Chapter Text
facilis descensus averno.
the descent to hell is easy.
The sheer luxury of the room was what captured people’s attention first.
Glittering artefacts, golden decorations and ornaments scattered throughout the room; it was almost an insult to call the place expensive – closer to opulent, lavish.
Regal.
What commandeered people’s attention next was the man sitting at the end of the room, poised on top of a large throne, looking every bit authoritative as the aura he exuded. Black hair styled immaculately to showcase his sharp, pale features; clothing elegant and strikingly dark; every detail added to his appearance of power. Even his nails were painted a blood red, stunning against the paleness of his skin and the darkness of his wardrobe.
The last detail to catch people’s attentions was easily the worst – the sword daintily clutched in the man’s long fingers, gleaming under the artificial lighting. With decadent engravings that looked to belong during the Roman Empire, the sword struck both heart-wrenching fear and silent awe into hearts.
The blood on the blade, stained over millennia despite the constant cleaning, brought everyone to their final conclusion – they would not be leaving here alive.
“– Johnny!”
An abrupt snapping of fingers in front of Johnny’s face brought the twenty-three-year-old back to reality, face to face with his unimpressed best friend.
“Honestly, Johnny,” Jaehyun sighed, leaning back against the table, facing outwards to the courtyard. “You’re so vacant these days; what gives? Did someone ghost you on Snapchat? Is it that girl again? Honestly, she –”
Johnny cut him off with a raised eyebrow, his expression conveying everything that needed to be said.
“Thanks for the concern, Jae, but I’m fine. Really, I am,” Johnny added when Jaehyun looked ready to argue again, mouth snapping shut with finality. He watched as the younger male fell into a sulk – arms crossed, a pout tugging at his face – which immediately disintegrated into a large grin when Johnny leant over to clap his back.
He knew that Jaehyun wasn’t worried without good reason – Johnny had been vacant lately. He’d been feeling … weird, acting weird for the last few days – it wasn’t just Jaehyun who’d commented on it. Johnny had gotten complaints from other mutual friends – Ten, Taeil, Lucas – as well as his professors and classmates. He’d even felt it himself, noticing the behaviour randomly throughout the days.
It was like an emptiness inside of him, like he was missing something very important and crucial to solve his peculiar actions lately.
“I know, you’re ‘fine’, or whatever,” Jaehyun griped, looking out across the grounds at the university students, moving throughout the masses, before continuing, “but you sure as hell aren’t acting like it. You’ve been like this since, what, Saturday? It’s Wednesday, Johnny, Wednesday! I’m just worried, bro, because …”
Johnny tuned out as Jaehyun kept ranting, the worried tones of his voice fading into background noise. He was right, though – it had started on Saturday, after he’d gone clubbing with Jaehyun and Lucas Friday night.
They’d appeared at the newest club down the road from the university dorms, where Lucas was staying, and it had been fun. At least, until Johnny passed out and woke up with almost no memory of the latter half of his night.
All he’d remembered was drinking Jaehyun under the table, supporting a drunk Lucas to throw up in the bathroom, and being dragged from the dancefloor to a private room by someone.
Someone he absolutely could not remember. All that had survived in his memory was long, dainty fingers and gorgeous, dark-brown eyes.
“You messed up.”
“I never mess up.”
He sat atop his throne, eyes trained on the male below him. Daring him to speak again, accuse him of making a mistake.
He never made mistakes.
“I’m just saying, you definitely messed up. How did this even happen? You’re always so meticulous.” The male looked up at him then, eyes glinting curiously. It was a wonder his head wasn’t cut off yet, with the words dripping from his lips. “Are you losing your touch, sire?”
“Get out.”
Everyone knew Taeyong Lee; if you didn’t, you lived under a very large rock.
He was known throughout the university campus for many things – his academics, his dancing, his looks, his personality.
Taeyong was very popular – not of his own accord, but because a day wouldn’t go by without his name gracing someone’s lips. Whether he’d helped someone pick up their belongings, or he’d been dancing in the practice room and someone filmed him, or even just sitting down and relaxing – everyone always had something to say about Taeyong Lee.
