ashes to beauty; rust in lust

10. Mood to Burn Bridges

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 19:22:31 GMT

Title: Mood to Burn Bridges
Character(s): Heechul
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5700
Summary: Tenth installment. Heechul has always been something of a black sheep.
References: Story Archive

Heechul is ten years old – and very proud of the double digits, thank you very much – when he first meets his Aunt Taemi at a family reunion. The woman looks old to Heechul's young eyes, though he learns later on that she's only in her thirties. Her face is lined and grim-looking while she talks in a fierce undertone with Heechul's mother. She isn't dressed for the occasion, sporting jeans that have seen better days and a plain cotton shirt under a worn denim jacket. Dirt clings to her boots and gets crushed into the immaculate carpet (Heechul is half-scandalized and half-thrilled at the very idea of tarnishing the pristine fibers).

He decides to introduce himself to his aunt in a forthright manner, feeling bold indeed as he confronts this stranger, this anomaly, in his home. Taemi has a sharp gaze and her mouth curves into a smile that gives the impression of a cat's clever smirk, to which Heechul grins back in kind. His aunt isn't soft at all, just lean and wiry and smelling of cigarette smoke. The hand she extends for Heechul to shake is rough with calluses on the palm and scars at the base of the thumb, which shows two crescent-shaped indentations.

"What's this from?" Heechul asks, pointedly ignoring his mother's silent – but nearly tangible – disapproval.

"It's a bite from a hunting trip," Taemi answers, still giving that same feline smile. Her voice has a subtle scratchiness to it.

Heechul rubs the pad of his finger over the marks buried in tough flesh, imagination taking flight. He thinks of curved teeth and powerful jaws. Wolves, maybe. Or a large cat (spotted leopards and striped tigers, sleek and sable panthers). "What were you hunting?"

"Monsters."

It's at this point that Heechul snorts and drops his hand. The awe is gone, replaced instantly by the pragmatic mind of a precocious ten-year-old who is Old Enough to Know Better. Taemi laughs, but Heechul doesn't know what's so funny.

* * * * *

He doesn't think about monsters again until he's fourteen, getting home way past curfew with the sharp scent of blood still thick in his nose and the image of gleaming white teeth imprinted in his mind. His wrist throbs where Sharon had grasped it tightly, her fingernails biting into his skin; his own hand had been clamped over her mouth while he bit his lower lip as they'd watched, scarcely daring to breathe, while Sharon's new boyfriend tore savagely into the throat of a girl at the park.

For the first time in his life, Heechul had been utterly speechless.

"I think you should start seeing someone else," he managed to say once they made it back to Sharon's house. "Because I don't hang around people who date psychopaths."

"I think I should call the fucking police," she hissed, pale and shaking, and he stayed with her while she did just that. Her recounting of the event faltered at the 'and then he opened wide and chowed down' part, but Heechul didn't blame her.

He recalls the sudden snap of bone and the girl's dangling head being cradled in a parody of gentleness, the wet sucking sound that followed and the spill of blood shining under musty yellow lamplight in the park.

Heechul staggers into the bathroom and falls to his knees in front of the toilet, insides churning as the memory replays. It's crazy, that's what it is, like Hollywood horror coming out of the screen and into his life.

Of course, his mother chooses that moment to appear at the doorway, mouth agape in shock. "Where have you been? Are you— You're not drunk, are you?"

"If only," he groans out, flushing the toilet with one hand and gripping the sink with the other as he pulls himself up. Turning on the faucet helps override the 'Do you know what time it is, young man?' lecture. He rinses the sourness from his mouth and splashes cold water on his face, trying not to think about (the monster) Sharon's psycho ex-boyfriend splattering blood onto the grass beneath the tree. It will have soaked into dirt and roots by morning.

"...and this is what happens when you associate with the wrong crowd!"

Heechul registers the end of the tirade while he wipes his face dry with a towel, fingers clenching in the plush cloth. "Okay, I got it. I'll be sure not to mingle with any druggies or pedos or cannibal murderers with big, sharp, pointy teeth." He all but flings the towel back onto the rack, and then he then catches sight of his mother's expression reflected in the mirror.

Her mouth opens to form an 'o' of shock and affront, fair skin blanching to a papery white. Her voice trembles when she speaks. "You've been talking to your aunt, haven't you? Since when? Oh, what is she thinking—" Heechul wisely keeps silent as she whirls away, robe fluttering behind her like a persistent ghost.

What does Aunt Taemi have to do with anything? He treads after her as she goes to the phone, but she glares at him and orders him to his room before she even dials. Even leaving the door open a crack, he can't hear anything beyond a hushed muttering of one-sided conversation.

Time passes, and he takes to watching the minutes go by on his digital clock, numbers shifting in bright red angles and lines. He turns the lights off and waits until he sees the shadow of his mother pass, hears her door close. Heechul counts off another ten minutes with agonizing precision before slipping out and stalking down the dark hallway, light as a cat.

He reaches the phone and holds it to his ear, pressing down firmly on the 'redial' button.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end has that unmistakable slight rasp he remembers.

"Hello, Aunt Taemi," Heechul greets.

"Heechul." There's a pause and slight crackle of exhaling breath. Is she smoking at this hour? "What can I do for you?" she asks straightaway, business-like and knowing. He breathes deeply, then relaxes his white-knuckled grip on the phone and folds his gangly teenage body into a nearby chair.

Can't go back now.

"Tell me about monsters."

* * * * *

He's at the park again, staring down at the struggling body of the vampire. It's nighttime, but he can still see the creature's face twisted into a snarling, bloody mess, long canines bared while black, glittering eyes glare hatefully at him. Taemi stands behind the hunched form, pulling both arms back by the wrists and planting a foot on top of its spine. Heechul braces himself. She gives one solid wrench that produces a sickening crack from each side of its body, and drops the howling thing facedown in the grass. It tries to bite at her ankle when she steps too close, but the hunter nimbly avoids the rake of fangs. She faces Heechul.

"Still think you can stomach this?"

"Just kill it already," he says, sounding bored, already learning to tune out the agonized, animalistic noises coming from the creature. "I have homework to finish, and you'd better explain to my mom why I'm late."

"Deal." Taemi removes a semiautomatic pistol from her holster and checks the magazine. Then she holds the gun by the barrel and extends it to him. "You do it."

Heechul reaches out, thinking, It's going to be heavy, and it is; the gun is a cold and unfamiliar weight in both of his hands. Off to the side, Taemi calmly explains how to stand (front stance, evenly balanced, he's not in a fucking T.V. show here) and grip the weapon (tight as he can, don't shake – he is absolutely still). He doesn't need to be told where to aim: Heechul lines up his shot, squeezes the trigger, and puts a bullet deep into the monster's brain.

He staggers from the recoil—

He strikes his elbow against the wall next to his bed.

Heechul rolls on his side and curls in on his arm, hissing at the jarring pain. He rubs at his eyes with his other hand and blinks into the darkness of his room, wondering what could have woken him up. A trilling noise – his cell phone – piercing through the constant drone of the A/C is the most likely perpetrator.

"Shit," he murmurs, making a grab for the thing and picking up. "Who the fuck is this?" His sole intention is to find out who has the gall to call him after he just got back from a seven-hour drive, tell them exactly what they can do with themselves, and hang up.

"That's no way to greet someone you haven't spoken to in three weeks!" accuses the female voice on the line. "Why didn't you call when you got back? Jerk."

Heechul groans and rubs a hand over his face. "Sharon. Sweetheart. You may have a couple years on me, but you're nowhere near old enough to be my mother."

"Good thing, too. Who wants you for a son? But anyway, I'm on campus with a few friends. Since you and Jay are back, you should come have a few drinks with us."

"Thanks, but no thanks," he drawls. "I have my beauty sleep to consider."

"Oh, come on! I didn't see you all summer, and now I'm in school again. Who knows when you'll need to leave for your next trip?"

"You have got to be kidding me. I have spent the better part of my day on the most mind-numbing stretch of dusty, never-ending turnpike in the world – not even the apocalypse could get me out of bed right now."

"Well—"

"And before that, Jay and I were playing the 'gee, I really don't know how that body ended up there, officer' game because of the gaggle-fuck afterwards."

"All right, then—"

"The bloodsucker led us on a chase across the entire fuckin' state, I swear. Do you know what the weather's been like out there? I thought I'd melt, it was so wretchedly hot."

There's a muffled sound on the other end and Sharon's voice, slightly distorted and laughing, saying, "No, it's okay, he's always like this."

Someone else chimes in – lower register, definitely male. "Who cares, he sounds like an asshole anyway."

"Hey," Heechul takes offense and cuts in, sitting up in bed and raking his fingers through his short hair in irritation. He looks scruffier than he likes, but long hunting trips don't lend themselves to clean, sleek styles. "Hey, Sharon, tell that bastard to mind his own business. What kind of poor company are you keeping?"

There's some more mumbling and a peal of laughter in the background ("What's so funny, Jungsu?" "Damn, is he drunk already?") before she responds, and she doesn't answer his question. "Listen, I think I'm free tomorrow evening, so maybe we can catch up— Whoa— Hey, easy on the freshie! Heechul, I'll see you later then?"

Oh, I don't think so. Heechul throws the sheets off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll be there in twenty. Any party of yours is hopeless without me."

"Great! I'll introduce you to everyone. I've already been telling them about you – nothing but good things, I promise."

"Sharon Kwon," he says with a sigh and a little eye-roll. "You are such a liar."

* * * * *

The kitchen is warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the flurries and three inches of accumulated snow outside. Heechul shivers reflexively at the memory of Kangin (that infantile bully) dumping snow down his back just a few hours ago, and he smoothes his fingers over the sweater Leeteuk let him borrow.

Aside from Heechul and Jay, the kitchen is deserted, though other voices of friends and family can be heard around the corner. It's private enough for now, but Heechul takes care to speak in an undertone. If some of the others heard them talking shop during the holidays, well, it would just be a nuisance to deal with. What they don't know can't hurt them.

"Rumor has it that a certain distinguished family has been seen in Chicago," Heechul begins lightly with his gaze wandering over the countertop. A plate of sugar cookies catches his eye and he deftly swipes one, biting into it. Sharon had baked up a storm for the occasion – all four of the hunters home for Christmas.

"And what sort of disreputable source did you hear that from?" Jay wants to know, head bent over the counter to converse more confidentially.

"You're questioning the legitimacy of my sources?" Heechul asks in disbelief. "Who was it that started us on that wild goose chase in Atlanta? We spent weeks there, and all I got was sunburned. I looked terrible." He turns his nose up while popping the remaining bit of cookie into his mouth.

"Call it the voice of experience, then," Jay admits sourly. Heechul chews, swallows, and relents, patting him on the cheek.

"Well, I got wind of this straight from the higher-ups."

Jay's doubt returns in full-force. "They want us to go after the Choi family?"

"Don't make me hit the stupid out of you. It's not an official mission, but it's right there, ripe for the picking if you ask me."

"Sounds more like a warning to stay away."

"What next?" Heechul sneers. "Do we need to start wearing water wings before we get in the pool? So the Chois been around the block, so what? They die just as easily as the rest. Last I checked, hunting wasn't for the faint of heart to begin with."

"My friend, you are certifiably insane." But Jay cracks a smile as he says it. "Wouldn't it be glorious if we managed it, though? There has to be some decrepit old man on the Council from that lineage."

"Our biggest worry would probably be keeping that one alive long enough to question. The Council is supposed to be, what, all the old-fashioned, paranoid ancestors?"

"The Council was formed before the guilds, so there's not much recorded about its history. The families themselves are even older. Didn't you learn this already?"

"Oh, who cares, anyway?" Heechul brushes off the teasing. "Book learning doesn't amount to anything when you're facing a creature full of bloodlust and a huge pair of teeth." He grabs another cookie and motions to the rest of the plate. "Try one, or are you afraid of ruining your girlish figure?"

"My girlish figure. Right." Jay reaches out to sample one when suddenly they hear a commotion from the living room. A child's cry rises up over the rest of the noise.

Sharon peers around the corner, looking rather harried. Her eyes light upon Heechul. "Bring some paper towels out here, would you?"

* * * * *

The first thing Heechul does when he gets back to his cheap hotel room (after nervously jamming the cheap key into the cheap lock and shoving open the cheap fucking door) is kick the paint-peeling wall and overturn the wobbly table. Then he tries his cell phone – or he would, if he had the blasted thing on him. It's not in any of his pockets, but who would he even call? Miranda wouldn't want to hear about this. Miranda isn't supposed to hear about this; they'd already told him to back the fuck off on the Choi family after what happened with Jay, but he'd ignored those orders and tracked Shiwon down anyway. Heechul needs to do this, despite (no, because of) the casualties, and it would have been fine. It would have been fine if not for that one mistake, just an accident—

"I told him to get the hell out of there," Heechul snarls, kicking the wall again for good measure. Someone in the next room swears at him. "Fuck you!" he screams back.

He stands there and breathes heavily for a while, body strung impossibly tight, heart pounding, and with bruises starting to purple his skin. There's blood on his clothes – Shiwon's blood, and not enough of it to make him feel satisfied. There had been more blood on the rooftop, pooling rapidly even as he rushed away from the scene. He hadn't checked on the kid, but maybe he should have, shit, he'd just left him there with a goddamn vampire...

What was I going to do? he asks himself, peeling off his blood-stained coat and yanking open the door to the small bathroom. He clicks the light on and runs the faucet, shoving his hands under icy, sputtering water. Wait around until the police found me with the gun practically still smoking in my hands? Or until Shiwon tore my throat out? So I fucked up.

Twice. He's done it twice, including Jay.

Heechul cups his palms together and splashes water on his face, then pushes back his loose hair. Kangin had scoffed when he started letting it grow longer, "Like you weren't already girly enough." He remembers sneering back with a scathing remark about Kangin's ugly mug while Leeteuk smiled (complacently or with a hint of teasing?) and said that it suited him. Sharon had lamented that he was prettier than she was...

He grips the edges of the sink and watches his reflection's lip curl. A bead of water slides down his cheek to his chin. His eyes are wild and his expression raw, and the sound of a gunshot still rings in his ears.

"Everyone fucks up sometime," he says with conviction, and tries not to do something fantastically stupid like punch the mirror. Kangin would, and Heechul is so much more civilized than that. He's smoother than Leeteuk, and he's prettier than Sharon – Sharon, his childhood friend who first dated a vampire that almost killed her, then married a hunter and killed herself. Leeteuk isn't that smooth anymore – Heechul has hardly heard him say a word since then, and doesn't expect to hear much anytime soon. Kangin is still a violent brute – a comforting fact in its own way, and Heechul settles for slamming the bathroom door shut behind him.

* * * * *

He moves to another town quickly after that. God, he isn't that stupid. Heechul gets a new cell phone and a new number, but doesn't call anyone important. Common sense tells him to lay low and he does, but he keeps his eyes and ears open all the same. After a while, he can't help but stray into certain pubs, asking around. It's no wonder that Miranda catches up to him so fast.

"You have an obsession," Mithra informs him by way of greeting one day, sliding into the booth across from Heechul. They're located in a little dive called, morbidly enough, The Gallows.

"I don't see why everyone gets their panties in a twist over it," Heechul returns sharply as he thumbs through a notepad filled with information, old and new, concerning the Choi family. "I'm hunting, remember, it's in the job description. 'Obsession' is such an ugly word to use between friends. Honestly, I'm hurt. How are you? Still alive, I see, which is more than I knew five minutes ago."

"I'm good," is Mithra's reply. He continues, steady and unhurried, "We're not going to stop you, you know."

"How considerate, Miranda is finally quitting with the baby treatment. Do I get to ride the big kid rides next?" Heechul flips a page and crosses out a few lines, scribbling in an additional note.

"We're not going to help you anymore, either."

Heechul keeps writing. His pen doesn't waver and he doesn't blink, but his lips press together into a thin line. "I certainly didn't see that one coming," he says sarcastically, scrawling down another note in shorthand, his handwriting messier than before. "It's not like the guild is that helpful – all they do is tie themselves up with their red tape, and sometimes shit happens. I'm not exactly sorry. You can tell them that: I'm not sorry, but they might be after I exterminate these monsters. Do I need to spell it out? Draw a map? You know the Choi family is like a golden ticket to the Council. Wouldn't that just suck for the guilds, with all their resources, to be beaten out by an independent?"

A grin tips Mithra's lips as he eases back in his seat. "If anybody could do it, it'd be you."

"Why else would I subject myself to this kind of pencil-pushing torture – for brownie points? Miranda is as dead to me as I am to them. I don't need their restrictions to finish what Jay and I started, and I am going to finish that whole rotten lineage. Especially Shiwon. His face alone is cancer to my soul."

"I think you ran into him on one of his good days, actually."

Again, Heechul isn't very surprised. Of course Miranda knows all about that miserable escapade. It's been a few weeks. Heechul sighs and slaps his pen down on top of the paper. He meets Mithra's eyes evenly. "I fucked up, didn't I? Really fucked up."

"You're not the first."

"Oh, well, there goes my hope for unparalleled notoriety—"

"Fine: you fucked up. You always were shit at following orders, but this time you killed a human on a mission you were explicitly told not to pursue, and because of it you're getting dishonorable discharge from the guild. You can't work in a group and you have that personality that people hate. You're kind of an ass. You also have terrible taste in clothes."

Heechul grabs his mostly-full glass and motions threateningly with it, as if to pour its contents on his friend. "Who has terrible taste?" he demands, but Mithra only deadpans at him. Heechul sets the drink back down with a thump, composed again as if nothing had happened. "You're like a frigging rock, as always. Thank you – it's not normal without someone lecturing me on my misbehavior."

"It's terrifying," Mithra admits, "to think of you running amok under no one's authority but your own."

"Freedom at last," Heechul declares with relish, making a toast with his drink. His face pulls in a grimace after a sip. "Freedom tastes like dishwater. Hasn't anyone here ever heard of standards? God, what a dump."

* * * * *

"Well, fuck me."

Heechul keeps his voice low, but the sound still echoes faintly in the empty parking garage over a constant drip of water. The place is abandoned and partly crumbling on one end, revealing a smoggy sunset, but there's evidence of people using the space on a semi-regular basis. The remains of a fire, empty bottles and cans, folding chairs, and overturned crates... From kids, most likely, fucking themselves up with drugs and alcohol, or the homeless seeking whatever shelter they can get. Whoever comes here next will be in for a surprise when they drop by, unless Heechul can find a way to get rid of the two bodies. That's another thing Miranda was useful for: clean-up. The last thing he needs is a trail of suspicious corpses and even more suspicious cops following him across the country.

He crosses his arms and scowls down at the troublesome pair as he figures out his options. Fire could work, but he only has one lighter and it's out of fuel. His car is too far away, though he could go get it and hope no one stumbles upon the scene while he's gone. He sure as hell isn't going to carry the two bodies out of here.

"Shit," he hisses, narrowing his eyes. If he'd known that it would be this much of a pain afterwards, he wouldn't have bothered. He failed to save the human, anyway, as evidenced by the gaping wound at the man's throat. Shooting, stabbing, bludgeoning – all typical forms of violence and horrible in their own ways, but normal when you get down to it. Bite wounds wouldn't be too bizarre except it would be pretty clear to any professional that the shape of the jaw isn't a dog's. As for the vampire, a woman more resembling a hooker, she has a scattering of bullets in her torso.

"Need some help with that?"

Heechul spins, arm snapping up with his pistol in hand. The rush brings a grin to his face, though inside he's screaming at himself: How could you allow yourself to get caught?! He hadn't sensed a thing.

"Depends. What sort of help did you have in mind?"

The stranger, possibly feeling magnanimous, steps away from a concrete column and into the open. He's tall and lanky – no, more graceful than that, casually poised, letting his hands dangle at his sides instead of holding them up to placate. There's no alarm evident in his expression or posture, nor tenseness, though he's in the direct line of fire. Whereas the newcomer is relaxed, Heechul feels coiled like a spring, but his finger is steady on the trigger. At this distance, he could easily put a bullet in the other guy's skull.

The man inclines his head meaningfully toward the bodies, keeping his eyes (fearless or indifferent, or maybe it's the same thing) on Heechul. "Getting rid of that."

"Yeah, because that's not a weird offer at all. Does it come with an explanation?" In the man's following hesitation, Heechul hears a trace of uncertainty. "Tick tock, baby, I don't have all night."

"You've been asking about Shiwon. About his friends, his enemies, his city." There's something new in his tone – amusement? – and a bit of an accent Heechul hadn't noticed before.

The City, though... That was one of the easiest nuggets of information to find in relation to Shiwon. Heechul had gone there, but the place itself wasn't that helpful. Shiwon hadn't been in town, and there wasn't much new info to be gained.

"Uh-huh. So what about you, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious?" Heechul tilts his head, an easy-going smirk on his lips. "Friend or enemy?"

"Both, to you," he says, and he might as well get points for honesty. "What do you think of a mutually beneficial arrangement? I can tell you about Shiwon's enemies."

An interesting proposition, to be sure, and something that would require a lot of thought, possibly some background digging.

But hunting isn't a cautious job, no matter what the guilds stand for. Procedure counts for nothing when it comes to the chase and the instinct. Heechul shrugs and says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Sounds fun." He lowers his gun and motions the other over. "So about clean-up..."

Heechul is watching carefully as the stranger approaches his side, so he catches the focus of the other man's gaze and the slight movement of his throat. There is an awful lot of blood, but the subtle response isn't one of fear of disgust. Suspicion spreads like a stain. Heechul grabs a fistful of the guy's coat to yank him down, then he pushes the muzzle of his gun under his chin.

"Let's try this again," he begins nonchalantly. "What is this about, vampire?"

There's no denial, no fear or surprise, which is annoying. Mild discomfort from the forced angle of his head is the only thing that can be read in his eyes.

"I figure it's about getting rid of Shiwon."

* * * * *

Click... Click... Click...

Heechul opens and closes the lid of Taemi's old Zippo lighter. He doesn't smoke, so it's of no practical use to him, but it's the only thing of hers that he possesses (unless he counts everything she taught him, then it's only a drop in the bucket).

He swipes his thumb over the faded image painted on the metal side. He wouldn't consider himself the sentimental type; the reason he keeps the lighter isn't for his mentor's sake, but simply because he's always liked this design. It shows a miniature depiction of three naked women with snakes entwined in their hair and bat-like wings unfurling from their backs. Blood drips from their eyes and their faces are twisted into harsh, hateful grimaces. They are the Furies, the ultimate punishers of Greek myth. Once summoned, their wrath is terrible and unceasing.

Monsters hunting monsters, Heechul thinks with a grim little smile. Aunt Taemi might be rolling in her grave over what he's doing now, but who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Maybe if the gift is a deadly one. He shifts in his seat at the bar. Checks the clock on the wall. Taps his foot against the stool in impatience.

But, then again, it could be profitable, too. In more ways than one.

Heechul looks up and pockets the lighter when a familiar form slides into the spot beside him. Still Tall, but not as Dark, and a lot less Mysterious after a couple months of correspondence. "Do you always make your dates wait? I think I have grey hairs."

Han Geng casts a skeptical eye to the clock. Five minutes after. "Don't worry," he assures. "You can hardly tell under the dye job."

Heechul gives his head a toss, and the flame-red locks fall back into place.

"Hey," says a new voice, and a skinny guy comes up behind Han Geng, resting a bony elbow on his shoulder. He peers intently at Heechul, who gazes back with a hint of disdain. "So you're Heechul, our helpful hunter."

"And you're cute. Oh, wait, I meant retarded."

Han Geng rolls his eyes and gestures between the two, paying no mind to the sneer and grin each of them are respectively wearing. "Heechul, this is Yoochun. Play nice, you two."

"No, I really mean it," Yoochun persists, walking around to plunk down in the seat on Heechul's other side. "We appreciate your help. With Vince busy, we can actually get stuff accomplished."

Heechul snorts, but accepts the praise. Not like it had taken much – he made one phone call, just enough to set Kangin and Leeteuk on the guy's trail. The last thing he wants is some crazy vamp offing Shiwon with some half-baked plan. It's too difficult to find out about the rest of the Choi family – Shiwon is the most public and therefore the most accessible. Also, the most insufferable. Heechul won't allow anyone else to cut in front of him in this line (he lets his gaze slide over to Han Geng, who is sipping a drink), not even if they had called dibs.

He returns his attention to Yoochun, focus snapping back like a rubber band. "So the game plan is what, exactly?"

"Ah, a delicate process," the vampire says with relish, like he's so glad Heechul asked. "But going smoothly so far. We're waiting for a few more pieces to fall into place. In the meantime, it's the usual: recruiting, training, watching. It'd be nice if your friends could really crack down on Vince and his supply system."

Heechul twitches. So much for the flattery, and it's not his fault if Kangin and Leeteuk are incompetent.

"But," Yoochun continues, "we're looking at possibly obtaining some inside information. Even if that falls through, though, we're still good. A lot of us want Jaejoong – have you met Jaejoong? You should meet Jaejoong – we want him to step up officially. That's when things will really get started."

Heechul finds most of the chatter boring; he isn't here for vampire politics. "What am I going to do while you scurry about? Twiddle my thumbs?"

"You could do some scurrying, too. Have you heard of a hunter named Yunho Jung?"

"Should I have?" This is still far from what Heechul considers relevant or interesting.

"He likes to keep a low profile. No guild affiliation."

"So, what? I get to look for a needle in a haystack? How thrilling."

"He's somewhat unique," Han Geng adds in, leveling with Heechul. "Have you run into any dhampirs before?"

Heechul's eyes narrow in distaste. "Oh, one of those. Miranda keeps one like a pet. Creepy little bastard." Tragically old-fashioned, too, but Heechul doesn't elaborate. If they want more information, they can offer something in return.

"Really?" Yoochun's brows climb. "We'll need to look into that. But about Yunho – if you can find him and get him to meet us, that will speed things along by quite a mark."

Heechul hums as he considers this idea, calculating the benefits in relation to his goal. Faster does sound better. "How do I convince him?"

Yoochun grins a conspirator's grin. "That's the easy part. Just mention Jaejoong's name. It's practically a password. He'll be all conflicted and indecisive at first, but he'll come."

"I see." Interesting, and perhaps risky. I wonder which way his indecision swings? "Do I get anything juicy out of this, or are you going to give me a spiel about patience and gradual rewards?"

"No spiel, but I will say this: Yunho has worked for Shiwon in the past. He's one of our possible insiders. Thought you might like to know."

"I appreciate it," Heechul says with assumed modesty, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. Now that's more like it. He'll be happy to lean on this half-breed, for his own purposes, of course. Getting Shiwon is only step one of his plan. As for step two...

Heechul catches Yoochun looking at him, and the vampire lets out an impressed whistle. "You're a rare sort of hunter, aren't you?"

"I guess I always was a black sheep." You don't know the half of it. Maybe his little obsession with vengeance has driven him to radical lengths like consorting with the enemy, but he never said anything about switching sides. Heechul's smile widens, showing teeth.

"Not a sheep at all," Han Geng corrects, eyeing him. "More like a wolf in sheep's clothing."

That will never not be a lame metaphor, Heechul thinks, and aloud he makes a disparaging remark about sheep in general. But I do plan to be the one laughing in the end.

end

It's been a while (again), hasn't it? Sorry, guys. Thanks for keeping up with us. ♥

We've owed Heechul some more attention for a while, and felt it would be good to get this out in the open before plowing ahead. If you're conflicted over which side to be on, then we've accomplished one of our goals. :D Pretty soon we'll also stop teasing everyone with Han Geng and his Mysterious Past in Relation to Shiwon (there's at least one hint in a previous installment)~

But don't worry, we haven't forgotten the highly-anticipated KyuMin reunion, either. That's next. I may need to breathe into a paper bag in between writing it.

Comic: o1

Sat, 17 May 2008 04:06:33 GMT

What could have happened during the KangTeuk vs. Yesung fight:

Cityverse has now been running for six months. ♥ Thank you for all the support thus far! Instead of making more dumbass cupcakes, we thought this would be more fun for you guys. XD; Credit goes go trickgum, and she'll be drawing more Cityverse comics in the future, so look forward to them. :D

In addition to the comic, individual story notes for the first five installments are now available in the Archive post. You might notice the character profiles are gone; they were becoming more trouble than they were worth. You all know who's who by now, I'm sure.

Sorry for the delay with #10 - my post-exam slump has been a motivation-killer. D: I'll crack down on that once I have a freakin' job.

o9. Formatia Trans Sicere Educatorum

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 16:34:55 GMT

Title: Formatia Trans Sicere Educatorum
Character(s): Kyuhyun
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 7800
Summary: Ninth installment. Kyuhyun attempts to escape the past, but finds that it is coded into his system.
References: Story Archive
Shout-outs: This installment was finally completed for jaded_skys ♥ Enjoy Korea~ And another huge thanks to meiface for her help!

The first thing Kyuhyun is aware of is warmth hitting him full on the face. He cracks his eyes open, just a sliver, and flinches from the sudden stabs of sunlight. His room is never this bright in the morning. Did he leave the blinds open? Concern rises up from the back of his mind, a vague feeling of 'something's not right,' but the anxiety is dulled by a sense of familiarity with his surroundings. Kyuhyun turns his face into a pillow that is unmistakably his, soft and cool against his cheek, and the worry fades. He can't recall what day of the week it is off the top of his head – maybe it's a Saturday or Sunday, which is why his alarm didn't go off. Either that or he's missed his eight A.M. He's been skipping a lot lately, what with Sungmin staying over more and more frequently. He should probably have a talk with him about that, though the thought makes him extremely reluctant...

Wait.

They've already had that talk.

Kyuhyun finds himself blinking up at the ceiling, which is in remarkably better condition than it should be, lacking the stains and signs of wear that are typically found throughout his apartment. The layout of the room isn't right with the window facing the wrong direction, his bed on the wrong side, and it's actually not his apartment room at all. Most of his stuff is here— And then he remembers: this is his dorm room at Gaiten University, about four hours from the City by bus.

What a miserable ride that had been, with Ryeowook in an unusual (but not unwarranted) black mood since Yesung had failed to make the departure time. He had refused to talk about it, staring out the window as if expecting his partner to appear by the side of the road. Eventually, he'd nodded off into a restless slumber, head pillowed on Kyuhyun's shoulder. Try as he might, Kyuhyun had not managed to follow his example. Too busy feeling guilty, too busy feeling angry, and nothing to distract him from feeling sorry for himself.

He hadn't welcomed the sight of the new college, even as it was illuminated by the light of dawn. 'Formatia Trans Sicere Educatorum' was wrought into the iron gates that had opened without a sound. The rest of that day he can't clearly recall, but on the second morning Yesung had arrived, safe and mostly unharmed. Things brightened after that.

Kyuhyun spent a couple weeks settling in, and then last night... Was it two nights ago? They'd said he might sleep for a day or two afterwards. A soft warning, a whispered assurance, his hand being squeezed, and then—

His fingers touch his neck, pressing against the artery and feeling the rhythmic pulse of blood beneath smooth, unmarked skin. Kyuhyun lets out the breath he's been holding. He curls his fingers and tightens them into a fist to cease their slight trembling, and tries to figure out if this was the best decision or the worst mistake he's ever made— but he can't get past the sudden, painful clench in his stomach. Oh, that's right, they'd mentioned this part, too.

As if on cue, the door is pushed open and Ryeowook peers around it. For a second his expression is amorphous, and Kyuhyun fights down the panic (is there something strange? Does he look strange? Did something go wrong? He doesn't feel wrong, just sharply, unrelentingly hungry).

The smile that breaks out on Ryeowook's face calms him, but not half so much as the heady scent coming from the glass in his hand. Kyuhyun has seen countless ones like it before, filled nearly to the top with dark red liquid. He opens his mouth to say good morning, or something along those lines, but when the glass reaches his hand all he can do is bring it to his lips and toss its contents back. Only when it's half empty does he pause for a break, and then he realizes an anomaly that nearly causes the glass to slip from his fingers.

"It's warm." Uncertainty creeps into his voice.

"It tastes better this way," Ryeowook insists, and it's not like Kyuhyun has anything to compare the statement to. Ryeowook sits gingerly on the side of the bed, hesitant despite a soothing smile, and makes a 'go on' motion with his hand. "Finish that and you'll be fine. We do keep the cafeteria refrigerators stocked, but you can get it fresh sometimes, too."

"Good to know," Kyuhyun mutters semi-sarcastically into the glass, the words sounding hollow, and he tries not to dwell on that statement. Since this is part of his diet now, he'd better get used to it. The voice in his head that tells him so isn't his own; it's higher and lighter in pitch, a little biting, but mostly fond. It was usually fond, but he also remembers it being cold. He remembers it being worried. Kyuhyun waits to feel something – a kick in the gut or heavy vindication – but mostly he just feels the beginning of a headache. He's been getting those a lot lately.

"Kyuhyun? How are you feeling?"

He sets the empty glass on the nearby desk and scrubs his face with his hands, drags his fingers through his hair. A shower would be nice. Solid food, too (though at present his belly is quite satisfied with the blood). "Normal, I guess."

"No side effects? Dizziness, anything?" Ryeowook angles his head to get a good look at the side of his neck. "Everything looks fine. You slept all night and for the better part of today, which is normal. Do you want anything? Need anything?"

"I'm really okay," Kyuhyun says, but he's unable to mask the strain in his voice. He extends his arm to ruffle Ryeowook's hair in reassurance. His fingers fluff the bangs, brushing against Ryeowook's forehead, and Kyuhyun's headache spikes, sharp and splitting—

into a thin twisting sound a rusty creak-creak of metal steel bars criss-crossing a gray sky a length of chain link after link after—

Playground. Swing set. A boy in one of the seats, swaying listlessly, fingers cold and white around the chains that squeak with every forward swing, he is singlesolitaryalone—

Filter: Children. Boys, girls, smiling-laughing-running-playing-angel-faced-and-cruel. Small hands that push and shove (knees hitting damp earth, grass stains, wet palms), an older boy with lips twisted into a sneer, plunking down in the vacated seat, a girl with frost-blonde curls and a gap-toothed smile juxtaposing harsh words: get out go away you weirdo freakmonsterdevil—

Hands folding into tiny fists in the dirt, jaw clenching, breath holding, hold it in hold it in holditin.

Hold. It. In.

(Suffocating.)

creak-creak-c r e a k-screech-crack goes the swing and chains tangle snap metal twists mangles ruptures poles bending shrapnel flying screaming crying can't stop can'tstopstopstopit.

(Head up. Look. Look.)

The boy looks back up with a line of red trickling down between his eyes and it's—

quiet

Kyuhyun blinks and the ache behind his eyes feels like an echo. His fingers have barely moved, still lightly touching Ryeowook's face, whose expression is turning puzzled and increasingly worried. His voice cuts through solid silence.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Mouth dry, Kyuhyun pushes Ryeowook's bangs back with his thumb to reveal the faint scar at his hairline.

* * * * *

"It's called retrocognition, the ability to perceive the past through paranormal means."

I really wouldn't have figured that out by myself, thank you for informing me, Kyuhyun thinks unkindly, face betraying none of his inner sarcasm. He's had three more flashes since yesterday, all of them facilitated by touch that were like distorted movies, two vaguely remembered afterwards, and one that immediately faded from his memory like a dream. All of them occurred in less than a second in the present, and now whenever he makes the slightest hesitation he's being asked what he just saw. It's more than a little bothersome.

The unused classroom is cold and dim; the sole light source is what naturally shines through the windows with the blinds half-drawn. Kyuhyun lets his gaze wander towards the glimpse of flowering trees outside, revealing that spring has finally come.

"It's different for every person. I just get a sense of things out of nowhere, but I guess you get the whole shebang with visions and shit, huh?" comments a tall, gaunt man with a nervous habit of tapping his fingers against the nearest surface. A continuous rap beats out on top of a desk. He's the only other resident retrocog (Kyuhyun hates that term, it makes him sound like a robot) at Gaiten, and his remark is followed up by a miniscule sneer, the jealous bastard.

Want to trade? Kyuhyun almost asks, but keeps a lid on it for the sake of avoiding an argument. From what he's gathered, the entire cognition division (made up of clairvoyants of various types, and possibly various degrees of sanity) is already consumed in a perpetual game of one-upmanship over whose prediction is right. They don't need this little two-man party contributing, especially when the past is concrete and decided.

"Those headaches of yours, you had them before, right? Were they worse around people, places, or objects that are old? You know, ancient. Come on, speak up, I don't have all day."

Kyuhyun shrugs. "I don't know if there was a difference between the normal headaches and the psychic ones." How old is ancient? A hundred years, two hundred? He recalls a fussy voice stating that eighty-six is so not old in vampire years, and just look at Shiwon, he has a couple centuries on him and he actually ages.

He needs to stop thinking about these things, but he can't help hiding a small, reminiscing grin behind his hand, averting his eyes again.

The man snorts and ceases his tapping to cross his arms. "Damn, why am I stuck teaching the new kid? If only we hadn't lost so many in Newark..."

Kyuhyun suppresses a sigh. He's envious of the psychokinesis division Ryeowook is part of – they seem so much less bitchy.

* * * * *

Gaiten is a small, private university, and unaccredited. However, it's more of a home than a diploma-mill. The student body, along with the staff, is comprised entirely of vampires, both natural and made, and only a tiny portion of them are psychic. The general curriculum covers the typical range of college subjects with a leaning towards the arts, but also includes a unique vampire history course (which appears on transcripts as Medieval History, and is commonly referred to as Vamps101). Graduates are welcome to stay on campus, often to help teach, and it's a beautiful place out in the countryside at this time of year.

When Kyuhyun opens his eyes, the sun has started to set, rays peeking through the swaying branches of the willow tree he's sitting under. He admires the blurred, bright tint of the golden-green leaves from under lowered lashes. It creates a picturesque composition that does not demand, but coaxes appreciation. Not in words, perhaps – he's never been good at finding the right words (as a lyricist he has a long way to go), but contentment is easily expressed without. He hums a simple tune, a small sound at first, and a little empty. It takes on a similar pattern to a song he practiced yesterday during Vocal Technique class, and then he hits the right note. Almost simultaneously, another voice joins his, harmonizing with no effort at all.

Kyuhyun turns his head to the right and sees Yesung's profile just within his line of sight. Yesung's eyes are closed, his mien peaceful, relaxed against the thick tree trunk. Kyuhyun continues his humming, keeping to the pattern, while picking off an elongated willow leaf and pinching it between thumb and forefinger. Stifling a grin, he maintains his utmost concentration and leans over to tickle Yesung's nose with it.

Immediately, the song cuts off as Yesung snorts and yanks his head away, one eye cracking open to glare at the offender. Kyuhyun can only grin impishly, hand still poised in the air with the thin leaf. He's acting like a kid. He doesn't care.

"I swear, I've killed people for less," Yesung says in his most threatening tone, to which Kyuhyun only rolls his eyes.

"That kind of talk will never work on me again. I 'saw' that time with the puppy."

"You weren't supposed to see that!"

"I can't control what I see and what I don't."

"Well, learn," Yesung insists grumpily, pride stung, and Kyuhyun will concede that point.

He's supposed to be getting the hang of this retrocognition thing, figuring what to focus on and how, trying to sustain and remember the vision, controlling it. There's no such thing as complete control, of course, and there are limitations – but the fact that he gets the 'whole shebang' seems to indicate greater potential (and greater danger). The lessons haven't been going well, and it's been one migraine after another. The last time ended with a distressing nosebleed that had Ryeowook going to his teacher and demanding a break for Kyuhyun. He recognizes the need to master this ability of his, but he didn't exactly fight the idea of taking a day off (and seeing Ryeowook bite off his teacher's head was nothing if not priceless).

Kyuhyun sinks back into his lethargic haze. It will start getting cool as evening sets in, but staying here for a little while won't hurt. Maybe even a long while. Later, at some point, Yesung's hand drops to rest on top of his, gripping his fingers and holding on.

* * * * *

When the first muffled thump is heard from his ceiling, Kyuhyun ignores it. When a second one follows, he still refuses to acknowledge the sound, eyes riveted to his computer screen (where he is not procrastinating by playing a game of solitaire – instead he's trying to beat his pinball record). Third time's the charm. He glances up, then does a double-take as he watches a pair of sneakers descend from the supposedly solid ceiling. They're attached to denim-clad legs, a waist, a torso, and so on until a young man lands with both feet planted on the floor of Kyuhyun's room.

He's skinny and of average height, with short dark hair and eyes squinting in amusement. "Sorry for dropping in," he says, jerking his thumb upwards. "I knocked."

Kyuhyun tries to keep his jaw from sagging open while he asks himself, Did he seriously just make that joke?

Moments later, the door bursts open to reveal a flustered, panting Ryeowook. "I told you not to do that!" he bemoans, leaning on the doorframe and catching his breath.

The other guy shrugs and grins, arms spreading wide. "The world is my playground."

With a disgusted noise, Ryeowook makes an effort to straighten up. "Sorry about the intrusion," he apologizes to Kyuhyun with big eyes and a pained expression. "He does this all the time."

"Hey, if you could phase through matter, you'd find it convenient too." He stands casually, one hand slipping in his pocket while the other extends towards Kyuhyun. "I'm Yoochun, by the way. Ryeowook was just talking about you, so I thought I'd come say hi."

Kyuhyun takes the hand cautiously and finds it firm, with no accompanying headaches or visions (his control is still shoddy, showing hardly any progress at all). "Nice to meet you."

"Retrocog, right? Did you see anything?"

Kyuhyun's whole body rises and falls with his sigh, and he rolls his eyes heavenward. "If I had a dime for every time someone asked me that..."

"Well, people are secretive, and here you are, capable of just grabbing their secrets and dragging them out." Yoochun makes a reaching motion with his hand, and too late Kyuhyun realizes the direction of its path. He starts to jerk away, but Yoochun's fingers still touch - go through the side of his head and come back out. The sensation is a queer one; he feels the outside resistance for a fleeting instant, and remains aware of a slightly cool, peculiar presence within that makes his skin crawl.

