“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the rabid mongooses,” Ki-tae said with a wink.
“Wouldn’t it be mongeese?” Min-su asked suddenly. “Or is it like the English word moose?”
“No, no, no, not another one!” Ki-tae did a facepalm and shook his head.
“I believe the most common plural form is ‘mongooses,’ but it can be, on the rare occasion, ‘mongeese.’ Of course, either one sounds ridiculous,” Cheongul said.
“Very true,” Min-su said. “Of course, if you say a word often enough, it starts to sound odd.”
“Word geeks.” Jin-woo leaned over and poked Jong-in, who was staring at HanYin. “I thought she was a rarity.”
“Looks like there’s more of them out there.”
“Regardless, we’re about to encounter the human version, and it can be overwhelming,” Ki-tae said. “It’s been my experience that it’s best to let Soon-joon-nim take the lead unless asked a direct question. At which point try to keep your answer brief and to the point. They’ll jump on anything.”
“They can’t possibly be that bad,” Jin-woo protested.
“You have no idea, and I hope you never have to deal with the more vicious ones,” Ki-tae said quietly.
“Let’s go,” Soon-joon said, putting a hand on Ki-tae’s shoulder. He smiled, and Ki-tae returned it, although Jin-woo still thought it looked a little sad.
While Ki-tae might prefer to let Soon-joon take the lead and simply stand at his side, Jin-woo had his own preferred method when dealing with people and attention. He stood slightly behind anyone who was taller than he was. That way he sort of got lost in the shuffle, and people didn’t notice him as much. He didn’t have to say much of anything during the press conference. Mostly he just nodded and bowed and thanked people, and honestly, that worked for him. This wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want to be onstage. He wanted to make it all happen. Well, not all of it. He didn’t want to be a manager. He wanted to be involved in the actual process of creating the finished product.
When it was finally over, Jin-woo sagged against Jong-in in relief. “Can I go home now? Please?”
“You’re whining,” Jong-in said with a smile as he ruffled his hair. Jin-woo slapped his hand.
“I can’t help it,” Jin-woo said with a pout. “I’m beat. I got maybe two hours’ sleep last night. I hit the ground running this morning and feel as if I haven’t stopped.”
“We still have to set up a meeting with Soon-joon hyung,” Min-su said as she stared at her phone, tapping away. “We’ll need to fill out some paperwork, get photos taken for temporary badges, contact information, meeting schedules. If I remember correctly—”
“And of course you do.” Jin-woo sighed.
“Bam Kiseu has a couple of appearances in and around the area,” she continued as if Jin-woo hadn’t said anything, which, he supposed, was better than her usual response of smacking him upside the head. “We’ll have to hammer out what sort of budget we’re looking at. My estimates were conservative. Then we’ll need to meet the crews, the director, art director, sound engineers. I wonder how many meetings I can squeeze in between classes?”
“Pocky?”
“What?” Min-su’s head shot up, and she stared at HanYin.
“Would you like some Pocky?” he said with a smile.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the proffered treat.
HanYin gave her a nod, and after offering some to everyone, bounced over to Ki-tae. Jin-woo wondered what HanYin was up to. The mischievous look on his face said it was something naughty. Glancing around, Jin-woo saw more people than normal milling around the building entrance. Many of them were female students, but there were a good number of male ones. They were smiling and, in some cases, giggling behind their hands. Some of them held autograph books. Yet they seemed hesitant to approach. One or two reporters were still present, mostly the teen-magazine types.
Nibbling on his own Pocky, Jin-woo nearly choked when Ki-tae grabbed the back of HanYin’s neck and started nipping his way down the stick held between HanYin’s lips. Giggling and screaming echoed through the air, getting louder the closer they got to each other’s mouths. HanYin’s hand rested on Ki-tae’s shoulder, and from his angle, Jin-woo could see he was smiling. Then they got too close to see, and Jin-woo felt his breath catch. He turned away, trying not to whimper. He knew what Ki-tae’s kisses felt like, knew what Ki-tae tasted like, and damned if he’d ever been more jealous of another human being than he was of HanYin right now. He shifted in his seat on the rock wall, bringing his coat into his lap. Ki-tae was hugging HanYin, and they were both laughing. Jin-woo could sense what was coming next. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than they grabbed Cheongul, who looked incredibly put upon but humored them. Normally people would use Pepero, but for whatever reason, when Bam Kiseu played the game, they always used Pocky.
