost. every word, every silence between you, carried the ache of things left unsaid, the weight of dreams that never quite came true.

“i promise,” you breathed, the words binding you both in the silence.

a faint smile crossed his lips as he let go of your hand. “good.”

the house seemed to exhale at last. a deep, satisfied groan in its aged bones. as if, finally… it had heard what it needed.

you didn’t return after those first few days. the memory of the manor lingered at the edge of your thoughts, but you kept your distance.

you couldn’t make yourself go back. not even when curiosity gnawed at the silence between your heartbeat and the wind outside your window.

it wasn’t exactly fear of him that kept you away.

it was the fear of what he might ask of you next. the unknown demands, the haunting possibilities.

you tried to convince yourself that staying away was an act of mercy. if you stopped wandering into his world, perhaps he would quietly fade back into his own. a ghost finally allowed to rest, undisturbed by the living.

but the nights stretched out, hollow and endless in his absence. the silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.

sleep abandoned you. you lay awake, watching as dawn pressed pale fingers against your curtains, refusing to close your eyes before morning for fear the house would find you again.

that you would wake to its gates open and waiting.

and sometimes, in those thin, trembling hours between exhaustion and sunrise, you heard it: the faint echo of a piano. a song with no beginning, no end, drifting through your dreams like a memory that never belonged to you.

you whispered to yourself that it was nothing. just the wind, just the house settling, just your mind’s way of filling the silence.

just the mind’s way of filling silence.

but you always knew better.

it was him. it was always him.

heeseung.

days bled into weeks, weeks into months, as time became a delicate, relentless tide.

the forest stayed still. the path remained just a path.

no matter how many hours you stood at the edge of the woods at daylight, the manor never appeared. as if it had slipped out of the world entirely, leaving you behind.

you began to wonder if the house had finally grown tired of you. if it had let him fade away, starved and forgotten, within its rotting walls.

if it no longer needed you.

if it no longer wanted you.

you told yourself that was mercy too.

so you tried to live again.

you forced yourself to sleep under the safety of daylight, to breathe without waiting for thunder. 

you even tried to forget the sound of his voice when he said your name. a prayer uttered by someone who had long since lost faith.

but every night, your body still braced for the pull that never came, each hour stretching taut with longing.

and every morning, you found yourself glancing toward the woods, waiting for something that refused to call you back, the ache of hope never quite fading.

you didn’t know if the house had finally released you, or if it was simply waiting.

you didn’t know which terrified you more.

so you stayed away.

until you couldn’t anymore.

the days blurred at the edges. the nights folded into each other until your thoughts moved gradually, suspended somewhere between grief and surrender, as if time itself had lost its meaning.

and when your head finally sank against the pillow, when sleep finally reached for you like a tide, there was only one thing left in your mind: one name, breathed like a confession.

heeseung.

then you were too tired.

then your eyes closed…

lightning split the sky, a blue-white flash that yanked you from dreams into the cold, living midnight. rain lashed the world outside, but it was the thunder, so close it rattled your bones.

that truly woke you. you bolted upright, lungs seizing, heart stumbling along with the storm’s wild rhythm. you were awake. very much awake, and utterly alone.

the air itself buzzed with electricity, thick enough to taste, as if the night had a pulse of its own. outside the window, trees writhed under the violence of the wind. branches clawing, trunks bending, the whole forest straining as if it feared for you.

rain battered your skin, each drop a tiny blade, chilling you to the bone and soaking through your clothes until you felt more elemental than human.

and when your eyes lifted—

and then, there it was.

the manor.

rising from the darkness, stone and shadow, ancient and waiting. it sat heavy on the earth, defiant against the storm, windows aglow with a sickly gold light that dared you to come closer.

it loomed, silent and expectant. every detail, gnarled iron gates, jagged eaves, the cracked marble steps, was exactly as you remembered, as though the years had merely been a pause in its watchful patience.

you didn’t know whether it was symbolism or cruelty.

maybe both.

your chest tightened, breath catching as cold realization carved through the fog of fear and memory.

