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Changmin isn’t sure how long it’s been since he woke.
Time is dilated, unreal. There was definitely a period where he was coming slowly to awareness, new senses tingling. The air, still and quiet against the sensitive skin of his arms. The dull complex drumming of rain on the roof far above, and the skittering of mice in far corners. A sharp dusty scent in his nose: layers to unravel there that hadn’t existed before. An ache in his side, over his ribs.
He’s awake now, though. He’s stalking silently along one of the upper walkways in the building. It’s an abandoned factory, he thinks. The wood wants to creak beneath his steps, but the small adjustments to his weight feel easy, instinctual. He moves soundlessly.
The factory is dim, but he doesn’t seem to need much light: there is a clarity to the shadows that’s sharper than daylight.
He’s eyeing the ancient peeling paint of the railing, considering whether he could leap from here down to the wide, cave-like expanse of the main floor. He’s almost sure that he could: he can feel the sinews in his calves and ankles ready to absorb the shock.
He places a hand on the railing.
Then everything in him stills. There’s a scent, and the creak of a door below.
Changmin’s teeth ache. A fierce hunger swoops through his gut.
He melts back into the shadows away from the railing. He concentrates his senses on locating the source of both sound and scent.
It only takes a moment to spy the boy who’s slipped in through a door at the far end of the warehouse.
He’s tall, but young. Changmin isn’t sure how old he is himself – his life before tonight is hazy, faraway and unimportant feeling – but he can see the boy’s youth in the soft, uncertain way he’s moving. And in the smooth, unblemished skin visible in a flash between the boy’s shirt collar and his dark brown hair.
Changmin closes his eyes, breathing in the scent. It’s rich, heady. Not purely blood; it’s the scent of blood beating beneath warm skin, lightly salty with sweat. He’s nervous, this boy.
He should be: there are monsters here.
It’s new, of course. Changmin isn’t sure what he’s capable of, yet. There are other impulses, dim and muffled, that want him to be careful not to break what can’t be fixed. But they’re not ruling right now.
Changmin glides on silent feet to the far end of the landing, where the shadows are deepest. He places a hand on the railing, testing its strength, then vaults lightly over.
His landing isn’t perfect. There’s no discomfort, but he can’t control his weight well enough to avoid an audible, uneven thump as his feet touch down.
Across the way, the boy’s head jerks around. Changmin is annoyed with himself. He’s going to get better at that.
He moves in a rush, before the boy can take a step towards the door, still cracked open behind him.
“Ah!” The boy’s breath releases in a small shout as Changmin is suddenly an inch from his face, a hand curved up with thumb resting against the boy’s temple, fingers light in his hair.
“Hello,” Changmin says. He makes it playful, smiling with his mouth closed so that the teeth aren’t visible. “What are you doing in here, little one?”
The boy swallows. Close up, he has strong, striking features, but he hasn’t entirely grown into them. That youthful softness clings to his cheeks, and it’s there in the shape of his slightly parted mouth, breaths coming quick. His eyes are wide, blown almost black in the darkness, and fixed on Changmin’s own. He doesn’t object to little one, even though he’s almost a head taller than Changmin.
“It’s r-raining outside,” he stutters.
It’s true, of course. Down here, and with the door to the street cracked open, the sound of the rain is a crisp rush. It adds a small extra frequency to the vibration in Changmin’s teeth, which are already aching fierce and sweet now that he’s so close to the boy and that addictive pulse at his throat.
Part of Changmin wants to slip through that door into the rainy city and explore what the night has to offer his new senses and hungers. But he’s more interested in what’s wandered in here.
“Mm,” Changmin hums. He draws his thumb across and down, sweeping gently over the boy’s eyelid as it instinctively closes. Eyelashes tremble beneath the pad of Changmin’s thumb. Changmin tightens the fingers still resting in the boy’s hair, a sharp yank, and the boy’s eyes fly open again with a gasp.
“Since you’re here, let’s play a bit, little one,” Changmin says. This time he does show his teeth as he smiles.
The boy’s pulse jumps appealingly, and Changmin can sense the breath coming faster in his throat. He doesn’t seem surprised, though. He knew what Changmin was the moment he saw him, Changmin thinks. That’s interesting. This boy is interesting.
“M-my name’s Kim Younghoon,” the boy says.
“Mm,” Changmin agrees, not very interested in that. He lets his hand drift down the boy’s cheek, fingernails dragging against the skin, and to the line of his jaw. The boy’s old enough to have prickly, near-invisible stubble at this time of night; it’s sometime after midnight, Changmin thinks, though he’s not sure which of his senses are telling him so.
