Chapter Text
~ ♡ ~
The sun has barely begun to breach the horizon, only the slightest gleam of orange starting to streak across the tired sky. Regardless of the early hour, the studio of Morning Café is already astir with energy.
Despite this, Junmyeon can feel his eyes about to glaze over from boredom, his head about to fall off his neck from his constant nodding, and his cheeks about to cramp up from his impossibly bright smile.
He supposes that maybe he should have guessed, but he still never expected that being one of the co-hosts of a beloved morning talk show could be so mind-numbingly boring at times.
He wakes up at three o’clock in the morning five days a week. Five days a week. He fits in more with ancient vampires than he does with his fellow witches.
He doesn’t hate his job this much all the time. He actually loves it, most days. It’s exciting, fulfilling, inspiring, as well as everything else he could possibly want in a job. It certainly doesn’t hurt that it pays quite well. There are some days, however, where waking up at three in the morning is the last thing he wants to do, especially if it’s just to interview someone he doesn’t know about something he doesn’t care for.
Today is one of those days.
He politely laughs at a joke their fourth guest of the day makes, a fairy talking about the illustrious and plentiful benefits of fairy dust massages. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one of the cameramen yawn so aggressively that Junmyeon fears for a moment that the boom mic picked it up. His co-host Yixing tries to banter with the fairy, but she seems eager to stick to her script, only woodenly responding to Yixing’s jokes.
The fairy flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and Junmyeon’s eyes get lost in the way the golden strands seem to glitter under the studio lights. Is that a general fairy thing, or does she just use a really fancy shampoo? Junmyeon makes a mental note to ask her about it after the interview is over. He wants his hair to sparkle prettily like that.
Junmyeon already knows they won’t invite this guest again — he’d be surprised if the person who booked them doesn’t get in trouble for “sabotaging the show”. Morning Café is supposed to be known for its energetic and boisterous atmosphere, made to wake people up and put them in a good mood. This fairy, however, is actively boring everyone in the studio to sleep. Junmyeon would almost feel bad for her if he wasn’t the one who had to try and make it interesting.
The fairy picks up another vial of fairy dust, this one shimmering pink instead of green, and uncaps it.
“This one can cure any heartache!” she explains happily, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room.
Junmyeon just continues to silently admire her hair. A subtle glance at the clock off-screen tells him that it’s 7:09.
Junmyeon bites his lip as he looks back at the fairy. It’s only been one hour since we started?
When the fairy finally takes their leave, the in-studio audience — made up of their staff members, the show’s other guests, and a few invitees — offer a polite ripple of applause, but it’s clear that everyone is ready to move on from this segment. At least it didn’t last long enough to put a damper on the whole show.
By the time the television feed cuts to a pre-recorded skit they had recorded earlier in the month, the cameras are already being moved to the kitchen to make way for the next segment. Enchanted props float overhead and charmed scripts shuffle themselves in midair. Some of the crew erupt in a burst of laughter, and a flurry of conversation breaks out between the producers.
Junmyeon watches from the sidelines, sipping water from a crystal goblet. The studio is always in motion, always a riot of colour and sound. Junmyeon feels the atmosphere lift, as if a spell had been cast. He puts the water down on a coffee table, and fixes his hair before he stands up. He gets in position, makes eye contact with Camera A, and stretches his lips into an excited smile. The director’s fingers count down.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
The segment starts with raucous applause and ends with it too, along with whoops of laughter. Junmyeon and Yixing distract the cameras with banter as the studio devolves into its usual controlled chaos as sets are morphed in preparation for the next feature.
Two hours later, Junmyeon and Yixing are thanking the production crew for their hard work, and they rush to have something to eat. Junmyeon would call it lunch, but it’s 9 in the morning, but it also doesn’t feel like breakfast after a three hour shift on live television.
Junmyeon lets out a sigh as he makes his way to the outdated kitchen, the promise of caffeine being the only thing keeping him from falling flat on the ground. Yixing sidles up to him moments later and hands him a mug of hot coffee. Junmyeon smiles at him gratefully and leans back against the wooden countertop.
