Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's a strange sensation, to know there isn't much blood running through his veins, yet to experience his limbs going numb after being still for so long.

It was nearly morning now, the pinkish hues of the sun's light just starting to mix with the darkness of the night. Any other morning, he would’ve watched the sunrise until the light grew too bright and the sun's rays pinkened his skin.

Yet now, Seungkwan sat watching this sunrise with little choice, his hands bound around an old tree, his body weak from nights of starvation.

The hunter had caught him in the early evening, when the sun was under enough cloud cover for him to feel safe, and yet, here he was.

All he could wish is that the bastard who caught him would stake him before he starved. Starving is a long process for a vampire.

Seungkwan made the effort to raise his head. While he may have lost his posture and dignity through the long hours of the night, he makes sure that when he catches sight of the hunter, he keeps his head high and sharpens his gaze.

The hunter, the bastard, is young. He isn't tall, he is slightly imposing, and there is a line of confidence in his shoulders like he knows what he is doing.

The knot of the rope is enough to tell that he knew what he was doing. Even if Seungkwan wasn’t starving, he imagines that the rope cutting into his skin would have been hard to escape from.

Catching the hunter's eyes seems to beckon him over. Seungkwan was too easily caught, and neither he nor the hunter had spoken to each other.

What do you say to a man who believes you are a mindless monster? What do you have to say to the monster that you're trying to kill?

“Morning,”

Okay, you could say that.
He crouches not too far from Seungkwan, and in this proximity, the vampire is nearly overwhelmed by the smell of his blood and the clamor of his heartbeat.

“Were you asleep?” He asks. Stupidly.

Seungkwan furrows his brow, “The undead don’t sleep,” He says, wondering how much a hunter actually knows about the creatures they kill. It's strange that one would imagine the undead to do something so human as to sleep, but humans are never necessarily bright.

“It would do you good,” The bastard throws back, which makes Seungkwan want him to get a bit closer, to wipe that fucking smirk off his face.

Yet he's tired, he's starving. This death is longer than his first one. He’s hungry, he’s mad, and instead of just killing him, the hunter seems to want to taunt him.

“Didn’t you plan to kill me? Did you lose your nerve? Or are you so fucking evil you plan to let me starve?”

The other’s smirk drops as fast as it appeared, “You say that as if your entire existence isn't evil.” He shifts and moves to sit on the dirt, taking out a needle-point knife, and sticks it into the ground, “You can whine all you want, but at the end of the day, for you to live to the next moon, many would die.”

Seungkwan can’t help but scoff, “Right, and you clearly know so much about the vampires you kill. Don't be stupid. I’ll do what I have to do to survive.” He doesn’t have anything at stake; there's no arguing a killer out of a kill, he should know.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same if you were me. Don't pretend to have the moral high ground when I’m sure you've killed more than most of the vampires that have found themselves dead by your hands.”

“I don’t have to kill to live!” The hunter argues back, blood rising into his cheeks. Seungkwan would be lying if the sight didn't make him dizzy. “You obviously have no remorse for what you do.”

“And how would you know the remorse I have felt? Are you docked at a harbor in my heart?” The rhythmic heartbeat of the man is going to drive Seungkwan crazy. "Don't pretend to know. I've killed innocents, yes. The pain I've caused is more than my existence is worth. But who are you to be my judge and jury? Who is to say in the grand scheme you're no worse than me? All that you have killed were innocents once, forced into a life by a monster who was once also more than a mindless shell…”

Seungkwan remembers the fear he felt as he bled out on the forest floor all those years ago. He knew it was just barely spring, that the air still had the bite of winter. He remembered being happy that day. He wasn't ready to die.

“And,” he breathes in, and it feels like it rattles his ribs. “You say I have to kill to live. You choose to”

The hunter watches him. His brows are furrowed, and his whole expression screams confliction. Seungkwan is starting to question how devout this bastard is to his hunt.

The other had been silent for too long, looking like he was contemplating the humanity that could truly be left in Seungkwan.

“Sure, you're less evil than the other hunters I've met... but usually their arrogance gives me a chance to escape... I might as well waste away now, as you have your moral dilemma. Seungkwan is whining now, but he lost his self-respect when he started having a civil fucking conversation with the man who tied him to a tree.

“You’re still dangerous,” The hunter said finally, picking up his knife again and digging into a different spot of dirt.