Changmin steps around him, pressing in close to breathe against the shell of the boy’s ear. The boy jumps, and Changmin senses the rush of blood in his veins as his heart stutters and speeds up.
“What’s yours?” the boy – Younghoon – asks, insistently.
“Changmin,” Changmin says absently. He has a family name too, which he could recall if he spent a moment on it, he thinks. It really doesn’t matter, though. He’s just Changmin right now, and he can almost taste the boy’s fear on his tongue.
Changmin could bite right now. Younghoon is frozen in place, his eyes flicking sideways to try to keep Changmin in view, as though if he makes no sudden move Changmin might leave him alone. He’s entirely defenceless.
Changmin wants to draw this out a little more, though, despite the hunger clamouring in his throat. There’s something about this boy.
He trails a finger from Younghoon’s ear down to his collarbone, and across to rest gently against his Adam’s apple. The skin pebbles with goose bumps under his touch. Younghoon’s throat moves, a small sound escaping.
He’s exactly the right height for Changmin to lean in and touch his mouth to the thin skin there; flick his tongue against salt-sweat. Younghoon swallows desperately.
Changmin brushes his nose against the damp skin. The scent is rich, intoxicating. Younghoon feels burning hot. Changmin didn’t notice that he was cold himself – because, he supposes, his skin has equalized with the cold night air. Changmin smiles against the boy’s neck; lets him feel the curve of his mouth and the cold point of one fang as it drags across that trembling Adam’s apple.
“D-do you live nearby?” the boy asks.
Changmin isn’t sure why Younghoon’s playing this game of twenty questions, but he’s not annoyed. The tremble in Younghoon’s voice is addictive.
“Do you?” Changmin asks, giving his voice a flirty lilt. “I could come back to your house, maybe. Would you like that?” He walks his fingers along the nape of Younghoon’s neck as he moves behind him, feeling the small hairs there stand up.
Younghoon draws in a breath, perhaps to answer. Changmin slips his hand under the collar of Younghoon’s jacket, curving it around to grip Younghoon’s shoulder and neck, his littlest finger digging into Younghoon’s windpipe. It’s not enough to truly constrict his breathing, but Younghoon chokes anyway, whatever he was going to say forgotten.
Changmin steps in close behind him, pressed up against Younghoon’s body. He rests his chin in the juncture between Younghoon’s neck and shoulder, letting it dig in. “You’re pretty, little one,” he says into Younghoon’s ear. He rests his other hand, fingers delicately splayed and spider-light, against Younghoon’s hip.
Younghoon jerks. It seems involuntary, because he immediately stills again into his frozen deer-in-the-woods pose. He’s trembling. Changmin silently bares his teeth, out of Younghoon’s view, stretching some of the tension out of his fangs. They ache so sweetly. He’s enjoying this game, but he’s not sure how much longer he can string it out. He wants.
“How old are you?” Younghoon asks, still on his own questions game. “I’m, I’m twenty five,” he adds.
Changmin moves, that blurring rush he’s discovered he can do, suddenly in front of Younghoon. Changmin has pushed up onto his toes, the thinnest space of air separating his gaze from Younghoon’s wide nervous eyes. Younghoon holds his gaze for one beat, two, until he can’t take it any longer and his eyes slide closed, lashes frantic and trembling.
Changmin reaches up to grip Younghoon’s jaw with both hands, digging in until he forces Younghoon to open his eyes again with a gasp. Changmin smiles, a slow curve. His teeth have extended further, and he can feel that one has pricked his own lip, a sluggish bead of blood welling up. The taste is maddening, a thin phantom of what he wants. What’s right here for the taking.
“I’m bored with games now,” Changmin says.
Then he bares his teeth and plunges his fangs down against Younghoon’s neck.
And fumbles to a stop, the points of his teeth just pressing into the jackrabbiting pulse there.
Changmin whines, confused and frustrated.
Younghoon’s hand comes up and rests, shaking, against Changmin’s shoulder. Changmin licks Younghoon’s neck, pressing his nose closer. Younghoon’s scent is strong and rich and – part of Changmin struggles against it, but – familiar.
“Is it you, now?” Younghoon asks unsteadily.
“I’m not sure,” Changmin admits, muffled because he’s still mouthing at Younghoon’s neck. A familiar neck, and a familiar Younghoon.