"Yoochun," Ryeowook admonishes with a pinched look.

"Okay, okay, hands to myself." As though to emphasize his good will, he innocently sticks both deep into his pockets.

Kyuhyun resists the urge to step beyond arm's length anyway, still feeling a tingling aftereffect in his skull. "So, uh..." He makes a nervous flicking gesture with his fingers. "Will that work on anything?"

"Totally," Yoochun confirms with a wide grin. "I am the ultimate escape artist; no prison can hold me, not even if it was twenty feet of solid concrete. In theory, anyway. I haven't tried anything that thick, but I could probably manage it."

"...'Probably'?"

"It takes up energy, so I'll get tired after a lot of phasing. No disasters yet, though."

"Yet," Ryeowook repeats, frowning and hovering not-so-subtly by Kyuhyun's side (Yoochun quirks an eyebrow and Kyuhyun bites his lip as he smiles). "If you lost even a little bit of your control—"

"Pft, my control is perfect."

"No such thing."

"Fine," he concedes with a good-natured smile. "But near enough to keep me out of trouble. Or get me into it." A smirk, now.

"How does it work?" Kyuhyun asks, brain trying to wrap itself around this new idea. He hasn't seen examples of other psychokinetic abilities aside from Ryeowook's telekinesis (which he is quite happy to talk about or show off, so he really shouldn't protest too strongly over Yoochun); the psychics aren't singled out except for division-specific classes, and most don't advertise what they can do. Gaiten likes to build a sense of camaraderie.

"Eh, it's a matter of concentration and knowledge, I guess. It helps to know the layout of things – like the construction of a wall or building, the anatomy of a body, so I know what it is I'm phasing through. I have most of the campus memorized so I don't go through a floor and wind up in the girls' bathroom again by accident."

"But you could wind up there intentionally," Ryeowook mutters, which only prompts another grin, this one sheepish.

"That was an accident. Trust me, I have no shortage of embarrassing stories, but they'll cost you to hear them."

"Cost me what?" Kyuhyun smiles in return, already beginning to like this strange, cheerful guy who came in through his ceiling just minutes ago. He has long accepted that adaptation is the only way to make sense of anything in his life.

Yoochun makes a show of eying Kyuhyun critically, walking around him in a semi-circle. He stops, meets his gaze squarely, and states in a blunt fashion, "Sexual favors."

Ryeowook yelps. For an instant, Kyuhyun is struck completely dumb. Short circuit. Total malfunction. Blue screen of death.

Then Yoochun waves a dismissive hand. "Nah, I'm kidding."

"You—" Ryeowook might actually be shaking, and Kyuhyun covers his mouth to try and swallow his sudden gale of laughter. He ends up coughing.

Yoochun pats him on the back. When the reaction subsides, he reaches around to grasp Kyuhyun's hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist. "So," he says, voice light, "You really don't pick up anything from me?"

Kyuhyun lowers his gaze to the place of contact and the slightly contrasting tones of their skin. There's a point here, but he's not sure what it is. Keeping his eyes half-lidded, he shakes his head. "No secrets from you." Not at the moment.

Yoochun releases his hold. "Then I'll invite you to infringe upon my dignity by sharing one story. Here's a handy fact about phasing..." He tugs at the front of his t-shirt and flaps the material. "Clothes will go along with me if I've had them long enough to ah, imprint my mark on them. Small objects, too. I managed a body pillow once by wrapping myself around it, but it would be impossible to, for example, drive my car through a wall without a hell of an insurance bill. More's the pity, because that would be awesome."

"You'd kill at least three people that way," Ryeowook mutters, but quiets down for the rest of the story with a knowing grin. He's probably well-acquainted with such tales.

"Well, you know, sometimes you forget these rules when you're in a rush. Anyway, I was hanging out in town one day, wearing these new pants – and they weren't cheap, might I add..."

* * * * *

Kyuhyun sits at one of the dining hall tables, tuning out the low rumble of students' chatter, holding a half-eaten chicken salad sandwich in one hand and a library copy of Toni Morrison's Beloved in the other. He has a quiz in the afternoon and he's already thirty pages behind (it's so easy to lose track of time when he holes himself up in a practice room). His eyes skim the words printed across the paper, absorbing little of their meaning while he takes another bite out of his lunch.

'Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay. I used to think it was my re—'

"Yo!" A hand plants itself on the back of his head and gives a playful push.

"Yoochun!" Kyuhyun protests as a dab of chicken salad gets on his nose, but he grins a little when one of Yoochun's friends hands him a napkin to wipe it away. "Thanks."

"No problem," says the other boy as he pulls out a chair to sit down, and the rest follow suit. Yoochun steals a chair from another table and squeezes it in between, and instead of awkwardly climbing into it, he simply phases through the back to take his seat. Soon the table is covered in plates and trays, and various drinks, some of which are definitely blood.

One of the guys (Kyuhyun recalls his face from class but not his name; he's a tall kid, and very skinny) picks up his cup and swirls its contents. As usual, the blood-scent is persistently appealing. "I heard some girls complaining yesterday that the school hasn't gotten any deliveries from Vince in a while."

Yoochun laughs it off. "They should stop expecting, because Jaejoong isn't putting up with that crap anymore."

"Really? Best news I've heard all year." There's a round of agreement from the company at the table, and Kyuhyun masks his confusion by taking a large bite out of his sandwich.

"Seriously," a new speaker continues, waving his fork and rolling his eyes, "I think Vince has gone off the deep end this time."

Kyuhyun thinks he's heard of Vince before, but not with such disdain. He finishes his sandwich and reaches for his drink (regular tea, thank you), shuffling his tray around to make more room for the others. There are words and short messages scratched into the plastic. 'PEACE.' 'A + C 4EVA.' 'ROBB IS A DICK.'

"He's been a little loopy since the start," Yoochun states, holding up a greasy slice of pizza in consideration. The cheese starts to slide off. "Systemized blood-draining from humans is an old trick."

Kyuhyun chokes on his tea. "What?" he gasps out once the hacking stops.

Yoochun makes a soft, understanding noise. "Right, I guess you haven't heard yet. Vince has been running this operation where he drains people en masse to make a special kind of blood delivery." Vince, Kyuhyun remembers now with a chill, is also the founder of the school. "But don't sweat it, we don't like the idea, either. Still, if you hear about that kind of thing, let me know."

"Vince has ideas," the guy twirling his fork adds, tapping the side of his head with the handle in emphasis. He speaks in a conspiring undertone. "To take down the Council – which is cool, I mean, they're a bunch of paranoid geezers – but he's doing it wrong. We're better off without him." He slides his gaze towards Yoochun, who shrugs.

The familiar-guy-from-class crosses his arms and leans back. "Guess what else I heard about Vince."

"He's cooped up in a ranch with a bunch of hippies, singing 'Helter Skelter'?"

This prompts a short bark of laughter and an edged grin. "Nah, but close. He's cooped up in the City, probably in some dark basement thinking, 'Checkmate, Shiwon!'"

"What?" Kyuhyun repeats, and another voice doubles over his. The quiet guy who had handed him the napkin is also staring, expression unreadable.

The classmate glances from one to the other. "I thought that might interest you, Geng. I didn't know about you, though," he says to Kyuhyun, adopting a sympathetic tone. "Did Shiwon screw you over, too?"

All eyes turn on him, and Kyuhyun can only manage a mute shake of his head. He makes a grab for his forgotten book, stuffing it in his backpack. "I've got reading to finish," he offers by way of explanation, picking up his tray and maneuvering through the obstacle course of tables and chairs.

* * * * *

"That's the thing about hanging around Yoochun too much," Ryeowook sighs, skimming through a packet and methodically highlighting parts of the text. He and Kyuhyun are doing homework while Yesung lords over them the fact that he completed his education fifty years ago. "He and his friends have these ideas..."

"It's a bad crowd," Yesung adds in, distaste coloring his words as he clicks away at the computer.

"Yoochun is all right." Ryeowook doesn't lift his eyes from his work.

"He's practically Jaejoong's pet."

"Anyway." Ryeowook finally caps his highlighter and looks up. "Don't worry about that stuff. It'll all blow over."

Okay, Kyuhyun thinks. Okay. He goes back to his book and sets a pen between his teeth, trying not to picture the City, his apartment, the walk to school, and all the people who just don't know anything getting dragged off somewhere and drained dry.

"Whatever is going on outside my door ain't for me. The world is in this room. This here's all there is and all there needs to be."

He stares at the words on the page and has the sudden impulse to fling the book away from himself. Kyuhyun grimaces, then there's a crack, a horrible taste flooding his tongue, and he spits out a mouthful of ink while Ryeowook fumbles for a box of tissues and Yesung falls over himself laughing.

* * * * *

His hand brushes the wristwatch by accident one morning while he's rushing to get ready for class, rummaging through his desk for the correct sheet music. His fingers slip under the pink strap and he pulls it out, expression falling flat. It's not the first time something belonging to Sungmin has been unearthed among his own stuff, from clothes to accessories to DVDs. Kyuhyun was at a loss when he first found them, and has started collecting the miscellaneous items in a box he keeps in the closet. Whenever he comes across something new, he just throws it in. Out of sight, out of mind, or so goes the theory. He swipes his thumb across the round surface of the watch, hearing the faint ticking of its hands, and the headache bursts behind his eyes—

tick, tick, tick...

a frown begins to form on kyuhyun's face, which is half-mashed into his pillow, hair all askew. there's a hand playing with the strands, pink wristwatch right beside his ear as fingers comb through mussed locks. sungmin lies on his side, gaze alert. he draws his index finger down the side of kyuhyun's cheek, over traces of morning stubble along his jaw, then up over the bridge of his nose and between the eyes, smoothing the wrinkle of irritation there. his teeth flash white in a smile before leaning in to kiss kyuhyun's lips.

almost-waking, good morning. lashes low. kyuhyun reaches around to cup the back of sungmin's head. warmth & kissing, oh, good morning, time to wake up. soft, slow, steady burn, ember-glow and fire-spark. kyuhyun has his hand on sungmin's hip, stroking skin, and sungmin's knee presses between kyuhyun's thighs, just a shift forward and the sounds of their breathing—

And his heart pounds loud and heavy in his ears.

Kyuhyun slams the watch down onto the desk, miraculously breaking neither, and spins to take two paces across the floor, stopping in the middle of his room. Face flushed, he rubs at the back of his too-warm neck. He's late for class. Where's his music? What time is it? The seconds ticking by – it's always sound that registers first – and the look on Sungmin's face (an expression not quite like anything he's seen before), the look on his own face (so that's how it is when...). That was the first time he's ever been in one of the visions, and it was...weird. Two points of view felt, remembered, and of course this one won't conveniently fade away like evaporating mist. Too close, too hot, Kyuhyun whirls and stares disbelievingly at the innocuous timepiece.

"It's just a watch," he tries to convince himself in notes of despair, approaching the desk. He doesn't lift his hand to touch it – he hasn't been able to replay any visions and most people consider it impossible, but now isn't the time to test the odds.

Time. Class. He's going crazy; this has to be what it's like to go crazy. There's the music, wedged between a folder and a textbook. Kyuhyun plucks it out, muttering under his breath how Sungmin makes him late even when he's not around, which seems completely unfair since Kyuhyun isn't getting compensated this time.

He squeezes his eyes shut at the responding flash of heat and the thud inside his ribcage. Maybe he needs another few moments to calm down. Maybe if he thinks about their last meeting. Kyuhyun can't actually recall the details anymore and suspects he doesn't want to, and it isn't likely to sneak up on him unless he learns how to hold his heart in his hand. He thinks of it in Sungmin's hand instead, the beat under his palm like the pulse that would quicken beneath his lips and tongue. The neck, the wrist, the inside of the elbow; all of the places where blood flows close to the surface, tantalizingly within reach. Kyuhyun understands the full extent of the temptation now, the hyper-awareness, and yet Sungmin never bit him. Even when Kyuhyun wouldn't have minded. Wanted it. Was greedy, wanting more than Sungmin was willing to give. He'd been so scared to risk what he did have, but then he risked it anyway. Gambled, lost.

Kyuhyun faces the door and reaches out with a resigned hand. He doesn't open it, he turns the lock instead. The music is left in a flutter of paper on the desk next to the watch, and he must be selfish still, keeping these remnants no matter how accidental they are. The past is coded into his system. He can't forget, can't turn away, it's time to stop running or run faster, and he's can't go any faster without going insane.

For a single, terrifying moment, Kyuhyun stands there in the middle of the room, listening to his own breathing and asking himself, What am I doing here?

It's about music (no, that was a bonus).

It's about moving on (now that's funny).

It's about being hurt (oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself).

Three strikes. Out.

* * * * *

Kyuhyun is willing to admit that he's done some stupid things in his twenty years of life. When he was thirteen, he got in a fight with a really big, really nasty fifteen-year-old while trying to impress a girl, and wound up with a black eye. At sixteen, he and his friends took a trip to New York where he got lost, and then got robbed. After the accident, he broke into his aunt's liquor cabinet, and sometime during the alcohol-induced haze he scribbled down lyrics on a scrap of wonderfully-cliché tear-stained paper. He fell in love with a vampire. He's still in love with a vampire. He has uncontrollable psychic powers. His life is an angsty teenage romance novel, a thriller, and a sci-fi story all rolled into one.

Yet here he is, stupidly sneaking into the dining hall well after midnight.

He asks himself for the billionth time if it would be better to just say something to someone, to dump the info on someone else and see what happens. Maybe nothing would happen. Would he be all right with that?

His footsteps slow with responsibility, then speed up again, quietly crossing the floor. The place is dark; it's been closed since nine o'clock, but he can see well enough without aid. Kyuhyun checks the kitchens first. There are rows of refrigerators and he goes through them all, recalling the image of what he's looking for.

The vision came without a splitting migraine (for once) that morning from the girl sitting near him in Lit. class. She dropped her book and he handed it back, the tips of their fingers brushed, and he heard the scrape-slide of something being pushed over a surface. A burst of cool air, dim early-morning light, the clatter and rattle of crates being moved off a truck. A large cooler in the girl's arms where she stood behind the truck, away from the others. She set it down, ran her fingertips over the bumpy lid before opening it, and nodded quickly in satisfaction. Blood bags were piled within, the kind you see hooked up to people in hospitals, not at all like the mislabeled cartons and jugs that are usually delivered.

"Tell Vince to send more next time," she said in a hushed undertone to the hovering man in the nondescript uniform. "He has more supporters than he thinks."

Then the book had been tugged free from Kyuhyun's hand and he spent the rest of the class sneaking glances at the girl, imagining her drinking from one of those bags. Either pouring its contents into a glass and mingling with everyone else, or just puncturing it with her teeth and tossing her head back, mouth open.

He could have gone straight to Yoochun and informed him about it, as he'd been requested. Or he could have gone to Ryeowook and Yesung instead. But he doesn't like the divide that's now become apparent to him, the pro- and anti-Vince camps. Kyuhyun doesn't even know who this guy is, aside from either a genius or a psycho.

He also doesn't like the possibility that Vince is in the City... And there he becomes conflicted over why it matters to him, so he shoves it into the back of his mind and focuses on the task at hand. Hello, curiosity. Killed any cats lately?

Kyuhyun shuts the last refrigerator door softly, standing there puzzled. No bags found yet, and none of the usual containers looked unusual. They had to be marked somehow – he'd think everyone would notice if their morning cup of pig blood turned out to be human. He looks around for the cooler next. It's medium-sized, and the color is...blue, he thinks. Dark blue with a white lid. He's getting a little better at remembering what he sees.

What if she took it to another building? he wonders after fruitless searching. It could be in her room for all he knows. Maybe he should try talking to her...

Oh, this is ridiculous.

Kyuhyun leans against a wall and breathes out a sigh. What does he think he's doing? Playing detective isn't going to do him any good at all, it's just another distraction, and he has class in the morning. Forget it. Maybe he'll tell both sides about what he saw.

He steps away from the wall when the door next to him bursts open, nearly flattening him as it bounces inches from his elbow. The patter of rain and a chilly gust of air sweep in from outside where the loading station is. Kyuhyun stands frozen as the door swings closed, leaving a figure in its wake. The person turns to him

"What are you doing here?" says a surprised, unfamiliar voice, and Kyuhyun may be able to see better in the dark than a human, but he can only make out the vague outline of features on the man's face.

"What are you doing here?" Kyuhyun counters, slightly offended, because at least he came in through the normal entrance.

"I just arrived," the man answers easily, casting about the kitchen before heading towards the refrigerators. "And I could use a drink. You too?"

"Yeah," he agrees, grasping onto the excuse. It's sort of true, anyway. In a sense.

The light from within the fridge illuminates the stranger's profile for a moment, revealing young features before the door shuts. There's a pause afterwards as he looks around again, hefting the full carton, then walks purposefully to where the cups are stored. He moves with remembered familiarity with the place.

"You're a student, aren't you?" The blood is poured into a tall plastic cup and offered.

"Yeah," Kyuhyun monosyllabically repeats, hand reaching out to grasp the sides of the cup and – hell, it's worth a try – brush against slightly cold fingers. This probably won't work twice in one day, with his luck—

The clanging of bells is deafening, challenged only by violent gusts of wind. One hand scrabbling against roof tiles, the other locked around a white wrist where a body hangs limply, but there's laughter—

"You know," the man shouts over the rest of the noise, and he strains, pulls. He sounds so calm but his heart is racing, he's panting lightly, a drop of sweat slides down the side of his face that he can't afford to shake off like he can't afford to blink even when the air is drying his eyes and the image of the person he's holding onto is going fuzzy and that's not good so— Blink. He wets his dry, cracked lips. "The view won't be so great when you hit the ground."

Black hair whips across a bright-eyed face and his smile catches the rays of sun spilling through the clouds just above their heads. The height is incredible, dizzying, and the world seems like it will spin out of control any minute. Down below the dangling feet are people crowding the steps of the building, unaware of what's going on. The bells finally stop and he pitches his voice.

"It's easy, Yunho. Just keep holding on."

"What do you think I'm made of?" His free arm wraps around the base of the cross that tops the cathedral and he uses that as leverage. The other man deigns to help when he is able to reach the ledge with his other hand, and together they drag him up.

Yunho rolls over onto his back, limbs spread flat on the sharp slant of the roof, and he catches his breath, eyes squinting at the sun. His one hand hasn't released the other's wrist, grip painful, but no complaint is forthcoming. "God," he addresses the sky with the shadow of the cross falling into line next to him. "Please increase Jaejoong's dosage of common sense. He promises to use it responsibly."

Jaejoong grins and his lips move, uttering something low and laughing, and Yunho is simply breathless—

Kyuhyun sucks in a breath like he hasn't breathed in forever. His head swims in the aftermath.

"Hey, are you...?" A note of hesitation and concern. The man – Yunho – reaches out a tentative hand.

"I..." Kyuhyun's own hand flies to his face, and there on his upper lip... He flicks his tongue, but the smell is confirmation enough: his nose is bleeding. "Damnit!"

Yunho goes to the sink, searching around for a towel that he hands over. "Here. Are you all right?"

"Peachy," he replies in a slightly nasal tone, dabbing at his nose and thinking how creepy it is to recognize the scent of your own blood and relate it to food. Kyuhyun waits for the usual question, but it doesn't come. Of course, Yunho wouldn't know about his retrocognition, but he doesn't seem inclined to pry, either. Kyuhyun shifts awkwardly.

"Think you'll be all right heading back?" Yunho asks, turning on the faucet and washing out the cups.

"I'll manage." Kyuhyun turns and takes three steps before spinning around again. "Um, and thank you."

"Take care."

* * * * *

"Yoochun isn't in," a voice informs from behind, and Kyuhyun stops with his fist raised in mid-air to knock. He lowers it sheepishly, turning around. One of the guys from lunch that time, the classmate whose name he finally remembers – Zhou Mi – is standing there with the other friend (what was his name again – Geng?).

"Oh. Well—"

"I bet I know where he is though," Zhou Mi insinuates with a quirk of his brows. The other murmurs something low and rapid in Chinese next to Zhou Mi's ear, but he only shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine. Kyuhyun, try room 34. Take the stairs down and turn right at the hall."

"Thanks." He leaves with the feeling that both pairs of eyes are on him.

Kyuhyun had woken up in the morning feeling like a train had driven through his skull. Apparently, he really had been pushing his luck yesterday. He skipped his first class and suffered through the second, then while he was forcing food into his stomach he came to the decision that he should tell Yoochun about the delivery after all. It's better than doing nothing, and he's obviously useless on his own. He feels better now, well into the afternoon, but there's still an insistent ache behind his temples. He avoids touching anything with his bare skin at all costs.

The moment he arrives at room 34, someone from inside complains, "Would you quit whispering? The precogs have seen this coming for ages. This is the worst conspiracy ever." The voice strikes a familiar chord, and it only takes Kyuhyun a second to match it with an image: dark, wind-swept hair dusting a pale face, arm stretched above his head, whole body dangling hundreds of feet in the air.

"They also predicted the school would blow up two years ago," Yoochun interjects, and Kyuhyun can easily picture the grin on his face.

"Fine." And that's Yunho's unruffled tone. "Look, you know why I'm here. Don't do this."

"Do you really think I have a choice?" Jaejoong asks with a lilt to his question, which borders on playful.

"Yes," Yunho says with Yoochun's, "No," immediately following.

"Yunho," Jaejoong says, and this time he sounds firm. "If you were in my position, you couldn't refuse either."

There's a pause, and Yoochun translates the lack of response. "He probably wants to say that he and you are totally different cases, but then you'd kick his ass."

"Damn straight."

Kyuhyun stands silently next to the door, back pressed to the wall. This is definitely something he shouldn't be listening to, but he's not nearly enough of a conscience-minded person to just walk away. He chalks it up as Stupid Thing #7.

"Listen to you two," and Yunho may have sighed. "Tell them to find someone else. Jaejoong, the only thing you could lead is lemmings off a cliff."

"So help me out."

This time Yunho's sigh is practically explosive. "It's never as easy as you think it is. If all you wanted was to off Vince, whatever, I still regret not getting him in Newark. But don't take his place."

"You know, Yunho... Jaejoong has basically been running this school for years now. He's more capable than you think." Kyuhyun allows himself to be surprised by how natural Yoochun's sincerity is. He's never heard that kind of warmth from the guy before, but the edge comes right back when he adds, "Besides, I have Vince covered."

"Yunho..." Jaejoong's voice quiets, and Kyuhyun ends up leaning to press his ear to the door without thinking. "It can be this easy if you don't make it difficult."

"I make things difficult? I— Okay, I can't help you with this, Jaejoong. You know I can't, I already—"

"That is so typical of you." Jaejoong goes abruptly derisive, words precise and scathing. "The poor, conflicted dhampir. Yunho, will you ever learn to just drop the baggage and do what's right?"

"Watch me. Dropping it now."

"You sonofa— What, are you going to the City now to tattle on me to Shiwon?"

"Just don't get yourself killed, Jaejoong."

Kyuhyun leaps back as the door is flung open with a sense of déjà vu, pressing himself back against the wall and praying to become a chameleon. No such luck. Yunho spots him at once and he's... Yeah, he's pissed. Kyuhyun can't do anything except imitate a deer caught in the road. A very guilty deer.

Yunho just looks at him with a series of emotions making their presence known on his face: anger first of all, then his eyes widening in surprise and recognition, narrowing along with a scowl, finally closing for a brief moment as he shakes his head. His hand cups around Kyuhyun's shoulder, pulling him away from the wall and guiding him down the hall. Yunho's mouth is tight-lipped, but he doesn't sound especially mad when he asks neutrally, "So how are you feeling?"

"Um. Been better," he answers honestly around his dry throat.

"Well..." Yunho tilts his head from side to side, like he's sorting out words in his head and rejecting everything he comes up with. Eventually he has to give it up as a loss. "I guess that's it, then. Be careful, kid."

"Are you really going to the City?" The question practically has wings from the way it bursts out of Kyuhyun's mouth, frantic and confused.

Yunho is quiet for a moment. He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

The world feels like it's slowly tipping, and Kyuhyun is starting to slide. "I know Shiwon," he puts in, and that must have turned on a faucet because the words just babble out from there. "I mean, I've met him a few times. And I've been hearing all this stuff, but I don't think... But that doesn't even matter and I probably don't even care. Why am I here, really?"

He poses the question to himself harshly. It's not about music, it's not about moving on, and it's only partly about being hurt. So he was hurt, so what? He's been hurt before. But he's never been so— (scared-attached-helpless-lost) Kyuhyun has never been good at finding the right words, but since when did he stop trying?

"I think I came for all the wrong reasons. I probably can't undo that— I mean, no, I definitely can't, but I..."

...Need to face this, need to get up and try, try again, need to hold on this time, need to go—

"I think I need to go back."

end

Sorry for the long wait again! You all probably know how hectic this time of year is. Uh, but Cityverse's six-month anniversary is coming up in May and we have something new planned? :D;

I've been promising exciting plot developments for a while, right? Here they are, along with a veritable horde of new faces. Yunho, by the way, was mentioned (but not named) in Sungmin's backstory. "[Sungmin] keeps up to date on gossip, but he's never heard of vampires teaming up with hunters, and there's even a young half-breed as part of the hastily-gathered group." A dhampir is half-human, half-vampire, and there's more than one in our cast.

Translation of the title: enter all ye who seek knowledge. It's from Buffy. XD; There are about a billion and one references to all sorts of things in this installment.

Lastly, you know how Sungmin's song was Keep Moving by Ivy? Kyuhyun's corresponding song is Tess Don't Tell. One day I'll probably just make a soundtrack for them.

"All this time, it's still on your mind. You've got to learn to have faith sometimes.
Careful now, when the truth comes out, you'll be gone—
You're the one he depends on."

o8. Make a Deal with the City 2/2

Sat, 22 Mar 2008 18:31:21 GMT

Title: Make a Deal with the City 2/2
Character(s): Kangin, Leeteuk
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 4700
Summary: Eighth installment, part two of two (see previous here). The hunters are finally getting somewhere with their mission, but it might be one step forward, two steps back.
References: Story Archive
Notes: Special thanks to meiface for the short-notice beta! ♥

The next day is dreary, and Kangin wakes up late in the afternoon to the sound of rain pattering on the hotel window. Leeteuk is propped up next to him, nestled warmly in the blankets with the computer on his lap, updating his weblog. Keeping a journal is encouraged by the guild shrink for all hunters, considering the impossibility of making regular appointments. Kangin has one too, not that he uses it much (except for that one time when he uploaded an old photo of himself out cold on the floor, perfectly outlined by empty beer bottles like a murder scene, the caption proudly reading, "Fuckin' A").

He drags himself into a sitting position to share his partner's mountain of pillows and blinks fuzzily at the screen. The clock in the lower right-hand corner registers with a gravelly, "Shit, it's late."

Leeteuk pauses in his typing to share his half-full mug of coffee, which tastes exactly what crappy hotel coffee promises to taste like. It's lukewarm on top of being disgustingly sugared, as usual. He finishes it anyway.

"Look," Leeteuk says, rotating the laptop for him to see. Kangin adjusts the tilt of the screen, which displays an online newspaper archive that they keep bookmarked. The article is dated July 25, 1996, from The Star-Ledger. 'Terrorists suspected in Newark massacre...' Several other browser tabs contain similar pages, all reporting on the extremely violent incident at a private school that resulted in thirty-six killed, including students as young as thirteen. Kangin stares at the numbers and reminds himself it was primarily vampires involved, so who knows how old they actually were, but a heavy feeling settles like lead in his gut anyway. It hits a little too close to home.

Leeteuk clicks on another tab, and this article header strikes an interesting note: 'Couple connected to mass murders?' It describes a man and woman who were both found dead at the site, neither of which had any relation to the school.

"Guess they were the hunters Brian mentioned." The writer hints at an association between them and the supposed terrorists (of course, there's not even the smallest mention of Shiwon), but there was no conclusive evidence.

The article includes two grainy photographs of the individuals, positioned side-by-side with a caption that identifies them as Jinsang and Hyesu Lee. Kangin doesn't read much into the images, just black and white pixels to him, but Leeteuk stares at the pictures for a long time and adds a few more fingerprints to the smudged laptop screen.

Kangin skims more of the article. They'd been married in Florida and had only lived in New Jersey for a year, but it seems they moved around a lot in between. The writer posits a number of shady reasons, but most likely it was out of habit for hunters – even ex-hunters – to never stay in one place for long. Both husband and wife graduated from high school, and like many hunters, didn't seem to have the time for or interest in college. Kangin never saw the point of getting a degree himself, but Leeteuk had thought differently and gone to university (only to drop out after two years).

The article mentions a few expected skirmishes with the law, no details. Kangin isn't surprised – it's the nature of the job, and despite what pop culture says, vampires don't turn to dust when they die (they're not nearly so considerate). Instead, they leave behind very solid, often very messy corpses. One of the advantages of belonging to a guild is that they offer a degree of aid and protection when it comes to, well, clean-up. In the worst-case scenario, you'll get a really good lawyer (Kangin is well-acquainted with the law firm hired by Skylar). He wonders which guild they were with and considers calling up Shindong... But on second thought, the less Skylar knows, the better.

"So how the hell do we actually find Shiwon?" Kangin mutters, dredging up the motivation to get out of bed. Laziness is well and good, but not when there are things to do and vampires to see. It's the promise of excitement (that high he gets when confronted by something fanged and feral, the action, the instinct) that finally gets him moving.

Leeteuk pushes the laptop away to sink lower on the bed and stretch out, arms rising above his head before dropping limp to either side. "Hmm..."

"Is he even in town right now?"

"He was here for Christmas," Leeteuk points out unhelpfully, and Kangin makes a sour expression in response. Christmas was months ago, and it was the guild that gave them the head's up. 'Shiwon's in residence, lay low for a couple of weeks.' How nice of him to be home for the holidays. But Kangin isn't going to sit around and wait for a memo, if they even bother to do that much now. He wouldn't be surprised if the next message told them to drop everything and get their asses out of town, and oh, by the way, they're finally being discharged.

"We could always go about it the usual way," he says with thinly-veiled zeal, a grin tugging at his mouth, since the usual way has a tendency towards violence. "He can't be harder to find than our real target."

Leeteuk has rolled over onto his stomach, staring at the computer with his chin in his hands, the light from the screen washing over his face. He lifts his gaze. "Let's visit City Hall."

There's a pause while the meaning of that statement registers, and Kangin nods. "I guess if Shiwon's in control, some of the head officials will know him."

Leeteuk doesn't shrug so much as he rolls over again, then slides until his head tips backwards at the edge of the mattress and he stares upside-down. "It's a start." He closes his eyes and threatens to slip further until Kangin moves around the bed, grabbing his ankles and dragging him back to safety.

"Field trip?"

Leeteuk raises his head with a slight smile. "If you promise me you'll behave."

* * * * *

The rain comes down in torrents the next day, making their field trip soggy and cold and altogether unpleasant. They slosh through puddles the size of small lakes from the car up to the steps leading to the polished front doors of a solid steel block of a building. Going in, Kangin imagines an epic criminal drama that involves impressive displays of force (broken tables and chairs, awed spectators, cowed vampire-cohorts and pencil-pushers) in order to get in contact with Shiwon.

What happens is that their shoes squeak on the tile floor and they drip trails of rainwater up to the secretary (a pretty young woman twirling a cheap ballpoint pen between her manicured fingers) and no, they don't have an appointment, would they like to make one? Okay, sure, if it's soon. There aren't any openings available until four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Kangin and Leeteuk exchange now-or-never glances. It's really important, they insist. Is it an emergency? Well, maybe if you mention the name Shiwon Choi...

The secretary drops her pen. It rolls off the desk, hits the floor in a clatter of plastic, and stops at Leeteuk's toe. He bends down to pick it up and hands it back with a placating smile.

She nervously assumes they're associates of Shiwon's (everybody in this town seems to think so), and after some careful playing along, she surrenders a phone number that Leeteuk copies onto the back of his hand. Kangin tries to walk away with her cell phone number too (a consolation prize for the lack of exciting illegal activity), but Leeteuk snatches his elbow and leads him towards the doors. The waterlogged, half-drowned look isn't doing him any favors, Leeteuk confides under his breath, very seriously. Kangin scoffs: a little bit of water never hurt a man (especially one as handsome as himself).

The drive back to the hotel is painstakingly tedious, the radio mixing with the swish of windshield wipers and incessant sound of rain. Leeteuk sits with his hand flat over his knee so the number doesn't smudge, but the ink is already slightly smeared.

Kangin starts peeling off his jacket and shirt before they even get into their room, leaving both in a wet heap near the door that Leeteuk immediately berates him for. Kangin obliges by taking the clothing and flinging them into the bathroom instead, where they smack against the wall and plop into the bathtub. Leeteuk tosses a few towels at him in exasperation.

When they're both relatively warm and dry, they sit at the table, dial the number on Kangin's cell, and put it on speaker.

The phone rings and rings. Meanwhile, Kangin digs around in their belongings and retrieves a squashed pack of cigarettes. Leeteuk has his fingers buried in the fluffy white towel draped around his shoulders, eyes on the display screen.

Someone finally picks up with the tail-end of a conversation, "—got it already, geez!" There's a huff of breath crackling across the line, then, "Hello?"

"Hi," Kangin counters with a stick between his lips, lighting up. "Shiwon around?"

"He's not here, sorry!" chirps the voice (male, fairly young). "Want to leave a message?"

Well, at least they seem to have the right place. "Actually, if there's a number I can reach him at... It's important that I talk to him."

"How important?"

"Very." A strange feeling settles over him that he can only characterize as 'dread.' Not the alert sensation of a vampire in proximity, not even the hair-raising instinct of something uncanny going on, just a blanketing notion of I'm-not-going-to-like-this.

"How important?" the speaker asks again with overtones of exaggerated patience while Kangin inhales cigarette smoke. "Are we talking 'aaah, there are alligators in the sewers after all!' or 'I've got a corpse on my hands, what do I do with it?' kind of important?"

Kangin replies with a coughing fit and bursts of interrupted swearing. With a puzzled, concerned expression, Leeteuk looks at him and mouths, 'alligators in the sewers?'

"Hello?" There's a muffled sound, followed by a stifled shout of, "I am not harassing another telemarketer! Do your homework!"

"What the fuck?" Kangin finally explodes hoarsely, ignoring the scattering of ash across the table. "Who is this?"

"Uh... I'm Donghae, and I live here."

"Where the hell is 'here'?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that. I was raised not to tell that kind of thing to strangers—Hey!"

A commotion of voice and noise travels across the line, ending with a different speaker apologizing, "Sorry about that. Who's calling?"

The new voice is deeper, calmer, and less likely to raise Kangin's blood pressure to undiscovered heights. He relaxes a fraction. "Look..." Oh, screw it. "I'm a hunter. My partner and I are on the trail of Vince Nádasdy, who, in case you're unaware, is bad fucking news. From what we hear, you don't want him in town any more than we want him breathing, so if you could hook me up with Shiwon's number, that would be swell."

"...I see," comes the response after a digestive pause. "Could you hold on a moment?"

"Holding." Kangin breathes out and sets the cigarette between his lips. Leeteuk rests a hand atop his, fingers sliding smoothly over callused knuckles.

* * * * *

It's a bit like willingly walking into the web of the spider. Or the den of the lion. Or the something of a something. Leeteuk has heard several variations of this story.

The elevator rocks as it arrives at the fifth floor, doors sliding open with a cheerful ding to reveal a stretch of softly-lit hallway. They pass by the numbered rooms (evens on one side, odds on the other, back and forth all the way down) until they reach 505 on the left. Everything so far is ordinary: an ordinary building in an ordinary neighborhood, not too wealthy but a far cry from destitute. Leeteuk isn't sure what he expects here – a trap, perhaps, or maybe just a quaint little chat over tea (with a snack, he'd hope, but with vampire hosts he wouldn't count on it). He lets Kangin do the knocking, as usual; never let it be said that Leeteuk isn't a considerate partner, and hitting things does tend to make Kangin feel better.

There's a thump on the other side, an alarming shout of, "I'll get it!" and then the door is abruptly swept open by a boy with a manic grin on his face. Leeteuk glances over at Kangin, whose expression gives away his feelings of dismay and mounting irritation.

"So you guys are really hunters, huh?" says the kid – well, the young man, or young vampire, or not-so-young vampire. Leeteuk has to keep his options open. The voice strikes a note of familiarity, and when the first thing that comes to mind is alligators, Leeteuk remembers. What did he say his name was?

Donghae (that's the name) gazes intently at Leeteuk for what feels like an uncomfortably long time. Leeteuk has the urge to shut his eyes, to not see and not be seen. But Donghae then switches his focus and engages Kangin in a staring contest – the former grinning and the latter glaring before finally barking out, "The hell are you looking at?"

"Stop being a freak and let them in," orders another voice from within the apartment. Donghae's t-shirt is stretched as someone grabs a fistful of it from behind, pulling him away. He's replaced by another boy who scowls at his friend but smiles for them, flicking hair out of his eyes. "Sorry about him, he's on his way out anyway."

"Come on, Sungmin! I've never met a hunter before!" He makes them sound like exotic animals. Leeteuk imagines himself as an alligator swimming lazily through murky water as he slips into the room.

Sungmin smacks Donghae in the chest with a jacket, turns him around and pushes him towards the door. "Don't be an ass and go to work."

Donghae puts up a fight, hands gripping either side of the frame, and Leeteuk resists the urge to place a bet. Donghae is taller, but not really heavier, and Sungmin has better leverage. Kangin nudges Leeteuk in the ribs, muttering from the corner of his mouth, "Fifteen bucks says he goes sprawling." Leeteuk doesn't get to accept or reject because a new voice from behind makes them both jump.

"Cut that out, you're going to break the doorframe again." A third person walks into view from a hallway, appearance slightly rumpled as if he'd just woken up. It's morning, but not hideously early.

"But—" In Donghae's flash of distraction, one more shove is all it takes to get him outside. Sungmin makes as though to close the door immediately, but hesitates in the face of the saddest puppy eyes in the world.

The uncertainty is short-lived. "You're late." After a decisive slam, he spins around with a smile. "Well, now that—"

Donghae shouts from the other side of the door to get in a few final words, making a last stand. "I'll remember this, don't think I won't!" There's an answering complaint from a neighbor about the noise, but Donghae's running footsteps are already fading into the distance.

That leaves four of them present and accounted for, unless anyone else is hiding in the back recesses of the admittedly normal-looking apartment. The hunters linger by the exit, noting the layout of the room: it's fairly spacious, with some clutter here and there. The kitchen is to their immediate right, and a dining table (liberally piled with books, magazines, and scattered week-old mail) takes up space towards the left with chairs also serving as coat racks. The living room boasts the same casual mess, and beyond that is a sliding glass door leading out onto a shaded terrace. Five stories up, Leeteuk remembers, with the streets below. Or maybe the parking lot, depending on which way the room faces. He recalls a mission when they'd once chased a vampire up onto a rooftop and, after a scuffle, watched him fall however many stories down. A lot more than five. He'd hit the concrete pavement (splat) and that was the end of that assignment.

Leeteuk drags his gaze away from the distant view outside (the weather's cleared up and it's sunny again), fixing on the other two who may or may not be vampires. He never got the hang of spotting them right off the bat like hunters are supposed to ("Most of them are full of shit," Kangin would say, "but I'm the real deal.").

"So," Kangin begins, confident and abrupt. "We're here. Nice den, by the way. You said Shiwon's out of town when we talked."

"He usually is," answers the one that remains unnamed (there's something familiar about his face, but Leeteuk can't place exactly what it is). His tone is disinterested – or maybe just sleepy, since he stifles a yawn before adding, "We gave him a call though, and he's interested in your mission. You're hunting Vince Nádasdy? And you're sure he's in the City?"

Kangin bristles at the implication of doubt. "Believe me, buddy, if he wasn't, we wouldn't be here. Our guild is doing jack shit to help and this is a last resort, got it? Who are you anyway, a secretary?"

Amusement filters into the stranger's expression until a full grin breaks out, full of perfect white teeth (Leeteuk thinks of toothpaste commercials, perhaps he's been in one). He isn't the least bit intimidated, still casually propped up against the wall. "Nah, I'm just an everyday university student. My name's Kibum, and that's Sungmin. You two are...?"

"Kangin," he answers shortly, and makes a curt gesture to the side. "And Leeteuk."

"Nice to meet you," Leeteuk offers by way of habit, but he goes tense and action-ready when Sungmin sidles by into the kitchen.

The boy looks young and sweet and harmless, but clarification smacks them in the face when he pulls a carton from the refrigerator, pours two tall glasses of dark red liquid, and drinks deeply from one. Leeteuk can't help but stare and shudder. He's seen worse – vamps tearing out throats or ripping into whatever body part is nearest, cracking bones in ruthless clutches while sneering at him with mouths stained bloody – but the filled glass has its own kind of horror. It reminds him of their mission, why they're chasing this guy who thinks it would be keen to fill such glasses with human blood drained from countless victims.

"Do you mind?" Kangin snaps with more than a hint of fire spark ready to set him off. They're being baited – but wait, bait is for fish, and Leeteuk thought they were alligators.

"I'm sorry," Sungmin says with such earnest innocence, lowering his gaze for a perfect second, that he can't be very sorry at all. He carries the other glass over to Kibum, who takes a dispassionate sip, then tosses his own apology into the pot.

"It's only what's necessary." He casts a knowing look at Sungmin, possibly a warning to play nice. Whatever meaning it carries, Sungmin shoots him a look in return, eyes flicking over the glass. Kibum pays him no mind, redirecting the conversation. "We were talking about Vince."

"Right," Kangin confirms with impatience scraping along his every word. "And listen, we're not here to make friends. You help us find the little shit, we kill him dead, and then we're gone."