“no,” you whispered, shaking your head. “no, no, no—”

a scream tore itself from your throat. raw, desperate, only to be shattered and swallowed by the wind. you fell to your knees, fingers clawing mud slick and cold, your sobs dissolving into the endless howl of the storm.

and then—

the manor’s doors swung open with a groan that cut through the storm. a summons, or maybe a warning.

he stood there.

heeseung stood framed in the doorway, rain glistening on his hair, pale and inscrutable in the flickering light. he looked almost untouched by the storm, but shadows clung to him like a second skin.

for a heartbeat, you forgot how to breathe.

time had not truly changed him. at least not on the surface. but sorrow had whittled him down, hollowing his cheeks and dimming his eyes even more. he looked almost human that way. almost.

you shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “i can’t,” you gasped. “i can’t do it, heeseung. please—”

at the sound of his name, something flickered behind his eyes. fragile, flickering like a candle struggling to stay lit. he stepped toward you, and for a moment, even the storm seemed to hesitate.

“hey,” he murmured, his voice barely carrying over the rain. “look at me. it’s alright.”

you stumbled forward before you could stop yourself, colliding into his chest. your fists clutched his shirt as though it could tether you to something solid. “you said i’d have to do it. you said i—”

“not tonight,” he whispered, pulling you close. his arms were cold, but the way he held you felt impossibly warm. “not tonight, darling.”

it's so wrong how he felt so right aroun d you.

as if he couldn't make it any harder, “it tormented me not being able to see you.”

you choked back a sob. “you don’t meant that—”

“i mean it,” he said, breath brushing your temple. “every night without you was worse than hunger.”

the words unmade you.

he pulled back enough to see your face, thumb catching a tear before it fell. you hated the way your pulse stuttered when he smiled, the way his beauty felt like a promise you weren’t supposed to want. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

“you can’t just say that,” you whispered. “you’re not supposed to—”

“i don’t care what i’m supposed to be,” he said, and for the first time, his voice cracked. “you’re the only thing that’s made me forget what dying feels like.”

behind him, the house groaned, wood shifting, walls sighing, but neither of you moved.

“please don’t make me do it,” you cried, trembling.

he didn’t answer. instead, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely a breath.

“not tonight,” he promised. “you don’t have to end me tonight.”

you nodded weakly, your tears lost to the rain. the thunder dulled, the storm calmed around you like even the world didn’t want to interrupt.

“just stay with me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing your lower lip. a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “haven’t seen this beautiful face in months.”

“you can’t just act like this,” you said, voice hoarse. “like we’re not standing on the edge of something terrible.”

he leaned in, close enough for his breath. cold, sweet, metallic, to mix with yours. lightning flashed, red glinting faintly in his eyes.

“but we missed so much time,” he murmured.

“you talk like we ever had any.”

that drew a sad, fragile smile. “didn’t we?”

you swallowed, but he kept closing the distance, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. his voice was quiet. desperate.

“i keep thinking maybe you were sent here so i could remember what being alive felt like… one last time.”

“stop saying that.”

he laughed bitterly. “can’t help it. you make me forget that dying’s the only thing left for me.”

the house seemed to listen. the air thickened, the storm pressing closer, as if the walls themselves were waiting. but for a pause the world forgot to fill, it was just you and him, and everything unspoken between lightning.

you whispered, “heeseung…”

he went still. the faint smile vanished. his eyes widened, stunned.

“…you know my name.” his voice cracked, a note of quiet awe threaded with something rawer. fear, hope, longing. “say it again.”

you hesitated, pulse thundering in your ears. the storm pressed closer, as if holding its breath. even the house seemed to wait. you did. “heeseung.”

he closed his eyes, exhaling shakily, as if the sound itself had torn through him. a shiver ran through him as he pressed his lips together.

“god,” he whispered, a word that left his mouth not as a prayer, but as a curse, heavy with frustration and something unspoken lingering in the air. “i almost forgot how it sounds when someone says my name like that.”

your chest ached. “like what?”

“like it means something.” his voice trembled, equal parts hunger and heartbreak. “it sounds so good coming from you.”

the air thickened again. the candlelight flickered as though the house was listening.

he didn’t look away. his hand found yours, careful, reverent. “it’s cruel,” he murmured. “you saying it like that. like i’m still worth remembering.”

“maybe you are.”

the house groaned, louder now, a warning.

he looked over his shoulder, tension rippling through him. “it’s getting angry.”

“because of me?”

his eyes returned to you, full of sorrow. “because of us.” then he forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “stay until morning... please.”

and though every part of you screamed to run, you nodded.

you followed him inside. water dripped from your clothes, each step echoing through the marble hall. the air felt heavier now . charged. alive. every flicker of candlelight leaning toward you, like the house itself recognized your return.

heeseung followed behind, quiet as a shadow.

