#vampire!chan

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What a foolish mistake that was.

You feel the chill of the night, a shiver that is unrelated to the low temperature runs down your spine and you freeze. Turning your head to the side, you are sure that you can see someone behind you, hidden in the shadows so you don’t know whether it's fear causing a delusion but you begin to walk a little faster anyway. You can only hear the crunch of the gravel under your feet but that feeling in the back of your mind, the flight response to the situation, is screaming at you to run.

RUN.

You think you can hear another set of footsteps, seconds after yours. Breath on the back of your neck. You’re being shadowed, followed, chased. Your heart races. Your mind screams at you. Run. Run. RUN! You stumble. No, don’t stumble. Get up. GO!

You look behind you and you see nothing, the fear that’s creeped inside and made itself at home has caused you to fear… nothing. You stop when you reach the end of the park, grabbing the lamp post and doubling over as you feel dinner about to come back up as you try to catch your breath. “Hey,” you scream, loud and startling yourself and the person who approached you. How did you not hear them coming? Oh, right, your blood is rushing through your ears and overpowering everything around you. “Ar-are you okay?” They ask, lowering themselves to your view and you nod, waving your hand to try and dismiss how terribly out of shape and terrified you are. “You should be careful. There’s a killer on the loose.”

Excuse me?

You stand up and look at them, their expression matches yours. “A what now?”

“You- ma’am, where have you been? It was announced on the news, they found several bodies out in the woods not far from this park.” You shiver as you look down the path you just came. It looks a lot darker now that you think about it – or is that just your imagination? “Do you live far from here? I can walk you home?” You shake your head, pulling your phone out of your pocket and wave it for them to see.

“I’ll call my boyfriend; he’ll come and get me.” They nod, shoving their hands into their pocket and bidding you good night, walking away while you call your boyfriend. “Babe? I’m not far from home, can you walk to meet me?”

“Yeah babe, where are you?”

“By the park.”

“Yah! Are you crazy, there’s a-”

You groan, “I know, I just found out when I thought I was getting chased through the fucking park.” You can hear him rustling around so you know he’s coming and you hang up, feeling better knowing that your boyfriend is on his way.

He’ll protect you.

Chan fixes his dark hair, smirking as he runs his tongue over his teeth and pulls on his leather jacket. You aren’t far from home so he should be able to meet you without any problems arising. He rushes back towards the park, cutting you off the block before the one you live on; you aren’t even paying attention to what’s around you, yeah, you might be looking around like a meerkat looking out for a predator but you aren’t even paying attention until he’s in front of you. Chan is quick to place his hand over your mouth, keeping you from screaming and he chuckles while your eyes narrow in annoyance and you pull away, slapping his chest – which he pretends hurts.

“Asshole! You scared the shit out of me.” Your fear wins over your anger when you instantly cling to him moments later. “I thought I was getting followed earlier.” You say and Chan doesn’t say anything, nodding as he leads you back to the apartment.

You don’t suspect anything, how could you when he kisses you so sweetly as soon as the door is closed behind you. How can you think about anything but his hands when they trail down your back, dragging the zip of your dress down until it reaches the small of your back? Chan knows that if you’re allowed to dwell then you’ll question things, like how there’s blood on his shirt or how he hasn’t wiped his knees clean of the dirt that still sticks to the denim.

You had caught him by surprise, he was in the middle of feeding when you were walking past and your scent – well, your scent is the one that he craves but has kept himself from indulging in but he couldn’t resist you, especially when fear was mixed in and it messed with his predatory senses. He could have stolen you from the night so easily, you really looked cute when you were running away, but he managed to get a hold of himself and went back to hide the body he had been snacking on.

Except you called him and interrupted his process.

And he is still hungry. Always hungry when it comes to you. He should push the need away but God, you overwhelm every single part of him.

“Baby,” he whispers against your lips, hungrily kissing you and pressing you against the wall. You hum, the sound in your throat as you bury your fingers into his hair and he smirks because you are so easy to work up. You were chased, by him but still chased, and here you are, with the smallest of encouragement, hungry and needy for him – like he is for you but in a very, very different way. “Shall we play a game?”

You pull away, looking at him with a confused expression. “A game? What kind of game?”

Chan smirks, eyes darkening and he can hear your heart pick up its pace as you watch the man you love change before your eyes. Dark veins form under his eyes, his lips curl to reveal elongated canines and his fingers dig into your hips to keep you from running away. “You run, I catch you and we shall see where we go from there.” His voice is lower, sweeter almost and as much as you want to scream, there’s something about his voice, his eyes, that keep you in your place.