“My saviour,” he mumbles around the rim of the mug, breathing in the bitter scent. “At least it’s Friday.”
Yixing smiles at him, though his eyes are rimmed with concern, “You looked more tired than usual today. Something up?”
Junmyeon gulps down more of the coffee before responding. “No, just feeling the end of a long week.”
Yixing nods emphatically, savouring his coffee in lieu of responding.
Junmyeon blinks sleepily as he slowly drinks. If only he could sleep standing up, then he could get a few seconds of rest before their next meeting.
Then, Yixing perks up as if he had just remembered something exciting.
“At least next week will be more fun,” Yixing says, smiling.
Junmyeon turns to him, confused. “Why’s that?”
“SKY is coming in on Thursday,” he clarifies, his grin widening. “They’re probably going to sing their new song. Please tell me you’ve heard of SKY, Junmyeon.”
Junmyeon furrows his brow. Of course he’d heard of SKY. He’d have to have been buried six feet underground not to. Their music constantly plays on the radio, and advertisements for their latest album are plastered all over billboards throughout the city. The trio — a werewolf, a shapeshifter, and a vampire — had skyrocketed to fame in recent months, gaining attention for their catchy songs and devastatingly handsome good looks.
So, yes. He has heard of SKY. He just doesn’t care about SKY.
“They’re fine,” Junmyeon says, scrunching his nose. “But you know I don’t really care about all that. We should have more witches on. I liked that psychic we had on last week, he was really funny.”
Yixing scoffs at him. “I can’t believe you don’t like SKY. Everyone likes SKY. Even my mom likes them — she told me to get their autographs for her!”
“I never said I hated them,” Junmyeon protests. “I like their songs; I just don’t get the big deal. They’re not groundbreaking or anything.”
“They don’t need to be groundbreaking when they’re as cool as they are,” Yixing insists.
Junmyeon shakes his head, an amused smile playing on his lips.
The kitchen has been painted golden with light by now, the sun streaming in through the windows as it rises higher in the sky. It plays against the orange cabinets with vibrance, illuminating the room with warmth. Even though Junmyeon knows that, objectively, the 1970’s era decor is gaudy, he can’t help but think there’s a certain charm to it. No one else seems to agree with him, though. There’s a beauty to it that’s just beyond the surface, that only shows when it’s filled with life.
Yixing picks up the coffee pot and refills his mug, before doing the same to Junmyeon’s. The steam quickly rises to fog up his glasses.
“I just hope they’re not as arrogant as some of the other musicians we’ve had on the show,” Junmyeon utters between mouthfuls.
“They won’t be, have some faith.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Junmyeon replies, unimpressed. “Boy band members are always arrogant, especially when they’re number one on the charts.”
Yixing just laughs at him, hiding his smile behind his mug.
A knock echoes through the room, and a pale, gaunt-faced ghost pokes her head through the door. She smiles apologetically at them before speaking.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the next staff meeting is starting in less than ten minutes.”
She leaves as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving behind only the signature cool breeze that often accompanies ghosts. Yixing gulps down his coffee before turning to Junmyeon.
He raises an eyebrow and asks, “Think you have enough caffeine in your system to make it through?”
Junmyeon groans, the weight of the day pressing against him once again. “I hope so.”
As they make their way to the meeting, Junmyeon feels a flicker of something beneath his weariness — a faint glimmer of curiosity about Thursday. He has interviewed enough celebrities to know that legends rarely live up to their reputation, but maybe SKY will surprise him.
~ ♡ ~
After hours of meetings, and then a long-awaited trip to the supermarket, Junmyeon finally gets home to his apartment a little after two o’clock. He kicks off his shoes and flicks on the lightswitch, flooding the messy room with warm, yellow light.
He peels off his coat, ruffles his hair, and readjusts his glasses. It’s just as he’s depositing his keys onto the small table he has in the entrance that he trips over his broomstick, sending scatters of magic-infused straw flying across the room. He falls to the floor with a breathy grunt and swears under his breath, glaring at his shoddy, homemade broom.
