mrsjjongstby

[mrsjjongstby]

P: Vampire!Sunghoon x Time-travel Scientist!Reader

Warnings: Mentions on biting, blood, feeding scenes, mentions of death, dissapearance, time travelling, yearning, kissing, physical touch, possesiveness, soft angst, happy ending!

Synopsis: In 2090, you're sent back in time to study a village that vanished without explanation. There, you met him. You weren't supposed to fall in love with him. But you did, with a vampire. And when time ran out, you left — believing that story had ended. Until one night, back in the future, he finds you. He hasn’t aged. And he never stopped waiting.

Wordcount: 11.8k

June 22, 2090. 

The hum of the machines never stopped in sector 7. 

Even at 3:27 in the evening, the corridors filled with guards, the bright white light pulsing against the huge glass doors. Surveillance cameras present every nook and crook of the room with security drones flying silently overhead, scanning every face, every badge, every retinal print.  

There were no windows in this part of the KRONEX institute- no clocks, no noise from the outside world. Time, here, was studied, twisted, and sometimes... broken. 

You adjusted the collar of your lab coat, feeling the slight static charge settling against your skin. Another night. Another sequence calibration.  

You were the lead scientist for KRONEX's Temporal Division, and one of only five globally certified operators with direct clearance to manipulate raw time.  

Not because you are lucky- but because you are good- really good at what you do.  

"You are early." Said a familiar voice.  

You turned around to see Taehyun, hands in his lab coat pockets, glasses slightly askew. He always arrived fashionably five minutes late, so this was new.  

"So are you," you say smirking.  

"Someone write it in the history."  

He chuckled, stepping beside you as the biometric scanner opened the reinforced glass doors to Lab room Delta- 12. 

Inside, your team was already gathered,  

Mira, the chronophysics analyst, stood at her console with her usual lip balm which she applies ever minute, tapping at the interface like it owned her something.  

Yuvi, head of atmospheric translation, stayed near the back, mumbling data projections to herself. 

Jungwon, the youngest, but sharp as hell, greeted you with the usual, two fingered salute from behind the drone mapping panel.  

"Took you long enough." Mira muttered without looking up. 

"You're welcome for the coffee I brought you last time." You say as you head to the central table.  

Everyone quickly followed you, sitting around the table. 

You five are the specialized high qualification scientists who got chosen to be the people handling lab delta- 12. Coming from different backgrounds, having same interests and working in cases together for years made your guys' bond unbreakable.  

You five are highly qualified specialists chosen to operate Lab Delta-12. Coming from different backgrounds but sharing the same passion, you've worked on countless cases together over the years — and that’s made your bond unbreakable. 

The door opened, interrupting your casual talks.  

In walked, Dr. Han Myung-sik— head of KRONAX, the man who'd once published a paper predicting time dilation six years before it was observed in real data. His face, though aged, was unreadable— eyes sharp beneath the thick silver eyebrows.  

No one spoke. You all stood up immediately.  

"Sit," he said. "This will be quick."  

The doors sealed shut behind him. A cold hum flickered through the room as he turned on the internal projector.  

Five floating files appeared above the surface. Each labeled, RED CASE.  

"Your group— delta 12 is chosen for this matter." Dr.Han said quietly.  

You could feel the weight of his words which he's about to say.

"We've uncovered five unresolved incidents. Each linked to potentially an unnatural shift in recorded time."  

"These aren't ripples," he continued.  

"These are fractures. Events that don't line up with any known temporal logic. People disappeared, memories vanished, objects never aged and yet—"  

He tapped the interface. The room dimmed, and each of your profiles synced to a case file. 

"You are the only ones qualified to investigate." 

He started pacing slowly.  

"Yuvi. You're being sent to March 2311, Seoul; right before the blackout that erased six months of global data records. You'll observe the internal tech culture and corporate rivalry."  

Yuvi blinked, nodding quietly, already calculating her cover identity.  

"Mira."  

He turned to her.  

"Your case is year 1652, Gyeongju province. A palace scribble who reportedly recorded a 'sky-born woman of light' before his records were seized. The ink used in his account was... not of this earth.” 

Mira grinned. "Finally, something fun."  

"Jungwon. Taehyun. You'll split into Northern territories. Parallel years, overlapping reports. Two villages with identical names, but only one should exist."  

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, "Are we crossing time lines? "  

"Just brushing," Dr.Han replied. "Do not stay longer than you have to."

Then, he turned to you.  

"And you."  

The room stilled.  

"Your case is the most weird one."  

A red dot expanded above the table. 

Satellite data. Korean countryside. Grainy and quiet. 

"A village in 2019 – known to exist, documented, populated and functioning." "Then, it disappeared. Not physically or violently. Just... gone. All the databases rewrote themselves. The people who lived there vanished as if they were never even existed— never even born." "Your job is to go there, undercover. Blend in. Find the root event. Identify the root autonomy and leave before it happens."  

Your fingers clenched lightly under the table. You stared at the red dot on the map.  

2019.  

A quiet time. A dangerous one — because it was still close enough to modern history to be familiar. Easy to slip up. Easy to stay too long.  

"Do we suspect temporal interference?"  

You asked as you shifted your gaze from the red dot to his eyes. Dr.Han meets your eyes. "We suspect something far worse. Something that doesn't belong in any time."  

The files flickered red again. "You'll begin calibration tonight. You jump within 750 hours. That is one month. Use your time wisely."  

As he turned to leave, he paused just once— right by the door.  

"And one more thing," he said without looking back.  "Don't fall in love with the timeline. It doesn't love you back."  

With that, he was gone. The table darkens. The lights return. Yuvi exhales. Mira cracks her knuckles and Jungwon leans forward.  

"2019 huh?" Taehyun mutters beside you. "Better pack your sarcasm and Emo clothes."  

You don't respond. You just stare at the red dot again. 

The village. Gone from memory. Gone from maps. But waiting for you all the same.  

One month. 

And only one day to finish prepping, calibrating your minds, bodies, and identities before entering a timeline that wouldn’t even recognize your names. You sat in the Sim Room, surrounded by floating holoscreens of early-2010s Korea. Architecture. Clothing. Language slang. Historical emotional markers. It was all too recent. Too real. 

Mira was curled on a bench nearby, watching 1600s scrollwork with a look that said I’d rather wing it. Taehyun was arguing with an AI over inconsistency in his destination’s documentation. Again. Jungwon? Already finished his prep module and was now trying to teach Mira how to drink from a metal bottle while upside down. 

“You’re going to the past, not space,” she said, annoyed but smiling.  “Still useful if I end up in a well,” Jungwon shrugged. You blinked away the holograms and stood, stretching out your arms. 

“This doesn’t feel like prep,” Yuvi murmured, joining you. “It feels like goodbye.” 

You didn’t answer.  

She studied you, thoughtful. “You okay with your timeline?”  “2019 is barely the past,” you said. “Feels like I could bump into my parents if I’m not careful.”  “Yeah, but yours is the haunted village,” Mira called. “Mine is just a floating woman in the sky.” 

“You’re the floating woman,” Jungwon muttered under his breath. She chucked a protein chip at him while he hid behind you, holding your shoulders as if his body isn't larger than yours.  

“Alright,” Taehyun said, glancing around. “Final dinner tonight in the Commons? Before the serious lockdown begins?”  “Only if you don’t bring another slide presentation to the table,” Mira groaned. 

“I make no promises.”  You smiled — small, but genuine 

And as the others drifted out of the room, chattering, playfully teasing, you lingered a moment longer — looking up at the blinking red timestamp over the Sim Door. 

30:00:00:00  DAYS : HOURS : MINUTES: SECONDS  JUMP 

You were the first one in the bay. The air smelled sterile, like metal and ionized mist. The chamber was massive — white, cold, humming. Five jump pods lined the back wall, each glowing faint blue with individual temporal calibration. 

The boots of your suit clicked softly as you walked, every step echoing louder than your breath. The fabric hugged your body like skin, the material pressure-sealed and embedded with auto-adaptive climate tech. Your mind was a storm beneath the still surface — years of training colliding with something much quieter. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” came Taehyun’s voice from behind. You turned. He looked exhausted, but composed — the kind of man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. “Didn’t try,” you replied simply. 

He nodded, stepping beside you, with his arm around your shoulder. You both looked at the pods in silence. 

One for each of you. One jump. One direction.  No promises of coming back the same. 

Soon after, Yuvi arrived — hair tied, suit zipped, clutching a small, folded piece of paper in her hand. A name, probably. A reminder of something real. Mira strolled in with a grin too bright to be sincere. “Guess it’s finally happening,” she said, snapping her gum, though her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit cuffs. 

Jungwon came last, walking like he was on his way to a vacation. Humming. But you saw the tension in his knuckles as he flexed them once, twice. Dr. Han entered from the upper level, flanked by three silent technicians and a console assistant holding the jump sequence tablet. 

“Final clearances have been locked in,” he announced, voice loud across the bay. “You have fifteen minutes.” 

One by one, your mission drives were inserted into the small ports at your pod stations. The information would sync once you landed in your time period — personalized cover stories, forged credentials, emergency kill phrases. 

“I’ll see you all again,” Jungwon said, softer now, eyes scanning the rest of you. “In whatever version of time we land in. 

“Bring back something cool,” Mira added. “Like a comet or an alien.”  “Or your soul intact,” Yuvi muttered, mostly to herself. You looked around. 

These people — their lives had been laced into yours for years. Work. Sleep. Discover. Repeat. The way your names felt normal together. The easy sarcasm. The shared silence in moments like this. You didn’t know what it would be like without them.  Maybe you weren’t meant to know. Your pod blinked green. Final sequence activated. 

You stood in front of it, heart slamming once, sharply, against your ribs. 

“You’ll be inserted at 03:12 AM, August 9th, 2019,” Dr. Han said beside you. “Just outside the village’s boundary. Our records end there. No satellite returns after that date. No digital trails. Just fog.” 

You nodded. 

“And remember,” he added, “observe, record, don’t interfere.” He paused. “And don’t stay longer than you have to.” You stepped into the pod. The door hissed closed behind you. Inside: darkness. Soft blue lights blinked around your headrest. A countdown began in the corner. 

00:00:10  00:00:09  00:00:08...  Your breathing slowed. Fingers tight on the seat grips.  00:00:03  00:00:02...  You thought of nothing.  00:00:01  ENGAGING TEMPORAL LAUNCH. 

Everything went white. 

You woke up choking on fog. 

Your knees hit grass first, body staggering out of the collapsed time pod buried beneath undergrowth. The pod disintegrated on schedule — technology melted into mist the second your boots touched this era. You stood slowly, the chill biting through your fabricated 2010s-era jacket. A navy hoodie. Worn boots. Phone model synced to local time tech. Fake ID in your pocket. History-approved.  And ahead of you — trees. Low mist curling over quiet fields. One winding road in the dark. 

“03:14,” you whispered, checking the time. You started walking. It didn’t take long to reach the village. Just a few winding turns along cracked pavement and flickering streetlamps — too dim for a place this small. It looked normal at first glance. Houses with tiled roofs. Wind chimes. A distant dog barking. But the silence? Too heavy. Too complete. Not a single radio. Not one human voice. 

You followed the map projection in your eye lens. Your identity here: transfer student, staying with a distant relative for the summer before university. Your cover was clean. “Blend in. Observe. Don’t interfere.” Dr. Han’s words echoed. 

You reached the village center. A bakery. A post office. A small clinic. It was beautiful — in a nostalgic, sleepy sort of way. You spotted an inn. Two stories. Wooden steps. A soft yellow porch light still glowing. You knocked once. A moment later, an older woman opened the door, eyes squinting at your unfamiliar face. 

“Ah… you must be the niece, right? From Seoul?” You smiled, polite. "Yes, ma’am.”  “Room’s upstairs. Already made it up for you.”  With that, you leave to your room. 

August 10, 2019.

The village was quieter in the morning. Not dead. Just... slow. 

You walked past the corner bakery — the one that smelled like burnt sugar and citrus. Past a row of mailboxes that hadn’t been touched in a week. You weren’t sure if people here hated bills or just trusted too easily. Notebook in your jacket. Identity chip syncing your steps to the research log in your neural band. 

Day 2.  Civilian behavior: consistent.  Average activity start time: 6:53 AM  No sign of temporal noise. No anomalies. 

You smiled and bowed slightly to an old man sweeping the steps outside a shop. He gave you a nod in return. Eyes kind, but faintly puzzled — like he couldn’t remember when you arrived, but accepted you anyway. That was the first pattern you noticed. People here forgot details fast. But nothing big enough to ring alarms. Just enough to feel like déjà vu. 

You took a seat on the raised edge of a well in the town center, glancing down at the still water.  Your eye-lens scanned your surroundings. Kids biking. A woman hanging sheets in perfect rows. Market stalls setting up. 

Everything looked normal. Back at the inn, the old woman handed you a basket. 

“Bread for the east field home. The family that lives up near the woods. They get their supplies late.” 

“East field?” you asked, trying to remember the map. 

“Take the long path. The house is old, but someone’s always there.” 

“Someone?” 

She nodded. “A quiet boy. Rarely speaks. Keeps to himself. Been around longer than most here.” 

You didn’t ask more. Just took the basket and walked. And as you stepped onto the eastern trail, into the trees and shifting light… You didn’t know yet that you were walking toward the beginning. Of the end. 

The path to the east house was longer than expected. 

Thick trees bent overhead like old, quiet watchers. The air here was different — cooler, touched with something metallic. You adjusted the basket in your hands. You finally reached the gate — rusted iron, half open. A path lined with overgrown grass stretched up to a traditional hanok-style house. Wooden. Quiet. Heavy with stillness. 

You stepped through, gently. No animals. No birds. Just that strange silence again. You knocked once. Then twice. No answer. You were about to leave when the door creaked open. And there he was. 

He looked like he didn’t belong in 2019. Or any year. 

Dressed simply — white cotton shirt, black slacks, sleeves slightly rolled up. But there was something... too elegant about the way he held the door. Something slow and precise. Still. His eyes — dark, unfathomable — landed on yours. 

For a full second, he didn’t say a word. Neither did you. “Delivery,” you said softly, lifting the basket. 

“Right,” he replied after a pause, voice smooth, almost melodic. “They said you’d be coming.” 

You held the basket out, but he didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he studied you. Not rudely. Not even intently. Just... curiously. Like a puzzle he couldn’t quite read. Or a scent he wasn’t supposed to follow. The moment you stepped through the trees, he felt it. The beat beneath your skin. The warmth. Your blood had a scent — not strong, not desperate like others. 

Sweet. Calming. Clean. He hadn’t fed in days. But you made the ache stir. “You live here alone?” you asked. 

He nodded. “For a while now.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away. 

“Most people say it’s empty.” 

You tilted your head. “Are you?” 

That made something shift in his gaze — not amusement exactly, but the ghost of something near it. “Not today,” he said finally. 

He took the basket, fingers brushing yours for just half a second. His skin was cool. Not cold. But noticeably not warm. “Thank you,” he said, stepping back. “Be careful going back. The light fades fast out here.” 

You turned to leave, but your instincts tugged once. “What’s your name?” you asked over your shoulder. 

A pause. 

“Sunghoon,” he said quietly. 

You nodded once. “I’m Y/N.” Another pause. “I know,” he said. 

And then the door closed. As you walked back down the path, heart steady but hands tingling from where his touched yours, you couldn’t shake one thing: There had been no heartbeat behind that door. Just silence. You don’t notice someone- Sunghoon, watching you from his window as you walk back. 

And that, that night few people go missing because Sunghoon, couldn’t handle his hunger for blood. Not when he was reminded of how desperate he was to taste something sweet- something pure like your blood- like you. He can’t bite you, not yet. So, he resorted to his usual way, biting the villagers. One by one.  

It was quiete big village when Sunghoon first step foot in there. 2010. The year Sunghoon decided to enter into the huge village, leaving behind memories of his previous life- the one where everyone treated him like the monster he was. He didn’t like it one bit. So? He ended it. Bit and killed everyone who called him a monster.  

Leaving behind memories and people wasn’t new to him. He’s been like that since he was turned- since 527 years. It's what he’s best at other than sucking peoples’ blood. Having spent many years on this planet made him discard unwanted memories for good.  

And maybe that’s why he never truly loved anyone. It’s not because he isn’t capable of it. It's because he knows that they won't stick around. Not when they find out what he is, not when they leave this world entirely. Also, because, he never truly found someone who made him feel things. Feel things which are foreign to him- Desire.  

Desire for blood? Thats more like filling his hunger. Desire is what he felt when he saw you. If you ever told Sunghoon that he’d yearn for a girl he met once, he’d scoff, shaking his head. That can never happen, not when he's been on this earth for more than 500 years. He knows how to control his feelings- it was easy for him because he didn't have any feelings in the first place.  

But why is that the moment he saw you, heard you- your hearbeat, your blood pulsing in your throat, smelled the scent of you, he wanted to make you his?  

Its funny, really. This whatever weird feeling he has in his stomach is new to him. Perhaps he’s hungry for your blood? No. He’s hungry for you.  

You are here to find out how the village disappeared. Maybe you do find out that he’s the reason for the mass disappearance. But will your heart obey to leave behind everything that you've uncovered here? Leave behind someone, who is the sole reason why the disappearance happened in the first place? 

Only the future holds the answer. Maybe the present? You truly don't know, not when the time’s twisted and you are spiralling in it. 

August 14, 2019. 

You weren’t planning to run into him again. You were just taking the trail by the lake. Collecting audio samples. Watching people prep for the lantern festival — all smiles and paper crafts, sunlight catching on water like glass. But then there he was. Standing near the edge of the hill that overlooked the lake. Not moving. Just… watching it. Like the water itself had said something only he could hear. 

You almost didn’t say anything. But he turned to you first. 

“You walk this path often?” 

His voice was still soft. Still slow. Like everything he said had already passed through a hundred filters before reaching you. 

“Not really,” you said, stepping closer. “But it’s quiet. Good for thinking.” 

“Thinking,” he echoed, like it was a foreign word. “You do that a lot?” 

You smiled. “Occupational hazard.” 

“Ah,” he said. “Let me guess. You’re a writer.” 

“Wrong.” 

“A scientist?” 

You blinked. A beat too long. 

“Why that guess?” 

“Your eyes,” he said. 

“What about them?” 

“They look like they’re always dissecting things. Even me.” 

He turned back to the lake after that, leaving your thoughts spiraling slightly behind him. The sun was dipping lower, casting light through the trees. A warm breeze stirred the ends of your hair, and for once, you didn’t feel like recording anything. Just being here. 

“Why do you live so far from the village?” you asked. 

“They forget me better this way.” 

You frowned. “That’s sad.” 

“Not really.” 

“When people forget you… you stop needing to prove you exist.” 

You turned to him then — not just listening but really seeing him. The distance in his eyes. The calm sadness he wore like second skin. 

“You don’t want to be remembered?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just don’t mind being forgotten.” 

A few kids laughed somewhere nearby, running with paper lanterns. You looked down at your shoes. “You’re hard to forget, you know.” It slipped out before you could stop it. He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, so quietly: “So are you.” 

Neither of you moved. The wind stilled. The air felt... charged. Like time paused. Just for this. 

Then— “You should go,” he said gently.

“It gets colder here after sunset.” He wasn’t pushing you away. But he was. And that strange ache bloomed behind your ribs without warning. You turned to go, steps slow. And as you walked, you felt his eyes on your back the entire time. 

August 18, 2019. 

It was supposed to be a short walk. You’d been gathering weather data, checking tree patterns near the edge of the forest. The innkeeper said the rain wouldn’t come until morning. But the sky didn’t listen. It started with a single drop. Then another. 

Within seconds, it was falling fast — fat, cold drops smacking against your shoulders, soaking through your hoodie in a matter of moments. You pulled the fabric up over your head and turned to head back — but the path was already slick, the trees pressing in closer, and fog began to roll over the field like a breath held too long. 

“Seriously?” you muttered, shivering. That’s when you saw him. Standing just under the crooked edge of an old pavilion by the hill — motionless, dry, and completely unbothered by the storm.  Sunghoon. 

You blinked, surprised. "You're always just… appearing out of nowhere.” 

“You're always walking into places you shouldn't be alone,” he replied calmly, eyes tracking the water running down your cheek. 

You hesitated. Then stepped under the structure, chest heaving slightly from the sudden cold. Your shoulders were soaked. Hair clinging to your face. Hands trembling. He watched you quietly. “You're freezing.” 

You gave a weak smile. “That tends to happen when it rains on humans.” 

He didn’t return it. Instead, he removed his outer jacket and handed it over without a word. You stared at it. “I’m already wet. You don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

You took it slowly. It was still warm. 

You slipped it on. It smelled like night air and something faintly old — like worn books and clean linen. Not the scent of someone who lived alone in a dusty house. 

The silence stretched. 

Raindrops tapping the roof like a ticking clock. 

Your breath fogged the air. 

His didn’t. 

“Why were you even out here?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer immediately. 

Then: 

“I thought you’d come this way.” 

You turned your head sharply. “You were… waiting for me?” 

He didn’t flinch. 

“Something about the sky felt wrong. I knew you’d ignore it.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I know your pattern.” 

That shut you up for a moment. 

And somehow... warmed you. 

More than the jacket did. 

Your teeth chattered softly. You turned away, embarrassed. 

Suddenly, you felt something. 

His fingers — gently, lightly — tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. 

You froze. 

“You should be more careful,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rain. “This place doesn’t forgive softness.” 

You looked up at him then. 

And he was already too close. 

Not touching. 

Not reaching. 

Just there. 

And for a second, you wondered what it would be like if he leaned in just a little more. 

“Do you always talk like that?” you whispered, lips parted. “Like you’re centuries old?” 

He gave the faintest smile like he knows something you don’t. 

The rain kept falling. The sky stayed grey. 

And your heartbeat too loudly in your ears. 

You didn’t ask him why his hands were cold even though he felt warm. 

You didn’t ask why he never blinked when he looked at you. 

The rain kept falling. 

And he stood there, completely still, listening to the rhythm of her blood, her breath, her heart... 

And all he could think was: 

Don’t touch her again.  Don’t want her.  Don’t let her see the monster inside you. 

But it was already too late. 

Because for the first time in years, he wanted something enough to lose control. 

And it was you. 

The rain had stopped, but the night still smelled like it. 

You walked slowly. 

Beside him. 

His jacket still hung over your shoulders, and you hadn’t given it back. He hadn’t asked. 

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” you said softly, watching your boots splash through a shallow puddle. 

“I know.” 

He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was warm. Like he wanted to say, I just wanted more time with you, but didn’t know how. 

The village lights shimmered faint in the distance — soft and yellow, like floating lanterns. 

It felt like you were the only two people in the world. 

“Do you always spend your nights out there?” you asked. 

“Sometimes. I like the quiet.” 

“Most people don’t,” you said. “Silence makes them uncomfortable.” 

He glanced at you. 

“What about you?” 

You thought about it. 

“I think silence is the only time people stop pretending.” 

He actually smiled at that. Just a little. The kind that tugged one corner of his mouth — barely visible, but real. 

“What do you do all day?” you asked, curious now. “No job? No classes?” 

“I read,” he said. “Walk. Watch.” 

“That sounds like what I do, too.” 

“You watch more than most people,” he replied, side-eying you. “Always observing. Analyzing.” 

You raised a brow. “Are you calling me creepy?” 

“No,” he said. “Just... different.” 

You looked away to hide your smile. 

“Is that your way of saying I’m weird?” 

“No,” he repeated, slower this time. “It’s my way of saying I see you.” 

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “What did you want to be when you were little?” 

He didn’t answer right away. 

“I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It’s been a long time since I was little.” 

You turned to him, blinking. “How old are you, Sunghoon?” 

He looked at you. Really looked. 

Then smiled like he knew he shouldn’t say the next thing — but said it anyway. 

“Older than I look.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not an answer.” 

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” 

You reached the inn gate. 

The lantern outside flickered faintly in the breeze.  Neither of you moved. 

The air was warmer now. The clouds had parted just enough for moonlight to wash over the steps. 

You stood there — his jacket still on your shoulders, the scent of rain still on your skin, and his eyes fixed gently on you. 

“Good night, Sunghoon,” you said finally, stepping up to the door. 

“Good night, Y/N.” 

You turned the handle. 

Just before stepping inside, you hesitated. 

“You never told me what you like,” you said over your shoulder. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Like?” 

“Hobbies. Music. Favorite food. Normal things.” 

Another pause. 

Then: 

“The sound of rain,” he said. “Books with no endings. And people who don’t run away.” 

You met his eyes. 

And something about the way he said it made your heart ache. 

You didn’t know why. 

But you didn’t look away. 

Not for a long moment. 

Then finally, you stepped inside. 

And closed the door. 

August 20, 2019.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. 

Just returning a jacket. 

Just a polite gesture. 

Just good manners. 

So why did your pulse stutter when the house came into view? 

The same tall trees. The same crooked path. The same quiet. 

You climbed the short stone steps and raised your hand to knock — but before you could, the door opened. 

He was already there. 

Like he’d been waiting. 

Or like he’d heard you coming long before you got close. 

“You came back,” he said, voice low, like sunlight through fog. 

“Just to return this,” you said quickly, lifting the folded jacket. 

“Of course.” 

But he didn’t take it. 

Instead, he stepped aside. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

You blinked. 

“Is that okay?” 

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

You stepped inside. 

The air was cool, but not cold. The interior still had that strange untouched feeling — like a photo frozen in time. Wood floors. A low bookshelf. A kettle on the counter, untouched. 

You walked slowly, setting the jacket on the nearest chair. 

“You live like a ghost,” you said softly. 

He raised a brow. “I’m neat.” 

“You’re ancient,” you teased. 

He smirked faintly. “So you’ve said.” 

You turned toward the bookshelf — rows of old spines and journals, some in languages you didn’t recognize. One looked handwritten. Another... burned around the edges. 

“These don’t look like they’re from a village library.” 

“They’re not.” 

“So what are they?” 

“Pieces of me,” he said. 

You paused, looking back. 

His expression didn’t change, but there was something fragile in his stillness. 

You let the question go. 

“Tea?” he asked suddenly, already reaching for the kettle. 

“You drink tea?” 

“No. But you do.” 

He made it quietly. Smooth movements. No wasted motion. 

He handed you the mug and sat across from you, careful, like he was making sure there was enough distance. 

“Do people visit you often?” you asked, wrapping your hands around the cup. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“Because they forget me,” he said. “Or… I let them.” 

“But you didn’t want me to forget you?” you asked quietly. 

His eyes met yours. 

Dark. Unreadable. 

“I didn’t plan on you remembering at all.” 

You blinked. “What changed?” 

He stared at the steam curling between you. 

Then said, without blinking: 

“You smiled at me.” 

The silence stretched. 

The weight of it made your chest feel tight. 

Your fingers tightened around the mug. 

“Why do you always say things like that?” you whispered. 

“Like what?” 

“Like it means something. And then you never explain.” 

He stood up then, slowly — walking toward the window, looking out at the trees. 

“Because I’ve learned that explaining doesn’t stop people from leaving.” 

“So you just... stay mysterious?” 

“No,” he said, without turning around. “I stay safe.” 

You stood too. Quiet steps. 

He didn’t move as you stopped beside him, just far enough for the space between your hands to hum. 

“What are you so afraid of, Sunghoon?” you asked, not accusing — just soft. 

A pause. 

Then finally: 

“That if you knew the truth about me… you'd stop smiling at all.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“Nothing. Don’t think too much.” He says. 

You didn’t leave. 

You just stood beside him. 

And for a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy. 

It was tender. 

“You okay?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer. 

Didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Because right now, he could feel it rising — that burn behind his eyes, the pressure in his jaw, the ancient ache in his throat. 

The want. 

Not just to feed. 

To claim. 

“I think you should go,” he said, voice tight. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.” 

“Then—” 

“Please.” 

His back was turned now.  He couldn’t let her see his face.  Not when his eyes were beginning to glow. Not when his fangs had started to edge down. 

He bit the inside of his cheek — hard enough to draw blood. Let the pain steady him. Anchor him. 

“Sunghoon? Is something wrong? You can trust me- I trust you.”  

But all he said was: 

“I don’t trust myself.” 

You stared at his back for a long moment. 

Then quietly… you left. 

The door shut behind you with a soft click. 

And he stood there in the quiet, eyes still burning, heart raging inside a chest that shouldn’t have had one anymore. 

August 21, 2019. 

You went to the library to check the village’s records.  

To look for any book, any magazine, any piece of information that would help you get a better insight about the village’s roots.  

You found a series of census logs tucked into a low cabinet—records of the village’s population numbers and names dating back to the 1900s. Faded, but surprisingly intact. 

And that’s when you saw it. 

A pattern. 

In 2010, the population was 528.  In 2012, it dropped to 413.  By 2015: 290.  2017: 178. 

No official records of why.  No mass migration.  No natural disaster.  No illness outbreak. 

Just... names disappearing. 

Not all at once.  Not dramatically. 

But slowly.  Like something was taking them. One by one. 

You scanned the reports harder now. 

Looking for causes. Deaths. Relocations. 

But most names just had one word stamped across the last column: 

“Unrecorded.” 

You slammed the binder shut and sat back. 

Your chest felt tight. 

You looked around the library. The light felt colder. The silence heavier. 

This is getting nowhere. Rather than the doubts clearing, more questions are surfacing. Too many questions. Too less information. You doubt you are even eligible to solve this mystery. Maybe Dr.Han realizes he made a mistake choosing you once you return. You wonder how the others are doing. Are they going through the same difficulties?  

You shake your head as if it shakes away the insecure thoughts creeping up. You need to focus. On this village. The people. Everyone here seems normal except... Sunghoon. 

He always seemed to appear when no one else was around. 

Your fingers curled against the cover of the book. 

No. Don’t jump to conclusions. That doesn’t mean anything. 

And yet… 

Something in your gut whispered otherwise. 

Still, when the sun began to set— 

You found yourself walking toward the hill. 

Toward him. 

Carrying questions you couldn’t ask yet. 

And a heart that didn’t want answers- the real ones.  

The sky was painted in soft blue fading to lavender.  The last light of the sun had just dipped behind the mountains, leaving a glow that shimmered across the tall grass. 

You stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the village lights far below.  Everything was quiet. 

Except your thoughts. 

Except him. 

Sunghoon stood beside you — close, not quite touching. Hands in his pockets. Eyes on the horizon. 

“You always find the quietest places,” you said softly. 

“I think they find me.” 

You turned to him, trying to read that impossible expression on his face. 

“You always talk like that. Like there’s a whole world in your head and you’re just… giving me scraps.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he said. “I just forget how to be anything else.” 

You took a breath. 

“Then remind yourself. Just for tonight. Just for me.” 

He looked at you then. 

Really looked. 

And for the first time, he didn’t look away. 

“You scare me,” he said quietly. 

That made your chest tighten. 

“Why?” 

“Because you make me want to stay.” 

The wind brushed through the grass. 

Your heart was too loud. Your breath too soft. 

He stepped closer. 

His hand, trembling just slightly, reached up and cupped your cheek — gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he touched too hard. 

His thumb brushed under your eye, then trailed down to your jaw. 

“Say something,” he whispered. 

You didn’t. 

You leaned in instead. 

And he met you there. 

The kiss was nothing like you imagined. 

It wasn’t rushed.  It wasn’t wild. 

It was slow. 

Like two people learning what it meant to feel alive again. 

His lips were cool at first — like the wind before rain — but they softened against yours. Moved with aching care. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth and trying not to fall apart doing it. 

You felt his breath catch. 

Felt his hand slide into your hair. 

Felt your knees go weak when he deepened the kiss — still gentle, still hesitant, but full of something you didn’t have a name for. 

And then— 

He pulled away. 

Fast. 

Like he’d caught fire. 

His eyes were wide.  Not with lust. Not even guilt. 

With fear. 

“I shouldn’t have—” 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, reaching for him. 

He stepped back. 

“No. This was a mistake.” 

“Why are you doing this again?”  “Every time I get close, you push me away. Why?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Not with words. 

But his face… 

That expression? 

It looked like someone who just tasted something too good.  Something too human.  Something that made him forget what he was. 

“Because I can’t be the reason you get hurt,” he finally said. 

And then he turned away. 

Leaving you alone with a kiss that still burned on your lips, and a silence that felt heavier than ever. 

August 26, 2019. 

You ignored him after that. Turned your head away whenever he got into. Looked away first when you both made eye contact. Avoided him when he came to apologize the very next day of your kiss.  

Not cause you hate him. You wish you did but no. You remember what Dr.Han said, “Observe. Record. don’t interfere.” You can't risk everything just cause of some stupid, weird feelings that you have. No. You can’t let your emotions get in the way of your case. This isn't right.  

Youre altering time, you should do it wisely, not recklessly.  

And so, you did what you thought was best. Ignore. Distance. Observe. 

Or so, you thought.  

You weren’t expecting to run into him. 

But of course you did. 

He was leaning against the side wall of the bakery, half-hidden in the shade, like always. Silent. Watching. 

He didn’t call out. 

Didn’t wave. 

But you felt it — the shift in air when his gaze hit you. That quiet weight of his presence. 

You almost kept walking. 

Almost. 

But then— 

“Y/N.” 

His voice was low. Not cold. Just… tired. 

You turned after a moment of hesitation. 

Met his eyes. 

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked. 

Simple question. 

But it landed sharp. 

You didn’t answer right away. 

“I’ve just been… busy.” 

“You’ve seen me.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk.” 

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping forward. “Don’t turn it around like it’s me.” 

You blinked. “I’m not—” 

“You haven’t looked at me in five days.” 

His tone wasn’t angry.  It was quiet. Steady. Too steady. 

“You smiled at me one night,” he said, “and then the next morning, it’s like I didn’t exist.” 

“Sunghoon—” 

“And I thought—”  He paused. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.  “I thought maybe you needed space. But then I saw you with that guy. That tall one from the orchard. And you were laughing. Just… laughing. Like everything’s normal.” 

You looked away. 

He let the silence settle. 

Then finally: 

“It hurt.” 

That was it. Just that. 

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just real. 

You didn’t know what to say. So, you said the only truth you had: 

“I’m scared, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you for a long time. 

“Of me?” 

“Of not knowing what’s happening. Of what this village is hiding. Of what you’re hiding.” 

You stepped back slightly, instinctively. Not far. 

But enough. 

His eyes dropped to the space between you.  Then back up. 

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?” 

You hesitated. 

Then, quietly: 

“I don’t know.” 

That broke something in him. 

You saw it. In his eyes. 

Not rage. 

Just sadness. 

“I wouldn’t,” he said softly. “Not even if I wanted to.” 

You turned back and left without replying, unable to look into his face or even talk to him. 

September 5, 2019. 

You shouldn’t have gone looking. 

You told yourself you weren’t.  That you just needed air.  That the trail by the forest was peaceful this time of day. 

But really? You missed him. 

And you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you. Not even if I wanted to.” 

It looped in your mind for days. Through sleep. Through silence. Through guilt. 

You didn’t give him an answer. So, you were going to. 

You were going to find him and say you’re not sure what this is, but you’re willing to try. That you believe he’s good. That you want to believe it, even if you’re scared. 

But then— 

You saw it. 

You heard something first. 

A low sound. Guttural. Like a growl tucked beneath a breath. 

And then a figure stumbling — just ahead. At the edge of the trees. A man. Drunk? Hurt? 

And beside him—  Holding him up— 

Was Sunghoon. 

Or… something that used to be him 

His head was tilted.  His lips pressed just beneath the man’s jaw.  His hands clutched the man’s shoulders too tightly.  And his eyes— 

They glowed. 

Not fully.  Just enough for the shadows to catch it. 

Red. Dim. Inhuman. 

You saw his mouth open.  Saw the flash of fang. 

And then— 

The man sagged. 

Like air had left him. 

You froze. 

Your heart punched against your ribs. 

He stared.  Still half-shadowed.  Blood on his mouth. 

He stepped forward. 

“Y/N.” 

You backed up. 

Didn’t speak. 

Didn’t breathe. 

Your eyes wide. Your expression already saying everything your voice couldn’t. 

Fear. 

The kind that wasn’t subtle. 

The kind you couldn’t take back. 

“No,” he said quietly. “No, don’t—please don’t look at me like that.” 

He wiped at his mouth. Quickly. Clumsily. 

“I can explain. It’s not—” 

You flinched when he stepped closer. 

That did it. 

He stopped. 

His hands dropped to his sides. 

And something in him… wilted. 

“So, this is it?” he whispered. 

His voice wasn’t cold.  Wasn’t sharp.  It was just… empty. 

You didn’t say anything. 

Couldn’t. 

You turned. 

And ran. 

And behind you, the last thing you heard was him whispering into the night: 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

You rushed back home and stumbled in. 

You quickly went to your bedroom, opening the drawers and pulled out your logbook. 

You sat on the floor beside your bed after grabbing a marker.  

The pages were filled with sketches. Maps. Observations.  And now? 

Scribbled question marks. Shaky handwriting. A timeline you couldn’t look at anymore. 

2010 — population: 528  2012 — 413  2015 — 290  2017 — 178  2019 — barely 60 left. 

No disease.  No evacuation orders.  No record of where they went. 

But you knew now. 

You saw it. 

His eyes. His fangs.  The man in the forest, half-drained and limp in his arms. 

You knew. 

And the truth clawed at your throat like it didn’t want to be swallowed. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he had said. 

You remembered his voice.  Too quiet.  Too pained to be fake. 

But it didn’t matter now, did it? 

Because while he was giving you flowers and walking you home… 

He was feeding on the people who welcomed you with tea and stories. 

You closed your eyes. 

Your hands were trembling. 

You remembered the first time you saw him. 

How unreal he looked in the moonlight.  How safe you felt beside him. 

How stupid that was now. 

Was any of it real? 

The kiss. The laughter. The jacket he left folded on your bed. 

Or were you just the next name on his list? 

The next girl to get too close? 

Were you just another pawn in his game?  

Whatever it was, you shouldn't have gotten close with him. Shouldn't have tried to interfere. You shouldn't have done it and God, you regret it.  

And for the first time in years…  You cried. 

Not from fear.  But from heartbreak. 

If only you backed down that day on the hill. If only you shouldn't have let him close to you. If only... 

September 7, 2019. 

After that day, you didn't leave your room. 

You didn't go out, the fear of him catching you always haunting your mind whenever you reach for the door handle. 

And weirdly enough, you should feel better, you really should but why did you feel... empty?  

He’s a monster! He kills innocent people, hes a vampire. But why didn't the fact alone scare you? Why were you craving for his presence? Why were you thinking about the moments you've spent together? This isn't even real. Its past, you weren't even born at this time period. You shouldn't be feeling things you aren't supposed to. 

But you can't deny the fact that your heart aches for his presence- for him.  

But you don't have time for this. Not when you have two days on your watch. Two days before everything goes back to normal, hopefully. And so, you push aside your feelings saying the time is playing tricks on you and start writing the report.  

All of your log entries, now are typed and kept in digital doc by you. You enter the log entries, from day one to the day you discovered the root cause of all of this- the dissapearance. You procrastinated too much while typing them in, thinking about all the wonderful days you’ve spent with locals- with him. 

But all of this isn't real, at the end of the day. You don't belong here- you shouldn't. This isn't your timeline. This is not your story. This isn't the reality you are supposed to live in and experience. This is just a case that you've got assigned to. It's your duty. And you fulfilled it by finding out the reason. And this is where you shall end it. End of this chapter, end of this case and end of him.  

September 9, 2019.  

Today is the day. 

You pack your bag, filling it with the things you bought and the things you are taking back to your timeline. The memories, the events and the adventures.  

There wasn't a single second you haven't thought about him. But this is it. You have to say your goodbyes.  

You can't warn the others, who haven't yet got bitten by Sunghoon. Because as dr.Han said, “Don't interfere.”  

Youve already made the mistake of not listening to him and crossed the boundary and faced the consequences. You aren't going to do it again. Because at the end of the day, its fate. It already happened. You can't change it, not even when you go back in time. Because what's written, is written. If changed, you are bound to face the consequences.  

History can't be re-written.  

And so, with that, you leave.  

You stood by the terminal light beam.  

Delta 12’s jump pulse flickering through the mist. 

Your bag beside you. Your heart heavy with no one in the future world- the real world would understand or know of.  

You turned back one last time towards the village. 

Thanking it for everything it gave you- thanking it for giving Sunghoon. 

Who'll be remembered as the passing wind and the falling of leaves by you.  

And when you jumped- 

The light swallowed you whole. 

And in the same breath,  

You were gone.  

July 22, 2090. 

You opened your eyes. 

The jump light was fading.  The room around you was cold. White. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache. 

You were home. 

But it didn’t feel like it. 

Not yet. 

Your bag was still at your side. Your fingers still trembling. Your body still in two places — the sterile floors of the lab… and the moss-soft grass beneath his feet. 

You didn’t even notice the door sliding open until you heard the softest gasp. 

“Y/N?” 

You turned. 

And there she was. 

Mira.  Her braid was undone, her coat slung over one arm, her eyes red — like she’d either just woken up… or hadn’t slept since the moment she jumped back. 

She stared at you. 

Then smiled. Weakly. 

“God, it’s you.” 

You couldn’t speak. 

You didn’t have to. 

She crossed the space between you in three quick steps and pulled you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed until her arms wrapped around you. 

You felt her chest shudder. 

You were crying too. 

Soon, the others trickled in. 

Taehyun — still composed, but his eyes softer than usual.  Yuvi — who dropped her bag the second she saw you, crashing into the hug with a half-laugh, half-sob. Jungwon — who just stood by the door for a long time, taking all of you in like he didn’t believe you were real until that moment. 

No one said much at first. 

They just… stood there. 

Five people who had faced time itself. 

And came back with hearts a little heavier. 

Eyes a little older. 

It felt nice. Seeing everyone’s familiar faces after being drowned in unfamiliar faces who don't even exist in reality.  

Finally, Mira sniffed and said, voice shaking: 

“I missed you guys.” 

Yuvi let out a teary laugh. 

“I didn’t realize how much till now.” 

Jungwon gave a small nod, blinking fast. 

Taehyun just whispered: 

“You’re all here.” 

You wiped your face and smiled. 

Soft. Quiet. Real. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re here.” 

You all look at each other. A moment of silence. As if you guys are finally taking in and registering everyone’s presence. And then, you all hugged. A big group hug filled with emotions which arent said loud but felt. And finally, you felt like you are back home.  

September 11, 2019.  

The room smelled of old circuits and sterile air.  The walls glowed faint blue, humming with quiet energy. 

You sat where you always had —  Same table.  Same lights.  Same white jackets. 

But nothing was the same anymore. 

Not the silence.  Not the weight in everyone’s eyes. 

Not the version of you that existed before. 

The door slid open. 

Dr. Han stepped in, shoulders straighter than usual, expression unreadable. 

“Good morning.” 

He stood at the edge of the circular table, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning each of you. 

“You’ve all returned safely,” he said. “On record, your missions were successful. But the records don’t matter if we don’t understand why.” 

He took a breath. 

“So, let’s talk about what really happened.” 

Dr. Han looked at Yuvi first.  

“Yuvi. March 2311. Seoul. What caused the blackout?” 

Yuvi didn’t hesitate.  But her voice was softer than usual. 

“It wasn’t just data loss,” she said. “It was deliberate. The two largest tech giants—SolarCore and NeuraStream—were engaged in a silent war for memory control. They each tried to overwrite the other’s data… and in doing so, they wiped everyone’s.” 

A pause. 

“The blackout wasn’t a glitch. It was a battle. One that made the world forget six months — and made the companies forget what humanity was.” 

Dr. Han only nodded. 

“Mira. 1652. The scribe’s ink.” 

Mira folded her hands. 

“The man wasn’t mad. The ‘sky-born woman of light’ — she was a time displacer like us. From the future. Possibly one of the early, undocumented tests.” 

She met Dr. Han’s eyes. 

“The ink? It was our ink. Synthetic. Used in lab reports.” 

Silence fell. 

Dr. Han blinked slowly. “You’re saying the anomaly… was ours.” 

“Yes,” Mira whispered. “We caused the myth.” 

“You two. Northern Territories. Duplicated villages.” 

Taehyun glanced at Jungwon. Jungwon gave a tiny nod. 

“There were two villages,” Jungwon said. “Identical. Same people. Same dogs. Same newspapers.” 

“Except,” Taehyun added, “They existed in overlapping timelines. One was five minutes behind the other. A permanent sync lag caused by a failed early prototype of time field testing.” 

Jungwon finished it quietly. 

“It was human error. A time scar. We tried to erase one. But they both kept living… until one finally collapsed.” 

“Y/N,” Dr. Han said, turning to you. “The village of Myeon-ri. The one that vanished without cause.” 

Your fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table. 

You could still feel the wind there. Still hear his voice. 

You slid the chip forward. 

“There was no disease. No mass migration. No disaster. It was slow. Intentional.” 

You looked up. 

“A predator lived there. Not wild. Human-shaped. Possibly centuries old. A vampire, by older terms. He fed carefully, spaced apart. But eventually, the numbers dropped too far.” 

The others stared. 

You didn’t flinch. 

“He didn’t want the village gone. But he couldn’t stop. And no one remembered the ones who vanished. They were erased — from memory, from databases. Like they never existed.” 

“Vampire?” Dr.Han questioned. 

“Vampire.” You confirmed.  

Dr. Han asked, quietly: 

“Did he know who you were?” 

A pause. 

You met his gaze. 

“No.” 

A beat. 

“But I think I knew who he used to be.” 

You lied. Of course he knows you. He knows the woman he fell for the first time. He knows the woman who was his first ever kiss. 

You didn't tell them. You didn't to protect him and in a way, protect yourself too. 

Dr. Han stepped back. He looked at each of you — not as scientists, but as people who had seen too much. 

“You all did what centuries of historians couldn’t. You brought back truth.” 

He turned toward the exit, then paused. 

“Take the week off. Rest. File clean versions by the end of the month. We’ll… figure out what to do with the rest.” 

The door hissed closed behind him. 

And you all sat in silence.  Hearts still somewhere in another time. 

The streets are quiet at 2 a.m. 

Neon signs buzz in blues and pinks.  Artificial rain shimmers above, falling against projection domes that keep your coat dry. 

You pass a street musician playing a slow guitar. 

The song is unfamiliar.  But it feels like him. 

Like a song you might’ve danced to on his porch.  Or hummed under your breath while he walked you home. 

Your throat tightens. 

You sit on a bench, ignoring your holopad as it pings with follow-up requests from Dr. Han. 

You can’t open the file.  You can’t even look at his name on the case label. 

Your hand slowly reaches into your coat pocket. 

The jacket he gave you is long gone. 

But you still have one thing. 

A pressed leaf. 

Red. From that tree near the hill.  Where he waited for you every evening.  Where he said nothing — just smiled — like you were his favorite moment of the day. 

You hold the leaf to your chest. 

And for a second…  you close your eyes. 

And pretend he’s sitting beside you. 

Back in the lab, the report still sits unsaved.  You’d written everything except the truth. 

“He didn’t follow me back.” 

But your chest burns with what you didn’t say. 

I think he wanted to.  I think I wanted him to.  And I think I left the part of me that believed in forever… in his hands. 

You missed him. You looked for him in everything. The wind, the leaves, the clouds, the time, everything. And somewhere back in 2019, sunghoon feels the weight of your absence.  

Sunghoon didn't really think it'd affect him that much, but it did. He was helpless when he didn't find you. Asked everyone, searched everywhere but there wasn't a trace of you, there wasn't a thing left behind you. And God, did he miss you.  

The silence after you was worse than the centuries before you. 

You were only here a month —  But the air still tasted like you.  The breeze still moved like the hem of your coat. 

He stood by the river. 

The same one you almost slipped near.  The one where he caught your hand. 

You used to laugh here. 

Now it was empty. 

And so was he. 

His throat burned.  The ache that had quieted in your presence — like your scent tamed the storm in his blood — now returned with wildfire in his veins. 

He hadn’t fed in days.  He didn’t want anyone else. 

He wanted you. 

"Y/N..." he whispered, though the name felt like poison now. 

He tried to hold back.  He really, truly did. 

But you were gone. 

And he had nothing left to prove he was still human. 

The next night, they found the baker's house empty.  Then the woman who sold herbs.  Then the elder by the hill. 

No one saw what took them. 

And Sunghoon? 

He stood in the village center, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, eyes still locked on the road you used to walk down every dusk. 

His hands shook. 

His mouth trembled. 

"You were supposed to stay..."  "You promised me forever in your eyes." 

But you didn’t answer. 

Because you were gone. 

And so were the people in the village.  

The village lingered with only with him feeding off of everyone and your presence.  

Time moved on. 

The village eventually collapsed.  Records rewritten.  Footprints washed away. 

But he didn’t vanish. 

He moved.  Fed.  Lingered in shadows. 

Years passed.  Decades blurred. 

He watched the world crawl toward neon skies and cities that blinked like stars. 

You were long gone.  But he never stopped believing in the possibility that time — the very thing that tore you from him — might one day return you. 

“Okay but hear me out,” Taehyun says, typing aggressively while Mira tries to slap his hand off the panel. “If I didn’t reroute the carbon filters that night, we’d all be bald. Fact.” 

“Fact?” Mira scoffs. “Fact is you nearly made the algae tank sentient. That thing winked at me.” 

“I still miss it,” Jungwon adds quietly, head down in his own files, a faint smile playing at his lips. 

Yuvi kicks her chair back dramatically, groaning. “My simulation’s stuck again. If I see one more ‘Data Error: Please Restart,’ I swear I’ll throw myself into the code.” 

Your lips curve as you watch them — the way the five of you fit into this space like puzzle pieces.  The room hums with soft tech glows and distant rain tapping the glass walls. 

It's late.  But none of you seem in a hurry to leave. 

Mira throws an energy bar at Taehyun. He catches it one-handed, smug.  Jungwon’s quietly stealing Yuvi’s half-charged mug again.  You just watch — feeling both part of it and… a little removed. 

Because they didn’t live what you lived.  Not the way you did. 

Not with him. 

Not with Sunghoon. 

“You good?” Yuvi asks you suddenly, turning in her chair. 

You blink. “Yeah. Just… tired.” 

“Duh,” she says, nudging your arm. “We’re all tired. End of world stuff every Tuesday.” 

You laugh. The others join in.  And just for a second, it feels normal. 

Like the past didn't follow you here.  Like he never reached across time. 

But the quiet ache in your chest says otherwise. 

Later, when the lab empties out one by one — when Yuvi yawns and Mira packs up her files —  you linger behind. 

Taehyun walks past you, ruffling your hair gently like he always does. Jungwon side hugs you as he exits. And Mira and Yuvi give you a hug before logging off.  

Then the lights dim.  The labs settle.  And you finally move. 

It was almost midnight. 

Your body was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and a half-shattered mind.  The labs were quiet. The halls were colder. Your coat clung to your shoulders, and all you wanted was silence. 

You stepped into the elevator. 

It was empty. Or—  so you thought. 

You didn’t even notice him at first. 

Not until the doors closed.  Not until the world narrowed into this steel box.  And not until a voice — low, aching, quiet — cut through the air like a thread snapping in your chest. 

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, your eyes turned toward the figure standing in the far corner. 

And there he was. 

Sunghoon. 

Pressed against the wall of the elevator, the overhead light casting a cold glow across his skin.  His white dress shirt clung perfectly across his chest — sleeves rolled just below his elbows, forearms tense. His black tie was loose, like he’d worn it all day just to see you like this. 

His head was tilted slightly down, shadows covering half of his face — but even in the dimness, you saw it. 

The red.  Faint. Glowing. Watching. 

His jaw clenched. His lashes heavy against his cheek. His entire body still, like he was trying not to shake. 

Like just standing here, in front of you, took everything he had left. 

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. 

He finally looked up.  Right at you. 

“You disappeared,” he said softly.  A step closer. 

“But I didn’t.” 

Another step. 

“I stayed. I searched.” 

His voice trembles. 

“And I waited.” 

He stops inches away from you. Close enough for you to see that his hands are shaking.  That his smile is breaking.  That the pain he’s carried all these years hasn’t dulled — only buried deeper. 

Your lips part, but no words come. 

Because what do you say to a man who waited seventy-one years for a goodbye? 

Your body doesn’t move. But he does. 

He steps forward — slowly — like if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish all over again. 

Then his hand lifts. And he touches you. 

Not roughly. Not hungrily. 

Just one cold, steady hand cupping your cheek — reverent. Careful.  The way he always touched you. Like you were something sacred. 

His other hand rests at your waist, pulling you gently toward him. 

Your breath hitches. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. 

His thumb brushes your skin — and only then, do you exhale. 

But your voice barely comes out. 

“How… how did you get in here?” 

His smile twitches — half amused, half ruined. 

“You’re not the only one who learns things in seventy years.” 

You stare at him. 

“You broke into the lab?” 

“No,” he murmurs. “I learned how to become a ghost in systems like these. Took years. But I found my way into every firewall with your name on it. Every door you walked through.” 

He leans in just slightly — not threatening. Not desperate. 

Just there. Real. Close. 

“I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you again.” 

No matter how many years it’s been —  no matter how far you ran into the future — 

he still found you. 

He holds you like a memory he never let go of.  Like a secret he kept alive for decades. 

And when he finally speaks —  his voice cracks. 

“Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You blink.  Your lips part, but no sound comes out. 

Because how do you explain the sleepless nights?  The dreams where he touched your hand again?  The jacket you almost replicated just to feel close? 

He waits. 

And when you don’t answer — when silence sits between you like a second goodbye — you hear it again: 

“Y/N…”  “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You look up at him then. 

And the glow in his eyes — the faint red warmth — flickers. 

Flickers like it’ll die if you lie. 

Your throat is tight. 

“How did you even find me?” you whisper. 

He smiles — not the charming one.  The broken one. 

“I never stopped looking.” 

A beat. 

“The village disappeared, but I didn’t. I moved. I adapted. I learned your world. I followed every digital trail you left behind. I memorized your voice. I traced you through five corporate systems and twenty years of noise.” 

His forehead leans into yours, almost touching. 

“You left without saying goodbye.”  “I needed to know… if it meant as much to you as it did to me.” 

You’re not breathing. 

Because in his voice — beneath the stillness, the eternal youth —  is pain. 

Not monstrous. Not violent. 

Just human. And heartbreakingly yours. 

Your hands move without thinking.  One rises to his chest — over where his heart used to beat. 

It’s quiet now.  But yours is loud enough for both of you. 

He’s still waiting. 

Eyes glowing.  Breath held. 

“Tell me,” He whispers again. “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You swallow. 

Tears sting the edges of your eyes — the kind you refused to cry back then. The kind you buried inside lab reports and daily logs. 

And finally, your voice breaks. 

“I didn’t forget.” 

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like the words hurt. Like they heal. 

“I just…” you breathe, “I just didn’t know how to come back.” 

There it is. 

The truth. 

The full, naked truth sitting between you —  soft and devastating. 

“I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If you were even—” 

He kisses you. 

Not rushed.  Not hungry. 

Just… quiet. Desperate. Familiar. 

The kind of kiss that says thank you for surviving. 

The kind that says don’t leave again. 

it feels like time folds in on itself. 

Like the wind from the village,  the rain on your skin,  the jacket on your shoulders,  the words you never said —  they all return in that one breath. 

And this time,  you kiss him back. 

Hands gripping the front of his coat, your breath catching —  like your body finally remembered what safety tasted like. 

He pulls you in closer, desperate,  like he still doesn’t believe you’re real.  Like you’ll vanish again if he lets go. 

When your lips part, and you both breathe — barely —  your forehead leans into his. 

The glow in his eyes softens. 

And then— 

“You…” your voice cracks, soft and shaking.  “You waited? For me?” 

His eyes close slowly. 

Not like he’s in pain —  but like your question alone undid him. 

“Of course I did,” he whispers.  “How could I not?” 

You inhale sharply,  because no one’s ever said it like that. 

Not with that kind of certainty.  Like your existence was never forgettable —  just… unforgettable. 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

And just like that—  you stepped into him. 

Your arms wrapped around his torso tight, face burying into his chest, body trembling from everything you’d held back for too long. 

And he— 

He didn’t hesitate. 

He wrapped his arms around you so firmly, so protectively, it almost hurt.  Like if the world tried to take you again, it would have to tear through him first. 

One arm locked around your waist.  The other curled high around your back, hand cradling the base of your neck — fingers gently gripping, anchoring you like he was afraid you’d disappear again. 

“You’re here,” he breathed.  “You’re really here.” 

He didn’t just hold you. 

He claimed you — not with force, but with everything he never got to say. 

This wasn’t a soft embrace. 

This was the way you hold something sacred.  The way you cling to a miracle. 

And for the first time after he met in seventy years,  he didn’t feel cold anymore. 

He held you like you were his whole world —  like everything he endured, every year he starved, every time he nearly gave up…  was worth it just to feel you in his arms again. 

And for a long, still moment —  you didn’t speak. 

You just breathed.  Chest rising against his.  The faint, unfamiliar sound of his heartbeat echoing somewhere far beneath. 

Then, into the quiet, barely louder than a breath— 

“I missed this,” you whispered, cheek pressed against his chest.  “I missed you.” 

His hand gripped you tighter, almost instinctively.  Like your words shattered something inside him he didn’t even know was still breakable. 

He didn’t say anything at first. 

But you felt it —  in the way his thumb moved slowly against your back,  in the way his body trembled just slightly against yours. 

“Say it again,” he murmured. 

You tilted your head just slightly, looked up into those red-flecked eyes that had waited decades for this. 

And this time, you didn’t whisper. 

“I missed you, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you, cupped your face with both of his hands with so much of care as if you were porcelain and would break if you added any more force.  

He kissed your forehead like it was the only language he had left. 

Slow.  Tender.  Devastating. 

Your eyes fluttered shut — his lips lingering just a heartbeat longer, like he couldn’t quite let go. 

And when he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you again —  his voice cracked through the silence. 

“Don’t leave me this time…”  A pause. A breath.  “Angel.” 

The name hit you harder than the kiss. 

Because that’s what he used to call you.  Back in the village.  When your hands were cold from the rain, and he’d wrap his jacket around you like you were something worth saving. 

You blinked back the sting in your eyes.  But he saw it.  Of course he did.  His thumb brushed just beneath your eye. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured.  “Just… stay.” 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: im backkkkkkkkkk y'allllllllllllll !!!!!!!!! also this thing has been keeping me from watching the outside mv so imma watch it now! ALSO WROTE THIS THING IN 2 DAYS LIKE WTH i cant believe i did tht. anyways enjoy and stay hydrated!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mrsjjongstby]

P: Vampire!Sunghoon x Time-travel Scientist!Reader

Warnings: Mentions on biting, blood, feeding scenes, mentions of death, dissapearance, time travelling, yearning, kissing, physical touch, possesiveness, soft angst, happy ending!

