Beyond that was the kitchen, an ode to their love of food with sleek appliances and maximized counter space. They would make breakfast together in the morning, able to move around the kitchen easily and freely. This weekend visit was always their time to be a family, something all of them had lacked for a long time. Ki-tae pushed his fingers through his hair as he walked into the small nook to the right of the kitchen. It was a cozy room filled with warm, welcoming color. He found Cheongul, HanYin, and their sire all seated at the medium-sized square teak table, waiting for him.
“Adeul, so good of you to join us!” his sire called, lifting a hand and beckoning him closer. “We have waited for you.”
“You didn’t need to do that, Abeoji. I’m sorry for being so late,” Ki-tae said as he walked to Soon-joon’s side and placed a kiss on his head after he bowed. “You should have started without me.”
“I will not eat until all my sons are at my table.”
“Stubborn old goat,” Ki-tae teased affectionately.
“I am at that.” He gestured toward the food spread across the table. “Eat. Then we will talk.”
Ki-tae took his seat to Soon-joon’s right. In the privacy of their home, certain protocols were not observed unless company was present, though there was very rarely any company present. Sometimes, it still struck Ki-tae as odd to eat regular food. He remembered asking once, as many of the stories he’d heard said they only existed on blood. His question resulted in a lengthy—very lengthy—explanation of how blood maintained their qi and thus their enhanced senses, reflexes, and healing ability while regular food maintained their physical body. Why Soon-joon couldn’t have just told him the food was for the body and the blood for the qi and leave it at that, Ki-tae didn’t know. His father seemed to like lengthy explanations.
Once Soon-joon picked up his spoon, they dug in, chattering about nothing in particular as they served themselves and each other. Soon-joon invariably placed more food in their bowls, exclaiming they didn’t eat nearly enough when they tried to protest.
“Aish, do you want me to get fat?” Ki-tae cried as another heap of shrimp was placed in his bowl. “I won’t be able to dance onstage! I’ll have to waddle!”
“As if fat stays on us with our choreographer. She must have been a slaver in her last life,” Cheongul complained, scrunching up his face. “My legs still hurt from practice today.”
“Quit complaining. You’re all too skinny as it is,” Soon-joon said, turning back to his own food.
“Not me. This is all healthy!” HanYin said with a smile, yanking up his shirt to show off his muscles.
Ki-tae smacked his firm stomach. “Yah, look at you, so proud.”
As soon as they were all settled with their food and had taken several moments to eat, Ki-tae felt Soon-joon’s eyes on him. He looked up into his sire’s gaze. It was intense but beyond that, unreadable.
“What is it, Abeoji?”
“I went to Jeonjin University today to see an old friend.” Soon-joon began shifting the food around in his bowl with his chopsticks. “He is a professor there. We had lunch together to discuss an idea I had for your next project.”
“The minimovies?” Cheongul asked, glancing at Ki-tae. “I like Ki-tae’s idea. I think concept will make our music videos stand out more if there’s a story being told visually as well.”
“People love good stories and good music,” HanYin agreed.
Ki-tae glanced away for a moment. He had been hesitant to present the idea, thinking they wouldn’t like it, would think it too gimmicky, but he was tired of all the videos just being them singing and dancing. He had nothing against those types of music videos, but he wanted their fans to have more.
“It was just a thought,” Ki-tae mumbled, staring down at his food.
“It is a good idea, Ki-tae,” Soon-joon said with a small smile. “That’s why I went to my friend with it. I had been looking for a way to help the digital media students from Jeonjin. It is so hard to get into this business. I want to give them a foot in the door, so to speak.”
“I thought that was what your scholarship program was for?” HanYin said as he examined a piece of pork before putting it in his mouth. At his father’s place, he used his manners… for the most part.
“It is, but that’s just money, and it’s from one of the subsidiary companies. I want to do a little more. Pretty much every aspiring artist, musician, filmmaker, director, or sound engineer must have examples of their work these days. Our companies want to see what they can do, measure if the risk to hire them is worth it,” Soon-joon explained. “Therefore, Seonsaengnim and I worked out a program whereby the students in the design and media school will have a chance to begin building their portfolio and earning an internship with BL Entertainment.”
