They arrived at Vermilion later than expected: on the way, Kang Jihan stopped at an all-night diner and ordered two portions of noodles, which he devoured with an expression of saintly bliss. He then bought a bag of buns—as if preparing for a week-long siege.
Ryu Sungyeon walked behind, watching this lunatic carry a bag almost the size of his own head.
Descending the narrow stairs to Vermilion's underground hall, Sungyeon heard Oh Rian's voice coming up.
— Hyung! I was just about to...
He stopped mid-sentence, noticing who was following behind. In his hands—a suitcase. It was so large that his "about to" was obvious: Rian was about to run away.
He now stood in the middle of the stairs, eyes wide, while Jihan curiously examined the luggage, like an exhibit.
— What do we have here, Mr. Oh Rian? Packing? — Jihan drawled.
— N-no, I... uh... moving documents.
— Documents, you say. — Jihan shook his head. — Looks like an escape suitcase. Or maybe someone asked you to?
Rian's pupils wavered. He glanced at Sungyeon—what's going on?
Ryu sighed heavily:
— Fine, you don't have to pretend. There's no point playing a role in front of him.
— In front of him? — Rian blinked. — Are you... trying to say he's... your partner?
— What nonsense? — both Jihan and Sungyeon snapped in unison.
Rian immediately fell silent, feeling the air around him thicken, as if in a pressure chamber.
To save time on explanations, Sungyeon blurted out the first thing that came to mind:
— He's my... bodyguard.
Jihan snorted.
— Bodyguard? Is this a new form of slavery?
— If you don't like it—you can be a host, — Sungyeon replied dryly.
Rian stood between them with the look of a person suddenly drawn into someone else's marital quarrel.
Sungyeon walked past, into the tiny room behind the bar—his private sanctuary, which always smelled of coffee and metal. It barely fit a narrow bed and an old mirrored table. He collapsed onto the bed and pulled the blanket up to his eyes.
— If you want to sleep—sleep at my place, — Jihan offered, sitting near the door. — It's more spacious there.
— I'm more comfortable here.
Of course, it was a lie. But better to sleep on springs than let Jihan into his home. Here, beneath the noise of the ventilators and the gaze of the staff, at least Jihan wouldn't dare kill him.
— And what am I supposed to do while you sleep? — Jihan smirked.
— Don't breathe.
Ryu turned to the wall. Irritation was boiling inside him, but he understood: if he showed weakness, this man would cling tighter.
— What a personality, — Jihan grumbled. — Typical for vampires—to scheme instead of saying it straight.
No answer followed. Only measured breathing. A couple of minutes later, Jihan realized: Sungyeon had actually fallen asleep.
When he opened his eyes, it felt like an eternity had passed. His head was clear, his muscles—fresh. He sat up sharply and first thing, looked around: Kang Jihan was not in the room.
— Did he run away?... — he whispered hopefully.
But as soon as he stepped into the main hall, the illusion shattered. Right at the bar counter, Jihan and Oh Rian were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, a frying pan sizzling between them—they were eating fried rice.
— Did you two become friends?! — Sungyeon didn't even try to hide his annoyance.
Rian, choking, jumped up:
— Hyung, you're awake! Jih... — he checked himself. — I mean, Jihan-hyung was hungry, I helped cook... maybe you'll join us?
— "Hyung"? — Sungyeon repeated with venom. — Why not "sir"?
Jihan smirked without lifting his eyes from his food:
— Finally awake. You should be sleeping in a coffin—the sun rose long ago.
Rian laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to react. Sungyeon ignored both of them and headed to the lockers.
— I'm going out, — he tossed out.
— Where?
— To the store.
— I'm coming with you.
He hadn't even finished putting on his jacket before Jihan was following. Rian watched them leave with bewilderment:
— Bodyguard?... or is it... — he trailed off.
Outside, there was a morning haze. Sungyeon pulled on his hood, mask, and goggles. At the store, he bought cigarettes and went into the alley. When he lit a match, Jihan stood nearby, scrolling through the news on his phone.
While Jihan was distracted, Sungyeon extended his little finger into a ray of sunlight. A stinging pain lashed his skin.
— God damn it! — he hissed.
— What? — Jihan looked up.
— Ash fell.
He hid his hand in his pocket. His heart was beating faster: that meant the drug's effect had worn off. He was a vampire again.
Blue-5, the name surfaced in his mind. The suppressor Jihan had mentioned. "If a means to strip a vampire of his nature truly exists... who created it? And why?"