You swallow and you watch his eyes flit down to your throat before meeting yours again. “You-you’re a-a…”

“Vampire,” he says the word so casually. “Yes, smart girl.” He chuckles and you shake your head, unable to accept it. “Oh, come on, don’t pretend you didn’t know something was up. The questions have always been on the tip of your tongue except you just never accepted it because you secretly loved the mystery.”

Chan is right, you always suspected he wasn’t who he said he was, but that mystery that surrounded him, it added to the thrill of getting to know him. He comes across as that bad boy with the heart of gold but you saw those little hints of something darker underneath – you just never realised how dark he was. “A-are you-” Chan nods before you manage to stutter out the question and you step away, covering your mouth with both of your hands as you gasp.

“You know, it was cute seeing you run away but there’s a problem – you caught me off guard and I didn’t quite manage to finish my meal.” His eyes now move down to your exposed neck and he licks his lips. “I really don’t think that’s fair, if you get what I mean.”

You step back until you’re against the wall and you shake in fear, was it completely fear or was there something else underneath? That hungry look didn’t seem overly threatening. “Are y-you going to-to kill m-me?” Chan shakes his head, chuckling at the idea. “B-but y-you’re the k-killer everyone is-is talking about…”

“Yeah, well, they make it sound like the scum that I’ve gotten rid of are going to be missed. They weren’t good people.” He tilts his head and sniffs the air. “You, however, I love you. Why in the world would I kill you?” Chan closes in, he loves how the fear in your scent isn’t the overpowering smell – you know, you believe that Chan wouldn’t kill you, that he’s not as bad as part of you is telling yourself. “If I wanted you dead, would you be standing here?”

“You w-won’t kill me?”

Chan shakes his head. “I mean it when I say I love you.”

“Do vampires really fall in love?”

He nods, hands resting on your hips as he pushes you against the wall fully and leans in to ghost his lips over yours. “Deeper and more intensely than humans could even understand.” He whispers and you shiver at his body pressing against yours.

You are mad for even believing such a thing but as his lips softly kiss along your jawline, down the curve of your neck while his hands slowly remove your dress from your body. Your hands move up his chest, you feel the smirk that forms on his lips as you push his jacket off his shoulders and Chan shrugs it off and drops it to the floor before reaching behind you and unclipping your bra; he drags the straps down with his teeth while you unbuckle his belt. He’s quick to keep you from dropping the belt to the floor when you pull it through the loops, grabbing your wrist and shaking his head as he steps back and Chan easily uses the belt as a restraint.

He lifts your wrists above your head, your chest pushing out towards his lips as he leans down and licks your dark, perky nipples. “Beautiful, at my mercy and oh, so willing.” He looks up at you as he sucks on one of your breasts, the moans you release showing how turned on by this you are and this fuels Chan’s actions as he holds your wrists up with one hand and moves his other hand down over your stomach and into your dampening panties. “I can taste you already, your scent is quite unique – sweet, addicting, a meal to be savoured.” He looks you in the eyes as he says this and you shiver.

He’s barely begun and you are a mess. You should be running, fearing for your life and here you are, nearly completely naked against the wall with a hungry predator trailing his tongue down your body as he pulls your panties down your legs and buries his nose against your core and sighs like he’s smelling flowers for the first time.

“Chan~” You moan his name and his eyes look up at you, they have reverted back to normal but you can see his canines still peeking through his plump lips. You watch as his tongue flicks out, giving your core a kitten lick and he shivers at the sound you make – so sensitive, have you always been like this for him?

He spreads your legs further so he can be positioned comfortably between them; Chan spreads your lower lips, groaning at the sight of your juices just waiting for him to have a taste. “All for me~” Chan sings as he moves closer, tongue dipping in before retreating back into his mouth and he growls softly, the sound and vibrations sending a shiver straight to your core. He wants to draw this out, wants to savour you like this but he is losing his patience with every sound you made, with the way you grind against his face and how the taste of you causes something primal inside him to rear its head and want you with your ass in the air and screaming his name.

