Chapter Text
Woorim remembered the night like a wound that would never close. It left a scar that’d never really fade or heal.
Rain licked his face, mixing with his tears and melting snow on the pavement. Everything around him was covered in crimson, the purity of snow disturbed by something so cruel like death.
He was sure he’s going to be dead by the morning. He wouldn’t see his last sunrise, something he always loved and treasured. And then he’ll be forgotten like many others who got attacked just because they dared to live.
The fate wasn’t merciful but he already accepted it. Rain kept falling and he kept crying. He closed his eyes and prayed that at least the abandoned building is going to remember his last moments.
Before he could do it, a shadow bent over him. He didn’t have the strength to do anything. Not even when he saw the fangs glistening in the faint light coming from the street lamp.
“I’ll save you,” the man said but something in his voice made Woorim doubt if he should be grateful for the ‘mercy’ or not. “and you’ll gain forever.”
Woorim wanted to refuse, to say he didn’t want to gain forever. Before he could open his mouth and try to whisper a ‘no’ he felt a burning hot sensation all over his body and saw light brighter than every sunrise he witnessed in his life combined.
Everything went dark.
—
When Woorim opened his eyes again, the world was quiet in a way that made his chest ache. The rain had stopped, but the cold lingered, wrapping around him like a shroud. He felt warm and cold, dead and like he was just borned, all at the same time. He tried to sit, but his body felt foreign. It was stronger, lighter, almost like he lost control over it.
A soft glow filled the abandoned street. The man who had bent over him before was there, kneeling, his face unreadable in the dim lamplight. Woorim knew this man. He often saw him on TV, during festivals and concerts. Cho Mingyu. Leader of a vocal trio Trepython.
“You’re awake,” he said, calm, but there was an edge to his voice. He sounded possessive, commanding. “Do you know what’s happened to you?”
Woorim’s throat felt tight. He opened his mouth, but the words came out strange. “I… I don’t know.” His voice startled him. It sounded different, deeper, and resonant. Almost alive. But he shouldn’t be alive, right?
Mingyu’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “You should be grateful. You were dying. Now… you’re not. You are mine, Woorim. Forever.”
Woorim tried to shake off the fear, but his new body hummed with a strange energy. His senses were sharper, he could hear the dripping of water from a broken tap blocks away, smell the faint tang of iron in the air. A part of him was fascinated, terrified, and… alive in a way he hadn’t been before.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he whispered, voice trembling despite the strength in it. “I didn’t want this.”
Mingyu’s lips curved faintly. “No one ever asks for eternity. But now you have it. And you will learn to… accept it. To survive.”
Woorim’s eyes dropped to his hands. They looked the same, yet they felt different, like they belonged to someone else entirely. Panic surged, and he sat immediately.
“You’re stronger than you think,” Mingyu said, stepping closer, shadow wrapping around him like silk. “Stronger than the mortality you cling to. But you must feed soon… or my effort will go for nothing.”
Woorim froze. “Feed?!”
Mingyu’s expression didn’t soften. “You need blood to live. You are no longer human. You must understand that.”
Fear twisted into something heavier. Hunger, sharper and more pronounced than everything he felt before, ripped through him, though he had not yet tasted anything. His lips parted, fangs pricking his tongue, a bitter, magnetic pull urging him toward Mingyu.
“I…” Woorim’s chest felt tight, even though he didn’t have to breathe anymore. “I don’t want this…”
Mingyu knelt beside him, eyes locked onto his, steady and unyielding. “I know. And yet… this is your reality now. Your life is my life. Forever.”
Woorim’s chest heaved. The wind whispered through the broken windows of the surrounding buildings. And somewhere deep inside him, something dark and beautiful stirred. It was like a promise of power, danger, and a life that could never be undone.
He looked at Mingyu, and a shiver ran through him. He wanted to run, to hide, to cry. But he also knew… he couldn’t.
“Why did you save me?” He asked, his voice as quiet as a whisper. “I was just a normal man, what do you need me for?”
Mingyu turned to look at him and Woorim noticed a fiery madness in his eyes. Shiver ran down his spine. The vampire laughed which only made Woorim feel more uneasy.
“Excellent question!” He clapped with his gloved hands and came closer. “As you may know, I have a band. But it isn’t much fun when there’s only three of us. Four is a way nicer number. And I have a fantastic name to call us.”
Woorim didn’t know if it was just some kind of crazy dream or reality but in his mind he prayed it’s only a way too long nightmare. Unfortunately everything around told him otherwise.