Ding, Ding, Ding! Of course he was! Seungkwan barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “You're making me more dangerous by the second !” He says, wishing he had a chance to throttle the man, “At least when I feed on humans I don't wait until I'm starving, so I have a clear head and don't try to kill anyone.. But the longer I'm here, the less aware I am of my actions!”

He finally catches the hunter's gaze again, “Wouldn't you hate that? Being starved, then blacking out and finding that you've killed someone?”

It's all probably a waste of energy that he is already low on, but in his delirious mind, he wanted to plead to this bastard. He wasn’t a monster. And if he was that bad, then kill him already!

“Does killing not take any toll on you? Does suffering not wear on your soul? It does to me. But then the instinctual urge is always too quick. I am only half myself anymore.”

He shifts his sitting again. The hunter had not for one second seemed confident in killing, yet held himself as a professional. But now the line of his shoulders was drawing in, and his eyes looked too bright in the rising sun. “I can’t- You won't be able to get out of this. You know this. Even if I let you go, you wouldn't get very far without killing something.”

Seungkwan could feel the light burn of the morning sun starting to dance on his skin. It felt like the normal warmth of the sun turned up just enough to be painful. It wasn't enough to make him cry out, but prolonged direct sunlight would probably kill him.

“What do you get from this? a rush? a medal? Are you praised as the savior of humanity? Or do you just like the kill?” He is too tired to keep talking, and yet he keeps talking. Some things never change, even after death.

The man's jaw twitches, and he releases a puff of air. His face is so sharp and soft at the same time, especially how the rising sun lights it in warm hues. He looks so young, but the weight of life is easy to see on his face. Thin white scars mark his cheeks, and one on his chin; they shine a little in the light. "I could ask the same thing. You're willing to attack and drink the blood from a human simply to satisfy yourself. You've done this for centuries, you let yourself live with that.”

“You think I could survive for centuries?” That's sweet. And naive. “Even twenty years of this would wear me down, and deteriorate me... Why do you think most vampires are the way they are? They are simply surviving. Vampires only become like that because of humans and a lack of control. I've done my best to exclude both from my equation.”

He had. He lived in the woods so far that the only people who traveled past his hut were on their way to go missing anyway. But he didn’t need to feed that often. He lived a quiet life and only moved when hunters entered his territory. He remembers an old friend joking that he'd find a way to have control over any situation. He would at least try.

The man's eyes widened. Of course, he wouldn't expect a vampire with morals. That would be a terrible existence. Why yes, little hunter, it is. “Do you really think you can prevent yourself from becoming feral?”

The urge to kick dust in the hunter's naive, shining eyes rose, and Seungkwan is feeling his hunger and desperation turn into something red and sharp. He is getting pissed off.

“They're not all like that! Sure, all are a bit tormented, but that's what you get when you live for so long. How do you judge a whole population by the worst of them?”

The man rolls his eyes and scoffs, “It's your very nature to kill! You can't convince me that the majority of vampires don't revel in their bloodlust. That a good portion don't kill just to kill?”

God! “Are you humans really all that different?” He spits back. The burn of the sun, the ache of his stomach, and the ropes cutting into his wrist are making him a ticking time bomb. “You're aware I was once human too, right? Or are you really that stupid?”

“But does that change that you aren't now?” The man says, seemingly too caught up to wonder why he's arguing with his captive.

“If anyone should hate vampires here, it should be me!” He wants to cry. He wants to kill this guy. He at least wishes he did. His arms still hold that phantom tingle of numbness, and he wonders even if he had his arms free, if they’d even move.

“Do you know how a human becomes a vampire? Do you think I wanted this, that it was painless? Do you imagine that I didn't scream and cry as I lay on the forest floor, losing blood? Hoping to just die, only to wake up like this?”

“Stop.” The hunter shakes his head, like the conflicted thoughts would fly from his ears. Was it getting to him? Was the naive hunter thinking of the humanity of creatures he’d seemingly killed without thought before?

“If you are drowning, you do your best to swim, if you are in danger, you fight your way to live, and if you're starving, you eat. I’d say that's pretty human.”

The man picks up his knife and points it at Seungkwan, “Just shut up for a minute!” He clenches his eyes shut. Like he wasn't the one to start the pointless argument of morals.

Seungkwan didn’t even believe that he should be totally spared, yet the hunter seemed to have no understanding of the nature of the undead. He hates hypocrites. Apparently so much that he’d sit, starving and burning in the morning light to argue with one.