“Keep your hands up, I want you to tell me when you get close and then we are going to see how long it takes before you completely lose control.” His voice is low, his eyes fixated on your core as he moves closer and runs his teeth along the inside of your thigh. “I’m going to train you until you are the perfect little plaything in the bedroom so consider this is your first lesson so I won’t bite you right now – but later,” he looks up and that hungry look, the beast inside him ready to devour his meal, “I’m going to taste, fuck and please you in every way I can imagine.”

Tongue eagerly lapping at your core, fingers curled against your walls as he brings you close, oh so close, to your climax – Chan isn’t joking when he told you that he wants you to lose control. Maybe he’s barely himself back, barely keeping himself from losing his humanity in the pulsing vein of your throat, but this is the best foreplay you’ve ever had.

So you could only imagine your surprise when you found the door ajar that evening, yet the lights of the home turned off and leaving the windows black.

“Chan!” you yelled, scurrying through the front door in a rush. He knew better than to leave his door open like that, someone could see him! And the dangers of being caught by anyone from your little town was too great of a risk to take. “Bang Chan?” you callled again, slowing your pace as stepped into the kitchen area of his house.

The entire room was a mess, plates shattered into pieces on the countertops and cutlery scattered about floor as if thrown there with a sense of quickness. Following the mess of kitchenware was a trail of a crimson color, liquidly and fresh with hand and footprints clawing up and found the wall and floors. Your heart dropped at the mere sight of it, your head twisting and turning as you tried to piece together what may or may not have occurred before you had arrived.

Chan was a rather stubborn ghoul, resisting his unfortunate natural urge sap a living being of any blood in their system. He’d continuously refuse to even look at her wrist whenever she would offered herself as vessel to make sure he didn’t go through some sort of withdraw. Though it seemed like this time, she was a little too late.

“Now is not the time for this,” You mumble as you shuffle off into the hallway, following the trail of crimson to what you assumed would be your destination. Chan wasn’t even living, so you had no actual idea where and how all this blood had came from and why it was so fresh in the first place. If your vampiric friend wasn’t in too bad of shape, you’d press him for answers immediately. “Chan...? Are you there?”

You heard the sound of rumbling at the down of the corridor, signaling that whatever was in the hallway most definitely heard you and was reacting to your voice. Your eyes were glued to the trail of blood that took you to a hunched over figure at the end of the hallway, stumbling to their feet as if they were weak in the knees and wounded in the chest. “I didn’t want to...” Chan’s voice mumbled, chanting the words to himself like a mantra. “I didn’t mean to... I was just too tired...”

You hesitated for a moment before feeling around for the light switch, flicking the overhead light on and revealing the scene for yourself. There sat Chan on his knees, staring at the blood that trickled down from his face to his neck and to his fingers, splattered against his white t-shirt and nearly covering the walls in the crimson color.

His teeth, the skin piercing fangs signature to the supernatural beings he was, were long and red to show that they were the culprit to the dress scene.

“I was just too tired, he came out of nowhere. It was like craving and before I could even think about it—“ he cut himself off, his arms wrapping around himself as if to comfort himself for his loss of control. “And then suddenly it was like an controllable urge, and I couldn’t stop... I killed him, I killed him!”

He was breathtaking, but not in a way that felt safe. His beauty was sharp, almost cruel. His skin was pale, glowing faintly under the moonlight, with lips that seemed permanently etched in melancholy. His eyes, however, were what rooted Minho in place. They were dark and endless, reflecting centuries of sorrow and longing. They seemed to pierce through him, stripping away every defense he’d ever built.

“You found me,” Chan said, his voice low and velvety, reverberating like a secret meant only for Minho.

Minho jolted awake, his heart racing. He touched his face, his skin clammy with sweat. The dream lingered like a ghost, vivid and impossible to ignore. He told himself it was just his imagination. A byproduct of immersing himself in the diary. But deep down, he knew it was more.

The boundary between dream and reality began to blur. Shadows moved in ways they shouldn’t, stretching toward Minho like fingers reaching for his soul. The whispers from his dreams followed him into waking life, faint murmurs at the edge of his hearing. The isolation of his research became suffocating.

One evening, while pouring over the diary in his tiny office, the shadows changed. They rippled across the room, pooling in the corner until they formed a shape. Chan’s shape.

Minho froze, his breath catching. “This… this isn’t real.”

Chan tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smile, sharp teeth shining in the night. “You’ve been calling me. I’ve simply answered.”

“No,” Minho muttered, backing away. “You’re just… I’m imagining you.”