“you’re keeping your distance,” you said, turning halfway toward him.

“for your sake,” he replied, voice tight.

“you weren’t so careful before.”

“that was before i realized what i wanted to do.”

the space between you vibrated with a charged, electric tension. he took a step forward, the movement sharp and hungry, but halted abruptly. like he was fighting something inside himself, knuckles white at his sides.

“if i stay close,” he said, “i’ll forget every reason i shouldn’t touch you.”

you breathed out, “and if i don’t care?”

his eyes flashed crimson, wild and desperate. “then i’ll have no reason left to be careful.” for a pulse of silence, it felt like the room itself held its breath, waiting to see what he would do next.

you stepped closer.

he retreated. again and again.

until his back met the wall.

“heeseung,” you whispered. “i’m not afraid.”

“you should be,” he murmured. “because i want to kiss you more than i want to breathe.”

“then why don’t you?”

“because i still remember what i am.” his voice dropped to a whisper. “because i refuse to hurt you.”

you shook your head, closing the last of the distance. “you won’t.”

he inhaled sharply. “i won’t lose control, y/n.”

you smiled faintly. “good thing i will.”

and then you kissed him.

the world seemed to narrow, the storm outside vanishing beneath the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. you could taste the electricity in the air, your nerves strung tight as wire, every sense screaming that this was a line you could never uncross.

he went rigid for a split second. frozen. breathless. before shattering—

his hand found your jaw, trembling and sure, gripping just a little too hard, desperate. he pulled you closer, as if anchoring himself to the last thing that could save him. the kiss was slow, aching. less surrender, and more collision.

a battle between longing and the fear of what he might become. bitterness and salt, rainwater and sorrow. a thousand years of loneliness collapsing into a single touch.

when you finally broke apart, you were both shaking. he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice breaking, barely more than a rasp. “hell, you have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

then—a shift. the mood in the room turned sharply, as if something ancient and hungry had been roused. the air chilled. candlelight flickered, shadows reaching hungrily along the walls.

a sound left him, low and rough—a warning more than a plea. it sent a shiver down your spine. the hairs on your arms rose. the house itself seemed to hold its breath.

“heeseung?”

he didn’t answer. his hand was still on your neck, gentle but now iron-strong, keeping you close even as his body trembled with the effort of restraint.

you felt it. a sharp inhale, the tension thrumming through him, the sense of something powerful teetering on the edge of control.

his lips brushed your throat. your pulse leapt wildly beneath his mouth.

a ghost of a touch. his breath lingered against your skin, a tremor of warmth, followed by the unmistakable, chilling scrape of fangs. pressure. not pain. yet.

the moment stretched, taut and terrible, as you realized how close you were to losing him. or yourself.

you gasped, fear and desire twisting together. “heeseung—”

he jerked back as if burned, horror and hunger warring in his eyes. his lips were parted, fangs fully drawn, glinting cruel and perfect in the dim light. he looked monstrous and heartbreakingly human.

“fuck—” he breathed. “i didn’t mean to—”

you touched your neck. a single drop of blood welled up, hot and bright, trembling on your skin.

he stared, wide-eyed, shaking. centuries of hunger flared to life behind his gaze, and in that instant, you weren’t sure if he would run or lunge for you.

“don’t look at me,” he rasped, backing away so fast he nearly vanished into shadow. his voice was ruined, ragged. “don’t.”

“heeseung—”

“don’t.” this time a command, desperate. “i told you not to come close. this is why.”

you stepped toward him anyway. every instinct screamed danger, but you ignored it. “you didn’t hurt me.”

“i could have.” his laugh was broken, bitter, on the verge of something darker. “do you understand what that means? one second longer and—”

“you stopped.”

“not because i wanted to.”

“then what stopped you?”

he lifted his eyes, wet, red, trembling. “you said my name.”

the words hit like lightning, splitting the space between you.

he dropped to his knees, one hand clamped over his mouth, as if he could contain the monster still roaring beneath his skin. his voice came out a ragged, desperate whisper, barely human.

