The strobe lights of the Vogue after-party were supposed to be glamorous, but to Han Jeo, they felt like tectonic plates grinding against his skull.
He stood on the VIP balcony, a glass of amber liquid in his hand that he hadn't touched. Below him, the elite of Seoul's fashion world danced and writhed like colorful insects. They all wanted a piece of him. They wanted the "Untamed Charm" they saw on the billboards. They didn't know that the man they worshipped was a biological wreck.
Two hundred years.
Seven thousand, three hundred, and five days since Han Jeo had last closed his eyes and felt the sweet, dark mercy of sleep. As a Pureblood, he didn't need rest to survive, but his mind... his mind was fraying at the edges. Every sound was too loud; every scent was too sharp.
"Jeo-nim? The editor from L'Officiel wants a photo," a nervous assistant whispered at his elbow.
Jeo didn't turn. He just tightened his grip on the glass until it shattered. Shards of crystal bit into his palm, but he didn't flinch. The blood—rich, dark, and smelling of ancient power—beaded on his skin.
"Tell them I've gone to hell," Jeo rasped. His voice was a low, dry vibration that made the assistant tremble.
He didn't wait for a response. He vaulted over the balcony railing, dropping twenty feet into the shadows of the alleyway below.
He ran. He needed to get away from the lights, the cameras, and the suffocating scent of people who wanted things from him.
He moved like a blur, a ghost in a designer shirt, until the glitz of Gangnam faded into the grit of an industrial district. He stopped in front of a bar that looked like it was held together by spit and prayers. The Last Stop.
Inside, it was dim. Perfect.
He slumped onto a stool at the far end of the bar, pulling his hoodie over his head. His eyes were burning, the hazel irises flickering with a jagged, hungry red.
"Whiskey. Leave the bottle," Jeo muttered, his head falling into his hands.
"The bottle is expensive. How about we start with a glass?"
The voice was different. It wasn't the high-pitched squeal of a fan or the oily tone of a manager. It was steady. It was... quiet.
Jeo looked up.
The man behind the bar was young, maybe early twenties, with dark, messy hair and eyes that looked like they had seen enough of the world to not be impressed by it. He was wearing a simple black apron over a white t-shirt. His name tag read: Taeyul.
But it wasn't his face that stopped Jeo's heart. It was the air around him.
Every human has a "noise"—a thumping heart, a rushing of blood, a frantic mental hum. But Taeyul? Taeyul felt like a deep, still forest after a snowfall. He felt like silence.
"Is there something on my face?" Taeyul asked, leaning forward to set a glass down.
As Taeyul moved, his scent hit Jeo. It wasn't perfume. It was the smell of ozone before a storm, of cold rain on granite.
Jeo's breath hitched. For the first time in two centuries, the screaming in his brain died down to a whimper. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and gripped Taeyul's wrist.
The contact was like a lightning strike.
A wave of pure, heavy exhaustion slammed into Jeo. It wasn't the painful tiredness he was used to; it was a seductive, velvet weight. His eyelids, which had felt like they were stapled open for 200 years, suddenly felt heavy.
"God," Jeo choked out, his forehead dropping onto Taeyul's hand. He let out a ragged, broken sob of relief. "Don't move. Please."
Taeyul tried to pull back, his heart beginning to race. "Hey, man, you're high or something. Let go."
"I'll give you anything," Jeo hissed, his grip tightening with supernatural strength. He looked up, his face a mask of desperate, terrifying beauty. His fangs began to descend, white and lethal. "I've been awake for two centuries, and you... you're the only thing that's ever felt like sleep."
Jeo pulled Taeyul closer, forcing him across the bar until their chests were touching. He buried his face in Taeyul's neck, dragging his tongue along the skin.
"You're not a bartender anymore, Taeyul," Jeo whispered against his pulse. "You're my sanctuary. And I'm never letting you go."