“You’re not,” Chan said, stepping closer. His movements were impossibly fluid, like smoke curling through the air. “You’ve seen my past, haven’t you? You’ve felt it.”

Minho clutched the edge of his desk. “The diary… it’s just a story.”

“It’s my story,” Chan corrected, his voice tinged with sadness. “You found it because you were meant to. And now, you can’t ignore me.”

Minho stared at him, torn between fascination and terror. The man - if he could even be called that - was devastatingly beautiful up close. The planes of his face seemed sculpted from marble, but his expression was unbearably human, etched with sorrow and vulnerability.

“You’re not real,” Minho whispered, though his words sounded hollow even to himself.

Chan’s eyes darkened. “If I’m not real, then why do you feel my pain?”

Minho grabbed the cursed diary from his desk and threw it at the figure. “You're not real!” he yelled desperately, the shadows fleeing back into their designated corners of the room.

-

Minho’s life unraveled. The diary consumed his thoughts during the day; Chan haunted his dreams at night. Each encounter with Chan left him feeling both exhilarated and drained, as though he were walking a tightrope between reality and insanity. He stopped sleeping. He stopped eating. His colleagues began to notice his gaunt appearance, his distracted demeanor, but Minho brushed off their concerns.

The whispers in the shadows grew louder. They spoke in fragmented phrases, urging him toward the basement of the library - a place long abandoned, its door sealed shut. Minho resisted at first, terrified of what he might find. But the more he resisted, the more vivid the dreams became.

In one, Chan showed him a memory: himself shackled in a dark, cold room, his body weakened but his eyes defiant.

“They locked me away,” Chan said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “They feared what I was, but they didn’t understand.”

Minho woke from that dream in a cold sweat, the image of Chan’s chained form burned into his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Chan was still there, buried beneath the university, waiting for someone to free him.

-

The descent into the basement was a descent into madness. It was late, the halls silent except for the faint hum of the heating system. Minho had been chasing whispers, a trail of barely audible calls that echoed through the empty corridors. He didn’t know why he was following them - only that he couldn’t stop. They drew him deeper and deeper into the university’s underbelly, past locked doors and forgotten archives.

And then he saw it: an ancient door, reinforced with iron and marked with the same crescent moon-and-dagger insignia from the diary.

Minho’s heart pounded as he approached it. The whispers grew louder, almost deafening. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold metal handle. And then a voice - Chan’s voice - filled his head.

“You’re so close.”

Minho hesitated. Was this real? Or was he just descending into madness? The dreams, the diary, the shadows - they all pointed to the same conclusion, but it was absurd. Vampires weren’t real. Chan wasn’t real. He had to be imagining all of this. Right?

But what if he wasn’t?

The conflict tore at him. On one hand, everything logical told him to stop, to turn back and seek help. On the other, the idea of leaving Chan - if he truly was trapped - felt unbearable. Minho had felt Chan’s pain, his desperation, his hope. Even if it was all in his head, how could he ignore it?

Taking a deep breath, Minho tightened his grip on the handle and pulled.

The room beyond was vast and cavernous, its walls etched with runes that seemed to hum with power. In the center, bathed in a pale, unnatural light, was Chan.

He was chained, just as he had been in the dream. The sight of him brought Minho to his knees. Chan’s beauty was undiminished, but his body was frail, his skin ghostly pale. His eyes, however, burned with an intensity that took Minho’s breath away.

“You found me,” Chan said, not in his head anymore, his voice breaking. “I knew you would.”

-

Freeing Chan wasn’t easy. The chains weren’t just physical - they were enchanted, bound by some ancient magic that required Minho to decipher the runes lining the walls. Days turned into weeks as he worked, sneaking down to the basement whenever he could. Chan guided him through the process, his presence a constant comfort despite the circumstances. Minho worked tirelessly, his mind torn between hope and fear. He spent hours in that room, speaking with Chan, learning more about his life. The more he learned, the more he realized how deeply he started to care for him.

“You shouldn’t grow attached to me,” Chan said one night, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m not human. I’ve done things - terrible things.”

“You’re not a monster,” Minho said firmly. “You’ve suffered more than anyone should.”

“And you’ve taken on my suffering,” Chan murmured, his eyes softening. “Why?”

Minho didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at Chan - like he was the most precious thing in the world - said it all.

Minho did find himself growing attached. It wasn’t just Chan’s tragic story or his otherworldly beauty - it was the way he understood Minho in a way no one else ever had. Their conversations, though brief, were filled with a depth that Minho hadn’t realized he was missing in his life.

