The cold onshore breeze blows right through his sweater and he looks away with his lashes closed to keep out the salty sting. His long bangs mindlessly falls to his eyes, obscuring his sight as the dampness of the sand under his feet seeps into his jeans. It’s been an hour or two since class ended and his mother will surely freak out if he doesn’t return her messages that are already flooding his inbox, however the thought of going back home doesn’t sound too appealing. That stepfather of his is probably drunk to the core as he complains about how tiresome it is to support the family and pay for the bills before he decides to throw the empty bottle of soju onto the floor.

He can hear the waves lapping like the ticking of an old clock; calm yet loud. Out of nowhere, a sweet aroma of roses wafts through the cool air followed by the flickering of the streetlights like an old movie reel. Far in the distance, he sees no more than a black outline of an almost-man against the charcoal sky and goosebumps immediately creeps up on his back as soon as the silhouette shifts to its left; almost as if it’s swaying like the shadows of the trees. Feeling utterly creeped out, the raven-haired boy quickly leaves the beach, the sand under his feet shifting with every step he takes.

Thoughts of his mother staring at him with fatigue as he enters the house infiltrates his mind and a deep sigh escapes from his chapped lips. What kind of lie will he give to his mother this time? Will he lie that he was studying at library? Or he was held back due to discussions about his assignments? They don’t sound pretty convincing to him. Should he just come clean and confess to his mother how awful their life is and he wants to move the hell out of the house so he won’t have to deal with the pig aka his stepfather? Maybe he should have said that 2 years ago when the elder started behaving so crudely after being found out he was wasting money on gambling.

Stopping his gloomy train of thoughts, the boy glances up at the lamppost -a few feet away- flickering eerily on the pavement. The sound a defined crunch of footsteps against the cracks of the pavement from behind causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at the end and he frowns when the flickering stop, only to be replaced by the orange glow growing brighter to the point it almost looks like it is about to flame up.  Another crunch comes, this time lighter and slower as if the maker of the noise is trying to be quieter. Feeling anxious of the situation, he shoves his hands into his pocket, eyes glued on his feet as he takes large strides along the pavement. 

Five minutes in and he can still hear the sound of footsteps behind him, much lighter to the point you won’t even notice someone is walking behind you if you aren’t aware. With every large strides he takes, the person behind him does the same and at times he slows down just to see if the person will turn into a corner or walk past him. They never once does. With his fingers curled into sweaty fists, the boy gingerly glances over his shoulder to take a look at the person behind him, however when all he sees is a dark silhouette, an alarm blares inside his head; run.

Before he knows it, he’s running down the street his heart pounding and his panicked breath sounding like a thunder in his ears. The boy can barely hear the footsteps behind him, but he can feel someone right behind him. He can hear the groan of frustration and fear doubles in his system and all he can think of is, Please let me live. He throws himself into the alleyway with hopes of taking a shorter route home and possibly losing the chaser. His footsteps echo sharply in the dark and narrow alley dimly lit by the streetlamps at the end of the passage. Without warning, a dark shadow looms over him and his scream squeaks through as he is slammed against the bricked walls.

Cold fingers slither their way around his neck and the weight on his shoulders disappears concurrently, replaced with sore and pain. A choked ‘stop’ escapes from his lips when the fingers tighten their hold with the tip of the nails digging painfully into the boy’s skin. The sound of rumbling growl causes the boy to freeze for a moment before he begins to struggle with fear grappling him. With his fists clenched, he throws his punches and kicks at his chaser yet none of them seem to affect the latter and instead, only makes the man let out a low hiss of warning. “Don’t struggle.” The latter speaks, his voice low yet raspy as if he is parched. “It’ll only hurt more if you struggle.” He chuckles, deep and rich.

“Please don’t hurt me.” The boy begs, tears pooling his eyes as he feels the air barely entering his lungs with how tight the hold around his neck is. His chaser chuckles one more time before he leans his face closer and that is when the boy has his gaze locked on the latter’s eyes. He can’t believe his eyes. He doesn’t want to anyway. He never sees something like that even in his worst nightmares. The adrenaline flows over his veins, but he can’t move a single muscle. Not even to scream. The person in front of him looks at him with slight boredom, raises his heavy eyelids and stares at his prey through bloody red eyes. The horror completely paralyses the boy and he feels more discouraged at the thought of escaping as he is utterly terrified of what he’s seeing.

