Chapter Text
“We need a plan,” Yujin declared, his voice echoing dramatically in one of the unused rooms of the school. Before him sat his chosen council of love—Hao, Hanbin, and Matthew—each looking as though they weren’t sure whether they had been summoned for a secret mission or a group project gone wrong.
He’d said they needed a plan before, yes, but this time, he meant business. This time, it had to work.
“The plan,” Yujin continued, arms folded behind his back as he floated in front of the whiteboard, “is to make Gunwook-hyung and Ricky-hyung realize their feelings for each other.”
The others exchanged a look but wisely stayed quiet.
“And so,” Yujin went on, grabbing a marker and scribbling something furiously, “we will now proceed with—” he stepped aside dramatically to reveal his masterpiece: a doodle of a vampire and a werewolf holding hands, surrounded by a giant pink heart. At the top, in bold, almost illegible handwriting:
Plan: Love Haunting
He turned to face them, beaming. “Get it? It’s a wordplay between hunting and haunt, because I’m literally a ghost and the mastermind behind all of this.” He tapped the board proudly. “Now, I’ll need various candidates—potential love rivals—to make Gunwook-hyung jealous enough to step up his game. Jealousy,” he pointed at Matthew with the marker, “as per Cupid’s brilliant suggestion.”
Matthew, still in his pink radio station jacket with a little bow pinned on his chest, gave a satisfied hum. “A classic tactic,” he said, like the seasoned love advisor he was. “Nothing stirs the heart like a little competition, alright~.”
“I could also be the lovely third wheel that I am,” Yujin continued, talking faster now, “because what’s better than watching two people you adore finally realize they’re in love because of you, their totally responsible and emotionally stable ghost friend-slash-child—”
“Wait—slow down, Yujin,” Hao interrupted, holding up both hands. “You lost me somewhere between haunting and being their child.”
“I said,” Yujin sighed, exasperated but still smiling, “that I’m basically their child. Spiritually. Emotionally. I’m the product of their love without the romance.”
“That makes… absolutely no sense,” Hanbin said, blinking. “Also, your plan is to make Gunwook jealous? That’s it? How is that a plan?”
“I was the one who suggested it,” Matthew interjected smoothly, twirling his pen like a wand and flashing a grin that could probably sell romance itself. “Not every plan is foolproof, but jealousy works wonders when there’s already love involved. High success rate. Proven by my loyal radio listeners.”
“Exactly! You should’ve seen the way Gunwook-hyung glared when a witch dared to ask Ricky-hyung to the Halloween dance last week—pure gold.” Yujin said, then pointed at Matthew triumphantly as if that settled everything. “Matthew-hyung knows what he’s talking about. He’s literally a cupid.”
He grabbed a red marker and dramatically circled Ricky and Gunwook’s names in the middle of the whiteboard, adding a few extra hearts for emphasis. “Trust me, hyungs. I know those two better than anyone. I’m practically their kid—if they ever admit their feelings, I’ll finally be free. Free from third-wheeling. Free from emotional turmoil.”
Hanbin snorted. “That’s your motivation?”
“Yes! Because watching them dance around each other is emotionally draining, Hanbin-hyung.”
Matthew clapped once, his eyes twinkling. “See? He’s passionate. That’s how you know it’ll work, alright~!”
There was a pause. Hao seemed to be thinking of a hundred things at once—calculating, weighing, probably wondering if they’d be haunted forever if this blew up in their faces.
Then, after a beat, he nodded. “Alright,” he said finally, tone resigned but amused. “What’s the first step?”
Yujin blinked. “Wait—you’re in?”
Hao nodded again. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it properly. Besides…” he smirked faintly, “I want front-row seats to whatever chaos you’re about to unleash.”
Yujin’s eyes lit up, his entire form brightening. “Perfect. So— Step one: we need to find the perfect date candidate for Ricky-hyung. Someone charming, decent, and actually capable of making Gunwook-hyung jealous. But also someone good enough that Ricky-hyung might actually consider them, or else the whole operation fails.”
He was rambling now, pacing the front of the room, his transparent feet gliding an inch above the tiled floor. “If the first date goes badly, Ricky-hyung won’t trust me again. And then—then—our entire plan collapses. Love dies. Vampires and werewolves reignite their centuries-old war. Kingdoms fall. The moon weeps. And I’ll just vanish for eternity.”
“Yujin,” Hanbin interrupted gently, standing to place a reassuring stitched hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Breathe.”
“I don’t need to breathe,” Yujin muttered weakly.
“Then pretend,” Hanbin said softly. “It’s fine. Everything will work out. And if not, we’ll come up with another plan. That’s why you called us, right? You’re not alone in this haunting.”
For a moment, Yujin just stared at him, his glow dimming to something soft and warm. “Thanks, Hanbin-hyung,” he said quietly. “I just… really want them to be happy. They’re so close to realizing it already. It’s almost painful to watch.”
“Then let’s make sure they see it clearly,” Hao said, crossing his arms.
Yujin straightened, nodded firmly, and declared, “I need a date.”
The room fell silent.
“…For Ricky-hyung!” Yujin added quickly, waving his hands. “Not me! I mean, I could date, I just don’t want to, but that’s not the point!”
Matthew chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll find one for you. I know a few monsters who might fit the part.”
“Perfect!” Yujin said, brightening immediately. “I’ll try to get Ricky-hyung to agree in the meantime, and maybe test what Gunwook-hyung thinks about dating too. For research purposes.”
Hanbin sighed but smiled. “You really thought this through, huh?”
“Of course,” Yujin said proudly. “This is Plan: Love Haunting. We’re professionals now.”
Matthew laughed, standing from his seat and stretching, wings faintly shimmering behind him. “Alright~, this is going to be fun. Operation Love Haunting officially begins.”
The others began filing out, the sound of their footsteps fading down the hall. Yujin stayed behind a moment longer, his gaze drifting back to the whiteboard. The words Plan: Love Haunting stared back at him in bold red, surrounded by doodles of hearts, fangs, and pawprints.