But the closer he got to freeing Chan, the more the shadows seemed to fight back. The university itself seemed to rebel against him - lights flickered, doors slammed shut, and whispers turned to screams. Minho began to wonder if he was truly doing the right thing. What if freeing Chan unleashed something worse?

In the end, Minho made his choice.

The final rune was the hardest to break, its energy lashing out as if trying to stop him. But Minho didn’t falter. With a final stroke of his makeshift tools, the rune shattered, and the chains binding Chan dissolved into nothingness.

Chan collapsed, and Minho caught him instinctively. For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of centuries lifting from the air.

“Thank you,” Chan whispered, his voice barely audible. “I owe you everything.”

-

In the weeks that followed, the university seemed to return to normal. The fog lifted, the whispers faded, and the shadows stopped moving. Minho, however, couldn’t forget. Chan had vanished after his release, leaving behind only a promise: “We’ll meet again.”

And he did.

Late at night, when the world was quiet and the shadows grew long, Minho would feel a presence by his side. Chan wasn’t gone - not entirely. He was in the whispers of the wind, the flicker of candlelight, and the dreams that still lingered.

Minho had freed him, but in doing so, he had bound their fates together. And as much as it terrified him, he wouldn’t want to miss his presence.

-

Chan didn’t disappear for long. The first time he returned in person, Minho was shelving books late at night, the heavy weight of the day clinging to him like a second skin. He felt Chan before he saw him - a shift in the air, a strange warmth that sent a shiver down his spine. He turned to see the vampire standing near the doorway, his silhouette framed by the faint moonlight streaming through the high windows.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Chan said softly, stepping closer, his voice laced with gentle amusement.

Minho’s throat dried as he watched the man - no, the creature - who haunted his dreams. “I thought you left,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended.

Chan stopped a few feet away, his dark eyes scanning Minho’s face as if trying to commit every detail to memory. “I could never truly leave. Not now. Not after…” He hesitated, his gaze faltering for the briefest moment. “Not after you saved me.”

The sincerity in his voice was disarming. Minho felt his heart quicken, unsure if it was from fear or something deeper. Chan tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Come with me.”

“What?” Minho blinked, startled.

“Outside,” Chan said, holding out his hand. “You’ve been hiding in this library too long. Let me show you something.”

Minho hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to refuse, to stay in the safety of the library’s walls. But the way Chan looked at him - soft, patient, waiting - made it impossible to say no. Tentatively, he reached out and took Chan’s hand.

Chan’s skin was cold, but his grip was steady, grounding. The moment their fingers intertwined, Minho felt his nerves ease, as though Chan’s presence alone could quiet the storm of doubt in his mind.

The university grounds were bathed in silver moonlight, the fog rolling lazily over the cobblestones. Chan led Minho down winding paths, his steps confident despite the shadows that stretched unnaturally across their path. They didn’t speak at first, the silence between them comfortable, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.

Chan led him to the edge of the forest that bordered the campus, where the trees stood tall and ancient, their branches weaving into a canopy that shimmered faintly under the moon. Beyond the trees, a lake stretched out like a sheet of black glass, its surface reflecting the stars.

“This is my favorite spot,” Chan said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He let go of Minho’s hand and stepped closer to the water’s edge, his silhouette almost glowing in the pale light.

Minho watched him, his breath catching in his throat. Chan looked… ethereal. The soft light highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his lips, the way his hair caught the breeze. He seemed less like the monsters Minho had read about and more like something celestial - something far too beautiful for this world.

“You’re staring,” Chan said without turning around, his voice carrying a teasing edge.

Minho felt his cheeks heat. “I wasn’t.”

Chan glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Liar.”

Minho huffed, crossing his arms as he tried to hide his embarrassment. “You just… look different out here. Less scary.”

Chan’s expression softened, the teasing smile fading into something more serious. “And you look tired,” he said, his gaze sweeping over Minho. “You’ve been carrying so much weight, Minho. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

The sincerity in Chan’s voice was almost too much to bear. Minho looked away, focusing on the ripples in the water as his thoughts swirled. “I’m not used to relying on people.”

“You can rely on me,” Chan said, stepping closer. His voice was low, soothing. “You’ve already done so much for me. Let me do something for you.”

Minho hesitated, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in Chan’s eyes. Slowly, he nodded. “Okay.”