A tremor runs down his spine when his head is slightly turned to the side and his heart rate rises at the feeling of the latter’s fangs grazing over his neck. The boy’s breath hitched when the razor teeth slices through the skin without resistance, penetrating deep into the flesh of his neck. With his blood drawn out mercilessly, the boy takes on a pale look; almost resembling a whitewashed picture. Then nausea creeps from his abdomen to his head and the world goes black.

 

 

The man stands frozen in place, only the movement of its transparent hair gives away that it is not some brilliant halloween decoration. After a moment of indecision the boy takes a half step backward with plans of getting out of the room, however the door slams shut; ultimately blocking his way out. Collapsing to the floor, the raven-haired boy clamps his hands over his ears afore to one of them sliding down to his neck at the feeling of liquid trickling down. With shaky breath, he raises his hand up to his eyes and it comes bloody; scarlet red liquid trickling down.

 

 

“Youngjae!”

The said boy awakes without warning, eyes flung so wide each iris is a perfect orb of sweet chocolate. His eyes take in the morning light trickling in through the binds and his rapid breathing slowly comes to a steady rhythm. The remnants of last night dream is still fresh in his mind and he grasp for the warmth of his covers before he eventually gets out of bed and let his legs dangle above the wooden floor. Something doesn’t feel right. Letting his eyes roam the room, Youngjae wraps an arm around himself when confusion sinks in. What actually happened last night? Was it all just a dream? The beach, the streetlamps, the silhouette and- nausea overwhelms him and he falls to his knees, clamping a hand over .

“Youngjae!”

His mother’s voice resounds before the door to his room slams open. She stands by the door, an enraged look marred on her face and her hand on her hip; emphasizing her agitation. “Why didn’t you tell me you came home last night? Where did you go? Do you know how worried I was?!” She scolds, nearing her son who is still on his knees, barely responding to the elder. “Youngjae..?” She calls again, a little softer this time after noticing Youngjae’s shaking form. “Are you okay?”

“I just don’t feel too well.” Youngjae muffles, taking deep breathes and exhaling shakily. His mother bends down and places a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles.

“You’re sweating buckets.” She points out, grabbing Youngjae’s arm and hoisting the boy up to his feet. “What were you up to last night..” She sighs while walking the boy to the bathroom. “Take a shower first. I’ll bring something warm for you to eat. Don’t go to bed before that.”

“What about class?”

“With that condition, I doubt you’ll be able to focus in class.” She says before shutting the door close and heads for the kitchen to prepare some food. Youngjae on the other hand can only blink, his thoughts still a surging perplexity. He strips down and steps into the shower, turning the water on; releasing thousands of lukewarm drops that darkens his hair and trails down his back. His eyes fall close over and over again, each time showing him the images like photographs. There is no way it was just a dream and considering the fact that his mother just stomped all the way up to his room with anger; questioning him about his whereabouts yesterday..he is certain it was not a dream. Yet it seems impossible for.. for a vampire- god even saying the word in his mind sounds ridiculous -to exists.

When his legs threaten to buckle, Youngjae leans against the cool tiles- slightly shivering at the feeling of something cold touching his back. Eventually, he leaves the bathroom and tiredly puts on a new change of clothes. His mother returns a few minutes after with a bowl of porridge and a glass of water in her hands. She places them on the bedside table and approaches her son with worry. “You look pale.”

“The beach.” Youngjae says subconsciously, eyes fixed as if he’s looking at something a yard behind his mother who sighs.

“So that’s where you went? You didn’t answer my calls, my messages and didn’t even bother telling me you came home. I only found out you’re home since your shoes are messily lying at the door. You went to bed without changing and woke up feeling unwell. What did you even do at the beach?” His mother questions in one breath.

“I..” Dropping his eyes to the bedsheets, he feels a headache coming as he tries to figure out just what the hell happened yesterday. Before he can utter a word, his mother hands him the food and goes through his closet, pulling out a thick brown blanket and dropping it beside him.

“Finish the food first before taking a rest. We don’t have any medicines at home so I’ll head to the pharmacy on my way to the market.” Youngjae watches his mother pulls the curtains and windows open before leaving the room. Glancing at the porridge in his hands, nausea washes over him and he gingerly puts the bowl back on the bedside table, cringing at how his temple is pounding before he lies down. Pulling his phone out from under the pillow, the boy swipes a finger over the screen. He has a message from his friend -which he is lazy to reply-, asking where he is since the class is about to start in half an hour followed by other dozens of messages from his mother yesterday.

