Chapter Text
It was, unequivocally, a bad idea, and he knew it. He knew it was a stupid thing to do, and yet he found himself staring at the blood-filled syringe where it rested in his fridge.
It didn’t make sense for him to try it again by himself. After all, he got that horrible headache the last time, and who was to say something worse wouldn’t happen if he did it again. But something… something inside of him was itching to try it again. Maybe if he just took a little more, then there wouldn’t be any problems at all.
The thoughts almost scared him a little. It wasn’t normal for him to think that way, so far from his usual overabundance of caution.
Before he’d even registered his own movement, the cool plastic was in his hands. If its main effect was to heal, then it was far more likely than not that he would be fine. But why? Why did he want it so much? It was almost like…
He hurriedly set the syringe back down. After staring at it for a few moments, he turned to his kitchen drawers and rifled through them, finally locating a box of plastic bags. Withdrawing one, he brought it over to the fridge and picked up the syringe once more. Carefully, he expelled a few milliliters of liquid into the plastic and then sealed it tight.
If he wasn’t getting anything out his lab courses, he might as well try and learn something on his own terms.
Taehyung was loitering outside of his building, perking up as his nose wrinkled cutely, even before Jimin pushed open the glass door. “Jimin! Ready to learn some words?”
“Always,” Jimin chuckled, resting his hand lightly on Taehyung’s. Taehyung was still too worried about touching him too hard, but he was always happy when Jimin was able to initiate and control the pressure.
The weather had officially made a turn for the freezing cold, sweaters necessary even in direct sunlight. People walked as fast as possible on their commutes, faces and ears stinging red. He noticed Taehyung’s gaze flitting from one thing to another, never quite settling in one place.
“Is something happening?” Jimin asked worriedly. “You seem nervous.”
“What? Oh! Oh, no, it…nothing’s happening. Nope,” Taehyung said quickly.
“Right,” Jimin sighed, disappointed at the obvious lie. Wasn’t he at least owed a little bit of trust at that point? “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bad liar?”
Taehyung huffed, offering him a wry smile. “I’m actually a good liar, but it just so happens I’m bad at lying to my friends.”
“So?” Jimin pressed.
“Please don’t make that face,” Taehyung whined. He sighed, running a hand through his bright hair. “We’re just at a standstill. We don’t want to fight with anyone, and we don’t want to be the spark that sets off the explosion, you know? So we…I…am just trying to be careful.”
“I see,” Jimin nodded slowly, leaning into Taehyung as a particularly strong gust of wind struck at their bodies. He knew he’d have to face Chanyeol in Anatomy, and while he wasn’t looking forward to it, he also wasn’t exactly afraid. After all, Chanyeol even seemed worried when Jimin was hurt. And despite all of his posturing, he hadn’t actually hurt Namjoon or anyone else. Maybe there was some hope for compromise. Maybe.
He couldn’t help but blush when his eyes met Namjoon’s, mind immediately flashing to the warmth of the hug that he’d practically forced on the other man. It was too embarrassing. Hopefully it was easily hidden by the sting of the wind.
“Good morning, Jimin,” Namjoon smiled, his own cheeks tinged pink.
“Morning,” he mumbled, sliding into his seat and beginning to unwrap his half-dozen layers of clothing. Maybe he was overdoing it, but extra layers were a good excuse to have extra protection in the event of bumping into things or falling down.
He glanced back at the others to see Jungkook and Seokjin practically asleep at their tables, head tilting in curiosity. “They had a late night,” Yoongi grunted in explanation. “We’ve scheduled a heavier patrol.”
“Oh,” Jimin said, frowning at the dark shadows stretching under their eyes. “For how long?”
“However long it takes,” Namjoon said quietly, folding his notebook open as he glanced at them. “Just give them a few more minutes before class starts.” His eyes narrowed as he returned his attention to Jimin. “I didn’t realize that you’d still smell like me so strongly.”