“Whatever. I'm bored anyway. And I'm tired. And starving. Fuck you, by the way.” He does his best to shift away from him, even though he lacks much mobility. “I don’t need your empathy. I don't want it. And I don't think you're handsome. So stop carrying yourself that way.” He fears that he’s plagued with near-death delirium.

The hunter's shoulders slump even more. He drops the knife as he asks, “Are you really dying, or do you store all your energy to talk?” He sounds tired, like Seungkwan’s the one who's trapped him here.

And then, he lifts his stupid head. Something immediately alerts Seungkwan that whatever this bastard's next move is, it’s going to be incredibly stupid.

The hunter moves forward, and Seungkwan draws his legs in, trying to increase the distance that was quickly disappearing. The heartbeat of the man was like a drum in his ears, and the sweet smell of his blood was going to make him sick.

And then, like the most evil, the most stupid, and the worst vampire hunter ever to exist, he lifts his wrist to Seungkwan's face. So close that the sound of the blood rushing through his veins almost makes Seungkwan black out. So close that it would be so easy. So easy.

A growl rips out the back of the vampire's throat, and he grits out, “Are you fucking stupid? Get back! I’ll fucking bite you. What are you trying to prove?”

“What? Are you not going to bite me? I thought you were starving?” Seungkwan can see the conflict dancing in his eyes, and yet this seems like the hunter's only way to prove that he is the monster he needs to believe he is. Like this is a last-ditch effort to prove that he needs to kill vampires, that they are a real threat that needs to be hunted, no matter who they are, or were.

If he had blood in his system, it would be falling as tears down his cheeks. He probably would've been crying for a while now. But as his wrist gets closer, he can't help but let his mouth open, and he feels his fangs lengthen, “Fucking piece of shit, god, youre the worst. I hope you can die knowing you're the worst of them.”

“The worst?” He is on his knees, almost opposite the vampire, his back is straight, and his wrist is near his lips. Not tied behind his back, with his posture limp from exhaustion. The hunter would probably look pretty in his position.

Seungkwan hisses, the warmth of his skin so close to his face, “I will not martyr you. Ridiculous. God, so fucking stupid, I hate you. I hate this and I hate you.” He’s rambling, spit pooling in his mouth, fighting to prevent the inevitable. The very thing that secures his survival rushes through the veins of the stupid hunter, but his dwindling morality screams for him to hold himself back.

“I wonder how badly you want my blood in your mouth? How would it look? Don't you want that?” The hunter’s voice has a very slight tremble, and looking at him now, he looks scared in the morning light. Seungkwan truly does not know what is pushing him to do this. He doesn't care.

“Do you get off on this, fucking piece of shit? Do you like to tie up vampires and make them become the very thing you imagine they are just to prove a point?” He finds just enough control of himself, just enough to spit on his face.

The spit lands on his cheek, and the man jerks back. He wipes it and stares at Seungkwan with a disgusted look, and yet, curiosity lingers in his eyes. He's pulled his lips into a scowl. “Are you just trying to piss me off now?” he then, of course, moves back to where he was, wrist even closer.

“I don't want to kill you! You're being ridiculous. Go home. Leave me here to starve!” He’s back to pleading. Doesn't he understand? You don't mess with a starving animal. Unless you have a death wish, “Stop trying to prove your point. You chained me up, you starved me, and then you put your wrist to my mouth. The only point you'll prove is that you're stupid and cruel.”

If he had to describe the pain it causes him to stop himself from latching his fangs into the man's wrist, to taste what is life to him, he wouldn't be able to with any accuracy.

To drain the life from another creature and take it as your own is horrifying; he doesn’t have a choice. But god, he wishes he did. He can feel the need rising on his skin like hives, an itch he can only scratch with a kill. The rushing in his ears should be so loud that he can’t think, but he's stubborn, even against his own instincts.

And yet, the human doesn't move.

His wrist was hovering on the vampire's lips, which part, letting his panicked breath fan the hunter's arm. Just one small taste of blood, and he would be fine, his brain screams. Just a little drink, it won't kill the guy.

Seungkwan knows he's watching him, and he sees his lips part just barely, “God, you need this,” he huffs out. Dumb statement, Seungkwan thinks, even as he feels like he's drowning in his own bloodlust. Let him go down as the vampire with the strongest instinct control.

