Archive of Our Own ^beta

If someone asked him, before he Turned, what his favorite time of day was, Taehyung would’ve answered four in the morning. It’s just before the birds begin singing, when the world hangs between darkness and sunrise. When Taehyung couldn’t sleep before, he walked. And if it was four in the morning, he felt something inside his chest settle, unfurl and exhale in relief at the peace and quiet of it all.

Now, however, four in the morning means it’s time to go home, time to reach shelter before the sun rises and the brilliant light makes Taehyung’s eyes ache, makes him feel like he’s roasting inside his clothes even if his skin is covered from head to toe.

It’s nearing three now, the night soon to be over, and Taehyung turns down a darkened alley. He only has a couple hours left, so he’s going to spend them well. Well, meaning at the comic cafe on the third floor of a run-down building. Well, meaning walking up the gray concrete steps and pushing open the door to Manhwa Room to be greeted with the hazy glow of yellow light.

The man at the counter looks up from his phone and smiles. “Welcome back.”

Well, meaning a greeting from Manhwa Room employee Kim Seokjin, human, the most beautiful person Kim Taehyung, vampire, has ever seen.

“Hello,” Taehyung says, and he thinks that if he could still feel warmth, his cheeks would flush. “How have you been?”

“Great, thanks,” Seokjin says. He’s wearing a cozy-looking black sweatshirt today, nametag a little askew. “How’s our most loyal customer?”

Taehyung laughs, the sound soft and low in the quiet of the cafe. “Ah, am I really the most loyal?”

“Absolutely,” Seokjin assures him, and his eyes shine. Taehyung is hopelessly enamored. “Unless there’s another comic book cafe you’ve been going to?”

“Never,” Taehyung says, a hand over his heart. “My loyalties lie with Manhwa Room.” His loyalties lie with Kim Seokjin on Tuesday and Thursday nights, when Seokjin works. And occasionally a Monday night when Taehyung gets bored and wants to get out of the apartment.

“And there you are. Most loyal customer,” Seokjin tells him, and he winks . 

Taehyung bites his lip to hide a grin.

“Can I get you the usual?” Seokjin asks.

Taehyung nods before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, unwadding a few thousand won and passing it over to Seokjin.

“I’ll bring it to your spot,” Seokjin says, his fingers brushing Taehyung’s lightly as he takes the money.

Taehyung quickly yanks his hand back, eyes flicking up to Seokjin’s face to be sure he hadn’t noticed the icy chill of Taehyung’s skin.

But Seokjin just puts the bills in the register and turns to start making Taehyung’s tea, and Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh of relief before he retreats to his favorite corner of the cafe- a pile of cushions set up beside a floor-length window, hidden on the other side by a bookcase.

He plops down and rubs his eyes, contacts making them a little dry and uncomfortable. It’s not like he can go without them. The red of his irises attracts attention, makes people look twice. No one would jump to the conclusion vampire , but it makes them stare, reminds Taehyung too much that he’s different now, that he’s no longer one of them.

Seokjin brings his tea when Taehyung is still dragging the back of his hand over his eyes, and Taehyung quickly looks up and blinks to be sure his contacts fall back into place.

“Tired?” Seokjin offers politely as he sets the tea down on the little floor table.

“Just my contacts,” Taehyung answers, and wiggles forward on the floor to take his tea. “Thank you.” 

Seokjin straightens up again, glancing at Taehyung’s empty lap. “Have you picked anything to read yet?” 

“Not yet. Do you have any recommendations?” Taehyung asks. This is the longest conversation he’s had with anyone other than Namjoon or Yoongi in weeks.

“A few,” Seokjin tells him, running his fingers over titles. They’re a little crooked, a little delicate, probably warm and soft. Human. “This one, maybe,” Seokjin says after a few moments, and he turns back to Taehyung with the first volume of a brightly colored comic. “But if you don’t like it, the series was recommended by my roommate.”

“And if I do like it?” Taehyung asks, feeling his lips already tugging up into a smile.

“Then it was my recommendation, of course,” Seokjin tells him.

Taehyung nods seriously, though the effect is ruined when a giggle escapes him. “Of course,” he agrees, and he reaches out for the volume, careful this time not to let his hands touch Seokjin’s. “Thank you.”

Seokjin just bobs his head and disappears around the bookshelf.

Taehyung settles back into the cushions with the comic, steam curling from the cup of tea he won’t be able to taste, that won’t do anything to make him less thirsty.

Thirst means something different now, means that his stomach turns itself inside out with gnawing emptiness, that he sees blue veins in a neck or a forearm and has to cover his mouth with a hand to hide his fangs as they descend from his gums, sharp and ready.

Taehyung looks away from his tea and back to the comic, shaking his head like it will help to disperse the discomfort crawling and scratching at the back of his head.

So he reads, and he pretends, for at least until four in the morning, that he’s still himself.

---

“You’ve been cutting it close.”

Taehyung lets the door click closed behind him. “Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, stepping out of his shoes. 

Yoongi’s sitting at a stool by the counter that bridges the living room and the kitchen, curtains all drawn closed and leaving the apartment in near-total darkness. They don’t need the light to see, but it still makes Taehyung uncomfortable sometimes- the pervasive darkness that hangs over him. Just one more thing that he can’t shake from his twenty-one years as a human. 

Taehyung asked Yoongi once if he missed the sun, to which Yoongi had shrugged and answered, “ A little. But I still have the moon .”

“Namjoon’s worried about you,” Yoongi says, still in his quiet, even way. Taehyung hears the words though for what they are. We’re worried about you, Yoongi means. What’s going on? 

“Sorry,” Taehyung says, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll come back earlier.”

Yoongi’s lips part, brow furrowing. But then he exhales lightly and nods. “Okay, Taehyung-ah.”

“Thank you, hyung,” Taehyung says. Thank you for not pushing me, hyung, he means.

“Get some sleep. You look tired.” Yoongi slides off the stool, bare feet hitting the floor quietly before he slouches off in the direction of his and Namjoon’s bedroom.

Taehyung watches him go, the hunch of his shoulders that still seems so human , the shuffle of his slippered feet.

Sometimes, when Taehyung is here, with Namjoon and Yoongi, he forgets what he is. But even then, it’s not always enough.

Taehyung heads to the bathroom first, takes out his contacts and tries not to look at the glowing eyes flicking away in the mirror. Vampire, they whisper, crimson red.

He doesn’t turn on the lights in his room, just curls up on his bed in the too-big space. The walls are decorated with a mixture of his own paintings and a few that Namjoon had bought over the years and kept in storage, his clothes hanging through the open door of his closet, all new since he couldn’t go home to get them after the accident.

Taehyung grabs his pillow, pulls it down so he can hug it close, imagines that it’s one of his little siblings who used to come into his room after a nightmare in their childhood home, or Jimin after a night of drinking in their apartment.

He’ll never hold them again. Never brush his lips against his brother’s hair or sing his sister lullabies again. Never feel Jimin linking their fingers together and squeezing his hand again.

He falls asleep aching. Again.

---

“What,” Seokjin asks as he slides Taehyung’s cash into the register, “do you call a cup of chamomile that’s not sure about its choices?”

Taehyung blinks. “What?”

“Uncertain-tea,” Seokjin says in English, and his eyes are sparkling, crinkling around the edges. “What’s the opposite of a dangerous coffee?”

Taehyung feels a grin slide onto his face, and he waits for Seokjin to deliver the punchline.

“Safe-tea,” Seokjin says, and dissolves into infectious, bubbling laughter. Taehyung giggles at the sound more than the jokes, something impossibly bright about it. 

“Do you have any ones about coffee?” Taehyung asks, leaning against the counter, trying to catch every second of Seokjin’s laugh.

“Stay tuned for your next visit,” Seokjin tells him, and turns away to the jars of tea stacked behind him. “I can’t give away all my best puns at once.”

Taehyung retreats to his corner still smiling, curls up with the comic Seokjin recommended on his last visit. 

“Volume two?” Seokjin asks, glancing at the cover when he brings over the mug of chamomile.

Taehyung nods. “I’m a slow reader,” he admits, only a little embarrassed. It was something he’d always struggled with in school, at least, with textbooks and assignments. “I like spending time looking at each frame.”

Seokjin just waves an airy hand. “The series has amazing illustrators. It’s definitely worth appreciating.”

“It’s really good,” Taehyung agrees.  It’s a little sad, too. There’s a gray tinge to everything, an unshakeable loneliness that the protagonist carries with her. She’s a phantom, a ghost more than a human, and Taehyung relates.

“I’ll wait until volume six to take credit for the recommendation,” Seokjin says, and then he’s picking up the tray and walking back to the counter.

“Wait,” Taehyung says. “What happens in volume six? Seokjin-ssi?”

“No spoilers,” Seokjin tells him, not looking back.

“Is it sad?” Taehyung asks, frowning at Seokjin’s back when he doesn’t answer. Taehyung pouts as he settles a little bit further into the cushions, but he starts to read again anyway. 

He hopes, even if something terrible happens by volume six, the story will have a happy ending.

There are enough terrible ones in the world already.

---

Taehyung knows he shouldn’t be doing this. 

But he can’t not . It’s one thing to scroll repeatedly through Jimin’s near-silent social media, but it’s another to trace his best friend’s steps on a Saturday night from the dorm to the bar a twenty-minute walk from campus, to wait outside with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up and his mask in place, a shadow in the darkness.

Jimin stumbles out of the bar at three in the morning with the same boy he arrived with, one that Taehyung found once on Jimin’s tagged photos on instagram. Jeon Jeongguk, a member of Jimin’s dance team, a sophomore at their university. 

Taehyung vaguely remembers seeing him at the beginning of his and Jimin’s third year, can picture Jeongguk’s shy smile as Jimin greeted him from his and Taehyung’s table at the library.

But that was right before the accident.

Before Taehyung Turned, and left everyone thinking that he was gone.

That he was dead .

Jeongguk keeps a hand on Jimin’s waist to steady him, and Taehyung can see too well in the night that Jimin’s cheeks are puffy, eyes rimmed red.

“Jimin-hyung,” Jeongguk says, and Taehyung ducks his head as they turn, forces himself to take a few steps back into the alley beside the bar though everything inside of him is screaming to reach out to Jimin, to tell him that he’s here, that he’s alive. 

Jimin slurs something unintelligible in response. 

Jeongguk sighs softly, but it doesn’t sound impatient to Taehyung’s ears, his too-sensitive hearing. Jeongguk crouches on the ground, one knee on the dirty concrete of the sidewalk. “Get on my back, hyung,” he says.

Jimin’s arms wrap around Jeongguk, and he clings as Jeongguk stands again. “Sorry, Guk-ah,” he breathes, voice almost lost to the night.

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk answers, and he bounces Jimin once to get a better grip on his legs. “It was a rough week.”

Jimin’s head bobs, and he buries his nose in Jeongguk’s neck. “I miss him,” he says.

Taehyung’s throat closes, trapping a wounded noise that tries to work its way out of his lungs. 

“I know,” Jeongguk says softly.

He starts walking then, Jimin wrapped around him.

Taehyung doesn’t follow, lets them go as he presses himself against the back wall of the bar, lets his head fall forward.

“I miss you, too,” Taehyung whispers, wetness on his cheeks, guilt and loss twisting around each other behind his eyes, in his throat, around his ribs. “I miss you every day.”

---

Taehyung crawls into Namjoon and Yoongi's bed that morning, murmuring apologies and asking if he can stay.

They both grunt at him, which Taehyung takes as an affirmative, and he buries his face in one of their too many pillows. A hand comes up to pet his hair, though Taehyung's not sure who it belongs to, and Taehyung falls asleep to it, keeping the emptiness in his chest from swallowing him up completely. 

---

Taehyung takes one of the folded plaid blankets from Manhwa Room’s neatly stacked piles and wraps himself in it. 

It doesn’t help with the pervasive chill that comes with vampirism, the constant muted sense of cold, but it gives him the illusion of warmth.