Jimin had to swallow the wave of guilt that washed over him at the thought of the plastic baggie with Namjoon’s blood in his bag. “Oh? It, umm, must be because we…”
“You did what?” Taehyung exclaimed, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead in order to mimic a swoon. “Where are my pearls? I have a sudden urge to clutch.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jimin giggled, pushing him half-heartedly. “Because we spent the afternoon together is how that sentence ends.”
“How come we’ve never spent the afternoon together?” Taehyung complained.
“Oh,” Jimin said. “Did you…did you want to?” The idea of friends was still so new and foreign that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Taehyung would want to come, and stay, over.
Taehyung gaped. “Jimin! Of course, I want to! That’s prime bonding time! Well, then, and like after midnight eating pizza and drinking tequila, but we’ll get there eventually!”
Jimin had to restrain his laughter as the professor walked inside, beginning their usual setup process. Yoongi nudged the drowsy Jin and Jungkook, sending Jungkook practically shooting from his chair.
“Something you’d like to share with the class?” the professor drawled.
Jungkook’s face flashed bright red as he quickly sat back down, staring determinedly at his lap. Jimin felt bad for him, his shyness painful to watch.
He checked his messages after class, finding one from Jooheon asking about their next lab report. Jimin sighed, hit with guilt once more. Even with so many crazy things happening, he couldn’t just forget about the rest of his responsibilities. No matter how much he might want to.
I’m good for today. Library again? Jimin quickly texted back. He took the fifteen responsive emojis as agreement.
Jimin sighed as he repacked his things, mentally bracing himself to see Chanyeol again. If the blood-smell was noticeable to Namjoon, then there was no doubt in his mind that Chanyeol would have something to say about it, as well. Jimin hadn’t had to face him since the bike incident, and he had no real idea of what to expect now that Chanyeol knew about his hemophilia. Part of him was terrified that the hunters would use that knowledge against his friends somehow.
“Hey,” Yoongi said, one eyebrow quirked. “What’s all that?”
“Wh-what?” Jimin said nervously.
“Why are you so freaked out?” Yoongi elaborated. “I can taste it from all the way over here. I’m not trying to pry, but I literally can’t help it.”
Jimin blanched. Right. Yoongi could feel fear.
And Jimin hadn’t told any of them that Chanyeol was in his class.
“I, umm,” Jimin stuttered. “I forgot that there was a quiz in my next class that I didn’t study for.” It wasn’t his most well-told lie, but it was at least believable. Lying felt like the right option at the moment. They were already under enough stress without worrying about something they couldn’t do anything about.
“There’s been a lot on your plate lately,” Namjoon said, reaching out cautiously to rest a hand on Jimin’s forearm. “I’m sorry that all of this has been so distracting. I know it can’t be easy.”
Jimin shook his head, offering them a small smile. “It definitely hasn’t been, but I don’t want you to think that I regret it. I might have felt that way at first, but… I feel like I’m living now.” He said the last few words quietly, but considering what they were, they probably heard it, anyway. “Anyway, I should get to class and see if I can study a bit before I fail that quiz.”
“Okay,” Namjoon said, slowly withdrawing his hand. “We’ll see you later, then.”
“I’ll text you about hanging out!” Taehyung grinned.
Jimin nodded, glancing at Jin and Jungkook. “I hope you guys can get some sleep.”
Jimin kept his head down as he slipped into Anatomy, but he could still feel the weight of Chanyeol’s gaze on the back of his neck. “I guess the dog kissed it all better?” the man said wryly.
Jimin stiffened but kept quiet. It would do no good to be confrontational with someone who could easily hurt him and knew about his weakness.
“The silent treatment, huh? That’s a real shame. I had some questions for you.”
Jimin said nothing, unpacking his textbook and notebook.
“A little birdie told me that you were one of the victims of the attacks that have been happening recently. That explains all that blood I smelled on you when we bumped into each other at the library. Your blood.”
Jimin frowned, feeling uneasy, but it’s not like the hunter could use that against him. Namjoon and the others didn’t hurt him, they saved him.
“And the dog explains why you’re still alive, considering your…condition. So, here’s my first question, Park Jimin. Shouldn’t you, out of all people, understand my position?”
