The Heavens are embraced by darkness And, during the witching hour, we meet.
Title: Witching Hour.
Group: EXO.
Pairing: Luhan/Xiumin, others to come.
Rating: R.
Warning: Bad English, gore, character death.
Summary: This is how this story starts. A corpse crushed under the weight of wood; a scream, another scream, cries for an ambulance; and a discreet glance of acknowledgement from the man who lives in the mansion.
N/A: in today's episode of i hate myself with burning passion!! flavia is disgusting and starts a uncalled for kaibutsu oujo!au series that she'll obviously never finish.
Maybe Lu Han should’ve thought twice before moving out from China just because Yixing called him over to Korea. Living alone was shit, yes, and the loan sharks were extremely inconvenient and annoying, but, in retrospect, he had been doing fine on his own: no debts, no long periods without food, no urgent need for money. No comfort and no steady source of income either, true, but perhaps jumping up at the idea of moving to another country had been a mistake.
In a way or another, it was too late for Lu Han to keep holding onto regrets; he was already in Korea, wandering through a city so small and peaceful that it felt like he had landed in another planet. In one hand, he held the single suitcase he had been able to cram all his stuff into; not much had been left for him after the orphanage fire. In the other hand, he had the map Yixing had sent him in the mail, clumsily drawn by (Lu Han supposed) Yixing himself.
Master’s home! ♥. That was the place Lu Han had to reach. According to the map, it was a long walk from the bus station to the hill atop of which such home was located, but it was also a straight walk along the city’s main street, so the chances of him getting lost were few.
Dear Lu Han, the letter Yixing sent him said. It has been a while! I hope you’re doing well by yourself. I’ve gone through a lot of trouble here in Korea, but I’m doing fine now. I found a new job as a butler in a northern town, and my master said you could move in with us! What do you think? Master lives in a mansion on the top of a hill, and it’s just a fifteen-minute drive from the seaside! I hope to hear from you soon. Love, Zhang Yixing.
It had taken Lu Han a while to save up some money for the trip, and he might or might not have dropped ten kilograms in the process, but Yixing’s master had paid for half of it, so he couldn’t just back out. Relying on loan sharks to get his documentation ready had been the worst part, even worse than rehearsing a natural Korean accent, hello, I’m Kim Woohan, I was born in Samcheok, but it had all passed, and Lu Han’s problem was now to actually get to the mansion.
“It’s huge,” he said to himself in Korean, careful not to say anything in Mandarin while in public. He could see the mansion from the shopping district he was walking through - and boy, it was enormous. Tall, large and looming, darkened by rain clouds that seemed to accumulate nowhere but there, atop of the hill. Much better than his rented room in Daxing, that he could tell. Much, much better.
As he walked forward, eyes on the distant mansion, he soon approached a small commotion. People were gathered in the sidewalk, watching something that came from the hill’s direction, and, as much as Lu Han got a little nervous when he saw so many people (the fake documentation weighing a ton in his pocket), he couldn’t help but to be curious. Stretching his neck a little, he tried to peek at the happening, worming his way into the crowd.
From there, he saw it; a big wooden cart, in which there was a tall, tall pile of antique furniture. As in, as tall as a small building. And the cart was not being pulled by a horse, or ten horses - it was being pulled by one man.
“He’s strong!” Lu Han heard a child say, and he could tell that many adults were saying things along that line. He also heard a, “maybe this is a trick. There must be a circus coming to the town,” and, “That’s the man who lives at the old mansion!”
That made Lu Han’s ears perk up, and he finally noticed that the man who was pulling the cart was not alone: at the very top of the furniture tower, sitting at a chair that was placed miraculously upright, there was a man. Lu Han failed to distinguish his features very well, but there was an impression simmering low in his stomach, and it only grew stronger once the cart halted still and the man jumped to the ground, landing suavely on his feet as if he were a cat. Yes, Lu Han had been right - the man was beautiful.
Some gasped in surprise when he jumped, and sighed in relief or shock when he landed, as if watching a ghost walk by. The man, however, just smiled cordially. “Good afternoon,” he said in a crystalline voice, one that matched his feline eyes and delicate set of lips. “I’m looking for an antiquary, or maybe a restoration shop. Would you mind directing me to it?”
There was a full pause of silence after that quastion; then, the crowd burst in directions and helpful advice, all very willing to help the strange man. Apparently, the town didn’t have an antiquary, but many store owners were able to repair antiques in general, or that was what Lu Han could understand from the talk anyway. He was less concentrated on whatever they were saying and more concentrated on the man before them, the one who lived at the old mansion.
His clothes, as Lu Han was quick to notice, were old-fashioned and, apparently, very expensive. He, however, seemed to wear them without concerns for elegance, with the sleeves of his white untucked shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. His hair was chestnut brown, fringe falling over his eyes slightly, and his skin was very, very pale, with tinges of pink on his cheeks and knuckles, covered in a light sheen of sweat. His nape seemed to be damp. The sun had apparently been unforgiving to him.
Lu Han stared fixedly at the man during the whole conversation, partially hypnotized by the man’s face, partially distracted by a bead of sweat that rolled down his neck, into his shirt. So that was Yixing’s master? The man who had offered him a roof over his head, three meals a day, and a chance to reencounter an old friend? He seemed… nice. Very nice. Yes, very.
Determined to look away before he got caught staring, Lu Han shifted his glance to the side, focusing it on the man who had been pulling the cart. Tall, brooding, intimidating, and dressed in stylish modern clothes - the polar opposite of his companion. A kid was carefully approaching him with curious eyes, and the man looked torn between smiling or staying serious. Ultimately, he kept his expression neutral and leaned over one of the handles he’s holding, as if trying to intimidate the kid. Lu Han watched in horror as the gesture caused the pile of furniture to sway, sway, sway, and the small, beautiful man stood right beneath it, clueless, chatting with the citizens.
“Watch out!” someone shouted, but it was too late. The furniture started toppling over, falling, and Lu Han was running before he could think it through, running, running, pushing the man away from danger with a strength foreign to himself.
