Sehun is nineteen and hates parties.

It’s got nothing to do with the bright lights, the endless flurry of movements, the bottomless drinks or the seemingly unlimited amount of foods.

It’s the way he looks unfit for this place, the glaring difference between him and the partygoers a punch on his gut. They are all beautiful and sickeningly rich and everything Sehun is not. He doesn’t have the elegance in the way they move, even though they seem to be laughing their hearts out, or the sweet voice that wafts in the air like chimes tinkling when the wind blows, or even that ethereal beauty that could have fooled anyone into thinking they are weak, helpless angels that need saving from all the ugly things roaming in this world.

But it’s not the thing he hates most about parties. He can sit in a corner and be mistaken as a part of the display set for all he cares.

It is the way almost every person in the room seems to gravitate towards Jongin, like bees on nectar—they all want to be near him.

And who wouldn’t?

Jongin possesses that ethereal beauty each of their kind has, yet, there’s something about the way he carries himself that shows the undeniable power lying within those russet skin, dark eyes, thick lips and high cheekbones.

It is an unwritten law of the universe that anything—humans, animals, and all the other creatures on earth is naturally drawn to everything that overawe and exceeds their capabilities, and thus, creating only two classification of species in the world: a follower and a leader.

Being the high Vampire of Las Vegas only proves that Jongin is on the latter category.

And all of this, everything that Sehun hates that comes to life is brought by Jongin. He throws parties like how he throws his pair of socks in the trash can—easy and out of the blue, just when he feels like it. He entertains those little bees swarming around him like he is unlimited nectar. Whether it’s a woman or a man, it doesn’t matter, they all look at Jongin the same: beautiful and powerful and profitable.

Sehun always asks himself why he sticks with Jongin and comes up with the same answer every time.

“Sehun.”

Jongin walks over the table where Sehun is holding his pity party, a glass of champagne on his left hand and car keys on the other.

He ignores Jongin summoning him, although he knows too well that he isn’t supposed to, he doesn’t have the right to, and he can’t really ignore him because of various reasons.

Still, he tries his hardest to stand his ground, pretending to be immersed in the swirling red liquid on the glass in his hand.

Sometimes, Sehun thinks it’s unfair: how he’s irrevocably and pathetically drawn towards Jongin, how he is not at all different from the people here in this party.

Most of the time, he is just thankful. Thankful, because he gets to spend more time with him than any of these gorgeous vampires can; thankful, because he gets to serve him in the way they can’t. There isn’t anything Kim Jongin the high Vampire of Las Vegas can’t do, (well except maybe bask in the sun or go to church, but those are the things Las Vegans will do if it’s the end of the world), so just letting him do the laundry or drive the car is already a big big honour.

“Sehun,” Jongin calls again. This time, he looks up and sees a petite woman with flowing brunette curls, green orbs like a cat’s, and alabaster skin, clutching Jongin’s arm like he might combust into thin air anytime.

She smiles pleasantly at Sehun, and Sehun just has to blink multiple times to make sure he’s not dreaming. There aren’t a lot of vampires who sees human more than just their source of food, and actually meeting one is a miracle in itself. It is one of the reason why he hates Jongin’s party, or anything he attends—because vampires hate it when pets and slaves are brought to exclusive parties, especially if that pet is not of use for everyone.

She tiptoes on her already six-inch heels to whisper something on Jongin’s ear. Looking at them like this, Sehun thinks they could be the ambassadors of the most beautiful couples on earth. Her pale skin contrasts against Jongin’s darker one, making it stand out, the petite frame of her body emphasizes Jongin’s stronger built, and her green eyes look lucid and honest, a deviation from Jongin’s clouded and mysterious ones.

Sehun always experiences these kinds of things whenever he watches vampires move around each other, it’s as if time stretches out itself and lets Sehun notice the things he usually wouldn’t—the soft fluttering of their eyelashes, the way their mouth curve into every syllables as they talk, or the way their eyes shine slowly when they are amused. Everything seems to be in slow motion.

It makes him pity himself more.

“You should go home,” Jongin says slowly, observing the way Sehun observes him.

“Me?” Sehun puts his empty glass on the table, getting up. “And you, master?”

Jongin’s full lips curve to a smile, and for a while, Sehun forgets the vampire girl beside him. “It never fails to amuse me, how you worry about the safety of a vampire every time.”

