Archive of Our Own

𖤐

When Jeno steps into the criminal investigation room, he already knows that it is going to be a long, long night. It’s barely past eleven, but the tables have long been piled high with documents marked in bright red ink, and there are at least ten new post-its pinned haphazardly on the noticeboard.

Doyoung looks up from the table, eyes watery with exhaustion as he signals for Jeno to take a seat.

“New update from the forensics department, thought you might be interested,” Doyoung says hoarsely, pulling a file out from the towering stack of papers.

Jeno scans it quickly, heart twisting as he reads the entire report on Case 0813. There have been a total of three unexplainable deaths in the past two weeks, and all the forensics reports still persist to reveal the exact same details each time. Gashes. Heart torn out. Possible animal attack. Inconclusive weapon. He can feel an imminent migraine knocking against his temples, thousands of possibilities flitting through his mind once again.

“It’s impossible,” Jisung mutters despairingly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The forensics reports aren’t helping, and there are no leads at all. no witnesses either.”

Jeno sighs, slumping into his chair in agreement. He had joined the criminal investigation department seven years ago, but never before has he come across such a troubling case. There’s nothing that can possibly explain the sporadic attacks targeted at young girls, the horrifying gashes on the victims’ bodies, or the way all of them had their arteries severed completely by teeth.

As if he were thinking about the same thing, Jisung shudders and nearly tips over his entire cup of coffee. Doyoung looks up blankly, too out of it to even react to Jisung’s clumsiness like he usually would. After two whole weeks of dedicating every single minute of their waking time to this case, they look ready to collapse any second. Jeno doesn’t blame them honestly — he too can feel the exhaustion slowly settling into his bones, his marrow soaking up all the tiredness like a sponge.

As the minute hand of the clock hits eleven, Jeno finally stands up and grabs his coat. Smiling grimly at his teammates, he cocks his head towards the door. “Anyone up for a drink?”

“Jeno, Doyoung,” Heejin waves at them cheerfully when they enter, her smile growing bigger as Jisung trails in slowly. “Jisungie!”

“Now gentlemen, what can I get for you today?” Heejin dries her hands on her green apron, wagging a finger playfully in Jisung’s direction. “No drinks for you though, baby chick. Apple juice or hot chocolate?”

“I’m literally legal already,” Jisung puffs his cheeks out in protest, before muttering under his voice, “but I wouldn’t mind an apple juice.”

Jeno laughs, resisting the urge to lie on the table as he settles into the plush red stool. It’s quite a small town — the kind where everyone kind of knows everyone — so they are all rather close to Heejin. Jisung in particular has always been a baby in Heejin’s eyes, something that Jeno doubts will ever change even when they are all pushing sixty and Jisung begins balding.

“Busy night?” Doyoung sips on his paloma quietly, expression softening as Heejin sighs.

“Business hasn’t been good lately,” she drops her voice to a whisper, glancing around furtively as she leans forward. “Ever since the killings, you know…people aren’t keen to come out late at night anymore.”

Jeno pauses, letting the wine slide down his throat in a scalding gulp. True enough, there aren’t many customers around — just the old man sitting in the corner as usual, and a few other men at the back of the bar. The bar used to be bustling at this hour, but the killings recently seemed to have shrouded the entire town in a haze of darkness. Hardly anyone leaves the safety of their home at night anymore, and the streets are always dreary even in the mornings.

That’s one major reason why Jeno wants to solve this case quickly. He craves the vibrance and liveliness that the town has to offer, craves the carefree feeling of walking along the streets knowing that everything will be fine.

He wants — no, needs — his old life back.

“It’s creepy, isn’t it, how the killer or whoever it is only targets young girls?” Heejin’s voice interjects his thoughts, her brows furrowing as she cleans up the countertop. “I heard about Ryujin…it’s really sad. Hope you find the killer soon, I believe in you guys.”

Jeno smiles weakly at that, his drink leaving behind a sour taste on his tongue. He wishes he could give Heejin a definite answer, but all they seem to be coming up with right now are dead ends and unexplainable crime scenes.

The four of them sink into solemn silence, until the bell at the door jingles lightly, letting in a gust of chilly air. Jeno can’t help but shiver as he turns towards the man who had just walked in, eyeing him curiously as he slides into the seat beside him.

It’s rare to see anyone out and about at this time, especially someone dressed so well. His red leather jacket glints menacingly in the dark, and a blood-red ruby pendant sits snugly in the middle of his chest.

He looks unfamiliar, like he doesn’t belong in town. Jeno frowns, trying to get a closer look, but the dim yellow lights in the bar cast shadows on his face. Somehow, his entire face seems to be shrouded in darkness, the shadows blurring his features into an indiscernible cloud. Jeno rubs his eyes tiredly, looking over to see if Doyoung and Jisung are paying attention, but they are both slumped over their drinks.

“One bloody mary please,” the man says softly. His voice has a husky undertone, leaving behind a slight vibration in the middle of Jeno’s chest. He seems to be aware that Jeno is staring at him, but he doesn’t give any reaction nor does he even turn to glance at Jeno.