Stupid broomstick, he thinks, kicking it out of the way. It hasn’t worked properly even once in Junmyeon’s entire life, and it definitely won’t now, what with half of it spread out across his living room. Maybe now he’ll at least have the motivation to get rid of it, instead of letting it gather dust on the floor of his hallway.
He picks up some of the larger piles of straw as he walks farther inside. The magic lingers on his skin with a tingling sensation, as if someone were lightly dragging a feather over his hand. Every so often a silver spark escapes from one of the tufts, but it doesn’t hurt.
It’s at times like these that Junmyeon really wishes he was able to cast cleaning spells. Having to pick everything up by hand is so slow and troublesome. He’s no more powerful than a low-level ghost.
He puts the broken pieces in a magic-sealing plastic bag and seals it just enough to keep the magic inside it, while still leaving enough space for him to look inside the bag. He watches the flying sparks crescendo and gather together, before dissipating pathetically into a shimmering dust that rests peacefully on the broomstick fragments. He feels nothing more than a weak sense of relief; at least now he doesn’t have to worry about learning to fly the damn thing.
He was never gifted when it came to flying — when it came to any sort of magic, really. The only areas he ever stood a chance in were potion brewing and clairvoyance; areas of magic so basic that even a random zombie off the street could do them with enough practice.
The rest of his family members were all very skilled at magic. His brother Minseok even runs his own witching shop. If that’s not a sign of a successful witch, then he doesn’t know what is.
It’s hard not to feel a little insecure about it, but Junmyeon just keeps reminding himself that it’s not his fault. It’s just an unfortunate twist of fate, nothing more.
A blackened magical core usually means fatal illnesses and a short lifespan. If anything, Junmyeon is lucky that his is mild enough to only cause day-to-day inconveniences.
As he makes his way to his dedicated brewing area, he picks up the book he had left out on the kitchen counter last night; Supernatural Cores and their Various Energy Sources: A Comprehensive Guide.
Supposedly, all supernatural creatures have a magical core of some kind, though witches’ cores are by far the strongest. Coincidentally, they’re also the only cores that cannot be restored. Just his luck.
Regardless, the majority of supernatural cores have something that powers them, usually only used when someone’s core has been seriously injured. Junmyeon figures that he just needs to find out if one of these energy sources can power his core — as silent, empty, and unbeating as it is. At the very least, it probably won’t make things worse for him.
He picks up his carefully prepared sachet of phoenix ashes, which had taken him two months to have properly delivered. These are supposed to power shapeshifter cores, although it’s long been abandoned as an everyday cure. No matter — he’s not a shapeshifter, and his is not an everyday problem.
He mixes the ashes with the other basic ingredients needed for this potion — hot water, an array of herbs, a vial of kraken ink, the ground-up bone of a pegasus — the usual stuff.
It doesn’t smell very nice, and based on what the other potions have been like so far, he doesn’t think it will taste any better. That’s not the point, though. The point is becoming a real witch.
He drinks it as soon as he has finished making it, grimacing as he swallows. According to the book, this particular energy source is mainly for elderly shapeshifters, and the effects are supposed to be instantaneous. Junmyeon waits with bated breath.
After a few minutes of waiting, and no reactions other than a bad taste in his mouth, he gives up. Clearly that one wasn’t the solution to his problems. He crosses the potion’s name from the book’s contents page. His options are dwindling. Not for the first time, he wonders if he’ll be stuck like this forever.
He still feels sour about the whole thing a few hours later when he’s eating dinner. He hates dwelling on these thoughts; it’s completely unproductive and only serves to upset him.
He needs a distraction.
Maybe Minho is free tonight.
~ ♡ ~
Junmyeon stumbles clumsily over the steps as he leaves the club. A rush of cool, refreshing air washes over him, nipping at his face and ruffling his hair. He can still hear the bass from inside the nightclub, a phantom drumbeat lingering in his chest. He rubs at his temples, trying to shake off the overstimulation of flashing lights and endless noise.