“How does that relate to my suggestion?” Ki-tae asked.
“Beginning this year, the students will divide into groups. During the first part of the program, they will each be assigned one of Bam Kiseu’s songs, one we haven’t done a video for. They will take that song and come up with a video concept that tells a story. They will need to create storyboards, mock-ups, go through the whole process. Once that is completed, they will present their ideas to a panel made up of Seonsaengnim, myself… and you three. Once all ideas have been presented, we will determine which group had the best idea. That group will then be involved in the making of the video.”
“You said that was the first part. What’s the second?” Cheongul said, pushing his bangs out of his face.
“In part two, each student will write an original song. They will compose it, record it, and produce it,” Soon-joon said.
“What’s the catch?” Ki-tae looked at his sire.
“The song will need to take into account the vocal style of not only Bam Kiseu as a group, but each of your individual vocal styles.” Soon-joon smiled almost beatifically.
“And this is going to be a yearly thing?” Cheongul asked.
“Well, the requirements will be the same, but it would be better if the idols we manage are rotated year to year. I want to give them variety. Creating music videos and writing songs for a group is different than doing it for a solo artist.”
“The average student is going to have difficulty with this,” HanYin said. “And the ones who don’t listen to us will have a harder time of it.”
“True, but they will have to put together examples of what they can do, and any manager worth their salt will be able to see the potential in them,” Soon-joon said. “Also, I’ve arranged for each student to receive small grants to assist them with establishing their full portfolios.”
“You’re just an old softie,” Ki-tae teased as Cheongul nodded.
“Duōchóushàngăn,” HanYin agreed. “A teddy bear.”
“What made you do this?” Ki-tae asked, suddenly seeing a bit of regret in Soon-joon’s eyes. When those eyes met his, he could see pain as well.
“I met a young man today,” Soon-joon said, his focus solely on Ki-tae. “He was shy, but not to the point of inaction. Once the announcement had been made, the students all clamored to have this young man as part of their group. Apparently he was considered the most talented one in their class. He was very polite when speaking and responded easily to the teasing he received, but he had one other thing that made him stand out.”
“What was that?” Cheongul asked hesitantly, glancing at Ki-tae.
“His scent was overlaid by that of one of my children,” Soon-joon said. “Can you tell me which one?”
“You already know it’s me,” Ki-tae said with a sigh. “Why pretend?”
“Can you tell me why you fed so deeply from him that he smells of you, even after bathing?” Soon-joon said. There was no heat in his voice.
“How?”
“There is only one way to embed our scent on a human so deeply,” Soon-joon said. “You fed from his neck, from his carotid, didn’t you?”
“I… yes,” Ki-tae said softly, hanging his head. At the time
he hadn’t been ashamed at all. Now he felt very guilty.
“There are reasons why I teach you to feed the way I do,” Soon-joon said just as quietly. “Blood from the carotid artery comes straight from the heart. Freely given, it is the most amazing feeling in the world, but it also has consequences. It can bind you to that individual.”
“What do you mean, bind me to him?” Ki-tae asked, snapping his head up to stare at Soon-joon. He… he couldn’t go through that again, couldn’t belong to someone, controlled by them, not ever again.
He started shaking in his seat, his grip on the table causing it to vibrate. The roaring in his ears made their voices fade away. He dug his claws into the wood, leaving deep furrows. His fangs descended, puncturing his lips as they hadn’t done since he was first turned. Hands grabbed him, and Ki-tae struck out with a roar. Vague sounds of crashing and shouting followed. He tried to get away, tried to break free, and then he heard that voice in his ear, the sound of love and safety and peace.
Ki-tae curled against Soon-joon as they fell to the floor, his face pressed into his father’s chest. Tears streamed down his face; he curled his fingers tightly in the fabric of Soon-joon’s shirt. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It all hurt so much. What was he going to do? He could never go through that again. It would kill him this time, Vampire or not. Gentle fingers stroked his hair, soothing him into sleep.
