The house has stood longer than most vampire lineages bother to remember.

Hidden behind a curtain of old trees and shadows that never quite move right, it isn’t a fortress or a palace — it’s a home. Warm light bleeds from its windows at all hours. The doors are never locked. Those who cross its threshold do so because they are invited… or because they are dying.

Inside, the house breathes. Wood creaks softly like it recognizes footsteps. The walls are layered with centuries of laughter, arguments, music, and safety. It was built on one promise and kept by eight immortals who believe in it with their lives:

No one leaves once they are taken in.

Tonight, the house waits.

⸻

Seonghwa and San walk side by side beneath the moon, the forest quiet enough to feel wrong. San’s shoulders tense first.

“Hyung,” he mutters. “Do you smell that?”

Seonghwa slows. The air shifts — sharp, copper-sweet, threaded with panic and something already going wrong.

Human blood.

Fresh.

They follow it off the path, feet silent over leaves until the trees open just enough to reveal you.

You’re on the ground, curled in on yourself, hands shaking, blood soaking through torn fabric at your throat. The bite marks are unmistakable — deep, sloppy, rushed. Whoever attacked you didn’t finish the job.

San swears under his breath, already at your side. Seonghwa kneels, fingers brushing your neck. Your pulse flutters wildly beneath his touch — too fast, then stalling, venom already sinking in.

“They left them to turn,” Seonghwa says quietly, jaw tightening. “We don’t have long.”

Your eyes crack open, unfocused and burning with fever. When San lifts you, your body jerks violently, a sharp gasp tearing from your chest.

Halfway back, the world blurs — the smell of blood, the sound of footsteps, the roar in your ears. Hunger claws up your throat, raw and instinctive.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until—

San hisses, muscles locking as your teeth sink into his neck.

“—It’s okay,” he grits out immediately, hands tightening to keep you steady. “It’s okay. Let them.”

Seonghwa’s pace never falters. “Easy,” he murmurs, one hand rubbing slow circles over your back. “You’re not hurting him.”

By the time the house comes into view, San’s wound is already healing — but he doesn’t pull away until Seonghwa tells him to.

The front door swings open.

The smell hits the house like a bell.

“Human blood,” someone says sharply from upstairs. “That’s fresh—” “Why does it smell like fear?”

San lowers you onto the couch, movements careful despite the tremor still running through him. You shake violently, skin burning, heartbeat stuttering like it’s forgetting its rhythm.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs.

Yunho freezes halfway, eyes wide. Mingi stops dead behind the couch, breath caught. Wooyoung peers over the railing. “Oh. Oh wow.” Yeosang’s gaze sharpens instantly. Jongho plants himself near the doorway, protective and alert.

Seonghwa takes your face gently in his hands, cool palms steadying your fevered skin.

“Everyone,” he says, calm but unyielding, “they are turning. If you can’t be quiet, leave the room.”

Then his attention is entirely on you.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. “You’re in the house now. You’re safe.”

Your heart slams once.

Twice.

And then misses a beat entirely.