“And that’s it? You turned me into a vampire, giving me something I never wanted just because you think quartet is better?! Do you even hear yourself?”
“Of course it’s not the only reason, darling.” Mingyu smiled again, showing his white fangs and licked his lips afterwards.
“Then what is it? Except me being your hostage, of course.” Woorim felt a little braver than he would feel if he’d still been a human. If Mingyu turned him then he had some kind of plan for him. He wouldn’t hurt him just because he was rude.
“You have a nice voice. And we don’t have a bass singer.”
Chapter 2
Summary:
i hope you'll like how i chose to do their characters :)
Chapter Text
Woorim still prayed that it’s just some kind of fucked up dream when Mingyu announced he’s taking him “to meet the others.”
The words didn’t even sound real. The others. Like some secret club he’d never asked to join but was bound to forever. His legs felt weak, but Mingyu’s hand on his shoulder guided him forward with a steady pressure that left no room for hesitation.
The place they arrived at wasn’t anything like Woorim expected. Not a crypt, not a castle. It was just an old rehearsal hall. Abandoned, forgotten building that smelled faintly of dust, wood, and something metallic like blood. He felt dizzy. Every sound was sharper, every scent too strong. He hated it. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to meet anyone. Death seemed to be way better than living like this.
Inside, two men were waiting.
The first sat back with arms crossed, he was silent, unreadable. His presence filled the room like the echo of a storm long passed but still hiding somewhere in the shadows. Even without speaking, Woorim felt the weight of centuries in him. Bae Doohoon. He looked the same as on the TV but way different at the same time. His eyes were dark, ancient, and when they settled on Woorim, it was like being pierced by something colder than the snow he was lying on only a few days ago. Woorim shivered, certain he would never understand a creature like that. Though he feared sooner or later he’ll end up being similar to him.
The second man stood near the piano with shoulders drawn slightly inward as though carrying some invisible weight. Hyungho’s gaze lifted when Mingyu brought Woorim inside, and for the briefest moment, Woorim swore he saw sadness flicker in his eyes. Not hunger, not disdain but something that looked exactly like sorrow. That startled him more than anything else. Vampires weren’t supposed to look sad. They weren’t supposed to feel.
Mingyu’s voice broke the silence. Smooth. Confident. Every word coming from his mouth was carefully chosen. It felt like a never ending performance.
“This is Woorim,” he announced, one hand resting lightly on Woorim’s shoulder as though he were presenting a gift he just got. “He was dying, but I couldn’t let him go. So I gifted him with eternity. He belongs to us now. He belongs to me.”
The words crawled under Woorim’s skin. Belongs.
He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t anyone’s. But the weight of Doohoon’s stare and the quiet ache in Hyungho’s eyes kept him silent.
“And we finally can call ourselves Forestella. Isn’t it fantastic? I’ve waited so long for this moment.” He laughed loudly but the only thing that answered him was silence. It was that kind of silence that swallows everything around and leaves you feeling like you’re not welcomed in it. Mingyu didn’t seem to mind at all.
“Sing,” He commanded gently, almost kindly. “Show them the gift I gave you.”
Woorim’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to. His voice was the one thing that had always been his and now he felt like even that got stolen from him without his consent. But when he opened his mouth, the sound poured out of him anyway, rich and sharp, blending with the faint notes Mingyu began to play on the piano.
The room seemed to shift. Doohoon’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened, as if studying something he hadn’t expected. Hyungho’s lips parted slightly, eyes softening, like the music was pulling at something buried deep.
Woorim faltered, breath catching, but Mingyu’s hand pressed reassuringly at his back. “Good,” he murmured, loud enough for them all to hear. “Perfect. You see? He completes us. He’s perfect, it would be a huge waste if I let him rot in the dirt, right?”
Mingyu smiled again and Woorim felt like he’s going to throw up. He wanted to throw the praise back in his face. But his body was trembling. Not from exhaustion, but from hunger which was sharp and insistent.
His hands shook as he lowered them, trying to hide it. He didn’t want to feed. Not when it was about harming innocent people just for the stake of staying immortal. Maybe if he tried hard enough he’ll starve himself to death? At that moment every method seemed to be better than doing nothing and accepting the fate heavens sent on him. But the longer he thought about it, the more he was convinced that heavens were empty and no one really cared. "Punishment of heaven” was only a poor excuse.
Hyungho noticed. Woorim saw his eyes catch the movement, he saw the faint crease in his brow. He didn’t say anything, but that look of quiet recognition made Woorim’s chest tighten.
They didn’t speak much. Mingyu filled the silence with warmth that didn’t feel warm at all. By the time they left, Woorim’s head was spinning.