There’s a couple in the cafe tonight, quietly reading their own comics in the corner opposite from Taehyung. Their legs are tangled together lazily, a casual intimacy that makes Taehyung want to cry for the fourth time this week.

“Here’s your tea.”

Taehyung blinks up at Seokjin, somehow not noticing his approach despite his now superhuman hearing. He’s too far in his own head- too deep in his wallowing. “Oh. Thank you, Seokjin-ssi.” His voice comes out even hoarser than usual. 

Seokjin hesitates as he sets down the tray, a frown flicking across his face before it disappears. “I have a question for you,” he says seriously.

“Okay,” Taehyung answers, sniffing as he pulls the blanket a little higher on his chest. 

“Why did the kangaroo stop drinking coffee?”

Taehyung feels his lips twitch, like they’re trying to curl up in the corners. “Why?”

“Because it made him too jumpy ,” Seokjin says, and a tiny laugh works its way out of Taehyung’s throat. “Why did the watery espresso place last at the weight-lifting competition?”

Taehyung knows the answer for this one, can guess it, but he’s smiling when he peers up at Seokjin and asks again, “Why did he place last?”

“Because he was too weak,” Seokjin says with a grin and a chuckle at his own joke. 

Taehyung laughs along, frees his hands from the confines of his blanket to clap. Seokjin gives a little mock bow.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here on Thursday night as well.”

“You’re going to run out of drinks to make puns about,” Taehyung tells him, and tucks his arms back into his blanket.

“There are pastries next. And after the pastries, the customers,” Seokjin answers, adding the last bit in a lower voice, almost conspiratorially. 

Taehyung frowns. “You’d make jokes about me?”

“Maybe not about you,” Seokjin relents. “You are our most loyal customer, after all.”

“Taehyung,” Taehyung blurts, because he’s never given Seokjin his name and he doesn’t want to be called ‘customer’ by the only person he talks to anymore. Just that Seokjin even says more than hello and goodbye should be enough, but Taehyung is greedy for this- greedy for Seokjin’s attention. “Um. My name is Kim Taehyung.”

“Taehyung-ssi,” Seokjin says amicably, and Taehyung almost crumples at it, his chest panging. “Alright, I won’t make jokes about you, Taehyung-ssi. But in return, I’ll be testing out new pastry puns on you.”

“It’s a deal, then,” Taehyung says as Seokjin walks away, and nearly cries for the fourth time this week for a different reason, the sound of his name in Seokjin’s teasingly gentle voice echoing in his ears.

---

Taehyung pauses on the landing outside Manhwa Room next Tuesday to find puns scrawled across the weekly special chalkboard. We’re berry glad to see you, one corner reads. If you’re having a crumb-y day, try our strawberry tart!

He walks inside smiling.

“Nice puns,” Taehyung says, before he orders his chamomile.

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi,” Seokjin answers. “You weren’t here to approve of them beforehand, so I went in with only my excellent judgement in jokes.

Taehyung giggles, flashing Seokjin a thumbs-up, something happy fluttering in his stomach that Seokjin remembered his name. “Approved.”

“Excellent,” Seokjin says. “Now, what can I get you tonight?”

---

For a while, Taehyung thought Yoongi and Namjoon did this for him to bring some semblance of normalcy to the apartment.

But apparently, they sat around the table in the high-ceiling kitchen drinking from their blood bags even before Doctor Im dropped a newly Turned Taehyung on their doorstep like a stray puppy. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Yoongi says with a roll of his red eyes. “Of all the things to suspect about you, it’s that you’re a secret crime boss?”

The night glitters beyond the floor-length window behind the table, lighting up Yoongi from behind, Seoul cold and humming around them. But here, with his hyungs, Taehyung feels a little less like an untethered ghost haunting the city and more like a person.

Namjoon shrugs helplessly. “Mysteriously wealthy despite only working as a producer for three years, rarely shows up for meetings unless they’re in the dead of night…”

“What about any of that screams crime ring?” Yoongi asks, but he sounds amused by the latest rumor going around the entertainment company that employs Namjoon.

“The mysteriously wealthy part, probably,” Taehyung supplies, sipping at his dinner. His fangs catch on his lower lip and he winces, tongue sweeping over the punctures as they quickly seal themselves closed again.

“A dead aunt,” Yoongi says, holding up a finger. “A lucky gambler. A chaebol heir. All more likely than Namjoon being a fucking crime lord.”

“I couldn’t pull off their chaebol heir look, hyung,” Namjoon tells him.

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue before tilting his head to the side, angular eyes narrowing. “True.”

Taehyung snorts.

“Anyway, enough about my work,” Namjoon says, waving it off. “Taehyung-ah, there’s something I wanted to bring up with you.”

“The truth of your wicked crime boss ways?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Namjoon huffs one of his barking laughs. “You wish. But no, it’s about starting up university again.”

Taehyung blinks. “I didn’t think I could get a schedule of only night classes.”

“There’s online,” Namjoon says gently. “And Yoongi-hyung finished getting all your documentation together.”

Taehyung feels his jaw drop slightly, turning to Yoongi. “Really?”

“Really,” Yoongi says, flat and quiet like it’s not a big deal even though he knows it is. “Your new identity is in all the systems now. You’ve got a birth certificate, a bank account, an ID card- everything’s set up for you to live as Lee Taehyung, Namjoon’s younger brother.”

“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers, even as the name sits a little wrong in his chest. “Thank you.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not a problem.” 

Taehyung knocks their feet together under the table. “Still. Thank you.”

Yoongi ducks his head to hide his smile.

“So if you want to get set up with some online classes,” Namjoon says, “We can get you registered.”

“Yes,” Taehyung says immediately. “Please.”

He knows it’ll only be for a little while- this life, here. He can get an online degree and do something with it for a few years, but then, he knows from Namjoon and Yoongi, they’ll have to move. People will notice that they aren’t aging and it’ll get dangerous for them to have their current identities for too long. Doctor Im had told Taehyung as much before leaving Taehyung with Namjoon and Yoongi.

But for now, Taehyung wants to learn again.

“You got it,” Namjoon says.

Taehyung gets up from his chair to hug them both.

---

“What are you reading?” Taehyung asks, curiosity getting the better of him when he sees the massive stack of papers that Seokjin has in front of him. The brown-rimmed analogue clock behind the counter shows that it’s nearly three-twenty in the morning.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you come in,” Seokjin says, and Taehyung thinks his cheeks turn a little pink as he moves to stand. “It’s just a script.”

“A script?” Taehyung’s eyes widen. “You’re an actor?”

“I’m a barista with a degree in theater,” Seokjin says with a laugh, and his nose scrunches slightly as he sniffs, pink creeping across his cheeks. “I’m between roles right now, but there’s an audition tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s awesome ,” Taehyung says. 

“Am I even cooler now than before?” He asks, leaning a little bit over the counter while his full lips tug themselves into a lopsided smile. Taehyung would think that he was almost too sauve if it weren’t for the incredible blush dusting over his face.

“The coolest,” Taehyung says, playing into it happily, happier still when even Seokjin’s ears turn pink. “What kind of role is it?”

“Ah, the second lead in a theater production,” Seokjin says, and his long, crooked fingers reach out to tug at the corner of the pages. “A tragedy. It’s every weekend drama you can think of piled into a two-act play.”

“Birth secrets?” Taehyung asks.

“Several.”

“Love triangles?”

“Two. Practically a love hexagon.”

Taehyung snorts. “It sounds interesting.”

“Terrible, really,” Seokjin says, and he rubs the back of his neck, pink finally fading from his cheeks. “Anyway, what can I get you tonight, Taehyung-ssi? The usual?”

“The usual,” Taehyung confirms, trying not to let his breath stutter at the way Seokjin says his name.

Taehyung takes his messenger bag to a table this time rather than his corner, pulls out the new laptop Yoongi bought for him and plugs in his earbuds, everything excessively expensive but somehow understated in a way that all of Yoongi’s purchases are. 

He gets the art in protests and social movements lecture pulled up and ready to go just as Seokjin brings his tea.

“No comics tonight?” Seokjin asks. 

“Studying,” Taehyung tells him.

“Such a diligent student,” Seokjin says, almost teasingly.

“As long as it’s not math,” Taehyung answers, reaching for his mug of chamomile. “Math doesn’t deserve diligence.”

Seokjin laughs at this, squeaky and bright. “You sound like a humanities student.”

“I am,” Taehyung says. He was before, too. “Art History.”

“Ah,” Seokjin nods. “That makes sense.”

Taehyung blinks. “What does that mean?”

Seokjin just raises his eyebrows. “Taehyung-ssi, you’re wearing a beret.”

Taehyung reaches up to poke at it from where it sits on his head. “Wouldn’t that just make me French?”

Seokjin laughs again, and Taehyung can’t help but giggle along with it. “French or an Art History major. How will I ever be able to solve the mystery?” Seokjin asks, clapping a hand over his heart. “Good luck with your lecture, Taehyung-ssi.”

“Thanks,” Taehyung tells him with a grin, and then, just before Seokjin can turn to walk away, he says, “Just Taehyung.”

Seokjin looks at him, arching a perfectly bold brow.

“You don’t have to speak formally to me,” Taehyung explains, and he shifts a little in his chair, clutching the mug of tea closer to his chest. “Unless it’s uncomfortable.”

Seokjin’s mouth twitches. “It’s perfectly comfortable,” Seokjin tells him, informal and familiar in the way that only Namjoon and Yoongi speak to him now. “You can call me hyung.”

Taehyung almost spills his chamomile. “Okay. Great. Thank you. Hyung.”

When Taehyung leaves an hour later, he says, “Fighting, Seokjin-hyung,” and in return receives Seokjin’s smile, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Good night, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung thinks, for a moment, that he remembers what it’s like to feel warm.

---

“When was the last time you had a human friend?” Taehyung asks, lying on his stomach on the floor of Yoongi and Namjoon’s room.

The blackout curtains are pulled all the way closed, but it’s like Taehyung’s body still knows the sun is out, leaving him sluggish and his eyes drooping.

Yoongi types on his laptop, working on his newest historical novel that probably has bits of autobiographical material secretly slipped in. “Define friend.”

Taehyung frowns. “Someone you talk with about things. Someone who makes you laugh, and who you make laugh, too.”

“Sounds like an acquaintance,” Yoongi says, fingers still clacking evenly over his keyboard.

“Someone you want to be around,” Taehyung adds, fiddling with the fringe of the rug. “Someone you want to know more about.”

Yoongi abruptly stops typing. “Taehyung,” he says evenly. “Have you been meeting someone recently?”

“No. Not really. I just run into him a lot.” Taehyung cranes his neck and finds Yoongi turned around in his desk chair, a carefully neutral expression on his hyung’s face.

“Okay,” Yoongi says. “And this person you run into a lot. He’s someone you’re developing feelings for?”

Taehyung winds a stray thread around his finger, accidentally tugging a breath too hard and snapping it free from the rug. Developing feelings implies a crush. Taehyung appreciates Seokjin. He’s a little infatuated with Seokjin too, maybe. But he still doesn’t know Seokjin well enough to develop feelings. But Yoongi had said developing feelings . Feelings-in-progress. 

Yoongi takes Taehyung’s silence as an answer. “I know Namjoon and I have told you about the dangers of getting close to humans, so I’m not going to repeat them,” Yoongi says in his quiet way. “But you have to take care of yourself. And think of them, too. It’s best for everyone if you keep your distance.”

Taehyung pushes himself off the ground, shaking his head so his hair falls away from his eyes. “I’ve got an assignment to work on.”

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi says, when Taehyung is nearly out the door. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I know. Thank you, hyung.”

---

Seokjin gets the role.

Taehyung grins when he hears, leaning against the counter at the front of a quiet, empty Manhwa Room. “Of course you got it, hyung. I’m not surprised.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he answers, cheeks pink.

“Of course,” Taehyung echoes again, staring. “Have you celebrated?”