Soon-joon
SOON-JOON ROSE gracefully, heedless of the weight of Ki-tae in his arms. He carried his youngest son down the hallway that opened slightly off-center from where Ki-tae had entered. To the right was a line of windows, a small Zen rock garden beyond. The hall connected with an open living room with a more Japanese influence, harking back to Soon-joon’s very early days. He had lived in many different places, but he always came back to Asia, whether it was Japan, China, or Korea. Here, Soon-joon felt most at home, and he wanted that same feeling for his sons.
On the opposite side of the living room were their private quarters. Made up of four rooms, each with a hallway separating them and no doors facing each other, it gave them privacy but also a sense of closeness. He carried Ki-tae down the right hallway and into his room, bumping against the black cabinetry to the left of the door as he entered. Gently he placed Ki-tae on the bed after Cheongul drew back the covers. Soon-joon tucked them up under Ki-tae’s chin. Slowly he reached up and pushed Ki-tae’s bangs to the side with a sigh.
“Abeoji,” Cheongul said quietly. “What are we going to do?”
“He hasn’t had an episode in so long,” HanYin said, then nibbled his lower lip. He leaned against the corner, part of his body hidden behind the wall.
“We will have to wait to see if binding took place first,” Soon-joon said as he rose from the bed. “Only then will we know what course to take. In the meantime, you two should stay with him. He knows I am here, but he needs the comfort of his brothers.”
They nodded and immediately climbed into bed with Ki-tae, sandwiching him between them. Soon-joon watched them as they cared for their brother. HanYin would have a nice bruise along the left side of his jaw later, and Cheongul’s right eye was already swelling slightly. Fortunately both injuries would be gone by morning. He had tried to do his best with them. Each of his sons had his own story. Each had something in his past that affected him to this day, and each one showed a strength of will, of spirit, that was all too often squelched by those who should know better, by those who thought to control and dominate everything around them. It continued to amaze him how arrogant humans could be, to think they had such power and the right to wield it so.
Soon-joon withdrew quietly. Questions rattled through his mind. Ki-tae was not a careless man, impulsive, but not careless. There had to be a reason why he’d been feeding at the stadium during a concert. He would have to look into it later, talk with Ki-tae after he was more settled. If the ancestors were smiling on them, no bond had been established between Ki-tae and this young man. He could only hope. Ki-tae and bonds were not a good combination, as attested to by the shattered table, dishes, and food scattered all over his floor. Soon-joon sighed. Then he went into the kitchen, grabbed the garbage can, and pulled it into the breakfast nook. It was a good thing he always made extras. His boys would be hungry when they woke.
Jin-woo
JIN-WOO SAT in the student cafeteria with Min-su and Jong-in. He stared at his food, not seeing it. Seonsaengnim’s announcement spun around and around in his head. A chance to film a video with Bam Kiseu. A chance to write a song that would be performed by Bam Kiseu, by Ki-tae. Jin-woo started to breathe faster and faster. The crack of a hand across his face brought him back quickly.
“Ow! What the hell, Min-su-ya?” he demanded.
“You were hyperventilating… again,” she said. “I know it’s incredibly amazing and wonderful and the dream of a lifetime, but if you pass out and end up in the hospital, then what?”
“I’m sorry. You just—”
“Do not tell me I don’t understand. Who is the president of the Cheongul oppa fan club? Who has his image plastered all over one wall of her room?” Min-su said, pointing at him.
“All right, you do,” he said.
“Yeah, well, you two can keep Cheongul hyung and Ki-tae hyung and leave HanYin hyung to me,” Jong-in muttered.
“HanYin oppa? Since when have you been more than a casual fan of Bam Kiseu?” Min-su demanded.
“I’ve always been his stan,” Jong-in said defensively, sticking his chin out.
“You never said a thing! You were all over G-1 and their short-shorts,” Jin-woo said.
“I… I just didn’t want you guys to think less of me because I like him so much.”
