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There is a warm, fuzzy feeling extending to every corner of his head. His fingertips, too, and maybe his legs and arms and face and, well, just everywhere. It was a cold night, winter drawing near, breeze not as gelid as their skin, it was only a matter of days before the temperature dropped to a degree resembling their bodies.
They know they aren’t capable of feeling warmth, —not from inside, not from their blood, so different from humankind, not as crimson, not as a delicious—but they can get drunk, so drunk, and both had heard humans claim feeling warm whenever one of them had too many drinks, so they would pretend and play along.
Dejun would say: “Help, Guanheng, I’m burning”, and it was a good excuse for Guanheng to touch him with a valid reason, forehead to forehead, nuzzling at his neck to get some of that exquisite smell of his. In some instances, he would even laugh against his lips, chill breath mixing with the odor of gin or whatever liquor they were currently drowning in.
Seventeen bottles. Kun will kill them.
That is if he were to actually punish them just like the old times, some years ago, or was it decades? They still remember the first time Dejun had stolen a dozen of Kun’s finest liquors to get inebriated after hearing vampires could get drunk with alcohol —so far they thought it was only possible by drinking large amounts of human or ancient blood too fast—, and hell, they needed something to entertain themselves aside from hunting and hiding.
It took all twelve bottles to finally break from most of their senses, the world was spinning, and they were dancing in the middle of an earthquake. Dejun said never felt remotely guilty, more like it was a deserved reward for their sad existence. Kun discovered them a couple kilometers north from their recently built coven, giggling like idiots, babbling nonsense about the scarlet moon and her secrets.
Kun was beyond madness, he confined both to the boredom of their rooms, impending the roguish boys from going out for two months at least, no interaction with each other and just the bare minimum of blood to survive, so scarce their throats felt terribly dusty.
They should have foreseen the backlash; all of them coming from an annihilated coven, more than thirty vampires turned to ashes, speared heads, and disemboweled bodies, death greeted them to their faces with a mocking grin. It only took one sunrise to jump from predator to prey. Kun just wanted to make sure they had another chance to live and if he had to do it the hard way, then he would.
It was too soon to be discovered, too early to let the humans know not all vampires in the area had been executed. They would take their torches and pitchforks to go on the hunt for them, an entire town against seven inexperienced vampires, their fate was written. Much like their coven, they were set to perish.
The only reason they survived that massacre was thanks to Kun, who found them hiding in the underground passage of the mansion. They were supposed to be fighting, all of them, because vampires were a mighty race that never retreats from combat, let alone a battle against mere humans, but loyalty didn’t blind them from reality. It was a lost cause.
The sun was getting up when it happened, brightening the entire land, and the humans had ripped almost every curtain, the reek of burned flesh and fetid ashes was just as heavy as the smell of blood. Not even the Head coven expected it, humans didn't take this type of risks, they were supposed to be cowards creatures, so nobody was prepared when the humans broke the door and attacked them while most of the members had already fallen asleep in their dark rooms.
It was a true war, the humans have been planning this invasion for months, anticipating most of their responses and taking advantage of the sun filling the mansion through the windows once the curtains have been ripped off. Still, the vampires fought, maybe because of their honor, maybe because of anger or just pride.
Guanheng and Dejun weighed the idea of fighting, it was their duty, but they were outnumbered. Unquestionably, it was the tactic work not only of the people's town but the village on the other side of the river too.
They were doomed, and Guanheng didn't want to die in the hands of these repulsive creatures, so he took his friend's hand and scurried away from the sun and the battle to the secret passage.
Their backs and faces suffered some second-degree burns, aside from that and some minor injuries, they were relatively unharmed, far better than the others when they crossed paths. Dejun was freaking out when the quick steps echoing in the stones reached their ears.
Guanheng recalls the moment their new lives were sealed in ruby promises: Kun, Lucas and Ten, covered both in human and vampire blood where their skins were not severely burned, dragging a terrified yet relatively intact Sicheng and feral Yangyang. Dark cloaks and haunting eyes gave away their plan, it was insane, but at the time it was their only chance of survival.
