The blood dripped down the boys chin and sought into the textile, leaving dark russet marks on the yellow hooded sweater. The source of the red liquid was his split lip. But the burst on his forehead had been bleeding worst, it wasn’t that bad anymore since the injury already started to dry. But he still could feel the wetness on his neck and ear and it made his hairs sticky. The metallic taste still lingers in his mouth, despite his desperate tries to spit it out. It wasn’t his first fight, and he had experienced far more pain than this. But he never fought with a friend before, so the aftertaste that stuck with him was especially bitter.

 

He swung high up and suddenly decided to let go of the ropes, jumping down in the sticky sand. He ignored the high pitched squeak of the startled goblin he almost had squashed with his action. The goblin eyed him with disgust and cursed about the rudeness of human beings however, it lost soon it's vigour since the boy just stared at the sand, clinging on the blood-smeared knuckles as he remembered the crack his friend’s nose had made as he had punched him.
Sand-keeper-goblins where permanently grumpy and always nagged about humans wrongdoings but they were harmless. Those creatures kept the sand boxes clean by destroying the sand buildings, by jumping up and down on them until the sand started to rinse down and it collapsed. Sometimes they even started while the kids were still trying to make them. Whenever a toy on its drive through a huge mountain tunnel got buried, it was probably the goblins doing.
Maybe because they were annoyed by this child, it may have been crying before or maybe just because they hoped it would forget it's car then. Despite their nagging about humans, the benefits in living close to them were too compelling, especially on a playground where kids ate sweets and dropped them, or forgot or lost their toys daily.
The boy hadn’t meant to scare or even hurt one. He remembered very too well at a time where those creatures were the only company he had while sitting here on the very same playground, years ago.

The playground wasn’t huge, there were only a few attractions like the sandbox, a seesaw and the swings. Nothing to climb up to like play-castles on other playgrounds or even spring animals and it was encircled with ornamental decorative benches and neatly trimmed hedges. But it was close to his home, maybe about four minutes by foot, two minutes 45 seconds if he ran. The once dark side streets were now illuminated by the ornamental matching street lamps. The old disused fabrics yield new expensive apartments with a foreign ambiance. It didn’t felt like living in Seoul thanks to the Britain inspired architecture and the tidy cut streets.

They still lived at the same small house they had stayed in when his mother had been murdered. It looked really out of place between the new buildings with a completely different modern style. Abandoned, as if no one lived in it for years. The only reason his father wanted to keep it was either the memory of his wife in it or the parcel price he hoped may raise because it was in a wealthy neighbourhood. However, now that the flats had already been built nobody wanted to buy the small panel green, rusty house which would probably cost more to renovate than it was worth.

Three windows were broken and just temporary fixed with transparent plastic film, pasted on the inside of the window frame. Some of the roof tiles were missing, or inclined and the bricks had cracks and even the garden was untrimmed and overgrown, which at least made i hard to see the run-down house from outside.

He wasn’t emotionally touched by the house - for him it was just a place to sleep and eat. His father wasn’t often at home, he worked hard with lots of overtime for the monthly income but he had also started seeing someone new. The last time he had brought his date home, it had ended in a disaster. It became a one-off thing which never repeated.
His father couldn't know that his son was embarassed to go home in the daytime, mostly because of how often people talked badly about the eyesore he had to call home. 'It lowered the prestige of the environment' they said.

It wasn’t that he felt ashamed of his home. But it looked spooky and being already considered as strange he didn’t feel the urge to let anyone know where he lived. Well except his best friend, his one and only friend. The boy whose nose he had broken earlier today.

At twilight, the area quietened down because the folks met inside to prepare and eat dinner together. Usually he enjoyed this calmness after another loud and hectic day. It felt as if he still was able to hear the echoing of the lively playing children and the gossip of the busy housewives. The youngest children had been sitting in the sand while the older kids ran around, playing tag. There was movement and giggles and screams until someone tripped. Regardless of the depth of the conversation they were enlaced in, the always worried mother would always rush to their child. They managed to comfort them the shock vanished and the pain arose, making them cry. He wasn’t jealous. Sure, it did hurt to see the happy families but when he was here it was easy to imagine his mother around as well. She probably sat behind his swing watching him with the same loving gaze. Maybe she just sat behind him, talking about some new recipe she had found, but never failing to glance at him as caring as only a mother could. It felt normal being here, because he thought it would have been the place they would have gone too if she was still alive.

