The unforgiving spray of hot water beating against the nape of Jaejoong’s neck is like acid rain on his back, melting into his skin, deeply, softly stripping the skin from his flesh. He can feel it slipping away, running down his back, exposing the rotting flesh beneath, black with decay.

Jaejoong has lived longer than any man should and knows that inside he is already dead, decomposing. If he were to open up a vein nothing but stale air heavy with the acidic stench of death would come out, thick black lifeless blood oozing languidly from the edges of the wound.

Blunt nails, bitten down to nothing, claw at the phantom dirt that stains the skin of his forearms. He can’t see it, but Jaejoong can still feel the blood painted on his hands. He can still feel it bleed out over his fingers, tracing the creases of his palm, carving scars into his long dead soul.

 Head hung low, beads of water cling to the ends of the hair that hang over his eyes, and rivulets curl over the slope of his shoulders down his chest over the memories of wound Jaejoong no longer remembers as he brings his hands to his face.

For a moment he stands there face cradled in his hands, water burning his skin and perhaps, if the universe deigns to lay some kindness on him, burning the crimes he’s committed from his soul. With a laboured sign he runs his fingers through his hair, carving deep scratches into his scalp in the hope that the pain will relieve him of the guilt that weighs heavy in his chest. His head follows the pull of his fingers, tilting his forehead up to the spray, baring his throat in invitation for some great avenger to run their blade across it. What a welcome act that would be.

The fall of water on his forehead brings up memories of service, love and devotion, memories that Jaejoong had long cast aside for the tempting lure of a silver-tongued saviour with evil coursing through his veins. Evil that now coursed through Jaejoong’s own lifeless heart, evil he poured into the veins of innocents in the name of justice and goodness. What a twisted bed of lies and thorns he had made for himself.

Guilt had taken up permanent residence in the rotten cavity in which his beating heart had once been and it sunk it’s  poison claws deeper into him with each life he soiled, knowing that they would never know the evil they were letting taint them.

Behind his closed eyes Jaejoong could still the distorted face of evil as he strangled the life from it. The black blood the he’d let twist him oozing from its seductive lips, lips that had tempted him, tainted him, turned him into a reflection of itself. He could see the life leave its eyes, eyes that had always been dead but Jaejoong had been too foolish to realise. He could still feel the desperate throws of its body beneath him as it fought the death that Jaejoong imposed on it. He could still feel its claws sink into his back as it egged him on, tormenting him with words that sowed seeds of doubt in his mind.

You are me.

It had whispered between its dying breaths.

I am part of you and you will never escape me.

It laughs. Jaejoong strikes out. Shards of glass rain down around his fist, slicing open his hand as they fall, tainted in black blood that eats away at them, hissing and spitting on the floor. It not blood that Jaejoong bleeds, its acid.

Cradling his bleeding hand Jaejoong falls to his knees; the black blood running over his fingertips, mixing with the water that falls over him. It’s turned cold and cuts into his back like the lash of a nine-tails being brought down on his back.

                Deep in the bottom of his gut he can feel the stir of concern not his own as his watches vines of blood, twist coils in the water like oil slick as it circles the drain. It almost seems to have a life of its own with the way it moves against the current.

                The feeling in his gut grows and becomes more immediate as he senses the one the feeling belong to enter his room. Unwilling to be see this way, Jaejoong lays his hand over his wounds, willing them to heal, pulling the open edges closed with his mind, coaxing the cells in his skin to replicate and stitch themselves together. With the bleeding stemmed and the fresh scars on his hands still pink and raw, Jaejoong reaches for the tap and waits for the last of his black blood to be washed down the drain before turning the water off.

As he stands there is a gentle knock at the door. “Jae? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I felt – “

“I’m sure. I just cut my hand on some glass.”

“I know, but – “

Jaejoong steps out of the shower bay and pulls the door open. “I’m alright, Junsu. See” He holds out his hand. “Healed up already.”

Junsu takes Jaejoong’s hand and turns it over, examining his fresh scars, running the tips of his finger gently over the new skin. His brow knots displeased. “I hate it when you heal quickly, makes me feel like you’re trying to hide something.”

“I have no control of it Junsu.” Jaejoong lies, taking his hand back once Junsu is happy that it has healed well.

