Work Text:
Hoseok jolts to attention at the sound of his cell phone ringing.
He had been in the pits of his own mind at a generous one in the morning on a Saturday night – a rare occurrence to have off. He didn’t even know what to do with himself.
He settled on sitting on his futon in his sparse apartment and closing his eyes.
It’s common knowledge that vampires can neither truly sleep nor dream – only a deep, lucid meditation can set in, keeping them on the cusp of consciousness and fancies. It’s time like these when Hoseok goes over important things, things he is desperate to never forget. He can almost remember every face that has visited him in his station downstairs, how hungry they were and how much they could afford. He tries to compartmentalize what lies he has told whom as to where he came from and why he can never be found eating. With anyone. Ever. Only watching them.
Watching her.
You continue to be an elusive source of miserable happiness in his quiet, repetitive life.
It only makes sense that you’d be calling him now.
Crossing the tiny flat takes less than half of a second, and even less time for him to read the screen and have his eyes go wide at your name on his screen. If he had a heart, it would be flipping, twisting, climbing into his throat, he’s certain – and, well, he has a heart, but just not one that works like that.
“Hello?”
He cradles the phone close to his ear, eyes shut as he hyperfocuses on the static from the other side of the line. This way, he can hear just the way you suck in a breath to fumble back in response, “Hi! Um, hi. First let me apologize for calling you this late–”
“Don’t, it’s not a problem.”
“–and also for asking what I’m about to ask, because I’m at the corner of 6th and 18th right now and there’s no taxis, and my Uber app isn’t working, and I just– I didn’t know who to call– I’m sorry, Hoseok, I’m sorry, I know it’s late and I’m sorry if I woke you up, I know it was your day off–”
“Stop,” his voice finally swallows over yours, insistent and so kind it almost hurts. Hoseok holds the phone with both hands, carefully, as if it could break at any moment, and allows himself a worried, private smile. Because despite his concern that you are seemingly alone on a street corner at this time of night, he cannot help but feel that flicker of joy that you called.
You called him.
He speaks up again before he forgets to and before you can protest.
“It’s okay. Really. I couldn’t sleep anyway. Did you get called in?” he asks, more gently this time. He hears you sigh through the fuzziness.
“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Yeah. I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep, you don’t deserve that.”
He almost laughs at how truly silly the sentiment is, and the fact that you even cared.
“Ah, don’t worry about me. You know I’m fine. I’ll drive you to the hospital, okay?”
He doesn’t own a car, understandably – but he is on good terms with his elderly landlady (a small, bent-over woman who frequently forgot the date) and he knows she’s awake smoking pot when he knocks politely on her door a minute later. She has no qualms with letting him borrow her little old Cadillac (”Crash it, son, see if I give a fuck.” “Oh, no, no, I won’t, I promise!” “Christ.”) and it takes exactly seven minutes and eighteen seconds to find your bundled-up figure waiting exactly where you promised.
The chill of Autumn has been coming in steady, and it adds a bite to your cheeks, your nose. The coat you have on is more than a few sizes too big, but he wonders more at how the smile that overcomes your face when you notice him manages to be even bigger.
He doesn’t know why he says it, but when he pulls up and rolls down the window, he has the foolishness to let his tongue move without his permission; “Come here often, miss?”
Tha-THUMP. Oh – oh, that was your heartbeat, wasn’t it? The embarrassment that hits Hoseok like a freight train keeps him dissociated in the time it takes for you to laugh skittishly and cover your mouth, gingerly opening the car door to climb into the passenger seat.
The compartment smells like his landlady and aged leather and weed. And then, suddenly, it smells like you. You’re wearing perfume, and Hoseok actually stares at you openly, head cocked as he drinks in your high heels and pretty eyelashes.
Something dangerous in him surges and he turns away a little too quickly.
“Thank you again,” you pipe up shyly from beside him. Hoseok’s grip flexes on the steering wheel and he lets himself smile, lets himself take a slow, shuddering breath that he holds onto because he doesn’t trust himself sometimes. Not with you.
Not like this.
“I told you already,” he taps his thumb lightly against the leather. “It’s no problem. You couldn’t be a problem if you tried.”
He should have known by the way your pulse fluttered oddly. But instead of bracing himself, he just came to a stop at a red light and was unprepared for the low, saccharine tone of your voice breaking the silence.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think I could cause problems for you if I really tried.”
It takes an eternity for Hoseok’s gaze to slide across the street, the dashboard, to meet yours. You’re leaning in a little close, the sleeve of your coat sliding a few inches to expose the bare skin of your neck and collarbone and dark scarlet wrapped silk of the dress you have on underneath. But more cruel than these things is the singular look in your eyes.
You’re looking at him from that low angle that lets you blink up from under your lashes; the space in the car is stuffy and dark, lit only sparsely by glowy headlights and streetlights in various hues. But it doesn’t hide the way your pupils are broad, so wide they almost swallow your irises.
“I suppose we’ll just have to see about that.” He answers, and it’s in a low, rough voice he hasn’t heard out of himself in a very, very long time.
Later on Hoseok will feel nauseating shame at the response that such a look stirred in his heart and soul. He wants to apologize to someone, anyone for thinking the things he did in that moment – things that weren’t just limited to pleasures of the teeth and veins; things that carried far more weight in a much more vital fashion.
The light turns green and the car behind him honks. The hospital is ten blocks away, and in that span of time he hardly remembers what was spoken between the two of you.
He only knows the scent that lingers in the car will be his downfall, and the way you timidly, sweetly wave back at him from over your shoulder leaves him aching in every worst way.
Hoseok remains in the parking lot for an hour longer. He breathes in and out, and does his best not to think about what he shouldn’t.