Jisung stepped into the sunlight, and he shone like he was hiding stars under his skin.
He walked forward hesitantly, stopping every few feet to deliberate. His exposed skin — his face and neck, collarbone and forearms — glowed like prisms were ground into his very atoms. Pastel rainbows danced on the meadow floor as he made his way toward me.
I couldn't speak. This was what his soul looked like. All I could do was hold out my arms uselessly as the ground seemed to give out under my feet.
He reached the centre of the clearing, and he stood in front of me, emotions flowing across his face too quickly for me to register.
"Jisung, you're sparkling," I said lamely.
He smiled a little. "Uh-huh."
"A vampire thing?"
"Yes."
I dropped onto the ground, crossing my legs, and gestured for him to sit, too. He floated down and hugged his knees. His expression was vulnerable, his body language defensive, like he was trying to protect some raw part of himself.
"Can I...?" I reached for his arm.
He held it out, eyeing me.
I shuffled closer and examined the back of his hand. His skin played with the light as if his freckles were shards of glass, as if shredded crystals were mixed into his batter. I splayed his fingers apart and looked into the lines on his palm.
"I have two questions and I really want to ask both," I said.
"Pace yourself," he replied.
I took a deep breath. "What is this place? It's unreal."
"Haseong and Chan got married here, around eighty years ago. It's special to all of us."
"Wow," I murmured. "A vampire wedding. What does that look like?"
"Pretty much the same, except our tuxes had little pop collars and capes."
"Are you joking...?"
"I wish I was."
I smiled, picturing it. "Did anyone officiate?"
"I did."
"You what?"
"I'm an ordained minister, don't act so surprised."
"Have you ever gotten people married just for fun?"
"Maybe you would, you punk," he teased. "I take my responsibilities seriously."
I made an L on my forehead. He whacked my shoulder, glaring at me with a poorly hidden smile.
I scooted up close to him — very, very close.
"You mind if I touch your face?" I asked, pretending it wasn't weird.
His chin hopped up and down wordlessly for a second, and then he shook his head.
I touched his bumpy cheeks, his shiny nose, his dark eyebrows, ran my thumbs down the side of his face, along his jaw. I was captivated. He stared at my nose the whole time without blinking.
"Why do you sparkle like this?" I asked.
"It's a warning sign," he told me. "You're supposed to run now."
"What happens if I don't run?"
His eyebrows tilted thoughtfully. "Because it's you, nothing bad."
I smiled. "You won't put me in your cheeks and store me away for winter?"
He smiled back, but there was something heavy in his expression.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm just—" He sighed, scrunching his eyes. "I'm worried that... this is too inhuman. Too much. At some point, there has to be something I tell you or show you that's too much for you, and you... you'll run."
I bit back an eye roll. "That's insane. You're glowing — it's beautiful."
"It's not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shown you."
"Why, because it's not human?" I muttered sarcastically.
He was speaking to himself more than me now, his tone giving way to his neurosis. "Because it's misleading. It's me sending mixed messages. I've treated you badly, I haven't been a good friend."
The word 'friend' stung in a way I couldn't explain. "It's... It's whatever."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." There was anger in my tone. I sighed, reining it in. "How are you 'misleading' me?"
"I'm not done thinking about us yet. About letting you in."
"Then why did you bring me here?"
He shrugged. "I was looking at you, and I just wanted less space between us."
"And yet, you're still undecided."
"Sorry."
I could feel myself start to lose it. I couldn't pull back. My words came out sharp and impatient.
"You're just so in your head. We're alone, in this awesome meadow, and all you can do is worry and regret."
"Sorry."
"You don't think about how it could be confusing or destabilizing for me. I get that you need to think about it, and, yeah, I haven't given you a very long time, but I... I'm giving you my heart. And you're making me wait."
"I don't mean to—"
"It makes me feel like you don't care about me."
"I care about you, Minho—"
"Then act like it!"