He always took the very left swing, the one the closest to the oak tree, because the bench behind him was protected from the burning summer sun and the rustle of the leaves reminded him at her laugh when she carefully pulled the blankets up and gave him his good night kiss. It was easy to pretend to be okay, when the world around you was all right.
He usually enjoyed the silence after the bustle, but not today. Not if there still was this horrible cracking sound in his ears. Why did he even had to fight to begin with? Was it worth it?

“What are you still doing here? It’s late and you should be in bed.”
The sudden voice startled the boy but he recognized the speaker at once. A wide smile spread across his face as he turned around to hug the still same pale-skinned, black-coated man.
“Munmun! I have missed you so much!”

The no longer strange man sighed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen the boy hugging nothing. Awkwardly, he tried to comfort him while patting his head, he wasn’t the touchy type which might be because he usually was invisible.
“You should stop calling me Munmun. You know my real name by now”

The soft sound of his voice gave away that he didn’t care as much as he wanted too, but he couldn’t help but to embrace the now crying boy. Ever since he had taken his mother, he would come by from time to time to make sure he was alright. He didn’t really know why he cared so much about him, probably because he cried a week just because he wanted to hear him sing again. And yes he was self-regarding and narcissistic with his voice and creatures who appreciated its value were dear to him.

“I hit him… no I punched him. I even broke his nose! It shouldn’t have mattered. What he is isn't important, right? I don’t care what you are and you don’t care what I am, so why did I care about him?”
The man held him so close that the boy could feel the slight brush through his hairs.

“You cared because it was important to you and he lied about it. You didn’t want to lose him.”

Tears started to run, moistening the black coat the younger was leaning against. It never would stop irritatating the older man.
“Listen to me, this day always comes. You have to treasure what you have because sooner or later every relationship falls apart. No matter how close you are - if you face death you always die alone.”
“You can’t die …”
“I’m speaking metaphorically here! Besides, I don’t think you did anything wrong. He should have told you a long time ago.”

The younger one nodded lightly but it wasn’t really comforting him.
“I don’t want to celebrate my birthday alone …”
 

The older man chuckled a little. “There is still a whole week until your birthday, in seven days so much can happen.”

Wooyoung hasn’t found a way to fix his school uniform before the next school day. At least he has sewed the hole in his still dirty pants. But he hasn’t found the missing buttons on his way to school as he has hoped for. Of course there were fortunate days full of happiness as well as unpleasant days filled with balefulness. However, there are still people who were especially blessed or, like him, unlucky. Because of this he's in an awful mood. It takes a great amount of willpower to restrain the urge to just jump and kill his target for yesterday's dinner as he enters the room. In a self-act of controlling his emotions he clenches his fist hard enough for his claws to drill into his skin. His eyebrows furrow as he tries to suppress the snarling sound in his throat.
He is sure that whatever attacked him the previous evening had something to do with that cat he keeps around. Well, he might have been merciful yesterday but today will be different, since the cat is nowhere in sight. He is just about too consider himself as exceptionally lucky for once when the universe decides otherwise. He should have known that the notion of him being blissful is ridiculous. But this is almost too cruel to be true!
Wooyoung forgets to breathe the moment the smugly grinning man enters the classroom. Who does he think he is? This full-of-himself, conceited bastard!
 

“Good morning blood bags, I mean class! Sorry I just finished interview with a vampire last night.” The man cheerfully greets the students, unaffected by the glares Wooyoung is piercing him with.
“I will be your new English teacher from today on, until Mr. Smith is dismissed from the hospital.”
The world crashes down at the pale skin toned boy. He couldn’t really pay attention to anything than the fast moving hand of the man which eagerly writes down his name on the chalk board. Mr. Ok.
“Mister Okay?” a girl in the first line carefully begins to speak. “What happens to Mister Smith?”

She asked him in a broken English, and if Wooyoung wouldn’t have been busy with worrying he would be annoyed about it.

“Oh, well, he was found unconscious this morning. The doctors aren’t sure why yet, but it probably just a minor lack of plasma. Isn’t that funny?”
This must have been the worst moment of life - it was even worse than meeting with the death - well it is comparable, bearing in mind that he most likely is here to kill him.