Synopsis: In 2090, you're sent back in time to study a village that vanished without explanation. There, you met him. You weren't supposed to fall in love with him. But you did, with a vampire. And when time ran out, you left — believing that story had ended. Until one night, back in the future, he finds you. He hasn’t aged. And he never stopped waiting.

Wordcount: 11.8k

June 22, 2090. 

The hum of the machines never stopped in sector 7. 

Even at 3:27 in the evening, the corridors filled with guards, the bright white light pulsing against the huge glass doors. Surveillance cameras present every nook and crook of the room with security drones flying silently overhead, scanning every face, every badge, every retinal print.  

There were no windows in this part of the KRONEX institute- no clocks, no noise from the outside world. Time, here, was studied, twisted, and sometimes... broken. 

You adjusted the collar of your lab coat, feeling the slight static charge settling against your skin. Another night. Another sequence calibration.  

You were the lead scientist for KRONEX's Temporal Division, and one of only five globally certified operators with direct clearance to manipulate raw time.  

Not because you are lucky- but because you are good- really good at what you do.  

"You are early." Said a familiar voice.  

You turned around to see Taehyun, hands in his lab coat pockets, glasses slightly askew. He always arrived fashionably five minutes late, so this was new.  

"So are you," you say smirking.  

"Someone write it in the history."  

He chuckled, stepping beside you as the biometric scanner opened the reinforced glass doors to Lab room Delta- 12. 

Inside, your team was already gathered,  

Mira, the chronophysics analyst, stood at her console with her usual lip balm which she applies ever minute, tapping at the interface like it owned her something.  

Yuvi, head of atmospheric translation, stayed near the back, mumbling data projections to herself. 

Jungwon, the youngest, but sharp as hell, greeted you with the usual, two fingered salute from behind the drone mapping panel.  

"Took you long enough." Mira muttered without looking up. 

"You're welcome for the coffee I brought you last time." You say as you head to the central table.  

Everyone quickly followed you, sitting around the table. 

You five are the specialized high qualification scientists who got chosen to be the people handling lab delta- 12. Coming from different backgrounds, having same interests and working in cases together for years made your guys' bond unbreakable.  

You five are highly qualified specialists chosen to operate Lab Delta-12. Coming from different backgrounds but sharing the same passion, you've worked on countless cases together over the years — and that’s made your bond unbreakable. 

The door opened, interrupting your casual talks.  

In walked, Dr. Han Myung-sik— head of KRONAX, the man who'd once published a paper predicting time dilation six years before it was observed in real data. His face, though aged, was unreadable— eyes sharp beneath the thick silver eyebrows.  

No one spoke. You all stood up immediately.  

"Sit," he said. "This will be quick."  

The doors sealed shut behind him. A cold hum flickered through the room as he turned on the internal projector.  

Five floating files appeared above the surface. Each labeled, RED CASE.  

"Your group— delta 12 is chosen for this matter." Dr.Han said quietly.  

You could feel the weight of his words which he's about to say.

"We've uncovered five unresolved incidents. Each linked to potentially an unnatural shift in recorded time."  

"These aren't ripples," he continued.  

"These are fractures. Events that don't line up with any known temporal logic. People disappeared, memories vanished, objects never aged and yet—"  

He tapped the interface. The room dimmed, and each of your profiles synced to a case file. 

"You are the only ones qualified to investigate." 

He started pacing slowly.  

"Yuvi. You're being sent to March 2311, Seoul; right before the blackout that erased six months of global data records. You'll observe the internal tech culture and corporate rivalry."  

Yuvi blinked, nodding quietly, already calculating her cover identity.  

"Mira."  

He turned to her.  

"Your case is year 1652, Gyeongju province. A palace scribble who reportedly recorded a 'sky-born woman of light' before his records were seized. The ink used in his account was... not of this earth.” 

Mira grinned. "Finally, something fun."  

"Jungwon. Taehyun. You'll split into Northern territories. Parallel years, overlapping reports. Two villages with identical names, but only one should exist."  

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, "Are we crossing time lines? "  

"Just brushing," Dr.Han replied. "Do not stay longer than you have to."

Then, he turned to you.  

"And you."  

The room stilled.  

"Your case is the most weird one."  

A red dot expanded above the table. 

Satellite data. Korean countryside. Grainy and quiet. 

"A village in 2019 – known to exist, documented, populated and functioning." "Then, it disappeared. Not physically or violently. Just... gone. All the databases rewrote themselves. The people who lived there vanished as if they were never even existed— never even born." "Your job is to go there, undercover. Blend in. Find the root event. Identify the root autonomy and leave before it happens."  

Your fingers clenched lightly under the table. You stared at the red dot on the map.  

2019.  

A quiet time. A dangerous one — because it was still close enough to modern history to be familiar. Easy to slip up. Easy to stay too long.  

"Do we suspect temporal interference?"  

You asked as you shifted your gaze from the red dot to his eyes. Dr.Han meets your eyes. "We suspect something far worse. Something that doesn't belong in any time."  

The files flickered red again. "You'll begin calibration tonight. You jump within 750 hours. That is one month. Use your time wisely."  

As he turned to leave, he paused just once— right by the door.  

"And one more thing," he said without looking back.  "Don't fall in love with the timeline. It doesn't love you back."  

With that, he was gone. The table darkens. The lights return. Yuvi exhales. Mira cracks her knuckles and Jungwon leans forward.  

"2019 huh?" Taehyun mutters beside you. "Better pack your sarcasm and Emo clothes."  

You don't respond. You just stare at the red dot again. 

The village. Gone from memory. Gone from maps. But waiting for you all the same.  

One month. 

And only one day to finish prepping, calibrating your minds, bodies, and identities before entering a timeline that wouldn’t even recognize your names. You sat in the Sim Room, surrounded by floating holoscreens of early-2010s Korea. Architecture. Clothing. Language slang. Historical emotional markers. It was all too recent. Too real. 

Mira was curled on a bench nearby, watching 1600s scrollwork with a look that said I’d rather wing it. Taehyun was arguing with an AI over inconsistency in his destination’s documentation. Again. Jungwon? Already finished his prep module and was now trying to teach Mira how to drink from a metal bottle while upside down. 

“You’re going to the past, not space,” she said, annoyed but smiling.  “Still useful if I end up in a well,” Jungwon shrugged. You blinked away the holograms and stood, stretching out your arms. 

“This doesn’t feel like prep,” Yuvi murmured, joining you. “It feels like goodbye.” 

You didn’t answer.  

She studied you, thoughtful. “You okay with your timeline?”  “2019 is barely the past,” you said. “Feels like I could bump into my parents if I’m not careful.”  “Yeah, but yours is the haunted village,” Mira called. “Mine is just a floating woman in the sky.” 

“You’re the floating woman,” Jungwon muttered under his breath. She chucked a protein chip at him while he hid behind you, holding your shoulders as if his body isn't larger than yours.  

“Alright,” Taehyun said, glancing around. “Final dinner tonight in the Commons? Before the serious lockdown begins?”  “Only if you don’t bring another slide presentation to the table,” Mira groaned. 

“I make no promises.”  You smiled — small, but genuine 

And as the others drifted out of the room, chattering, playfully teasing, you lingered a moment longer — looking up at the blinking red timestamp over the Sim Door. 

30:00:00:00  DAYS : HOURS : MINUTES: SECONDS  JUMP 

You were the first one in the bay. The air smelled sterile, like metal and ionized mist. The chamber was massive — white, cold, humming. Five jump pods lined the back wall, each glowing faint blue with individual temporal calibration. 

The boots of your suit clicked softly as you walked, every step echoing louder than your breath. The fabric hugged your body like skin, the material pressure-sealed and embedded with auto-adaptive climate tech. Your mind was a storm beneath the still surface — years of training colliding with something much quieter. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” came Taehyun’s voice from behind. You turned. He looked exhausted, but composed — the kind of man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. “Didn’t try,” you replied simply. 

He nodded, stepping beside you, with his arm around your shoulder. You both looked at the pods in silence. 

One for each of you. One jump. One direction.  No promises of coming back the same. 

Soon after, Yuvi arrived — hair tied, suit zipped, clutching a small, folded piece of paper in her hand. A name, probably. A reminder of something real. Mira strolled in with a grin too bright to be sincere. “Guess it’s finally happening,” she said, snapping her gum, though her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit cuffs. 

Jungwon came last, walking like he was on his way to a vacation. Humming. But you saw the tension in his knuckles as he flexed them once, twice. Dr. Han entered from the upper level, flanked by three silent technicians and a console assistant holding the jump sequence tablet. 

“Final clearances have been locked in,” he announced, voice loud across the bay. “You have fifteen minutes.” 

One by one, your mission drives were inserted into the small ports at your pod stations. The information would sync once you landed in your time period — personalized cover stories, forged credentials, emergency kill phrases. 

“I’ll see you all again,” Jungwon said, softer now, eyes scanning the rest of you. “In whatever version of time we land in. 

“Bring back something cool,” Mira added. “Like a comet or an alien.”  “Or your soul intact,” Yuvi muttered, mostly to herself. You looked around. 

These people — their lives had been laced into yours for years. Work. Sleep. Discover. Repeat. The way your names felt normal together. The easy sarcasm. The shared silence in moments like this. You didn’t know what it would be like without them.  Maybe you weren’t meant to know. Your pod blinked green. Final sequence activated. 

You stood in front of it, heart slamming once, sharply, against your ribs. 

“You’ll be inserted at 03:12 AM, August 9th, 2019,” Dr. Han said beside you. “Just outside the village’s boundary. Our records end there. No satellite returns after that date. No digital trails. Just fog.” 

You nodded. 

“And remember,” he added, “observe, record, don’t interfere.” He paused. “And don’t stay longer than you have to.” You stepped into the pod. The door hissed closed behind you. Inside: darkness. Soft blue lights blinked around your headrest. A countdown began in the corner. 

00:00:10  00:00:09  00:00:08...  Your breathing slowed. Fingers tight on the seat grips.  00:00:03  00:00:02...  You thought of nothing.  00:00:01  ENGAGING TEMPORAL LAUNCH. 

Everything went white. 

You woke up choking on fog. 

Your knees hit grass first, body staggering out of the collapsed time pod buried beneath undergrowth. The pod disintegrated on schedule — technology melted into mist the second your boots touched this era. You stood slowly, the chill biting through your fabricated 2010s-era jacket. A navy hoodie. Worn boots. Phone model synced to local time tech. Fake ID in your pocket. History-approved.  And ahead of you — trees. Low mist curling over quiet fields. One winding road in the dark. 

“03:14,” you whispered, checking the time. You started walking. It didn’t take long to reach the village. Just a few winding turns along cracked pavement and flickering streetlamps — too dim for a place this small. It looked normal at first glance. Houses with tiled roofs. Wind chimes. A distant dog barking. But the silence? Too heavy. Too complete. Not a single radio. Not one human voice. 

You followed the map projection in your eye lens. Your identity here: transfer student, staying with a distant relative for the summer before university. Your cover was clean. “Blend in. Observe. Don’t interfere.” Dr. Han’s words echoed. 

You reached the village center. A bakery. A post office. A small clinic. It was beautiful — in a nostalgic, sleepy sort of way. You spotted an inn. Two stories. Wooden steps. A soft yellow porch light still glowing. You knocked once. A moment later, an older woman opened the door, eyes squinting at your unfamiliar face. 

“Ah… you must be the niece, right? From Seoul?” You smiled, polite. "Yes, ma’am.”  “Room’s upstairs. Already made it up for you.”  With that, you leave to your room. 

August 10, 2019.

The village was quieter in the morning. Not dead. Just... slow. 

You walked past the corner bakery — the one that smelled like burnt sugar and citrus. Past a row of mailboxes that hadn’t been touched in a week. You weren’t sure if people here hated bills or just trusted too easily. Notebook in your jacket. Identity chip syncing your steps to the research log in your neural band. 

Day 2.  Civilian behavior: consistent.  Average activity start time: 6:53 AM  No sign of temporal noise. No anomalies. 

You smiled and bowed slightly to an old man sweeping the steps outside a shop. He gave you a nod in return. Eyes kind, but faintly puzzled — like he couldn’t remember when you arrived, but accepted you anyway. That was the first pattern you noticed. People here forgot details fast. But nothing big enough to ring alarms. Just enough to feel like déjà vu. 

You took a seat on the raised edge of a well in the town center, glancing down at the still water.  Your eye-lens scanned your surroundings. Kids biking. A woman hanging sheets in perfect rows. Market stalls setting up. 

Everything looked normal. Back at the inn, the old woman handed you a basket. 

“Bread for the east field home. The family that lives up near the woods. They get their supplies late.” 

“East field?” you asked, trying to remember the map. 

“Take the long path. The house is old, but someone’s always there.” 

“Someone?” 

She nodded. “A quiet boy. Rarely speaks. Keeps to himself. Been around longer than most here.” 

You didn’t ask more. Just took the basket and walked. And as you stepped onto the eastern trail, into the trees and shifting light… You didn’t know yet that you were walking toward the beginning. Of the end. 

The path to the east house was longer than expected. 

Thick trees bent overhead like old, quiet watchers. The air here was different — cooler, touched with something metallic. You adjusted the basket in your hands. You finally reached the gate — rusted iron, half open. A path lined with overgrown grass stretched up to a traditional hanok-style house. Wooden. Quiet. Heavy with stillness. 

You stepped through, gently. No animals. No birds. Just that strange silence again. You knocked once. Then twice. No answer. You were about to leave when the door creaked open. And there he was. 

He looked like he didn’t belong in 2019. Or any year. 

Dressed simply — white cotton shirt, black slacks, sleeves slightly rolled up. But there was something... too elegant about the way he held the door. Something slow and precise. Still. His eyes — dark, unfathomable — landed on yours. 

For a full second, he didn’t say a word. Neither did you. “Delivery,” you said softly, lifting the basket. 

“Right,” he replied after a pause, voice smooth, almost melodic. “They said you’d be coming.” 

You held the basket out, but he didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he studied you. Not rudely. Not even intently. Just... curiously. Like a puzzle he couldn’t quite read. Or a scent he wasn’t supposed to follow. The moment you stepped through the trees, he felt it. The beat beneath your skin. The warmth. Your blood had a scent — not strong, not desperate like others. 

Sweet. Calming. Clean. He hadn’t fed in days. But you made the ache stir. “You live here alone?” you asked. 

He nodded. “For a while now.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away. 

“Most people say it’s empty.” 

You tilted your head. “Are you?” 

That made something shift in his gaze — not amusement exactly, but the ghost of something near it. “Not today,” he said finally. 

He took the basket, fingers brushing yours for just half a second. His skin was cool. Not cold. But noticeably not warm. “Thank you,” he said, stepping back. “Be careful going back. The light fades fast out here.” 

You turned to leave, but your instincts tugged once. “What’s your name?” you asked over your shoulder. 

A pause. 

“Sunghoon,” he said quietly. 

You nodded once. “I’m Y/N.” Another pause. “I know,” he said. 

And then the door closed. As you walked back down the path, heart steady but hands tingling from where his touched yours, you couldn’t shake one thing: There had been no heartbeat behind that door. Just silence. You don’t notice someone- Sunghoon, watching you from his window as you walk back. 

And that, that night few people go missing because Sunghoon, couldn’t handle his hunger for blood. Not when he was reminded of how desperate he was to taste something sweet- something pure like your blood- like you. He can’t bite you, not yet. So, he resorted to his usual way, biting the villagers. One by one.  

It was quiete big village when Sunghoon first step foot in there. 2010. The year Sunghoon decided to enter into the huge village, leaving behind memories of his previous life- the one where everyone treated him like the monster he was. He didn’t like it one bit. So? He ended it. Bit and killed everyone who called him a monster.  

Leaving behind memories and people wasn’t new to him. He’s been like that since he was turned- since 527 years. It's what he’s best at other than sucking peoples’ blood. Having spent many years on this planet made him discard unwanted memories for good.  

And maybe that’s why he never truly loved anyone. It’s not because he isn’t capable of it. It's because he knows that they won't stick around. Not when they find out what he is, not when they leave this world entirely. Also, because, he never truly found someone who made him feel things. Feel things which are foreign to him- Desire.  

Desire for blood? Thats more like filling his hunger. Desire is what he felt when he saw you. If you ever told Sunghoon that he’d yearn for a girl he met once, he’d scoff, shaking his head. That can never happen, not when he's been on this earth for more than 500 years. He knows how to control his feelings- it was easy for him because he didn't have any feelings in the first place.  

But why is that the moment he saw you, heard you- your hearbeat, your blood pulsing in your throat, smelled the scent of you, he wanted to make you his?  

Its funny, really. This whatever weird feeling he has in his stomach is new to him. Perhaps he’s hungry for your blood? No. He’s hungry for you.  

You are here to find out how the village disappeared. Maybe you do find out that he’s the reason for the mass disappearance. But will your heart obey to leave behind everything that you've uncovered here? Leave behind someone, who is the sole reason why the disappearance happened in the first place? 

Only the future holds the answer. Maybe the present? You truly don't know, not when the time’s twisted and you are spiralling in it. 

August 14, 2019. 

You weren’t planning to run into him again. You were just taking the trail by the lake. Collecting audio samples. Watching people prep for the lantern festival — all smiles and paper crafts, sunlight catching on water like glass. But then there he was. Standing near the edge of the hill that overlooked the lake. Not moving. Just… watching it. Like the water itself had said something only he could hear. 

You almost didn’t say anything. But he turned to you first. 

“You walk this path often?” 

His voice was still soft. Still slow. Like everything he said had already passed through a hundred filters before reaching you. 

“Not really,” you said, stepping closer. “But it’s quiet. Good for thinking.” 

“Thinking,” he echoed, like it was a foreign word. “You do that a lot?” 

You smiled. “Occupational hazard.” 

“Ah,” he said. “Let me guess. You’re a writer.” 

“Wrong.” 

“A scientist?” 

You blinked. A beat too long. 

“Why that guess?” 

“Your eyes,” he said. 

“What about them?” 

“They look like they’re always dissecting things. Even me.” 

He turned back to the lake after that, leaving your thoughts spiraling slightly behind him. The sun was dipping lower, casting light through the trees. A warm breeze stirred the ends of your hair, and for once, you didn’t feel like recording anything. Just being here. 

“Why do you live so far from the village?” you asked. 

“They forget me better this way.” 

You frowned. “That’s sad.” 

“Not really.” 

“When people forget you… you stop needing to prove you exist.” 

You turned to him then — not just listening but really seeing him. The distance in his eyes. The calm sadness he wore like second skin. 

“You don’t want to be remembered?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just don’t mind being forgotten.” 

A few kids laughed somewhere nearby, running with paper lanterns. You looked down at your shoes. “You’re hard to forget, you know.” It slipped out before you could stop it. He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, so quietly: “So are you.” 

Neither of you moved. The wind stilled. The air felt... charged. Like time paused. Just for this. 

Then— “You should go,” he said gently.

“It gets colder here after sunset.” He wasn’t pushing you away. But he was. And that strange ache bloomed behind your ribs without warning. You turned to go, steps slow. And as you walked, you felt his eyes on your back the entire time. 

August 18, 2019. 

It was supposed to be a short walk. You’d been gathering weather data, checking tree patterns near the edge of the forest. The innkeeper said the rain wouldn’t come until morning. But the sky didn’t listen. It started with a single drop. Then another. 

Within seconds, it was falling fast — fat, cold drops smacking against your shoulders, soaking through your hoodie in a matter of moments. You pulled the fabric up over your head and turned to head back — but the path was already slick, the trees pressing in closer, and fog began to roll over the field like a breath held too long. 

“Seriously?” you muttered, shivering. That’s when you saw him. Standing just under the crooked edge of an old pavilion by the hill — motionless, dry, and completely unbothered by the storm.  Sunghoon. 

You blinked, surprised. "You're always just… appearing out of nowhere.” 

“You're always walking into places you shouldn't be alone,” he replied calmly, eyes tracking the water running down your cheek. 

You hesitated. Then stepped under the structure, chest heaving slightly from the sudden cold. Your shoulders were soaked. Hair clinging to your face. Hands trembling. He watched you quietly. “You're freezing.” 

You gave a weak smile. “That tends to happen when it rains on humans.” 

He didn’t return it. Instead, he removed his outer jacket and handed it over without a word. You stared at it. “I’m already wet. You don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

You took it slowly. It was still warm. 

You slipped it on. It smelled like night air and something faintly old — like worn books and clean linen. Not the scent of someone who lived alone in a dusty house. 

The silence stretched. 

Raindrops tapping the roof like a ticking clock. 

Your breath fogged the air. 

His didn’t. 

“Why were you even out here?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer immediately. 

Then: 

“I thought you’d come this way.” 

You turned your head sharply. “You were… waiting for me?” 

He didn’t flinch. 

“Something about the sky felt wrong. I knew you’d ignore it.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I know your pattern.” 

That shut you up for a moment. 

And somehow... warmed you. 

More than the jacket did. 

Your teeth chattered softly. You turned away, embarrassed. 

Suddenly, you felt something. 

His fingers — gently, lightly — tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. 

You froze. 

“You should be more careful,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rain. “This place doesn’t forgive softness.” 

You looked up at him then. 

And he was already too close. 

Not touching. 

Not reaching. 

Just there. 

And for a second, you wondered what it would be like if he leaned in just a little more. 

“Do you always talk like that?” you whispered, lips parted. “Like you’re centuries old?” 

He gave the faintest smile like he knows something you don’t. 

The rain kept falling. The sky stayed grey. 

And your heartbeat too loudly in your ears. 

You didn’t ask him why his hands were cold even though he felt warm. 

You didn’t ask why he never blinked when he looked at you. 

The rain kept falling. 

And he stood there, completely still, listening to the rhythm of her blood, her breath, her heart... 

And all he could think was: 

Don’t touch her again.  Don’t want her.  Don’t let her see the monster inside you. 

But it was already too late. 

Because for the first time in years, he wanted something enough to lose control. 

And it was you. 

The rain had stopped, but the night still smelled like it. 

You walked slowly. 

Beside him. 

His jacket still hung over your shoulders, and you hadn’t given it back. He hadn’t asked. 

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” you said softly, watching your boots splash through a shallow puddle. 

“I know.” 

He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was warm. Like he wanted to say, I just wanted more time with you, but didn’t know how. 

The village lights shimmered faint in the distance — soft and yellow, like floating lanterns. 

It felt like you were the only two people in the world. 

“Do you always spend your nights out there?” you asked. 

“Sometimes. I like the quiet.” 

“Most people don’t,” you said. “Silence makes them uncomfortable.” 

He glanced at you. 

“What about you?” 

You thought about it. 

“I think silence is the only time people stop pretending.” 

He actually smiled at that. Just a little. The kind that tugged one corner of his mouth — barely visible, but real. 

“What do you do all day?” you asked, curious now. “No job? No classes?” 

“I read,” he said. “Walk. Watch.” 

“That sounds like what I do, too.” 

“You watch more than most people,” he replied, side-eying you. “Always observing. Analyzing.” 

You raised a brow. “Are you calling me creepy?” 

“No,” he said. “Just... different.” 

You looked away to hide your smile. 

“Is that your way of saying I’m weird?” 

“No,” he repeated, slower this time. “It’s my way of saying I see you.” 

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “What did you want to be when you were little?” 

He didn’t answer right away. 

“I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It’s been a long time since I was little.” 

You turned to him, blinking. “How old are you, Sunghoon?” 

He looked at you. Really looked. 

Then smiled like he knew he shouldn’t say the next thing — but said it anyway. 

“Older than I look.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not an answer.” 

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” 

You reached the inn gate. 

The lantern outside flickered faintly in the breeze.  Neither of you moved. 

The air was warmer now. The clouds had parted just enough for moonlight to wash over the steps. 

You stood there — his jacket still on your shoulders, the scent of rain still on your skin, and his eyes fixed gently on you. 

“Good night, Sunghoon,” you said finally, stepping up to the door. 

“Good night, Y/N.” 

You turned the handle. 

Just before stepping inside, you hesitated. 

“You never told me what you like,” you said over your shoulder. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Like?” 

“Hobbies. Music. Favorite food. Normal things.” 

Another pause. 

Then: 

“The sound of rain,” he said. “Books with no endings. And people who don’t run away.” 

You met his eyes. 

And something about the way he said it made your heart ache. 

You didn’t know why. 

But you didn’t look away. 

Not for a long moment. 

Then finally, you stepped inside. 

And closed the door. 

August 20, 2019.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. 

Just returning a jacket. 

Just a polite gesture. 

Just good manners. 

So why did your pulse stutter when the house came into view? 

The same tall trees. The same crooked path. The same quiet. 

You climbed the short stone steps and raised your hand to knock — but before you could, the door opened. 

He was already there. 

Like he’d been waiting. 

Or like he’d heard you coming long before you got close. 

“You came back,” he said, voice low, like sunlight through fog. 

“Just to return this,” you said quickly, lifting the folded jacket. 

“Of course.” 

But he didn’t take it. 

Instead, he stepped aside. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

You blinked. 

“Is that okay?” 

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

You stepped inside. 

The air was cool, but not cold. The interior still had that strange untouched feeling — like a photo frozen in time. Wood floors. A low bookshelf. A kettle on the counter, untouched. 

You walked slowly, setting the jacket on the nearest chair. 

“You live like a ghost,” you said softly.��

He raised a brow. “I’m neat.” 

“You’re ancient,” you teased. 

He smirked faintly. “So you’ve said.” 

You turned toward the bookshelf — rows of old spines and journals, some in languages you didn’t recognize. One looked handwritten. Another... burned around the edges. 

“These don’t look like they’re from a village library.” 

“They’re not.” 

“So what are they?” 

“Pieces of me,” he said. 

You paused, looking back. 

His expression didn’t change, but there was something fragile in his stillness. 

You let the question go. 

“Tea?” he asked suddenly, already reaching for the kettle. 

“You drink tea?” 

“No. But you do.” 

He made it quietly. Smooth movements. No wasted motion. 

He handed you the mug and sat across from you, careful, like he was making sure there was enough distance. 

“Do people visit you often?” you asked, wrapping your hands around the cup. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“Because they forget me,” he said. “Or… I let them.” 

“But you didn’t want me to forget you?” you asked quietly. 

His eyes met yours. 

Dark. Unreadable. 

“I didn’t plan on you remembering at all.” 

You blinked. “What changed?” 

He stared at the steam curling between you. 

Then said, without blinking: 

“You smiled at me.” 

The silence stretched. 

The weight of it made your chest feel tight. 

Your fingers tightened around the mug. 

“Why do you always say things like that?” you whispered. 

“Like what?” 

“Like it means something. And then you never explain.” 

He stood up then, slowly — walking toward the window, looking out at the trees. 

“Because I’ve learned that explaining doesn’t stop people from leaving.” 

“So you just... stay mysterious?” 

“No,” he said, without turning around. “I stay safe.” 

You stood too. Quiet steps. 

He didn’t move as you stopped beside him, just far enough for the space between your hands to hum. 

“What are you so afraid of, Sunghoon?” you asked, not accusing — just soft. 

A pause. 

Then finally: 

“That if you knew the truth about me… you'd stop smiling at all.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“Nothing. Don’t think too much.” He says. 

You didn’t leave. 

You just stood beside him. 

And for a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy. 

It was tender. 

“You okay?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer. 

Didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Because right now, he could feel it rising — that burn behind his eyes, the pressure in his jaw, the ancient ache in his throat. 

The want. 

Not just to feed. 

To claim. 

“I think you should go,” he said, voice tight. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.” 

“Then—” 

“Please.” 

His back was turned now.  He couldn’t let her see his face.  Not when his eyes were beginning to glow. Not when his fangs had started to edge down. 

He bit the inside of his cheek — hard enough to draw blood. Let the pain steady him. Anchor him. 

“Sunghoon? Is something wrong? You can trust me- I trust you.”  

But all he said was: 

“I don’t trust myself.” 

You stared at his back for a long moment. 

Then quietly… you left. 

The door shut behind you with a soft click. 

And he stood there in the quiet, eyes still burning, heart raging inside a chest that shouldn’t have had one anymore. 

August 21, 2019. 

You went to the library to check the village’s records.  

To look for any book, any magazine, any piece of information that would help you get a better insight about the village’s roots.  

You found a series of census logs tucked into a low cabinet—records of the village’s population numbers and names dating back to the 1900s. Faded, but surprisingly intact. 

And that’s when you saw it. 

A pattern. 

In 2010, the population was 528.  In 2012, it dropped to 413.  By 2015: 290.  2017: 178. 

No official records of why.  No mass migration.  No natural disaster.  No illness outbreak. 

Just... names disappearing. 

Not all at once.  Not dramatically. 

But slowly.  Like something was taking them. One by one. 

You scanned the reports harder now. 

Looking for causes. Deaths. Relocations. 

But most names just had one word stamped across the last column: 

“Unrecorded.” 

You slammed the binder shut and sat back. 

Your chest felt tight. 

You looked around the library. The light felt colder. The silence heavier. 

This is getting nowhere. Rather than the doubts clearing, more questions are surfacing. Too many questions. Too less information. You doubt you are even eligible to solve this mystery. Maybe Dr.Han realizes he made a mistake choosing you once you return. You wonder how the others are doing. Are they going through the same difficulties?  

You shake your head as if it shakes away the insecure thoughts creeping up. You need to focus. On this village. The people. Everyone here seems normal except... Sunghoon. 

He always seemed to appear when no one else was around. 

Your fingers curled against the cover of the book. 

No. Don’t jump to conclusions. That doesn’t mean anything. 

And yet… 

Something in your gut whispered otherwise. 

Still, when the sun began to set— 

You found yourself walking toward the hill. 

Toward him. 

Carrying questions you couldn’t ask yet. 

And a heart that didn’t want answers- the real ones.  

The sky was painted in soft blue fading to lavender.  The last light of the sun had just dipped behind the mountains, leaving a glow that shimmered across the tall grass. 

You stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the village lights far below.  Everything was quiet. 

Except your thoughts. 

Except him. 

Sunghoon stood beside you — close, not quite touching. Hands in his pockets. Eyes on the horizon. 

“You always find the quietest places,” you said softly. 

“I think they find me.” 

You turned to him, trying to read that impossible expression on his face. 

“You always talk like that. Like there’s a whole world in your head and you’re just… giving me scraps.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he said. “I just forget how to be anything else.” 

You took a breath. 

“Then remind yourself. Just for tonight. Just for me.” 

He looked at you then. 

Really looked. 

And for the first time, he didn’t look away. 

“You scare me,” he said quietly. 

That made your chest tighten. 

“Why?” 

“Because you make me want to stay.” 

The wind brushed through the grass. 

Your heart was too loud. Your breath too soft. 

He stepped closer. 

His hand, trembling just slightly, reached up and cupped your cheek — gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he touched too hard. 

His thumb brushed under your eye, then trailed down to your jaw. 

“Say something,” he whispered. 

You didn’t. 

You leaned in instead. 

And he met you there. 

The kiss was nothing like you imagined. 

It wasn’t rushed.  It wasn’t wild. 

It was slow. 

Like two people learning what it meant to feel alive again. 

His lips were cool at first — like the wind before rain — but they softened against yours. Moved with aching care. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth and trying not to fall apart doing it. 

You felt his breath catch. 

Felt his hand slide into your hair. 

Felt your knees go weak when he deepened the kiss — still gentle, still hesitant, but full of something you didn’t have a name for. 

And then— 

He pulled away. 

Fast. 

Like he’d caught fire. 

His eyes were wide.  Not with lust. Not even guilt. 

With fear. 

“I shouldn’t have—” 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, reaching for him. 

He stepped back. 

“No. This was a mistake.” 

“Why are you doing this again?”  “Every time I get close, you push me away. Why?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Not with words. 

But his face… 

That expression? 

It looked like someone who just tasted something too good.  Something too human.  Something that made him forget what he was. 

“Because I can’t be the reason you get hurt,” he finally said. 

And then he turned away. 

Leaving you alone with a kiss that still burned on your lips, and a silence that felt heavier than ever. 

August 26, 2019. 

You ignored him after that. Turned your head away whenever he got into. Looked away first when you both made eye contact. Avoided him when he came to apologize the very next day of your kiss.  

Not cause you hate him. You wish you did but no. You remember what Dr.Han said, “Observe. Record. don’t interfere.” You can't risk everything just cause of some stupid, weird feelings that you have. No. You can’t let your emotions get in the way of your case. This isn't right.  

Youre altering time, you should do it wisely, not recklessly.  

And so, you did what you thought was best. Ignore. Distance. Observe. 

Or so, you thought.  

You weren’t expecting to run into him. 

But of course you did. 

He was leaning against the side wall of the bakery, half-hidden in the shade, like always. Silent. Watching. 

He didn’t call out. 

Didn’t wave. 

But you felt it — the shift in air when his gaze hit you. That quiet weight of his presence. 

You almost kept walking. 

Almost. 

But then— 

“Y/N.” 

His voice was low. Not cold. Just… tired. 

You turned after a moment of hesitation. 

Met his eyes. 

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked. 

Simple question. 

But it landed sharp. 

You didn’t answer right away. 

“I’ve just been… busy.” 

“You’ve seen me.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk.” 

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping forward. “Don’t turn it around like it’s me.” 

You blinked. “I’m not—” 

“You haven’t looked at me in five days.” 

His tone wasn’t angry.  It was quiet. Steady. Too steady. 

“You smiled at me one night,” he said, “and then the next morning, it’s like I didn’t exist.” 

“Sunghoon—” 

“And I thought—”  He paused. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.  “I thought maybe you needed space. But then I saw you with that guy. That tall one from the orchard. And you were laughing. Just… laughing. Like everything’s normal.” 

You looked away. 

He let the silence settle. 

Then finally: 

“It hurt.” 

That was it. Just that. 

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just real. 

You didn’t know what to say. So, you said the only truth you had: 

“I’m scared, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you for a long time. 

“Of me?” 

“Of not knowing what’s happening. Of what this village is hiding. Of what you’re hiding.” 

You stepped back slightly, instinctively. Not far. 

But enough. 

His eyes dropped to the space between you.  Then back up. 

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?” 

You hesitated. 

Then, quietly: 

“I don’t know.” 

That broke something in him. 

You saw it. In his eyes. 

Not rage. 

Just sadness. 

“I wouldn’t,” he said softly. “Not even if I wanted to.” 

You turned back and left without replying, unable to look into his face or even talk to him. 

September 5, 2019. 

You shouldn’t have gone looking. 

You told yourself you weren’t.  That you just needed air.  That the trail by the forest was peaceful this time of day. 

But really? You missed him. 

And you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you. Not even if I wanted to.” 

It looped in your mind for days. Through sleep. Through silence. Through guilt. 

You didn’t give him an answer. So, you were going to. 

You were going to find him and say you’re not sure what this is, but you’re willing to try. That you believe he’s good. That you want to believe it, even if you’re scared. 

But then— 

You saw it. 

You heard something first. 

A low sound. Guttural. Like a growl tucked beneath a breath. 

And then a figure stumbling — just ahead. At the edge of the trees. A man. Drunk? Hurt? 

And beside him—  Holding him up— 

Was Sunghoon. 

Or… something that used to be him 

His head was tilted.  His lips pressed just beneath the man’s jaw.  His hands clutched the man’s shoulders too tightly.  And his eyes— 

They glowed. 

Not fully.  Just enough for the shadows to catch it. 

Red. Dim. Inhuman. 

You saw his mouth open.  Saw the flash of fang. 

And then— 

The man sagged. 

Like air had left him. 

You froze. 

Your heart punched against your ribs. 

He stared.  Still half-shadowed.  Blood on his mouth. 

He stepped forward. 

“Y/N.” 

You backed up. 

Didn’t speak. 

Didn’t breathe. 

Your eyes wide. Your expression already saying everything your voice couldn’t. 

Fear. 

The kind that wasn’t subtle. 

The kind you couldn’t take back. 

“No,” he said quietly. “No, don’t—please don’t look at me like that.” 

He wiped at his mouth. Quickly. Clumsily. 

“I can explain. It’s not—” 

You flinched when he stepped closer. 

That did it. 

He stopped. 

His hands dropped to his sides. 

And something in him… wilted. 

“So, this is it?” he whispered. 

His voice wasn’t cold.  Wasn’t sharp.  It was just… empty. 

You didn’t say anything. 

Couldn’t. 

You turned. 

And ran. 

And behind you, the last thing you heard was him whispering into the night: 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

You rushed back home and stumbled in. 

You quickly went to your bedroom, opening the drawers and pulled out your logbook. 

You sat on the floor beside your bed after grabbing a marker.  

The pages were filled with sketches. Maps. Observations.  And now? 

Scribbled question marks. Shaky handwriting. A timeline you couldn’t look at anymore. 

2010 — population: 528  2012 — 413  2015 — 290  2017 — 178  2019 — barely 60 left. 

No disease.  No evacuation orders.  No record of where they went. 

But you knew now. 

You saw it. 

His eyes. His fangs.  The man in the forest, half-drained and limp in his arms. 

You knew. 

And the truth clawed at your throat like it didn’t want to be swallowed. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he had said. 

You remembered his voice.  Too quiet.  Too pained to be fake. 

But it didn’t matter now, did it? 

Because while he was giving you flowers and walking you home… 

He was feeding on the people who welcomed you with tea and stories. 

You closed your eyes. 

Your hands were trembling. 

You remembered the first time you saw him. 

How unreal he looked in the moonlight.  How safe you felt beside him. 

How stupid that was now. 

Was any of it real? 

The kiss. The laughter. The jacket he left folded on your bed. 

Or were you just the next name on his list? 

The next girl to get too close? 

Were you just another pawn in his game?  

Whatever it was, you shouldn't have gotten close with him. Shouldn't have tried to interfere. You shouldn't have done it and God, you regret it.  

And for the first time in years…  You cried. 

Not from fear.  But from heartbreak. 

If only you backed down that day on the hill. If only you shouldn't have let him close to you. If only... 

September 7, 2019. 

After that day, you didn't leave your room. 

You didn't go out, the fear of him catching you always haunting your mind whenever you reach for the door handle. 

And weirdly enough, you should feel better, you really should but why did you feel... empty?  

He’s a monster! He kills innocent people, hes a vampire. But why didn't the fact alone scare you? Why were you craving for his presence? Why were you thinking about the moments you've spent together? This isn't even real. Its past, you weren't even born at this time period. You shouldn't be feeling things you aren't supposed to. 

But you can't deny the fact that your heart aches for his presence- for him.  

But you don't have time for this. Not when you have two days on your watch. Two days before everything goes back to normal, hopefully. And so, you push aside your feelings saying the time is playing tricks on you and start writing the report.  

All of your log entries, now are typed and kept in digital doc by you. You enter the log entries, from day one to the day you discovered the root cause of all of this- the dissapearance. You procrastinated too much while typing them in, thinking about all the wonderful days you’ve spent with locals- with him. 

But all of this isn't real, at the end of the day. You don't belong here- you shouldn't. This isn't your timeline. This is not your story. This isn't the reality you are supposed to live in and experience. This is just a case that you've got assigned to. It's your duty. And you fulfilled it by finding out the reason. And this is where you shall end it. End of this chapter, end of this case and end of him.  

September 9, 2019.  

Today is the day. 

You pack your bag, filling it with the things you bought and the things you are taking back to your timeline. The memories, the events and the adventures.  

There wasn't a single second you haven't thought about him. But this is it. You have to say your goodbyes.  

You can't warn the others, who haven't yet got bitten by Sunghoon. Because as dr.Han said, “Don't interfere.”  

Youve already made the mistake of not listening to him and crossed the boundary and faced the consequences. You aren't going to do it again. Because at the end of the day, its fate. It already happened. You can't change it, not even when you go back in time. Because what's written, is written. If changed, you are bound to face the consequences.  

History can't be re-written.  

And so, with that, you leave.  

You stood by the terminal light beam.  

Delta 12’s jump pulse flickering through the mist. 

Your bag beside you. Your heart heavy with no one in the future world- the real world would understand or know of.  

You turned back one last time towards the village. 

Thanking it for everything it gave you- thanking it for giving Sunghoon. 

Who'll be remembered as the passing wind and the falling of leaves by you.  

And when you jumped- 

The light swallowed you whole. 

And in the same breath,  

You were gone.  

July 22, 2090. 

You opened your eyes. 

The jump light was fading.  The room around you was cold. White. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache. 

You were home. 

But it didn’t feel like it. 

Not yet. 

Your bag was still at your side. Your fingers still trembling. Your body still in two places — the sterile floors of the lab… and the moss-soft grass beneath his feet. 

You didn’t even notice the door sliding open until you heard the softest gasp. 

“Y/N?” 

You turned. 

And there she was. 

Mira.  Her braid was undone, her coat slung over one arm, her eyes red — like she’d either just woken up… or hadn’t slept since the moment she jumped back. 

She stared at you. 

Then smiled. Weakly. 

“God, it’s you.” 

You couldn’t speak. 

You didn’t have to. 

She crossed the space between you in three quick steps and pulled you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed until her arms wrapped around you. 

You felt her chest shudder. 

You were crying too. 

Soon, the others trickled in. 

Taehyun — still composed, but his eyes softer than usual.  Yuvi — who dropped her bag the second she saw you, crashing into the hug with a half-laugh, half-sob. Jungwon — who just stood by the door for a long time, taking all of you in like he didn’t believe you were real until that moment. 

No one said much at first. 

They just… stood there. 

Five people who had faced time itself. 

And came back with hearts a little heavier. 

Eyes a little older. 

It felt nice. Seeing everyone’s familiar faces after being drowned in unfamiliar faces who don't even exist in reality.  

Finally, Mira sniffed and said, voice shaking: 

“I missed you guys.” 

Yuvi let out a teary laugh. 

“I didn’t realize how much till now.” 

Jungwon gave a small nod, blinking fast. 

Taehyun just whispered: 

“You’re all here.” 

You wiped your face and smiled. 

Soft. Quiet. Real. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re here.” 

You all look at each other. A moment of silence. As if you guys are finally taking in and registering everyone’s presence. And then, you all hugged. A big group hug filled with emotions which arent said loud but felt. And finally, you felt like you are back home.  

September 11, 2019.  

The room smelled of old circuits and sterile air.  The walls glowed faint blue, humming with quiet energy. 

You sat where you always had —  Same table.  Same lights.  Same white jackets. 

But nothing was the same anymore. 

Not the silence.  Not the weight in everyone’s eyes. 

Not the version of you that existed before. 

The door slid open. 

Dr. Han stepped in, shoulders straighter than usual, expression unreadable. 

“Good morning.” 

He stood at the edge of the circular table, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning each of you. 

“You’ve all returned safely,” he said. “On record, your missions were successful. But the records don’t matter if we don’t understand why.” 

He took a breath. 

“So, let’s talk about what really happened.” 

Dr. Han looked at Yuvi first.  

“Yuvi. March 2311. Seoul. What caused the blackout?” 

Yuvi didn’t hesitate.  But her voice was softer than usual. 

“It wasn’t just data loss,” she said. “It was deliberate. The two largest tech giants—SolarCore and NeuraStream—were engaged in a silent war for memory control. They each tried to overwrite the other’s data… and in doing so, they wiped everyone’s.” 

A pause. 

“The blackout wasn’t a glitch. It was a battle. One that made the world forget six months — and made the companies forget what humanity was.” 

Dr. Han only nodded. 

“Mira. 1652. The scribe’s ink.” 

Mira folded her hands. 

“The man wasn’t mad. The ‘sky-born woman of light’ — she was a time displacer like us. From the future. Possibly one of the early, undocumented tests.” 

She met Dr. Han’s eyes. 

“The ink? It was our ink. Synthetic. Used in lab reports.” 

Silence fell. 

Dr. Han blinked slowly. “You’re saying the anomaly… was ours.” 

“Yes,” Mira whispered. “We caused the myth.” 

“You two. Northern Territories. Duplicated villages.” 

Taehyun glanced at Jungwon. Jungwon gave a tiny nod. 

“There were two villages,” Jungwon said. “Identical. Same people. Same dogs. Same newspapers.” 

“Except,” Taehyun added, “They existed in overlapping timelines. One was five minutes behind the other. A permanent sync lag caused by a failed early prototype of time field testing.” 

Jungwon finished it quietly. 

“It was human error. A time scar. We tried to erase one. But they both kept living… until one finally collapsed.” 

“Y/N,” Dr. Han said, turning to you. “The village of Myeon-ri. The one that vanished without cause.” 

Your fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table. 

You could still feel the wind there. Still hear his voice. 

You slid the chip forward. 

“There was no disease. No mass migration. No disaster. It was slow. Intentional.” 

You looked up. 

“A predator lived there. Not wild. Human-shaped. Possibly centuries old. A vampire, by older terms. He fed carefully, spaced apart. But eventually, the numbers dropped too far.” 

The others stared. 

You didn’t flinch. 

“He didn’t want the village gone. But he couldn’t stop. And no one remembered the ones who vanished. They were erased — from memory, from databases. Like they never existed.” 

“Vampire?” Dr.Han questioned. 

“Vampire.” You confirmed.  

Dr. Han asked, quietly: 

“Did he know who you were?” 

A pause. 

You met his gaze. 

“No.” 

A beat. 

“But I think I knew who he used to be.” 

You lied. Of course he knows you. He knows the woman he fell for the first time. He knows the woman who was his first ever kiss. 

You didn't tell them. You didn't to protect him and in a way, protect yourself too. 

Dr. Han stepped back. He looked at each of you — not as scientists, but as people who had seen too much. 

“You all did what centuries of historians couldn’t. You brought back truth.” 

He turned toward the exit, then paused. 

“Take the week off. Rest. File clean versions by the end of the month. We’ll… figure out what to do with the rest.” 

The door hissed closed behind him. 

And you all sat in silence.  Hearts still somewhere in another time. 

The streets are quiet at 2 a.m. 

Neon signs buzz in blues and pinks.  Artificial rain shimmers above, falling against projection domes that keep your coat dry. 

You pass a street musician playing a slow guitar. 

The song is unfamiliar.  But it feels like him. 

Like a song you might’ve danced to on his porch.  Or hummed under your breath while he walked you home. 

Your throat tightens. 

You sit on a bench, ignoring your holopad as it pings with follow-up requests from Dr. Han. 

You can’t open the file.  You can’t even look at his name on the case label. 

Your hand slowly reaches into your coat pocket. 

The jacket he gave you is long gone. 

But you still have one thing. 

A pressed leaf. 

Red. From that tree near the hill.  Where he waited for you every evening.  Where he said nothing — just smiled — like you were his favorite moment of the day. 

You hold the leaf to your chest. 

And for a second…  you close your eyes. 

And pretend he’s sitting beside you. 

Back in the lab, the report still sits unsaved.  You’d written everything except the truth. 

“He didn’t follow me back.” 

But your chest burns with what you didn’t say. 

I think he wanted to.  I think I wanted him to.  And I think I left the part of me that believed in forever… in his hands. 

You missed him. You looked for him in everything. The wind, the leaves, the clouds, the time, everything. And somewhere back in 2019, sunghoon feels the weight of your absence.  

Sunghoon didn't really think it'd affect him that much, but it did. He was helpless when he didn't find you. Asked everyone, searched everywhere but there wasn't a trace of you, there wasn't a thing left behind you. And God, did he miss you.  

The silence after you was worse than the centuries before you. 

You were only here a month —  But the air still tasted like you.  The breeze still moved like the hem of your coat. 

He stood by the river. 

The same one you almost slipped near.  The one where he caught your hand. 

You used to laugh here. 

Now it was empty. 

And so was he. 

His throat burned.  The ache that had quieted in your presence — like your scent tamed the storm in his blood — now returned with wildfire in his veins. 

He hadn’t fed in days.  He didn’t want anyone else. 

He wanted you. 

"Y/N..." he whispered, though the name felt like poison now. 

He tried to hold back.  He really, truly did. 

But you were gone. 

And he had nothing left to prove he was still human. 

The next night, they found the baker's house empty.  Then the woman who sold herbs.  Then the elder by the hill. 

No one saw what took them. 

And Sunghoon? 

He stood in the village center, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, eyes still locked on the road you used to walk down every dusk. 

His hands shook. 

His mouth trembled. 

"You were supposed to stay..."  "You promised me forever in your eyes." 

But you didn’t answer. 

Because you were gone. 

And so were the people in the village.  

The village lingered with only with him feeding off of everyone and your presence.  

Time moved on. 

The village eventually collapsed.  Records rewritten.  Footprints washed away. 

But he didn’t vanish. 

He moved.  Fed.  Lingered in shadows. 

Years passed.  Decades blurred. 

He watched the world crawl toward neon skies and cities that blinked like stars. 

You were long gone.  But he never stopped believing in the possibility that time — the very thing that tore you from him — might one day return you. 

“Okay but hear me out,” Taehyun says, typing aggressively while Mira tries to slap his hand off the panel. “If I didn’t reroute the carbon filters that night, we’d all be bald. Fact.” 

“Fact?” Mira scoffs. “Fact is you nearly made the algae tank sentient. That thing winked at me.” 

“I still miss it,” Jungwon adds quietly, head down in his own files, a faint smile playing at his lips. 

Yuvi kicks her chair back dramatically, groaning. “My simulation’s stuck again. If I see one more ‘Data Error: Please Restart,’ I swear I’ll throw myself into the code.” 

Your lips curve as you watch them — the way the five of you fit into this space like puzzle pieces.  The room hums with soft tech glows and distant rain tapping the glass walls. 

It's late.  But none of you seem in a hurry to leave. 

Mira throws an energy bar at Taehyun. He catches it one-handed, smug.  Jungwon’s quietly stealing Yuvi’s half-charged mug again.  You just watch — feeling both part of it and… a little removed. 

Because they didn’t live what you lived.  Not the way you did. 

Not with him. 

Not with Sunghoon. 

“You good?” Yuvi asks you suddenly, turning in her chair. 

You blink. “Yeah. Just… tired.” 

“Duh,” she says, nudging your arm. “We’re all tired. End of world stuff every Tuesday.” 

You laugh. The others join in.  And just for a second, it feels normal. 

Like the past didn't follow you here.  Like he never reached across time. 

But the quiet ache in your chest says otherwise. 

Later, when the lab empties out one by one — when Yuvi yawns and Mira packs up her files —  you linger behind. 

Taehyun walks past you, ruffling your hair gently like he always does. Jungwon side hugs you as he exits. And Mira and Yuvi give you a hug before logging off.  

Then the lights dim.  The labs settle.  And you finally move. 

It was almost midnight. 

Your body was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and a half-shattered mind.  The labs were quiet. The halls were colder. Your coat clung to your shoulders, and all you wanted was silence. 

You stepped into the elevator. 

It was empty. Or—  so you thought. 

You didn’t even notice him at first. 

Not until the doors closed.  Not until the world narrowed into this steel box.  And not until a voice — low, aching, quiet — cut through the air like a thread snapping in your chest. 

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, your eyes turned toward the figure standing in the far corner. 

And there he was. 

Sunghoon. 

Pressed against the wall of the elevator, the overhead light casting a cold glow across his skin.  His white dress shirt clung perfectly across his chest — sleeves rolled just below his elbows, forearms tense. His black tie was loose, like he’d worn it all day just to see you like this. 

His head was tilted slightly down, shadows covering half of his face — but even in the dimness, you saw it. 

The red.  Faint. Glowing. Watching. 

His jaw clenched. His lashes heavy against his cheek. His entire body still, like he was trying not to shake. 

Like just standing here, in front of you, took everything he had left. 

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. 

He finally looked up.  Right at you. 

“You disappeared,” he said softly.  A step closer. 

“But I didn’t.” 

Another step. 

“I stayed. I searched.” 

His voice trembles. 

“And I waited.” 

He stops inches away from you. Close enough for you to see that his hands are shaking.  That his smile is breaking.  That the pain he’s carried all these years hasn’t dulled — only buried deeper. 

Your lips part, but no words come. 

Because what do you say to a man who waited seventy-one years for a goodbye? 

Your body doesn’t move. But he does. 

He steps forward — slowly — like if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish all over again. 

Then his hand lifts. And he touches you. 

Not roughly. Not hungrily. 

Just one cold, steady hand cupping your cheek — reverent. Careful.  The way he always touched you. Like you were something sacred. 

His other hand rests at your waist, pulling you gently toward him. 

Your breath hitches. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. 

His thumb brushes your skin — and only then, do you exhale. 

But your voice barely comes out. 

“How… how did you get in here?” 

His smile twitches — half amused, half ruined. 

“You’re not the only one who learns things in seventy years.” 

You stare at him. 

“You broke into the lab?” 

“No,” he murmurs. “I learned how to become a ghost in systems like these. Took years. But I found my way into every firewall with your name on it. Every door you walked through.” 

He leans in just slightly — not threatening. Not desperate. 

Just there. Real. Close. 

“I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you again.” 

No matter how many years it’s been —  no matter how far you ran into the future — 

he still found you. 

He holds you like a memory he never let go of.  Like a secret he kept alive for decades. 

And when he finally speaks —  his voice cracks. 

“Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You blink.  Your lips part, but no sound comes out. 

Because how do you explain the sleepless nights?  The dreams where he touched your hand again?  The jacket you almost replicated just to feel close? 

He waits. 

And when you don’t answer — when silence sits between you like a second goodbye — you hear it again: 

“Y/N…”  “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You look up at him then. 

And the glow in his eyes — the faint red warmth — flickers. 

Flickers like it’ll die if you lie. 

Your throat is tight. 

“How did you even find me?” you whisper. 

He smiles — not the charming one.  The broken one. 

“I never stopped looking.” 

A beat. 

“The village disappeared, but I didn’t. I moved. I adapted. I learned your world. I followed every digital trail you left behind. I memorized your voice. I traced you through five corporate systems and twenty years of noise.” 

His forehead leans into yours, almost touching. 

“You left without saying goodbye.”  “I needed to know… if it meant as much to you as it did to me.” 

You’re not breathing. 

Because in his voice — beneath the stillness, the eternal youth —  is pain. 

Not monstrous. Not violent. 

Just human. And heartbreakingly yours. 

Your hands move without thinking.  One rises to his chest — over where his heart used to beat. 

It’s quiet now.  But yours is loud enough for both of you. 

He’s still waiting. 

Eyes glowing.  Breath held. 

“Tell me,” He whispers again. “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You swallow. 

Tears sting the edges of your eyes — the kind you refused to cry back then. The kind you buried inside lab reports and daily logs. 

And finally, your voice breaks. 

“I didn’t forget.” 

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like the words hurt. Like they heal. 

“I just…” you breathe, “I just didn’t know how to come back.” 

There it is. 

The truth. 

The full, naked truth sitting between you —  soft and devastating. 

“I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If you were even—” 

He kisses you. 

Not rushed.  Not hungry. 

Just… quiet. Desperate. Familiar. 

The kind of kiss that says thank you for surviving. 

The kind that says don’t leave again. 

it feels like time folds in on itself. 

Like the wind from the village,  the rain on your skin,  the jacket on your shoulders,  the words you never said —  they all return in that one breath. 

And this time,  you kiss him back. 

Hands gripping the front of his coat, your breath catching —  like your body finally remembered what safety tasted like. 

He pulls you in closer, desperate,  like he still doesn’t believe you’re real.  Like you’ll vanish again if he lets go. 

When your lips part, and you both breathe — barely —  your forehead leans into his. 

The glow in his eyes softens. 

And then— 

“You…” your voice cracks, soft and shaking.  “You waited? For me?” 

His eyes close slowly. 

Not like he’s in pain —  but like your question alone undid him. 

“Of course I did,” he whispers.  “How could I not?” 

You inhale sharply,  because no one’s ever said it like that. 

Not with that kind of certainty.  Like your existence was never forgettable —  just… unforgettable. 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

And just like that—  you stepped into him. 

Your arms wrapped around his torso tight, face burying into his chest, body trembling from everything you’d held back for too long. 

And he— 

He didn’t hesitate. 

He wrapped his arms around you so firmly, so protectively, it almost hurt.  Like if the world tried to take you again, it would have to tear through him first. 

One arm locked around your waist.  The other curled high around your back, hand cradling the base of your neck — fingers gently gripping, anchoring you like he was afraid you’d disappear again. 

“You’re here,” he breathed.  “You’re really here.” 

He didn’t just hold you. 

He claimed you — not with force, but with everything he never got to say. 

This wasn’t a soft embrace. 

This was the way you hold something sacred.  The way you cling to a miracle. 

And for the first time after he met in seventy years,  he didn’t feel cold anymore. 

He held you like you were his whole world —  like everything he endured, every year he starved, every time he nearly gave up…  was worth it just to feel you in his arms again. 

And for a long, still moment —  you didn’t speak. 

You just breathed.  Chest rising against his.  The faint, unfamiliar sound of his heartbeat echoing somewhere far beneath. 

Then, into the quiet, barely louder than a breath— 

“I missed this,” you whispered, cheek pressed against his chest.  “I missed you.” 

His hand gripped you tighter, almost instinctively.  Like your words shattered something inside him he didn’t even know was still breakable. 

He didn’t say anything at first. 

But you felt it —  in the way his thumb moved slowly against your back,  in the way his body trembled just slightly against yours. 

“Say it again,” he murmured. 

You tilted your head just slightly, looked up into those red-flecked eyes that had waited decades for this. 

And this time, you didn’t whisper. 

“I missed you, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you, cupped your face with both of his hands with so much of care as if you were porcelain and would break if you added any more force.  

He kissed your forehead like it was the only language he had left. 

Slow.  Tender.  Devastating. 

Your eyes fluttered shut — his lips lingering just a heartbeat longer, like he couldn’t quite let go. 

And when he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you again —  his voice cracked through the silence. 

“Don’t leave me this time…”  A pause. A breath.  “Angel.” 

The name hit you harder than the kiss. 

Because that’s what he used to call you.  Back in the village.  When your hands were cold from the rain, and he’d wrap his jacket around you like you were something worth saving. 

You blinked back the sting in your eyes.  But he saw it.  Of course he did.  His thumb brushed just beneath your eye. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured.  “Just… stay.” 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: im backkkkkkkkkk y'allllllllllllll !!!!!!!!! also this thing has been keeping me from watching the outside mv so imma watch it now! ALSO WROTE THIS THING IN 2 DAYS LIKE WTH i cant believe i did tht. anyways enjoy and stay hydrated!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mrsjjongstby]

P: Vampire!Sunghoon x Time-travel Scientist!Reader

Warnings: Mentions on biting, blood, feeding scenes, mentions of death, dissapearance, time travelling, yearning, kissing, physical touch, possesiveness, soft angst, happy ending!

Synopsis: In 2090, you're sent back in time to study a village that vanished without explanation. There, you met him. You weren't supposed to fall in love with him. But you did, with a vampire. And when time ran out, you left — believing that story had ended. Until one night, back in the future, he finds you. He hasn’t aged. And he never stopped waiting.