Younghoon’s patting of his shoulder is haphazard. “Chanhee said it can take twenty four to forty eight hours for the turning amnesia to fade,” he says. “But less than that with the right triggers.”
Chanhee. It’s more familiarity, pricks of memory beginning to form a tapestry. Changmin finally moves away from Younghoon’s neck, dropping down onto his heels.
“He’s nearby,” Younghoon adds. “I think on the roof maybe. Sunwoo too.”
Changmin’s teeth instinctively bare at that, and Younghoon laughs, shakily. “Yeah, they … they said you’d react to other vampires like that at first. That’s why they’re staying back, so you don’t try to fight them.”
Part of Changmin is wildly furious at the verb try – he could fight them, let him at them – but enough memory has trickled back that he knows Younghoon is right. A newborn like him would hurt himself badly if he tried to take on older vampires.
Changmin rubs his hand over his mouth, trying to soothe the ache out of his teeth. He’s still hungry enough that it’s hard to think. More memory has returned, though. Enough for him to have questions.
“What happened?” Changmin demands.
Younghoon’s expression goes wobbly. “Wolves,” he says. “They were after Chanhee and Sunwoo, but one of them –” There’s fear in his face; fear for Changmin. A different kind to the expression he showed when Changmin was breathing against Younghoon’s neck.
Changmin presses his hand to the ache in his side. He almost forgot about it. The skin there is whole, the ribs knitted back together, but he can feel that they weren’t always.
Younghoon nods. “There wasn’t time,” he says. “Chanhee had to turn you right away, to save you. But then we were out here in the middle of the city, with no time to get you somewhere safe.”
Changmin recognises that by safe Younghoon means safe for others. If Younghoon hadn’t come inside, Changmin would have gone out: into the sleeping city.
Changmin drags his hands over his face. “I can’t believe you nearly let me bite you!” he says. “Younghoon, I nearly bit you!”
“I, yeah, I was there,” Younghoon agrees, his voice faint. “The others would have stopped you, though.”
It’s not the certainty he’s presenting it as. They have to be staying far enough back that Changmin can’t smell them – he still can’t, even though he’s looking for them now. Their senses are better honed than Changmin’s, they would have known the instant he drew Younghoon’s blood, but with a newborn vampire’s hunger and lack of control … it might not have been in time.
“And I trusted you,” Younghoon says, quieter. “I knew you’d remember me.”
Changmin scowls. The sentiment makes his heart hurt. He’s mad.
Younghoon clears his throat; rubs Changmin’s shoulder again. “I have blood supplies back at my apartment,” he says. “We’re not far from the station, and then it’s just a train ride. Most carriages should be empty this time of night.”
Changmin leans into his side, curling his arm around Younghoon’s waist as they turn towards the door. “You’re going to have to invite me in,” he grumps. His memory is still coming back in pieces, ragged and bright at the edges. He remembers stretching out on the couch in Younghoon’s apartment, curled under a quilt on winter nights. He never used to have to be invited in.
“I know,” Younghoon says. His voice is unsteady again, but it’s with laughter. He’s relieved; giddy with it. He produces an umbrella and opens it over both their heads as they step outside.
Out on the street, the night is full of new scents and sounds, all threaded through the rain.
Changmin goes up on his toes, pressing his hands on Younghoon’s shoulder so he can nibble on his neck under the umbrella. “I’m hungry,” he complains.
Younghoon bats him away, then pulls Changmin in against his side again, arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him close.
“I’ll let you do that some other time,” he says, his cheeks pink. “If you want.”
And oh. Oh. Well then.
Changmin can just catch the barest familiar scent on the air now, of Chanhee and Sunwoo moving in tandem with them; keeping them careful company as they head towards home. It still triggers a surge of fight adrenaline, but the part of Changmin that’s not ruled by new instincts is glad they’re there. He only has bits and pieces of his history with them, still, but he’s pretty sure it goes back nearly as far as his history with Younghoon.
The other thing that he’s thinking is that he’s pretty sure Younghoon offering to let Changmin bite him is a change in their relationship. They were close, there was something nameless and important between them, but Changmin doesn’t think they were that kind of intimate. Before.
He leans in against Younghoon as they walk to the station, twining his arm around Younghoon’s neck, and distracts himself from the ache in his teeth and the fierce hunger twisting his insides by thinking about Younghoon’s wide pretty eyes and hitched breath back there on the factory floor.
First they’ll go home. And Changmin will slake his thirst, and get used to this new life, and learn more control.
And then. He wants to try making Younghoon shiver again.