Vampires.. He thinks and stares at the safari icon for a moment before tapping it, quickly googling about the term. There is a Wikipedia website about vampires, a row of pictures of vampires below it followed by more links related to vampires, yet only one thing catches his attention; ‘Are vampires real or fake’.  His thumb is hovering over the question, debating whether he should proceed and click it or just exits the tab because he’s starting to feel ridiculous searching about mythical creatures. In the end, he clicks it anyway, snorting to himself at the expected answer.

Vampires, as they're represented in legends and mythologies, are not real.

Clearly. He thinks and returns to the previous page, mindlessly scrolling through the rest of the link. Do vampires really exist? Although these truths are present and conclusive, many will still believe in the undead who come back to drain the blood from unsuspecting victims. As pure belief is a strong driving force, facts are not always accepted by the masses. Facts are not always accepted. The five words are repeated in his head before he finally decides to give the topic a rest. Shutting his phone off, Youngjae unfolds the blanket his mother placed on the bed and throws it over himself. He burrows his nose under the blanket and blankly stares at his own fingers.

It's all just a dream. There’s no way vampires exist. He was probably too tired and started imagining stuff before he decided to finally return home. That must be it. He thinks that must be it, yet the fact he can’t remember how he got home bothers him so much. If he drank something yesterday, then surely his clothes would’ve stunk. Groaning out loud, Youngjae shuts his eyes; forcing himself to just fall asleep and not think about the odd situation anymore. “Just forget about it.”

 

∞

 

Youngjae massages his throbbing temples as he glances at the flash card in his hand. He has three days before quiz day and he doesn’t even know if he can cramp everything into his head. He blinks rapidly and presses his forehead onto the card, as if that can imprint it in his memory. He leans back in his chair and glances at the ceiling before forcing his gaze back down to the table, stifling a yawn. A single figure enters the library and Youngjae quirks an eyebrow up as a sign of acknowledgement. He props an arm on the table and waits for his friend to come- the latter throwing a small smile as he pulls a chair and sits down. “You look tired.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“What question?” Youngjae feigns confusion, shoving his stuff into his bag and stands up. He slings his bag over his shoulder and picks his flash cards up afore to leaving the library with his friend catching up on him from behind.

“You didn’t answer my text yesterday, Youngjae. You haven’t told me why you missed classes yesterday either.” The latter states, eyes trained on Youngjae.

“Himchan, you sound like an obsessed boyfriend.” Youngjae snickers. They make their way through the crowded hallway and Youngjae almost cringe at the sight of a couple making out on the left side of the hallway and flinches when he feels a brush of cold air by his ear. Turning around, he sees a blue striped paper plane gracefully gliding through the air before sliding across the tiled hall; stopping with its pointy nose against the wall. “I wasn’t feeling well, that’s all.” Youngjae says once they are away from the crowd.

“That wasn’t so hard to tell, was it?” Himchan scoffs, nudging Youngjae in the ribs out of annoyance.

“I wasn’t in the mood to tell you.” Youngjae jokes and instantly sidesteps from getting hit on the back. The hall walls are bare, the windows are large and tall and the velvet red seats are barely occupied by students. In the corner of the room, a group of boys wearing large circular black-rimmed glasses, snort loudly as they laugh while wheezing constantly and Youngjae thinks their laughter resemble a donkey braying. As he walks up the fleet of stairs, a strange sensation breezes by followed with fleeting whispers and he abruptly turns around, catching his friend by surprise.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah..” He mutters, putting a hand over his ear. That felt really weird. Sighing to himself, Youngjae proceeds to his choice of seat, dropping his bag at the empty spot beside him. He sees crumpled notes under the desk and lazily picks it up with the thought of throwing them out after class ends. With his chin resting on his arm, Youngjae’s eyes flicker from one student to another. Minhyuk has a shock of pink hair, Jinyoung is busy drumming the desk with his hands as he bops to the music he’s listening and Yooa is flicking the peeled tape from her desk as she attentively listens to her friend rambles. Youngjae thinks her friend is indeed rambling because he can list down all the times he has walked past them and hear the other girl give a long ramble. Someone should give Yooa an award for being able to tolerate.

