the new day breaks through the hills at last, smears it all pale gold. the vampire only has a moment to look at his lover before it happens.

his god won't let him kill this sinner; yunho is starting to find this leash unbecoming.

the guardian and the thief meet at last.

"god and the devil were brothers" he says, "one just had a better PR team."

"my, my, my," the smile is sharp, the voice unsettling in its sweetness. mingi stumbles back as though screamed at, legs made ribbons. "look what the cat dragged in."

and where in his white mane they saw fragility, and in his white robes they saw divinity; hongjoong only ever saw the pale horse of death.

evil people die a lot slower than they should and stay behind a lot longer than they're welcome. well, someone's gotta keep the spirit lanes clean.

he watches them from the pews with a resigned, dull pain. there was always room in their bed, but not their happy ending.

when one is so powerfully inhuman, no soul can bring their beloved harm. nor safety.

this wife is younger than the last— nearly her age. jongha hoped, much in vain, that her father would drop the facade when the last finally said the quiet words out loud. well, at the very least, yuna is sweet on the eyes.

san's dead ex made all the ones that came after leave, scared them all back into little boys. yeosang wasn't even meant to be next— but when he leans in, san realizes he'd been hoping for it, too. a growl cuts the air. yeosang's eyes never change. he giggles. "sorry, give me a sec."

he should hate the thing that lives in his new apartment when it pushes and whispers and scratches at him... but he's been so lonely. if anything, he wishes it'd touch him a little harder, a little lower...

wooyoung knows it's been a long time, or that at least it feels as such; no light, no sound but the clinking of chains, the wetness he disturbs on the floor. his mind seems to shrink, a bonsai made of himself to bear it. one day, a golden crack appears; then two, three, seven— "hello?" finally.

"i love you" wooyoung turns with a swiftness. whatever story he'd been in the midst of telling dies in the bed of his mouth; no matter how spoken he is, he's always listening, that grinning, fox-faced fool. his eyes are so big. near tearing through his chest, he holds a quietened face. "i love you."

the candles burn bright, bathe the bits of scavenged bone a sickly orange. there is a picture of himself, still alive, smiling wide, an arm thrown over the shoulder of a familiar face— an easy lay, then. "now, you don't need to haunt those people anymore." he's trapped. a sweet smile: "you're mine."

wooyoung frowns. well, of course, blessed be the Mother— but is that really supposed to be his witch half?

ah. this is pissing him off. "give me that pen." jongho huffs— who does this guy think he is ordering him around like this? he doesn't know why he obeys, but when he half-heartedly offers it, the guarded face breaks into a smile. "sorry, libraries are full of dead people. i'm yeosang, by the way."

"what was that about?" he shrugs, kicks up his legs onto the trinket ridden desk. "refusing money makes me seem more legit, doesn't it?"

"why me?" they always ask. "why are you doing this to me?" it's a little funny, humans. so used to their way of things, the top down view. if one's burger were to ask it, what would they reply? perhaps nourishment, nature, desire, greed— but truth is simpler all that. so he grins: "because i can."

"he sounds really great." yeosang pulls away a little to look at san's smitten little smile, mirror it with one of his own. "i'm really happy for you, san-ah." grasping his hands, he gives a little squeeze. san looks twice alive— now, in the past few weeks. soulmates, huh. lucky bunch.

he says "your highness," and his throat fights the tenderness. gods alive, had he feared. hongjoong turns, blood bathing neck to chest. not his own, thank the quickness of his fellow's blade. "sir jeong— are you quite alright?" ah. he can only bow his head. the gorge between them remains unbridged.

celestial incest— angels! 2ho

the star summons help from below— she says "my soul for a wish." and her weeping voice rings like a bleating lamb's. the devil slinks out from within a shadow, around the empty bottles, the ripped magazines; "tell me," she purrs, pleased. "tell me everything." "love me. till i die, love me."

seonghwa finds it at the edge of death. the creature turns, coils her serpent-like hair in reaction. after no more than a moment, she is back to the berries. seonghwa checks hands, feet face; as confusion sits like a bad meal, the creature speaks. "they know you are no man, sister. be at ease."

she grabs at a gentle hand, pulls it through the waistband of her shorts. "unnie," she breathes out, caramel sweet. "you'll teach me, right?"

every new year, the ghost returns for a night.

