The first person who finds out is Wendy.

Somewhere between biweekly meetings in that coffee shop down by the alley, right beneath the apartment her friend shares with a certain lycanthrope, she notices—no, she practically smells—something strange.

It takes a moment for her nose to pinpoint the scent, taking the time to observe and mull over her surroundings. It isn’t that of an object; wholly different to the earthy scent of the coffee makers down by the counter, the scent of fresh bagels wafting down from the kitchen—it smelled and felt more real, oddly familiar. As though it is the scent of another being.

Irene’s in the middle of telling Wendy how Joy can’t make it to this evening’s coven gathering. Apparently, Yeri had drunk too much of the wrong blood type the other night, and Joy has to stay at home and nurse the unfortunate invalid. Somewhere far off, amidst Wendy’s sniffing, her ears pick up on a watch beeping, signaling the beginning of a new hour.

Someone is descending the stairs with a series of uneven footsteps and coordinated leaps. Wendy can hear the sound of heavy breathing, and the scent she’s been smelling—

“I’m going to be late!” Seulgi bursts out, bags flying and arms akimbo, expertly weaving between customers and patrons as she makes her way to the glass entryway. Her hair bounces up and down in a loose bun, and just when Wendy thinks she’d head right off, she veers to the right, and then she is in front of their table.

There’s something different about today. About Seulgi. And come to think of it, Irene too. But Wendy does not get time to contemplate over this because Seulgi greets her, and in a split-second, she makes her way to Irene’s side and gently, and quickly that if she had blinked she would have missed it, pats her head. Irene’s hand is quick to catch Seulgi’s and Wendy goes on a sensory overload at the sight of interlocking fingers and the now overpowering scent.

And then Seulgi is gone, and Wendy stares after her, mouth unabashedly falling open.

Irene gives her a small smile, and that is when Wendy knows.  She allows the older girl to fix her bangs in a moment of self-consciousness, and then she speaks, breathing in the scent of Seulgi lingering within the air—and withinIrene.

“So. You and Seulgi, huh?”

Irene smile turns a bit wider, a bit more predatory, and Wendy swears she can see the fangs glinting behind those red lips.

But then Irene ducks, and she slowly peeks up at Wendy, impossibly long lashes fluttering, and cheeks dusted with pink.

“I couldn’t help it. She looked so cute with those bangs.”