As he presses his lips to his glass, his canines peek out for a second, long enough for Jeno to catch how abnormally long they are. Teeth. Jeno jolts in his seat, heart thumping as every single detail about the case comes rushing back to him. It’s second nature at this point, to think about the case constantly; it plagues him, never allowing him more than five minutes of breathing time.

The guy smiles, wicked and all-knowing, as if he knows just what Jeno is thinking about. This time, however, his teeth look normal. No sharp canines, just rounded pearly whites. Jeno blinks, shaking his head to get out of his daze.

Hallucinating about someone’s teeth, god. Jeno looks away in embarrassment. This is a new low.

“Alright, let’s go,” Jeno pats Jisung and Doyoung gently, gathering their coats in his hand as he starts shuffling out. If he continues drinking, he’ll probably even start to hallucinate about Jisung’s teeth.

“Leaving already?” Heejin tuts.

“Yeah, we still have work to catch up on,” Jeno shrugs helplessly. “Don’t close up too late, and protect yourself, you know…”

Heejin rolls her eyes, waving him away. “Got it, mister overprotective. I’ll take care of myself just fine.”

Jeno nods, pushing the door to step into the deserted streets. The cold wind brushes across his face in firm strokes, and his neck tingles as an icy chill slides down his spine.

It feels as if someone is watching him. He whirls around, eyes scanning the bar quickly, but there’s nothing amiss — Heejin is wiping their glasses, and the mysterious man is still hunched over his bloody mary.

Everything is normal.

Jeno can’t help but hope that it stays that way.

𖤐

“All the deaths so far occurred around three in the morning,” Jisung checks off his fingers, his voice trembling from the cold. “We should probably walk to the other side of town, see if there’s anything weird.”

Jeno yawns, tugging his coat around him tighter. The only clue about the killings so far are the time of deaths of the victims, so they have resorted to patrolling around the town at unearthly hours to make sure everything is fine. It’s him and Jisung on duty tonight, which Jeno has to admit probably isn’t the best combination. Jisung looks like he is about to jump out of his skin any second.

“Come on,” Jeno quickens his pace, stubbing out his cigarette with his heel. It’s one of the rare nights where the moon is almost fully round; the rest of the sky drips with inky blackness above their heads, melding into one with the buildings. Somehow, the shadows seem particularly accentuated tonight, and Jeno can’t help but feel as though they were swallowing him up as they hurry down the streets.

As they move towards the other side of town, a dilapidated building looms in the distance, broken windows appearing extra sinister in the dark. It’s the old town hall that was abandoned over a year ago, they’ve moved to a bigger building at the other end of the street, but no one bothered to tear this one down. Jeno doesn’t usually spend much time around the old town hall, but there’s something very off about it tonight that he can’t quite place his finger on.

“Do you feel something weird?” Jeno mutters quietly, eyes sliding up towards the glass windows. There’s a slight thrumming in the air, a static buzz that fills his ears with white noise.

“Everything feels weird, oh my god—” Jisung yelps as a frog leaps at him from the bushes. “I felt unwell since we started patrolling an hour ago.”

Jeno frowns, an unshakable tightness in his chest spreading slowly. He doesn’t even know why he feels so uncomfortable, but the incessant tugging in his gut keeps him rooted to the spot, staring up at the windows.

Just as he was about to turn away, a sudden flurry of motion in one of the windows catches his attention. A swish of something, most likely a bat, but Jeno is sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Did you see that?” He demands.

“Huh?” Jisung looks up from the ground, where he is playing ‘the floor is lava’ with the frog. “See what?”

“Nevermind,” Jeno shakes his head. “Let’s go check, I think I saw something in one of the windows.”

“Go into the old town hall and check?” Jisung’s voice rises by at least two octaves, all the blood draining from his face completely. He looks so terrified at the idea of venturing into the building that the frog jumping around his feet doesn’t even distract him anymore.

Jeno sighs heavily, “Alright, you stand here and watch out for anything suspicious. I’ll just go up and check, it’ll only take five minutes.”

The door shudders when Jeno pushes it open, the musty smell of rotten wood and mouldy cushions hitting him right in the face. It’s clear that no one has stepped into the building in ages; the stairs creak under his feet, amplifying his footsteps as he trudges up.

It’s only when he reaches the third landing does he stop in his tracks. Gone was the musty smell of aged, moist wood. All that permeates the air now is the metallic tang of blood. The stench of fresh blood is overpowering, and the unmistakable smell of death nearly makes Jeno hurl.

No way. Jeno tries to keep his years of training in his mind as his hand hovers over the gun tucked in his belt, moving towards the door of the mayor’s old office slowly. All the tiny strands of hair on the back of his neck are standing up straight, and the incessant prickling on his arms has only intensified.

His eyes take a moment to fully adjust to the darkness, the only source of light being the moonlight shining through the window. And when he finally catches sight of the floor spotlighted by the moon, Jeno’s heart stops completely.

The first thing Jeno sees is the motionless body on the ground, legs twisted abnormally and face covered entirely by the desk. There’s another body crouched above it, barely discernible in the darkness.

No. Bile rises in Jeno’s throat immediately.

The second thing he notices is the amount of blood. Everywhere. Splattered on the walls, pooling around the table, dripping from the man’s fingers, staining everything a deep, dark red.