Sooner than he expects, their lecturer finally walks in looking as inspired as a used teabag; the dark circles around her eyes looking far more obvious than a couple of days ago. He remembers when Mrs. Lee once showed them a picture of her during her twenties. In the picture, she was casual- but smartly dressed in jeans, a hipster jacket and a neck scarf. Her long black hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and her makeup was like a touch of spring. Now, her face looks more like potpourri, dried and somewhat leathery. Her hair is now a practical short length and for the most part silvery white. In one way or another, she reminds Youngjae of how his mother have changed over the years.

An hour into the lesson and Youngjae is starting to feel himself losing focus. The writings on the whiteboard looks like blurry scribbles done by a child. Mrs. Lee’s voice is gradually slipping away from his consciousness and he is trying his best not to doze off by doodling in his notebook. Sighing to himself, Youngjae drops his pen and casually stares out of the window. If everything else in the hall is only making him feel sleepy then maybe looking at something outside of the hall will wake him up a bit.

The sky is blue with just a few stratus clouds making their unhurried way across, the sun is still a friendly ball of yellow above, promising more heat as the day progresses and even without earphones his head plays a jazz concert with sweet saxophone. It looks so nice to be outside. Why of all days must he gets stuck in closed up rooms today. Just as he is about to look away he sees a figure standing right under a tree, statue-like in a loose black silk shirt with leather cuffs and black trousers. Their skin looks whiter than milk with hair that matches the black ink. Squinting his eyes, Youngjae feels a sense of familiarity bubbling up inside him the longer he stares and when the male looks away; dark eyes glinting with something incomprehensible- Youngjae flinches back as a feeling of dread overwhelms him.

He remembers that face. No matter how much he wants to deny it, he knows that face.

At the sound of excited murmurs, Youngjae’s stare wavers and he jumps in his seat when a weight falls on his shoulder. Turning around, he sees Himchan looking at him while wearing a puzzled expression at the response he gets just from touching his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve been fidgety since the class started. Are you okay?” Himchan questioned, genuinely worried for his friend’s wellbeing.

“Um-“ Turning back around, he no longer sees anyone outside except for the vast thick spring grass and swaying trees. “I’m good..” He finally says, blinking repeatedly as if he’s trying to wash away his imagination as he packs his stuff. Himchan says nothing else, but he has his eyes on Youngjae the entire time they make their way to the cafeteria, while they’re eating and on their way to their next class. The former isn’t particularly bothered by the action- carrying himself throughout the whole day normally with his mind full of thoughts of the earlier situation. Time elapses and the sun gradually sinks lower in the sky. The light of day is draining away and the air outside becomes cooler.  Before he knows it, he’s sitting in the library with his eyes half-lidded and his head resting on the folded pages of his book. He imagines his mother preparing dinner and his stepfather coming home from work with a sour look on his face as the elder realizes his life probably won’t get any better if he stays with Youngjae and his mom any longer.

Youngjae doubts his stepfather never once thought of just divorcing his mother. Sitting up, Youngjae stares at his book blankly before he decides to call the day off. He should just go home and take a warm shower and maybe revise a little bit more for his quiz before going to bed. In the act of returning the books to the bookshelf he took them from, the raven-haired boy feels the hair on the back of his nape stands and he stills for a second- scanning the whole library for a moment. He sees nothing and shakes his head. Maybe he’s just been studying too much. When the light above him suddenly flickers does he realizes he’s the only one in the library minus the librarian sitting behind the counter. An eerie feeling creeps up behind him and Youngjae quickly shoves the book to its place and hurries out of the library.

Once he is out of the building, he can feel something isn’t right. He has no idea what or why, but he just can’t shake the feeling off. Looking at his surrounding, he barely notices how the trees isn’t swaying to the music of the wind-as if they are tensed with nerves for what is to come. The stillness of the air seems to even the sound of his footsteps. Fixing his bag strap, Youngjae quickly walks out of the gate, giving the guard a quick bow as he rushes out. He doesn’t feel good for unknown reasons. Beads of sweat are forming on his forehead and his breath hitches when pain surges up his neck. Breathing heavily, Youngjae leans against the wall as he gasps for breath, eyes squeezed shut and a hand over his neck.