"We're happy to help. However..." Kibum spreads his free hand and shrugs. The blood in the glass swirls from the movement (it could be mistaken for juice, but the consistency isn't quite right, the color not so clear). "We'll need to cooperate and work together. Maybe not cozily, but civilly, at least."

"Shiwon is on his way home – he has a bone to pick with Vince," Sungmin adds, then purses his lips together. "Or vice-versa."

Leeteuk's ears perk. He knows a story when he hears one (and he remembers when vampires were stories themselves, nothing more). "What's the history between Shiwon and Vince?"

Even Kibum turns to stare at the other vampire questioningly. Sungmin meets all their expectant gazes and sighs. "It's not too complicated: Vince was leading a group of rebels in New Jersey—"

"Oh, that," Kangin interrupts. "We know about that."

"Shh," Leeteuk hushes him, intent on hearing the details. This is information, this is good, this is something more.

"We happened to be around at the time," Sungmin continues breezily, and something in his tone sets Leeteuk on edge again. "I'm sure you know that Shiwon isn't the Council's favorite person, so Vince sent him an invitation of sorts. He said thanks, but no thanks. The group was a ticking time bomb, so..."

"The Newark Massacre?" There's a small note of incredulity when Kibum makes the connection, a very miniscule widening of his eyes that betrays the composure he's maintained so far. Leeteuk is reminded of all those newspaper articles and statistics. Thirty-six dead, many of them students... Most of them vampires (save for at least two).

Sungmin sets his empty glass in the sink and props his elbows on the countertop, chin in his hands. "I'd heard Vince had gotten away, but I thought he'd learned his lesson. Too bad." His smile is all teeth.

"Too bad," Kibum echoes dryly with a swarm of thoughts behind his voice, visible in his flickering gaze that wanders close but never lands upon Sungmin. His fingertips brush over his shirt, touch-and-go, not quite over the heart but close.

"You should have made sure he was dead when you had the chance," Kangin scoffs. "I don't know about any vamp in-fighting or whatever, but I can give you a list of the towns he's hit and a bigger list of victims that have added to his shiny new human juicer."

Kibum ignores the glare in his direction, but glances at the remaining blood in his glass before downing it in one pointed swallow. "Yeah, we've heard the rumors."

"Wasn't there a Buffy episode with something like that?" Sungmin wrinkles his brow in thought.

"Most likely."

"Was it in season one? Or..."

"Season three," Leeteuk pipes up, only to wilt under Kangin's pained expression.

"Can we stay on topic here?" He makes the token effort, and then trashes it in favor of demanding, "Isn't it in bad taste for vampires to watch Buffy? Hell, it's in bad taste for humans..."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying a show," Sungmin defends with a stubborn set to his jaw, but then his eyes go narrow and sly. "I bet you're just jealous because hunter women aren't as cute as the Slayer."

Kangin counts off on his fingers. "Okay, first off: so not true. Second: hello, reality versus fiction. Third—"

"So you're saying," Kibum interrupts, "that Buffy wasn't your perfect teenage fantasy?"

"Third: you are about to be dead."

Leeteuk automatically snags his partner by the coat collar, not like it would do much good if Kangin was really intent on bashing heads – and he could be, since keeping vampires alive isn't usually a priority. It feels like someone just plunged a shot of adrenaline into his system, waking every nerve. In an instant, Leeteuk is aware of the distance between them and the enemy, how far they are from the exit, and the nearest available weapon (he'd be inclined to go for a chair, and Kangin is bound to have at least one hidden knife on his person). Sungmin doesn't bat an eyelash once at the threat, and Kibum's expression doesn't change either, but they both go very motionless and attentive. Leeteuk has seen vampires blur from stillness into movement, inhuman speed at work.

Seconds tick by and nobody moves, until finally Kangin jerks under his hand. He only shakes the hold off, though, with a half-growled curse.

"Well, then," Kibum begins again, quite calmly. "What are we going to do about Vince?"

"I'll ask around," Sungmin offers.

"Take Donghae with you."

"Oh, no. No way." He crosses both his arms in front to form a large 'X' and shakes his head. "Too much risk."

"I second that," Kangin adds on impulse, and is mostly ignored.

Kibum seems to give Sungmin a considering look, weighing his words and connecting pieces of information that aren't being shared. Leeteuk foresees more background digging in the near future. "You can't keep him in the dark," he finally says. "It's not fair that I'm better informed than he is."

"That's because you can behave like a rational adult," Sungmin replies – a tad too glibly, Leeteuk feels, and a mental flag goes up. There's definitely some digging to be done later.

"Donghae is an excellent judge of character and a walking lie detector," Kibum states matter-of-factly, to which Sungmin has difficulty rebuking.

"Not all the time."

"But enough of the time." He inclines his head towards the pair of hunters. "He pegged them, didn't he?"

"Is there something we should know here?" Kangin asks, loudly and irritably, gaining both their attentions.

Sungmin rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Donghae has Super Senses."

Like spider-sense? Leeteuk wonders. Vamp-sense?

"His regular senses are unusually acute, even for a vampire," Kibum elucidates, "but he can also pick up on a person's emotions. It's not mind-reading, and it doesn't work on everyone. It also depends on whether he's 'on' or 'off' any given day."

"That means," Sungmin puts in with a cheerful smile, "if you had come here to be hostile, we'd have known right away."

They let that sink in for a while. Leeteuk glances down to check his hands, because all off a sudden they feel rather tied.

"Goody for you," Kangin says, betraying no hint of concern, but he likes unfavorable odds. At the same time, he hates to lose. With that in mind, Leeteuk musters up his most pleasant smile.

"Deals with devils," he comments softly to his partner – but not so soft that it escapes the ears of the two vampires, whose expressions are similar in their amusement.

* * * * *

"This is really— Ow, son of a bitch."

"We should put some ice on that when we get back," Leeteuk says sympathetically as they leave the apartment building. He glances up and over his shoulder at the towering architecture, squinting against the noon sun while doing so.

"This is messed up. Completely fucked. Is my phone on? Shindong's going to call us any moment to say we're traitors and kick us out of Skylar." Kangin touches his jaw gingerly, wincing. "And damnit, no vamp should be allowed to sucker punch me and live."

He agrees wholeheartedly, especially with the last part. They'd been recounting their story about the other vampire (that fiend) who had inadvertently led them to Shiwon and his merry little band. How were they supposed to know that their new blood-sucking friends had history with the ones who got away (like fish off their hooks, slipping away with a plash, plash, plash into deep, dark water)? Leeteuk had gotten a bad feeling when Kibum's carefully neutral 'thinking' face turned into a distinct 'troubled' face, and then Kangin had made some insensitive comment without knowing (granted, he'd have probably done the same thing with a full grasp on the situation, anyway). Sungmin had gone from all-smiles to smacking Kangin a good one and yelling in his face in a blink.

("What kind of useless hunters are you?")

Leeteuk doesn't remember much else except intending to return the favor and being held back, Kangin roaring bloody murder and Kibum looking decidedly distressed while pulling Sungmin hopefully out of harm's way.

He wonders if this will actually work (he doesn't trust vampires, as a rule and as a lesson learned), and if they would actually be discharged from the guild (come to think of it, he doesn't trust them much either). Leeteuk tugs Kangin's hand down and laces their fingers together, sighing gently.

"This was your idea," he reminds.

"You're supposed to stop me when I have bad ideas."

Leeteuk gives a faint smile. It wasn't a bad idea – slightly stupid and more than just a little crazy, perhaps, but he wouldn't say bad. Kind of normal for them, actually. He looks over at his partner as they get into the car, parallel parked down the block. "Full speed ahead," is all he says.

Kangin stares at him, cracks a grin and laughs.

end

Sapphy: ...It's been a month, I don't even know what to say here. D:

There are some new things to stare at though: Cityverse Q&A and the master timeline.

Everyone, thank you for being patient with this installment! ♥ There are exciting things to come in the story.

o8. Make a Deal with the City 1/2

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 08:04:03 GMT

Title: Make a Deal with the City 1/2
Character(s): Kangin, Leeteuk
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 4800
Summary: Eighth installment, part one of two. The hunters are finally getting somewhere with their mission, but it might be one step forward, two steps back.
References: Story Archive
Notes: Credit for the voicemail message goes to trickgum.

"Son of a bitch," Kangin complains as vamp #2 (little guy, would have been easy to take out) and the human (kids these days, they hang out with all kinds of bad crowds) turn tail and run. They're left with vamp #1, the prickly guy who'd set off Kangin's internal alarm from the get-go. You'd think the bloodsucker has 'Tear me!' tattooed on his throat with the way Leeteuk is going at him. Sadly, Leeteuk's auto-kill mode is somewhat less lethal when he uses his bare hands, and the vampire fends him off with an insufferable smirk. He also keeps himself between them and the fleeing pair, message clear: 'If you want them, you need to go through me first.' Well, Kangin can work with that, and unlike his partner, he's pretty effective with his fists.

He takes the opportunity to slide in when Leeteuk gets shaken off again, his knuckles cracking on the side of the guy's face. There's a snarl, the smirk wiped away, and Kangin feels better about life already. But one hit doesn't amount to a lot of damage on a vampire, so he follows it up with at least two more. Kangin diverts his attention to glance at Leeteuk – Go after the other two! – and a hard punch drives into his ribs. It hurts like hell but doesn't break anything (he hopes, sucking in a painful breath). Another blow would have surely followed, but Leeteuk snaps his leg up in a clean front kick that pushes the opponent back.

"Nice," Kangin wheezes, and Leeteuk flashes a v-sign to him without taking his eyes off the enemy. Meanwhile, the vampire clutches at the fence to regain his balance and rubs his jaw (he'll probably be sporting a couple of nice, big bruises to be recorded on the autopsy report).

Kangin glances down the street, but the others must have turned a corner and are as good as gone. Well, shit, but maybe he can find out where they're heading, for the dumbass kid's sake, anyway. He reaches out to snag Leeteuk by the collar of his jacket before he can finish off their info source. The smaller man gives him a sideways look. Some of the tension seems to drain out from his shoulders, and Kangin releases him. He turns back to the sullen vampire.

Before he can get a word out, though, the vamp sneers: "Are you policing the streets for Shiwon while he's away?"

That makes Kangin blink. "And what the fuck would make you think that?" It figures they'd be stuck with a crazy bastard. Leeteuk appears to share the sentiment, gazing at the vampire with confusion melting into pity.

"Oh, my mistake." The smug asshole straightens up, expression clearing, totally unconcerned with the two hunters flanking him. It's sort of insulting – how he went from cagey to cool by some unknown leap of logic, not to mention suspicious. "Are you hunting him then? I wish you luck with that."

This is totally bizarre, and not what Kangin had in mind when cornering the vampire. There's supposed to be more hissing and growling and hitting. "We're in charge of the interrogation here," he reminds, and thinks that maybe more hitting would help things proceed normally.

"What interrogation?" The hand gripping the wire barrier tightens, and with no effort at all he vaults over the tall fence. Once he lands firmly on both feet, he tosses them that shit-eating smirk.

"Motherfucker—" The fence already starts to rattle as Leeteuk scrambles up. Kangin quickly follows with a grunt of pain as his ribs protest (that smartass really packs a punch, goddamn). He lands with a solid thud, right behind his quicker partner.

The vampire is a dark shape weaving between piles of debris and construction equipment. He doesn't seem interested in merely outrunning them, taking the time to maneuver through the maze of obstacles that need to be swerved around and leapt over. Show-off, Kangin thinks acidly, but then the truth hits him and makes him reel. Leeteuk hears the falter in his step and glances back, but doesn't stop.

"He's wasting our time! Damnit—" They should've gone after the other two who had to have been more important.

Leeteuk bends low to pick up a loose rock and pitch it forward. His aim sucks and he misses by a few feet, but the projectile whizzing by makes the vampire spin around and stumble—hah! Leeteuk throws again and this time he's on-target. The missile hits a shoulder, further slowing the infuriating bastard down. Kangin's grin is all triumphant glee as the distance between them vanishes. There's satisfying look of alarm on the vamp's face as he ducks to the side, right where Leeteuk has split off to meet him.

Thwarted, long fangs slide out in a panicked hiss and his eyes take on a reflective shine like a cat's. He attempts to dodge again, a blur of an about-turn, but Kangin catches his arm. A violent wrench almost frees him and makes Kangin grit his teeth at the agonizing strain, but luckily the hunter is just a little too much weight to easily toss around. The vampire narrows his eyes, muscles coiling to try again. Kangin digs his heels in and braces himself for the yank, hoping that he'll come out of this without a dislocated shoulder. The preparation proves to be his undoing, as the captive rushes in low to sweep his legs out from under him.

The wind gets knocked out of his lungs when Kangin lands on his back amid the rubble, head crashing against more than dirt (Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ, that fucking hurts). All he can do is stare at the stars for a moment and try to convince himself that his spine and skull are intact. His body kicks into auto-mode before he can confirm he's still in one piece, getting him up on his feet again for better or for worse. Dizziness makes the world spin – that better not be a concussion. Is he bleeding? Fuck.

It takes a while to register the image of Leeteuk wielding a yellow and black construction sign to swing at the vampire. He's not doing half-bad with it, and the thin edge slices through the air to graze the opponent's side. It doesn't come away bloody, but the blow must sting like hell. The board nearly catches the vamp full across the face, quick reflexes saving him the indignity, but the flat tip does clip him. A gash opens up near his temple, glistening wetly. He grabs hold of the board with a new ferocity, twists, and jerks it out of the hunter's hands. In a fit of petulant attitude, he also snaps the whole thing over his knee.

The vampire makes as if to toss the sign aside, thinks better of it, and cocks his wrist back like he'd hold a Frisbee. His smirk is at least pained as he hurls the piece straight at Leeteuk, who throws himself out of its path. The second half flies towards Kangin, and with a grimace he hits the dirt again to avoid it. His eyes seek out the form of his partner in the darkness – Leeteuk is sprawled on his side, starting to get back up from his own narrow escape. When his gaze meets Kangin's, he gives a quick grin that says he's fine. They both get back on their feet, but by then the vampire has fled.

* * * * *

"Come on, come on..." Kangin mutters into his cell phone as it rings and rings. They're walking briskly, a little battered and dusty from the scuffle with the vampire, but no blood, no broken bones, and no property damage that they need to own up to (not like one measly construction sign would amount to more than a drop in the ocean of debt Kangin's already in). Despite that, this hardly constitutes as a good time. They lost a possible lead – and even if it was a bust, they let a human get dragged off to who-knows-where for who-knows-what. Leeteuk keeps pace at his side with an air of depressed silence. Three and a half months in the City, and they haven't accomplished much. The mission really has been a downer, but Kangin doesn’t get gloomy; he just gets pissed.

"Shit." He turns the phone off at the beginning of Shindong's wacky voicemail message ("You've reached Shindong. At the tone, name five tropical birds that begin with the second letter of your first name, followed by three colors that begin with the last letter of your last name"). It's been the same since the beginning of the month; when Kangin does manage to get in contact, he never receives helpful information. He's digging into something the guild doesn't like, and they're keeping their thumb on Shindong in hopes to cut him off, all civil and polite. Familiar routine. Nice of them to make his job harder.

"What do you think?" he asks his partner. Fuck the guild. Sometimes he thinks they'd be better off rogue, but they already have enough problems with fellow hunters without handing the whole community a real reason to turn on them. "That guy mentioned Shiwon. I'd write it off as crazy talk, but he's come up before."

"It's his city," Leeteuk says with a smooth shrug. Then he adds with a glance, "But I doubt he knows or cares about us. Or him."

'Him', their target, who's holed up here somewhere. Every time Kangin doubts the choice of their location, they'll get wind of a possible lead here in town... It never amounts to much, just small-fry who hear things, but they never hear enough. Or if they do, they're good at keeping it to themselves under...extreme duress.

"Then again," Leeteuk continues with a note of strained finality, "the Choi family killed Jay." Thus earning them Heechul's infinite, unbridled hatred. That story still twists up Kangin's gut. Tragedy is common in the hunting business, but there are business associates, and then there are friends. And family.

The Miranda case file had been obtained easily enough, but they never found out much about Shiwon. Kangin had assumed there just wasn't much to be found. Shiwon isn't known to be particularly vicious towards humans – if anything, he's more trouble to his own kind. His name is known to the guilds mainly because he's a significant behind-the-scenes vamp in the U.S., and because the Choi family is almost certainly a Council bloodline.

"We're on our own here," Leeteuk points out quietly with slight emphasis on the 'we,' so Kangin can get his meaning. There are no other guild hunters active within the City, not even any informants. And information is what they need.

Kangin checks his watch. A quarter 'till one. "Do you remember how late Brian keeps his place open?"

Leeteuk shakes his head. "We could always just pound on the door for a long time," he says with the voice of experience.

* * * * *

Leaving the City is like taking a field trip, and Leeteuk watches the lights of the buildings recede into the distance the further they drive. The roads ahead are pitch-black, illuminated by the occasional passing car and their own lonely headlights. He feels a little lost out here, asking more than once, "Are we going the right way?" Kangin tells him of course they are, he knows the way, just sit back and take a nap or something. Leeteuk leans his head against the window and sighs. He's not really tired.

There are a number of places – quiet, unobtrusive little bars and diners dotted across the countryside – where hunters tend to gather. It so happens that there's a bar located two hours from the City. They stopped by on their way in to find out some background on the town in case the official word from Shindong fell through (it didn't, but in retrospect, who cares about the City? The important part is the man running it). There are no guild divisions in these locations, nothing to go on record, but there's usually a wealth of rumors to be found. Kangin hates collecting the community gossip, but Leeteuk is used to it. The right smile, the right tone, a hell of a lot of persistence, and he can find out almost anything he wants. If he wants. Sometimes there's too much information already on his mind, a playback of memories on a wide mental screen that can't be ignored.

Right now, though, the screen is blank. Intermission, lights on, activity in the theater.

The much-maligned Taurus pulls into a small, gravel lot around three a.m. They step out of the car and look to the building. The lights are on, the sign illuminated in turquoise neon letters that read 'Fog Hollow,' but it's obviously quiet inside – that doesn't deter Kangin from striding up to the door with Leeteuk yawning and stretching one pace behind. When finding it locked, Kangin knocks heavily on the wood. Thud, thud, thud. It's yanked open unexpectedly fast, revealing a man they know as the barkeep and owner. Brian Joo, ex-hunter; he's young to have retired already, but in this field a lot can happen. He's talkative about his past, especially when it comes to recounting hunts with his partner (who also runs a place somewhere in Seattle), but he never seems to mention why he stopped.

Leeteuk could have retired too, in fact it's been suggested multiple times in multiple ways that perhaps he should. Their colleagues, for the most part, have learned not to bring the subject up. The more Kangin has to explain why retirement is not an option, the less actual explaining is involved. They've gotten to the point where only demonstrations get their meaning across. He's not sure what he'd do with himself if he wasn't hunting with Kangin, anyway, so why stop?

"That was quick," Kangin comments with a sour expression as they enter the bar. It's warm inside, not just in temperature, but also in the lighting and décor.

Brian shuts the door behind him, giving it a kick to close all the way when it doesn't fit neatly into the frame. "At this hour, in this area? Must be an emergency. If not, I can make it one." He has a hint of an accent; Leeteuk isn't sure from where.

Kangin answers with a glare. "Trust me, if we could help it, we wouldn’t have come all the way out here."

"You're just sad that you couldn't hit the door some more," Leeteuk says under his breath, unperturbed by the deepening of Kangin's scowl. He then turns to an amused Brian with a dimpling smile. He feels like talking. "How have you been?"

"Same old, same old: eyes open, ears perked." Brian walks around behind the long counter and motions for them to come take a seat. "Have you heard the latest? There's some unusual activity in Europe. Nice change of pace from the all ruckus in the U.S., I think."

"Yeah, whatever. Back to the point—" Kangin shakes off Leeteuk's calming hand on his arm, then roars indignantly when his partner swats him on the back of the head. "What? What? It's late and the drive is two hours back! Can we cut the bullshit, please?"

"Maybe a drink will make you less grouchy," Leeteuk suggests. Kangin has a protest ready, and probably some threatening gestures while he's at it, but when a cold beer is placed in front of him, Leeteuk's words gain newfound wisdom. Works like a charm.

"So, how goes your mission?" Brian leans on the counter, speaking in undertones despite the emptiness of the place, and they both fix their full attention on him. "It's been a few months, hasn't it? Kind of long."

"He's good at hiding," Kangin says with a touch of defensiveness, and Leeteuk sympathizes. After all, it's not their fault the target has a sense of self-preservation.

"But it is taking too long," he has to admit, and Kangin sulks into his beer. Leeteuk leaves him to that and lets his thoughts unwind in the open. "We got to wondering, though: if the City belongs to Shiwon, why are we respecting that? At first we just assumed it was a dangerous place, crawling with vamps who'd jump at the chance to chew us up and parade the gruesome remains around the streets." There's a loud snort from his partner. "But that isn't the case. So it's not that we can't oust him, we're just choosing not to."

"We ran into a guy tonight who asked if we were working for Shiwon," Kangin states bluntly.

Both of Brian's eyebrows arch up. "For real?"

"Would I make this shit up?"

He grins and ducks his head. "Point." There's a breath of pondering silence, then Brian rubs his hands together. "Well, I might have something for you. This was flushed out of the rumor mill real fast, but you know the thing in New Jersey that happened about a decade ago?"

"Vampire in-fighting," Kangin answers. "It's an incident with Shiwon's name attached to it. Common knowledge." Leeteuk elbows him gently in warning. Clearly, there's more to it than that.

Brian nods and waves a hand flippantly. "Yeah, yeah, for the most part we ignore our own divisions so we can point and laugh. 'Haha, look at them fight amongst themselves, suckers. No pun intended.' But that's not all. Word is he had a couple hunters in his ranks."

"How?" Kangin asks, puzzled more than shocked, but a different question lances through Leeteuk's mind with a shudder.

("Why?")

"Who knows? The whole thing's mostly speculation, and if the guilds know anything, they're keeping the details under wraps."

"What are the facts then?" Leeteuk asks softly, vaguely distant-sounding. His eyes are lowered to where his hands rest on top of the polished bar, tracing the whorls in the smooth wood with his index finger. There's a chip in the surface that he rubs over and over, worrying at the aberration like he wants to wear it down.

"The two hunters died during the attack. They were former partners who retired to get married, have a kid, and were living peacefully until that point. They'd no contact with their guild in a solid decade. No hunting at all."

Leeteuk's motion comes to a halt as he blinks and processes. Marriage between hunters isn't strange in itself, and it's better than marrying an outsider (he's already an outsider, anyway, back then as well as now). But no hunting? You don't just stop being a hunter. It's a family thing. How many times has he been told that because he wasn't from a hunter family? Wasn't raised to track vampires, wasn't taught to slay them – "He doesn't have the instincts," they'd said, "he doesn't have the talent." Sorry, kid. No can do.

Leeteuk can, and now he must.

"That doesn't mean they were on Shiwon's side," Kangin remarks uneasily to Brian after glancing in Leeteuk's direction.

Leeteuk turns his head to stare at the profile of his partner. Once upon a time, a fifteen-year-old delinquent Youngwoon had been the first to tell him that he shouldn't stick his nose into the business. "Forget about what you saw, forget about what happened, and don't you dare breathe a word about it to anyone. They won't believe you, anyway." Jungsu had kept his mouth shut and took a crash course in vampire hunting regardless. At some point, the younger boy had stopped scorning him and grudgingly started helping him. He wonders how much Kangin regrets that. If Leeteuk asked, it would probably be like the thing with the car – "Not your fault, shut up and leave it alone." So he leaves it, and quietly keeps his guilt to himself.

"Well, you see..." Brian draws the words out with a sly smile for effect, but Leeteuk suspects the hesitance is genuine. He then adds glibly, "No one thought it was strange until Shiwon showed up at the funeral."

"Damn," Kangin mutters with emphasis, impressed. "With guts like that, are you sure he wasn't just being a jackass?"

"You must be getting him confused with yourself," Leeteuk mumbles, and gets his hair tousled in retaliation. The familiar gesture brings a smile to his face, a memory floating to the surface: the time they found out they were being officially partnered together, fresh out of high school. "Great, now I'm really stuck with you. And you're stuck with me, don't you forget it!"

In the present, Kangin crosses his arms and asks, "Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, can it be confirmed that Shiwon was there?"

"By the mafia, yeah." When he gets twin stares of disbelief, Brian sighs. "It's a hometown thing. My family has connections with one of their casinos in South Jersey. I'm pretty sure this is true."

"And why was Shiwon involved in the first place?"

"Couldn't tell you for sure. The Council doesn't like him, so maybe he was trying to win their favor. You'd have to ask him, I imagine."

Kangin wonders aloud, "Maybe we should. Know where he lives?"

Leeteuk's eyes go wide...and he begins to laugh. Not because he thinks Kangin is joking, but because he knows for certain that he's serious. Making a house-call to the most powerful vamp in town has to rate at least an eight on Kangin's one-to-ten scale of badass.

Brian looks back and forth between the two, incredulous. "Are you crazy?"

"What? It's the only lead we've got right now—" Kangin glances to the side where Leeteuk nods, still snickering, thrilled by the prospect of getting closer to their goal. "In any case, it's his fucking city, right, so he'd know stuff."

Brian shakes his head, hands held up in a placating gesture. "I'll admit, if you're staying in the City he's the best info source you're likely to get. If he's willing to talk. One speculated instance of cooperation in over a hundred years isn't the best endorsement. And the guilds won't be happy at all."

When has their guild ever been happy with them? Leeteuk's smile curves thinly and Kangin gives a shark's grin. "Nothing new. If they weren't so damn useless, we wouldn't have to resort to this, now would we?"

Brian is still enough of a hunter himself to know better than to tell a fellow how to hunt. "Good luck," he tells them at last, with that lingering note of, 'don't say I didn't warn you.'

They're on their way out when the door shudders in its ill-fitting frame, then bursts open to let in a gust of cold air and a shadow of a person that separates from the darkness outside.

From behind the bar, Brian laments, "I know, I got to fix that stupid door."

"It adds a bit of charm, though," says the newcomer, entering with familiar ease. His voice sounds young – heck, he looks young, maybe the age Kangin and Leeteuk were when they started out as partners. Fresh-faced and serene, the cold has tinged his cheeks red and makes him appear startlingly innocent or vulnerable, but he's dressed from head to toe in dark, somber colors, and there is most definitely a sheathed sword slung casually at his hip. The weapon is slim, with a straight blade and plain hilt bearing no extraneous decoration.

"Talk about archaic," Kangin blurts. He could probably break it in half.

"But perfectly effective in the right hands," the stranger points out, perhaps a little too meaningfully. His wording seems off, too adult for his adolescent voice. He takes off his gloves and brushes past the two without a second glance.

Brian asks him amiably, "What can I get you tonight, Henry?"

Leeteuk hears Kangin mutter something uncomplimentary about bratty teenage kids, feels the solid tug on his elbow saying it's time to leave, but he stands rooted to the floor. He stares at the figure sitting beneath the low lights, at the pale hand that carefully adjusts the position of the sword. Henry is missing his left ring finger.

Kangin sucks in a breath, noticing as well, and Leeteuk moves in a burst of inspiration. Good idea, he thinks in a light-headed rush. Why didn't I think of that?

He goes for the pocketknife in Kangin's jeans (an ages-old thing he's had since boyhood) and unfolds the sharp little blade. Laying his hand flat and splayed against the nearest table, the knife is held steady when he turns the edge to his ring finger. The mark faded a while ago, pale indentation tanned by the sun and filled out over time, but it still feels barren. There are some days when he can't stand the ghostly sensation of the metal band that used to be there. Kangin has had to stop him from purposely dislocating the finger before, and now Kangin grabs his wrist and yanks his arm back. Leeteuk grits his teeth stubbornly, but the knife is pried from his fingers and he's forcibly hauled out the door. The shock of cold air chases away the worst of his anxiety, but the memory remains.

"Give it to me," Leeteuk says once they're in the car, sitting motionless in the front seat while Kangin jams the key into the ignition.

"Hell, no." The Taurus rumbles to life.

Leeteuk looks down at his hands, discolored by the bright green glow of the dashboard lights. "I'm not talking about the knife."

"The answer's still no-fucking-way. Put your seatbelt on, Jungsu."

He doesn't budge. Kangin sounds angry, biting, frazzled. Straining at the seams, snap, snap go the threads, one by one, and underneath it all he's just worried. And sorry. So Leeteuk feels sorry, too. "Please," he says in a dissipating breath of air.

Kangin's sigh is gustier, billowing like an exhale of smoke. He doesn't look in Leeteuk's direction, but he fumbles in his pocket and draws out the old, beat-up Altoid tin, offering it in one hand. He remains posed like that after Leeteuk takes it, smacking him in the arm with an, "Ahem." Leeteuk rolls his eyes, opens the glove compartment and retrieves a half-empty pack of Pall Mall cigarettes to exchange with. He sees the orange flame of a lighter from the corner of his eye as he turns his attention to the box clutched in his fist.

It takes some twisting and scrabbling at the smooth surface, but he wrenches the lid off with a protesting creak. A wad of tissue rests inside. He pushes the soft, fragile folds back with the tip of his finger while Kangin blows real smoke out the rolled-down window with a warning. "Don't try to chuck that out this side, I don't feel like playing fetch."

Leeteuk doesn't answer. He barely even hears, picking up the delicate ring and holding it in front of his face, turning it so the silver gleams as though new. It wasn't very expensive, no precious gems or endearing inscriptions, but it had been treasured along with its matching band. That one now lies buried, never to slip over his finger again. He holds onto this one, warming it with his skin and closing his eyes.

The light glares cruelly off the ring, a small, accusing flash of silver on her slender hand, splashed with blood and viscera. It's all across her arms, staining the front of her blouse and her lap. Her fingers curl and twitch restlessly, jerkily, and she's hunched over sobbing. Her eyes were already red and shadowed when he saw her last, her lovely face harsh with anger while she pleaded and demanded, "Why?"

He's a hunter. That's the only real answer he could give. He reaches for her – he's distantly aware that he's babbling a lot of nonsense, a lot of despair, a lot of apologies and, "Please, Sharon, please."

But she shrinks away, shaking her head, one hand tangling in her black hair. "Why?" she asks again, hardly more than a hoarse whisper. She pins him with her gaze, no longer angry but desperately questioning. "Why couldn't you leave it alone?"

He falters, and knows right then by the slightest change in her expression that he's failed her. The remnants of horror vanish, tears still glistening on her proud cheeks. The corners of her mouth turn upwards in an empty version of her smile, the one he saw for the first time in college when she dropped a thick Literature textbook on his foot.

Her hand tightens and pulls harder at her hair, lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line—

The gun in her other hand—

He lunges for her, the shot fires, he catches her body in his arms—

And Finished knowing—then—

to be continued

Sapphy: The last line is lifted from another poem by Emily Dickinson. Um, I promise I won't break out poetry every time I write Leeteuk. XD; If you go back to Mélange, you might notice a few hints about Leeteuk's 'omg whut' backstory that didn't make sense until now.

Part two is already written. It just...needs to be significantly rewritten. Again. D: And let me tell you, nothing in the world could make me rewrite Part I again. I'd lose my will to live.

Until then, if you have the time, please consider answering a few survey questions? :D; We'd appreciate it. ♥

oo. Survey Questions

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 08:00:17 GMT

Here are a few survey questions we'd like to ask! You don't have to answer any of these if you don't want to, but we would appreciate it if you indulged us. ♥

1. What types of fanfic do you normally read or seek out, in terms of genre (romance, humor, angst, etc.), pairing, or length?

2. What's your favorite Cityverse installment and why? You don't need a profound reason. XD Linn's is In the Clear solely because Sungmin is the easiest to write and also her favorite. You can even let us know what your least favorite is – in fact, please do.

3. What do you consider to be the story's strengths? In other words, what do we do well? An example would be changing your mind about a certain character or pairing, or maybe the writing in a certain passage was particularly evoking to you.

4. What are the story's weaknesses? If for some reason you only answer one of these questions, please let it be this one! Are there any inconsistencies in the characterizations or storyline? Where is the writing lacking – is the dialogue choppy, do the action scenes suck? Are the OCs unbearable? Be as picky as you want, Linn worries over these things.

5. How did you find/start reading Cityverse? We assume most of you come from miracle______, but if you were recced here by someone, we'd like to offer our thanks to them. :D And feel free to share your first impressions. ~~"Wtf is this pretentious shit and who do these people think they are?"~~

6. Your turn to ask questions! Was there anything you didn't quite understand when you thought you should? Is the timeline unclear? ~~How many more red fruit juices can Linn come up with?~~ Of course, we may not answer if it's important later on (so don't ask about the future of KyuMin, or the KangTeuk backstory, or the whereabouts of Han Geng), but if there's something random on your mind, you are encouraged to ask. ♥

That is all! Thank you for taking the time to do this.

o7. (missing scene) Only This Moment

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 05:46:34 GMT

Title: Only This Moment
Character(s): Sungmin, Kyuhyun
Rating: NC17 for shameless porn
Word Count: 2400
Summary: A (gratuitous) missing KyuMin scene from the seventh installment.
References: Story Archive
Notes: Because fuminshou_neko made me feel guilty for denying Sungmin any sex in his installment, and then meiface bribed me.

Sungmin won't kid himself; he knows he's irrationally jealous. Catching the mingled scents of strange, new vampires around Kyuhyun puts an automatic too-pleasant smile on his face, raising a territorial instinct he didn't know he had. He tries to be polite about it, and Kyuhyun is very good at picking up on Sungmin's cues – he can tell the difference between, that's nice, talk to me more because I could listen to you all day, and that's nice, but actually I couldn't care less. Or the more common message these days: I'm only smiling because it's cuter than my pissed face.

At the moment, he allows himself to frown, peering over the hot pink edge of his MacBook screen at Kyuhyun. Sungmin is reclining on the couch, taking advantage of the neighbor's wireless while the other boy does homework at the table. It's a common sort of evening for them, and usually Sungmin would amuse him every so often with a funny video or shocking article he's found online. Tonight though, Sungmin has been edgy ever since stepping into the apartment. There are traces of the other two vampires everywhere, from the intangible marks only he can pick up on, to the dirty dishes in the sink. His loathing of the smallest hints of their presence is uncalled for, and he's even disgusted with himself for being so affected.

The clock at the bottom of his screen reads ten-oh-five and that's it, Sungmin decides, time for a break. He closes the lid of his computer and the click doesn't make Kyuhyun look up, begging for a distraction, so he must be concentrating. Sungmin doesn't feel at all bad for interrupting, coming up behind the boy (there are math equations printed neatly on his notebook page) and deftly removing the pencil from between his teeth. Kyuhyun's lashes flutter in surprise.

"I'm bored," Sungmin announces, draping himself indulgently over Kyuhyun's shoulders and nuzzling by his ear, like a kitten demanding attention.

"Oh?" He sounds open for ideas, work forgotten, and Sungmin gives pause to think about the best course of action. Kyuhyun has a class early in the morning, but school equals those friends, and that makes the decision for him. His arms tighten around Kyuhyun while his lips close around an earlobe, and Kyuhyun's grin is nearly audible with his understanding echo of, "oh."

Sungmin's momentum stutters for a split-second when they make it to the bedroom. He's unsurprised by the telltale linger of those two, but part of him is still taken aback – after all, he sleeps in here sometimes (all right, a lot of the time), but the point is that there should be a line drawn. A safe zone. Some privacy, for heaven's sake! He eyes the keyboard like it's at fault (and it probably is – why, oh why, do the three have to share a musical interest?) and strips off his sweater with perhaps more vigor than necessary. It leaves a static shock in its wake and Sungmin scowls, rubbing a hand through his hair. The t-shirt comes off without any sparks, and so does Kyuhyun's, right before Sungmin snags him by the belt loops and shoves him down onto the mattress.

They fall on their sides in a tangle of limbs and uncoordinated kissing, mouths brushing and then sliding away, over jaw, cheek, temple, or wherever is close. Kyuhyun captures Sungmin's hand, encircling his wrist and bringing it up to kiss his fingers. Lips press over the smooth band of a ring and teeth bite gently at a knuckle, tongue touching the tip of his middle finger and curling around the pad, finally sucking two digits in partway. Sungmin remembers to close his slack jaw, but not for long. His fingers make a damp streak when he cups Kyuhyun's self-satisfied face in both hands, and he fails to pretend to be stern because he's too busy kissing him hard.

Sungmin pushes until Kyuhyun is on his back, reaching down to grasp his wrists and keep his arms flat. Kyuhyun arches a brow as if to say, 'and what are you going to do with me now?' Sungmin can think of a lot of things, some of which he probably shouldn't do, but as usual he does them anyway. He puts his lips and teeth to Kyuhyun's neck, sucking at the skin and claiming it more clearly than if he said, 'this right here in mine.' He feels Kyuhyun's nervousness, can almost taste it when he licks in apology, and part of him doesn't like freaking the boy out – but mostly Sungmin just wants what's his. Kind of his. No, definitely his, because now Kyuhyun is turning his head slightly to the side, throat bared. Sungmin can see his pulse jump, and his senses go sharp and focused on the blood rushing through the artery while his teeth go sharper.

He fights back a moan, shaking his head, and his fingers slip under Kyuhyun's cheek to undo the sight. "Don't," he says more firmly than he feels, avoiding the dark, aroused eyes and kissing the parted lips. Kyuhyun makes a small, startled sound – it's the fangs that surprised him, and Sungmin can't believe his own lack of anything remotely resembling good sense. Before he pulls away though, Kyuhyun seems to find his curiosity and touches his tongue gently to one wicked canine. He tugs a hand free to wrap around the back of Sungmin's neck, tangling loosely in a chain he's wearing and preventing him from retreating too far. Kyuhyun's smile is a little crooked, somewhat sheepish, but then his eyes half-close as he shifts his body to rub against Sungmin.

With a sigh, his head falling forward, Sungmin presses down. He bites his lip with normal teeth, spine bending when Kyuhyun's hand slides down his back and over the denim of his jeans. Okay, the pants need to go, so he rolls over to get out of them fast enough to help yank Kyuhyun's off as well. Sungmin lingers down by his legs, gliding his fingers along calves and the sensitive undersides of knees, up and spreading over thighs. His thumbs skim the creases where leg joins hip, tracing the jut of bone, and his smile is a white crescent when Kyuhyun squirms.

"Sungmin–" The rest is cut off when Sungmin takes his cock in his mouth without further preamble, and Kyuhyun's groan almost sounds pained. One of his hands cards through Sungmin's hair, mussing the jet black locks, and the other settles at the curve of neck meeting shoulder. Sungmin holds him in place easily, lips slick as they pull up and plunge down. He savors the taste and texture, sucking in as much as he can handle while being acutely aware of the way Kyuhyun strains beneath him. Sungmin keeps his palm resting atop Kyuhyun's stomach, fingers splayed, and he lets him buck a little. There isn't enough leverage for him to thrust far into his mouth, but then Sungmin rolls his tongue in just the right way while his other hand drifts up to pinch at a nipple. Kyuhyun's grip tightens as he comes.

Sungmin licks his swollen lips from corner to corner and wipes a trail from his chin. He turns his face to Kyuhyun's belly and leaves wet kisses from his navel up to his torso, biting at his collarbone and pressing hard against his hip. Kyuhyun rises up a little, hand traveling downwards, but before he can get it between their bodies he's playfully pinned to the mattress again. His expression is bemused, their cheeks brushing when Sungmin leans close to his ear.

"I want to fuck you."

Kyuhyun stops breathing for a frozen second and his heartbeat is louder than ever. Then the air leaves him in a rush and a low, quiet moan. "Oh, God," he breathes out, face flushed anew. Sungmin brings a hand up to his warm cheek and kisses him sweetly, counterpoint to his words and also the taste that Kyuhyun sucks off his tongue with a shiver.

"Mm... Is that a yes?" Sungmin teases against his mouth, and Kyuhyun laughs breathlessly.

"Yes." Some quick rummaging in the desk yields the familiar, half-empty bottle. When Sungmin turns back, Kyuhyun is propped up on his elbows with a certain look in his eyes and a slowly forming grin. "So," he says huskily, the flat of his hand sweeping down between Sungmin's shoulder blades once he's within reach, "How do you want me?"

Sungmin warms at the tone and the luxurious stroke down his back, a weak spot of his, but also nips at Kyuhyun's outstretched arm in mock reprimand. "Well, I was going to treat you nice, but maybe I should just throw you down and have my way with you instead." Kyuhyun goes red again, but doesn't look about to complain as he sinks back into the pillow, legs spreading easily enough to accommodate Sungmin settling between them.

His nerves start to show when the first cool fingertip slips inside, slow and measuring. Sungmin smoothes his free hand along Kyuhyun's thigh, rubbing the muscle absently while his gaze remains on the other's face. Kyuhyun's eyelids are half-lowered, mouth slightly open and breathing deeply. He worries at his lower lip when the second finger is added. It's a little fast, a little painful, a little too much at once – Sungmin spends some time here, working his fingers in and out, longer and firmer strokes when Kyuhyun begins to respond to the stimulation. He's stretched more and Sungmin knows that he's pushing the limits, that he could be kinder, but he's gently ruthless with his ministrations. Kyuhyun's face is turned to the side again, half-hidden in the pillow, the curve of his neck beautiful and marked. Sungmin can't help but lean forward to kiss it.

Kyuhyun moans beneath him and grips his shoulder, arching to put friction on Sungmin's cock and making him gasp. Sungmin licks the hickey from before and sits back, drawing his fingers out. He coats himself, trying not to linger on the gratifying pressure, wipes the slipperiness from his hand and rests it lightly on Kyuhyun's knee.