“don’t say it again,” he pleaded. “if you do… i won’t survive it.”

it was everyone’s favorite tale. the house that had stood for a century among the hills, and what might still wander its lonely corridors.

if only they knew the monster was still there, waiting for the world to forget him.

they told stories of monsters. how they hunted, haunted, killed.

but no one ever warned you that a monster could break your heart like this.

that morning dawned with a hush. the kind of quiet that lingers before the end. the storm had passed, rinsing the world until it gleamed pale and new. through the thinning mist, sunlight spilled in golden ribbons, touching the manor’s windows for the first time in years. the air itself felt cold, heavy with finality.

heeseung stood by the grand piano, dressed as he always was, in a black suit pressed and perfect, as though he hadbeen preparing for this moment all along. it could have been a funeral: yours, his, or the house’s. at that point, it didn’t seem to matter.

when you entered, he turned to face you.

for once, there was peace in his expression. not joy, not sorrow, just quiet acceptance. you froze, because something inside you already knew what that look meant.

your voice trembled, barely more than a breath. “it’s time, isn’t it?” every word scraped your throat raw, the taste of goodbye already bitter on your tongue.

he nodded once. “the house is waking up. i can feel it.” his voice was steady, almost gentle. “it’s growing restless. i haven’t fed in months. if i don’t stop it, it will bring others.”

he reached into his jacket and pulled something wrapped in linen. a stake, polished smooth, simple and deliberate. when he handed it to you, your breath caught.

“i can’t,” you said, shaking your head, but your voice was thin and brittle, ready to snap. a sob tried to claw its way out, and you bit it back, tasting blood and regret. 

“yes, you can,” he urged softly, but there was a tremor beneath his steadiness. “you promised me, remember?” his words were a knife, twisting not in anger, but in the ache of old vows and impossible mercy.

you wanted to argue, to scream until your throat tore, to hurl the stake across the room and shatter every window, every memory. but your hands shook so violently you almost dropped it, the wood biting into your palms. 

he smiled then, a fragile thing that trembled at the edges. “it’s poetic, isn’t it? the one thing i feared most in the hands of the one person i would die for.” his eyes glistened, and for a moment you saw the man he once was, not the monster time had made him.

“don’t say that,” you whispered, but your words collapsed in on themselves, hollow and helpless.

“why not?” his voice cracked, the sound raw and painfully human. “it’s the truth. i was never afraid of dying. only of being forgotten by you.”

that’s when you saw it. the flower.

pressed neatly into the breast pocket of his suit, dried but still whole. the one you had brought him from your world, a scrap of spring in a wasteland, still bright against the black fabric. 

your throat tightened until you could barely breathe. “you kept it.”

“of course i did,” he murmured, and his voice almost broke. “nothing grows here. but you did.” he looked at you as if you were the only thing alive in a land of ghosts.

then, with a carefulness that bordered on reverence, he cupped your face in his hands. his thumb traced tender, aching circles on your cheek, as if he could memorize the heat of your skin with a single touch. outside, the universe spun on, indifferent and cruel.

he reached for your hand, guiding it gently to his chest—right where his heart should have pulsed beneath the surface. the silence between you was thick, broken only by his unsteady breath.

“this heart is as dead as it can be,” heeseung whispered, voice trembling. “yet i longed for you as if it still beat, as if it could ever feel alive again.”

then he reached out again, taking your hand. the one that held the stake and guided it until the point rested gently over his chest.

his heart, silent beneath your trembling fingers, waiting for you to set him free.

“just do it, darling,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “please.”

you shook your head, tears falling faster than you could wipe them away. “don’t make me.”

his hand covered yours, firm and cold. “i’ve lived too long in the dark,” he said. “you made me remember what light felt like. now let me rest.”

your voice shattered, hallow and pleading, the words tasting like ash. you could barely force them out. “you’re asking me to kill you.”

he met your gaze, and for a moment, you saw centuries of sorrow and longing flicker in his eyes. “i’m asking you to free me,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “to save me from myself, from this hunger, from being a ghost in my own skin.”

the air between you felt unbearably heavy, thick with everything said and unsaid. he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. his breath was gradual, steady. “y/n,” he whispered. “don’t save me.”

when you hesitated, he pressed the stake harder into your hands, desperation flickering across his face. whatever curse bound him would not let him die by his own hand. “please,” he begged. “put me out of my misery.”

you were trembling so hard the stake nearly slipped. the room blurred through your tears. heeseung stood before you, impossibly calm, his eyes tender but unflinching.