The three of them faced one another in a sort of triangle. HanYin held the Pocky in his mouth. He turned to Ki-tae, who then took the stick with his teeth, biting off a bit before turning to face Cheongul. They went around and around, each one nipping off a little more until the very last round. Cheongul looked at Ki-tae, shook his head, and proceeded to kiss the Pocky right out of his mouth. Then he tapped Ki-tae on the nose with a smile on his face, chewing the final piece while he pulled Ki-tae to his side and stuck his hand in Ki-tae’s pocket. If it wasn’t already doing naughty things to his thought processes, Jin-woo would have laughed too.
Jin-woo took a deep breath. How in the heck was he going to get through this? Here he was, sporting an erection from watching Ki-tae play a game, hiding said predicament under a coat like a teen in the locker room. The sad thing was Ki-tae probably didn’t even remember who he was. He probably didn’t even recognize Jin-woo, and that hurt more than Jin-woo thought it would… or should. Did Ki-tae do that so often that one more face was hardly going to stand out?
“Give me your phone.”
Jin-woo jumped at the sudden sound of Ki-tae’s voice. He swallowed hard. “What?”
“Give me your phone,” Ki-tae said again, holding out his hand.
Jin-woo handed it over without thinking. He watched as Ki-tae tapped at his phone. “Why?”
“I’m giving you my phone number,” Ki-tae said. “You’ll get a company phone for the duration of the project, which will have everyone’s phone number in it. It makes it easier to communicate because business messages and phone calls don’t get lost among the personal ones, but I wanted you to have mine in your own phone. Call me later tonight.”
“Why?” Jin-woo seemed to be stuck in one-word response mode. He tensed when Ki-tae leaned close to him, his breath brushing Jin-woo’s ear and sending shivers racing over his skin.
“Because I remember.”
Jin-woo couldn’t breathe. He watched Ki-tae walk over to Soon-joon, who was speaking with Teacher Kim. Did he just say what Jin-woo thought he said? Did he say he remembered? Did he? Jin-woo couldn’t believe it. He quickly unlocked his phone and pulled up his contacts. He scrolled through the list and tapped Ki-tae’s name. Jin-woo groaned and dropped his head. Ki-tae had made his contact icon a shot of him with the killer little smile Jin-woo loved. It was just one corner of his mouth kicked up, and it always made Jin-woo’s belly quiver. Ki-tae was going to be the death of him; he just knew it.
Soon-joon
“LADIES AND gentlemen, I am afraid it is time for Bam Kiseu to depart,” Soon-joon said to the reporters still asking questions and snapping photos. He should have known when he saw the box peeking out of HanYin’s pocket what they were going to do. “They have a pretty tight schedule tomorrow. If you have any further questions, please contact the main office of BL Entertainment and ask about the program. I wish you all a good day.”
He ushered Ki-tae, Cheongul, and HanYin into their car. While the boys would get to rest, he had to return to the office after speaking with Teacher Kim and handing out the individual grants to the other students. There was always work
waiting for him. He liked it that way. It didn’t give him time to brood over things. He had sent missives to each of his mentors and his sire but knew it would take them a while to get back to him. They could be irritating like that, but it was their privilege and their due. They had lived many centuries and knew much. He just wished it was easier to get in contact with them. Although perhaps once Ki-tae and Jin-woo got to know each other in a less intimate sense, it wouldn’t be necessary to break the bond.