"Like this?" Kyuhyun asks, pulling his legs up when Sungmin nods; he wants a good look when he takes him. He prefers not to think about why, just like he prefers not to think about how badly he wants this in the first place. It's easier to just listen attentively to the sounds Kyuhyun makes when he pushes in. A short gust of air accompanied by a rough note, then a hiss, his fingers twisting into the pillow behind his head. His eyes are narrowed to slits and Sungmin goes slow, then still.

For a while, there's nothing but harsh breathing between them and the thick, heady scent of sex pervading the air. Sungmin's grip on Kyuhyun flexes and ripples, and there will probably be purpling bruises tomorrow from his unchecked strength. Kyuhyun is tight and hot around him, trembling faintly, hair sticking damply to his face. He utters a quiet noise when Sungmin bends down to drop a kiss on his lips, then another, and another, soon becoming a prolonged, messy affair with eager, open mouths. Sungmin gives an experimental roll of his hips that makes Kyuhyun break away abruptly, choking out a curse.

Sungmin grins against his skin, tasting it with a flick of his tongue and repeating the motion. He gains a subtle rhythm, liquid and leisurely, and watches with rapt attention as Kyuhyun seems to positively melt.

"Good?" Sungmin inquires, purring with contentment. It's been a while – a long while, to be honest – since he was last in this position, and Kyuhyun feels incredible.

"Amazing," he manages to reply, brushing his lips over Sungmin's forehead. His voice is low with a hint of a rasp, not-quite-pleading when he adds, "More."

A stifled moan is all the warning he gets before Sungmin braces himself firmly and thrusts in. He rearranges his hold, deepens the angle, and begins fucking Kyuhyun in earnest. This is his, he acknowledges with fierce satisfaction. He doesn't shy away from the thought, but grabs onto it, affirms it in the raw intensity of each steady stroke.

Sungmin bares his teeth and shakes his bangs away from his eyes, taking in Kyuhyun's flushed skin, his blood so close to the surface. His head twists, mouth open and panting, the marked side of his neck laid out for full-view. It's nothing but a temporary bruise, but Sungmin still swears softly and drives his hips forward hard. He knows he's being too rough, too demanding, but Kyuhyun gives so readily. His hand slides down his body, closing around his erection and pumping with a groan.

"Ah, Kyu—" Sungmin gasps as Kyuhyun writhes beneath him, and his orgasm takes him in a sudden, unrelenting grip. Still shaking, he feels Kyuhyun's knuckles rapidly brush his stomach and then the other boy shudders, legs squeezing around Sungmin when he comes.

Once the tremors subside, Sungmin gently pulls out and tries not to fall too much on top of Kyuhyun, whose face is starting to betray awful discomfort warring with total exhaustion. Sungmin grins knowingly. He throws an arm across Kyuhyun's chest to drag himself close and kiss his shoulder. Then with a sacrificial sigh, he rolls up onto his elbows and stretches to grab the box of tissues.

Afterwards, Sungmin innocently asks, "Don't you still have homework to finish?" He's lounging on the bed amidst clean sheets as Kyuhyun returns from a quick shower.

"And whose fault is that?" There's a glimmer of mirth beneath his obvious fatigue. Kyuhyun carelessly towels his hair somewhat dry and leaves it in disarray before flipping off the light. Sungmin pulls back the blankets for him, his smile hidden in the darkness, at least until he takes Kyuhyun's hand and brings it to his face. Searching fingers trace over the curve of his mouth, replacing them shortly with soft lips. Sungmin lets him sleep after that.

In the morning, Kyuhyun's alarm goes off and Sungmin hits it. He looks down to where Kyuhyun has cracked open a bleary eye, mumbling something that sounds like, "fuck it," and buries back into his pillow. No early class for him today. No other people, either. Sungmin threads his fingers through Kyuhyun's hair and curls around his warmth, basking in the moment.

end

Sapphy: For the full KyuMin experience, I recommend this song: Only This Moment (Röyksopp feat. Kate Havnevik).

...So. Yeah. I've been wanting smutfic where Sungmin tops and nobody else is inclined to write it (so few people are inclined to write KyuMin smut at all, woe).

Originally, I was also going to write the continuation of that one bedroom scene to balance this out, because that and this are two slightly different dynamics and they'd be like bookends. However, Sungmin decided he did not want a quick drabble, he wanted the whole damn thing. :| And I do not have the energy to write that much porn. This is ridiculously long as it is (and as far as chronology goes, it would fit in before the last scene in Sungmin's installment).

Please don't maul me for not working on #8. XD; Blame fuminshou_neko and meiface. But I swear from now on, the next installment will be my top priority.

o7. In the Clear

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 16:52:29 GMT

Title: In the Clear
Character(s): Sungmin
Rating: PG13 for the strip club, the 60's, and teenage Hae
Word Count: 9400
Summary: Seventh installment. Backstory. All these years, and he still hasn't learned (or maybe it's a matter of unlearning).
References: Story Archive
Notes: Wikipedia is my friend, history is not. The possibility of historical inaccuracy is high. I claim artistic license.

"There are traces of the people, and the faces I have known
As the bus stops at the building, the place that I called home."

The family celebration for Sungmin's twenty-first birthday is brief and weary, more so than usual that year since they are feeling the loss of his father, and all three of them must take up the slack. His listless mother goes through the motions like a ghost while he and his brother do what they can. It's been more and more difficult for them since Pearl Harbor, a little more than a year ago. They're not Japanese, but Asian is Asian here in America, and only a fine line in official print keeps them from being moved into an internment camp.

It's late in the evening when Sungmin quietly leaves, careful not to disturb his family (or anyone else in the decrepit apartment building). They have to get up early tomorrow, as does he, but he caught a few hours of sleep already and he'll nap some more before morning. It's his birthday today, and there are still a few bright things in this otherwise dreary life: The Violet is one of them.

The club isn't too far of a walk, and he's no stranger to navigating the streets alone at night, even during times like these. Soon he can see the sign in the distance, lit up in electric purple script. It's no high-class gentlemen's club, but it's a decent enough place – as decent as a strip club can be, at any rate. The bouncer recognizes him with a friendly nod that Sungmin answers with a smile, and he's allowed to enter. He doesn't come for the show and he couldn't afford it anyway, but on occasion he'll help out as a stagehand and despite appearances, he can dissuade persistent customers from harassing the girls. That's how he endeared himself to them in the first place.

Backstage, he hears a rumble of applause and approving whistles as a young woman poses coquettishly with two oversized, feathery fans covering her front and backside. As soon as the curtain sweeps shut and a piano tune strikes up between acts, she hurries over with the white ostrich plumes trailing like wings behind her. Her stage name is Vicki Swan, and her golden curls and enchanting dance make her one of the many Sally Rand imitators that sprung up in the 1930s. Vicki is one of the favorites of the club. Up close, she's wearing a flesh-toned bodysuit that perfectly molds to her figure. Once her eyes adjust to the darkness and she catches sight of Sungmin, she laughs and rushes forward to hug him. Feathers tickle his face and all he can smell is hairspray, make-up, and musky perfume.

"Minnie!" Sungmin endures the nickname with a smile and a sigh as he's always done; the girls think it's cute, like Minnie Mouse. "We were hoping we'd see you soon, darling. Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year, Vicki," he returns, giving her a peck on the cheek and taking her fans to put away with the rest of the props. "I see you're as popular as ever."

She dimples at him and latches onto his arm as they walk further backstage. "Oh, well, life's been tough for everyone, you know. We're doing our best to cheer people up."

Another one of the strippers bars their path, holding out a robe for Vicki and directing a scowl. "For Heaven's sake, girl, put something on!" While Vicki does so, rolling her eyes, the other woman abruptly turns to Sungmin with a warmer expression. "As for you, happy birthday! Let's see, you're—"

"I didn't know it was your birthday!" Vicki exclaims, her lips forming an 'o' in surprise. Her robe is belted messily and Sungmin automatically fixes it. No one is supposed to touch the girls even when they're not on stage, but he gets away with a lot more than usual. They treat him like one of their own, which is a bit strange when he thinks about it, but it's nice to be welcome among others for a change.

"You're twenty-one this year, aren't you?" The woman continues, ignoring her coworker's outburst. She goes by Kitty, no last name, and has been working at The Violet the longest. There's a betting pool for guessing her age, but that's likely to remain a mystery for quite some time. Kitty looks younger than she has to be, a fierce, petite brunette who does her share of protecting the other women if needed. The customers will jokingly remark when she performs, "She'll purr for you, but that kitten has claws."

Sungmin gives her the sweet smile he knows will amuse her. "Kitty, I'm flattered you remembered."

"Of course I did." She turns and catches another girl by the elbow. "Anna, you're not performing next, are you? No? Then fetch us some champagne, please – not leftover from last night, get a new bottle for the occasion. We'll be in the private room; no one else is using it at the moment, right? Good."

They pick up a few other girls on the way, and one who pouted and left a red lipstick mark on Sungmin's cheek before sauntering onto the stage, her gown glittering beneath the bright lights like gold fire. The backroom reserved for private performances is small, but comfortably-furnished – and more importantly, kept impeccably clean for small celebrations such as this. The women are all fairly young and attractive, most of them in plain robes or dressed casually, some have their hair carefully pinned and coiffed, others are less made up. Once everyone has a drink in their hand, Kitty stands up in the center, and the volume of her throaty voice makes up for her lack in stature.

"To our dearest boy, who turned twenty-one today. He's always treated us ladies with respect, he could charm his way into far better places than this, and let's not forget he could also knock a brute of man twice his size flat on his ass." A round of cheers and laughter goes around while Sungmin grins and buries his face in a pillow, embarrassed. Kitty pats him on the back and continues, "From all the girls here at The Violet: happy birthday, Sungmin!"

He doesn't drink a lot – he's a lightweight, and watches enviously as Kitty downs glass after glass. Such a small person shouldn't be able to hold her liquor so well; he tells her so and she smiles, mysterious and cat-like, offering him more champagne which he politely declines. A tipsy Vicki leans on his side, giggling, and Sungmin imagines there are a lot of men who would sacrifice an arm or leg to be in his position. But he doesn't take advantage; not only would Kitty wipe the floor with him if he did, he tends to think of them all as sisters anyway. When Vicki's robe loosens, he straightens it and takes away her glass (he thinks another one of the girls finishes it off). Isabelle, the newest, sits shyly on the floor while he braids her hair, then unravels it all and starts again with Kitty instructing him on how to french braid.

"You have such nice skin," Vicki observes from where she's draped on his shoulder, manicured nail making a gentle indent in the side of his face. "And you're so graceful! I bet you'd dazzle a crowd if we dressed you up real pretty and did something with your hair."

Sungmin pauses dangerously with Isabelle's hair sliding like auburn silk between his fingers as Vicki describes what sounds like a nightmarish idea. He appreciates the attention the girls shower upon him, truly, but he has to draw a line somewhere. A few of the others are looking too interested to be safe when Kitty – wonderful, amazing, miraculous Kitty – derails the whole plan with a scoff.

"Honey, we're strippers. He'd be in a world of trouble the moment he flashed someone."

Vicki's face falls at the criticism, but she joins in with the laughter that follows. "I'm just saying, Minnie shouldn't waste his good looks!"

"But if we're talking about grace and good complexions," Isabelle turns slightly to face them when she speaks up, blushing prettily, "Lily is the best."

A series of nods put truth to her statement, and Sungmin takes the opportunity to ask, "Where is Lily, anyway? I haven't seen her yet."

"Our lovely Chinadoll is taking a couple of days off," Kitty explains, and the atmosphere suddenly takes on a more somber tone. "There was a bit of trouble last night. Some folks had too much to drink and got nasty during her show, never mind that she's not Japanese. She didn't get hurt, but it seemed a good idea to let her rest a while."

Sungmin raises a brow at Kitty's wording, knowing that Lily is not a woman who scares easily, nor is she likely to miss days of work unless she's physically incapable of performing. "She agreed to that?"

"Strange, isn't it? But she's been a little nervous ever since last year. I suppose everyone has a weakness."

He frowns, thinking back to the last time he saw Lily while the short party draws to a close. They'd met up at a bar just a few weeks ago (she's the only one of the girls whom he interacts with outside of the club, but she's unique in many ways like that), and he doesn't recall any abnormal behavior from her. Sungmin doesn't doubt for a moment that she would hide something from him, or from her coworkers, for that matter. She's done a fair job at hiding their off-hour meetings. No one knows her real name and she doesn't talk about her life before being hired at The Violet. She tends to hold herself aloof, the smallest bit separate from the other girls, and she's more than capable of looking after herself.

Still, Sungmin lets himself worry – or so he tells himself as he goes out of his way to stop by her place before returning home. Perhaps 'worry' isn't the right term. Lily isn't like a sister, but she's not a sweetheart, either. His trepidation while climbing the stairs and approaching her door is telling because he's never just shown up by himself before, she's always been at his side, inviting him in. She plays along with his charm rather than give in to it.

Lily opens the door soon after his knock, too quick for her to have been woken from sleep (he belatedly realizes the lateness of his visit). Wearing a thin, ivory bathrobe, her long hair streams like ink past her shoulders while she assesses him from the doorway. The hallway light casts interesting shadows on her delicate neck and collarbones. Slender she may be, but Lily also possesses a masterful knowledge of martial arts and loves to criticize his form. He's fortunate that his pride is willing to bend if needed.

Her mouth quirks, finally, and she tilts her face at him with a strange smile. "It's your birthday, isn't it? Twenty-one, I believe. Come in." Her voice is cool and her accent subtle, but she can fake a thicker one because customers expect her to be exotic. Sungmin once asked how long she's been in the U.S., but her only answer was a curve of her lips and a narrowing of dark eyes.

Inside, her rooms smell faintly of jasmine. "Can I get you anything?" she inquires as courtesy demands. "Some tea? I trust that the girls did their best to liquor you up."

"Water would be fine," he says, rather than have her go through the trouble of brewing the green tea she favors. Pulling out a chair, he sits down with an arm slung over the back, his expression guileless. "They told me you had an eventful New Year's."

"Oh, that." Her tone is dismissive, bringing a brief grin to his face. He had a feeling Lily would react that way, and whatever concern he harbored for her sets sail. She hands him a glass and lets her fingers trail along his arm as she walks by. "I'm happy you came by tonight, Sungmin. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

He almost drops the glass.

Lily doesn't seem to notice his alarm as she half-turns on her way to the bedroom, glancing casually over her shoulder. "Come help me pack?"

Whatever Sungmin was expecting when he came here, this isn't it. "Why are you leaving?" he finds himself asking, before he remembers that Lily doesn't answer these kinds of questions.

But she answers this one after he follows her. "I've grown tired of this place, and it's an opportune moment." As simple as that. A suitcase lies open on the bed, her clothes strewn haphazard for now. Her hand tugging at a fistful of hair suggests that the mess irritates her, and Sungmin starts going through the motions to help organize before he knows what he's doing. He catches her smile, another odd twist of her mouth, when she notices him lending a hand.

Sungmin wonders why he isn't angry or annoyed by this apparent abandonment. Maybe he's been expecting it, one way or another. His initial shock has melted to something liquid and amorphous, like he doesn't care but he definitely does. "Where do you plan to go?" He'll miss her, he knows that too.

"I'm not certain. I might move around until I find somewhere that suits me. I'm a city girl though, so I was thinking I'd try Chicago."

His shoulders rise and fall in a sigh of longing. How he'd love to travel! Sungmin has always been aware of his own desires, his place in life, and what would make him happy. He also knows better than to expect much change.

The touch of Lily's hand to his cheek guides him to turn and face her, dark eyes searching his. She takes a few steps back, just out of reach, arms folded and head cocked. "Do you want to come with me?"

"I can't just drop everything and run," he demurs, unsurprised by the proposition. She knows him well enough. If anything, he's flattered she'd invite his company; Lily is an independent creature at her core.

She shakes her head and draws back another small step, her bare feet white against the worn carpet. "That isn't what I asked. Sungmin, do you want to come with me?"

For a moment, all he does is stare at her. She's asking a stupid question, and he can't guess at her game. If he pauses and considers indulging her – he thinks of his filial duty to his mother and brother, a family only in name, but a family nonetheless. The girls at the club are closer and more familiar bonds, every beautiful one of them, with their sparkling costumes and glowing skin. Stars in their own right, like any Hollywood actor, burning brightly while they can. Vicki is at the peak of her life, her feathered fans aflame onstage. Kitty has a slower, steadier fire, she'll endure longer, but eventually she'll blaze less. Isabelle will surprise everyone when she rises like a phoenix.

He's walked towards Lily without realizing it, fingers smoothing over the pale satin of her robe that lacks the subtle luster of her skin. She meets his gaze, and this time her lips widen in a real smile, teeth gleaming.

* * * * *

Following Lily does more than change the scenery. On the train ride, they talk about the girls like long-gone friends, rather than people he saw, spoke with, and drank with just the other night. They're tough women, even fluff-brained Vicki, and it's not so hard after all to let them go. What he doesn't think about is his mother's sleeping face, or the many times he and his brother had joked about going away and seeing the world.

The conversation lapses into silence, and Sungmin turns to the window to watch the landscape rush past. Beside him, Lily rests her head on his shoulder, and despite the contact, their arms loosely entwined, she's somehow generous in giving him space.

Two days after they settle into Chicago, while he's still high on the sights and sounds and excitement, Lily turns him into a vampire.

The day after that, he wakes up with the sun in his face and the radio crackling a familiar tune, while Lily stands to the side and irons a blouse. Sungmin goes through the motions: he touches his neck, runs a finger over his teeth, squints at the sunlight, and almost writes everything off as a dream until Lily hands him a glass filled with dark liquid. He almost spills it. A splash lands upon his skin, which she calmly licks clean and raises the glass to his lips, ordering him to drink.

"Dracula," he cites afterward, the taste of the blood strong and unsettlingly nice. Before he can continue with his questions and accusations, Lily shakes her head and rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"I knew that would be the first thing out of your mouth."

Sungmin grins despite himself. At least now he knows why she hates those films.

"I'm not undead," she explains matter-of-factly, sitting next to him on the bed. "I was born this way. I eat, breathe, and sleep like normal, you know that." She catches him glancing pointedly at the empty glass and concedes, "With a supplementary diet."

"You've always been an impossible woman," Sungmin adds, sounding indifferent but feeling otherwise. He holds himself steady, yet his heart is pounding. He breathes in and out, normal as she says, except for the taste lingering on his tongue and the acute awareness of her that takes the form of a sweet, smoky scent. He turns his face towards Lily, trying to sort it out, and notices a slim chain looped around her neck. Hesitantly, the pad of his finger touches the small, silver cross resting below the hollow of her throat.

Lily reaches back and unhooks the necklace. It catches the light in the space between them, suspended in midair, and soon the pendant nestles against his own skin. "If there is a God," she says, fingers curled at his nape, "He's in no hurry to smite us down."

Sungmin isn't religious, but he keeps the cross. In the days and weeks that follow, he learns from her and they live dream-like, careless of the war and everything else outside of the hidden world she's shown him.

"Blood is blood," Lily remarks while pouring a glass. She picks up a supply from a covert warehouse every Wednesday. "We may be built for hunting, but so are humans, and most of them don't go around butchering their own daily meals, now do they? These are civilized times." He doesn't ask her what kind of other times she's seen because it's not polite to inquire after a woman's age.

He accepts his own immortality with plain ease, at least for now. He's always loved the brevity of life, the rise and fall, the bright light that will inevitably go out. Sungmin has been bored for so long, but he's not self-destructive. When he wants to know exactly how vampires can die, at first he doesn't understand the severe look Lily gives him. She refuses to answer until he starts peppering her with examples from pop culture (she really loathes Hollywood horror). Impalement through the heart will kill anything, so does decapitation and burning, and that makes sense. Their kind heals faster than humans, but not enough for miracles. Truthfully, if something can kill a human, it can probably kill a vampire. They can even succumb to disease – if they're natural-born. Made vampires like himself are a different story, and Sungmin finds that not only will he never age a day, he doesn't have to worry much about his health. To his delight, the package also includes a higher alcohol tolerance.

Lily warns that even though it would take a lot to kill him, there are always people more than willing to go to such extremes. First, there's the inclination of the general populace to fear, resent, and hate those who don't belong, or are seen as threats. Sungmin doesn't need to be told twice, but she makes sure the lesson sticks by recounting a few of the mobs she saw in China a long time ago.

Second are the hunters. The guilds tend to be more focused on big game, targeting the oldest families and the worst troublemakers, those stupid enough to cause a commotion. The primary goal of the hunters is the Council, but members of that assembly are kept secret even from the general vampire society. The most anyone can assume is that the Council draws from the greatest bloodlines, and that those individuals have significant influence on the rest of the world. There are even rumors connecting them to the war...

"But it doesn't matter, anyway. The Council is a tremendous help in keeping us safe and secret. The less we know, the less the guilds can find out. You see, the downside to our healing rate is that we can be tortured longer. Luckily for you and me though, if we keep off their radar, we probably won't run into any hunters." Lily finishes applying her few touches of make-up, just enough to put some color in her cheeks and add gloss to her lips. Her hand sweeps her hair from her shoulder, and her words brush the morbidity from their conversation. "So how about going to see a movie tonight? I've heard wonderful things about Casablanca."

Sungmin meshes well with Lily and her changes; he doesn't bat an eye when she feels like moving again, and again, and again, whether the transitions are years or mere months apart. She invites him along each time, and never presumes one way or another. It's almost a game, following her just half a step behind, waiting for the day when he grows bored and splits off. He has the freedom to do that now.

When the time actually comes, however, he doesn't have a say. It's a Saturday, late afternoon, and Lily hasn't been home since Thursday. Sungmin isn't too concerned at first – they've never been attached at the hip, each of them prone to spend a night or two elsewhere, on occasion. And they have their arguments. He doesn't think much of her absence until Monday morning, and even then it's a peculiar sort of worry.

He stops by the restaurant Lily works at, but she hasn't been in for days and the manager is none too happy. That kicks his apprehension up another notch, so he makes a detour to visit the garage that also functions as a blood supply in this town (it's not very good – there's always an unpleasant oil scent clinging to the blood, but it's the closest). Outside, a car is parked and a man is bent under its hood. He straightens and turns around when Sungmin soundlessly approaches, not at all surprised, and Sungmin is impressed despite himself. His own senses are overwhelmed with oil, gasoline, and machinery here – if he closed his eyes, he probably wouldn't know another vampire was standing right in front of him.

"You're a couple days early, aren't you?" the man asks, his tone friendly enough as he wipes his hands on a questionably-clean rag.

"Actually, I was just wondering..." Obviously, Lily hasn't been here recently. "Have you heard anything from Lily? There hasn't been a trace of her since Thursday."

A thick brow is raised from under a ratty blue cap. "No word from or about her, far as I know. She could've jumped ship. Lily does that."

"If she did, she didn't take any of her belongings." The possibility has occurred to him since it's not like she hasn't tried to leave without warning before. But that was "before."

From under the grime and unassuming, weathered features, the man's eyes become very shrewd. He's probably lived decades, or maybe even centuries, and Sungmin listens intently to his next words. "It's never a good thing when one of us just vanishes like that. You might consider relocating, at least to another neighborhood, but skipping town would be safest."

Sungmin thanks him and thinks about the warning on the way home. The need to be cautious and wary fills him with an odd feeling; he's figured so far that just being normal is safe enough. He decides to wait just a little longer, no rush.

The next morning, while grabbing a bite to eat before work, he reads in the paper about the body of a young Asian woman found in the river. There's also a note slid under the door when he gets home, grease-stained but written in unusually refined script for a mechanic. The message is simple: hunters on the prowl, clear out and best of luck.

Sungmin leaves the note in the trash. He goes into the bedroom and starts to pack, pausing mid-way to sit on the bed and breathe in the jasmine aroma that pervades Lily's things. Beneath the perfume is her personal scent, like fragrant smoke, a unique incense burned down to nothing. Vaguely at first, then as his thoughts come together, he finds it strange that when hunters show up, everybody flees like rats off a sinking ship. So much for the Council keeping them safe, but he didn't put much faith into them from the beginning. There's a white-hot flash of anger anyway for Lily's sake, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and he lets them spill down over his cheeks.

Lily had been at his side for years now, traveling the length and breadth of the United States. They saw the end of the war and celebrated with the rest of the country, mostly for the sake of having any celebration at all. Lily talked about going to England, and maybe back to China someday, eventually, planning all these things without a care.

No guarantees, Sungmin thinks, and he suspects Lily knew that too, coming and going at whim like she did. She was always interesting, never boring.

He finishes packing (hours later, he didn't notice the time passing at all), and on his way out he stops by the table that holds her jewelry box. The silver cross necklace is dropped into the compartment. Satisfied, eyes red but dry, Sungmin closes the lid and leaves everything as it was.

* * * * *

"So," begins Alex, sitting up straighter from his loose sprawl on the couch – Sungmin's couch, actually, because this is Sungmin's apartment. "Are you busy on Saturday? Because there's this march—"

"The play, remember? Saturday will be a busy night." Sungmin tries to focus again on his textbook. Life has been hectic lately and he's fallen behind on his homework. Sometimes he wonders why he decided to go to school in the first place, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time and forged identification wasn't hard to come by within vampire society. Classes didn't seem too difficult at first either, what with half the campus high on LSD (he tried it once, but drugs don't effect on him like they're supposed to and all he got out of the experience was a mild stomachache).

"The play's in the evening, you have the rest of the day—"

"I'm working at every show, I have a lab on Friday and a test Monday morning, and then there's my regular job. The one I need to pay for my tuition and a place to live. If I'm somehow not busy Saturday morning, I will be getting what little sleep I can." Determined, he holds the book upright like a shield between him and the other boy, praying it will deter him from further argument.

Unfortunately, Alex can be like a dog with a bone. "Why don't you take some time off work then? I keep telling you, it'd be easier to live on campus."

"I need my space," Sungmin replies automatically. The truth is, he doesn't want friends having easy access to his refrigerator, raiding for booze and finding a number of inexplicable bottles of blood instead. As it is, they just think he's astoundingly polite whenever they visit, always offering to get whatever drinks or snacks are needed. To be extra careful though, Sungmin tries to make sure such visits are few and far between.

He listens to Alex heave a long, dramatic sigh, and resists the urge to do the same. Alex is a wonderful sort of person, really, he's bright and sweet and fun to be around, and especially fun to kiss, so after a moment's thought Sungmin feels a little bad for being snappish. He lowers the textbook to see Alex slumped back and sulking. The thump of the book on the floor gets his attention, and Sungmin wriggles around until he's lying across Alex's lap.

"I'm sorry, this is just a busy week for me. I'll go with you to the next one." He tries not to sound too reluctant while making that promise. The gay rights movement is well and good in his eyes, and he's perfectly happy to attend a sponsored dinner here, a drag show there, or even participate in the occasional sit-in. But sometimes he'd rather just go to a movie or a concert, and not make a big deal out of holding hands in public.

Thursday rolls around and Sungmin still isn't even close to caught up with his schoolwork, but it's opening night for the play and he's too busy and too excited to care about a nine A.M. Physics lab tomorrow morning. They're performing My Fair Lady, which had a successful film release just last year. Sungmin adores film and theatre, and in all his moving about for the past several years, he frequently returns to L.A. He's taken a few acting classes, but doesn't pursue it as more than a hobby, and for the musical he's only working as a technician. That's fine for him since he still gets an excellent view of the stage from the booth.

The first show goes well – no spectacular mishaps and the actors and crew make the best out of the small problems. Sungmin doesn't miss a cue that night, or the night after. The Saturday performance draws in a larger crowd than previously, but by now everyone has their routine down and nerves are held at bay. The whole thing is simply marvelous.

It's afterwards, when the audience has trickled out and only the crew is left to clean up and ready things for tomorrow, that Sungmin meets the other vampire. This doesn't shock him; he's run into quite a few of his kind in odder places than a school musical, and he's always been a social person.

"Great show," the stranger says, showing straight, white teeth in a reserved smile as he picks up one end of a prop table. Sungmin grabs the other, though either of them could have lifted it alone. "From what I saw back here, anyway. I'm just a local volunteer."

"Thank for your help. I'm a student – a junior. My name's Sungmin."

"Theatre major?"

"Nope." He curbs his grin while they set the table down. "Electronic Engineering."

There's a surprised-sounding, "Oh," and the other vampire blinks and shakes his head slightly, as if embarrassed. He's older than he looks, certainly, and he looks about the same age as Sungmin. Asian descent, moderate accent. There's been a lot of immigrants coming in since the end of the Korean War. "Haven't heard of that before."

"It's a new field," Sungmin consoles him, leaning both arms on the table and smiling outright. "Kind of, anyway. Came out of World War II as Radio Engineering. Also, I didn't catch your name."

Despite the dim light backstage, Sungmin can see the reddening of the other's face. "Sorry about that. You can call me Eunhyuk."

"Nice to meet you," Sungmin says gamely.

Eunhyuk is new in town, living with a friend whose name he neglects to mention, which of course sparks Sungmin's curiosity. He decides not to pry, not when Eunhyuk does such a poor job of avoiding the topic and grilling for an answer would just be sad. He isn't kept in the dark for long, anyway. They end up meeting for lunch often, or sometimes they'll see a movie, and Sungmin had forgotten how nice it was to relax and spend time with a fellow vampire. No worrying over what would be found in the refrigerator, no minding one's strength or inhuman perceptions; it's normalcy on a whole separate level. On Eunhyuk's side of things, he apparently finds himself with a lot of free time because his mysterious friend is frequently attending to some work-related business. Then, over brunch one weekend at a small diner, Sungmin finally finds out this other man's identity and whistles accordingly.

"That's a name I've been hearing a lot." He sits back in the padded booth, sipping some orange juice. No wonder all the secrecy – Shiwon Choi has a tendency to, well, make the Council unhappy. Most of their kind wouldn't want to be involved, but luckily, Sungmin cares about the Council just as much as he's sure they care about him.

Eunhyuk nods, twisting a straw wrapper around his finger. "We met when his family was keeping him on a short leash after the last thing..." He raises his eyes questioningly and Sungmin gives a slight nod. The 'last thing' was before his time, but it boiled down to the vampiric China-Korea relations going sour... Again. "But then there was the war, so the two of us managed to slip out in all the confusion."

"Sounds exciting," Sungmin mentions, brows raised, and his friend laughs.

"That's one way of putting it."

He's eventually introduced to Shiwon, whom he finds wonderfully charming and even a bit dreamy – all smooth, smoky darkness, but when Sungmin is patient enough and observant enough, he spots the brightness, too. Behind the sleek smile, there's sometimes a boyish grin, sweetness lying beneath a classic elegance carved by time. The three of them manage to get along well together, and while there's a hazy sense of entanglement, Sungmin chooses not to resist.

He also chooses not to attempt mingling them with his school life because those are two worlds best kept separate. He breaks up with Alex – he's dumped, rather, on the grounds of neglect and suspicions of cheating. It's actually a tad sudden and takes him by surprise, so while Alex doubtlessly has fits of histrionics around his friends, Sungmin spends an afternoon being in a nasty temper of his own and pouring his heart out to a sympathetic Eunhyuk. His friend gives him lots of hugs and says the right thing at the right time, like following a script, and it plays out perfectly.

The next year, Sungmin graduates with a degree he doesn't know what he's going to do with, and he gladly skips town with Eunhyuk and Shiwon.

* * * * *

Sungmin doesn't know what he was expecting by throwing his lot in with the other two – companionship, sure, maybe even something hesitantly approaching family (and he hasn't thought about family for a while) – but things go smoothly at first. So smoothly, in fact, the years become decades. Then New Jersey happens, which isn't the best of times, but it's not the worst of times either.

They've been settled in for about a month when the rumors reach them, about a group of vampires with the right idea, but the wrong plan. Shiwon meets with them, and neither Sungmin nor Eunhyuk know exactly how that goes, but when he returns it's decided that they're just plain dangerous and probably should be stopped. It's sort of cool, like an action movie or a T.V. show (but life isn't fiction, it's chaotic and unpredictable and people make so many mistakes that they can't improvise their way out of).

Sungmin can't fathom where or how Shiwon obtains the resources to help take care of it – he keeps up to date on gossip, but he's never heard of vampires teaming up with hunters, and there's even a young half-breed as part of the hastily-gathered group. Sungmin is quite impressed – at least until everything starts happening at break-neck speed and he comes face-to-face with the truth of just how easy it is to kill a vampire. They are predators made to hunt other predators, and there's an eerie sense of primal satisfaction at bringing down someone strong. And the blood everywhere... Well, it's hard to resist, and he doubts any one of them came out of it without getting a taste.

A woman collapses, her face white, eyes wide, blood collecting on her lips as she falls victim to whatever power she's failing to control. She's one of the few humans who sided with the rogue group of vampires. Her expression is a mixture of agony and ecstasy that Sungmin ends with a swift crack of her arched neck. Walking away from her body, he delicately laps a smear of her blood from his hand and understands why some vampires take the risk of preying upon humans. Beside him, one of their hunter allies hurries along after giving him a grim stare. Sungmin grins and jogs to catch up.

The end result is no smoking crater in the ground. Not literally, anyway.

There's confusion and commotion afterwards, and since it's more or less their mess, they stick around a while longer to clean up. Sungmin gets very tired of Jersey, very fast, and it's probably the only place he's been that he'll never want to visit again. They finally prepare to leave, but there's one loose end to be tied up – and to his surprise, it ties to them.

Sungmin has no idea what to make of the human orphan, he's never had to take care of a kid before and never intended to, but Shiwon says they're taking him and Eunhyuk agrees (Eunhyuk is usually laid-back, but this time he's adamant in making his opinion count). Warily, Sungmin accepts the addition to their group without asking why, and for a while it's not so bad. He tells himself to think of it as being responsible for his actions.

That optimism rapidly deteriorates as the ten-year-old boy becomes more of a ten-year-old terror:

"It's your turn," Sungmin says with false cheer as he walks past where Eunhyuk is lounging, listening to his CD player.

Eunhyuk gives Sungmin a strange look while he pulls off the headphones. "My turn for what?"

"For handling Donghae." Sungmin snags the nearest magazine and drops into a chair, pretending to read. He's already read this one before, but as long as he's clearly occupied—

"We're taking turns now?"

"Why shouldn't we take turns?" Sungmin innocently asks, refusing to divert his eyes from the page.

There's a moment of (hopefully) resigned silence, then a dawning statement, "This is because of the pink thing, isn't it."

Sungmin cracks. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with the color!"

Eunhyuk sighs and gives him the patient, condescending look that only a century-old vampire can master. Though the times when Eunhyuk puts his seniority to use are few, Sungmin always hates being reminded. "He's only ten, and he's been living in an orphanage with dozens of other boys. He'll grow out of it."

"I'm still not dealing with the little cretin today." He stubbornly sinks deeper into the chair and resumes his not-reading of the magazine. Eunhyuk goes back to his music, and about two minutes pass before the door is thrown open, banging against the abused wall, and Donghae stalks in with a marker (which may or may not be washable) held determinedly in his fist. He makes a beeline for Eunhyuk and draws a precise, blue 'X' on his cheek. As an afterthought, he draws one on the CD player too.

"Now you're safe," he informs with serious eyes, before moving onto the kitchen where they hear the squeak of the marker again.

Sungmin doesn't even want to know, but Eunhyuk still isn't moving, content with that silly 'X' taking up half his face, so he gets up to look in on the monster-child.

And is promptly blocked at the threshold. "No pink allowed," Donghae says firmly, and makes another mark on the tile floor.

Before Sungmin can get a coherent word through, Eunhyuk shouts, "Remember, he'll grow out of it!"

He does grow out of it, but unfortunately he grows into a teenager, and right away it's an awkward time for most people involved:

"Hey, um, Sungmin."

"Yes, Eunhyuk?"

"Do you think that maybe...er, it's time for that thing?"

Puzzlement. "What thing?"

Squirming and eye-shifting. "You know, that whole... I mean, because of the..."

Sungmin hasn't the faintest idea what he's trying so very hard not to say, so he places his hands on Eunhyuk's shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. "What thing?"

"Well, the talking thing. We should talk to him about...stuff. He's at that age and all and— Oh, come on, you know." He makes a certain gesture with his hand and Sungmin backs up one significant, exasperated step.

"The Talk? That's what you're freaking out over? Please, just hand him some condoms, it doesn't take a genius to figure out and it shows support. Problem solved with minimal embarrassment."

"Why me?" Eunhyuk demands, pointing an accusing finger. "You're obviously better-suited for the job."

With an expression of disgust, Sungmin brushes by. "Fine, where do you keep your stash?"

A sudden, guarded look crosses Eunhyuk's face. "What? Use your own."

"I don't have any."

"Uh-huh, I'm really going to believe that."

"I don't," Sungmin insists smugly. "I can't impregnate a woman or have STDs. I am totally sex-safe, and I'll be this cute and charming for eternity to boot." He's a little surprised Eunhyuk doesn't know, but then on second thought, sometimes Eunhyuk fails to notice certain things. Important things. Like the fact that they're having this conversation right outside Donghae's door, and he can probably hear them. Not that Sungmin really cares.

"So then, do germs just die upon contact with you?" Eunhyuk asks, eyeing him suspiciously, possibly recounting a time when Sungmin had coughed and sniffled pitifully while dodging child-rearing responsibilities.

"I don't know, it's not exactly a science." He turns and knocks twice on the door, opens it immediately after, and says to Donghae (who is lying flat on his bed with his pillow clutched over his face in apparent mortification), "Don't get girls pregnant or do drugs or get caught drinking until you're twenty-one. Don't smoke either, because that's just gross. I think Eunhyuk keeps his condoms next to his bed in the second drawer on the right. And if you have anyone over, do not offer them the cranberry juice in the fridge."

Donghae makes a strangled sound of acknowledgement, and Sungmin closes the door. It takes effort not to dust his hands off in accomplishment under Eunhyuk's look of grudging respect mingled with betrayal.

* * * * *

The moment Sungmin arrives home at the apartment, he has the painful urge to turn right back around and go back – back to where he left Kyuhyun sound asleep on the couch (covered, because that boy doesn't take good care of himself at all). It would be like he never left. He could crawl under the blanket with him and sleep by his side, then wake up in the morning all stiff from the strange position. He'd pout while Kyuhyun laughs at him and says he could have gone home, or at least slept in the more comfortable bed. Then Sungmin would help himself to Kyuhyun's shower, and maybe he'd persuade Kyuhyun to join him...

But he shuts the door firmly behind him, stands in the middle of the room, and considers how long it would take to pack and catch the next train heading... Somewhere. Anywhere. Because he likes the City well enough and Shiwon manages things nicely despite his frequent absence, but Sungmin has been here for a while and the scenery tends to get old, and so do people—

Avoiding the real issue here. Which can be summed up in words on a page, messily scrawled, sometimes barely readable but clear enough. When they're given voice, they might as well have been given life.

Sungmin has received many gifts and numerous confessions, and he's appreciated every single one. He accepts and enjoys, and eventually he returns or lets go. The only thing he hasn't somehow gotten rid of over the years is his immortality, which is understandable since there's only one way to get rid of that. He's never needed anything else. He's never wanted anything for keeps.

And it's not like he hasn't broken hearts before.

He tells Donghae and Kibum he's not feeling well the next day, which arouses suspicion from both. It's not that made vampires can't have their off days, but they rarely have anything to do with physical illness. Sungmin manages to stay in bed for the entire morning and part of the afternoon, just not doing anything except think and overthink, until finally he gets up with every intention to pack. It's a chaotic process that takes longer than it should. He's wondering when and how he amassed so much stuff when Donghae invites himself into the room, wearing a more pensive expression than can be safe.

Sungmin expects puppy dog eyes, or shock, or resentment, not a very calm, very blunt, "You're an idiot."

The smile that comes to Sungmin is reflexive, as is the helpless shrug. Words from Donghae can be irritating, but Sungmin has been dealing with that for over a decade, he knows how to handle irritation. Kibum chiming in is the surprise that throws him off his game. Sungmin hasn't known him nearly as long, and it's just his luck that he's stuck with people who possess natural and supernatural perception.

There might have been some yelling involved, and he might have thrown one or two things, but in Sungmin's opinion, that doesn't necessarily warrant being kicked out of the apartment.

Well, he could just catch the bus leaving town. It would suck, but it would undoubtedly work. He's starting to get into the idea and makes for the nearest bus stop when a distinct blood scent stops him in his tracks before he even processes it. It takes a second to assemble the equation, including the following factors: vampire mark-scent, Kyuhyun's human scent, and lastly the blood in the air. Faint still, but Kyuhyun and blood in the air.

The past twenty-four hours vanish from Sungmin's mind and all he can think is, I knew he'd get in trouble by wandering around after dark one day. Then he finds where the vampire and Kyuhyun are and stops thinking altogether, it's easier to just smile and let go. He's good at that. There's a certain paradoxical control about it that is very comforting. In addition, the rage distracts him from the smell of Kyuhyun's blood, but only for so long.

Sungmin all but shoves the boy into the apartment, orders him to sit, and busies himself with meticulously washing the temptation away. He takes care not to get any blood on his fingers because he knows if it gets on his own skin, he'll definitely lick it off. The sight of the teeth marks, deep tears that stand out starkly beneath the light, helps nurse the anger again. Figures that the little rat-faced bastard would be a messy eater.

Afterwards – after the awkward explanations, the laughing and the teasing – Sungmin slides slowly off of Kyuhyun's lap. His fingers sweep across the underside of Kyuhyun's arm, over his palm, and then Sungmin's hand hovers in the air. He crooks his index finger, smiling when the other boy stands, and he leads Kyuhyun in a hushed retreat to the bedroom.

Follow me, he says with a gesture and a touch. Follow me, and I'll keep you. Follow me, and we'll be all right.