This doesn’t feel good. He winces on the inside. The pain has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at his stomach. There's nausea too, just enough to make him hold onto the wall for support. Surely, he isn’t that far from the university so if he calls for help, the gate guard might hear him. Just when he is about to do so, a rustle from his left catches his attention and his eyes flicker to the source. In that instant, his body goes rigid and he holds his breath at the sight of a male under a dimly lit lamppost. In a normal situation, a person would’ve asked for help at the sight of the nearest person, but what stands across him looks nowhere near humane- with his glinting round dark eyes and overly snow white skin. Youngjae stays perfectly still, almost straining his ears to listen to the sound of light footsteps of the male, which has muted the pounding of his pulse. It’s suffocating, he thinks as he finds himself unable to speak due to fear spiking in seconds.

“Don’t scream.” He hears. The voice is low and soft but with authority and powerful enough to send chills through his body. Youngjae doesn’t need the latter to tell him that considering the fact the fear he’s experiencing is strong enough to shut him up. His eyes widen the slightest bit when the male advances, the distance between them shortening before Youngjae finds himself standing face to face with the other male. A sickly sweet smell alike to roses invades Youngjae’s sense and he releases a shaky breath as fingers make their way around his neck. They aren’t grasping yet it feels that way. “If you want to live, don’t scream. Don’t do anything.”

What do you want from me. Youngjae questions on the inside, his eyes flickering from the male’s face to the ground as nausea builds up within him. “What are you?” The other male questions, his voice laced with genuine confusion as he tilts his head to the side with a frown marred on his face. Youngjae scoffs on the inside because he should be asking that instead. Flinching back, Youngjae trembles when the latter nuzzles their nose at his jaw while leaving fluttering yet cold touches along his neck. The pain gradually subsides and Youngjae feels his head clearing up a bit and out of reflex he slaps the latter’s hand away whose eyes widen with surprise. “What the ?”

“HE-MMFFF” Youngjae struggles as a hand is clasped over , preventing his voice and possibly a scream for help from coming out. He throws a sloppy kick, aiming for the other male’s abdomen, but the male easily evades the kick. A smirk surfaces on the latter’s lips before he pushes away Youngjae’s leg with a flick of his wrist, but Youngjae isn’t done yet. He thinks he isn’t when he throws a punch as blood hums in his vein without thinking twice. The pain that blazes up his arm as his fist connects with the other male’s jaw has Youngjae wincing accompanied by a small muffled cry. “mfumkm.” He curses and watches the latter stills after the attack.

The approaching footsteps leads Youngjae to scream for help as he scratches the hand clamped over that won’t budge, even after the punch. His body can’t even find enough strength to pushes him off the wall. “Tsk.” Bewildered, Youngjae pours all his energy into struggling while the other male rubs his jaw with a clear irritated expression looming over his face. “I fucʞing told you not to do anything.” He growls, moving so fast that Youngjae can’t see anything but a blur trail of shadow disappearing into the darkness.

Youngjae’s breath seems to stutter in his lungs before he lets it go, feeling the sense of fear drained out of his body. His breathing returns to normal and then his legs gently fold as he slides down against the wall; eyes glued onto the ground. A flash of light momentarily blinds Youngjae before the footsteps stop right beside him. “Boy? What are you doing down there?” His voice is coarse like fragmented rock grinding against each other and he smells of cigarettes which Youngjae hates the most, but just for now he feels it comforting after the event a minute ago.

His brain formulates no thoughts other than to register that he is shocked. He closes , then looks at his shoes before glancing back up to catch the guard’s eyes. "I think I'll go now.” He says, standing up on a pair of shaking legs. Without another word, he walks away- rather robotically which makes the guard look at him with a puzzled look before he too walk away; returning to his station.

Youngjae refuses to believe what just happened. He refuses to accept the fact what happened last two nights was real. He refuses to accept anything related to ing vampires because they aren’t supposed to be real. That man must be a person who thirsts for blood, that’s all. He read this one blog where it says there are people who self-identify themselves as vampires simply because they love drinking blood although they are humans. Yes, that must be it. He convinces himself that is the answer even when he’s in bed. He convinces himself that is the answer even in his dream where he is trapped in a ruined wooden house, painted gray by the moonlight as blood trickles down his neck while the man stands in front of him- his eyes, a gleaming red and boring holes in Youngjae’s head. 

word count : 4712

Was that too fast? Was it bad... I don't know anymore. It's been a while since I last wrote a chaptered fic or something like that.
I don't plan on making a long chaptered fic though. I consider it as a one shot, but by breaking them into parts lol.
I'm sorry if it  

I tried my best *squeaks*