[lukai] with every broken bone, i swear i lived
with every broken bone, i swear i lived;
past!sehun/luhan, luhan/jongin; pg; ~1300w
vampire!au
i don't know what my real name is anymore. i don't know how old i am, where i was born, or who my parents are. it was all erased when i woke up, my memories of the past wiped out as callously as you would a spill on the floor. that's all they were to the people who made me - a chore, a stain on a pristine white background. something to be removed.
when i woke up the pack greeted me with sibilant hisses and elongated fangs, the tips all curving perfectly to brush their bottom lips stained dark crimson with somebody's blood. don't know whose, don't care whose. when you kill people to live, it's easier not to get attached to anyone. it's common sense, really. for your own good.
they called me 'lu han', said i had an innocent face so deceptive of my true personality. a certain innocence, a sweetness that didn't bely any of the savagery and turmoil i felt inside. you could say my exterior is a tame color like pastel blue, but my insides are boiling with the ugliest colors of the storms.
the day i awoke again, they said it was 12th april. i forget the year, but it was some time in the 1600s. after the passing of countless seasons, the waxing and waning of eternal moonshine, i'm tired. i've seen so many things come and go it doesn't even surprise me any more. i've seen so much of human nature - the good, the bad and the ugly - and i have to say, human beings are the strangest things on the planet. they hurt each other with strange metal weapons like revolvers and daggers, but hold each others' hands and brush lips against lips when they think they fall in love. our pack doesn't do that - we don't hurt each other, but we don't help much either. we leave each other alone, mostly, merely relying on each other for strength in numbers when we go on hunts, but that's all we'll ever need each other for.
i want something more. maybe i've always craved companionship a little more than i should. there was someone else equally as lonely as i, sehun with his flat mouth and crescent-shaped eyes and pretty fingers, and for a while we found ourselves in each other, mere reflections of the same image in different facets of glass. but sehun is a thing of the past, staked and burnt to ashes in a small city in hungary in the early 1800s and i saw it all. i saw the way it took doubly long for his skin to melt off his bones, for his nerve receptors to burn out, for him to stop feeling pain. all because he was supernatural.
i saw it all, and i lost it. broke down completely like glass shattering into infinitesimally tiny pieces on an impregnable concrete floor. that kind of horror can really scar anyone, no matter how jaded and protected you think you are.
the day sehun left was also the day the pack chased me out, saying i was too vulnerable and weak, leaving myself alone and defenseless against the horrors of the outside world.
the day i left him behind was the day i swore never to care again.
/////
time flies; it's the 21st century and i don't know why i'm letting a boy with dark large vulnerable eyes cry his heart out on my shoulder. tears are a sign of weakness. weakness is why the pack exiled me.
'weak'. i hate that word. crying is weakness. weakness is a sign that you're prey, conceding to a predator mightier than you, faster than you, stronger than you. i've only been weak once, but that mistake fucked up my whole life. people - sorry, beings - like us aren't supposed to be weak. we're invincible, at the top of the food chain, and we don't concede defeat to anyone. not now, not ever.
"they're gone, luhan-hyung," he sobs. he can't even speak properly, his syllables slurred and unable to enunciate his words properly due to his grief. "everyone. my mum, dad, sisters - they're all gone."
wait. it would be a lie if i said i didn't know why, because i do. i like jongin because he's beautiful, intriguing, drew me in the way any mundane others never would have. it's strange, because it seems as if the stars are in his eyes whenever he smiles, his grin so incandescent it burns brighter than any flame i've ever seen. (believe me, i've run from quite a few in prague.) if i had a heart, perhaps it would beat for him, pound rapidly when i saw him and slow down disappointedly when he leaves. even now, when his eyes are red and swollen and his nose leaking, the ugly sadness dominating his face, to me he is still beautiful.
do i love him? that's the question i've asked myself ever since it was born in my mind. but then another one surfaces - what is love? what do i know of it?
nothing. the answer is harsh, cruel, but it's true.