it is true. the count had warned san. grave consequences, he'd said— it's true, it's true. but his blood was made of syrup. he couldn't help himself.

san scoffs. "what's a seer good for if he only sees the past?" wooyoung leans back on the chair. it's an understandable point, though not a good one. "well. i know what you did, for one."

it is true. the count had warned san. grave consequences, he'd said— it's true, it's true. but his blood was made of syrup. he couldn't help himself.

every new year, the ghost returns for a night.

she grabs at a gentle hand, pulls it through the waistband of her shorts. "unnie," she breathes out, caramel sweet. "you'll teach me, right?"

seonghwa finds it at the edge of death. the creature turns, coils her serpent-like hair in reaction. after no more than a moment, she is back to the berries. seonghwa checks hands, feet face; as confusion sits like a bad meal, the creature speaks. "they know you are no man, sister. be at ease."

the star summons help from below— she says "my soul for a wish." and her weeping voice rings like a bleating lamb's. the devil slinks out from within a shadow, around the empty bottles, the ripped magazines; "tell me," she purrs, pleased. "tell me everything." "love me. till i die, love me."

celestial incest— angels! 2ho

he says "your highness," and his throat fights the tenderness. gods alive, had he feared. hongjoong turns, blood bathing neck to chest. not his own, thank the quickness of his fellow's blade. "sir jeong— are you quite alright?" ah. he can only bow his head. the gorge between them remains unbridged.

"he sounds really great." yeosang pulls away a little to look at san's smitten little smile, mirror it with one of his own. "i'm really happy for you, san-ah." grasping his hands, he gives a little squeeze. san looks twice alive— now, in the past few weeks. soulmates, huh. lucky bunch.

"why me?" they always ask. "why are you doing this to me?" it's a little funny, humans. so used to their way of things, the top down view. if one's burger were to ask it, what would they reply? perhaps nourishment, nature, desire, greed— but truth is simpler all that. so he grins: "because i can."

"what was that about?" he shrugs, kicks up his legs onto the trinket ridden desk. "refusing money makes me seem more legit, doesn't it?"

the psychic flinches at the mere sight of him. "i can't help you." he blinks. "huh? but i didn't even sit down y—" "I SAID I CAN'T HELP YOU! GO AND TAKE THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!"

ah. this is pissing him off. "give me that pen." jongho huffs— who does this guy think he is ordering him around like this? he doesn't know why he obeys, but when he half-heartedly offers it, the guarded face breaks into a smile. "sorry, libraries are full of dead people. i'm yeosang, by the way."

wooyoung frowns. well, of course, blessed be the Mother— but is that really supposed to be his witch half?

the candles burn bright, bathe the bits of scavenged bone a sickly orange. there is a picture of himself, still alive, smiling wide, an arm thrown over the shoulder of a familiar face— an easy lay, then. "now, you don't need to haunt those people anymore." he's trapped. a sweet smile: "you're mine."

"i love you" wooyoung turns with a swiftness. whatever story he'd been in the midst of telling dies in the bed of his mouth; no matter how spoken he is, he's always listening, that grinning, fox-faced fool. his eyes are so big. near tearing through his chest, he holds a quietened face. "i love you."

wooyoung knows it's been a long time, or that at least it feels as such; no light, no sound but the clinking of chains, the wetness he disturbs on the floor. his mind seems to shrink, a bonsai made of himself to bear it. one day, a golden crack appears; then two, three, seven— "hello?" finally.

he should hate the thing that lives in his new apartment when it pushes and whispers and scratches at him... but he's been so lonely. if anything, he wishes it'd touch him a little harder, a little lower...

san's dead ex made all the ones that came after leave, scared them all back into little boys. yeosang wasn't even meant to be next— but when he leans in, san realizes he'd been hoping for it, too. a growl cuts the air. yeosang's eyes never change. he giggles. "sorry, give me a sec."

this wife is younger than the last— nearly her age. jongha hoped, much in vain, that her father would drop the facade when the last finally said the quiet words out loud. well, at the very least, yuna is sweet on the eyes.

when one is so powerfully inhuman, no soul can bring their beloved harm. nor safety.

he watches them from the pews with a resigned, dull pain. there was always room in their bed, but not their happy ending.

evil people die a lot slower than they should and stay behind a lot longer than they're welcome. well, someone's gotta keep the spirit lanes clean.