There was no time to discuss the details, they must fleet before the humans discovered the tunnel. Kun, a member they barely knew and whose age was hardly some decades above them, just commanded to be followed in silence and quickly, it was perhaps a bigger gamble than fighting, going out in daylight relying entirely on their cloaks to protect them from the lethal sun, Guanheng and Dejun had to share with Kun and Lucas, who were the broadest in physique. It was the same type of suicidal mission.
Dejun had confessed, years after that nightmare, he would have stayed with Guanheng waiting for their downfall had the younger decided it, “if you go, I’ll go with you, to live or die.” Guanheng is still figuring out what to think about that statement.
And the day woke with screams of agony and hatred. No more than seven survived, the youngest members of the now extinguished coven made it through the forest to a secluded area of the forest the humans were awfully afraid to explore due to the high likelihood of getting lost or being attacked by bears.
Lucas and Ten almost didn’t make it, their injuries required a significant supply of blood to heal, it was Sicheng and Kun who voluntarily extended their arms for them to feed on. It saved their lives, but ultimately left the three youngest in charge of providing food since the elders where too tired to hunt, which confirmed to be a troublesome task the first weeks. They were used to hunt in the company of much more competent comrades, the ones who made actual plans while the juveniles would just follow directions, now it was their responsibility to provide not only for themselves but also four other persons.
It took months to entrust this new dynamic, technically, this could still be considered a coven, a tiny and weak one consisting of seven members, two of them barely old enough to qualify as mature; what's worse, Kun and Ten were clashing forces, constantly hissing with venom, red eyes and protruding fangs challenging dominance.
The former declared the best course of action to hunt animals, bears and deer, for sure it wouldn't satisfy them as human blood, but it would suffice to recover while keeping a low profile for some time; the other, craving vengeance, though it was only fair to hunt the humans that attacked them, drink their blood to the very last drop and leave the carcasses around the town or outside their houses to inject fear in their luring veins.
It was a slow and demanding process, it took a couple of months for Dejun and Guanheng, who were the closest members, to acknowledge they were no longer just friends who occasionally went hunting together, they were relevant members of this new a coven, family, as Kun profusely professed, like it or not, and it was better to like it as soon as possible since they had no chance of lasting alone.
A small family on the verge of extinction, somehow along the way of enduring their trauma they found soothing in this wretched gathering.
Yukhei would hunt extra food for the youngest behind Kun’s back because he was too good, exceptionally nurturing despite his tough appearance. And Sicheng, hell, Sicheng held them in each every breakdown and sang lullabies from ancient times whenever they couldn't sleep due to the sounds and smells from that day permeating their memories.
Kun and Ten, one way or another, managed to find balance. Guanheng is yet to understand how that happened. What did it take for Ten to step back and accept Kun as their leader? Was it the poor state of Dejun, Yangyang and he? The worrisome looks of Lucas and Sicheng? An actual fight he had lost? Or, in a very unlikely scenario, the result of their growing affection?
They’d made it. They survived. And here they are, laying in the snow, getting drunk and giggling as if life had never been hell. The scarlet moon mocking their juvenile lives, too high for them to reach but close enough to admire.
Dejun laughs for some reason, maybe a joke Guanheng can’t remember telling, nonetheless, it was nice, a nice laugh, fangs peeking under thin lips, kind of adorable if vampires can be considered adorable. Those lips that now hold a taste of gin and wine, it should be concerning he doesn’t need to kiss them to know how it would feel to lick and bite and drink from Dejun's mouth.
“How much before sunrise?”
“Three hours.” He knows that much, Kun thinks they are just reckless kids, he doesn’t give them enough credit.
While Lucas might be their best hunter, Guanheng and Dejun had learned to work as a team before the massacre, filling each other’s gaps and weaknesses, they make a good pair. They could take down a medium-size bear, happened once and Kun was losing it, but he had to understand, accept, that even if they had all warmed up to the concept of family, Guanheng and Dejun bonded over oaths and secrets way before that.
It wasn't anything against the other members or that they didn't want to live. They just became a bit crazy, a bit brash, and found alliance on the fact that their preservation instinct may be lacking on a certain level after the bloodbath.