"i don't understand why the attacker left me alone," jongin's stopped crying now, his teardrops leaving a damp spot on my sleeve. "i mean, he could have hurt me, torn out my throat like all the rest, then maybe i wouldn't have to be left alone -"
a twinge of guilt, so slight and minute it's almost too simple for me to push it down back into the dark recesses of my mind where it belongs. blood, yes. blood is always good, especially when it's tinged with fear. the adrenaline gives it a kind of kick, just like what jongin tells me energy drinks do for him after a long hour of football practice.
but right now, he is devastated, and i don't think he wants to know. and so, i hold him. i don't speak, don't do anything other than offer little comforting pats on his shoulder and back so he knows i'll be here, if he ever needs me any more than he does now. i don't tell him how exactly his family tasted when i pierced their skin with fangs, don't tell him how they looked with blood trickling down the side of their neck and the fear in their eyes slowly fading to an obsidian blankness i am acquainted with only all too well.
i don't tell jongin anything, because at this point i consist solely of secrets and nothing else. reveal the secrets and i will undoubtedly fall apart, layer by layer. instead, i just hold him, let him cry and wonder why exactly i care so much about a boy whose family i just murdered in cold blood (ha! see the pun?), about a boy who by all logic should be considered weak and useless, about a boy who squirmed his way into my dead heart just as easily as i crept into his house in the dead of night.
i press cold lips to jongin's forehead in a twisted parody of a kiss, ignoring the urge to pierce the vein throbbing prominently at the side of his neck. if jongin notices how stiff the kiss feels, how papery and undead my skin is when it brushes against his, he doesn't say a word. and in this moment, that is enough for me.
fin.
+ wrote this on the notes app on my phone bc i was overseas and bored and there wasn't any wifi so here u go. this is the product of an overactive imagination and immense boredom tbh
+ this is also the first time i've tried first person pov since forever u_u lol tbh this was just an experiment but hello are we just going to ignore the fact that vampire!luhan would be so fucking hot
+ um that's it i'm bye
past!sehun/luhan, luhan/jongin; pg; ~1300w
vampire!au
i don't know what my real name is anymore. i don't know how old i am, where i was born, or who my parents are. it was all erased when i woke up, my memories of the past wiped out as callously as you would a spill on the floor. that's all they were to the people who made me - a chore, a stain on a pristine white background. something to be removed.
when i woke up the pack greeted me with sibilant hisses and elongated fangs, the tips all curving perfectly to brush their bottom lips stained dark crimson with somebody's blood. don't know whose, don't care whose. when you kill people to live, it's easier not to get attached to anyone. it's common sense, really. for your own good.
they called me 'lu han', said i had an innocent face so deceptive of my true personality. a certain innocence, a sweetness that didn't bely any of the savagery and turmoil i felt inside. you could say my exterior is a tame color like pastel blue, but my insides are boiling with the ugliest colors of the storms.
the day i awoke again, they said it was 12th april. i forget the year, but it was some time in the 1600s. after the passing of countless seasons, the waxing and waning of eternal moonshine, i'm tired. i've seen so many things come and go it doesn't even surprise me any more. i've seen so much of human nature - the good, the bad and the ugly - and i have to say, human beings are the strangest things on the planet. they hurt each other with strange metal weapons like revolvers and daggers, but hold each others' hands and brush lips against lips when they think they fall in love. our pack doesn't do that - we don't hurt each other, but we don't help much either. we leave each other alone, mostly, merely relying on each other for strength in numbers when we go on hunts, but that's all we'll ever need each other for.
i want something more. maybe i've always craved companionship a little more than i should. there was someone else equally as lonely as i, sehun with his flat mouth and crescent-shaped eyes and pretty fingers, and for a while we found ourselves in each other, mere reflections of the same image in different facets of glass. but sehun is a thing of the past, staked and burnt to ashes in a small city in hungary in the early 1800s and i saw it all. i saw the way it took doubly long for his skin to melt off his bones, for his nerve receptors to burn out, for him to stop feeling pain. all because he was supernatural.
i saw it all, and i lost it. broke down completely like glass shattering into infinitesimally tiny pieces on an impregnable concrete floor. that kind of horror can really scar anyone, no matter how jaded and protected you think you are.
the day sehun left was also the day the pack chased me out, saying i was too vulnerable and weak, leaving myself alone and defenseless against the horrors of the outside world.
the day i left him behind was the day i swore never to care again.