The first item that hit him was the big chair at the top, cracking his skull open immediately, so he barely felt any pain when a wardrobe smashed his ribs, ripping his lungs open. As if it were necessary, several chairs fell on his limbs, breaking his bones in several points, and a bedside table crushed the base of his spine. He didn’t feel anything, of course. By the time the last item fell on him, Lu Han was undoubtedly dead, his blood soaking the driveway and reaching the sidewalk.
This is how this story starts. A corpse crushed under the weight of wood; a scream, another scream, cries for an ambulance; and a discreet glance of acknowledgement from the man who lives in the mansion.
Heat.
Distant, soothing heat. Flames that rise over a decrepit orphanage… no, that’s not it. Comfort. Warmth. A heartbeat.
Lu Han opens his eyes.
The first gulp of air is cold and painful, and it sends him coughing uncomfortably. His throat is dry and scratchy, and his lips feel like stone, not to mention that his entire body hurts as if he had been run over by a truck.
Or crushed by very heavy antique furniture.
It’s a memory that comes back to him like the sting of a bug. Bright sunlight. A bead of sweat. Furniture falling. Over whom? Someone. He’s sure there was someone under it, but he can’t recall any faces and names besides his own. Lu Han. Yes, that’s his name. Where was he? The bus? His room?
He looks around. It’s horribly dark in the room, but he can sense that it’s a wide place, too wide to be his room and definitely too wide to be a bus. Where, then…? His eyes grow used to the dark, enough for him to see the faint outline of other beds around him, all occupied. A hostel? He sits up, and his sheet slides down, exposing his naked chest to the cold air of the room.
… naked chest…?
A bad feeling startsbrewing at the pit of Lu Han’s stomach. A quick check is enough confirmation: under the thin white bedsheet, Lu Han is stark naked.
“Is someone in there…?” he calls in a rough, patchy voice. It echoes in the small room, and it’s frightening. He slides off the bed, taking the sheet with him, hissing when his feet touch cold tiles. It’s really freezing in there. Panic. Panic starts rising to Lu Han’s chest.
He has to get out of there.
Holding the sheet around his vulnerable naked body, Lu Han tries to blindly find his way out of the room. He can see what must be the exit door, but the details around him are hazy, and he ends up bumping his knee against the base of a bed, hard. It sends the bed moving, and its occupier falls to the floor.
“Oh my God,” he mumbles, the Mandarin words slipping from his lips. “I’m so sorry, mister. Please forgive me. I wasn’t watching my… step…”
The man on the floor is unresponsive, fallen face first on the tiles, arms twisted in an unnatural angle. Lu Han feels faintly sick, and touches the man’s shoulder to flip him over, trying to get his attention.
Cold.
Cold flesh. Cold skin. Cold, unmoving eyes.
When Lu Han realizes he’s in the mortuary, he screams and screams and screams.
Many nurses faint when he bursts through the mortuary door, white sheet floating around his body. The panic he creates in the hospital is instantaneous. There are screams coming from everywhere, so many and so loud that Lu Han is unable to tell his own screaming voice apart from the others.
It’s only when he’s out of the hospital, running barefoot on the rough asphalt, that he realizes it’s nighttime, and he has stopped screaming.
He has a single string of thoughts in his mind. Reach the mansion. Find Yixing.
Find the beautiful man from that afternoon.
He’s having some coffee when it happens.
“We have a visitor.”
The announcement causes his butler, Yixing, to tilt his head in a questioning manner. He simply indicates the big window with a nod, sipping his coffee casually. Yixing walks over to the window, glancing outside.
Yixing blinks. “I don’t see anyone…”
“Oh?” sharp eyes scan the courtyard. They’re not mean or calculating, but curious, inoffensive. A small smile curves his lips upwards. “I was mistaken. But he’ll be here soon.”
Yixing nods, smiling kindly. “Should I prepare more coffee, then?”
“Probably,” the man nods, still glancing outside, contemplative. “He must be tired from the trip.”
“Understood,” Yixing bows politely and retreats to the kitchen, humming a cheerful melody under his breath.
Now alone, the man sighs. The dead man isn’t the only visitor he’s receiving that night. He has sensed eyes on his back for several weeks now, and that night is a perfect scenario for an approach.
Sighing again, The Prince finishes his coffee, grabbing a biscuit to toy with. “I should go fetch my sword…”
Lu Han’s feet are bleeding by the time he reaches the hill, but he doesn’t stop running. Mostly because he wants to be safe and Not Naked again sometime soon, but also because there are three black dogs chasing him ferociously.
He stumbled across the dogs when trying to find his way from the hospital to the town’s main street. No longer in possession of Yixing’s map, Lu Han had been lost from the very moment he ran away from the hospital, running through unfamiliar scenarios, wondering if everyone in that goddamn city closed their business at five PM or something. That was when he found the dogs and accidentally berated them for some reason Lu Han can’t yet understand.
And now, he’s running blindly up the hill, bare feet sliding on the damp grass, barking sounds hurting his ears as he runs, runs, runs.
Finally, he reaches the top of the hill, where a big three looms over the edge, as if peeking down at him. He makes an attempt to climb it, but it’s painfully futile, and he can’t run anymore, he’s too tired, the dogs are catching up-
The dogs run right past him, barking viciously, foaming at the mouth.
Pathetically hanging onto the tree trunk with just one arm while the other holds the bed sheet against his vulnerable parts, Lu Han wonders what the fuck just happened.
The dogs have just run past him, as if they hadn’t just chased him around the whole town, and they now stand in defensive position, growling, in a circle around
around someone.
The man.
It’s him. Lu Han can see him even better now that he let go from the tree, wincing when his wounded soles hit the ground. White shirt, untucked, thick forearms; chestnut hair, feline eyes, pretty lips. Standing firmly on the center of the circle, a sword in hands.
“So he didn’t come,” he says to the dogs in a conversational tone. The dogs growl viciously. He pouts a little, apparently disappointed. “He ought to realize I’m impatient to meet him at last.”
One of the dogs bark loudly, legs tense, ready to attack. Now that Lu Han sees them more clearly, with the crescent moon casting a fair amount of light over the scenario, they’re enormous. He has never heard of dogs this big. Their teeth are specially big, and Lu Han’s eyes immediately dart to the man, fearing for him. The man, however, is not afraid. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the sword upright in front of him; then, letting the breath out, he attacks.