But then something finally cracks in him. Maybe it's the warmth of the man's skin on his lips, or the sweet smell of his blood that seems to choke him. His warnings turn into whines, “Just a little, please, okay, please, just a little drink. It won't hurt I promise. Please. please,”

The hunter looks from his wrist to his mouth, to his eyes, with a flicker of concern, like even he doesn't know what he's doing, “You’re starving.” his arm is shaking just a little, just enough to let them both know he’s not the hunter now, if he ever was.

“You wanted to see a monster, well, here I am,” Seungkwan says between a dry sob, his lips rubbing on his wrist. “Fuck you.”

The man's eyes seem to plead with him, to just give in. That must be the beast inside the vampire begging to be satiated. Seungkwan keeps his eyes locked on the hunters when he finally bites down, moaning with relief.

The blood aches his gums; it's so sweet, and it's been so long since he’d been able to drink. The warmth and the buzz that it creates as it spreads through his body are overwhelming. While hunger itself created black blurry edges to his vision, eating seemed to as well.

He blacks out.

Chan wakes up cold.

There's a bright light as soon as he tries to open his eyes. The sun, he suspects. The longer he is aware, the grosser he feels. He’s cold, clammy, and disoriented.

And then the pain starts to seep in. At first, pain all over, but then only from his arm. The light seems to sting his closed eyes, and his body just aches. His tongue is dry, and his head is pulsing.

He lies there, growing more and more aware of his body, without even trying to open his eyes again.

He rolls over into the thick blankets that lie under him, and then it hits him. Hits him like a shovel over his already splitting headache.

He let a vampire, an undead creature that lives to kill, that kills to live, bite him. Shoved his wrist in the monster's face, the starving vampire, and said ‘Aren't you hungry’.

He should be dead. He will be dead if any other hunter catches wind of that. Actions like that make a hunter a liability.

And the why of the situation is even worse. Why did he, Lee Chan, place his wrist to a vampire's lips?

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know!

To prove that the vampire, the starving vampire, would drink his blood? What does that prove? The vampire himself told Chan that. A starving man will eat if food is in front of him.

Then, the scarier reason. He felt bad for the creature. The one that he caught and tied to a tree. The one he kneeled to taunt, to kill.

He looked at the pale skin and the dark bags under the creature's eye, and was struck by how human he still looked.

The way the vampire spat vitriol at him, it was so. Honest.

His first solo hunt, and not only did he humanize and sympathize with an undead bloodsucker. But he offered himself to the creature, knowing very well he could die.

And he didn't know why.

Well, he didn't want to accept the real why.

He finally faces the light and opens his eyes. The sun still hurts, but in the darker corner of the room, he sees a silhouette.

He thinks maybe another hunter came across him, or a farmer, or just a kind soul who felt bad for a young man bleeding out on the forest floor.

A shiver runs up his spine, remembering the creature's words. His argument that he, too, was human once. That every vampire once was.

Chan tries to quiet the voice in his head, just to hear that voice outside of it.

“Morning,” His tone, obviously, is sarcastic, but Chan swears there is something under it.

Chan pushes himself up on shaky arms, trying to focus on the figure in the dark, yet the sun is still too bright. He moves so quickly, he's surprised when he's hit with a wave of nausea.

“Lay down, don’t be impulsive or you're going to pass out again, or puke, or both,” The vampire nags.

Chan scowls as he lies back, his head resting on the thin pillow again. Thankfully, the wave passes.

“What happened?” He sounds awful; he barely croaks the words out.

“You made a starving vampire bite you, and passed out, barely escaping death. You're welcome, by the way. For not leaving you”

For not leaving him to bleed out on the forest floor, like the vampire himself was once left to do.

He shifts in the bed again, moving to lie on his side, watching the vampire pace, “Yeah, right. Thanks.”

The vampire pauses, and glares at him, like he wasn't the one that moved him here, “I told you, in my crazed, feral stat,e mind you, to just leave. But no, you had to prove a point, which just made me feel bad, because being that stupid is a liability, honestly.”

This made Chan push up to his elbows again, a rush of anger mixed with nausea this time, “You still bit me!”

“Of course I did!” The vampire spits, “That was the point of all of this!” He waves his arm around like it emphasizes his words,“ You knew I would, I knew I would. And look, you're not dead somehow. Is that not good enough for you?”

Chan pauses and stares at the vampire. It's confusing that he moved him. After all that had happened, the vampire saw his limp body and carried him home. To what? continue their battle of morals? Their philosophical debate that hurt his head and ended with his blood being drained from his body?