“do it,” he pleaded.

you shook your head. “no, i can’t—”

“darling,” he murmured, his voice breaking, “please.” he reached for your hands, curling his cold fingers around yours, guiding the point toward his chest. “it’s alright.”

your grip faltered. “heeseung—”

“it’s alright,” he murmured. “i’ve been dead a long time. i just want to rest.”

you took a shaking breath and pushed—

and the stake vanished.

it didn’t break. didn’t pierce. didn’t splinter.

it simply dissolved, scattering into golden light that drifted through the air and disappeared like dust.

neither of you moved.

then his hands flew to his chest. there was no wound, no puncture. only faint and pulsing beneath his skin, like the echo of a heartbeat that had waited centuries to fade.

the manor groaned. the sound tore through the marble floor and into your bones. a deep, thunderous cry. dust rained from the ceiling as chandeliers shattered. the walls split, light pouring through their cracks like veins of gold.

“heeseung!” you shouted, grabbing his arm as the floor trembled.

his eyes went wide. “it’s breaking,” he breathed. “the curse—”

the house screamed again, the sound lifelike. you stumbled forward, clutching his sleeve, and he steadied you, his grip firm, desperate.

“we have to go,” you said.

he hesitated only a moment before nodding. “this way.”

you ran through the collapsing halls together. through rooms that once felt endless, now crumbling into ruin.

the storm outside had gone silent. only light remained, flooding through shattered windows and open doors. portraits burned. shadows melted. the air was thick with dust and something like freedom.

by the time you reached the grand entrance, the entire manor was falling behind you. heeseung pushed the heavy doors open, and sunlight poured in, blinding and holy.

you stumbled into the courtyard. the garden, once gray and lifeless, now pulsed faintly with green beneath the ruin’s ash. you turned, gasping for breath. “we have to—”

but he had stopped.

heeseung stood just a few steps away, frozen at the edge of the courtyard. beyond him were the iron gates. tall, rusted, unmoving for centuries. the same gates that had once kept you prisoner inside.

he stared at them, then stepped forward reluctantly. the air shimmered around him, the weight of a thousand years pressing invisible against his chest. he reached out, hesitated, then pushed.

the gate creaked, creeping and painful… but it moved.

heeseung froze, disbelief washing over his face. “no,” he whispered, voice trembling. “no, it can’t—”

you stepped beside him, your hand finding his sleeve. “heeseung,” you whispered, “it’s open. you’re free.”

he turned to you, eyes wide, shoulders rigid, his entire body taut with disbelief and dread, as if a single word might shatter everything. “the house never let me leave,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a tremor. “no matter how many times i tried. it always pulled me back.”

you saw it then. the haunted ache in his expression. the memories of every fruitless attempt, every century spent clawing at locked doors, a thousand hopes dashed against the same cold stone.

you swallowed, heart pounding, your own fear mirroring his. “please step through,” you pleaded. “try again.”

he stood at the threshold, his hand hovering in the sunlit air, trembling. for a long, breathless moment, he didn’t move, locked in a battle between longing and terror. then, slowly, painfully, he forced himself forward. one step, then another, as if wading through invisible chains.

he hesitated for a single breath, then crossed the line where shadow met sunlight.

nothing happened. the air was still. the sun was gentle. but the silence rang with the weight of a miracle.

he looked down at his hands, at the faint shimmer of light across his skin. still pale. still cold. still him. but alive. unbound.

he turned back toward the gates, the ruins behind him. “i’m outside,” he breathed in disbelief. his voice cracked halfway through. “y/n… i’m outside.”

you smiled through your tears. “you are.”

he laughed then. a sound that carried both wonder and grief. his hand went to his jacket, to the pocket where the dried flower you had once given him still rested. the petals were brittle but whole. he touched them carefully, reverently. “i kept it,” he murmured. “i didn’t know why.”

the wind picked up, carrying the scent of earth and rain, as if the world itself was breathing again.

you turned, watching the manor crumble, stone by stone, the walls collapsing inward. windows shattered, sending glimmers of glass into the air like falling stars.

you remembered laughter echoing down those halls, the hush of midnight, the chill of secrets and the warmth of stolen moments. for a moment, you swore you could hear voices. the ghosts of everyone who had ever died within those walls, finally released.

heeseung turned to you, the sunlight brushing the edges of his face, catching in the midnight sheen of his hair.

his eyes gleamed with tears he refused to shed, his breath trembling as if he too might dissolve with the manor. ash and dust tangled in the air between you, blending with the scent of wet grass and old memories.