“Not yet,” Seokjin says.

“You should,” Taehyung tells him, probably too eagerly. “What about dinner, before your shift on Thursday?”

It’s best for everyone if you keep your distance , Yoongi had said, and Taehyung willfully ignores the advice because Seokjin is smiling, because Seokjin is wearing an airy, loose white button-up that makes him look like an angel, because Seokjin reminds Taehyung of what it’s like to feel like a person again rather than the living dead.

“Taehyung-ah, are you propositioning me?” Seokjin asks, clearly teasing, eyebrow-wiggle and all.

“Ah, hyung,” Taehyung deflects poorly. He glances away, tugs on his sleeves, and is grateful that he can’t turn red. 

“I teach an acting class at the community center until eight, and my shift here starts at eleven,” Seokjin tells him, thankfully not pushing his teasing further. “But I won’t say no to barbecue between.”

Taehyung blinks, meeting Seokjin’s eyes again and finding that Seokjin, for whatever reason, is pink-cheeked again. “You teach acting classes, too?”

“Part-time,” Seokjin confirms. “We have barbecue on Thursday night, going once. Going twi-”

“Sold, to Kim Taehyung for the price of two orders of samgyeopsal,” Taehyung cuts in quickly.

Seokjin huffs at him. “I’d like you to know I’m worth infinitely more orders of samgyeopsal.”

“I can’t afford that much, hyung,” Taehyung says with a pout. “But I know you’re priceless.”

Seokjin goes red to the ears, and he smacks his hand down on the counter. “Enough flattery. Get your chamomile tea or I’ll have to escort you from the premises.”

“Fine, fine. But what if I don’t want chamomile tea tonight?”

“Well that’s what you’re getting,” Seokjin squawks at him, indignant and beautiful, worth the giggle that slips from Taehyung’s lips and so much more.

Keep your distance , Yoongi’s voice echoes.

Taehyung can’t do it. He wants this too much.

---

“Hey,” Seokjin says, bundled up in a coat and scarf outside the stairs to Manhwa Room.

“Hi, hyung,” Taehyung answers, immediately tugging at his sleeves and wondering if his jacket is too thin, if it’ll raise suspicion, show that he doesn’t feel cold the same way now.

But Seokjin just smiles at him, barely visible over the chunky knit of his scarf. He looks different bathed in streetlight instead of the warm yellow glow of the cafe. A little bit sharper around the edges, a little bit more like the night. 

He’s still beautiful enough to make Taehyung stare and swallow a hint noisily.

“There aren’t many places still open,” Seokjin says, “but there is one just around the corner that I’ve been to before.”

“Perfect,” Taehyung tells him, and they fall in step together, long legs matching each other’s stride. “How was your class today?”

“Good. We’re working on old speech patterns for historical plays. It quickly devolved into shouting like kings and their ministers in dramas.”

Taehyung grins at the image. “Can I hear your impression?”

Seokjin adjusts his scarf, tugging it a little lower on his neck, and then turns a wrathful gaze on Taehyung. “You dare!” He warbles, pitching his voice lower and contorting his face.

“My king,” Taehyung answers, as dramatically as he dares, “Show mercy!”

“I will not,” Seokjin declares. “You have stolen the heart of my favorite concubine. Your betrayal can only be met with one thing.”

Taehyung gasps, clutching onto Seokjin’s sleeve as he trips along the empty alleyway and pulls Seokjin to a stop. “My king! It was not I who betrayed you, but your concubine’s heart! I am blameless!”

“Traitor,” Seokjin howls, but he’s hiccuping around barely restrained laughs. “Even your words are treacherous now!”

Taehyung drops down on his knees, uncaring of the gritty pavement, fully committed to his role. “My king!” He begs again, and he hears Seokjin’s squeaking telltale laughter above him. “It is you I love! Please do not send me away!”

Seokjin doubles over chortling, slapping his own thigh as the sound fills the night air.

Taehyung gives up the act and joins in because it’s contagious, and from the ground he says, “Joseon drama, but make it gay.”

It only makes Seokjin laugh harder, and Taehyung clambers to his feet and watches, still giggling, as Seokjin wipes at his eyes. “Please, Taehyung-ah, you have to come to my class sometime.”

Taehyung feels his face freeze, laughter dying in his throat. “I’d love to,” he says anyway, and he looks at Seokjin, pale light from the nearby lamplost shining on his hair, illuminating him from behind, and swallows back the I can’t. 

Seokjin’s already started walking again, shaking his head as a few more squeaky chuckles escape him. So Taehyung follows, hearing Yoongi’s keep your distance again.

The barbecue restaurant is quiet at this time, only a group of old men in the corner and a couple feeding each other lettuce wraps near the door.

Seokjin seems to know the staff well enough, greeting them pleasantly. “Seokjin-ah,” the woman who must be the owner says, surfacing from the kitchen. “It’s been too long since I saw you. Are you eating well?”

“Of course, auntie. But I eat best when I come here,” Seokjin says with a sweet smile, somehow genuine and smarmy at the same time.

The woman laughs, wrinkled face scrunching into a beautiful, youthful smile that makes Taehyung return it.

“Such a charmer,” she says, shaking her head. “Now tell me, Seokjin-ah, what are you eating with your friend tonight?”

It all tastes like ash on Taehyung’s tongue, but it’s worth it to watch Seokjin’s cheeks puff around each bite as he practically unhinges his jaw to fit meat inside.

“Eat more, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says, mouth still mostly full. He uses his chopsticks to place a piece of pork belly on top of Taehyung’s rice. 

So Taehyung eats, tells Seokjin about his online lectures and about Yoongi and Namjoon, who he calls his roommates for lack of a better explanation.

And Seokjin listens, tells Taehyung about his best friend and former roommate Jaehwan, about their theater traditions in university and an audition in which Jaehwan was once asked to perform an interpretive dance about the life of a goldfish.

Taehyung lets himself have this, too. Selfishly. Stupidly, maybe.

But maybe Taehyung is just selfish and stupid.

Maybe loneliness does that to people.

---

“How many years do I have before I have to make a new identity?” Taehyung asks, tongue swiping over his fangs as he sets his cup down on the table. 

“Seven, maybe. I would say ten, but Namjoon has already been in his job for a while now.” Yoongi swirls his wine glass. “Doctor Im suggested we all make the move out of Seoul after this.”

Seven years. Seven years here means Taehyung can finish his online degree and maybe find some kind of night job. Before, he’d wanted to work on a curation team for a modern museum. But it’s impossible now, thanks to the sun.

Seven years to form connections with people here, people like Seokjin, before Taehyung has to cut off all contact and disappear and start all over again.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Taehyung asks, and he traces a fingertip against the grain of the table. His fangs are still out, and they bump against his lower lip as he speaks. 

Yoongi hums quietly, more to himself than to Taehyung. “Sometimes. But it’s necessary. We stayed too long once because we didn’t want to leave, and it was a mistake.”

Taehyung looks up, blinking in the darkness of the kitchen. “What happened?”

“We were found out,” Yoongi says simply. “It wasn’t long after we Turned. Our third time moving. It was harder to hide what we were then, and we lived in the mountainside. We didn’t have hospitals and blood banks, so Namjoon and I hunted animals during the night and kept to ourselves. But we knew people from the village, since we visited the market after sundown. They were suspicious after a while, of course. There were rumors that we were cursed. Possessed by ghosts. And, of course, that we were gay.” Yoongi lets out a huffing laugh at that. “Maybe that was the final straw for them.”

“They chased you away?” Taehyung asks quietly.

“They dragged us into the sun,” Yoongi says.

Taehyung flinches. He’d tried once, while Yoongi and Namjoon slept, to go out into the sun despite their warnings. He’d pulled out the blackout curtains on the door to the balcony and ignored the instant burn in his eyes, had opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine and had dropped to the ground instantly as pain radiated through him, crawled back inside and kicked the door closed again.

“People we’d known for almost twelve years. The tavern owner. The seamstress’ husband. Villagers we had considered our friends. They broke into our home in the mountains while we slept and dragged us outside.”

“How did you survive?” Taehyung whispers.

Yoongi’s gaze turns dark. “We fought back.”

Taehyung swallows around the lump in his throat. “Do you think it would be different now?” Taehyung asks. “Do you think people would try to kill us if they knew?”

Yoongi shrugs, but the line of his shoulders is still stiff. “I don’t ever want to have the opportunity to find out,” he says.

Taehyung looks down at his cup of blood, feels his fangs against his lip, and nods.

“It’s why we have rules in the vampire community, Taehyung-ah. The ones Doctor Im told you about in the beginning when you Turned. We keep our existence a secret for our protection.”

“It makes sense,” Taehyung whispers. “But does it ever get easier?”

“I think it does,” Yoongi says. “It just takes time.”

Taehyung lets out a show breath. It doesn’t feel like it’ll ever get easier for him, no matter how much time he has.

---

Taehyung sits at the table nearest the counter today, rather than his usual corner, reading out the different roles of Seokjin’s scene partners. 

So far he’s been Jiwoo, Seokjin’s character’s jilted ex-lover and also long lost sister to the leading man, and the Seongjoon, Jiwoo’s cousin who is also the third (fourth?) point in the secondary love triangle. 

Taehyung still isn’t entirely sure how anyone is truly related to anyone at this point. It’s possible the playwright didn’t know either. 

“This is the last time you’ll cross me, Seongjoon,” Seokjin says, pacing behind the counter. “If you speak one more word of this to Jiwoo-”

“You love her still, don’t you?” Taehyung reads. “You’re still in love with her.”

“I ache for her every day,” Seokjin hisses, which would make Taehyung cringe except Seokjin says it with such resolve. “And you would use that against me. Leave it be, Seongjoon. I’ve hurt her enough.”

In the script, Seongjoon gives one last long look at Seokjin before storming out stage left, and the lights cut off with Seokjin pouring himself a glass of alcohol. 

“Wow,” Taehyung says, setting down the script. “Hyung the writing is so bad, but you’re so good .” 

Seokjin laughs, leaning on the counter. “Are you going to start a fan site for me, Taehyung-ah?” 

“I should,” Taehyung says, realizing. His brow furrows. “I will.”

Seokjin blinks at him rapidly before turning toward the shelf of coffee bean bags and teas, straightening them. 

Taehyung grins to himself when he sees Seokjin’s ears are red.

It’s becoming easy, Taehyung thinks, to fluster Seokjin, and it’s something he likes doing, likes seeing Seokjin’s composure slip a little bit.

It’s becoming easier to talk to Seokjin about little things, too. About Taehyung’s lectures and about Seokjin’s class at the community center or rehearsals at the theater. 

It’s becoming easiest (clearest, most obvious) to see that Taehyung’s developing feelings are now actually developed feelings, and Taehyung is having a very hard time knowing what to do with them.

Taehyung was pursued, before he Turned. A few people who Taehyung picked up as well.

But never anything serious, because Taehyung had thought there was too much life to live, spending time with Jimin and his friends in his classes, going home twice a month to Daegu to visit his family.

He thought he’d have time, later. Time for more than hook-ups and passing interest, time to fall in love again, in a way he hadn’t let himself since he was in his last year in high school with eyes only for the class president, an untouchable (straight) boy.

But he didn’t have time.

He never will now.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, and something in his voice makes Seokjin stop fussing with the shelf and turn back to him. “What do you think you’ll be doing seven years from now?”

Seokjin frames his chin between his thumb and pointer. “Besides being handsome?”

Taehyung stares at him. Seokjin will be just as handsome in seven years, Taehyung is sure. But that isn’t the question. “Besides that. Really, hyung. Where do you think you’ll be? What will your life be like?”

Seokjin’s hand returns to his side, and he shrugs, watching Taehyung curiously. “I don’t know. I gave into uncertainty when I chose to stick with acting.”

Taehyung frowns, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket. “What do you mean?”