“Geu-rae-yo?” Jin-woo said. “You have listened to me going on about Ki-tae hyung… not nearly as much as Min-su-ya goes on about Cheongul hyung, but still, what would have given you the idea we’d think less of you?”
“I don’t know.” Jong-in hung his head, chuckling as Min-su smacked Jin-woo.
“You’re an evil midget,” Jin-woo hissed at her as he rubbed the back of his head. She raised her hand again and Jin-woo held up his sketchpad in defense.
“That is an insult to little people and you shouldn’t talk that way,” Min-su said, giving him a dirty look.
“Fine, you’re an evil bitch.”
“Thank you.”
“All right, stop it, you two. We have work to do,” Jong-in said with a laugh. “We need to come up with a killer concept and a kick-ass video for Bam Kiseu. You have the notes, Min-su-ya. Which song did we get?”
The two settled down, and Min-su pulled pencils and her notebook from her backpack while Jin-woo opened his drawing pad. He took the pencil from behind his ear.
“We were given ‘Crossing Time,’” she said after checking her notes. “That’s off their third minialbum, Eternity.”
“Damn. That’s the one I just had to throw out because it got all scratched to hell with no hope of saving it,” Jong-in grumbled, flopping back in his chair.
“I can’t believe you still use CDs,” Min-su said.
“What? I get sick of the streaming sites asking me if I’m still listening,” Jong-in said. “No commercials either, which is always a plus and… no buffering.”
“He’s got you on that one. Buffering sucks,” Jin-woo said, absently moving his hand over the paper. “Do you have it on your phone, Min-su-ya?”
“No, the file got corrupted somehow and won’t play.” She pouted as she looked at her phone. “We don’t have time to listen to it now. Lunch is almost over.”
“All right, why don’t you guys come over to my house after school. We can listen to the song and brainstorm,” Jin-woo said.
“Looks like you’re already doing that,” Jong-in said as he stood up to see what Jin-woo was drawing. “Ki-tae hyung, big surprise… as a Vampire?”
Jin-woo jerked his head up, and he stared, wide-eyed, at Jong-in. “What?”
“Your drawing. I think that’s an
awesome idea. Think about it. The album is called Eternity, and the song is called ‘Crossing Time.’ It’d be perfect. How often do music videos go with a supernatural theme? At most you get the super sad ones where one of the lovers dies, leaving the other to grieve alone.”
Min-su tapped her pencil against her bottom lip. “We could work with two or three eras. Costuming wouldn’t be that hard. We don’t have to get real elaborate with them, and I’m sure we can find a props house to work with.”
“But… why a Vampire?” Jin-woo said, swallowing hard as he recalled his very intimate encounter with the real thing. He stared at his sketch: the way Ki-tae had looked up from the woman’s arm as he continued to drink. Without thinking, Jin-woo had sketched his first encounter with Ki-tae. Well, before he ran. But Ki-tae had caught him, hadn’t he? He certainly had. Jin-woo shook his head. “What if we just imply he’s immortal without actually identifying exactly what he is?”
“What other creature lives forever?” Min-su said.
“Tons. There are hordes of beings that are immortal,” Jin-woo said, hoping they would drop the whole Vampire thing.
“Okay, you come up with a list of other beings we could use and how we can show what they are without coming right out and saying it. If you can’t, then we go with the Vampire because then all we have to do is flash some fangs,” Min-su said, pointing her pencil at him.
“I’ll start working on setting ideas,” Jong-in said.
After bidding Jin-woo goodbye, Jong-in and Min-su left for their afternoon classes. Jin-woo didn’t have one immediately following lunch, for which he was very grateful. Food made him sleepy, but right now, he was wide-awake and twitchy. They couldn’t make a video of Ki-tae being a Vampire! They just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right to expose him like that, and Ki-tae would think Jin-woo told them what he was, and Jin-woo was pretty sure that would not make Ki-tae happy. In fact, it might just make him angry, and while Jin-woo might like Ki-tae to be aggressive like he was in the loading dock, he was pretty sure Ki-tae would not be looking for sex. More like he would be looking to permanently shut Jin-woo’s mouth.
Night Kiss Page 3