Chapter Text
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YOUNGJO
The thing about his body, Youngjo thinks, is that it should make more blood faster.
The lightheaded feeling tingling at the edges of his mind improves only a little once he eats breakfast that morning. It’s unsurprising—he and his outreach group have been going, going, going, trying to be as much help to the Jesuits as possible in the couple of weeks they’re with them. It’s to be expected, the exhaustion that feels like it’s in Youngjo’s very bones.
It is nonetheless annoying, especially when Youngjo makes his way to the blood bank. The nurse hesitates when he slips onto the chair, asks if he’s in any fit state.
“I had a solid dinner last night,” Youngjo insists. “I got a full night’s sleep last night and I had a good breakfast, no caffeine. I’m good to go, promise.”
Never mind that he’s already done this once this morning, just on his own time. And the past couple of mornings, too.
The nurse relents, sticks him and begins drawing, and that’s when the tingling in Youngjo’s fingers and toes starts. He ignores it, thinking instead of Hwanwoong.
Feeding the vampire a little each morning for the past few days has been a good call, Youngjo thinks. Hwanwoong looks much improved, seems a little more capable of human-style physical exertion like walking with every new fortifying morning meal.
Youngjo can’t bring himself to regret doing that for him; there’s something to be said about helping restore someone’s humanity. Even if they’re a vampire. Vampires were humans, first, after all, Youngjo reminds himself with a little smile.
The room starts to feel a little warm, stifling, and Youngjo feels dizzy. He ignores this and thinks ahead to the trip his group is making to the other side of the business district today. He’d found Hwanwoong on the opposite side, so he anticipates there will be more feral Infected people in this new area. Today, his donation to the blood bank will definitely count.
Near the end of the blood draw, cold sweat begins to form over his skin. He sets his jaw and takes slow, deep breaths as subtly as possible, clenching and unclenching the fist on his donating arm rhythmically.
His body is so tingly and feeble that he barely flinches when the nurse removes the needle. That’s what gives him away; Youngjo knows that this nurse understands by now how much he hates needles.
“Put your head between your knees. Now,” the nurse commands once Youngjo’s arm is bandaged.
Youngjo nods weakly, panting shallowly and following through.
“You’re supposed to say something when you’re not feeling right.”
“Sorry,” Youngjo mumbles as the nurse begins tidying the station in terse silence.
Despite the nurse’s protests, Youngjo rises after a couple of minutes (“You need this seat for other donors, I can mope somewhere else”) and shuffles carefully to the other side of the room, landing heavily in a seat in the waiting area.
Maybe he should’ve thought harder about donating after already drawing blood for Hwanwoong; this feels miserable. Youngjo tips his head back and closes his eyes, willing his head to stop spinning.
“Would you like a drink?”
Youngjo opens his eyes sluggishly. A middle-aged woman is standing before him, eyes crinkled and kindly, holding out a familiar-looking mug to him.
“Thank y—I…” Youngjo trails off once he glimpses inside the mug.
Crimson.
The mug is full of blood. Youngjo realizes at once why the mug looks familiar; these are the mugs they offer to the Infected patients.
He frowns, puzzled. “No, I…I don’t need…?”
He looks up at the woman, whose brow is furrowed in confusion.
“I’m not Infected,” Youngjo says, voice rasping weakly.
The woman blinks, perplexed.
Wow. He must look truly miserable for her to mistake him as someone Infected. And he’s sitting in the waiting area where the non-feral Infected patients go, he suddenly realizes. Well. That was on him.
“I—maybe you shouldn’t…” The woman looks hesitant, wary, as Youngjo shakily drags himself to his feet.
“I’m fine,” he insists, wincing a little at how curt he sounds. “I’m in the wrong place. Just need water.”
Breathing is suddenly difficult.
“Wait a minute,” Youngjo hears from the direction of the donor stations. His nurse.
“Everything okay?”
Youngjo turns to see Father Jim coming over, usual friendly smile on his face. And Youngjo must have turned too quickly, because spots dance across his vision, combined with the rush of all his remaining blood to his head, and then he blacks out.