Seokjin stares at him for a moment, an uncharacteristic seriousness to his face. “I could have gone into something else with more stability. There were- there were people who would have preferred that I do that.”

“Your parents?” Taehyung guesses quietly.

Seokjin nods, the left side of his mouth tugging up into a wry smile. “Maybe in seven years I’ll be someone they can be proud to call their son.”

“Hyung-” Taehyung begins, because Seokjin is someone to be proud of now , with his kindness and his humor, his two jobs and a second-lead acting role.

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says suddenly. “A new pun for you. What flour do you have to use when you bake dog biscuits?”

Taehyung frowns at the obviously abrupt change of subject. “Hyung,” he says again, softly.

“Collie-flower,” Seokjin finishes without him, winking, forced brightness and terrible attempt at a diversion. “Do you need to work on assignments tonight, or can you run the next scene with me?”

Taehyung fiddles with the edge of the script on the table, wanting to push. But he has a feeling Seokjin will push back, too. “Let’s do the next scene. I need to know whether or not Seongjoon tells Jiwoo about your feelings for her.”

---

Jimin posts an update on instagram, an advertisement for an upcoming dance performance. It’s a photo of the team, Jimin standing near center with eyes smoldering as he looks into the camera.

Taehyung never missed one of Jimin’s performances or recitals. They became roommates their first year of university and Taehyung went to every single modern dance expo and dance team showcase. He brought flowers every time.

This will be the second performance now that Taehyung’s missed. Once, about a month after Taehyung was in the accident, a month after Jimin attended Taehyung’s funeral, for a modern dance event for a class.

Taehyung stares at his phone, stares at the picture of Jimin and his dance team, sees Jeon Jeongguk in the front row as well, and wishes he could go.

And maybe he could. Maybe he could sneak in the back since the show is at eight in the evening and it’s winter. But there’s the risk of being caught. 

How could Taehyung begin to explain this? How could he tell Jimin about what he is? “Oh, hey, Jimin-ah. I died and was brought back to life by a vampire doctor which makes me a vampire now, too. I drink blood from a blood bank every day, which is a good thing because if I didn’t I would start looking at you like you were my next meal, too. Oh, and I’ll live forever now, unless I get caught in the sun or starve. You’ll live and grow old and die and I’ll be here to watch it all from the shadows because you already think I’m dead.”

Yeah, that would go over well.

Taehyung stares at the post all the same, zooms in to Jimin’s face and feels his throat tighten.

It’s a street performance in Hongdae.

No one would even notice if he was there among the crowd.

Yoongi and Namjoon would tell him to be careful, he knows, but there are some things that are worth a little bit of a risk.

---

Taehyung wears a mask and one of Namjoon’s pea coats, leaving the apartment after the sun has fully set.

He stops by the flower shop, too, buys a brilliant yellow bouquet.

The busking street in Hongdae is packed, and Taehyung squeezes his way toward the location Jimin’s post provided, following the booming bass through the crowd.

Jimin is there, the first person Taehyung’s eyes find, front and center. 

He moves with the same power and grace with which he lives, and Taehyung bursts with pride and pain as he watches his best friend dance. 

They perform four songs before stopping to thank the crowd, to point to the little whiteboard propped up against the speaker with their group name, page, and their next performance. Jimin is a little out of breath as he makes the announcement, cheeks flushed pink with exertion, living . Beautifully. Brightly. 

Taehyung taps the shoulder of the girl next to him, one who has been cheering alongside him since the first song.

“The guy who’s talking right now,” Taehyung says. “Could you give these to him, please? I can’t—I can’t stay.” His voice comes out a little garbled, a little bit too thick around the tightness in his throat.

“Sure,” she says, and takes the bouquet easily. She looks at Taehyung curiously before asking, “Is he your friend?”

Taehyung swallows, painful. “My best friend,” he says. The music starts again, and Taehyung risks one last look at Jimin and the dance team, of Jeon Jeongguk who Taehyung hopes with all his heart is taking care of Jimin still.

And then Taehyung leaves.

---

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says, and there’s a gentle thump that Taehyung’s sensitive ears pick up, likely Seokjin setting down the mug of chamomile tea. “Did the comic upset you that much? I promise it gets better. You just have to keep reading.”

Seokjin’s voice is light, teasing. He knows that Taehyung isn’t upset over the comic.

Taehyung raises his head slowly from where he’d cocooned it in his arms and squished it on top of his knees, curled up in the corner of Manhwa Room. 

He knows he must look like a disaster when he meets Seokjin’s eyes. He’s been crying since he left Jimin’s performance earlier in the evening, feels like he’s cried himself out of order and can’t really function. 

“Hm,” Seokjin says, and picks up a little brown napkin to pass to Taehyung. “I think maybe your allergies are acting up.”

Taehyung sniffs miserably, uses the napkin to wipe his eyes and then under his nose. There are other customers in the cafe tonight since it’s still early, a few people Taehyung remembers seeing when he walked in. But he doesn’t really care much that he’s being quite this much of a mess in public. “This sucks,” Taehyung says, no vampire pun intended.

Seokjin glances around the cafe, over the tops of the bookcases, before sitting down on the floor beside Taehyung. He lifts an awkward hand, sets it on Taehyung’s upper-arm and pats it gently. “Allergies are really awful,” Seokjin agrees gently. 

Taehyung lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “They’re really the worst, hyung. I feel like- I feel like I’m a dead man walking.”

Seokjin’s stilted pats turn into something softer, a careful squeeze to Taehyung’s squishy bicep before Seokjin gently rubs little circles into Taehyung’s back instead. “Good thing I’m here to tell you that you are, in fact, alive,” Seokjin tells him.

Taehyung sniffs. “Not really,” he mutters, tugging on his sleeves and letting his eyes fall closed at the soothing touch. 

“Ah, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says softly. “Feeling awful is a rather unfortunate side-effect of living sometimes. But so is feeling better after it passes. When your allergies get better, I mean.”

"With my allergies," Taehyung agrees, though they both know it's not about snuffy noses and watery eyes at all. Taehyung puts his head on his knees again, curling into himself as Seokjin continues to rub little circles on his back, layers of Taehyung’s sweater and Namjoon’s coat keeping them from truly touching. But it’s enough. “What if it doesn’t get better?”

“It will,” Seokjin says, promises. 

The bell over the front door lets out a familiar chime, and Seokjin’s hand disappears only to gently pat Taehyung’s head, fingers through his hair. “Drink your tea, Taehyung-ah. I’ll be back,” Seokjin says.

“Okay, hyung,” Taehyung mumbles into his knees.

When Seokjin comes back, Taehyung has pulled himself together enough to ask about Seokjin’s rehearsals and his classes, and they don’t talk about Taehyung’s allergies again for the rest of the night.

---

“Hey, hyung?” Taehyung asks, staring at the ceiling.

Namjoon hums back in response, clearly focused on his work.

The lights in Namjoon’s studio are dim, Namjoon’s computer screen with the newest track he’s working on the brightest thing in the room. It’d be perfect to fall asleep to, Namjoon’s occasional clicking in the background, the quiet hum of all his equipment.

But Taehyung is still thinking- still circling around the same thoughts like vultures over carrion or water going down a slow drain.

“Do you ever still miss people?” Taehyung asks quietly.

The chair squeaks, and Taehyung lets his head roll to the side on the couch cushion. Namjoon’s turned to face him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“People from your life before you Turned,” Taehyung supplies, even though he thinks it should be obvious. Maybe Namjoon’s completely removed himself from life before, but Taehyung’s only been a vampire for five months to Namjoon’s over one hundred years. Maybe it was stupid to ask.

Namjoon leans forward, elbows on his thighs and steepled fingers pressed to his lips. “Sometimes,” he says after a few moments.

It reminds him of Yoongi’s sometimes when Taehyung asked if he ever got tired of moving, of uprooting his life every decade.

Taehyung watches him, meets Namjoon’s eyes. “Does it still hurt?”

Namjoon exhales so lightly that Taehyung wouldn’t be able to hear if it weren’t for his perfect senses. “Sometimes,” Namjoon says again.

Taehyung shifts again on the sofa, smooth black leather rustling his hair as he looks back up at the ceiling. “I miss them all the time.”

Is sometimes better than all the time? Taehyung isn’t sure. 

The chair squeaks again, and Namjoon sits down on the cushion above Taehyung’s head. His hand, the same temperature as Taehyung’s skin, comes to gently rest against Taehyung’s cheek. It’s a little awkward, in the way most of Namjoon’s movements are, but Taehyung turns his face into it, nestles into the touch. “I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon murmurs.

“I miss my family, hyung. I miss my friends. I-I miss going to classes and eating street food with Jimin and working at the dog shelter. I miss the sun. I miss being-” Taehyung’s voice breaks and he stops, squeezes his eyes shut and feels wetness track down his nose and into Namjoon’s palm. 

Namjoon’s other hand comes up to Taehyung’s hair, stroking unevenly, touch gentle. “It’s okay,” Namjoon says quietly, a little thickly. “You can cry. I’ve got you.”

“I should be grateful,” Taehyung chokes out. “If Doctor Im hadn’t Turned me, I’d be dead. But sometimes I feel like I’m not living, either. Can vampires be ghosts, too, hyung? I think I’m just a ghost.”

Namjoon makes a low crooning noise, clumsy pets to Taehyung’s hair stopping as he wipes at Taehyung’s cheeks. “You’re not a ghost, Taehyung-ah. I see you. You’re here with me right now. You’re still here.”

Namjoon cradles Taehyung’s face, lets him cry because most of the time, Taehyung doesn’t feel like he’s here at all.

---

“ Be careful about forming connections with humans, ” Yoongi had told him, a little over a week after Taehyung Turned. “ It can be dangerous. ”

“ I would never bite someone, ” Taehyung had answered, horrified at the thought, stomach churning. 

“ I didn’t mean dangerous for them, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi had clarified, but he’d left it that, a frown curling his lips downward before he reached over to take Taehyung’s hand, their palms comfortingly the same temperature.

Taehyung thinks he understands now. 

He walks inside the comic cafe and sees Seokjin, and he wonders how much it will hurt if Seokjin becomes another person Taehyung will miss. Or maybe now it’s not a matter of if, but when.

“Hello,” Seokjin says, voice pitched a little higher in some imitation of aegyo that’s every bit endearing as anything Kim Seokjin does. “What can I get our favorite customer today?”

Taehyung smiles, heart aching. Ten years from now will he miss Seokjin like he misses Jimin? Will he be another gaping hole in Taehyung’s life? Add to that gnawing emptiness?

“Tea, please,” Taehyung answers, and his voice is a little softer than he means it to be.

“Any tea? Should I surprise you?” Seokjin asks.

Taehyung nods. “Sure, hyung.” He moves to pull out his wallet, but Seokjin shakes his head.

“On the house today,” Seokjin tells him. “You’re probably keeping us in business at this point, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung laughs a little bit, ducks his head. “One cup of tea twice a week isn’t that much, hyung.”

“In this economy,” Seokjin says ominously, wiggling his fingers before turning around to the shelf of teas and coffee. “Now, what kind of flavors do you like, Taehyung-ah?”

O-negative. 

What did Taehyung like before?

“Cinnamon. Autumn flavors.”

“Autumn flavors,” Seokjin muses. “Got it. I’ll bring it out in a bit.”

Taehyung retreats to the table near the counter rather than the desk, pulls his laptop out of his bag and gets his lecture set up while he waits.

Seokjin brings over a steaming mug of dark tea a few minutes later. “Okay, Taehyung-ah, give me your thoughts.”

Taehyung leans over the mug and sniffs, the curl of steam caressing his cheeks but not warming them. He can barely smell it, all of his senses now targeted on human things- blood and body heat.

He takes it between his hands and raises it to his lips, taking a sip.

There’s a bit of phantom vanilla, he thinks. He can imagine bits of orange and cinnamon and clove if he closes his eyes, lets it sit on his tongue.

“Well?” Seokjin asks. “Is this your new favorite?”