It's much darker in the tiny bedroom area, but navigation isn't an issue when Kyuhyun's hands are curled over his hips and their legs brush in a measured step – step – step – bed frame, stop. Sungmin trails his light touch down the sides of Kyuhyun's face, sliding briefly along his jaw and gracing his throat. He deftly avoids the band-aid outlined clearly to his eyes and tells himself he's already extracted revenge, so there's no need to sink his own fangs into the opposite side (not even a prick for a taste, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips). Whether or not Kyuhyun notices Sungmin's guilty flush, or if he has any idea as to its meaning, doesn't seem to matter. Fingers under Sungmin's chin prompt him to tilt his face up for a kiss, and his arms wind around Kyuhyun's neck with a satisfied shiver. He always enjoys being the center of Kyuhyun's attention, but especially like this, having his mouth warm and focused, the flick of his tongue making Sungmin think, oh... His hands are flat, spreading greedily over Kyuhyun's skin, and he pulls the boy down with him on the mattress.

* * * * *

It's a slow day at work, the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week, and Sungmin is bored. His co-worker won't be around to chat with until later, after the high school lets out, and until then there's simply nothing to do. There's only one customer in the shop, a young woman sitting alone with a thick textbook open on the table and a spiral notebook off to the side. Her fingers are splayed over the lid of her drink, occasionally bring the wide straw to her lips, but her other hand hasn't touched pen or page for a while. Her fingers tug at a necklace instead, silver gleaming when she twists and turns the pendant. The motions are fraught with anxiety, and the chain leaves small indentations along the back of her neck when she ceases her pulling.

Sungmin sends a text message to Kyuhyun ("stop by and see me after class?") before putting away his phone and finding something to do. A few moments later, he's by the girl's table and sliding a bowl of shaved ice in front of her. "On the house," he says, not overly cheerful, but sympathetic. "You look like you could use a distraction."

She blinks up at him, down at the ice, and then offers a tentative smile. "Thank you."

"No problem." He glances at her textbook – 'Fundamentals of Early Childhood Education' (he tries not to automatically think of Donghae, but it's not like he's been around any other ten-year-olds... Physically or mentally). "Are you a student at Arcadia?"

"A sophomore," she replies with a little more confidence. "You too?"

"Nope, but my boyfriend is."

Her eyebrows rise and fall at the glib remark. A corner of her mouth quirks upwards and she gives her shoulders a roll. "I guess that answers the question of whether or not you're hitting on me." Her mirth appears to diminish quickly, however, and she starts worrying at the necklace again. The pendant is an oval-shaped locket, intricately-decorated.

"Relationship troubles?"

"Only on my end. We broke up last week, and... It was my idea, actually. Kind of dumb, huh? But it just wasn't working out, and I still think it was the right thing to do. I'm just— I don't know." She shakes her head, long ponytail swaying. "Sorry, I shouldn't babble at you."

"Well... I'm not exactly busy at the moment." Sungmin plops down in the opposite chair and leans both elbows on the table.

The grin is back, glimmering to life and showing a dimple. "Does this service come with the tea, or do I have to pay separately?"

"You're lucky enough to catch us on a one day only special."

She laughs, and perhaps she won't need to talk about it after all, but calmly she continues. "It's natural to have regrets, I guess. We had a lot of good times, and I'll miss those. I wouldn't want to just immediately move on anyway, but all of this right now... It really sucks."

Sungmin hums in agreement – been there, done that, a whole lifetime of experiences. "I hate to sound like a Hallmark card, but it'll get better sooner than you expect. If you want it to."

"Of course I want to." He can see the question on the tip of her tongue: who wants to be miserable forever? She'd be surprised. But she doesn't ask the obvious, and lifts her chin resolutely. "Yeah, no use moping about what's already over."

"That's the spirit!"

Chuckling, she begins to gather her things. "Thanks for that talk. My friends weren't kidding when they said the service here was good. You know what— Here." Reaching back, she unclasps the chain from her neck and drops the locket into his hand. "I shouldn't hold onto this anymore. Thank you again."

He waves goodbye to her and watches while she steps into the sunlight outside. A nice, pretty girl like that won't have any trouble getting back on her feet, even without help. The downside is that now he's bored again, and Kyuhyun's class doesn't end for another forty minutes.

Sungmin raises his hand and lets the chain dangle from his fingers, the locket twirling in the air. It's well cared for, polished and antique in design. He opens it with a small snap. There's a tiny clip on one half for holding a picture, its space empty, and on the opposing side is a Latin inscription: Amor Vincit Omnia. His fingertip brushes over the popular phrase and he grins; the writing isn't in elegant, romantic cursive, it's engraved in bold, capital letters. Much more suitable for the saying, or so Sungmin thinks. A love that conquers isn't a soft, gentle love in the least.

The locket is a very impressive piece of jewelry, and he momentarily considers giving it to someone – his co-worker who is late, for example, she would be thrilled by a pretty ornament. But it's not quite his to give, despite the manner in which it was put into his own hand. Sungmin lets it swing like a hypnotic pendant, following the silver flash with his eyes, but it fails to mesmerize him. So he does the only other thing he can do with the necklace: he throws it away.

* * * * *

Sungmin has always thought that one day, the inevitable day when he leaves again, Kyuhyun would either follow him or stay behind. He's not sure exactly how he imagined it, but those were the two options, and he even leaned towards the latter. What Sungmin didn't pause to consider is the idea that Kyuhyun would be the one to leave.

He's watched people come and go throughout his life, he's felt abandoned every time, and he's moved on without a hitch. He's done his share of desertion, too.

So if he cries for a little while, it's okay. If he feels responsible and guilty for a little while, it's okay. He expects Donghae and Kibum to call him ten kinds of idiot again, but the thing is that they know him, and when Donghae in particular gives him a soulful puppy expression and a hug, Sungmin knows it's time to give up the game.

It's like prying his fingers apart from something that isn't there, and while it's no surprise that he dug in so deeply, the clinging is unnatural. A bad habit for someone like Sungmin. Kyuhyun leaving could be the best thing for them both, and if Sungmin is good at anything, it's looking out for himself.

"Words are never simple, and looking back in time
Has only shown me what I know: there's nothing left that's mine."

end

Sapphy: Sungmin kind of owns me, in case you weren't clued in by this 9000+ word installment, his two icon slots, and his three main appearances in the series thus far.

I really doubt that life for Korean-Americans was anything resembling this in the past, so it may require your suspension of disbelief. Also, uh, I apologize for the gratuitous number of girls (and one guy). That somehow just happened.

Lyrics at the beginning and end are from Keep Moving by Ivy (the band, not the Korean singer). The title is also from the album, because after the disaster that was the #6 title (if you're someone who checks the main page frequently, you may have noticed it changing several times from the In-Progress bar) I just wasn't going to try for this one.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled ~~cliffhanger~~ plot. ♥

edit: For an extra, written-on-the-fly paragraph of the KyuMin bedroom scene, see here.

oo. 666 hits

Sun, 06 Jan 2008 10:31:04 GMT

Months ago, when we added the hit counter to this journal, I ~~had a dream~~ decided to do something special for our 666th hit (Sy says this is all Hyde's fault, and I... I guess that's true). Originally, I was going to write an additional story, but the hits went up faster than expected (Sy says: you lurkers, you). So today we thought we'd make cupcakes for the occasion instead. This was an awesome idea up until the icing at 3 a.m. After that, the idea became a lot less awesome and considerably more retarded. ~~All I wanted out of the entire thing was to make a pink bunny with fangs ("big, sharp, pointy teeth!")~~

U-um. Let me explain.

Well, this one's obvious. Except for the two striped ones you can...sort of see here. Those are . :D

And here's my ~~killer rabbit~~ ~~Sungmin~~ vampire bunny.

Pink by proxy! (Sy: Can you guess?!)

...That would be me.

(Sy: ...I don't know. Why? I feel like I have a scribe. *wailing* Leave me alone!)

Hint: Our mystery hunter follows a creed.

o6. Promise to Keep

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 04:51:16 GMT

Title: Promise to Keep
Character(s): Ryeowook, Yesung, Kyuhyun
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5500
Summary: Sixth installment. There is a new pair in town, and they've come to collect. There's Real Plot at last!
References: Story Archive

The City greets them with a foreboding steel-gray sky, and the crisp, wintry air snaps at their coats in unwelcome. Not discouraged in the least, Ryeowook tucks his hands deeper into his pockets and lets the cold bite as much as it wants. The weather has been vicious since their arrival late last night, but the sun is supposed to come out in the afternoon. He's looking forward to that, and smiles up at the mass of clouds despite the wind howling down the narrow street. Snow is still piled upon the sidewalks from Christmas.

"I wasn't expecting the City to be so big," Ryeowook comments, leveling his gaze and glancing briefly to the side.

Yesung shrugs, his breath dissipating steady puffs. "I've never been here before, and we're not exactly influential in this area." His tone is so dry that Ryeowook laughs. There's only one influence in this place, and the rest of them keep their heads down.

"But when the cat's away..."

"We're not here for playing," he says mildly, almost bored. "Tip or no, we're in the middle of the lion's den. And it's a shitty lead, too."

Ryeowook lays a comforting hand on Yesung's sleeve. "He said he'd meet us when we got here. I'm sure there's more information he didn't want to share over the phone."

"He's probably just going to whine about his face some more," Yesung scoffs as they turn a corner, walking past a row of stores to the small coffee shop that is the designated meeting place. "You've never had to deal with him, but trust me, the guy is a useless little creep."

"I wouldn't say that – everyone has a use, even useless little creeps." Ryeowook flashes his teeth in a grin, and then sighs happily as they enter the café, warmly enveloped by heat and the scent of fresh coffee and pastries. "Mm... And isn't it hard enough to find latent talents? Any lead is better than none. Oh, those croissants look good."

Half an hour later, and no little creep in sight (useless, indeed). Ryeowook half-dozes in his seat by the window, chin propped in his hand. There's a rustle as Yesung picks up a newspaper and flips though it, and then taps Ryeowook's hand to get his attention. "Look. We're wasting time." Ryeowook blinks and focuses his eyes on the article held in front of his nose. When he recognizes the name, he grabs onto the paper with a cry of dismay.

"Our guy's dead?" He scans the print while worrying at his lip. "Christmas Eve, huh? That sucks."

"Sucks for us, you mean." Yesung slouches, and whatever grouchiness had been alleviated with food and drink was now back in full-force. "We have a vague location, a vague age range, and a vague physical description for this talent."

Ryeowook continues to stare at the article, ignoring the complications of their mission. "What do you suppose killed him? It doesn't say anything specific. You think..." He leans forward, voice lowered. "You think Shiwon found out?"

Yesung gives a small shake of his head. "When he's in residence, everyone stays good and quiet, and if he knew about us coming here he wouldn't have left again so soon. We better hope we're done before he gets back. It hasn't been long since the group in New Jersey was taken out."

Ryeowook grimaces at the mention of that disaster, though it happened before he was brought in. "If it wasn't him, then it was probably hunters. We should be careful."

"We should always be careful of hunters," Yesung reminds in a patient drawl, and grins when Ryeowook makes an exaggerated, 'I know, I know' gesture. "Anyway, it could've been them, though why they'd go after small-fry like him I can't guess. An unsuspecting human could've offed him for all I care. The fact is, we have a job to do, and very little information to go by."

"Age range puts him in either high school or college," Ryeowook points out helpfully. It's not like they can give up and go, so there's no use in being defeatist. "And we're already enrolled at - Arcadia, was it? - for our cover. We'll just start there."

* * * * *

They get lucky and find who they're looking for on the first day of the new semester. It's so convenient that Yesung is suspicious, but Ryeowook tells him not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Have you ever been wrong before?" he asks while they stand in line in front of the Registrar's office, which took forever to find. He noticed a message on a bathroom wall that said the campus layout would have been better designed by a drunk monkey. Most students are making schedule changes, but they both need to turn in forms for their transfer credits.

"Never." Yesung continues to frown, eyes trained on the boy standing a few people ahead in the line. In a voice quieter than normal hearing would be able to pick up, he says, "He's the one, but it's definitely latent. Also—"

"Other vampires, I know." Ryeowook's lips barely move in an equally-soft reply. He may not possess the additional gifts of the natural-born, but his sense of smell is the same as any other vampire's. There's at least one distinctive mark-scent on their human target. His vision goes a tad unfocused when he narrows in on it, and Yesung nudges him forward when the line moves. The mark is unfamiliar, and it's not just a scent, actually, it's more like an impression on his senses. It's overwhelmingly sweet, vibrant, and not-so-innocently laced with steel. Soft, with sharp edges. Bright, and goes well with dark colors.

He hears a quick, "Thank you," and the boy is turning away from the desk. Ryeowook gets his first real look at him – tall and good-looking, with a narrow face and full mouth, and the two words he uttered hinted at a low, pleasant voice. It only takes a few seconds for him to pass by, but there's something nice about him that still has Ryeowook smiling by the time it's their turn to reach the desk.

He lucks out again in Psych101 that afternoon when he walks in and sees the boy sitting at the far side of the room, head turned to the window with a pen between his teeth. Ryeowook slides into the chair across from him, and finds out after the professor takes attendance that his name is Kyuhyun. Even if it wasn't the first day (when no material was covered), and even if he cared enough about the subject to pay attention, Ryeowook wouldn't have remembered anything else about the class.

It's easy to stop Kyuhyun at the end of the period, with several rows of desks in between them and the door where other students file out. "Excuse me," he begins, shouldering his bag and holding up the sheet of paper with his schedule on it. "I just transferred here. Can you tell me how to get to this building?" Not all his nervousness is feigned: he really has no clue what some of the buildings are named because their abbreviations are so weird.

"That's Madison Hall, it's... Um, actually, why don't I walk you there." Kyuhyun gives a lopsided grin. "You've probably noticed our campus makes no sense. Welcome to Arcadia."

At some point during their conversation, Ryeowook's relieved grin turns giddy and lasts for the rest of the day.

* * * * *

They spend a lot of time together after that, all three of them, and while getting close is part of the plan, Ryeowook thoroughly enjoys it. Yesung laughs often and more loudly in their little group, though he's still mission-oriented. "Don't be careless," the elder cautions one night during a study break. "I'm worried about these other vampires, especially the one he's obviously involved with."

"I know," Ryeoweook says with habitual patience, grown used to reaffirming things even when they're blatantly clear. He isn't careless at all. In fact, he has remarkable control for one so young, having been trained since he was found by their group at age nine. "Kyuhyun is always saying we should meet him, and we can't come up with excuses forever. Besides, if we can tag his I.D., I'm sure he's noticed ours. Even if we're not nearly so...clingy." He grins a bit when he says that, because it's impossible to not notice the mark-scent. Kyuhyun has a possessive boyfriend.

Yesung levels him with a flat stare, and Ryeowook mentally sighs at the warning he knows will come. Sources indicate that the possessive boyfriend could be trouble. "Sungmin Lee is well-known locally in both human and vampire circles, and he's been close to Shiwon for decades."

"And Shiwon is responsible for the Jersey incident, I remember." Ryeowook turns away so he doesn't have to see the look Yesung must be giving him. Instead, he cranes his neck to glimpse into the tiny kitchen of their off-campus apartment (the privacy is needed to conceal their dietary habits). "But it's been a few weeks. Shouldn't we try to stay ahead of the game? What if Sungmin starts looking in on us?"

"He'd have a hell of a time trying to find anything condemning." But there's a shadow of doubt in Yesung's eyes, evidence of living so many years with things to hide.

"We're still really suspicious if we avoid him. He's not a natural, so he won't find out about me. Unless I'm careless." Ryeowook tilts his chair back until he can see the fridge. In a bold show of his demonstrated carelessness, the door opens as if tugged by an invisible hand, and out floats an opaque plastic jug labeled 'pomegranate juice.' A glass from the cupboard is also levitated, the chilled blood poured (he keeps his eyes on the whole process just to make sure nothing spills, because he really doesn't want to get out of his chair), and his hand closes around the drink as the refrigerator door shuts.

"Show off," Yesung comments, rolling his eyes. After a considering pause, like he's weighing how much he wants to say whatever's on his mind, he adds, "He'd find out if he bit you."

Ryeowook doesn't think that remark deserves a reply. He wrinkles his nose in some distaste while he sips. He doesn't like drinking it cold and he's finicky about the flavor, but it's the only option for now.

"Fine, you've made your point and you're right." Yesung narrows his eyes as Ryeowook smiles into his glass. "This kid better have an impressive talent. All these complications are going to give me gray hairs."

"That would be a welcome change." This time he can't avoid the look and the astounded half-exclamation, half-sputter. Snickering, Ryeowook continues, "I've seen photos! Your style hasn't changed for the last fifty years. Come on, something new won't hurt." Laughing, he ducks the first pillow Yesung throws at him. The second one, he stops in midair and sends it back.

* * * * *

Their much-anticipated meeting with Sungmin is in a casual little Vietnamese restaurant in February, its tables sparsely populated. When Ryeowook arrives with Yesung in tow, he takes his first look at the other vampire, finally matching the strong impression to the flesh-and-blood person. He has a cute face, and his expression is welcoming without even a hint of malice. A soft, pink sweater with the Playboy rabbit emblazoned in white on the front heightens the cuteness while skewing any innocence. He's seated next to Kyuhyun, their arms barely touching, and the sheathed quality of his smile isn't a sign of trust so much as it's a dare.

Ryeowook's grin is harmlessly bland while stilted introductions are made and a waitress, a vampire by her scent, takes their beverage orders. While meeting Sungmin's pointed bright-eyed gaze, it occurs to Ryeowook that being innocuous isn't the only card they can play; instead of hiding the threat, he can just as well present a new one, something much more likely and artfully close to the truth.

Before he can plan his strategy, Sungmin weaves his fingers together and rests his chin on them, his eyes wide and his smile winsome from across the table. "It's wonderful to meet you at last, but I was so surprised when I found out. Kyuhyun seems to be surrounded by vampires."

He doesn't bother to lower his voice. Yesung freezes, and there's a crash on the floor when Ryeowook's glass slips from his hand (he has to stop himself from catching it with just a thought). Only afterwards do they realize that the other pair of customers have already left, and the restaurant is empty.

Kyuhyun is staring incredulously, from Sungmin to the others. "You guys are also—"

"Now, look." The waitress scowls, brushing hair from her face with one hand and gesturing to the spill with the other. All things considered, she's remarkably composed, and she addresses Sungmin with long-suffering indulgence. "That was uncalled for, Min. Don't bat those lashes at me, you sneak, that kind of stunt could get you in heaps of trouble. At your age, you should know better."

"Aw, be fair – I don't bring up your age, you shouldn't talk about mine," he replies with a familiar, easy grin, stirring his lemonade with the straw. "I promise to behave from now on." She scoffs to let him know how much she believes that, and then with a stern glare she goes to fetch a mop and broom.

Ryeowook twists his hands together anxiously on the table, gaze lowered. Most vampires who take public risks with their identities are not thought kindly of by their peers. Sungmin's withstanding popularity isn't an exaggeration, and neither is the City's independence from the Council. It's one thing to hear about such talk, but it's something else to witness the truth to the gossip. "I'm sorry," Ryeowook begins awkwardly, and Yesung's silence admits this is entirely his show. "It's not like we can go around revealing these things, or one of us would have said something. But I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He looks up, straight at Kyuhyun, imploring and hopeful with his fingers a nervous flutter of movement.

Kyuhyun only shakes his head, a tiny smile on his lips. He either doesn't notice or ignores Sungmin's carefully blank expression. "I understand. You don't need to apologize."

Ryeowook smiles in return, drops his gaze shyly and asks, "This doesn't change anything, does it?"

"Not a thing." He reaches out to give Ryeowook's clenched hands a reassuring pat. "I promise." With a turn of his wrist, Ryeowook reverses the hold and squeezes Kyuhyun's hand momentarily before sliding away. Ryeowook doesn't need heightened senses to recognize the animosity being directed at him from Sungmin's quarter.

He grins wider. "Thank you."

* * * * *

"I hope you know what you're doing," Yesung remarks once they're home.

"Me?" Ryeowook blinks innocently, shrugging out of his jacket and smoothing his wind-tousled hair. "I didn't do anything terrible."

Shaking his head, Yesung disappears into the kitchen for a real drink. His voice is somewhat muffled by the wall. "Sungmin is probably wishing you dead right now."

"I held Kyuhyun's hand for two seconds, and he thinks I'm out to steal his boyfriend." Ryeowook peeks around the corner to check that Yesung is pouring him a glass too.

The elder glances up. "Well, you kind of are. In a way."

"I know. Isn't it grand? Just not in the way he thinks. ...Probably."

"And that's where I worry."

"Don't." Ryeowook accepts his glass and sips at it delicately, grimacing at the taste. The refrigerated animal blood seems to get grosser by day. "Kyuhyun's friendly, but he only has eyes for Sungmin."

There's a pause while Yesung takes his time draining his glass, then immediately rinses it out in the sink. "That's nice, but if you wind up sobbing into your pillow with a broken heart, I reserve 'I told you so' rights."

Ryeowook looks down at the remaining blood he hasn't drunk, and wonders how angry Yesung would be if it was dumped over his head. On the other hand, there's also a slightly safer option. He narrows his eyes at the water running from the faucet, and the direction of the flow changes at a sharp angle to spray outward. Ryeowook wisely flees the scene while Yesung is in mid-turn.

* * * * *

Ryeowook's fingers move lightly over the keyboard, only partly concentrating on his playing. It's not a difficult piece, but he's easily immersed in Kyuhyun's rich, captivating vocals, despite the poor acoustics of his apartment. A practice room on campus would have produced better sound, but they were less comfortable, less private, and depressingly cave-like. His hands eventually still as Kyuhyun's last note trails to an end, and he lets out the breath he's been holding into the subsequent silence. Ryeowook leans back in the chair and lets his eyes fall half-shut, more than a little sorry to break the perfect quiet with even a soft comment.

"Your voice is wasted in a place like this."

Kyuhyun's laugh is a subdued, pleasant roll of sound that makes Ryeowook feel slightly wistful. If Yesung hadn't been in class, he'd be giving him one of those warning looks... Or maybe not. They both share an appreciation for music in general, their friend's voice in particular. Ryeowook knows Yesung is affected too, when Kyuhyun sings.

"Sungmin tells me that all the time," Kyuhyun admits, expression gentle, and Ryeowook lets out a half-hearted sigh. It's discouraging, that evident attachment, because it makes their job – his job – so much harder.

But he might as well get on with it, since Yesung agreed it was time. "Kyuhyun," he says, turning so he's seated sideways in the chair and gazing earnestly at the other boy. This is the important part. "You have talent, and talent should be encouraged, right? I'm not just talking about singing. I'm talking about..." Ryeowook gestures helplessly, because there's no way to explain without sounding a little bit mental.

With puzzlement clear on his features, Kyuhyun slowly moves to sit down on the bed so they're at eye level. "You're not going to make me guess, are you?" he asks with a nervous smile, and Ryeowook shakes his head, the fingers of his right hand tapping against the knuckles of his left.

"You have an ability, that you're unaware of. Most people are, and they'll live their whole lives without knowing. It's rare if it shows at all, and then it's..." He gives his head another shake, curt and almost vicious, veering away from that path. Seeing Kyuhyun's confusion, he tries again. "Things like telepathy, or psychokinesis, or clairvoyance - well, there are a lot of types. Natural-born vampires can detect them, even if they're latent. Yesung had you pegged right away."

"...Me? With something like-- like that?" There are the tell-tale signs of doubt: he's bordering on incredulity, a sneaking suspicion he's still skeptical enough to dismiss. When you can accept such a thing as vampires, though, everything else isn't much of a leap. In Ryeowook's experience, a demonstration usually helps.

With some effort, he holds up a hand, palm-down in midair. His fingers curl slightly so they're bent elegant and even, and one of them presses down. Behind him, a lone key flattens and middle C rings out. It's followed by the shift of his fingers and a matching chord, leading into a simple tune. His motion stops and so does the song.

Kyuhyun stares. "I couldn't do anything like that."

"Maybe not psychokinesis, but something like that, and since it's you, it's probably wondrous." He reaches out to grasp Kyuhyun's hand, holding tight. "You're special, and you deserve to be. I didn't think it was that great at first, but I learned, and then I was grateful."

His friend's expression has only become increasingly flummoxed since the beginning of their conversation. It would be funny if this wasn't so critical and nerve-wracking. "I don't think— Come on, I mean, you're one thing, you're already a vampire. That almost makes sense for you, but me..." He shrugs, grins a faltering grin. "I'm just human."

"So was I," Ryeowook insists, tugging on Kyuhyun's hand because he needs to understand and accept. "And my power manifested while I was still human. I was just a kid. It was horrible." Flatly, he makes the words surface in a detached recollection to get the point across. "People tend to get scared when objects fly around, and sometimes there are accidents and others get hurt. The only good thing that came out of it was that I was eventually found and trained. There are some who are never found, or it'll be too late and they're convinced they're crazy. Some die, or kill others by accident. Human beings aren't safe or mundane at all."

He rises so he can join Kyuhyun on the bed, leaning his weight on the other body beside him. Kyuhyun squeezes his hand, falling silent. Ryeowook can feel that he's shaking and rubs his cheek against Kyuhyun's shoulder, letting him have all the time he needs for the information to sink in. Eventually, Kyuhyun takes a deep breath. "So... What does this mean for me?"

"To be honest, you'd likely never have a related problem for the rest of your life. You might get headaches or have trouble with electronic devices, small stuff that doesn't have an impact in the long run. If it's going to show on a noticeable scale, it's usually when the person's younger." But it would be such a waste to ignore. He exhales slowly; he can't lie, even if it makes his case more difficult. Lying would only cause trouble later. Most people would simply jump at the chance for power, or they'd do it to be accepted. But Kyuhyun, damn it all, is happy where he's at.

Well, perhaps not completely happy, as deeply in love as he is with a vampire.

"In order for a latent talent to manifest," Ryeowook says while playing with an idea in his mind, "your brain needs a pretty severe shock."

"That sounds...dangerous," Kyuhyun comments, and there's really no way to console him because it's true.

"It can happen after an accident or some sort of trauma. Though in some cases, all it takes is adolescence to hit, and looking at any teenager, that's not surprising." He gets a chuckle with that part, enough encouragement to continue, "The surest way to have an ability show is by becoming a vampire. Dying is the pinnacle of extreme. Anything hidden will surface after that."

There's a long, long silence. Ryeowook knows he's asking a lot, and he knows why Kyuhyun will be disinclined to agree, but he also knows how he might be persuaded. At least he isn't being pushed away. "I... Ryeowook, that's kind of..."

"What do you have to lose?" he asks quietly, fingers still threaded with Kyuhyun's. "And what do you have to gain? At school, I thought it was strange, how you rarely interact with anyone but Yesung and I. Remember when Sungmin said you're surrounded by vampires? He's right, you know; you belong with us."

"It's not like that. I can't..." He looks helpless, and he's gripping Ryeowook's hand in the same message as before, this time in reverse. 'Please understand.' Ryeowook gets the sinking feeling he doesn't understand at all when Kyuhyun says, "Don't ask me to do it for Sungmin."

He sounds afraid, but for reasons Ryeowook can't comprehend. "Kyuhyun—"

"I can't do it. Thank you - for telling me - and I'm sorry. Are you... Is this going to be all right? With us, I mean. I'm really sorry, but I just can't." Every bit of him is so miserable that Ryeowook hugs him without hesitation, though he feels at a loss now himself.

"It's not a problem, don't worry." It will just cause more frustration on their end. Yesung's right - he'd better be worth it (no, Ryeowook knows he'll be worth it). "Um. But... Keep it a secret, will you? It's dangerous for everyone if word gets out." He feels Kyuhyun nod, so at least they're on the same page again.

Yesung's class has ended by the time Ryeowook returns to their place, and he walks in to the sound and smell of something in the microwave for dinner. The question, "How did it go?" floats from the kitchen, and when Ryeowook doesn't answer, Yesung appears around the corner. He takes one look, opens his mouth, and Ryeowook glares.

"My heart isn't broken, so don't say a word of 'I told you so'." He doesn't feel like sobbing into his pillow either, but he does end up sniffling a little into Yesung's shirt when he tells the whole story. Ryeowook supposes this what an unrequited love scene feels like, judging from the movies, and it's quite pathetic. He's sought out a few talents since his turning as a matter of course, and they usually inspire pity or disdain, if anything. None of them have been so significant to him. Kyuhyun is neither hurt, nor searching, nor ambitious; he's comfortably normal, and Ryeowook thinks that's something they need. He personally needs Kyuhyun to join them, he believes Yesung thinks so too, and why Kyuhyun doesn't realize it remains a mystery. Well, a Sungmin-related mystery, and Ryeowook just frowns. He didn't really have anything against the other vampire until tonight - he just wanted to make sure Sungmin didn't suspect them for the right reasons, but now he's grimly satisfied that Kyuhyun's boyfriend will be pissed over all the evident clinging.

* * * * *

Ryeowook is up late studying for a midterm the night when Kyuhyun knocks on their door. There's a wounded air about the boy as he stands uneasily in the entryway, apologizing for the inconvenient visit. His voice sounds thick, though his eyes are dry, and Ryeowook places a hand on his arm and draws him wordlessly inside. Yesung appears from the bedroom, sleep-rumpled and stifling a yawn, leaning against the wall while Ryeowook sits Kyuhyun down and asks what's wrong.

The question is enough of a push for him to take a deep breath and plunge. "I'll do it."

Something in Ryeowook's chest tightens and holds. "Are you sure?" He doesn't need to know why, and the pleading look Kyuhyun gives him suggests that he can't, or won't, explain anyway.

"Do you still want me to?"

"Of course we do." The plain relief on Kyuhyun's face makes the tightness unravel, and Ryeowook smiles a little for his benefit. He braces an elbow on the table and leans forward to take Kyuhyun's hand. "We want you with us, okay? I promise that won't change. Personally, it would take more than a crowbar to pry me away."

Magic words. The trust lights up Kyuhyun's expression, chasing away unwanted shadows, and a sliver of a grin appears when Yesung steps near to mess up his hair. "Me too," the vampire says, his fingers moving to rest on the back of Kyuhyun's neck and lingering before he walks away, cell phone in hand.

"He's going to call ahead and let the others know we're coming," Ryeowook explains, thumb rubbing circles into Kyuhyun's palm. Seeing Kyuhyun's puzzlement, he adds somewhat sheepishly, "We'll have to leave the City for a while. All three of us. Making vampires is technically illegal even though it happens... Well, not too often, but not rarely, either. It's especially risky if you have a latent talent."

Kyuhyun doesn't look thrilled by this part of the plan, but he doesn't take his hand from Ryeowook's – he's holding onto it like it's a lifeline. "Where are we going? And, um, what 'others'?"

This time, Ryeowook's smile is brilliant. "Others like us. There happens to be a place not far, it's in-state, and I guess it's like a school. I was trained there. There are a couple of them spread around the country in secret."

Kyuhyun's unblinking stare and eventual shrug seem to say, 'All right, a vampire school. Sure, why not?'

"It's not as strange as it sounds," Ryeowook assures him, laughing under his breath. "Some of the people there are human, particularly if they're young and their ability has already manifested. I was one of those, so I've lived half my life there. I wasn't turned until I was ready."

"How did you know you were ready?" Kyuyhyun asks, curious now, though still on the edge of his chair and probably making an effort to focus only on the present conversation. Ryeowook has decided not to pry, figuring it's better if his friend doesn't dwell and second-guess.

In answer to the question, he gestures with a hand and levitates a textbook off the table. "When my control was reliable. You can be pretty disoriented right after being turned - your body functions differently, your senses are enhanced, and if you have a psychic ability, suddenly it's let loose. People like us can be especially dangerous, both as vampires and humans, but vampires have that extra edge."

"And you're a danger to yourself, too," Kyuhyun observes, calm despite the worry crossing his features.

"Yes," Ryeowook replies honestly. There's no way around that - it's why training is essential. He wants to say Kyuhyun will be all right for sure, but he won't make promises he can't keep. All he can do is reach out and smooth his fingertips over the anxiety on Kyuhyun's face.

Soon Yesung is back and ushering them out the door to catch the bus. "Right now?" Kyuhyun is shocked into stillness while Yesung hooks his arm and Ryeowook's hands push gently at his back.

"Don't worry about school or your belongings, all of that will be taken care of. Do you have a reason to wait?"

There's a brief second where he continues to stand firm, shoulders stiff, heels in the carpet, a whirlwind of thoughts behind his surprised gaze. Ryeowook leans in, close enough that he might simply blow those thoughts away, when he feels the resistance leave Kyuhyun's body and they can lead him out the door.

The streets are desolate at this hour, but well-lit by lamps, stars, and the moon. Spring is approaching, stalking the remainder of winter's frost, and it's brisk enough that it's excusable for Ryeowook to thread an arm between Yesung's and Kyuhyun's and huddle warm between them. He grins openly, eyes dark and glinting when the light hits him, and they're walking at a fairly quick pace but he wants to run because that would be suitable for their sudden night flight. It's silly, but the elation is filling him to the brim.

The bus stop isn't too far, past a few more apartments and townhouses, and then around a construction area. There are some other people out – a woman hurrying anxiously from her car to her doorstep, a bunch of youths loitering beneath a crooked streetlamp, a pair of men nearing them on the sidewalk (one of them dragging his fingertips over the metal weave of the fence bordering the construction ground, making it rattle). They pass these two awkwardly, neither side inclined to separate and go around, so there's a jostling of elbows and an exchange of dirty looks.

The minor episode is just about over when one of the strangers, the bigger one (and both of them human), stops, turns, and calls out, "Wait."

Kyuhyun's step falters, but Ryeowook tugs him along, uninterested in a random thug.

"Wait," he hears again, sharp-cut and accompanied by steady footfalls. Kyuhyun is nervous on his one side, Yesung tense on the other, and then suddenly the elder vampire draws in a hiss of breath, sliding out of Ryeowook's grasp to face the human.

Yesung's eyes narrow as they size the person up, and the man does the same, flicking to Ryeowook and Kyuhyun as well. A crease forms on his brow and he points, singling Kyuhyun out. "You," he says, sounding equal parts puzzled and annoyed, "You're in bad company. I suggest beating it and forgetting about your two friends here."

"Excuse me—" Kyuhyun begins in an unusually cross tone, but Yesung cuts him off with a word.

"Hunter," he announces softly, but the sound carries and Ryeowook's fingers tighten on Kyuhyun's arm.

The man grins fiercely, whatever doubt there was in his reason for addressing them now gone. He starts to speak, but hardly gets a syllable out before his companion – his partner – rushes forward in the most reckless move Ryeowook's ever seen.

"Both of you, go," Yesung orders without turning around, meeting the attacker. The hunter is smaller, almost weak-looking, but he's fast and agile enough to not take much damage after being thrown off. When he steadies himself on his feet, his expression is feral and focused, and he goes in again.

Ryeowook hesitates, he can help—

"I can handle this," Yesung growls pointedly, in a tone Ryeowook rarely hears from him. "Go!"

And Ryeowook knows with an angry, grating feeling inside that his brand of help would give away more than they can risk revealing to hunters. He pulls Kyuhyun along to run.

end

Sapphy: kfjgskgdhsja. This? So frustrating. D:
Sy: With apologies to Sungmin: Happy birthday! Your boyfriend has just been pseudo-kidnapped. ... We are so sorry.

oo. Music

Sun, 23 Dec 2007 03:39:22 GMT

Cityverse music post. We might do these every so often ~~when we're bored~~.

From Sapphy's playlist:
(I talk too much)

Closing In // Imogen Heap download
This was the song playing when I posted A Song for Waking, and it works as an overall KyuMin song (especially after Mélange). The beginning has that 'waking up' quality the first story emphasizes, and the imagery ("a city dissolving the thread of your love in headlights") is lovely. There's a sense of anxiety ("is it safe now? will your arms be open?") and determination ("I'll just have to kiss you, try and stop me"). It covers their periods of not-talking and uncertainties, and even Sungmin's thoughts on the future and Kyuhyun being the one to pull through ("please be there, please be there"). That leads to my favorite part, if you're optimistic about the whole thing:

what are you like?
where did you get to?
no word, no nothing
you didn't hold me for any longer
did you walk for the fear of love?
or don't you believe enough
well, I'll cover both of us
you can leave that to me

So:Lo // Kate Havnevik *unavailable for download, sorry!
My music collection seems to agree with Sungmin, I have my pick of songs for him. He totally calls Kyuhyun up for no good reason just to talk, and he certainly wins all the fights. The music has a tiny bit of pop, but it's overall mellow and thoughtful with the right amount of longing and none of the extraneous angst ("what I mean is I'm missing you now, this freedom is wasted on me"). This is the kind of song I imagine Sungmin listening to, sort of girly, but pleasant. He's used to being fairly independent, used to being in control of his feelings and going at his own pace, but Kyuhyun messes all of that up. I love the play on words ("I'm so low, everyone glows, I see love affairs everywhere, but no one will do but you").

Let Go (cover) // Boys Like Girls download
I was listening to the original by Frou Frou when writing Strings Attached, and then I found this cover. After I got over my initial skepticism (a cover of a Frou Frou song? Sacrilege!) I actually found that it fits better with the characterization. It's less ethereal, more down-to-earth, but still has that tugging, inviting mood that I associate with the story. ...When I'm not associating the pairing with porn, anyway.

From Sy's playlist:

The Twist // Metric download
Yeah, so speaking of porn, I ~~am ashamed~~ love how Shiwon and Kibum apply themselves so easily to sex.

The rhythm of a stranger's skin.
Infidel to die for what I am doing
will happen in the morning when the mirror won't recognize me.
He holds a certain gesture when we're lovin' to ask each other
"Do you want it?" "Do you want me?"
I want it. It is you. You are where I want to be.

Inside Your Head // Eberg download
"If you ever put Leeteuk's brain to music, it would come out sounding like that." - Sy

Still water sparkles here
The calm drifts away in here
Cuddle cravings addiction brings
Place your coat on six strings

I wouldn't want to be
Inside your head

It's Probably Me // Sting download
Kangin is basically amazing (when he's not being a jackass).

When the world's gone crazy, and it makes no sense
And there's only one voice that comes to your defense
And the jury's out
And your eyes search the room
And one friendly face is all you need to see
If there's one guy, just one guy
Who'd lay down his life for you and die
I hate to say it
I hate to say it
But it's probably me

o5. Mélange

Fri, 21 Dec 2007 23:34:11 GMT

Title: Mélange
Character(s): Sungmin, Kyuhyun, Kibum, Shiwon, Leeteuk, Kangin, Donghae
Rating: PG13-NC17 range (yes, we have smut)
Word Count: 6000
Summary: So when I said I wanted to write a Christmas story for retarded vampire antics, what I meant was a November-December collection of short stories for porn and angst and I don't even know what.
References: Story Archive

i. timeless (the common dilemma of the non-aging immortal vampire)

The mall is packed, but that's to be expected – after all, it's the day after Thanksgiving. Sungmin wasted no time in waking at the crack of dawn to haul Donghae and Kibum out of bed to go shopping (the former complained, but Sungmin was used to that, and the latter basically sleep-walked). Donghae perks up once they reach the stores because he's like a kid in a candy store, but Kibum still isn't all that functional, so Sungmin is saddled with the task of looking after both of them. An hour or so later, Kibum has been pumped full with enough coffee to jumpstart his system and Sungmin is free to browse the stores without babysitting.

By noon, he's crossed off the majority of his list, weighed down with bags and is quite pleased with himself. It's still a little early to meet up with the others, so he buys a cold drink (the amount of people inside make some stores stifling) and wanders the second floor. All around, children are barely held in check by their haggard parents, crowding around windows and pointing, exclaiming, "I want, I want!"

Sungmin stands by his opinion that kids are adorable when they're not his responsibility and outright monsters when they are. He remembers Donghae having his moments (he still has his moments), particularly one terrifying memory where he ran off to disappear in the crowd. Sungmin and Eunhyuk had shared a panic attack until they found him harassing Santa at the center of the plaza.

Speak of the devil, there's Donghae now, browsing through a stack of CDs. Sungmin leaves him to that, but gives the other rows of music a cursory look. He grins and pulls out the one he's searching for. Naturally, music was the first thing that came to mind when he thought of what to get Kyuhyun, and he's already bought him an iPod (Kyuhyun will say it's too expensive, but he doesn't know just how long Sungmin has had to save up money). Kyuhyun also has a large collection of CDs – they're the only thing he really spends a lot on and gets mildly obsessive-compulsive over. Everything is arranged neatly in alphabetical order, and God help you if you crack a jewel case because to Kyuhyun that's nearly as bad as scratching the disc. He once relayed a bitter story to Sungmin about his aunt's cat knocking over half the collection, and then showed him the broken case like it was an unhealing wound on his person.

Sungmin gets a text message a while after he's paid for the replacement CD. It's not from either Donghae or Kibum, or even Kyuhyun, but a grin spreads across his face when he sees it.

* * * * *

The door opens after his knock, and Sungmin doesn't even step into the room before poking a finger at Kyuhyun's chest and stating, "You're not working on Christmas Eve or anything insane like that, because you're going to be staying with us."

"...Noted." Kyuhyun blinks at him, and he looks awfully tired and it is kind of late and oh, right, he works at Wal-Mart of all the heinous places on Earth. On the day after Thanksgiving, too. Ick.

Sungmin leans up to kiss his cheek before stepping inside, hooking him by the arm and leading him to the couch. "You need a better job, honestly. You've eaten dinner, right?" He tilts his head and samples the various aromas in the air, picking out the not-so-appetizing salt and grease of fast food that probably isn't too old, but with that kind of cuisine one can't be sure. A vampire's heightened senses are a matter of concentration; they're out of sorts in the beginning for those who are turned, but one learns to control them (unless you're Donghae and have Super Senses that never quite settle down).