They began to meet more often after that night. Chan would appear without warning, his presence always accompanied by that strange shift in the air. Sometimes, he’d find Minho in the library, pouring over books, and insist on dragging him outside for a walk. Other times, he’d simply sit with Minho in silence, their quiet companionship speaking volumes.

One evening, as they wandered through the forest, Minho couldn’t help but steal glances at Chan. The vampire walked with an ease that seemed almost human, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. But there was a sadness to him, a weight that lingered in the lines of his face.

“Do you ever miss it?” Minho asked suddenly.

Chan glanced at him, one brow raised. “Miss what?”

“Being human,” he said, carefully pushing his glasses back into place.

Chan was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. His eyes searched the soft orbs hidden behind the glass, presenting Minho's eyes like windows to his soul. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it’s been so long, I don’t even remember what it feels like.”

Minho nodded, his heart aching at the thought. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live for centuries, to watch the world change while he stayed the same. “That must be… lonely.”

“It is,” Chan said softly. He looked at Minho, his gaze steady. “But it’s not so bad now. Not with you around.”

Minho’s breath caught, his cheeks flushing under Chan’s unwavering gaze. He quickly looked away, focusing on the path ahead. “Don’t say things like that,” he muttered.

“Why not?” Chan asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Does it make you nervous?”

“No,” Minho lied, though the rapid beating of his heart betrayed him.

Chan chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “You’re terrible at lying, Minho.”

They reached the lake again, the water shimmering under the moonlight. Chan stopped, turning to face Minho fully. “You’ve been so kind to me,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Even when you were afraid, even when you didn’t understand… you never gave up on me. Why?”

Minho hesitated, his eyes meeting Chan’s. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I couldn’t leave you there. You didn’t deserve that…no one does.”

Chan’s gaze softened, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Minho laughed, the sound nervous. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Chan insisted, stepping closer. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Minho’s cheek.

Minho’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond. But then he looked into Chan’s eyes - dark and endless, filled with a depth of emotion that took his breath away - and he realized he felt *something* that went beyond admiration.

Their walks became a nightly ritual, a sanctuary where they could escape the weight of their pasts. Each step brought them closer, their bond deepening with every shared laugh, every stolen glance, every touch that lingered a moment too long.

And for the first time in a long time, Minho felt like he wasn’t alone.

-

Minho wasn’t sure when the library stopped feeling like home. For years, it had been his sanctuary, a quiet refuge in his darkest hours. But since the night he freed Chan, things had shifted.

The corridors stretched farther than he remembered, as if the building itself were growing. New doorways and passages appeared, and bookshelves that had once stood static now seemed to rearrange themselves overnight. The crescent moon-and-dagger insignia appeared in the strangest places - etched into ancient tomes, carved into the walls, and even flickering in the corner of his vision when he closed his eyes.

Chan was fascinated. The vampire spent hours exploring, his dark eyes lighting up with a mix of awe and apprehension as he traced the symbols with delicate fingers. “This place,” he murmured one evening, “it’s not just a library. It’s alive.”

Minho frowned. “Alive how?”

“It’s responding to you,” Chan said, his voice carrying a note of wonder. “To us. This magic… it’s ancient, older than anything I’ve ever encountered. And it’s powerful. Be careful, Minho. The library isn’t just revealing its secrets - it’s testing you.”

Despite Chan’s warning, Minho couldn’t resist the pull of the library’s mysteries. He spent long nights over ancient texts and deciphering runes, each discovery pulling him deeper into the labyrinth of secrets.

One night, he stumbled upon a hidden room. The air inside felt heavy, humming with an energy that made his skin prickle. In the center of the room stood a pedestal holding an old journal bound in cracked leather. The crescent moon-and-dagger insignia gleamed on its cover.

Opening it, Minho read about an ancient society tasked with controlling supernatural forces. The journal spoke of “The Keeper,” a role bound to the library - a guardian and a vessel for its power. A chill ran down his spine as he realized the implications.

Minho shared his findings with Chan, who listened in silence, his expression unreadable. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” Minho accused, his voice sharp.

Chan hesitated. “I knew the library held power. But I didn’t know… this.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Minho snapped, slamming the journal onto the table. “You’ve been here for centuries. How much are you hiding from me?”

Chan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked every bit the ancient, dangerous creature Minho had freed. But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked away. “I glimpsed the library’s power through the runes that bound me,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t have all the answers, Minho. I swear.”