He smiled, the kind that glowed brighter than his aura. “Plan: Love Haunting, huh?” he murmured, almost fondly, before wiping the board clean and erasing every trace of evidence that a love plot was brewing in this old classroom.
Then, with a soft flicker of light, he floated through the wall—heading straight for where Ricky and Gunwook would be.
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It was already established that their hangout place—or rather, their place of comfort—was Gunwook’s dorm. Yujin hovered in front of the door, hand raised as he prepared to knock. He could easily phase through, of course. Walls and doors didn’t mean much to ghosts. But this was basic courtesy, Yujin thought. Even in undeath, one must respect boundaries.
So, he knocked. Once, twice. Then, when no answer came, he let himself in anyway.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. The familiar chaos of Gunwook’s dorm—the mess of clothes, the faint smell of pine from the wolf’s shampoo, Ricky’s meticulously folded blanket on the couch—was all still there, but the two culprits were gone.
Yujin frowned, crossing his arms. “Is this the new trend now? Disappearing without telling the ghost who literally keeps your love life organized?”
He drifted further in, eyes narrowing as if he could summon them by sheer judgment alone. But when he spotted their absence wasn’t temporary, he sighed and finally checked his phone.
The moment he saw the unread messages, his face fell. “Oh.”
He tapped the screen.
Ricky:
Yujin, we’ll be visiting the estate for a short while. My mother has urged me to return home, and I took it as an opportunity to bring Gunwook along. You’re welcome to come as well, if you wish. You know the doors here are always open to you. <3
Yujin stared at the message for a long moment before letting out a low, dramatic groan. “They did tell me.”
He re-read it again. And again. And on the fourth time, his mind began dissecting it like a scientist observing something that piqued their interest.
First point: location confirmed. Excellent. He now knew where the two of them were hiding.
Second: Gunwook was in the Shen residence. That was monumental. Historic. Him meeting Ricky’s parents? That wasn’t just a visit. That was introductions. That was meet-the-family territory.
Third and most crucial point: they were together.
He floated back a little, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “If I go there, it’ll just look like a friendly visit. Not a fateful, romantic meeting between species…”
He sighed, tilting his head in mock agony. “No, no. I must not interfere. This is their moment.”
But even as he said it, his hands were twitching, and the sparkle in his eyes gave him away completely. The haunting hum in his chest grew louder—half excitement, half longing to witness history unfold.
“What if there’s progress?” he whispered to himself, eyes gleaming like faint lanterns. “What if something happens—something big—and I miss it?”
He floated to the window, peering out like a nosy specter of fate. “No, no, no. I can’t let that happen.”
And with that, Yujin, ghost of love, self-proclaimed matchmaker, and master of “I won’t interfere but I will definitely spy,” phased right through the wall, determined to see for himself what the night had in store for Ricky and Gunwook.
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The Shen Residence was a place Yujin frequented whenever Ricky extended the invitation. It was easy to understand why—there was a strange sort of warmth in the air there, the kind that never felt fully open, yet never unwelcome either. The estate itself was vast, almost alive, its corridors breathing age and memory. They had their own gardens, their own halls of marble and moonlight, their own space for entertainment—and most notably, their own hunting grounds.
It wasn’t as though Yujin needed to hunt. He was far beyond hunger. But the thrill of the chase—that quickening of something ancient in the chest—also called to him. Once, he had chased a rabbit through the silver woods, its heartbeat echoing like a drum in his ears. He caught it easily. It trembled in his hands, eyes wide and helpless. Yet instead of sinking his ghostly hands into it, Yujin only stroked its fur gently, whispering to calm it until it fled again into the brush.
The hunted would always fear the hunter. And yet, in Yujin’s heart, he wondered—perhaps it was the hunter who feared what would become of himself once the chase ended.
Now, standing just beyond the shimmering gates of the Shen estate, Yujin gazed toward the hunting grounds where twilight draped the land in soft indigo. The air was heavy with mist and memory, the kind that smelled faintly of iron and old rain. He could almost picture the silver-haired servants gliding down the marble corridors, the faint hum of conversation carried through the wind.
He wanted to go in—to see for himself what was unfolding inside—but his presence would be detected the moment he crossed the threshold. Vampires were sharp that way. So, he stayed where he was, letting the night wind whisper the story to him. The air within the manor thrummed—a chorus of heartbeats, the clinking of silverware, the faintest waver of breath. There was a kind of tension inside that came when a lone wolf dined in a den of bloodsuckers.
He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into that current of sound.
“Oh, Gunwook, you said?”, a gentle voice asked, unmistakably Mama Shen’s.
“Yes, ma’am,” came Gunwook’s reply, polite, though careful.
“Oh, none of that formality,” Mama Shen said, her tone light, motherly. “Call me Auntie—or better yet, call me Mama too.”
Yujin grinned faintly. Oh, Ricky-hyung must be dying inside. He could imagine the subtle twitch of Ricky’s brow, the faint curve of his lips pressed tight to keep from sighing. And yet, the logic was sound. If Yujin was allowed to call her “Mama,” then surely Gunwook could too.
There were more murmurs before another voice broke through, deep and ancient as stone.
“So. You’re a werewolf.”
Grandpa Shen. A kind man, but one whose words could pierce through the marrow of any being.
Yujin heard the sharp sound of choking—Gunwook-hyung, no doubt, caught off guard mid-bite—followed by the metallic clatter of silverware against porcelain.
“Yes, sir,” Gunwook answered quickly, regaining composure. There was no offer for a gentler title this time.
“Grandfather, he’s kind,” Ricky interjected, voice calm but edged with quiet urgency.
“That much is a given, Quanrui,” Grandpa Shen replied, his tone steady.
Yujin smiled to himself. Ah, so that’s how this interrogation is going to be. Not cruel, not harsh—simply layered with the weight of generations watching the boy who dared walk into their world.