Just like this moment. They are vulnerable, could not walk a straight line or write their own names, much less fight for their lives. They are still young, holding their last traces of adolescence, right now they make perfect prey, and yet they fail to find a good enough reason to prevent them from escaping Kun’s guarding sight once in a while. This is exciting, definitely, but more than that, it makes them feel at ease and alive simultaneously. Death could come and take them apart limb by limb and Dejun would still sing with Guanheng’s laugh echoing him.
Three hours. Three more hours before sunrise. That dammed sunrise.
“You are staring,” says the younger, his internal monologue left behind in favor of concentrating on those deep icy eyes of Dejun.
“Have you seen yourself?”
Dejun’s breath stinks of liquor, death and naïve curiosity. It gets Guanheng drunker, enthralled by the toxic smell of his friend's blood running under pale skin he likes to touch in the dark.
“Of course I have, the river is not made of silver.”
“I know, but it's not that, I mean, would you be able to describe your own looks?” inquires the other, his eyes traveling all over Guanheng’s face. “Humans use mirrors to see their reflections, they need to see themselves to remember who they are, their souls are that fragile it can’t recall their essence, but not us, we can spend our whole life not remembering how we look because it’s not important to define us.”
It was said by humans all vampires were deathly beautiful, and they were aware of it, a common and rather unnecessary characteristic of their kind, but that doesn’t make it any more of a mildly convenient attribute. It was easy to forget their own faces, many years of life and priorities far more pertinent than looks tend to erase something so unimportant, but even for Guanheng, who doesn't tend to give much shit about other's appearance, there was a clear distinction between those who were attractive in vampire terms and those who were truly beautiful.
It’s not uncommon for vampires to prize beauty, more than once Sicheng and Ten were given special treatment among their peers for being the mere definition of graciousness. In their previous coven a particular female used to receive gifts from a third of the male residents, she was greatly amused by this, and more amusing than this parade of revering it was the fact that none of those males actually considered her desirable for her royal face, they just found time to cherish something superficial, after all, time was something they had to spare.
It was weird for humans how they could idolize beauty but also find it insignificant at the same time.
Although they could feel proud of their looks, it doesn’t mean that much at the end of the day. The hunting skills, the taste of their blood, the coldness of their eyes when killing, those were things a vampire truly appreciated.
Still, the topic in question is whether Guanheng remembers his own features or not, and he has to accept that he does not, he can't even remember the last time he saw his face.
“I suppose I don't, we could go to the river if you want.” He doesn’t trust his legs to make it there without getting scratches from bushes and low branches, but winter had sent animals to peaceful sleep and retrieved humans to their homes earlier these days, so at least there was not an imminent threat to encounter.
Dejun lips compose a twisted smile. “We could describe each other.”
“What?” he asks bemused, he knows their skin is almost as pale as the snow under their bodies, that being the feature all vampires actually reminisce about themselves other than fangs and bloody eyes.
His dearest friend —his partner, his family, his Dejun— twists his body so they are face to face with mere centimeters apart, doll-like skin and somber eyes contemplating one another. “We are right here, I can see you, so I can tell you how you look, then you must tell me how I look.”
“Where does this sudden interest in your appearance comes from?” it’s not like there was a possible suitor to impress, damn, they aren't allowed, technically, to actively search for a serious love interest until fully grown up, not according to their previous coven rules.
He had never asked Kun what he thought of that, he probably didn't care as long as they didn't bring problems to the others, but to be honest, whose attention would they try to pursue? They were in the middle of nowhere, just six other vampires to interact with —four, if they take into account Kun and Ten’s weird relationship.
Dejun shrugs, his light hair contrasting the white snow. “Just yours and mine, I want to know if I’m attractive.”
As if he already doesn’t know that. Guanheng thinks, objectively, that Dejun is highly pleasant to look at, always thought he could grow into some sort of noble, refined and wise.
Hadn’t their coven been destroyed he would have had the chance of becoming one of those fancy figures Guanheng purposely avoided for being too stoic, just looking pretty and drinking mixes of wine and blood in silence. Dejun is that kind of attractive, and yes, they are yet to mature, their physical features still developing, but it was evident he would grow up beautiful and gracious and elegant.