"I had some McDonald's— Don't give me that look, it was convenient." With an amused expression, Kyuhyun pinches Sungmin's pouting cheek. He's lucky Sungmin indulges him; he usually only lets naïve girls baby him like that. "I could be worse. If I was living on campus, I'd survive on nothing but cup noodles. I'd get scurvy within the year."

"That's an urban legend, it didn't happen for real." Sungmin scowls and punches lightly at Kyuhyun's shoulder.

"Most people don't think vampires are real either," Kyuhyun points out, sort of beside the point. Sungmin stares at him.

"You did not just compare me to a gross disease." He straightens up, crosses his arms, and doesn't let the displeased expression falter until he's kissed in apology. Somewhat mollified, he sinks back into the crook of Kyuhyun's arm. Then he remembers, "Oh, and I almost forgot— This Christmas you'll get to meet Shiwon. We try not to bother him when he's away, but I told him if he wasn't home for the holidays this year then Donghae would be kidnapped by gypsies, Kibum would drown his sorrows and become a raging alcoholic, and I'd elope with you to a tropical island. Unfortunately, he texted me today to say he's coming. I think he only wanted to dash my hopes and dreams."

Kyuhyun shakes with quiet laughter, and Sungmin half-closes his eyes with his ear to the other's chest, listening to the rumble of his voice. "A tropical island, huh?"

Yes, Sungmin imagines, with a private beach and perfect weather, a house that's big and airy and there would be a grand piano set up in the sunniest room so light could shine off of the polished black surface and ivory keys, and the sound would filter out through open windows and wind-blown curtains...

He's hugging Kyuhyun tightly before he knows it, face pressed into his shirt, and then he has to remind himself to ease his grip and that doesn't help. Sungmin sighs heavily, making a warm spot with his breath. He feels Kyuhyun's hand in his hair, petting gently, and the boy has no idea, he really has no idea when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Just tired," Sungmin says, and it's true enough. Actually, he's frustrated, and confused, and maybe a little bit terrified. He skims his fingers lightly down the inside of Kyuhyun's arm, tracing over the veins in his wrist and tries not to think possessive thoughts. But no matter what he thinks, he's still stretching up to put his lips to Kyuhyun's neck, dusting dry kisses all along his skin and oh, to hell with it, he nibbles with blunt teeth.

Kyuhyun tenses under him and Sungmin knows he shouldn't tease, he should really keep his mouth far away from that neck because he's never been very good at resisting temptation. "I thought you were tired," Kyuhyun jokes, and Sungmin can feel his pulse jump – that's his cue to pull away.

"You are the one who's tired." He untangles himself and stands, tugging Kyuhyun by the hand. "Come on, I'm putting you to bed."

"Are you staying?" Thankfully, there's no hesitance in the typical question, and Sungmin draws Kyuhyun's arm over his shoulders in answer.

Kyuhyun's bed isn't meant for two, but Sungmin doesn't mind being squished close together and both of them tend to sleep like the dead. Unsurprisingly, Kyuhyun is out as soon as his head hits the pillow (and while the bed itself could be called into question, somehow Kyuhyun has fantastic, comfy pillows), but Sungmin isn't that exhausted. He indulges in gazing, eyes trained to see well in darkness even without the bits of city light that glimmer through the blinds. Kyuhyun's breathing is rhythmic and whisper-soft, chest rising and falling. If Sungmin leans and listens close enough, he can clearly hear the beat of his heart.

With every gentle thump, thump, thump, Sungmin attaches a mine, mine, mine, and he knows better than anyone how to want something and then all of a sudden stop wanting once it's his. He also knows he's had Kyuhyun since day one, and that he's wanted him since he heard him sing (middle of the night, empty streets, not a soul around as if nothing else had the privilege to hear that voice – it's Sungmin's secret and he guards it jealously). All this knowing and the fear it brings, the waiting for the other foot to drop, only makes him cling more helplessly.

The last thing Sungmin knows is that he's weak, where it's really going to matter he knows he'll be weak and selfish, so he's pinning his hopes on Kyuhyun being strong enough for the both of them. Cheesy as that sounds. But Sungmin has never had a problem with being cheesy, so long as it works.

Sungmin finally closes his eyes and shifts around until he's comfortable, and Kyuhyun makes a small noise in his sleep, but after that it's quiet.

ii. wake-up call (linn is writing porn, head for the hills)

While Kibum is typically very punctual for his morning classes, it's because he follows his schedule down to the precise minute. He knows exactly how long he can afford to doze in bed after hitting the alarm, how long he needs to shower to approach a semi-conscious state, and how long it takes for him to dress and grab breakfast before heading out the door. Most importantly, he's learned to factor in the Donghae Variable, who is likely to distract or otherwise impede him during his morning routine, and adjust his timeframe accordingly.

So when his alarm spits out a series of grating beeps (it's the sole sound he's trained himself to wake up to after years of conditioning), Kibum reaches out blindly to hit it once before retreating back into the warm luxury of his bed. He lies there for a while longer, curled slightly on his side with his face half tucked beneath the covers, until the alarm starts up again. He shifts, but before his hand can make contact with the device, the noise stops. Kibum lets his arm fall limply, half-hanging over the edge, and stirs as the mattress dips with extra weight.

Through his muddled sleep-haze, Kibum is a bit surprised that he didn't wake up with that weight at his back where Donghae usually is in the morning, arms tightening with a mumbled complaint about the sudden clamor. In accordance with this thought, there's a brief rush of cool air and then warmth settling along the relaxed bend of his spine, blanketing him, and making Kibum want to melt back into slumber. But he knows better.

"I can't stay," he sighs, and struggles lethargically when an arm loops around his waist, mental clock ticking away. A hot, open-mouthed kiss to his nape makes his limbs freeze in contrast, eyes blinking furiously in an effort to wake up and process everything. A definite malfunction occurs in his inner clock – more like a train wreck actually, and Kibum's schedule crashes along with it.

"Can't you?" Shiwon asks flippantly by his ear, close enough for his lips to just barely brush against the curve. His arm isn't very restricting, languidly draped as it is, but his fingers slip under the hem of Kibum's t-shirt to swirl over his stomach.

Kibum's brain is still playing catch-up and the patterns being drawn on his skin aren't helping. "When did you get back?" He breathes in sharply when the material of his shirt is hiked up along with the passing of Shiwon's hand, over ribs and muscle and stopping at the scar on his chest. All of a sudden it's too hot under the covers and he pushes them off, making it easier to mold to another's body heat.

"Just a few hours ago." Flat teeth scrape across Kibum's neck, followed by a teasing lick that cools rapidly once Shiwon pulls away. Kibum hears the grin in his voice. "So are you staying?"

In answer, Kibum abandons words and thoughts; he grabs Shiwon's wrist and pulls his hand out from under his shirt, dragging it lower. Shiwon doesn't need any guidance beyond that, fingers massaging slowly through the thin layer of pajama bottoms. Kibum sighs at the pressure and how hard he already is, how readily he flexes into Shiwon's palm. His eagerness would be somewhat embarrassing if he wasn't so enthralled with Shiwon's scent once again permeating the room after a long absence; never dissipating completely, always lingering and easily becoming the focus of Kibum's awareness when he jerks off during snatches of privacy. Those are the only times when he vaguely misses Shiwon's presence, in the fierce, fleeting moments where the physical ache gives way to abstract, mental yearning.

In the present, he suppresses a whimper when Shiwon slides his hand beneath the waistband, streaking his fingers through pre-come while taking him in a sure grip. Kibum shudders and snakes an arm back so he can clasp Shiwon's thigh, urging their bodies closer, legs tangling, and Kibum can feel Shiwon's erection press against him from behind.

Shiwon strokes him steadily, lips and tongue warm and wet on his neck. Kibum still hasn't even seen his face but he doesn't care, he's gotten good at imagining, and nothing short of the apocalypse is going to make him want to stop. So he twists the sheets in one hand, digs his fingers into Shiwon's leg with the other, and writhes in utter abandon. Kibum's gasp is loud, rough, and unhindered when he comes.

He sprawls loose-limbed immediately afterwards, his shallow breaths filling the air, and Shiwon leaves smears on his stomach before tugging at Kibum's pants. He lazily helps in squirming out of the garment when urged, and rolls pliant and prone as Shiwon stretches over him momentarily. The bedside drawer makes a muted, shuffling sound, and then Shiwon's weight eases off of him. Still feeling pleasantly unraveled from his orgasm, Kibum lets himself be nudged into position; with light touches he spreads his legs, cants his hips, and buries his face in the pillow when cool, slippery fingers push into him.

Oh... Yes, he's missed this, and he doesn't know why the longing is sharp and distinct now, with Shiwon right here, kissing along his back, fingers pumping. Kibum squeezes the pillow closer to muffle his noises and the way he moans Shiwon's name, afraid of how plaintive it would sound, because shameless want isn't as condemning as identified need. The thing about Shiwon is that he's kind, so Kibum never has to ask. But the thing about Shiwon is that he's cruel, so he makes Kibum admit.

Kibum's flushed face is dragged away from the pillowcase as he's turned on his back, legs drawn up, hips raised, and for the first time since Shiwon slid into bed with him they lock eyes. Shiwon's expression is familiar and focused, his gaze inescapable and full of heat that starts a slow burn all along Kibum's skin. He should know by now how effortlessly Shiwon sees right through him, how he drags the unspoken confessions out, but the lesson was apparently forgotten (or at the very least, healed and scarred). But more importantly, Shiwon responds in turn. He enters Kibum with deliberate, delicious care, and in the span of a slow intake of breath, a relieved exhale, Kibum gives it all up. His legs tighten around Shiwon's waist and he's poised on a precipice, heart shuddering; he rocks up as Shiwon plunges down and they're lost in a rush of acceleration from there.

Low moans and little gasps are wrung from him, and every hard thrust sinks him into the bedding. He grabs the sheets to gain purchase and ends up pulling the corner loose, so he reaches for Shiwon instead. Kibum's grip is bruising, digging furrows in Shiwon's arms and climbing, grasping upwards to clutch his shoulders and pull him down. Shiwon purrs into his mouth and grinds into him, rubbing just so, and Kibum's whole body shivers, toes curling, back arching, breathing in the dizzying blend of sex and sweat and Shiwon most of all—

And Shiwon gasps Kibum's name between them, his eyes closed, lips parted, which Kibum give a trembling kiss before the release.

Then the collapse.

His legs are shaking when he uncurls them and an uncomfortable grimace crosses his face when Shiwon pulls out, but his limbs won't budge after that and it's all Kibum can do to lie back and catch his breath. A handful of tissues sweep across his stomach and the insides of his thighs, and then Shiwon is warm beside him, the sheets pulled up as an afterthought. Kibum murmurs and turns his head to rest on Shiwon's shoulder, ready to drown in lassitude for the rest of the morning with Shiwon's arm slung across him, thumb rubbing lazy circles in the curve of his hip.

"By the way," Kibum says in a thick, drowsy tone, and hears an answering hum of equal indolence. "Welcome home."

Shiwon's hand slips through his hair and caresses the side of his face, mapping the lines of his jaw and neck, and lingers in a language of touch over the content beat of his pulse.

iii. recollect the snow (kangteuk is linn and sy's favorite mystery)

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes—"

The cold manages to seep in through the window Leeteuk is seated by, ugly brocade curtains shoved to the side so he can stare out at the cityscape. His reflection is superimposed over the view, but if he lets his eyes wander out of focus, all he can see is a blanketing darkness and fuzzy spots of light, occasionally glimpsing the quick sparkle-and-fade of snowflakes whirling in and out of view. His legs are curled up and tucked into the chair, elbows propped on the armrest, and there's a warm mug of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. Leeteuk lowers his eyes to watch the marshmallows float and slowly melt into the steaming liquid. They're the small kind, not the big, fluffy kind, but they're shaped like snowmen so on a scale of one to five he gives them a three-and-a-half. Maybe a four if he's feeling generous, because it's kind of fun to watch them be swallowed up by chocolate.

He sips the drink and returns his attention to the world outside, wondering how much more it will snow. In the background, Kangin surfs through T.V. channels, work set aside for now. It's been frustrating, Leeteuk muses, since their arrival at the City they've had little luck with their assignment.

But it's the holidays, so who cares. He sets his mug down on the table and pushes it out of the way, folding his arms and resting his head. He can see Kangin reflected in the window, lounging on the bed, remote in hand. The drone of the weather forecast makes Leeteuk close his eyes. Snowfall scattered throughout the night and tomorrow morning, expected three-to-four inches. A white Christmas.

He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth curving against the back of his hand. The last time it snowed on Christmas Eve, they all went caroling – him and Kangin with Heechul and Jay – to the disgruntlement of some of their neighbors (it had been impromptu and maybe they'd had a few drinks right before). None of them were assigned any hunting jobs at the time, so it was doubly special. Someone started a snowball fight and it might have been him, probably because Heechul said he was off-key, or maybe he and Kangin had attacked at the same time, but either way they wound up on teams. The only thing that cut through the chaos was a shout that came from the front porch, calling them back inside before they caught their deaths in the cold. The tone was good-humored, but it brooked no arguments, so they shambled forward to obey (after Kangin dumped more snow down the back of Heechul's coat).

"...and at 11:15 this evening, a white male teenager was found murdered in ..."

Leeteuk cracks his eyes open to catch sight of Kangin focusing in on the news and turning up the volume. Lights from the T.V. flicker across the dark window. He doesn't recognize the street name where the body was found, but Kangin opens up their laptop to search for a map. The victim's identity hasn't been revealed yet, nor the manner of death, but if it's declared a murder right away it must be a violent case. This could be a lead. Or not. Their target is much more subtle, not the type to leave a swath of bodies. Just a few disappearances here and there, people vanishing almost without notice, and most of them not the sort who would be dearly missed. This instance is probably a shot in the dark, but they've learned to think suspiciously (and the lesson came with an impossibly high price).

Murder in the snow, Leeteuk thinks. On Christmas Eve. Red on white. He remembers:

The red juice stain on the white carpet from a while back, the little girl staring at the spill and looking abashed while her mother scoops her up with a weary sigh. The yearly Christmas parties, the yearly blackmail photographs of drunken holiday antics (what happened to those old albums anyway? Kangin would know). Red wine in crystal glasses lined in a row on the snowy tablecloth. Blushing cheeks lit by glowing ivory candles and mistletoe overhead, and Leeteuk laughing and leaning in while someone makes gagging noises over the 'sappy couple.' Flushed faces and pearly smiles, and later, racing hearts and soft sheets. In the morning, they attempt to clean up the juice stain. They never do get that out.

It doesn't matter. The blood spatters are worse. Fresh and soaked thick into the carpet, the smell hitting him in the face like a physical blow, and then another sharp pain in his chest when realization hits. It's on the walls, on the furniture, and pretty soon it's on his hands, up to his arms, crimson and sticky, and someone is crying but it isn't him—

No, this time it is him, head buried in his arms, shoulders trembling. Kangin's hand is a steady weight on his back and then he's being pulled up, off the chair and off his feet, placed on the bed where he clings to his partner until the sobs subside. He makes a mess of Kangin's sweatshirt, a ratty old thing that he knows has a hole or two under the arms, but it's warm and soft against his cheek. Leeteuk sniffles and eventually his breath matches the calm pace of Kangin's, following his lead, settling down.

"Hey," he says later, the lights off but the T.V. still on, volume low. He tucks himself more easily into the crook of Kangin's arm. "Got a mint?" The words are the start of a pattern because Kangin doesn't have any mints, but he does have an Altoid tin, $1.99 from some middle-of-nowhere gas station and long emptied of its original contents.

Leeteuk holds out his palm expectantly and curls his fingers around the object that's offered, feeling the dents that have been punched into its surface over time. Nothing rattles inside when he turns it over, but there's a single, muted thump, too heavy to be an Altoid. He pushes and pulls at the lid but it remains stubbornly shut, so bent out of shape from the abuse in Kangin's pocket that it's a real bitch to get open anymore. He runs his finger along the worn, but smooth edge, and sometimes he wonders about smashing it open one day. The torn, jagged metal would bite into flesh like teeth if he grasped it then, and he'd let it, he'd let it cut and make tatters of his skin to get inside.

He also wonders about leaving it behind or throwing it away, winding his arm back and flinging the tin with as much strength and incoherent rage he can muster. Leeteuk thinks he would have done that by now, or else collapsed under the burden, if not for Kangin (and he knows with steel certainty that the weight of that unassuming box is no lighter in Kangin's possession).

It's Kangin who gently, firmly pries the mint tin from his death-grip, and Leeteuk lets it slide free with a familiar ache and bereft feeling between his fingers. Kangin's hand covers his to keep him from twisting something that isn't there, clamping down to cease his fidgeting and rubbing a thumb over his knuckles to drive the point home: he's only imagining.

Leeteuk draws in a shaky breath, lets it out, and repeats over and over until at some point, his hand has flipped and his palm is merely resting on Kangin's. Their fingers are only loosely laced, and without looking Leeteuk knows that Kangin has fallen asleep. He reaches for the remote without disturbing his partner, turns off the T.V., and whispers a soft, sincere, "Merry Christmas."

"This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived.
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—"

iv. kaleidoscope redux (introducing reason #1 why cityverse will lose readers)

"What the hell?"

Shiny red wrapping paper falls to the floor, adding to the other shreds and ribbons strewn over the ground. Donghae automatically reaches out to grab whatever he can, crumpling the paper into a large wad. He grins cheekily while as Sungmin glowers at the book in his hands.

Kyuhyun's face peers over Sungmin's shoulder, breaking into an incredulous grin when he sees the gift. In between laughing, he reads the title out loud, "'Communication Miracles for Couples: Easy and Effective Tools to Create More Love and Less Conflict'?"

"I'm thoughtful when I pick out presents!" Donghae tosses a ball of mixed pieces of decorated paper back and forth, finger snagging on a curly ribbon and spinning the colorful concoction around (he narrowly misses smacking Kibum in the face). He feels wired today, senses kicked up in excitement, and there's a good feeling all around. Plus, he has every right to judge after being subject to his housemate's foul mood during that one period early on in the relationship. Besides, if not for his help, they might have never gotten together.

"Completely unnecessary," Sungmin announces from where he sits in Kyuhyun's lap. And okay, Donghae will concede that this morning they've been sickeningly cute, but sometimes beneath all the smiles and sweet gestures, Sungmin will feel intensely enough that even on sidelines Donghae will blink at the raw force of it. Sungmin isn't one to hide his feelings, but he usually wears them more skillfully.

"I got you a bookmark for it and everything," Donghae points out, and luckily Kyuhyun is gracious enough to take a hint.

"Thank you—" Kyuhyun glances down as two thin rectangles flutter out from between the marked pages, and is struck speechless when Sungmin holds them aloft. Donghae's grin widens as he senses disbelief melting into joy; Kyuhyun is easy to read and he's wonderfully uncomplicated at the core, though occasionally layered. He's been hiding the fact he has a headache all morning, probably from the drinks last night (Sungmin had been all too happy to put his bartending experience to use in celebration). The ache is easily forgotten in the flurry of Christmas day. "I thought those tickets were sold out," he manages to speak, finally.

"Connections," Donghae says with a smug, mysterious flair. Well, more like Shiwon's connections, but it'd been his idea. Shiwon, for his part, keeps silent, but Donghae's knee taps against his leg and there's a ticklish impression of amusement. More importantly, Shiwon likes Kyuhyun as the newest addition to their circle. Not that his approval is strictly necessary, but keeping humans out of the loop is kind of the norm. Fortunately, Kyuhyun is totally cool, and if he were any closer and not being monopolized by Sungmin, Donghae would tackle him just on principle.

He settles for flopping over on Kibum instead, who is right next to him on the couch and has a conveniently unoccupied lap. Who smells like coffee with a hint of cinnamon and radiates enough contentment to go around. Donghae turns so he's lying on his back, feet tucked against Shiwon to keep them warm, and he holds a postcard from Eunhyuk in front of his face, grinning at the message scrawled in familiar handwriting. He ignores the fact that it doesn't say much of anything, that it's come all the way from Paris, and that he probably can't write back to the same address.

Donghae passes the next several minutes lounging there, balancing the postcard on the tip of his nose and listening to the rustle of wrapping paper being cleaned up. Sungmin treads into the kitchen, Shiwon following, and Donghae stretches his legs out in the space made available while the two go about fixing breakfast. The T.V. drones in the background and for a while, all he does is bask.

He's half-asleep, senses going fuzzy and fading, so he doesn't pick up on the abnormal spike of alarm until he hears Kibum inquire, "Kyuhyun, are you okay?"

Donghae props himself up and angles his head to see where Kyuhyun is still sitting, back a little rigid and eyes trained on the television screen. "It's just—" He tears his gaze away, awkwardly redirects it first to his hands, then to the floor. "Sorry, it's not a big deal." He looks about as uncomfortable as he feels, and Donghae turns his attention to the news broadcast that has Kyuhyun so unnerved.

It's about a murder that occurred late last night, and that alone is a sobering thought, but Kyuhyun is more surprised than sad, and there's a curious lack of pity. Donghae scrutinizes the image of the victim being displayed – the announcer informs that he was a seventeen year old student, and he has the appearance of a gangly teenager with a disgruntled, clearly forced smile stretching his features, unable to hide the jarring gap from a missing tooth. Donghae can't get anything from pictures on a screen, or anyone who's dead for that matter (actually dead, not like sleeping-vampire-dead), but Kyuhyun's reaction says enough to color his own view with dislike.

And Kyuhyun's tentative negativity is nothing compared to the utter contempt projected by Sungmin, who has wandered over with an incongruous smile on his face— and a glass of champagne in each hand. "That's too bad," he half-trills and half-purrs, and Donghae isn't the only one raising an eyebrow. "Kyuhyun, we should drink in honor of his memory."

Or in honor of something. The relaxed brightness returns to Kyuhyun's expression as if reflecting Sungmin's evident good mood, and they link arms to drink. Donghae doesn't know exactly why this toast is called for, and Kibum is only vaguely interested, mostly unconcerned. Unable to bear being left out, Donghae almost demands an explanation, but he's stopped by the thoughtful presence of Shiwon leaning on the back of the couch, watching the report. There's no thread of amusement from him now, and Donghae predicts a few discreet phone calls later and maybe an absence tomorrow morning.

His entire countenance noticeably droops at the prospect of holiday together-time being interrupted, but his upper torso is still slung over Kibum's legs and he allows himself to be the tiniest bit placated when Kibum lays a hand on his shoulder. Donghae fishes for the remote and determinedly changes the channel, good riddance to bad news.

The phone rings and he's distantly aware of Sungmin answering it, and then suddenly the receiver is blocking his view of the T.V. "Hello?" he greets curiously, and when the caller's identity registers he shoots up, leaps over the back of the couch, and scrambles for his room. There's a cloud of collective bewilderment left behind but he doesn't care, grinning madly as he shuts the door for privacy. "Merry Christmas to you too, Alicia."

The girl laughs a little, and it's a quiet, sort of husky sound that he's gotten used to hearing while they both play with the kids at the daycare center. "Thank you for the CD," she says with a smile in her voice, and Donghae's heart beats double-time. Maybe triple.

"You're wel—"

"And thanks for the necklace. You have surprisingly good taste."

He can't really get any words out after that, or feign the slightest bit of offense, he's simply stunned and thinking, 'she likes it, she likes it, she likes it' on loop. He'd gotten her the heart charm necklace to replace the locket she always used to wear, because ever since losing it her fingers would brush over her collarbones with palpable longing where the chain once rested. That locket had been from her ex-boyfriend. Donghae didn't know how his gesture would be taken, but he's adored Alicia since meeting her the first day on the job when she was knee-deep in children with paint handprints all over her jeans, a green glob stuck in her hair, and in desperate need of assistance.

"I'm glad you like it," he finally manages to say, back pressed against the door as he slides down until he's sitting, knees bent. "So... Are you doing anything for New Year's? I mean, of course you'll be celebrating, but I was wondering if, you know, you want to hang out..."

"Hmm..." And he's holding his breath until she answers, "Sure, it's a date."

"Great!" He's up on his feet again in an instant, and by some miracle his grip on the phone doesn't cause it to break.

There's another low chuckle through the line, followed by a muffled thump. "Hey, I'll call you back later. The Terrible Twins have been unleashed on the house with all their new toys, and you know what that means."

"Damage control," he acknowledges, still grinning widely. He'll probably never stop. "Good luck."

"Thanks, I think I'll need it," are her last words, wryly spoken, before the dial tone.

By the time Donghae finishes the call and reigns in his giddiness, he's forgotten all about everyone waiting back in the living and is taken by surprise when he returns to find them, well, staring at him.

"So then," Sungmin begins, his innocent smile baring a wicked edge. "Are you going to tell us about that girl who just called?"

v. whiteout (for the hell of it)

The flakes aren't bearing down as heavily as they were before, thankfully starting to lessen while I was tracking. They've slowed to a delicate flutter, drifting down from a dark sky and glistening in the lamplight. I tilt my face to watch them fall all around, swirling in a gust of wind. My breath puffs into the air when I open my mouth, and I catch a snowflake on my tongue. I can hear snow crunch beneath the shoes of the person behind the corner. He knows I'm here, and he knows I know he knows, and he's wondering what the fastest way to kill me is or when I'm going to follow him into the crevice between buildings. I've been following him for a while, but I'm not in much of a hurry.

He can probably smell the steel on me, like I can smell the fresh blood on him. Washed or wiped away, it will still linger. It's their daily diet. It's easy to pick out the vampires that way, by blood-scent if not by mark-scent. I don't need to know about mark-scent; we're not friends. We're not enemies. What do I care about their Selves, their Lives, or whether they drink from people or storage cartons? That's not for me to worry about.

At last, I step in front of the alleyway, a shadow merging into the darkness between the walls. There he is: his eyes are bright and glinting. He's young, about my age. Neither of us appears very impressed with what we see. He snorts and breaks into a grin, or maybe it's more of a sneer – one of his canines is missing, which makes for a disjointed image. A vampire with a missing fang? Is that like a man with one leg?

He ducks low and darts in, maybe to slip past, or perhaps to attack. It's sadly not a matter of skill so much as it is of speed and years of training. I can hear the clean slice through cloth and flesh, and the wet splash on a frozen wall. The scent is next, rich and powerful and personal, and meaning little to me in the end. The blood makes a warm spot on my sleeve, not showing against the dark fabric, but spattering in vivid scarlet over the snow. It soaks in and shimmers with ice crystals, runs in rivulets down the straight, flat edge of my blade and drips from the point.

I flick the excess off, collect the rest on my thumb and lick it clean, then sheath the sword, tucking it beneath my coat. I walk away.

end

Sapphy: "Oh my god, het." Yeah, we went there. I'll say this to calm the masses: Alicia is not a main character. However, if you cannot stand the thought of girls near the boys, Cityverse is not for you.

The poem in part iii is by Emily Dickinson. The Mystery Person in part v will be revealed...eventually. :D

Sorry this installment took so long! It's been a busy time for everyone involved, and this part may not be as well-edited as usual. Unfortunately, it's likely that #6 will also be delayed for a few weeks, but we have a surprise to make up for it. Presenting, forgetangel. Leeteuk will now be broadcasting to you live from the City! ...He's kind of Not Right in the Head, so we promise nothing.

Happy Holidays, everyone~

o4. Kaleidoscope

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 23:05:58 GMT

Title: Kaleidoscope
Character(s): Donghae
Rating: PG (for exploding eggs of fail)
Word Count: 4700
Summary: Fourth installment. More backstory that ties in with the previous [Strings Attached], taking a look at the family through Donghae's eyes. Be warned that these scenes are not written in chronological order. There are two alternating sets of events, one going forward and the other going backward.
References: Story Archive
Shout-outs: fuminshou_neko is the best beta ever (and pimptastic, now I can place where some of these hits on our counter are coming from XD), and meiface is my favorite Donghae fangirl (and she better write more SuJu fic after exams). ♥

There's something kind of fun and satisfying in running up a flight of stairs and getting home just a little bit breathless. For this reason, Donghae takes the elevator up to the floor below the one he lives on, and races up the stairs the rest of the way. When he bursts through the front door, he's greeted by the tangy scent of citrus and sees Sungmin sitting at the table, still wearing his pajamas, and peeling an orange.

"You're not getting ready for work?" Donghae asks, kicking his shoes off and pushing them mostly out of the way in the foyer. He slides into a chair and leans eagerly across the tabletop, wincing internally at the bright pink color of Sungmin's hair and concentrating instead on the fruit that's right under his nose.

"I quit," Sungmin says, nipping at a freshly-peeled slice. He doesn't meet Donghae's pleading eyes but raises another piece of orange automatically to his waiting lips, feeding it to him. "A bubble tea shop is opening near the university though. I have an interview the day after tomorrow."

Donghae pouts a little as he chews the orange. He really liked getting free drinks at the bar, the fancy kinds, but free bubble tea isn't so bad. He wonders how many flavors the menu will have and which ones will be new and good or maybe really gross, depending... He bites into another orange slice when Sungmin offers it to him.

"By the way," Sungmin says, shaking cotton-candy pink bangs out of his eyes, "Shiwon came home. He's out taking care of business in the city right now, but he brought back another stray who will probably wake up soon."

Donghae leaps to his feet, just now noticing what the citrus aroma has been distracting him from. He takes several loud, bounding strides down the hall and Sungmin doesn't tell him to keep quiet or anything. After all you can't just wake the dead, they have to come around on their own— Well, except for those times when they simply don't wake up, not that Donghae has ever seen that happen but he's heard things.

Still, he composes himself a bit before opening the door, and inside he can easily detect Shiwon's familiar scent, and that new smell that sort of confuses his senses because he can't pin it down no matter how he sharpens his focus. It keeps changing, and not the way a person's scent usually changes with the flux of their states (emotions or health, he can tell as long as he's really trying; Shiwon says his senses are better than most like that, though erratic when it comes to control). Fascinated, Donghae sits down on the floor by the bed and observes. There's a not a whole lot happening on the outside, but it's the first time he's felt anyone undergoing the change. Donghae doesn't remember what it was like at all, but he remembers waking up.

So he sits here with his arms crossed on the mattress and his head resting on top, though the floor is uncomfortable and he thinks about crawling up onto the bed, but he knows sometimes that's not a good idea with strangers. You need to ask first. Donghae gazes at the boy (he looks about the same age, and his skin is slightly warm, but he's not breathing, not yet) and wills him to wake up faster so he can ask. The floor is really uncomfortable.

* * * * *

It's not the first time Shiwon has been gone, but it's the first time he and Eunhyuk have been gone, so it's just Donghae and Sungmin in the apartment, in separate rooms. In fact, it's the first time Eunhyuk has been gone, ever, and Donghae has identified a fierce hatred for large, empty beds. He thinks of how, when he was little, he always wanted a huge bed like his mom and dad had, because then they could all fit in it and it would be in his room, which was so much cooler than theirs (the wallpaper had planets on it and he had toys, and the toys were really the best part). Then at the orphanage he also wanted a gigantic bed, so all the kids could all sleep in a big, comfy pile like puppies; he brought this idea up with the caretakers several times but they never did anything about it. He didn't stay there long, or else he's sure his plan would have come to pass even if only by shoving all the beds together.

The beds in Shiwon's place can fit two – back when Donghae had been ten years old and scrawny, they could comfortably fit three. One time they got all four of them together and he doesn't remember why anymore, maybe he had a nightmare. Since then, there's always been someone else to share with, mostly Eunhyuk because he's around more than Shiwon and Donghae makes an effort to not go into Sungmin's room at all. When he was young and still thought pink was why girls had cooties, he declared half the apartment a non-pink zone and eventually open warfare had broken out. There are times when he thinks it never stopped even after Shiwon made them both sign a peace treaty (with Eunhyuk bearing solemn witness) and stuck it on the refrigerator door.

But the fact is, Shiwon and Eunhyuk are away, and Donghae is old enough now to sleep on his own. He'll be old enough forever, exactly like this, which is probably a good thing because it would have been weird to get physically older than everyone else. And then die. That would have been pretty sad and bizarre. Shiwon's not allowed to go around turning people into vampires, but he did anyway, and Donghae's just glad. Okay, so accidentally breaking stuff afterwards hadn't been much fun, but eventually he was glad.

Donghae rolls on his back, sprawls all his limbs out, and stares at the ceiling. He hates nights like this when he can't stop thinking, and there's no one next to him to calm him down. No one else's breathing, or their heartbeat if he listens real close, or their warmth to fall asleep to. Sungmin is out working, and Donghae would just hang out at the bar and pester him all night except he has to get up in the morning and go help at the daycare center down the block.

After a while he tells himself to stop whining, and later after that he manages to fall asleep. When he wakes up to the beeping of his alarm, someone else is fumbling at it and one-handedly prying the batteries out when the off button fails to be properly hit.

Donghae sits up blearily and protests, "Hey, that's—"

"No talking," Sungmin mumbles into his pillow and he gives Donghae a weak push. "Go to work."

He'd rather not, because Sungmin actually came into his room to sleep and he looks really cute burrowing deeper into the blankets, and warm and comfortable, too. Donghae finds himself flopping over and closing his eyes. In another minute he finds himself being rolled off the bed and Sungmin tells him from under the covers to not be an irresponsible jerk.

* * * * *

Kibum still hasn't woken up.

"That's a little odd," Sungmin comments in the morning, making breakfast. Donghae can tell he's happy that Shiwon's back because he's actually cooking, not just pouring a bowl of cereal.

Donghae gets himself a plate of pancakes, then a glass of orange juice, and goes back to the room where he spent most of the evening, waiting. He comes running out a moment later and also pours a glass of blood (chicken, he thinks from the smell alone; everyone else in the household would only know by taste) because after two days one would be really hungry. Donghae once forgot to take in any blood for 24 hours and he recalls it was a singularly unpleasant experience.

Shiwon has told Donghae about the boy he brought back, things like his name, where he's from, a little bit of what happened. Shiwon doesn't wait like Donghae does, he hardly goes into the room at all, and he hardly needs to because Donghae is there just about every free moment he has.

He doesn't get bored (all right, he gets a little bored, but he has his Gameboy for just that reason), and is easily mesmerized by the shifts and adjustments he senses from a body transforming quietly and completely. It's just taking a tiny bit longer than usual, and if this wasn't his first time watching it maybe he could say so with absolute certainty, but nonetheless Donghae is confident that things will be okay. He tries to convey this positive sentiment to the unresponsive Kibum via telepathic waves (Shiwon says that sometimes there are telepathic vampires, and Donghae thinks it would be cool if he was one, even though Sungmin claims that if that were true then there was no God).

When it gets late he falls asleep, awkwardly leaning against the bed, and he's half-woken as the door opens. There's no light from the hall and no sound from the feet that move across the floor, and Donghae doesn't stir when a hand smoothes through his hair though he doubts he can fool Shiwon. He feigns sleep anyway, focuses in, and isn't surprised when this yields no results. It's usually difficult, if not outright impossible, to pick up anything from Shiwon that he doesn't want Donghae to pick up. Of course, Shiwon gives his head another knowing pat and Donghae sighs, opens his eyes in the dark and smiles up with no trace of guilt. He doesn't need to know for sure anyway, with Shiwon it's best to go by instinct and daring alone.

He's allowed to watch as Shiwon sits on the edge of the bed and lightly touches Kibum's face, palm to cheek, then moves lower to stroke the line of his neck, fingertips halting upon a nonexistent pulse (not yet, Donghae thinks, but soon). He's allowed to rest his chin on Shiwon's thigh and pillow his head into the curve of his hip. And he's allowed, for a rare moment, to pick up a thrum of affection like a cat's contented purr, resonating from the various points of contact.

* * * * *

Donghae sits cross-legged on the carpet, eyes glued to the television, video game controller in his lap where he punches in a complicated button combo and swivels his body in time with the character onscreen. He messes up on the quarter-circle command and lets out a frustrated cry when his character gets pummeled, button-mashing helplessly in his final moments. The game's computerized female announcer informs him of his defeat and declares the second player the winner. Ignoring Eunhyuk's victory bellow, he selects the option for another round.

"Hey! I wanted to change my character!"

"Next time," Donghae says, skipping through the combat intro and reminding himself not to grip the controller too tightly in anticipation. Their gaming session last week was cut short due to a related accident, and the controller he is using now is brand-new. They tell him he'll get used to his strength in time, but nonetheless he's piling up a list of broken items that need to be replaced or repaired (including but not limited to: doorknobs, the shower knobs, his apartment key, his alarm clock, and various kitchen appliances and utensils).

The phone rings while they're embroiled in their life-or-death battle, and neither of them will be the one to hit the pause button and risk a crucial split-second for an attack combo. After three more rings, Sungmin trudges into the living room, wet from a shower, and informs them all-too-sweetly, "Don't trouble yourselves or anything, I'll get it." He gets a strangled cry from Eunhyuk as a response, and Donghae cackles as he unleashes a special move.

"No, no!"

"Yes!" Donghae shouts over the cheers from the game.

"I'm definitely changing my character this time," Eunhyuk announces, when suddenly the cordless phone is dropped in his lap, slightly damp from Sungmin's hair.

"It's for you," he says with the same cheerful voice, and as soon as Eunhyuk picks up the phone, Sungmin snatches the controller from him and plops down on the couch. He and Donghae exchange a ready-for-action look while Eunhyuk speaks into the receiver.

"Hello, who is—"

And he goes quiet like someone pulled a plug.

Donghae, leaning against his leg, abandons the game to peer up at his friend. Eunhyuk's eyes are wide, jaw slightly agape, and after a few tries his mouth moves in a nearly soundless word, a name, and Sungmin shoots him a sharp glance.

"Hold on, okay, just— Hold on." He gets to his feet and sort of casts about as if not sure what to do. His eyes are brighter than they usually are, lighting upon the balcony and he moves towards there, and he almost trips over the cords attached to the game console in his haste.

The sliding door is softly shut and Donghae turns to Sungmin, who has slumped back into the cushions and is getting the upholstery wet. Donghae asks, and because Sungmin is one who can rarely refrain from gossip, he answers.

"Junsu and Eunhyuk go way back..."

* * * * *

For once, it's not Donghae who keeps breaking things (and to his credit, he hasn't broken anything in a while). "Don't sweat it," he chirps, taking the bent faucet handle from a flustered Kibum whom he followed into the bathroom for just this purpose. Donghae takes his role as Experienced Made Vampire very seriously (Sungmin doesn't count, he's too old and probably never made as many blunders as Donghae did). He even took a few days off from work so he could take care of the new addition to their family, reminding him to eat and doing damage control and teaching him the ABC's of vampirism.

"Here," he says later, pouring two tall glasses from a carton labeled 'Blood Orange Juice' (he loves whoever came up with this whole delivery thing, really he does).

Kibum takes the glass (carefully, he's learned), and looks in at its contents swirling around. "It's...not human, right?"

"Nope," Donghae assures him and takes a whiff of his own. Some kind of bird, he thinks, sipping to confirm. "You'll notice a difference between animals and humans, or that's what they say. I've never tasted any human blood." But Shiwon has, and Eunhyuk has, and even Sungmin has. They told him, and they'll drill it into him Kibum too, not to try it. They never say it's not worth it and that's one of the core issues in vampire politics, most of which goes right over Donghae's head. "And then there's vampire blood, there's no mistaking that."

Kibum gets a dazed look on his face and yeah, that's about how Donghae remembers it too. Well, except for the part where Kibum got shot and he didn't, but other than that. The way he understands it, it's not polite to chew on fellow vamps and their blood isn't as nutritious as humans' or animals'. Eunhyuk explained it to him that animals are like vegetables, humans are like meat, and other vampires are like candy. Sungmin gave Eunhyuk the weirdest look and told him to not say such dumb things, but Donghae thinks it sounds accurate even though that makes him a vegetarian.

"Also, we don't really need it, but regular food is good to have too." So saying, Donghae retrieves a bowl and a few eggs from the refrigerator. His attention span isn't ideal for cooking, he's perfectly aware of this fact, but he can at least mix some eggs and microwave them.

Kibum has already finished drinking, despite his initial hesitance, and Donghae remembers that the first few days you need a lot more blood than normal so he brings out the carton again. For a moment Kibum looks as though he wants to protest, but after one bright grin from Donghae he sighs in defeat and accepts the refill, even sipping at it right away while the microwave beeps.

Donghae frowns when he takes the bowl out and sees that the eggs have formed a single, large bubble. Well, no problem, they're supposed to be scrambled anyway, so he grabs a fork from the drawer and raises it.

Kibum sputters a little when he notices. "Wait, you might, uh—"

As soon as the prongs jab into the bubble, there's a loud pop and pieces of egg explode in Donghae's face. For a second he's just stunned, fork still poised, and then he coughs and gags and doesn't think he'll stop smelling burnt eggs for a week, and Sungmin is never, ever going to let him near the kitchen again—

Kibum laughs, it's kind of a choking, gasping laugh, and he's holding himself up on the counter and pushing his glass away so it doesn't spill anymore (there's already a small splatter on the floor tiles). Donghae alternates between grimacing and snickering, waving a hand in front of his face to no avail.

"Ugh, that's disgusting!"

"That's hilarious," Kibum wheezes, wiping at his eyes and sliding to the floor in an exhausted heap. "It's in your hair."

That's when Donghae takes notice, really takes notice, of the full effect of Kibum's grin, a brilliant white smile that reaches his eyes and dazzles. More debris goes flying as Donghae lunges and practically tackles Kibum in a hug.

"Oh, God— Put the fork down! I almost died!"

"Again," Donghae adds helpfully, burying his nose in Kibum's shirt that smells heavenly after having eggs burst in his face. He feels fingers go through his hair, presumably combing out gross, scrambled pieces, and Kibum's chest heaves in a suspiciously habitual sigh.