One swing, a whine. Two sings, a turn, a yelp, barking. The loud sound of teeth clicking in the air. The man silently waltz with the sword in hands, focused as the dogs whine and roar around him, bleeding, charging mercilessly. It’s clear that the man is very good at what he does, but he’s in numeric disvantage, and it’s not long before there’s an opening in his defense, and a dog aims for his neck.
“WATCH OUT,” Lu Han screams, tasting blood in the back of his throat as he runs to shield the man with his own body - again. For the second time. The memory of falling furniture comes back to him with full force, the pain, the feeling of having his skull broken to pieces.
The dog’s fangs pierce Lu Han’s jugular fatally, and he hardly cares, because he’s suddenly aware that he’s already dead. He has been dead this whole time.
Amidst having a ferocious animal attached to his bleeding neck and realizing he’s something akin to a zombie, only much less scary and more pathetic, Lu Han hears the man chuckle. “What a timing you have,” he jokes, and Lu Han can't help but feel a bit outraged.
“Pretty good, huh?” Lu Han retorts sarcastically, aware that the sheet is slipping down his body and dangerously close to leaving him in full nude for the eyes of the handsome stranger.
“Don’t worry,” The man says, and a gush of air brushes past Lu Han’s ribs - no, not a gust of air, the touch of cold metal, and the dog lets go from his neck, falling on the floor with his belly cut open. “I’ll fix you in a minute.”
That’s all he says before he charges again, leaving Lu Han to stagger back as he finishes the other two dogs. It’s all but ten seconds till it’s over; swing, twist, turn, twist, cut, cut, cut. Blood flies everywhere, and some droplets land on Lu Han’s face, on his cheeks, on his parted lips. He barely minds - his attention is entirely taken by the man’s fluid movements, the elegant curve of his shoulders when he brandishes the sword forward, the quickness of his steps, the gleam of his now stained sword.
It’s only when the three dogs are down that the man turns to look at Lu Han, a streak of blood across his face, red tainting the sleeves of his shirt. Lu Han has fallen to the ground, strength leaving him as his own blood flows from his open neck, soaking his shoulder, plastering the bedsheet against his waist. The man wipes the blood off his sword absentmindedly, walking towards Lu Han with firm, but slow steps. Lu Han’s body is trembling in anticipation.
“What is your name?” the man asks, voice soft.
Lu Han breaths in. His own blood is warm where it touches his skin. “Lu Han,” he answers finally, and his voice barely sounds like his own. “What’s yours?”
The man kneels before him, smiling. He reaches a hand to Lu Han’s neck, touching the edge of his wound. “I am The Prince,” he says.
“The Prince…?” Lu Han frowns lightly, eyes unconsciously fixed on the man’s - The Prince’s - enchanting lips. “Prince of what?”
“Of the monsters,” The Prince says, fingers trailing down from Lu Han’s shoulder to touch his bare chest. “Of things that haunt humans, populate their nightmares. Like those cute little things you just saw.”
Lu Han could’ve laughed, but he doesn’t. He’s stunned. He’s also distracted by the way The Prince’s fingers are tracing circles on his chest.
“I don’t like being called that, though,” The Prince confesses, wrinkling his nose, very concentrated on what his hand’s doing. “It’s too formal. It reminds me of living in the palace.”
Lu Han nods, wondering why he’s saying that, wondering what is happening, and why it is happening.
“You’re dying, aren’t you, Lu Han? Literally,” The Prince loses his smile, looking into Lu Han’s eyes sympathetically. “Technically, you’re already dead. You died this afternoon.”
Lu Han nods. “I know,” his throat really hurts. “I remember.”
“Today, at the mortuary, I paid you a visit,” he continues, now ceasing to touch Lu Han. His eyes are kind, weirdly kind in contrast to his expression during the battle. “Since you saved my life, I wanted to give you another chance to live. So I did. I gave you a small flame of life, and you woke up.”
Lu Han blinks. The patch of skin The Prince touched earlier tingles, oversensitive. “You resurrected me?”
He nods. “And you came to me, and saved my life once again,” The Prince smiles sweetly. “You've proved to be a very valuable human being. So I want to give you a choice. You can die here, like this, and I will properly mourn you, and burry you under that tree." The Prince points at the tree looming over the hill. A breeze caresses its leaves, making it whistle softly.
“Or," he carries on, "you could let me save you.” A burst of heat. At the tip of The Prince’s fingers, a small, violet-colored flame appears. “I’ll restore your body, and you’ll survive-”
“I choose that,” Lu Han gasps desperately, his sight starting to turn blurry on the edges. He’s quickly losing conscience. The Prince chuckles.
“You’ll have to become my servant, Lu Han,” The Prince remarks almost teasingly, even though his eyes are no longer smiling. “Forever. You’ll be in danger. You’ll be hurt.”
“Please,” Lu Han gasps, a blood-stained hand reaching for The Prince’s white shirt. “Please, don’t let me die, please…”
The Prince’s glance softens, and Lu Han breathes heavily, vision growing darker and darker. He’ll die. He’ll die, again, and this time, slowly, painfully, soaked in his own blood, in the arms of a stranger.
“As you wish,” it sounds distant, an echo, a memory. “Call me Minseok.”
And it all goes dark.
When Lu Han wakes up, Yixing is sitting by his bedside. It takes Lu Han a second to open his eyes, blink, then jump up.
“Yixing!” he shouts, flinging himself onto his friend’s neck, hugging him tight.
“It’s been a while, isn't it so?” Yixing comments cheerfully, ruffling Lu Han’s hair. Lu Han loosens his grip a little, retreating to analyze his friend’s outfit. Yixing smiles. “How do you like my uniform?”
“So fancy,” Lu Han grins, nudging Yixing with a knee. “You do look like a butler!”
“I’m more of a maid, actually,” Yixing says, laughing softly. “But thank you. I’m glad you finally woke up. You were unconscious when Master brought you in.”
Lu Han’s smile falls.
With a jolt, the memories rush back to him. Dogs. Nighttime. Sword. Blood. The Prince. Death. Did Yixing see him dead? Covered in blood? Where is The Prince now?
“Yixing,” Lu Han gets on his feet, relieved to find himself dressed in a black t-shirt and shorts that aren’t his. “For how long I’ve been asleep?”