Minho wanted to believe him. But doubt gnawed at him, growing stronger with each unanswered question.

The library grew more hostile as Minho delved deeper. Shadows seemed to lengthen unnaturally, and the once-faint whispers became guttural voices that followed him through the halls. Books flew off shelves, their pages flipping frantically as though trying to communicate. Chan's sudden visits started to startle him each time, never knowing what to expect.

-

One night, Minho experienced a vision. He saw robed figures conducting rituals, sealing monstrous creatures behind enchanted doors, and carving runes into stone with trembling hands. He woke with a start, sweat soaking his shirt.

The next day, Chan confronted him. “You’ve been marked,” he said, his voice grave. “The library is choosing you, Minho. It wants you to be its Keeper.”

Minho stared at him, horrified. “No. That’s not possible.”

“It’s already happening,” Chan said, gently reaching for his hand. “Your senses are sharper, aren’t they? You can hear the whispers, see things others can’t. The library’s power is growing in you.”

Minho couldn’t shake the feeling that Chan knew more than he was letting on. His suspicions deepened when he discovered a hidden journal tucked away in the library’s archives - a journal that mentioned Chan by name.

According to the journal, Chan had once sought the library’s power for himself, hoping to use it to break his vampiric curse. The revelation felt like a betrayal.

“You lied to me,” Minho accused, confronting Chan in the dim light of the library. “You knew exactly what freeing you would do to me.”

Chan’s eyes widened in shock. “Minho, no. I didn’t-”

“Don’t deny it,” Minho interrupted. “This journal says you wanted the library’s power. Was this your plan all along? To use me?”

Chan looked stricken. “I won’t lie to you. I did seek the library’s power centuries ago, but I gave up on that long before you freed me. I never intended for you to get hurt.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Minho demanded.

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t trust me,” Chan admitted. “I’ve made mistakes, Minho. But I swear to you, freeing me wasn’t one of them. I care about you.”

The vulnerability in Chan’s voice made Minho pause. He wanted to believe him, but the weight of the library’s growing power - and his own fears - made it hard to trust anyone.

The library’s magic reached a boiling point. The malevolent force sealed by the Keeper began to stir, its presence manifesting as a dark, swirling energy that threatened to consume everything.

Minho and Chan faced the heart of the library together. The runes on the walls glowed ominously, and the air crackled with magic.

“We have to seal it,” Chan said, his voice steady despite the chaos. “But it’ll take a sacrifice.”

Minho’s heart pounded. He knew what Chan meant. To seal the force, someone had to take on the role of the Keeper.

“I’ll do it,” Minho said, his voice trembling.

“No,” Chan said firmly. “You have a life ahead of you. Dreams. I’ve already lost everything. Let me do this.”

Minho shook his head, tears brimming his eyes. “I can’t let you go back to that prison. Not after everything you’ve been through.”

Chan stepped closer, his hands cupping Minho’s face. “You’ve changed me, Minho. You’ve given me hope. Let me repay you by protecting you.”

Minho’s resolve wavered, but he couldn’t let Chan make that sacrifice. “Don't you dare, stupid.”

Despite his warnings, Chan stuck close to Minho. They worked together to decipher the runes that had bound Chan and still held secrets about the library’s power. In the quiet moments between their work, they found themselves drawn to each other in ways neither could explain.

One rainy evening, as thunder rumbled outside, Minho caught Chan staring at him.

“What?” Minho asked, feeling self-conscious.

“You’re different,” Chan said, his voice soft. “Most people would have run by now. But you… you’re still here.”

Minho shrugged, trying to mask the warmth rising in his cheeks. “Maybe I’m just stubborn.”

Chan’s lips curved into a small smile. “Or maybe you’re braver than you realize.”

-

The library’s hidden chamber was a cathedral of shadows and power, its towering walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Candles burned in every corner, their flames flickering against the oppressive darkness. At the center of the room stood a massive circular rune, carved into the floor with precision that seemed almost inhuman. It glowed faintly, waiting to be awakened.

Minho stood within the circle, his heart pounding as he stared at the crescent moon-and-dagger insignia etched into the stone beneath his feet. The air felt heavy, charged with magic that pressed against his chest, stealing his breath. He could hear the whispers louder than ever, words in a language he didn’t understand, yet somehow knew were meant for him.

“This is dangerous,” Chan said, standing just outside the circle. His eyes were dark with worry, his fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to do this.”