Then came the blow, subtle and devastating in equal measure.
“You wouldn’t bring him here if you didn’t like him.”
Silence.
Yujin chuckled under his breath. “Oof, way to clock them like that, Grandpa. That’s one clean hit.”
But the quiet inside was restless. He could hear a chair shift, the scrape of a fork, the rising pulse of nerves—unmistakeably Gunwook again.
“Do not be alarmed, child,” Grandpa Shen said, gentle now, almost amused. “I can feel your pulse spiking.”
Yujin pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Grandpa Shen strikes again.”
The conversation continued, softer now, the mood easing.
“Our dispute with the werewolves has long been over,” Grandpa Shen went on. “If Quanrui wishes to keep you as a friend, that is entirely his choice. I have worked with wolves before—good men, loyal ones. You seem the same.”
Gunwook’s relief was nearly palpable, but it didn’t last long.
“Just… do let us know,” Grandpa added, warmth curling into his voice, “when you both decide to become more than that.”
There it was—the final strike. Ricky froze; Yujin could feel it, like the stillness before thunder.
“Grandfather,” Ricky said at last, his tone careful, restrained.
“What?” Grandpa chuckled softly. “You think we don’t know our own blood, child?”
Gunwook, on the other hand, was already spiraling.
“No, no, no—whatever do you mean by that? Ha… ha…”
Yujin groaned into his hand. “Oh, no, Gunwook-hyung, no. Why would you say that to your future in-laws?”
Somewhere in the background, the sound of water sloshed—a glass knocked over, perhaps. The startled rustle of napkins, the clinking of plates. Someone—likely Gunwook again—muttered apologies while Mama Shen assured him softly that it was quite alright.
Yujin sighed. “Such a missed opportunity,” he murmured wistfully. “If only I could be in that room myself.”
He hovered there, halfway between the clouds and the estate, the mist curling lazily around his transparent form. From below, faint laughter was heard once more, carried through the night.
Yujin smiled faintly to himself, folding his legs midair. “Well,” he whispered to the wind, “I guess my spying is enough for the day.”
And with that, he drifted off into the quiet sky, perhaps toward the human towns; ever curious, ever watchful, chasing after new stories and little fragments of love he could collect, like the gossip-loving ghost that he is.
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It was finally time to ask Ricky’s permission about the whole dating ordeal—or, rather, to convince him that dating was something worth trying at all.
“Ricky-hyung,” Yujin began carefully, as though approaching a wild animal that might startle, “since you said you have no dating experience… why not try it this time? We’ll introduce you to someone nice, and you can give dating a chance.”
They were in the bathroom then—post-practice, sweat still clinging faintly to their skin, the air warm with the scent of soap and something faintly floral from Ricky’s cologne. It wasn’t the most romantic place to talk about love, but Yujin was determined. The end-of-month dance was drawing near, and the partners were still unconfirmed—thanks, of course, to the pair’s mutual obliviousness. If he could tie this into his plan, all the better.
“He’ll be great,” Yujin added confidently, straightening his tie in the mirror. “Cupid-approved.”
Though I haven’t met him yet, he thought in the same breath.
Ricky tilted his head slightly, a small crease forming between his brows. “Should I try? I don’t know the first thing about dating.”
At that, Yujin noticed Gunwook stiffen. The werewolf turned to the sink, scrubbing his hands under the running water a little too intensely, until his knuckles flushed pink. Whether it was from irritation, nerves, or something else entirely, Yujin couldn’t tell. But he knew that look. Gunwook was listening. And pretending not to.
They were framed together in front of the mirror—Yujin fixing the loose collar of his uniform, Gunwook rinsing his hands, and Ricky standing perfectly composed between them, his reflection absent.
“Don’t worry, hyung,” Yujin said, smiling softly. “It’s so easy to love you.”
He reached for Ricky’s makeup kit—habit now, a routine they shared. Yujin dusted a light layer of powder onto Ricky’s cheek, humming as he worked, still babbling about date logistics and potential matches. Ricky, patient as ever, simply answered in his gentle, unhurried tone.
As a vampire, Ricky had no reflection, but he had Yujin, who learned to make every missing piece visible again.
“You flatter me,” Ricky said, his voice calm, almost amused. Then, like it was nothing at all, he added, “Your uniform’s still untidy, Yujin. Let me fix it for you.”
He smoothed the ghost’s collar, an oddly tender gesture for someone who was supposed to be cold. His fingers lingered briefly, pale against the faint shimmer of Yujin’s form.
Before Yujin could resume fixing Ricky’s makeup, Gunwook quietly reached for the brush. “Let me,” he said.
He took over where Yujin had stopped, his movements unhurried, almost reverent. The brush glided along the line of Ricky’s cheekbone, the gentle curve of his jaw, tracing him like one might memorize a face in the dark. There was no pigment on the bristles anymore, only the ghost of touch and longing.
Ricky stayed still, eyes soft, letting him.
“Yujin’s right,” Gunwook murmured at last, voice rough around the edges, like something dragged from deep inside his chest. “It really is easy to love you.”
The brush stopped, hovering just below Ricky’s mouth.
“You should be able to see yourself in the mirror,” he added, softer now, gaze lingering on the empty reflection where Ricky should have been. “You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”
Yujin, feeling abruptly like an intruder in his own matchmaking scheme, blinked and turned away for a moment—only to glance back again. Because how could he not? The atmosphere in the room had shifted, air gone still around them.
“I have seen myself, though,” Ricky replied with a faint smile, as if humoring the sentiment. “Through the family painter. My parents’ likenesses were rendered with precision, so I trust mine was too.” He lifted a small, gilded frame from the vanity—a delicate black-and-white sketch.
The artist had indeed captured Ricky’s beauty with almost reverent detail: the fine cut of his features, the serenity in his gaze, the heart-shaped mark beneath his right eye.