“For the night. It's morning right now,” Yixing informs, glancing at his watch. “You must’ve been tired from the trip. Master and I had to wash you together, and change your clothes. He asked about the scar-”
“Yixing,” Lu Han yelps in exasperation while seeking a pair of shoes he can put on. “You let a stranger see my naked body!”
Yixing shrugs. “You were already naked when you came in. There was nothing I could do.”
“Oh God,” Lu Han whispers in mortification, finally finding sandals (that weren't his either) and slipping them on while tripping out of the room. “I’ll be right back!”
Yixing makes no motion so to follow him. Instead, he might’ve said something about coffee.
Lu Han is aware that he’s walking through a huge house, one that he has never been to before - also, he thinks he’s in the dungeons or something, because everything is made of stone, why does that house have a dungeon? - but it doesn’t stop him. He has to find The Prince. He has to talk to him. And so, his feet guide him, driven by an instinct unknown to him till now, one that seeks for that diminutive figure and that crystalline voice, call me Minseok.
He only stops walking when he reaches the second floor. There, he stands in front of a set of doors unfamiliar to him. A set of doors that is pulled open almost immediately, even though he hasn’t knocked, and Lu Han almost screams when he’s come to face an offensively tall man - until he realizes it’s the man who had been pulling the cart the day before, the stylish one with a weird face. He huffs in relief.
“Lu Han?”
The voice. Lu Han snaps his head towards its source, entering the room immediately, like a dog who has caught onto a scent. The Prince - Minseok - is seating by the window, relaxed, wearing a brand new shirt and waistcoat, a cup of coffee in hands. Eyes on Lu Han. A small smile on his lips.
“Your highness,” the words roll off from Lu Han’s tongue almost unintentionally. Minseok chuckles.
“Yah, I told you to call me Minseok, didn’t I?” he says jovially, casual and friendly, bare of any regal attitude. If it weren’t for his outdated fashion, Lu Han would never know he was not a normal twenty-something man just having a cup of coffee at home. “That’s my name in this realm. Kim Minseok.”
Lu Han nods, swallowing hard. Kim Minseok. “Minseok,” it’s easy to pronounce for him, like a word he has known since birth. “About yesterday…”
“Ah, yes,” Minseok interrupts him, shooting a meaningful glance to the tall man near the door. “About yesterday… Kris wanted to apologise. Didn’t you, Kris?”
So the tall man’s name is Kris. Lu Han turns around to glance at him, and has to hold back a violent bout of laughter when he catches the man looking sheepishly at the ground. He’s big and intimidating, but, at that moment, he looks like a child.
“Sorry for killing you,” he says in a very deep voice, and a smile escapes Lu Han’s grasp. “It was my fault.”
“It’s… it’s okay…” Lu Han says, voice a bit strained, and Kris nods in a cool way. He’s hilarious. Minseok seems to think the same, since he’s chuckling.
“Isn’t he nice?” Minseok asks, and Lu Han turns around to nod. “I built him myself.”
… that makes Lu Han a bit confused, but he might not be ready to ask just yet.
“Sit down, Lu Han. Your brother will bring you some coffee soon,” Minseok commands, and Lu Han does as told, taking a chair Kris is offering, right beside Minseok’s seat. “Is there anything you’d like to know about being my servant?”
Ah. Yes. Lu Han is Minseok’s servant now. As in, officially, Minseok is Lu Han’s master. Lu Han takes a deep breath.
“What do I have to do?” is what he ends up asking first, a bit nervous.
Minseok glances at him cryptically, drinking a sip of his coffee. He seems to be studying Lu Han’s posture, or maybe selecting his words carefully.
“Occasionally,” he finally says, voice stern and - is Lu Han imagining it? - a bit apologetic. “There will be nights like yesterday. Battles. Danger. You should not fear death, from now on, though,” Minseok adds quickly. “The flame of life that I gave you makes you immortal. Your wounds will heal immediately.”
Lu Han nods in awe. A doubt pops up in his head. “Are you immortal?”
Minseok shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says somewhat sadly. “That’s why I need people like you and Kris with me,” both of them glance at Kris, who’s just standing cooly against a wall. “If I don’t rely on you to defend me, I’ll surely be killed.”
Lu Han nods again. So he’s Minseok’s human shield… or not that human anymore, anyway.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” he asks before he can stop himself. It tastes like a question he shouldn’t be asked, a question Minseok shouldn’t answer - but now it’s out, suspended on the air.
And it does take long for Minseok to answer. When he does, he doesn’t make eye contact with Lu Han; instead, he looks through the window, at the green courtyard beneath them.
“My siblings,” he says finally, voice carefully neutral.
Lu Han mouths an ‘ah’, not making a sound. He really should not have asked. How can he break the awkward atmosphere? To his luck, Lu Han is a quick thinker.
“That scar,” he blurts out. “I got it from falling from a building when I was a child.”
It makes the silence afterwards feel a ton heavier. Apparently, Lu Han might be a quick thinker, but he's not necessarily a good one.
And then, Minseok chuckles, turning around to face Lu Han again. “I know. Yixing told me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously. “Interesting shape. Interesting location as well.”
“It is, isn't it?” Lu Han is so relieved to have broken the bad mood that he deactivates his brain-to-mouth filter. He tries smiling, but it comes off as incredibly greasy and suggestive. “I can show it again, if you want me to,” oops, bad pick-up line, it's stronger than him.
You know what else is stronger than Lu Han? Kris is. Lu Han finds out the hard way, with Kris flinging him out of the room unceremoniously while Minseok chokes on his coffee, slamming the heavy doors shut as violently as he can. The wall cracks. Lu Han winces.
“Ah,” Yixing is coming from downstairs, a tray in his hands. “I just finished brewing some fresh coffee. Do you want some? I made butter cookies too.”
Lu Han nods, and both of them glance at the now closed doors, and then back at each other. Would it be a good idea to go in right now?, Lu Han telepathically asks Yixing. I don’t think so, Yixing telepathically answers.
“Let’s have it downstairs,” Yixing suggests with an unfazed smile. “You can tell me all about the trip.”
Lu Han nods, getting up, putting his dislocated shoulder back in place with certain difficulty. Despite the pain, his lips smile as he thinks of his new master, face flushed, eyes wide. “And you can tell me all about The Prince.”