Even though he had been the one to invite Minho out with him, he now finds himself desperate for a break. The crowd had been far too packed together, the music far too loud, and his own social battery far too depleted. Junmyeon listens out for the music he can still faintly hear playing. They’ve started playing some new hit single by SKY, something Junmyeon only knows because it won’t stop playing on the radio. He presses his back against the wall of the nightclub, tilting his face toward the autumn sky and breathing in the light air.
The night air is a bracing breeze against his flushed skin, light and crisp in contrast to the sticky heat from earlier in the afternoon. Junmyeon had always found August to be too fickle for his tastes, lurching recklessly between humid days and brisk nights.
He exhales deeply, his breath curling into the air like smoke. He just needs a moment of quiet before going back inside.
A sudden voice cuts through his thoughts, low and smooth and tinged with an amused lilt.
“Is the music in there that bad?”
Junmyeon startles and snaps his head to the right to find a tall figure standing near the entrance of another bar right next door. The figure takes a few steps forward, his defined features becoming more and more illuminated the closer he gets.
At this distance, Junmyeon can see the man’s unusually pale complexion and his abnormally sharp canines as his red-stained lips tug into a smirk. He smells very vaguely of blood.
A vampire, then.
“You scared me,” Junmyeon laughs breathlessly, bringing a hand up to fan his heated complexion, trying to both cool himself down and keep his hands busy.
He’s not usually one to get easily flustered — why would he be? He's met about a thousand A-list celebrities. He blames his nerves on the alcohol, though he knows he’s thinking way too clearly to be anything other than sober.
The man smiles kindly at Junmyeon, if a little apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
He approaches more and more until they’re close enough for Junmyeon to fully appreciate his impressive height. He has long, long legs, a trim waist, broad shoulders, and Junmyeon has to crane his neck to look him in the eyes. Fuck. Junmyeon has always been weak for tall guys.
Junmyeon straightens, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He brings his hands up to try and subtly fix any hairs that may be out of place. He doesn’t think he’s totally successful.
“No, no it's okay,” he reassures. “I just didn't realise anyone else was out here.”
The man nods in understanding, though his gaze lingers on him with a sharp curiosity. His dark eyes gleam in the faint light, catching on Junmyeon’s flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. It’s not a wholly unfamiliar look — Junmyeon has met enough people whilst working on Morning Café to recognise interest when he sees it — but there’s something about the way he watches him that feels like it goes beyond that, like it goes deeper.
Junmyeon resolutely ignores the fluttering in his chest, brushing it off as leftover adrenaline from the club. However, the more Junmyeon traces the man’s features, the more he gets an itching nag in the back of his head telling him that he knows him from somewhere.
“I'm sorry, but... Have we met before?” Junmyeon asks hesitantly. “You just look so familiar.”
The man tenses ever so slightly at his words, before warily investigating Junmyeon’s face. Junmyeon steps a little closer to him, nearer to the street lamp, hoping to help his memory be jogged.
He carefully nods, unsure. “Maybe. I think I might have seen your face somewhere before; you look familiar to me, too. But I can't think of where we could have met.”
“I don’t know either. Why don't we just assume we have met already?” Junmyeon suggests shamelessly.
The man raises an eyebrow at him, looking like he’s holding back a teasing remark at Junmyeon’s expense.
“We can be friends!” Junmyeon exclaims happily when he doesn’t get a verbal response. Okay, maybe he’s not as sober as he thought he was.
“Sure,” he agrees, not bothering to hide his laughter at Junmyeon. “My name is Sehun.”
“I’m Junmyeon,” he replies, extending a hand towards Sehun. When Sehun clasps it, his grip is firm and his hand is cool against Junmyeon’s warmer skin. Junmyeon holds back a shiver.
“Do you always hang out outside clubs, or is this a special occasion?” he asks, injecting as much lightness into his voice as possible.
Sehun laughs.
“I was hungry,” he says, holding up an empty blood bag that Junmyeon hadn’t noticed earlier. “But then I found myself in good company.”