He suppresses a shiver.

What did the vampire have to gain by bringing him here?

As if his thoughts were said aloud, the vampire scoffs, “This is pathetic. I'm taking care of a fucking hunter who had me tied to a tree.”

The question hung in the air, as both of them seemed to inadvertently keep the other alive. Why?

And then,

“How old are you?”

It was sudden, out of nowhere, and Chan furrowed his brows before clearing his throat, “Twenty-five.”

Twenty years of training led him to his first solo hunt, and most likely the end of his career.

The vampire started pacing again; the light creaking of the floorboards was shrill to his ears.

“So, not a naive child.” The vampire stated, obnoxiously, and Chan could only guess this was how he kept feeling in control of the situation.

So he sighed, ignored it, and closed his eyes, “What about you, immortal creature of the dark?”

A scoff, “I was barely twenty when I was turned,” Chan cracked an eye open to gaze upon the vampire. In the shadow, he could see how the creature's expression had soured, turned mournful from his previous taunting smirk.

“You stop paying attention to how time passes when you accept that it'll go on for so long.”

Forever. It's unsaid. But it’s implied.

What an awful way to think about eternal life. To accept it as a death. Even if it was a death, Chan would want more than the years to pass him by, to do more than just survive.

Chan breathes out a long breath, the ache slowly easing from his bones. He’s still incredibly weak, and his wrist-

He moves to sit up and looks at the bite.

This gains the vampire's attention, and Chan hears him hum.

“It hurts doesn't it.” His tone lacks its previous vitriol.

Chan cradles his wrist, staring at the broken blood vessels around the two puncture wounds. The bite was raised and red, and he could feel a wave of pain with every heartbeat.

“It will scar. The bite. I can't imagine what people will say if a vampire hunter has a bite on his wrist. I mean, no attacking vampire drinks from the wrist. That's basically the sign of a willing participant.”

Chan wants the vampire to just shut up. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and wake up in his room, where nothing ever happened. He wishes himself back into his birth, but upon opening his eyes to the room, as the sunlight dims, and the vampire paces closer, he sighs.

He’ll find a way to cover it. The scar. He’ll find his way out of this cabin and this company. He will continue hunting with his guild, and this will be a nightmare that wakes him in the dead of night. But this creature, this, this bloodsucking monster won’t distract him with petty words.

Except he already has. Chan had to accept that he let this happen. He watches the vampire approach, as the warm lighting of the setting sun pinkens his skin.

The hunter, for a second, wonders what the vampire looked like as a human. If his cheeks glowed in the light of a summer's day, if he was the type who smiled easily, or if he always had a haunted look to him.

“Some of my spit would numb it, barely leaving a scar,” The vampire says, and he is at the edge of the bed now, and the halo of light silhouettes his head, making him look like an angel.

An angel whose voice is more mocking than anything

“But… You'll have to answer something first,”

Before what? The creature would spit on his arm?

Chan tries not to scoff and frowns. He moves to lean back on the wall and rest his head. The longer he’s aware, the more he talks, the drier his tongue feels. His stomach, which is now nagging him, feels cold, empty, and still somehow nauseous.

But of course, he must answer his vampire keeper’s question. So the vampire can spit on him. Again.

The vampire sits on the bed, facing Chan, with his legs tucked underneath him. He sits with pride, his shoulders back, and mirth in his smile. For all his talk of a doomed eternal life, he holds himself like he had total control.

“Why do you hunt?” The vampire says, and he's still backlit by the setting sun, yet Chan can make out his strangely warm eyes, "I assumed you were raised to? Or you kill for revenge. You're too sane to just randomly decide to. Well, sane could be disputed. ”

Chan wants to rise to the insult, but god. He’s tired, down to his bones, so he sighs, “Yeah, I was raised to.” Was that all the vampire wanted to hear? “My family,” not his family, but that's too much to get into now, “has been hunting for generations. It just runs in their lineage I guess."

This makes the vampire lean closer, a shine in his eye, and judgment pulling at his lips, “What runs in the family? Can you tell with accuracy who's a vampire, and who's not? How many vampires have you caught? Killed?”

He’s firing questions faster than Chan could absorb, so he just shakes his head weakly, “What? No, it's just a business.” His head is pounding, and the vampire's proximity, he's sure, is making it worse.

