Chapter Text
Unremarkable. Dull. Nerd. Loser. Loner.
There are a few things the series of words have in common. One, they all have negative connotations.
And two, they all more or less describe Hong Joochan.
Joochan doesn’t really mind, no. After all, these words and much worse have followed him all his life, hiding in not-so hushed whispers coupled with cruel laughter as he’d shuffle down hallways, whispering about his almost-obsessive fixation with his studies, about the thick-rimmed glasses which framed his face, about how he hid his eyes under the line of bangs across his forehead.
Thankfully, he’d left all of it, the whispers, the cruel crowds, everything except for his books and glasses, behind in high school. And now, halfway through his freshman year of university, he’s nothing more than an occupied seat in the back of the class, unnoticed, ignored. Some had tried to strike up a conversation with him during the first few weeks of class but had quickly abandoned the attempt when they’d realized he had no intention of making friends. He has no qualms about it because he prefers it that way.
Today is going similarly. Joochan slumps down in his usual place in the back of the class, a hiss of relief escaping his lips as he sets down his heavy backpack. That too had gotten him mocked back in high school, and they’d have no mercy in ripping the bag off his shoulders and making a mess of contents inside. Joochan had learned the hard way to arrive early if he wanted to keep his homework intact. The memory has his lips tugging down into a wince and for the umpteenth time, he’s grateful none of those vile people had followed him into his university life.
A roar of laughter catches his attention—Joochan doesn’t even need to look up to know where and who it’s coming from but he does anyway, gaze wandering to the table up at the front. A gaggle of girls crowd the desk, giggling behind their perfectly manicured nails as they each try to chat up the boy who’s seated there. It’s fascinating, really, how one person can take up the attention of nearly everyone in the class.
Namely, Choi Sungyoon, or the university’s well-known ice prince.
It’s no surprise he’s the center of attention wherever he goes and dozens clamor for his attention. After all, Joochan has to admit, he is a sight to behold, with pale skin that seems to gleam like porcelain, dark hair that casts a shadow over his face, even darker eyes like coal, and lips starkly pink against all the white and black. Like a doll, Joochan thinks.
He’d be more beautiful, maybe, if not for the way his eyes are cold and his brow is drawn together as if something is constantly irking him. Then again, Joochan supposes that’s where the title Ice Prince comes from.
Both girls and boys alike scramble at the chance to even exchange a word with him, to befriend him, and Joochan’s heard murmurs of how he’s from a rich family. Some people just have it all.
Truly the epitome of cold beauty.
Joochan wants to hate him, really. It would make sitting in this class much easier. But there’s something about him that makes it impossible that he can’t put his finger on, no matter how much he thinks over it. Is it the pretty curve of his wrist as he rests his chin on it? The flutter of his lashes as his eyes slide from word to word? The way he holds himself, legs crossed elegantly at the ankle, arms folded above his chest? Joochan isn’t sure, but all he knows is that once you look at Choi Sungyoon, it takes every last bit of willpower to look away.
A pair of dark eyes slide left to meet his.
An uncomfortable, cold chill runs through Joochan as he stares into Sungyoon’s face, those steely eyes trained onto his own. His heart hammers against his chest as if he’s being chased and he forces himself to look away, staring down at the stack of papers on his desk. The back of his neck burns.
What had that been? He resists sneaking another look. Something tells him if he raises his gaze again, those eyes would still be on him.
Plenty of people stare at Choi Sungyoon, he reasons with himself. It’s nothing out of the ordinary to be ogling him; after all, Joochan is just another admirer in the other’s group of many.
The memory of dark eyes on his own stays uncomfortably at the forefront of his mind for the remainder of the day.
It’s cold.
The street is dark, empty of anyone or anything. The only light present is the glow from the moon and the light posts lined along the sides of the street, dim and looking suspiciously close to going out.
The silence and darkness only add to the chill, somehow making the night colder than it already is. Joochan shivers as another gust of wind blows in his direction, his shirt lifting with it. He hugs himself tighter, wishing miserably there was someone who he was walking home with who he could huddle into for warmth.
It’s all wishful thinking because Joochan has never had a proper friend, let alone someone close enough to cling to. He shivers harder.
Oh, what he’d do to have a steady arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Just the idea of it has him filled with an unexplainable giddiness, a little huff of air spilling from his lips. Maybe he should be concerned, but it’s just been so long since he’s had any physical contact with anyone.
The last time… The last time must have been when his mother had hugged him tight goodbye, and that had been months ago.
Even a brush of fingers, an unconscious press against him, he’ll take anything, like a dog starved for food. He sways, suddenly unsteady on his feet.
He’s so caught up in his mindless longing he fails to notice the alley next to him or the shadow that lurks in it. The only thing he knows is that one moment he’s fantasizing about being wrapped up in a strong, warm hug, and the next hands are grabbing at him, yanking him into the dark alley and shoving him against the wall. The startled yelp he lets out as his face is pushed against the wall is stifled by the hand that’s quick to slap over his mouth. His glasses crunch painfully against his face, bag falling uselessly into the empty street.
Mugged—he’s being mugged—no! He’d just received his check today, he can’t lose it already. His rent, his groceries—another panicked scream works its way up his throat as he fights against his assaulter's iron grip.
“Quiet," a hoarse and somehow familiar voice hisses, breath hot against his ear, and Joochan’s body goes slack all at once. A bone-deep shudder rips through his trembling body, but strangely, it’s not from fear, but-
The mugger’s, who he now knows is male, body is flush against his, broad chest pressed to Joochan’s back. The hot breath at his ear is still there, rough and uneven, the hand on his mouth tighter than before but now he’s registering the other hand that’s pinning his hands down. He should be panicking like before, struggling to escape, but he can’t think straight and his brain is going haywire because-
It feels… It feels good.