He recalled rumors of secret labs on the outskirts of Lyran in the archives. Perhaps West Medical was involved.
The thought sent a chill through him.
— Hey, — Jihan's voice pulled him from his thoughts. — Do you handle daylight okay?
— If it doesn't touch the skin—no problem.
— Got it. Now, let's do something interesting.
— Are you bored already?
He rejoiced internally: if Jihan got bored, maybe he would leave.
— I guess I'll sleep, then the clients will come. That's all I do to kill time.
— And you're not bored living like a vegetable?
— You're bored—but I have peace.
A week passed. But Jihan, contrary to expectations, did not disappear. He fit into Vermilion's rhythm as if he had been born behind that bar. Sungyeon tried to become invisible—slept, ate, played his role, but Jihan wouldn't give up. Worse: he managed to befriend all the hosts.
Lo laughed with him behind the bar, I Hun discussed bets, Rian called him "hyung." Even the gloomy Park Kichul, who previously shunned everyone, now hid a tremor at the sight of Jihan, yet still stood nearby.
When Kichul first saw them together, he whispered to Sungyeon:
— What did you do to him, huh? He looks like he escaped hell.
Sungyeon lazily replied:
— Gave him an unforgettable night. Now he won't leave me alone.
— Are you serious?
— Not at all. There were chains. And some drugs.
Jihan silently turned his head and said without blinking:
— Stop talking nonsense.
Kichul paled as if he had witnessed a demonstration of force. He tried to joke:
— I... I'll just shoot a video about it, okay?
— Try it, — Jihan said calmly.
Kichul disappeared faster than a shadow.
Sungyeon smirked contentedly.
— It worked.
— You're incorrigible, — Jihan grumbled.
It went on like this until the night when everything went off script. One of the regular female clients caused a scene. She demanded the man at the bar.
When Jihan refused, she flared up.
— Do you take me for a fool?! I pay more than anyone else here!
Sungyeon approached to calm her down.
— Nuna, please, he's just security, not a host...
— I don't care! Let him come!
She grabbed a beer bottle, brandishing it like a weapon. A second later—and the glass shattered. Sungyeon, pushing Park Kichul aside, took the hit himself.
Cold and ringing in his ears. Blood, mixed with foam, trickled down his temple.
— Nuna... violence doesn't suit you, — he smirked through the pain.
Screams, commotion, and suddenly—someone's hands caught him by the shoulders. Kang Jihan. His face was whiter than the wall.
— Towel, fast, — he barked at Rian.
Blood dripped onto the floor, smelling of iron and alcohol. Sungyeon tried to joke:
— Don't get worked up. Vampires have fast regeneration.
— Shut up, — Jihan replied, and scooped him up in his arms.
Half an hour later, they were at Sungyeon's apartment. He was almost unconscious when Jihan carried him up to the 16th floor, opened the coded door, and laid him on the sofa.
How did he know the code?—the thought flashed through his mind. Great. Now I need to change my address too.
Jihan pulled a bag of blood from the refrigerator and handed it to him. Sungyeon drank, feeling his skin tighten and the pain recede. The wound was closing before his eyes.
— See? — he smiled tiredly, — nothing serious.
Jihan was silent, watching the trace of the cut disappear beneath the skin. Finally, he asked:
— Why do you live like this?
Sungyeon sighed.
— Enough of the morality. Everyone has their own form of survival.
— You could live like a human. You have money, connections, strength. Why hide beneath the neon among drunkards?
— Because here, no one asks questions, — he answered calmly. — In normal life, I would have been exposed long ago. But here—everyone plays a role. And no one remembers a face if you pay enough.
— ...
— So don't play the savior, Jihan. I don't need saving.
He stuck a plaster on his temple, as if putting a period on the conversation.
— Go home. Stop following me.
— I won't go.
Sungyeon grimaced.
— You're insane. Tomorrow I'm going to a children's orphanage. If you want to stalk me—stalk away. Just don't get in the way.
— An orphanage?
— Yes. They need help.
Jihan narrowed his eyes.
— I'll go with you.
— Are you afraid I'll bite a child?
He didn't answer. He just ran a hand over his face, as if trying to erase his own doubts.
He himself doesn't understand why he stays close.
And I—why I don't kick him out.
The neon outside the window trembled, as if reflecting the city's breath. Inside the room, only two sounds remained—the rustle of clothes and the beating of two hearts, unaccustomed to sounding in unison.