Jeno can taste the bile in his mouth. He has just stumbled upon the next killing, he is sure of it. The crime scene looks exactly the same as the past three victims, the horrifying amount of blood indicating the loss of yet another life.

The victim’s neck is mauled beyond distinction, a mix of flesh and blood. And her torso, oh god. There’s a gaping hole in her chest, one that used to house a beating, pulsating muscle, but now all Jeno can see are ruptured arteries and veins.

The man crouched over her body finally looks up, and Jeno’s hand flies to his gun immediately. There’s no mistaking the dark red jacket, the red ruby glowing even with specks of blood all over it, the sharp canines that are in perfect view.

Him. From the bar. Jeno pulls out his gun, hand trembling slightly as he locks his finger above the trigger.

Blood drips from the man’s teeth, sliding in a thick line down his red jacket. His entire lip is stained red, and Jeno stops breathing when he smiles, teeth dripping with pure wickedness. While he could not manage to catch the man’s features in the bar that day, Jeno sees it fully now.

A perfectly chiselled face, coupled with unnaturally long eyelashes and glowing red eyes akin to those of a nighttime predator. There’s something inhumanely ethereal about him, his face more beautiful than anything Jeno has ever seen. It’s a sinister kind of beauty, the kind that you know would one day swallow you whole.

For a moment, Jeno wonders about the existence of vampires, but the man doesn’t seem to be only drinking the blood of his victims. From the past three killings, it seems more as though he were consuming everything about them, tearing through their bodies carelessly, taking and taking and taking.

Jeno feels sick to the stomach. Thankfully, his hand doesn’t shake much when he points his gun right in the man’s face. If the man is even mildly intimidated by the gun, he doesn’t show it. He merely raises an eyebrow, looking more amused than scared.

“Who are you?” Jeno’s voice comes out in a breathless croak, penetrating the deathly silence.

The man doesn’t answer, but his smile grows bigger, until he is baring almost all his bloodstained teeth at Jeno. His tongue comes up to swipe at his teeth slowly, casually, as he savours the blood with a blissful expression on his face.

“Who in the world are you?” Jeno tries again, not even bothering to hide the tremor in his voice anymore. Nothing in front of him is making any sense — who is this man? What does he want from their small, peaceful town?

“Who am I?” When the man finally speaks, his voice is just as Jeno remembers. Smooth as marble, vibrating like a tensed string in the still air. His grin widens, until all Jeno can see is teeth.

“Oh darling,” blood continues dripping from his canines. Drip. Jeno’s vision begins to swim. Drip. Drip. “You should be asking, what am I?”

And then everything goes black.

When he comes to, Jeno finds himself back on the street outside the town hall, with Jisung waving in his face frantically. There’s a moment of disorientation as Jeno tries to adjust his eyes to the darkness, wondering why on earth he is staring up into the night sky and not the ceiling of the mayor’s old office.

As he struggles to sit up, everything that happened before he passed out comes flying back in an instant. The victim. The man from the bar. The vice-like grip around his heart tightens painfully.

“Hyung! Oh my god, you are finally awake! I was just trying to think of how to carry you all the way back to the station,” Jisung’s hands flutter about in relief, slumping in relief as he tries to help Jeno up.

“The woman,” Jeno splutters, scrambling up to run for the town hall door. The sight of her lying motionless on the ground is still as clear as day in his mind, and it feels as though the metallic scent of blood had seeped into his pores, tainting his senses till it is all that he can smell.

“Woman?” Jisung follows him in confusion, “What woman?”

“What do you mean? Did you not see her on the floor? And the man? Did you catch him?” Jeno can feel the beginnings of panic tickling at his insides, his words slurring together in increasing hysteria.

“Wait hyung, I think you need to calm down first,” Jisung sounds uncharacteristically soothing as he stops Jeno with his hand, warm palm grounding him back into reality. “I don’t know what in the world you are talking about, but you probably shouldn’t be moving about so much when you’ve just fainted.”

Jeno shakes his hand off impatiently, nearly tripping over the floorboards in his haste to clamber up the stairs. “I know I fainted, it’s because of what I saw in the mayor’s old office.”

“Huh?” Jisung’s grip tightens this time, spinning Jeno around to look at him in concern. “Hyung, I really don’t know what you are saying. You said you were going to check out the town hall, but before you even reached the door you collapsed. I think the case must really be stressing you out.”

Now Jisung is the one stressing him out. Jeno stops in front of the door to the mayor’s office, stomach lurching in trepidation. It is shut tightly now, as if it hadn’t been open in years. Strangely enough, the smell of blood has also disappeared, leaving behind the typical musty smell of mouldiness.

“Don’t be too shocked,” Jeno tries to keep his voice steady as he turns the doorknob. “Look—”

Jeno freezes.

“At what?” Jisung’s voice cuts through the air.

There’s no one. No motionless body lying face-down, no blood pooling on the floor, no strange man with a mouth filled with blood. The office is exactly how it should be — old, dusty, and quiet.

Jeno leans over to the side and pukes his lungs out.