He stared down at his twitching hands and whispered, "I'm so sorry."
"All you ever do is apologize." My voice was harsh, clipped, with a manic edge to it. I'd pushed these feelings down for so long, and saying them aloud was awful and strange and more than a little satisfying. "Don't say you want me if you're immediately gonna call me your friend. You keep pulling me close and shutting me out, flirting with me and acting like I'm so insane for thinking that you might like me as much as I like you. And all you have to say for it is 'I'm sorry.'"
"I'm s—" He clamped his teeth together. His posture straightened and he met my eyes. "I mean, I don't know what to do. It's not like I'm doing this to hurt you. It's bigger than me just 'letting you in.'"
That familiar prickle pushed at my eyes, and a lump built at the back of my throat. I spoke over it. "If it's such a big risk, then don't let me in. But you can't keep me around on your own terms, either. Make a decision, Jisung."
He stared down at the grass.
"This is you treating me badly," I said. My tone came out flat, unemotional.
"I know," he murmured.
"You said you wanted more — two days ago."
Nothing.
"I'm here for you."
Nothing.
"Jisung," I said, "stop wallowing."
He looked up at me — slowly, unwillingly.
"I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I'm afraid of what could happen."
I leaned closer, trying to catch his eyes. "We can be afraid together. Just let me in."
He didn't look at me, shaking his head. I suppressed a growl.
I took his wrists as gently as I could, making him look at me. His cloudy butterscotch eyes — terrified.
"I'm right here," I said. "Let me in."
He stared at me, blankly vulnerable, his mouth hanging open until he closed it tight. He wasn't going to say a word. Something heavy settled in my chest.
I got to my feet.
"Minho," he breathed, peering up at me.
"I can't do this anymore."
"Wait, d-don't go, please," he stammered.
I stepped around him, swallowing past the hitch at the back of my throat. I spun back and said, "Talk to me when you make a goddamn decision."
"Please stop."
"You know how to stop me."
I turned and walked away. One, two, three, four, five seconds — nothing. My hands balled into fists at my sides.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten seconds — nothing. Tears itched at my eyes and spilled down my face.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds — nothing. I kept walking, and counting, and fighting the noise in my throat, feeling my heart tremor and squeeze.
"Wait, wait, wait, please, wait, wait!"
My feet braced to the ground.
I felt something cold wrap around my hand. I looked down. He was on his knees, clinging to my hand, eyes glassy and wild. His entire body shook so faintly he was almost buzzing.
He pressed his forehead against the back of my hand as he whispered, "Please don't go."
I wiped my face with my sleeve. My voice was supposed to be a command, but came out more of a plea.
"Then don't push me away."
"I won't, I w-won't — I promise. I need you. Please stay." He pulled himself off the ground with shaky knees, hugging me desperately around my shoulders. "I'm letting you in. Please — don't leave me. Stay with me. Forever."
~ * ~
It was a while before the nerves and heartache wore off. We wiped tears from each other's faces, sitting close, too overwhelmed to say anything at first. He took my hands and laced our fingers together, holding them captive like he was afraid I'd threaten to leave again.
When we did speak, we spoke about nothing, which was a beautiful, blissful distraction. Favourite colours and holidays, books and movies. A bit of cloud watching — and subsequent arguing about whether the big one was a sheep or a cotton ball. In the end, we agreed it was a marshmallow.
It hadn't sunk in yet, that he'd let me be something more to him. It didn't feel any different, the way we spoke wasn't any different. It felt natural as ever.
"So... we're boyfriends now?"
He was looking into my eyes calmly, though he was still shaking in his small, nervous way. I kept wanting to find him a blanket, but I knew it wasn't because he was cold.
"We are anything you want to be," he murmured.
"Boyfriends." I smiled triumphantly. "I guess my wooing worked after all."
"Enough with the wooing!" he groaned. "Your wooing is excessive — concerning."
"I woo naturally. It's just how I am around you."