That night, lying awake in the dark of the ‘apartment’ Mingyu generously gave him, he whispered to himself:
“I never asked for this.”
Despite his attempts to think about nothing at all, the memory of Hyungho’s eyes lingered in his mind. They were sad, impossibly kind and what’s the worst, they felt more human than anything Woorim ever saw.
—
Sleep never came. When Woorim closed his eyes, all he saw was crimson snow, Mingyu’s smile, Doohoon’s detachment and Hyungho’s sorrow. The hunger gnawed at him until he curled against the wall, jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack.
When Woorim stepped into the hallway next evening, he found Doohoon leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching him. His presence made the air feel heavier.
“You’ll get used to it,” Doohoon said, voice flat, as if reading Woorim’s thoughts about the hunger clawing at his stomach. “Or you won’t. Doesn’t matter.”
Woorim’s mouth went dry. “I’d rather die.”
A faint sound left Doohoon. It was not laughter, just something low he didn’t know how to name. “We all said that once.” His eyes flicked over Woorim like he was measuring how much time could pass before he broke. Then he pushed away from the wall and left, without another word.
It should have felt like a relief. Instead, it felt like being abandoned on a battlefield.
Later, he found Hyungho in the rehearsal hall. Alone this time, fingers idly pressing keys on the piano, though no real melody came out.
Woorim hovered at the doorway, unsure if he should leave. But then Hyungho spoke, without looking up: “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Woorim froze.
“The hunger.” Hyungho’s hands rested on the keys now, still. His voice was soft, steady, but heavy with something Woorim couldn’t name. “You think you can fight it. That if you’re strong enough, you’ll starve and it’ll all go away. But it doesn’t.”
Woorim swallowed hard, shame and anger burning in his chest. “Then what? I just… give in?”
Hyungho finally looked at him with that same sadness, threaded with something dangerously close to tenderness.
“You learn to survive, somehow.”
Chapter 3
Summary:
mingyu gets mad
Chapter Text
They practiced together for a few weeks before Mingyu decided Woorim was ready to perform with them for the first time. He called it “their second debut”. That day was supposed to be the beginning of Forestella, something Mingyu wanted for a long time.
Backstage smelled of dust, metallic wires, and the perfume of the audience coming to the hall. Woorim sat on the edge of a chair, clutching the fabric of his coat too tightly. His throat ached already even if it couldn’t ache anymore.
He stared at the stage curtain, at the light spilling through the seams. “Why do we have to perform? It’s not like the dead need money to live...” His voice came out quiet.
Hyungho, who had been adjusting his outfit, looked at him. Not with surprise, like he’d been waiting for the question.
“Mingyu loves spotlight. And music.” His gaze met Woorim’s. “Sometimes I think music is the only thing he truly loves. It’s the first thing he doesn’t break before making it his own. He can shape it any way he wants, and control is something he desperately tries to have.”
The words settled heavy between them. Woorim opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what scared him more: the idea of Mingyu loving nothing but music and music being the only thing he doesn’t break, or the idea of Mingyu loving control even more.
Hyungho’s eyes softened slightly. “Don’t let him shape you.”
Before Woorim could answer, the stage manager called their names. Mingyu appeared at the doorway, smiling with that same perfect warmth that never reached his eyes. “It’s time.”
—
Mingyu’s hand rested on Woorim’s shoulder as they walked toward the stage. The touch was light, almost fatherly, but it made Woorim feel like he was being led on a leash.
The curtains parted. The hall wasn’t grand, just a medium-sized theater with velvet seats and dim golden lights. There weren't a lot of people. Mingyu had insisted it had to be intimate. “The perfect stage to reveal perfection.”
The applause began as the four of them stepped on stage and bowed. Mingyu’s smile widened as he sat at the piano, fingers brushing over the keys like he owned every note already. Doohoon held the mic, expressionless, like a statue carved from stone. Hyungho’s shoulders were tight, but his gaze flicked toward Woorim once. There was something grounding in Hyungho’s eyes. Like all the emotions showing there were Woorim’s reminders it’s possible to not become a monster.
Then the music began.
Woorim opened his mouth, and the first note left him like it wasn’t his own voice anymore. The sound blended with the others, filling the hall in a harmony so pure it almost hurt. For a moment, he forgot himself. He forgot what he was. They practiced really hard and it was evident.
But then he felt the hunger.
It started as a faint pull at the back of his throat. Then it became stronger. Every heartbeat in the audience hit his ears like thunder. The warmth of their bodies rose in waves, carrying the scent of blood beneath skin. His voice faltered on a high note, catching, and he clutched at the microphone stand with shaking fingers.