Despite the fact of his inner instinct to run away and hide he bravely stays the first thirty minutes. Suddenly he feels long, eerie fingers sneak over his back until they reach his shoulder, where they wrap around his neck almost carefully. An ice cold chill creeps down his spin and all his boldness is completely forgotten. If he doesn’t run now he will lose his only chance. He can’t remember were the garlic suddenly comes from; he must have been holding it the whole time to settle his nerves. He smashes it with as much pressure as possible against the chest of his teacher and just in the tiny moment the grip isn’t as tight anymore he jumps up his seat and flees out of the room.
Tottering, he manages to make some more insecure steps until he reaches the wall to find the required hold since he doesn’t trust his numb and wobbly legs any longer. He must have missed that he was holding his breath because the sudden gasp not only startles him but also burns in his lungs. It feels as if a weight is pressing against his chest and stomach. He felt like vomiting. Yes - a break to think about a plan how he will be able to get his liver will be imperative. However,  isn’t weary of his life yet and every further step meant more distance between him and his would-be murderer.

In the end he finds himself to be curled up next to a toilet he indeed has emptied his stomach into a few seconds earlier. He has debated with himself if it was safe enough to flush it, since the noise could be heard from afar. But the acrid stench forced his fingers to take action.
It might been the wrong decision since though vampires weren’t animals and couldn’t pick up on scents, their hearing is almost bat like. He refuses to even conside a life in sewers in order to survive. Maybe he's too proud and tidy but he prefers to die than to regret living. He changes his mind quickly once he hears the entrance door to the boy rest rooms shut. His blood cells are probably stuck into a major traffic jam because his heart just skips some beats before it decides to leap into his throat. He suddenly feels like puking again but he manages to pipe it down.

On the other side of his toilet stall are wary, light steps and a scary shadow which slowly reaches his direction. It might not have been the best hideout since it is obviously the first place to check out. The worst thing about being in here is the fact and there is no other exit out, so he has just trapped himself. His brain is working on full capacity and billions of useless thoughts are whooshing through his mind. Maybe it would have been the better choice to hide in the girl’s room? none of the thoughts were all that helpful and there was nothing else to be done than make himself as small as possible. The loud knocking sound on his stall’s door shakes him back into reality and he would have flinched back if it would have been possible. But he already is pressed against the wall which to his disappointment doesn’t open up to swallow him alive.

“… Are you in there?”
The voice suppresses a choking sound and Wooyoung couldn’t resent it, it stinks horrible in here. To his relief it wasn’t the voice of his enemy.
“I am... is there someone else out there?”
He scrutinizes in leery, not sure where to put the notably versant yet unfamiliar voice. The pause feels an eternity to the upper lip chewing boy. Maybe he should take the opportunity to find a better hiding place. He didn't know whether to give up and start a life on the run, or take the challenge. But than his question answered itself as the shadow from the other side finally answers.

“Nope just me…You are Wooyoung, am I right?”
He paused but not long enough for Wooyoung to even consider an answer.
“I’m the one with the cat, Chansu-“

He hasn’t finished his name when the stall door suddenly flew open. He might have boggled backwards and wrinkle his nose because of the smell inside the stall- vomited garlic.
But he never got the chance to do so since Wooyoung tackles him against the window on the opposite side of the room.
He has done it with such a force that Chansung is sure he has heard a cracking sound as well as something that ripped apart. But he couldn’t really focus on it since Wooyoung attack has its impact on him and though he tries to catch his breaths Wooyoung’s grip which has s up around his neck was strangling him until he almost lost his consciousness. His surrounding becomes blurry but not unclear enough to not spot the four white furry tails.
Chansung, no wonder the voice has had a distracting pulling effect towards Wooyoung. The pangs of guilty starts to nag on him before he even could break through the skin with his teeth’s but he just shakes them off. It isn’t his fault that the boy was following him and he would have killed him yesterday already if the cat hadn’t interrupt. If he let this opportunity slip he might pay with his own. It’s just a normal human - not worth to be spared - and with this thought he rams his canines into his flesh and finally tastes the blood he has longed so long for. Desperate to tear Chansung’s artery apart, he doesn’t want the boy to be in too much pain. But before he could even really bite a sudden bitter and awful taste let him jump back. His whole body shudders uncontrollably and he spits one the ground as much as he can. His mouth is searing and he couldn’t get rid of that acid taste. For a moment neither of them were able to talk both just stare at each other bewildered and in complete shook. While Wooyoung tried to splutter out the taste Chansung squashed his hand against the throbbing injury.
 

“Don’t ing tell me you are blood type B?!”