Taehyung cracks his eyes open again, nodding. “It’s perfect. Thank you, hyung.”

“It may or may not be a homemade blend,” Seokjin tells him with a wink. “You can only get it at Manhwa Room, so be sure to keep coming.”

“I won’t be able to stay away,” Taehyung answers, voice light but truly serious. It’s just not because of the tea.

Seokjin picks up the tray he brought the tea on. “How are your allergies, Taehyung-ah? Are they still bothering you?”

“They’re a little better now,” Taehyung says, and it doesn’t feel entirely like a lie. 

“Good,” Seokjin tells him. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say more. His lips part before they close again, and Seokjin puts a smile back on his face. “Let me know if you want more tea,” he says before leaving Taehyung for the counter again.

Taehyung watches him go and thinks that he already would miss Seokjin, if he stopped coming here. He would already miss Seokjin a lot.

---

“I hate you,” Seokjin says, his voice trembling. “I hate you and I never want to see you again.”

Taehyung’s throat feels thick as he looks down at the next line. “Don’t say that,” he reads for Jiwoo. “Don’t say that, Kyungmin. I know that this is because of my family.”

“It’s not,” Seokjin answers, and across the cafe he paces a few steps before turning back to fix burning eyes on Taehyung. “Don’t contact me again.”

“Kyungmin,” Taehyung says weakly, and the scene ends as Seokjin strides off stage left, or in this case, toward the windows.

“Is everyone in this play a total asshole?” Taehyung asks incredulously, staring at the script. “Like seriously, hyung, I hate them all.”

Seokjin is instantly out of characters as he snorts ungracefully. “That’s why is a tragic drama, Taehyung-ah. They create their own misery and then lay down in it.”

Taehyung makes a face at the play. “I think your next role should be in a comedy. Or maybe a historical play.”

“Joseon, but make it gay?” Seokjin recalls with a grin.

Taehyung nods seriously. “Exactly. But not like, Frozen Flower. Something that’s gay and happy and doesn’t end with someone dying.”

“I’ll look into casting calls,” Seokjin says.

“Good.” Taehyung stands, taking Seokjin’s script, and walks it over to the window where Seokjin’s still standing. “You’re going to be amazing in this play still, hyung. Even if you have to play an asshole.”

Seokjin laughs as he takes back his script. His fingers brush over Taehyung’s but this time, Taehyung doesn’t jerk away. He steels himself for the flinch back at his icy skin, but Seokjin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Thanks, Taehyung-ah.” 

Taehyung watches his cheeks stretch, looks at the way his eyes crinkle, bright and soft at the compliment. He’s so beautiful , the kind of art that belongs in the pages of Taehyung’s textbooks.

This close, Taehyung is also reminded that Seokjin is a living, breathing person. A human. A human with a squeaking laugh and a gentle touch, a confidence that belies an internal strength but a genuine humbleness that follows just as closely, awkward and blushing.

The streetlight floods in from the window, blues of the night contrasting with the warm yellows of the cafe.

They’re standing close, close in a way that makes Taehyung want. 

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says again, this time a little bit quieter. “You’re staring a hole in my face.”

“Ah,” Taehyung answers lamely, honestly. “Sorry. You’re just- you’re really beautiful, hyung. It’s hard not to stare. I can stop, though, if it’s weird.”

Seokjin’s lips part around an inhale, a surprised little sound. His cheeks flush pink again, and from this close Taehyung thinks he can smell it, the rush of blood under his skin. “Is that supposed to be a pick-up line?” Seokjin asks, ears red. “If so, it could really use some work.”

Taehyung’s eyes flick to where Seokjin’s swallows, and he wants . Wants to press close to Seokjin and run his lips along the column of his throat, wants to wrap his arms around Seokjin’s waist and hold him, wants to-

“There’s a movie,” Seokjin says, full lips moving and dragging Taehyung’s gaze to them. “It’s playing before my shift Thursday. If you want to watch it with me.”

Taehyung’s brain absorbs this information slowly, and he manages to look back into Seokjin’s eyes and finds-

Nerves.

Seokjin’s eyes are a little wide, a little scared. They hold Taehyung’s with clear apprehension, not the back-and-forth flirting they’ve done before, not the teasing and the banter. 

Genuine nervousness because Seokjin-

Seokjin must care .

Taehyung’s stomach turns, empty. He remembers what it's like for people to care about him. His parents, crying, wearing mourning clothes and sitting beside his picture in the funeral hall, incense in the air. His siblings, wide-eyed with shock, sister holding onto the stuffed bear he gave her for her fifth birthday. Jimin, putting on a strong face for them and then sobbing in the hallway while Taehyung watched, masked and hooded, from around the corner.

In seven years or earlier, Taehyung’s going to get hurt, too. He’s going to leave, fake a death or disappear entirely to cover up that he’s a vampire, that he’s not like Seokjin anymore. 

If Seokjin cares and keeps caring, like Taehyung wants him to, friend or more , it’s going to hurt. It will hurt them both.

“I-” Taehyung stops and starts, shaking his head as he takes a step back. “I can’t.”

“Oh,” Seokjin says, and hurt flashes across his face for a moment with a twist of his lips before his expression evens out into something perfectly pleasant. “Alright.”

“It’s not that I-” Taehyung breaks off. What words can he string together to explain this other than the full, revealing explanation? The impossible one that Seokjin won’t believe and rule Taehyung insane or will believe and run in terror? “I’m sorry,” he says, uselessly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Seokjin says easily, and he raises his script to his chest and smiles. “Don’t you have a lecture to watch?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung answers, hollow, carving more and more space in his chest when he already thought he was all emptied out before.

“Be studious, then,” Seokjin tells him lightly, and goes back to the counter, away from the evening blue light.

Taehyung isn’t studious at all, stealing glances at Seokjin whenever his back is turned, professor's voice droning in his ears but only wondering what it would be like if he was still human and had met Kim Seokjin, aspiring actor and Manhwa Room employee, and could go to the movies with him as Kim Taehyung, arts student.

But he’s Kim Taehyung, vampire, and he doesn’t get to take Kim Seokjin, human, on a date.

---

Taehyung almost doesn’t go back to Manhwa Room on Thursday. 

He skulks around Namjoon’s studio instead, moodily smearing pencil lead around on one of Namjoon’s song-writing notebooks until his fingers turn gray and he’s created an abstract monochrome page of dark clouds and shapes that probably reflect the current state of his mind.

But after Namjoon tries gently to prod Taehyung into talking, Taehyung leaves, pulling his hood over his head, and finds himself going right back to Manhwa Room, moth to a flame, Kim Taehyung, vampire to Kim Seokjin, human.

He hesitates outside the door, looking at the chalkboard on the landing with ‘you’re the apple of my pie’ scrawled across it, a terrible doodle of what must be apple pie beneath.

Taehyung goes inside anyway, tugging on the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

Seokjin’s at the counter, like always, this time scrolling through his phone rather than reading through his script. There are a few Christmas decorations up now, a wreath on the wall and a tiny tree by the door to the kitchen.

Seokjin glances up with the bell, and when he sees Taehyung, still smiles, like Taehyung hadn’t flirted with him for over a month only to turn him down when Seokjin finally asked him on what was likely a date. 

“Hi, Taehyung-ah. What kind of tea can I get you tonight?”

Taehyung hurts as much as it heals him, Seokjin calling his name like this still. “Chamomile, please,” he says. And then, more quietly, “Thank you, hyung.”

Seokjin’s smile softens. “Of course. I’ll have it right out.”

Taehyung decides that if he’s emptied out already, if he’s a ghost of Kim Taehyung, human, he might as well take what distant happiness he can, so long as it doesn’t affect Seokjin.

He can develop feelings from a distance. 

It’ll have to be enough.

---

Taehyung keeps up with his assignments steadily, oftentimes completing them at the comic book cafe after practicing scenes with Seokjin or on the couch with Yoongi or in Namjoon’s studio.

Christmas passes without fanfare, a couples holiday for the non-religious that Yoongi and Namjoon don’t celebrate either way.

New Years, however, Yoongi and Namjoon tell Taehyung they invited an old friend over, one who recently returned to Korea from a ten-year life in Japan.

“You’ll like him, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon says. “He’s done a lot of living.”

Taehyung does, in fact, like Yoongi and Namjoon’s friend a lot.

Jung Hoseok is not at all like the few other vampires Taehyung has met through Yoongi and Namjoon. 

They’ve all been quiet and reserved, a certain sense of reserved wisdom and, honestly, boring self-restraint. They’ve all worn dark colors, talked in stilted, formal language, and seemed like they were put-out by human society and more interested in critiquing it, lamenting the loss of the old days, or whatever decade or century they were from.

Jung Hoseok, however, bursts with color. He greets Taehyung with a hug. 

“Taehyung-ah!” He says, a brilliant, heart-shaped smile on his face. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Taehyung grins back, taking in Hoseok’s red hair and oversized sweatshirt. “I didn’t realize Yoongi-hyung and Namjoon-hyung were such gossips.”

“Of course they are,” Hoseok laughs, and he kicks off his shoes, some expensive sportswear brand. “They’re like ahjummas at the jimjilbang.”

“They don’t gossip enough in front of me,” Taehyung tells him.

“That’s because you’re rarely here,” Yoongi says dryly from the kitchen, not having to raise his voice for their ears.

Taehyung pouts in his general direction. “Maybe I would be if you and Namjoon-hyung provided more excitement. Gossip is exciting.”

Hoseok laughs, just as bright as his smile. 

He tells Taehyung to call him hyung, asks about Taehyung’s art classes, reveals embarrassing stories about Yoongi and Namjoon until they both put their heads in their hands and beg Hoseok to stop, saying they regret having him over.

Taehyung’s sides hurt from laughing, stomach full from the blood packs they drank at the table, more than happy to follow Hoseok into the living room after dinner and leave Namjoon and Yoongi to wash the glasses.

“How long ago did you Turn, hyung?” Taehyung asks as they sit down on the couch, Hoseok pressed against his side like they’ve known each other for years rather than hours.

“About two hundred years ago.”

Taehyung’s mouth falls open. “You’re older than Namjoon-hyung and Yoongi-hyung?”

“Much,” Hoseok tells him. “You’d never know, with the way they act.”

Taehyung giggles, nodding. 

“But they’ve always been like this,” Hoseok says. “I don’t think Vampirism changed them much, from what I understand.”

“I can see it,” Taehyung admits with a smile. 

“What about you, Taehyung-ah? Do you think Turning changed you?” Hoseok asks. His voice is light but there’s something heavier about the question.

Taehyung runs his finger along the arm of the sofa, fabric soft beneath the pad of his pointer. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s still new. I think- I think I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

“How to do what?” Hoseok shifts so his body is tilted toward Taehyung, face serious for probably the first time since he walked through the front door.

“How to keep going when everyone I knew is out of reach. How… how to keep going when I know that in less than seven years, I’ll leave everything behind again,” Taehyung says quietly. 

Hoseok hums in understanding. “Isn’t that life?”

Taehyung frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the same for humans. They put down roots and they move, or they leave, or they do something life-changing. And in eighty years or ninety years, they die and they leave everyone behind,” Hoseok says. “Nothing is permanent.”

“But they have more time.”

“Or less time, depending on how you look at it,” Hoseok points out. “I know Namjoon and Yoongi like to keep to themselves and probably encouraged you to do the same, but that’s a personal choice, Taehyung-ah. Every day is a gift, whether you’re human or vampire. Time that you spend with someone you care about isn’t wasted.”

“But what if you care about humans? What if you care about humans and it hurts them when you have to disappear? And it hurts you, too?”

Hoseok smiles slightly. “That’s part of living, Taehyung-ah. You have to decide whether or not it’s worth it.”

Part of living . Maybe Taehyung hasn’t been living at all, for the last eight months. Maybe he forgot how. “But what if it’s not worth it for them?” Taehyung asks quietly. “I- I don’t want to hurt anyone like I’ve already hurt my family. My friends.”