Johnny knew who Taeyong was – he shared his history class with him, and they were seatmates in English literature. He’d never talked to the male, though – asides from soft greetings and the occasional lending of a pen, the two never interacted. Johnny would never admit it to anyone else, but he found the other male intimidating – with his intense appearance and even more intense looks, Johnny couldn’t bring himself to go further than a “hello”.
“Excuse me.”
Johnny’s head snapped up to see Taeyong standing, looking impossibly soft in an oversized, pink hoodie and jeans that definitely showed off his thin legs, brown hair left to flop over his forehead and fluff up slightly. He was left staring for a few seconds too long before realising that Taeyong was still standing because his bag was on his chair, and Taeyong seemed too polite to move it himself.
“Oh – oh, sorry!” Johnny knew he was blustering as he leant over to hurriedly move his bag, Taeyong slipping into his seat with the barest hint of a smile. Johnny couldn’t help the looks he was sneaking out of the corner of his eye, watching as the other pulled out his notebook and a few pens.
Maybe today would be the day that Johnny finally talked to Taeyong, maybe today he’d grow the confidence to ask him if he wanted to get some lunch?
An hour-and-a-half later, when everyone had already packed up and Johnny was the last one in the classroom, he knew that it wouldn’t be today.
Painted red nails slowly traced the grooves on the chair, mapping over the elegant engravings into the wood. The chair had come from the Roman Empire, at the height of its glory. With Latin phrases and signs of the Roman gods etched onto the surface, it was truly marvellous to look at.
Doyoung looked up from his spot further down the room, where Mark was lazing in his lap, appearing to be half-asleep. His sire, the King, had been sitting on the throne for a few hours now, lazily tracing over the entire chair as many times as he could. To see the elegant lines of his sleek body moving as he’d twist around to observe the back, to see how his clothing – silk upon silk upon silk – rippled and slid across the embossed wood; Doyoung’s King was truly an interesting one.
Mark shifted again, a whine escaping his lips, and the figure in the throne paused before looking over.
“Mark?” Doyoung sighed as the voice carried across the room, ignoring the temptation to rub at his temples, and gently pushed the younger male up. Mark hissed tiredly, fangs extending as he sleepily rubbed his eyes, before calming down once long fingers began to stroke through his hair and rub gently at his nape.
“Hyung?” It was always fascinating to hear Mark’s mother tongue of Korean come out when he interacted with the King, especially when he was emotionally compromised. Doyoung took it upon himself to observe their interactions as best as he could, melting slightly into the shadows behind him.
He watched silently as the King, stoic and heartless, carefully looked after over his younger brother – the Prince.
“… it went really well today, and everyone picked it up fast!”
Taeil nodded along to Ten’s words, nudging Johnny to copy him. Ten always spoke a mile-a-minute, so the easiest thing to do was just smile and nod until he finished or called you out on not listening.
“Hey – guys! You aren’t even listening!” Like he just did then.
Johnny sighed, running a hand through his hair, and straightened up in his seat. Taeil dropped his weight against the younger’s side and let Johnny wind an arm around him.
“Sorry, Ten, really – I’m sorry, don’t look at me like that! Come on, tell me what happened again. It’s … dance practice?” Ten nodded tightly, and Johnny smiled warmly to try and soothe his friend’s hurt feelings. “Dance practice, right, and you’re … teaching everyone your choreography, aren’t you?”
A small smile crept across Ten’s face, nodding again, and Johnny felt his own smile bloom at seeing him so happy.
“They all really enjoyed it?” Johnny’s smile grew when Ten’s mood finally dropped, nodding furiously and springing to rest on his legs, pushing himself up slightly.
“Yeah! Taeyong picked it up the fastest, definitely! He had to leave early, though. It was a shame – I love to chat about dance to him.” The mention of Taeyong’s name froze Johnny for a second, flashes of pink sweaters and soft gazes coursing through his mind, before he snapped back into reality and smiled back at Ten.