The stifling heat pressing into him, the breath fanning over the sensitive, short hairs of his neck, the hands keeping him in place. It’s the most physical contact he’s had in months, the contact he’s been desperately wanting. It’s wrong and he shouldn’t be feeling such gratification from a stranger who will most likely empty his pockets and leave him struggling to earn back what he’s lost, but he can’t control the way his body is growing hotter and hotter, his insides burning up.
To his confusion, the mugger doesn’t reach for his pockets or press a gun against his head, demanding more money. Instead, Joochan jolts as the stranger’s head bows down into his neck, and what can only be lips begin to trail the expanse of his neck almost searchingly. It dawns on Joochan that this may be much worse than a simple robbery-
His brain short-circuits as teeth rip into his neck, right where the blood pulses under his skin.
Now, Joochan has never studied in the medical field and has no plans to, but he’s quite sure that human teeth are not sharp enough to pierce skin. At the moment he can’t bring himself to care, not with the way the teeth are digging deeper and deeper into his neck and he should be scared but all he can think about is how good-
Those teeth draw blood and a sharp ecstasy bursts inside him, spreading to his chest, tingling in his fingers, gathering low in his belly. Joochan’s hands clench uselessly from where they’re held, tears springing in his eyes. It’s too much, the contact, the hot, greedy mouth against his neck, the blazing heat in his body-
A strangled moan escapes from his lips, muffled against the hand over his mouth. The teeth at his neck still, but Joochan’s too caught up in the overwhelming number of sensations he’s wrapped up in, mind only catching up when the stranger pulls away. He cries out in protest, muffled words that he doesn’t know what they might be, but all he knows is that he needs more.
Distantly, he registers how the other is talking, voice low and controlled, even with the slight waver present in it. “Hey, you. What the hell.”
The hand on his mouth finally drops away, although he’s still caged against the wall. Joochan gasps as if he’d been drowning water and has been pulled to shore, gulping in air like it is water. “W-wha-” He can’t even form coherent words around his heavy tongue.
“You-” The stranger sounds genuinely perplexed, like he is not used to this. “Why aren’t you—screaming in terror? Struggling to get away? You-”
Terror? Get away? The words ring in his head, unfamiliar to him in his current state: legs trembling uncontrollably and only being able to stand because of the wall he’s against. The person holding him down shifts and Joochan just barely catches sight of dark hair, pale skin, pink lips stained in scarlet.
Blood.
Joochan’s blood.
He gasps out breathless words before he can think.
“Why… Why did you stop?”
There’s a stunned silence as the other digests his words. “You must be insane,” he says, but Joochan can’t find it in himself to feel hurt at the words, too focused on keeping himself upright. And then a quiet “whatever” is muttered and the teeth that had pulled away latch back onto his neck, lapping and sucking at the skin with newfound vigor, and the overwhelming euphoria is back, demolishing any progress Joochan might have made in steadying himself.
His knees buckle at the sudden start, and now the sharp teeth pierced into his neck are doing more than just filling him with ecstasy, it feels so good it hurts. Joochan whimpers as a spark of white-hot pain shoots through him, and it’s as if all the fight has been drained out of him the same way the blood is from his arteries. His head lolls uselessly against his shoulder, pants leaving his lips in short breaths.
He doesn’t know how long he remains pressed to the strong body encompassing him, limp and boneless. It’s only until the hand gripping at his own drops away and the other steps back does he collapse, back sliding against the wall until he crumples to a heap on the floor. Blearily, his eyes open, squinting above at his attacker.
It’s hard to tell with the dark spots dancing in his vision, but Joochan can see that his earlier observation had been correct: dark hair, pale skin. His gaze slowly moves to the lips smeared in red, red that a hand is reaching up to wipe off. All it does is smear the blood even more, as if the other had dined on the fresh corpse of an animal.
The lips pulled back into a vexed snarl… The furrow of his brows as he more furiously tries to scrub off of the blood… So… familiar… Joochan fights the exhaustion crashing over him in waves. Where else had he seen that scrunch of brows?
His eyes trail over the figure. Dark hair, pale skin, pink lips.
All at once, he’s awake, eyes flying open as a crushing realization dawns on him. The other lowers his hand and his realization is confirmed. “You-"
The boy towering over him raises an eyebrow, as if challenging him. Joochan gulps. His throat is dry, the buzz in his head back, deafening. No way…
No way…
“C-Choi Sungyoon-?”
No sooner has the name left his mouth when the boy’s—Choi Sungyoon’s—eyes widen the tiniest bit, his eyes darting over Joochan’s trembling form and then there’s a similar recognition dawning on his face.
“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes flashing in the dark, and Joochan opens his mouth-
And he’s gone.
Too quick for him to even process, he’s left staring at the space where the other had been standing only a moment ago.
Joochan blinks, once, twice, Raises his shaking hands, takes in a shuddering breath. Slowly, slowly, he gently cards his fingers through his hair, and then lower until he finds what he’s looking for.
He presses the pads of his fingers against the two holes at the base of his neck. His fingers come away wet, slick with blood. “What a strange dream,” he says loudly into the nighttime, as if someone is listening to him. His fingers find the bite again, and with a rush, he’s reminded of what he now knows is fangs embedded in his neck, reminded of Sungyoon, Choi Sungyoon pressed against him. He drops his hand, staring up at the sky, where the moon hangs like a silver claw, no intention of moving any time soon. “...a good one.”