Hoseok leans forward, his eyes bright. “A secret, Taehyung-ah. If you’ve spent two years, five years, ten years with someone who will miss you that much when you leave, maybe they’re someone you can tell the truth to.”

Taehyung blinks at the possibility. “You’ve told humans you’re a vampire before?”

Hoseok nods. “Just last month I told my friend and dance studio co-owner. She’ll run the studio alone now, but she knows to give me a call if she needs anything. And that if she comes to Korea, I’ll be here to see her again.”

Taehyung stares blankly at Hoseok. It's very different from Yoongi and Namjoon's past with humans. “But- but she’ll keep aging. You’ll have to watch her- watch her die one day, and you’ll still be here.”

“Yes,” Hoseok says. “But that’s part of life, too. Just because time works differently now doesn’t mean that you just stop living. You’re still human. Right here. You can love and be loved.” He taps his hand against Taehyung’s chest, right over his heart. “Turning doesn’t change that.”

Taehyung feels his vision blurring, feels the tears building behind his eyes. “I thought it did,” he says. “It felt like it did.”

“Ah,” Hoseok says, and pulls Taehyung into a hug, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You’re still you. Never forget that, Taehyung-ah. You’re living.”

Taehyung clings to him, some of the hollowness inside filling with warmth- the warmth that comes with love, rather than the sun.

---

The Tuesday after New Years, Taehyung walks into Manhwa Room to find Seokjin in heavy eyeliner, cheeks unnaturally red with fake blush, features contoured to make him look even more like a walking sculpture.

“Nice make-up, hyung,” Taehyung says, ignoring the fact that Seokjin is, in fact, trying to wipe his face clean.

Seokjin glares at him from over the white make-up removal sheet. “I do not need your sarcasm at the moment, Kim Taehyung.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Taehyung answers, and he puts his elbows on the counter, watching Seokjin. “Were your trying out some looks?”

“It was dress rehearsal tonight,” Seokjin tells him, still irritable. It’s unusual for Seokjin, level-headed and only ever pretending to be riled-up for the sake of laughs. 

“Ah,” Taehyung says, frowning. “How did it go?”

“About as well as can be expected when the leading man doesn’t show up until halfway through and the stage director is out sick with the flu.” Seokjin scrubs aggressively at his face.

Taehyung winces. “That sucks, hyung. I’m sorry.”

Seokjin sighs, lowering the make-up wipe. He’s still got eyeliner coated around his left eye, a half-panda. “It’s a disaster. I don’t know if we’re going to pull it together. I thought about inviting my family, but- not like this.”

Taehyung gently takes the wipe from Seokjin. “Close your eyes, hyung,” he says, and carefully begins to wipe at Seokjin’s panda eye. “You could still invite them. You had your lines memorized like a week after getting the role. You’ll be great, even if the rest of it is messy.”

Seokjin just grunts quietly.

Seokjin may not talk about it often, but Taehyung knows that approval from his parents is important to him. Really, truly important. Pursuing acting was already a decision they weren’t on board with, and Taehyung can only imagine that Seokjin wants to make them proud now.

“Seokjinnie-hyung,” Taehyung says, softer, as gentle as he can be as he finishes cleaning off the thick layer of eyeliner. “You’ve worked so hard on the production. Your family should be proud of that. I’m proud of that.”

Seokjin hums under his breath, but he keeps his eyes closed even as Taehyung pulls back, dirty make-up wipe in hand. 

He’s still the most beautiful person Taehyung has ever known, even grumpy and tired and worried. His eyes flutter open slowly when he realizes Taehyung is finished, perfectly soft, bags beneath, the kind of eyes that Taehyung could make a whole color palette around, could paint with oil pastels smudging his fingers. 

“Do you want to come instead?” Seokjin asks, then looks like he immediately regrets it, eyes widening. “I- I have extra tickets. Jaehwan will be there, but I don’t-”

“I want to come, hyung,” Taehyung says, honestly. “Please give me an extra ticket?”

Seokjin blinks, but nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says, and watches as Seokjin blinks a few times more.

“So. Chamomile?”

“Yeah. That’d be great, hyung.”

You can love and be loved, Hoseok had said.

And Taehyung wants to be in the audience, cheering for Seokjin, giving him love.

Seokjin deserves it.

And Taehyung wants it.

---

“You’re going out early,” Namjoon says, watching Taehyung put on his coat by the door. 

Yoongi is beside him on the sofa, some nature documentary about whales quietly playing on the television, barely audible even to vampire ears. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, and slips into his shoes. “The sun set a few minutes ago- I checked.”

“Have fun,” Yoongi tells him, not even turning around.

Namjoon looks like he wants to say something, brow scrunching for a moment before Yoongi leans over to press a kiss to Namjoon’s cheek, and Namjoon’s face goes soft at it. “Have fun, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon says. “Call if you need anything.”

Taehyung snorts. “Thanks,” he says to his defacto hyungs and part-time vampire parents. 

The door closes behind him, and then Taehyung is hurrying to the flower shop.

For Jimin, Taehyung always buys yellows and oranges.

For Seokjin, Taehyung takes a moment to think, glancing around at the colors. The flower shop near the apartment is much bigger than the tiny one near Taehyung’s old university, a few staff members strolling around.

“Can I help you?” One of them asks.

Taehyung scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know what to get, actually.”

The employee smiles kindly at him. She has a band-aid wrapped around her thumb, the scent of her blood wafting towards Taehyung’s nose, much stronger than any of the flowers. Taehyung wills his fangs to stay hidden, running his tongue over his teeth. He’s getting better about having them descend, just like Namjoon and Yoongi said he would.

“What’s the occasion?” The employee asks.

“For a- a friend in a theater production,” Taehyung says, refocusing. “Something soft, but still bright. Something full of life.”

The employee nods thoughtfully, smiling. “I’ll make one for you,” she says.

---

The theater is small but chic, and Taehyung picks up his ticket from the will call window among a few others before heading inside, a few posters advertising upcoming productions on the dark walls. 

When he slips inside to take his seat, there’s a man that greets him with a, “Kim Taehyung?”
Taehyung bows to him. “You’re-”

“Lee Jaehwan.” He looks at Taehyung’s bouquet, soft pinks mixed with vibrant reds. “Nice. Seokjinnie will appreciate that, even if he acts like he thinks it’s ridiculous. Good choice.”

“Thanks,” Taehyung says, knowing full well he’d be blushing if he still could. “It’s nice to meet you, Jaehwan-ssi. I’ve heard stories about you.”

“God, please tell me Seokjin didn’t pass along the goldfish story.”

“The dance?”

“Oh, fuck him,” Jaehwan says, laughing. 

Taehyung grins, taking a seat, careful not to jostle the bouquet. “Is hyung’s family coming tonight?”

Jaehwan’s face darkens, and he shakes his head. “He didn’t tell them. Something about the production being too small for it to be worth them coming to Seoul for.” 

“But it is,” Taehyung says, frowning.

“I know,” Jaehwan tells him, and Taehyung thinks they share an understanding.

The lights go down in the auditorium, and Taehyung settles a little lower into the seat, waiting.

The play is good .

Worth driving to Seoul for, any day.

Taehyung finds himself mouthing along to the lines of Seokjin’s scene partners, eyes glued to the stage every time Seokjin appears, an incredible magnetism that Taehyung thinks everyone feels, rather than just one Kim Taehyung, moth to Kim Seokjin, flame.

It’s a terrible script, but Taehyung is still crying at the end over the asshole characters’ love hexagon. 

When the cast comes out to do their bows, Taehyung is fairly certain the audience cheers for Seokjin the loudest. And this, of course, is with Taehyung’s incredibly good hearing.

Seokjin comes out with a face still full of stage make-up, and is immediately tackled by Jaehwan.

“You were incredible, Seokjinnie. Made that total dick of a character into someone I actually cared about,” Jaehwan tells him.

Seokjin laughs, pokes at Jaehwan’s side to make him let go. “Thanks for coming,” he says, and then looks at Taehyung and adds, “You too, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung steps forward for a hug of his own, feels Seokjin tense for a moment before he relaxes into it, wrapping his own arms around Taehyung. “You were so good, hyung,” Taehyung tells him with a gentle squeeze. “So good.”

He pulls away only to present Seokjin with the flowers.

Just as Jaehwan predicted, Seokjin squawks at them. “Yah, what are these for?”

“For you, obviously,” Taehyung tells him. “But I could also give them to Jaehwan-ssi if you don’t like them.”

Seokjin snags the bouquet away immediately. “Jaehwan would let them die within a day,” he says.

Jaehwan rolls his eyes. “Let’s get drinks,” he says. “It’s time for inebriation celebration.”

The bar Jaehwan takes them to is a small place with pajeon and mandu along with soju and beer, and Seokjin sets his bouquet down carefully on the fourth chair. Jaehwan orders for them, and once the food arrives Taehyung is giving Seokjin a blow-by-blow description of watching the play.

“And like, I knew Seungjoon was supposed to be bitchy, but on stage, he was so awful, hyung. He was the only character I actually hated. The true villain.”

“The crazy thing,” Seokjin says around a mouthful of seafood pajeon, “is that the actor who plays him is the nicest guy in real life.”

“The nicest guy, huh?” Jaehwan asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Seokjin smacks his arm. “Yes, Jaehwan, a nice guy. A good friend . Better than you are at least.”

“I am personally offended.”

“Good,” Seokjin says, then turns to Taehyung with a dumpling. “Taehyung-ah, here. You’re not eating enough.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, lets Seokjin feed him, grins to himself as he chews. 

Seokjin and Jaehwan drink a lot. A lot meaning that Seokjin’s eyes are drooping closed even as he continues to shovel pajeon into his mouth, and Jaehwan puts his head down on the table.

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says, voice slurring. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Of course, hyung. I wanted to come. I wanted to see you.”

“Hm,” Seokjin says, going back for another piece of pajeon and stuffing it in his already full cheeks. 

Taehyung wants to kiss him like this, which maybe is ridiculous. But it’s true. Though he supposes he just wants to kiss Seokjin all the time.

But that wouldn’t be fair. Taehyung is happy with this. This- this isn’t too selfish. This is a friendship, and one that Taehyung is happy to have, lucky to share. Kissing Seokjin would take things a little too far. Hoseok hadn’t talked about lovers, but about friends, work partners. 

Being friends with Seokjin still reminds Taehyung of what it’s like to live.

“What are you thinking about?” Seokjin asks sleepily, taking a sip of beer.

“Living,” Taehyung says, and picks up a dumpling for Seokjin, setting it onto the little personal plate in front of him. “Eat lots, hyung. You worked hard.”

---

Teahyung pulls out of his phone the next morning, looks at the number and the contact information for Seokjinie-Hyung, and writes him a message.

^^ good morning hyung, he sends. how bad is your hangover?

A few hours later, Taehyung in his room with the black-out curtains pulled closed, his phone buzzes. we will not speak of hangovers. or alcohol. never again will we speak of alcohol, kim taehyung.

Taehyung laughs, hurries to answer. He spends the rest of the day messaging a grumpy, hungover Seokjin.

He loves every minute of it.

---

The Manhwa Room specials board doesn’t have any pastry puns next Tuesday, but instead multiple terribly sketched drawings of what might be a whale. ‘Whalecome’ it reads in English.

Taehyung snorts, pushing inside.

Seokjin greets him with a smile and a wave. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, only a little whiny, draping himself over the counter. “Finals suck even when they’re online.”

Seokjin pats his head sympathetically. “I’m sure you’ll survive somehow.”

Taehyung tilts his head to the side, cheek squished to the counter. “I don’t know, hyung. What if I perish?”

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “What is it that you want?”

Taehyung grins up at him. “What’s the pastry of the week, and does it need to be taste-tested?”

---

It’s nearly two in the morning on a Friday night, Taehyung sitting on the sofa in Namjoon’s studio with his knees tucked to his chest.