Wordcount: 11.8k

June 22, 2090. 

The hum of the machines never stopped in sector 7. 

Even at 3:27 in the evening, the corridors filled with guards, the bright white light pulsing against the huge glass doors. Surveillance cameras present every nook and crook of the room with security drones flying silently overhead, scanning every face, every badge, every retinal print.  

There were no windows in this part of the KRONEX institute- no clocks, no noise from the outside world. Time, here, was studied, twisted, and sometimes... broken. 

You adjusted the collar of your lab coat, feeling the slight static charge settling against your skin. Another night. Another sequence calibration.  

You were the lead scientist for KRONEX's Temporal Division, and one of only five globally certified operators with direct clearance to manipulate raw time.  

Not because you are lucky- but because you are good- really good at what you do.  

"You are early." Said a familiar voice.  

You turned around to see Taehyun, hands in his lab coat pockets, glasses slightly askew. He always arrived fashionably five minutes late, so this was new.  

"So are you," you say smirking.  

"Someone write it in the history."  

He chuckled, stepping beside you as the biometric scanner opened the reinforced glass doors to Lab room Delta- 12. 

Inside, your team was already gathered,  

Mira, the chronophysics analyst, stood at her console with her usual lip balm which she applies ever minute, tapping at the interface like it owned her something.  

Yuvi, head of atmospheric translation, stayed near the back, mumbling data projections to herself. 

Jungwon, the youngest, but sharp as hell, greeted you with the usual, two fingered salute from behind the drone mapping panel.  

"Took you long enough." Mira muttered without looking up. 

"You're welcome for the coffee I brought you last time." You say as you head to the central table.  

Everyone quickly followed you, sitting around the table. 

You five are the specialized high qualification scientists who got chosen to be the people handling lab delta- 12. Coming from different backgrounds, having same interests and working in cases together for years made your guys' bond unbreakable.  

You five are highly qualified specialists chosen to operate Lab Delta-12. Coming from different backgrounds but sharing the same passion, you've worked on countless cases together over the years — and that’s made your bond unbreakable. 

The door opened, interrupting your casual talks.  

In walked, Dr. Han Myung-sik— head of KRONAX, the man who'd once published a paper predicting time dilation six years before it was observed in real data. His face, though aged, was unreadable— eyes sharp beneath the thick silver eyebrows.  

No one spoke. You all stood up immediately.  

"Sit," he said. "This will be quick."  

The doors sealed shut behind him. A cold hum flickered through the room as he turned on the internal projector.  

Five floating files appeared above the surface. Each labeled, RED CASE.  

"Your group— delta 12 is chosen for this matter." Dr.Han said quietly.  

You could feel the weight of his words which he's about to say.

"We've uncovered five unresolved incidents. Each linked to potentially an unnatural shift in recorded time."  

"These aren't ripples," he continued.  

"These are fractures. Events that don't line up with any known temporal logic. People disappeared, memories vanished, objects never aged and yet—"  

He tapped the interface. The room dimmed, and each of your profiles synced to a case file. 

"You are the only ones qualified to investigate." 

He started pacing slowly.  

"Yuvi. You're being sent to March 2311, Seoul; right before the blackout that erased six months of global data records. You'll observe the internal tech culture and corporate rivalry."  

Yuvi blinked, nodding quietly, already calculating her cover identity.  

"Mira."  

He turned to her.  

"Your case is year 1652, Gyeongju province. A palace scribble who reportedly recorded a 'sky-born woman of light' before his records were seized. The ink used in his account was... not of this earth.” 

Mira grinned. "Finally, something fun."  

"Jungwon. Taehyun. You'll split into Northern territories. Parallel years, overlapping reports. Two villages with identical names, but only one should exist."  

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, "Are we crossing time lines? "  

"Just brushing," Dr.Han replied. "Do not stay longer than you have to."

Then, he turned to you.  

"And you."  

The room stilled.  

"Your case is the most weird one."  

A red dot expanded above the table. 

Satellite data. Korean countryside. Grainy and quiet. 

"A village in 2019 – known to exist, documented, populated and functioning." "Then, it disappeared. Not physically or violently. Just... gone. All the databases rewrote themselves. The people who lived there vanished as if they were never even existed— never even born." "Your job is to go there, undercover. Blend in. Find the root event. Identify the root autonomy and leave before it happens."  

Your fingers clenched lightly under the table. You stared at the red dot on the map.  

2019.  

A quiet time. A dangerous one — because it was still close enough to modern history to be familiar. Easy to slip up. Easy to stay too long.  

"Do we suspect temporal interference?"  

You asked as you shifted your gaze from the red dot to his eyes. Dr.Han meets your eyes. "We suspect something far worse. Something that doesn't belong in any time."  

The files flickered red again. "You'll begin calibration tonight. You jump within 750 hours. That is one month. Use your time wisely."  

As he turned to leave, he paused just once— right by the door.  

"And one more thing," he said without looking back.  "Don't fall in love with the timeline. It doesn't love you back."  

With that, he was gone. The table darkens. The lights return. Yuvi exhales. Mira cracks her knuckles and Jungwon leans forward.  

"2019 huh?" Taehyun mutters beside you. "Better pack your sarcasm and Emo clothes."  

You don't respond. You just stare at the red dot again. 

The village. Gone from memory. Gone from maps. But waiting for you all the same.  

One month. 

And only one day to finish prepping, calibrating your minds, bodies, and identities before entering a timeline that wouldn’t even recognize your names. You sat in the Sim Room, surrounded by floating holoscreens of early-2010s Korea. Architecture. Clothing. Language slang. Historical emotional markers. It was all too recent. Too real. 

Mira was curled on a bench nearby, watching 1600s scrollwork with a look that said I’d rather wing it. Taehyun was arguing with an AI over inconsistency in his destination’s documentation. Again. Jungwon? Already finished his prep module and was now trying to teach Mira how to drink from a metal bottle while upside down. 

“You’re going to the past, not space,” she said, annoyed but smiling.  “Still useful if I end up in a well,” Jungwon shrugged. You blinked away the holograms and stood, stretching out your arms. 

“This doesn’t feel like prep,” Yuvi murmured, joining you. “It feels like goodbye.” 

You didn’t answer.  

She studied you, thoughtful. “You okay with your timeline?”  “2019 is barely the past,” you said. “Feels like I could bump into my parents if I’m not careful.”  “Yeah, but yours is the haunted village,” Mira called. “Mine is just a floating woman in the sky.” 

“You’re the floating woman,” Jungwon muttered under his breath. She chucked a protein chip at him while he hid behind you, holding your shoulders as if his body isn't larger than yours.  

“Alright,” Taehyun said, glancing around. “Final dinner tonight in the Commons? Before the serious lockdown begins?”  “Only if you don’t bring another slide presentation to the table,” Mira groaned. 

“I make no promises.”  You smiled — small, but genuine 

And as the others drifted out of the room, chattering, playfully teasing, you lingered a moment longer — looking up at the blinking red timestamp over the Sim Door. 

30:00:00:00  DAYS : HOURS : MINUTES: SECONDS  JUMP 

You were the first one in the bay. The air smelled sterile, like metal and ionized mist. The chamber was massive — white, cold, humming. Five jump pods lined the back wall, each glowing faint blue with individual temporal calibration. 

The boots of your suit clicked softly as you walked, every step echoing louder than your breath. The fabric hugged your body like skin, the material pressure-sealed and embedded with auto-adaptive climate tech. Your mind was a storm beneath the still surface — years of training colliding with something much quieter. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” came Taehyun’s voice from behind. You turned. He looked exhausted, but composed — the kind of man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. “Didn’t try,” you replied simply. 

He nodded, stepping beside you, with his arm around your shoulder. You both looked at the pods in silence. 

One for each of you. One jump. One direction.  No promises of coming back the same. 

Soon after, Yuvi arrived — hair tied, suit zipped, clutching a small, folded piece of paper in her hand. A name, probably. A reminder of something real. Mira strolled in with a grin too bright to be sincere. “Guess it’s finally happening,” she said, snapping her gum, though her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit cuffs. 

Jungwon came last, walking like he was on his way to a vacation. Humming. But you saw the tension in his knuckles as he flexed them once, twice. Dr. Han entered from the upper level, flanked by three silent technicians and a console assistant holding the jump sequence tablet. 

“Final clearances have been locked in,” he announced, voice loud across the bay. “You have fifteen minutes.” 

One by one, your mission drives were inserted into the small ports at your pod stations. The information would sync once you landed in your time period — personalized cover stories, forged credentials, emergency kill phrases. 

“I’ll see you all again,” Jungwon said, softer now, eyes scanning the rest of you. “In whatever version of time we land in. 

“Bring back something cool,” Mira added. “Like a comet or an alien.”  “Or your soul intact,” Yuvi muttered, mostly to herself. You looked around. 

These people — their lives had been laced into yours for years. Work. Sleep. Discover. Repeat. The way your names felt normal together. The easy sarcasm. The shared silence in moments like this. You didn’t know what it would be like without them.  Maybe you weren’t meant to know. Your pod blinked green. Final sequence activated. 

You stood in front of it, heart slamming once, sharply, against your ribs. 

“You’ll be inserted at 03:12 AM, August 9th, 2019,” Dr. Han said beside you. “Just outside the village’s boundary. Our records end there. No satellite returns after that date. No digital trails. Just fog.” 

You nodded. 

“And remember,” he added, “observe, record, don’t interfere.” He paused. “And don’t stay longer than you have to.” You stepped into the pod. The door hissed closed behind you. Inside: darkness. Soft blue lights blinked around your headrest. A countdown began in the corner. 

00:00:10  00:00:09  00:00:08...  Your breathing slowed. Fingers tight on the seat grips.  00:00:03  00:00:02...  You thought of nothing.  00:00:01  ENGAGING TEMPORAL LAUNCH. 

Everything went white. 

You woke up choking on fog. 

Your knees hit grass first, body staggering out of the collapsed time pod buried beneath undergrowth. The pod disintegrated on schedule — technology melted into mist the second your boots touched this era. You stood slowly, the chill biting through your fabricated 2010s-era jacket. A navy hoodie. Worn boots. Phone model synced to local time tech. Fake ID in your pocket. History-approved.  And ahead of you — trees. Low mist curling over quiet fields. One winding road in the dark. 

“03:14,” you whispered, checking the time. You started walking. It didn’t take long to reach the village. Just a few winding turns along cracked pavement and flickering streetlamps — too dim for a place this small. It looked normal at first glance. Houses with tiled roofs. Wind chimes. A distant dog barking. But the silence? Too heavy. Too complete. Not a single radio. Not one human voice. 

You followed the map projection in your eye lens. Your identity here: transfer student, staying with a distant relative for the summer before university. Your cover was clean. “Blend in. Observe. Don’t interfere.” Dr. Han’s words echoed. 

You reached the village center. A bakery. A post office. A small clinic. It was beautiful — in a nostalgic, sleepy sort of way. You spotted an inn. Two stories. Wooden steps. A soft yellow porch light still glowing. You knocked once. A moment later, an older woman opened the door, eyes squinting at your unfamiliar face. 

“Ah… you must be the niece, right? From Seoul?” You smiled, polite. "Yes, ma’am.”  “Room’s upstairs. Already made it up for you.”  With that, you leave to your room. 

August 10, 2019.

The village was quieter in the morning. Not dead. Just... slow. 

You walked past the corner bakery — the one that smelled like burnt sugar and citrus. Past a row of mailboxes that hadn’t been touched in a week. You weren’t sure if people here hated bills or just trusted too easily. Notebook in your jacket. Identity chip syncing your steps to the research log in your neural band. 

Day 2.  Civilian behavior: consistent.  Average activity start time: 6:53 AM  No sign of temporal noise. No anomalies. 

You smiled and bowed slightly to an old man sweeping the steps outside a shop. He gave you a nod in return. Eyes kind, but faintly puzzled — like he couldn’t remember when you arrived, but accepted you anyway. That was the first pattern you noticed. People here forgot details fast. But nothing big enough to ring alarms. Just enough to feel like déjà vu. 

You took a seat on the raised edge of a well in the town center, glancing down at the still water.  Your eye-lens scanned your surroundings. Kids biking. A woman hanging sheets in perfect rows. Market stalls setting up. 

Everything looked normal. Back at the inn, the old woman handed you a basket. 

“Bread for the east field home. The family that lives up near the woods. They get their supplies late.” 

“East field?” you asked, trying to remember the map. 

“Take the long path. The house is old, but someone’s always there.” 

“Someone?” 

She nodded. “A quiet boy. Rarely speaks. Keeps to himself. Been around longer than most here.” 

You didn’t ask more. Just took the basket and walked. And as you stepped onto the eastern trail, into the trees and shifting light… You didn’t know yet that you were walking toward the beginning. Of the end. 

The path to the east house was longer than expected. 

Thick trees bent overhead like old, quiet watchers. The air here was different — cooler, touched with something metallic. You adjusted the basket in your hands. You finally reached the gate — rusted iron, half open. A path lined with overgrown grass stretched up to a traditional hanok-style house. Wooden. Quiet. Heavy with stillness. 

You stepped through, gently. No animals. No birds. Just that strange silence again. You knocked once. Then twice. No answer. You were about to leave when the door creaked open. And there he was. 

He looked like he didn’t belong in 2019. Or any year. 

Dressed simply — white cotton shirt, black slacks, sleeves slightly rolled up. But there was something... too elegant about the way he held the door. Something slow and precise. Still. His eyes — dark, unfathomable — landed on yours. 

For a full second, he didn’t say a word. Neither did you. “Delivery,” you said softly, lifting the basket. 

“Right,” he replied after a pause, voice smooth, almost melodic. “They said you’d be coming.” 

You held the basket out, but he didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he studied you. Not rudely. Not even intently. Just... curiously. Like a puzzle he couldn’t quite read. Or a scent he wasn’t supposed to follow. The moment you stepped through the trees, he felt it. The beat beneath your skin. The warmth. Your blood had a scent — not strong, not desperate like others. 

Sweet. Calming. Clean. He hadn’t fed in days. But you made the ache stir. “You live here alone?” you asked. 

He nodded. “For a while now.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away. 

“Most people say it’s empty.” 

You tilted your head. “Are you?” 

That made something shift in his gaze — not amusement exactly, but the ghost of something near it. “Not today,” he said finally. 

He took the basket, fingers brushing yours for just half a second. His skin was cool. Not cold. But noticeably not warm. “Thank you,” he said, stepping back. “Be careful going back. The light fades fast out here.” 

You turned to leave, but your instincts tugged once. “What’s your name?” you asked over your shoulder. 

A pause. 

“Sunghoon,” he said quietly. 

You nodded once. “I’m Y/N.” Another pause. “I know,” he said. 

And then the door closed. As you walked back down the path, heart steady but hands tingling from where his touched yours, you couldn’t shake one thing: There had been no heartbeat behind that door. Just silence. You don’t notice someone- Sunghoon, watching you from his window as you walk back. 

And that, that night few people go missing because Sunghoon, couldn’t handle his hunger for blood. Not when he was reminded of how desperate he was to taste something sweet- something pure like your blood- like you. He can’t bite you, not yet. So, he resorted to his usual way, biting the villagers. One by one.  

It was quiete big village when Sunghoon first step foot in there. 2010. The year Sunghoon decided to enter into the huge village, leaving behind memories of his previous life- the one where everyone treated him like the monster he was. He didn’t like it one bit. So? He ended it. Bit and killed everyone who called him a monster.  

Leaving behind memories and people wasn’t new to him. He’s been like that since he was turned- since 527 years. It's what he’s best at other than sucking peoples’ blood. Having spent many years on this planet made him discard unwanted memories for good.  

And maybe that’s why he never truly loved anyone. It’s not because he isn’t capable of it. It's because he knows that they won't stick around. Not when they find out what he is, not when they leave this world entirely. Also, because, he never truly found someone who made him feel things. Feel things which are foreign to him- Desire.  

Desire for blood? Thats more like filling his hunger. Desire is what he felt when he saw you. If you ever told Sunghoon that he’d yearn for a girl he met once, he’d scoff, shaking his head. That can never happen, not when he's been on this earth for more than 500 years. He knows how to control his feelings- it was easy for him because he didn't have any feelings in the first place.  

But why is that the moment he saw you, heard you- your hearbeat, your blood pulsing in your throat, smelled the scent of you, he wanted to make you his?  

Its funny, really. This whatever weird feeling he has in his stomach is new to him. Perhaps he’s hungry for your blood? No. He’s hungry for you.  

You are here to find out how the village disappeared. Maybe you do find out that he’s the reason for the mass disappearance. But will your heart obey to leave behind everything that you've uncovered here? Leave behind someone, who is the sole reason why the disappearance happened in the first place? 

Only the future holds the answer. Maybe the present? You truly don't know, not when the time’s twisted and you are spiralling in it. 

August 14, 2019. 

You weren’t planning to run into him again. You were just taking the trail by the lake. Collecting audio samples. Watching people prep for the lantern festival — all smiles and paper crafts, sunlight catching on water like glass. But then there he was. Standing near the edge of the hill that overlooked the lake. Not moving. Just… watching it. Like the water itself had said something only he could hear. 

You almost didn’t say anything. But he turned to you first. 

“You walk this path often?” 

His voice was still soft. Still slow. Like everything he said had already passed through a hundred filters before reaching you. 

“Not really,” you said, stepping closer. “But it’s quiet. Good for thinking.” 

“Thinking,” he echoed, like it was a foreign word. “You do that a lot?” 

You smiled. “Occupational hazard.” 

“Ah,” he said. “Let me guess. You’re a writer.” 

“Wrong.” 

“A scientist?” 

You blinked. A beat too long. 

“Why that guess?” 

“Your eyes,” he said. 

“What about them?” 

“They look like they’re always dissecting things. Even me.” 

He turned back to the lake after that, leaving your thoughts spiraling slightly behind him. The sun was dipping lower, casting light through the trees. A warm breeze stirred the ends of your hair, and for once, you didn’t feel like recording anything. Just being here. 

“Why do you live so far from the village?” you asked. 

“They forget me better this way.” 

You frowned. “That’s sad.” 

“Not really.” 

“When people forget you… you stop needing to prove you exist.” 

You turned to him then — not just listening but really seeing him. The distance in his eyes. The calm sadness he wore like second skin. 

“You don’t want to be remembered?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just don’t mind being forgotten.” 

A few kids laughed somewhere nearby, running with paper lanterns. You looked down at your shoes. “You’re hard to forget, you know.” It slipped out before you could stop it. He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, so quietly: “So are you.” 

Neither of you moved. The wind stilled. The air felt... charged. Like time paused. Just for this. 

Then— “You should go,” he said gently.

“It gets colder here after sunset.” He wasn’t pushing you away. But he was. And that strange ache bloomed behind your ribs without warning. You turned to go, steps slow. And as you walked, you felt his eyes on your back the entire time. 

August 18, 2019. 

It was supposed to be a short walk. You’d been gathering weather data, checking tree patterns near the edge of the forest. The innkeeper said the rain wouldn’t come until morning. But the sky didn’t listen. It started with a single drop. Then another. 

Within seconds, it was falling fast — fat, cold drops smacking against your shoulders, soaking through your hoodie in a matter of moments. You pulled the fabric up over your head and turned to head back — but the path was already slick, the trees pressing in closer, and fog began to roll over the field like a breath held too long. 

“Seriously?” you muttered, shivering. That’s when you saw him. Standing just under the crooked edge of an old pavilion by the hill — motionless, dry, and completely unbothered by the storm.  Sunghoon. 

You blinked, surprised. "You're always just… appearing out of nowhere.” 

“You're always walking into places you shouldn't be alone,” he replied calmly, eyes tracking the water running down your cheek. 

You hesitated. Then stepped under the structure, chest heaving slightly from the sudden cold. Your shoulders were soaked. Hair clinging to your face. Hands trembling. He watched you quietly. “You're freezing.” 

You gave a weak smile. “That tends to happen when it rains on humans.” 

He didn’t return it. Instead, he removed his outer jacket and handed it over without a word. You stared at it. “I’m already wet. You don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

You took it slowly. It was still warm. 

You slipped it on. It smelled like night air and something faintly old — like worn books and clean linen. Not the scent of someone who lived alone in a dusty house. 

The silence stretched. 

Raindrops tapping the roof like a ticking clock. 

Your breath fogged the air. 

His didn’t. 

“Why were you even out here?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer immediately. 

Then: 

“I thought you’d come this way.” 

You turned your head sharply. “You were… waiting for me?” 

He didn’t flinch. 

“Something about the sky felt wrong. I knew you’d ignore it.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I know your pattern.” 

That shut you up for a moment. 

And somehow... warmed you. 

More than the jacket did. 

Your teeth chattered softly. You turned away, embarrassed. 

Suddenly, you felt something. 

His fingers — gently, lightly — tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. 

You froze. 

“You should be more careful,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rain. “This place doesn’t forgive softness.” 

You looked up at him then. 

And he was already too close. 

Not touching. 

Not reaching. 

Just there. 

And for a second, you wondered what it would be like if he leaned in just a little more. 

“Do you always talk like that?” you whispered, lips parted. “Like you’re centuries old?” 

He gave the faintest smile like he knows something you don’t. 

The rain kept falling. The sky stayed grey. 

And your heartbeat too loudly in your ears. 

You didn’t ask him why his hands were cold even though he felt warm. 

You didn’t ask why he never blinked when he looked at you. 

The rain kept falling. 

And he stood there, completely still, listening to the rhythm of her blood, her breath, her heart... 

And all he could think was: 

Don’t touch her again.  Don’t want her.  Don’t let her see the monster inside you. 

But it was already too late. 

Because for the first time in years, he wanted something enough to lose control. 

And it was you. 

The rain had stopped, but the night still smelled like it. 

You walked slowly. 

Beside him. 

His jacket still hung over your shoulders, and you hadn’t given it back. He hadn’t asked. 

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” you said softly, watching your boots splash through a shallow puddle. 

“I know.” 

He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was warm. Like he wanted to say, I just wanted more time with you, but didn’t know how. 

The village lights shimmered faint in the distance — soft and yellow, like floating lanterns. 

It felt like you were the only two people in the world. 

“Do you always spend your nights out there?” you asked. 

“Sometimes. I like the quiet.” 

“Most people don’t,” you said. “Silence makes them uncomfortable.” 

He glanced at you. 

“What about you?” 

You thought about it. 

“I think silence is the only time people stop pretending.” 

He actually smiled at that. Just a little. The kind that tugged one corner of his mouth — barely visible, but real. 

“What do you do all day?” you asked, curious now. “No job? No classes?” 

“I read,” he said. “Walk. Watch.” 

“That sounds like what I do, too.” 

“You watch more than most people,” he replied, side-eying you. “Always observing. Analyzing.” 

You raised a brow. “Are you calling me creepy?” 

“No,” he said. “Just... different.” 

You looked away to hide your smile. 

“Is that your way of saying I’m weird?” 

“No,” he repeated, slower this time. “It’s my way of saying I see you.” 

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “What did you want to be when you were little?” 

He didn’t answer right away. 

“I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It’s been a long time since I was little.” 

You turned to him, blinking. “How old are you, Sunghoon?” 

He looked at you. Really looked. 

Then smiled like he knew he shouldn’t say the next thing — but said it anyway. 

“Older than I look.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not an answer.” 

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” 

You reached the inn gate. 

The lantern outside flickered faintly in the breeze.  Neither of you moved. 

The air was warmer now. The clouds had parted just enough for moonlight to wash over the steps. 

You stood there — his jacket still on your shoulders, the scent of rain still on your skin, and his eyes fixed gently on you. 

“Good night, Sunghoon,” you said finally, stepping up to the door. 

“Good night, Y/N.” 

You turned the handle. 

Just before stepping inside, you hesitated. 

“You never told me what you like,” you said over your shoulder. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Like?” 

“Hobbies. Music. Favorite food. Normal things.” 

Another pause. 

Then: 

“The sound of rain,” he said. “Books with no endings. And people who don’t run away.” 

You met his eyes. 

And something about the way he said it made your heart ache. 

You didn’t know why. 

But you didn’t look away. 

Not for a long moment. 

Then finally, you stepped inside. 

And closed the door. 

August 20, 2019.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. 

Just returning a jacket. 

Just a polite gesture. 

Just good manners. 

So why did your pulse stutter when the house came into view? 

The same tall trees. The same crooked path. The same quiet. 

You climbed the short stone steps and raised your hand to knock — but before you could, the door opened. 

He was already there. 

Like he’d been waiting. 

Or like he’d heard you coming long before you got close. 

“You came back,” he said, voice low, like sunlight through fog. 

“Just to return this,” you said quickly, lifting the folded jacket. 

“Of course.” 

But he didn’t take it. 

Instead, he stepped aside. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

You blinked. 

“Is that okay?” 

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

You stepped inside. 

The air was cool, but not cold. The interior still had that strange untouched feeling — like a photo frozen in time. Wood floors. A low bookshelf. A kettle on the counter, untouched. 

You walked slowly, setting the jacket on the nearest chair. 

“You live like a ghost,” you said softly. 

He raised a brow. “I’m neat.” 

“You’re ancient,” you teased. 

He smirked faintly. “So you’ve said.” 

You turned toward the bookshelf — rows of old spines and journals, some in languages you didn’t recognize. One looked handwritten. Another... burned around the edges. 

“These don’t look like they’re from a village library.” 

“They’re not.” 

“So what are they?” 

“Pieces of me,” he said. 

You paused, looking back. 

His expression didn’t change, but there was something fragile in his stillness. 

You let the question go. 

“Tea?” he asked suddenly, already reaching for the kettle. 

“You drink tea?” 

“No. But you do.” 

He made it quietly. Smooth movements. No wasted motion. 

He handed you the mug and sat across from you, careful, like he was making sure there was enough distance. 

“Do people visit you often?” you asked, wrapping your hands around the cup. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“Because they forget me,” he said. “Or… I let them.” 

“But you didn’t want me to forget you?” you asked quietly. 

His eyes met yours. 

Dark. Unreadable. 

“I didn’t plan on you remembering at all.” 

You blinked. “What changed?” 

He stared at the steam curling between you. 

Then said, without blinking: 

“You smiled at me.” 

The silence stretched. 

The weight of it made your chest feel tight. 

Your fingers tightened around the mug. 

“Why do you always say things like that?” you whispered. 

“Like what?” 

“Like it means something. And then you never explain.” 

He stood up then, slowly — walking toward the window, looking out at the trees. 

“Because I’ve learned that explaining doesn’t stop people from leaving.” 

“So you just... stay mysterious?” 

“No,” he said, without turning around. “I stay safe.” 

You stood too. Quiet steps. 

He didn’t move as you stopped beside him, just far enough for the space between your hands to hum. 

“What are you so afraid of, Sunghoon?” you asked, not accusing — just soft. 

A pause. 

Then finally: 

“That if you knew the truth about me… you'd stop smiling at all.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“Nothing. Don’t think too much.” He says. 

You didn’t leave. 

You just stood beside him. 

And for a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy. 

It was tender. 

“You okay?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer. 

Didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Because right now, he could feel it rising — that burn behind his eyes, the pressure in his jaw, the ancient ache in his throat. 

The want. 

Not just to feed. 

To claim. 

“I think you should go,” he said, voice tight. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.” 

“Then—” 

“Please.” 

His back was turned now.  He couldn’t let her see his face.  Not when his eyes were beginning to glow. Not when his fangs had started to edge down. 

He bit the inside of his cheek — hard enough to draw blood. Let the pain steady him. Anchor him. 

“Sunghoon? Is something wrong? You can trust me- I trust you.”  

But all he said was: 

“I don’t trust myself.” 

You stared at his back for a long moment. 

Then quietly… you left. 

The door shut behind you with a soft click. 

And he stood there in the quiet, eyes still burning, heart raging inside a chest that shouldn’t have had one anymore. 

August 21, 2019. 

You went to the library to check the village’s records.  

To look for any book, any magazine, any piece of information that would help you get a better insight about the village’s roots.  

You found a series of census logs tucked into a low cabinet—records of the village’s population numbers and names dating back to the 1900s. Faded, but surprisingly intact. 

And that’s when you saw it. 

A pattern. 

In 2010, the population was 528.  In 2012, it dropped to 413.  By 2015: 290.  2017: 178. 

No official records of why.  No mass migration.  No natural disaster.  No illness outbreak. 

Just... names disappearing. 

Not all at once.  Not dramatically. 

But slowly.  Like something was taking them. One by one. 

You scanned the reports harder now. 

Looking for causes. Deaths. Relocations. 

But most names just had one word stamped across the last column: 

“Unrecorded.” 

You slammed the binder shut and sat back. 

Your chest felt tight. 

You looked around the library. The light felt colder. The silence heavier. 

This is getting nowhere. Rather than the doubts clearing, more questions are surfacing. Too many questions. Too less information. You doubt you are even eligible to solve this mystery. Maybe Dr.Han realizes he made a mistake choosing you once you return. You wonder how the others are doing. Are they going through the same difficulties?  

You shake your head as if it shakes away the insecure thoughts creeping up. You need to focus. On this village. The people. Everyone here seems normal except... Sunghoon. 

He always seemed to appear when no one else was around. 

Your fingers curled against the cover of the book. 

No. Don’t jump to conclusions. That doesn’t mean anything. 

And yet… 

Something in your gut whispered otherwise. 

Still, when the sun began to set— 

You found yourself walking toward the hill. 

Toward him. 

Carrying questions you couldn’t ask yet. 

And a heart that didn’t want answers- the real ones.  

The sky was painted in soft blue fading to lavender.  The last light of the sun had just dipped behind the mountains, leaving a glow that shimmered across the tall grass. 

You stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the village lights far below.  Everything was quiet. 

Except your thoughts. 

Except him. 

Sunghoon stood beside you — close, not quite touching. Hands in his pockets. Eyes on the horizon. 

“You always find the quietest places,” you said softly. 

“I think they find me.” 

You turned to him, trying to read that impossible expression on his face. 

“You always talk like that. Like there’s a whole world in your head and you’re just… giving me scraps.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he said. “I just forget how to be anything else.” 

You took a breath. 

“Then remind yourself. Just for tonight. Just for me.” 

He looked at you then. 

Really looked. 

And for the first time, he didn’t look away. 

“You scare me,” he said quietly. 

That made your chest tighten. 

“Why?” 

“Because you make me want to stay.” 

The wind brushed through the grass. 

Your heart was too loud. Your breath too soft. 

He stepped closer. 

His hand, trembling just slightly, reached up and cupped your cheek — gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he touched too hard. 

His thumb brushed under your eye, then trailed down to your jaw. 

“Say something,” he whispered. 

You didn’t. 

You leaned in instead. 

And he met you there. 

The kiss was nothing like you imagined. 

It wasn’t rushed.  It wasn’t wild. 

It was slow. 

Like two people learning what it meant to feel alive again. 

His lips were cool at first — like the wind before rain — but they softened against yours. Moved with aching care. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth and trying not to fall apart doing it. 

You felt his breath catch. 

Felt his hand slide into your hair. 

Felt your knees go weak when he deepened the kiss — still gentle, still hesitant, but full of something you didn’t have a name for. 

And then— 

He pulled away. 

Fast. 

Like he’d caught fire. 

His eyes were wide.  Not with lust. Not even guilt. 

With fear. 

“I shouldn’t have—” 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, reaching for him. 

He stepped back. 

“No. This was a mistake.” 

“Why are you doing this again?”  “Every time I get close, you push me away. Why?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Not with words. 

But his face… 

That expression? 

It looked like someone who just tasted something too good.  Something too human.  Something that made him forget what he was. 

“Because I can’t be the reason you get hurt,” he finally said. 

And then he turned away. 

Leaving you alone with a kiss that still burned on your lips, and a silence that felt heavier than ever. 

August 26, 2019. 

You ignored him after that. Turned your head away whenever he got into. Looked away first when you both made eye contact. Avoided him when he came to apologize the very next day of your kiss.  

Not cause you hate him. You wish you did but no. You remember what Dr.Han said, “Observe. Record. don’t interfere.” You can't risk everything just cause of some stupid, weird feelings that you have. No. You can’t let your emotions get in the way of your case. This isn't right.  

Youre altering time, you should do it wisely, not recklessly.  

And so, you did what you thought was best. Ignore. Distance. Observe. 

Or so, you thought.  

You weren’t expecting to run into him. 

But of course you did. 

He was leaning against the side wall of the bakery, half-hidden in the shade, like always. Silent. Watching. 

He didn’t call out. 

Didn’t wave. 

But you felt it — the shift in air when his gaze hit you. That quiet weight of his presence. 

You almost kept walking. 

Almost. 

But then— 

“Y/N.” 

His voice was low. Not cold. Just… tired. 

You turned after a moment of hesitation. 

Met his eyes. 

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked. 

Simple question. 

But it landed sharp. 

You didn’t answer right away. 

“I’ve just been… busy.” 

“You’ve seen me.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk.” 

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping forward. “Don’t turn it around like it’s me.” 

You blinked. “I’m not—” 

“You haven’t looked at me in five days.” 

His tone wasn’t angry.  It was quiet. Steady. Too steady. 

“You smiled at me one night,” he said, “and then the next morning, it’s like I didn’t exist.” 

“Sunghoon—” 

“And I thought—”  He paused. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.  “I thought maybe you needed space. But then I saw you with that guy. That tall one from the orchard. And you were laughing. Just… laughing. Like everything’s normal.” 

You looked away. 

He let the silence settle. 

Then finally: 

“It hurt.” 

That was it. Just that. 

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just real. 

You didn’t know what to say. So, you said the only truth you had: 

“I’m scared, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you for a long time. 

“Of me?” 

“Of not knowing what’s happening. Of what this village is hiding. Of what you’re hiding.” 

You stepped back slightly, instinctively. Not far. 

But enough. 

His eyes dropped to the space between you.  Then back up. 

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?” 

You hesitated. 

Then, quietly: 

“I don’t know.” 

That broke something in him. 

You saw it. In his eyes. 

Not rage. 

Just sadness. 

“I wouldn’t,” he said softly. “Not even if I wanted to.” 

You turned back and left without replying, unable to look into his face or even talk to him. 

September 5, 2019. 

You shouldn’t have gone looking. 

You told yourself you weren’t.  That you just needed air.  That the trail by the forest was peaceful this time of day. 

But really? You missed him. 

And you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you. Not even if I wanted to.” 

It looped in your mind for days. Through sleep. Through silence. Through guilt. 

You didn’t give him an answer. So, you were going to. 

You were going to find him and say you’re not sure what this is, but you’re willing to try. That you believe he’s good. That you want to believe it, even if you’re scared. 

But then— 

You saw it. 

You heard something first. 

A low sound. Guttural. Like a growl tucked beneath a breath. 

And then a figure stumbling — just ahead. At the edge of the trees. A man. Drunk? Hurt? 

And beside him—  Holding him up— 

Was Sunghoon. 

Or… something that used to be him 

His head was tilted.  His lips pressed just beneath the man’s jaw.  His hands clutched the man’s shoulders too tightly.  And his eyes— 

They glowed. 

Not fully.  Just enough for the shadows to catch it. 

Red. Dim. Inhuman. 

You saw his mouth open.  Saw the flash of fang. 

And then— 

The man sagged. 

Like air had left him. 

You froze. 

Your heart punched against your ribs. 

He stared.  Still half-shadowed.  Blood on his mouth. 

He stepped forward. 

“Y/N.” 

You backed up. 

Didn’t speak. 

Didn’t breathe. 

Your eyes wide. Your expression already saying everything your voice couldn’t. 

Fear. 

The kind that wasn’t subtle. 

The kind you couldn’t take back. 

“No,” he said quietly. “No, don’t—please don’t look at me like that.” 

He wiped at his mouth. Quickly. Clumsily. 

“I can explain. It’s not—” 

You flinched when he stepped closer. 

That did it. 

He stopped. 

His hands dropped to his sides. 

And something in him… wilted. 

“So, this is it?” he whispered. 

His voice wasn’t cold.  Wasn’t sharp.  It was just… empty. 

You didn’t say anything. 

Couldn’t. 

You turned. 

And ran. 

And behind you, the last thing you heard was him whispering into the night: 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

You rushed back home and stumbled in. 

You quickly went to your bedroom, opening the drawers and pulled out your logbook. 

You sat on the floor beside your bed after grabbing a marker.  

The pages were filled with sketches. Maps. Observations.  And now? 

Scribbled question marks. Shaky handwriting. A timeline you couldn’t look at anymore. 

2010 — population: 528  2012 — 413  2015 — 290  2017 — 178  2019 — barely 60 left. 

No disease.  No evacuation orders.  No record of where they went. 

But you knew now. 

You saw it. 

His eyes. His fangs.  The man in the forest, half-drained and limp in his arms. 

You knew. 

And the truth clawed at your throat like it didn’t want to be swallowed. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he had said. 

You remembered his voice.  Too quiet.  Too pained to be fake. 

But it didn’t matter now, did it? 

Because while he was giving you flowers and walking you home… 

He was feeding on the people who welcomed you with tea and stories. 

You closed your eyes. 

Your hands were trembling. 

You remembered the first time you saw him. 

How unreal he looked in the moonlight.  How safe you felt beside him. 

How stupid that was now. 

Was any of it real? 

The kiss. The laughter. The jacket he left folded on your bed. 

Or were you just the next name on his list? 

The next girl to get too close? 

Were you just another pawn in his game?  

Whatever it was, you shouldn't have gotten close with him. Shouldn't have tried to interfere. You shouldn't have done it and God, you regret it.  

And for the first time in years…  You cried. 

Not from fear.  But from heartbreak. 

If only you backed down that day on the hill. If only you shouldn't have let him close to you. If only... 

September 7, 2019. 

After that day, you didn't leave your room. 

You didn't go out, the fear of him catching you always haunting your mind whenever you reach for the door handle. 

And weirdly enough, you should feel better, you really should but why did you feel... empty?  

He’s a monster! He kills innocent people, hes a vampire. But why didn't the fact alone scare you? Why were you craving for his presence? Why were you thinking about the moments you've spent together? This isn't even real. Its past, you weren't even born at this time period. You shouldn't be feeling things you aren't supposed to. 

But you can't deny the fact that your heart aches for his presence- for him.  

But you don't have time for this. Not when you have two days on your watch. Two days before everything goes back to normal, hopefully. And so, you push aside your feelings saying the time is playing tricks on you and start writing the report.  

All of your log entries, now are typed and kept in digital doc by you. You enter the log entries, from day one to the day you discovered the root cause of all of this- the dissapearance. You procrastinated too much while typing them in, thinking about all the wonderful days you’ve spent with locals- with him. 

But all of this isn't real, at the end of the day. You don't belong here- you shouldn't. This isn't your timeline. This is not your story. This isn't the reality you are supposed to live in and experience. This is just a case that you've got assigned to. It's your duty. And you fulfilled it by finding out the reason. And this is where you shall end it. End of this chapter, end of this case and end of him.  

September 9, 2019.  

Today is the day. 

You pack your bag, filling it with the things you bought and the things you are taking back to your timeline. The memories, the events and the adventures.  

There wasn't a single second you haven't thought about him. But this is it. You have to say your goodbyes.  

You can't warn the others, who haven't yet got bitten by Sunghoon. Because as dr.Han said, “Don't interfere.”  

Youve already made the mistake of not listening to him and crossed the boundary and faced the consequences. You aren't going to do it again. Because at the end of the day, its fate. It already happened. You can't change it, not even when you go back in time. Because what's written, is written. If changed, you are bound to face the consequences.  

History can't be re-written.  

And so, with that, you leave.  

You stood by the terminal light beam.  

Delta 12’s jump pulse flickering through the mist. 

Your bag beside you. Your heart heavy with no one in the future world- the real world would understand or know of.  

You turned back one last time towards the village. 

Thanking it for everything it gave you- thanking it for giving Sunghoon. 

Who'll be remembered as the passing wind and the falling of leaves by you.  

And when you jumped- 

The light swallowed you whole. 

And in the same breath,  

You were gone.  

July 22, 2090. 

You opened your eyes. 

The jump light was fading.  The room around you was cold. White. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache. 

You were home. 

But it didn’t feel like it. 

Not yet. 

Your bag was still at your side. Your fingers still trembling. Your body still in two places — the sterile floors of the lab… and the moss-soft grass beneath his feet. 

You didn’t even notice the door sliding open until you heard the softest gasp. 

“Y/N?” 

You turned. 

And there she was. 

Mira.  Her braid was undone, her coat slung over one arm, her eyes red — like she’d either just woken up… or hadn’t slept since the moment she jumped back. 

She stared at you. 

Then smiled. Weakly. 

“God, it’s you.” 

You couldn’t speak. 

You didn’t have to. 

She crossed the space between you in three quick steps and pulled you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed until her arms wrapped around you. 

You felt her chest shudder. 

You were crying too. 

Soon, the others trickled in. 

Taehyun — still composed, but his eyes softer than usual.  Yuvi — who dropped her bag the second she saw you, crashing into the hug with a half-laugh, half-sob. Jungwon — who just stood by the door for a long time, taking all of you in like he didn’t believe you were real until that moment. 

No one said much at first. 

They just… stood there. 

Five people who had faced time itself. 

And came back with hearts a little heavier. 

Eyes a little older. 

It felt nice. Seeing everyone’s familiar faces after being drowned in unfamiliar faces who don't even exist in reality.  

Finally, Mira sniffed and said, voice shaking: 

“I missed you guys.” 

Yuvi let out a teary laugh. 

“I didn’t realize how much till now.” 

Jungwon gave a small nod, blinking fast. 

Taehyun just whispered: 

“You’re all here.” 

You wiped your face and smiled. 

Soft. Quiet. Real. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re here.” 

You all look at each other. A moment of silence. As if you guys are finally taking in and registering everyone’s presence. And then, you all hugged. A big group hug filled with emotions which arent said loud but felt. And finally, you felt like you are back home.  

September 11, 2019.  

The room smelled of old circuits and sterile air.  The walls glowed faint blue, humming with quiet energy. 

You sat where you always had —  Same table.  Same lights.  Same white jackets. 

But nothing was the same anymore. 

Not the silence.  Not the weight in everyone’s eyes. 

Not the version of you that existed before. 

The door slid open. 

Dr. Han stepped in, shoulders straighter than usual, expression unreadable. 

“Good morning.” 

He stood at the edge of the circular table, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning each of you. 

“You’ve all returned safely,” he said. “On record, your missions were successful. But the records don’t matter if we don’t understand why.” 

He took a breath. 

“So, let’s talk about what really happened.” 

Dr. Han looked at Yuvi first.  

“Yuvi. March 2311. Seoul. What caused the blackout?” 

Yuvi didn’t hesitate.  But her voice was softer than usual. 

“It wasn’t just data loss,” she said. “It was deliberate. The two largest tech giants—SolarCore and NeuraStream—were engaged in a silent war for memory control. They each tried to overwrite the other’s data… and in doing so, they wiped everyone’s.” 

A pause. 

“The blackout wasn’t a glitch. It was a battle. One that made the world forget six months — and made the companies forget what humanity was.” 

Dr. Han only nodded. 

“Mira. 1652. The scribe’s ink.” 

Mira folded her hands. 

“The man wasn’t mad. The ‘sky-born woman of light’ — she was a time displacer like us. From the future. Possibly one of the early, undocumented tests.” 

She met Dr. Han’s eyes. 

“The ink? It was our ink. Synthetic. Used in lab reports.” 

Silence fell. 

Dr. Han blinked slowly. “You’re saying the anomaly… was ours.” 

“Yes,” Mira whispered. “We caused the myth.” 

“You two. Northern Territories. Duplicated villages.” 

Taehyun glanced at Jungwon. Jungwon gave a tiny nod. 

“There were two villages,” Jungwon said. “Identical. Same people. Same dogs. Same newspapers.” 

“Except,” Taehyun added, “They existed in overlapping timelines. One was five minutes behind the other. A permanent sync lag caused by a failed early prototype of time field testing.” 

Jungwon finished it quietly. 

“It was human error. A time scar. We tried to erase one. But they both kept living… until one finally collapsed.” 

“Y/N,” Dr. Han said, turning to you. “The village of Myeon-ri. The one that vanished without cause.” 

Your fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table. 

You could still feel the wind there. Still hear his voice. 

You slid the chip forward. 

“There was no disease. No mass migration. No disaster. It was slow. Intentional.” 

You looked up. 

“A predator lived there. Not wild. Human-shaped. Possibly centuries old. A vampire, by older terms. He fed carefully, spaced apart. But eventually, the numbers dropped too far.” 

The others stared. 

You didn’t flinch. 

“He didn’t want the village gone. But he couldn’t stop. And no one remembered the ones who vanished. They were erased — from memory, from databases. Like they never existed.” 

“Vampire?” Dr.Han questioned. 

“Vampire.” You confirmed.  

Dr. Han asked, quietly: 

“Did he know who you were?” 

A pause. 

You met his gaze. 

“No.” 

A beat. 

“But I think I knew who he used to be.” 

You lied. Of course he knows you. He knows the woman he fell for the first time. He knows the woman who was his first ever kiss. 

You didn't tell them. You didn't to protect him and in a way, protect yourself too. 

Dr. Han stepped back. He looked at each of you — not as scientists, but as people who had seen too much. 

“You all did what centuries of historians couldn’t. You brought back truth.” 

He turned toward the exit, then paused. 

“Take the week off. Rest. File clean versions by the end of the month. We’ll… figure out what to do with the rest.” 

The door hissed closed behind him. 

And you all sat in silence.  Hearts still somewhere in another time. 

The streets are quiet at 2 a.m. 

Neon signs buzz in blues and pinks.  Artificial rain shimmers above, falling against projection domes that keep your coat dry. 

You pass a street musician playing a slow guitar. 

The song is unfamiliar.  But it feels like him. 

Like a song you might’ve danced to on his porch.  Or hummed under your breath while he walked you home. 

Your throat tightens. 

You sit on a bench, ignoring your holopad as it pings with follow-up requests from Dr. Han. 

You can’t open the file.  You can’t even look at his name on the case label. 

Your hand slowly reaches into your coat pocket. 

The jacket he gave you is long gone. 

But you still have one thing. 

A pressed leaf. 

Red. From that tree near the hill.  Where he waited for you every evening.  Where he said nothing — just smiled — like you were his favorite moment of the day. 

You hold the leaf to your chest. 

And for a second…  you close your eyes. 

And pretend he’s sitting beside you. 

Back in the lab, the report still sits unsaved.  You’d written everything except the truth. 

“He didn’t follow me back.” 

But your chest burns with what you didn’t say. 

I think he wanted to.  I think I wanted him to.  And I think I left the part of me that believed in forever… in his hands. 

You missed him. You looked for him in everything. The wind, the leaves, the clouds, the time, everything. And somewhere back in 2019, sunghoon feels the weight of your absence.  

Sunghoon didn't really think it'd affect him that much, but it did. He was helpless when he didn't find you. Asked everyone, searched everywhere but there wasn't a trace of you, there wasn't a thing left behind you. And God, did he miss you.  

The silence after you was worse than the centuries before you. 

You were only here a month —  But the air still tasted like you.  The breeze still moved like the hem of your coat. 

He stood by the river. 

The same one you almost slipped near.  The one where he caught your hand. 

You used to laugh here. 

Now it was empty. 

And so was he. 

His throat burned.  The ache that had quieted in your presence — like your scent tamed the storm in his blood — now returned with wildfire in his veins. 

He hadn’t fed in days.  He didn’t want anyone else. 

He wanted you. 

"Y/N..." he whispered, though the name felt like poison now. 

He tried to hold back.  He really, truly did. 

But you were gone. 

And he had nothing left to prove he was still human. 

The next night, they found the baker's house empty.  Then the woman who sold herbs.  Then the elder by the hill. 

No one saw what took them. 

And Sunghoon? 

He stood in the village center, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, eyes still locked on the road you used to walk down every dusk. 

His hands shook. 

His mouth trembled. 

"You were supposed to stay..."  "You promised me forever in your eyes." 

But you didn’t answer. 

Because you were gone. 

And so were the people in the village.  

The village lingered with only with him feeding off of everyone and your presence.  

Time moved on. 

The village eventually collapsed.  Records rewritten.  Footprints washed away. 

But he didn’t vanish. 

He moved.  Fed.  Lingered in shadows. 

Years passed.  Decades blurred. 

He watched the world crawl toward neon skies and cities that blinked like stars. 

You were long gone.  But he never stopped believing in the possibility that time — the very thing that tore you from him — might one day return you. 

“Okay but hear me out,” Taehyun says, typing aggressively while Mira tries to slap his hand off the panel. “If I didn’t reroute the carbon filters that night, we’d all be bald. Fact.” 

“Fact?” Mira scoffs. “Fact is you nearly made the algae tank sentient. That thing winked at me.” 

“I still miss it,” Jungwon adds quietly, head down in his own files, a faint smile playing at his lips. 

Yuvi kicks her chair back dramatically, groaning. “My simulation’s stuck again. If I see one more ‘Data Error: Please Restart,’ I swear I’ll throw myself into the code.” 

Your lips curve as you watch them — the way the five of you fit into this space like puzzle pieces.  The room hums with soft tech glows and distant rain tapping the glass walls. 

It's late.  But none of you seem in a hurry to leave. 

Mira throws an energy bar at Taehyun. He catches it one-handed, smug.  Jungwon’s quietly stealing Yuvi’s half-charged mug again.  You just watch — feeling both part of it and… a little removed. 

Because they didn’t live what you lived.  Not the way you did. 

Not with him. 

Not with Sunghoon. 

“You good?” Yuvi asks you suddenly, turning in her chair. 

You blink. “Yeah. Just… tired.” 

“Duh,” she says, nudging your arm. “We’re all tired. End of world stuff every Tuesday.” 

You laugh. The others join in.  And just for a second, it feels normal. 

Like the past didn't follow you here.  Like he never reached across time. 

But the quiet ache in your chest says otherwise. 

Later, when the lab empties out one by one — when Yuvi yawns and Mira packs up her files —  you linger behind. 

Taehyun walks past you, ruffling your hair gently like he always does. Jungwon side hugs you as he exits. And Mira and Yuvi give you a hug before logging off.  

Then the lights dim.  The labs settle.  And you finally move. 

It was almost midnight. 

Your body was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and a half-shattered mind.  The labs were quiet. The halls were colder. Your coat clung to your shoulders, and all you wanted was silence. 

You stepped into the elevator. 

It was empty. Or—  so you thought. 

You didn’t even notice him at first. 

Not until the doors closed.  Not until the world narrowed into this steel box.  And not until a voice — low, aching, quiet — cut through the air like a thread snapping in your chest. 

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, your eyes turned toward the figure standing in the far corner. 

And there he was. 

Sunghoon. 

Pressed against the wall of the elevator, the overhead light casting a cold glow across his skin.  His white dress shirt clung perfectly across his chest — sleeves rolled just below his elbows, forearms tense. His black tie was loose, like he’d worn it all day just to see you like this. 

His head was tilted slightly down, shadows covering half of his face — but even in the dimness, you saw it. 

The red.  Faint. Glowing. Watching. 

His jaw clenched. His lashes heavy against his cheek. His entire body still, like he was trying not to shake. 

Like just standing here, in front of you, took everything he had left. 

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. 

He finally looked up.  Right at you. 

“You disappeared,” he said softly.  A step closer. 

“But I didn’t.” 

Another step. 

“I stayed. I searched.” 

His voice trembles. 

“And I waited.” 

He stops inches away from you. Close enough for you to see that his hands are shaking.  That his smile is breaking.  That the pain he’s carried all these years hasn’t dulled — only buried deeper. 

Your lips part, but no words come. 

Because what do you say to a man who waited seventy-one years for a goodbye? 

Your body doesn’t move. But he does. 

He steps forward — slowly — like if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish all over again. 

Then his hand lifts. And he touches you. 

Not roughly. Not hungrily. 

Just one cold, steady hand cupping your cheek — reverent. Careful.  The way he always touched you. Like you were something sacred. 

His other hand rests at your waist, pulling you gently toward him. 

Your breath hitches. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. 

His thumb brushes your skin — and only then, do you exhale. 

But your voice barely comes out. 

“How… how did you get in here?” 

His smile twitches — half amused, half ruined. 

“You’re not the only one who learns things in seventy years.” 

You stare at him. 

“You broke into the lab?” 

“No,” he murmurs. “I learned how to become a ghost in systems like these. Took years. But I found my way into every firewall with your name on it. Every door you walked through.” 

He leans in just slightly — not threatening. Not desperate. 

Just there. Real. Close. 

“I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you again.” 

No matter how many years it’s been —  no matter how far you ran into the future — 

he still found you. 

He holds you like a memory he never let go of.  Like a secret he kept alive for decades. 

And when he finally speaks —  his voice cracks. 

“Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You blink.  Your lips part, but no sound comes out. 

Because how do you explain the sleepless nights?  The dreams where he touched your hand again?  The jacket you almost replicated just to feel close? 

He waits. 

And when you don’t answer — when silence sits between you like a second goodbye — you hear it again: 

“Y/N…”  “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You look up at him then. 

And the glow in his eyes — the faint red warmth — flickers. 

Flickers like it’ll die if you lie. 

Your throat is tight. 

“How did you even find me?” you whisper. 

He smiles — not the charming one.  The broken one. 

“I never stopped looking.” 

A beat. 

“The village disappeared, but I didn’t. I moved. I adapted. I learned your world. I followed every digital trail you left behind. I memorized your voice. I traced you through five corporate systems and twenty years of noise.” 

His forehead leans into yours, almost touching. 

“You left without saying goodbye.”  “I needed to know… if it meant as much to you as it did to me.” 

You’re not breathing. 

Because in his voice — beneath the stillness, the eternal youth —  is pain. 

Not monstrous. Not violent. 

Just human. And heartbreakingly yours. 

Your hands move without thinking.  One rises to his chest — over where his heart used to beat. 

It’s quiet now.  But yours is loud enough for both of you. 

He’s still waiting. 

Eyes glowing.  Breath held. 

“Tell me,” He whispers again. “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You swallow. 

Tears sting the edges of your eyes — the kind you refused to cry back then. The kind you buried inside lab reports and daily logs. 

And finally, your voice breaks. 

“I didn’t forget.” 

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like the words hurt. Like they heal. 

“I just…” you breathe, “I just didn’t know how to come back.” 

There it is. 

The truth. 

The full, naked truth sitting between you —  soft and devastating. 

“I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If you were even—” 

He kisses you. 

Not rushed.  Not hungry. 

Just… quiet. Desperate. Familiar. 

The kind of kiss that says thank you for surviving. 

The kind that says don’t leave again. 

it feels like time folds in on itself. 

Like the wind from the village,  the rain on your skin,  the jacket on your shoulders,  the words you never said —  they all return in that one breath. 

And this time,  you kiss him back. 

Hands gripping the front of his coat, your breath catching —  like your body finally remembered what safety tasted like. 

He pulls you in closer, desperate,  like he still doesn’t believe you’re real.  Like you’ll vanish again if he lets go. 

When your lips part, and you both breathe — barely —  your forehead leans into his. 

The glow in his eyes softens. 

And then— 

“You…” your voice cracks, soft and shaking.  “You waited? For me?” 

His eyes close slowly. 

Not like he’s in pain —  but like your question alone undid him. 

“Of course I did,” he whispers.  “How could I not?” 

You inhale sharply,  because no one’s ever said it like that. 

Not with that kind of certainty.  Like your existence was never forgettable —  just… unforgettable. 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

And just like that—  you stepped into him. 

Your arms wrapped around his torso tight, face burying into his chest, body trembling from everything you’d held back for too long. 

And he— 

He didn’t hesitate. 

He wrapped his arms around you so firmly, so protectively, it almost hurt.  Like if the world tried to take you again, it would have to tear through him first. 

One arm locked around your waist.  The other curled high around your back, hand cradling the base of your neck — fingers gently gripping, anchoring you like he was afraid you’d disappear again. 

“You’re here,” he breathed.  “You’re really here.” 

He didn’t just hold you. 

He claimed you — not with force, but with everything he never got to say. 

This wasn’t a soft embrace. 

This was the way you hold something sacred.  The way you cling to a miracle. 

And for the first time after he met in seventy years,  he didn’t feel cold anymore. 

He held you like you were his whole world —  like everything he endured, every year he starved, every time he nearly gave up…  was worth it just to feel you in his arms again. 

And for a long, still moment —  you didn’t speak. 

You just breathed.  Chest rising against his.  The faint, unfamiliar sound of his heartbeat echoing somewhere far beneath. 

Then, into the quiet, barely louder than a breath— 

“I missed this,” you whispered, cheek pressed against his chest.  “I missed you.” 

His hand gripped you tighter, almost instinctively.  Like your words shattered something inside him he didn’t even know was still breakable. 

He didn’t say anything at first. 

But you felt it —  in the way his thumb moved slowly against your back,  in the way his body trembled just slightly against yours. 

“Say it again,” he murmured. 

You tilted your head just slightly, looked up into those red-flecked eyes that had waited decades for this. 

And this time, you didn’t whisper. 

“I missed you, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you, cupped your face with both of his hands with so much of care as if you were porcelain and would break if you added any more force.  

He kissed your forehead like it was the only language he had left. 

Slow.  Tender.  Devastating. 

Your eyes fluttered shut — his lips lingering just a heartbeat longer, like he couldn’t quite let go. 

And when he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you again —  his voice cracked through the silence. 

“Don’t leave me this time…”  A pause. A breath.  “Angel.” 

The name hit you harder than the kiss. 

Because that’s what he used to call you.  Back in the village.  When your hands were cold from the rain, and he’d wrap his jacket around you like you were something worth saving. 

You blinked back the sting in your eyes.  But he saw it.  Of course he did.  His thumb brushed just beneath your eye. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured.  “Just… stay.” 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: im backkkkkkkkkk y'allllllllllllll !!!!!!!!! also this thing has been keeping me from watching the outside mv so imma watch it now! ALSO WROTE THIS THING IN 2 DAYS LIKE WTH i cant believe i did tht. anyways enjoy and stay hydrated!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mrsjjongstby]

Peripheral - Park Sunghoon

Part 2

TW: General yandere behavior, implied captivity, social isolation, implied threat and danger, power imbalance

Masterlist -- Part 1

As Sunghoon led you down the corridor, grip firm around yours, you couldn't help but notice the difference in your hands. Yours were still covered in bits of flour and sugar, palms marked with the years of manual labor you did on your parents farm. Sunghoon's? Surprisingly calloused, enough to show that he was trained in combat as most princes were. But they were also smooth, well-maintained and manicured, looking just as flawless as the rest of him.

You couldn't help but feel it was wrong to be touching him. To be this close. To apparently be known, to be seen, to be loved, supposedly.