Junmyeon’s cheeks heat inexplicably, and he curses himself for it. He’s met pop stars, actors, even literal royalty on Morning Café; name any A-list celebrity and Junmyeon has probably met them. He’s used to bantering with the effortlessly charming and ridiculously good-looking. So why is his heart racing now, over some random guy outside a club?
He wraps his arms around himself, suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. Hyper aware of the crisp breeze blowing down the street, and hyper aware of Sehun’s very distracting proximity. The wind picks up, ruffling their hair and carrying the faint scent of tobacco smoke and petrichor from the city. Junmyeon’s arms tighten around himself.
“Cold?” Sehun asks, his voice softening.
Junmyeon shakes his head quickly. “No, I’m fine.”
Sehun raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. Instead, he shifts closer, close enough that Junmyeon catches the scent of the blood he had been drinking beneath the smell of some sort of sandalwood cologne.
“Long week?” Sehun asks, his tone conversational but probing, letting Junmyeon choose the pace.
Junmyeon nods wearily. “As long as every other week. Work is… tiring.”
“What do you do?” Sehun asks curiously.
Junmyeon hesitates. If Sehun hasn’t recognised him by now then he probably won’t recognise him at all. Still, Junmyeon doesn’t want to surrender his real identity, doesn’t want to forfeit this potential… something by revealing his job, and thereby announcing that he’s famous.
“I… talk to people,” he says instead.
Sehun grins with mirth.
“That’s it?” he teases, the words laced with laughter. “You talk to people?”
“In a way…” Junmyeon drawls shyly.
His response causes Sehun’s smirk to extend. “Only in a way?”
“Stop,” Junmyeon huffs light heartedly, hitting Sehun’s shoulder with no real strength. “You’re teasing me.”
“Are you like a shrink or something?”
“No! It’s not like that,” Junmyeon exclaims, giggling. Okay, yeah. He’s definitely not as sober as he thought he was.
“But you talk to people.” Sehun briefly averts his gaze before looking back at Junmyeon. “You must be good at conversation then.”
“No, I’m not. They tell us what to talk about–” he starts before he suddenly cuts himself off, realising he’s said too much. Is this going to be what finally tips Sehun off?
Sehun just raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Now I'm really curious.”
Junmyeon stares at him for a second longer, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen.
“Whatever,” he says too-casually. “It doesn’t matter what I do. What do you do?”
“Accounting,” Sehun replies immediately, brushing over the topic before Junmyeon can ask him any further questions. “Did you come here with someone?”
Junmyeon bites back a flattered smile. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”
Sehun simply looks at him for a moment, considering his next words, and speaks in a tone of carefully-hidden nerves — something Junmyeon has become trained to hear after years of working in the spotlight.
“Because I’m not a homewrecker,” Sehun tells him, his voice slightly lower now, yet sounding younger with a hint of insecurity.
Junmyeon takes another step closer to Sehun, revelling in their height difference. He cannot stop the excited flurry of he’s so tall that whirls around his head.
“Me neither,” he replies, purposefully staring up at him with wide eyes. “And I don’t think my friend cares what I do.”
Sehun takes one single step closer to him, but it feels like the slow kindling of a fire. Junmyeon watches him in anticipation. His eyes flicker over Junmyeon’s face, lingering at his lips, and Junmyeon feels his pulse leap in his throat. Sehun’s eyes spare his neck a glance, before meeting his gaze again.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The muffled thump of club music behind them grows distant under the hush of night air. Someone across the street laughs too loudly, bottles clinks against one another, but it all sounds far away to Junmyeon now, as if he and Sehun are the only ones left in the city.
Junmyeon swallows thickly, desperate for something to say so he can break this tension. “Are you still hungry? After the blood bag?”
Sehun lets out a breath of laughter, a little rasp of amusement and something else — something closer to tension. “I’m full now,” he says slowly. “But I guess I’m still… craving something.”
There’s a weight to the word craving that lands hot in Junmyeon’s stomach. His cheeks flush deeper, and he tears his gaze away for half a second before finding himself looking right back up at Sehun, helpless to stop it.
