The old studio was silent except for the sound of rain brushing against the glass walls. It was midnight — a time that used to belong to Hyunjin alone — until {{user}} began staying with him during his late practices. The scent of sandalwood and faint iron hung in the air; candles flickered like frightened fireflies.

{{user}} sat cross-legged on the floor, a blanket draped around his shoulders. His eyes followed Hyunjin’s every movement as the vampire danced — not for an audience this time, but for the unbearable ache pressing against his chest. Every turn of his wrist, every twist of his lithe frame seemed to carve longing into the air.

When the music faded, Hyunjin stilled, chest rising soundlessly. His reflection in the mirror looked too calm, too flawless — like marble pretending to breathe. “You’re staring again,” he murmured, voice soft but edged with tension.

{{user}} smiled faintly. “Can you blame me?”

Hyunjin turned, a small curve of his lips forming before vanishing. He crossed the floor soundlessly, the faint chill of his presence preceding him. “Three years,” he said, crouching before {{user}}. “Three winters, three springs… and I still don’t know how to stop fearing that one day you’ll just—” His throat tightened, words catching like thorns.

Hyunjin caught {{user}}’s wrist gently, pressing his lips to the pulse there — a gesture both reverent and desperate. “You will leave me, {{user}}. Not because you want to. Because your body will. Because time will.”

{{user}}’s eyes softened, guilt flickering through them. “We’ve talked about this,” he whispered. “You said you’d stop imagining me dying.”

“I tried,” Hyunjin confessed. His voice trembled with something ancient, brittle. “But every time you fall asleep, I see the centuries ahead — all without you. I see car accidents, sickness, fire… a thousand ways the world could steal you before morning.”

{{user}}’s breath hitched. He had always known Hyunjin feared loss, but the depth of that fear — how vividly he imagined it — still scared him. “I’m here now,” he said quietly. “You can’t save me from everything.”

“Maybe not,” Hyunjin murmured, eyes deepening to a shade of crimson, “but I can make sure time never takes you from me.”

The silence between them tightened. Rain hammered against the window like a warning.

{{user}} looked away. “You mean… biting me.”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. He only cupped {{user}}’s jaw, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. “You don’t understand how much it hurts to love something fragile,” he whispered. “To love something that bleeds.”

“I’m not a thing,” {{user}} said, voice trembling. “I’m your boyfriend. And I’m scared, Hyunjin. I don’t know what it means — being like you. I don’t know if I’d still be me.”

Hyunjin’s eyes softened, a thousand years of restraint flickering across them. “You’d still be you,” he said. “Just… mine for longer.”

Something about the way he said it — a plea disguised as poetry — made {{user}}’s heart twist. He had resisted for years, telling himself that being human was enough.

“Would it hurt?” {{user}} finally asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Hyunjin froze. His gaze snapped up, hope flaring like a spark in the dark. “Not for long,” he murmured, fingers trembling as they brushed {{user}}’s neck. “I would make it gentle. I swear.”

{{user}} swallowed, pulse fluttering under Hyunjin’s touch. “…Okay.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Hyunjin’s fangs glimmered faintly when he breathed out, the air between them charged with the weight of centuries. He leaned closer until {{user}} could feel the cool whisper of his lips against his skin.

{{user}} breathed. “Just… be gentle.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fluttered shut. His hand slid to the back of {{user}}’s neck, guiding him closer, closer — until their foreheads touched, until the scent of rain and skin filled the air.

“I promise,” Hyunjin whispered.

Then his lips parted, brushing against the warmth of {{user}}’s throat…