Junsu’s eyebrow quirks disbelievingly; he’s never bought Jaejoong’s lies about his ability. Not once in centuries has he bought them, but he doesn’t question them. For that Jaejoong is grateful. Junsu is the last person he wants to lie to, but he is also the last person Jaejoong could ever tell the truth to. If it ever came down to it Jaejoong doubts he would able to bring himself to do it. If it ever came down to it Jaejoong would sooner leave Junsu than face what the truth would do to him. What Jaejoong had done to him.

                It tore at Jaejoong to think that he’d unknowingly betrayed the trust of Junsu before he’d even earned it. Junsu his first victim, the first lamb Jaejoong had led to the slaughter.

“Jae!” Jaejoong follows Junsu’s line of sigh over his shoulder to the shattered glass on the floor. “What by the blood of the first happened?”

Jaejoong winces inwardly at the curse as Junsu pushes past him. “I slipped and accidently put my hand through the glass.” He lies again. All he ever seemed to do was lie to Junsu.

“No wonder it hurt so bad.”

“Sorry about that.”

Junsu shrugs the apology off as he always does. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides the pain started easing as soon as you started healing, though I’m thinking I should just bang my shin into the corner of my bed as pay back.”

“Point taken, I’ll be more careful.” Jaejoong promises as he watches Junsu set to work on fusing the shards back together.

“So you should, this is the fourth time I’ve had to repair this glass.” As he talks the shards on the floor begin to stir their edges molten hot as they move together, reforming into the single pane of glass they originally formed.

Junsu sits back on his heels, “It’s not all here.”

“Maybe some of it washed down the drain.” Jaejoong suggests, knowing that his blood had eaten away at the glass that was missing.

“That’s a lot of glass to go down the drain.” Junsu looks at the hole in the middle of the pane where Jaejoong’s hand had gone through it. I’ll have to make it thinner to make up for what is missing.”

The pane of glass glows and the edges of the hole reach out to each other, knitting themselves together just like Jaejoong’s skin had til it was a whole pane of glass again. Junsu reached down and picks up the repaired glass and fits it back into its frame. “Try not to put your fist through it again. If not for your own sake, then mine at least. Or I will kick my bed when you least expect it.”

“Yes”

“And put some clothes on or a towel at least. I might be your Kin but that doesn’t mean that I have to be offended by you in all your glory every time I come and check on you.”

“Yes.” Jaejoong reaches for the towel on the wall and wraps it around his waist. Junsu watches him and once he’s satisfied that Jaejoong is decent he gives Jaejoong a scrutinising look as though he’s hoping to pull the truth out Jaejoong’s eyes, but Junsu has never been a good judge of character, nor has he ever been able to read behind Jaejoong’s eyes. A blessing that has made it possible for Jaejoong to keep the secrets he holds close to his chest.

“You sure everything’s ok?”

Bless Junsu for trying, but only Yoochun has a hope of pulling a thread on the secret Jaejoong hides, unravelling it all and laying his crimes bare.

“Yes, I am sure.” Jaejoong lies for the third time. Nothing is okay he is tainted by evil and has tainted others, including Junsu with the same evil.  He is slowing becoming that thing he killed, the beast his wrung the life from as black blood foamed at its lips. Now his own blood is black and there may come a time when Junsu will be forced to wring the life from Jaejoong just as Jaejoong had wrung it from the serpent that corrupted him. “Let me get dressed and we can go hunt. It’s been while I can already feel your hunger.”

“Stop trying to sweet talk me with food –“

“I’m not. I can feel it. You’re hungry don’t deny it.”

“Fine.” Junsu concedes. “Get dressed.”

Jaejoong watches as Junsu leaves, Junsu’s hunger and Jaejoong’s own guilt twisting in his stomach. Thankful that his Kin cannot feel his emotions.

Alone Jaejoong pulls himself into a tight knit, long sleeve wool turtle neck and a pair of heavy cargo pants that he tucks into steel-toed combat boots that end mid-calf. With his boots laced he slips his arms into his favourite shoulder holsters, buckling them tightly before slipping his hands into a pair of leather gloves. Junsu always tells him that he over dresses for hunting, but Jaejoong can’t risk exposing his skin. It would only take a nick or a scratch to expose him and the acid that runs through his veins....

Only a nick or a scratch for Junsu and the rest of his brothers to realise that Jaejoong is as black blooded as the creatures they hunt.