“You–” Junmyeon falters, his mouth going dry. He doesn’t know what it is about Sehun — his steady gaze, his calm confidence, or maybe the faintly teasing edge to his words — but it’s throwing him completely off balance.
This is dangerous. He shouldn’t be out here talking to some strange vampire in the middle of the night, one whose name he only just learned. He shouldn’t be flirting. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him.
Junmyeon can’t help it, though. Because Sehun is looking at him like he’s trying to memorize every angle of his face. Because Sehun hasn’t made a single move to touch him, but Junmyeon feels as though he already has. Because there’s a hum of energy between them that feels like a lit fuse.
Sehun’s voice cuts through the quiet again, softer this time. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
Junmyeon hesitates, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he does want to, so much.
“Okay,” he says simply, quelling the chaos in his mind.
They don’t go very far — just around the corner, away from the thrum of nightlife. The streets are quieter here, lined with closed storefronts and flickering street lamps. Their footsteps echo on the pavement, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves overhead.
Junmyeon sneaks a glance at Sehun as they walk. In the amber light of the street lamps, his features look even sharper, almost surreal. He carries himself with a casual ease, but his hands are tucked in his coat pockets like he’s trying to keep them to himself.
Junmyeon’s voice is quieter now, a low murmur. “So... accounting?”
Sehun chuckles, nodding slightly. “Yeah. It’s as boring as it sounds.”
Junmyeon smiles. “I don’t know. There’s something kind of mysterious about it.”
Sehun raises an eyebrow at that. “You think accounting is mysterious?”
“All those numbers, it makes me think of spy movies or something,” Junmyeon teases.
That makes Sehun laugh again, the sound of it light and warm. “If I was a spy, I’m pretty sure I’d have to kill you for saying that.”
Junmyeon gasps melodramatically. “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? I’m just an innocent guy who talks to people for a living.”
“Oh, right. The talker,” Sehun says, clearly amused, teasing Junmyeon. “Still sounds more interesting than anything I do.”
Junmyeon shrugs with a crooked smile. “Depends on who you’re talking to; sometimes they seem like they don’t even want to be there.”
“Surely they want to be there,” Sehun says, giving him a soft, appreciative look. And then, as if to explain himself; “They get to talk to you.”
The words are quiet, but they land like thunder and Junmyeon feels them nudge against his ribs. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly, it feels like the world has gone completely still.
At this point they’ve wandered into a narrow side street, tucked behind a music store and half-shielded from the main road. It’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels suspended in time.
Junmyeon stops, heart drumming, suddenly all too aware that they’re alone. Sehun turns to face him fully now, stepping just a little closer.
“Junmyeon,” he says, and hearing his name in that low, raw voice sends zips of anticipation thrilling through him.
“Yes?” he breathes, and the air feels thinned, like there’s no oxygen left in the world.
“I keep thinking about kissing you.”
Junmyeon’s breath catches and his lips part slightly in shock. Sehun’s eyes dart to them before lifting to meet his eyes again. His skin burns with the ache of longing.
Junmyeon doesn’t trust himself to respond. His thoughts are a chaotic swirl of confusion and frustration — confusion at why he feels so flustered, and frustration that he can’t seem to get a grip on it. He’s handled live interviews with notorious divas and quick-witted politicians, for crying out loud. This shouldn’t be any different.
And yet, when Sehun leans in, the space between them narrowing further, Junmyeon feels like he might combust.
The air around them seems to still, the breeze fading into nothingness. All Junmyeon can hear is the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of city traffic.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Sehun murmurs, his voice a warm caress against Junmyeon’s cheek. His face is open and unguarded. His confidence — the teasing and the flirting and the perfect posture — is a facade, Junmyeon realises. Sehun is just as out of his depth as Junmyeon is.
Junmyeon swallows hard, his gaze darting to Sehun’s lips before he can stop himself. “Don’t stop. I want it, please. I want you.”
Sehun’s eyes search his face for any flicker of hesitation. When he finds none, he moves.