"It has to get tiring."
"It's worth it."
He smiled — just a little.
I had one hand curled around his thumb like it was a joystick, and our other hands were clasped together in a tangle of fingers. I honestly had no idea what I would have done if he had let me leave. Probably ugly crying, a tub of ice cream and compartmentalization. I was so happy I was still here.
"I'm happy you're still here," he said, mirroring my thoughts. "I was scared you would really leave. Terrified, I mean. I wanted to keep you around without... taking the leap. Without letting you fully into my world. You know my world is..."
"Complicated?"
"Right. We can figure it out together."
"Exactly what I wanted."
"Can you forgive me?" he said then. "For all that?"
"You'll have to earn it."
He raised our hands and kissed my knuckles. I blinked, feeling the shape of his lips burn cold on my skin. A delayed-reaction shudder dropped down my spine.
"You're forgiven."
He smiled. "I'll try harder."
"Are you going to call me nicknames now?" I wondered, smiling innocently.
"What would you prefer — honey bunches or angel eyes?"
"Honey bunches."
"I was joking."
"I wasn't."
"I will not call you that."
I pawed at his shoulder. "You know you want to, boo."
"You're not calling me that, either!" he laughed. He caught my hands and twined them together with his own.
"Do you, like, want to go on a date sometime?" I asked. We could take a stroll, hand in hand, or watch a movie on the couch — cup full of blood for him and Skittles for me. I liked the idea of ordinary and comfortable with him. I'd had too many emotions that day.
He rolled his eyes dramatically. "We're on a date right now, Minho. And Port Angeles was a date, too."
"I knew it!" I yelled. He laughed — a low, boyish sort of giggle. I could tell when his smile was real; his lips pulled back, presenting his gums and crooked teeth; his eyebrows curved down and his eyes disappeared and his shoulders bounced. I was too in love with him. I just wanted to touch him. I wanted to kiss him.
Maybe I was staring at his mouth. Our eyes caught, and my heart took off jogging.
"Can we...?"
"Yes."
"Oh, my god."
He shuffled closer to me — insanely close, maddeningly close — and cupped my face under my ears. I had no idea what to do with my hands, so I left them sitting idly between us. He looked nervous, but focussed. I was out to lunch.
His ice-cold lips touched mine.
My eyes fluttered closed, and my hands drifted up to his shoulders on their own. I didn't dare breathe. All sound drained from my ears, everything but his thumb tracing up and down my cheekbone, the quiet wind, my blood careening through my veins. I heard myself purr, and I didn't have time to feel embarrassed. How could I feel anything but him when all there was, was him?
I started gasping for air against his face, and he pulled back, eyes wide.
"I'm" — wheeze — "sorry, I wasn't" — heave — "breathing..."
He looked jittery, but he was smiling as he watched me catch my stupid breath. "It's okay."
"You're really not" — woof — "short of breath?"
"I don't have to breathe at all."
Lucky vampire bastard. I grimaced at him, and he smiled back. He looped his arms around my back, holding us together, and hugged me till I wasn't panting.
"All right then—"
He kissed me before I could finish. He seemed more sure of himself this time; he tilted his head, briefly pursing his lips as he pulled away — so our mouths caught and made a sound — and kissed me again.
It felt like I was made for this. Loving him was the point, my meaning. If he thought I was clingy before, he was in for it now.
Being greedy, I parted my lips — desperate for closeness, high on it. The Universe's punishment for me was immediate.
"Minho," he warned, taking my cheeks and holding me away. I stumbled back, pushing myself away from him. I could have been afraid, knowing what just happened, but I was just happy and shaky and embarrassed. I fought to control my smile, watching him — still as stone, concentrating on something behind his eyelids.
He opened his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed a bit.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's okay. Sorry."
"It's okay." He shook his head. "It was just a little close."
"And I smell too good?"
"Way too good."
I knew he meant my blood, not just me in general, but I was still flattered.