/////
time flies; it's the 21st century and i don't know why i'm letting a boy with dark large vulnerable eyes cry his heart out on my shoulder. tears are a sign of weakness. weakness is why the pack exiled me.
'weak'. i hate that word. crying is weakness. weakness is a sign that you're prey, conceding to a predator mightier than you, faster than you, stronger than you. i've only been weak once, but that mistake fucked up my whole life. people - sorry, beings - like us aren't supposed to be weak. we're invincible, at the top of the food chain, and we don't concede defeat to anyone. not now, not ever.
"they're gone, luhan-hyung," he sobs. he can't even speak properly, his syllables slurred and unable to enunciate his words properly due to his grief. "everyone. my mum, dad, sisters - they're all gone."
wait. it would be a lie if i said i didn't know why, because i do. i like jongin because he's beautiful, intriguing, drew me in the way any mundane others never would have. it's strange, because it seems as if the stars are in his eyes whenever he smiles, his grin so incandescent it burns brighter than any flame i've ever seen. (believe me, i've run from quite a few in prague.) if i had a heart, perhaps it would beat for him, pound rapidly when i saw him and slow down disappointedly when he leaves. even now, when his eyes are red and swollen and his nose leaking, the ugly sadness dominating his face, to me he is still beautiful.
do i love him? that's the question i've asked myself ever since it was born in my mind. but then another one surfaces - what is love? what do i know of it?
nothing. the answer is harsh, cruel, but it's true.
"i don't understand why the attacker left me alone," jongin's stopped crying now, his teardrops leaving a damp spot on my sleeve. "i mean, he could have hurt me, torn out my throat like all the rest, then maybe i wouldn't have to be left alone -"
a twinge of guilt, so slight and minute it's almost too simple for me to push it down back into the dark recesses of my mind where it belongs. blood, yes. blood is always good, especially when it's tinged with fear. the adrenaline gives it a kind of kick, just like what jongin tells me energy drinks do for him after a long hour of football practice.
but right now, he is devastated, and i don't think he wants to know. and so, i hold him. i don't speak, don't do anything other than offer little comforting pats on his shoulder and back so he knows i'll be here, if he ever needs me any more than he does now. i don't tell him how exactly his family tasted when i pierced their skin with fangs, don't tell him how they looked with blood trickling down the side of their neck and the fear in their eyes slowly fading to an obsidian blankness i am acquainted with only all too well.
i don't tell jongin anything, because at this point i consist solely of secrets and nothing else. reveal the secrets and i will undoubtedly fall apart, layer by layer. instead, i just hold him, let him cry and wonder why exactly i care so much about a boy whose family i just murdered in cold blood (ha! see the pun?), about a boy who by all logic should be considered weak and useless, about a boy who squirmed his way into my dead heart just as easily as i crept into his house in the dead of night.
i press cold lips to jongin's forehead in a twisted parody of a kiss, ignoring the urge to pierce the vein throbbing prominently at the side of his neck. if jongin notices how stiff the kiss feels, how papery and undead my skin is when it brushes against his, he doesn't say a word. and in this moment, that is enough for me.
fin.
+ wrote this on the notes app on my phone bc i was overseas and bored and there wasn't any wifi so here u go. this is the product of an overactive imagination and immense boredom tbh
+ this is also the first time i've tried first person pov since forever u_u lol tbh this was just an experiment but hello are we just going to ignore the fact that vampire!luhan would be so fucking hot
+ um that's it i'm bye