Mingyu didn’t miss it. His eyes slid sideways from the piano, gleaming, almost satisfied.
Woorim forced the next line, his throat raw, but hunger clawed at him. His fangs ached. His gaze drifted toward the front row, where a woman leaned forward in her seat, her pulse fluttering at her neck. He couldn’t stop staring.
No. Not now.
He shook his head, trying to force himself back into the music. But the more he resisted, the worse it became. His knees trembled. He felt Hyungho’s gaze on his back.
Somehow, they reached the end. The last note echoed, applause rising like a tide, but Woorim barely heard it. His whole body shook. His vision blurred red.
Backstage, Mingyu was basking in the applause, bowing with graceful flourish. Doohoon disappeared into the shadows, not saying a word. Woorim stumbled into the corridor, one hand clutching the wall. His breath came ragged, his body screaming with thirst. He thought he might tear the plaster off the walls if it gave way beneath his nails.
A hand caught his arm. Hyungho.
“Come with me,” he said softly without any hesitation.
Woorim tried to protest, but the words came out as a hoarse gasp. Hyungho didn’t wait. He guided him down a quiet hallway, into an empty practice room. The door clicked shut behind them.
“I can’t…” Woorim pressed his hands to his throat, shaking his head violently. “I can’t do this, I’ll hurt someone, I’ll-”
“You won’t,” Hyungho said, calm, unshaken.
“You don’t know that!” Woorim’s voice cracked. “I’ll lose control, I’ll…”
Hyungho stepped closer. His expression was steady, but his eyes softened with something that almost hurt to look at. “Then take it from me.”
Woorim froze. “What?”
Hyungho tilted his head, showing his pale neck. The faint blue veins glimmered under the dim light. “It’s safer this way.”
“That’s… that’s not…” Woorim shook his head harder, stumbling back a step. “I didn’t even know… we can’t?”
“We can.” Hyungho said calmly. “It won’t kill me. It won’t make you a monster. It’ll just quiet the hunger. It won’t be as good as feeding from living human but it won’t be useless.”
Woorim’s whole body burned. The scent of Hyungho’s blood filled the room, warm, rich, alive in a way he couldn’t bear. His fangs ached, his throat screamed. He slammed his hand against the wall, shaking his head desperately. “No. I’ll hurt you.”
Hyungho’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then hurt me.”
The words knocked the air out of him.
His hands trembled. His throat was on fire. His will was breaking. With a strangled sound, Woorim came closer and sank his fangs in Hyungho’s neck.
Warmth flooded through him, not like fire but something deeper. The hunger quieted. The ache eased. His body steadied for the first time since he had been turned.
Hyungho didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch. He steadied Woorim with his hand, his fingers brushing against his shoulder, holding him like an anchor. The intimacy of it was unbearable.
When Woorim finally tore himself back, gasping, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, horrified. “I-I’m sorry, I…”
“Don’t,” Hyungho murmured, his voice calm despite the faint pallor in his skin. “You needed it.”
Woorim’s chest tightened painfully. He didn’t know if it was gratitude or shame, only that he could barely breathe with the weight of it.
The door slammed open.
Mingyu stood in the doorway, the perfect smile gone. His eyes were dark, sharp, blazing with something Woorim had never seen in him before.
“So.” His voice was soft, but it cut through the air like a blade. “That’s how it is.”
Woorim froze. But Mingyu wasn’t looking at him. His fury was fixed on Hyungho.
“You had no right,” he said, each word precise, venomous. “He belongs to me. I turned him. He’s mine to shape, mine to guide. And you,” his lip curled “you dare touch what isn’t yours.”
The word belongs crawled under Woorim’s skin like poison.
Hyungho didn’t move. His eyes met Mingyu’s. He didn’t flinch. “He’s not yours.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Mingyu’s smile didn’t return. His voice dropped to a whisper, but the rage in it was unmistakable. “You’ll regret this. Both of you.”
He turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him with a sound that echoed like a verdict.
Woorim sagged against the wall, trembling. He looked at Hyungho, guilt and fear twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to…”
Hyungho’s hand touched his shoulder, grounding, steady. His voice was gentle. “You did what you had to. Don’t let him chain you with his words.”
Woorim nodded faintly, but Mingyu’s fury still rang in his ears.
amdc1597 on Chapter 2 Tue 30 Sep 2025 03:17AM UTC
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nanping on Chapter 2 Thu 02 Oct 2025 04:23PM UTC
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