Once they were settled in the car, Soon-joon leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Jin-woo knew what Ki-tae was. This was an undeniable fact. Had he purposefully avoided the Vampire theme because of that knowledge? If so, that spoke well of him. There were very few people who knew they existed and for good reason. Today people would not be able to handle the idea of the spiritual world being a real thing. It would get violent and ugly. Soon-joon missed the days when people accepted these things as fact and didn’t try to destroy everything they didn’t understand. He wished for simpler times every now and then. He had walked many paths in his long life, and his desire for some of those simpler times in no way negated his love for his current one. He just had the benefit of seeing how simple things could be and how people complicated things unnecessarily.
Absently Soon-joon reached out and stroked Ki-tae’s hair. He was the youngest of Soon-joon’s children, and Soon-joon would dare say he was the most damaged. Had it truly only been 275 years since he’d found Ki-tae in that monster’s brothel? That was horrible in and of itself, but when he learned the master was a Vampire and forced a bond upon Ki-tae, Soon-joon became enraged. It was a bloodbath despite Soon-joon sparing those who did not fight or those who knew no other way.
It had taken years to wean Ki-tae from the Vampiric blood that bound him. The withdrawal was a hundred times worse than with any drug. Even now he, Cheongul, and HanYin had to be careful when injured and Ki-tae was near. He was and always would be a recovering addict, and they did everything they could to help him. Yet Ki-tae was strong. There was no doubt about that. He had survived in that nightmare for close to eight years before Soon-joon found him, not an easy feat for a child.
“You’re thinking very hard, Abeoji,” Ki-tae said softly. “I’m okay.”
“I worry.”
“I know you do. You all do, but I will be fine,” Ki-tae said, trying to reassure them.
“I saw you talking to Jin-woo dongsaeng,” Cheongul said. “How did that go?”
“It was… brief.” Ki-tae chuckled. “He only gave me one-word answers, but I put my number in his phone and told him to call me later tonight. Whether he will, I don’t know.”
“Did he mention that night?” HanYin asked.
“No,” Ki-tae said. “I did.”
“You did?” HanYin was clearly surprised. “That couldn’t have been an easy conversation.”
“It really wasn’t a conversation. When he asked me why he should call me tonight, all I said was because I remember.”
“Why would you say that?” Cheongul looked confused.
“I didn’t want him to think he was just one of many. I wanted him to know he stood out, that I remembered him specifically. I don’t know if he caught that with those few words, but that was what I was trying to convey.”
“We shall have to wait and see,” Soon-joon said.
Ki-tae
LATER THAT night, Ki-tae sat at the grand piano in the great room. He placed his fingers lightly on the keys and, closing his eyes, began to play. He had nothing in mind, but the haunting strands of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata floated into the air. He loved the way the piece started out so slowly, just a gentle brushing of the keys and the deep notes holding the listener as if they had an anchor tied to them. This was the most recognizable part of the sonata to most people, but Ki-tae knew there was more. The piece was fifteen minutes long stretching over three movements, and it didn’t have any blatant hooks, but it still resonated within him. Just when you thought it would end, and indeed it could with the movements being separate yet also part of the whole piece, the scherzo picked up with a happier tune, still in the lower keys but with higher-toned accents and a slightly faster pace. It was a bit brighter, lighter, freer. He never played just the first movement. Ki-tae always felt compelled to play all three movements unless he was interrupted.
For the longest time, Ki-tae had thought he would never be free, but Abeoji had changed all that. He thought he wouldn’t be allowed to stay long, to pollute everything with his filth, but here he was, two hundred-some odd years later, and they still loved him. Then the sonata moved faster and faster, more powerful, more strength, the will to endure, to carry on. It became more complex, more challenging, much like his life. There were calmer moments but still that underlying frenetic pace, the rush forward to, or away from, something. What was he running to? He did not want to recall what he was running from.
Finally the sonata came to a close. Ki-tae felt a little bit better. Music always did that for him. It was his outlet. Cheongul often commented how he could determine Ki-tae’s mood by two things: the music he was listening to and the colors he wore. Ki-tae had to admit he had a point. His feelings were reflected in the way he dressed and what music he played. Right now he was feeling a bit sad, a little melancholy. Jin-woo hadn’t called, and Ki-tae wasn’t sure he would call this late at night. Was it late? He didn’t think so, but he didn’t have what anyone would consider a normal schedule. He should have gotten Jin-woo’s number instead of just asking him to call.