Gunwook looked at the portrait as though beholding something sacred. His lips parted slightly—not to speak, but simply to breathe. And then, to Yujin’s despair, they giggled. They dared to giggle, as though this were some lighthearted moment between “friends.”
Boyfriends, Yujin thought flatly. That’s what they are. They just don’t know it yet.
Because even if he were to say it aloud, they would deny it with those innocent faces and soft laughs that made everything sound less serious than it was.
But then, through that laughter, came a question that silenced everything else.
“Gunwook-ah,” Ricky said gently, “do you love me?”
The words hung there, shimmering like a string pulled taut.
“Of course I love you,” Gunwook said, almost without hesitation. His voice was sincere, unguarded. He brushed the tip of the makeup brush against Ricky’s heart mark—the small red shape just beneath his eye, the symbol of love. Ricky, born on Valentine’s Day, with a heart that looked painted by fate itself.
Yujin could only watch. The wolf’s gaze softened into something painfully alive. Something that hurt to see.
“Then,” Ricky said, and there was the faintest trace of hope in his tone, “would you like for us to date?”
Yujin froze. Oh my—it’s happening. It’s happening right in front of him. Without a plan. Without his orchestration.
But Gunwook only smiled faintly, and Yujin could almost feel the ache radiating from him. “You love making jokes, don’t you?” he said, quietly, like someone trying to laugh through the ache in their chest. “I’ll be here to support you on your dates.”
He even smiled when he said it. That same gentle smile that looked sincere if you didn’t know how to look closer. But Yujin could see it—the quiet fracture hiding behind the curve of Gunwook’s mouth.
Even Yujin could tell: Gunwook wasn’t fooling anyone but himself. The wolf was hurting. Hurting so much he’d turned it into tenderness, because that was easier than letting it spill.
Then Gunwook turned to him, like nothing had happened. “Yujin-ah,” he said, still holding the makeup brush loosely between his fingers, “care to introduce us to Ricky’s first date?”
Yujin should have known. Gunwook was sharp when it came to everything except his own heart. That single, casually phrased question told Yujin that he’d already figured something out—that there was a plan brewing. He didn’t know what the plan was, only that Yujin was involved and that it had to do with Ricky.
The word us did not escape him. Gunwook was still holding Ricky’s arm, fingers curling just slightly, unwilling to let go. That small, possessive touch—so polite it almost looked accidental—said more than words ever could.
And Ricky… Ricky didn’t move away. His smile had softened into something wistful, corners drooping ever so slightly as if he’d caught the same ache that Gunwook carried. The room was bright, but somehow, the light dimmed around them.
What is this? Yujin thought helplessly. A gathering of tortured souls?
“Sure,” he said at last, exhaling the thought. “Let’s go to Cupid-hyung.”
There had to be a catalyst, he thought. Something to set the both of them in motion at last.
And if no one else would do it, then it would have to be him.
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Matthew had already found the perfect candidate for the date: Jiwoong.
When Yujin arrived at the meeting place—the old classroom again, sunlight spilling through dusty panes, warm but never burning—Hao, Hanbin, and Matthew were already there. None of them, however, expected Ricky and Gunwook to appear right behind him.
Matthew’s eyes widened; Hao nearly choked on his laughter. But Yujin only lifted his hand, forming a subtle “OK” sign that meant: Stay calm. We’re still going through with the plan.
“Alright~ Everyone, meet Jiwoong-hyung,” Matthew said, grinning as he stepped aside.
The vampire bowed lightly, smile easy and dazzling—the kind that could light up a dim classroom without needing the sun. Everyone knew him; Jiwoong was famous around school. But the familiarity that filled the room wasn’t just recognition—it was something older, warmer, like a memory that still lingered in the blood.
Gunwook leaned toward Yujin, voice lowered into the quiet hum beneath everyone’s chatter. “Isn’t that the vampire Ricky had a crush on before?”
“The one Ricky-hyung used to wink at whenever he passed him,” Yujin whispered back, unable to hide a grin.
“Yeah. That Jiwoong.”
Yujin tilted his head, eyes glinting with teasing mischief. “Isn’t that a good thing? Ricky-hyung will like his first date, then.” Then, a sly pause. “Or… is it that you don’t want the date to continue?”
“Why would there be any need to stop?” Gunwook replied, voice steady but threaded with something fragile. “This is for Ricky, right? Let’s make sure it’s a success.”
Yujin caught the slight quiver beneath his calm and felt it echo somewhere deep in his chest. He should have known from the start that he was dealing with martyrs—those who carried love quietly, like a wound they refused to bandage. Gunwook’s pain was soft, but it had begun to seep into the room, into Yujin’s form, into the very air between them.
Hao, ever the enthusiastic one, ushered Ricky forward, laughing as he pulled him toward Jiwoong. Their hands met in an awkward, playful shake—like business partners, not date partners—and the sight drew cheers from everyone.
“Alright~!” Matthew’s bright voice rang through the classroom, full of warmth and promise. The others joined in, laughter spilling out like sunlight.
Everyone was happy for them—except the one standing beside Yujin, watching silently.
Gunwook’s expression didn’t falter, but Yujin saw it anyway: the ache just behind his smile, the way his gaze lingered too long, as if memorizing Ricky before letting him go.
Surely, Yujin thought, watching Ricky’s laughter meet the light, everything will turn out fine… right?
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The restaurant had a distinctly vampiric air—dark wood polished to mirror sheen, candlelight flickering off crimson glass, the soft hum of a cello threading through the low murmur of conversation. It was the kind of place built for creatures of the night.
Ricky had seen Kim Jiwoong before—across courtrooms, fleetingly, in the corridors of aristocratic gatherings, in the hallways of the school—but never like this. Never across a candlelit table where the shadows made his face even lovelier. Jiwoong was beautiful in a way that made Ricky think of oil paintings and marble sculptures—something meant to be admired, never touched. He had always found him fascinating, in that quiet, unspoken way one admires a distant star. But to see him now, in front of him, laughing softly beneath the dim light—it almost felt unreal.