Group: EXO.
Pairing: Luhan/Xiumin, others to come.
Rating: R.
Warning: Bad English, gore, character death.
Summary: This is how this story starts. A corpse crushed under the weight of wood; a scream, another scream, cries for an ambulance; and a discreet glance of acknowledgement from the man who lives in the mansion.
N/A: in today's episode of i hate myself with burning passion!! flavia is disgusting and starts a uncalled for kaibutsu oujo!au series that she'll obviously never finish.
Maybe Lu Han should’ve thought twice before moving out from China just because Yixing called him over to Korea. Living alone was shit, yes, and the loan sharks were extremely inconvenient and annoying, but, in retrospect, he had been doing fine on his own: no debts, no long periods without food, no urgent need for money. No comfort and no steady source of income either, true, but perhaps jumping up at the idea of moving to another country had been a mistake.
In a way or another, it was too late for Lu Han to keep holding onto regrets; he was already in Korea, wandering through a city so small and peaceful that it felt like he had landed in another planet. In one hand, he held the single suitcase he had been able to cram all his stuff into; not much had been left for him after the orphanage fire. In the other hand, he had the map Yixing had sent him in the mail, clumsily drawn by (Lu Han supposed) Yixing himself.
Master’s home! ♥. That was the place Lu Han had to reach. According to the map, it was a long walk from the bus station to the hill atop of which such home was located, but it was also a straight walk along the city’s main street, so the chances of him getting lost were few.
Dear Lu Han, the letter Yixing sent him said. It has been a while! I hope you’re doing well by yourself. I’ve gone through a lot of trouble here in Korea, but I’m doing fine now. I found a new job as a butler in a northern town, and my master said you could move in with us! What do you think? Master lives in a mansion on the top of a hill, and it’s just a fifteen-minute drive from the seaside! I hope to hear from you soon. Love, Zhang Yixing.
It had taken Lu Han a while to save up some money for the trip, and he might or might not have dropped ten kilograms in the process, but Yixing’s master had paid for half of it, so he couldn’t just back out. Relying on loan sharks to get his documentation ready had been the worst part, even worse than rehearsing a natural Korean accent, hello, I’m Kim Woohan, I was born in Samcheok, but it had all passed, and Lu Han’s problem was now to actually get to the mansion.
“It’s huge,” he said to himself in Korean, careful not to say anything in Mandarin while in public. He could see the mansion from the shopping district he was walking through - and boy, it was enormous. Tall, large and looming, darkened by rain clouds that seemed to accumulate nowhere but there, atop of the hill. Much better than his rented room in Daxing, that he could tell. Much, much better.
As he walked forward, eyes on the distant mansion, he soon approached a small commotion. People were gathered in the sidewalk, watching something that came from the hill’s direction, and, as much as Lu Han got a little nervous when he saw so many people (the fake documentation weighing a ton in his pocket), he couldn’t help but to be curious. Stretching his neck a little, he tried to peek at the happening, worming his way into the crowd.
From there, he saw it; a big wooden cart, in which there was a tall, tall pile of antique furniture. As in, as tall as a small building. And the cart was not being pulled by a horse, or ten horses - it was being pulled by one man.
“He’s strong!” Lu Han heard a child say, and he could tell that many adults were saying things along that line. He also heard a, “maybe this is a trick. There must be a circus coming to the town,” and, “That’s the man who lives at the old mansion!”
That made Lu Han’s ears perk up, and he finally noticed that the man who was pulling the cart was not alone: at the very top of the furniture tower, sitting at a chair that was placed miraculously upright, there was a man. Lu Han failed to distinguish his features very well, but there was an impression simmering low in his stomach, and it only grew stronger once the cart halted still and the man jumped to the ground, landing suavely on his feet as if he were a cat. Yes, Lu Han had been right - the man was beautiful.
Some gasped in surprise when he jumped, and sighed in relief or shock when he landed, as if watching a ghost walk by. The man, however, just smiled cordially. “Good afternoon,” he said in a crystalline voice, one that matched his feline eyes and delicate set of lips. “I’m looking for an antiquary, or maybe a restoration shop. Would you mind directing me to it?”
There was a full pause of silence after that quastion; then, the crowd burst in directions and helpful advice, all very willing to help the strange man. Apparently, the town didn’t have an antiquary, but many store owners were able to repair antiques in general, or that was what Lu Han could understand from the talk anyway. He was less concentrated on whatever they were saying and more concentrated on the man before them, the one who lived at the old mansion.
His clothes, as Lu Han was quick to notice, were old-fashioned and, apparently, very expensive. He, however, seemed to wear them without concerns for elegance, with the sleeves of his white untucked shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. His hair was chestnut brown, fringe falling over his eyes slightly, and his skin was very, very pale, with tinges of pink on his cheeks and knuckles, covered in a light sheen of sweat. His nape seemed to be damp. The sun had apparently been unforgiving to him.
Lu Han stared fixedly at the man during the whole conversation, partially hypnotized by the man’s face, partially distracted by a bead of sweat that rolled down his neck, into his shirt. So that was Yixing’s master? The man who had offered him a roof over his head, three meals a day, and a chance to reencounter an old friend? He seemed… nice. Very nice. Yes, very.
Determined to look away before he got caught staring, Lu Han shifted his glance to the side, focusing it on the man who had been pulling the cart. Tall, brooding, intimidating, and dressed in stylish modern clothes - the polar opposite of his companion. A kid was carefully approaching him with curious eyes, and the man looked torn between smiling or staying serious. Ultimately, he kept his expression neutral and leaned over one of the handles he’s holding, as if trying to intimidate the kid. Lu Han watched in horror as the gesture caused the pile of furniture to sway, sway, sway, and the small, beautiful man stood right beneath it, clueless, chatting with the citizens.
“Watch out!” someone shouted, but it was too late. The furniture started toppling over, falling, and Lu Han was running before he could think it through, running, running, pushing the man away from danger with a strength foreign to himself.
The first item that hit him was the big chair at the top, cracking his skull open immediately, so he barely felt any pain when a wardrobe smashed his ribs, ripping his lungs open. As if it were necessary, several chairs fell on his limbs, breaking his bones in several points, and a bedside table crushed the base of his spine. He didn’t feel anything, of course. By the time the last item fell on him, Lu Han was undoubtedly dead, his blood soaking the driveway and reaching the sidewalk.