* * * * *

It's late and all three of them are bunched up on the couch, Eunhyuk and Sungmin on the outside with Donghae taking up the most space in the middle. He's curled on his side with his head on Eunhyuk's lap, feet strewn across Sungmin's legs, and they're watching Casablanca on T.V. It's not Donghae's type of movie, but he's entertained enough by the other two quoting the characters. They were around when the film first came out, not much different from the way they are now, and Donghae has no idea what that's like but he will soon (what really boggles his mind is the idea that Shiwon has been around since the 19th century).

Sungmin recites Ilsa's lines with the same sophisticated charm and wide-eyed innocence, but Eunhyuk doesn't quite pull off the cynical, yet romantic Rick. "'We'll always have Paris'," he quotes with a lopsided grin, inadvertently punctuating the line with a sudden yelp as Donghae pokes him in the side. Sungmin tickles Donghae's feet and things get rowdy – they miss the ending and famous last words, but none of them were that engrossed with the movie anyway.

When everyone settles down again and Sungmin starts flipping through channels, Donghae asks, "What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock," Eunhyuk answers without fail, adding somewhat cautiously, "Shiwon's plane doesn't land for another hour."

A shampoo commercial fills the nervous silence that follows. Sungmin rubs his thumb along the inside of Donghae's foot, soothing instead of mischievous this time, and Eunhyuk just lays a hand on his shoulder. Donghae tries to curb his restlessness and wonders what it will be like, decades down the road, when the latest popular movies are considered timeless classics. History was his favorite subject in school, but occasionally he would get in trouble by arguing too much with the teacher (if Shiwon says something happened differently than described in the textbooks, then it's true). He can't really imagine the world in fifty years, let alone one hundred, or two hundred.

Donghae remembers once when he was sixteen, he asked Shiwon to turn him for some silly teenage reasons that he's since blocked from his memory. All three of the vampires had shared similar grimaces and explained to him that no, that would not be a good idea, and he'd understand when he's older. Looking back, Donghae thinks there could be nothing worse than being a teenager for all of eternity. Well, maybe some things could be worse, and that's besides the fact.

The fact is, after tonight he won't age another day.

He falls asleep somehow, full of memories, and his dreams are formless and evasive. He isn't sure what wakes him, but when he shifts and blinks his eyes open the television is off and there's a pillow beneath his head instead of Eunhyuk's leg. His heart's already pounding even before he sees Shiwon standing there, outlined by soft lamplight, his suit jacket thrown over a chair and his tie loosened.

"What time is it?" Donghae finds himself asking again, instead of a more conventional 'welcome home' or 'how was your trip?' He raises himself into a sitting position and scrubs a hand through his hair, messing it up.

"Not quite midnight." Shiwon moves towards the coffee table and Donghae notices the bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.

He watches the liquid be poured and takes his with a steady hand, knocks it back, and warms with the harsh burn going down his throat. He sort of knows what to expect, the others have told him before; the bite itself hurts more than a sting, but there are worse experiences in the world. Dizziness follows, but that's natural whenever anyone loses a lot of blood. The exchange isn't even – he'll only need some of Shiwon's blood in the process because what's more important is, well, dying. Eunhyuk has told him not to fight it too much when he really starts to slip away, since the people who fight are less likely to wake up.

Donghae takes another shot. He doesn't want to get really drunk, but no matter how long he's known this is going to happen and no matter how well-informed he is, nerves aren't that easily controlled. Plus, it's an occasion, how many other people will be able to mark down their death-day after the fact?

He sets his glass down and leans back. The sleeping isn't really sleeping, Sungmin explained, you don't dream because you're dead and there's no knowing or feeling. It only takes a day or two and then you wake up and that's it, welcome to your new life. It's not too different from the old one, and Donghae has lived with three vampires for more than a decade now, so he knows what to expect on that front. A modified diet, sharper senses, immunity to disease, and that non-aging immortality thing which is a little bit daunting, but if Sungmin can do it, so can he.

Shiwon's hand goes through his hair to smooth it down, and Donghae grabs his wrist before it leaves to peer at his watch. Five after. Donghae grins and it's anticlimactic, but what the hell, who cares whether or not he's punctual. He tilts his head to the side but doesn't quite close his eyes. Shiwon's fingers pet through his hair once more, briefly and with as much warning or asking as he's going to offer. Donghae's eyes close then, and the tips of vampire fangs are needle-fine points held over his neck right before they slice and sink in.

There's a reflexive urge to recoil and a caged, helpless feeling when Shiwon grips him tight. Donghae's hands first clench into the cushions, but somehow they migrate to cling to Shiwon's shirt. His breathing sounds loud and panicked – and that makes him panic some more because of what Sungmin said about fighting it – but then Shiwon pulls back, draws his own bare wrist over a curved tooth, and presses the wound to Donghae's mouth.

He expects a gag-inducing copper tang, but the liquid that slides smooth and seductive across his tongue isn't the least bit abhorrent. It doesn't have a distinct taste so much as it has a stimulating effect, enough to overwhelm and distract so he hardly notices Shiwon return to his neck. When Donghae becomes dimly aware that everything is fading out, he only thinks that this has been a long time coming and not once has he considered any other option.

* * * * *

"Donghae."

He mutters something unintelligible and hugs his makeshift pillow tighter. When his pillow tries to squirm away he lets out a pitiful whine.

"Donghae, I have class."

"But it's early," he protests weakly, slinging a leg overtop Kibum's hip for good measure. "And class is for jerks."

Kibum goes suspiciously still and Donghae is instantly on guard for any sneak attacks. "If you make me late again, I'm not letting you sleep here anymore."

The threat gives him pause – in Donghae's mind, being banished to sharing Sungmin's room is a very serious matter. But then again, Sungmin could just move out and live with his new boyfriend and the apartment would be gloriously pink-free. Not that he'd want an empty room though, so maybe the point was moot.

While he's in the midst of contemplation, Kibum slips an arm back and goes straight for the ticklish zone along Donghae's side, making his escape during the ensuing flailing. After catching his breath, Donghae rolls over in the bed and listens glumly to the sound of the shower being turned on. He consoles himself with the knowledge that Kibum can't stay in school forever and one day morning classes will be a thing of the past. Donghae himself remembers graduating with a History major, though he doesn't have a clear recollection of how he ended up with it. He thinks sometime later down the long, long road of his life, he'll go back and get a degree in Education because teaching might be fun. But for now, he thoroughly enjoys sleeping in.

Eventually he rolls out of bed and staggers out into the living room. Sungmin is sitting at the table with a chocolate chip bagel on a napkin and a half-empty glass of blood in his hand. In his other hand he glares at his cell phone.

Sensing a dangerous mood, Donghae wisely aborts his initial mission to steal the bagel and goes to rummage through the cabinets instead. He shuffles through various boxes before emerging with the most sugar-laden cereal he can find, and a bowl. He automatically puts two slices of bread in the toaster for Kibum and finally retrieves the ingeniously-labeled carton from the fridge. He's pouring what he guesses is rabbit blood into two glasses when Sungmin slams his own drink down, pushes his breakfast out of the way, and just drops his head on top of the table.

At that moment, Kibum comes into the room and freezes, staring.

Before either of them can ask, Sungmin waves his phone in the air. "He's not returning my calls or my texts!" He lets out an, "Oof," as Donghae pounces on his back.

"Trouble in paradise?" Donghae puts on his most sympathetic face, and really, it is cute because he's seen Sungmin go through multitudes of flings, and he's even been dumped before (on rare occasions) but it never really upset him. Not honestly, anyway, and there's no mistaking this irritation.

Sungmin just makes an aggravated noise that escalates into a wail while Kibum shakes his head. "You should just go see him," is his advice, and then he goes to pick up his toast.

Sungmin sighs so dejectedly that Donghae stops midway during his second attempt to steal the bagel. He slides around to sit in the next chair and leans close. "He has a class with Kibum, right? Maybe we can find something out."

Kibum looks like he'd really prefer to not meddle in anyone's affairs, especially not if Donghae is scheming, but then Sungmin turns his wide, imploring eyes on him and he quickly averts his gaze. There's a long pause as he gulps down the contents of his glass and proceeds to ignore the two boys staring at him while he gets his things together. When he has his hand on the doorknob, his shoulders fall a little and he says, "I'll give you a call afterwards."

Satisfied, Donghae settles more comfortably in his seat and finally snatches the bagel for a large, savory bite. Sungmin doesn't even notice, playing distractedly with his cell. "This isn't going to end horribly, is it?"

"It'll be 'happily ever after'," Donghae assures, and licks a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

end

Sapphy: And so we've returned to the beginning – hopefully you can work out the scene order in your head. Originally, they weren't going to be in any order at all, but my Virgo brain had a severe malfunction at the thought. Besides, there's got to be some method to Donghae's madness.

Regarding the eggs-of-exploding-fail... Well, Sy has had a number of epic blonde moments that we happened to be cataloguing one night, and decided to include them in the story.

Sy: ... You should so have Hae's eggs explode in his face.
Sapphy: I was just thinking that XD
Sy: Trust me when I say he'd be smelling burnt egg for days after the fact. It was quite traumatic. You know, actually it felt a lot like an ACME cartoon? Where you just sort of stare like o_o after this thing has poofed in your face.

And that's how it went. XD Thanks for reading, as usual, and good luck to everyone with finals. As a reminder, feedback is greatly appreciated! ...Though, to be honest, I feel like this is the weakest of the four installments so far. :| Donghae and I are clearly not compatible in any way, shape, or form.

o3. Strings Attached

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 04:58:15 GMT

Title: Strings Attached
Character(s): Kibum, Shiwon
Rating: PG13 for not-there porn
Word Count: 6000
Summary: Backstory. How Kibum became part of the family.
Notes: Obviously, this takes place before A Song for Waking and Double Duke.

Kibum is a good student and a good son. He's the type of good student that graduates from high school with a 4.0 and gets into his first choice of university with a scholarship (a very respectable honors college, and if his parents think he could have done better, well, they have two other children who could potentially rise higher than him and that would be something to be proud of). He's the type of good son who tries to please his parents and set an example for his younger siblings, and he really doesn't ask much of the world. He doesn't think much of the world either. So long as he keeps his GPA up and doesn't stand out in a bad way, he's not a disappointment to his family and they don't need to know about the club he goes to with his classmates every Friday.

It started out as a 'thank God midterms are over' thing, and has since become a weekly outing with a handful of people from Economics. Kibum supposes they're friends in the way everybody's a friend when you're warm and mildly intoxicated. The pretentious guy who's always late for class is less obnoxious when the crowd is drowning out his voice, and the girl with the obscenely low-riding jeans and messy, done-up hair is actually kind of attractive now with her hips swaying and her curls loose. She watches him watching her and beckons with her French manicured nails, but he gives a small, disinterested shake of his head (he doesn't dance, and besides, he sits close enough to her in class to know her perfume is repulsive).

He's actually starting to get bored and is thinking of going home when someone taps his shoulder and he hears a voice speak close through the drone of music. "Is this seat taken?"

"No," Kibum answers with a polite, reflexive smile, and he's intrigued when he gets an identical white grin in return. Smiles like that don't mean anything, but smooth voices by his ear tend to. The man sliding into the tall chair at the bar looks a little too old to be a student, nor is he dressed like one, wearing a button-down shirt (top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up) and dark slacks (which nonetheless mold his hips nicely). But Kibum is a well-mannered person who doesn't stare and doesn't comment, and unobtrusively sips his drink while pretending not to notice the girl who's still trying to gain his interest.

"A pity all her effort is being wasted," remarks the man, his eyes flicking over the crowd as if taking them all in without missing a thing. Then his attention shifts, returning to Kibum.

A good son is raised to speak when spoken to. "I doubt she'll be reduced to tears over it. Besides, we're incompatible."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure a lovely young lady such as herself will have no trouble capturing the eye of another." There's something in the way he says lovely young lady that sounds more like skanky ho in Kibum's mind, and he doesn't think he's imagining it. But he wonders if he's imagining the casual gaze on him that feels heavier than it should be, and his instinct is to test it to find out the precise weight.

"That's what most people come here for," he agrees, tilting his head towards the dancers, the groups squeezed around tables, the socializing and loud, unabashed partying of a typical Friday night in a college town. Kibum trails his finger through the circle of condensation left by his glass on the bar, drawing out the start of an equation and leaving it unfinished. "So what about you?"

"Me?" The man's eyes widen a fraction before he slides back into a relaxed grin, showing teeth. "Similar to you, I suppose. I just came in for a drink. And since we have something in common, may I ask for your name?"

"Kibum," he replies automatically, wondering about the unreasonable pounding of his heart and the man's mutable expression (natural like weather patterns, air and rain and ice). "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine. Please, call me Shiwon."

Shiwon is a perfect gentleman; he listens and speaks courteously once they relocate to a somewhat quieter booth. Kibum finds out he came to this town on business, which abruptly got cancelled, so he probably won't be around long. Kibum relays his own stories as if he's at a family gathering with relatives politely inquiring about his studies. Of course, where his relatives respond with insipid etiquette, Shiwon's smile is never without a shadow of a smirk, his words accompanied by a subtle bite.

A smart boy like Kibum would be cautious or afraid, and while he is indeed plenty wary, he is also plenty thrilled. So when Shiwon suggests (and he is ever so gracious) that they continue their fascinating talk in a more appropriate setting, Kibum kindly accepts.

* * * * *

"Would you like some water?" Shiwon offers once they reach his hotel room – in fact it's a very nice contemporary suite; one bedroom, spacious living and dining area, and medium-sized kitchen. The walls are a light cream and the furniture all in moderate tones of gray, beige, and accents of sleek black. There's a briefcase on the desk and a stack of papers and manila folder sitting on the granite countertop that Kibum rests his arms upon.

"Please," he says, gaze casually scanning the papers and reaching over them when he's handed a glass. His elbow disturbs the folder and he manages to catch it with his other hand before it slides off, though a glossy photograph does slip past and flutter to the hardwood floor.

Kibum picks it up and gives it a cursory glance. The image is slightly blurry, showing a young man of Asian descent, one of many on a crowded sidewalk. Kibum can make out a few Chinese characters on a cut-off sign in the background. It's a candid shot, but his profile is captured well, showing handsome features with a strong nose, wearing a serene expression. Kibum sticks the photo back in with the rest of the files and wonders if this person is related to Shiwon's cancelled business.

Shiwon is drumming his fingers on the counter, slow and steady, eyes also fixed on the folder before raising them wordlessly.

Kibum takes a chance and asks, "Someone important?"

A thoughtful pause follows, stretching into firm, unyielding silence until he relents and replies, "Someone I'm looking for."

His conclusions could be wrong, but Kibum follows through anyway because only the most daring of questions can lead to the most fantastic results. "I guess you were really pissed by that cancellation then."

This gets a laugh out of Shiwon, and his grin is edged, his eyes pleased. "I wasn't pissed anymore by the time I walked up to the bar, but before that I was disappointed for a while."

"I would imagine. I also bet you're good at hiding it."

"I could apply the same to you."

Kibum smiles, close-lipped and sweet. He raises his glass in a mock toast and drinks to his small victory.

"Although, I'm curious." Shiwon comes to his side of the counter and stands close, not quite making contact, but close. "An intelligent young man like yourself surely knows better than to follow strangers home."

Yes, Kibum knows better than to be lured by voices near his ear and predator grins and long legs that walk with a confident stride. It's the secret beneath the surface that draws him and he thinks it will undo him at the same time, and maybe he wants to be undone. "We've introduced ourselves and shared a drink," he points out, "so are we strangers still?"

"Hmm. I suppose we could be acquaintances."

"Then let's get acquainted." The fact that Shiwon waits for him to say so before tilting his chin and kissing him is sort of endearing, but there's nothing so refined in the way their mouths meet and mesh, all lips and tongue and biting teeth. Shiwon's hand strokes down his back, over and under his shirt in one smooth motion. When he dips below the waistband, Kibum reveals one of his own secrets in a too-long pause and hitched breath, and through his lashes he catches the quicksilver narrowing of Shiwon's eyes.

Kibum doesn't say anything stupid like, "keep going," or "it's all right," and he knew from the start he wouldn't have to – Shiwon gropes him again and Kibum shivers, surrenders, puts himself in Shiwon's hands like he knows he's not supposed to but just this once. Shiwon's breath is warm sliding across his neck, his mouth hotter.

At some point while Kibum is sprawled over the slippery, polished granite, with Shiwon fucking him and Shiwon's cologne sinking into his skin, his leftover glass falls and shatters on the opposite floor. He hears it faintly, the crash, over the sound of his racing pulse and ragged moans. Shiwon's fingers dig sharply into his hips like he'll never let go, but eventually he does, leaving bruises.

* * * * *

Kibum's Monday morning is just like every other. He grabs a coffee before his 9:20 class and has slept for maybe five hours, having stayed up late grading quizzes in the Chemistry course he's assisting. He takes diligent notes during lecture and there are no doodles in the margins, though sometimes there will be a scattering of tiny ink dots from where he taps his pen in understated frustration. Ten minutes into Economics and Pretentious-Loud-Voice slinks through the door under the professor's disapproving eye. During break, the lovely young lady leans forward in her chair to gossip with her friends and Kibum politely doesn't take notice of her red thong on display.

He's thinking about getting a snack from the vending machine since his classes are back-to-back until the afternoon, when there's suddenly cloying perfume in his face and the girl has turned around to prop her elbows on his desk. "Did you hear the news over the weekend?" Her make-up looked so much better under the colored club lights.

"No," he says, and resigns himself to being filled in on the latest campus story. Tap-tap-tap goes his pen in the upper corner of his page and he backs away unnoticeably from the pungent scent invading his personal space.

She launches into an animated tale, not about school-related rumors, but about a shooting that occurred in a bar on Saturday. "Scary, huh? No students were involved, but a friend says her roommate had just been there before it happened. It's near where we were clubbing on Friday. I don't know about you, but this week I want to go somewhere else. Oh! I heard a new place opened over in Ashton. How about it?"

Kibum says he'll think about it, because Ashton is a good hour away and he might be busy this week. She tries to cajole him into a date tomorrow evening, but he demurs on that, too. The ten minute break comes to an end at last, and he lowers his eyes to the peppered corner of his notes while thinking back to Shiwon's open-ended invitation to stop by another time. Kibum turns to a clean sheet of paper as class resumes.

* * * * *

Thursday night usually finds him in the library, seeking refuge from all of the pre-weekend partying that goes on. This night he's on the bus into town, past the strip mall, the clubs, like a kind of stupid half-assed experiment that he hasn't fully hypothesized yet. It must have been some cosmic twist of fate, meeting Shiwon last Friday (a completely unremarkable day, neither the thirteenth or a full moon or anything, not that Kibum is superstitious to begin with). The rational part of him reasons that Shiwon has to be gone by now, with no more business to attend to, but another part, the secretive part, insists otherwise. When he knocks, the door opens, and Shiwon leans an arm against the frame with a glass of fragrant wine in one hand and a casual smile on his lips.

"Welcome back."

Kibum comes over often after that, staying for hours or the whole night depending on whether he has class in the morning (and it's a relief to sleep in peaceful silence without a party going on next-door). They don't always interact; sometimes he brings his homework and commandeers the dining table for grading lab reports or typing an essay on his laptop. Shiwon is usually at his desk (which is sturdy enough to bear Kibum's weight, they've found) or outside on the balcony, talking on his cell. One time, he comes in after a call with a sharp cut to his stride and he closes the sliding door with a snap. Kibum glances up mildly from his work.

"Bad business?"

"The worst." Shiwon lowers himself onto the couch, arms flung to the sides and long legs stretched out. His hair is in disarray from the wind and he tosses a grin over his shoulder. "Family business usually is."

Kibum abandons his European History reading to sink into Shiwon's lap, knees spread to either side, and combing fingers through his hair. He doesn't ask for more because some things aren't important, and this – whatever this is – is simple enough. Shiwon's hands glide up his thighs, over his hips, and settle with ease at his waist. Kibum kisses him with leisurely indulgence, tongue swiping his mouth and tasting the faint flavor of mint gum Shiwon occasionally chews. He trails his lips across a smooth jaw, lightly brushes over an ear, fits their bodies as close as possible and presses down with his eyes falling shut.

"Kibum," Shiwon murmurs in such a way that feels tenuous and temporary, and Kibum kisses him again to dispute that. Shiwon's teeth and the shape of his inexplicable grin are argumentative.

* * * * *

He does wonder when Shiwon will leave, and Kibum isn't so oblivious as to think this will actually last, not in such terms. He also tries to define 'this' in his mind, to categorize it neatly so he can come to some conclusions, anything at all, but he's left with loose ends.

There is the way they have sex whenever the moment seems right, whether it's for passion or distraction or just a need to take and share. Shiwon can kiss him softly in bed and let it linger, or he can fuck him into the mattress with his nails raking across skin until he draws blood and comes.

There is the way Kibum wakes up one morning to a tray from room service after mentioning how he can't remember the last time he had a real breakfast, one that isn't a cup of coffee or a midnight trip to IHOP.

There is the way he can taste Shiwon's mood: mint when things are bad, cola when things are good, exquisite wine when things are really good and Kibum knows what to expect when he identifies that flavor on Shiwon's tongue.

There is the way Shiwon will talk in his sleep, just a few quiet murmurs once in a while, in languages from all over the world. He gets a very closed-off look on his face when Kibum brings it up and Shiwon rarely falls asleep around him after that.

There is the way Shiwon came here looking for someone, and will only stay as long as it takes to find someplace else to look.

Kibum finds himself drawing abstract designs in the margins of his notes and stops. He takes stock. He smiles beatifically while his classmates chatter around and at him during break and the smile hurts. Back at his room, he rubs his face and takes deep breaths and wonders why he's on the verge of panic, because this exactly what he's been asking for.

* * * * *

He sleeps solidly for at least ten hours like he always does when stressed, and early the next morning Kibum is sitting in the café with his drink to the side and last night's homework in front of him. His concentration is stop-and-go, and just when he's made some decent progress he's interrupted by a thin, pretty-faced man sliding into the chair opposite him.

"Hi. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Despite all the rest, Kibum still isn't in good enough condition to feign politeness, and he sighs deeply, shoulders sagging. "I do mind," he replies, and pointedly goes back to his work.

"Well, that's too bad for you, because I'm going to ask anyway." Kibum spares a moment to shoot him an unappreciative look. "Man, you look like shit. Late night? Partying maybe? College life is the best, but the mornings after really suck. Or maybe it was a private party, seeing how friendly you've been lately with a certain Shiwon Choi."

Kibum stops and puts his pen down. Oddly, he can only think, So that's his last name.

"Hey, listen." The man straightens from his casual slouch and leans forward, eyes wide and earnest or perhaps anticipating. "Now that we're on the same page. Look, you can trust me. I know it sounds sketchy, but I'm going to be blunt here: all I want is some information, and I'm not going to twist your arm for it or anything. Okay, maybe I'll hound you incessantly, but my intentions are good. This is important. I mean, you have your suspicions, right? What do you know?"

Know what? he thinks, but he really isn't up for an interrogation. Kibum drags his coffee over and holds it in front of him like it's a lifeline, sensing that feeling of combined stress and sleepiness creeping up on him again. "Do you mind? I'm busy."

The responding smile is wide and smug and noticeably crooked. "And I'm persistent, but you can call me Heechul."

"Even if I did know something, anything, I wouldn't tell you." Kibum grimaces as he spits out the cliché line, and decides that's his cue to pick up his things and go.

Heechul's fingers wrap around his wrist and, for such a skinny person, he has a vice-like grip, though he holds tight only for a few seconds. "Be careful, kid. You don't know the world where guys like Shiwon come from. I'll be around."

Speaking of cliché lines... Irritably, Kibum shakes him off and brushes aside his rambling words that sound like they were lifted from a rejected movie script. He musters the will to go to the hotel that night, restless as he waits in the elevator and watches the floors pass with his ascent, and he stands still when he finds the place empty.

Kibum wishes he could say he feels relieved, or even upset. He just doesn't feel much of anything.

* * * * *

At school, his game face is back on in full-force. His notes are perfect, his grades are fine, he calls his parents and apologizes for being out of touch recently (predictably, they're mildly displeased but not very hurt). During class, he tunes out Pretentious-Loud-Voice and averts his eyes from the wide stretch of bare skin revealed between the girl's jeans and t-shirt as she leans forward. She's given up on him at least, but she does turn once to ask, "This Friday, the usual?"

"Sure," he says.

Why not? There's nothing wrong with the status quo. He falls back into old habit and it's not a bad thing, meeting up with people in the evening and making their way to the clubs. They're a pack that lacks any real bite, but that's normal. Loud, pounding music and a sea of people on the dance floor, and Kibum thinks he can actually relax with a cheap drink in hand and a pretty local girl flirting with him (she smells faintly sweet and has a shy smile). Her interest wanes as he adamantly refuses to dance, but he's hardly sorry when she drifts off.

"Cute chick – no tits, but nice ass." With that opener, Heechul again invites himself over to Kibum's table.

"Stalker," he comments idly, sipping his drink. It tastes horrible, but he welcomes the chance to wash away more refined flavors from his memory.

"I'm looking out for you, brat."

Kibum's gaze slides across the crowd, unfocused. He imagines looking through a lens with everything blurry and indistinct, a whole view that's a little bit off. "I don't know where Shiwon is."

"He's around," Heechul declares with certainty, his head cocked to the side and his arms propped loosely on the back of his seat. "You really have no idea? About anything? Come on, I'm not going to believe that. What did you ever notice? I'm not asking for government secrets here, just small stuff like, I don't know, habits?"

"Stalker," Kibum restates firmly, while his mind is more than happy (damn it) to bring up Shiwon's favorite wine, his favorite type of chewing gum, his expensive cologne, his preferred sleeping position. How he's the slightest bit ticklish and how he kisses the back of Kibum's neck in the bath and gives amazing massages.

Heechul bulldozes straight on through. "I don't have all the time in the world, you know, because he's definitely going to leave sometime and don't tell me you're okay with that."

"I'm getting kind of tired. I think I'm done for tonight." And it's true, because Kibum really doesn't want to think about these things, but if he keeps resetting then he'll be fine again in the morning. Of course, Heechul has more than enough gall to follow him out. Kibum has never met anyone more shameless. He throws an arm around Kibum's shoulders and acts like they're good buddies, refusing to be dislodged even when they get to the dorm.

"What do you think you're going to do?" Kibum asks while elbowing him, but no amount of jostling seems to have a great effect. "Camp outside my door? You'll get kicked out."

"Nah," Heechul drawls from behind as they reach the elevator, and locks his arm tightly around Kibum's neck once the doors close. "I told you, I don't have a lot of time. Don't make this any more difficult, 'kay?" He presses the button for the top floor.

Kibum has to admit he's kicking himself hard. He didn't think Heechul was any more dangerous than an annoying, yapping dog, but there's suddenly a very real, very dangerous gun held casually in his free hand. From the top floor they go up a flight of stairs to the roof, barely lit and blustery, and after a quick check of their surroundings Heechul lets him go. He crinkles his nose and waves the firearm with distaste.

"I really hate being a brute like this, but – just so you know – this is serious business." He kicks the door shut and keeps the barrel pointed. "So, let's talk."

"You're not going to shoot me," Kibum says, more calm than he would have imagined being in such a situation. "You're not stupid."

Heechul considers this for a moment and nods. "Yeah, no. That wouldn't work out so well. I could throw you off the side, though, make it look like an accident. Drunk college kids do dumb shit all the time, and you're really not the nicely-put-together guy you make yourself out to be."

"More bluffing."

"Afraid not. You poor bastard, you have no fucking clue what you've gotten into. But look, I seriously don't want to deal with that kind of mess, so help me out, and everybody goes home happy."

Kibum's options, as far as he can tell, are simple. He could lie through his teeth. He could refuse and possibly get splattered (or not, if Heechul is still lying). Or he could tell the truth, which isn't much, but he didn't spend his time with Shiwon being blind and deaf.

Turns out, he doesn't get the chance to make a decision.

"Well, then. If you want to see me that badly, here I am."

Shiwon closes the door behind him and, ever the gentleman, he makes a slight bow in their direction. Heechul's grin is delighted and manic, the expression alone making Kibum back away when he had stood firm in face of the threats.

"What the hell, your timing is off! You can't have dramatic rescues too early, you're supposed to wait until the very last second while I dangle him over the ledge or something."

"I was a bit confused," Shiwon admits with a shrug, and he looks dramatic enough in a suit with the wind whipping around him. He walks a few paces as if uncoiling for a fight, fluid and controlled, and Kibum feels like this is all too surreal. "I was expecting to run into your partner on the way up. Or do you work alone?"

Heechul laughs like he's having the best time in the world, spinning his gun in one hand. "Funny you should mention that. You know, I did have a partner. Ask your relatives, they'll know us, especially the little fanged fucker who tore into Jay."

"Unfortunately, I tend to be out of the loop when it comes to my family, but my condolences for your loss. You really should get a new one though, for safety's sake."

"Aww, thanks, but I don't need another partner to do my job. Does this mean you'll give me a handicap though?"

Shiwon appears to consider, but shakes his head. Heechul throws his hands up. "Thought not." He aims and fires.

Two shots. One, two. They're rapid misses – Kibum thinks, he's pretty sure, everything has been hard to follow. One minute there's only talk, and then noise, scrambling, and Heechul shouting inelegantly. It's not like a movie, not so crisp and choreographed and the audio sucks. Kibum's ears are ringing and he doesn't know whether to move or stand still, whichever is safer in this out-of-place scene. A hand pushes him, it could have been either of them, it's a frantic 'get out of the way, go, go' gesture, but he's not very good at obeying. Where's the door again?

Third shot, another loud explosion that will draw attention soon, or never, since the world seems to be slowing down and Kibum's breath is knocked out of him. His legs falter and he drops, knees hitting the rooftop, he sways and then he's down. He thinks this is all very fascinating but he really should be going now—

There's already a lot of blood.

"Shit. Oh, shit."

Kibum watches everything go in and out of focus. In a sudden instant, Shiwon has Heechul shoved against the iron railing, the gun falling from his hold to tumble seven stories down. Heechul twists and lashes out, snarling, he reaches and a knife appears in his hand while a cell phone clatters on the rooftop and skids off the edge. At that point, Kibum closes his eyes and can't pay attention to anything except trying to breathe when it seems like all the air is gone.

He opens them again (with so much effort) when he's aware of fingers pressing against his neck, feeling his pulse. Heechul isn't within sight, but there's blood on Shiwon's other hand, dripping from what must be a knife wound. Shiwon looks remarkably unconcerned and unapologetic, tilting Kibum's head to the side and replacing his mouth where his fingers were at the carotid artery. In a moment's hesitation he might have moved his lips in a few soundless words, printed invisibly on skin, sealing them with a bite. The truth is, Kibum hardly feels it, and Shiwon just seems to have that affect on him – either it's too much or nothing at all, never a healthy medium. He thought Shiwon could balance him out, but in the end he's pushed over the edge.

The last thing Kibum is conscious of is Shiwon's hand over his mouth and Shiwon's blood on his tongue, the taste of it heady and potent and overwhelming the rest of his failing senses. He really did get in over his head this time, and now there's nothing to do but drown.

* * * * *

Kibum wakes up slowly, all the pieces of memory floating and mixed up until he can fit them together into a coherent picture. He draws in a deep, even breath that seems like the first he's had in a while, maybe the first ever, and raises the lids of his eyes. He's in an unfamiliar room, a shaft of light streaking across the bed where the window shade isn't fully closed, and there's an unfamiliar boy sitting across from him. Kibum blinks, acclimates himself, and gingerly sits up. His hand goes to his chest and meets a thin cotton t-shirt, but beneath that his fingers can detect the undeniable ridges of a scar. Swallowing, his hand travels up to his neck, but there he finds no trace of a wound.

His hand drops into his lap and he hesitantly turns to the stranger. "Where's Shiwon?" Because he can smell him – and not the musk of his cologne, though there's that too – no, Kibum rubs his nose and is absolutely positive that particular, underlying scent is Shiwon. Just like there's a distinct scent attached to the boy whose name he has rudely forgotten to ask. "Er, and who are you?" Clearly, his manners have gotten rusty while he was...out of it for however many days. His head begins to swim.

"Shiwon's in the bathroom helping Sungmin dye his hair black again because he has a job interview tomorrow, which is a shame because at his previous job he was a bartender and he'd make us free drinks all the time. But at least his hair won't be pink anymore because that was just terrifying and I hate pink. Oh, and I'm Donghae. I live here too."

Kibum stares while he processes that and manages a faint, "Nice to meet you." He starts to slump backwards, dizzy, and Donghae raises a glass to his lips.

"Sorry, I forgot— Here, you'll feel better after you drink."

The chilled liquid goes fast down his throat and trickles a little down his chin, but all of a sudden the lightheadedness is replaced with the comprehension that he's starving. On the heels of that thought is the realization that he's gulping down blood. Kibum coughs and sputters a little, pushing the cup away, but Donghae presses it back.

"You need this, unless you want to pass out. Swallow first, rearrange your morals later."

As much as he doesn't want to, Kibum finds himself drinking it down greedily and taking the glass into his own hands. He licks his lips afterwards and wipes his thumb across his chin, feeling embarrassingly satiated.

"Better?" Donghae asks, and grins when Kibum nods. "Great! Don't worry, it's always like that at first. We keep the fridge stocked, so feel free to raid it whenever."

There's a cracking, shattering sound as the cup breaks in Kibum's hand. Luckily it's made of plastic. "Um."

"You'll get used to it," Donghae assures him, collecting the pieces and setting them aside. "Why do you think I gave you a plastic cup? Happened to me with glass." He flexes his hand like it's nothing.

Kibum's shoulders sag again and suddenly he's very sleepy, but that's just his own anxiety tic, not because of the... The changes. He struggles to remain focused and ask the questions that are starting to flood his brain, but as soon as he opens his mouth he stutters and can't string together a coherent sentence. The mattress dips as Donghae climbs onto it and pulls him into a tight hug. The other boy doesn't speak or make silly, comforting noises, just holds him and doesn't say anything about his shirt getting cried on.

* * * * *

Since the bathroom is occupied, Kibum ventures out into the kitchen to wash his face. It's a nice two-bedroom apartment, not as refined as the suite, but it's large and fairly clean (showing signs of all-male residents, but he's seen worse at college). While at the sink, he determinedly doesn't think about the contents of the refrigerator, though he can also pick out a variety of ordinary foods and ingredients by their smell. Come to think of it, Shiwon always eats normally. He chews gum, for crying out loud, how mundane can one get?

Kibum is drying his face with a towel and feeling significantly better – or at least less likely to hyperventilate – when the bathroom door opens. He wrinkles his nose at the stinging, acrid scent of hair dye. The first to emerge is another boy, his hair damp and black as a raven's wing. His expression is neutral until he notices Kibum, and all of a sudden he brightens, like someone turned a switch.

"You're awake! How are you feeling? Hungry?" He heads towards the kitchen and Kibum hastily shakes his head.

"No, I— Uh, I already—"

"Oh, good, Donghae remembered." To Kibum's relief, all he pulls from the fridge is an innocent juice box (strawberry-kiwi flavored).

"It's hard to forget!" Donghae shouts from the other room.

"Anyway, I'm Sungmin. Please, make yourself at home." With another sweet smile he takes his leave, stepping around Shiwon to get down the hall.

The sight of Shiwon standing there, jarringly casual in a t-shirt and jeans, makes Kibum shift awkwardly and he tries not to rub his neck. He laces his fingers together in front of him and shrugs slightly. "Good morning."

A tiny smile flickers to life on Shiwon's mouth. "It's afternoon. You slept straight through for three days. Longer than normal."

"Oh. Um." He coughs lightly and might be blushing. "I think that's just me."

Shiwon tilts his head, still wearing that sort-of, almost-shy smile. "Come sit down."

Kibum goes quietly to the couch, but instead of sitting down with him Shiwon stands behind, his hands settling comfortable and familiar and achingly good on Kibum's shoulders. A soft whimper escapes him when Shiwon's thumbs rub circles over the back of his neck, and Kibum decides then and there that he can forgive at least one vampire bite so long as Shiwon doesn't stop melting him from the inside out.

"So how do you feel?"

Good. "Nnh... Coping. Where are we?"

"My place." He leans forward and says with more emphasis, "My city. Some people call it ."

Kibum doesn't place the name, but it could be the name of anywhere. "I see." He sighs and dredges up the courage to ask, "Back at home...?"

"You're a missing person, but you can go back, if you want." For Shiwon's part, he doesn't pause with his ministrations and lets that sink in.

Kibum thinks of home, of school, and his mother's dispassionate, unconcerned voice over the phone. He thinks of his younger brother and sister whom he hasn't seen in months. He thinks that indulging his inner rebellious youth is a stupid idea, an idea that literally got him killed, and he knows, logically, that the dead can't just go back and go to school and keep parents satisfied. He thinks of the cup of blood he so quickly downed, and Donghae's hug that kept saying 'I know, I know,' and Shiwon's hands pleasantly warm and intimate, waiting, on his skin.

Kibum tips his head back, staring up at Shiwon. "Do you want me to stay?"

Shiwon offers a skewed, upside-down grin. "Do you know how many miles I had to travel with your dead body?"

He doesn't know, but he could always look it up later. His sense of humor must have been warped along with a few other things because he finds himself grinning, too. "Well, if you have room for me..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Shiwon chastises softly, trailing a finger down the side of Kibum's face and neck, lingering over the steady beat of his pulse. Kibum lets his eyes drift shut and he breathes in Shiwon's distinct scent.

Then:

"Donghae, what are you doing in my closet?"

"Too much pink attracts the aliens! You'll be the death of us all!"

Kibum's eyes fly open and Shiwon tells him hurriedly, "It's too late, you can't change your mind. Welcome to the family."

And Kibum throws his head back to laugh.

end

Sapphy: This... This sucked some of the life out of me, I think. I would have given up and curled into a fetal position to weep if not for Sy's help. As is, I stayed up way too late so I could rush it to fuminshou_neko for editing and got sick. x_x Blah.

But in any case, I doubt this is what most people were expecting. :D; I have to admit, Shiwon/Kibum started out as a guilty pleasure pairing (so, so guilty – for some reason, all I ever want from them is dirty smut), but by the end I was shamelessly sold to the potential cute. Their relationship wasn't supposed to be quite like this, but things just happened. And now you know what went down on Heechul's last mission. Surprise!

In addition, there is now a reference post for your convenience. The Story Archive contains a list of all the installments in the order in which they are written (sadly small for now, but it will grow).

Fun fact: Pretentious-Loud-Voice and Skanky Girl are based off real people, be thankful you don't know them. Fear us writers, for we are mighty and capable of immortalizing your worst qualities in fiction.

o2. Double Duke

Sat, 24 Nov 2007 07:41:43 GMT

Title: Double Duke
Character(s): Kangin, Leeteuk
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Can't have vampires without vampire hunters.
Notes: Credit where credit is due – the KangTeuk storyline wouldn't exist to this extent if not for Sy. She helps contribute to the entirety of Cityverse, but especially where KangTeuk is concerned.
Shout-outs: fuminshou_neko for being a wonderful beta, and meiface for being a wonderful fangirl. ♥

double duke:
cheating in poker by stacking the deck with two hands, a strong one for another player and an even stronger one for the mechanic (the person cheating) to ensure greater payoff.

Kangin wakes up in the morning cursing the cold first, and the light second. He rolls over and buries deeper into the scratchy blankets in an effort to escape both, but it's not much use because his mind is already going through its routine checklist. There used to be a time when he could sleep like the dead until noon, but that was years ago. These days, it seems he hardly sleeps at all.

Number one on his mental checklist is to review his surroundings. The cold, the rough sheets, stiff mattress, and more-or-less non-threatening atmosphere are the same as when he crashed sometime around two last night. Typical crappy motel fare, made worse by the utter lack of heat in the beginning of December. Though he'll concede that it's a step above camping out in the mountains with non-stop rain. That had not been a good hunt, particularly since Leeteuk had endured it with all the bitching and wet indignity of anyone completely unsuitable for intense hiking. They'd laughed about it afterwards. Some memories are like that, made better with time.

That leads him to number two on the list: the whereabouts of his partner. One of the reasons Kangin is in danger of freezing is because the residue warmth next to him is cooling due to lack of a source. Turning his head, he cracks his eyes open. Leeteuk hasn't moved far.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, the dark, slender shape of him and his rumpled pajamas outlined by the soft light filtering through flimsy curtains. His back curves gently and his head is bowed, hair mussed from the pillow. He turns very slightly in acknowledgement when he hears Kangin sit up, and he remains relaxed and slouched when Kangin presses against his back to peer over his shoulder.

In Leeteuk's hands is an open notebook containing scrawled names and numbers, addresses and dates (in the upper corner is a game of tic-tac-toe that Kangin remembers losing). At the bottom is a list of places, half of which are crossed out. One of them is where they'll be by tomorrow. With his finger, Leeteuk touches upon each name, going over all of them twice before stopping at one. He taps it decisively. It's the same city Kangin has considered as the one, for no concrete reason he can think of except for a feeling in his gut.

"You think he's there?" Kangin asks curiously – Leeteuk's intuition has never been as keen as his.

The other man shrugs, a brief lift of thin shoulders that Kangin knows are stronger than they look (all of Leeteuk looks so small sometimes, and more than ever nowadays). He tilts his face so they're cheek-to-cheek, and smiles. "It's as good as any of the others, isn't it?"

The response is better than Kangin was expecting, and Leeteuk's eyes are clear and aware today. As always, he hopes the normalcy will last a little longer this time, and he's fool enough to hope that, one day, it will last for good.