Jimin swallowed, continuing to ignore him as the class began, furiously writing notes and sketching body systems as the professor pointed out details on the projector screen at the front of the class. Of course he didn’t think protecting people from evil things was wrong. If he had never met Namjoon when he was attacked by the thing in the dark, then he had no doubt he would be on Chanyeol’s side. But, after getting to know everyone, it was clear that hunters didn’t discriminate between what was good and what wasn’t. Instead, it seemed like they went after anything that was different.
Jimin quickly packed up his things, but he wasn’t quick enough to dodge Chanyeol’s grab of a fistful of his sweater. “Let go!” Jimin demanded, forced to remain pliant to avoid hurting himself in a struggle. “I don’t have anything to say to you!”
“Three more people have been put in the hospital since we’ve been here,” Chanyeol said seriously. “None of them can remember a fucking thing thanks to the memory manipulation.”
“So what does that have to do with me?” Jimin said, nervously eyeing Chanyeol’s hand where it held him in place.
“That brings me to my second question, Park Jimin. You remember, don’t you?” Chanyeol said. “You were never taken to a hospital, there are no records. The dogs have been all over you, and you know what they are. It didn’t finish, did it? It didn’t change your memory.”
Jimin couldn’t suppress a shiver, recalling the grotesque morphing of the scaled hand, the claws, the overwhelming fear. How the older vampire had visited his home and asked for his silence. Was just trying to protect his family. “It was traumatic,” Jimin said shakily. “I don’t remember much except being afraid. I can’t help you with anything. Even I did remember, I couldn’t help you.”
The grip on his sweater tightened, and Jimin let out a shaky breath. He was afraid that he had misjudged Chanyeol’s willingness to hurt him. “You’re lying,” Chanyeol hissed. “Why are you trying to protect actual monsters that are hurting people? Please, Jimin, explain it to me. Are the dogs threatening you to keep quiet, or something?”
“My friends would never threaten me,” Jimin insisted. “And…” he clamped his mouth shut quickly, shaking his head. Chanyeol just wanted to trick him into saying something he shouldn’t.
“And what?” Chanyeol said lowly, arm muscles flexing as he yanked Jimin forward. Jimin winced as his chest made contact with Chanyeol’s fist as the momentum threw him into it.
“And things aren’t as black and white as you seem to think they are,” Jimin said.
“There’s nothing grey about attacking and hurting people,” Chanyeol glowered.
“Not even if you would die without it?” Jimin said quietly.
Chanyeol’s jaw clenched. “Then I would just die.”
Jimin smiled sadly. “Then that would make you braver than most of us, monsters and humans alike.”
Chanyeol frowned, grip easing as he released Jimin’s now-crumpled sweater. “Tell your dog friends that if they step one toe out of line, then they’re finished.”
Jimin quickly stepped out of his reach, readjusting his bag on his bruised shoulder. As he got to the door, he turned to look at Chanyeol one last time. “There’s nothing grey about attacking and hurting people,” Jimin parroted.
He tried to move faster than his usual cautious pace in case Chanyeol tried to catch up with him, but as far as he could tell, he wasn’t being followed. He still didn’t know what make of the hunter who seemed so determined to kill monsters but nevertheless was willing to listen when Jimin defended them. Who tried to help Jimin when he was injured. His head was beginning to hurt from all the grey.
His first instinct was to head for the science building, as access to the labs was limited by keycard permission only. Not to mention, it felt like Namjoon’s blood was burning a hole at the bottom of his bag.
Jimin tapped his student ID against the access pad, stepping into the noticeably colder building. He felt a little better once the door latched shut behind him, even though logically he knew that someone could probably easily figure out a way to gain access. After stepping out of the elevator on the lab level, he detoured to the nearest bathroom. The building was relatively empty, as most lab courses didn’t begin until mid-afternoon.
He ran the cold tap and splashed a little water on his face, trying to bring some life into his cheeks. As he bent over, he frowned at the slight ache building in his chest. Pulling down his loose shirt collar, he sighed at the little red broken capillaries dotting the skin there.