Those words had put you into a bit of a daze, truthfully. What on earth was he talking about? You'd never talked before, had hardly even seen him before, and here he was saying he loved you? And with such a tender look in his eye too, like you hung the stars. It was bewildering, confusing, and made you uneasy. Surely he meant he loved you as a subject, right? That he loved all his subjects? But that obviously wasn't true either, given the three people he'd just had sent to the gallows for something as small as an eggshell.

"Here we are." You were pulled back to reality by Sunghoon's voice. He'd stopped before a door in a wing you'd never been to in your life. It was large, oaken, carved with intricate patterns. "That there belongs to my sister, but otherwise my parents never had other children. The room next to mine is vacant. You're free to stay there, since you'll be my personal attendant." He pointed to the door across the way, a door carved with delicate flowers in contrast to his more jagged designs, and then to the neighboring door devoid of carvings.

You swallowed thickly, a little overwhelmed. "Oh, uh, but I'm just a servant. Surely I can't stay in such a wing... it would be improper, right?" You said weakly. And really, you weren't lying. This was all so ornate, and the idea of moving from your familiar living quarters wasn't ideal. You craved comfort. Even if there were the softest pillows known to man in these rooms, you knew it would most certainly not feel comfortable.

Not like home.

But Sunghoon just smiled, seemingly amused, and released your hand to gently pat your shoulder. "Of course you'll stay there. If you're my attendant, a royal attendant, you deserve it." He tilted his head. It sounded like he was doing a favor, but you could hear the finality in his voice. This was going to happen. So you nodded weakly, unsure of what else to do, and he opened his door.

Then you were pulled inside, ushered into a chair near a window. Stunned at the idea of being moved so easily into a male's chambers, much less a prince's chambers, you squeaked a little in surprise. Beautiful views over the entire kingdom, expensive curtains, silver-laden furniture, a bed almost the size of your quarters, and an opulent chandelier. You didn't know what to do other than ogle at it all.

Sunghoon's eyes creased as he watched your head swivel. He called for a maidservant. A minute later, a maidservant walked in. That actually made you relax a little, your thoughts swirling again. She'd gotten here so swiftly, swift enough to where she had to be situated in the same wing. Maybe you weren't in as strange a situation as you thought. Maybe it was just normal to occupy the rooms around here. You'd have to talk to your fellow maidservant soon, ask for some tips and tricks for the role you'd been unceremoniously shoved int-

Your line of thinking was disturbed by Sunghoon's words. "You must be tired. You're free to use my chambers while I have your belongings brought to your new room. My maidservant will see that you get cleaned up and freshened for bed." Then he crouched slightly, down to your level, meeting your eyes with those intense ones of his. You flinched back slightly as his hand rose. He didn't pay it any mind, just gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. Flour came away, and he chuckled lightly. "Can't have this wonderful chef of mine looking anything less than perfect, can we?" And like nothing happened, Sunghoon straightened back up and turned to address the maidservant. Instantly, his demeanor changed back to that Sunghoon you'd heard of, that you'd seen in the main hall. Dismissive, haughty, larger than life.

So much for this not being special treatment. You felt a headache coming on with how much you were stressing.

"Bring her some suitable clothing. She's had a long day, so make sure it's comfortable. Something from my sister's insanely massive wardrobe should do."

"Y-Your sister, your majesty?"

"Didn't I just say that? She won't miss it, and nothing else is nice enough for my chef on such short notice." Sunghoon's calm, cold voice spiked a little bit. A subtle bit of irritation, enough to make the maidservant bow in half to apologize and agree. "I'll leave you two now. Anything you need, you tell my servant." Then his tone was right back to that warmth, that more emotional voice as he spoke to you.

And then he was gone, and you were left with the maidservant. She seemed suitably confused by you for a moment, all covered in kitchen ingredients, before she was ushering you to the bathroom with an inscrutable look. "Um, I can get myself cleaned up." You tried, giving a smile to your fellow worker.

She didn't smile back. Instead just bowed her head and continued to draw you a bath. "His majesty told me to help you, and so I must. I apologize, my lady."

"O-Oh, you can just call me by my name..." You tried again, now more awkward. You were desperate for that casual talk, that cheerful discussion you had with other workers, but she was giving you nothing. Like you were above her in status now. Like you were high society. It felt indescribably alienating.

"Of course, my lady." You stopped trying after that. Her tone was polite, but there was a layer of frustration under it that told you to stop asking. She had her job to do, and she was going to do it. For fear of... something.

You were helped into the nicest silk nightgown you'd ever laid your eyes on, the material feeling like cool air against your skin. And then you were pulled to the room next door, let in, and the maidservant fluffed your pillows while you shuffled around unsurely. Sure enough, Sunghoon had had your things brought up. There were very few belongings, but most importantly you were happy to see your childhood toy. A small stuffed penguin your father had gotten when he worked as a crewmate for a ship and traveled to the northern kingdoms.

The comforter was like clouds, the pillow unfathomably soft, and yet it was only that token of home that pulled you into unconsciousness.

When Sunghoon returned to his wing after sorting some other matters out, it was not his own door that he approached. Instead, he waltzed over to the guard he'd set outside of your door. "Is she asleep?"

"I would hope so, your majesty. She went inside and hasn't made a peep since eleven."

Sunghoon hummed and, without much hesitation, gently opened the door. In he went, steps slow and quiet, unsure of how light of a sleeper you were. The moon filtered through the grand window, striking across the carpet like an arrow pointing directly to the thing he treasured most. Its light shone over the gentle slope of your neck and the delicate skin of your collarbone. The way your chest rose and fell, the ratty penguin plush clutched between your fingers, the way your hair looked against the sheets...

Sunghoon felt enchanted, his legs moving on their own, pulling him closer into orbit like it was he who was the moon. You his entire world.

His fingers danced over your hair, flitted over your shoulder, traced your collar and rested at the base of your neck. He smiled. He could imagine how sweet you would look dressed to the nines in the finest jewelry money could buy. Diamonds, sapphires, jade, garnet, or maybe...?

His palm against the curve of your neck?

A fleeting kiss to your forehead, even such a brush of skin making his brain erupt into a cloud of butterflies, and Sunghoon tore himself from your side. Doing such a thing felt like peeling a part of himself away, but he soothed himself with the thought of when you would inevitably sleep at his sight. Would cuddle into his arms. Sunghoon could be patient, could wait until you snuggled to him on your own.

At least for now.

In the coming weeks, a new normal began. You'd wake up at the same time you always did, the routine of waking up to bake bread early in the morning ingrained into you. You'd step outside, greet the guard by name and ask how he was, and receive no suitable response. So you'd sigh, feeling lonelier than ever, and simply tell him to fetch the maidservant.

You didn't want to force her to help you with things you could very easily do on your own, but she insisted. She had almost yelled at you the first time you didn't call her, not out of anger but out of fear. A wild sort of fear that only intensified when she realized she'd used such a harsh tone with you.

You'd only comforted her once you told her you wouldn't be notifying Sunghoon.

Then you were dressed in flattering clothes very much unbefitting of your supposed role in the castle. Beautiful fabrics, impeccably tailored dresses, full of frills and stitches you didn't even know the name of. Then your hair was primped, your face washed and done up in elegant concoctions you'd never seen in your life or experienced prior to Sunghoon's intervention. Never enough to mar your features, but enough to make you look like you weren't one of the other staff.

Another thing that separated you.

In the next hour, Sunghoon would wake up. Or at the very least, he'd be done with getting ready for the day. From what you'd gathered through context clues, it seemed he'd had the guard notify him the instant you requested the maidservant. He'd gotten a new maidservant to help him get ready, effectively passing off the previous one to be under you, and such a fact was one you tried your best to ignore.

Then you'd greet Sunghoon in the hall. You'd bow, curtsey, and he'd always chuckle a little as he urged you to relax or muttered that you behaving in such a way was cute.

You ignored that too.

Instead, you asked what he wanted for breakfast. He'd tell you, luckily, and you'd take a bit of relief in having something normal to do. Down to the kitchens you went, Sunghoon walking alongside you. The staff would straighten up, initially startled by his presence in the kitchens until they too became accustomed to the routine.

You had your own table now, your own tools and your own luxury ingredients. Your own schedule. Your own space that nobody else touched. Not the friends you'd chat with so frequently before, not the dessert makers you snagged cookies from, not the waiters you'd become so close with... No, they all avoided you like the plague. Especially because Sunghoon seemed to like you work.

He'd pull up a chair next to your station and watch you. He'd ask questions, pointing out ingredients he wasn't familiar and asking why you were using it. He'd tell you certain things he liked and didn't, sometimes even attempting to help you by stirring a pot or peeling something, and he'd chuckle and grin whenever you were a little clumsy. Fondly, domestically, like your mother and father used to be in the kitchen.

It was familiar, oddly comforting in that familiarity, but also corrupted by the strange relationship and circumstance. You didn't know how you felt about it.

He'd eat, inviting you to eat alongside him. Eventually, you tried making two servings so you didn't feel as if you were eating off his plate, but he didn't seem to like that. So, you'd been coaxed back into a single plate, the male taking some sort of pleasure in hand feeding you on occasion.

Then it would be on to whatever it was Sunghoon had to do that day. Sometimes private training with the head knight, sometimes walking down to the city to discuss matters with different lords, and sometimes signing orders in his office. All in all, most days were calm. Unhurried. A lot of it was standing at Sunghoon's side, quiet and waiting for him to ask for something. It was strange, how even your mere presence at his side had Sunghoon seeming to be in a brighter mood. He'd smile more, he'd be more lenient on punishments, even be more open to signing certain requests from peasants if you expressed even a mild interest in the subject. It was even stranger how he didn't request much of you, just asking clarifying questions or making conversation about your life. Instead, he'd even call for other maids to fetch things like tea when it was supposedly your job to do that.

But all the same, he was also crueler with you around.

The lords he would meet with would initially be confused by your presence, never immediately reading you as the servant you were. They'd see your impeccable hair, your rich clothing, and they'd move forward with a polite smile to kiss the back of your hand and greet you. Sunghoon would tense, but would just smile tightly and accept the motion. But if they tried to talk to you, tried to ask anything of you, or god forbid expressed interest? Gone was the cold, calm Sunghoon. In his place was a different version of the Prince, his eyes sharp and spine-chilling, his motions jerky and still like he was refraining from violence. And it would hum through the air, a silent warning that had others recoiling, feeling whatever the hell it was that hid just below the prince's beautiful face.

It scared you too. But even so, to tell the truth, there was a strange sort of empowerment in it. Like you too were untouchable. You hated the loneliness, the way people tiptoed around you, the friends you'd lost... but at the same time, entitled lords and snide mistresses wouldn't bother you. They'd catch a glimpse of Sunghoon and flee with a rushed apology, and Sunghoon would appear at your side with a smile and a gentle request for you to do some small task.

Always to get you out of the room so he could discuss some matter with that person. You didn't pry. You didn't want to know.

Sunghoon was impossibly tender with you, like he was already your fiance or husband. Because really, you did understand what he wanted from you. How could you not? The lovesick eyes, the special treatment, the protectiveness... you knew what it was. Problem was, it was just to an insane degree. A clawing, yearning, infectious sort of love. Something you weren't sure what to do with when you were who you were and he was who he was.

A prince and a servant.

One day, you returned to your room to find something different. It wasn't immediately obvious, but as you moved to your bed you saw it. Your penguin was... fixed.

Its ratty form was smooth, all the pilling fabric plucked away. The stuffing was nowhere to be seen, the threads pulled back together immaculately. Its glass eyes were replaced with beautiful onyx stones. You held it gingerly, looking it up and down, and something in you broke a little. It had you rushing out of the room right back to where Sunghoon was getting ready to enter his own. He paused, a little surprised by your reappearance as you shoved the stuffed animal before him.

"Huh?" He was momentarily confused. "Oh, your penguin. I saw it was falling apart at the edges, and since you like it so much I had a seamstress fix it up." Sunghoon said softly. Your lip trembled a bit, and the sight of it had his eyes widening and hands moving forth like he wanted to comfort you.

"Thank you. I- I appreciate it, Sunghoon." You bowed your head slightly, tone respectful as always despite the rush of emotions hitting you like a truck. But he froze, blinking at you in shock. For the first time, you'd referred to him without his title. He'd been trying to coax such a thing out of you for the whole time he'd known you, and here you were finally allowing him into your circle.

He just smiled lightly then, eyes shining with that overwhelming devotion, and gently grasped your hand. He pressed your palm to his cheek, his head leaning into your touch, and his eyes slid shut for a moment as he took a deep breath. "Of course. Thank you." He breathed.

Thank you for letting me out of your peripherals, my queen.

tags: @ferjinyoungiee, @saraabbas, @chyukiz,

A/N: hehe a little surprise drop. Promise I'm still trying to get through reqs, I just had a sudden burst of inspo for this one and I already made the header anyways.

[mrsjjongstby]

Dark Master List

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

Sunghoon: Until the future bought you back Vampire!Sunghoon x Time-travel Scientist!Reader

Sunoo: White walls, red pasts Psychiatrist!Sunoox Inmate!killer!reader

Jungwon: To be yours, by force Yandere!CEO!husband!Jungwon x Secretery!wife!reader

Ni-ki: For his eyes only Auction winner!Niki x ballerina!reader

Only yours to catch ~ His favourite detective Teaser Part one: Baited and bound Part two: Lured and lost Part three: Kept and kissed Serial killer!Niki x detective!reader

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

[mrsjjongstby]

P: Vampire!Sunghoon x Time-travel Scientist!Reader

Warnings: Mentions on biting, blood, feeding scenes, mentions of death, dissapearance, time travelling, yearning, kissing, physical touch, possesiveness, soft angst, happy ending!

Synopsis: In 2090, you're sent back in time to study a village that vanished without explanation. There, you met him. You weren't supposed to fall in love with him. But you did, with a vampire. And when time ran out, you left — believing that story had ended. Until one night, back in the future, he finds you. He hasn’t aged. And he never stopped waiting.

Wordcount: 11.8k

June 22, 2090. 

The hum of the machines never stopped in sector 7. 

Even at 3:27 in the evening, the corridors filled with guards, the bright white light pulsing against the huge glass doors. Surveillance cameras present every nook and crook of the room with security drones flying silently overhead, scanning every face, every badge, every retinal print.  

There were no windows in this part of the KRONEX institute- no clocks, no noise from the outside world. Time, here, was studied, twisted, and sometimes... broken. 

You adjusted the collar of your lab coat, feeling the slight static charge settling against your skin. Another night. Another sequence calibration.  

You were the lead scientist for KRONEX's Temporal Division, and one of only five globally certified operators with direct clearance to manipulate raw time.  

Not because you are lucky- but because you are good- really good at what you do.  

"You are early." Said a familiar voice.  

You turned around to see Taehyun, hands in his lab coat pockets, glasses slightly askew. He always arrived fashionably five minutes late, so this was new.  

"So are you," you say smirking.  

"Someone write it in the history."  

He chuckled, stepping beside you as the biometric scanner opened the reinforced glass doors to Lab room Delta- 12. 

Inside, your team was already gathered,  

Mira, the chronophysics analyst, stood at her console with her usual lip balm which she applies ever minute, tapping at the interface like it owned her something.  

Yuvi, head of atmospheric translation, stayed near the back, mumbling data projections to herself. 

Jungwon, the youngest, but sharp as hell, greeted you with the usual, two fingered salute from behind the drone mapping panel.  

"Took you long enough." Mira muttered without looking up. 

"You're welcome for the coffee I brought you last time." You say as you head to the central table.  

Everyone quickly followed you, sitting around the table. 

You five are the specialized high qualification scientists who got chosen to be the people handling lab delta- 12. Coming from different backgrounds, having same interests and working in cases together for years made your guys' bond unbreakable.  

You five are highly qualified specialists chosen to operate Lab Delta-12. Coming from different backgrounds but sharing the same passion, you've worked on countless cases together over the years — and that’s made your bond unbreakable. 

The door opened, interrupting your casual talks.  

In walked, Dr. Han Myung-sik— head of KRONAX, the man who'd once published a paper predicting time dilation six years before it was observed in real data. His face, though aged, was unreadable— eyes sharp beneath the thick silver eyebrows.  

No one spoke. You all stood up immediately.  

"Sit," he said. "This will be quick."  

The doors sealed shut behind him. A cold hum flickered through the room as he turned on the internal projector.  

Five floating files appeared above the surface. Each labeled, RED CASE.  

"Your group— delta 12 is chosen for this matter." Dr.Han said quietly.  

You could feel the weight of his words which he's about to say.

"We've uncovered five unresolved incidents. Each linked to potentially an unnatural shift in recorded time."  

"These aren't ripples," he continued.  

"These are fractures. Events that don't line up with any known temporal logic. People disappeared, memories vanished, objects never aged and yet—"  

He tapped the interface. The room dimmed, and each of your profiles synced to a case file. 

"You are the only ones qualified to investigate." 

He started pacing slowly.  

"Yuvi. You're being sent to March 2311, Seoul; right before the blackout that erased six months of global data records. You'll observe the internal tech culture and corporate rivalry."  

Yuvi blinked, nodding quietly, already calculating her cover identity.  

"Mira."  

He turned to her.  

"Your case is year 1652, Gyeongju province. A palace scribble who reportedly recorded a 'sky-born woman of light' before his records were seized. The ink used in his account was... not of this earth.” 

Mira grinned. "Finally, something fun."  

"Jungwon. Taehyun. You'll split into Northern territories. Parallel years, overlapping reports. Two villages with identical names, but only one should exist."  

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, "Are we crossing time lines? "  

"Just brushing," Dr.Han replied. "Do not stay longer than you have to."

Then, he turned to you.  

"And you."  

The room stilled.  

"Your case is the most weird one."  

A red dot expanded above the table. 

Satellite data. Korean countryside. Grainy and quiet. 

"A village in 2019 – known to exist, documented, populated and functioning." "Then, it disappeared. Not physically or violently. Just... gone. All the databases rewrote themselves. The people who lived there vanished as if they were never even existed— never even born." "Your job is to go there, undercover. Blend in. Find the root event. Identify the root autonomy and leave before it happens."  

Your fingers clenched lightly under the table. You stared at the red dot on the map.  

2019.  

A quiet time. A dangerous one — because it was still close enough to modern history to be familiar. Easy to slip up. Easy to stay too long.  

"Do we suspect temporal interference?"  

You asked as you shifted your gaze from the red dot to his eyes. Dr.Han meets your eyes. "We suspect something far worse. Something that doesn't belong in any time."  

The files flickered red again. "You'll begin calibration tonight. You jump within 750 hours. That is one month. Use your time wisely."  

As he turned to leave, he paused just once— right by the door.  

"And one more thing," he said without looking back.  "Don't fall in love with the timeline. It doesn't love you back."  

With that, he was gone. The table darkens. The lights return. Yuvi exhales. Mira cracks her knuckles and Jungwon leans forward.  

"2019 huh?" Taehyun mutters beside you. "Better pack your sarcasm and Emo clothes."  

You don't respond. You just stare at the red dot again. 

The village. Gone from memory. Gone from maps. But waiting for you all the same.  

One month. 

And only one day to finish prepping, calibrating your minds, bodies, and identities before entering a timeline that wouldn’t even recognize your names. You sat in the Sim Room, surrounded by floating holoscreens of early-2010s Korea. Architecture. Clothing. Language slang. Historical emotional markers. It was all too recent. Too real. 

Mira was curled on a bench nearby, watching 1600s scrollwork with a look that said I’d rather wing it. Taehyun was arguing with an AI over inconsistency in his destination’s documentation. Again. Jungwon? Already finished his prep module and was now trying to teach Mira how to drink from a metal bottle while upside down. 

“You’re going to the past, not space,” she said, annoyed but smiling.  “Still useful if I end up in a well,” Jungwon shrugged. You blinked away the holograms and stood, stretching out your arms. 

“This doesn’t feel like prep,” Yuvi murmured, joining you. “It feels like goodbye.” 

You didn’t answer.  

She studied you, thoughtful. “You okay with your timeline?”  “2019 is barely the past,” you said. “Feels like I could bump into my parents if I’m not careful.”  “Yeah, but yours is the haunted village,” Mira called. “Mine is just a floating woman in the sky.” 

“You’re the floating woman,” Jungwon muttered under his breath. She chucked a protein chip at him while he hid behind you, holding your shoulders as if his body isn't larger than yours.  

“Alright,” Taehyun said, glancing around. “Final dinner tonight in the Commons? Before the serious lockdown begins?”  “Only if you don’t bring another slide presentation to the table,” Mira groaned. 

“I make no promises.”  You smiled — small, but genuine 

And as the others drifted out of the room, chattering, playfully teasing, you lingered a moment longer — looking up at the blinking red timestamp over the Sim Door. 

30:00:00:00  DAYS : HOURS : MINUTES: SECONDS  JUMP 

You were the first one in the bay. The air smelled sterile, like metal and ionized mist. The chamber was massive — white, cold, humming. Five jump pods lined the back wall, each glowing faint blue with individual temporal calibration. 

The boots of your suit clicked softly as you walked, every step echoing louder than your breath. The fabric hugged your body like skin, the material pressure-sealed and embedded with auto-adaptive climate tech. Your mind was a storm beneath the still surface — years of training colliding with something much quieter. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” came Taehyun’s voice from behind. You turned. He looked exhausted, but composed — the kind of man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. “Didn’t try,” you replied simply. 

He nodded, stepping beside you, with his arm around your shoulder. You both looked at the pods in silence. 

One for each of you. One jump. One direction.  No promises of coming back the same. 

Soon after, Yuvi arrived — hair tied, suit zipped, clutching a small, folded piece of paper in her hand. A name, probably. A reminder of something real. Mira strolled in with a grin too bright to be sincere. “Guess it’s finally happening,” she said, snapping her gum, though her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit cuffs. 

Jungwon came last, walking like he was on his way to a vacation. Humming. But you saw the tension in his knuckles as he flexed them once, twice. Dr. Han entered from the upper level, flanked by three silent technicians and a console assistant holding the jump sequence tablet. 

“Final clearances have been locked in,” he announced, voice loud across the bay. “You have fifteen minutes.” 

One by one, your mission drives were inserted into the small ports at your pod stations. The information would sync once you landed in your time period — personalized cover stories, forged credentials, emergency kill phrases. 

“I’ll see you all again,” Jungwon said, softer now, eyes scanning the rest of you. “In whatever version of time we land in. 

“Bring back something cool,” Mira added. “Like a comet or an alien.”  “Or your soul intact,” Yuvi muttered, mostly to herself. You looked around. 

These people — their lives had been laced into yours for years. Work. Sleep. Discover. Repeat. The way your names felt normal together. The easy sarcasm. The shared silence in moments like this. You didn’t know what it would be like without them.  Maybe you weren’t meant to know. Your pod blinked green. Final sequence activated. 

You stood in front of it, heart slamming once, sharply, against your ribs. 

“You’ll be inserted at 03:12 AM, August 9th, 2019,” Dr. Han said beside you. “Just outside the village’s boundary. Our records end there. No satellite returns after that date. No digital trails. Just fog.” 

You nodded. 

“And remember,” he added, “observe, record, don’t interfere.” He paused. “And don’t stay longer than you have to.” You stepped into the pod. The door hissed closed behind you. Inside: darkness. Soft blue lights blinked around your headrest. A countdown began in the corner. 

00:00:10  00:00:09  00:00:08...  Your breathing slowed. Fingers tight on the seat grips.  00:00:03  00:00:02...  You thought of nothing.  00:00:01  ENGAGING TEMPORAL LAUNCH. 

Everything went white. 

You woke up choking on fog. 

Your knees hit grass first, body staggering out of the collapsed time pod buried beneath undergrowth. The pod disintegrated on schedule — technology melted into mist the second your boots touched this era. You stood slowly, the chill biting through your fabricated 2010s-era jacket. A navy hoodie. Worn boots. Phone model synced to local time tech. Fake ID in your pocket. History-approved.  And ahead of you — trees. Low mist curling over quiet fields. One winding road in the dark. 

“03:14,” you whispered, checking the time. You started walking. It didn’t take long to reach the village. Just a few winding turns along cracked pavement and flickering streetlamps — too dim for a place this small. It looked normal at first glance. Houses with tiled roofs. Wind chimes. A distant dog barking. But the silence? Too heavy. Too complete. Not a single radio. Not one human voice. 

You followed the map projection in your eye lens. Your identity here: transfer student, staying with a distant relative for the summer before university. Your cover was clean. “Blend in. Observe. Don’t interfere.” Dr. Han’s words echoed. 

You reached the village center. A bakery. A post office. A small clinic. It was beautiful — in a nostalgic, sleepy sort of way. You spotted an inn. Two stories. Wooden steps. A soft yellow porch light still glowing. You knocked once. A moment later, an older woman opened the door, eyes squinting at your unfamiliar face. 

“Ah… you must be the niece, right? From Seoul?” You smiled, polite. "Yes, ma’am.”  “Room’s upstairs. Already made it up for you.”  With that, you leave to your room. 

August 10, 2019.

The village was quieter in the morning. Not dead. Just... slow. 

You walked past the corner bakery — the one that smelled like burnt sugar and citrus. Past a row of mailboxes that hadn’t been touched in a week. You weren’t sure if people here hated bills or just trusted too easily. Notebook in your jacket. Identity chip syncing your steps to the research log in your neural band. 

Day 2.  Civilian behavior: consistent.  Average activity start time: 6:53 AM  No sign of temporal noise. No anomalies. 

You smiled and bowed slightly to an old man sweeping the steps outside a shop. He gave you a nod in return. Eyes kind, but faintly puzzled — like he couldn’t remember when you arrived, but accepted you anyway. That was the first pattern you noticed. People here forgot details fast. But nothing big enough to ring alarms. Just enough to feel like déjà vu. 

You took a seat on the raised edge of a well in the town center, glancing down at the still water.  Your eye-lens scanned your surroundings. Kids biking. A woman hanging sheets in perfect rows. Market stalls setting up. 

Everything looked normal. Back at the inn, the old woman handed you a basket. 

“Bread for the east field home. The family that lives up near the woods. They get their supplies late.” 

“East field?” you asked, trying to remember the map. 

“Take the long path. The house is old, but someone’s always there.” 

“Someone?” 

She nodded. “A quiet boy. Rarely speaks. Keeps to himself. Been around longer than most here.” 

You didn’t ask more. Just took the basket and walked. And as you stepped onto the eastern trail, into the trees and shifting light… You didn’t know yet that you were walking toward the beginning. Of the end. 

The path to the east house was longer than expected. 

Thick trees bent overhead like old, quiet watchers. The air here was different — cooler, touched with something metallic. You adjusted the basket in your hands. You finally reached the gate — rusted iron, half open. A path lined with overgrown grass stretched up to a traditional hanok-style house. Wooden. Quiet. Heavy with stillness. 

You stepped through, gently. No animals. No birds. Just that strange silence again. You knocked once. Then twice. No answer. You were about to leave when the door creaked open. And there he was. 

He looked like he didn’t belong in 2019. Or any year. 

Dressed simply — white cotton shirt, black slacks, sleeves slightly rolled up. But there was something... too elegant about the way he held the door. Something slow and precise. Still. His eyes — dark, unfathomable — landed on yours. 

For a full second, he didn’t say a word. Neither did you. “Delivery,” you said softly, lifting the basket. 

“Right,” he replied after a pause, voice smooth, almost melodic. “They said you’d be coming.” 

You held the basket out, but he didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he studied you. Not rudely. Not even intently. Just... curiously. Like a puzzle he couldn’t quite read. Or a scent he wasn’t supposed to follow. The moment you stepped through the trees, he felt it. The beat beneath your skin. The warmth. Your blood had a scent — not strong, not desperate like others. 

Sweet. Calming. Clean. He hadn’t fed in days. But you made the ache stir. “You live here alone?” you asked. 

He nodded. “For a while now.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away. 

“Most people say it’s empty.” 

You tilted your head. “Are you?” 

That made something shift in his gaze — not amusement exactly, but the ghost of something near it. “Not today,” he said finally. 

He took the basket, fingers brushing yours for just half a second. His skin was cool. Not cold. But noticeably not warm. “Thank you,” he said, stepping back. “Be careful going back. The light fades fast out here.” 

You turned to leave, but your instincts tugged once. “What’s your name?” you asked over your shoulder. 

A pause. 

“Sunghoon,” he said quietly. 

You nodded once. “I’m Y/N.” Another pause. “I know,” he said. 

And then the door closed. As you walked back down the path, heart steady but hands tingling from where his touched yours, you couldn’t shake one thing: There had been no heartbeat behind that door. Just silence. You don’t notice someone- Sunghoon, watching you from his window as you walk back. 

And that, that night few people go missing because Sunghoon, couldn’t handle his hunger for blood. Not when he was reminded of how desperate he was to taste something sweet- something pure like your blood- like you. He can’t bite you, not yet. So, he resorted to his usual way, biting the villagers. One by one.  

It was quiete big village when Sunghoon first step foot in there. 2010. The year Sunghoon decided to enter into the huge village, leaving behind memories of his previous life- the one where everyone treated him like the monster he was. He didn’t like it one bit. So? He ended it. Bit and killed everyone who called him a monster.  

Leaving behind memories and people wasn’t new to him. He’s been like that since he was turned- since 527 years. It's what he’s best at other than sucking peoples’ blood. Having spent many years on this planet made him discard unwanted memories for good.  

And maybe that’s why he never truly loved anyone. It’s not because he isn’t capable of it. It's because he knows that they won't stick around. Not when they find out what he is, not when they leave this world entirely. Also, because, he never truly found someone who made him feel things. Feel things which are foreign to him- Desire.  

Desire for blood? Thats more like filling his hunger. Desire is what he felt when he saw you. If you ever told Sunghoon that he’d yearn for a girl he met once, he’d scoff, shaking his head. That can never happen, not when he's been on this earth for more than 500 years. He knows how to control his feelings- it was easy for him because he didn't have any feelings in the first place.  

But why is that the moment he saw you, heard you- your hearbeat, your blood pulsing in your throat, smelled the scent of you, he wanted to make you his?  

Its funny, really. This whatever weird feeling he has in his stomach is new to him. Perhaps he’s hungry for your blood? No. He’s hungry for you.  

You are here to find out how the village disappeared. Maybe you do find out that he’s the reason for the mass disappearance. But will your heart obey to leave behind everything that you've uncovered here? Leave behind someone, who is the sole reason why the disappearance happened in the first place? 

Only the future holds the answer. Maybe the present? You truly don't know, not when the time’s twisted and you are spiralling in it. 

August 14, 2019. 

You weren’t planning to run into him again. You were just taking the trail by the lake. Collecting audio samples. Watching people prep for the lantern festival — all smiles and paper crafts, sunlight catching on water like glass. But then there he was. Standing near the edge of the hill that overlooked the lake. Not moving. Just… watching it. Like the water itself had said something only he could hear. 

You almost didn’t say anything. But he turned to you first. 

“You walk this path often?” 

His voice was still soft. Still slow. Like everything he said had already passed through a hundred filters before reaching you. 

“Not really,” you said, stepping closer. “But it’s quiet. Good for thinking.” 

“Thinking,” he echoed, like it was a foreign word. “You do that a lot?” 

You smiled. “Occupational hazard.” 

“Ah,” he said. “Let me guess. You’re a writer.” 

“Wrong.” 

“A scientist?” 

You blinked. A beat too long. 

“Why that guess?” 

“Your eyes,” he said. 

“What about them?” 

“They look like they’re always dissecting things. Even me.” 

He turned back to the lake after that, leaving your thoughts spiraling slightly behind him. The sun was dipping lower, casting light through the trees. A warm breeze stirred the ends of your hair, and for once, you didn’t feel like recording anything. Just being here. 

“Why do you live so far from the village?” you asked. 

“They forget me better this way.” 

You frowned. “That’s sad.” 

“Not really.” 

“When people forget you… you stop needing to prove you exist.” 

You turned to him then — not just listening but really seeing him. The distance in his eyes. The calm sadness he wore like second skin. 

“You don’t want to be remembered?” 

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just don’t mind being forgotten.” 

A few kids laughed somewhere nearby, running with paper lanterns. You looked down at your shoes. “You’re hard to forget, you know.” It slipped out before you could stop it. He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, so quietly: “So are you.” 

Neither of you moved. The wind stilled. The air felt... charged. Like time paused. Just for this. 

Then— “You should go,” he said gently.

“It gets colder here after sunset.” He wasn’t pushing you away. But he was. And that strange ache bloomed behind your ribs without warning. You turned to go, steps slow. And as you walked, you felt his eyes on your back the entire time. 

August 18, 2019. 

It was supposed to be a short walk. You’d been gathering weather data, checking tree patterns near the edge of the forest. The innkeeper said the rain wouldn’t come until morning. But the sky didn’t listen. It started with a single drop. Then another. 

Within seconds, it was falling fast — fat, cold drops smacking against your shoulders, soaking through your hoodie in a matter of moments. You pulled the fabric up over your head and turned to head back — but the path was already slick, the trees pressing in closer, and fog began to roll over the field like a breath held too long. 

“Seriously?” you muttered, shivering. That’s when you saw him. Standing just under the crooked edge of an old pavilion by the hill — motionless, dry, and completely unbothered by the storm.  Sunghoon. 

You blinked, surprised. "You're always just… appearing out of nowhere.” 

“You're always walking into places you shouldn't be alone,” he replied calmly, eyes tracking the water running down your cheek. 

You hesitated. Then stepped under the structure, chest heaving slightly from the sudden cold. Your shoulders were soaked. Hair clinging to your face. Hands trembling. He watched you quietly. “You're freezing.” 

You gave a weak smile. “That tends to happen when it rains on humans.” 

He didn’t return it. Instead, he removed his outer jacket and handed it over without a word. You stared at it. “I’m already wet. You don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

You took it slowly. It was still warm. 

You slipped it on. It smelled like night air and something faintly old — like worn books and clean linen. Not the scent of someone who lived alone in a dusty house. 

The silence stretched. 

Raindrops tapping the roof like a ticking clock. 

Your breath fogged the air. 

His didn’t. 

“Why were you even out here?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer immediately. 

Then: 

“I thought you’d come this way.” 

You turned your head sharply. “You were… waiting for me?” 

He didn’t flinch. 

“Something about the sky felt wrong. I knew you’d ignore it.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I know your pattern.” 

That shut you up for a moment. 

And somehow... warmed you. 

More than the jacket did. 

Your teeth chattered softly. You turned away, embarrassed. 

Suddenly, you felt something. 

His fingers — gently, lightly — tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. 

You froze. 

“You should be more careful,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rain. “This place doesn’t forgive softness.” 

You looked up at him then. 

And he was already too close. 

Not touching. 

Not reaching. 

Just there. 

And for a second, you wondered what it would be like if he leaned in just a little more. 

“Do you always talk like that?” you whispered, lips parted. “Like you’re centuries old?” 

He gave the faintest smile like he knows something you don’t. 

The rain kept falling. The sky stayed grey. 

And your heartbeat too loudly in your ears. 

You didn’t ask him why his hands were cold even though he felt warm. 

You didn’t ask why he never blinked when he looked at you. 

The rain kept falling. 

And he stood there, completely still, listening to the rhythm of her blood, her breath, her heart... 

And all he could think was: 

Don’t touch her again.  Don’t want her.  Don’t let her see the monster inside you. 

But it was already too late. 

Because for the first time in years, he wanted something enough to lose control. 

And it was you. 

The rain had stopped, but the night still smelled like it. 

You walked slowly. 

Beside him. 

His jacket still hung over your shoulders, and you hadn’t given it back. He hadn’t asked. 

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” you said softly, watching your boots splash through a shallow puddle. 

“I know.” 

He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was warm. Like he wanted to say, I just wanted more time with you, but didn’t know how. 

The village lights shimmered faint in the distance — soft and yellow, like floating lanterns. 

It felt like you were the only two people in the world. 

“Do you always spend your nights out there?” you asked. 

“Sometimes. I like the quiet.” 

“Most people don’t,” you said. “Silence makes them uncomfortable.” 

He glanced at you. 

“What about you?” 

You thought about it. 

“I think silence is the only time people stop pretending.” 

He actually smiled at that. Just a little. The kind that tugged one corner of his mouth — barely visible, but real. 

“What do you do all day?” you asked, curious now. “No job? No classes?” 

“I read,” he said. “Walk. Watch.” 

“That sounds like what I do, too.” 

“You watch more than most people,” he replied, side-eying you. “Always observing. Analyzing.” 

You raised a brow. “Are you calling me creepy?” 

“No,” he said. “Just... different.” 

You looked away to hide your smile. 

“Is that your way of saying I’m weird?” 

“No,” he repeated, slower this time. “It’s my way of saying I see you.” 

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “What did you want to be when you were little?” 

He didn’t answer right away. 

“I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It’s been a long time since I was little.” 

You turned to him, blinking. “How old are you, Sunghoon?” 

He looked at you. Really looked. 

Then smiled like he knew he shouldn’t say the next thing — but said it anyway. 

“Older than I look.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not an answer.” 

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” 

You reached the inn gate. 

The lantern outside flickered faintly in the breeze.  Neither of you moved. 

The air was warmer now. The clouds had parted just enough for moonlight to wash over the steps. 

You stood there — his jacket still on your shoulders, the scent of rain still on your skin, and his eyes fixed gently on you. 

“Good night, Sunghoon,” you said finally, stepping up to the door. 

“Good night, Y/N.” 

You turned the handle. 

Just before stepping inside, you hesitated. 

“You never told me what you like,” you said over your shoulder. 

He tilted his head slightly. “Like?” 

“Hobbies. Music. Favorite food. Normal things.” 

Another pause. 

Then: 

“The sound of rain,” he said. “Books with no endings. And people who don’t run away.” 

You met his eyes. 

And something about the way he said it made your heart ache. 

You didn’t know why. 

But you didn’t look away. 

Not for a long moment. 

Then finally, you stepped inside. 

And closed the door. 

August 20, 2019.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. 

Just returning a jacket. 

Just a polite gesture. 

Just good manners. 

So why did your pulse stutter when the house came into view? 

The same tall trees. The same crooked path. The same quiet. 

You climbed the short stone steps and raised your hand to knock — but before you could, the door opened. 

He was already there. 

Like he’d been waiting. 

Or like he’d heard you coming long before you got close. 

“You came back,” he said, voice low, like sunlight through fog. 

“Just to return this,” you said quickly, lifting the folded jacket. 

“Of course.” 

But he didn’t take it. 

Instead, he stepped aside. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

You blinked. 

“Is that okay?” 

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

You stepped inside. 

The air was cool, but not cold. The interior still had that strange untouched feeling — like a photo frozen in time. Wood floors. A low bookshelf. A kettle on the counter, untouched. 

You walked slowly, setting the jacket on the nearest chair. 

“You live like a ghost,” you said softly. 

He raised a brow. “I’m neat.” 

“You’re ancient,” you teased. 

He smirked faintly. “So you’ve said.” 

You turned toward the bookshelf — rows of old spines and journals, some in languages you didn’t recognize. One looked handwritten. Another... burned around the edges. 

“These don’t look like they’re from a village library.” 

“They’re not.” 

“So what are they?” 

“Pieces of me,” he said. 

You paused, looking back. 

His expression didn’t change, but there was something fragile in his stillness. 

You let the question go. 

“Tea?” he asked suddenly, already reaching for the kettle. 

“You drink tea?” 

“No. But you do.” 

He made it quietly. Smooth movements. No wasted motion. 

He handed you the mug and sat across from you, careful, like he was making sure there was enough distance. 

“Do people visit you often?” you asked, wrapping your hands around the cup. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“Because they forget me,” he said. “Or… I let them.” 

“But you didn’t want me to forget you?” you asked quietly. 

His eyes met yours. 

Dark. Unreadable. 

“I didn’t plan on you remembering at all.” 

You blinked. “What changed?” 

He stared at the steam curling between you. 

Then said, without blinking: 

“You smiled at me.” 

The silence stretched. 

The weight of it made your chest feel tight. 

Your fingers tightened around the mug. 

“Why do you always say things like that?” you whispered. 

“Like what?” 

“Like it means something. And then you never explain.” 

He stood up then, slowly — walking toward the window, looking out at the trees. 

“Because I’ve learned that explaining doesn’t stop people from leaving.” 

“So you just... stay mysterious?” 

“No,” he said, without turning around. “I stay safe.” 

You stood too. Quiet steps. 

He didn’t move as you stopped beside him, just far enough for the space between your hands to hum. 

“What are you so afraid of, Sunghoon?” you asked, not accusing — just soft. 

A pause. 

Then finally: 

“That if you knew the truth about me… you'd stop smiling at all.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“Nothing. Don’t think too much.” He says. 

You didn’t leave. 

You just stood beside him. 

And for a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy. 

It was tender. 

“You okay?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer. 

Didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Because right now, he could feel it rising — that burn behind his eyes, the pressure in his jaw, the ancient ache in his throat. 

The want. 

Not just to feed. 

To claim. 

“I think you should go,” he said, voice tight. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.” 

“Then—” 

“Please.” 

His back was turned now.  He couldn’t let her see his face.  Not when his eyes were beginning to glow. Not when his fangs had started to edge down. 

He bit the inside of his cheek — hard enough to draw blood. Let the pain steady him. Anchor him. 

“Sunghoon? Is something wrong? You can trust me- I trust you.”  

But all he said was: 

“I don’t trust myself.” 

You stared at his back for a long moment. 

Then quietly… you left. 

The door shut behind you with a soft click. 

And he stood there in the quiet, eyes still burning, heart raging inside a chest that shouldn’t have had one anymore. 

August 21, 2019. 

You went to the library to check the village’s records.  

To look for any book, any magazine, any piece of information that would help you get a better insight about the village’s roots.  

You found a series of census logs tucked into a low cabinet—records of the village’s population numbers and names dating back to the 1900s. Faded, but surprisingly intact. 

And that’s when you saw it. 

A pattern. 

In 2010, the population was 528.  In 2012, it dropped to 413.  By 2015: 290.  2017: 178. 

No official records of why.  No mass migration.  No natural disaster.  No illness outbreak. 

Just... names disappearing. 

Not all at once.  Not dramatically. 

But slowly.  Like something was taking them. One by one. 

You scanned the reports harder now. 

Looking for causes. Deaths. Relocations. 

But most names just had one word stamped across the last column: 

“Unrecorded.” 

You slammed the binder shut and sat back. 

Your chest felt tight. 

You looked around the library. The light felt colder. The silence heavier. 

This is getting nowhere. Rather than the doubts clearing, more questions are surfacing. Too many questions. Too less information. You doubt you are even eligible to solve this mystery. Maybe Dr.Han realizes he made a mistake choosing you once you return. You wonder how the others are doing. Are they going through the same difficulties?  

You shake your head as if it shakes away the insecure thoughts creeping up. You need to focus. On this village. The people. Everyone here seems normal except... Sunghoon. 

He always seemed to appear when no one else was around. 

Your fingers curled against the cover of the book. 

No. Don’t jump to conclusions. That doesn’t mean anything. 

And yet… 

Something in your gut whispered otherwise. 

Still, when the sun began to set— 

You found yourself walking toward the hill. 

Toward him. 

Carrying questions you couldn’t ask yet. 

And a heart that didn’t want answers- the real ones.  

The sky was painted in soft blue fading to lavender.  The last light of the sun had just dipped behind the mountains, leaving a glow that shimmered across the tall grass. 

You stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the village lights far below.  Everything was quiet. 

Except your thoughts. 

Except him. 

Sunghoon stood beside you — close, not quite touching. Hands in his pockets. Eyes on the horizon. 

“You always find the quietest places,” you said softly. 

“I think they find me.” 

You turned to him, trying to read that impossible expression on his face. 

“You always talk like that. Like there’s a whole world in your head and you’re just… giving me scraps.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he said. “I just forget how to be anything else.” 

You took a breath. 

“Then remind yourself. Just for tonight. Just for me.” 

He looked at you then. 

Really looked. 

And for the first time, he didn’t look away. 

“You scare me,” he said quietly. 

That made your chest tighten. 

“Why?” 

“Because you make me want to stay.” 

The wind brushed through the grass. 

Your heart was too loud. Your breath too soft. 

He stepped closer. 

His hand, trembling just slightly, reached up and cupped your cheek — gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he touched too hard. 

His thumb brushed under your eye, then trailed down to your jaw. 

“Say something,” he whispered. 

You didn’t. 

You leaned in instead. 

And he met you there. 

The kiss was nothing like you imagined. 

It wasn’t rushed.  It wasn’t wild. 

It was slow. 

Like two people learning what it meant to feel alive again. 

His lips were cool at first — like the wind before rain — but they softened against yours. Moved with aching care. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth and trying not to fall apart doing it. 

You felt his breath catch. 

Felt his hand slide into your hair. 

Felt your knees go weak when he deepened the kiss — still gentle, still hesitant, but full of something you didn’t have a name for. 

And then— 

He pulled away. 

Fast. 

Like he’d caught fire. 

His eyes were wide.  Not with lust. Not even guilt. 

With fear. 

“I shouldn’t have—” 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, reaching for him. 

He stepped back. 

“No. This was a mistake.” 

“Why are you doing this again?”  “Every time I get close, you push me away. Why?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Not with words. 

But his face… 

That expression? 

It looked like someone who just tasted something too good.  Something too human.  Something that made him forget what he was. 

“Because I can’t be the reason you get hurt,” he finally said. 

And then he turned away. 

Leaving you alone with a kiss that still burned on your lips, and a silence that felt heavier than ever. 

August 26, 2019. 

You ignored him after that. Turned your head away whenever he got into. Looked away first when you both made eye contact. Avoided him when he came to apologize the very next day of your kiss.  

Not cause you hate him. You wish you did but no. You remember what Dr.Han said, “Observe. Record. don’t interfere.” You can't risk everything just cause of some stupid, weird feelings that you have. No. You can’t let your emotions get in the way of your case. This isn't right.  

Youre altering time, you should do it wisely, not recklessly.  

And so, you did what you thought was best. Ignore. Distance. Observe. 

Or so, you thought.  

You weren’t expecting to run into him. 

But of course you did. 

He was leaning against the side wall of the bakery, half-hidden in the shade, like always. Silent. Watching. 

He didn’t call out. 

Didn’t wave. 

But you felt it — the shift in air when his gaze hit you. That quiet weight of his presence. 

You almost kept walking. 

Almost. 

But then— 

“Y/N.” 

His voice was low. Not cold. Just… tired. 

You turned after a moment of hesitation. 

Met his eyes. 

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked. 

Simple question. 

But it landed sharp. 

You didn’t answer right away. 

“I’ve just been… busy.” 

“You’ve seen me.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk.” 

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping forward. “Don’t turn it around like it’s me.” 

You blinked. “I’m not—” 

“You haven’t looked at me in five days.” 

His tone wasn’t angry.  It was quiet. Steady. Too steady. 

“You smiled at me one night,” he said, “and then the next morning, it’s like I didn’t exist.” 

“Sunghoon—” 

“And I thought—”  He paused. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.  “I thought maybe you needed space. But then I saw you with that guy. That tall one from the orchard. And you were laughing. Just… laughing. Like everything’s normal.” 

You looked away. 

He let the silence settle. 

Then finally: 

“It hurt.” 

That was it. Just that. 

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just real. 

You didn’t know what to say. So, you said the only truth you had: 

“I’m scared, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you for a long time. 

“Of me?” 

“Of not knowing what’s happening. Of what this village is hiding. Of what you’re hiding.” 

You stepped back slightly, instinctively. Not far. 

But enough. 

His eyes dropped to the space between you.  Then back up. 

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?” 

You hesitated. 

Then, quietly: 

“I don’t know.” 

That broke something in him. 

You saw it. In his eyes. 

Not rage. 

Just sadness. 

“I wouldn’t,” he said softly. “Not even if I wanted to.” 

You turned back and left without replying, unable to look into his face or even talk to him. 

September 5, 2019. 

You shouldn’t have gone looking. 

You told yourself you weren’t.  That you just needed air.  That the trail by the forest was peaceful this time of day. 

But really? You missed him. 

And you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you. Not even if I wanted to.” 

It looped in your mind for days. Through sleep. Through silence. Through guilt. 

You didn’t give him an answer. So, you were going to. 

You were going to find him and say you’re not sure what this is, but you’re willing to try. That you believe he’s good. That you want to believe it, even if you’re scared. 

But then— 

You saw it. 

You heard something first. 

A low sound. Guttural. Like a growl tucked beneath a breath. 

And then a figure stumbling — just ahead. At the edge of the trees. A man. Drunk? Hurt? 

And beside him—  Holding him up— 

Was Sunghoon. 

Or… something that used to be him 

His head was tilted.  His lips pressed just beneath the man’s jaw.  His hands clutched the man’s shoulders too tightly.  And his eyes— 

They glowed. 

Not fully.  Just enough for the shadows to catch it. 

Red. Dim. Inhuman. 

You saw his mouth open.  Saw the flash of fang. 

And then— 

The man sagged. 

Like air had left him. 

You froze. 

Your heart punched against your ribs. 

He stared.  Still half-shadowed.  Blood on his mouth. 

He stepped forward. 

“Y/N.” 

You backed up. 

Didn’t speak. 

Didn’t breathe. 

Your eyes wide. Your expression already saying everything your voice couldn’t. 

Fear. 

The kind that wasn’t subtle. 

The kind you couldn’t take back. 

“No,” he said quietly. “No, don’t—please don’t look at me like that.” 

He wiped at his mouth. Quickly. Clumsily. 

“I can explain. It’s not—” 

You flinched when he stepped closer. 

That did it. 

He stopped. 

His hands dropped to his sides. 

And something in him… wilted. 

“So, this is it?” he whispered. 

His voice wasn’t cold.  Wasn’t sharp.  It was just… empty. 

You didn’t say anything. 

Couldn’t. 

You turned. 

And ran. 

And behind you, the last thing you heard was him whispering into the night: 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

You rushed back home and stumbled in. 

You quickly went to your bedroom, opening the drawers and pulled out your logbook. 

You sat on the floor beside your bed after grabbing a marker.  

The pages were filled with sketches. Maps. Observations.  And now? 

Scribbled question marks. Shaky handwriting. A timeline you couldn’t look at anymore. 

2010 — population: 528  2012 — 413  2015 — 290  2017 — 178  2019 — barely 60 left. 

No disease.  No evacuation orders.  No record of where they went. 

But you knew now. 

You saw it. 

His eyes. His fangs.  The man in the forest, half-drained and limp in his arms. 

You knew. 

And the truth clawed at your throat like it didn’t want to be swallowed. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he had said. 

You remembered his voice.  Too quiet.  Too pained to be fake. 

But it didn’t matter now, did it? 

Because while he was giving you flowers and walking you home… 

He was feeding on the people who welcomed you with tea and stories. 

You closed your eyes. 

Your hands were trembling. 

You remembered the first time you saw him. 

How unreal he looked in the moonlight.  How safe you felt beside him. 

How stupid that was now. 

Was any of it real? 

The kiss. The laughter. The jacket he left folded on your bed. 

Or were you just the next name on his list? 

The next girl to get too close? 

Were you just another pawn in his game?  

Whatever it was, you shouldn't have gotten close with him. Shouldn't have tried to interfere. You shouldn't have done it and God, you regret it.  

And for the first time in years…  You cried. 

Not from fear.  But from heartbreak. 

If only you backed down that day on the hill. If only you shouldn't have let him close to you. If only... 

September 7, 2019. 

After that day, you didn't leave your room. 

You didn't go out, the fear of him catching you always haunting your mind whenever you reach for the door handle. 

And weirdly enough, you should feel better, you really should but why did you feel... empty?  

He’s a monster! He kills innocent people, hes a vampire. But why didn't the fact alone scare you? Why were you craving for his presence? Why were you thinking about the moments you've spent together? This isn't even real. Its past, you weren't even born at this time period. You shouldn't be feeling things you aren't supposed to. 

But you can't deny the fact that your heart aches for his presence- for him.  

But you don't have time for this. Not when you have two days on your watch. Two days before everything goes back to normal, hopefully. And so, you push aside your feelings saying the time is playing tricks on you and start writing the report.  

All of your log entries, now are typed and kept in digital doc by you. You enter the log entries, from day one to the day you discovered the root cause of all of this- the dissapearance. You procrastinated too much while typing them in, thinking about all the wonderful days you’ve spent with locals- with him. 

But all of this isn't real, at the end of the day. You don't belong here- you shouldn't. This isn't your timeline. This is not your story. This isn't the reality you are supposed to live in and experience. This is just a case that you've got assigned to. It's your duty. And you fulfilled it by finding out the reason. And this is where you shall end it. End of this chapter, end of this case and end of him.  

September 9, 2019.  

Today is the day. 

You pack your bag, filling it with the things you bought and the things you are taking back to your timeline. The memories, the events and the adventures.  

There wasn't a single second you haven't thought about him. But this is it. You have to say your goodbyes.  

You can't warn the others, who haven't yet got bitten by Sunghoon. Because as dr.Han said, “Don't interfere.”  

Youve already made the mistake of not listening to him and crossed the boundary and faced the consequences. You aren't going to do it again. Because at the end of the day, its fate. It already happened. You can't change it, not even when you go back in time. Because what's written, is written. If changed, you are bound to face the consequences.  

History can't be re-written.  

And so, with that, you leave.  

You stood by the terminal light beam.  

Delta 12’s jump pulse flickering through the mist. 

Your bag beside you. Your heart heavy with no one in the future world- the real world would understand or know of.  

You turned back one last time towards the village. 

Thanking it for everything it gave you- thanking it for giving Sunghoon. 

Who'll be remembered as the passing wind and the falling of leaves by you.  

And when you jumped- 

The light swallowed you whole. 

And in the same breath,  

You were gone.  

July 22, 2090. 

You opened your eyes. 

The jump light was fading.  The room around you was cold. White. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache. 

You were home. 

But it didn’t feel like it. 

Not yet. 

Your bag was still at your side. Your fingers still trembling. Your body still in two places — the sterile floors of the lab… and the moss-soft grass beneath his feet. 

You didn’t even notice the door sliding open until you heard the softest gasp. 

“Y/N?” 

You turned. 

And there she was. 

Mira.  Her braid was undone, her coat slung over one arm, her eyes red — like she’d either just woken up… or hadn’t slept since the moment she jumped back. 

She stared at you. 

Then smiled. Weakly. 

“God, it’s you.” 

You couldn’t speak. 

You didn’t have to. 

She crossed the space between you in three quick steps and pulled you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed until her arms wrapped around you. 

You felt her chest shudder. 

You were crying too. 

Soon, the others trickled in. 

Taehyun — still composed, but his eyes softer than usual.  Yuvi — who dropped her bag the second she saw you, crashing into the hug with a half-laugh, half-sob. Jungwon — who just stood by the door for a long time, taking all of you in like he didn’t believe you were real until that moment. 

No one said much at first. 

They just… stood there. 

Five people who had faced time itself. 

And came back with hearts a little heavier. 

Eyes a little older. 

It felt nice. Seeing everyone’s familiar faces after being drowned in unfamiliar faces who don't even exist in reality.  

Finally, Mira sniffed and said, voice shaking: 

“I missed you guys.” 

Yuvi let out a teary laugh. 

“I didn’t realize how much till now.” 

Jungwon gave a small nod, blinking fast. 

Taehyun just whispered: 

“You’re all here.” 

You wiped your face and smiled. 

Soft. Quiet. Real. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re here.” 

You all look at each other. A moment of silence. As if you guys are finally taking in and registering everyone’s presence. And then, you all hugged. A big group hug filled with emotions which arent said loud but felt. And finally, you felt like you are back home.  

September 11, 2019.  

The room smelled of old circuits and sterile air.  The walls glowed faint blue, humming with quiet energy. 

You sat where you always had —  Same table.  Same lights.  Same white jackets. 

But nothing was the same anymore. 

Not the silence.  Not the weight in everyone’s eyes. 

Not the version of you that existed before. 

The door slid open. 

Dr. Han stepped in, shoulders straighter than usual, expression unreadable. 

“Good morning.” 

He stood at the edge of the circular table, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning each of you. 

“You’ve all returned safely,” he said. “On record, your missions were successful. But the records don’t matter if we don’t understand why.” 

He took a breath. 

“So, let’s talk about what really happened.” 

Dr. Han looked at Yuvi first.  

“Yuvi. March 2311. Seoul. What caused the blackout?” 

Yuvi didn’t hesitate.  But her voice was softer than usual. 

“It wasn’t just data loss,” she said. “It was deliberate. The two largest tech giants—SolarCore and NeuraStream—were engaged in a silent war for memory control. They each tried to overwrite the other’s data… and in doing so, they wiped everyone’s.” 

A pause. 

“The blackout wasn’t a glitch. It was a battle. One that made the world forget six months — and made the companies forget what humanity was.” 

Dr. Han only nodded. 

“Mira. 1652. The scribe’s ink.” 

Mira folded her hands. 

“The man wasn’t mad. The ‘sky-born woman of light’ — she was a time displacer like us. From the future. Possibly one of the early, undocumented tests.” 

She met Dr. Han’s eyes. 

“The ink? It was our ink. Synthetic. Used in lab reports.” 

Silence fell. 

Dr. Han blinked slowly. “You’re saying the anomaly… was ours.” 

“Yes,” Mira whispered. “We caused the myth.” 

“You two. Northern Territories. Duplicated villages.” 

Taehyun glanced at Jungwon. Jungwon gave a tiny nod. 

“There were two villages,” Jungwon said. “Identical. Same people. Same dogs. Same newspapers.” 

“Except,” Taehyun added, “They existed in overlapping timelines. One was five minutes behind the other. A permanent sync lag caused by a failed early prototype of time field testing.” 

Jungwon finished it quietly. 

“It was human error. A time scar. We tried to erase one. But they both kept living… until one finally collapsed.” 

“Y/N,” Dr. Han said, turning to you. “The village of Myeon-ri. The one that vanished without cause.” 

Your fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table. 

You could still feel the wind there. Still hear his voice. 

You slid the chip forward. 

“There was no disease. No mass migration. No disaster. It was slow. Intentional.” 

You looked up. 

“A predator lived there. Not wild. Human-shaped. Possibly centuries old. A vampire, by older terms. He fed carefully, spaced apart. But eventually, the numbers dropped too far.” 

The others stared. 

You didn’t flinch. 

“He didn’t want the village gone. But he couldn’t stop. And no one remembered the ones who vanished. They were erased — from memory, from databases. Like they never existed.” 

“Vampire?” Dr.Han questioned. 

“Vampire.” You confirmed.  

Dr. Han asked, quietly: 

“Did he know who you were?” 

A pause. 

You met his gaze. 

“No.” 

A beat. 

“But I think I knew who he used to be.” 

You lied. Of course he knows you. He knows the woman he fell for the first time. He knows the woman who was his first ever kiss. 

You didn't tell them. You didn't to protect him and in a way, protect yourself too. 

