Minji kisses the small wounds on Handong’s fingers, and then bandages them carefully, even though she doesn’t need them anymore: a vampire’s saliva is pretty much a cure-all, but Handong guesses it’s the thought that counts. 

She’s gotten in another fight, again, and it’s already such a routine that when she stumbles inside Minji’s lair, bloodied and bruised, Minji does not make a remark; instead, she slips a bookmark on the old tome she’s reading, rises from her chair, and goes to the mouldy bathroom to get the first aid kit, while Handong herself stumbles into the chair, trying to not bleed in the fancy upholstery.

Minji’s a vampire, living on this abandoned manor, and Handong is a transient sort of being, always getting stuck in fights and with no home other than this place to call her own. Not her fault, though: that’s just her life. She needs money and some people need beatings. Sometimes they fight back. It’s life, she supposes. 

“Thanks.” She says to Minji, who’s still kneeling by her side, resting her face on Handong’s lap. Minji does not reply; her red eyes shut themselves off from the world in an exhaustion too heavy for a mere mortal such as Handong to understand, and Handong’s bandaged hand found the vampire’s brilliant red hair.

It’s dye, and it stains Handong’s hand as she carefully pets the girl’s head. Many of the fleeting things don’t take to vampires, she has learned, and hair dye, like the one making Handong’s hair a stark shade of brown, is one of them. When she wakes up tomorrow, she knows she’ll see Minji looking at the long strands of black hair, and she knows Minji will turn to her, ask to buy some dye and hand over notes of cash older than Handong thinks she’ll ever be.

Handong will obey. It’s a small charity act for someone whose life expanded too much.

“Tired?” Handong asks again, over the sound of the ancient heater that makes the room bearable. There’s a draft from a window that never properly closes, and Handong knows Minji doesn’t care; no, the ancient heater was for her.

Minji buried her face on her lap, nodding, and she buried her fingers deeper on the hair that seeped blood red ink. She then looks up, kisses Handong’s wrist, the pointy fangs touching the skin there and giving her a shiver.

Handong knows this is a business transaction: Minji will allow Handong to live underneath her roof as long as Handong presents herself as a hot, warm meal. Over the course of the months she’s spent there, she’s accepted this as her rent (and it’s not like Minji takes too much, anyway).

Sometimes, at night, sleeping in Minji’s bed (Minji herself doesn’t sleep; she only reads these same old books over and over and over to the point of madness), she wonders what this relationship is. Sometimes they kiss and sometimes they , but it’s weird and Handong doesn’t enjoy dwelling on the thought of it too much: thinking about feelings, especially her own, give her a headache.

Minji’s fangs separate from her skin with a quiet pop sound, and a wet later makes Handong’s skin as unblemished as moments ago. Minji then takes Handong’s hand from her head, rises and cleans the long, old skirts she uses, from the dirt of the carpet.

Handong’s been living with her for long enough to know a cue to leave.

“Guess I should go, hm?” She says, trying to land a joke. It fails, and Minji offers no response as Handong gets out of her seat, and Minji assumes her place seamlessly after lightly kissing her, the aftertaste of blood and a vague cold to her lips the only way Handong is sure it ever happened. She grabs the book that had been left behind, opens it where she had left, and goes back to reading, like nothing happened. 

The distance Minji keeps drives her crazy. She knows it’s because Minji lost too many lovers to keep count - except on the attic, where shelves upon shelves have trinkets from people long dead -, but Handong is human and humans need more attention than this. It is, however, all she has. 

With a sigh leaving her lips, she passes a hand through her hair and goes to Minji’s room. On the doorway, she looks back to the vampire.

Minji is reading, perfectly still, a painting in real life and color. She’ll stay like that forever. Sometimes, in a sleepless night, she considers asking for Minji to turn her into a vampire as well. Then, she sees the girl like she is, reading to stave off a boredom so deep-seated that it is what keeps her standing, and then she forgets that idea altogether.

When their time together comes to an end, it’ll come naturally. She’ll regret leaving Minji behind, but staying long after her stay is not welcome anymore isn’t what Handong’s forte is. Her forte, she’d say, is living the moment, blood and fists. Minji isn’t that.

Handong turns once more and goes to sleep.