Work Text:
there is a chinese proverb that junhui hates. 藕斷絲連. written in traditional chinese, it takes 62 strokes. in hànyǔ pīnyīn, it's spelled out as ǒu duàn sī lián, and when translated directly, it means "broken lotus root." it doesn't make much sense, if you don't know chinese, or have never eaten lotus before. but it means that when a lotus root is broken, it is still connected by its fibers. similar to how when two people break up, they are still connected by their heartstrings.
in junhui's case, his connection to his ex is a little more literal than that. but then again, everything about vampires is a little more literal than it should be.
"you could've at least called me to let me know you were coming over," junhui tells the man dressed in all black in his bedroom. he tosses his coat onto the bed and watches as his guest slowly rises from the velvet loveseat.
"i didn't want to bother you at work," the other says. he walks over and watches as junhui removes his makeup, then his clothes, until he is bare-faced and sitting down in his pajamas.
"well? get on with it," junhui tells him, acting flippant, as if his heart isn't racing in his chest. wonwoo bites down on his bottom lip, trapping words between his teeth.
"alright," wonwoo agrees. he sits beside junhui who turns towards him and tilts his head in offering.
he acts like it is a chore every time, a desperate attempt to try and prove something to wonwoo. say, "you need me, but i do not need you," despite the fact there is a box full of the things wonwoo has given him over the decades that sits carefully under his bed.
"i'm going to do it now," wonwoo says, as if they haven't done this hundreds of times before. junhui rolls his eyes as his fists clench onto the bedsheets below him.
"go ahead," he replies. and then wonwoo is kissing his neck, unnecessary and cruel. junhui is tempted to say something, but then he feels wonwoo's lips part, and his teeth scrape against his skin, and he stops, clenches his jaw instead, as the pain comes.
it only lasts for a second, the piercing pain of wonwoo's sharp fangs sinking into his neck. because then, it's followed by a high, like morphine in your veins, a rush that turns your whole body hot and your brain into a haze. junhui's mind is filled with nothing but wonwoo, wonwoo, wonwoo, and the usual filter reminding him that he is not his is gone.
junhui grips wonwoo's biceps, and the vampire allows him to pull him closer until they are chest to chest. wonwoo's hands settle on his waist, holding junhui like he is something fragile, as the other closes his eyes and allows himself to drown. he groans in pleasure against wonwoo's jaw, and the dark-haired man hums in satisfaction.
junhui asked him to describe it once, what it was like to drink his blood. wonwoo told him the closest way he could explain it was by comparing it to those greek myths, where the gods drink golden nectar that drips down their chins, sweet with magical properties. wonwoo said the taste was something irreplaceable. just like junhui thought he was.
when wonwoo has taken his fill, he pulls away from junhui's neck and embraces him until the human comes back to himself. eyes clearing of their daze, mind slowly returning to the state of remembering that he is a convenience and not a luxury.
"thank you," wonwoo murmurs, licking the wound until it has disappeared without a trace. when he faces junhui again, his eyes go to his lips and then back to his eyes, and junhui is watching, waiting for something else.
"is that all?" he asks. "you've got what you wanted?"
wonwoo hesitates before nodding, wiping his bloodied lips with the back of his hand. he gets up first and fixes his clothes, straightening out his collar the way junhui used to do for him.
"this will never end? will it?" junhui asks, when wonwoo's back is turned.
wonwoo's shoulders tense and his head tilts toward the ground. something akin to shame.
"no, it won't," he responds.
junhui stifles a bitter laugh, not knowing why he asks questions he knows the answers to.
he was the one who suggested the bond after all. an eternal human life with wonwoo, who had lived over a century alone. junhui remembers thinking how perfect it would be. he and wonwoo would travel the world and live as many lives as they want.
their first ones were in shenzhen. they owned a restaurant together and an orange cat that liked junhui more than wonwoo. their second lives were in shanghai. wonwoo was a painter and junhui, his muse. and their third lives were going to be in korea, back in wonwoo's hometown of changwon.
there was a ferry meant to take them there.
junhui got on. wonwoo didn't.
junhui didn't have any doubts. wonwoo did. it was a classic case of being too carefree and having too much trust, believing that someone who hasn't loved anyone in a hundred years would love you for a thousand.
the bond was the worst mistake. because now wonwoo only has one food source, junhui, who the vampire only seeks out on the verge of starvation. he comes by every six months, to torture junhui with the same face he fell in love with. because their youth is the only thing that won't fade. they do their dance, the kiss, the bite, the high, and then wonwoo disappears into the night.
he will come back the next time he is hungry and junhui may or may not still be in montreal. perhaps next time, they will meet in cancun, or oahu, or jeju. junhui wants to go somewhere sunny this time. maybe the sun will scare wonwoo away, him away, into ending this. them.
"i still love you," junhui murmurs, after wonwoo has left. he knows wonwoo is still on his doorstep, that he can hear him. he also knows that if wonwoo wanted to, he could turn around and junhui will welcome him with a kiss on the lips. it's that easy. junhui has always made it that easy.
yet when he opens the door, wonwoo is gone, and a flower has taken his place. junhui puts it in a vase on his counter, where it sits alone, and tries not to slam his fist into the mirror hanging by the wall. wonwoo lost the right to give him gifts and apologies a long time ago, yet junhui accepts them out of a mix of self-hatred and the desire to turn back time.
the only thing he has left is knowing that without him, wonwoo will die. and the unfortunate vice-versa. so he will participate in their dance. and allow wonwoo to seek him out and kiss his skin. but it will never make up for that feeling of standing on the dock while wonwoo told him to leave without him.
"an eternity is not supposed to expire in forty years," junhui remembers saying, tears in his eyes as wonwoo told him he would not change his mind.
"this is better for us," wonwoo had said back. junhui knows he was scared, thought he was enough to remove that fear.
almost another forty years has passed since then. junhui is both 26 and 104. he is simultaneously the bright-eyed university student wonwoo saved from being mugged, and a curator at the montreal museum of fine arts. he is the perfect picture of health and his memory is too clear for his liking.
there is a ring on his finger that matches wonwoo's. he does not take it off despite the fact it has deformed his finger under its snug fit.
藕斷絲連: lovers part but still long for one another.
it is branded into junhui's skin.