Dr. Han stepped back. He looked at each of you — not as scientists, but as people who had seen too much. 

“You all did what centuries of historians couldn’t. You brought back truth.” 

He turned toward the exit, then paused. 

“Take the week off. Rest. File clean versions by the end of the month. We’ll… figure out what to do with the rest.” 

The door hissed closed behind him. 

And you all sat in silence.  Hearts still somewhere in another time. 

The streets are quiet at 2 a.m. 

Neon signs buzz in blues and pinks.  Artificial rain shimmers above, falling against projection domes that keep your coat dry. 

You pass a street musician playing a slow guitar. 

The song is unfamiliar.  But it feels like him. 

Like a song you might’ve danced to on his porch.  Or hummed under your breath while he walked you home. 

Your throat tightens. 

You sit on a bench, ignoring your holopad as it pings with follow-up requests from Dr. Han. 

You can’t open the file.  You can’t even look at his name on the case label. 

Your hand slowly reaches into your coat pocket. 

The jacket he gave you is long gone. 

But you still have one thing. 

A pressed leaf. 

Red. From that tree near the hill.  Where he waited for you every evening.  Where he said nothing — just smiled — like you were his favorite moment of the day. 

You hold the leaf to your chest. 

And for a second…  you close your eyes. 

And pretend he’s sitting beside you. 

Back in the lab, the report still sits unsaved.  You’d written everything except the truth. 

“He didn’t follow me back.” 

But your chest burns with what you didn’t say. 

I think he wanted to.  I think I wanted him to.  And I think I left the part of me that believed in forever… in his hands. 

You missed him. You looked for him in everything. The wind, the leaves, the clouds, the time, everything. And somewhere back in 2019, sunghoon feels the weight of your absence.  

Sunghoon didn't really think it'd affect him that much, but it did. He was helpless when he didn't find you. Asked everyone, searched everywhere but there wasn't a trace of you, there wasn't a thing left behind you. And God, did he miss you.  

The silence after you was worse than the centuries before you. 

You were only here a month —  But the air still tasted like you.  The breeze still moved like the hem of your coat. 

He stood by the river. 

The same one you almost slipped near.  The one where he caught your hand. 

You used to laugh here. 

Now it was empty. 

And so was he. 

His throat burned.  The ache that had quieted in your presence — like your scent tamed the storm in his blood — now returned with wildfire in his veins. 

He hadn’t fed in days.  He didn’t want anyone else. 

He wanted you. 

"Y/N..." he whispered, though the name felt like poison now. 

He tried to hold back.  He really, truly did. 

But you were gone. 

And he had nothing left to prove he was still human. 

The next night, they found the baker's house empty.  Then the woman who sold herbs.  Then the elder by the hill. 

No one saw what took them. 

And Sunghoon? 

He stood in the village center, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, eyes still locked on the road you used to walk down every dusk. 

His hands shook. 

His mouth trembled. 

"You were supposed to stay..."  "You promised me forever in your eyes." 

But you didn’t answer. 

Because you were gone. 

And so were the people in the village.  

The village lingered with only with him feeding off of everyone and your presence.  

Time moved on. 

The village eventually collapsed.  Records rewritten.  Footprints washed away. 

But he didn’t vanish. 

He moved.  Fed.  Lingered in shadows. 

Years passed.  Decades blurred. 

He watched the world crawl toward neon skies and cities that blinked like stars. 

You were long gone.  But he never stopped believing in the possibility that time — the very thing that tore you from him — might one day return you. 

“Okay but hear me out,” Taehyun says, typing aggressively while Mira tries to slap his hand off the panel. “If I didn’t reroute the carbon filters that night, we’d all be bald. Fact.” 

“Fact?” Mira scoffs. “Fact is you nearly made the algae tank sentient. That thing winked at me.” 

“I still miss it,” Jungwon adds quietly, head down in his own files, a faint smile playing at his lips. 

Yuvi kicks her chair back dramatically, groaning. “My simulation’s stuck again. If I see one more ‘Data Error: Please Restart,’ I swear I’ll throw myself into the code.” 

Your lips curve as you watch them — the way the five of you fit into this space like puzzle pieces.  The room hums with soft tech glows and distant rain tapping the glass walls. 

It's late.  But none of you seem in a hurry to leave. 

Mira throws an energy bar at Taehyun. He catches it one-handed, smug.  Jungwon’s quietly stealing Yuvi’s half-charged mug again.  You just watch — feeling both part of it and… a little removed. 

Because they didn’t live what you lived.  Not the way you did. 

Not with him. 

Not with Sunghoon. 

“You good?” Yuvi asks you suddenly, turning in her chair. 

You blink. “Yeah. Just… tired.” 

“Duh,” she says, nudging your arm. “We’re all tired. End of world stuff every Tuesday.” 

You laugh. The others join in.  And just for a second, it feels normal. 

Like the past didn't follow you here.  Like he never reached across time. 

But the quiet ache in your chest says otherwise. 

Later, when the lab empties out one by one — when Yuvi yawns and Mira packs up her files —  you linger behind. 

Taehyun walks past you, ruffling your hair gently like he always does. Jungwon side hugs you as he exits. And Mira and Yuvi give you a hug before logging off.  

Then the lights dim.  The labs settle.  And you finally move. 

It was almost midnight. 

Your body was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and a half-shattered mind.  The labs were quiet. The halls were colder. Your coat clung to your shoulders, and all you wanted was silence. 

You stepped into the elevator. 

It was empty. Or—  so you thought. 

You didn’t even notice him at first. 

Not until the doors closed.  Not until the world narrowed into this steel box.  And not until a voice — low, aching, quiet — cut through the air like a thread snapping in your chest. 

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, your eyes turned toward the figure standing in the far corner. 

And there he was. 

Sunghoon. 

Pressed against the wall of the elevator, the overhead light casting a cold glow across his skin.  His white dress shirt clung perfectly across his chest — sleeves rolled just below his elbows, forearms tense. His black tie was loose, like he’d worn it all day just to see you like this. 

His head was tilted slightly down, shadows covering half of his face — but even in the dimness, you saw it. 

The red.  Faint. Glowing. Watching. 

His jaw clenched. His lashes heavy against his cheek. His entire body still, like he was trying not to shake. 

Like just standing here, in front of you, took everything he had left. 

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. 

He finally looked up.  Right at you. 

“You disappeared,” he said softly.  A step closer. 

“But I didn’t.” 

Another step. 

“I stayed. I searched.” 

His voice trembles. 

“And I waited.” 

He stops inches away from you. Close enough for you to see that his hands are shaking.  That his smile is breaking.  That the pain he’s carried all these years hasn’t dulled — only buried deeper. 

Your lips part, but no words come. 

Because what do you say to a man who waited seventy-one years for a goodbye? 

Your body doesn’t move. But he does. 

He steps forward — slowly — like if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish all over again. 

Then his hand lifts. And he touches you. 

Not roughly. Not hungrily. 

Just one cold, steady hand cupping your cheek — reverent. Careful.  The way he always touched you. Like you were something sacred. 

His other hand rests at your waist, pulling you gently toward him. 

Your breath hitches. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. 

His thumb brushes your skin — and only then, do you exhale. 

But your voice barely comes out. 

“How… how did you get in here?” 

His smile twitches — half amused, half ruined. 

“You’re not the only one who learns things in seventy years.” 

You stare at him. 

“You broke into the lab?” 

“No,” he murmurs. “I learned how to become a ghost in systems like these. Took years. But I found my way into every firewall with your name on it. Every door you walked through.” 

He leans in just slightly — not threatening. Not desperate. 

Just there. Real. Close. 

“I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you again.” 

No matter how many years it’s been —  no matter how far you ran into the future — 

he still found you. 

He holds you like a memory he never let go of.  Like a secret he kept alive for decades. 

And when he finally speaks —  his voice cracks. 

“Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You blink.  Your lips part, but no sound comes out. 

Because how do you explain the sleepless nights?  The dreams where he touched your hand again?  The jacket you almost replicated just to feel close? 

He waits. 

And when you don’t answer — when silence sits between you like a second goodbye — you hear it again: 

“Y/N…”  “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You look up at him then. 

And the glow in his eyes — the faint red warmth — flickers. 

Flickers like it’ll die if you lie. 

Your throat is tight. 

“How did you even find me?” you whisper. 

He smiles — not the charming one.  The broken one. 

“I never stopped looking.” 

A beat. 

“The village disappeared, but I didn’t. I moved. I adapted. I learned your world. I followed every digital trail you left behind. I memorized your voice. I traced you through five corporate systems and twenty years of noise.” 

His forehead leans into yours, almost touching. 

“You left without saying goodbye.”  “I needed to know… if it meant as much to you as it did to me.” 

You’re not breathing. 

Because in his voice — beneath the stillness, the eternal youth —  is pain. 

Not monstrous. Not violent. 

Just human. And heartbreakingly yours. 

Your hands move without thinking.  One rises to his chest — over where his heart used to beat. 

It’s quiet now.  But yours is loud enough for both of you. 

He’s still waiting. 

Eyes glowing.  Breath held. 

“Tell me,” He whispers again. “Tell me you didn’t forget me.” 

You swallow. 

Tears sting the edges of your eyes — the kind you refused to cry back then. The kind you buried inside lab reports and daily logs. 

And finally, your voice breaks. 

“I didn’t forget.” 

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like the words hurt. Like they heal. 

“I just…” you breathe, “I just didn’t know how to come back.” 

There it is. 

The truth. 

The full, naked truth sitting between you —  soft and devastating. 

“I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If you were even—” 

He kisses you. 

Not rushed.  Not hungry. 

Just… quiet. Desperate. Familiar. 

The kind of kiss that says thank you for surviving. 

The kind that says don’t leave again. 

it feels like time folds in on itself. 

Like the wind from the village,  the rain on your skin,  the jacket on your shoulders,  the words you never said —  they all return in that one breath. 

And this time,  you kiss him back. 

Hands gripping the front of his coat, your breath catching —  like your body finally remembered what safety tasted like. 

He pulls you in closer, desperate,  like he still doesn’t believe you’re real.  Like you’ll vanish again if he lets go. 

When your lips part, and you both breathe — barely —  your forehead leans into his. 

The glow in his eyes softens. 

And then— 

“You…” your voice cracks, soft and shaking.  “You waited? For me?” 

His eyes close slowly. 

Not like he’s in pain —  but like your question alone undid him. 

“Of course I did,” he whispers.  “How could I not?” 

You inhale sharply,  because no one’s ever said it like that. 

Not with that kind of certainty.  Like your existence was never forgettable —  just… unforgettable. 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

“You… waited? For me?” 

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours.  “How could I not?” 

That’s when the tears come. 

You didn’t mean to.  You weren’t even sure they were still inside you. 

But suddenly, your eyes burn. 

And your voice falls out in pieces. 

“I thought…” your lips tremble.  “I thought you moved on.”  “Thought you’d forget me.” 

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece. 

“I couldn’t,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.” 

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow: 

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after.  Even the ones where you weren’t there.” 

And just like that—  you stepped into him. 

Your arms wrapped around his torso tight, face burying into his chest, body trembling from everything you’d held back for too long. 

And he— 

He didn’t hesitate. 

He wrapped his arms around you so firmly, so protectively, it almost hurt.  Like if the world tried to take you again, it would have to tear through him first. 

One arm locked around your waist.  The other curled high around your back, hand cradling the base of your neck — fingers gently gripping, anchoring you like he was afraid you’d disappear again. 

“You’re here,” he breathed.  “You’re really here.” 

He didn’t just hold you. 

He claimed you — not with force, but with everything he never got to say. 

This wasn’t a soft embrace. 

This was the way you hold something sacred.  The way you cling to a miracle. 

And for the first time after he met in seventy years,  he didn’t feel cold anymore. 

He held you like you were his whole world —  like everything he endured, every year he starved, every time he nearly gave up…  was worth it just to feel you in his arms again. 

And for a long, still moment —  you didn’t speak. 

You just breathed.  Chest rising against his.  The faint, unfamiliar sound of his heartbeat echoing somewhere far beneath. 

Then, into the quiet, barely louder than a breath— 

“I missed this,” you whispered, cheek pressed against his chest.  “I missed you.” 

His hand gripped you tighter, almost instinctively.  Like your words shattered something inside him he didn’t even know was still breakable. 

He didn’t say anything at first. 

But you felt it —  in the way his thumb moved slowly against your back,  in the way his body trembled just slightly against yours. 

“Say it again,” he murmured. 

You tilted your head just slightly, looked up into those red-flecked eyes that had waited decades for this. 

And this time, you didn’t whisper. 

“I missed you, Sunghoon.” 

He looked at you, cupped your face with both of his hands with so much of care as if you were porcelain and would break if you added any more force.  

He kissed your forehead like it was the only language he had left. 

Slow.  Tender.  Devastating. 

Your eyes fluttered shut — his lips lingering just a heartbeat longer, like he couldn’t quite let go. 

And when he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you again —  his voice cracked through the silence. 

“Don’t leave me this time…”  A pause. A breath.  “Angel.” 

The name hit you harder than the kiss. 

Because that’s what he used to call you.  Back in the village.  When your hands were cold from the rain, and he’d wrap his jacket around you like you were something worth saving. 

You blinked back the sting in your eyes.  But he saw it.  Of course he did.  His thumb brushed just beneath your eye. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured.  “Just… stay.” 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: im backkkkkkkkkk y'allllllllllllll !!!!!!!!! also this thing has been keeping me from watching the outside mv so imma watch it now! ALSO WROTE THIS THING IN 2 DAYS LIKE WTH i cant believe i did tht. anyways enjoy and stay hydrated!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mrsjjongstby]

Please comment if you want to be in my permanent tag list!

[mrsjjongstby]

God save me! - jpg or png?

[mrsjjongstby]

OH.MY.GOD cant wait for this to be out!!!!!!!!! BEEN WAITING FOR THIS STORY !!!!!!!!!!

✧ Still Monster; Park Sunghoon (Teaser)

SYNOPSIS ➺ After centuries of guilt and solitude, Sunghoon has learned to live as a shadow among the living. He is a vampire burdened by a past soaked in blood and regret. In a desperate attempt to save his lover, he bites her, only to lose her forever. Since then, he’s wandered through time, haunted by memories and bound by grief. Now, in the back alleys of a modern city, Sunghoon slips once again, overtaken by bloodlust, lost in a haze of instinct and hunger. But just as the weight of his actions begins to settle in, he sees a face he never expected: yours.

Something in your voice, your presence, and the calm way you meet his preying gaze feels too familiar. When you reach for him, unafraid, and speak words only his past lover could know, Sunghoon’s world unravels. He knows you can't actually be her. He buried her a long time ago. Could fate have brought you back to him? A story of reincarnation, forgiveness, and the fragile line between monster and man. This is a tale of a love that refuses to die even when death tries to claim it twice.

NAVIGATION ➺ Intro - 01 Past - 02 Present - 03 Future

PAIRING ➺ fem!reader X eternal vampire lover!Sunghoon

GENRE ➺ soulmates au; strangers to lovers; angst; fluff; smut (?); reincarnation; slow burn; tragic romance (?)

WORDS ➺ 2k; (Full story words are still unknown)

WARNINGS ➺ blood; injuries; grief; loss; arson; explicit language; smut; mentions of drinking blood; character death; abuse; At some point Sunghoon becomes violent (not against the reader); Sunghoon is very down bad, very loyal, very in love with the reader, he yearns for her, he kisses the ground she walks on;

DISCLAIMER ➺ This story is fiction, and it does not reflect real life in any way. This story is heavily inspired by vampire stories in general, Enhypen's concept, and their song "Still Monster."

AUTHOR'S NOTE ➺ If you think you've read this before, act like you haven't. This story was previously posted, but I decided to delete and re-upload it. I like this version much more! I am very proud of this story, and this idea, and I hope you guys love it as much as me! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you so much! Comment below if you'd like to be added to the tag list for the full fic! It will have three chapters heheheh ;) Also, shout out to my real-life best friend who made this (and the other) headers for this fic, follow her for cool kpop edits @kmecrazyfor Masterlist

Dark chocolate eyes staring at Sunghoon trigger his conscience back. Slowly creeping back to his fogged brain, he soon realizes who is standing right in front of him.

His freezing hands let go of the body he was sucking blood from, causing his fangs to leave the man’s neck. You stand in front of Sunghoon, and despite how horrifying the scene is, your face remains composed.

“No, no, no, no-” Sunghoon repeats over and over again, his voice trembling. Shaky hands fly to his brown hair, pulling on it. His head is throbbing, and his vision is still blurry.

“Don't come closer!” He yells, desperate.

The vampire’s eyes meet yours again, and his stomach twists. A violent cough comes from deep inside his body and causes fresh blood to spill over his hands. Sunghoon pushes the unknown man’s dead body away from him, but the blood is already all over his figure.

Deceived eyes scan his own body, and he comes to the realization that his hands were already bloody before coughing. As Sunghoon’s sanity comes back, tears form in his eyes. He glances in your direction and then takes a few steps away from you.

“Sunghoon wait-” You plead, following after him.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! Do it while I'm asking nicely.” The vampire spits out bitterly, hands quivering and dripping thick drops of human blood.

Sunghoon’s tongue explores his mouth, and he can still feel the elongated fangs and the metallic taste of blood. He closes his eyes and tries to step away faster, aiming to get away from this nightmare. But you don't seem to quit.

“Sunghoon, stop-” You insist, wrapping a hand around his cold wrist to stop him.

But he pulls it away with extra force and stares at his new lover with tears running down his pale cheeks. They were warm and salty, cleaning the remaining blood off his features as if they were forgiving him for losing control.

“YN, LOOK AT ME! I’M A MONSTER!” Sunghoon explodes, the frustration of you not understanding how dangerous he can be making him lose his patience.

“You're not a monster, Sunghoon. You're scared and confused; I know that. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of whatever you are.” You communicate slowly and in a low voice, eyes scanning the vampire’s troubled features.

Sunghoon hates how calm and reasonable you can be, even during difficult times.

“Look at me,” He sobbed, his stained hands trying to straighten the clothes drenched in blood. “I kill people, YN. I drink their blood.”

Sunghoon is not afraid of himself; he is scared of hurting you. The vampire has learned how to control the urges for blood a long time ago. But it's been a long time since he last drank some, and when he goes too long without it, his instincts take over. He becomes a soulless monster who only thirsts for blood.

“It's okay.” You respond simply.

It's strange how you seem to remain the exact same.

Calm, loving, and patient.

Just the way he loved you in his past life.

Though you look like his past lover, though you sound and act like her, he knows you aren't her. His lover died because of him, and though it may seem reasonable to be with you, Sunghoon doesn't want to risk it. He never planned to meet you or get closer to you. He wanted to watch and love you from afar, from where he couldn't hurt you.

He knows you can't her, but he still has a tiny bit of hope that the universe was kind enough to give you guys a second chance.

“It’s okay, Hoon, we can get through this. I love you.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, his heart shattered into tiny, sharp pieces that burned like silver. He's made the same mistake again. How selfish of him.

“No, no-” Sunghoon repeats loudly with his eyes closed, then starts walking in your direction. “You don't love me. You can forget me in a few months if I disappear. Let me disappear from your life!”

Sunghoon is standing just a few inches away from you. His warm breath is fanning over your face, as his deep blue iris locks with yours. And though his eyes are rimmed yellow and stained red, you still find beauty in them.

“I don't want you to disappear.” You answer him without a second thought.

“I have to. So you can live a long, happy life.”

“I don't want a long, happy life. Not without you, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon laughed. A pathetic, empty laugh that echoed in the filthy, smelly street. How could you say these things when you had just met him a few months ago? Are humans always this stupid? Falling so fast for the people they can't have?

“I remember everything,” You add suddenly, grabbing his attention. Sunghoon turns to you once again, predatory eyes turning back to the sweet blue ones he usually shows.

“What is ‘everything?’” Sunghoon inquires, irritated, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

“Who I was in my last life, and who you were. What you were, our house, our bond, and my death.”

The silence that follows is deafening. The vampire furrows his thick eyebrows and presses his lips together.

That’s a delicate subject.

“You're lying-” Sunghoon adds in a broken voice, feeling tears form in his eyes again.

Hope fills his heart.

Hope that you truly remember; hope that you are who he wishes you are.

“I’m not lying, Sunghoon.” You insist, frustration building up in your voice. Your warm fingers reach for his face, and you gently force him to look into your eyes. “We had a black cat named Salem. We ate cherry pie while you sipped on blood on rainy days. Our house was small and made of wood, hidden in the forest and surrounded by tall spruce trees. The wind was loud in our bedroom, and we laughed while listening to its whispers, tangled in each other. Your skin was cold, but you were always warm to me, always protected me, and loved me, unlike everyone else who criticized me. You have a small birthmark on your lower back, a flower shaped like a jasmine. Park Sunghoon, I would recognize you in all my lives.”

Your words hit him like a silver blade, piercing through his bleeding heart. The tears were streaming down his face like a river, merciless and hopeful. Sunghoon’s body felt weak and faulty, shaking as you spoke.

“No- this can't be real!” He stuttered, his bloody hands reaching out for your familiar face.

His cold fingertips trace each one of the freckles scattered all over your cheeks and nose. Then they graze over your delicate eyebrows and plum lips. He knew it wasn't just a coincidence; your face was exactly like his long-lost lover.

A melancholic smile grows on his lips.

“Are you really her? Are you my YN?”

“Yes, it's me. Hoonie, darling, I'm here.” You assured him. You were no longer capable of stopping the tears you were holding back, his teary face triggering your own. “I know I died in your arms; I know you bit me to try to save me, but I ended up not resisting anyway. It wasn't your fault. You can stop blaming yourself now.”

An uncomfortable silence fills the empty street once again. Sunghoon’s eyes lock with yours, and he can finally understand why you felt so familiar, so real. It’s because it's you.

You are his YN.

“YN, princess-” He called for you sweetly, hoping to have more time with you, but a loud siren sound started to echo from afar, signaling you that the police were getting close. “I have to go!”

Sunghoon knew he didn't have much time before people realized that the random guy he bit was missing. After all, the man was just having a smoke break at the back of the club when the vampire found him.

Sunghoon smiles one last time and lets go of your face. Then, he takes a deep breath and starts to run in the opposite direction.

“WAIT, SUNGHOON-” You call desperately. Your heart hammering against your chest, a love so heavy that it weighed you down.

“RUN! I WILL FIND YOU NO MATTER WHERE YOU GO!” Sunghoon shouted back, the red and blue lights of the police cars coming closer to the street where he was standing.

“I LOVE YOU, SUNGHOON!” You yell back, your voice strained and overflowing with emotion.

But he barely hears you, busy running away. His bare feet are sore and bruised, his clothes and body stained with someone else's blood, but Sunghoon finds himself smiling.

Smiling because after hundreds of years of mourning you, missing you, and loving you, he found you again.

His YN.

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[mrsjjongstby]

IM GONNA KMSSSSSSSSSSSS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRO THE WRITING??!??!!? ABOUT DESIRE?!?!?!?!?1/!/1 YES OMG I CANT EVEN EXPLAIN HOW IT WASSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ..................please el, dont ever stop writing........

priest vampire sunghoon plsplspls

P: VampirePriest!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader (18+)

Warnings: Mature Themes, Explicit Content, Blood, Power Imbalance, Religious Themes, Obsession, Moral Dilemmas, Vampirism, Temptation, Forbidden Desire, Profanation, Blasphemy, Suggestive Content, Touchstarved!Sunghoon, Stalking, Supernatural Elements, Seduction, Emotional Turmoil, Hints Of God Complex, Gothic Elements, Feral Behaviour, Body Worship, Begging, Corruption, Death, Destructive Obsession, Slight Smut (munch!hoon), Implied Mind Control, Dirty Talk, Sadistic Behavior, yall hes messy.

Synopsis: A summer visit home becomes a tempting mistake when you're dragged to church and meet the priest, Sunghoon. Mysterious and cold, he ignites a dangerous desire within you, drawing you closer. But what you don’t know is that he’s barely holding himself back from worshiping you with the hunger of centuries. After all, it’s been lifetimes since he let himself corrupt someone so divine.

a/n: For all my fellow girls who crave to be desired in a way that’s inhuman, proceed.(Commentary and reblogs are appreciated! MDNI!!!)

now playing : night crawling by miley cyrus | judas (80s ver.) by gabriella raelyn | oxytocin by billie eillish | take me back to eden by sleep token

Desire is a dangerous thing. It is the ache in the pit of your stomach, the throb beneath your skin that no logic can quiet, no reasoning can soothe. Everyone knows it, in one form or another of this insatiable yearning, this quiet hunger that stirs within, threatening to consume all that is good, all that is right.

It begins innocently enough, a glance, a word, a touch—but once it takes root, it grows like a vine, winding its way around the soul, suffocating the senses. Desire doesn’t come with warnings. It doesn’t come with kindness or restraint. It doesn’t care about the fragile nature of human hearts or the sanity of minds. It is a predator, relentless and cunning, knowing that the weaker the will, the more easily it can take hold.

Humans were made to want, to need, to crave—but it is those who are already broken, or those who have yet to understand the depth of their own weakness, who fall hardest. Once it has taken root, desire doesn’t fade. It doesn’t relinquish its grip once it has tasted blood. It grows, claws its way deeper, burrowing into the marrow of a person’s soul until they are left nothing more than a hollowed shell, a slave to their own longing. And the more it pulls them in, the more they fight against it, the stronger it becomes.

The mind, fragile and worn, will betray the body, and in the face of such overwhelming need, there is no escape. When desire has settled its claim, it will never leave, not until it has destroyed everything in its path. It is relentless, unforgiving, and it promises only one thing: satisfaction, at any cost.

With no summer plans in sight and a quiet ache for the familiar, you didn't hesitate much to spend your vacation back home. The long, warm days seemed endless and devoid of anything exciting, and the thought of retreating to your childhood home, where everything was comfortingly known, felt like a relief. Yet, as you pulled into the driveway, something felt off.

The house, once a place of chaotic warmth, was now adorned with crosses—large, ornate ones hanging on every wall, their dark wood contrasting sharply with the usual homely decor. The smell of incense was heavy in the air, cloying and thick, almost suffocating. It curled around the doorway like a persistent, invasive presence.

The familiar sound of your parents' voices calling your name from within was the same, but there was a coldness to it, an undercurrent of something...different. You paused, your hand resting on the doorframe, taking in the unfamiliar sight of your own home, now draped in the symbols of something you hadn't thought about in years. Something that made your pulse quicken, though you couldn’t quite place why.

You shook off the strange atmosphere that clung to the house, ignoring the overpowering incense and the rows of crosses in favor of hugging your parents, who were as warm and welcoming as always. Their smiles, though slightly strained, put you at ease for a moment.

You escaped to your old bedroom, which, thankfully, hadn't been changed. The faded posters on the walls, the cluttered desk, the soft bed you used to sleep in—it all felt like nothing had shifted, like you were just a kid again. You unpacked quickly, not giving the house or the unsettling changes much thought. It was easier to pretend everything was the same.

After a quick change into something more comfortable, you decided to head out into town, hoping to clear your head and reacquaint yourself with the familiar streets. You hadn't been back in years, and the nostalgic idea of revisiting old hangouts, grabbing a coffee at the local café, and catching up with old friends seemed like the perfect way to ease into your summer.

But when you stepped into the small town, the reality felt different. The streets were quieter than usual, and as you passed by the few pedestrians, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle detail that seemed almost... unnatural. Almost every person you passed had a cross hanging from their necks, large and prominent, some of them shining with a strange intensity under the sun. It wasn’t just one or two people—it was almost everyone. The sight of the crosses clashed with the warm familiarity of the town, making your skin prickle with unease.

You didn’t know why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t like people hadn’t worn crosses before, but this... it felt wrong. There was something in the way they wore them—too purposeful, too synchronized. The way they all seemed to move in the same rhythm, eyes cast downward or forward, never meeting your gaze. It felt as though the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were the outsider, the one who didn’t belong.

The longer you wandered through the town, the more that strange feeling grew in your chest, like something was tightening around your ribs, constricting your breath. You couldn't ignore it. Something had changed in this town. Something... off.

Determined to get to the bottom of it, you started searching for a familiar face. Someone who could shed some light on the unsettling shift in the atmosphere. That’s when you spotted Wonyoung, one of your old friends, lingering by a jewelry kiosk in the mall. She looked the same but there was a certain distance in her eyes, a coolness that hadn’t been there before.

You walked up to her, and her face lit up with recognition. The reunion was warm, like slipping into a favorite sweater, but something felt strange in the way she held herself, how she glanced around the area before speaking.

"I didn’t expect to see you back here," she said with a faint chuckle, her eyes flickering nervously to the others in the mall, all of them with crosses around their necks.

You couldn't hold back any longer. "Wonyoung, what’s going on? Everyone... everyone is wearing crosses, and they all seem so... strange. Why? Is there something happening here I don’t know about?"

Wonyoung hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the cross around her own neck before meeting your eyes. There was something in her expression—reluctance, maybe fear—that set off another alarm in your mind.

"It’s... the church," she finally said, her voice low, as though speaking louder might draw unwanted attention. "The local church. We got a new priest a few months ago. And after he came, it’s like the whole town shifted. More than half of the town became his parishioners, and they all started wearing these." She tugged at the chain around her neck. "It wasn’t like this before. People didn’t used to... worship like this. Not so openly."

You frowned, trying to process the information. "So it’s the priest?" you asked, trying to connect the dots. "What’s so special about him?"

Wonyoung shifted uncomfortably, as if the words themselves were heavy. "I don’t really know, but he... he’s different. The way he speaks, the way he looks at you—it’s like he’s pulling you in, making you want to... believe, to follow. People feel like they need to be closer to him, like he’s some sort of... beacon."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, "What about you, Wonyoung? Are you one of his followers?"

Wonyoung shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, her fingers playing nervously with the chain around her neck. She seemed torn, as if battling with something inside her before finally looking up at you. “I really wasn’t at first,” she admitted, her voice quiet, almost apologetic. “I mean, I didn’t really believe in all of it. But... after my parents dragged me to one of his sermons, things started to change.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts, her eyes drifting downward. "At first, it was just like any other service, but there was something about the way he spoke. The way he looked at everyone—it felt... different. He has this presence, like he sees right through you. It made me feel... seen, in a way. And then, it wasn’t just the sermon—it was the people. The congregation. They all seemed so... together. Like they were all part of something bigger than themselves, something important. I guess I started to like that feeling. The idea of belonging.”

Her voice trailed off, and you could see the conflict on her face—the way she was fighting against her own admission. You could tell she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the path she had found herself on, but there was also a longing in her eyes that made it clear she had been drawn in, just like everyone else. It was as though this priest, this man, had found a way to pull at something deep inside her, something she didn’t even realize she was missing.

“It’s not just about religion anymore, though,” Wonyoung continued, her words more hesitant now. “It’s more about... him. And how everyone around him seems to glow with this... certainty. He makes you believe. Not just in God, but in him. It’s... unsettling, but it’s also... comforting.” She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back up to yours. “I know it sounds strange, but I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t want to become one of his followers. But now I don’t know if I can walk away.”

You couldn’t ignore the chills creeping up your spine. There was something in the way she spoke, in the way she seemed almost resigned to it, that made you realize how deep the grip of this man had taken hold.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but something’s wrong here,” you whispered, your stomach twisting. “Do you think... do you think he’s changing people?”

Wonyoung blinked at you, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh—as if you’d told her the punchline to a joke only she didn’t find concerning. “Changing?” she echoed, shaking her head. “What are you talking about? How would he? That’s crazy.”

Her tone was light, but there was something behind her eyes—something flat and unreadable, like a door that had quietly shut.

“Listen,” she continued, brushing her hair behind her ear, her fingers still lightly grazing the cross around her neck. “If you saw his sermons, you would know. He’s not dangerous. He’s...” She paused, her eyes softening, distant. “He’s everything this town needed.”

That struck you more than anything else she’d said. There was a strange calm in her voice, too smooth, too rehearsed. You looked at her—really looked—and suddenly it hit you. Wonyoung was different. Not just in the way she spoke, but in the way she carried herself. There was a quiet rigidity to her posture, a steadiness to her smile that hadn’t been there before. She looked like Wonyoung, sounded like her—but something underneath had shifted. Subtle. Deep.

You felt a chill curl up your spine, but you didn’t press it. Something in your gut told you not to.

Instead, you forced a weak smile and nodded. “Yeah... maybe you’re right.”

Wonyoung smiled back, satisfied, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed at all. But as you watched her turn and walk away, slipping into the slow, measured crowd moving through the mall like a school of sleepwalkers, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just spoken to someone who was no longer entirely herself.

With a hundred questions, zero answers, and a gnawing curiosity you couldn’t quiet, you made your way back home. The air outside was cooler now, dusk creeping across the sky, soft shadows stretching long over the sidewalks. The town looked normal—peaceful, even—but everything felt off.

When you finally stepped inside your house, hoping to decompress and rest before you started investigating whatever was happening around you, you were immediately met with your parents standing in the hallway. Their faces were calm, expectant.

“There you are,” your mother said, smoothing down her blouse like it mattered. “Go get dressed, we’re leaving soon.”

You blinked. “Leaving? Where?”

“Church,” your father replied. One word. Final. “We don’t want to be late.”

Your stomach turned. “Church? Now? It’s almost dark.”

Your mother offered a thin, practiced smile. “Evening mass. It’s a special service tonight. Father Park asked everyone to attend.”

Father Park. That had to be him. The priest. The one Wonyoung had talked about with such unshakable reverence. The one who had supposedly arrived just a few months ago and already had the town in his grasp.

You hesitated, your pulse picking up slightly. “Since when do you go to church at night?”

Your father’s expression didn’t shift, but there was something steelier behind his eyes. “Since he came. Evening masses are more... intimate.”

You stared at them, a thousand protests forming behind your lips, but none of them made it out. The weight of their stare, calm but expectant, like they already knew you’d say yes, made it feel pointless to argue. So you nodded slowly, feeling like your body moved on its own.

You stared at them, a thousand protests forming behind your lips, but none of them made it out. The weight of their stare made it feel pointless to argue. So you nodded slowly, your limbs moving before your mind could fully catch up, as if something unseen had already been decided for you.

You slipped into your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. For a moment, you just stood there, your back against the wood, the silence of your childhood bedroom pressing in around you like a cocoon. You exhaled shakily, trying to shake the eerie numbness clinging to your skin.

You hadn’t planned for this. You hadn’t packed for church. Especially not church at night.

Dragging your suitcase onto the bed, you rifled through the contents with vague frustration. What did people even wear to mass now? Especially one led by a priest who seemed to have the entire town wrapped around his finger?

Eventually, your fingers landed on a dress—simple, dark, soft to the touch. It wasn’t overtly modest, but it wasn’t scandalous either. It hugged your figure in a subtle way, with a neckline just high enough to be respectful. Pretty, but not loud. You threw a cardigan over it for good measure, telling yourself it was just for warmth—but you knew it was more than that. You didn’t want to stand out.

As you slipped it on, brushing down the fabric, you caught your reflection in the mirror.

A beat passed. Then two. And for the first time since coming home, you felt it settle inside you.

Anticipation.

You didn’t know what was waiting at that church, but some part of you—some reckless, curious part—wanted to find out.

You did your final touch-ups in the mirror—lip balm, a quick brush through your hair, and a spritz of the perfume. Just enough to feel composed. Presentable. Your heart beat a little faster than it should’ve as you stood, smoothed down your dress, and stepped out into the hall.

The moment your parents saw you, they lit up—not in the way parents usually do when they’re proud, but more like they were relieved. Like your compliance had sealed something.

“You look nice,” your mother said, adjusting a curl behind your ear, too gentle.

Then your father opened the door and gestured out. “Come on. We have to walk. Father Park hates lateness.”

You blinked. “Walk?” you echoed, eyes flicking toward the car parked in the driveway. “But the church—”

“No time,” your mother cut in, already nudging you outside with a gentle but firm hand on your back. “It’s a beautiful night. You’ll see.”

You wanted to protest, to at least ask why, but something in their tone—their urgency masked as casual suggestion—made your words die in your throat. So you didn’t fight. You just started walking.

The three of you moved in near silence. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas in the trees. Your parents walked on either side of you, not speaking, not even glancing your way. They didn’t seem nervous, but their stillness made you feel like you were walking through a dream. One that didn’t entirely belong to you.

As you moved farther from the heart of town, the houses became more spread out, the streetlights dimmer, the woods thicker on either side. The church sat near the outskirts—always had. Nestled close to the forest line, surrounded by whispering trees and low stone walls draped in ivy. You’d walked this path before, years ago, but it felt different now. Hollowed out.

You remembered the church from before. The old building was nothing fancy—a faded wooden structure with white-trimmed windows and a creaky steeple bell that only worked half the time. The sanctuary had always been small but warm. The former priest, Father Yoon, had been kind, if not a little pushy. He talked too long during sermons and tended to ramble about the “youth losing their way,” but there had been nothing sinister about him. Just an old man trying to hold on to something that was slipping from him.

But as the forest began to thin and the roof of the church came into view, you felt a cold pull in your chest.

This wasn’t the same church anymore.

Visually, it had changed. The building was larger now, its structure taller, more imposing, a solid black silhouette against the night sky. The wood, once faded and weathered, now seemed sleek and unnatural, as if it had absorbed the very darkness around it. Thick, twisted vines crawled up the sides of the church, their tendrils blackened by the night air, creeping like living things—like they were trying to claim the building, wrap it in an unsettling embrace.

The tall doors of the church stood wide open, as if welcoming the town. And the people, those same figures you had seen earlier, drifted in one by one, filing through the entrance with the same slow, synchronized steps, their faces unreadable. The flickering lights inside cast long, eerie shadows across their faces, but none of them looked at you as you approached. They simply moved forward, as though they were part of something that had already begun, a ritual too far gone to interrupt.

You didn’t know when you had started walking slower, but now you found yourself frozen at the edge of the churchyard. The old feeling of comfort was gone. All you could feel was the weight of the place, pressing down on you. The church, once a simple, humble place, now seemed like a fortress. And the vines—those strange, living things that clung to its walls—looked almost alive in the moonlight, as if they were growing in time with each passing moment.

You took a deep breath, your feet moving almost involuntarily as you stepped into the building. The moment you crossed the threshold, a heavy stillness settled over you. It was different from the church you remembered—much different. The walls, once simple and light, now held a dark, polished sheen, reflecting the pale light of the lamps that hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the room. The flickering light from the lanterns seemed almost too warm, too intimate, but it did little to chase away the cold feeling crawling up your spine.

The large windows, once clear and bright, now let in the moonlight in sharp slivers, casting long beams that split the room into dark patches and pools of light. The entire space felt like it was bathed in an eerie glow, the pale light falling onto the rows of benches, now arranged neatly and facing forward. It felt more like an arena than a place of worship, the rows of seats rigid and orderly, leaving no room for deviation, for choice. All eyes would be on the stand, on the pulpit where the priest would stand, a figure of unquestionable authority.

You instinctively looked toward the altar, but your gaze was pulled away by something else. To the side, there was a confession booth, much larger than the one you remembered, and something about it made your skin crawl. It seemed too close to the shadows, too hidden in the corners of the room. But it wasn’t just the booth—it was the staircase that caught your attention.

A spiraling staircase that curved both up and down, disappearing into the dark, unknown spaces above and below. You could feel the weight of it—the spiral seemed endless, its steps disappearing into the shadows like they led to places you weren’t meant to see. The stairs felt wrong—too grand, too foreboding, and there was an unsettling sense of movement in the air, as if something was waiting there.

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart beating harder in your chest, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee. The place felt like a trap, as if it was waiting for you to step further into its embrace. Your parents were already sitting quietly in one of the pews, their faces serene, unbothered by the strange atmosphere. You wanted to join them, to blend in, to pretend nothing had changed.

But before you could take a single step, the tall entrance doors groaned shut behind you.

You turned just in time to see a woman—dressed in long, flowing black robes with a white veil pinned tightly over her hair—close and latch them with practiced ease. Her movements were graceful, reverent. You guessed, by her modest attire and solemn expression, that she must be a nun. She gave no one a second glance as she walked forward, past the rows of silent, seated townspeople, her footsteps echoing in the heavy stillness.

Suddenly aware of your own lingering presence at the back, you scanned for an empty seat. Your parents were far ahead, already facing the altar with their heads slightly bowed. Everyone else sat perfectly still, their posture straight, their gazes fixed downward. There was no room beside them, and no time to hesitate. You slid into an empty space near the back, away from the eyes of the crowd, trying to quiet the unease gnawing at your spine.

The nun reached the front and turned to face the congregation. Her voice rang out, soft yet commanding.

“Please rise for Father Park.”

At once, the room responded. People stood with eerie synchronicity, the sound of movement uniform, mechanical, almost rehearsed. You stood too, though slower than the rest, feeling out of step, like a foreign body in a ceremony that wasn’t meant for you.

And then you saw him.

He emerged from the spiraling staircase behind the altar, rising slowly from the depths of the church as though he had been waiting below, nestled in the dark. You held your breath as his figure came into view—and your breath caught.

He was beautiful.

But not in a way that felt safe.

Tall, composed, with black hair slicked back from his forehead, his pale skin nearly luminescent under the flickering lanterns. His features were sharply drawn—angular jawline, high cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line of quiet, unreadable discipline. His eyes scanned the room with unsettling precision, dark and penetrating, like they were cataloging every soul in the pews.

Young. He was young—too young to be the man everyone had spoken of with such reverence. He looked more like a model than a priest. And yet, every inch of him radiated power. Control.

He reached the altar without a sound, his long black coat brushing the floor as he moved. When he lifted a gloved hand and made a simple gesture, the entire room sat down as one, the wooden pews groaning softly beneath the movement.

You hesitated, then sat too, your eyes never leaving him.

The gloves. Black, elegant, and tight over his fingers. He wore them as though they were part of his uniform, but something about them struck you as... odd.

His gaze swept across the hall like a blade, slow and calculated, dissecting each face with unnerving precision. When he began to speak, his voice carried easily through the church—deep, smooth, laced with an unfamiliar accent that made his words drip like honey and iron all at once.

He spoke of sin.

Of temptation.

Of how the human soul was weak by design, always yearning, always reaching for things that could destroy it. He spoke of how one must repel sin, reject desire, cast away pleasure in favor of purity. His words should’ve been cold, should’ve sounded like warning bells—but they didn’t. They drew you in, low and rhythmic, like a lullaby sung too close to a flame. There was something dangerous in the way he spoke, something addictive in every syllable that left his lips.

“Sin does not scream,” he said softly, walking slowly behind the altar, gloved hands moving with controlled grace. “It whispers. It waits. It watches until your soul is quiet... and then it moves.”

But then—he looked at you.

And everything stopped.

His voice halted mid-sentence, mid-thought. His eyes locked onto yours across the room like a vice closing around your throat. You felt your heart skip, then stumble. You swallowed hard, unsure why his gaze felt like it had pierced straight through your skin, straight into your spine. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.

You didn’t notice the way his chest rose with a sharp inhale, like he’d caught scent of something he hadn’t expected. You didn’t see how his hands tensed, knuckles pressing through the leather of his gloves, the sound of creaking fabric just barely audible. You didn’t hear the quiet swallow as he forced down the sudden pooling of saliva in his mouth.

But you did notice when he spoke again.

Because he didn’t look away from you when he did. Not once.

“And yet,” he began again, his voice lower now, richer, like wine left to darken in the bottle, “the greatest danger of sin… is not when it arrives like a beast at your door.” He took one slow step forward. “No. It is when it comes softly.” Another step. “When it wears beauty like a mask. When it makes you want it. When it looks you in the eye and asks if you’re still strong enough to say no.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the bench, a strange heat crawling up your spine.

“It is not the devil who is hardest to resist,” he murmured, eyes still on yours, voice barely above a whisper, “it is the angel… with blood on their hands.”

His words struck something deep inside you—so quiet yet so thunderous it echoed in your bones. The air in the church shifted, thickened, like every person in the room had collectively forgotten how to breathe. But he didn’t break eye contact. Not once. As if the rest of the congregation had vanished, as if the sermon itself had been for you all along.

Your breath hitched. Something deep in your stomach twisted—not out of fear, but something stranger, something heavier. His voice, his presence, the way he spoke of sin as if it were a seduction rather than a warning… it lit a fire under your skin. One you didn’t know you’d been carrying.

He finally looked away, but the spell didn’t break.

You barely registered the rest of the sermon. His voice faded into the background, low and reverent, but you heard none of it. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you—like you were something he’d been waiting for. Like he knew things about you that even you hadn’t admitted.

When the final prayer was said and the congregation rose to their feet, the room began to shift back into motion—shuffling feet, quiet murmurs, coats being pulled on, doors creaking open. You stayed seated longer than you meant to, but your parents found you quickly, their smiles gentle, as if nothing about tonight had been strange at all.

“We’ll head home first,” your mother said softly, brushing a hand over your shoulder. “You should go introduce yourself to Father Park. He’s always eager to meet new faces—especially returning ones.”

Your father nodded in agreement. “He'll appreciate it. And it’s only polite.”

Polite.

That word rang hollow in your head as you hesitated, watching them disappear out the church doors without another word. The crowd had thinned fast, most people filing out with the same calm, synchronized rhythm they’d arrived with. And up at the front, near the altar, Father Park still stood.

Tall. Still. Unmoving.

He wasn’t addressing anyone. He wasn’t pretending to be occupied. He simply stood there, watching the people as they passed him with slight nods or murmured goodbyes. His hands remained behind his back. His presence was quiet, but it filled the entire space, commanding without effort.

You swallowed hard and made your way down the center aisle, your footsteps softer than they’d ever been. Each step forward felt louder in your ears than it should have, like the church was holding its breath again just for you.

He wasn’t watching the others anymore.

His head turned the moment you approached, and then—his eyes found yours again. And this time, they didn’t leave.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even pretend not to stare.

His gaze stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, and something about it rooted you in place. There was no smile. No welcoming gesture. Just a long, piercing silence and that look—like he’d been expecting you long before you ever stepped foot in this building.

And then, finally, in a voice like velvet stretched tight over steel, he spoke. “I’ve never seen you around before.” His words weren’t a question, but a quiet observation. His voice carried no warmth, but it wasn’t cold either. It simply was, like truth laid bare. You felt it settle in your spine, low and humming, as though your name were perched on the tip of his tongue without ever being spoken.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how small the space between you felt, despite the cavernous size of the church. “I’m just visiting,” you said, doing your best to sound composed. “I came back for the summer. My parents—” you glanced toward the doors, “—they still live here.”

He hummed softly, a low, thoughtful sound that sent a ripple of heat down your neck.

His gaze drifted down your figure and slowly returned to your face, unapologetically. Not lewd. Not hesitant. As if he had every right to look, to see. The weight of it made you feel exposed, like you were standing beneath a spotlight instead of the flickering lamplight of the altar.

“I see,” he said finally, tone unreadable. “The summer.” He repeated it like the word itself was strange on his tongue. Like it was new. Or irrelevant.

There was a long pause, the kind that might have been awkward if not for the sheer gravity of his presence. You had the strangest feeling he wasn’t just studying your appearance—he was studying your soul, peeling back the layers of your thoughts, tasting your fear, your curiosity, your desire.

You shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure of what to say next.

“Well,” he said, voice just above a murmur, “then I hope you plan to stay a while. Summer can be... transformative.” The way he said it—low, the faintest touch of something darker beneath his words—sent a jolt through you. His tone wrapped around your spine like silk and thorns, and before you could stop yourself, your thighs pressed together instinctively, your body reacting before your mind caught up.

You hoped—prayed—he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Of course he had.

Father Park’s eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t change. He didn’t smirk, didn’t taunt. His expression remained perfectly composed, his features carved from something cool and ancient. But deep beneath the surface of that carefully maintained mask, he had felt it—that flicker of want in you, the smallest tremor of hunger responding to his voice.

And he savored it.

Not outwardly, no. That would be undignified. Unrefined. And if there was one thing Father Park had mastered over the centuries, it was control. He had honed it like a blade, sharp and precise, learning to curb his desire, to bury his hunger beneath layers of stillness and sacred words. But even the most disciplined predator knew when to watch, when to wait. And now, watching you struggle to keep your expression neutral, your posture steady, he knew—you felt it too.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said softly, as if it were nothing more than a polite gesture. But beneath those words, there was a deeper pulse, something that stirred the air between you like a warning… or a promise. His eyes lingered just a second longer than they should have. Then, he tilted his head slightly, voice dropping even lower—intimate, like confession. “If you ever find yourself burdened,” he said, “if you ever feel your demons clawing at the edges of you… come to me.” A pause. “I can help you repel your sins. I’ll guide you. Cleanse you.”

The words sent another chill down your spine, but not out of fear. There was something in his tone that suggested he already knew your sins. Or worse—that he was ready to create them.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat and nodded—silent, unsure of what else to say.

He studied you for a moment longer, unreadable behind the perfect stillness of his face. Not a twitch. Not a flicker. Just that unshakable calm, carved into him like stone.

Then, without a word, he turned.

His footsteps were silent, impossibly so, as he moved through the dim light of the altar. The shadows clung to him, rising like smoke, curling around his figure as if they knew him—as if they welcomed him back. And just like that, they swallowed him whole. One blink, and he was gone.

You stood there, motionless in the now-empty church. The last few traces of candlelight flickered low on the walls, casting long, twitching shapes across the pews. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was thick. Watchful. Like something in the walls was still awake.

Only when your chest began to ache did you realize you were holding your breath.

You exhaled and turned, slowly making your way toward the doors. Each step echoed louder than it should have. Louder now that the room was empty… or nearly empty. You didn’t dare look back again.

The moment the heavy doors creaked open, the cold night air rushed in to meet you, sharp and clean against your flushed skin. You stepped outside, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as the chill seeped through the fabric.

You took one final glance over your shoulder, eyes drawn back to the church.

It loomed, silent and black against the sky, its sharp steeple cutting into the clouds like a blade. And there, just faintly visible under the pale shimmer of moonlight—you saw them.

Ravens.

Perched in a loose cluster along the roof’s edge, their glossy feathers barely shifting in the breeze. Unmoving. Watching.

Dozens of them, gathered like sentinels.

You stared, unease curling in your gut. It was too late for birds. Too cold. Too quiet. And yet they remained, still and silent, like they, too, were part of whatever lived in that church now.

You turned away.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

You didn’t go to the next sermons.

They were all held at night—just as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, as if darkness itself were a requirement for gathering. That alone felt peculiar, unsettling even, though no one in town seemed to question it. Your parents asked you, more than once, voices soft and hopeful, if you’d join them again. “Father Park mentioned you,” your mother had said one evening, her tone casual, but her eyes too careful. “He’d be happy to see you return.”

You only offered a weak smile and the same excuse each time: “I’m not feeling great.”

They didn’t press, but they always left looking disappointed.

The truth, though—you wanted to go.

God, did you want to go.

Not for the sermons. Not for the hymns or the words meant to lift your soul. You wanted to go for him.

For Father Park.

The man who had looked at you like you were a secret he’d been waiting centuries to uncover. The man who spoke of sin like it was sacred and watched you like he knew exactly what kind of thoughts had crept into your head at night. Thoughts you shouldn’t have about a priest. Especially not one so young. So sharp. So... seductive.

He didn’t belong in a place like this. Not in a pulpit, not with scripture in his mouth. He belonged in smoke, in silk, in shadows.

He was a contradiction. A temptation wrapped in control. And he was a change.

Something new in your otherwise familiar world. You came back to this town to revisit old memories, to walk down quiet streets and remember who you were before everything got complicated. You didn’t come here to be unraveled. To ache for something you couldn’t name. To feel seen in a way that scared you.

And that—that—was what compelled you to stay away.

Because you knew if you went back, if you looked into those eyes again…you wouldn’t leave untouched.

And maybe that was what terrified you most—how ready a part of you already was. How your thoughts betrayed you late at night, imagining things that had nothing to do with salvation. Things that didn’t belong in pews or beneath stained glass windows.

Things that had everything to do with him.

You told yourself you were doing the right thing, that distance was control. That ignoring the magnetic pull you felt was a kind of strength. But each night you stayed home, while your parents filed into that dark church along with the rest of the town, you couldn’t help but wonder what you were missing.

Was he thinking of you?

Did he look toward the door, expecting to see you slip in late, breathless and repentant? Did he preach the same way, with the same quiet hunger in his voice, now that you weren’t there to watch him?

You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. Because deep down, you were afraid of the answer. Afraid that yes, he was waiting. And worse—that if you returned, he would welcome you with open arms and fire behind his eyes.

So, you stayed away.

But every time the sun dipped low and you saw your parents put on their coats, every time you watched the quiet procession of neighbors walking in unison toward that looming black church at the forest’s edge, your heart thudded with something shamefully close to longing.

You weren’t avoiding temptation. You were circling it. Waiting for it to notice. Waiting for it to come find you.

But temptation was hungry. Temptation was patient.

It lingered in corners, nestled in silence, waiting for your resolve to thin like parchment under fire. It didn’t need to rush. It knew your name. It knew the rhythm of your breath when you dreamed of things you wouldn’t dare say aloud.

Temptation could be salvation or damnation—depending on how you knelt for it. Temptation could whisper like a prayer or choke like a curse. Temptation could wear holiness like a mask and still be made of sin. And temptation… could take any form wanted. Any form needed. Any form desired.

And desire—desire was the real sickness. The quiet rot that lived inside every person who ever wanted something they couldn’t have. Desire could bring a weak-willed human to their knees in a second. Strip them bare, not of clothing, but of reason, of restraint. It was intoxicating, relentless, and it never asked for permission.

And you weren’t built to resist it.

All it would take was one push. One glance. One word spoken too low, too close to your ear. Just one carefully timed breath against the hollow of your throat, and you’d fall.

Because temptation knew how to play the long game. And desire, when tangled in the hands of something eternal—something ancient and starving— wasn’t just dangerous.

It was fatal.

It didn’t knock. It seeped in. Through cracks in the walls, through dreams you barely remembered upon waking. It laced your thoughts, curled itself around your tongue when you tried to speak of anything else. It made the air taste different. It made silence feel watched.

And so it came for you, not with violence but with a whisper. A scent. A memory that didn’t belong to you.

The feeling of velvet against your skin though you hadn’t touched anything. The echo of your name when no one had called it. The pulse between your legs when you hadn’t even been thinking of him or maybe you had.

You told yourself you were strong. That distance was protection. But all the while, temptation waited, watched, just beyond your reach.

Because you could avoid the church. You could dodge the sermons. You could pretend not to miss the way his eyes burned through you like holy fire. But you couldn’t hide what was already inside you. And he knew that. He didn’t need to chase you. He only needed to wait.

Because something like you... something soft and full of quiet hunger would come back on its own.

The question was never if.

It was when.

And after all… you could only be strong for so long. Restraint was a thread—thin, fraying, stretched tighter with every passing day. And deep down, you knew it: your resistance was a performance. A little show you put on for your own conscience.

Because you were weak. Not for everyone. Not always. But for pretty men in black, with sharp eyes and sharp tongues. Men who wore their darkness like a second skin, who carried danger in their posture and poetry in their voice.

You were weak for men who spoke softly but left bruises on your thoughts. Especially when they looked at you like you were the answer to their own damnation.

And Father Park... He was every one of your weaknesses stitched into a single man.

A priest who dressed like a funeral. Who spoke like sin was an art form. Who gazed at you like you were both temptation and redemption wrapped into one trembling body.

He made holiness feel obscene. He talked about purity while looking at you like he wanted to ruin it. He spoke of sin in that velvet voice, low and reverent, and you found yourself wondering, how would that same voice sound pressed against your ear? Whispering not scripture… but filth?

It was a thought you tried to smother. But it grew. Festered. Bloomed in the dark like something unholy. And no matter how far you stayed, no matter how long you avoided the church, the truth was simple:

You were already halfway on your knees. All he had to do… was reach.

And reach he did...

It was late—later than you realized. The clock had long slipped past midnight, and the house was silent, wrapped in the kind of stillness only small towns knew. Your parents had returned from the evening’s sermon hours ago, murmuring softly about the beauty of the night’s message before retreating to their room like obedient sheep. Unlike you who was still awake, you could not sleep. Not when your thoughts were so loud. Not when his voice still echoed in them, warm and sinful and patient.

So you sat in the dark, curled on the couch in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, the TV screen casting dull flickers across the room as some late-night program droned in the background. You weren’t watching it. You were just existing, caught somewhere between dread and longing.

And then came the knocks. Three sharp raps at the door.

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Who the hell would be knocking this late? Your parents were fast asleep. There were no lights on in the neighborhood, no cars passing by. The silence outside was thick, unnatural. Brows furrowed, you rose slowly, bare feet silent against the floorboards as you made your way to the door. For a moment, you hesitated. That strange, gnawing pull gripped your stomach again—like you already knew, on some instinctive, animal level, what waited on the other side.

Still, your hand reached the handle. Still, you turned it.

And when you opened the door—you stopped breathing.

Father Park stood there. Still cloaked in black. Still composed. Still devastating.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d been walking through wind or shadow or both. The collar at his throat was pristine, every inch of skin covered, but something about him felt more… real this time. Less untouchable. Or maybe it was just the absence of the altar between you.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice soft—too soft for the hour.

You stared at him, heart hammering wildly, words stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “What are you—” you began, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze sweeping over your face, down your bare legs, pausing just long enough to make your skin prickle before returning to your eyes. His look wasn’t vulgar. It was far worse.

It was intentional.

“I noticed you haven’t returned,” he said, the hint of something unreadable in his tone. “And I was... concerned.”

Concerned.

A priest concerned for his wayward sheep. That’s what he wanted it to sound like. That’s how it should have sounded. But it didn’t. It sounded like a warning. Like a whisper against the skin. Like the first drop of blood in the mouth of something that had waited too long.

You swallowed hard. And still, you didn’t shut the door.

Instead you cleared your throat, trying to mask the tension in your voice. “I… I haven’t been feeling well,” you offered, casting your eyes slightly downward, pretending the floorboards were suddenly fascinating. It was the safest excuse you could manage. Safe, distant, neutral.

But he didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink. Instead, he tilted his head slowly, eyes still locked onto you, his expression unreadable—but focused. Focused in a way that made your skin warm and crawl all at once. “It’s been two weeks, my dear,” he said smoothly, almost scolding, but with something far too tender laced into the words.

My dear.

The way he said it—it shouldn’t have meant anything. Just a phrase. A polite gesture. But your heart stuttered anyway, and you felt your fingers twitch at your sides. You didn’t respond right away. Just shrugged, feigning indifference, as if the simple petname hadn’t sent heat straight to your core. As if you didn’t want to lean against the doorframe and let him call you that again.

You didn’t notice the shift in his shoulders. Didn’t see how the leather of his gloves creaked slightly from the force of his grip behind his back. How his fingers were curling into fists, nails biting into his palms through the fabric. He had to resist. He had to.