Now that he has been driven to that train of thoughts, would he grow handsome too? He must be some sort of attractive without doubt, but to which extent? Which were his merits in that field? Does he possess a sharp jaw or distinctive brows as his dear friend does? Or perhaps a pronounced cupid bow and doe eyes? Now he is growing inquisitive too.
Shaking his head to get some of the snow out of his hair, he agrees with an easy smile. “Alright, would you make the honor?”
The slightly shorter male contemplates the idea, Guanheng is already considering the needed words to describe his delightful appearance. “Your eyes are big.”
“Pardon?”
“They are quite big, round, not as big as Yukhei’s, but they shine. Your eyes are bright.”
Bright eyes. The inside of his chest clenches.
“What else?” he asks a little too eager.
"Your hair is blond, sometimes it covers your eyes." A wobbly smile draws itself on the elders's lips before spilling a drunken giggle. “Your lips are thin, but you know, they look nice.”
What a compliment, it makes him feel fortunate despite how simple it is. “Nice how?” Nice like he would want to kiss them? No, surely not like that, but Guanheng wouldn't mind conceding if that was his wish. Is it weird he would only do this for Dejun? He isn't that thrilled about the idea of kissing Sicheng or Ten.
“Nice as… I don’t know, nice as grapes, I love grapes.” That makes the younger hold his laugh in a tight smile, Dejun claps and points at his face excitedly, “That, you make this face quite constantly, like a frog.”
“Am I a frog or a grape?” he inquires pinching the elder’s side with animosity.
His sharp nails almost cut through the dark fabric of his shirt, a human would be freezing in these conditions, only a layer of clothing to guard against the freezing temperatures. Their kind, however, feels no difference between winter nights and warm springs, bodies perpetually cold to the touch except for the sun, the sun would burn them to their bones. Ashes in the snow, grey dust on a pure landscape.
“You are my dearest friend, Guanheng, that’s who you are,” answers the other after a misplaced moment of secrecy. A slim, deadly finger capable of slashing flesh, grazes one of his brows which such delicacy it almost seems human. “Your eyebrows go from here to here.”
He lifts said brow, to him, Dejun's eyebrows are his best feature, it’s interesting hearing about his own, he is glad they seem normal, better that than a freak show.
“I also like your nose, is long and narrow.” His fingers track the path of his nose softly, his nail grazing in an accidental tickle.
Then he asks plainly to avoid that feathery touch from retrieving, “What about my jaw?”
Dejun's touch is not warm, but it comes really close to that, he wonders if it's common for friends to develop some kind of unique effect on each other. It feels like human blood painting his skin, a faint contact with the sun, rays of sunshine gently melting snow. He outlines the shape of his jaw, and Guanheng suddenly has the urge to feed him with his own blood for the rest of their lives.
“It’s fine, soft but defined, just like the rest of you.”
That's a bit dreary, he would prefer to be sharp and tough, intimidating like Lucas or at least Ten. Of course, humans were terrified of him, but humans are fragile souls that fear death obsessively, they thought their fangs and blood-red eyes were the devil's call, but Guanheng is just as intimidating as Yangyang, which is none, he lacks presence, hopefully that will come with age.
Dejun appears to be a deathly kind of beauty, the last thing one would see before leaving this world in a grotesque and grisly demise. Guanheng exhales, no puff of warm breath flows in the chill air, he is cold after all. The snow is getting inside his ear.
“My turn.” Dejun leans his cheek on one hand, waiting for Guanheng’s words with thrilling glow.
You are too much to describe. Too much Dejun, a survivor of horror and revenge, low music of sorrow, statue of the night. He is too beautiful to describe in words; sure, he knows some that could do mild justice, the thing is, Dejun doesn’t remember how he looks, and that makes Guanheng feel powerful, possessive even, being a connoisseur of Dejun while Dejun himself remains unaware of his charm.
Ten has been growing envy of Dejun's looks, each year getting refined and luring, and that doesn't sit well with the older vampire; Sicheng, on the other hand, is amused and proud of watching them grow, but he too acknowledges the slow blooming of Dejun.