This is how this story starts. A corpse crushed under the weight of wood; a scream, another scream, cries for an ambulance; and a discreet glance of acknowledgement from the man who lives in the mansion.
Heat.
Distant, soothing heat. Flames that rise over a decrepit orphanage… no, that’s not it. Comfort. Warmth. A heartbeat.
Lu Han opens his eyes.
The first gulp of air is cold and painful, and it sends him coughing uncomfortably. His throat is dry and scratchy, and his lips feel like stone, not to mention that his entire body hurts as if he had been run over by a truck.
Or crushed by very heavy antique furniture.
It’s a memory that comes back to him like the sting of a bug. Bright sunlight. A bead of sweat. Furniture falling. Over whom? Someone. He’s sure there was someone under it, but he can’t recall any faces and names besides his own. Lu Han. Yes, that’s his name. Where was he? The bus? His room?
He looks around. It’s horribly dark in the room, but he can sense that it’s a wide place, too wide to be his room and definitely too wide to be a bus. Where, then…? His eyes grow used to the dark, enough for him to see the faint outline of other beds around him, all occupied. A hostel? He sits up, and his sheet slides down, exposing his naked chest to the cold air of the room.
… naked chest…?
A bad feeling startsbrewing at the pit of Lu Han’s stomach. A quick check is enough confirmation: under the thin white bedsheet, Lu Han is stark naked.
“Is someone in there…?” he calls in a rough, patchy voice. It echoes in the small room, and it’s frightening. He slides off the bed, taking the sheet with him, hissing when his feet touch cold tiles. It’s really freezing in there. Panic. Panic starts rising to Lu Han’s chest.
He has to get out of there.
Holding the sheet around his vulnerable naked body, Lu Han tries to blindly find his way out of the room. He can see what must be the exit door, but the details around him are hazy, and he ends up bumping his knee against the base of a bed, hard. It sends the bed moving, and its occupier falls to the floor.
“Oh my God,” he mumbles, the Mandarin words slipping from his lips. “I’m so sorry, mister. Please forgive me. I wasn’t watching my… step…”
The man on the floor is unresponsive, fallen face first on the tiles, arms twisted in an unnatural angle. Lu Han feels faintly sick, and touches the man’s shoulder to flip him over, trying to get his attention.
Cold.
Cold flesh. Cold skin. Cold, unmoving eyes.
When Lu Han realizes he’s in the mortuary, he screams and screams and screams.
Many nurses faint when he bursts through the mortuary door, white sheet floating around his body. The panic he creates in the hospital is instantaneous. There are screams coming from everywhere, so many and so loud that Lu Han is unable to tell his own screaming voice apart from the others.
It’s only when he’s out of the hospital, running barefoot on the rough asphalt, that he realizes it’s nighttime, and he has stopped screaming.
He has a single string of thoughts in his mind. Reach the mansion. Find Yixing.
Find the beautiful man from that afternoon.
He’s having some coffee when it happens.
“We have a visitor.”
The announcement causes his butler, Yixing, to tilt his head in a questioning manner. He simply indicates the big window with a nod, sipping his coffee casually. Yixing walks over to the window, glancing outside.
Yixing blinks. “I don’t see anyone…”
“Oh?” sharp eyes scan the courtyard. They’re not mean or calculating, but curious, inoffensive. A small smile curves his lips upwards. “I was mistaken. But he’ll be here soon.”
Yixing nods, smiling kindly. “Should I prepare more coffee, then?”
“Probably,” the man nods, still glancing outside, contemplative. “He must be tired from the trip.”
“Understood,” Yixing bows politely and retreats to the kitchen, humming a cheerful melody under his breath.
Now alone, the man sighs. The dead man isn’t the only visitor he’s receiving that night. He has sensed eyes on his back for several weeks now, and that night is a perfect scenario for an approach.
Sighing again, The Prince finishes his coffee, grabbing a biscuit to toy with. “I should go fetch my sword…”
Lu Han’s feet are bleeding by the time he reaches the hill, but he doesn’t stop running. Mostly because he wants to be safe and Not Naked again sometime soon, but also because there are three black dogs chasing him ferociously.
He stumbled across the dogs when trying to find his way from the hospital to the town’s main street. No longer in possession of Yixing’s map, Lu Han had been lost from the very moment he ran away from the hospital, running through unfamiliar scenarios, wondering if everyone in that goddamn city closed their business at five PM or something. That was when he found the dogs and accidentally berated them for some reason Lu Han can’t yet understand.
And now, he’s running blindly up the hill, bare feet sliding on the damp grass, barking sounds hurting his ears as he runs, runs, runs.
Finally, he reaches the top of the hill, where a big three looms over the edge, as if peeking down at him. He makes an attempt to climb it, but it’s painfully futile, and he can’t run anymore, he’s too tired, the dogs are catching up-
The dogs run right past him, barking viciously, foaming at the mouth.
Pathetically hanging onto the tree trunk with just one arm while the other holds the bed sheet against his vulnerable parts, Lu Han wonders what the fuck just happened.
The dogs have just run past him, as if they hadn’t just chased him around the whole town, and they now stand in defensive position, growling, in a circle around
around someone.
The man.
It’s him. Lu Han can see him even better now that he let go from the tree, wincing when his wounded soles hit the ground. White shirt, untucked, thick forearms; chestnut hair, feline eyes, pretty lips. Standing firmly on the center of the circle, a sword in hands.
“So he didn’t come,” he says to the dogs in a conversational tone. The dogs growl viciously. He pouts a little, apparently disappointed. “He ought to realize I’m impatient to meet him at last.”
One of the dogs bark loudly, legs tense, ready to attack. Now that Lu Han sees them more clearly, with the crescent moon casting a fair amount of light over the scenario, they’re enormous. He has never heard of dogs this big. Their teeth are specially big, and Lu Han’s eyes immediately dart to the man, fearing for him. The man, however, is not afraid. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the sword upright in front of him; then, letting the breath out, he attacks.