“A fine evening to you, Quanrui,” Jiwoong greeted, lifting his glass in an elegant toast.
Ricky mirrored the motion, the deep red of the wine glowing like velvet between them. It wasn’t blood—it was richer, sweeter, the kind of flavor even vampires could appreciate for its artistry rather than its necessity. “And to you as well, Jiwoong… hyung.”
The word slipped out before he could stop it, and Jiwoong chuckled, eyes soft with mirth. “No need for such formalities,” he said. “We’re both creatures who have lived far too long to care for titles.”
Ricky smiled, a genuine curve this time. “Very well then, Jiwoong.”
Conversation came easier than he expected. They spoke about the little things—favorite vintages, curious human customs, and the absurdity of modern dating for the immortal. Jiwoong had a way of carrying his charm effortlessly, his words light and warm despite the cold elegance of the setting. The laughter between them felt almost fragile, like something that could melt if held too tightly.
“You’re weird,” Ricky said suddenly, surprising even himself. The words cut through the air, sharp and unpolished, but honest.
Jiwoong blinked, then laughed quietly, the corners of his lips softening.
“I mean it in a good way,” Ricky added quickly, his voice lower now, almost sheepish.
“It’s alright,” Jiwoong replied, swirling the wine in his glass. “Everybody’s weird. It’s what gives color to our existence, isn’t it?”
Ricky paused, fork still in hand, the candlelight flickering against his cheek. “Perhaps so,” he murmured, finally taking a bite of the steak—brushed with berry sauce that gleamed like jewels under the glow. The sweetness lingered on his tongue, mingling with Jiwoong’s words. Maybe that was true. Maybe weirdness was its own kind of heartbeat, even for creatures who had long since lost the need for one.
Something eased after that. The stiffness of the setting seemed to melt away. They talked and laughed quietly, trading small stories about strange dreams and passing centuries, about the little absurdities that made eternity feel bearable. Jiwoong had a way of speaking that felt so warm, and Ricky found himself answering without overthinking for once.
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If Ricky and Jiwoong were sitting at the center of the restaurant, then Yujin and Gunwook were stationed at the side.
Ricky looked ethereal where he sat, while Jiwoong leaned forward when he spoke, charming and attentive. It was a picturesque scene, something that should have belonged in a museum, if not for the tension unraveling in the corner table.
“Why am I here?” Gunwook asked, his voice low, almost a growl beneath restraint. His hand gripped the stem of his glass just a little too tight. They’d ordered only desserts—chocolate cake and some sugared fruits—because Yujin thought it’d look less suspicious.
“You’re his friend, right?” Yujin said, swirling his drink casually. “Friends support each other.”
Gunwook gave him a look, half a glare, half a plea. “Support,” he repeated flatly, the word tasting like iron on his tongue.
Yujin just smiled, pretending innocence, even though both of them knew that wasn’t the case. He needed Gunwook to see this. Needed him to feel it. Because maybe that would finally break the chains he kept on himself.
The two of them sat in silence for a while, watching. Ricky leaned in slightly when Jiwoong spoke, smiled with his eyes before his lips even followed. Jiwoong made some joke, and Ricky’s light and melodic laughter spilled through the air like wind chimes.
Yujin caught the way Gunwook’s jaw tightened. The faint twitch of his ears, the dip of his gaze when Ricky smiled too wide. “It looks like they’re having fun,” Gunwook said, forcing his voice steady.
Yujin turned to look at him. His wolf-hyung—tall, unflappable, loyal to a fault—looked so small then. “Do you like seeing him happy?” Yujin asked softly.
Gunwook didn’t answer right away. He stared down at the untouched chocolate cake, then toward the candlelight reflecting off Ricky’s glass. His throat bobbed once before he spoke.
“It almost feels like I exist to see him happy,” he said finally, voice breaking somewhere between confession and resignation.
Yujin’s smile faltered. There it was—the ache he’d been waiting to see, the kind of love that hurt more when left unspoken. For a brief second, he wanted to take it all back. To stop the scene he’d orchestrated like some cruel play. But the thought passed. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
Because maybe love needed to be seen to be understood, and heartbreak, too.
Their quiet watching shifted when the topic at the center table changed. The two vampires had begun to speak about wine—or rather, blood as wine. Yujin’s head tilted slightly, his ghostly senses sharpening.
“Listen,” he whispered, tapping Gunwook’s arm. “Something about this sounds important.”
Gunwook gave him a doubtful look. “How would you know?”
“Yujin senses are tingling,” he said, half-grinning.
Across the restaurant, Jiwoong lifted his glass. “Would you like to taste this blood wine?” he offered, the candlelight catching the liquid’s deep crimson. Somehow, Jiwoong had managed to order—or perhaps conjure—a glass of blood wine in the midst of their conversation. What had been ordinary wine moments ago had transformed into something darker, a haunting blood that seemed to stare back at all who looked upon it.
Ricky regarded it, expression thoughtful. “Truthfully, Jiwoong, I am quite picky when it comes to the blood I consume.”
Yujin almost smiled. He knew that was true. Ricky never hunted, not the way others did. He’d seen him avoid feeding for days, stubbornly clinging to his restraint. Sometimes Yujin wondered if that, too, was a form of penance.
“Won’t a sip do?” Jiwoong coaxed gently. “I promise it’s delectable.”
Ricky hesitated. Then, as if yielding to politeness, he said, “I suppose it won’t hurt.”
He reached for Jiwoong’s glass. The motion was graceful, almost careless, like it meant nothing at all. But to the two watching from the shadows, it meant everything.
Gunwook’s tail stiffened immediately, a faint tremor running through it. Even Yujin, though he was a ghost, felt the chill crawl across his skin. His eyes flicked between them.
“Is it really happening?” he whispered under his breath.
Ricky lifted the glass to his lips and took a single sip. They saw the small motion of his throat as he swallowed. Then he went utterly still. His brown eyes began to darken, deepening into a rich red—slowly, steadily, until the glow caught under his lashes.