𖤐

Sleep doesn’t come easy for the rest of the week. Doyoung has placed him on a mandatory one-week break after assuring him repeatedly that he can be back as soon as he relaxes a little. Jeno is thankful for the temporary hiatus, of course, but that also means more alone time with his overwhelming thoughts.

Up till now, Jeno still doesn’t know if he had conjured up the entire image of the victim and the man by himself. Jeno wants so desperately to believe that it is nothing more than just hallucination, but everything felt so real. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the woman on the ground, neck mauled into pieces and blood dripping everywhere.

Jeno blinks, his empty ceiling staring back at him in equal despondence. Sleeping is torture nowadays; ever since the incident, nightmares have been plaguing him every single night.

It’s always the same thing — the inhumanely beautiful smile, a leering mouth dripping with blood, tongue stained deep red, sharp canines coming closer till he is completely swallowed.

Jeno wants to clear his mind of these images, but they are embedded deeply somewhere at the back of his mind, haunting every single minute of his life. It’s particularly worse at night, when slumber cloaks him in its embrace and he becomes completely powerless.

Somewhere in the town square, the clock strikes twelve, yet Jeno’s eyes are still resolutely open, sleep the furthest thing on his mind. Sighing, he climbs out of bed to grab his coat.

It’s disconcerting to see Heejin bustling about in the bar, when all Jeno can think about is — what if she is next? He can’t even begin to imagine how much pain it’ll be, how it’ll feel as if his heart was the one being ripped out instead of hers.

“You okay?” Heejin sets his sazerac down gently, a small frown pinching at her brows. “I heard you are on a break.”

“Yeah,” Jeno takes a tiny sip, wincing from how strong it is. Heejin’s penchant for making her drinks extra strong is one of the reasons why Jeno frequents her bar. It’s always a much needed respite, and Jeno can only pray that he is drunk enough later to knock out immediately when he gets home.

There’s no one except him in the bar, and the still, empty atmosphere causes a chill to run down his spine. It’s the creepy feeling of being watched again, which is obviously stupid because Heejin is in the kitchen and it’s only him here. Jeno glowers angrily at the tiny reflections of the lamps dangling overhead in his drink.

He can feel himself getting a little woozy, eyelids fluttering as a metallic tang pervades the air. Everything is suddenly silent. Too silent. Jeno can’t hear anything but his laboured breathing.

“What a delicious drink.”

Jeno looks up slowly, heart skidding to a stop when two rows of sharp, pearly teeth greet him. It’s an all-too-familiar sight; he has seen it a million times in his nightmares, bloodstained and wicked.

The man takes another slow, languid sip from his glass, tongue darting out to gather the remnants of the drink on his lip. Whatever is swirling in his glass — Jeno doesn’t want to know what it is — catches the light, gleaming a sinister shade of red.

“You,” Jeno finds himself unable to move as he narrows his eyes at the man. He reaches for the gun tucked snugly in his back pocket, a chill running down his spine when all he grasps is air.

“Looking for this?” The man twirls his gun with his pinky carelessly, a saccharine smile creeping up onto his lips. “I’ll help you.”

Slowly, he lifts the gun to Jeno’s head, finger locking onto the trigger. Jeno stops breathing completely, paling as the cold metal of the gun’s nuzzle comes into contact with his forehead. It’s human instinct to flinch, to run when you are confronted by danger, yet Jeno finds himself unable to move at all.

He can only watch on helplessly as the man presses down on the trigger and —

Click.

— the gun is unloaded.

“Boo!” the man grins, cruel and utterly delighted as he takes in Jeno’s expression. He lifts the gun from Jeno’s head, bullets flying out from the cracks of his fingers. “Don’t worry darling, I’m not going to let you die so easily.”

“What the fuck are you and what do you want from me?” Jeno croaks, throat squeezing into a ball as he falls back into his chair.

“Hm…” the man taps lazily against his glass. “What do you humans like to call me? The Prince of Darkness?”

He leans closer, till Jeno can see the streaks of red dancing in his pupils, “But I also like to go by Jaemin.”

“Jaemin,” Jeno lets the unfamiliar word roll on his tongue. “Why are you doing this to our town? Why are you…killing all the girls?”

“They taste good.” Jaemin says it in an impossibly innocent way, tongue coming up to swipe against the top of his teeth. “It’s a euphoric feeling, to feed on their minds and inject so much fear that they succumb completely.”

“What?” A swoosh of air leaves Jeno’s throat.

“And do you know what I like to do next?” Jaemin ignores him, eyes blazing as he places his palms flat on the countertop and presses his face close. He stops a few inches away from Jeno’s nose, licking his lips in an incredibly obscene way.

“I consume them,” the red rivulets glinting on Jaemin’s lip look like blood. “It’s easy, because they are so afraid, so defenceless, that they let me take everything.”

“You are a monster,” Jeno’s voice sounds weak and wobbly even to his own ears, a stark comparison to Jaemin’s smooth, composed one.

Jaemin laughs at that, looking more amused than offended. “I am. And you know what?”

He slides his hand across the table and lifts his index finger till it is poised just under Jeno’s chin. He tilts it up, just enough so that they are eye to eye.