“A family business,” The vampire scoffs, leaning back, “You say that like your family bakes bread, or tailors clothes. Be honest, you're just following in Papa's footprints for genocide. Nepotism in the vampire-hunting field. That explains why you're not that good.”

Chan can feel the words digging under his skin, and he knows if he had any more energy, he would’ve had something more to say, but again he sighs and moves his tired arms to cross in front of his chest, wincing when the bite grazes the fabric of his shirt.

"I'm good at hunting, thank you. I've killed my fair share of vampires.” It used to be so easy to be proud of that statement, “I could've killed you, you know."

“Except,” The vampire narrows his gaze, and Chan swears he can feel it, “You basically placed your wrist between my lips and told me to suck.”

He closes his eyes tight, and for a second hopes that maybe the vampire did kill him, and this is purgatory, and he will be forced to relive his dumbest decision over and over. If it even was his dumbest decision, he could probably think of something worse that he and Hansol did growing up.

But there wasn't much to defend; he had already failed to reason with himself. Nothing he could say to the vampire would sway him to think it was part of a genius plan, or that Chan wasn't a stupid, naive, and impulsive hunter, as he called him so many times already.

“You wanted to make me into the monster that you assume all vampires are, sure, but to put yourself in that situation. You have a death wish or a weird kink.”

Chan's eyes open again, his frown deepening, “What are you even talking about?” he grumbles, tired and grumpy. He sighs, just hoping the vampire would stop. talking.

“You’re the one who nearly killed me.” This conversation was just an endless circle.

“And I'll do it again,” The vampire moves back, and Chan feels like he can breathe again. He pushes himself up to stand, “I made you a broth,” He says, “So that you can leave.” His voice is less confident, and his expression is unsure.

Chan can’t even begin to parse through why the vampire would want to feed him; no rational thought could step between a hungry man and a meal. So he nods easily.

The vampire moves with a new sense of purpose and leaves the room.

Chan is left staring where he was, as his stomach cramps with hunger.

And then the vampire is back, pushing a warm bowl of broth in his hands. The smell is something like chicken stock, and with its amber color, it looks like an elixir of life. Chan wants to question it, wants to ask the vampire why. But all he does in the split second between the bowl being handed to him and him bringing it up to his lips is thank the vampire.

The broth is salty, almost too salty. But it’s warm, and his body feels like it's coming alive again. He wants to drain the bowl in one fell swoop, but a pale hand pushes the bowl down, and he meets the stare of the vampire.

Between the warmth of the soup and the strange ease of the situation, he can't help but feel his exhaustion hit him again.

He lets himself breathe for a second, and the vampire lifts his hand to allow him to drink more of the broth.

The salty mixture tastes better now that his taste buds have awakened. He lets out an approving hum and empties the rest of the bowl.

The vampire had been watching him the entire time, looking a mix between smug and pleased. Chan places the wooden bowl down and raises a brow.

“Was it good-”

“I was starving, I didn't taste it.”

The vampire scoffs and crosses his arms, “Sure. But even when I was starving, I had thoughts on how sweet your blood was,”

Chan frowns, “Don’t talk about my blood.” The idea grossed him out, but he couldn't help but wonder what the vampire meant.

The vampire rolls his eyes and huffs, which would be a bold move if their whole dynamic hadn't completely shifted. If it wasn't now Chan who was at the mercy of the creature he nearly killed hours ago. Now the reaction has a certain amusement behind it, instead of the fear and anger he had seen in the vampire's eyes, however many hours ago.

One bite, one bowl of broth, and Chan is left to rethink his entire life to this point.

“What, you don't like me talking about your blood? Don't want me to tell you how delicious it was? No discussion of the underlying notes or textures?”

It made his cheeks hot, like it was something dirty. “God, do you ever stop?” He groaned, “I could still kill you, you know.”

The vampire paused and glared, “In my own home? After I brought you back and let you rest in my bed? After I fed you back to health like a baby bird?” He shook his head, “At least wait until you can pick up a stake against me, it would be an unfair fight even if you were at your best.”

He was teasing him; he had been teasing him. Like they weren't pitted against each other in every aspect. Like this was a bit of afternoon fun, and they had been friends for years.

He didn't hate it. He wished he did.

“Why are you making this so difficult?”

