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The old house sat at the edge of the forest, its creaking walls and shadowed windows standing as a testament to years of neglect. Yet, to Jaehyun, it was perfect. Isolated. Silent. Safe.
The world beyond had always been too dangerous for him—its chaos, its temptations, its fragile humanity. Here, he could control himself. Here, he could be alone.
But tonight, the thirst clawed at him with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in years.
Jaehyun sat in his dimly lit living room, a book open on his lap that he wasn’t reading. His eyes burned as he stared at the words, his fingers trembling. He clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply, forcing his mind to focus. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, the ache in his throat persisted.
He hadn’t fed in weeks. Not properly. Animal blood was a pitiful substitute, and it only quieted the hunger for so long.
His fangs pressed painfully against his gums, threatening to extend, and he growled low in his throat.
The sudden knock at his door made him freeze.
It was firm but casual, a sound that echoed in the empty house. His senses sharpened instantly, his focus shifting from the hunger to the scent. Blood. Warm, human blood.
Someone was here.
Jaehyun stood, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t get visitors. No one even knew this house existed, let alone bothered to find him. Yet there was no mistaking the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat just beyond the door.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, cautiously, he opened the door.
The man standing there was unexpected.
He had broad shoulders wrapped in a gray sweater, and brown hair that framed his face in soft waves, brushing the nape of his neck. His eyes were sharp but warm, a cat-like quality to his beauty. But it was his smile that threw Jaehyun off balance—bright, easy, and utterly disarming.
“Hi!” the man greeted, his voice cheerful. “I’m Sungho. I just moved in next door and thought I’d introduce myself.”
Next door. Jaehyun’s mind stumbled over the words. He didn’t have neighbors. The nearest house was miles away.
“…Next door?” Jaehyun echoed, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Sungho tilted his head, his smile unwavering. “Well, not exactly next door. More like a five-minute walk through the woods. But close enough!”
Jaehyun didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on the man’s pulse—the steady thrum of blood just beneath his skin. The scent was maddening, and his throat burned with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in decades.
“Anyway,” Sungho continued, “I just wanted to say hi and let you know if you ever need anything, I’m—”
Jaehyun slammed the door.
His breaths came in sharp gasps as he pressed his back against the wood. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to control himself.
Through the door, he heard Sungho let out a surprised laugh.
“Well, okay then! Nice meeting you, Jaehyun!”
How did he know my name?
—————————————-
The following days were a trial—a relentless, maddening test of Jaehyun’s resolve.
Every morning, without fail, Sungho knocked on his door. His knocks weren’t timid or hesitant but firm and rhythmic, like a heartbeat, followed by his cheerful voice calling out.
“Good morning, neighbor!” Sungho said one day, his tone warm and teasing. “I brought some fresh bread. Baked it myself. You don’t have to thank me, but you do have to open the door!”
Inside, Jaehyun stood motionless, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn’t dare make a sound, though he knew Sungho’s sharp ears couldn’t detect the quiet stillness of a vampire.
When the bread failed to get a response, Sungho returned the next day with a basket of fruit. “Apples, peaches, and some oranges! Thought you might like them,” he announced, setting the basket carefully by the door. “Healthy living and all that.” He paused, then chuckled. “Though you seem like the type who doesn’t need it.”
Still, Jaehyun didn’t answer.
The next day, Sungho tried something new. “It’s cold out,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by the scarf he wore. “I noticed you don’t come outside much, but just in case…” There was a soft thud as something landed on the doorstep. “I knitted you a scarf. It’s not perfect, but it’s warm!”
Jaehyun peered through the peephole, his sharp eyes catching the glimpse of the scarf—a deep burgundy, neatly folded. It sat atop the basket of fruit, alongside the bread Sungho had left earlier. The sight stirred something in Jaehyun, a faint unease.
He ignored it.
Yet, Sungho never seemed deterred by Jaehyun’s silence.
“I know you’re in there,” he called one morning, his tone playful. “You can’t hide forever, you know. I’m very persistent!”
Jaehyun, who had been lurking just beyond the door, bit back a growl. Persistent didn’t even begin to cover it.
He’d lived centuries in solitude, decades without a single knock on his door. The peace had been a salve for his cursed existence, allowing him to suppress his hunger, his urges. He could outlast one stubborn human.
Couldn’t he?
The nights were worse.
It wasn’t just Sungho’s voice or the lingering scent of him that haunted Jaehyun’s thoughts. It was his presence.