“It’s still easier to get to the younger girls, but you intrigue me, Jeno Lee,” Jaemin’s voice resonates in the tiny bar, as if he were standing at the other end of a tunnel and speaking across to Jeno. “I’m coming for you soon, and I won’t stop until you are consumed.”

He smiles, teeth glinting in a terrifyingly familiar way, a silent promise that he’ll continue to haunt Jeno’s sleepless nights. His shadow seems to loom even larger as he towers over Jeno, a throbbing ball of bright red energy spreading from his chest, before he disappears in an instant.

And all that’s left in the bar is Jeno, sitting shell-shocked in his barstool, ears ringing with Jaemin’s last warning, permanently frozen in a catatonic state.

𖤐

The nightmares have gotten more frequent. It’s always the same things, a ghastly coalescence of teeth, blood, torn arteries and young girls with missing hearts.

They are bearable most of the time — it has become somewhat habitual for Jeno to wake up shivering, before he lumbers to the bathroom and pops a few pills into his mouth. But sometimes, they are so bad that Jeno can’t even tell if they are real or not.

It’s been hard trying to discern nightmares from reality recently. Jeno would wake up, unable to move a single muscle as he watches Jaemin lounge at the end of his bed, smiling eerily at him. It’ll be easy to rule this under sleep paralysis, but Jeno knows deep down that it is not.

Sleep paralysis does not explain the patches of blood he finds on his duvets in the morning. Sleep paralysis does not explain the warnings the blood holds, the warning that Jeno will be next.

Jeno can’t help but wonder if this is what Jaemin means by injecting fear into his victims, because Jeno is scared. Very scared.

For the first time in his life, Jeno finally understands what it means to feel pure, unadulterated fear.

One week later, on a Friday night, Jeno lines his windowsill with salt. The books said salt would work, that it would deter spirits and demons from harming him. Jeno doesn’t know how much he is supposed to use, but by the time he is done, two empty sacks stare back up at him.

As he climbs into bed carefully, he makes sure to wear his silver necklace. It’s an old family heirloom that Jeno used to hate, but now it brings him an odd sense of comfort.

Jeno drifts in and out of painful consciousness, and when the town hall clock finally strikes three, he startles out of an unrestful sleep. The telltale rattle of the window, the chilly breeze that lifts the curtain, the immediate gloom that settles over his room. Jaemin is here.

“Oh?” Jaemin is perched on his windowsill tonight, legs dangling out of the window as he glances at Jeno in amusement. “Salt?”

He sounds amused, but his fingers dance over the piles of salt, keeping a clear distance away from them. For a moment, Jeno’s heart leaps in his chest, desperate hope filling the empty chasm within.

But then Jaemin lets out a derisive laugh, pinching the salt between his fingers, and Jeno feels his heart swoop all the way down to his stomach. The salt fizzes on his skin, leaving behind a burned patch, yet he seems unbothered by the pain.

“Naive, sweet, little Jeno,” Jaemin licks the salt from the pad of his finger, cocking his head in amusement. “Did you think that this could stop me?”

He materialises on Jeno’s bed in an instant, hooking his legs over Jeno’s waist in one swift motion. Moonlight frames the crown of his head, and Jeno can only watch in horror as Jaemin leans down, hair falling over his eyes.

“You wound me, Jeno,” Jaemin tuts, sounding disappointed as he purses his lips at Jeno. “I thought everything was going well.”

Jeno wants to scream, wants to push Jaemin off and run to his bathroom and scrub at his face until he can’t feel anything. But he is unable to move a single inch, pinned by an unseen force.

And Jaemin…Jaemin is angry. Jeno can feel the tremors of his anger, radiating off him in calm, dangerous waves. Jaemin bends even lower, fingers gliding softly against Jeno’s skin till they grasp Jeno’s chin.

“You displease me,” Jaemin almost sounds whiny, and Jeno would have believed so if his eyes weren’t glowing red. Slowly, his finger inches downwards, sliding along the column of Jeno’s neck and across his Adam’s apple.

The silver necklace around his neck is cold against his skin, but as Jaemin’s fingers creep closer, it begins to burn hotly. Finally, when his index finger reaches just below Jeno’s collarbone, it catches on the chain of his necklace.

Jaemin hisses. Hope flares up immediately in Jeno’s chest.

“Ouch,” Jaemin stares down at his finger, looking betrayed as he glances back at Jeno. Silver seems to be stronger than salt — his skin started burning almost immediately upon contact. Still, it does not seem to be causing him any more harm other than that, and Jaemin manages to ignore the pain as he twists the heirloom between his fingers.

“Jeno,” Jaemin shakes his head. “This makes me upset. Very upset.”

“It wounds me that you think I’m some lowly demon,” Jaemin laughs, a sense of indignance pooling in his words, dousing Jeno’s hope almost instantly. “That you can ward me off using salt or silver.”

He presses his head even closer to Jeno’s chest, till all Jeno can see is the top of his head. Then, before Jeno can even react, Jaemin bites his necklace, the ornament fitting perfectly between his canines.

The silver shines in the dark, a stark contrast from Jaemin’s dark red lips. Without even bothering to unclasp the necklace, he pulls it up with his teeth in one go, the clasp breaking painfully against the back of Jeno’s neck.