“He left early?” Ten nodded as he cut off some of his apple pie, popping it into his mouth and swallowing, before speaking again.
“Had to pick up his younger brother,” was the only explanation Ten gave before finally digging into his food, leaving Johnny with his thoughts and a half-asleep Taeil tucked under his arm.
That night found Johnny crawling into his bed just after midnight, Taeil asleep on his couch. He’d crashed at Johnny’s that night after they both worked on their group assignment, claiming he was ‘too tired’ to walk back to his own apartment down the hallway of the complex.
It was fine – Johnny didn’t mind Taeil staying over, he was calm and didn’t wake him up by screaming (Lucas), jumping on him (Ten) or blasting trap music (Jaehyun). After getting Taeil some blankets and a pillow, Johnny finally made it to his room.
He’d drifted off into a restless sleep, clutching his blankets and ignoring the glaring feeling that something was off.
“How is he?” Doyoung looked up at his King before back down at Mark, smoothing a hand over the younger male’s forehead. He whined softly and leant into Doyoung’s hand, coughing and groaning weakly. The King twitched next to him, aching to reach out and gather Mark into his own arms, leech his pain and shoulder it himself.
“He’s better than last time, sire. He’s keeping everything down, and he hasn’t thrown up again,” Doyoung explained quietly, looking up at the older male next to him as Mark reached to grab Doyoung’s hand and lace their fingers together – a cry for support, for an older figure to ground him through the waves of pain.
His other hand reached for the King’s, clutching it tightly as Doyoung could see from the rippling of pale skin in Mark’s grasp, but the King made no move to wince or even feel the pain. His only worries were his younger brother, who had had yet another fit of crying and throwing up that afternoon. His fangs had torn through his lips with the sheer strength at how Mark had bitten them, fighting through the sharp stabs at his abdomens, as Doyoung held him and quietly whispered the ancient Latin phrases to ward off ailments and illnesses.
“Doyoung, may I speak to you in private?” Doyoung nodded and gently let go of Mark’s hand, moving to the side as the King leant down to briefly kiss his brother’s forehead, before moving into the other room.
“He’s getting worse, Doyoung, don’t take me for a fool,” came the hissed statement that the male knew was coming. He only sighed softly, looking down at his hands – calloused from constant use, pale from the lack of blood circulating his body.
“I don’t know what’s happening sire, honestly – none of the books show an illness that Mark could’ve feasibly contracted with these symptoms. I – I don’t know what to tell you, sire-”
A hand, pale and dainty, shot up and Doyoung immediately cut his words off.
“Don’t … don’t call me that, please. You’re one of my closest friends, confidantes, in a world where I have very little. Just tell me, Doyoung, what is going on with my brother?”
A pained sigh rippled through the younger male as he looked back at the door they’d just come through, where Mark lay only a room away in pain.
“I think … I honestly think Mark may be dying. Taeyong … your younger brother could feasibly be dying.”
It was only a few minutes past two when Johnny shot up in bed, gasping violently and clutching whatever he could grasp in a cold sweat. Only one word reverberated throughout his head, bouncing around and somehow manifesting into physical pain through the mere thought of it:
“Taeyong.”
Taeyong sat on his throne, glaring down at his feet. In his hands, an elegant sphere that looked to top a sceptre rolled amongst his fingertips, rubies and emeralds glinting in the light. Doyoung’s words pounded throughout his head; the possible death sentence of Mark, of his younger brother.
No, this wasn’t going to happen. Taeyong wouldn’t let this happen.
He hadn’t gotten this far without committing some things no man should ever commit, and he’d go further for those he loved.
After all, he was the most powerful vampire to walk the Earth. He was the vampire King.
The sceptre’s top paused amongst his ministrations, the male’s back straightening as he felt something tug in his mind, in his subconscious that was undoubtedly still linked to him.
It was clear, then; Taeyong began rolling the ball amongst his fingers once more.
Johnny Seo remembered.