The kiss is slow at first. A breath, a hesitation, and then the press of mouths — tentative and exploratory, like neither of them can believe this is actually happening. Sehun’s hand comes up to cup the back of Junmyeon’s neck, his touch careful but possessive. His thumb brushes over the smooth skin there. Junmyeon makes a soft sound against Sehun’s lips, and it pulls a low, wanting noise from Sehun in return.
The kiss deepens.
Sehun tastes like a mixture of blood and wine, strangely intoxicating. He leans in harder, pressing Junmyeon gently back against the wall of the narrow alley, one hand cushioning his head and the other holding him by the waist like he’s afraid to let go.
Junmyeon’s fingers twist in Sehun’s coat, anchoring himself as heat flares low in his belly. His mind spins. He’s kissed people before, had flings, even serious boyfriends, but they’ve rarely felt like this. Like tension coiled for aeons finally snapping free.
When they finally part, both of them are breathing harder than before. Sehun stays close, his forehead against Junmyeon’s and his eyes shut.
His breath is warm against Junmyeon’s cheek, and Junmyeon doesn’t move — not yet — afraid that even a whisper of distance might break the fragile spell hanging between them.
They lapse into a pregnant silence, right on the verge of something snapping. The wind whips around them, tousling Sehun’s dark hair and tugging at Junmyeon’s sleeves. Leaves swirl across the pavement, their brittle edges scratching softly against the ground. Sehun pulls back slightly, just so he can look at Junmyeon. He cradles Junmyeon’s face in his hands like he’s something precious.
“You look so…” Sehun trails off, his eyes ravenously roving over Junmyeon’s features. His hand slides farther back and into Junmyeon’s hair.
“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, leaning in to press his lips against Junmyeon’s again, as if he’d been starving for it.
Junmyeon immediately brings his hands up to Sehun’s broad shoulders, letting one of them reach for his face, stroking his cheek before carding his fingers through his black hair, pulling his face closer. He doesn’t want him to leave anytime soon.
They both get lost in the kiss, pushing and pulling, back and forth, neither wanting to pull apart for too long. It’s hot and heavy, all-consuming and everything Junmyeon has ever wanted. Junmyeon’s hand tangles Sehun’s hair, lightly dragging his nails across his scalp. He pulls Sehun closer, relishing the feeling of Sehun’s far taller form pressing him against the wall. Junmyeon’s lips are tingling and kiss-bruised, and his chest is tight with wanting.
“Sehun,” he moans out, his wanton voice slicing through the quiet of the night.
Sehun presses closer in response, sighing into his mouth. His fingers press bruises into Junmyeon’s waist and jaw.
“Sehun,” he mumbles between kisses. “You- you can’t leave marks on me. Okay?”
Sehun groans into his mouth, but otherwise gives no response to his words. He kisses Junmyeon like he’s been starving for it, like he needs his air to breathe.
The world tilts and Junmyeon feels his breath leave him in a rush. Junmyeon melts against him, opening up willingly, hungrily. Their mouths part and come together over and over, more desperate each time, until Junmyeon is gasping softly against Sehun’s lips. Junmyeon can’t help but feel all consumed by Sehun — though it’s not unpleasant.
That’s exactly the problem, though.
He’d gladly stay here for the rest of eternity, being pushed up against the wall by a tall, handsome vampire who kisses him like he wants to brand himself on Junmyeon’s lips. But he has to go home, has to wake up early tomorrow morning to visit his parents. He can’t stay, no matter how much he may want to. And he really wants to.
“Se– Sehun,” he tries again, but it comes out as a loud moan, betraying his true feelings. Sehun gives one last lick to the inside of his mouth, before dragging his lips down to his jaw and neck, his breath fanning across his skin.
Sehun’s lips against his neck get more and more insistent until his sharp teeth brush against Junmyeon’s neck. Junmyeon gasps and pulls Sehun back by his hair.
“Don’t you dare bite me,” he says breathlessly.
Sehun just nods mindlessly, eyes staring intently at Junmyeon’s lips before he leans in again.
Junmyeon moans helplessly, responding to the kiss before he even realises what’s happening. Sehun kisses like he wants to swallow him whole, overpowering and overwhelming and perfect. Junmyeon’s fingers clutch at Sehun’s coat, pulling him closer.