“Now, that’s better, isn’t it?” Jaemin spits the necklace out, throwing it aside in contempt. His eyes slide languidly to the expanse of Jeno’s neck, now fully exposed without his necklace.

His scrutiny makes Jeno feel as if he were a specimen, laid out naked for Jaemin to play with, and he struggles not to fold under Jaemin’s intense gaze.

It takes Jeno a moment to realise that Jaemin is staring at his chest. To be precise, the left side of his chest, where his heart is nestled snugly. It beats erratically, thumping hard against his collarbone, till all that Jeno can hear are his own heartbeats.

As if he knows just what Jeno is thinking, mirth floods Jaemin’s face. “Calm down,” Jaemin chides. “I have to admit, you were very bad today…”

“But that…” Jaemin’s finger draws circles around his heart, feathery touches leaving behind burning streaks. “That’s for another day.”

Jeno knows what Jaemin means, of course.

I’ll take your heart another day.

Things are often scarier when you know they are bound to happen.

𖤐

Why me?

It’s a question that Jeno has asked countless times, a question that persists to haunt him every single time Jaemin visits. Why torture me?

“Why you?” Jaemin raises an eyebrow, as if Jeno should already know the answer to this question. But he doesn’t, and it is driving him mad. “You are different. You are special.”

“No human being is supposed to witness how I inject fear into my victims, no human being is capable of doing that,” Jaemin frowns. “But you did.”

“That night in the mayor’s office. It was supposed to be a premonition, a nightmare for another victim, but you managed to see it,” Jaemin seems to be talking to himself more than to Jeno as he stares into the distance. “And that’s why you are special.”

His hand moves teasingly against the side of Jeno’s neck, gentle but rough enough for Jeno to feel the tips of his nails. Ever since Jeno tried to fend him off using salt and silver, Jaemin seemed to have been enraged in some way.

He has become bolder, more unrestrained and daring in his actions. And yet Jeno is still powerless, unable to do anything but let Jaemin do whatever he pleases.

“You human beings call this a kiss,” Jaemin whispers, nose a mere inch apart from Jeno’s. His fingers are icy cold, but somehow his breath is warm. Jeno can feel it hitting his lips softly, a small exhale in the chilly air.

Jaemin presses their lips together in one swift motion. It feels like a kiss, their lips pillowy against each other, but Jeno knows that it is not. It’s more like a transaction; Jaemin wants, and Jeno can do nothing but let him swallow him whole.

Jeno has been kissed before — at the swings when he was a child, beneath the oak tree in high school, pressed against the wall of the bar when he was older — but never has he been kissed like this before.

Jaemin’s lips are insistent, domineering, poised to suck all the air out of his lungs. Jeno can feel his lungs deflating slowly, air flowing out of his windpipe in a woosh. Dazedly, Jeno can’t help but wonder if this is how dying by suffocation feels like.

By the time Jaemin pulls away, Jeno is already beginning to feel woozy. The corner of his lips are stinging, but the pain is barely noticeable, not when Jeno is too busy taking in huge gulps of air.

“You are bleeding,” Jaemin grins, wiping Jeno’s blood off his lips calmly, as if he wasn’t the one who had bitten on his lips and caused them to bleed. Under Jeno’s gaze, he licks his lips, tongue collecting Jeno’s blood in one quick swipe.

“Oh?” Jaemin’s eyes gleam in triumph. “You taste good.”

“Are you still wondering why you?” Jaemin presses a finger against Jeno’s bleeding lip, blood quickly staining the pads of his finger red. “I used to like the blood of young women more, but now that I’ve gotten a taste of you…”

Jaemin laughs, cupping the side of Jeno’s face. “You entice me.”

He leans down once again to capture Jeno’s lips with his.

And as usual, Jeno lets him take and take and take.

“Hyung, you are bleeding,” Jisung points at Jeno’s lips in concern.

“Oh,” Jeno swipes at his lower lip mechanically. His thumb comes up wet and red.

If he closes his eyes, he can still feel Jaemin’s teeth brushing against his lips last night, piercing them open with a mere touch. His lips used to sting from the pain, but now he barely even feels it anymore.

“Are you…alright?” Jisung’s worried voice shakes him from his stupor.

Jeno doesn’t know how to answer him.

𖤐

It was inevitable.

Staring at the green apron now stained red, at the body mauled beyond recognition, at the hole in Heejin’s chest, Jeno knows that it was inevitable.

From the moment he stepped into the bar for reasons other than to drink, Jeno knew that it was inevitable.

When all the other nine young girls in town were killed, leaving Heejin as the last one remaining, Jeno already knew that it was inevitable.

His breath rattles in his chest, coming out shaky as he places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder. He can feel the younger one shaking, trying desperately to conceal his sobs as he pens down illegible notes.

Jeno himself is already trembling out of control. Once the dam of guilt is broken, there’s really no going back.

Everything comes crashing down all at once.

There’s been a few more killings these past few weeks, but Jeno really couldn’t bring himself to care. Going to work seems almost mechanical nowadays — wake up, add new names onto the board, read through more cryptic files, draw a million unconnected dots.

Perhaps he should have prayed harder. Paid more attention to Heejin. Tried harder to bargain with Jaemin.