“it’s over,” you whispered, unable to keep the break from your voice. the words hurt more than you expected. a farewell not just to a place, but to a piece of yourself.

he nodded slowly. “it is.” his voice was quiet, as fragile as the hope trembling between you.

your hand reached for his, and for the first time, he didn’t pull away. his fingers were cold, but he squeezed your hand with a steadiness that belied the storm inside him.

you felt the shudder in his grip, a century of loneliness and longing, of hunger and regret, all trembling beneath his skin.

he looked beyond the forest, beyond the gates that had been his cage. the sunlight caught in the crimson flecks of his eyes, and for a beat, he looked unbearably young. his lips parted, his voice barely more than a memory.

“i think,” he began, eyes shimmering with something fragile and entirely new, “you were never meant to kill me.”

you looked up, breath snagging in your chest, the ache of relief and sorrow swirling inside you. “then what was i meant to do?”

he smiled. a small, broken thing, but real, the same smile that had haunted your dreams since the night you met.

“i think you were meant to save me.” his voice trembled, hope and disbelief warring in each syllable.

the wind moved through the ruins one last time, carrying away the dust and the memories, a sigh through what was once the manor’s heart.

and then, silence. the world waited, breathless, as you stood beside him in the sunlight, free at last.

heeseung stood in the light. still pale, still a vampire, but no longer chained to the shadows. you reached for him, and he took your hand. together, you stepped past the gates.

That small interaction turned into late-night study sessions and shared meals at the local café, hiding from the world that seemed to have already decided your places. The more you learned about him, the more the quiet, gentle side of him drew you in—the side that wasn’t always front and center in the media’s image of him.

“Let’s keep this just between us,” Heeseung had said once, eyes soft as the two of you sat together in a dimly lit restaurant far off campus, tucked into a corner where no one would recognize him. “The world outside… it’s too complicated.”

You agreed, understanding the stakes. His family had expectations, and you were just an ordinary student. Yet, it didn’t stop the stolen glances in class or the secret hand-holding when no one was watching.

Those were some of the happiest moments of your life. No matter how fleeting, they felt like something real, something lasting.

And then there was that night—your last trip together before everything changed. The two of you had gone to a secluded beach, the sound of waves crashing against the shore the only witness to your love. Underneath a sky full of stars, Heeseung pulled out a ring, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at you, eyes wide with hope.

“I know it’s crazy… but marry me,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “I want you to be the person I come home to. The one who knows me when the rest of the world only sees… him.”

You had said yes without hesitation. How could you not? In that moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. You had both once pictured yourselves at opposite ends of the aisle—him in a crisp, white tuxedo, and you in the wedding dress of your dreams. It was this memory of him that still kept you awake at night.

But reality didn’t wait long to rear its ugly head. Graduation came, and with it, responsibilities neither of you could ignore. You got your dream job as a news presenter, but it meant constant travel. Heeseung, meanwhile, was tied to his family’s legacy, the weight of it pressing down on him, anchoring him to a life you couldn’t share.

"I can’t leave everything behind," he had told you one night, frustration evident in his voice. "This is who I am."

"I know," you replied quietly, staring down at the engagement ring on your finger, feeling its weight more than ever. "And I’m not asking you to. But I… I need to be someone too. I can’t just be… your shadow."

Heeseung had pleaded with you to stay, to make it work somehow, but deep down, you both knew it wasn’t possible. The worlds you came from were too far apart, the demands on you both too great.

When you took off the ring that night in his car, your hands trembling, the look in his eyes broke you. Heeseung had always been composed, even under pressure, but that night, he cried. You watched as his tears fell, and the ache in your chest felt unbearable.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, voice barely holding steady as you placed the ring in his palm. "I love you, but I can’t… I can’t do this."

Heeseung had tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was watch as you opened the car door and walked away.

Now, five years later, that past stood between you like an invisible wall.

The soft murmur of crew members adjusting lights and setting up cameras filled the studio, but all you could hear was the steady, rhythmic pounding of your heart. Heeseung sat in front of you, the gleam of his dark wedding tuxedo catching the artificial light. His hand rested on his knee, the gold band on his ring finger gleaming—a silent reminder of everything that had changed.

You cleared your throat, shuffling your notes, attempting to shake off the unease settling over you. This was supposed to be just another interview—routine, professional. But the tension in the air was palpable, an invisible thread tugging at memories you thought you’d buried.