"Other than that last part, was it" — I hid my face behind my hands — "okay for you?"
I heard him laugh, sheepish. "It was perfect. You?"
"It lived up to my fantasies, no doubt."
"So you've fantasized about that before?"
I winced. "That's embarrassing. Forget I said that."
"I'll move on, but I will not forget."
I wrinkled my nose at him.
He crawled back toward me, opening his arms.
"Can I hug you?" he asked.
I reached out to him in a gesture just short of desperate. He moved as close as he had been before, hugging my waist, patting my back soothingly — even though I had nothing to be soothed about. I felt weightless and peaceful, happy in the very pit of my chest.
~ * ~
Later — a lot later — I pulled back and looked at his face. He wasn't shining the same way he had before. I glanced up to see the sky clouding over. I felt like we'd just gotten settled, and now it looked like it was near dinnertime. I was suddenly anxious, realizing this dream was nearing an end. He could tell I was troubled instantly. He kissed me, and I forgot about everything.
"What time is it?" I asked, covering my mouth as I yawned.
"It's eight twenty-nine. Do you want to leave?"
"I never want to leave." I leaned into him. It was both chilly in the meadow and freezing against his body, and I fought back a shudder. He felt it anyway.
"You're cold." He stole his arms away and untied the flannel shirt around his waist. He flung it out and covered me with it, knotting the sleeves under my chin like I was a babushka.
"No." I shivered again, all the way from the backs of my heels to the crown of my head. "Fine, but you're holding my hand the whole way." I untangled myself from him and pawed at the grass stains on my jeans.
"Actually..." He got to his feet, held his hand out for me. I took it, standing up. "I was wondering — do you want to try a different way back to the truck?"
"What way is that?"
"I thought we'd run."
I blinked. "What?"
"I'm a vampire," he said matter-of-factly, "and I'm very fast. I could carry you through the forest."
"Is it safe?"
"Totally safe."
I narrowed my eyes, wary. "All right."
He turned away from me, got down on one knee and gestured toward his back. I blinked a few times more.
"Eh?" he said after a second.
"Just... get on?"
"Of all the things to be afraid of, a piggyback ride is what gets you?"
"Don't make fun of me — you're literally a disco ball."
That made him snort. He kept waving his hands encouragingly.
"Why can't you princess-carry me?" I complained.
"Because aerodynamics — get on!"
"I'll get on if you call me honey bunches." Honestly, I just wanted to hear him attempt to say it without cringing.
"No way."
"C'mon."
"No."
"Jisungie..."
He raised his arm and coughed, "Honey bunches," into the crook of his elbow. He yelled at the sky, cringing hard.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing the side of his head. "Thank you, boo."
He pulled me up on his back — I laughed in a squawk. I squeezed my limbs around him and burrowed my smile into his shoulder.
"Just say stop if you want to stop," he said.
"Okay," I murmured.
He took off running. I shut my eyes tight as the wind whipped at my skin and trees flew past us at ridiculous speeds. I would have said 'stop,' but he came to a halt before I could get the words out. I opened one eye to see my truck parked crookedly by the wooden marker. Unbelievable. We'd hiked for hours that morning, and now the trek took less than a minute.
"Minho?" he said, poking my thigh.
I hopped to the ground, dizzy, and stumbled sideways. He turned around and took my hands in his, steadying me.
"What do you think?" he asked brightly.
"That was insane," I answered, holding one finger in his face, "but I like hugging you, so it was okay."
He suggested he drive on the way back, just in case I was still wobbly and drove us off a cliff. I would have protested more, if that didn't sound exactly like something I would do. His movements were still controlled and graceful as he wrestled the hunk of garbage to a start, and pulled out onto the road.
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this chapter went thru a lot of editing; it's literally so different from what it used to be. I've had a headache for a week, it was super off schedule, and I have no idea what to think. I hope it wasn't a total disappointment :/
bye <3