Perhaps he should have told Doyoung and Jisung what was happening to him. But what would they say? No one is going to believe his crazy tales of a red-eyed demon haunting him every night, threatening to tear his heart out every single second.

“I’m…” Jeno swallows. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He barely even makes it. It takes him almost a minute to lock the door with his shaky hands, and his knees are so weak that he has to hold onto the sink for support.

Heejin. She was the sister Jeno never had. The one person he has always sworn to protect, and yet he still failed.

Jeno can hear her laugh clearly in his head, the way it would twinkle whenever they visited, the way it got higher whenever she teased Jisung, the way it never ceased to make Jeno feel at ease.

And now he’ll never hear it ever again. Everytime he closes his eyes, Jeno can see the dark, empty hole in her chest.

It’s funny, really, how humans like to think of themselves as superior creatures, unbeatable as they reign at the top of the food chain. But the tough front is all just a facade, crafted carefully to conceal the fragility that lies within.

The truth is, humans are weak. And this — puking his guts out into the toilet bowl — is weakness. Sometimes, Jeno can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous everything is. How can humans think that they are powerful when their entire existence depends on the sustained beating of one muscle no bigger than a fist?

How can humans think that they are powerful when they cry so easily? Die so easily?

Jeno stumbles over to the basin, mouth sour with bile as he rinses it out. He doesn’t pause even when his lips start stinging and his skin begins to be rubbed raw. He only stops when he has finally gotten rid of the taste of vomit completely, when he no longer feels like heaving his entire stomach out.

Hands trembling against the basin, Jeno stares into the mirror. He can’t remember the last time he had looked into a mirror, and his own reflection sickens him. The man staring at him in the mirror looks weak. His face is gaunt and haggard, pale to the bone and worn down by stress.

Jeno hates how he looks so human. Jeno hates how he is so human. It is pathetic, how he can display so much weakness, how he is so helpless and defenceless against Jaemin.

Jaemin. A ball of fire rises in Jeno’s chest, burning hotly and unforgivingly.

“Thinking about me?” As if on cue, Jaemin materialises behind him in the mirror, lips drawn up in a smirk. He always managed to appear whenever Jeno wants to see him the least. “Why the long face?”

“Heejin,” even whispering her name hurts. “Why her? Why? Is torturing me not enough?”

“You know why,” Jaemin’s voice betrays not a single ounce of guilt or regret. Why would he feel any guilt? His eyes meet Jeno’s steadily.

“And I think you also know how you can stop this,” Jaemin’s breath is hot against his nape, causing all the tiny hairs at the back of his neck to stand up. Jeno knows Jaemin isn’t physically here, but he feels so real that he can almost feel the coldness radiating off his fingertips.

“Don’t resist me anymore, Jeno,” Jaemin tilts his head, hands coming up to grasp at Jeno’s shoulder as he stares straight at him.

Jeno watches silently, completely numb as Jaemin’s nails cut a small gash on his skin, rivulets of blood spilling out onto his shoulder. It should hurt, Jeno wants it to hurt, but the muscle in his chest is in so much pain that nothing else can compare.

Jaemin leans down and swipes his tongue across Jeno’s shoulder slowly, savouring it with a blissful expression. Jeno knows what he wants. A pleased smile on his face, Jaemin’s tongue darts back into his mouth, akin to a snake.

The wound is still gaping, dripping blood in strips down his back, but all Jeno can feel are the imprints of Jaemin’s fingers, their icy sensations lingering even as he moves his hand away.

“Give me what I want,” Jaemin grabs the bottom of Jeno’s hair and tilts his head back, till he is forced to focus his dilated eyes on Jaemin. “Give me what I want, Jeno, and put an end to this.”

𖤐

Jeno spends the rest of his days in a catatonic state. It’s not just him — Doyoung and Jisung have suffered huge blows from Heejin’s death too.

Things are always more complicated when it involves your family, and Heejin was considered family, perhaps even closer than one. After her death, it feels as if something inside him has been broken irrevocably.

It doesn’t help that Jaemin has also become more insistent, more pressing. It used to be just persuasion, powerful persuasion that occasionally felt gentle, sweet even. But now it feels more like a threat.

Give me what I want.

Jeno never knew that it could be so painful living life — if this is even considered life anymore — while knowing very well that death is imminent. Death is a clock looming above him, slowly ticking away as Jeno tries so desperately to hold on.

Give me what I want.

Jeno knows what Jaemin wants. He has gradually come to an understanding over time that it is not as simple as he had thought — Jaemin doesn’t only want just his pulsating organ, he wants his heart, his mind, his soul.

He wants to consume Jeno.

And Jeno doesn’t want to let him. If both ways end in death, Jeno doesn’t want to give Jaemin the triumph of succeeding.

His kitchen knife has become rather tempting as of lately. Jeno would find himself staring at it during dinner, wondering how sharp the blade is, if it is sharp enough to sever layers of skin and arteries in one strike.

Somehow, one way or another, he finds himself playing with it again tonight. The wooden handle is cool under his touch, and the blade has long been polished to sharpness. He pricks himself with the tip slightly, and satisfaction unravels like a flower in his chest when beads of blood form on the pad of his finger.