"Mr. Lee?," you asked again, your voice steady, eyes fixed on the paper in front of you to avoid the intensity of his gaze. "A lot of people are curious about your relationship with Ms. Choi. When did you realize that she was the one? That it was love?"

Heeseung shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flickering to yours before looking down at his hands. For a moment, he hesitated, and you found yourself unconsciously glancing at his left hand again—the wedding band glinting under the lights. The sight of it made your stomach twist.

"When did I know…" Heeseung trailed off, his voice quiet, reflective. He took a deep breath before answering, his eyes still focused on his hand. "I think love can be complicated. Sometimes, it’s not about a single moment, but a series of small ones. You come to realize what's expected of you, and you grow into it, bit by bit."

It was a carefully worded response—safe, diplomatic. He wasn’t answering the question. Not really. And that tugged at something deep inside you, pulling at threads you didn’t want to unravel.

You nodded, trying to move forward, but your thoughts were slipping. "But… when did it feel like more than just expectation? When did it feel like love?"

The words fell from your lips before you could stop them. Too personal. Too revealing. Heeseung’s eyes snapped to yours, surprised at the sudden shift, the edge in your voice. For a second, the air between you thickened, the unspoken past rising to the surface.

"When did it feel like love?" Heeseung repeated slowly, his eyes lingering on your face, as if searching for something. His voice softened. "There was a time I thought I knew… what love felt like."

You blinked, the space between his words loaded with meaning. There was an implicit sadness in the way he spoke, a crack in the façade he’d been holding up for so long.

You felt yourself sinking deeper into the moment, losing grip on the professional veneer you had worked so hard to maintain. Your gaze dropped to his left hand again, to the gold ring encircling his finger. It felt suffocating, knowing it symbolized a future you once imagined would be yours.

Your own fingers absentmindedly brushed against your ring finger, where once a promise had been worn but was now bare. Heeseung’s eyes followed the movement, his gaze lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he closed them again.

The camera’s blinking red light reminded you where you were. You cleared your throat, refocusing on the script, but your mind was still spiraling.

You hesitated before asking the next question, feeling the weight of it before the words even left your mouth. It wasn’t on the script—it wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to ask in an interview like this. But it was the question you had to ask, the one lingering at the back of your mind since you stepped into the room.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse in your throat. "Are you happy?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heeseung’s gaze lingered on you, and for the briefest moment, his polished composure cracked. His eyes softened, as if searching for something in yours.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to the ring on his finger again—gleaming and perfect, a stark contrast to your own bare hand. The ring you had taken off five years ago.

"I... I have everything I’m supposed to want," he began, voice quiet, almost too quiet for the room. His answer was measured, careful, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was you. "I’ve built a life, a career... I’m where I’m supposed to be."

But then his eyes met yours again, and for a heartbeat, something vulnerable passed between you. "But happiness?" He let the question hang in the air, not answering it fully, but leaving the meaning clear. His gaze lingered a second longer, unspoken words filling the silence.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your emotions in check as the weight of what wasn’t said between you pressed down. His answer, or lack of one, told you everything.

You glanced down at your next question, but your voice betrayed you, trailing off as you asked, "Do you… ever think about the life you could have had? If things had been different?"

Heeseung’s gaze locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. The question hadn’t been on the script. You hadn’t even realized you’d said it until it was too late. A deafening silence filled the room, every crew member, every camera operator feeling the tension brewing between you both.

His jaw clenched slightly, and for a moment, it looked like he wasn’t going to answer. But then, his voice came, soft, barely above a whisper, yet laced with emotion. "Sometimes… I think about the life I could have had. The life I almost had."

The way he said it made your breath hitch. You weren’t sure if anyone else in the room could hear it, but to you, it felt like the only thing that mattered. His words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a weight too heavy to ignore.

You tried to regain control, but you were slipping further, your thoughts clouded by the memories you had worked so hard to forget. "Do you have any regrets about the past?” you asked, the question intended more for your own sake than for the magazine.

Heeseung's expression softened, and for the first time throughout the interview, his voice wavered. ‘Regret... it's complicated. There are times when you make choices because you believe they’re what’s best for everyone. Yet there are nights when you can’t help but think… what if?’"

His words hit you like a wave, washing over you with the force of all the unspoken feelings between you. What if. Two simple words, yet they carried the weight of everything you had left behind.