One swing, a whine. Two sings, a turn, a yelp, barking. The loud sound of teeth clicking in the air. The man silently waltz with the sword in hands, focused as the dogs whine and roar around him, bleeding, charging mercilessly. It’s clear that the man is very good at what he does, but he’s in numeric disvantage, and it’s not long before there’s an opening in his defense, and a dog aims for his neck.
“WATCH OUT,” Lu Han screams, tasting blood in the back of his throat as he runs to shield the man with his own body - again. For the second time. The memory of falling furniture comes back to him with full force, the pain, the feeling of having his skull broken to pieces.
The dog’s fangs pierce Lu Han’s jugular fatally, and he hardly cares, because he’s suddenly aware that he’s already dead. He has been dead this whole time.
Amidst having a ferocious animal attached to his bleeding neck and realizing he’s something akin to a zombie, only much less scary and more pathetic, Lu Han hears the man chuckle. “What a timing you have,” he jokes, and Lu Han can't help but feel a bit outraged.
“Pretty good, huh?” Lu Han retorts sarcastically, aware that the sheet is slipping down his body and dangerously close to leaving him in full nude for the eyes of the handsome stranger.
“Don’t worry,” The man says, and a gush of air brushes past Lu Han’s ribs - no, not a gust of air, the touch of cold metal, and the dog lets go from his neck, falling on the floor with his belly cut open. “I’ll fix you in a minute.”
That’s all he says before he charges again, leaving Lu Han to stagger back as he finishes the other two dogs. It’s all but ten seconds till it’s over; swing, twist, turn, twist, cut, cut, cut. Blood flies everywhere, and some droplets land on Lu Han’s face, on his cheeks, on his parted lips. He barely minds - his attention is entirely taken by the man’s fluid movements, the elegant curve of his shoulders when he brandishes the sword forward, the quickness of his steps, the gleam of his now stained sword.
It’s only when the three dogs are down that the man turns to look at Lu Han, a streak of blood across his face, red tainting the sleeves of his shirt. Lu Han has fallen to the ground, strength leaving him as his own blood flows from his open neck, soaking his shoulder, plastering the bedsheet against his waist. The man wipes the blood off his sword absentmindedly, walking towards Lu Han with firm, but slow steps. Lu Han’s body is trembling in anticipation.
“What is your name?” the man asks, voice soft.
Lu Han breaths in. His own blood is warm where it touches his skin. “Lu Han,” he answers finally, and his voice barely sounds like his own. “What’s yours?”
The man kneels before him, smiling. He reaches a hand to Lu Han’s neck, touching the edge of his wound. “I am The Prince,” he says.
“The Prince…?” Lu Han frowns lightly, eyes unconsciously fixed on the man’s - The Prince’s - enchanting lips. “Prince of what?”
“Of the monsters,” The Prince says, fingers trailing down from Lu Han’s shoulder to touch his bare chest. “Of things that haunt humans, populate their nightmares. Like those cute little things you just saw.”
Lu Han could’ve laughed, but he doesn’t. He’s stunned. He’s also distracted by the way The Prince’s fingers are tracing circles on his chest.
“I don’t like being called that, though,” The Prince confesses, wrinkling his nose, very concentrated on what his hand’s doing. “It’s too formal. It reminds me of living in the palace.”
Lu Han nods, wondering why he’s saying that, wondering what is happening, and why it is happening.
“You’re dying, aren’t you, Lu Han? Literally,” The Prince loses his smile, looking into Lu Han’s eyes sympathetically. “Technically, you’re already dead. You died this afternoon.”
Lu Han nods. “I know,” his throat really hurts. “I remember.”
“Today, at the mortuary, I paid you a visit,” he continues, now ceasing to touch Lu Han. His eyes are kind, weirdly kind in contrast to his expression during the battle. “Since you saved my life, I wanted to give you another chance to live. So I did. I gave you a small flame of life, and you woke up.”
Lu Han blinks. The patch of skin The Prince touched earlier tingles, oversensitive. “You resurrected me?”
He nods. “And you came to me, and saved my life once again,” The Prince smiles sweetly. “You've proved to be a very valuable human being. So I want to give you a choice. You can die here, like this, and I will properly mourn you, and burry you under that tree." The Prince points at the tree looming over the hill. A breeze caresses its leaves, making it whistle softly.
“Or," he carries on, "you could let me save you.” A burst of heat. At the tip of The Prince’s fingers, a small, violet-colored flame appears. “I’ll restore your body, and you’ll survive-”
“I choose that,” Lu Han gasps desperately, his sight starting to turn blurry on the edges. He’s quickly losing conscience. The Prince chuckles.
“You’ll have to become my servant, Lu Han,” The Prince remarks almost teasingly, even though his eyes are no longer smiling. “Forever. You’ll be in danger. You’ll be hurt.”
“Please,” Lu Han gasps, a blood-stained hand reaching for The Prince’s white shirt. “Please, don’t let me die, please…”
The Prince’s glance softens, and Lu Han breathes heavily, vision growing darker and darker. He’ll die. He’ll die, again, and this time, slowly, painfully, soaked in his own blood, in the arms of a stranger.
“As you wish,” it sounds distant, an echo, a memory. “Call me Minseok.”
And it all goes dark.
When Lu Han wakes up, Yixing is sitting by his bedside. It takes Lu Han a second to open his eyes, blink, then jump up.
“Yixing!” he shouts, flinging himself onto his friend’s neck, hugging him tight.
“It’s been a while, isn't it so?” Yixing comments cheerfully, ruffling Lu Han’s hair. Lu Han loosens his grip a little, retreating to analyze his friend’s outfit. Yixing smiles. “How do you like my uniform?”
“So fancy,” Lu Han grins, nudging Yixing with a knee. “You do look like a butler!”
“I’m more of a maid, actually,” Yixing says, laughing softly. “But thank you. I’m glad you finally woke up. You were unconscious when Master brought you in.”
Lu Han’s smile falls.
With a jolt, the memories rush back to him. Dogs. Nighttime. Sword. Blood. The Prince. Death. Did Yixing see him dead? Covered in blood? Where is The Prince now?
“Yixing,” Lu Han gets on his feet, relieved to find himself dressed in a black t-shirt and shorts that aren’t his. “For how long I’ve been asleep?”