Yujin’s breath hitched. That color. It wasn’t just hunger. It screamed danger.
Gunwook’s hand curled into a fist, nails biting into the wood until it creaked beneath his palm. His pupils dilated, every muscle tightening, the wolf in him responding before thought could catch up. Across the room, Jiwoong’s smile faltered.
“Quanrui?”
Ricky blinked once, twice, his lashes fluttering like someone waking from a dream. His voice came out low and even, but there was something fragile in it, a thread stretched too thin. “It’s delectable, as you said,” he murmured, then swallowed hard. “It’s… potent. A fine vintage, I suppose. But it’s too much.”
The last word slipped from his lips like breath before collapse. His balance swayed for half a second. And then Gunwook was already there.
He moved faster than the light that caught in his eyes, faster than the air that had yet to fill his lungs. One moment, he was seated at the corner table; the next, he was at Ricky’s side, his hands catching him before he could stumble, before he could fall.
Yujin blinked, momentarily stunned, then rose quickly, sweeping after them like a breeze.
“Easy,” Gunwook said, voice rough around the edges. His arm slipped behind Ricky’s back, steadying him. “I’ve got you.”
Ricky’s fingers clutched at the fabric of Gunwook’s sleeve, eyes still glowing faintly red in the candlelight. His breath came uneven. The taste still lingered on his tongue, metallic and dizzying.
“Gunwook…” he whispered softly.
He said the name as if surprised to find him there, and yet unable to question it further. The wolf’s hold tightened, just slightly, protective. He didn’t even glance at Jiwoong, didn’t bother with courtesy or permission. His focus was singular, sharp as instinct.
“Jiwoong-hyung,” Yujin said, stepping in, tone gentler than the tension in the air. “Thank you for tonight. We’ll take Ricky-hyung home.”
Jiwoong looked between them, worry flickering across his features. His lips parted, but he only nodded. “Do tell me if he’s alright after.”
“We will,” Yujin said, bowing lightly before following as Gunwook half-guided, half-carried Ricky out of the restaurant.
──────✩₊˚.⋆☾♱❣𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧──────
Gunwook reached the front of the Shen residence under the glow of the blood moon—large, looming, as if the night itself had opened a wound in the sky. The air was still, thick with the scent of earth and the faint iron of old stone.
Yujin stood at the grand entrance, one hand resting on the doorframe, while Gunwook lingered a few steps away in the courtyard, the silver light painting sharp edges across his face. He looked torn, pulled between instinct and restraint. Behind Yujin, a few of the servants lingered uncertainly, whispering about their young master, about how he had vanished into the woods behind the estate.
“Gunwook-hyung,” Yujin began quietly, stepping outside to meet him halfway. “You know Ricky-hyung’s parents aren’t home right now.”
Gunwook’s gaze didn’t leave the dark outline of the forest. “I know. But what’s different tonight?” His voice was low, impatient. “It’s been a few days since we’ve brought him home. What makes this time so different?”
“The moon,” Yujin said simply. “It’s not just full—it’s blood-red. Ricky-hyung’s not himself right now. He’s blood-crazed.”
Gunwook’s jaw tensed, the muscles shifting beneath his skin. “Then he shouldn’t be alone.”
“It’s unwise to go near him when even your pulse might drive him mad,” Yujin countered. His tone was gentle, but his eyes were firm. “He can hear it, you know. The rhythm of your heart—it’ll sound like a call.”
Gunwook’s hands curled into fists. “Then where is he?”
Yujin hesitated. The night pressed close around them—crickets humming, the faint rustle of the trees beyond the gates. The blood moon hung heavy above the Shen residence, its light sharp enough to draw silver out of the dark.
“He didn’t tell me,” Yujin said at last.
Gunwook turned to him, and in that glance was a quiet demand, the kind that stripped away pretense. His eyes gleamed faintly in the red light—something wild, protective, aching. Yujin’s lips parted, but whatever lie he’d prepared fell apart beneath that look.
“Okay…” he breathed out, shoulders lowering. “He’s hunting. Somewhere near the northern grove.” His tone softened, as if trying to soothe both of them. “But it’s private property, hyung. He’ll be back soon, so don’t—”
“I’ll wait,” Gunwook said, cutting through him gently but firmly. His tone was steady, but his eyes were still burning, still restless. “I’ll stay inside, at least. Just until he returns.”
Yujin turned toward the servants, their faces unreadable in the crimson glow, and then back to Gunwook. “Fine,” he said at last. “But if something happens—if he loses control—you’ll have to handle it.”
Gunwook’s mouth twisted into a faint smile, bitter and fond all at once. “You say that as if it’s hard.”
Yujin almost laughed, but it escaped instead as a long, tired sigh. If it’s not that hard, then why don’t you just admit it already? he thought, exasperation threading through affection.
Alright, Yujin, calm down, he told himself, taking a deep pseudo-breath even though he didn’t need it. “Alright, hyung,” he muttered at last. “Just don’t do anything reckless.”
Gunwook didn’t answer right away. His gaze lifted toward the blood moon, as his chest tightened with a helpless ache, the kind that came from loving something dangerous and beautiful, and knowing you’d still walk toward it every time, no matter how much it might hurt.
And so they stepped past the threshold together. The doors closed behind them with a muted thud, sealing them into the quiet of the Shen residence. Outside, the night hummed with distant sounds of the forest. Inside, the air felt like it was holding its breath.
Now, the waiting began.
──────⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧──────
Which, actually, wasn’t too long. The clock didn’t need to tick for a full hour—no slow 3,600 beats of time—for Ricky to return. It only took about 630 ticks, give or take, before the heavy door creaked open and he stepped inside the house, the silence of the halls swallowing the sound of his footsteps.
He was holding a deer.
A full-grown deer, limp and still, its fur darkened where blood had soaked through.