You’re not just some vampire Sehun wants to say but doesn’t. The girl beside him smiles.

“Take the car with you.”

“But—” Sehun starts to protest but the moment Jongin turned his back on him, he knows, no matter how hard he calls, that Jongin wouldn’t look back. The conversation is over.

He sighs and clutches the keys on his hand.

He knows exactly Jongin’s next itinerary, but couldn’t help himself from worrying anyway. Vampires throw parties to exact a grand feeding and acquaint themselves with other vampires on their territory. Jongin is the head vampire of Las Vegas; throwing parties are typical, compulsory even. Taking anyone in bed as he pleases is just one of the perks of being a vampire, or just being Kim Jongin the vampire.

You don’t always accept what you know though.

Maybe it’s fear or insecurity, or a mix of both, but every time he turns his back on him, he gets the feeling that he may never come back again, that he is going to leave Sehun all alone on his own.

---

Sehun gets in the car and starts the engine. That gnawing feeling is there again.

Being a vampire doesn’t mean you’re immune to everything around you, it makes you immortal but not invincible. There are higher vampires to think about, vampires who want to claim and rule your territory, and humans, well, there are always human out there that might discover you.

It’s is 2’0 clock in the morning and people in Las Vegas are most awake at this hour. Sehun yawns and buries his head on the steering wheel.

---

The incessant buzzing of crowds at the halls of LVH Theatre brings a smile on Sehun’s lips. Rich businessmen and women are too preoccupied in their own affairs to notice anyone acting strange around them. Well, it’s not as if Sehun is acting strange. In fact, he’s blending in.

He scans the crowd for his target of the night and his gaze lands on a dark-haired man in an equally dark suit with a pair of eyes as dark as asbestos and skin a honey coloured shade.

Sehun doesn’t usually like his victims young, but there’s something about the man that calls his attention, like the pull of gravity when you fall off a tree. Plus, he’s up to a challenge this time.

He slithers through the mesh of bodies and positions himself beside the young man, pretending to be immersed in the upcoming show of the casino. The man is talking to a blonde woman in her early thirties, wearing a red dress that hugs her curves perfectly. She bats her eyelashes at him, purposefully biting her bottom lip every time the man speaks. Sehun scoffs. Women like this, who doesn’t have anything to do with their lives, go on an escapade in search of rich young businessmen. They pretend to be some damsel in distress and take those poor men in their lairs, robbing them off their youth. He feels just a bit sorry for his target.

Sehun takes their preoccupation to his advantage. With the practice ease of a thief for eleven years, he snakes his hand, ever so slightly on the man’s unattended wrist and slowly, ever so slowly, unclips the lock of the Franck Muller Aeternitas Mega 4. The man doesn’t even spare him a glance as he pockets the luxury watch and exits the hotel without as much as a glance.

Once outside, he breathes in the polluted scent of Las Vegas night and heaves a big sigh. This will be enough to provide for him for a month. Maybe he can buy some clothes too. He lives off pick pocketing and stealing from people the moment he can tie his own shoes. His parents had died of drug overdose, and because of the bad records of their family, no one wanted to take him in. Maybe iniquity just runs in the blood of his parents, passed down on his veins.

“Are you going to sell that?”

He freezes on the spot. He just rounded up the first block from LVH and didn’t hear anyone following him. Maybe he had been too preoccupied?

He weighs his options: he could make a mad dash from this man and risk being caught with a heavier charge or turn around and try to make a deal with him. The former option seems the most appropriate. Who the in their right mind will negotiate with a criminal? But Sehun is scared to death that he’s afraid his shaking knees couldn’t even support the weight of his body. He never once got caught and actually experiencing it after twelve years of experience leaves a numbing fear in his guts. He is never prepared for this.

He slowly turns around and sees the man studying him curiously. There is no moon in Las Vegas tonight, but his face is illuminated with the bright neon lights from the high-rise casinos. He looks like a god delivering judgment for Sehun’s crimes.

Sehun takes a shaky breath. “A-are you—are you going to turn me—me in?”

Sehun is so scared witless he wonders if he is peeing his pants. To his surprise, the man’s lips curve into a smile. “Do you want me to?”