“For the night. It's morning right now,” Yixing informs, glancing at his watch. “You must’ve been tired from the trip. Master and I had to wash you together, and change your clothes. He asked about the scar-”
“Yixing,” Lu Han yelps in exasperation while seeking a pair of shoes he can put on. “You let a stranger see my naked body!”
Yixing shrugs. “You were already naked when you came in. There was nothing I could do.”
“Oh God,” Lu Han whispers in mortification, finally finding sandals (that weren't his either) and slipping them on while tripping out of the room. “I’ll be right back!”
Yixing makes no motion so to follow him. Instead, he might’ve said something about coffee.
Lu Han is aware that he’s walking through a huge house, one that he has never been to before - also, he thinks he’s in the dungeons or something, because everything is made of stone, why does that house have a dungeon? - but it doesn’t stop him. He has to find The Prince. He has to talk to him. And so, his feet guide him, driven by an instinct unknown to him till now, one that seeks for that diminutive figure and that crystalline voice, call me Minseok.
He only stops walking when he reaches the second floor. There, he stands in front of a set of doors unfamiliar to him. A set of doors that is pulled open almost immediately, even though he hasn’t knocked, and Lu Han almost screams when he’s come to face an offensively tall man - until he realizes it’s the man who had been pulling the cart the day before, the stylish one with a weird face. He huffs in relief.
“Lu Han?”
The voice. Lu Han snaps his head towards its source, entering the room immediately, like a dog who has caught onto a scent. The Prince - Minseok - is seating by the window, relaxed, wearing a brand new shirt and waistcoat, a cup of coffee in hands. Eyes on Lu Han. A small smile on his lips.
“Your highness,” the words roll off from Lu Han’s tongue almost unintentionally. Minseok chuckles.
“Yah, I told you to call me Minseok, didn’t I?” he says jovially, casual and friendly, bare of any regal attitude. If it weren’t for his outdated fashion, Lu Han would never know he was not a normal twenty-something man just having a cup of coffee at home. “That’s my name in this realm. Kim Minseok.”
Lu Han nods, swallowing hard. Kim Minseok. “Minseok,” it’s easy to pronounce for him, like a word he has known since birth. “About yesterday…”
“Ah, yes,” Minseok interrupts him, shooting a meaningful glance to the tall man near the door. “About yesterday… Kris wanted to apologise. Didn’t you, Kris?”
So the tall man’s name is Kris. Lu Han turns around to glance at him, and has to hold back a violent bout of laughter when he catches the man looking sheepishly at the ground. He’s big and intimidating, but, at that moment, he looks like a child.
“Sorry for killing you,” he says in a very deep voice, and a smile escapes Lu Han’s grasp. “It was my fault.”
“It’s… it’s okay…” Lu Han says, voice a bit strained, and Kris nods in a cool way. He’s hilarious. Minseok seems to think the same, since he’s chuckling.
“Isn’t he nice?” Minseok asks, and Lu Han turns around to nod. “I built him myself.”
… that makes Lu Han a bit confused, but he might not be ready to ask just yet.
“Sit down, Lu Han. Your brother will bring you some coffee soon,” Minseok commands, and Lu Han does as told, taking a chair Kris is offering, right beside Minseok’s seat. “Is there anything you’d like to know about being my servant?”
Ah. Yes. Lu Han is Minseok’s servant now. As in, officially, Minseok is Lu Han’s master. Lu Han takes a deep breath.
“What do I have to do?” is what he ends up asking first, a bit nervous.
Minseok glances at him cryptically, drinking a sip of his coffee. He seems to be studying Lu Han’s posture, or maybe selecting his words carefully.
“Occasionally,” he finally says, voice stern and - is Lu Han imagining it? - a bit apologetic. “There will be nights like yesterday. Battles. Danger. You should not fear death, from now on, though,” Minseok adds quickly. “The flame of life that I gave you makes you immortal. Your wounds will heal immediately.”
Lu Han nods in awe. A doubt pops up in his head. “Are you immortal?”
Minseok shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says somewhat sadly. “That’s why I need people like you and Kris with me,” both of them glance at Kris, who’s just standing cooly against a wall. “If I don’t rely on you to defend me, I’ll surely be killed.”
Lu Han nods again. So he’s Minseok’s human shield… or not that human anymore, anyway.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” he asks before he can stop himself. It tastes like a question he shouldn’t be asked, a question Minseok shouldn’t answer - but now it’s out, suspended on the air.
And it does take long for Minseok to answer. When he does, he doesn’t make eye contact with Lu Han; instead, he looks through the window, at the green courtyard beneath them.
“My siblings,” he says finally, voice carefully neutral.
Lu Han mouths an ‘ah’, not making a sound. He really should not have asked. How can he break the awkward atmosphere? To his luck, Lu Han is a quick thinker.
“That scar,” he blurts out. “I got it from falling from a building when I was a child.”
It makes the silence afterwards feel a ton heavier. Apparently, Lu Han might be a quick thinker, but he's not necessarily a good one.
And then, Minseok chuckles, turning around to face Lu Han again. “I know. Yixing told me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously. “Interesting shape. Interesting location as well.”
“It is, isn't it?” Lu Han is so relieved to have broken the bad mood that he deactivates his brain-to-mouth filter. He tries smiling, but it comes off as incredibly greasy and suggestive. “I can show it again, if you want me to,” oops, bad pick-up line, it's stronger than him.
You know what else is stronger than Lu Han? Kris is. Lu Han finds out the hard way, with Kris flinging him out of the room unceremoniously while Minseok chokes on his coffee, slamming the heavy doors shut as violently as he can. The wall cracks. Lu Han winces.
“Ah,” Yixing is coming from downstairs, a tray in his hands. “I just finished brewing some fresh coffee. Do you want some? I made butter cookies too.”
Lu Han nods, and both of them glance at the now closed doors, and then back at each other. Would it be a good idea to go in right now?, Lu Han telepathically asks Yixing. I don’t think so, Yixing telepathically answers.
“Let’s have it downstairs,” Yixing suggests with an unfazed smile. “You can tell me all about the trip.”
Lu Han nods, getting up, putting his dislocated shoulder back in place with certain difficulty. Despite the pain, his lips smile as he thinks of his new master, face flushed, eyes wide. “And you can tell me all about The Prince.”