* * * * *

The contrast between the frigid air beyond the steamy bathroom makes his skin break out in goosebumps as soon as he crosses the threshold. Luckily, there's a cup of coffee ready and he yanks some clothes on while Leeteuk regards him calmly from where he sits with his own mug, pouring packets of sugar into it. Kangin cuts him off after three (or four, if Leeteuk has snuck another under his radar). Upon tasting the coffee, however, he grudgingly procures one of the packets for himself. Leeteuk's smile has a sliver of a smirk to it as he stirs his drink. Sometimes he's more talkative in the mornings, but this is still normal enough. And Kangin has gotten used to long lapses of silence, just as he's gotten used to sharing a bed (and nightmares).

He's packing their things – not that there's a whole lot they brought with them – while Leeteuk shuffles a worn deck of cards. "Don't lose any of those," Kangin warns absently, and receives a Look that translates to, 'Please, I'm a professional.' The cards cascade elegantly in his hands and Kangin grins, shaking his head a little as he recalls just how long it took for his friend to master that.

Luck has never been especially kind to Leeteuk, but on a good day he's a decent card sharp and can pull in some extra cash. On rare occasions, he can even smooth-talk his way out of any situation as if nothing has changed. As for Kangin, he's better at pool hustling when the need arises. It's not like vampire hunting is a well-paying job, and he should know; his family's done it for generations. Sometimes he hates that fact, when Leeteuk is more out of it than usual, because if not for this family profession, they'd both be working normal nine to five hours and earning a regular salary. It would be boring, sure, but safe; neither of them would lose sleep over memories that plague them throughout their shooting-star careers (he's certain they'll just burn out in the end if they haven't already).

The shrill sound of his cell phone going off breaks the quiet. He left it in the pocket of his jeans from yesterday and has to dig them out to retrieve the phone. Flipping it open, Kangin frowns at the unknown number but answers it just in time before it switches to voicemail. He's greeted with a familiar voice berating him, "It's about fucking time, you jerk."

Both his brows shoot up in surprise as he identifies the caller, a hunter from another guild, then his expression changes to a scowl. "Fuck you, Heechul. What do you want?" He glances over at Leeteuk, but his partner doesn't seem to care about the sudden call from their friend-slash-business acquaintance. Instead, he's engrossed in building a house of cards.

"That's a fine way to talk to someone with info you might want," Heechul huffs on the other end.

That gives Kangin pause. Sharing information and pooling their resources despite being in what can be considered rival guilds – they've done it before, but not for a while. They haven't communicated at all in months, according to some mutual, unspoken agreement. "Okay then," he says neutrally, leaning on the dresser while keeping an eye on Leeteuk. "What have you got?"

"You're going to           , right?"

"We're still considering the options..." His eyes narrow, because while it's not beyond reason for Heechul to find out the basics of their mission, they'd only just decided on the destination that morning.

"Oh, don't try to lie to me. You're heading there, or you don't deserve to do your job. Anyway, I hear some interesting things about the City. And that's the first thing. When you get there, don't call it by name. It's just 'the City', got that?"

"Noted," Kangin drawls, picking up the notebook with the list and staring at it. Nothing jumps out about the name; its etymology is commonplace and if there's a puzzle to it, Kangin can't decipher it after pouring over the whole list all night.

"Secondly, your guy has been moving from place to place picking up victims to drain en masse, correct? He chose a nice, out-of-the-way town this time. For a fairly large city, it's boring as all hell. But from what we can gather, the oh-so-mysterious Council of blood-suckers is none too pleased with this moron."

"So, what, you think we should just grab some popcorn, kick back and enjoy the fucking show? Maybe they'll do our job for us?"

"Smartass, shut up and let me finish. Besides, if it was that easy, we'd all be out of jobs by now. Look, they want to rein him in, but they're not really in control of that area. Guess who frequents the place."

Kangin doesn't think he's had enough coffee, even gross motel coffee, to deal with Heechul in the morning. "Who?"

"Shiwon Choi." And Kangin can hear the shit-eating smirk on Heechul's face while he says it.

He's impressed in spite of himself, though part of him is still skeptical (the idea that Heechul's guild has such superior Intel is irksome). "He's been all over the map recently, I hear."

"But he returns to the City often, he practically owns it. Another thing: He's been making a few illegal vamps."

"That's not news. The Council probably wants to rein him in too, but his family is too old, too influential. So basically, you're saying this place is a wild card." He checks up on Leeteuk, whose delicate house has toppled and flattened on the table. He isn't very broken up about it, gathering the cards again and squaring the deck.

"Could be. Or could not. Hell, maybe you'll be in and out before breakfast tomorrow. Just giving you a head's up."

How unnaturally kind of him. "Did you hit your head on your last mission or something?" Kangin demands, because all this info is more like gossip than anything useful, and even Heechul isn't enough of a floozy to call out of the blue for that. Not after half a year of purposeful ignoring.

"Oh, my last run was something special all right, but it's a long story. Let's save it for a rainy day." This brings Kangin back to the head trauma theory, because Heechul doesn't usually need a rainy day excuse to boast or bitch at length. "I did lose my cell though, and it took forever to find your number again. So instead of being a barbaric ingrate, you can say 'thank you, Heechul, for your kind consideration, I'm sorry for being such an ass'."

"Get bent," he replies, and has to admit he kind of enjoys falling back into this routine. They've always been each other's favorite insult targets.

"...'Get bent'? That's the best you could come up with? God, I didn't think it was possible for you to become more uncivilized."

Kangin rolls his eyes. "Are you done yet? We need to be on the road if we're going to get there at a decent hour."

"What, you can't multi-task? Fine. And unless it's a tragic inconvenience for your majesty, keep me posted – the grapevine isn't all-knowing, contrary to popular belief. Tell Jungsu I said 'hi', and don't get your fool selves killed."

Leeteuk looks up from a game of solitaire as Kangin ends the call. "Heechul says 'hi', and he's still a pain in the ass." He fills his partner in on the details, though he doesn't count on them being remembered. Leeteuk doesn't seem as attentive as he was upon waking, but at the end he folds his arms on the table, thoughtful.

"Something's weird," Kangin muses aloud, replaying the conversation in his head. "For whatever reason, he wants to know about something going on in      —the City, and he baited us so we'd look into it more. I'm guessing it has to do with Shiwon."

Leeteuk doesn't contribute, staring down at the array of playing cards spread out in his game. He moves a black deuce onto a red three, and uncovers an ace, which he then places in the top row. "Remember playing poker with Heechul?" he comments finally, picking up another card and straightening its bent corner.

"He'd always cheat," Kangin recalls with a snort. Well, they had no room to talk, but Leeteuk smiles, pleased.

"He would stack the deck."

* * * * *

Kangin used to have a really sweet car. She had been his father's, and had gone through more hunts than— Well, she had seen a lot of hunts. She'd been sleek, dark, and sexy, the envy of every man for two generations. Kangin had loved that car like family.

He prefers not to dwell on her untimely end – even now, sometimes Leeteuk will just turn to him at random and apologize soulfully despite the fact it hadn't actually been his fault (unless one counts being in the driver's seat at the time, and with Leeteuk's motor vehicle curse that's not totally unfeasible). Suffice to say, his current car is a disappointment. No, an embarrassment. He loathes the 1992 Ford Taurus with an undisguised passion. Maneuvering through twisty mountain roads is like steering a boat through a sea of glaciers, and he mutters curses all the way up the first steep slope. Leeteuk gives him a look of profound sorrow, but Kangin cuts him off.

"Not one word." These days, for any other reason he'd give years of his life to hear Leeteuk talk his ear off like he used to, but not if he's going to apologize. Kangin is sick of hearing him apologize, whether it's for the car (wasn't even his fault, Christ) or for the people in his nightmares (also not his fault, but it's too late to convince him of that now).

Leeteuk blinks at him (somewhat sadly, damnit) and goes back to leaning against the window even though the mountain road makes the whole car rumble. He still has the pack of cards in his hands, turning it around absentmindedly and tapping it on his thigh.

"Hey," Kangin starts roughly, and Leeteuk reacts by raising his head. "Call up Shindong. And put him on speaker." Because he can too multi-task.

The phone rings once, twice, three times before being picked up. The voice on the other end says cheerfully, "Thank you for calling Skylar's Home Security, how may we help you?"

In the space of half a second Kangin explodes, "What the fuck?" while Leeteuk collapses into his seat and laughs. There's also a snort of amusement from the speaker. Kangin grips the steering wheel tightly and tries to not drive off the side of the cliff while repeating snidely, "'Home Security'? What is that, a cover for wrong numbers?"

"No, you moron, it's a joke. I knew it was you. So what do you want, Skylar is a busy place. Security system installations by day, vampire hunting by night, ensuring safety for humankind 24/7. Our founder would be proud."

Kangin groans and resists the urge to beat his head against the wheel. "Right. Anyway. I just want to request some information that may or may not be related to our current mission."

"We're here to help, customer satisfaction guaranteed."

"God, cut that out. I have three questions. One, I'd like to know whatever there is about the city of           . Two, what's the latest news on Shiwon Choi. ...And three, what went down during the last mission Heechul Kim was involved in."

"Kangin." Shindong drops all pretense, finally sounding like a guild leader. "You know there are steps to get to other hunters' mission reports, and those only extend to our own. We don't have access to anything from Miranda."

"Oh yeah? They seem to have access to ours. Not official access, I'm sure, but come on, everybody hears things." The fact that he's asking for gossip leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but an eye for an eye, a classified mission for a classified mission.

"Maybe that kind of conduct is okay in Miranda, but in this guild—"

"I know, all right, and I respect that. Believe me, or at least believe my family line. I just want, for now, to forget guild distinction and talk about the general hunter community."

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says reluctantly, quieter. "I mean, our fathers were partners. So, as your superior, I can't do anything that would question Skylar's morals and code of conduct."

Kangin tenses, and if he was physically there he'd be in Shindong's face and probably grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

"...But as your friend, that's a different story. When are you getting in?"

"At this rate..." Kangin checks the clock, relaxing marginally with his victory. Leeteuk is still curled in his seat and smiling faintly. "Three or four hours."

"Then I'll give you a call around seven, your time, with whatever I can dig up. Is that cool?"

"Perfect. Thanks for this, Donghee."

"Youngwoon Kim, just know that if shit comes down on me as a result of whatever you're doing, I will personally roast your ass over the fires of hell. Drive safe, now."

For the second time today, Kangin is met with the dial tone before he can get in his last word. Leeteuk helpfully hits the button and turns the speaker off. "I don't know how you could do that all the time," he tells the quiet, older man. "This whole talking people around thing – nobody would snipe at you at end! This shit is exhausting and I don't have the patience for it."

"I could drive for a while," Leeteuk offers, eyes twinkling...innocently, he wants to say, because the other option (probably the truth) is unnerving.

But Kangin laughs it off (he's gotten so accustomed to the change), gesturing broadly with one hand to the winding path and signs warning about falling rocks. "Jungsu, even if these guardrails were made of concrete two feet thick, I'd still hesitate to hand you the wheel. I'll be fine."

Leeteuk shrugs as if to say, 'suit yourself'. He has the cards fanned out in his hands again, shuffling them together like a nervous habit. "Do you think Heechul has gotten in trouble?"

"More than usual?"

"Do you think we'll get in trouble?"

"...More than usual?"

Leeteuk's smile is wide and wild. He holds the deck in one hand, thumb at the bottom end and fingers on top, and presses the button for the power window. Before Kangin can stop him, the cards take flight out into the cold, winter air.

end

Sapphy: Not a whole lot happens here - it's more like a prologue since their storyline is rather plotty and convoluted, which I'm not going to tackle all in one go. For the sake of my sanity. Speaking of sanity, I'm sorry Leeteuk's is pretty damaged. Sy, the ~~hack-in-training~~ Psychology Major, says he has Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She can also attest to the Ford Taurus being like a boat and deserving of contempt.

Trivia time! Guess what year, make, and model Kangin's beloved first car was. It may seem like a shot in the dark, but if you draw the right parallels it should be easy. Hint: winner gets a prize of internet peanut M&M's.

By the way, in the previous story, the movie quote was from Kamikaze Girls, and Sungmin totally plans on forcing Kyuhyun to watch it. XD

Thanks for reading~

o1. A Song for Waking

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 22:03:40 GMT

Title: A Song for Waking
Character(s): Kyuhyun, Sungmin
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 6000
Summary: The City lies in restless slumber, in exhaustion and defeat. Its streets are scarred and winding, lonely roads that lead to nowhere, around buildings that glitter and crumble in the same instant. The City has a name, but it's not worth remembering. The City sleeps, but on some nights...it wakes up.
Notes: AU, first in a series. Pairings will eventually be various. Huge thanks to fuminshou_neko for betaing. ♥

Kyuhyun has only lived here for a couple of weeks, spending most of that time going to class, working a crummy job at Wal-Mart, and doing homework in the evenings. He has a miniscule apartment off-campus which doesn't really do wonders for his social life, but it sure does help along his 'starving artist' image. He figures the pissy couple upstairs and the single mom with three kids next door are a fair enough trade for the frat parties and other drunken revelry of college life.

In any case, it's the first time he's walked the streets in the dead of night and nothing looks familiar in the dark, so one or two or several wrong turns later he's hopelessly lost. His watch tells him it's a little past two and his eight A.M. music theory class is not going to be a happy place, if he ever manages to find his way back. The last bus ran an hour ago, and Kyuhyun kicks himself for being stingy. A little bit of bus fare couldn't have hurt; he isn't working extra hours so he can sleep outside on a bench.

He can't tell if he's wandering into a more desolate part of town or if it's just the late hour that explains the empty sidewalks. Granted, he doesn't live in the most happening area (he's never even laid eyes on the ritzy districts), but his are the only footsteps shuffling along the uneven pavement. Cities should be louder than this, full of obnoxious noises and an abundance of people, he'd prepared himself for all of that when he left his aunt's house in the suburbs to go to school here.

Kyuhyun wets his lips in the dry, autumn air, and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. It's still warm this early in the season and for a moment he can recall summer nights on his back porch, watching fireflies fade in and out while his mother bids him goodnight, leaving the light on until he decides to go inside. He thinks of his room and sitting at his desk with the window open, listening to the cicadas while worrying a pen between his teeth and staring down at a blank sheet of notebook paper. He would doodle in the margins as it got late, then wake up the next morning with his face flat on the desk and his pen on the floor, his head full of music without words.

The day when his music turned into a symphony of screeching tires and shatterglass was when the words finally came. They'd been scrawled on a folded piece of paper and kept inside his breast pocket during the funeral, but they weren't released into song until he'd arrived here. In the middle of unpacking, he started the first verse and finished the chorus before he sat down on the floor of his bare apartment and wept.

The song would sneak into other moments, sometimes just the tune he'd hum while stacking shelves or making dinner, and sometimes he would even smile. He smiles now, and the first syllable is deep and smooth and perfect, swallowed up by the dim streets as it's meant to be. Kyuhyun takes care not to sing too loudly, not because he might disturb the neighborhood but because these words are not meant for others. His song keeps him company until it comes to a whispering end.

He's left standing at a corner and a car passes by, startlingly mundane, as if nothing had been allowed to move until this point. Across the street, a dog barks and whines, slinking its way into an alley. Kyuhyun looks over his shoulder down the block he'd just walked but finds nothing abnormal about it. He's scrutinizing the street sign next, trying to evoke some familiarity out of it, when a voice makes him jump.

"Are you lost?"

There's a boy sitting on the steps in front of a building and Kyuhyun can't help but stare because he hadn't been there a moment ago. He's impossible to miss, dressed in a bright pink hoodie and equally pink Converse sneakers peeking out from dark jeans. His arms are folded over his knees and he's leaning forward slightly, head tilted in curiosity that matches his innocuously-posed question.

"I— Yeah, I am." Kyuhyun finds himself grinning sheepishly despite the strangeness, quelling the odd feeling in his stomach until the boy offers a sweet smile that unnerves him all over again.

"I know the City very well, maybe I can help."

The City, Kyuhyun feels the words leave an imprint, because the city is rather big, and he sounds rather sure. "That would be great," he says and feels awkward, stumbling over his address but is relieved when the boy nods.

"That's not far. Go down that road for about two blocks and take a left at the intersection. That will put you on Arcadia Avenue, near the university, and you'll probably be fine from there. Are you a student?"

"First year," he answers, cheered with the prospect of getting home, though he proves to still be conversationally inept. "I just moved here. Um, obviously. Sorry. I really need to be going, but thanks for your help, you're a life-saver."

The boy laughs, unreasonably delighted, but the sound is pure and pleasing - musical, Kyuhyun thinks, and warms to the peculiar stranger with that connection. He waves goodbye, and on the way home he's restless with what he suspects is an unsung song, taking it with him into his dreams.

* * * * *

The sun starts to emerge from behind gray clouds for the first time all day as Kyuhyun stands at the crosswalk, waiting for what must be the longest light in the world to turn. He's slightly damp from being caught in the drizzling weather, clutching his bag and thinking of the disappointing grade he received on his Chemistry exam and the even more disappointing meeting with his professor. He has an appointment scheduled on Saturday with a classmate tutor, and it's good thing he had no social life to speak of before because he certainly lacks one now.

The signal changes at last when he hears, "I take it you found your way back the other night."

Kyuhyun stands still while everyone around him surges to cross the street. He doesn't notice them. The boy is wearing pink again, a gentler shade of shirt that drapes unbuttoned over a white tank. A heart-shaped pendant hangs from a chain around his neck and sunlight glints off of more silver at his ears, partially curtained by dark, feathery hair. Soft-looking lips curve into a charming smile, hinting at neat, pearly teeth.

"Thanks to you," Kyuhyun says, glancing at the crosswalk, but doesn't move.

The boy breathes a sigh of relief, eyes closing for a moment and his tone is light and teasing. "I’m glad. I wondered if I should have walked with you. It's not the worst neighborhood, but I'd have felt awful if something had happened." He cracks one eye open and feigns indignation. "What's that grin for? You think I'm a wimp, don't you?"

"No," Kyuhyun answers honestly, going by his gut feeling rather than the pretty, pink exterior – though that was the reason behind his evident amusement. "Looks can deceive."

"They sure can." He nods wisely, a hand on his chin, and leans forward a tiny bit. "I'm Sungmin, by the way."

"Kyuhyun," he says hurriedly, embarrassed by the late introduction. "Are you also a student?"

Sungmin shakes his head. "Nope, but I have friends at Arcadia and I live nearby. Are you hungry? A new bubble tea shop has opened up and I can attest that it's marvelous."

It turns out that Sungmin's ringing endorsement of the restaurant is half due to the fact he works there a few days a week, and half due to genuine enthusiasm for the drink. More importantly, he can get Kyuhyun a discount. He's not technically allowed to, but a one-hit-kill smile is all it takes to convince his co-worker, a cute young high school girl who is easily flattered.

"She's going to get fired once the manager finds out just how often she lets the good-looking male customers pay down," Sungmin whispers once she's out of earshot. Kyuhyun merely raises a brow and the boy winks. "I'm too cute to fire."

He snorts and reaches out to pinch Sungmin's cheek, the skin baby-soft between his fingers. "I bet you're a hit with little old ladies."

Batting the hand away and rubbing the abused side of his face, Sungmin pouts. "Maybe if I wanted an endless supply of candy and stories about "the good old days". No thanks. Instead of accumulating second-hand old-person smell, I'd rather bask in the attention of sexy, mature women. Now they adore me." He leers a little and Kyuhyun nearly chokes on his laughter.

* * * * *

It's as though they've known each other for years. Sungmin is magical, that's the only excuse Kyuhyun can find to explain the awe and contentment he feels. He opens like a book to him, rambling long into the night about himself, his hopeful dreams and his mundane classes. Nothing is inconsequential, and Kyuhyun hordes details about Sungmin in return. The boy can say very little, but he'll drop gems of facts so precisely polished that they can't be unintentional.

"How old do you think I am?"

Kyuhyun glances nervously. He tends to assume they're around the same age, but the fact that Sungmin is asking makes him doubt. "Older than you look, clearly."

His teeth flash in a grin. "I'm twenty-one."

"...Man, I thought you were going to shock me. I'm disappointed now."

Sometimes Sungmin laughs in a way that makes Kyuhyun think he's missing the joke, but as soon as he starts to feel bad there's an arm flung around his shoulders and he's being dragged to the nearest ice cream shop.

Sungmin doesn't mention his family much, but he's currently living with some friends in a large apartment and he used to be a student at Arcadia. "It got boring," is his reason for dropping out, which is ridiculous to Kyuhyun until he realizes how deep Sungmin's apathy sometimes runs. Sungmin loves trendy things, changing things, it's why he's into bubble tea and why Kyuhyun's place is accumulating a pile of the most popular magazines, but fads never stick and when they're gone, they're gone.

Kyuhyun thinks that maybe he's one of those trends and trips over himself trying to stay ahead of the game. Even in small gestures, like discreetly adding a box of pink-sprinkled sugar cookies to the groceries while they're out (Kyuhyun has gathered that the color pink is a constant, not a trend), since Sungmin has taken it upon himself to make sure Kyuhyun eats right, though he acts like a frugal housewife in the process.

"You spoil me," Sungmin accuses while nibbling on a cookie, lying on his stomach on the floor with a fashion magazine spread in front of him and his feet in the air. He's wearing socks with fuchsia and electric blue stripes.

Sitting hunched over his homework, Kyuhyun tries his hardest to concentrate and not respond with more than a vague sound of consent. He fails. From the corner of his eye he watches Sungmin lick crumbs from each pad of his fingers.

* * * * *

Kyuhyun has to admit he's being a little obsessive when he finds himself mumbling around the grooved bite marks of his pen, "I wonder if I should rearrange the furniture." A second later he realizes he just spoke out loud when he's supposed to be studying with his Chemistry tutor, and he's appropriately appalled by his own rudeness.

There's a long, embarrassing silence from his classmate, who finally sighs and drops his head into his hand, making Kyuhyun flinch guiltily. Kibum is a busy person, a member of the Student Government Association and frequent teacher's aid, he doesn't usually have one-on-one sessions but made an exception for Kyuhyun. "It's not that I mind you spacing out, it happens. But competing with home decoration for your attention, now that's just insulting."

"I'm really sorry," Kyuhyun apologizes, half-mortified. "I didn't mean to, well, I'll pay attention, I promise. Thanks for helping and coming all the way here. I, um. Sorry."

Kibum smiles brilliantly, showing there are no hard feelings. "Hey, I live off-campus too, it's not that much of a hassle. But seriously, what's wrong with the furniture?"

Kyuhyun spares a glance for the beaten-up old couch, the chipped tables (the one they're working at has a wobbly leg and needs to be propped up by a few of Sungmin's older magazines), and the T.V. that always looks dusty even when it's not. "Aside from the obvious?" He gets a laugh out of Kibum and grins a little, shaking his head. "All right, the furniture is hopeless. I'll stop wasting your time now."

"Right, there's a test this week." Business-mode Kibum is back. "So let's review what I was trying to say earlier..."

* * * * *

Kyuhyun ends up wide-awake at an indecent hour, ignoring the fact he has work in the morning and playing half-baked tunes on his keyboard (Sungmin thinks he should get a real piano but Kyuhyun laughs and says it wouldn't fit anywhere. Sungmin then tells him to get a bigger apartment). But he knows it's not the music that's the problem, he already has that recorded with perfect pitch in his head. It's the blank notebook that he's avoiding, twirling his pen between his fingers, dropping it, picking it up and biting the end (Sungmin says one day he'll get a mouthful of ink and lately has taken to replacing them with lollipops).

He stares blankly out the window after forcing himself to put the pen down, lacing his fingers together and chewing on his lip instead. The view from here is decent at least, offering a good look at the neighborhood from five stories up. Scarce lights dot the cityscape in this part of town and Kyuhyun wonders if it's eerily quiet and still outside again. His eyes drift shut, remembering, blocking out the noise of the apartment.

(Sungmin remarks that the City sleeps, during the day as well as the night, because in a sense it's a forgotten place in a neglected corner in the world that isn't worth more than a passing glance. People don't refer to it by name if they've lived here long enough, and nobody comes here with grand intentions. "We're all refugees here," is the way he puts it, one arm dangling out the open window as he leans on the sill. "It gets boring sometimes," he adds, and Kyuhyun hesitantly asks why he bothers to stay.

"Because," Sungmin answers with a small, secret-sharing grin, "There are times when everything wakes up.")

Kyuhyun opens his eyes and sees his reflection transparent on the dark outlines of the city. Late at night with a song in his head and the words just perfect, that's his fulfillment. It's the moment he sings his first song alone, it's the daylight when he's stopped in his tracks by a boy. It's this song, right now. Vigorously, he takes up his pen and starts scrawling all over the paper. He crosses words out, fills words in, lips moving silently, then softly, while the ink flows.

I'm not dreaming anymore...

* * * * *

Soon the anxiety sets in.

He doesn't go to work in the morning and just barely manages to call in before crashing. Kyuhyun sleeps the whole day and wakes up feeling disjointedly empty; he doesn't register much until he receives a text message from Sungmin ("how was work~? want to watch a movie later? ♥"). He smiles while reading it, begins to reply... His fingers still upon the keypad and his mind just blanks. After a few minutes of struggling he gives up, sets his phone down, and wonders when his hands started to shake.

He gets a second text while pretending to do his homework and this one makes him wince a little ("working late again? all work and no play makes kyuhyun a dull boy!") But still, when he tries to send a message all he does is stare at the screen. He attempts to call and dials the first four digits before everything comes to an agonizing halt.

Not knowing what else to do, Kyuhyun grabs the sheet of paper containing the finished lyrics and crumples it up, demanding his words back. He aims to throw the ball into the trashcan, misses by a mile, and sometime during the night he retrieves it anyway.

* * * * *

The lyrics get jammed into his pocket when he goes to class, burning a hole in his jeans throughout music theory and distracting him horribly during the Chemistry test.

"You look like shit," Kibum states in a blunter-than-usual tone afterwards.

Kyuhyun isn't surprised he appears as wretched as he feels, nodding mutely with his pen between his teeth. He's vaguely sorry that Kibum's help was useless in the end and he's a tad concerned about his chances of passing the course, but more important is the list of increasingly annoyed messages stored in his cell that he doesn't know what to do with.

Kibum sighs in a way that seems like he's frequently long-suffering and, oddly, reaches out to pat him on the head. Kyuhyun is somewhat gratified for the sympathy even though he doesn't deserve any. "Don't worry about it," Kibum says, and Kyuhyun sinks into his seat because the test is the least of his worries.

His phone vibrates and he checks it out of some recently-discovered masochistic tendency.

"Avoiding someone?" Kibum asks with a hitched brow when he doesn't answer it.

Kyuhyun's expression is pained, frustrated, and spectacularly unclear, but Kibum only hands him his bag and turns him towards the door, plucking his pen from his mouth as well.

"That's a terrible habit." The pen-chewing or the avoiding? "Go home and sort yourself out. Nothing is going to make sense on its own."

He takes Kibum's advice and skips his next class, no big loss, he can't even remember what subject it is or what building it's in. He manages to navigate back home on auto-pilot and spends some time pacing in what little area there is, when a knock on his door makes him stop.

He opens it and Sungmin is there, head lowered, looking smaller than ever and twisting a ring on his hand nervously. Lifting his face, his eyes are impossibly wide and imploring and Kyuhyun honest-to-God feels like the worst asshole on the planet – so he's understandably shocked when Sungmin suddenly scowls and jabs a finger at his chest.

"You don't look dead or dying or otherwise incapacitated. Assuming you haven't contracted a dreadfully contagious disease, are you going to let me in or not?"

Kyuhyun wordlessly moves aside and Sungmin enters, glancing around the room suspiciously. Finding everything normal, he wheels around, hands on his hips, and waits for an explanation. Kyuhyun takes the lyrics from his pocket and holds them out like an offering.

Sungmin never lacks in expression; as he reads, the angry, irritated lines leave his face. His eyes track down to the bottom of the paper, double over and do it again, with something akin to amazement. "This is..." He catches sight of Kyuhyun, anxious and embarrassed and still a bit miserable, and pulls him over to sit down on the old, battered couch. Curling up to his side under the shelter of his arm, Sungmin holds the wrinkled paper out in front of them both. There's a moment of silence, then, "Why couldn't you say anything?"

Kyuhyun has been asking himself that question all day and the only answer he can come up with sounds stupid even in his head. He inhales and exhales deeply, slowly, before saying aloud, "Some things— Songs like this, they're meant to be private. But I needed to tell you, because you made this song happen. I just had no other way of expressing it, and... See, I'm really stupid."

"You are," Sungmin readily agrees, and it would hurt if Kyuhyun didn't so thoroughly deserve it. "You're lucky you write so well and I might forgive you. If you sing to me."

Kyuhyun's quiet laugh is a little thick and heavy with the relief crashing upon him, but once his calm settles he's happy to comply. He starts the song and Sungmin rests his head on his shoulder, Kyuhyun's fingers shifting lightly through his soft hair. Neither of them move for quite a while and Kyuhyun eventually drifts to sleep, and Sungmin remains very still.

* * * * *

Kyuhyun wakes up sometime in the middle of night. The room is dark and Sungmin is gone, but a spare blanket has been draped over him and he can still detect the other's lingering sweet scent. If not for the soreness in his neck from the lumpy couch, Kyuhyun would have stayed put. On his way to the bedroom, he turns on a light and notices Sungmin's stack of newest magazines in the trash. He pauses for a heart-dropping second and attempts to convince himself it means nothing, but he proceeds to hardly get any sleep for the rest of the night.

The next day at school passes by like normal (he wants to thank Kibum for his counsel but his classmate is disappointingly absent) and he texts Sungmin after class, before work. At his job, during his break he nervously calls. By evening there's been no response and he's something of a wreck.

This is another reason why Kyuhyun was afraid, that Sungmin would get bored and move on once he got too attached. It could be retribution too, but Kyuhyun doesn't know Sungmin to be cruel. He knows that there's steel beneath all the pink fluff, but Sungmin has only been truly angry that one time. And he knows that Sungmin doesn't care to keep things, he just...lets them go.

He tries to call again, but his expectations are clear as he pulls on his coat. He's walked about a block when it occurs to Kyuhyun that he still doesn't know exactly where Sungmin lives, but that's not enough to make him turn around. Mouth set in a stubborn line, he heads for the general area where they first met.

The City is loud tonight; wet, cold, and disgusting too. But it's not very late and he passes several people on the way, asking around.

"Um... Hi." The girl sitting on the bench at the bus stop looks up, her expression politely blank. She's young and startlingly pretty without being heavily made-up, holding a book open in her hands, so it's probably her 'I'm getting hit on, how can I make him go away?' face. "Sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for a friend. I know he lives around here, but—"

"Oh, I'm not from this area," she interjects, right as the bus arrives and she gets ready to board. "I'm sorry I can't help. Good luck."

Next he tries asking a store owner who's closing for the night. The elderly man shrugs apologetically. "A lot of young people come by, but I don't know any of 'em real well. You can try the ice cream shop around the block."

He thanks the man and follows his directions, finding the tiny little parlor scrunched between a movie rental place and a hair salon. A group of teenagers are mingling around outside

"Excuse me," he awkwardly approaches the clique, "I'm looking for someone. Do you know a Sungmin Lee?"

There's a chorus of no's and a few shakes of the head, most of them disinterested at best. So much that that idea. Kyuhyun thanks them anyway and moves on.

"Wait." One of the guys detaches himself from the circle and strides over, speaking low. "I know him. Why are you looking?"

"He's a friend," Kyuhyun says hurriedly, hoping he isn't being taken for some weird stalker. "I haven't heard from him in a while-" Does twenty-four hours count as 'a while'? Maybe when Sungmin is concerned. Kyuhyun's phone bill has never been so high. "-I'm just worried."

"Worried, huh?" He ducks his head and scuffs his sneaker against the pavement, looking back up with a wry twist to his lips. "Guess you don't know about Sungmin."

"What?" In the space of a heartbeat, dozens of possibilities flash through his mind, each more dreadful than the last.

"Look, man, it's complicated. Word is..." He stops to sneak a look over his shoulder at his friends, still gathered in front of the store. Leaning in some more to speak quietly (his breath smells like mint ice cream and his eyes are a complimenting shade of green, uncommonly bright), he suggests, "Walk with me a bit and I'll fill you in."

Kyuhyun follows in troubled silence for a distance, then he's startled out of his anxious thoughts by the guy asking him, "How long have you known Sungmin?"

"A couple months," he answers, brow furrowing while he makes the calculation. It's not that it seems long or short to him, but the concept of time itself throws him off. Sungmin just has that effect. Kyuhyun doesn't notice whether or not his reply makes an impact, but he does notice with a sudden chill that the air is quiet. No cars, no wind, no people.

That's when a red flag goes up in his mind and informs him this could be a Bad Idea, and he remembers with painful clarity Sungmin's joking about him wandering around alone. The feeling increases tenfold when the stranger leads him towards the sketchiest alley Kyuhyun's ever seen. He isn't that desperate or stupid, so he lingers near the entrance, letting the streetlights draw his boundary. The guy himself is pretty scrawny, but who knows what else is back there. "About Sungmin... Can you tell me now?"

"Well... You won't believe me, but... I guess." He takes a couple steps forward and Kyuhyun relaxes, then finds himself yanked completely off his feet and slammed into the brick wall. When the stars fade from his vision, he's pinned by one arm pressing against his throat, and it's the same, seemingly unimpressive kid leaning in as if it's nothing at all. "Obviously, Sungmin left you in the dust. Don't know why, don't care. But hey, good news for me."

Kyuhyun is starting to feel faint from the lack of air and the rambling isn't number one on his list of priorities at the moment. When the pressure relents he gasps out, "What are you on?" – which, in retrospect, is not the best thing to say in such a situation.

Fortunately, the comment only provokes a grin. The guy braces his hands on either side of Kyuhyun's head but doesn't have the height to tower. Kyuhyun steels himself and pushes off from the wall, tries to shove and slip past – his hopes rise in a split-second of freedom before they plummet with fingers clamping around his arm like a vice. He sucks in a painful breath when his back meets the rough wall again.

"Nice try. You wanted to know what's going on though, so stay a while and I'll show you."

Kyuhyun still thinks he's on drugs and the impossibly huge pupils, shining eerily, support that argument. ...The abrupt appearance of long, sharp canines, on the other hand, makes all thought processes grind to a halt. He manages to cling to the idea that it's an elaborate prank until those teeth - those are fangs, oh God, what the hell - graze his neck. Kyuhyun shrinks away from the skin-crawling touch, like dragging needles lightly over his skin, but the hold on him doesn't let him twist far.

There's swift, stabbing pressure, and a wave of accompanying nausea that makes the world spin while his breathing seems much too loud. He can feel his blood rush and the liquid trickle that's soon overlapped by the quietly obscene sounds from a mouth on his flesh. His arms are gripped so tight they're going numb but he scrabbles at the body trapping him anyway, curling his hands into fists that land stiff, ineffective punches.

All of a sudden the weight is ripped away, leaving Kyuhyun to slide to the ground in a daze. The body is thrown against the wall next to him and there's a harsh crack where the guy— where the vampire's head connects with it. He's fazed for a moment, shaking it off and stumbling forward until Sungmin's leg snaps out and kicks him back into the brick. Snarling, he stays put.

Sungmin gives his most angelic smile, eyes glittering black. "Have we learned a lesson today?"

"You should put a collar on your pet if you're going to let him roam around," the guy spits, and this time the kick catches him across the face.

That, more than anything else, indicates the depth of Sungmin's anger. Kyuhyun thinks he saw a few teeth go flying and feels a great surge of vindication. Reminded, he reaches up to gingerly touch the wound. It's surprisingly numb, though the sight of his bloody fingers makes him shudder and scrub them against the damp, dirty pavement. Even the grimy asphalt is better than that.

"Amazing, you know I'm impressed," Sungmin says with so much cheer, that if Kyuhyun were the other guy, he'd be very, very afraid. Especially when Sungmin drops the sweet tone for something bone-chillingly casual. "It takes a lot of balls to move in on one of my own. Kind of cute in a retarded way. I'm super nice, so I'll let you go with a slap on the wrist." It's not a slap so much as another kick to the solar plexus, but while he's down and wheezing Sungmin turns and offers Kyuhyun a hand up.

* * * * *

He doesn't remember his apartment lights being this bright and he feels like he's under acute observation, sitting in the chair with his shirt off so Sungmin can clean the wound. Kyuhyun stares at the stains and cracks in the ceiling or the peeling paint of the walls, flinching at the sting of disinfectant while Sungmin mutters darkly about "the God-forsaken places that ugly mouth has probably been." He finishes after applying a large, pink band-aid, and promptly seats himself in Kyuhyun's lap.

"So," Kyuhyun still evades his gaze, "I was really stupid again, wasn't I?"

Sungmin hums, considering, and grabs Kyuhyun's face to look him in the eye. "No, this time it was me. I'm sorry." His thumbs brush gently over his cheekbones.

"I...thought you were leaving," Kyuhyun haltingly admits and a part of him is still devastated when Sungmin nods.

"That was the plan. I wasn't being mean, honest, but I was selfish. There's a quote from a movie I haven't made you watch yet, "Humans are cowards in the face of happiness." I guess it applies to vampires too."

"Vampires," he repeats slowly, his hands coming up to mirror Sungmin's gesture and touch his face. "...I take it Hollywood is all wrong." Kyuhyun inwardly congratulates himself for starting this conversation with a straight face, though he's too drained (that's a horrible pun) to muster up any more shock.

"Mmhmm. Well, to be fair, stakes through the heart are about as deadly as they should be, as are a number of other morbid things. But sunlight obviously doesn't make me burst into flames, garlic is a fantastic seasoning, and I find churches lovely places to visit." His hands have traveled lower to trace idle patterns across Kyuhyun's shoulders. His eyes have lowered too, and Kyuhyun gets his attention again by kissing him lightly.

"Tell me everything?" And stay, please?

"Actually," Sungmin's mien becomes deadly serious, "I am under orders to not return home until you're satisfied, and then I have to bring you along to meet my housemates so you can thank them. And I should give them my thanks as well." He traces the hot pink band-aid with a certain scowl.

"Um. How many of you—I mean, how many vampires are there? Is it just this city, or..."

"Everywhere. I don't know what the percentage is, but chances are I'm not the first you've met. We don't exactly go around advertising it and there are...rules. Laws. Think of it like a secret society. If you're wondering about the body count..." He laughs at the look on Kyuhyun's face, who's trying to keep his features neutral but ends up somewhat pained. "Masses of blood-drained victims are a little conspicuous. Animals will suffice, though that's a bit tougher to manage in urban areas like this. Also disgusting, since most of the fare consists of rats and pigeons." He has to stop and giggle at Kyuhyun again.

"There are deliveries, actually— It's true! If you take a look in our fridge, you'll see. You know how people can order groceries delivered, it's a bit similar. None of it's human blood, at least not where we get them from."

"There's a difference?" Kyuhyun isn't sure how much he wants to know anymore.

"You bet. I doubt you want to hear the details about the finer points of vampire cuisine though," Sungmin teases, before becoming serious again. "But, you should know humans are special. That's why a lot of us can't keep strictly to the safer diet and there are plenty who refuse to. You should be fine because of me. I told you I'm not a wimp."

"I never doubted!" Kyuhyun protests, though Sungmin ignores him.

"Oh, but my sweet and innocent image is probably ruined now." He pouts, and Kyuhyun rolls his eyes.

"Don't worry, kicking someone's teeth out is a very sweet gesture." There's still something satisfying in the way the mere mention makes Sungmin's lip curl.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sungmin narrows his eyes. "Don't get in trouble often, you hear? I'm too dainty to rescue you all the time."

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * * * *

"I'm home! And I brought somebody." Sungmin announces, peeking around before opening the door fully to let Kyuhyun in. Instantly, he makes a face. "Why is this place still a mess?"

"Hey, most of it is your mess, from your tantrum. And hello, Kyuhyun, nice to meet you. I can now decide with confidence that you are not, in fact, an alien as was previously thought," says the boy emerging from the hall. He's still dressed in his pajamas and has a baseball cap atop his head. Behind him, yawning widely—

"Kibum?" Kyuhyun gapes.

His classmate – the responsible, most-likely-to-succeed student with the million-dollar smile – waves and falls unceremoniously onto the couch. "Hi. Congratulations. By the way, you can retake the Chemistry test next Wednesday."

Kyuhyun feels like he's dreaming, but then Sungmin starts leaning on him and having an armful of Sungmin is okay even in bizarre dreams.

"The crazy one with no fashion sense is Donghae. You see what I put up with? Kyuhyun, I want to live with you. You'll have an excuse to get a bigger apartment."

There's an ulterior motive behind Sungmin's innocent tone, and Kyuhyun points out, "You just want a place big enough for a piano."

Sungmin doesn't deny it, having discovered a new passion for music – specifically, Kyuhyun's music. He smirks a little. "That, and a bigger bed. Anyway, this is all of us at the moment, unless Shiwon or Eunhyuk returned last night?"

Two people shake their heads and Sungmin doesn't appear at all surprised. He turns around in Kyuhyun's arms. "So there you go. Welcome to my world."

"I'm really not dreaming, right?" Kyuhyun mutters, and slight mess aside, the place looks normal enough. It's positively gigantic compared to his tiny place. His gaze sticks for a moment on the kitchen, thinking of what Sungmin said about the refrigerator stock.

Sungmin follows his line of sight, laughs, and smiles, showing a hint of fang. "You're not dreaming."

end

Sapphy: *does a happy dance* And so the series is officially underway! I'm super excited about this, Sy and I have a lot of fun things planned. I hope people enjoy it. I had the idea for a vampire AU after a dream - I can't even remember what it was about - and things snowballed from there. This first story turned out a lot longer than I expected and I'm occasionally twitchy over the entire cliche, but mostly I'm pleased to write Sungmin with some steel to him. He's not a helpless, fragile little thing! But he's really good at pretending to be.

Bonus! Name the movie Sungmin quotes for extra win! No prizes except a pat on the back.

Thank you for reading~