A ripple of anger surges through Sehun. This man is liking, loving, the look of fear on his face. He grits his teeth and wonders if going to jail is better than swallowing his pride.

The man tilts his head to the side. “So?”

He asks like he’s really curious about Sehun’s answer. Like there really is a better answer than ‘no’ in this situation. Sehun takes a deep breath and decides that not today; he’s not going to jail at the fresh age of 17.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, clenching his fists on his side. The man looks at him coolly, without an actual trace of anger or amusement. He looks plain curious.­­

He takes the million-dollar worth piece of jewellery and hands it over to its original owner. “Here,” He’s surprised he can still move his hand. His body is all numb. “Please—please don’t turn me in.” He begs.

The man his lips and just raises an eyebrow at the sight of the watch, watching it glint on Sehun’s pale palm. “How about this?”

The man talks like he is drawling the words out, his voice very much like the texture of his skin—honey-like—rich, thick, smooth, and sweet. Sehun forgets his anxiety for a moment.

“If you’re going to sell that anyway, because you don’t look like someone who’ll want to use that, I’ll just buy it from you.”

Sehun ignores the comment about him and focuses on the cause of his puzzlement instead. “You’re going to buy your own watch from me?”

The strange man studies his now empty wrist and rubs the spot where the watch used to occupy. “Actually, I could by another watch better than that. But I still have a long night ahead of me and it makes me uncomfortable not having time weighing down on my wrist. If you get what I mean.”

Sehun blinks.

“I need the watch for the night. I can buy that from you at the exact price I had bought it.”

Sehun opens his mouth to speak. Not really knowing what to say, nothing comes out. The man in suit laughs. “Or do you want me to buy that at a higher price for your effort of stealing it?”

Sehun just gapes.

“Well, it’s not as if there’s any effort. I knew what you were doing when you stood beside me. But I just didn’t want the woman to think I was not paying attention to what she was saying. It’s rude.”

Sehun finally snaps out of his trance. “Wait, you’re not turning me in and you’re buying the watch? Is that it?”

And you knew I was stealing from you how???

The man closes his eyes and heaves a deep breath. “Yes, and yes.”

“Why?”Sehun questions, taking one small step forward because this man might have a mental disability despite looking so damn gorgeous and powerful and perfect.

He crosses his brows impatiently. “Why what?”

“Why are you not turning me in?”

Now the man’s face contorts in anger. “Didn’t you say you don’t want to?” even angry, the man still looks unfairly godly.

Sehun wants to say do you do this to all thieves or why are you being generous or why are you so handsome but disregards the latter and every other question because he doesn’t want this man to change his mind. The man takes the watch from his outstretched hand. Sehun watches as he produces a cheque from the pocket of his suit and scrawl words and probably his signature on the piece of paper using a fountain pen.

After Sehun realizes this man is not going to turn him in, he begun watching his every move and is fascinated by how graceful and elegant the motions are. Even the way his mouth forms into every syllable of words makes his eyes follow those every movement, like following the pendulum of a clock.

“Here,” he hands him a cheque of Weststar Credit Union, written is two million and six hundred thousand dollars. Sehun didn’t even know the watch cost that much.

He clears his throat and tries to act nonchalant about the glaring amount of million dollars he has on his hand. If he doesn’t live a luxurious life, this is enough to get him by for two years or more, depends on how the economy will fluctuate for the next years.

“Uh,” he scratches his nape. “Thanks—I guess? Nice doing business with you?” Sehun is truly at a loss for appropriate words to say. Thankfully the man turns his back without acknowledging Sehun’s words, saving him from probable humiliation.

He watches his retreating back, carving into his memory the elegant stance and his powerful aura, until his dark suit blends in with the darkness, disappearing into the moonless night of Las Vegas.

The cheque on his hand burns holes on his fingers.

---

Sehun decides that the easiest target would be on an alleyway behind some cheap bar across the expensive clubs of Las Vegas. He’s tired and wants nothing more but to go home and sleep peacefully without worrying of starvation the moment he wakes up. He knows these kind of bars all too well—it’s where wild sickly rich teenagers reside, seeking adventure and all too happy to get out under their parents’ nose. It’s either they’re sharing a joint of cigarette with with their friends or making out, already intoxicated. The former situation is the most convenient.

When he arrive