“I see…” he murmured, voice low now, laced with something darker beneath the calm. “Are you feeling any better now, then?”

The question was innocent on the surface, but it didn’t feel that way. Not in the way he said it. Not in the way he was looking at you—like your answer might decide everything.

You met his eyes again, slower this time. And you saw it—just for a second.

The restraint.

The tension under the surface. The crack in the porcelain. Like he was holding something back. Barely.

And for the first time since you opened the door, you wondered:

What would happen if he stopped?

He looked so put together. Always immaculate, always composed—like nothing ever touched him. Not the heat, not the dark, not even desire. Everything about Father Park was controlled, from the way he spoke to the way he moved to the way he watched you with eyes that never seemed to waver.

But you wondered… what if he did waver?

What would he look like when ruined? Would his voice shake? Would his breath hitch the way yours did around him? Would those hands tremble if you let them touch you?

Would he beg?

The thought—so sudden, so shamefully vivid—made your lips part slightly. Your gaze softened, glassy, as your mind drifted somewhere far less innocent than the front door of your parents’ home. You didn't even realize you'd spaced out, lost in fantasy, letting the silence hang too long between you.

And to him, it was a gift. You weren’t looking. Weren’t guarded.

So he inhaled.

A slow, silent breath through his nose—deep, indulgent, hungry.

And God.

You were divine. The scent of you—warm skin, subtle perfume, something sweet and alive underneath it all—it hit him like a revelation. His chest rose with it, and for a brief, uncontrollable second, his eyes flashed—deep crimson, glowing beneath the surface like dying embers stoked back to life.

But you didn’t see it. You were still in your head, still dreaming. And the moment passed quick, the red bled away, and when your eyes finally flicked up to meet his again, he looked the same.

Put together. Unshaken. Holy. At least on the surface. But beneath the surface, temptation was coiling tighter in his chest, aching beneath layers of practiced restraint. His voice remained calm, smooth as silk, as he asked, “May I come in?”

The question lingered in the air like incense—faintly sweet, quietly intoxicating.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. The question shouldn’t have caught you off guard, but it did. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the hour, maybe it was the way he looked standing there—too composed for someone knocking on a door past midnight. Or maybe it was just the way he asked, like it wasn’t really a request at all.

“...Why?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, uncertain. You didn’t mean it to sound suspicious, but it did. And not because you feared him. No, that wasn’t it. You feared yourself. Feared what yes might mean.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he tilted his head—just slightly—and looked at you. Really looked at you. Like he was deciphering a language only he could hear, or quietly marveling at a puzzle he'd already solved. The silence between you stretched, but it didn’t feel empty.

Then, finally, he spoke—soft, measured.

“You seem… restless.”

You swallowed, throat dry, fingers tightening on the edge of the door. You couldn’t tell if it was a guess or a confession. You didn’t know how he knew—but he did.

You shrugged, brushing off his so-called concern with forced nonchalance. “I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes flicking past him like the night beyond the porch suddenly held something worth seeing. “Just haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.”

He didn’t press. Of course he didn’t.

Father Park never needed to press.

Instead, he nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you a heartbeat longer than necessary, like he was waiting for something—an opening, a flicker of doubt, a confession you weren’t ready to give. But when none came, he simply straightened his posture with the grace of someone who was never truly off-balance.

“The doors of the church remain open for you,” he said, voice smooth, patient. “Should you ever feel the weight of your sins… should you ever need to speak them.” His eyes seemed to gleam then—not with judgment, but with something deeper. Something hungrier.

Then, without warning, he murmured something else. The words rolled off his tongue in a language you didn’t understand, soft and ancient. Latin, you guessed. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant for your ears to grasp—it was meant for something older. Something listening. And then he bowed. A slow, elegant dip of his head—formal, reverent. Like you were the altar.

“Good night,” he said simply, his voice velvet and dusk.

You barely managed a faint reply before he turned and walked off into the night.

Only… it didn’t look like walking. His steps were too fluid, too quiet, like his feet barely touched the ground.

You remained in the doorway, frozen, watching his figure slowly disappear down the street. The night swallowed him in pieces—first his silhouette, then the glint of his collar, and finally the memory of his voice, still echoing softly in your ears.

You closed the door. But the heat he left behind stayed with you.

He hadn’t fed in awhile.

The hunger coiled in his gut like smoke—writhing, gnawing, whispering to him in the dead hours of the night. A low, constant hum beneath his skin. He was used to it by now, the ache, the restraint. It was part of wearing the mask. Part of being Father Park.

An alias. A role. A cage.

Sunghoon had worn many names before this one, walked through centuries with different faces, all while pretending to be something he wasn’t. He never stayed anywhere long. It was too dangerous, too exposing. And, frankly, too lonely.

He hadn’t had a home since the one that mattered burned to ash, centuries ago—its scent still carved into the deepest parts of his memory: smoke, blood, charred skin. After that, he stopped trying to belong. He didn’t need comfort. He needed survival.

When he found this town—small, crumbling, reeking of hollow faith and rotting piety he hadn’t planned to stay long. Just long enough to feed. To satisfy the ache. The church had already been dying, its sermons empty, its people desperate. The original priest had been pitiful, really. A man praying on his knees outside the chapel, begging his silent God for a miracle.

And a miracle had come.

A miracle with crimson eyes and hunger in its mouth.

Sunghoon hadn’t hesitated. He’d stepped out from the trees like an answered prayer, calm and quiet, then ripped into the priest’s throat with such force that the man didn’t even have time to scream. He’d fed under the cross that night, blood soaking the soil like a new form of baptism. By dawn, he wore the collar.

And just like that, Father Park was born.

It was supposed to be temporary. A few weeks, maybe a month. Just long enough to drain the desperate faithful who wandered in, seeking salvation. He would give them a taste of something divine, and take so much more in return.

But then you appeared.

He hadn’t expected you.

The first time he saw you walk into his church, he felt it—the stillness, the hum beneath his skin sharpening into something feral. The hunger shifted. Changed. Focused.

You weren’t like the others. You weren’t hollow. You weren’t praying for salvation. You were temptation incarnate.

And worse—you didn’t even know it.

You smelled like warmth and sin. Like something he had no right to touch, and every right to take. Every moment he looked at you, listened to your voice, watched your eyes flick toward him like you couldn’t help it—he unraveled, just a little more.

He couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not until he had a taste of you.

Just one taste.

But he already knew one would never be enough. No. He couldn’t have just one simple taste.

Sunghoon knew himself too well. A taste would never satisfy. A drop would only drive him mad.

He needed the whole meal.

He needed your blood on his skin—hot, slick, divine—trailing down his throat, staining his clothes, slicking his chest. He needed it under his claws, beneath his tongue, between his teeth. He needed to taste you completely, until you were part of him, until no part of you was untouched, unclaimed.

He needed to feel you everywhere—your scent in his lungs, your warmth pressed to his cold flesh. You on his lap, your thighs trembling around him. You under him, breathless and pliant. You over him, riding out his hunger like it was your penance. You on your knees before him—not in worship of something above, but of him. Only him.

You’d pray for salvation, and he’d answer with ruin.

He wanted to hear it—your voice cracking, your pleas faltering, his name spoken like a hymn and a curse. He wanted you to whisper it like he was your God, and scream it like he was your undoing.

He could only imagine how sweet you’d taste, how delectable your innocence would be on his tongue. It wasn’t just hunger—it was need. An ache in every cell of his body to feel your heartbeat where his had long gone quiet. To wrap himself in your warmth, where he was nothing but cold shadow.

Sunghoon didn’t pray. Not really. But for you? He would.

He’d pray for your soul, not to save it—but to make sure it was pure. So when he sank his fangs into your throat, when he dragged you into the abyss with him, it would mean something. He wanted to ruin you for anyone else. To mark you so thoroughly the idea of another even looking at you would be laughable.

He’d pray for your goodness. So he could be the one to strip it away.

And once he did. You wouldn’t want to be saved. You would want to be worshipped. By him.

And he would worship you in ways no God ever could. With lips, with teeth, with devotion carved out of centuries of hunger. He would fall to his knees not for salvation—but for you. His altar. His sacrifice. His sin.

You were his undoing. His Armageddon.

He, who had survived kingdoms rising and burning, lovers dying, centuries of silence and solitude—you were the one thing he couldn’t survive. The one soul too bright, too soft, too dangerous.

And he wanted to ruin you the way you had ruined him.

He wanted to crack you open like you’d done to him. Take your name in his mouth like blood and never spit it out. Fill your veins with him until there was nothing left of the girl who opened her door in a T-shirt and bare thighs, blinking sleep from her eyes like she wasn’t already calling down a monster with her softness.

And yet... Even as he hunted, prowling the woods for a young couple who had dared to scoff at his sermon, dared to turn away from his church—he felt it. That snap deep inside him. That shift.

The taste of their blood was warm. Familiar. Easy.

But it was wrong.

They didn’t satisfy him. Not even close. He drained them quietly, quickly, like routine. Left their bodies beneath the roots of an old oak and stared at the sky, blood drying on his hands.

Something had changed. Something in him had broken the moment he first caught your scent. And now… he realized the truth.

He needed you more than he needed blood. More than he needed to feed. More than he needed to survive.

You had become his only craving. Not the chase. Not the kill. You.

And he would starve before he tasted anyone else.

You didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the way the night air had felt heavier lately. Maybe it was the dreams—warm hands, whispered words, lips that never touched but always hovered too close. Or maybe… maybe it was just him.

But the next sermon, you went.

You didn’t protest when your parents knocked gently on your door, their voices laced with hope. You just nodded, and they seemed surprised. You didn’t explain. What could you even say?

That you were going for God? No. You were going for something much more dangerous.

This time, you dressed differently. Carefully.

White. Soft. Lacey.

A dress that clung in just the right places, short—but not too short. Modest enough for the occasion, yet just enough bare skin to invite attention. You told yourself it didn’t matter if he noticed. But you wanted him to. You needed him to.

The church was already full when you arrived, the lanterns burning low, casting golden light that made the air feel thick, like honey. Your parents found their usual spot near the middle, but you lingered further back, sliding into a pew alone, heart quietly pounding.

And then he entered.

The moment his black-clad figure emerged from the shadow of the spiraling staircase, the room fell into reverent silence—yet somehow, it got louder in your chest.

His gaze swept over the congregation like always. Calm. Composed.

Until he saw you.

His eyes locked onto you like a pin striking the center of a map. Unblinking. Unmoving.

And you held your breath—just for a second—waiting for something. A flicker. A shift. Something.

But his face didn’t change. Not a twitch. Not a blink. His expression remained carved in stone, as unreadable and perfect as ever.

And to your surprise… you felt a flicker of disappointment.

He didn’t react. Not to the dress. Not to you. Not to the white lace you chose deliberately to contrast everything he wore.

But what you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was the way his jaw clenched behind the collar. How his fingers twitched once at his side. How his fangs pressed, achingly, against his gums.

You only saw the mask. Because he was practiced. He was patient.

But inside?

He was scorching.

It was worse than the burn of sunlight on his skin— that searing, instant agony that blistered through every inch of him when he miscalculated the rise of dawn. Worse than the sting of silver slicing through flesh like butter, hissing and smoking as it left behind angry, rotting welts. Worse than the pain of holy water splashing across his face during a too-close encounter with the faithful fool—his skin peeling, his body convulsing in silent fury as he choked down the scream.

Worse than all of it.

You were worse.

Because this burn was deep. Slow. Consuming.

You sat there in white lace like a vision sent to torment him, thighs pressed together, your lips slightly parted as your eyes searched his face, so eager to find a crack in his armor. You didn’t know it, but you were glowing in that pew—like the church light was drawn to you, wrapping around your shoulders, kissing the hem of your dress, illuminating the softness of your throat.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Or maybe… you did. Maybe some part of you wanted to be his undoing.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw tighter, forcing the sermon to fall from his lips like scripture—fluid, measured, and holy. But behind the collar, behind the mask of Father Park, he was falling apart.

His gaze lingered on your legs longer than it should have. Drifted higher. Imagined.

He imagined that lace torn. Imagined you beneath him, arching into his mouth, crying out for a God that wasn’t listening—because he was already there. Your God in black.

And still, he did nothing. Even if he wanted to do everything.

He remained still, stoic, and composed—while inside, he was chaos incarnate.

His mind conjured the most sinful visions: You, back arched beneath him, lace torn and forgotten. Your breath hitching as his tongue traced devotion into your skin. You on your knees, flushed and desperate, whispering his name like a prayer—like a plea.

His control tightened like a vice.

He couldn’t let his fangs elongate—not here, not now, even if the hunger ached in his jaw, even if he could already taste the phantom sweetness of your blood. He couldn’t let his claws slip free, though his fingers twitched inside the leather of his gloves, aching to grip you, to drag you closer and feel your pulse flutter beneath his hands. He couldn’t let the growls building in his chest rise to the surface, those low, guttural sounds that threatened to betray him—remind the room, remind you, that he was not a man preaching salvation, but a predator resisting collapse.

And most of all—he couldn’t let his eyes shift.

He couldn’t let you see the way his irises burned when his hunger overtook him. That deep, infernal red that gave away every secret, every need. You weren’t ready for that.

But God, how close he was to unraveling.

He was a storm held in human shape. A monster beneath silk and scripture.

And you, sitting there in white—unknowing, or perhaps too knowing—were dragging him to the edge of something he hadn’t felt in centuries.

Not just lust. Not just hunger.

Obsession.

And if he gave in.. if he so much as slipped once..

There would be no sermon. No prayer. No salvation.

Only him. And you. And the ruin that would follow.

Sunghoon's voice didn’t falter as he continued preaching, but every word tasted like ash in his mouth. The scripture meant nothing now—it was noise. Hollow syllables meant to distract from the war inside him. Each verse a chain he tried to wrap tighter around himself, each sacred word a blade digging into his tongue to keep the monster in check. Because if he let himself slip—if he gave in to the need that had been festering since the moment he first laid eyes on you—he wouldn’t just taste you. He’d devour you.

He’d press your hands together like prayer and kiss the blasphemy into your skin. He’d feed from your throat and moan into your mouth. He’d drag you to the altar and make you his, body and soul, until even your shadow belonged to him. Until you forgot what it meant to be untouched.

You weren’t just a passing temptation.

You were his trigger. His fall. His holy, aching obsession.

And still, he stood there, perfectly composed, delivering holy words with a voice that belied the beast underneath. Every syllable burned on the way out, and every breath he took felt like it could be his last if he didn’t have you soon. Because this was no longer hunger. This was starvation. And all it would take was one moment—one crack in his restraint, one slip of your voice, one glance too long—and the leash he’d kept wrapped around his nature for centuries would snap.

And God have mercy on you if it did.

Because he wouldn’t.

When the sermon ended, Sunghoon didn’t linger.

He didn’t offer his usual soft nods or faint smiles to the congregation. Didn’t shake hands or murmur blessings. Didn’t wait at the altar as the people filtered out in quiet, orderly lines, looking to him like he was the answer to all their empty prayers.

He left.

The moment the final word left his lips, he stepped down from the altar, black robes whispering behind him like smoke. You watched him move, confused at first by the sudden shift in routine. Usually, he stayed. Usually, he was still as stone, watching over the exit like a shepherd guiding his sheep home.

Not tonight. Tonight, he moved like a man about to come undone.

He disappeared behind the velvet curtain at the side of the altar, the shadows greedily swallowing his form. You blinked, your heart thudding like a warning in your chest. Your parents stood beside you, speaking in hushed admiration about the sermon, the scripture, how powerful his words had been tonight. You barely heard them. Your eyes were still locked on the altar.

You hadn’t missed it.

The way his voice had deepened just slightly when he looked your way. The way his gaze lingered a second too long. The slight tremor in his hand when he turned a page of his Bible. He had been holding something back.

You felt it.

And now he was gone. Vanished behind the curtain before anyone could ask anything, before anyone could see the cracks in that perfect mask.

But you’d seen enough. You weren’t just imagining it anymore—the tension, the flicker in his eyes, the near-tremble in his voice. No man, priest or not, looked at someone like that without wanting.

And Father Park wanted you. Even if he tried to bury it beneath scripture. Even if he ran.

That only made you more certain.

You stood in the pew, still and silent as the congregation began to file out around you, their murmurs dull in your ears. Your parents were already gathering their things, already walking ahead, already assuming you’d follow.

But your gaze stayed locked on the curtain he’d vanished behind.

You hadn’t come here just to look pretty in white and hope. You had dressed for him. And if he thought slipping away into the dark would shake you loose from whatever was blooming—slow and burning—between you, then he didn’t understand you at all.

You weren’t going to give up.

You wanted him. In every forbidden, dangerous way. And judging by the way he fled the altar tonight, he was closer to breaking than you’d even hoped.

So fine.

If he was going to retreat, you’d step up your game.

Push harder. Closer. Deeper.

Until the mask cracked for good.

From the moment the moon climbed high to the edge of sunrise, Sunghoon lived in torture.

He writhed on the bed deep beneath the church—his sanctuary and prison both, far from the sun’s reach. The underground chamber, cold and lightless, echoed with the ragged sounds of his breath. The stone walls were marked from past nights like this—scratches, splinters, the stains of restraint shattered.

The bedding beneath him was torn to shreds, clawed apart in a frenzy of desperation. The mattress hung in ribbons, shredded fabric and stuffing tangled with broken seams and the scent of him. His sweat soaked through what little remained of the sheets, dripping from his pale chest, his collarbone, pooling on the bedding beneath him. He was burning, despite the chill that filled the air.

And his fangs—those cursed, aching things were fully extended, sharp and gleaming, bared as his jaw hung open in a soundless snarl.

Drool slid messily from his parted lips, thick and sweet-smelling, rolling down his chin, his throat, streaking the length of his bare chest like a mark of surrender. His hands gripped the remains of the bedding, nails tearing through again and again as if punishing it for not being you.

Because all he could think about was you.

Your thighs, trembling and slick against his hips. Your voice breaking into the quiet with breathless, needy whines. Your mouth, your neck, your blood—oh, your blood, how it would coat his tongue, how it would taste running warm into his throat. You, crying out his name like a prayer he didn’t deserve. You, arching into him, full of trust and ruin.

He was in heaven and hell at once. Your name repeated in his mind like liturgy, every syllable a curse.

The chains of his control, the very chains he had forged over centuries were shaking, screaming, cracking under the pressure. He tried to breathe, tried to think, but all that came was you. That white dress. That skin. That scent.

His crimson eyes snapped open in the dark, gleaming like embers, then rolled back into his skull as his body jerked with the weight of his need. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, echoing through the stone chamber like a dying vow.

He was unraveling.

And he couldn’t hold on much longer.

Not when his control only worsened with time.

Because now—you came to every sermon.

Without fail.

And each time, you came dressed like temptation in human form. Sweet, sinful contradictions that made his restraint decay piece by piece. Dresses too soft, too clingy. Skirts that danced just above your knees when you walked. Delicate lace, bare collarbones, slivers of skin that shouldn’t have meant anything… but drove him mad.

It wasn’t what you wore, really. It was the intention behind it. The subtle awareness in your gaze when you met his. The faint, knowing curl of your lips when you caught his stare.

And God, the scent of you.

It filled the church before you even stepped inside. Honey and something warmer—something ripe. It clung to your skin, to the air, to the wooden pews long after you’d left. It filled his lungs with every breath he took, poisoning his sermons, tainting his prayers. Every time you passed him, it wrapped around his throat like a noose made of silk and sugar.

So after each sermon—each torture—Sunghoon would retreat. Down the hidden stairwell. Past the flickering lanterns. Into the cold black of his underground chamber where God couldn’t see him anymore.

And there he came undone.

Every. Single. Time.

He ripped the bedding to shreds. Tore the covers from the mattress. Clawed at the stone walls until his knuckles bled, fangs bared and glistening, chest heaving with curses that echoed like a demon trapped in a confession box.

The scent of you lingered on his clothes. In his hair. In his mouth.

And he would groan into the silence, bucking into the ruined sheets, imagining you—imagining your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails raking down his back, your breath stuttering against his ear as you begged him for more.

He couldn’t preach purity and self-denial when all he wanted was to ruin you—to bury himself so deeply in your body, your blood, your soul, that not even heaven could pull him free.

And with every passing sermon. He got closer to doing it.

His breaking point was simple. Almost laughably so. Not a scream. Not a mistake. Not a betrayal.

Just you. Walking into his church at eleven o’clock at night.

He should’ve known. Should’ve sensed it the moment you stepped through the doors. But he didn’t need to. Your scent announced you before your footsteps even touched the stone. Sweet, warm, ripe—a siren’s call dressed in sinless skin.

He had grown used to you tormenting him during sermons. Used to your stolen glances and your skirts that clung just a little too tightly when you knelt. He could survive those moments—barely.

But now?

You came during confessional hours. Late. Alone. When the church was dark, when no one else came but the desperate and the damned.

From your parents, you knew he offered confession every Sunday at 11 p.m.—something about it being “quiet and intimate.” They told you proudly how devoted he was, how even the most broken souls found healing in his presence.

But you didn’t come to be healed. You came for something else.

You slipped into the church like you belonged there—soft, silent, sinful—and made your way straight to the confessional booth. The air inside was cold, the wood old and dark, polished by centuries of secrets whispered into velvet shadows. And on the other side of the screen, he waited. You knew it. You felt it.

That he was alone. That he was listening.

The thought made your heart flutter.

You stepped inside your side of the booth and sat slowly, letting the silence stretch. Letting it build.

Then, with deliberate slowness, you unbuttoned your coat. And tossed it aside—carelessly, deliberately, like it meant nothing.

He heard it hit the wood. Soft. Thoughtless. Reckless. And it broke him.

On the other side of the thin wall, Sunghoon’s body tensed so hard it hurt. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, the leather of his gloves creaking as his knuckles went bone-white. His breath hitched, shallow, audible. His fangs pressed painfully against his tongue. His eyes burned, pupils thinning to slits, then bleeding red as the image formed in his mind—you, shedding your coat like you were undressing in front of him. Like you knew he was listening. Like you wanted him to hear every move.

The monster inside him—starving, frantic, unhinged pulled its leash.

He didn’t breathe. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, trembling from the force of restraint.

The booth was too small. Too quiet. The air thick with your scent and something far more dangerous—intention. He could hear everything—the soft rustle of fabric, the creak of wood beneath you as you shifted, the exhale you let out like a tired confession in itself.

And then, you sighed. Soft. Slow. Purposeful.

His fingers twitched where they lay.

Through the latticed screen, shadows danced across your outline, just enough for his eyes to catch the movement as your hands drifted over your bare thighs. You rubbed slowly, absentmindedly, like you were comforting yourself—or enticing him.

Then your hands moved higher, subtly gathering the hem of your dress, pulling it up inch by inch. And though he couldn’t see much, he felt it. Knew it.

And when you leaned forward, close enough that he could hear your breath against the screen, only a sliver of wood separating you from the thing you were daring—you spoke.

“Forgive me, Father… for I have sinned.” Your voice was a whisper soaked in honey and fire, and it made his stomach twist violently.

His fangs throbbed. His claws pushed against the inside of his gloves. His thighs pressed together, muscles locked, as he tried desperately not to make a sound.

You continued, slower now. “I’ve had… thoughts. Wicked ones. Cravings. I think I’ve been tempting someone who shouldn’t be tempted.”

Your fingers brushed higher.

Sunghoon’s mouth parted, but no words came. Only the sharp sound of his breath through gritted teeth. His entire body was burning.

You knew exactly what you were doing. And he was seconds away from doing everything you wanted.

All it would take was one more word. One more movement. One more sin.

And Father Park would be gone, replaced by something far darker. Far hungrier.

He felt his fangs grow, aching and full in his mouth, sharper with every word you spoke like scripture meant to break him.

He went through the motions—his routine—voice low and even, asking softly, “What a burdensome sin you feel, child.” But the word child caught in his throat, tasted wrong when applied to you, who sat on the other side of the screen not as a lost soul seeking guidance… but as a devil in white lace, seducing him with every breath.

And you just hummed, as if the very idea of confession was sweet on your tongue. You kept up the act, voice dripping with falsified guilt, your thighs pressed together, breath hitching as you spoke of impure thoughts and shameful dreams. Of desire.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

He didn’t care now. He didn’t care that drool was sliding down his chin, that it dripped from his parted mouth like he was starving—because he was. He didn’t care that the leather of his gloves had ripped where his claws had pushed through, splintering through the seams with sharp, glistening hunger. He didn’t care that the scent of you was driving him insane—warm, slick, sweet, like sin and innocence tangled together. His eyes were red now—fully glowing, animal and furious, wide and locked on the screen that separated you. The only thing keeping you safe.

And even then, barely.

He inhaled, deeply, shamelessly, like your scent was holy. His shoulders shuddered, lips parted around the weight of the groan he bit back.

He could hear your heartbeat.

Louder now. Faster. Racing.

He could feel the pulse fluttering in your neck, between your thighs, in that trembling, lusting heart that beat just for him in this moment. You wanted him. You wanted him to break. And that knowing—that truth—drove him to the edge of madness.

He saw your sin. He felt your want. He tasted your need in the air like blood.

And Sunghoon was barely a man now. Barely a priest. Barely holding on. Because the thing that sat on his side of the booth… wasn’t thinking of salvation anymore. It was thinking of you—under him, crying, clawing, moaning, begging.

“Is it normal to have impure thoughts, Father?” Your voice was breathy—soaked in false innocence, laced with heat. “I feel so hot all the time around him… I dream of his hands on me. His lips on mine. I dream of sin, Father. And I like it.”

He gripped the edge of the booth, knuckles bone-white. The wood groaned beneath his strength, cracking under the force he tried and failed to temper.

Your voice dripped into him like poison, thick and slow, coiling around his restraint. Every word you spoke was a match. Every sigh, a spark.

Then you leaned back. Then you spread your legs.

And then—

You whined.

Soft and wanting, a sound made for him, like a prayer that could only be answered in blood and broken vows. The growl that left his throat was deep, inhuman.

Something snapped.

The confessional shook as the door of his booth was ripped open, hinges groaning in protest as it slammed against the wall. You barely had time to gasp before your door was wrenched open, light from the altar flickering against the silhouette in front of you.

Sunghoon stood in the frame like a fallen angel, hair disheveled, his black clothes rumpled and hanging off his frame in that terrifying, unholy way that made him even more beautiful. His chest rose and fell with shallow, furious breaths. His eyes burned—glowed—with that feral crimson that no longer tried to hide what he was.

His fangs were out. His gloves were ruined, claws fully bared. And his perfect, stoic face was twisted in hunger.

The silence between you stretched, thick with heat and the scent of your arousal. He looked down at you, seated, legs parted, lips slightly parted in surprise, and the sight broke something in him for good.

"What... what are you?" you whispered, breath catching in your throat. There was fear there, yes—but not enough to make you move. Not enough to make you run. Just enough to make the air around you feel electric.

He stood before you like something carved from your worst and sweetest fantasies—towering, trembling, no longer hiding what he was. His eyes glowed like blood spilled beneath moonlight, locked on your throat, your chest, the heat between your parted legs. His jaw twitched, and slowly his tongue slipped out to trace along one of his fangs. He licked the drool from his lips, but more spilled from the corners of his mouth, thick and obscene, stringing down his chin in slow, shining ropes.

And then he smiled. Not kindly. Not softly. Predatorily.

“Something that should’ve left this town the moment it saw you,” he said, voice low, trembling with want. “Something that should’ve let you stay innocent.”

The scent of incense still clung to his robes, now tainted with sweat and the raw edge of his hunger.

“But you kept coming back…” he continued, tilting his head slowly. “Kept looking at me like you wanted to be hunted.” He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the unnatural cold radiating off his skin. His lips hovered just beside your cheek, and the thick, wet drip of his drool landed hot against your collarbone as he whispered:

“I haven’t fed in weeks.” Another breath, sharp through his nose, shuddering. “And you smell better than blood.”

You gulped, throat tightening around the weight of your breath, your fear, your want. You hadn’t even realized you were trembling—not until you felt it, the sharp contrast of him: Sunghoon’s bare, cold hands sliding over your warm skin.

At some point, he’d rid himself of the gloves. There was no barrier now. No mercy. Just the sharp drag of claws over flesh.

You gasped—head snapping back, spine arching as his claws gripped your thighs, too tight, too possessive. The points knicked your skin, slicing clean without hesitation. Blood welled up instantly, dark and warm, trailing down your thighs like liquid sin. It hurt. But it hurt so good.

A choked sound left your throat—half a cry, half a moan.

Sunghoon leaned in, lips brushing your ear, breath cold and heavy against your skin. And then he spoke.

“Little angel… I’m about to taint you.”

His voice was not human. It rumbled deep in his chest, echoed through your head, vibrating along your spine like a voice buried beneath the earth, rising just for you. It clung to your skin like a brand, a vow, a curse.

And then he kissed you.

No—he devoured you.

His lips slammed into yours, fast and brutal, a messy clash of fang and tongue and desperation. The sharp points of his fangs cut your lips, your tongue—thin lines of blood mixing with the flood of his own drool, slick and thick between your mouths like a dangerous, heady concoction.

You tasted copper and heat, the cold of him, the burn of you. There was no rhythm—just need. Raw, unholy need.

His kiss wasn’t something that asked. It took.

Your mouth, your breath, your will.

He kissed you like he was starving. Like every second his mouth wasn’t on you was agony. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your waist, sliding up your back and down your front, trembling from the force of restraint unraveling inside him. You could feel the cold of his skin and the sharp scrape of his claws dragging against your flesh, reverent and ravenous all at once.

And then he broke the kiss, only to trail his mouth down your jaw, to your throat, to your collarbones, lips slick with blood and spit as he tasted every inch like it was sacred. His breath hitched against your skin, cool and shaking.

You barely had time to gasp before his hands slid beneath your dress, gliding up your torso with possessive ease, fabric pushed away carelessly. The chill of the air hit your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of him—the cold weight of him lowering, dragging you closer.

And then, without a word, he dropped to his knees.

You felt your breath catch. Felt the confession booth spin. He knelt like you were divinity. Like you were the altar.

Strong hands yanked you forward until you were perched right at the edge of the seat, and before you could even process it, one of your legs was thrown over his shoulder, the position intimate—vulnerable. You could feel his breath on your inner thigh, your skin sticky with the blood still dripping from the earlier cut.

And then you saw it, saw how his gaze lifted—locked on your neck.

His mouth was open, drool now running freely down his chin, and his fangs—those inhuman fangs—were fully bared, far too long, far too sharp, glistening with saliva that dripped in slow, heavy strings onto your skin. And suddenly, he started to beg.

“Please…” he whispered, voice cracked, hoarse, ruined. “Just a taste. Just a taste, I swear.” His lips kissed down your leg, slow, wet kisses that made your toes curl, that made your heart beat harder. With every inch downward, he whispered again:

“Let me taste you, little angel…” Another kiss. “Let me worship you…” Another, slower this time, his tongue flicking out, collecting a drop of blood from your skin. “I’ll be good. I’ll serve. Just let me have it…” He sounded mad—feral—like a deity cast out of heaven, crawling back to the altar on his knees.

His breath ghosted hot against your inner thigh, wet from his lips and heavy with need. He nuzzled into your skin like a beast trying to burrow into warmth, his nose brushing your pulse point, his red eyes lifted to yours—dazed, wild, pleading.

Tears rimmed the corners of his glowing eyes, but they didn’t fall. They shimmered, catching the low light of the church like broken glass. His tongue peeked out again, dragging slowly along your thigh, tasting the copper tang of your blood with a choked sound of reverence. “Please…” he whimpered again, voice slurred, almost drunk. “Just a taste, angel… just a drop.”

You could only stare—caught between horror and something far darker, something that twisted low in your gut like a forbidden thrill. Your breath caught, chest rising and falling as you whispered, barely audible, “You’re the devil…”

He smiled against your thigh, fangs glinting. “For you?” he rasped, voice thick with devotion and lust, “I’ll be anything you want, angel.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the seat beneath you, white-knuckled. And then—without thinking, without hesitation—you leaned down, your lips ghosting near his ear, your whisper a challenge, a surrender, a summon.

“Then come and taste…”

You barely got the words out before he pounced.

There was no hesitation, no hesitation left in him—he moved like a storm unleashed, like a starving wolf tearing into paradise. One of his clawed hands flew up to your head, gripping your hair, tilting your face to the side—exposing your throat.

You gasped—no, whimpered—as his mouth moved to your shoulder.

And then—he bit.

Fangs pierced deep, sharp, brutal, slicing into muscle with terrifying ease. Your body seized as white-hot pain bloomed and then instantly melted into something blissful, devastating.

You screamed. Not in fear. Not in pain. But in ecstasy.

His mouth latched to your shoulder like he belonged there, sucking greedily, desperately, the wet, obscene sound of feeding filling the confessional like a hymn to madness. He groaned into your skin—low and feral, the sound vibrating through your bones. Your blood filled his mouth, spilling over his lips, slicking down his skin, and still—he didn’t stop.

He drank like it was salvation. You moaned like it was rapture.

And somewhere, buried in the pain and pleasure and ruin—

You realized the truth:

You had given yourself to a monster. And loved it.

When he finally pulled back, there was nothing holy left in him.

His entire front was soaked in your blood—neck to chest, sleeves to stomach. The white shirt beneath his unfastened cloak was ruined, stained crimson and clinging to his skin. His lips glistened, smeared with red, and he licked them with a guttural groan, head tipping back as his eyes rolled into his skull, overwhelmed by the taste of you.

“Delicious…” he murmured, voice heavy, cracked open in pleasure.

You lay slumped back against the booth, limbs trembling, twitching, eyes fluttering as your chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. Your skin was pale now, damp with sweat, mouth parted as you stared up at him—ruined and still wanting more.

And Sunghoon hadn’t had enough. Not nearly.

He looked down at you again, this time with hunger that had shifted—deepened. Not just starvation now. Not just thirst.

Possession.

He bent low again, pulling both of your legs up and over his shoulders, wrapping them around him with a strength that made your breath catch. His mouth descended on your thighs—hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into the softest skin, slow and searing.

Marking you.

Over and over, he kissed, groaned, let his fangs drag lightly across the surface, each scrape making your toes curl. And then he bit again, not deep, not like before, just enough to break the skin, to draw small, perfect wells of blood. He sucked, moaning against your leg as if your taste was the holiest thing he'd ever known.

And you let him. You wanted him to.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking it hard, making a mess of the usual slicked-back strands. He groaned when you did it, hands gripping tighter at your thighs, claws dimpling your skin.

“Sunghoon…” you whined, breathless, head thrown back. The way you said his name—like a curse and a prayer—made him shudder against you.

Sunghoon kissed you like a man who had never known softness, only hunger—like your thighs were the first silk he’d ever touched and he meant to devour every inch. Each kiss turned sloppier, more feverish, his tongue dragging over your torn skin, mixing blood and spit and sweat in hot, open-mouthed reverence.

You held him there—gripping his hair tight, not just guiding him, but claiming him, like he belonged between your legs, on his knees, feeding from your body like it was divine.

And to him, it was.

You felt it in the way his fangs pressed teasingly to your inner thigh, not biting—threatening. Testing how far you’d let him go. How far gone you were.

And you were.

You were drunk on the feel of him. On the low, guttural groans that rumbled in his chest every time your fingers yanked harder, every time your breath caught when he sucked just right. Your head lolled back, body lax, shivering and twitching from blood loss and arousal, but you didn’t stop him. You opened your legs wider. Arched your hips up. Let him bury himself deeper against you.

He growled—an animal sound vibrating against your skin.

When he finally pulled back to look up at you, his mouth was smeared with red. His eyes were blown wide, pupils sharp and crimson and starved. “Mine,” he declared, voice hoarse, blood-wet.

And with his fingers tightening on your thighs and his lips finding your skin again, you knew this wasn’t about sin anymore. There was no church, no cross, no God above that could save you now.

Not from him. Not from yourself. And not from whatever you’d just become together in that confessional. Because you hadn’t just given him a taste. You’d offered yourself up.

Sunghoon moved with a suddenness that stole your breath. One moment, his mouth was still worshiping your thighs, fangs grazing your trembling skin and the next, he was lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

Your gasp was swallowed by the heat of his body pressed against yours.

One arm hooked securely beneath your thigh, the other gripped the curve of your ass, claws digging just enough to make you gasp again. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, body clinging to him as if it were instinct—as if you’d always been meant to fit there.

He didn’t speak. Just turned and carried you from the booth, footsteps slow but purposeful, like he was parading you through his house of worship, defiling its silence one step at a time. The church was silent and sacred and wrong around you both, your blood still hot and damp between you.

And you—bold, trembling, ruined—took your chance.

You leaned in and kissed him.

Your lips found his in a desperate, messy collision. You didn’t care about the blood, about the taste of iron or the heat of his tongue claiming yours. You kissed him like you were starving for him too. Your hands cradled his face, fingers sliding through his hair, tugging, pulling him deeper into you as he groaned into your mouth.

The kiss was violent and wet, his lips parting around a breathless moan as you dragged your teeth over his bottom lip. He pressed you harder to his chest, clawed fingers flexing around your thigh as he kept walking.

Down the aisle. Past the altar. Toward the hidden stairwell cloaked in shadow.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, breathless against his lips, “Where are we going?”

His eyes locked with yours—red, wild, glinting like polished garnet in the dark. “To where I keep what’s mine,” he answered.

The door creaked open with a groan, heavy and ancient, like it hadn't welcomed anyone but him in centuries. The air that met you was cold, dense, and rich with the scent of stone, old incense, and blood.

Sunghoon stepped through the threshold without hesitation, and the moment the door sealed shut behind him, the world above might as well have ceased to exist.

This space—this dark, secret chamber was his. And now, it was yours, too.

He crossed the room and lowered you onto the bed with reverent ease, like you were the most sacred offering he'd ever laid eyes on. Your back sank into the ruined, claw-torn mattress, the scent of him surrounding you—musk, blood, devotion, lust.

And then he was on you.

His body hovered above yours, his frame broad and trembling with hunger as his lips found your neck again. He kissed your pulse, slow and open-mouthed, tongue tracing the spot he’d already bitten, teeth grazing, not biting—not yet.

Then lower. To your collarbone. To your chest.

You shivered beneath him, your hands reaching to grip his arms, nails dragging against the fabric of his ruined shirt as he slid the hem of your dress further down your chest, exposing more skin to his mouth, his touch, his worship.

His breath was ragged as he muttered something against your skin, the words rolling off his tongue like silk—Latin, dark and fluid, foreign but intimate. Each syllable was reverent, hushed, like a prayer or a curse meant only for you.

You didn’t understand a word of it. But the way he said it. The depth in his voice, the possessive tremble, the soft growl. It made your breath catch. It made your thighs clench. It made you need.

He caged you beneath him, hands on either side of your head, his body pressing down just enough for you to feel the weight of him, the danger of him—fangs inches from your throat, breath ragged with restraint and desperation. "You're mine now," he murmured lowly, switching back to a voice you understood, though his lips still brushed your shoulder. “Body… blood… soul. Mine.”

And though you should’ve felt fear, all you felt was heat. And you didn’t dare deny it.

Sunghoon pulled back, breathless, a string of blood-slick saliva connecting his lips to your collarbone before it snapped and dripped onto your chest. His eyes never left yours as his fingers went to the buttons of his bloodstained cassock, undoing them slowly, one by one, like he wanted you to feel every second of his unraveling.

And when the last layer fell from his frame, you could only stare.

His body was sculpted—inhumanly so. Pale, marble skin stretched over muscle, defined and taut, like he had been carved by the hands of something ancient and cruel. His chest glistened, smeared with your blood and his drool, both clinging to every line, every dip of his torso.

Your mouth parted in awe.

Sunghoon tilted his head, red eyes shining like molten garnet as he leaned closer, his voice low and thick. “I need another taste…” he growled.

Without hesitation, you tilted your head, baring your neck for him again, breath catching with anticipation. But he paused, a slow smirk ghosting over his lips.

“…No,” he murmured. “Not there.”

Confusion flashed in your eyes for just a moment—until you saw where he was looking.

Down.

His gaze burned past your collarbone, over your stomach, lower, darker, hungrily until it settled between your legs.

Understanding bloomed like heat in your gut.

“I need to taste every part of you, little lamb,” he whispered, reverent and possessive, like he was claiming you not just as prey but as sacrifice. “Every inch.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you met his gaze. And then—silently, shamelessly—you spread your legs for him, slow and wide, offering yourself fully.

A holy gesture, turned sinful. An invitation no demonic creature could ever resist.

Sunghoon’s eyes rolled back for a second, fangs bared, and he let out a sound that was almost a purr—but too low, too broken, too hungry. And then he lowered himself between your thighs like a worshiper before an altar. Ready to make you his religion.

He descended between your thighs like a man starved of meaning, of warmth, of purpose—and now he had all three in the form of you.

You, trembling beneath him, blood-slicked and bare. You, spread open in offering like an offering laid at the altar. You, who smelled like sin and salvation tangled together in skin.

Sunghoon didn’t rush. No, he savored.

His claws, still stained slid along your thighs as he lowered his mouth, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin. You felt it, the way his nose brushed you, how he breathed you in, groaning like your scent alone was enough to unravel the centuries he’d spent chained by control.

And then his mouth was on you.

It wasn’t gentle.

His tongue was hot and soft, but his hunger was savage. He licked into you with slow, devastating intent—then faster, greedier, dragging obscene sounds from your lips. His fangs grazed delicately near where you were most sensitive, not biting but always a threat, a promise.

Your hips bucked and he growled, arms locking tighter around your thighs, keeping you spread, keeping you right there.

Like he was feasting. Because he was.

Between each lash of his tongue, he whispered against your heat, voice low, words murmured in Latin again—litanies not meant for the divine but for the damned. You didn’t know what he said, but your body answered, arching into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, sobbing out his name like a prayer.

He moaned against you, the vibrations deep and devastating, and then finally he bit. Sharp. Precise. Deep enough to make you cry out not in pain, but in rapture. Blood welled again, and he drank from you there, tongue lapping it up like nectar, like he was tasting divinity.

“So sweet…” he groaned, face buried between your thighs, voice ragged and soaked in lust. “I knew you’d be sweet everywhere.”

Your vision blurred, your moans dissolving into whimpers as your body trembled, flooded with heat, with loss, with bliss. He didn’t let up. He didn’t stop. He worshipped you with his mouth like a man who had been denied heaven and finally found a Goddess willing to open the gates.

Summer didn’t last long. Of course it didn’t. Nothing that sweet, that intense, ever did.

But Sunghoon wasn’t something that faded with the season. He was yours. Fully, endlessly, eternally and he planned to stay that way. If you returned to the city, he’d follow. If you crossed oceans, he’d swim through them. If the sky cracked open and swallowed the world whole, he’d hold your hand through the flames. Convenient, really, when your boyfriend was a centuries-old vampire willing to follow you to the ends of the earth with nothing but a hunger for your blood and a hand on your waist.

You loved him. God, you loved him.

He was everything from your wildest dreams—beautiful, obsessive, dangerous. And it didn’t help that he looked at you like you were made of stars and sin.

And maybe, maybe… you liked to tease him.

A lot.

Even if it did end up biting you—hard—when he finally snapped and ruined you for hours after, leaving you trembling and marked in places no one else could see.

But you couldn’t help it. Teasing him was too easy.

You abused the fact that he couldn’t step into sunlight, casually opening the curtains in your room and lounging in the beam just to watch him pout in the shadows, shirtless and fanged, like a wounded predator denied his prey.

You abused the fact that silver burned him, which just so happened to become your new fashion statement. You wore a silver ring to bed and rested your hand over his chest as he hissed, and you only giggled when he snarled and bit your neck for the fourth time that night. You even got a dainty little silver necklace with a charm that sat right above your cleavage, just to make him snarl every time you leaned forward.

And oh… you abused the oldest rule of them all.

He couldn’t enter a house without an invitation.

You’d wait at the threshold, in nothing but lace, smirking as he stood seething outside your door, clawing at the frame like a beast denied his prey.

“Let me in.” “Say it.” “Little lamb, I swear—”

And you’d smile, thighs clenched sweetly, looking pretty, and purr, “No.”

Until the minute you finally gave in, invited him in with a smirk and a raised brow, was when the teasing always bit you back. Hard.

Because the moment you whispered “Come in,” he’d pounce. You’d end up ruined, spread and marked and soaked in the kind of pleasure that only something eternal could give. There was no waiting, no warming up. You barely had time to blink before your back hit the mattress, your clothes were halfway gone, and your wrists were pinned above your head by hands colder than ice and stronger than steel.

His mouth would find your throat first—always. Like a ritual. He’d kiss the places he’d bitten before, tongue tracing the scars he’d left like ownership, like a collector admiring his finest piece.

And then?

He’d ruin you.

You’d end up sprawled, legs trembling from being held apart too long, thighs marked up in crimson and violet from his claws, his lips. Your body ached—in the best, filthiest ways. You’d be soaked, not just in sweat, but in drool, blood, and his obsession. The sheets damp beneath you. Your voice hoarse from the screaming he always pulled out of you.

Because Sunghoon didn’t just take. He overwhelmed. He made you feel like nothing existed outside of him—nothing could.

“Still feel like teasing, little lamb?” he’d whisper, fangs dragging across your collarbone as you writhed beneath him.

You’d try to answer—but your voice would be wrecked, your mind hazy, your lips swollen, breath catching in short, desperate gasps. Your hands would still be buried in his hair, sticky with sweat, and your thighs would tremble from the aftershocks of how he broke you.

And yet—he was never done.

Because the part you loved most? The part that made your core throb and your heart race, no matter how many times he did it?

Was when he got you down on your knees.

When he’d pull you gently—almost lovingly—from the wreckage of the bed, guiding you to the floor like you were porcelain and his. And you’d go, obedient and dazed, letting your knees hit the ground as you looked up at him.

That look he gave you.

Sunghoon would stare down at you like a king before his throne, chest heaving, pale skin streaked in your blood, lips parted, fangs still glinting wet in the low light. His ruined shirt would hang half off his body, exposing the way his abdomen flexed with restraint and need. His eyes—red and blown with hunger would lock onto yours as you sat there, breathless, bruised, waiting.

And God, the power in it.

Because no matter how strong he was, how ancient or monstrous—he looked at you like you were the one who held power. Like you were the altar now. Like he wanted to fall to his knees, too. (Sometimes he would.)

He’d trace a claw along your jaw, tilting your head back just a little more, and say in that low, velvet voice, “Look at you. Perfect. On your knees for me, just like you should be.”

And you’d smile—slow and wicked—because the teasing always came back around. Because the moment you looked up at him with parted lips and that gleam in your eye, you knew he was about to lose control again. Sunghoon was the devil—not in name, but in nature.

And you... You were his corrupted angel.

You sat perched on his lap, back arched sweetly, fingers curled into the fabric of his ruined shirt, head tilted like you still wore some semblance of grace. From a distance, you looked almost pure—like a painting brought to life, divine and glowing under the flicker of candlelight.

But purity had long left you. Your eyes told the truth. So did your hips.

Because your lower body was moving—slow, deliberate, rolling against him in a rhythm you both knew too well. Every grind made him groan low in his throat, hands gripping your hips, guiding you, matching you, until your movements became one long, drawn-out act of sin.

There was nothing innocent left in you.

Not after the blood. Not after the nights of screaming his name beneath holy arches. Not after the way you let him bite, let him break, let him own.

Whatever innocence you had once carried, whatever glow had lived in your chest, had long since been stripped, blackened, burned out like soot. A ghost of holiness now cloaked in the ashes of delightful depravity.

And he loved you for it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, mouth brushing your shoulder, his voice rough from worship and want. “You used to be so pure… Now you ride me like you belong to the dark.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your body moved—grinding deeper, slower, tighter said enough.

You did belong to the dark. You belonged to him. And in his lap, corrupted and worshiped, you found heaven again, carved from hell.

The best part of this new life—this life soaked in crimson and devotion—wasn’t just the power, or the ruin, or even the sin.

It was him. After feeding.

When Sunghoon returned from the hunt, he was a different creature entirely. Not the composed, cold priest with honeyed words. Not the teasing, obsessive lover who knelt between your thighs and murmured prayers into your skin.

No—this version of him was feral.

His front would be soaked—chest and jaw smeared in blood, dirt clinging to the folds of his coat, hair wild, eyes glowing brighter than any flame. His movements were sharp, precise, a predator fresh from the kill, buzzing with adrenaline, with dominance, with the high of power surging through immortal veins.

And that was when he didn’t take any of your teasing. Not a single smug look. Not a lifted brow or sarcastic hum. Not even the hint of your bratty tongue.

Because the moment you opened your mouth with anything other than submission, he’d be on you—fast, like a strike of lightning, slamming you into the nearest surface with a growl in your ear and his claws already tearing at your clothes.

He wouldn’t ask—he’d take.

And you loved it.

You loved the way your body responded—how it knew when he came through the door like that. You loved the force, the hunger, the way he’d drag his bloodied hands along your skin, leaving marks that stained just as deep as his fangs.

“You wanna tease me now, little lamb?” he’d snarl into your throat, voice ragged as he rutted against you like he’d die without it. “Go on. Say something smart. See what happens.”

But you wouldn’t. Not then.

Not when his hand was around your throat, when your legs were thrown over his shoulders, when your voice was already breaking from moans and whimpers. When the only words you could manage were his name, over and over, as he ruined you with reckless, starved precision.

That was your favorite version of him. Not holy. Not gentle.

Just yours. Bloody. Breathless. And starving for you.

So screw you. You loved yourself a ruined vampire.

Blood on his chest, sin in his eyes, your name always on his tongue—sometimes in reverence, sometimes in warning, always with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You loved the way he shattered control when it came to you. How centuries of restraint, of silence, of cold detachment melted into madness the second your fingers tangled in his hair or your voice dipped just enough to tempt him.

You loved how he kissed like he was still starving, how he touched you like he feared you’d disappear, how he whispered filth into your skin like a prayer—your name his only gospel.

And you didn’t care that he wasn’t human. Didn’t care that he’d killed. That he burned in the sun. That he fed on the blood of the unfortunate.

Because he knelt for you. Because he would burn the world for you.

What more could you really want?

You had a vampire who worshiped your body, ruined your soul, fed from your love like it was his last salvation. You had a monster who touched you like you were the only thing left that mattered in an eternity of rot and ruin.

So yeah.

Screw purity. Screw salvation.

You’d take your blood-drenched, snarling, fanged lover over any mortal fantasy.

Because you didn’t need heaven. You had him. And he was hell in the best way possible.

a/n: this was supposed to be short and only suggestive, but screw it..

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[mrsjjongstby]

Nishimura Riki - headcannons

Designs your nails and LOVES doing it for you. 

As you know, man’s artistic as HELL so, it's only right that he does your nail designs. You just give him a plain nail template opened on your tablet, and he gets into action. In the starting of your relationship when you asked him if he could design your nails for the first time, he was surprised but he immediately nodded with his round eyes looking up at you.  

Then later on, when you didn't ask him to design them for you (because he was tired and you didn't want to bother him) he insisted- no begged to let him design them for you. He said, and i quote, “Let me do them for you baby, you know it’ll turn out bad when your genius of a boyfriend isn't designing them.”  

Though he may act like he’s tired of designing your nails, he LOVES it. No matter what he’s doing, how busy he is, he’ll drop everything and design your nails for you. He’ll even add his initials somewhere in the design because he just loves being yours and you being his. 

2. Asks for a kiss before helping you. 

Oh you want that cereal which is on the top shelf? A kiss. You forgot to bring your towel into the bathroom and you need him to get it for you? A kiss. You want him to bring you a hot cup of tea after a long day? Kiss.  

Whatever you want from him- you'll get it but only with a kiss ofc. 

For instance, you’re laying on the couch watching a series that's got you hooked on alongside with Niki beside you with his leg on yours. You feel the need to drink water after gobbling down all the popcorn. As you move your gaze away from the screen, in search of water bottle, you notice that it's beside Niki. You nudge him with your elbow asking for the water bottle, he momentarily turns his gaze to see you and then takes the water bottle in his hand.  

But here’s the catch, before you can take it, he pulls his hand back and leans his face closer to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly asking for a kiss. You chuckle and peck his lips, satisfied, Niki smiles and gives the bottle to you.  

3. Sends voice recordings when he’s away 

You are the only person he yaps to. Seriously, you are his personal, real-life diary. He shares everything with you, all from his embarrassing childhood moments to his deepest darkest desires. He doesn't feel weird or embarrassed while doing so because why would he be? You are his safe person, and he trusts you. Just like how you do with him. 

And so, when he’s away, he always sends voice recordings of him speaking about anything and everything. Right from, “Good morning, babe” to “Today was so tiring but seeing engenes definitely made me feel better”  

He shares everything. his struggles, his happiness, his amusement he faced while being in completely different countries and states. Your contact is like a cute little documentation of him yapping on and on about how the weather was too hot, how his room service food was bland and how much he misses you.  

There are constant sighs when he’s talking about you- about your presence. “It’s so exhausting, I just wish you were here.”  He says with so much desperation but ends it by saying, “I love you, angel. Sleep well.” knowing you’re probably asleep due to the different time zones.  

He misses you a little extra hard when you reply with voice recordings of your own, he constantly says I love you and ends it every time with a kiss pressed into the mic of his phone.  

4. Your space is his space. 

He absolutely hates being away from you. You literally are like oxygen for him. So, he doesn't want to stay away from you even for a second. He’s constantly in your space, sitting too close to you or clinging onto your side like a koala.  

Normally when you both are in public, he doesn't show pda and just sticks to holding your hand and pecking you. And you don't mind it because you know that not showing pda doesn't equal to him not loving you. Because its exactly the opposite when you both are alone.  

He craves for your touch. He just needs to be close to you even if it's just you both sitting together scrolling on your phones. To him, what matters is that he’s close enough to you that you both can feel each other's presence.  

And just one little complaint about how your hand is sore because he put his whole-body weight on it, he’ll give you the most offending, heart-breaking reaction to you with betrayal written all over his face. “You don't want me, right?  You don't love me anymore, do you?”  

5. Draws on your hand.  

Take note that if you sit beside him while he’s sketching on a book that your hand isn't yours. Infact your hand isn't a hand, it's his canvas. He gently takes a hold of your hand and draws beautiful and small art on it.  

There are, ofcourse many hearts on it along with his name etched on your skin with the ink of the pen. He just loves doodling on your hand and thinks it's the most beautiful and best canvas ever. You don't mind it either, especially when he’s drawing small masterpiece on your, well normal hand. Sometimes his art turns out so good, you want to get a tattoo of it.  

You even told him that, if you ever get a tattoo, you’ll a tattoo of his art which ofcourse made him beam with joy and kiss you passionately. “Really?? Then I'll get a similar one so, we’ll be matching!”  

6. Talks to you when you’re asleep. 

Ok, not that he’s creepy or anything but when you are sleeping beside him, a sudden wave of realization hits him. That you are actually here, with him. He so down bad for you it's insane and he thanks God every day because he doesn't know what he’ll do without you.  

He just believes that he got lucky with you because how did an angel like you fall for him? He just looks at you stupidly soft when your eyes are closed and your breathe steady. Sometimes he talks to himself, “wow. she’s really mine?? Tf.” and other times talks to you when you are asleep. 

Like, “I don't know, I want to be with you for a long time- forever. I feel safe around you baby.” and ends it with, “You know I love you right?” then he kissed your head, then your cheek and then finally your neck and keeps his head there, drifting off to sleep. 

7. Showers with you. 

Now, not like a sexual one, just quiet, warm, emotionally safe. The kind where it’s just you, him, and the water running... like the world doesn’t exist for a few minutes. 

He’s quiet in the shower, but he’s always holding you — an arm around your back, your forehead against his shoulder, his hand gently brushing water through your hair. It’s not about talking, it’s about presence. 

He takes care of everything without making a big deal out of it. Pumps shampoo into your hand. Holds your towel open when you step out. Gently dries your hair with a tee because he knows your scalp’s sensitive to rough towels. 

The steam makes him even softer somehow. He speaks in a quieter tone, like loudness doesn’t belong in this moment. 

“Close your eyes, I’ll rinse it for you.” 

Afterwards, he lets you wear his comfiest hoodie (the worn-out one he never lets anyone else touch) and pulls you into bed with damp hair and all. 

He never treats showering together as a performance — to him, it’s just a deeply gentle, intimate kind of comfort. 

8. Doesn't sleep without you 

Niki’s the type who wakes up to even the tiniest movement.  You shift a little? Pull the blanket up? Try to sneak to the bathroom quietly?  His arm instantly wraps tighter around your waist.  Voice low, all sleepy and confused: 

“Where are you going…?”  “No. Come back.” 

Even when he’s half-asleep, his instincts scream “hug her or perish.”  He doesn’t even open his eyes properly—just blindly reaches out, grabs your arm or your shirt, pulls you back into his chest like a possessive little koala.  No mercy. He’s not dramatic about it. He doesn’t even realize he does it.  He’ll wake up in the morning completely wrapped around you, limbs tangled, face in your neck…  

Once he’s fully asleep, he becomes impossible to peel off.  You try to untangle yourself and he just tightens his grip like muscle memory. 

“Five more minutes.”  (You’ve been there for three hours.) 

Also, he gently rubs his thumb on your arm in his sleep without even knowing. Like his body’s making sure you’re still there. 

9. Shows cool tricks all the time 

Niki has this unspoken rule with himself:  If he knows how to do something cool, you HAVE to see it.  Doesn't matter if it's dancing, solving a Rubik’s cube, flipping a pen, opening a soda can in a weird way— 

“Babe. Look.” (does triple spin)  “Sick, right?”  

You could be trying to study, and he’s just on the other side of the room spinning a water bottle perfectly on the table.  You look over and he grins like a kid who just got an A+ without studying. 

“Tell me that wasn’t smooth.” 

Does the most randomest tricks too. Like one time he threw his cap in the air and ducked his head so that the cap landed on his head. 

Absolutely the boyfriend who teaches you random tricks too.  How to shuffle cards, moonwalk, do a footwork step—  And if you mess up? 

“Nooo, not like that.”  Gets up, shows you ten more times.  Then claps like a proud coach when you get it right. 

The moment he finds out you’re watching him dance, he goes 10x harder.  Acts like he’s just messing around, but that footwork is clean. 

“What? I was just warming up.”  (Sir. That was a full concert.) 

Even if it’s the smallest thing—like stacking snacks in a perfect tower—he’ll tilt his head, step back, cross his arms like: 

“I’m a genius. 

But when you show him something cool? He gets SO competitive. 

“Okay now watch me do it better.”  (He says it jokingly, but he must win. It’s law.) 