Of course he couldn’t go a day without collateral damage.
He sighed again as he delicately palpated his shoulder, bruising from his bag returning like it had never left. As he pressed lightly in an attempt to disperse the luckily clotted blood, his gaze was drawn to his bag placed under the sink.
Before he knew what he was doing, his bag was in his hands and the zipper was already dragging open. The plastic was smooth underneath his fingertips, the dark blood oozing with the motion of his hands. Just one drop and he would be all healed up. Two, and maybe it would be even better.
But why? Why did his body want it so much, when the result was to cause him pain? Why didn’t he just pick up his phone and call Namjoon? Tell him that he’d run into a door, or something equally convincing. Namjoon would fix it for him, and he wouldn’t have to do the incredibly stupid thing that he was contemplating.
The ache in his chest spurred him on like the morning hadn’t.
He dropped his bag carelessly onto the tile and carefully unsealed the plastic, staring down at the blood inside, wondering why his stomach wasn’t turning at the thought of eating it again. Instead, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he reached trembling fingers towards the opening. Carefully, he grimaced as he collected a drop on each of two fingertips. The red began to trail down his fingers, thin lines cutting across his pallid skin.
It didn’t taste like it had the first time, where he’d felt a little grossed out at the metallic tang. The metal was still there, of course, but there was also something else. It was something sweet, almost. Something warm that seemed to coat his throat on the way down, satisfying that itch that he’d been suffering since the last time. He waited a moment, staring hard at his reflection to observe when and how the process would begin. His heart raced as he could feel his body healing, as before his eyes his bruised shoulder cleared of marks and even the dark circles under his eyes seemed to lighten.
His hands were shaking. Both of them trembled as he held them up in front of his face as his heart continued to pound, the blood rushing in his veins. His stomach twisted into knots, nausea pressing up and into his esophagus. Shaking, sweating, nausea, headache, tachycardia. Craving blood. He knew those symptoms. They’d talked about them in biochemistry, and…It was almost like…It was like…
Withdrawal.
He knew what was next, squeezing himself into a stall and sitting down on the toilet seat rather than risk falling from the freight train of pain that was soon to come. He rocked slightly back and forth, attempting to sooth his body that was busy freaking out. Stupid. So stupid. Of course it was withdrawal. Namjoon’s saliva and blood didn’t heal him with magic, but with science. There must have been some kind of biochemical or biological compounds in both of them that promoted rapid and extensive cell regeneration.
In other words, Namjoon’s blood was like a drug. And after only one taste, he was already powerfully addicted.
His body seized as the headache assaulted his temples, sudden and uncompromising. He pressed harshly into his skull with his fingers in an attempt to relieve the pressure, but there was no running away from the intensity of the pain. A few more drops and he could get it to stop.
He shook his head sharply, gritting his teeth together in order to avoid biting at his lips. It would go away. It would go away eventually. He just had to resist.
He clutched as his clothes, at his hair, splintered his fingernails dragging his hands down the stall walls, but nothing made it better. Eventually, he had to crawl from on top of the seat to the floor so that he could lean into the bowl and throw up, the headache provoking an equally intense bout of nausea. His hair and shirt were soaked with sweat, and he must have looked like a complete mess.
He didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, but he was startled into full consciousness when a few people entered the bathroom. He hurriedly searched his pockets to check his phone, shocked when he realized that over an hour had passed since he’d been curled up in the stall.
The headache had tempered to a bearable level, and that was the only reason he was able to pull himself to his feet. He quickly zipped his bag closed, unlocking the door and approaching the sinks as the other two men washed their hands. They gave him an odd glance, no doubt due to his haggard appearance, but otherwise left the bathroom soon after.
Jimin looked like he’d fallen into a swimming pool, everything damp and drops of sweat still spilling down the sides of his face. His face and neck were flushed, his eyes red and watery from throwing up. His hands didn’t shake as badly, but they were still unsteady as he ran them over his face and arms.
And the worst part was—he still wanted more.