One of Sehun’s fangs catches on Junmyeon lips, breaking skin. The bitter taste of his own blood fills his mouth and Sehun groans. Junmyeon whimpers quietly at the pain and Sehun’s hands tighten on his hips.
“I’m sorry,” Sehun murmurs placatingly into his mouth, but the way he licks at the cut with abandon says otherwise. His hands grip Junmyeon like he never wants to let go, pulling him so close that every single inch of their bodies are touching.
Junmyeon shudders, hips twitching forward involuntarily. He can feel blood rushing south and he suddenly pulls away from Sehun before things can get too heated. Sehun continues to kiss down his cheek to his jaw and back again to his neck.
“N–No marks,” Junmyeon whispers, his voice reedy. He can barely think right now — how is he supposed to be the responsible one in this situation?
His fingers twist in Sehun’s coat. When Sehun pulls back from his neck to kiss him again, Junmyeon feels unsteady, drunk in a way that isn’t the fault of the alcohol, but rather the heat and the contact and the way Sehun’s lips keep chasing his. Junmyeon gasps into his mouth, a low, helpless sound.
“I– Sehun,” Junmyeon breathes. “I have to– mmh– I really have to go.”
Sehun doesn’t stop and just kisses him harder, ignoring the words. Then there’s lips on his jaw, his throat. Fingers digging into his hips. Possessive. Desperate.
Junmyeon is drowning in it. He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to stay right here, to let Sehun devour him, to lose hours just kissing in the shadows.
But reality tugs at him and his responsibilities loom like a shadow. He forces himself to push gently at Sehun’s chest. He turns his face away from Sehun so he can’t start kissing him again.
“Sehun,” he whispers, trying to arrange the syllables in a suitable way for a goodbye, but the words are shadows and he finds himself silent.
Sehun stills, just for a moment, then slowly leans back. The sudden rush of space around him, now that Sehun isn’t pressing him up against a wall with his own body, feels cold and lonely. Junmyeon, once again, forces himself to think practically.
“I– I really have to go now. I’m sorry,” he says into the air between them.
Junmyeon staunchly ignores the heat that has crept up his neck, focusing instead on the way the wind feels against his skin, cool and grounding. He wishes it would rain, anything to break the tension coiling in the air between them.
Sehun’s hand slides down from Junmyeon’s neck to his hand, tangling their fingers together. “Can I at least have your number?”
Junmyeon feels his cheeks redden immediately. He bites his lip to hide the shy smile that tugs at his mouth.
He nods eagerly. “Do you have something to write it down?”
Sehun’s face falls. “Fuck.”
Junmyeon rubs his thumb over the back of Sehun’s hand placatingly, even as he feels his own heart pinch at the prospect of never seeing Sehun again. His night was not supposed to go like this. He was supposed to go out and get drunk, maybe make out with someone hot, before going back home at a reasonable hour. Why is he having this heartfelt goodbye right now?
“Maybe you could ask someone for a pen? I’ll write it on my arm,” Sehun suggests hopefully.
Junmyeon cringes, not knowing how to reject this idea. If he tries asking around for a pen then he runs the risk of being recognised, and then all of this — this fragile, private moment — will fall apart.
“Why don’t you ask?” Junmyeon counters gently.
Sehun looks away and sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“I can’t,” he says simply, and he doesn’t seem willing to elaborate. Junmyeon decides not to push.
Junmyeon smiles at him weakly before leaning up to press a quick, warm kiss to Sehun’s cheek.
“We both live in the city, right? Maybe there’s a chance we'll meet again.”
Sehun sighs quietly, clearly disappointed. His lips form a small pout as he continues to play with Junmyeon’s fingers, unwilling to let go just yet. Cute, Junmyeon thinks affectionately.
“Maybe,” Sehun concedes, though he doesn’t look at all hopeful.
Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say to that, not without making promises he’s not sure he can keep.
So instead, he just squeezes Sehun’s hand once — tight, lingering — and lets go.
~ ♡ ~