Gunwook froze where he stood near the staircase. It felt wrong somehow—too strange, too heavy for the polished marble floor of this residence. Ricky shouldn’t have needed to bring back a deer, not like this. Not when Gunwook was right there.
“Gunwook,” Ricky said, his voice unsteady, the name almost breaking on his tongue. “Why are you here?”
Gunwook’s jaw tightened. “I needed to see if you were actually alright,” he said, his tone careful. “Do you not want me here?”
Ricky blinked at him, the faint tremor of his hands betraying what his voice tried to hide. His eyes—red and raw from the need for blood—reflected the faint light of the chandeliers like shards of wine glass. “I want you here,” he said, simply and honestly. There wasn’t room in him for anything less. “But, Gunwook-ah… I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what?” Gunwook asked, stepping closer. “A blood-crazed vampire? The part of you that’s restless and wild? You think that would ever change how I see you?” His voice softened then, the tension in it breaking into something that sounded almost like pleading. “If there’s anyone you shouldn’t be afraid to show this to—it’s me. Just let me.”
Ricky’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“It’s funny,” Gunwook added quietly, eyes never leaving him. “Hearing you say that… realizing there had been a time I didn’t want you to see me in such a vulnerable state, either. We don’t have to keep pretending, Ricky. Not with each other.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Ricky’s grip on the deer slackened, the body dropping with a soft, wet thud against the floor. His breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to hold something in. He looked around. The room spinning in fragments. The chandelier, the marble, Yujin’s pale outline in the corner. Then the deer again. Then Gunwook.
Everything blurred together.
God, he was so hungry he could taste his own blood. The sharp tang lingered on his tongue, the faintest trace of iron blooming like static under his skin. But just breaking his lips wasn’t enough—it only teased him, only reminded him how empty he felt inside. He didn’t even know why he thought of it, only that his body moved before his mind could stop it. And then—he bit down. Hard.
The sound was quiet but clear, the kind that made the air go still. His teeth sank into the soft flesh of his wrist, and blood welled fast—too fast—sliding down the pale length of his arm in thin, trembling rivers. It dripped past his palm and onto the marble floor, dots of red scattering like petals across white stone.
He could taste it, metallic and rich, a warmth that shouldn’t have felt good but did. Too good. It slid down his throat like forbidden sweetness, making his eyes sting and his breath falter. He drank, trembling with a hunger that wasn’t only for blood.
Gunwook’s breath caught. He couldn’t look away.
“Ricky—” he managed, his voice breaking as it left him.
Ricky didn’t stop. His eyes fluttered shut, face tilted toward the chandelier’s glow, blood streaking down his arm like veins turned outward. The light caught on it—ruby and silver, alive in all the wrong ways. He looked fragile, like glass cracking under moonlight, and something raw twisted in Gunwook’s chest.
“Hyung!” Yujin’s voice came from somewhere behind them, distant through the haze.
But Gunwook was already there. He caught Ricky’s wrist, voice breaking before he could steady it. “Ricky, what are you doing? Why are you hurting yourself?”
Ricky blinked up at him, dazed, lips stained red. “I don’t really know,” he whispered, voice small and shaking. “But it’s not painful. Don’t worry.”
“How can I not?” Gunwook said, not angry but frightened. His hand stayed around Ricky’s, firm but trembling, their skin slick with blood. “You can’t just—”
Ricky didn’t meet his eyes. He looked down, watching their joined hands, the mess of it, the ruin and tenderness all tangled together.
And then, before Gunwook could think, the words left him—instinctive, unfiltered.
“Drink from me.”
Ricky’s head lifted slightly, eyes wide, confusion flickering across his face. “Huh?”
“Drink from me,” Gunwook said again, quieter this time, steady but not calm. There was something helpless in his tone, something that shook with both fear and want. “If you’re starving… don’t hurt yourself for it. Just—take it from me instead.”
Yujin stood frozen at the side, silent now, watching but knowing this was no longer his place to intervene.
Ricky looked torn, unsure what to do with the offer laid before him. His gaze flickered between Gunwook’s neck, where he could almost hear the rush of blood beneath skin, and the wrist Gunwook now offered. That wrist, pale and steady, the same place Ricky had bitten himself just moments ago. He could already imagine how it might taste—rich, warm, maybe even sweet, like the chocolates Gunwook loved so much. The thought made his throat ache.
Gunwook’s voice was gentle. “It’s okay.”
And somehow, it really did feel okay. Gunwook made everything feel easy, made even this—this strange, hungry ache—seem less frightening. Ricky felt lucky, in that way you only realize when your chest starts to hurt with it.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“No need for thanks,” Gunwook said softly, reassuring.
Ricky leaned in, hesitant for only a second, then sank his fangs into Gunwook’s wrist. The taste hit him all at once, warm and alive, pulsing with everything that made Gunwook him. His eyes fluttered closed. He drank slowly, the blood coating his tongue in waves that made his whole body shudder. The ache in his chest began to ease, replaced by something heavier, deeper, almost tender.
Gunwook hadn’t known what to expect. He’d never imagined this, never pictured himself offering blood to anyone—least of all a vampire. And yet, here he was, letting Ricky drink from him without hesitation. Because it was Ricky. Because it had always been Ricky.
They said being bitten felt like both pain and pleasure—the sharp tear of skin, then the warmth that followed, spreading like a quiet fever through the body. Gunwook understood it now. His breath hitched, but the sound that escaped him was soft, almost a laugh. The pleasure wasn’t just physical—it was something about the trust, the closeness, the way Ricky’s hands trembled against his skin.
“When did you become such a messy eater?” Gunwook teased quietly, laughter curling through his voice as he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the blood from Ricky’s lips.
It wasn’t even that messy, just a few thin streaks along his chin. But Ricky looked undone—eyes glassy and red, a faint flush rising in his cheeks, hunger still shimmering beneath the surface.
