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The streets are covered in snow, the chill blowing in the air of Seoul. He walks through it all, unbothered by the stench of the life surrounding him in a flurry of commotion in this desolate cold. His nose turns up at them, as he scurries back towards their domain, bags of supplies wrapped around in his arms. His coterie waits for his return in their haven, and he must return back to them as fast as possible. Many undead thoughts to be had in the gray matter that still remains in his skull.
Maybe, the indifference should’ve been Keita’s first indicator that he has deeply been changed from the first steps he took into Korea those hundred or so years ago. He used to feed on whomever he pleased, as such to not cause commotion, but now he has turned into a vitae leech. A bond made on a night of fear during the annexation of the nation, fearful for the second inquisition to rear it’s ugly head and to tear their little family apart, had turned into something much more than the two of them had ever thought they would be when they had met in Gwangju.
The Prince would most likely punish him for it, for becoming addicted on the blood of the monster he created; the leech of a leech is not a friend.
They were lucky he left them to their devices as long as they stayed on their turf and contacted others when they moved into other’s territory. The elders would have their heads on a spire before sunrise if the information made it’s way onto ShreekNET, if it was revealed their trusted ancilla was partaking in an kiss of cold blood. He’s tried his best to keep the information tunnels closed near their home, always a second away from ripping the throats out of any rats planning to threaten their non-lives. Doesn’t mean he sends any new friends immediately into torpor, most are just passing through and wish no ill-will (well as much good will as an undead person can have).
Connections in the world of the kindred can be vital, especially when other caitiffs choose to cause rebellion among the decrepit Barons and Princes and sending his reputation into speculation. Seeming as a benevolent, silent, faction among the kindred of Korea is the best option in the wake of the second inquisition and the growing distrust of the old and the rise of the anarchs. While they fully haven’t made their way to Korea due to the conservative nature of the nation, he’s heard the whispers among the others of the elysium. Change will be happening in Seoul, and the masquerade will be shaken beyond repair. He needs to keep his childer safe, he needs to keep them out of petty squabbles between people who have too much on their hands with their immortality.
He reaches the door to their home before he fully finishes his thought, the downward spiral in his mind as he tries to seek out a sense of calm. His progeny’s blood is soaking into the air from behind the wooden door, the attunement he’s made to the body behind the door making itself so brilliantly clear. Keita swings the front door open, not getting a second to breathe before Hanbin is on him, curling onto him as if there is any heat under his skin to take from.
“Ita,” his lover whines into his ear, “You took too long.”
“Aigoo,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around his taller counterpart, nipping one of his canines on his exposed collarbone, “It’s snowing out there, Binnie.”
Hanbin pulls away only a few centimeters, so that they’re noses are almost touching, “Doesn’t matter, I want my guriguri snuggles, and you took forever.” He has the shit-eating smirk on his face that tells Keita that he’s just being a brat, and not upset about the extra thirty minutes it took him to get home in the weather and the city of blood bags outside of their tiny home.
He kicks the door closed behind him, “Come on, let me put the stuff down and you’ll get your cuddles, Bin.” The fox pulls away, and slyly walks towards the couch, sitting down and waiting with an expectant look that makes Keita sigh fondly. The bags make their way to the main table, and he pads to the spot next to Hanbin on the cushion. It’s an immediate instinctual reaction for them to tangle together, limbs almost like they’re merging into one being. Even though there is no warmth between their two bodies, no hearts beating, it still makes Keita happy to be in his space. His humanity returns when he remembers in life whom he had loved, who he loves now and will until the end of this dying planet.
He doesn’t stop Hanbin from starting to nibble on his shoulder, not piercing his skin but leaving scrapes and scratches as if he needed to let the world know that in death the two of them only belong to each other. There is no need for showing off, laying claim, when his immortality is Hanbin’s to own. If Hanbin put one of those light guns to his chest, he would let him, even if there is the possibility that his lover could kill him. He is the reason Hanbin is the way he is now, he embraced him, he gave him the kiss of un-life. They are sire and progeny, and so much more.
They could be much more different if he had not left his own sire before the first inquisition, had he not been reborn in death as a being unbound by one clan. If he had turned out as a toreador as he should’ve been, what difference in his un-life would it be? Would he have been destroyed like those back home? Would he have found his way to Hanbin regardless of time? Would Hanbin lived a full life instead of almost dying for a man long dead? Did he steal someone’s loving father from them?
“Hyung?” Hanbin whispers into his ear, “Stop overthinking, and just hold me.”