Jimin’s posted again on instagram, a picture of him throwing up a peace sign with his arm around Jeongguk’s shoulders. come support our end of the semester showcase! The time and location are below, followed by Jimin’s signature string of heart emojis.

Taehyung stares at it, knows he can’t miss it. It’s right before the seniors in the dance department graduate officially with the ceremony in the middle of February, one of the biggest performances of the year. 

He doesn’t want to miss it. 

Namjoon groans loudly from his desk chair, stretching his long limbs, arms lifted above his head. “If you’re hungry, Taehyung-ah, there’s some blood hidden in the coke bottles in the mini-fridge.”

Taehyung’s gaze jerks up from his phone. “It’s okay,” he says, and his voice comes out a little garbled.

Namjoon, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice. “Cool,” he mutters, and goes back to whatever he’s working on.

Taehyung cradles his phone in his hands, staring at Jimin’s smile and hoping with everything inside him it’s real, even if that means he’s forgotten Taehyung. Especially if it means he’s not sad anymore.

The emptiness is still somehow heavy in Taehyung’s stomach, and he grabs a coke bottle of blood from the fridge only to discover after a few sips it only makes him feel sick again.

It still hurts.

It still hurts a lot.

---

Taehyung finishes his last online test at Manhwa Room, Seokjin humming under his breath across the cafe as he cleans the table of the group of teenagers who left only a few minutes before.

Taehyung closes his laptop, tugging on his sleeves as he watches Seokjin.

“Hey, hyung?”

Seokjin looks up from the mess of mugs, plates, and utensils. “Yeah?”

“I- I have somewhere I really want to go. But I don’t want to go alone,” Taehyung says, and it comes out as small as he feels. “My roommates wouldn’t really approve and- and I thought, maybe, you might want to come along?”

Seokjin picks up the tray, frowning. “Is this like a strip club or something? Because I’ll go, but I’m extremely gay, Taehyung-ah. It won’t do much for me.”

“I’m also extremely gay, hyung, you know this,” Taehyung says, flapping a sweater paw in Seokjin’s direction. “And there are male strippers, too. But that’s beside the point.”

“What is the point then?” Seokjin asks, not unkindly, just clearly confused as he blinks at Taehyung.

“My friend and I had a- a falling out, I guess. But I want to go to his dance performance to support him still. Or to see him, I guess. He was my best friend. It’s really hard not having him around anymore, and I guess I- I don’t want to go alone.”

Seokjin nods. His brow is furrowed, but he just says, “Okay, Taehyung-ah. Just tell me where and when and I’ll go with you.”

Taehyung feels his muscles go lax, and he sinks back into his chair, breathing out heavily. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Of course,” Seokjin says, walking with the tray to the kitchen. “Honestly though, I was kind of interested in the idea of a strip club. I’ve never been before.”

Taehyung giggles, what might be the first laugh since he saw Jimin’s instagram post. “Maybe next time, hyung.”

---

Taehyung meets Seokjin on the edge of campus with a bouquet of yellow flowers for Jimin and his facemask in place.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just smiles gently and falls in step beside Taehyung. “So what kind of dancing are we watching here?” He asks.

“Modern. It’s Jimin’s- my friend’s- end of the year performance in his department,” Taehyung answers.

He can tell there are more questions Seokjin has from the way Seokjin hums and nods, glancing at Taehyung from the corner of his eye, but he leaves it at that.

It’s free entrance, so they make their way inside the university art center’s auditorium and Taehyung chooses seats for them near the back, Taehyung careful with the bouquet in his lap.

The performances are by year, the youngest students dancing first. There are group pieces and solo songs, and Taehyung applauds, not entirely focused. He sees Jeongguk in a solo though, his moves sharper, more like the dance team and less like modern, but he’s good. Amazing, even. Taehyung cheers for him louder than before, nods when Seokjin mutters, “Wow.”

The second years perform in a blur, and then the third year students are up.

Jimin is electric in the group performance, graceful and poised and powerful. Taehyung shivers when the lights go up on Jimin’s solo performance, a song that’s somehow so heartbroken that Taehyung can feel it in his bones, feels every bit of aching loss that Jimin dances on stage.

“That’s him?” Seokjin asks when the music fades.

Taehyung, heart in his throat, can only nod through his eyes blurring with tears.

Taehyung manages to pull himself together as the graduating class goes through their performances, standing to applaud with the bouquet carefully tucked in the crook of his arm.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says quietly, lights going up in the auditorium. “I don’t want him to know I was here, but-”

“The flowers?” Seokjin guesses, and Taehyung nods. “Sure, Taehyung-ah. I’ll meet you outside.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, still a little rough around the edges.

He wades out through the crowd of other students and makes it out into the night air, the chill barely a caress to his skin as he pulls his mask back into place.

He waits outside the main doors for a few minutes, and then Seokjin is there, a gentle hand on Taehyung’s arm. “I gave them to him. He asked if they were from you, though.”

“What?” Taehyung asks, stomach dropping, breath catching. What?

“Yeah. I didn’t answer. He didn’t look so great, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says gently, rubbing the back of his neck. 

What?

“Taehyung?”

Oh. Oh, God.

Taehyung turns around slowly, heart that stopped and started again nearly seven months ago slamming against his ribs. 

“Taehyungie?”

A sob rips its way out of Taehyung’s throat. 

Jimin is standing there, no coat, still in his threadbare leggings and gauzy shirt from his last performance. 

His Jiminie.

His best friend.

Jimin steps forward tentatively, but Taehyung is rooted in place, unable to move.

Seokjin places his hand gently on Taehyung’s arm, squeezing it. “I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah. He must’ve followed me,” he says quietly. “Do you want me to leave? Or ask him to go?”

Taehyung can’t form an answer, just stares in absolute shock as Jimin’s apprehension melts and he closes the distance between them in two long strides and rips the mask down from Taehyung’s face.

Seokjin’s grip on Taehyung’s arm tightens. “Taehyung-”

“I’m okay,” Taehyung whispers, unable to stop staring at Jimin’s face, at the absolute whirlwind of feelings written in his eyes.

“You’re here?” Jimin asks, demands. “How are you here?”

Taehyung shakes his head. He doesn’t know, doesn’t know . “I- I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m so sorry.”

“I thought you were dead ,” Jimin says and he cups Taehyung’s cheeks between his palms. He looks furious, but also two seconds away from shattering. “There was- we had a funeral.”

Somewhere far away, somewhere right by his side, Seokjin sucks in a sharp breath.

“Then someone gave me yellow flowers after the Hongdae performance,” Jimin says, and his hands are shaking as they hold Taehyung’s face. “She told me they were from my best friend. And you- you always gave me yellow flowers. I thought they were Jeongguk, but he swore- he swore - Taehyung-ah, is this- what are you? How are you here?”

“I died,” Taehyung whispers. “And- and a doctor brought me back. It’s a- a-” He hiccups, and then the tears come, leaving him curling over Jimin and sobbing into the crook of his neck, Seokjin’s hand still on his arm.

Jimin cries with him, arms looped around Taehyung’s shoulders, and they rock back and forth, back and forth.

“Okay,” Seokjin says lightly, after how long, Taehyung’s not sure. “I don’t understand anything of what’s going on right now. But Taehyung-ah, your friend is going to freeze. And not that I’ve ever turned down attention in my life, but quite a few people might have been some questions about what’s going on here.”

Taehyung pulls back with a shuddering breath. “Let’s- let’s move somewhere else?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Jimin snaps, eyes furious even though they’re puffy and red. 

“Together,” Taehyung says, and shrugs out of his coat before draping it over Jimin’s shoulders. “I don’t get cold anymore,” he adds, because it seems there is no secret to keep at this point.

“Right,” Seokjin says. “Okay. Great. This is all fine. Should I go?”

Taehyung’s throat tightens again. What will Seokjin think? What’s happening ? “No. No, it’s okay. I know somewhere we can talk,” Taehyung says.

They follow, Jimin with one hand wrapped tightly around Taehyung’s wrist, Seokjin muttering to himself. 

Taehyung takes them to a cafe across the east gate, one that he’d stumbled upon once.

It’s nearly empty when they walk in, but Taehyung still goes to the very back table after they order, the lone employee giving them odd looks, probably at Taehyung and Jimin’s puffy, snotty faces.

“Talk,” Jimin says after they sit. “Tell me why I thought you were dead for the last seven months. And I swear to God, Kim Taehyung, it better be the best explanation I’ve ever fucking heard-”

“I’m a vampire.”

Two sets of eyes stare at him like he’s gone absolutely insane.

“I was hit by a car when I was walking across campus, about seven months ago,” Taehyung says, and he lets his gaze flick to Seokjin who, for once, is not doing a good job to mask his expression. He looks every bit like Taehyung expects him to- incredulous, shocked, confused. “I don’t remember much from the hospital, other than asking the doctor to save me. But he did. Doctor Im. There’s a critical period, he said, after a human’s heart has stopped beating. The nurses declared me dead after I flatlined, Doctor Im had them leave the room, and then he bit me.”

Taehyung reaches with shaking fingers to the collar of his shirt and pulls it down, the scar shiny white still against the tan of his skin, a set of teeth marks. 

“It takes a few days, depending on the person. And that’s if it’s successful. I don’t know the odds, but they’re not always good. So Doctor Im said they replaced my body with a John Doe from the morgue since I- I apparently wasn’t very recognizable anyway.” Taehyung swallows uncomfortably around the mental image. “By the time I came to and Doctor Im explained everything it was the last day of the funeral rites. Doctor Im told me that- that I couldn’t tell you. That I shouldn’t tell anyone because it could put me and everyone else at risk. Because some people kill vampires when they find out. So I didn’t.”

“So you let me think you were dead,” Jimin whispers. “You let me think you were gone.”

The cafe employee drops off their drinks, her eyes darting around the table before she retreats.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and voice cracks as he presses the bottom of his palms against his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Jimin just lets out a shuddering breath.

“Is this a joke?” Seojin asks.

Taehyung looks up quickly, shaking his head. “No, hyung. No. I promise.”

“This has to be a joke,” Seokjin says, looking from Jimin to Taehyung. “I don’t understand.”

“I can only come out at night,” Taehyung tells him, tells both of them. “I- I drink blood, but I swear I’ve never hurt anyone for it. We have a supply through Doctor Im. Donations only. And- and I don’t age. But I’m still me. I’m still- I’m still Taehyung, I swear.” Tears well up in his eyes again, and he rubs them away with the back of his shirt sleeve.

Seokjin stands up abruptly from the table, his eyebrows pinched together. “Right. I’m going home. To sleep.”

“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers, something between a plea and an apology, desperate and small.

Seokjin turns on his heel and leaves, untouched mug of hot chocolate on the table. Taehyung can only let him go, eyes sore and fingers gnarled in the loose strands of his sleeves.

Jimin shakes his head, looking at Taehyung. “I don’t know if I believe you either,” he says. “And if I do… if I do I don’t know if I should hate you for putting me through this, Kim Taehyung.”

Taehyung feels his lower lip trembling, and he bites down on it. “Please believe me,” Taehyung whispers. “And you can hate me. I deserve it. But I am sorry, Jiminie. So, so sorry. I missed you every day.”

Jimin looks up at the ceiling, tears tracking down his cheeks as soon as he blinks. “I missed you too. Enough that I don’t think I can hate you. I don’t think I could ever ever hate you.”

Taehyung reaches across the table, wipes at Jimin’s face with the sleeve that’s not already damp. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Jimin sniffs. “Apology not accepted yet.”

Taehyung lets out a hoarse laugh. “That’s fair.”

Jimin nods, then looks to the empty seat. “He said his name was Seokjin?”

“Yeah.” 

“Who is he?” Jimin asks.

Taehyung scoots his chair closer to Jimin’s, ignoring the way it scrapes against the wooden floors, and puts his head on Jimin’s shoulder, nuzzling closer. “It’s kind of a long story,” he whispers. A long story that feels like it won’t have a happy ending.