There might be a brawl on who gets the title of true beauty in the future, and while Guanheng has already decided which side he is going to take, he wishes Dejun to stay unaware of his powerful appearance, because that way nothing has to change as for now, they could cover themselves under a mantle woven by their last bits of juvenility.
“Let’s see.” He feigns deep though as if he hadn’t spent countless nights those traits by memory. “Your eyebrows are bushy, that was how I get to remember who you were.”
“Not the blood smeared on my face or how I almost died?”
Dark red, darker than Sicheng's favorite wine, tarnishing a ghostly skin. That was how they met, more like how Guanheng first saw him. Their coven was not necessarily one built on linage, rather scrapes of loners and strays, very much like Guanheng, who was brought up by the Head when the old vampire had found him knocking death’s door deep in the forest.
He was given access to the mansion, a roof to cover from mean humans and blood to drink every day, that was as much as a paradise back then —even a few decades back when they became orphans again and only have Kun and the others, Guanheng remembers those frightful days and regularly relives them.
But it was not home, not a place where he felt perfectly safe, he never had a thing like that, security and consistency, so he was cautious about socializing with the other residents, some of them seemed nice enough, most of them looked like a bunch of arrogant bastards.
He didn't have much time to get accustomed, either.
Somewhere along the time before the massacre, he was pacing around the mansion when he heard commotion downstairs, a large group of curious viewers was circling two figures located in front the chimney of the salon, one which he identified as the leader of their coven, who held a painful grasp on the head of a young vampire whose face and name he wasn't able to recollect at the moment.
The poor guy was suffering, his skin wan't pale, it looked grayish and arid, he was so exhausted and clearly in agony, on the verge of death from starvation. His voice was a gruff whisper, couldn't even form a complete sentence, yet everyone knew what he was so desperately trying to beg for.
The unknown figure was being punished for transgressing the rules; later, when he got to talk to him, he found out Dejun had been locked in a secluded room for two months, denied of company and more important: blood. No wonder where Kun learned that method, their previous leader was unrelenting.
That night, looking at him from the top of the stairs with a hint of pity, Dejun looked very much like a corpse, nothing like the marvelous creature laying next to him at the present time.
The old vampire extended his misery to his last seconds of life, a speech of loyalty and obedience filling Guanheng’s ears while his eyes focused on the sluggish body. And he felt as if they were similar because that had once been him —clinging to life, drained and scared—, and then it hit him he was massively wrong, that individual caused this to himself, had purposely jeopardized his perfectly good life for what? He didn't know, but sure nothing was worth taking the risk.
He was partly angry, partly satisfied for the guy to perish like this, but also, he felt drawn to that incomprehensible mind.
And Guanheng expected him to die, and wondered if there could be a chance for him to examine his corpse before it turned to ashes since he wouln't be able to talk to him, when unexpectedly the old creature bit his own wrist, giving way to a delicious, mature and vigorous aroma that flooded the entire mansion, rousing the predator instincts of the residents. Dejun, with the last of his force, managed to open his eyes and inspired the metallic scent shuddering.
The Head let him drink the precise amount he needed to recover, and because Dejun required a good supply of blood and old vampire blood was well known for being highly strong, he consumed it in such despair he didn't think care that his hasty action would let him in a pathetic state.
Guanheng could see the flourishing strength those hands used to hold the Head's wrist, not letting it go until his body was adequately provided with energy and his eyes rolled back, then, the Elder just threw his body to the ground, dark blood dripping down his hand to stain the carpet.
After the show was done the residents started to drift away, no one paid attention to his lethargic figure, slowly fixing from gray to light skin, muscles gaining a bit more of volume, so Guanheng did the same, well, he did it after spending fifteen minutes watching him from his position on the stair.
He was curious, he wanted to ask him what he did to deserve this, oddly, he also craved to lick the blood around his mouth, but abstained from such. Dejun told him he more or less remembers him that day, his gaze piercing into his soulless heart while he came back from the dead.
“You almost drained the old man.”
“I was starving, the Head caught me sneaking near the village, if I had been a little older he would have killed me, but he had a soft spot for juveniles.”
