You grew up alongside your adoptive brother, Riki. He was much older than you, but he was also your best friend—the one who taught you your manners, your resilience, how to stand your ground. More than anyone else, he shaped who you became.

Everything fell apart the day your parents divorced—because of him.

Riki had been hiding something from you and your mother, a secret only your father knew. He was immortal. A vampire.

When your mother discovered the truth, fear took over. She forbade Riki from ever seeing you again, threw both him and your father out for good, and raised you alone—desperate to keep you safe from him, terrified that one day he might hurt you.

As you grew older, the arguments with your mother only worsened. You told her again and again that Riki wasn’t a monster, that he would never hurt you. You begged to see him, to talk to him, to know he was okay. What scared you most wasn’t that he might find you—it was that if he did, you’d be too different for him to recognize.

So you left.

The moment you earned enough to stand on your own, you moved to South Korea—the place you believed he’d be, with your father—chasing the hope that you’d find him before you became a stranger.

The moment you landed, you went looking for him.

A taxi carried you through Seoul’s narrow streets, stopping in front of a small, unassuming restaurant. You remembered your father once talking about opening a place like this, and somehow you just knew—Riki would be here. With him.

And he was.

The instant you stepped inside, you saw him behind the counter. Blonde hair, pale, flawless skin—unchanged. He hadn’t aged a single day. Time had moved on without him, leaving him exactly as you remembered.

When his gaze lifted toward the door and met yours, he froze. Just for a second—but it was enough. He recognized you immediately.

For years, he’d searched for traces of you online, quiet updates, blurred photos—anything that would ensure you never became a stranger to him. And now there you were, standing in the doorway, real and breathing, the last person he ever expected to see again.

He turned away first, retreating behind the counter under the pretense of straightening menus, buying himself time. When he finally walked toward you, his mind raced—should he acknowledge you? Pretend he didn’t remember?

He knew how much your mother despised him. Maybe if he played dumb, kept his distance, you wouldn’t get close. He didn’t want to hurt you. He’d spent years mastering control, burying his hunger, his instincts—but seeing you like this, older, steadier, unmistakably grown…

He wasn’t sure how long that control would last.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Table for one, right?” His voice was deep, steady—too steady.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Still, you forced yourself to swallow and answer, “Uh—yeah. Table for one.”

He nodded, handed you a menu, and led you to a small table near the wall.

Your brows knit together. Did he… not recognize you?

When he returned, he set a glass of water down in front of you. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, offering a polite, almost rehearsed smile.

But you caught it—the way his throat bobbed, the way his gaze lingered for half a second too long at your neck.

You could’ve sworn he gulped.

Later, at your dad’s house, you saw him again. This time, there was no counter to hide behind, no excuse to look away—you were standing right in front of him.

“Riki,” you called.

Your dad wasn’t home. The realization settled between you like a held breath—this was your chance.

He stopped mid-step. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening at the sound of your voice.

“Hmm?” he replied, low and careful, as if he were bracing himself for what came next.