Your breath hitched, and you glanced down at your notes, trying to steer the interview back to safer ground. But the damage was done. You couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

You felt your eyes well up, memories flooding back of the days when Heeseung had been your world. The secret rendezvous, the promises whispered under moonlit skies, the proposal on the beach—the life you almost had. You swallowed hard, pushing the memories down.

"Two weeks until the wedding," you said, your voice hollow, desperate to pull the conversation back to the present. "Are you… ready?"

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, really looked at you, as if seeing past the years, past the distance, and straight into the heart of the girl he had once loved. His lips parted, but the answer you expected didn’t come.

"Are you?" he asked quietly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline.

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt too small, the walls too close. You blinked, shaking your head slightly as if that could shake off the weight of the moment.

The tension between you was unbearable now. You could feel every unsaid word, every lingering regret, every what-if stretching between you, filling the space with a heaviness you could no longer ignore.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Lee," you said, your voice tight, trying to wrap up the interview before you completely unraveled.

But as you stood to leave, Heeseung’s voice stopped you.

"Y/N…"

He adjusted his cufflinks, and the air between you grew heavier. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “Do you ever think about… that time?”

You looked at him, surprised he had asked. The cameras aren’t rolling anymore. “All the time,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.

Heeseung nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah… me too.”

You paused, not daring to turn around, your heart in your throat.

"If I had another chance…" His voice was barely a whisper now, but it sliced through the room like a knife. "I would risk everything."

Your hand hovered on the door handle, but you couldn’t move. His words clung to you, wrapping themselves around your heart like a vice. You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.

But you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

Instead, you stepped out of the studio, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you, knowing that you’d leave this room just as you had left him five years ago—heartbroken and haunted by what could have been.

About an hour after the interview, you found yourself standing at the back of the studio, watching as Heeseung and his fiancée posed for their couple shots. He looked effortlessly handsome in his pristine black tuxedo, while she glimmered in a flowing gown, radiant and picture-perfect.

“Smile a little wider, Heeseung!” the photographer urged, and your heart ached as you watched him comply, his smile lighting up the scene in a way that had once been reserved for you.

You swallowed hard, the memories flooding back—late-night laughter, whispered secrets, and the way he’d promised you the world. A crew member nudged you, breaking your reverie. “They really are the perfect couple,” he said.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice thick with unshed tears.

5 -> silver / platinum blonde 2026

going out with a bang heeseung

— ik that blonde hair is not special for hee but genuinely he had sm appeal with this hair

— big girl don’t cry is definitely a better look for hs compared to knife (i still like his knife looks tho)

— flannel hs was so boyfriend material

— THIS SPECIFIC CLIP OF HIM DOING A DANCE CHALLENGE WITH i think alpha drive one OMG HE WAS SO LIKE MATURE IDK IT MADE ME SCREAM NO S

— vogue bgdc video was so cunt from everyone but genuinely heeseung ate this shit tf up

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4 -> pink / orange 2024

peak idol heeseung

— the kcon look with the jersey and the glasses was fucking everything, especially when they were performing sweet venom omfg

— DONT GET ME STARTED JAPAN FEST PARANORMAL LOVE HEESEUNG I WILL LOOSE IT they all looked so good in that concert

— bthb mv where they all had some variant of this button up with jeans god it was fabulous

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3 -> dirty blonde 2025

iconic touring heeseung

— ALL the wtl concerts with this hair were pure art but i especially like this sunglasses look it was very fuck boy in la vibes (pls f me)

— again these sexy black button up outfits, he was definitely feeling himself, he was so cheeky

— THIS LIVE HOLY FUCK ahem…

— the tank top, the chain, the angle, the collar bones. heeseung baby wdf???

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2 -> burgundy 2024

prince charming heeseung

— this come 2 me cover version is so cute, the length the face holy shit

— seattle baseball bf hs, omg pls i need it i need it i need it

— r:u emo look was so beyond cunt. the makeup was cunt. the outfit was cunt. the hair. c u n t.

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1 -> black mullet 2024

hybe 23 curse in full action

— clap if you’re surprised

— i would give 5 years off my life for this hs to come back (or js for him to comeback tbh😔)

— i think the first photo was a prada event. so unbelievably sexy. so good. his side profile, mm more pls.

— no doubt wavy hair. perfect. i could watch the fan cam everyday istg. like my body has a reaction.

— and last but not least this selfie was the sluttest thing he’s EVER done. not the thrusting in the air. not the biting his lips. THIS

— god i want mullet heeseung to beat me up till i can’t move

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