He is the living evidence of that, the Head was a complete nightmare when taunted, nevertheless, on good days he almost acted sympathetically, especially towards those members who haven't reached maturity. Guanheng is forever grateful for receiving the chance of survival, his first one, but they never made a strong connection, he is probably closer to Kun than what he was with their previous leader.
“What a ratbag.”
“That was a one-time thing, you are a messy eater!” Asserts Dejun, not realizing that the insult was actually addressed to the deceased vampire and not him. “Keep describing me.”
Ah yes, he was supposed to do that.
“Your head is small,” he said in a dull tone.
"My head is small?" echoed the outraged male before smacking his chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That your head is small, but your face is proportional so it's not weird.”
“You are terrible at this.” Dejun sighs thumping the snow with deception.
“I’m trying my best!”
His best at not trying.
“You have only described my eyebrows and insulted my head.”
“It’s not my fault words can’t describe you,”
That gets the older to shut up, good, Guanheng thinks, but I think I just said something I shouldn’t have.
He instinctively grabs the nearest bottle, huffing in annoyance as he finds it empty. He feels overexposed, maybe it is time to go back with the rest and sleep hoping not to hear from Kun until the next night. Dejun silently watches him getting up on unsteady legs, getting drunk on alcohol is not remotely as good as getting intoxicated with blood, but it does the trick.
Dejun continues looking at him like a prey, not a hare or a simple human, but a predator looking at prey with the capacity of turning the tables. Like the bears they struggle to kill, they always end up wounded, just a minor price for sustaining.
“The sunrise is coming, let’s go.” He offers his hand, this time his fingernails paint fine pinkish traces on Dejun’s forearm, these kinds of accidents are so frequent they don't acknowledge it, although this time it seems to make the other smile for some reason, no sign of grudge.
Their footprints manifest their groggy state, one could make out their stumbles and half hugs studying them, halfway to the house they are cackling about the face Kun is going to make when he finds out someone broke into the wine cellar. They better enjoy the last minutes of freedom before being confined to their rooms.
It's moments like this when the trauma, the pain, and the sorrow becomes unimportant, they are here challenging the rising sun and their own natures to feel alive after facing death more than once. Humans cherish life, it's so short they have to make the best of it each day, but them? Vampires learn to admit their mortality and, for Dejun and Guanheng, it makes them want to see how much they can get away with.
“Let’s go to the river tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he answers, though he believes he’s going to find a way to prevent Dejun from seeing his reflection.
Humans say vampires are selfish creatures, bloodthirsty machines incapable of feeling love or compassion. Is he like that? He feels something towards his family, he respects Kun and Ten, admires Lucas, and enjoys listening Sicheng’s voice as much as he seeks Yangyang’s company to play in the snow. He has developed caring and protective feelings, and he’s sure they are reciprocated to some extent.
And then there is Dejun. He feels all of that for him and then more. But just like his appearance, he can’t put it into words, maybe he needs to read more of the books Kun collected from the ruins of the mansion, there must be an explanation for his incomprehensible feelings. For now, all he knows Dejun is different from the others, more annoying, more vital, more of what others and himself couldn’t be.
Guanheng trips with a rock hidden under the snow, the older catches him holding his waist, their bodies stumble until finding support on the sturdy wall of their new home, which was built by seven pairs of hands using the remains of their previous coven.
It was smaller, however definitely tougher, cohesive both in structure and the relationships of its inhabitants. Guanheng hears a voice from inside, presumably Yangyang, saying, “Has anyone seen Dejun or Guanheng?”, and then, Kun's exasperated tone, “Where the hell have those rascals gone”.
They share a glace before erupting in mischievous laughter. Their lips brush, Guanheng smells wine and once again he fancies the idea of tasting it directly from his lips and tongue. He must be far more inebriated from what he initially thought.
Dejuns keeps laughing, the sunrise peeking from the horizon rushing to reach them, and they will burn if they stay here laughing about Kun and mortality, no trace of their flesh, bones merely reduced to dust.
Yet, is Dejun the one who burns inside his chest, somewhere he doesn’t know, making his heart a handful of tasteless ashes.