“To kill me?” The vampire's grin turns down, “I’m sorry I can’t be the mindless monster you need me to be. I'm sorry if I'm desperate for company; you don't know what it's like being pushed out here all alone. And I liked your eyes, even when you were trying to kill me, I thought your eyes were too bright for all this.” He says this in a tone that is not sorry at all.

Chan blinked for a second, the words stopping his thoughts in their tracks. Was this an example of how charming a vampire could be? To lull their victims into a sense of security? But his vampire had been anything but charming.

“You are scared because you don’t want to kill me. And you don't know what to do,” The vampire states.

Chan wants to yell, wants to object, wants him to be wrong, for the sake of his livelihood.

“You don't know what I want.” He doesn't have enough confidence in his words. Maybe in the tasting of his blood, the vampire was able to decode his thoughts and fears, too.

Another scoff, another eye roll, “If you wanted to kill me, I would be dead.. You wouldn't stand for me to live while your blood is still in my veins.”

You wouldn't stand for me to live while your blood is still in my veins.

Chan feels the wave of nausea return, and he just closes his eyes, letting his head hit the wall behind him.

You wouldn't stand for me to live while your blood is still in my veins.

It should be disgusting. He should be horrified. He should be attacking or trying to flee. Instead, he’s thinking about how his blood warms the skin of the vampire across from him.

He’s going to get himself killed.

He remembered thinking that the first time he saw a vampire be staked in front of him and he threw up. He thought that when Seungcheol argued with him for hours about allowing him a solo hunt. He thought that as he stared into the strange eyes of the vampire that he caught, but hadn't had the nerve to kill.

“You don’t understand,” he sounds like he’s pleading, and when he opens his eyes again, the vampire looks bored,

“Then explain it to me.”

“Hunting is all I’ve known. It's all I have left,” he folds his arms again, trying to maintain a sense of dignity as he states his fears. “I don’t have a choice.”

There are only a few reasons someone hunts. Bloodthirst and payment are common; a strange career move is not unheard of. But revenge? It's different. It pushes people with kindness to lock it away.

Chan doesn’t like the vampire's stare; it makes him feel bare. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” The vampire bites back, “I don’t hold any sympathy for you.”

Now it's Chan's turn to scoff and roll his eyes,

“But, I know what it's like to lose someone. And what it's like to lose yourself in that loss.”

The memories of that night used to make him shake. He would try and think of what happened, and he would end up shivering on a warm summer's night. He hated the fear. Grief for him was sour. How was he to mourn and avenge faces he barely even remembered?

But if killing one vampire would turn down the noise of the memories, he would do it as many times as he needed until there was nothing but silence.

The vampire was still talking, “I wanted revenge too. But after so long, after so many tears and so much.. Rage. I just realized all I wanted was him back again. And nothing I did, good or bad, would bring him back. I found no comfort in hurting myself more.”

Silence, after so long, finally falls between them.

Chan and his nameless vampire are locked in… whatever this is.

To be seen, criticized, and called out for the very things that gnaw at you. It feels more freeing than anything else.

Maybe the vampire hypnosis was a real thing, or maybe there's a soul in some of the undead.

There’s little light in the room of the cabin anymore. The sun had long gone down by now, and they both sit on the small bed, and Chan's left wondering what there is left to say.

Hunter and hunted. Predator and prey. The lines were so blurred. Maybe just alive and undead.

So there they sat, when they not only refused to kill the other, but kept each other alive, against their better instincts.

Chan is still so tired, and at some point in the silence, he lies back down on the thin pillows.

He stretches his sore legs, and in the dark, he can feel the solid, but cool presence of the vampire, still sitting near the edge.

“I’ll have to hunt,” The vampire says quietly, and the weight of the bed shifts.

Chan's need for sleep is overtaken by a desire to know the vampire's name. “Wait,”

There's another pause, and the vampire does just that,

“Your name?” Chan asks quietly, and this is the final nail in the coffin that is humanizing the vampire. This is what will get him killed. Hansol would either laugh or be deeply concerned with how badly Chan wants to know.

The vampire snorts and sneers. Chan’s only guessing in the dark. But still there's an answer,

“Seungkwan,”

Seungkwan.

He feels content enough to close his eyes again, but opens them in surprise when a hand shoves his thigh.

“Hey!”

“That question goes both ways,” The vampire. Seungkwan. The creature. Seungkwan says.

Chan glares and shuffles to his side, “Chan,” he grumbles

Seungkwan hums, “That wasn't hard. Now you can sleep, little hunter,”

And that is just what he did.