Minho turned to him, his expression resolute. “Yes, I do. If I don’t, that thing will escape, and everything we’ve worked for will be meaningless.”

Chan took a step closer, his voice dropping to a pleading whisper. “We’ll find another way. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.” Minho gave him a small, sad smile. “This is what the library wants. What it’s been preparing me for. I have to finish this.” Chan opened his mouth to protest, but Minho raised a hand to stop him. “You’ve done enough, Chan. You gave me the strength to get this far. Now let me do this.”

For a moment, Chan said nothing, his jaw tight with emotion. His hands found Minho's cheeks and he pulled him in close, breath hitching as they were only mere inches apart.

“Chan,” Minho exhaled shakily, searching his eyes nervously. His heart fluttered beneath Chan's gaze and he felt himself melt into the older.

Chan only hesitated for a second before their lips met in a tender kiss. Minho's hand shot up to cup Chan's cheek, kissing back fiercely. “You better be careful.”

“I will,” he whispered with wide eyes.

Then he nodded, though his hands trembled as he stepped back. “I’m not leaving your side,” he said firmly. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here.”

Minho swallowed hard and gave him a grateful look before turning back to the rune. He knelt, placing his hands flat against the cold stone, and began to speak the words inscribed in the ancient text they had uncovered. The language was foreign, each syllable strange and sharp, yet they rolled off his tongue as if they had been etched into his soul.

The effect was immediate. The runes on the floor flared to life, their glow shifting from faint white to blinding gold. A wind erupted from nowhere, howling through the chamber and snuffing out the candles one by one. The air became thick with power, crackling like a storm about to break.

Minho felt the magic wrap around him, pulling him upward as if he weighed nothing. His feet left the ground, and he hovered in the center of the circle, his arms outstretched. The glow from the runes intensified, bathing him in golden light as the crescent moon-and-dagger insignia seared itself into his wrist. Minho cried out, the pain sharp and all-encompassing, but he didn’t stop chanting.

The books lining the walls began to rattle, their pages flipping wildly as if caught in the same storm. The whispers grew louder, turning into a deafening roar that filled Minho’s mind with images of the library’s history: the rituals of the first Keeper, the sealing of the malevolent force, and the countless sacrifices made to protect the world from its darkness.

The magic reached its crescendo, and Minho’s body arched as a blinding purple light erupted from his chest. The wind surged, sending books tumbling from their shelves and snuffing out the last of the candles. For a moment, the chamber was plunged into darkness, save for the glow of the runes and the light radiating from Minho’s body.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the storm ceased. Minho’s body went limp, and he began to fall.

Chan moved faster than he thought possible, catching Minho just before he hit the ground. The younger man was pale, his breathing shallow, and his head lolled against Chan’s shoulder. For a terrifying moment, Chan thought he had lost him.

“Minho,” Chan whispered, his voice trembling. “Come on, wake up. Please.”

Minho stirred, his fingers twitching weakly against Chan’s chest. His eyes fluttered open, and Chan froze. For a fleeting second, Minho’s irises glowed with an otherworldly purple light, the same color as the magic that had filled the chamber. The glow faded quickly, replaced by Minho’s familiar dark gaze, but the memory of it sent a chill through Chan’s spine.

“Chan?” Minho’s voice was faint, barely audible over the pounding of Chan’s own heartbeat.

“I’m here,” Chan said, his grip tightening around him. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Minho’s gaze dropped to his wrist, where the crescent moon-and-dagger insignia was now burned into his skin, its edges glowing faintly. He reached up to touch it, his fingers trembling. “It’s done,” he murmured. “I can feel it… it’s a part of me now.”

Chan cupped his face, forcing Minho to look at him. “You’re still you,” he said fiercely. “I won’t let this magic take that away from you.”

Minho gave him a weak smile, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “You can’t stop it, Chan. It’s already started.”

“Then I’ll fight it,” Chan said, his voice breaking. “I’ll fight for you. No matter what it takes.”

Minho’s smile softened, and he let his head rest against Chan’s shoulder. “Thank you…stupid,” he whispered.

Chan held him close, his heart aching as he felt the steady, fragile beat of Minho’s heart against his chest. The storm had passed, but they both knew the battle was far from over.

Above them, the library’s runes dimmed to a faint glow, their power settling into the one who had been chosen. And in the silence that followed, the two of them stayed there - bound together by sacrifice, by magic, and by a love that refused to fade.

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