When the sun dipped below the horizon and the world quieted, Jaehyun would find himself drawn to his window, hiding in the shadows as he peered out through the curtains.
Sungho’s small house was just visible through the trees, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating his porch. Most nights, Sungho sat outside, a book in hand, his legs casually stretched out in front of him. Sometimes he read aloud to himself, his voice low and soothing, blending with the rustle of the forest.
Other nights, he worked in his garden, his movements careful and precise as he tended to the herbs and flowers. Jaehyun didn’t know why, but he found himself watching the way Sungho’s hands moved—deft and confident, dirt smudging his fingers as he planted something new.
There were evenings when Sungho chopped firewood, the sharp crack of the axe splitting logs ringing through the still air. His shoulders flexed with every swing, his sweater clinging to his broad frame. Despite himself, Jaehyun’s gaze lingered, his mind wandering in ways he couldn’t understand.
Then there were the quiet moments.
Sungho would sit on the porch, his legs pulled up to his chest, his gaze turned toward the stars. He hummed softly, the tune unfamiliar but soothing, the kind of melody that seemed to weave itself into the fabric of the night.
Jaehyun hated how much he noticed these things.
He hated the way his sharp eyes lingered on the curve of Sungho’s smile, the way his ears strained to hear every soft chuckle or hum. He hated the warmth that crept into his cold chest every time he saw Sungho’s breath fogging in the chill of the evening air.
Most of all, he hated the longing that stirred within him—a yearning not for blood, but for something else entirely.
And so, each night, Jaehyun turned away from the window, retreating into the darkness of his home. He told himself it was for the best.
But the ache in his chest told a different story.
—————————————-
One evening, the scent of blood filled the air.
It was faint at first, a metallic tang that drifted through the open window. But it grew stronger, sharper, until Jaehyun couldn’t ignore it.
He was out the door before he realized it, his instincts taking over as he followed the trail to Sungho’s house. The door was ajar, and inside, Sungho was slumped on the floor, clutching his arm.
Jaehyun froze.
“Sungho,” he said, his voice low and sharp.
Sungho’s head lifted weakly, his pale face breaking into a faint smile. “Oh. Hey, Jaehyun.”
“What happened?” Jaehyun demanded, kneeling beside him.
“Cut myself,” Sungho muttered, motioning to the broken glass nearby. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
The scent was overwhelming. Blood seeped from the deep gash in Sungho’s arm, staining his sweater and pooling on the floor. Jaehyun’s fangs extended, his hands trembling as he pressed a cloth to the wound.
“You’re hurt,” he rasped, his voice trembling.
“I’ll be fine,” Sungho said, though his voice was weak. “But you—you’re shaking.”
Jaehyun didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
“I’ve noticed it before,” Sungho continued softly. “The way you look at me. Like you’re fighting something.”
Jaehyun stiffened.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” Sungho asked, his tone calm despite the question.
“You need to stay away from me,” Jaehyun said, his voice tight. “I’m dangerous.”
Instead of fear, Sungho’s expression softened. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that,” Jaehyun snapped, his control slipping.
“I do,” Sungho said firmly. He reached out, his fingers brushing Jaehyun’s trembling hand. “If this helps you… you can take some.”
Jaehyun’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “What?”
“I trust you,” Sungho said simply.
Jaehyun stared at him, torn between hunger and horror. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” Sungho said with a faint smile. “But I’m also right.”
The trust in his voice broke something in Jaehyun. He leaned forward, his lips ghosting over the skin of Sungho’s neck.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered.
Then he bit down.
The taste was indescribable—warm, rich, and intoxicating. Jaehyun had never tasted anything like it, and for a moment, he lost himself in the sensation. But then, the sound of Sungho’s heartbeat grounded him, pulling him back from the edge.
He pulled away, his chest heaving.
Sungho’s eyes fluttered open, a faint smile on his lips. “See? I told you.”
Jaehyun stared at him, guilt and something deeper twisting in his chest. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I think I like you,” Sungho said simply, his smile widening.
For the first time in centuries, Jaehyun felt warmth bloom in his chest.
From that day, their lives intertwined. Sungho’s presence became a balm to Jaehyun’s hunger, his laughter filling the once-empty house. And though the hunger never truly left, considering Sungho feed him his blood when it got hard, Jaehyun found something stronger to hold onto—love.
The end. 🦇