“Ki-tae, you left your phone on vibrate in the kitchen again. No wonder you miss so many text messages. You know that’s how people communicate these days, right?” HanYin said as he set the phone down on the piano. “There’s homemade noodles in the refrigerator when you’re done. And you missed a call, but it wasn’t blocked, so you can just call them back.”
Ki-tae immediately grabbed his phone and ran into his room. Well, maybe not ran, but walked very quickly, much to HanYin’s amusement; Ki-tae heard the chuckle. He pulled up his missed calls list and hit the last number. He held his breath as it rang and rang. He tensed when he suddenly heard Jin-woo’s voice.
“What? You tell someone to call you, and then you don’t respond to my text or pick up? How rude is that?” Jin-woo said with a huff. Ki-tae laughed softly, relieved.
“I left my phone on vibrate and, apparently, in the kitchen, so I didn’t hear it,” he explained.
“Well, I suppose I can forgive you. I do that all the time,” Jin-woo said. “It’s a good thing you called back immediately. I was going to say forget it and go to bed.”
“I’m glad HanYin hyung brought me my phone,” Ki-tae said.
“He did? I guess I have to thank him the next time I see him. This is easier on the phone. You don’t quite turn my brain to mush when we’re talking like this.” Ki-tae chuckled, and he heard Jin-woo sigh. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but it was adorable. I like knowing I turn your brain to mush,” Ki-tae said.
“Well, I’m not sure I like knowing that you know you turn my brain to mush. It seems as if it would be an unfair advantage, don’t you think?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t been able to think of much else but you since the concert,” Ki-tae said.
“This is…. I don’t know what this is,” Jin-woo said.
“I guess it’s two people who had an amazing encounter getting to know each other on a different level,” Ki-tae said. “I want to know more about you.”
“Why? I’m not that interesting,” Jin-woo said softly.
“You’re interesting to me,” Ki-tae said. “It was difficult today. I didn’t know how to behave.”
“I felt the same way. I didn’t know if you remembered, and then you said you did, and I was like, ‘Oh my God,’ and then everything kind of just went poof.”
“Poof?” Ki-tae asked as he fiddled with one frayed edge of the hole in his jeans.
“I don’t reall
y remember doing anything else. It’s just all kind of a blur.” Jin-woo paused a moment, and Ki-tae held his breath. It was so strange how easily they were talking. “Is it just me, or are we talking as if we’ve known each other for a while?”
“It’s not just you,” Ki-tae said. “I was just thinking the same thing, how easy it is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I really didn’t mean to bother you that night. I was just curious about what it was like backstage. I mean, you see all the behind-the-scenes stuff, but you know the video is edited to make things look good, and you can’t feel the energy through the videos, so I went exploring, and I really shouldn’t have.”
“Do you regret meeting me?” Ki-tae asked, a knot of pain settling in his chest.
“I…,” Jin-woo began, but then he stopped, and Ki-tae felt the knot expand.
“You?” Ki-tae prompted.
“I have to admit, stumbling on you the way I did, sucking the blood out of some random woman’s neck, wasn’t the best way to meet. Having my whole worldview turned upside down, where the monsters are real, is not something I’d planned that day and it was terrifying. I didn’t wake up and say ‘I want to meet a fanged beast in the middle of feeding today,’” Jin-woo said.
“Monsters, huh?” Ki-tae tried to keep the hurt from his voice. It wasn’t the first time that word had been thrown at him, but he could have done without the revulsion in Jin-woo’s voice.
“Well, I figure if you’re real, then the others are real too. You know, werewolves, ghosts, and other things that don’t bear thinking about.” Jin-woo’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke, and Ki-tae wondered if he only called because he was too afraid of Ki-tae not to. “When I think about the idea that all the fairy tales and creatures that go bump in the night are real—I mean, really real—it scares the crap out of me.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Good night, dongsaeng,” Ki-tae said softly.
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