“There we go,” Gunwook said, smiling faintly. “My baby’s all cleaned up now, drinking so much like he’s been thirsty for days.” His voice dropped into a teasing lilt, half-affection, half-play.
“I am thirsty for it,” Ricky said, quiet but certain, used to Gunwook’s teasing yet still wanting him to understand that it wasn’t a lie, or an excuse. He really had been starving, in more ways than one.
The tension in the room had finally begun to settle, and Yujin—bless his restless ghost heart—had the gall to relax too. He’d sprawled out on his stomach on the nearby sofa, chin propped on his hands as he watched like someone enjoying a private film screening.
When he heard Gunwook murmur my baby, his ears perked up immediately. “My baby, huh?” Yujin thought, amusement dancing behind his grin.
“But Gunwook,” Ricky said then, his voice soft and sincere, fingers curling around Gunwook’s hand, “your blood is delicious.”
The words should’ve sounded teasing, but they didn’t. They were honest, reverent almost, as though Ricky were confessing something. He held Gunwook’s hand tighter, their fingers threading together naturally.
Gunwook’s pulse kicked up again. “Would you like more?” he asked, his tone low, uncertain if he wanted Ricky to say yes or no.
“I appreciate the offer,” Ricky murmured, “but I would rather not drain you.” His gaze dropped to Gunwook’s wrist, still marked from where he’d bitten. Instead of biting again, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against the skin.
That was all it took—Gunwook froze, composure gone, breath caught somewhere in his chest. His thoughts scattered completely, his heart thudding so loud.
Ricky smiled faintly, waiting for him to recover. When Gunwook finally did, he tried to sound steady. “Just trust me more, okay?”
“I always do,” Ricky said, his voice warm. His eyes had already softened back into that deep brown again, calm now, almost glowing under the chandelier’s light.
Silence settled over them—not awkward, but gentle. Yujin watched for a bit longer, chin resting on his hands. Then, deciding he’d seen enough tender nonsense for one night, he finally spoke.
“Why don’t we address the elephant in the room now?” he said, his mouth curving into a grin.
Neither of them answered, still too caught up in each other’s quiet.
So Yujin sighed dramatically and added, “I mean, the deer. Shouldn’t we address the dead deer in the room? What are we going to do with that?” He pointed toward the carcass on the floor, which, if left any longer, would start to attract flies.
“Oh, the deer,” Ricky said, as if just remembering it existed. His tone softened, almost amused. “I have no need for its blood anymore. Would any of you like to have it?”
Yujin gave him a flat look. “You forget I don’t have to eat.”
“But you do love food though,” Ricky countered, lips curving slightly.
“I— okay, I don’t want to eat that deer,” Yujin replied quickly, wrinkling his nose.
“Quite choosy, are you?” Ricky teased, voice light again.
That left only one option.
“Wook,” Ricky said, turning toward him, voice dipping into that familiar soft register that made Gunwook’s heart leap every time. “Would you like to have it?”
Gunwook hesitated for a beat, but really, what reason did he have to say no? Still, something twisted inside him at the sight of the deer—something small and sour. The thought that Ricky had even considered drinking from an animal like that earlier instead of him. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.
The jealousy was faint but sharp, sitting bitter on his tongue. And yet, deer meat was good—rich and clean. He’d take it. He could make something out of it. Something warm and delicious, something Ricky could enjoy slowly, maybe even smile over while eating. The idea alone eased the edge off that bitterness.
Still, a part of him nagged quietly—he hadn’t been the one to hunt it. Wasn’t he supposed to provide? He was the wolf, the alpha, the one who protected and fed. It was stupid to think that way now, but the instinct lingered, steady and proud. Awoo, he’s a wolf.
“Alright,” he said after a pause. “I’ll make something delicious with that deer.”
Yujin grinned faintly from the couch. “So domestic of you, hyung.”
Gunwook ignored him, already glancing back at Ricky. “Would you like to rest for now?” he asked gently.
“Yes, let’s do that.” Ricky’s voice was soft again, as he reached for Gunwook’s hand. Their fingers brushed, then intertwined, natural and familiar.
The bitter taste in Gunwook’s chest faded almost instantly. That was how it always went with Ricky—every strange emotion, every sharp pang, washed away with a single touch, a small smile, a glance that made the world quiet again.
“Come on,” Ricky murmured, giving his hand a gentle tug.
Gunwook let him lead, following silently up the stairs. The faint scent of blood still lingered in the air, mingling with the soft trace of sandalwood from Ricky’s room. Downstairs, Yujin watched them go with a sigh, half fond, half exasperated.
“Guess I’ll just… clean up the deer then,” he muttered, flopping back on the sofa. “Not like anyone’s thanking me for my emotional labor.”
Ricky didn’t stop until they reached his room. The curtains were drawn, and they went straight to his king-sized bed. Gunwook lay there on the pillow, staring at the ceiling that Ricky must have stared at countless times, the presence of the vampire beside him calming every frantic thought.
Ricky pressed close, holding him as if he were a pillow, and for the first time since the blood-crazed frenzy earlier, Gunwook could relax. All of that chaos was behind them now. If Ricky hadn’t been so overwhelmed, hadn’t been pushed to the edge, maybe, he wouldn’t have needed this closeness. And that made every quiet second now feel tender and fragile.
He wrapped his arms around Ricky in return, holding him for warmth, for comfort, letting all thought of consequences wait for another time. Ricky slept beside him, steady and calm, and for the first time, Gunwook let himself do the same.
Later, when Yujin passed by the door, he paused. They were both asleep, the silence of the room heavy and intimate. Shaking his head, he continued to the guest bedroom, letting himself rest.
He knew that in the morning, if he asked, they would shrug, oblivious, and call it nothing more than a normal moment between friends. Laughable, really—because the ones who could say that were the ones who had known loneliness too long. The lines of their relationship blurred so completely that even Yujin had trouble keeping up.
For now, though, he could set that aside. Closing his eyes, he let himself rest and whispered softly, “Good night, you lovable fools.”