Exhaling slowly, he holds the tip of the knife against his chest, the blade hovering above his skin. As an inspector, death always seemed to be the ultimate end to everything, and he used to fear it immensely. But now, strangely, the thought of death doesn’t scare him anymore.

In fact, it even brings him a sense of peace. At least all his suffering will be gone soon.

Steeling himself, he digs the knife in. Pain flares up immediately, sparks flying in his vision as he grunts in determination. But before he can get any further, the knife is sent flying all of a sudden.

It falls into a corner of his kitchen, and Jeno stumbles backwards, crashing into the wall behind him.

“How dare you,” Jeno has never heard Jaemin speak so quietly before. “How dare you.”

Jeno shifts slightly, all of his nerves lighting on fire as he twists his body. The wound in his chest, though not deep enough to kill, is already pouring blood.

Jaemin stands above him, as ethereal as ever. Even with eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed into an angry line, he is still beautiful. His rage is tangible today, cocooning him in a bright haze of red.

Seeing him angry gives Jeno an unexpected sense of delight. It’s rewarding to see Jaemin realise that Jeno was one second away from defying him completely.

“What did I say, Jeno?” Jaemin bends down, tilting Jeno’s chin up roughly. “Give me what I want.”

“And what did you do?” Jaemin presses a finger against his wound, laughing cruelly as Jeno howls in pain. “Try to take your own life. Bold of you to assume that I would let you do that.”

“Your heart belongs to me,” Jaemin’s voice is deathly quiet.

“I’m not…giving you what you want,” Jeno struggles to get those words out, chest constricting as he tries to stop his blood from flowing out.

“Oh?”

“I know why you’ve waited so long,” Jeno grits. “You can’t take my heart unless I allow you to. That’s how you got to your victims. You made them so afraid that they were compelled to give you their hearts.”

“But I…” Jeno musters all the courage he has left in him. “I am not afraid of you anymore.”

His words hang precariously in the air, tension buzzing between them immediately. Jeno really isn’t afraid anymore — he doesn’t feel the familiar breathlessness, the feeling of wanting everything to end when he looks at Jaemin now. Near-death experiences really do seem to change the way you view life.

Jaemin’s expression is indiscernible in the dark, and for a moment Jeno wonders if he was right. If no longer fearing is really the key to escaping Jaemin’s control.

But then Jaemin throws his head back and laughs in disdain, and that’s when Jeno feels his one last flame of hope slowly fizzle out. He was foolish to have thought that it would be this easy.

He should have known that there was no way he could have won against Jaemin. Perhaps the moment he got tangled up with Jaemin, the ending has already been carved into stone.

“You might not be afraid of me anymore, but you once were,” Jaemin leans closer, whispering right in Jeno’s ears as if they were sharing a cute little secret. “And that’s what I feed on. Fear. Even the tiniest bud of fear, once planted, can grow into something uncontrollable.”

“And this means that I can do anything I want with you,” Jaemin laughs against his earlobe, amused and completely oblivious to the way Jeno has frozen.

“I’ve waited long enough, Jeno,” Jaemin sounds disappointed when he pulls away and stares at Jeno. A familiar fire burns in his eyes, and Jeno can’t help but wonder if this was what Heejin had felt like moments before she died — utterly helpless.

“If you won’t give me what I want,” Jaemin’s voice is cold, and all Jeno can focus on is the way he seems to be glowing dark red inside-out, looming larger and larger. “Then I’ll simply take what I want.”

And then he reaches right into Jeno’s chest and wrenches his entire heart out.

𖤐

It’s funny, how at the last moments of life, all Jeno can think about is how insanely human he is.

Jeno has never felt pain this intense before. For a moment, it feels as if he is alight in fire, every single one of his nerves screaming in agony. It’s excruciating, the way he can feel everything but nothing at once. He wants to scream, to get rid of the pain enveloping him, but he doesn’t even have the energy to move his fingers.

And then after the pain comes numbness. He is free-falling into a chasm of darkness, mind swirling into nothing as he finally, finally succumbs. Oblivion grasps at him, and for the first time in forever, he doesn’t slip in and out of consciousness anymore.

Humans are so fragile, Jeno thinks, to depend on the pulsation of one organ for survival.

And then he doesn’t think anymore.

𖤐

There’s a boy screaming his name.

Jeno. No…no. Jeno. Oh my god. No.

The boy falls onto his knees, face scrunched in distraught as he cries over a man slumped against the wall. There’s a gaping hole in the man’s chest, his facial features obscured by darkness.

Jeno. Please. God, no.

The boy is still crying. An older man runs into the room, stumbling backwards in shock as he takes in the bloody scene.

Jeno.

They are both crying now. Jeno frowns, mind fuzzy as he turns to Jaemin beside him. As usual, there’s a regal expression on his face, his entire being radiating an ethereal sense of beauty.

“Why are they calling my name?” Jeno asks.

“Don’t worry about it, they don’t matter,” Jaemin turns to smile at him, teeth glinting as he puts a hand on Jeno’s shoulder gently. “Not anymore.”

“You belong with me now, Jeno,” Jaemin’s smile widens.