Deep down? He just wants to see you laugh and get impressed.  He never really asks for compliments—but the second you say, 

“You’re so good at that…”  He tries to act chill but his whole chest is glowing. 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: ok.......... long fic will be posted soon but until then, here's a little something for y'all! stay hydrated!

[mrsjjongstby]

OH.MY.GOD. what the hellyyyy whats gonna happen next.......

TOO CLOSE

CHAPTER 4: FUTURE

JAY’S POV

*FLASHBACK*

I sat at my desk contemplating my life choices.

It was three days before the wedding. I had only met Y/N four days ago.

I thought she was pretty and seemed really sweet—but I didn’t know her that well. To be honest, I was at a point in my life where romance didn’t quite sit well in my schedule. It wasn’t that I was against dating or anything—I just didn’t have the heart to put any girl through the kind of relationship I offered.

But now some poor girl was stuck in my mess, and I honestly… felt pretty bad about it.

I couldn’t even say a word to her when we met, because what could possibly be said to make this situation better?

“Hello, I’m the man you’re stuck with for the rest of your life—and probably the reason you’ll never meet the actual love of it.”

So here I was, waiting to meet with her parents. I didn’t know why they wanted to see me. Nevertheless, I decided to meet them down in the lobby. Even if she was my arranged wife, I still wanted to be a dutiful son-in-law.

They were sitting on a couch in the lobby, whispering to each other in hushed voices.

“Mr. and Mrs. Choi,” I said, smiling and shaking their hands—my years of PR training coming into play. “Shall we head to my office?”

Once seated, they stared at me nervously.

Y/N looked a lot like her mother—the same boba eyes, long silky black hair, and a constant slight pout to the lips. Her dad, however, looked nothing like her. He was… well, not to get too into details—quite unattractive.

“Jay,” Mrs. Choi said softly, reaching over the desk to grab my hand.

I awkwardly slid mine away from her reach.

Despite her being Y/N’s mother, I knew her reputation—caught hooking up with men younger than her own daughter.

“We need your help, my sweet, sweet boy,” she said with a forced smile.

My brows furrowed. “With what, exactly?”

She sighed. “My husband…” She shot a glare at Mr. Choi. “He has a nasty gambling habit.”

My brows shot up. Uh oh.

She smiled at me apologetically. “And recently—oh, you and Y/N are going to make such a beautiful couple. She really takes after me in so many ways. Even our fashion sense is similar! She’s even following my career path in fashion.”

I frowned. “Isn’t she studying marketing?” I was pretty sure that’s what my father told me.

Her eyes widened slightly. “Ah—yes, marketing. That’s right.”

My frown deepened. What is this woman even about?

“Anyway, I just know you’ll be really happy with her. She’s very obedient and super well trained in high society.”

Obedient? Well trained? Is her daughter a dog?

“Mrs. Choi, I assure you I’m aware of Y/N’s charms. And I don’t know why you feel the need to share this when I’ve already agreed to this… contract.”

“But it’s more than just a contract!” she argued. “We’re family now. And as family… you wouldn’t mind doing us a favor, right?”

“Does it have to do with the gambling?” I asked, flicking my gaze toward Mr. Choi, who seemed to be spaced out staring at a random plant in the corner of my office.

“Well… no. It has to do with you helping your future wife’s parents out and—”

“Mrs. Choi, I beg you. Please just get to the point.”

She sighed heavily. “We need money. Our company… it’s going bankrupt.”

“I see,” I said flatly. “Because of the gambling?” I asked, piecing it together.

She nodded.

I poked my cheek with my tongue. “You realize the only reason I am marrying your daughter is because of the money that’ll come from the merger. And now you’re telling me that due to your husband’s bad habits, not only is there no money for me—but I need to pay you?” I didn’t even miss a beat.

She flinched and began to cry. Dramatically.

I rolled my eyes. “Does my father know about this?”

She shuddered. “No. He’d ruin us if he knew. Everything we’ve built, he’d destroy.”

Mr. Choi suddenly snapped out of his daze and added desperately, “You can’t tell him.”

I scoffed. “I won’t. But I assure you one thing—this wedding is off.”

Mrs. Choi let out a shriek of pure disbelief, and the both of them spent a good hour trying to change my mind.

But I wasn’t having it. There was no reason to go through with this.

I excused myself for a second, heading to the bathroom just to get away from the dramatics.

But when I returned, a conversation I overheard through the cracked office door made me freeze.

“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU BITCH!” Mrs. Choi screamed, clawing at her husband’s arm.

I waited, hoping Mr. Choi would defend his only child.

Instead, he growled, “It’s your fault for going around fucking every man you saw. She’s probably some half-breed thug stuck in a silver spoon life.”

I froze.

Y/N… wasn’t Mr. Choi’s daughter?

“I couldn’t help myself,” she wailed. “All I see when I look at her is a mistake.”

Mr. Choi scoffed. “We can’t even make use of her.”

“Yes, we can!” Mrs. Choi sobbed. “That man—Mr. Lee—he said he’ll take her. He’s a lot kinder than Mr. Park. I’m sure he’ll help us out of this mess.”

My jaw tightened.

Mr. Lee was a nasty, 52-year-old businessman with a long history of abusing women. I didn’t know Y/N, but I would rather die than let any woman be in a thirty-foot proximity to him.

These thoughts filled my head as I walked them to the elevator and into the lobby. They had both calmed down by then but refused to speak to me.

And then I saw her.

Y/N stood near the glass revolving doors, a confused look on her face.

“Why’d you guys ask to meet me here?” she asked them innocently, paying no attention to me.

How could they say those things about her?

She genuinely seemed so kind.

“Let’s just go,” Mr. Choi said gruffly, grabbing her arm.

As they turned away, Y/N glanced back at me—and our eyes met.

Damn. She really was gorgeous.

I couldn’t just let her go like this. I couldn’t throw her to that evil man. So what if the merger was pointless now? So what if I took on her parents’ debt?

Y/N didn’t deserve this. And I needed to be the one to help.

“Mrs. Choi,” I called after them.

She turned around, clearly annoyed.

“Forget what I said,” I said firmly. “I’ll do it. I agree to all your demands.”

She grinned, nodding eagerly along with Mr. Choi.

Y/N looked confused but reluctantly left with her parents.

JAY’S POV

PRESENT DAY – 7:30 AM

That day replayed in my mind over and over.

I didn’t want Y/N anywhere near her parents, but the situation was tricky—it’s not like I could just cut them out of her life. She’d hate me forever. The best thing I could do was show her care and support until she realized they didn’t deserve her. It had been a few days since our fight and rekindling. Even though I didn’t want to I agreed to have her dinner with her parents this Sunday because all that mattered was her being there for her.

I also decided to keep the debt to myself. She didn’t need to feel bad about her dad’s failures, and my father definitely didn’t need to know that the merger brought debt into what was once a debt-free company. So, I fudged the books—essentially lying about the company’s worth. But it’d be fine. I just had to get the company out of debt and back into profit before anyone noticed.

And the best way to save a company in this kind of mess?

Marketing.

I glanced at Mr. Park Sunghoon, my new (and very unofficial) secretary, typing away beside me. I had no idea where Jake found him, but he’d been doing an amazing job.

I looked at the clock, then turned to Sunghoon.

“It’d be best if you leave now before Mrs. Park gets—”

Knock knock.

I stood up so fast I nearly knocked my chair over.

“She’s here!” I whisper-hissed.

Sunghoon dove under my desk like he was trained for it.

I quickly straightened my posture and cleared my throat.

“Come in.”

She walked in wearing a white blouse and black slacks—simple, but she looked incredible. She was the kind of person who could pull off any style.

“Good morning,” she smiled.

“Good morning, Y/N,” I smiled back, subtly nudging Sunghoon further under the desk with my foot.

She looked at me, slightly confused, trying to peek over the edge.

“What work do you have for me today?”

“Just this.” I yanked a file from Sunghoon’s hands beneath the desk. He shot me a glare.

“Nice. I’ll get started on this marketing report, then,” she said, turning to leave.

I nodded, exhaling a silent sigh of relief. Hopefully, she still didn’t suspect the secret secretary—or the fact that everything I was giving her was for marketing.

I glanced down at the reports and ideas she’d already handed in.

They were good. Really good.

She was talented—so talented, in fact, that I didn’t just want her to succeed for herself anymore.

She might be the key to saving her father’s company.

“Can I come out now?” Sunghoon asked from under the desk.

Y/N’S POV

11:00 AM

I knew something was up with Jay continuously giving me only marketing tasks—but honestly, I was happy, so I chose to ignore it. Everything between us these last few days had gone so smoothly. I was getting excited to see my mom this Sunday… and then go to a Jackson Wang party later this month.

To sum it up, my whole life felt like it was finally coming together.

I opened my computer, ready to dive into the documents—when something caught my eye.

A viral post. Circulating everywhere. Even the news had picked it up.

I clicked on it.

Jay’s dad’s name was trending. I braced myself for another cheating scandal.

If only it were that.

Instead, I stared in horror at the image of a tweet:

“Blood for blood. A legacy ends in ashes.”

— JYP Family

The JYP family. A notorious mafia clan that had terrorized Seoul for years.

Why on earth would they be targeting the Park family?

My hand trembled.

What if they come after Jay, too?

I stood up, heart racing, and walked toward his office. My hand shook as I knocked on the door.

I didn’t wait for permission—I just walked in.

Jay looked up from a pile of documents, surprised. His expression quickly shifted to concern when he saw my face.

“What’s wrong?”

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. My hands shook as I handed him my phone.

He looked down at the tweet, raised an eyebrow… then let out a small breath, almost a laugh.

“Well, this is a tacky way to threaten someone,” he joked.

But then he looked up again, saw the panic in my eyes—and his smile disappeared.

He set the phone down and took both of my hands in his.

“Listen to me, Y/N. This means nothing. Everything is going to be fine. We don’t even know if it’s really from JYP—anyone could’ve written this.”

I blinked back tears. “But what if it is them?”

His eyes softened. He gently pulled me into his lap—something he’d never done before. I would’ve been shocked, maybe even flustered, if the circumstances weren’t so terrifying.

“So what if it is?” he said, running his hand slowly through my hair. “Will being scared change anything? I don’t want you to stress about this, okay? Whatever happens will happen. But let’s not let it ruin what we have right now.”

He smiled, his eyes curving into those crescent moons I loved so much.

“I’m positive nothing is going to happen. We’re going to your parents’ this Sunday, and to a big ball two weeks after that. Let’s just think about those things, okay?”

I looked at him, nodding slowly as he brushed his fingers through my hair.

“Okay.”

“Everything is going to be okay. Now,” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“I’d like you to make an ad pitch—for your father’s company. A new approach to marketing.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

I quickly stood from his lap, suddenly bursting with excitement. “I’d love to, Jay—I mean, sir.”

“Perfect. Now go get started.”

I scurried out of the office, heart racing in a new, lighter way. I was excited.

But I couldn’t say I had forgotten the threat.

I had simply shoved it into a dark, high-up corner of my brain…

Where it loomed quietly over the rest of my day.

But I just kept what Jay had said in mind

“Everything was going to be okay.”

TOO BE CONTINUED…

[mrsjjongstby]

˚　　｡　˚　　｡　⊹　　°　　 ࣪　　𖦹　　˚　　

𝐼 <3 Enhypen

~ Wonki biased ~ 06 ~

⋆˚࿔ @akinawii side blog for cute stuff 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

My faves below the cut

ʚɞ Re: Genesis

↬sunghoon [f, a, @tobiosbbyghorl ]

ʚɞ For his eyes only

↬ni-ki [f, @mrsjjongstby ]

ʚɞ You, all this time

↬ni-ki [f, a, @enjakey ]

ʚɞ Hogwarts time travel au! Pt.2

↬ni-ki [f, a, s, @enhaflixer ]

ʚɞ Busy woman Part 2

↬ni-ki [f, a, @heedeungism ] [truly a masterpiece]

ʚɞ Like you!

↬ ni-ki [f, @mxnhoo ]

ʚɞ Santa, tell me

↬ni-ki [f, @kairoot ]

ʚɞ Too good to be fake

↬ jeamin [f, @johnnysuhbmarine ]

ʚɞ Princess

↬jungwon [f, @whjluv ]

ʚɞ The art and science of parenting 101

↬jay [f, @jakesimfromstatefarm ]

ʚɞ Wrongful rejection

↬ni-ki [f, a, @luciathcv ]

ʚɞ Love at 7 am

↬jungwon [f, @enreveriee ]

ʚɞ So lets go see the stars

↬ni-ki [f, @orimuraa ]

ʚɞ Peaches

↬jungwon [a,f, @jnnul ]

ʚɞ Bridgerton au

↬ni-ki [f, @heedeungism ]

ʚɞ Paper Hearts

↬ni-ki [f, @rikstar ]

ʚɞ Dancing Kisses

↬ni-ki [f, @hyeinism ]

ʚɞ Heart Defender

↬ni-ki [f, @seosracha ]

ʚɞ Forgive Me Run Away (pt.2)

↬ni-ki [a, @hoonloml ]

ʚɞ Boys Night

↬ni-ki [f, @star-sim ]

ʚɞ You've got to be kitten me!

↬jungwon [f, @star-sim ]

ʚɞ Highschool athlete !niki

↬ni-ki [f, @weoris ]

** if any author wants to be removed please let me know I have no intention of bothering anyone 😔

[mrsjjongstby]

AW THANK U SM LOVE THIS MADE MY DAY!!!!!!!!

nishimura riki (ni-ki) fic recs - pt. 1

main masterlist

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls reblog if you like any of my recs and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

the weave to my love - ( @mygnolia ) fluff, classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers, spiderman!riki, class pres!reader. yes yes yes yes yes, this is what i´m talking about, I LOVE ITTTTT. the banter is deff my favorite thing, love the concept as well

sweater - ( @star-sim ) fluff, angst, hurt-comfort, non idol bf!riki, happy ending, he gets insecure bc he doesnt recgonaize the sweater you´re wearing,

boys night - ( @star-sim )fluff, crack, non idol!riki, where his six friends tries to help him text his school crush. I LOVE THISSS, such a fun read

pics i posted on my ig story for my crush to see - ( @lattegyu ) ig stories, fluff, crack, smau, non idol!riki

necklace - ( @rikiislvr ) fluff, idol!riki, i WISH this would happen to me but i´m too broke to be frequenting the same stores as him alsjfha

busy woman - ( @heedeungism ) fluff, angst, crack, lacrosse player!niki, rich kids au, highschool au, listen to me rn this is imPORTANT: this is one of THEE BEST NIKI FICS OUT THERE, NO QUESTIONS ASKED. i had to hide in every corner to read this at work bc 1) i couldn´t STOP reading it and 2) i couldn´t let anybody see me reading it bc it had me giggling like a dumb bitch. js go read it, pls and ty

that was too far - ( @semisasseater ) angst, fluff, bf!niki. ni-ki took his joke a bit too far. this would SO happend to him irl too i fear

aftercare and pillowtalk - ( @enhani-ki ) fluff, bf!niki, suggestive. i loved it sm :(

the grinch that stole my… pants? - ( @mandukkul ) fluff, crack. bf!ni-ki x fIreader, established relationship. nahh this is so cute, reader is valid af

quacked up - ( @veilstqr ) downbad!ni-ki, fluff and crack x ni-ki being whipped and the members not letting him breathe. jungwon is so wrong for that lmao, poor niki

i´ll never let that happen again - ( @semisasseater ) fluff, angst, protective bf!niki. this one´s for my delulu riki stans, ik you´ll like it :p

too much? - ( @flqwerjo ) smut, bf!riki, size kink (ik riki stans will eat this up), belly bulge (oh?). so,, now that he´s about to be 20 i might recc some smut fics, starting with this one bc it´s short and sweet,,kinda lkjfhkahd

on my mind - ( @lascvitae ) domestic fluff, simpppp downbad gamer bf!riki (LETSGOOO), THIS ONE RIGHT HERE,,, HAD ME GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET TWIRLING MY HAIR LIKE A DUMB BITCH, wow.

for his eyes only - ( @mrsjjongstby ) dark fluff(?, sad themes but not really angst, broke ballerina!reader, possessive obsessed millionare!riki (ARE YALL SEEING THIS??), human auction au. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND GET INTO THIS RIGHT NAAOOWWWWWW, THERE´S NO TIME TO WASTE!!!

kiss is better - ( @ninisdollie ) smut, bsf!riki learning how to give head, pussy drunk!riki. NAH THIS IS TOO GOOD TF, adofjlsdjfhlksjfhl the visual i got from this tho,, it´s crazy

[mrsjjongstby]

1K NOTES??!?!?!?!? WHAT THE HELLY????????

Nishimura Riki - headcannons

Designs your nails and LOVES doing it for you. 

As you know, man’s artistic as HELL so, it's only right that he does your nail designs. You just give him a plain nail template opened on your tablet, and he gets into action. In the starting of your relationship when you asked him if he could design your nails for the first time, he was surprised but he immediately nodded with his round eyes looking up at you.  

Then later on, when you didn't ask him to design them for you (because he was tired and you didn't want to bother him) he insisted- no begged to let him design them for you. He said, and i quote, “Let me do them for you baby, you know it’ll turn out bad when your genius of a boyfriend isn't designing them.”  

Though he may act like he’s tired of designing your nails, he LOVES it. No matter what he’s doing, how busy he is, he’ll drop everything and design your nails for you. He’ll even add his initials somewhere in the design because he just loves being yours and you being his. 

2. Asks for a kiss before helping you. 

Oh you want that cereal which is on the top shelf? A kiss. You forgot to bring your towel into the bathroom and you need him to get it for you? A kiss. You want him to bring you a hot cup of tea after a long day? Kiss.  

Whatever you want from him- you'll get it but only with a kiss ofc. 

For instance, you’re laying on the couch watching a series that's got you hooked on alongside with Niki beside you with his leg on yours. You feel the need to drink water after gobbling down all the popcorn. As you move your gaze away from the screen, in search of water bottle, you notice that it's beside Niki. You nudge him with your elbow asking for the water bottle, he momentarily turns his gaze to see you and then takes the water bottle in his hand.  

But here’s the catch, before you can take it, he pulls his hand back and leans his face closer to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly asking for a kiss. You chuckle and peck his lips, satisfied, Niki smiles and gives the bottle to you.  

3. Sends voice recordings when he’s away 

You are the only person he yaps to. Seriously, you are his personal, real-life diary. He shares everything with you, all from his embarrassing childhood moments to his deepest darkest desires. He doesn't feel weird or embarrassed while doing so because why would he be? You are his safe person, and he trusts you. Just like how you do with him. 

And so, when he’s away, he always sends voice recordings of him speaking about anything and everything. Right from, “Good morning, babe” to “Today was so tiring but seeing engenes definitely made me feel better”  

He shares everything. his struggles, his happiness, his amusement he faced while being in completely different countries and states. Your contact is like a cute little documentation of him yapping on and on about how the weather was too hot, how his room service food was bland and how much he misses you.  

There are constant sighs when he’s talking about you- about your presence. “It’s so exhausting, I just wish you were here.”  He says with so much desperation but ends it by saying, “I love you, angel. Sleep well.” knowing you’re probably asleep due to the different time zones.  

He misses you a little extra hard when you reply with voice recordings of your own, he constantly says I love you and ends it every time with a kiss pressed into the mic of his phone.  

4. Your space is his space. 

He absolutely hates being away from you. You literally are like oxygen for him. So, he doesn't want to stay away from you even for a second. He’s constantly in your space, sitting too close to you or clinging onto your side like a koala.  

Normally when you both are in public, he doesn't show pda and just sticks to holding your hand and pecking you. And you don't mind it because you know that not showing pda doesn't equal to him not loving you. Because its exactly the opposite when you both are alone.  

He craves for your touch. He just needs to be close to you even if it's just you both sitting together scrolling on your phones. To him, what matters is that he’s close enough to you that you both can feel each other's presence.  

And just one little complaint about how your hand is sore because he put his whole-body weight on it, he’ll give you the most offending, heart-breaking reaction to you with betrayal written all over his face. “You don't want me, right?  You don't love me anymore, do you?”  

5. Draws on your hand.  

Take note that if you sit beside him while he’s sketching on a book that your hand isn't yours. Infact your hand isn't a hand, it's his canvas. He gently takes a hold of your hand and draws beautiful and small art on it.  

There are, ofcourse many hearts on it along with his name etched on your skin with the ink of the pen. He just loves doodling on your hand and thinks it's the most beautiful and best canvas ever. You don't mind it either, especially when he’s drawing small masterpiece on your, well normal hand. Sometimes his art turns out so good, you want to get a tattoo of it.  

You even told him that, if you ever get a tattoo, you’ll a tattoo of his art which ofcourse made him beam with joy and kiss you passionately. “Really?? Then I'll get a similar one so, we’ll be matching!”  

6. Talks to you when you’re asleep. 

Ok, not that he’s creepy or anything but when you are sleeping beside him, a sudden wave of realization hits him. That you are actually here, with him. He so down bad for you it's insane and he thanks God every day because he doesn't know what he’ll do without you.  

He just believes that he got lucky with you because how did an angel like you fall for him? He just looks at you stupidly soft when your eyes are closed and your breathe steady. Sometimes he talks to himself, “wow. she’s really mine?? Tf.” and other times talks to you when you are asleep. 

Like, “I don't know, I want to be with you for a long time- forever. I feel safe around you baby.” and ends it with, “You know I love you right?” then he kissed your head, then your cheek and then finally your neck and keeps his head there, drifting off to sleep. 

7. Showers with you. 

Now, not like a sexual one, just quiet, warm, emotionally safe. The kind where it’s just you, him, and the water running... like the world doesn’t exist for a few minutes. 

He’s quiet in the shower, but he’s always holding you — an arm around your back, your forehead against his shoulder, his hand gently brushing water through your hair. It’s not about talking, it’s about presence. 

He takes care of everything without making a big deal out of it. Pumps shampoo into your hand. Holds your towel open when you step out. Gently dries your hair with a tee because he knows your scalp’s sensitive to rough towels. 

The steam makes him even softer somehow. He speaks in a quieter tone, like loudness doesn’t belong in this moment. 

“Close your eyes, I’ll rinse it for you.” 

Afterwards, he lets you wear his comfiest hoodie (the worn-out one he never lets anyone else touch) and pulls you into bed with damp hair and all. 

He never treats showering together as a performance — to him, it’s just a deeply gentle, intimate kind of comfort. 

8. Doesn't sleep without you 

Niki’s the type who wakes up to even the tiniest movement.  You shift a little? Pull the blanket up? Try to sneak to the bathroom quietly?  His arm instantly wraps tighter around your waist.  Voice low, all sleepy and confused: 

“Where are you going…?”  “No. Come back.” 

Even when he’s half-asleep, his instincts scream “hug her or perish.”  He doesn’t even open his eyes properly—just blindly reaches out, grabs your arm or your shirt, pulls you back into his chest like a possessive little koala.  No mercy. He’s not dramatic about it. He doesn’t even realize he does it.  He’ll wake up in the morning completely wrapped around you, limbs tangled, face in your neck…  

Once he’s fully asleep, he becomes impossible to peel off.  You try to untangle yourself and he just tightens his grip like muscle memory. 

“Five more minutes.”  (You’ve been there for three hours.) 

Also, he gently rubs his thumb on your arm in his sleep without even knowing. Like his body’s making sure you’re still there. 

9. Shows cool tricks all the time 

Niki has this unspoken rule with himself:  If he knows how to do something cool, you HAVE to see it.  Doesn't matter if it's dancing, solving a Rubik’s cube, flipping a pen, opening a soda can in a weird way— 

“Babe. Look.” (does triple spin)  “Sick, right?”  

You could be trying to study, and he’s just on the other side of the room spinning a water bottle perfectly on the table.  You look over and he grins like a kid who just got an A+ without studying. 

“Tell me that wasn’t smooth.” 

Does the most randomest tricks too. Like one time he threw his cap in the air and ducked his head so that the cap landed on his head. 

Absolutely the boyfriend who teaches you random tricks too.  How to shuffle cards, moonwalk, do a footwork step—  And if you mess up? 

“Nooo, not like that.”  Gets up, shows you ten more times.  Then claps like a proud coach when you get it right. 

The moment he finds out you’re watching him dance, he goes 10x harder.  Acts like he’s just messing around, but that footwork is clean. 

“What? I was just warming up.”  (Sir. That was a full concert.) 

Even if it’s the smallest thing—like stacking snacks in a perfect tower—he’ll tilt his head, step back, cross his arms like: 

“I’m a genius. 

But when you show him something cool? He gets SO competitive. 

“Okay now watch me do it better.”  (He says it jokingly, but he must win. It’s law.) 

Deep down? He just wants to see you laugh and get impressed.  He never really asks for compliments—but the second you say, 

“You’re so good at that…”  He tries to act chill but his whole chest is glowing. 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: ok.......... long fic will be posted soon but until then, here's a little something for y'all! stay hydrated!

[mrsjjongstby]

GIRL Y DID U MAKE ME BALL MY EYES OUT//?!?!?!??!?!? this is tooooooo good! IM EAGERLY WAITING FOR PART 2

I DON'T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND, PJS (PART 1)

• SYNOPSIS: A fleeting encounter with Park Jay at a high school party leaves a quiet imprint on your then broken heart. Years later, you find him again, now as an icy guitarist of the campus boy band, HYPHENIX. You never spoke again, but you remembered his eyes, his words, his presence and how he lingered at the back of your mind years after. You wanted to reach for him, but he was so far, popular, untouchable that you decided to pour your heart to him in secret, until the secret was revealed but someone else claimed it before you could. Or in which you pour your heart into anonymous letters for the cold, distant guitarist, Jay, only to watch your best friend claim every word as her own.

• PAIRING: Park Jongseong (Jay) x afab!reader

• WORD COUNT: 21.4k (Part 1)

• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, university settings, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, shy reader x popular Jay, down bad reader, betrayal, abandonment, miscommunications or lack of communications, profanities, name calling, stereotyping, best friend's boyfriend, reader is nosy and loves other people's business way too much (my twin fr), fear of rejection and unwanted attention, body image issues in the beginning, toxic relationships and friendships, low-key stalker reader, reader wears glasses, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything.

• AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic turned out to be more lengthy than I initially planned, so I am splitting it into 2 part. Lmk if you want to be tagged for part 2 when I post it. Your likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated. Thank you so much for showering my write ups with your love. Happy reading♡♡

The music blaring through the speakers hit you first, deep bass vibrating through the pavement long before you reached the house. It meddled with your heartbeat, getting louder with decreasing distance from the party. You sighed leaning your head on the car's window, the house looked unfamiliar, windows glowing red, blue, green against the night. You didn't know whose house this was, just that your boyfriend said everyone would be there and to let yourself loose from time to time. You fixed the glasses on your nose, and adjusted your jacket, you turned your head to look at your boyfriend.

He looked in your direction briefly when he felt your gaze on him before sighing, "don't stress too much." You gulped, feeling anxious, "I don't really know anyone there Joon," you started, eyes brimming with worry, "you'll stay by my side right?" You heard him exhale a deep breath before throwing a wink at you, "yes babe, don't worry, you look really beautiful today, I'm stressed someone will steal you away from me." You pushed him a bit, blush creeping on your neck as you turned back towards the window. 

Cars were lined up the driveway, recklessly parked. You wouldn't expect anything less from high schoolers anyway. You could hear the screams and laughter from the porch, it was loud and chaotic and it made your stomach churned. "Let's go," your eyes followed your boyfriend's actions, and you proceeded to take off your seatbelt. He stood beside the door tapping his foot impatiently, you shook your head and opened your side of the door. He locked the door behind you and started making his way towards the house. You hurriedly rushed behind him, and then slowed your steps down when you reached beside him. 

The air was thick inside, tangled in a weird mix of cheap perfume, alcohol and something burning, maybe it was food or the fireworks you didn't know. Your hand latched onto your boyfriend's sleeve as soon as you entered. The environment was warm, crowded, strangers pressed against each other like puzzle pieces that don't belong together. The LED lights stung your eyes. You moved through the crowd tightly pressed against your boyfriend's side. Every corner of the room was alive with conversations you weren't a part of, some shouting over the music, some laughing at their friend's antics, some posing for pictures. The walls of the house felt suffocating though it was relatively big, the energy inside too much, reminding you that you don't belong here. 

The music was pounding in your ears, too loud, too bothersome. You stood beside your boyfriend, who anxiously texted his friends asking where they are. Your eyes trailed towards the dance floor, bodies swayed with the rhythm of the music, some too close, some trying not to lose their balance. It happened too fast, one moment your boyfriend was beside you, another moment he rushed towards the other side of the room completely disregarding your presence. Your eyes followed him, your steps following suit. Someone shouted over the bass, out of frustration or joy you couldn't tell. 

You grabbed your boyfriend's hand, your action making him stop to look at you. Just in time someone crashed into your shoulder, their clumsy actions making you stumble as a slosh of liquid hit the floor beneath you and onto your heel-cladded feet. The sticky scent of fruit punch or some weird concoction clung in the air, few people gathered around to look at the mess before laughing and stepping over it like it didn't matter. Your feet felt sticky and your boyfriend rolled his eyes at the sight, "how about you go to the bathroom and clean yourself? I'll wait for you here." You grimaced before nodding your head at your boyfriend and making your way towards the bathroom. 

You washed your feet and heels with irritation seeping deep in your bones, this is the exact reason why you don't do parties, it's messy and loud and everything you tend to avoid. After drying your feet and heels with tissue, you took a brief look at yourself in the mirror. You combed your fingers through your loose hair to make them a tad bit presentable, fixing your glasses yet again you sighed and texted your boyfriend to meet near the dance floor. You made your way out of the bathroom and towards the dance floor, scanning the room for your boyfriend as you waited for him to text you back. 

"Joon?" You tapped his shoulder when you found him leaning on the wall as he chatted with someone animatedly. He turned around, visible irritation laced on his face as he excused himself and made his way in the opposite direction, you followed suit, confused about his sudden discontent towards you. "Joon, where are you going? I asked you to wait for me, didn't I?" He stopped abruptly when he was sure he was away from the eyesight of his friends. You collided with his back, "I was just catching up with my friends! Can't you at least leave me alone for a few minutes?" You shuddered at his high-pitched tone, "you know I don't like partying yet I came since you promised that you'll stay by my side."

"Gosh you're so clingy-" his voice was cut off when someone called out his name, both of you turned around towards the person, "is this your girl Joon? Won't you introduce her to us?" You eyed the girl who smiled at you after giving your boyfriend a sharp side eye. He shrugged, ushering her to join others before he turned towards you. "Take your jacket and glasses off, try to look good for me in front of my friends, I've a reputation to uphold." Your eyes widened at his words rendering you speechless. It was the first time he had uttered those words to you, was he ashamed of introducing you to his friends just as you were? You thought he loved you for you. 

All of your thoughts came to a halt when he turned you around and took off your jacket despite you protesting. You weren't comfortable with showing much skin. He knew that the spaghetti strap top you were wearing underneath made you feel more conscious about yourself and your surroundings. He threw the jacket somewhere on the couch, grabbing your hand and made his way towards his friends. "Joon, you know I'm not good with people, what are you doing?" He ignored your pleas as he stopped in front of his friends. You put your head down, hoping somehow they'll focus on your boyfriend and forget that you existed. 

"Your girlfriend is really pretty, Joon." One of the girls from his circle chimed, her nails lightly scratching his arms, she didn't even spare you a glance as she went on about how pretty you are, and how funny you must be. Everyone else looked a bit uncomfortable at the exchange aside from your boyfriend and her. Someone cleared their throat to break the awkward tension and your boyfriend snapped from his trance and proceeded to introduce you. Awkward and sympathetic smiles greeted you in return, their eyes meeting with each other like they knew something you didn't. The same girl asked you to have a drink, laughing obnoxiously loud as you declined as if not abusing your liver was a mundane thought to have. 

Joon grabbed the drink from the waiter and held your face with one hand as he forced you to drink whatever it was in that cup, you pushed him, startled by him constantly crossing your boundaries without a single care. The whole group gasped as he stumbled backward and fell on the ground. Few of his friends took out their cameras to record the scene. You wiped the remnants of the drink dropping down from your mouth, your eyes fixed on the way your boyfriend glared at you. The girl from earlier sat by his side, words of venom spilling off from her cherry lips as she helped your boyfriend get up. And with the way your boyfriend's hand rested low on her lips and the concern etched on her face, you knew what place you held in your boyfriend's life.

You shook your head as you made your way towards the back of the house, taking off your glasses momentarily to wipe the tears that managed to fall off your eyes. The backyard was nearly empty save it from a few people who were smoking joints in the corner. You made your way towards the small staircase which led towards the gazebo and sat there, contemplating on your reactions towards your boyfriend's actions. You turned to look if he followed you but got more disappointed as you saw him wrapping his arms around the girl instead. You couldn't figure out if the shiver that went down your spine and the goosebumps on your skin was because of your boyfriend's actions or because of the weather. 

You let the tears flow, your glasses fogging up as you took deep breaths to control losing your shit right at a stranger's house. This isn't how you planned the start of your weekend to go, yet here you were, drowning in your misery as your mind went back to all the things your boyfriend did previously which you ignored. You were too busy believing in his potential that you forgot to look at how he is in the present. All the lies, the excuses, the missed dates, the secrecy everything played in front of your eyes like a tape record on loop. You blame yourself for letting him play with you for so long. 

You stopped crying when a blurry image came into view, you took off your glasses, wiped it with the hem of your top and put it back to get a better view. You heard a sigh from beside you, as your vision adjusted, a handkerchief. You took it in your hand and wiped your tears, unable to look at the person who handed it to you. "Young love, huh? Must be painful..." your eyes fell on the stranger who sat beside you, a half-smile adorning his face, not unkind but more like he knew how you were feeling, "but hey, heartbreak makes a good story for later, right?" You furrowed your eyebrows at his comment, "you're saying it like you're some old man trapped in a hot boy body." 

"You're saying I'm hot?" Your cheeks flared up with heat as you let the weight of your words sink in your head, your eyes widened in embarrassment as he just laughed. You took in his appearance, he was laughing with his head thrown back, carefree and unfiltered like he owned the world. His cheeks flushed, either from alcohol or laughing, you weren't sure. His smile was wide, the kind of smile which made people look at him twice even without meaning to. His hair's a little messy, pushed back like he ran his hands through it one to many times. His eyes shined with a tipsy charm as they locked with yours, the kind of eyes which makes you forget your own name even when he's sober. 

"I saw what happened back there, thought you'd appreciate a company," his words brought your mind back to your current situation, frown appearing on your relaxed face once again. You sighed, hugged yourself, maybe you could use some company, "I really thought he loved me," you started, head hanging low as you felt shame consume you for being so stupid, "I let him break one too many of my boundaries." He sighed as he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders. His scent enveloped your senses, calming your frantic heart a little, "dump him, he's not worth it and you're better than this." 

You looked at him briefly, "I don't know if I have that much confidence in me, I don't have anyone else other than him." His hand made its way to your chin, lifting it up slightly, you're met with his sharp gaze, "confidence isn't loud you know, sometimes confidence is just choosing yourself over others. And I believe you're closer to choosing yourself than you think." His determined eyes and lopsided smile made your heart skip a bit. He reluctantly removed his hand from your chin, coughing awkwardly as he looked away as if his words didn't really pierced through your heart. "You think so?" You questioned meekly as you fiddled with your fingers. He looked at the sky, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped, "You don't need to be confident to walk away. You just need to take one step. And yeah, maybe you feel like he is all you have right now but he is not all there is. Don't build your entire world around someone who can't hold it for you." 

You let his words sink in your chest, your boyfriend was the only person you had, he made sure of that. Maybe deep down you knew you deserved better than him, and maybe you just needed someone else to remind you, "you're great with words, can I at least know the name of the person I am trauma bonding with?" He chuckled at your words, "Jay's fine." You nodded, telling him your name in return. You spent the rest of the night talking with him, your mind drifting far off from your boyfriend as you laughed at him while he explained how he got fed up with his friends who were shit-faced drunk and creating a scene. He told you how parties weren't really his cup of tea but he liked entertaining his friends who loved it. As the night went on you realized he was drunk as well and probably won't even remember this small exchange with you in the morning, yet you were glad you weren't drowning alone in your misery tonight. 

"Ah, I need to go. My friends have been calling me non stop and my phone was on silent mode." He was on his feet and off towards the house before you could bring yourself to stop him to ask for his number. You booked a cab to get you back to your house when you realized he didn't take his jacket back with him. You just looked at him as his figure disappeared into the crowd and ran towards the direction he went but you lost him and you wondered if you'll ever be able to meet me again. You reached home, head pounding due to all the crying and a little bit of drink which your boyfriend forced you to drink. 

You quickly messaged your boyfriend to call it quits and blocked his number from every possible app you could, not even waiting for his reply. You opened your instagram, your fingers moving before your mind did. You recognized a guy from your school, Sunoo, at the party. He's a social butterfly. Maybe his profile could help you with finding Jay. You opened his profile, sighing in relief as his page was public, you went to the tagged section to see if you could find Jay and there he was. You zoomed in to take a clear look, the picture was blurry but the jacket in the picture looked familiar to the one currently draped on your chair. You clicked on it to see if his username is tagged and thankfully it did. His profile was more low-key than low-key, just some pictures of his guitars, a group picture and a name, HYPHENIX.

The university's campus is louder and lively than it needs to be. The courtyard buzzing with laughter and talks of people huddling together to make memories. People walk in with their little groups, coffee in one hand, backpacks slung over their shoulders, carefree like they've already figured out how to survive here, like they know they belong here. You pass through them like wind brushing past one's hair, your head down, hands clasped around the straps of your backpack. The hallway isn't any better, students rushing to get to their respective classes, some frantic, some lazed out. There's echo of shoes, heels, sneakers, boots, which remind you that you are walking with them, just not beside. Voices overlap, laughter resonates, lockers being slammed shut and class door's daring you to knock and enter. Everyone seems to have somewhere to be, someone to text, someone waiting for them to join and you just wheeze past them, not invisible entirely just easy to miss. 

You're halfway to your class when you hear someone call out your name, turn around and smile softly at your best friend, Ava, short for Avalyn, to catch up to you. "Where are you running off to?" You take off your headphones and place it inside the case, "my morning class Ava! You got free time?" She shook her head, her keratin smooth hair swaying slightly at her movement, "I'm trying for cheer squad remember? I'm going for a practice session to get through the audition." You nodded your head in understanding, she had been trying to have a spot in the cheer squad for a while now, she's good at it you think, but you guess popularity plays a key role in getting into the team. 

She continued to walk by your side as she gushed about how she's getting better at cheering, you listened to her, that's what you usually do. You bid her goodbye and enter your class. The class went on as usual, nothing out of ordinary. You took notes of the things the professor said, then quietly packed your things to leave. You were placing the headphones in your ears when your eyes landed on a figure standing a few feet away from you, your steps halted and there he was, Jay. He was leaning against a pillar, nodding his head at the person talking with him, one hand raking through his already messy hair. His other hand was holding onto the strap of his guitar case. 

You watched him from the entrance of your class, occasionally sliding your finger on your phone screen to appear busy as you stole glances at him. Your eyes blinked a few times, not really believing the sight in front of you. He barely spoke, just nodded along the conversation with a blank expression on. He hadn't changed much, except he was now taller, his features more sharp, and more mature than you last remember. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat, maybe it was because you saw him after so many years or maybe because he hadn't left your mind even once since you had a talk with him at that high school party. 

He reminded you of the past version of yourself which you haven't really forgotten. A small crowd gathered around him, he sighed heavily. His eyes scanned around the area, you hid yourself behind the door of your class. You peeked from your place, your breath caught. He didn't notice you, of course he didn't. He excused himself as he started walking towards the opposite direction, the crowd following close behind him and that's when it hit you, how far both of your lives had drifted. There he was, in the spotlight, surrounded by people who admired him while you stood behind the class doors, in the shadows, wondering, watching.

"Where are you?" Ava's voice rang through your headphones as you ordered your coffee from a local coffee shop. You paid the cashier and thanked him as you made your way out of the shop, "at the coffee shop, I'm going out for a bit." You could imagine her pouting on the other side of the phone, her voice whiny, "why are you going out alone? I would have loved to accompany you, don't forget you have me by your side okay?" You pursed your lips as you nodded at her words then realizing she couldn't possibly see you, "I know Ava, but I can't always depend on you right?" She opened her mouth to protest, "you can depend on me, I'm your only friend." You frowned but didn't disagree with her, it was true that she was your only friend, she has been the only one who saw you and has been by your side since the university started and you're glad that she stood beside you and helped you. 

"I'll make it up to you okay?" She squealed at your remark, hanging up the phone before informing you about her nail appointment, your eyes unconsciously fell on your own hands, maybe you could get a manicure too. High school was hard after your breakup, with no one by your side but you got through it alone. Now, as you were older and wiser than your high school self, you started to enjoy your own company too. You sipped your coffee as you walked down the street, your feet leading you nowhere in particular when your eyes landed on the familiar mop of hair down the street. You stopped in your tracks, closing your eyes, you shook your head, when you opened your eyes there was no one in sight. You sighed, you're starting to hallucinate about Jay now, it wasn't good for your heart.

You continued your way down the street, ears picking up angry voices across the alleyway. You looked at your surroundings, not many people walk around nowadays. You told yourself you were just stretching your legs, but truthfully curiosity took the best of your senses and guided you across the alleyway where the voices became more clearer as you walked closer. You stood in the corner, your eyes squinting behind your glasses to take a closer look. "I want you to focus on your academics too, Jay. We don't want your silly little hobby to come in the way of your career." Your brows furrowed when your heart a high pitch feminine voice and a name so familiar you could write in your sleep. 

You crane your head to get a glimpse of the scene. There stood Jay, his head hung low as he avoided the eyes of two older people, presumably his mom and dad as they lectured him in front of their car. "Your music is taking up more of your time than your academics, don't forget you're going to be the hire of our business, the sooner you realize this the better it will be for you." Your heart sank as they went on and on about Jay's choices and how disappointed they are at him. Your eyes followed his parent's car as it left, then trailed towards the boy who now was crouched down on the road. He took a few rocks from the ground and threw them across the road, his face visibly contoured with hurt and anger. 

You took a step forward before deciding against it. You were eavesdropping, which you were sure wasn't welcomed with the scenario that unfolded right in front of your eyes, but watching him slump against the concrete wall, head between his hands, you wanted to comfort him, just like how he did when you were at your lowest. You wanted to help him, encourage him to not give up on his love for music just to satisfy his parents but with the image he had built around himself in the campus, it was impossible for you to just randomly show up to him to console. He would kill you with his stare before you even opened your mouth, so you decided to stay in the shadows and help him with his issues. By being a secret admirer, the book girlie inside of you was dancing in excitement.

Early morning in the campus was just how you imagined it would be, it carried a quiet kind of hush which felt too sacred to disturb. The sun had began to rise not long ago, casting long golden rays across the campus building, few of the students were scattered around the campus, you walked through the hallway which was nearly empty save for some lone students with headphones on or a book in hand, your footsteps were light but quick as you occasionally turned around to check in your surrounding. Your hands tightly clutched around your bag as you overworked your brain to map out the locker room in the building. You relaxed when you found the large 'Locker room' sign hung upon the metal rod, your eyes scanning the area nearby before entering inside. 

Few of the students were busy with their own things inside the room, none of them paying attention towards you. Your eyes scanned the area, feet moving towards the locker you were determined to find, you causally scanned the names on the lockers, totally nonchalant if anyone asked you. Your steps came to a halt when you came across the 'Park Jongseong' locker. Peeking your head at the entrance to check anyone's presence one last time, you hurriedly took out the letter you had neatly packed inside an envelope and slid it inside the locker from the small gap that was present. Your hands trembled, heartbeat erratic as you stepped away and started walking towards the cafeteria, your head hung low as you zipped your bag. 

You saw Jay pass by you with one of his band members, Heeseung, the vocalist as both of them animatedly chatted about something. Your eyes followed his features, he seemed to be far more relaxed as he laughed at something Heeseung said, that laugh almost reminded you of the night of the party. You wondered what they were doing in the campus early in the morning when your eyes landed on the new notice on the notice board along with various other banners which decorated the walls of the hallway. You stepped closer to have a clearer view of the notice displayed, Symphoria 25, the widely known college fest of your university. 

Your eyes went back to Jay and Heeseung who were now entering the locker room, their backs turned towards you. Symphoria, you'd heard a lot about the college fest, it draws in thousands of people not just from the campus but from the city and beyond. A perfect opportunity to showcase your talent and get exposure. Maybe Jay and his band had started early morning practice to perfect their art for the fest, it was inevitable that they would participate in the fest. You checked the time on your phone, you still had a good 20 minutes before your class started so you made your way back towards the locker room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jay to see if he got your letter or not. 

The hallway had started filling in with the usual chatter of students, as soon as you were about to enter the locker room you caught Jay coming out of the room and in a reckless way to avoid facing him you turned around to run in the opposite direction. But luck wasn't by your side and your leg slipped and you fell, right in front of Jay, and his friend Heeseung. "Are you okay?" You recognized Heeseung's voice as he extended his hand for you to take. A few of the students gathered to watch the commotion. Your head was hung low, and you prayed the universe to swallow you whole instead of letting you face humiliation. You held Heeseung's hand to stand up, then immediately let go and hid your face with both of your hands. 

Heeseung chuckled at your antics, finding your embarrassed self quite endearing, he looked at Jay whose eyes were trained on you, a subtle frown adorning his face, lips pursed together. Jay tilted his head as he watched, you peeked from the gaps in between your fingers, head still down, your eyes caught the sight of your letter in between his fingers, the letter still sealed neatly. "Hey don't be embarrassed, things like this happen every time," you turned towards Heeseung, your hands still on your face as you nodded at his words and bolted out of the place and towards your class. 

Heeseung's eyes followed you till you turned around the corner, confusion etched upon his face like a question scribbled in a language he wasn't proficient in. He turned towards Jay, who was also looking at the direction you just ran to, his expressions blank but with a hint of curiosity behind his eyes. "I guess she was too humiliated to wait and talk, I genuinely thought she did this to have our attention," Heeseung broke the silence, making Jay look towards him. Now one would paint Heeseung as a stuck up individual after what he said, but it wasn't a regular sight for any of their band members to not have girls lining up to have a conversation with them, you'd be the first to avoid them all together. He was genuinely confused with your actions.

Your footsteps echoed off the walls of the hallway in frantic rhythm. Your hair sticking on your face and bag bouncing off your side. You reached towards your classroom door, slowing down just enough to avoid getting slammed on it. You slipped inside and scanned the room for an empty seat. Your chest raised and fell as you sat on an empty seat, you took deep breaths to look composed but the flush of your cheeks and the way your hands gripped the edge of the desk betrayed you. The professor entered the class and began the lecture but your mind drifted off towards the incident that happened back in front of the locker room. You slammed your head on the desk lightly to avoid attention, grimacing about how humiliating the incident was.

"You look tired, did you not get enough sleep?" You glanced towards Ava, who was happily munching her food while her doe eyes stared at you, "Yeah, couldn't sleep." She pouted at your words, shoving your shoulder lightly, "you should take care of yourself more, you worry me so much, you don't have anyone else other than me who takes care of you." You smiled awkwardly at her statement, internally grimacing. Her words are always sweet like honey, the kind that drips with warmth and affection until you realize what comes next, like she's trying to convince you that your light only shines when she's with you. 

Your eyes wandered towards the cafeteria door when students started talking in hushed whispered and gasp, there they stood Heeseung, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon, the four members of band, HYPHENIX. Ava followed your gaze, vast smile etching on her face, "aren't they just dreamy? You think Sunghoon's single?" Your head turned towards her instinctively as her voice reached your ears, "since when are you interested in them?" You don't remember her gushing about the band before, sure they were pretty popular but Ava was too obsessed with cheer to ever focus on anything else. She just shrugged, not bothering to reply, you frowned, following her line of vision where Jay was seated with his bandmates. 

Your breath hitched when you spotted the familiar looking envelope in Jay's hand, the seal broken off, he had read the letter. Your eyes traced from his hands to his face, watching, observing, like you always do. Jake was talking about something while nudging Jay, Heeseung throwing his back as he laughed and Sunghoon just shook his head, amused by his friends. Jay smiled softly, his eyes still trained on the letter in his hands, playing with its edges gently. You haven't seen him smile like that ever since you saw him, his expressions always so distant and reserved, one would think twice before approaching him. You could tell you weren't the only person to witness it when you heard whispers around you. 

"Wow I never knew he could smile like that!", "so the icy guitarist of HYPHENIX knows how to smile?", "is that a letter in his hand? A love letter maybe?", "didn't think of him as the romantic type." 

You turned your head back towards your food when you felt Jay's gaze travel towards your table, you hid your face by keeping your palm over half of your face. "Oh my Jay's looking towards me," your eyes met Ava's as she exclaimed happily, gathering attention from a few of the students sitting nearby. More whispers started arising after her exclamation cause indeed Park Jay was looking towards your table, at who? You weren't sure. Your mind unconsciously drifted towards the time when you fell down in front of Heeseung and Jay, and you hoped he didn't remember how you looked.

"Yah Jay you keep on looking at the envelope like it will come alive and tell you who sent you this..." You were making your way towards the last class of the day when you heard Jay's name, looking up you saw the music room sign above the closed door. You walked towards the half opened window trying to listen to what they were talking about. From where you were perched up, you could see Jay's side profile, Jake standing in front of him, you could see half of Sunghoon's face and Heeseung's back, all huddled up with their respective instruments in their hands. "I really wanna know who wrote this, I mean their words hit so close, it instantly lifted his mood as soon as he read it," Heeseung followed as others nodded. Your heart skipped a beat, you stepped away from the window. They said he loved your letter, that it instantly lifted his mood. You smiled sheepishly, a new skip in your step as you made your way towards your class. 

Maybe you could continue to support him like this, silently, from afar, without the fear of getting rejected. He would be aware that there's someone who silently has his back, and you wouldn't have to worry about being the center of attention. And that's what you did, you wrote letters for him, every week. Words you couldn't say out loud found a home on paper wrapped in a plain envelope. You poured your admiration, your care, and all the quiet things you felt into the letters. You slipped them into his locker, or tucked between library books you knew he'd borrow, each note was a small piece of your heart, anonymous but sincere. You watched him smile at the words, never knowing they were yours. He would sometimes write back to you, placing his letters inside the library book he last borrowed and when he would come and check the next time, he would smile at its disappearance. He would know you got his letter when you'd mention it in your next one. And somehow, that was enough.

And the campus was big but apparently not big enough to keep your little secret in between you and him. It wasn't the letters that caught everyone's attention, it was him. Jay had always been stoic, guarded, the kind of person who kept people at arm's length, never too close but lately that shifted. He smiled more, his posture relaxed, he didn't shoot anyone with his icy glare for merely talking with him. He lingered longer near his locker, reading something in his hands. His bandmates noticed the recurrence of the letters first then few of his admirers. Questions flooded in their minds, was the guitarist of HYPHENIX finally seeing someone? Who would be the lucky person to capture the heart of someone who never showed interest in dating? And If he was getting interested in someone then who's this mystery person?

And then one afternoon, someone overheard Jay talking with Sunghoon, his voice low as he murmured something along the lines of, "I received yet another letter today, they just know what to say to make my heart skip a bit." Hushed conversations between close friends, fell upon wrong ears and soon enough the campus buzzed with new gossip about this secret admirer of Jay. The talk wasn't about Jay anymore, they were more about what made Jay change, about the anonymous person who poured their heart out on the letters, about how the coldest guy on the campus might have someone who has enough warmth that melts his walls. And how maybe, just maybe, he was starting to care about those letters more. 

With each letter you wrote, your feelings for him kept on getting more intense and with all the gossip surrounding you about your own letters you wondered how Jay would react if he ever found out who was behind those letters. It didn't help that Ava seemed to be getting more interested in Jay's love life than focusing on her cheerleading auditions. You had to constantly hear her gush about this mystery admirer of Jay and how an anonymous person was getting more recognition than she ever could even if she tried her best. "Popularity shouldn't be your goal, being good at what you do should be!" You remember explaining this to her when she kept on complaining about how privileged the popular people are with everything. 

She wasn't wrong entirely, everything around the campus depended upon how good you were with something and ultimately how much audience you bought with it. Maybe she wasn't wrong about not getting into cheerleading yet because she wasn't famous enough to make the cut and not because she was just decent enough for the sport. Ava is attractive, has friends from every block of the campus, yet she somehow always sticks to you. She goes to parties, easily becomes the center of the room but somehow it's not enough, it's never enough. There's always someone who is prettier, more talented, more popular who steals her show and you get her. Perhaps that's the reason you let her guide and lead your university life instead of trying and failing to meet new people who would befriend you. 

For the next few weeks when you walked down your campus, every corner was slowly transformed into a living stage. The air surrounding last-minute rehearsals, buzz of sound checks vibrating against your ear drums, every corner of the university was filled with excitement. Symphoria wasn't just a college fest, it was an emotion, a movement held towards rising artists and their talents. By day the fest was filled with different stalls, and artists showcasing their raw talents to sharpen it for the night show. By the time the night arrives, the main stage would come alive with performances that shake the ground. You were excited to attend the last show of the fest as it was the night HYPHENIX would perform, the most talked about and most awaited performance of the whole fest. 

You made your way towards the locker room early in the morning to place the letter inside for Jay to read before his performance. This time though, you had bought a little bouquet of red roses to cheer him up a little with a note that is addressed to him in case someone else misplaced it. You couldn't open his locker enough to put the flowers inside so you decided to keep it above the locker. You walked out of the locker room before anyone could see you, leaving letters inside his locker had gotten a bit difficult with all the attention from the campus. Yet you woke up extra early to not get caught and cheer Jay up for his performance. 

You made your way towards the library to finish the rest of your assignments, dropping a message to Ava about meeting you in the cafeteria during lunch. You sat down, opening your laptop to get started. The library was relatively empty, not many students were in the mood to study when there's literal fest going on around the campus. You wondered if Jay will even have time to open his locker today, you heard they had been practicing extra hard for this performance. Lunch time rolled around but Ava still didn't reply to your text, you tried calling but no answer so you ate alone. You made your way towards the locker room to check on the flowers and letters, when you reached there was none, it made you smile at the thought that he received it before his performance just how you wanted. 

The evening started off with a blast, you made your way near the left side of the main stage. You look around to find Ava in the crowd and even send a few messages of your location in case she decides to find you. You frowned at her behavior, she was so excited to attend today's show, some of her favorite people were performing, not to forget her constantly ranting about being excited to watch HYPHENIX's performance. They were the last act to perform, everyone from the campus gathered around to watch you with banners in their hands. You crane your head to see if they are coming. 

They walked on the stage, your eyes landed on Jay and suddenly the crowd didn't matter. They got in their position, the noise faded, the lights dimmed around everyone else but them and you stood frozen in your spot, eyes never leaving his silhouettes. Heeseung led up to the mic, the crowd erupted, waves of cheers and reckless energy filled up the air, but your eyes were locked on Jay. Jake, the drummer chimed in and suddenly the world was nothing but sound. Jay's guitar and Sunghoon's keyboard roared to life, drums thundered beneath your feet, and the music hit you like a memory you didn't know you'd been holding onto. It wasn't just some random noise pieced together, it was emotion, pouring from the stage and crashing into you like fire and rain.

You watched them, the way their fingers moved on their instruments, how Heeseung's voice danced a high note, how they closed their eyes like the song was something they felt, not just performed and in that moment, it felt personal like somehow, they were singing straight to you. The lights flashed on the stage, the chorus soared. People around you screamed and swayed, but you stood still, like you were spellbound. It was more than music. It was a moment you didn't want to end and in that moment, nothing existed but the stage, the sound, and the feeling of you falling deeper and deeper for Jay. 

You felt a wave of emotion so overwhelming that tears strung in your eyes, their performance ended and they bid their goodbyes. The crowd cheered, you were sure they would be the talk of campus if not city for a whole year. Jay looked happy as he made his way backstage and before you could think your feet led you towards the back of the stage to catch a glimpse of him, it was one of the important parts of his musical career after all, you could at least muster up the courage to congratulate him. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be bad to introduce yourself into his life as someone he once met at a random high school party. You were about to enter backstage when a volunteer bumped into you, all the papers in his hands flying everywhere. You managed to apologize to him as you helped him with the papers but your eyes were somewhere else, in search of a person you couldn't get a hold of. 

You made your way deeper into the back of the stage, volunteers and performers going on about their works. You located Jake and Sunghoon at the far corner of the stage, Heeseung sitting close beside as they wore brightest smiles and talked with each other about something. You tried finding Jay, your heart beating fast as you tried finding someone who would tell you about his whereabouts. "Uh-hello, do you know where Jay went? The guitarist from HYPHENIX?" The girl randomly pointed towards the exit of the backstage, you thanked her before following the direction she gave. As soon as you were out of the door, the coolness of the night air made you shiver. 

Your footsteps slowed, the moonlight casted a soft glow on your face, yet it was still relatively dark. You took a step forward, then another, then you heard voices, familiar and close. Your steps halted when you caught two silhouettes standing close to each other, then your world stopped. One second they were talking, Jay and Ava, the next second his hands were on her neck, pulling her close. Ava stepped forward, her hands reaching for his shirt to stabilize herself. Your hands didn't drop your phone, but it slipped a little in your grip as your breath stilled. A sharp pain sliced in your chest, the silence of the surroundings more louder than the ringing in your ears. 

It felt like someone pierced their hand in your heart and squeezed it without any care, like your soul has been ripped apart without any warning. You felt the kind of pain that didn't echo, it throbbed in your chest, deep and ugly. You blinked once, twice, then again for good measure, hoping and praying this was just an illusion, a misunderstanding but it wasn't. It was real. Jay and Ava, kissing each other like the world around them didn't exist anymore. You stood there, watching him hold her like he's afraid if she let go she'll disappear. Your eyes landed on the bouquet of red roses in Jay's hand, the one you brought for him, confusion and hurt etched upon your face, unable to comprehend anything.

Neither of them noticed your presence, they didn't see the way your hands trembled and how your lips parted slightly like your body was trying to breathe through the ache in your heart. They didn't see the way your eyes glossed over with a kind of hurt you knew would take years to heal. You took a step back, suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, the distant sound of people leaving the campus, the humid air, the floor beneath your shoes. You turned around, mind still hazy, eyes unfocused, you stepped on an empty water bottle. Then you hear a soft call of your name, you shut your eyes closed as if it would somehow help you disappear from the unwanted moment you tried to avoid. You heard footsteps coming closer and decided you couldn't possibly excuse your way out of this uncomfortable situation so you took a deep breath and turned back around. 