“Well, good thing you’re back from the dead and here to tell me about it,” Jimin says, and he reaches for Taehyung’s hand, winding their fingers together. “You’re so cold, Tae.”

“The side effects of vampirism,” Taehyung murmurs miserably. 

“Right,” Jimin says. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

Taehyung pushes his face into Jimin’s sleeve, the soft fabric of Taehyung’s coat cushioning the muscle beneath it. “It took me a while, too.”

“Okay,” Jimin says, and squeezes Taehyung’s hand. “Tell me everything.”

---

“How are you feeling?” Yoongi asks first, Taehyung sitting on the edge of their bed. Yoongi and Namjoon are both in pajamas, silky sets that are in different shades of blue. 

“Like I’m dreaming,” Taehyung admits, rubbing his eyes. He needs to take his contacts out. “Is there some high vampire council who are going to come and take me away from you guys now?”

“No,” Namjoon says immediately, a little fiercely. “No one is going to take you away from us, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung nods, too tired to feel much more than sluggish worry mixed with relief, mixed with apologies, mixed with guilt, mixed with love. Too many feelings. His head hurts. “I’m sorry I blew the secret. But I’m not sorry Jimin found out.”

Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a look. “Do you think he or Seokjin will tell anyone?” Namjoon asks carefully.

“I don’t think so,” Taehyung answers. “I don’t know if Seokjin-hyung believes me at all.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, and leans forward off his pillows to gently pet Taehyung’s hair once. “Get some sleep, Taehyung-ah. It’s nearly six.”

Taehyung nods before eyeing the space between Namjoon and Yoongi. “Can I sleep here tonight?” He asks quietly.

“'Course you can,” Yoongi tells him, and wiggles over a little bit to make room.

Namjoon lifts the duvet, and Taehyung crawls beneath, snuggling between them.

The feelings toss around in his head, layering and layering, all of them painfully, wonderfully human.

---

Seokjin doesn’t text Taehyung over the weekend, so Taehyung doesn’t push. Doesn’t send his usual batch of memes and dog pictures on Sunday.

He messages Jimin, though. Jimin had already bought tickets on the KTX back to Busan for the break, though Jimin offers to cancel them.

They talk for five hours on Sunday afternoon on the phone still, torn space between them another stitch sewn up. 

“You’re going to have to do a lot before I fully forgive you, Kim Taehyung,” Jimin declares.

“I know,” Taehyung says. 

---

Manhwa Room is just as quiet as usual when Taehyung walks in on Tuesday night. 

Seokjin looks up with the bell, but he doesn’t smile when he sees Taehyung. 

Taehyung swallows around the fear in his throat as he steps over to the counter. “Hi,” he says quietly. “Can I have a chamomile tea, please?”

“One chamomile tea,” Seokjin repeats evenly.

Taehyung passes over the money and takes a seat at the table near the counter, watches as Seokjin shakes leaves into the little metal ball for leaves and steeps it in a mug, keeping his back turned to Taehyung.

There's a couple near the window both reading their own comics, headphones on, blissfully unaware of Taehyung's impending terrifying conversation.

When Seokjin brings the mug over, he sets it down on the table and stands across from Taehyung by the chair opposite him, tray in hand.

“I didn’t think chamomile would be your drink of choice,” Seokjin says, measured, light. "Isn't blood more of your thing?"

Taehyung scratches the back of his head. “I can’t actually taste anything but blood,” he admits.

“Then why do you get it?”

Taehyung shrugs. “You recommended it the first time I came here.”

Seokjin hums in what might be disbelief under his breath.

“Can I show you something, hyung?” Taehyung asks.

“Sure,” Seokjin says.

Taehyung reaches for his pocket, pulls out his contact case. He takes the left one out first, then the right. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand before looking at Seokjin. Then, he lets his fangs descend. 

Seokjin drops the tray, and it lands back on the table with a soft clatter. “Right.”

“I wasn’t playing a joke on you, hyung. Or lying,” Taehyung says. “And I’m breaking a lot of vampire rules right now, but you’re important to me. And I want to tell you.”

Seokjin sinks down into the chair opposite Taehyung.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time, hyung. I like you a lot. You asked me to the movies back in the beginning of December and I wanted to say yes, but I- I didn’t know what that would be like. I was scared of getting close to you and then having to leave before you could find out what I was. I have seven years here, maybe. And even if whatever we could have wouldn’t last seven years, I would be lying to you the whole time about what I am. And that wasn’t fair. Not to either of us.”

Seokjin stares, searching Taehyung’s face. “You’re really…”

“A vampire,” Taehyung says. “Yeah.”

“And you like me.”

“Yes. Though that’s probably not as crazy as the vampire part of things. But I do like you, hyung. So much. Being with you- it reminded me of what it was like to be alive. Even when I'd forgotten. You're... you're really important to me, hyung. You're so important. Even if you don't want to see me after this, I hope you know that.” 

Seokjin’s eyes flick down to Taehyung’s chamomile tea, then up again. “Can I have some time?”

“Of course,” Taehyung says quietly. “I won’t bother you. And if- if you’re scared or anything, I won’t come back.”

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says, and he hesitates only for a moment before he awkwardly reaches across the table and takes Taehyung’s hand. “I’m not scared of you. I just need to think, okay? This is a lot.”

Taehyung nods. “Yeah. Of course, hyung.” His fingers twitch when Seokjin leans back, the touch gone. “Can I finish my tea before I go?”

Seokjin smiles at him, the same one that’s soft around the edges, impossibly beautiful. Something in Taehyung sighs in relief at it, aches for it just the same. “Of course. No rush.”

Taehyung watches Seokjin as he goes back to the counter, as he fiddles around with the register and tidies the shelf.

“Good night, Seokjin-hyung,” Taehyung says.

“Good night, Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin tells him.

The clock on the wall reads four in the morning as Taehyung steps back out into the night, hoping, longing. The world hangs between darkness and sunrise, birds waking slowly.

Taehyung breathes it in and starts his walk back home, alive. 

---

“Nice place,” Jimin says as he steps inside.

Yoongi and Namjoon both watch Jimin from behind Taehyung, who reaches for his best friend and pulls him into his arms. “Welcome back to Seoul,” he says.

Jimin giggles. “I was only gone for a month, Tae.”

“I missed you,” Taehyung says, and now, it’s not the kind of missing that eats away at him from the inside out. 

“Missed you too,” Jimin says with understanding in his eyes. “These are your vampire roommates, then?”

“Namjoon-hyung and Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung tells him. “They look intimidating, but they’re actually terrified right now. Yoongi-hyung asked me what kind of slang humans are using this year and Namjoon-hyung asked me if you liked hip-hop, since he doesn’t know anything else ‘kids are listening to these days.’”

Jimin laughs again as Namjoon groans and Yoongi mutters, “Thanks for selling us out, Taehyung-ah.”

Oddly enough, Jimin seems to fit in at the dinner table, though he’s drinking actual wine and eating the jajangmyeon Taehyung ordered for him while the rest of them drink blood from wine glasses.

“You never told me whether or not you decided to tell your family,” Jimin says when they finish, washing the dishes while Taehyung dries like the used to in their apartment. Namjoon and Yoongi have retreated to their room, giving Jimin and Taehyung space to themselves.

“Because I’m not sure how they’d react,” Taehyung admits. “I’m scared, Jimin. What if knowing I’m like this- of having me disappear after seven years and only float in and out of their lives- is hard on them?”

“Thinking you’re dead every day is so much harder,” Jimin says, turning off the tap so he can face Taehyung. “Taehyung-ah, however you are, your family loves you. It might be terrifying at first, telling them that you’re a vampire, considering they might not believe you. But you can be a part of their lives again, even if you have to move around and aren’t always there. I know it goes against typical vampire conduct, but you said Yoongi and Namjoon will protect you if someone finds out.”

“They will,” Taehyung says immediately. “They… they actually already told me it was up to me, if I reach out to my family.”

Jimin nods. “Good. You have my support, Taehyung-ah. Whatever your choice is.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, and leans over to bump his forehead against Jimin’s. 

“And what about Seokjin?”

Taehyung pulls away, frowning at his dish towel. “I don’t know. I’m giving him time. After everything I told him, I don’t know what I’m hoping for.”

“That he has feelings for you too?” Jimin suggests.

“Yeah. But even if he does, what does that look like? I’m a vampire, Jiminie. I don’t know how to be with someone like this.”

“Kim Taehyung,” Jimin says, pulling out his stern voice, the one he used when Taehyung was whining about a painting he didn’t think he could finish. “Do you like him?”

“So much,” Taehyung says, thinking of squeaking laughs and soft smiles, gentle touches and unwavering support, bright and warm.

“Then you’ll make it work,” Jimin tells him. “Now get back to drying,” he says, and flicks bubbles at Taehyung, laughing when Taehyung's face scrunches up in a dramatic sneeze. 

---

Halfway through March, Taehyung gets a message from Seokjin that reads, who is a dessert’s favorite actor?

Taehyung’s heart skips a beat. He types back quickly, i don’t know, hyung. who?

robert brownie jr.

Taehyung giggles, sends back, ( > y < )

The little unread number disappears on their chat, and Taehyung waits a few minutes before Seokjin types back, there’s a cup of chamomile waiting for you if you want and adds, even though you can’t taste it.

---

Taehyung walks into an empty Manhwa Room Tuesday night, tugging on his sleeves, thrumming with hope and fear as they twist around each other.

Seokjin is at the front counter. “Hey, Taehyung-ah,” he says, smiling.

Smiling is a good sign, Taehyung thinks. “Hi, hyung,” he answers quietly.

“So,” Seokjin says, and drums his crooked fingers along the countertop. “You’re a vampire. You died, technically, in a car accident eight months ago. You like me, and you have liked me for a while, but you didn’t say anything because you didn’t know how to tell me the truth. And in seven years, you’ll pick up your life and move somewhere else so you can keep your secret. Is that right?”

Taehyung nods, trying to remember how to breathe as he watches Seokjin’s face, soft cheeks and beautiful eyes and pleasantly blank expression. “Yeah. All of that.”

“I think I might be crazy,” Seokjin says. “But I’m in.”

Taehyung blinks, exhaling sharply. “What?”

“I’m in if you are. Let’s do this.”

“Do what?” Taehyung asks, watching as Seokjin flails his hands.

“This,” Seokjin repeats, sounding frustrated, neutral expression abandoned for a furrowed brow and full, pursed lips. He huffs, then leans across the counter and kisses Taehyung.

It’s so brief that Taehyung doesn’t even close his eyes, doesn’t even lean into it, before Seokjin pulls back.

“Oh. This ,” Taehyung says, amazed.

“Yeah. This. Life is unpredictable. I don’t know if I’ll be acting in seven years or making a desparate attempt to switch to an accounting job, but I know that right now, I like you, Taehyung-ah. I like you a lot, even if this still all seems insane and there are no conclusive naver results about the existence of vampires.”

Taehyung laughs incredulously, a low giggle that belongs to Seokjin, has belonged to him since Taehyung walked into Manhwa Room all those months ago. “This is okay with you? Everything? That in seven years-”

“We’ll figure it out,” Seokjin says, sounding a little breathless. “But that’s everything in life, Taehyung-ah. We’ll figure it out. But we’ll do it together. How does that sound?”

Taehyung’s chest is full, brimming with life, brimming with warmth and love that’s no longer a stranger to him, that maybe never was, though he forgot it for a while. 

“That sounds- that sounds really great, hyung,” Taehyung answers.

"Good." Seokjin leans over the counter to kiss him again, and this time, Taehyung kisses back, hooks one finger in the collar of Seokjin’s shirt and keeps him close, feels Seokjin’s lips moving over his own and sighs against them.

Seokjin’s hand comes up to cup the back of Taehyung’s head, kiss deepening in the soft yellow light of the cafe. Two heartbeats, Kim Seokjin, human, Kim Taehyung, vampire, both living.