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HWANWOONG
Months without proper hygiene totally ruined his skin, Hwanwoong observes with resignation. The mirror in Youngjo's dingy bathroom is blurry, but he can still pick out the acne dotting his chin. Even after sleeping all morning and almost the whole afternoon away, he looks like death warmed over. He must've looked even worse when Youngjo first found him. Why did the man even think he was a kid? Seriously!
How will he go back to dancing, looking like this? Can he go back to his previous career, now that the world was flipped upside down?
He rummages in the little kit Youngjo left, picks out the disposable razor and a tube of shaving foam first. Moping can wait. He has to start somewhere.
He misses the comfort of his own products. The comfort of a well-worn ritual. Once in a while, he and Dongju were home at the same time, and they made sure to do their skincare together. His friend was so fond of those pesky sheet masks.
Dongju has been on his mind a lot, since Youngjo helped him out of the feral mindset.
Did Hwanwoong fight in vain? Are Dongju and Dongmeyong safe? His heart feels tight with uncertainty.
If. If. If Dongju is alive. If Dongmeyong is alive. What would they be up to? Are they still in Seoul? Or did they flee someplace safe? Someplace still free of the infection?
After shaving, and scrubbing his face with more force than necessary, Hwanwoong feels more like himself. Cutting and filing his gross nails comes next. He helps himself to Youngjo's moisturiser. It's thinner than the one he used.
He's slathering a second layer on his face when he hears the door to the room open noisily.
Wait.
Youngjo said he'd be back after dark.
Who is it?
Hwanwoong peeks out through a crack in the door, not even daring to breathe. What if Youngjo told someone? What if they're here to drag Hwanwoong away?
He notices the grey coveralls first, then the messy hair. It's Youngjo, closing the door behind him and ripping open the first couple of buttons on his clothes, seemingly to breathe easier.
At the sight of a friendly face—the only friendly face anymore—Hwanwoong feels relieved for a second, then watches in horror as the man stumbles and falls forward on his knees.
Hwanwoong rushes to him, noting that he looks paper-white, bloodless lips twisted in a grimace. Hwanwoong takes nearly all his weight, helping him lie down on his bed. There's a thermos rolling around near the door. He picks it up and opens it. Soup? Is Youngjo sick?
"Spill," he orders Youngjo, trying to mask his mounting worry with irritation.
His only reply is a groan. Youngjo claws at his throat again, tugging at his turtleneck impatiently.
"I was just… feeling dizzy. They told me to rest."
Hwanwoong sits next to him, checking for any symptoms of the dastardly infection. There's nothing yet. No high temperature, or jerking movements, but it could be too soon to tell.
"Do you think it’s the infection?" Hwanwoong voices his fear.
"No, no. I just…I probably shouldn’t have gone to donate after feeding you this morning."
"You did what?”
There, the puppydog eyes are back again. Hwanwoong feels like hitting him.
"You're not supposed to donate so much blood! Yah! What were you thinking? Are you dumb? You wanna drop dead that much?!"
"I didn’t know, I swear," Youngjo insists, shamefaced. "I just wasn’t thinking. Anyway, they're not letting me back at the donation centre again."
He has the audacity to sigh about it.
"I'm on soup kitchen duty from tomorrow."
"Good," Hwanwoong grouses. His heart is calming down at last. He doesn’t understand why his protective side is acting up. Is it because he's been thinking so much about Dongju? Is he just putting Youngjo in Dongju's place as someone to take care of?
"Oh. Nearly forgot."
Youngjo leans up on a wobbly elbow and holds out his phone. "I had it charged at the donation centre. You can read more if you want."
Hwanwoong slowly takes it from him, confused. "You're just giving it to me?"
"Yeah, just wake me up if Mum calls. I'm gonna nap," Youngjo says, already relaxing back on the bed. He's asleep between one breath and another, right in front of Hwanwoong's eyes.
The idiot forgot to tie him up.
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