In the safety (and soundproof-ness) of his study room, Yunho vents his anger on everything breakable in the room, heedless of whether it’s a simple half-empty glass of water or the Ming dynasty vase he may or may not have gotten from a Chinese emperor. Crystal pieces litter the luxurious Turkish carpet and the polished wooden floorboards, but Yunho continues flinging chinaware and glass against the door, not stopping until there’s nothing left to throw. He stalks over to the ornate oak desk, sweeping papers off it before seating himself down heavily and burying his head in his hands.

, , .

Why Changmin, of all people?                                   

Make no mistake; he’s grateful that Changmin made him a Keeper, but gratefulness can only last so many centuries before it gets a little old. And anyway, it’s not like he hasn’t paid that debt back.

In hindsight, it’s not really Changmin’s fault—he wasn’t the first and definitely isn’t going to be the last of his kind to fall for a Blood Singer. Yunho never understood it—being in love with your food is strange no matter what the food in question is—but it does happen.

Jaejoong…he wasn’t supposed to be a Blood Singer. Yunho had become a Keeper for the immortality, not to wind up raising the love of his life as vampire feed.

A shadow settles at the corner of the desk, and Yunho rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t die.”

“Perks of being the undead.”

“If Changmin finds you here you’re screwed,” Yunho mutters tiredly, knowing it’s his duty to inform Changmin of this…unwanted presence, but not caring enough to act on that knowledge.

The shadow chuckles. “I know, but I didn’t come for him.”

Yunho stiffens. “Touch Jaejoong one more time…”

“Relax, I’m not after him.”

Yunho makes a disbelieving sound.

“Okay, I’ll admit his blood’s sweet as sin, but in the end, he's just second best to me. Besides, I’m not intoxicated enough by it that I’m insane enough to risk Changmin’s wrath. I came because I thought you might want to agree to a deal.”

Yunho scoffs. “I already have one bastard on my hands. I don’t want to deal with another one.”

“Hey, at least I wasn’t the one bossing you around for the past couple of centuries.”

Yunho gives him the finger.                                                            

“Honestly, Yunnie.” The voice says in a wheedling tone. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I do need your help. And face it, your life would probably be easier with mine.”

 There's a long pause, and then Yunho slowly lifts his head up, staring unflinchingly into eerie red eyes that would’ve made a lesser man shudder and an even lesser man wet his pants. “Apology not accepted.”

“I figured. But I’m serious.”

“I’m just a Keeper. What do you want from me?”

Even though he can’t see it, he knows the shadow is smiling triumphantly.

“Nothing much…just the whereabouts of a certain Blood Singer.”

-{}-

Changmin smirks as the muffled crash of glass and pottery against wood reaches his ears. Even then, even now, it’s still ridiculously easy to piss Yunho off. When Jaejoong looks at him enquiringly, Changmin shakes his head. “Private joke, hyung.”

Jaejoong frowns and motions for the pen and notepad from the bedside table. Changmin hands it to him, and, tongue sticking out in frustration as his stiff fingers try to defy every he makes, Jaejoong writes the words on the heavy cream-coloured paper, having discovered that Jaejoong sign-language is not as similar to normal sign language (which is the only kind Changmin understands) as he thought it was. Pursing his lips, Jaejoong examines his work, the nods in satisfaction before flipping it over for Changmin to see.

Where were you yesterday?

Changmin mentally heaves a sigh of relief that of all the questions to ask, Jaejoong picked the one that’s most easily answered, even if the answer is not necessarily true. “Eunhyuk called me at the last minute about some final touches to the math project, so I went over to his house.” The answer flows off his tongue easily…Eunhyuk is one of his more obscure friends, not like Kyuhyun or Leeteuk who come over to his house almost every day and who Jaejoong knows everything about from their preferred level of spiciness in their dukboki to how many times they’ve tried to ask the new Chinese transfer student and the baby-faced class president out. There’s no way Jaejoong can verify his claims, even if he wanted to.

Yoona was worried, you know.

Changmin snorts.

She likes you.

“Not enough to not hit on my brother though.”

Jaejoong frowns.

“Anyway, I don’t date for love, and you know that.”

Jaejoong’s scribbling is a little more furious this time.

You already like someone, don’t you?

Changmin just smiles mysteriously. “Hyung, I’m fifteen. Isn’t it a given at this age I do have someone I like?” He laughs and shakes his head in answer to the question in Jaejoong’s eyes. “Not telling.”

Jaejoong huffs and writes something down. I’m your brother. I ought to know.

“There’s no law about that I know of,” Changmin says, turning to get his textbook before Jaejoong gives him grief for not studying, knowing without looking that Jaejoong’s rolling his eyes. He glances at the chair he was sitting in, mutters a “screw it” and crawls into the empty space next to Jaejoong on the queen-sized bed, ignoring the judging look Jaejoong gives him before scooting over. There’s a tearing sound, and then a page from the notepad floats down onto the page on inverse functions.

What’s your relationship with Yunho?

Changmin picks the paper up and smooths out the slightly bent edges, buying time to think of something beyond the oh oh oh that’s running on repeat in his brain. “Nothing special.” At least, not in my world.

Another page from the notepad. Elaborate.                    

Changmin sighs. “He…I used to be on better terms with him. Until he…he stole the guy I like right under my nose.”

Oh. Jaejoong’s eyes widen, and he nods understandingly.

No, Changmin thinks bitterly, the first truly bitter thought he’s had regarding Jaejoong since he met him, the beautiful boy whose blood called out to him all those years ago, and has been calling out to him ever since and making it harder and harder for him to resist every single year. You don’t understand. You don’t know the story behind all this, why I asked my parents to adopt you out of the many others I could have picked and the relationship you had with Yunho before you were even born. You don’t understand at all.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” he says, sinking further underneath the blankets until he’s practically lying down, textbook almost directly above him. He hates to admit it, but Yunho has good taste, at least, when it comes to what he sleeps on.

Or with, his brain adds wryly.

Jaejoong wraps an arm around his shoulder, and he tells his brain to shut up.