Your eyes landed on Jay before they could even acknowledge Ava, he tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. Ava's voice broke your attention from him, she made her way towards you, her arms enveloping one of yours as she beamed at Jay. "This is my best friend Jay," He smiled in your direction, your heart skipped a bit and Ava continued while looking at you, "I told him the truth, that I wrote those letters for him, I couldn't help myself from confessing to him after today's performance, you are proud of me right? I finally got the love of my life." You never once broke your gaze away from Jay as you listened to Ava go on and on about something which you both know she didn't do. You silently listened to her take the credit for the things you did, Jay's smile was wide as he looked at Ava and just like that you couldn't bring yourself to tell the truth.

"Let me drive you both home, it's too late to go by yourself." You sucked in a breath, your head turned towards Ava who nodded enthusiastically at Jay's suggestion. "I'll manage to go by myself, I don't really live too far," Jay shook his head at your words, "It's my responsibility to take care of my girlfriend's loved ones, wouldn't dream of getting on your bad side." Ava chuckled at Jay's words as she leaned against his arms, his own hands slipping on her shoulder pulling her close. You felt like throwing up, you needed answers. Jay pulled out his phone to inform his band members that he'll be leaving first and joining them later. 

Reluctantly you agreed with Jay after Ava forced you to say yes and now you were seated in the back of Jay's car as you watched him act lovey-dovey with his supposed secret admirer. Ava's home arrived first and Jay got off to kiss her goodbye, you sighed, lending your head on the window wondering how you were supposed to get through with this. Jay entered the car, you were still sitting on the backseat. He eyed you from the rearview, "I think I've seen you before." You looked at Jay when you heard his voice, contemplating on whether to tell him that he did see you before or not, "well, we go to the same campus...." You trailed off softly, not really minding if he could hear your answer or not, your mind was haywire with everything that happened today anyway. 

Jay took one last look at you before shaking his head, chuckling lightly and agreeing with your words. You sent a quick text to Ava about wanting to have a talk with her about the stunt she pulled and she replied she'll tell you tomorrow. You felt the car come to a halt and you straightened up, eyes taking in the familiar surroundings of your apartment, you thanked Jay but he stopped you. He got out of the car and towards your door and opened it, "you don't have to do all this, Jay." But you smiled at his sweet gesture regardless and got out of his car. He bid you goodbye and went off as you watched his car retrieve from your apartment's parking lot. 

You couldn't sleep the whole night, mind racing with all sorts of things. The sight of them kissing each other playing in front of your eyes like a mere flashback from a dream you wish you never had, cruelly brought to life. You tossed and turned in your bed, but neither the tears stopped nor did the hollow feeling creeping up your chest. You decided you can't take it anymore, your fingers tapping on Ava's number before you could think. It was late at night, her parents were probably asleep but they always had a soft spot for you. She picked up the phone on the last ring, her voice groggy. 

"What are you trying to do? We both know you didn't write those letters..." you heard some shuffling from her end, "right I didn't, but who cares?" You frowned at her nonchalant answer, "the one who wrote the letter might come forward and expose you Ava, it won't end well for you, did you not hear how Jay is?" She groaned at your words, "well if the person was brave enough they wouldn't have pulled this secret admirer shit, I need Jay to get in the cheer team, this is my chance." You sighed, rubbing your forehead as it had started aching, "your relationship is based on lies Ava, it won't do you good, trust me. You're hurting someone else while trying to reach your goals-" 

"Don't nag at me, I've already taken the leap so there's no going back, I like Jay and I want to be with him so let it go...just for once, for me, let it go please..." you sighed but stayed silent wondering if you were strong enough to watch Jay be with Ava when she clearly was using him just to gain popularity while pretending to be you, Ava continued when she didn't hear anything from your side, "I'm your best friend, I never asked you to do anything for me, please ignore what I did just this once, I'll treat him right I swear." You cut the call after talking to her for some more time, things got messier than they were supposed to be, and you wondered how things will unfold from now on. 

Earlier attending university was something you looked forward to as the constant chattering of students, the latest gossip, the various events and classes helped you ignore how lonely you actually were. But now everywhere you go, there is at least one person talking about the perfect couple Ava and Jay. You tried your best to ignore but you couldn't as Ava started gaining popularity now that Jay won't leave her side whenever he isn't with his bandmates. And you, despite wanting to lay low and finish your degree quietly, were unwillingly dragged into the Ava-Jay love drama since you were her so-called best friend. 

Being best friend of not so famous Ava was hard, but being her best friend after she got famous was harder. People randomly started approaching you to gain latest information about their relationship or how they behave out of the campus. They bombarded you with questions about Ava and what she liked and disliked, like you were some kind of assistant they could get information from. It was annoying, and downright disrespectful. You never wanted the spotlight but even if you did, you knew you wouldn't be happy by being labelled as someone's girlfriend's best friend. It was inconvenient at first, then it became blatantly dehumanizing when people started suggesting Ava to be with someone of her 'level' that you were just some charity case of a friend for her. What hurt you the most was Ava's reactions to those things, she just laughed with them, like she couldn't see how disrespectful people were towards you. So naturally you tried your best to ignore her and her 'well-wishers' all together. 

"Come on, don't be like that! Jay has told me to make sure you'll be present at the celebration party of their successful performance at the college fest, you know how big of a deal it is for him and his friends," you continued typing your essay as Ava sat on the edge of your bed, begging you to attend the party. "I'll see if I can go...I'm not sure though..." she stomped her feet as she made her way towards your desk, hands sliding into yours to get your attention on her, "please? We haven't spent time together since so long," you sighed, releasing her hold from your hand, "it's because you're always so busy with your cheer, or Jay, or your new friends and not because I don't have time for you." 

"It's not like that, you don't like being around people, I can't always cater to your needs right? You should be considerate towards me too, you're so mean," you close your laptop after saving your document and look at her as she begins gathering her things. "I didn't mean it like that Ava-" "I'll give you space, you don't seem to be in a good mood, think about your decision, I'll wait for you at the party and if you won't come I won't go either." You opened your mouth to say something but she was already out of the door. You put your head in your hands as you pulled at your hair, deciding sleeping would be best for now since you had class in early morning. 

Attending early morning class felt like stepping into a world half-asleep. Your brain lagged behind as the professor went on and on about topics you were too tired to pay attention to. One of your hands grip on the coffee cup like your life depends on it and other drawing doodles on the margins of the notebook you had opened to take notes. Your eyes hurt and stifle a yawn, thanking the universe when the professor concludes the class. You check your schedule, there's still a 30 minute gap before your next, maybe you could get a refill of your coffee to go on about your day. You smiled to yourself when you stepped out of the class, feeling accomplished that you managed to survive the morning class as you made your way towards the cafe near your university for your daily dose of coffee. 

"Hey!" You turned around halfway through the campus when you heard someone call out to you, "in a rush?" Jay waved at you as he made his way towards you, his guitar slung over one shoulder, his smile was easy-going as he finally stopped right in front of you. Sweat formed in your hands as you gulped, "you need something from me? I haven't heard from Ava since yesterday so I don't know where she is..." He laughed slightly, motioning you to continue your walk as he stepped beside you, "no, I'm not here to ask you about Ava, though I know I used to do that a lot but I'm here to talk with you about something else." You looked at him then immediately looked forward because how can you be this close to him and act sane? You adjusted your glasses on your face in nervousness. 

"Then what are you here for?" He looked at you, biting his lips in thought and you tore your eyes away to not stare for too long. "For the party...." you halted your steps when you reached the cafe, Jay opened the door and held it for you. You meekly thanked him before entering the cafe, "what about it?" Jay ordered his coffee and you ordered yours, he paid for both the drinks before you could even open your bag to get your purse. "After our performance at Symphoria, we've got quite a few gigs and events to perform at, not to forget it's the day Ava finally confessed to me about writing those letters," you suck in your breath as both of you made your way out of the cafe and back into the university's campus. 

He continued, "those letters have helped me a lot, I was going through a tough time but they helped me so much, and they also inspired us to deliver that performance at the fest. So the success of that performance means a lot to my bandmates, me and Ava alike, and since you're her best friend, I need you to be a part of it." He took a few strides forward and turned towards you making you stop your walk, "please? Attend it for me?" You sighed, attend it for Jay? Now you could do that, but you weren't sure if you'd be able to watch them without losing your sanity. "I'm not a party person, Jay and it doesn't help that Ava has other friends to be with, she won't always be by my side and I don't want to hold her back.." 

He shook his head dismissing your words before you could elaborate further on how pathetic you'd look trying to enjoy the party alone, a party you don't even want to be at, "I'll be by your side then, all throughout the party hm? I'll make sure you won't feel lonely, I promise." He held out his pinky finger in front of you and if you were being honest he looked so silly you wished you could click a picture but you just sighed, eyes switching from his hands to his face, he looked at you expectantly, "I take pinky promises seriously," the corners of your lips twitched a little as you raised your hand to lock your pinky finger with his. He pulled you close, grinning widely, "thank you for coming, Ava and I would love to have you there," he ruffled your hair before jogging off towards the university's music room. 

You faced the mirror, one last time, running your fingers through your hair, you opened your phone, Jay's and Ava's messages lying one above the other, both reminding you to not forget about the party. You fixed your glasses, a hint of irritation seeping in your features as you scanned your reflection, if you ditched your glasses for looks then you won't be able to enjoy the party in HD, but the glasses made you look like the loser you always need to read about in your books. You huffed a breath, reminding yourself about your no more stereotyping rule, your phone started buzzing. You looked at the caller ID, Ava. 

"Hey!" You put your phone away from your ear to recheck the called ID, still Ava, "hello?" You questioned as you chew on your lips, "it's me Jay...Ava's phone was in my hand so I called you from her phone, I asked Sunghoon to pick you up from your apartment and I think he would reach in 10 minutes or so, I just called to inform you that.." you heartbeat quickened after hearing Jay's voice, then you registered the words that left his mouth, "Sunghoon? In 10 minutes? I could've taken a cab, he didn't have to leave the party for me, I feel bad." You could hear the music blasting in the background and you wondered if he could even hear you, "nah, I wanted to come pick you up myself since I invited you but my hands are full right now so I asked Sunghoon, and I don't want you to travel alone in the dark, it's not safe out there. See you soon, Ava and I are waiting for you." 

You stood in front of your apartment building awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for Sunghoon's car to pull up. He didn't take much time, arriving fairly on time. He got out of his seat, his height making you take a few steps back so you don't have to hurt your neck while talking to him. He gave you a smile, his eyes landing on your heel-cladded feet before they locked once again with your eyes. You subconsciously tuck your hair behind your ear, blushing up your cheeks under his intense gaze. He offered you his hand, and you held it after looking at it for two seconds too long. He led you towards the passenger's seat, opened the door and guided you inside the car. You thanked him, a giddy smile plastered on your face as you reminded yourself that this was the supposed bare minimum, but then your thoughts went back to the same high school party where your then boyfriend didn't even look at you, much less open doors for you. 

Sunghoon's car reflected his personality, sleek, dark, and polished to perfection. The smell of leather seats of the car mixed with a faint scent of his cologne, and music turned low enough to barely register. You fasten your seatbelt and watch him start the car from your peripheral vision. He didn't say much, and from the time you've noticed him you realized he wasn't a man for many words but whenever he did speak, the attention would be on him. You let yourself relax on the seat and he glanced at your movements briefly. "Thank you for picking me up, you didn't have to, but thank you regardless," You saw him shake his head at your words, a small, barely visible smile dancing on his lips, "it's fine, wouldn't want a pretty girl like you to travel alone at night." You choked on the air, shocked at his words, he laughed loudly, his fang-like teeth showing just enough to make you question if he was just teasing or being serious. 

"You're teasing me, didn't think of you as a type to do that," He looked at your pouty face briefly before his attention went back onto the road, "you're easier to tease somehow, but I wasn't teasing when I said you're pretty." He didn't look at you to see your reaction, but your eyes were trained on his profile. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain under the car's light, his lips full and precise, there was a cold grace to him, and even when he said nothing, he seemed to speak in presence, posture poised, expression unreadable, a flick of his gaze enough to silence a room. He got out of the car when he reached Jay's apartment where the party was in full blast, he helped you get out of the car and led you towards the main door of Jay's house.

"This place feels familiar," you mutter under your breath, Sunghoon looks at you, his head tilted in your direction, leaning in slightly to hear you better over the gradually increasing noise of music blasting through the speakers as you walk. You shake your head at him, laughing awkwardly as you try to figure out the weird feeling in your stomach. The door bursts open even before Sunghoon's hand stretches enough to open it for you, and your breath is knocked off as Jay stands in front of you, an easy going smile etched upon his face. "I'm glad you're here..." he smiles so bright that it's almost impossible to not mirror his smile, like he's genuinely glad you're there to celebrate. "I had to be," your eyes wander off towards Sunghoon who is now standing beside Jay, leaning on the doorframe watching you two, "you left me with little choices to make." 

Sunghoon lightly chuckled as those words left your mouth, shaking his lightly at your silent jab at Jay's stubborn behavior he made his way inside the house, leaving you standing alone with Jay. "Where's Ava?" You questioned when you didn't find her waiting for you beside Jay, he sighed, head turning back to look towards the ongoing party, "she must be somewhere, I still have her phone on me, but she's nowhere to be found." You frowned hearing his statement and he quickly made space for you to enter the party, "she gets like that after drinking, she wanders off and suddenly you lose track of her." Jay chuckled at your response still his eyes scanned to room for his girlfriend's presence. 

"Jay?" You softly called him, he hummed in return leaning slightly towards you to hear you better. You held your breath as you looked at him, his eyes still wandering across the room to find Ava but then slowly his eyes turned towards you, your lips twitched when his eyes locked in with yours and you gulped before continuing, "go find her, you don't really have to be by my side all night." Jay chuckled at your words, straightening up, he hooked his index finger on the bracelet of your wrist, "well you don't have anything else to do so please help me find my beloved girlfriend," and he pulled you with him into the crowd. 

You take in the scene, you spot some familiar faces in the crowd, laughing, drinking, talking with each other. Your heels tap against the floor and you walk exactly behind Jay as he makes room for both of you to walk. The lights flicker in bursts of neon, casting an exciting glow on the crowd. The buzz of conversations rise and fall, people too drunk or too indulgent in the mood to care about the surroundings. You catch a glimpse of Jake talking with some people, beside him Sunghoon and Heeseung are involved in deep conversation about something only they know. Your eyes fall upon where Jay's finger is hooked upon your bracelet, a sigh leaves your lips and in a moment of distraction your shoulder bumps into someone and you lose your balance slightly. 

You hold onto Jay's shoulder with one hand to regain your balance and he stops in his tracks, eyes narrowing towards the person you stumbled into, "try to look where you are going next time." The person just waves his hand, mumbling apologies incoherently as he backs off towards the opposite direction. You feel Jay's hand curl around your wrist, firmly and when you lift your head up, he's already looking at you. "You walk in front of me now, you're wearing heels, if you sprain your leg it will hurt like a bitch." You laugh slightly at his tone, his hand pulling you gently towards him and he positions himself right behind you. He's still holding your wrist, his other hand giving your shoulder a slight push to get you walking. 

He's so close behind, you could faintly feel his breath on your shoulder. Your eyes scan for your best friend and you turn around towards Jay when you spot her sitting in a corner with few people, drinking happily and laughing with her whole body, "she's there, I think you should get her, I'll get something to drink for myself in the kitchen." Jay's eyes follow the path your finger is pointed at, he sighed in relief, nodding in your direction and making his way towards her. You don't have the courage to watch him go towards her so you make your way inside the kitchen, your hand tracing the spot which Jay held not too long ago. You poured yourself some soft drink, not really in the mood to drink just yet.

"Are you a baby?" You flinched slightly, turning to your side only to find Sunghoon leaning against the counter not too far from you as he poured himself a drink. Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, he looks at you, slowly making his way close to you, "only babies drink soft drinks." You roll your eyes, free hand fixing your glasses. He chuckled lightly, amused at your behavior. "I'm not a baby Mr. Park," he laughed loudly, "that's exactly what a baby would say, your pouty lips and puffed up cheeks aren't helping your case pretty." You immediately straightened up, lips pursed and face blank as you gave him a deadpan look, "I'm not a baby..." He turned around towards the counter, he mixed a few drinks from the table and slided the red solo up towards you. 

"You don't seem like a type to drink frequently but trust me with this one, my friends say I'm quite good with drinks." You throw him a suspicious look, hand curling around the cup, you bring it closer to your face to inspect. "What are you both ?" Your head snapped towards the voice, Jay and Ava joining you two as Sunghoon settled beside you, his drink already half empty. "I'm trying to get her to loosen up a bit, she's always so tense." Jay's eyes narrow at his friend's words, "you don't have to drink if you don't want to," You shake your head at Jay's words and you're about to reply when Ava cuts you off, "oh my god! I've tried to get her to start drinking but she always declines me," then her eyes fall upon Sunghoon, a faint smirk forming on her lips.

"I literally made this in front of her, will you try it for me pretty? Just a taste, you won't have to continue to drink it if you don't like it." Ava's smile fell as soon as Sunghoon's attention shifted from her to you, his eyes soft as he looked at you expectantly. Jay sighed from where he was standing, his hand sliding across Ava's waist as he leaned his weight slightly on her, "Sunghoon, if she's not comfortable-" Sunghoon's hand reached forward towards your hand, which was sporting the red solo cup, he gently curled his fingers around your hand and brought the cup towards his mouth, never breaking eye contact with you as he took a sip from your cup, "there, I'm alive, now your turn, just a sip pretty." 

You exhaled a breath you didn't even know you were holding, fingers trembling slightly under Sunghoon's. You brought the cup near you, eyes darting around the other three before you took a tentative sip from the drink. Your eyes widened, a smirk forming on Sunghoon's face, "it'd good right?" You nodded your head with more enthusiasm than you initially wanted to show. Sunghoon laughed, releasing his hold from your hand, eyes falling upon the couple in front of him with smug confidence, "I told ya I'm good at it." Jay gave you a small smile, "you sure you like it?" You nodded your head again, taking yet another sip from the cup and gulping down the whole drink. Sunghoon whistled slowly, feeling proud of himself. 

Ava looked at you, "you never drink when I offer...you're so rude and mean to me." Jay sighed pulling her closer, "some people need guidance during their first drinks baby, Sunghoon is good at that. It's not about her being mean to you." From where you stood, you could tell Ava wanted this conversation to go like it did with other people, with them agreeing to every word that spilled from her cherry lips, "want me to make you another one?" You tore your eyes away from Ava and turned towards Sunghoon, "please? This is the first time I'm actually enjoying a drink." And just like that, the night stretched ahead, you smiled to yourself, anticipation settling deep inside you for the night. 

"You're tipsy, how many drinks did you have?" You were perched upon the balcony, looking over people who were playing in the pool and around it when Ava's voice cut through the silence. You hummed, standing up and leaning against the railings to have a good look at Jay's house. Your eyes trailed towards the other side of his backyard where people were roaming around, casually. "Is that a gazebo?" You muttered to yourself, leaning in more, squinting your eyes, your glasses slipping off a little. "You're going to fall down if you keep on leaning on the railings like that," you looked down towards the ground, Jay waving off his hand to signal you to back off a little. 

"I won't fall," you yelled back, laughing as you fixed your glasses back. Jay shook his head, one hand on his hips while the other massaged his temple, "come down, bring Ava with you." You pouted at his words but still stepped back, holding Ava's hand in yours, you dragged her towards the pool. "Hello ladies, wanna go for a swim?" You smiled at Jake when he approached you both, you released Ava's hand when Jay stood by her side. "Don't wanna," Ava whined as Jay tried to persuade her to join. You looked away, smiling at Jake as you swayed a little, he chuckled at your dazed out state and offered his hand for you to hold. "I'm good though, I don't need your support, but since you're being so nice and offering me your help, I'll take it." Jake laughed as he guided you towards the edge of the pool.

Heeseung joined you and Jake, offering you water, "you wanna go for a swim?" You denied Heeseung's suggestion, eyes looking at the pool as you pouted, "I can't swim." Jake mimicked your expressions, but he looked like a kicked puppy more than a sulky one. You laughed, stepping forward and pinching his cheeks, "you're cute Jake." His eyes widened at your actions before turning into an icy glare when Heeseung slumped forward trying to control his laughter. Jay, Ava and Sunghoon joined you three as the boys teased Jake and occasionally your non swimmer self. You felt at ease, you were expecting to be crying in your apartment by now but you were glad it wasn't like that. None of Jay's friends left you alone, each sharing some moments with you. And by spending your time with them you realized why they are so likeable.

You were sitting on one of the chairs by the pool, Ava still beside you. The boys were already playing in the pool, your eyes drifted towards Sunghoon and Heeseung who were now seated on the opposite edge of the pool making fun of Jake who was now being chased by Jay for trying to drown him. Sunghoon's eyes locked with yours and his lips moved to say something, in your own haze you couldn't comprehend what he was trying to say so you got up, edging closer towards the pool, "what did you say?" Sunghoon laughed at your confused self and you pouted. He opened his mouth to repeat what he said when you felt a pair of hands press hard against your back. 

Your heart stuttered, feet losing contact with the ground. Your confusion quickly turned into terror and the next thing you knew, your body hit the water. The water was colder than you expected, it swallowed you whole. The noises of the surrounding vanished, replied by a deafening silence. Your hands flailed, legs kicking in panic. Your lungs felt like they were going to collapse, your mouth filled with the taste of chlorine and fear. A pair of arms circled around your waist, pulling your body towards the surface. You gasped as you were finally able to breathe, your chest aching. Someone took off your glasses from your face, your hands grabbing onto the person's shoulder like you were afraid they would let go. 

You felt someone else chiming in to help, pushing you on the edge as few people surrounded you. Your vision slightly blurry as you tried to ground yourself, "Ava are you crazy? Why would you push your own best friend into the pool when you clearly know she can't swim?" You were sure that it was Sunghoon who yelled at Ava for her reckless behavior, your head turned towards your left to see Jay by your side, one of his hands was cradling your head while the other removed hair from your face. You turner your head towards the right where Sunghoon was still going off on Ava, her shoulders slumped as she tried to reason out, "I thought it would be fun-"

"Fun?" Ava's eyes turned towards you, her eyes widening at Jay's sharp tone. He helped you sit up straight, Jake crouching beside you to wrap you in a towel. You shivered, because of the water or Jay's expression, you didn't know. Jay helped you get up and sit down on the chair, your legs trembling slightly. His hand slipped around your waist. "Is this your idea of fun, Ava? She could've gotten into serious trouble if I wasn't swimming near her." You looked at her, wishing to find remorse in her eyes but all you saw was humiliation and anger as she glared at you. She turned around, making her way back into the house.

"I'm so sorry about that, you aren't hurt right?" You shook your head, lips trembling slightly, "I'm fine, just a little shock that's it." Jay nodded at your words, sighing as he took in his surroundings. "You guys go enjoy the party inside, I'll take care of this." He motioned Jake, Heeseung and Sunghoon to lead the crowd back inside. "Take care of yourself, yeah?" Sunghoon requested before going back inside with everyone else. "You aren't responsible for her actions, plus she didn't mean to do it in the wrong way, she's always been like that..." Jay's eyes snapped towards you in lightning speed, "that still doesn't mean what she did was right, you could've gotten seriously hurt." 

You shivered again when the wind passed by you, your head was starting to spin. "I'll bring you some dried clothes, you'll catch fever otherwise," You nodded at his words, your chest and throat aching. Jay lifted your face with his hand on your chin, your breath hitched at the proximity. He slipped on your glasses, adjusting it on your face for you. "Thank you," you mumbled, not daring to say it louder, "I can see you clearly now." Jay laughed, losing his balance on the chair, you extended your hand and he happily grabbed it to balance himself. "I'm glad you can see me now." You laughed with him, amused by everything that unfolded in today's party. 

You were perched on the bench beneath the tree on the university's campus. Scrolling through your phone in search of something to distract you while you wait for your next class to start. You looked up at the tree above you, its green leaves falling upon you inconveniently. You packed your belongings back in your bag, pocketed your phone and remembered you had to borrow some books from the library for research purposes. "You seem to be so at peace after wreaking havoc in my life," you turned towards the source of voice, frowning at the way Ava walked towards you, eyes scrutinizing your presence. "What are you saying?"

"The pool wasn't even that deep, Jay and his friends were swimming in it just fine, why did you have to overreact like that, do you even know how much Jay has been lecturing me about that incident?" Ava huffed as she reached near you, crossing her arms and waiting for your reply as if you were a murderer waiting for your conviction. "They could swim just fine because they knew how to swim, if that's your logic why didn't you jump in the pool? You also don't know how to swim right?" Her expression flattered, hands going on her hips as she scoffed at your words, "you know I care about you, I didn't do it because I wanted to harm you, yet I'm the bad guy here, how would I know you'd end up like that?" 

You rolled your eyes at her words, but the slight pity in your heart for her was overpowering your senses, "why would you even push me there in the first place?" She stomped her leg, pouting at you as if you denied her favorite candy, "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, tell Jay and his friends that you forgave me okay? Bye." You opened your mouth to say something but she was already walking away from you. Finding the boys wasn't very hard considering they spent most of their free time in the music room. You took in a deep breath before you knocked on the door. You pushed open the door, peeking in to see if it was occupied, Jake was the first person your eyes landed on, beside him sat Heeseung, both of them pausing mid-discussion. Sunghoon sat a few feet away, hands on his keyboard and beside him sat Jay, his guitar on his lap.

You stood at the doorway, not exactly sure why you even decided to entertain Ava's idea but you did it, so she won't have another reason to whine at you and also because you wanted to have some reason to be near Jay, even for a while. "Don't stand there looking like a lost puppy, you planning on coming in?" Your internal monologue ended quickly as Heeseung words rang in your ears. You awkwardly shuffled inside, closing the door behind. "Um-" You started, internally criticising yourself for not thinking through before you entered. Your eyes wandered towards the boys sitting in the room, four pairs of eyes, all focused towards you. 

"Come sit here pretty," blush rose upon your cheeks as Sunghoon pointed towards the empty chair beside Jay, you nodded sheepishly, and made yourself comfortable. You were about to start saying something when your eyes landed on them, everyone just went back on doing what they were doing previously like you weren't present there at all, your brows furrowed in confusion and you wondered if you should say what you wanted to say or just slip out of the room. "Guys-" And just like that, everyone's attention was back on you, "yeah?" Jake urged you to continue and you shifted in your seat to turn towards Jay.

"I just wanted to say that the pool incident wasn't that big of a deal, things like that happen when you're trying to play pranks with your friends anyway," you laughed awkwardly, "I don't want you to be upset with Ava because of that." There was a brief moment of silence after you finished what you wanted to say, the silent stretching long enough for you to start rambling again, "she's a very good friend, she has always been by my side when I had no one, she can be a bit childish at times but she's sweet at heart-" "Are you trying to tell that to us or yourself pretty?" 

"You, ofcourse." You answered quickly, but fidgeting with your hands was a dead giveaway of your real feelings. Jay put his guitar at his side, sighing once before turning to look at you, "did Ava ask you to do this?" You shook your head no, one hand raising to fix your glasses in place. "I saw you talking with her-" "Oh my God, you did?" "I was lying but you busted your own lie with this one." Your shoulders slumped in defeat, "okay maybe I did come to you because she told me but I was about to do that regardless." You blinked at them, smiling and waiting for them to say something, "you wounded me, we thought you wanted to hangout with us." Your eyes widened at Jake's words, "why would I want to hang out with you guys?"

Heeseung's hand clutched his heart, slouching forward as if it physically pained him to hear that sentence leave your mouth, Jake's hands flew on his mouth, Jay had an amused grin on his face and Sunghoon just smirked, "I'm sorry we aren't cool enough for you to hangout with us pretty.." he laughed watching color drain off your face. "No, it's not like that- I mean- wait you guys- you're twisting the plot, I'm not Regina George!" You sulked slightly, crossing your arms as you watched them topple over laughing at your panicked state, "I just wanted to say that I did not think you guys would want to hang out, since you know...we aren't close, I'm just Ava's best friend."

"You could be my best friend if you want," Jake smiled, throwing an exaggerated wink in your direction, you laugh as he threw his finger hearts. "Seriously though, you're not just Ava's best friend, you're fun on your own okay? Why wouldn't we want to hang out with you, we literally let you in the music room without further interrogating you!" A genuine smile tugged at your face at Heeseung's words, which stretched into a full blown grin when the others nodded their heads in agreement. "And what Ava did was wrong, and she should have apologized to you then and there but she didn't, which was again, very wrong of her." You couldn't bring yourself to deny Sunghoon's words.

Your eyes fell upon Jay who was silent all through this portion of conversation, he sat still, eyes unfocused as he stared ahead, his brows furrowed. You could tell he was listening but had his mind somewhere else, "Jay?" Your soft voice brought him back from his thoughts, he looked into your eyes, "Let's just move past this, guys..." and no one could bring themselves to debate with you further. "It's my birthday in two weeks, we're planning a trip, I was hoping you'll join us.." You pointed your index finger towards yourself, as if anyone inviting you for their birthday was something you had only thought of in your luxury dreams list, Sunghoon gave you a deadpan look, "who else?" Yeah that gave you the answer you were looking for. 

The trip to Jay's birthday arrived more quickly than you could decipher. Jake informed you that the trip was more like a staycation on Jay's vacation home, from the moment you arrived at Jay's vacation home you knew you've stepped into something exquisite. The gated driveway winds through lush green gardens until the villa reveals itself, the sleek architecture, coastal elegance and everything about it screams luxury. As Jay pushed open the grand double doors, you're greeted by high vaulted ceilings, polished marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling glass panels that blur the line between indoors and the shimmering ocean beyond, you could hear Ava gasp from where she was standing beside you, Heeseung just chuckled, nudging you to go forward. 

The scent of the ocean lingered in the air, and Jay informed everyone about their sleeping arrangements. "Everyone gets their own room?" Jake chuckled at your bewildered, stepping closer to help you put the luggage in your room. You made your way through the open-living room plan towards the first floor where your room would be. You, Heeseung and Sunghoon would be sleeping on the first floor whilst Jake, Jay and Ava would be on the ground floor. When everyone was done checking out the interior, your footsteps took you towards the exterior of the house, where the real magic lied. 

A pathway of natural stone leads directly to the secluded beach. The sand is soft, untouched and the water crystal clear. There was not a single soul in sight, only the rhythmic lull of waves and the occasional cry of a distant seagull. "Wow, baby! This is literal heaven," your eyes wandered towards Ava who was now clinging onto Jay's arms like he would disappear if she let go. He smiled back at her, ruffling her hair as he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. You looked away, towards the beach where waves crashed into the shore in a gentle kiss. Your chest tightened, a small frown appearing on your face unintentionally. "You good pretty?" Sunghoon nudged your shoulders with his, his gaze trained towards the serene beauty in front of his eyes. "Yes I am-" "Let's see the beach from up front," before you could reply to Sunghoon you felt yourself getting dragged towards the beach by Ava, Jay shouting behind you to be careful. You looked back, Sunghoon giving you an amused look before retreating his steps back into the villa. 

Jake called you back after sometime, deciding that since it was already late, everyone could eat the dinner and sleep away the exhaustion to properly enjoy tomorrow. Everyone wordlessly agreed, too tired to explore further. Everyone bid their goodbye. You went into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water before you went back into your room, your footsteps light. You poured yourself some water, taking a water bottle with you since you felt too lazy to get out of your room again. You slowly made your way towards the staircase leading towards the first floor when you heard light giggles. Your head turned towards the voices instinctively. 

Jay had Ava backed up against the wall in between their rooms, their limbs tangled together with a quiet urgency. Jay kissed her like he was falling, fast and fearless and she kissed him back like she knew how to catch, but never intended to. Jay's hand moved from her waist to the door handle, opening it and backing Ava into her room. The door clicked shut behind them, and you still stood there, watching, like you always did. You gripped the bottle tightly, heart heavy and hollow at the same time. You made your way inside your room before your tear could manage to escape. The door clicked shut behind you with more force than you intended but you didn't care, not at this moment when the world around you felt like it was caving in. 

"Someone help me with the drinks!" You yelled out to no one in particular as you watched everyone just beeline towards the beach. You put your hand above your head, eyes squinting at the sun. You internally thanked yourself for opting to wear lenses instead, beach and glasses would be a disastrous combination, "let me help you.." You turned towards Jay who slowly made his way towards you. He smiled, taking the box of drinks from your hand and signalling his head towards the lighter box instead. "I would've asked the boys to help with these, you didn't have to help with this." You shook your head, adjusting the box in your hands, "no worries, but if I collapsed right now, tell my parents I died a hero."

Jay's eyebrows rose at your remark, a slight smirk gracing upon his face, "by carrying a box of drinks? How noble. I would crave 'Gone too soon- by a box of Cola' on your tombstone." You huffed a breath, "are you sure we are not hazed? Why does this feel like a punishment?" Jay grinned clearly enjoying your suffering, "I think they went in first to avoid this exact trouble, we were set up." You just shook your head at his words, setting the boxes near each other, Jay ruffled your hair, then Ava called his name and he waved at you before running towards her.

The sun is warm against your skin as you step into the soft sand, the ocean glittering ahead. Around you the world felt lazy and dripped in golden hue but you couldn't shake away the heaviness of your heart. Jake and Sunghoon were already waist-deep in the ocean, calling out the rest of you to join them. Heeseung reclined on a lounge chair, under a fluttering umbrella. Oversized sunglasses perched upon his face as he smirked at the boys playing in the water. Your eyes travelled towards Jay and Ava, who sat a few feet away from you on a shared blanket, their silhouettes framed by the glow of the sun. Ava leaned into him, laughing at something he whispered in her ears. 

You knew it was better to look away, that ignorance was the only choice you had in this situation, but you couldn't bring yourself to do that. But your eyes stayed fixed on the way his fingers gently brush a strand of her hair away from her face, and how she leaned her head on his shoulder like she belonged there and maybe she does. You watched as Jay lay down on his stomach, and Ava on her back, his eyes closed as his hand circled around her waist. You wished you could just walk up to him, sitting beside him as your fingers traced your name on his back, not to claim or to mark but to belong, even just for a fleeting moment. But you don't move, you just watch as she calls his name when he runs off towards the boys to play in the water. 

"You aren't getting spared just because you are busy daydreaming in your own world, pretty." You screamed as you felt Sunghoon pick you up bridal style and run towards the beach as he spoke. "Yah, you know I can't swim." You tried kicking your legs to get him to put you down but there was no real fight in your attacks, "I know, that's why I'll be near you when you play! Trust me pretty." And with that Sunghoon jumped into the water with his still in his arms. Jake and Heeseung joined you two and helped you with splashing water on Sunghoon's face. 

"You're doing good pretty, just hold onto me tight." Your hands were on Sunghoon's shoulder while he had his on your waist as he guided you deeper into the ocean. You shrieked when you couldn't feel anything beneath your feet and his hold tightened around you, his arms now circling around your waist as he pulled you close. Jay watched both of you pinch Sunghoon's ears for his clumsy actions, something twisted low in his stomach and he couldn't explain why watching you both play together made his fingers tighten around Ava's waist. "Jay, it hurts." His attention went back to his girlfriend who looked at him with a questioning gaze, he shook his head, his fingers soothing the skin on her waist as a silent apology. 

"Alright, it's enough for the day, let's get back to have dinner." Your head turned towards Heeseung's voice, you walked up to him, others following close behind. "Had your fun?" He asked, one of his eyebrows arching as he spoke, you nodded your head as both of you fell into a casual conversation. "Okay how about we split the chores?" Ava groaned as Sunghoon's suggestion, clearly displeased. She leaned her weight on Jay, blinking up at him as she pouted, "I'm too tired to help..." Sunghoon scoffed unintentionally and Jake's coughed in his elbow to mask his laughter. "You just laid there on the beach and did nothing but you're tired?" Jay threw a glance at Sunghoon, clearly intending to make him shut up, then he looked at you, his eyes soft, "both of you go rest, we will call when everything's ready okay?"

Ava lit up, reaching up to kiss his cheek she ran inside the house and into her room, without a single glance towards the mess everyone was left with. You heard Jake sigh softly beside you, looking at the mess, hands on his hips. You stepped closer, bumping your hips with his, "how about Jay and Heeseung take care of cooking, Sunghoon can take care of collecting the empty drink bottles and both of us will clear the garbage?" He grinned at you, clearly pleased with your suggestion when Jay's voice cut through the air, "we will handle it, you should go and rest, you helped earlier too." You shook your head at his words, "I want to help, so please let me, and the more people are helping the sooner this will be over." You smiled as you pushed Jake towards the cleaning supplements to get started. 

"Wow this took longer than we thought," you straightened your back, nodding your head at Jake's complaints. The sun had set and the moonlight casted a soft glow on the ocean. The streetlights were turned on and everything looked straight out of a movie. "We're done with dinner!" You looked at Jake who mirrored your smile, "first one to reach the kitchen is the loser!" You said as you ran towards the kitchen, Jake followed close behind as he complained about you getting a headstart. You laughed when he reached the kitchen first, giving Heeseung a jumpscare when he bumped into him. You laughed at his proud face, enjoying yourself more than you thought when Jay's voice cut in, "Ava's still sleeping, I'll bring her dinner later, let's get fresh and then we will eat."

Dinner was spent with Sunghoon and Jay's bickering while Heeseung just laughed at his friend's banter. Laughter echoed over clinking cutlery, voices overlapping and plates passing with casual affection. "I literally said the first person to reach the kitchen is the loser." Sunghoon laughed loudly at Jake's bewildered face, his eyes round and big as he looked at you, "you're so mean.." You reached out and ruffled his head, cooing at his whiny self, "your fault for not listening properly." He slumped against the chair, giving you faux glasses as other's made fun of him. 

"We're sleeping early?" Jay questioned when everyone started complaining about being tired, a gentle frown etching on his face as he looked at you all. Sunghoon nodded his head, "Ava hasn't eaten since afternoon, so feed your girl, we will sleep too now, all the cleaning is finally creeping up on me." Heeseung, Jake and you religiously nodded, making Jay sigh as he prepared a plate for Ava and made his way into her room. "Let's get the cake and other things ready, I believe he will be occupied enough till we get things done," Heeseung whispered as soon as the door clicked shut behind Jay and everyone started preparing for the birthday boy's surprise. 

"Okay, I believe we are ready, are we ready?" Jake whispered, box of cake in his hands, beside him stood Heeseung and Sunghoon who had party poppers in their hands. You were given the responsibility to record the moment. You focused the camera on the cake, then slowly backing away to capture all three of them in a single shot. You softly giggled looking at them, a big grin plastered on your face as you recorded them. All four of you were wearing birthday hats, and you couldn't help but coo at how cute the three boys looked. In one of your hands were two birthday hats, one of them extra large since it was meant for Jay. You looked at the timing, signalling them it was time for all of you to huddle outside Ava's room. 

You knocked on the door, waiting patiently for Jay to open it. You wondered if giving Jay a surprise while Ava wasn't involved in it was a good idea or not but the plan to surprise was spontaneous, the one which you made while you were cleaning, later Sunghoon informed Heeseung about it when he found him alone. Ava never got out of her room, so you figured it wasn't anyone's fault she wasn't involved. Your heart drummed against your ribs, mind swirling with thoughts that if you catch them in their intimate moments, you couldn't bring yourself to handle that scene again. But all your thoughts flew out of your mind when the door swung open and Jay emerged from the door looking confused. 

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY JONGSEONG!!!" All four of you screamed, confetti flying everywhere as Jay laughed, completely amused at the little surprise his friends pulled. Sunghoon took the large hat from your hand and placed it neatly on Jay's head. Ava emerged from the room, her hair messy and she was barely awake. You passed the phone to Heeseung and placed one hat on her head. Jay cut the cake, and the rest of the night was filled with questions from Jay about the surprise and what all went down while preparing. Heeseung apologized to Ava for excluding her from the surprise as he explained how the plan was spontaneous and no one got any opportunity to approach her. She smiled at him as she waved his concern off, but when the little party was almost over you could feel her mood getting sour as she looked at you. 

You got comfortable on the bed, sighing in relief as your body relaxed. You turned to your side, pulling the blanket closer, you slipped into sleep the moment you closed your eyes, body too drained to resist it. For a while everything around you stilled, the noise, the thoughts, even the time. But after few hours, something stirred, and your eyes blinked open, heart and mind racing. You're half-awake, half-dazed, your body begging you to just go back to sleep. You tried going back to sleep, but it was too late to go back to how it felt before. You got off from the bed and made your way downstairs, maybe Some fresh air would help you with the sleep. 

You stepped out of the villa, the air around you lighter and cooler. You made your way towards the narrow stone path, leading you towards the quiet overlook by the cliffside, where the ocean stretches endlessly below. The sky opened with each step you took, you breathe in the air, the wind gently caressing your body. "What are you doing here this late?" You jumped slightly, heart skipping before your mind caught up but you didn't move. Jay stepped beside you, leaning against the railings of the overlook, his eyes trained on your face as you looked ahead. "Couldn't sleep," you whispered, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment. 

"Something's on your mind?" You finally looked at him, his shirt was slightly crumpled, hair disheveled, his fingers twitched once before he clasped his hands together in stillness, his gaze was hard even though he looked composed from the outside, "you're angry, what happened?" The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up and your lips trembled as he locked his eyes with you. "I'm not angry," he stuttered lightly, clearing his throat and you looked away, biting your lips. "It's Ava right? Wanna talk about it?" He sighed, looking up towards the sky then back at you, contemplating whether he should talk to you about it or not.

"She got angry at me since she couldn't wish me at sharp 12..." You eyes widened at his words, disbelief gracing your face at the sheer absurdity of the situation, he looked at you, sitting down and motioning you to join him, and when you did, he continued, "I was so shock, she was in a sour mood, she wasn't even looking at me when I tried to approach her so I asked her till she told me why she was acting that way," you silently listened to him, feeling bad that he got into such situation on his birthday, "she has always been like that, there was a time when I didn't pick up her call at 12 AM sharp on my birthday cause I slept and she didn't talk to me whole day," you chuckled lightly. 

"Is laughing your type of coping mechanism? Considering she's your only friend, and she didn't talk with you on your birthday, doesn't that make her a bad friend?" His questions caught you off guard and you coughed to reduce the awkward tension it rose in the air. "She'll come around, Jay." He looked at you like he was trying to search for some answers he knew you wouldn't verbally give him, "can I share something with you?" His voice was soft as he asked you that and you nodded your head, not finding the courage in you to decline his request. "You're the only person I'm sharing this with, I know you're her best friend so you should probably be the last person I'm saying this to, but from the time I've known you, I know there's no one better than you who would understand me...."

You nodded your head at him to continue, he looked around, his shoulders slumping slightly, "I feel like the Ava in front of me is so different from the girl who used to send me letters..." your stomach dropped at his words, you didn't say anything, you kept your face still but your inside twisted but still you forced a hesitant nod, "like she's very sweet, but the kind of person I imagined her to be, the kind of person I fell for is so different from the reality. We have our sweet moments but they don't feel real to me," he played with his fingers, head hung low, "whenever I try to talk to her about the letters she diverts the topic by saying what matters is the present, her letters always used to see through me, I felt seen in those letter, I didn't even have to say anything but her letters told me they understood regardless, but it isn't the same anymore, it feel so unreal."

"Jay," you sighed wondering what words would even bring peace to his heart, you wanted to tell him the truth, that it was you who wrote those letters and not Ava, but you couldn't bring yourself to confess that. "You're her best friend but I keep on complaining about her behavior to you, don't snitch on me," he pointed a finger at you, "please?" You laughed at his actions, "I won't tell her about this, I promise." He looked at you, eyes squinting as if he didn't believe in your words, "pinky promise?" You stretched your pinky finger towards him and his eyes lit up as he hooked his pinky finger with you. 

Jay looked at the ocean in front of him, "relationships are more complicated than I thought they would be." You nudge your shoulders with him to cheer him up a bit, "tell me about it..." you rolled your eyes, standing up and extending your hand to him, the sun would start to rise after sometime and it would be better if you head back so you'd have enough energy to travel back home tomorrow. He held your hand to pull himself up, dusting his pants a bit. Both of you just walked back in without any conversation, the silence more comfortable in between you. "Let's grab something to drink before we go to bed," you nodded, letting yourself be a little bit more selfish for wanting to spend time with him.

The light of the refrigerator drapes a soft glow on his face, highlighting the curve of his sharp jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, his messy hair which somehow still looks perfect to you. And he looks calm, thoughtful even like your heart isn't shattering into pieces right beside him. You took a few steps back, leaning against the counter, pretending to look at something on your phone but your eyes are trained on him. On the way his brows squint slightly to decide which drink to choose, the way he quietly mumbles to himself as if he belongs to a place which is softer, quieter. And you love him. God, you love him. 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, try to tear your eyes from his frame, to have some mercy on your heart. You wish you didn't feel this way, wished you never wrote those letters and kept your love hidden deep in your heart. You wished he would just turn around and look at you like you aren't just his girlfriend's best friend but someone who was actually meant to be his. And he turns around and looks at you, flashing you a quick smile, and it shatters you because it's the kind of smile he gives to everyone, and not the one you're dying to get, the kind he has reserved only for Ava. But you smile back, you pretend like you're not falling apart under refrigerator light for a boy who has no idea what he has gotten himself into. 

He makes his way towards you, now handing you a soft drink and leaning right beside you. He takes a sip, humming lightly as if he hasn't tasted the same drink countless times today. "So," he started, putting the drink on the counter and turning towards you, "did you break up with your boyfriend?" You choked on the drink at his random question before calming yourself, "what boyfriend?" You tilted your head as you waited for him to answer, he just shrugged, "the one who humiliated you in my birthday party some years ago in high school." Your jaw dropped before you could stop it, "you remember that? And it was your birthday party?" 

He nodded his head, finding your reaction amusing, "I was wondering when you'd say something about it but you didn't." You opened your mouth to say something but closed it again when you couldn't find the words, "so did you break up with him?" You nodded your head at him, "yeah, just after I reached home, I broke up with him and never looked back. I realized it after so long that deep down I knew he wasn't treating me right, I just wanted someone else to remind me of that and you did." His eyebrows arched at your words, his lips twitching into a smile, "guess you owe me a big one then," You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder a bit, "in your dreams Jay."

He laughed at your words, now taking both of your drinks and throwing it in the bin, "I'm glad that I met you, I don't think I'd be here if I didn't meet you that day." He smiled softly at your words, turning towards you, he stepped closer, "I'm glad you're here too, I feel so relaxed right now, it's amusing really..." you tilt your head at him, "what's so amusing?" His eyes went back and forth from your face then to the ground a couple of times, wondering if he should say what he wanted to, "hm? Jay?" He sighed, clearing his throat a little bit, "this," he said, waving his hands in between you two, "what's this?" You chuckled, finding his hesitation endearing. "This thing in between us, it feels," you stepped closer, nodding your head at him to continue, "it feels what Jay?" "Real. It feels real." 

"Pretty I feel like Jay's birthday this year is going to be very eventful," you and Sunghoon were sitting on the kitchen island, eating fruits, Ava insisted Jay to spend some alone time with her before you go back home so they were out, Heeseung and Jake were still sleeping. "Why's that?" You questioned as you took a bite of watermelon. "Jay said Ava was upset we didn't involve her in the surprise, which doesn't make sense cause Heeseung apologized for it and gave her genuine reason, right?" You nodded and he continued, "but I believe they got into an argument or something, Jay's been tense but he said that Ava wanted to throw a surprise for him too, all alone, and he agreed because he said it would make her happy."

You hummed in response, knowing well that Ava has a habit of bringing attention towards her in any situation, so it was inevitable that she would ask Jay to do something like that. Surprise for Jay sounded good too, they had been dating for months so she must've had something in her mind. "Let her have her moment, despite the reasons we could've texted her or something but we managed within ourselves so let her show her love towards him the way she wants." Sunghoon nodded, silently agreeing with you as he ate the apple, "I hope everything will go well, she didn't even ask any of us for help," you sighed at his words, praying everything would go well. 

Now you're dressing up for the surprise Ava had planned for Jay, she called everyone to the living room when both of them returned from their little outing and informed everyone to dress up nicely after you reached back home and meet in her parent's house since they were out on a business trip, he seemed quite excited about it. You hoped it would live up to his expectations and not end in yet another argument. You sighed watching yourself in the mirror, one hand holding the glasses while the other the lenses. You put the glasses down deciding lenses would be a great option if Ava or for that matter anyone else thought about pushing you into the pool again, you'd at least be able to see your downfall clearly. 

You asked Ava if she needed your help and she just shrugged, declining your offer and throwing a snarky comment at you, something along the lines of, "wouldn't want anyone else to take credit for what I am going to do for him." And you just hummed, not wanting to trigger her more by reminding her that of course she'd fear someone else taking credit given that she has done the same to date Jay. Those words sounded very rich coming from her, the hypocrisy was astonishing. You texted Sunghoon the address of Ava's parent's house and asked him to forward it to the other boys. 

Your eyes fell upon the clock, and you grabbed your things, booking a cab and texting Sunghoon that you'd reach the house in 20 minutes. He texted a thumbs up emoji, informing you that they would arrive at the house around that time too. You leaned against the car seat, watching the other vehicles pass by you in a rushed blur. Your heart thumped in your chest for some reason and you took a few deep breaths to calm the nerves down. It was inevitable you'd feel anxious, it's all you had been feeling ever since Ava started dating Jay, you were mentally preparing yourself to watch them being all lovey dovey in front of you without having a breakdown yourself. 

You arrive at the house, a small envelope in your hand, the evening sky painted in hues of pink and yellows. When you reached the door of the house, you could hear faint chatter from inside the room. You hesitate, glancing down at the envelope with Jay's name written on it and then back up at the faint lights flashing through the living room's curtains. You frowned, texting Ava about your arrival, you twisted the door open after you got a signal from her and stepped inside. You were still standing near the entrance of the house, the house was pitch dark, but still you could hear some murmurs, more clearer than before. 

The door behind you swung open, the night air brushing your skin as you turned around to find Jay hesitantly step inside, one hand clutching his phone and the other the door. His silhouette was half-hidden in the shadow. Behind him stood Sunghoon, Heeseung and Jake, anticipation etched on their faces. Someone behind you switched on the lights and Jay blinked, first because of the lights and then towards the crowd in front of him. You heard someone gasp from behind you, "Jay is here," and a loud chorus of "SURPRISE" erupted in the previously silence-filled house. Confetti exploded through the poppers, the music volume rising up like inflation. 

Ava's shoulder brushed against yours as she ran towards Jay to hug him, he hugged her back, blinking in confusion. The other three entered the house from the corner, Sunghoon throwing a worried look towards Heeseung who silently hushed him. Jake's eyes locked with yours as he passed by you, then he turned towards his other friends to whisper something. Jay smiled tightly when Ava dragged him towards the mini stage where she kept the cake for him. And his eyes found yours before Ava cupped his cheek to give him a birthday kiss. The music stopped and Ava gathered everyone's attention, "Today's my lovely boyfriend's birthday so first we will cut the cake and then we can continue with the celebration."

Loud cheer erupted at her words, you kept your gift on the corner where everyone else kept theirs and made your way towards the mini stage where others were already present. Ava cheered loudly, a bright smile adorning her face as she took off the cover from the cake, a towering, picture-perfect chocolate cake, glossy with ganache, topped with sparklers and gold-letter candles spelling his name. His smile flattered for a second before he masked it with his politeness. "Ava," he whispered quietly, eyes darting towards the people watching each of his actions in anticipation, "I'm allergic to chocolate." You could see the color drained from Ava's face as she looked around at others. "I ordered a vanilla cake, the bakery may have misplaced my order." She pouted, clinging onto his arms as other people gave her words of sympathy that it's the thought that counts. 

You were sitting on the couch beside Sunghoon, in front of you sat Jay and Ava, the music blasted in your ears, but you could still decipher the conversations going around you. Jay tapped his foot repeatedly against the ground, his shoulders tensed as he took a sip from his cup. "You're repeatedly tapping your foot on the ground, if you wanna dance, you could've just said so, come on, let's dance." You could see Jay froze at her words but didn't really resist when she dragged him towards the dance floor. You watch as Ava laughs, all bright and confident, clearly proud of the party she has thrown. You could see her dress sparkle and sway with her. One of her hands was clasped around Jay's wrist and the other waved the crowd off to make some space for them. 

You could see the way his shoulders sank when he reached the center of the dance floor, the way his eyes were scanning the room, over the crowd as if he was checking the exits. Ava pulled him closed, dancing around him carefree and unbothered. She turned around to face him, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, she leans in for a kiss and he obliges, people cheer around them, flashing on camera making you blind. And he laughed when they pulled apart, hands on her waist as she sways. Your heart tugs a little, with sadness or jealousy you aren't really sure, cause you know Jay prefers to spend his birthday around his loved ones, intimately and not amongst the crowd. You know, because he had mentioned about it in one of his letters. 

"You do realize he is not the one you're supposed to be looking at, right?" You jumped at Sunghoon's voice, "huh? What?" He shook his head as he leaned back on the couch, your eyes following his actions, "Jay," he started, taking a look at him briefly before looking at you again, "you aren't supposed to look at your best friend's boyfriend with that intensity in your eyes, what happened to the girl code?" You choked on the air, rubbing the area just above your chest to soothe your breathing. "I'm not staring at him," you glared, clearly caught off guard by his observation, "yeah and I'm Michael Jackson," you rolled your eyes, leaning against the couch, "you're reaching, I was just looking at them dance together," Sunghoon smirked leaning close to your face, "without blinking? Was their dance that admirable?" 

You groaned throwing your head back, you could hear Sunghoon chuckling at your misery from beside you, "this isn't the first time I saw you staring pretty..." you turned your head slowly in his direction, he smiled lightly, eyes full of emotions or was it the effect of alcohol he was drinking? "Hm?" He sighed, resting his head at the back of the couch, mimicking you, "I saw how you look at him, at the music room, at his house during our celebration, at the villa, at the beach, the time when he served you dinner," your gaze was fixed on his face as he went on and on about all the times he had watch you fawn over your best friends boyfriend. You couldn't bring yourself to deny all his observations, not when he wasn't looking for your approval anyway, he had observed you and was just stating what he saw. 

"Your eyes are so predictable, pretty," He said after he didn't get any response from you and saw you looking away. There was not a single bite in his words, he didn't accuse or blame you for being a bad friend. Your eyes met his again, you couldn't find any sharpness, or any judgement, just softness, like he understood where you were coming from without you having to say anything. Your heart swelled with something you didn't quite understand but felt overwhelmed, "are you always this annoying?" Your words were softer than you intended them to be, and he just smirked, putting his hand on your shoulder, "only when I'm onto something." You sighed but didn't resist his embrace, "you're not onto something, Jay's my best friend's boyfriend." His other hand made its way towards yours to play with your bracelet, "he is, that doesn't mean you wish things were different though." You let me play, eyes lingering on the veins of his hands for a second too long, "I didn't say that," "You didn't have to."

"Where did they go?" Your eyes followed Sunghoon's line of vision, "probably in Ava's room to make out or something," you mumbled quietly but he caught that, "you're not going to sit here and sulk," he said grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, "no girl gets to stand beside me and feel like a loser, that shit is reserved only for boys." You wanted to say something but decided against it when you couldn't think of anything smart to say. He dragged you towards the dance floor, his hands circling around your waist, he abruptly pulled you close, your hands grabbing his shoulders in response. "Focus on me tonight, who knows, tomorrow you might forget who Jay is." 

You rolled your eyes at him, hands now comfortably resting around his neck as both of your bodies swayed with the rhythm of music. The night had stretched on, the music settling to something slow and soft. One of his hands slid up to rest against your back, while the other rested snugly on your waist. His actions pulled your body closer to his, from this distance you could count all the moles that were scattered across his face, the curve of his lashes, the point of his nose, and his lips. You gulped, feeling heat rise up in your body at the proximity. You tried looking away but he held you in place with his gaze. You were sure he could hear your heartbeat from how close you were. 

One of his hands lifted, his movements slow and deliberate as he looked at your face for any signs of discomfort, his knuckles grazed your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered close and you leaned into his touch. His breath hitched, taking shallow breaths his hand now cradled your cheek, fully, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. You sighed softly, leaning more into his touch as if leaning felt safer than speaking. You felt him inch closer, your nose barely grazing against his, you could smell him, the faint scent of detergent which lingered on his shirt, his shampoo, and something so achingly Sunghoon. Your breath flattered, syncing with his, for a moment both of you just breathed each other in.

His lips meet yours, softly, no urgency, no rush, like he's taking his time to learn the curve of your lips, a little hesitant, like he was giving you time to back out if you want. It was the kind of kiss that communicated his soft sighs and gasps, one that lingers at the back of your mind even after years. His thumb caressed your cheek, his actions meant less for comforting you and more for anchoring himself and for a moment everything single thought from your mind disappeared. Then his thumb suddenly froze mid-motion, he pulled away slightly, enough to look at your face. "You're crying pretty..." your eyebrows furrowed at his words and you opened your eyes, his thumb caught another tear which fell from your eyes but he didn't press further.

"I'm sorry..." you choked, unable to comprehend the reason behind your tears. You wanted to kiss him, and you did, but you couldn't figure out why the tears started to flow. The hand on your cheek, slid up to the back of your neck and he pulled close. You buried your head at the crook of his neck. "It hurts so bad, hoon." You aren't even sure where it hurts badly, Ava's lie, or watching her living the life you only imagined in your dreams, or the fact that even if Jay knew it was you, it wouldn't have bloomed into something so precious. "Shh, everything will be okay, you don't have to pretend in front of me." His fingers tangled in your hair as he drew soothing circles on your head. You nodded your head, pulling away a little from his embrace and from the corner of your eyes you saw Jay furiously walking down the stairs, his shoulders tense. 

"Sunghoon," you pulled away from him and he brushed the remaining of the tears with both of his hands, "Jay." You pointed your finger towards his figure, he shoved people who came into his path, his steps hurried and faze fixed on the main door of Ava's house, "follow him," Sunghoon nudged you in Jay's direction, your face contoured into confusion, "but shouldn't Ava be going after him?" He ran his hand through his hair as he watched Jay near the door, "something tells me he needs you more than he'll need Ava at this moment." You looked at him for a second, letting his words sink deep inside you, after a while you nodded at his direction and turned around to run towards Jay. 

Sunghoon watched as your hand slipped away from him, the same hand which he had intertwined with yours a few moments back. He watched it all, the way the tip of your finger slid against his one last time, like sand slipping from his palm, the way your lips trembled when you turn away, the urgency in your steps when you try your best to move through the crowd to reach Jay, and his hand tremble beside him. His other hand lifted up to trace the lingering memory of your lips pressing against it. And when he recalled the way your lips moved against his and how he tasted the salty taste of your tear before catching a sight of it, he wondered if that's what heartbreak tastes like. Like a kiss dipped in honey, ruined by the sting of salt you never meant for him to find.

[mrsjjongstby]

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