Chapter Text
Doyoung’s never been superstitious, but as he stares at the bird that lies in front of him, ants crawling out of its open beak, eyes glassy, it feels like a bad omen creeps into the recesses of his mind and doesn’t leave.
Doyoung steps away, attempting to put all the thoughts of dead rooks aside as he smooths out the white shirt he spent an hour choosing this morning. He inhales before he steps onto the porch, eyes fixed on the wooden door in front of him. The position of personal physician to the mayor is typically filled by an aging man with ranked seniority and at least one failed marriage and a hip operation behind him, not by a recently graduated student who feels his heartrate quicken with anxiety at the very thought of knocking. Doyoung keeps trying to remind himself he earned this position through his own merit - but it’s hard to think about that when his mind is filled with thoughts of the trail of ants on the garden path and that dead-eyed stare in the afternoon light.
It’s the knocker that he blames for bringing up the memory. A golden rook is fastened to the center of the door, ornate and shiny, and even under the overcast sky it glistens against the obscured sun. Doyoung curls his hand around the cold metal and knocks only once.
What he says to himself is: you earned this. You applied for a job. You were accepted. You worked hard at university. You are allowed to be here.
But all he thinks is: the rush to the train station, the ache in the back of his feet from the way his suitcase kept hitting against his ankles. A man in shackles who smiled at him as he was dragged away by his keepers. A mouth a mess of a single fang stained with blood, his eyes the very same shade. Hair like raven feathers. And now - a bird, wingspread on the ground, dead before it even realized.
There’s no reply to his knock, not from the dead rook, not from the gnarled tree, not from the ivy creeping on the windows consuming the glass. It takes what little confidence he still has left in himself to knock again.
The door opens smoothly.
“Mr. Seo,” Doyoung begins upon witnessing the tall man before him.
And Mr. Seo is a man who immediately dismisses the formality of ‘Mr. Seo’. “Johnny,” he insists, holding out his hand to shake Doyoung’s. “Call me Johnny. Nearly everyone does. And you must be Doyoung Kim, yes?”
He’s kind enough to stand outside his manor to welcome Doyoung, even offering a hand in assistance with Doyoung’s bags that he hastily dismisses, despite the ache in his shoulder. He shouldn’t have packed quite so heavy, he realizes now. It was ridiculous to bring three separate medical textbooks, but it was comforting to delicately wrap them in old newspapers, slotting them in his suitcase with careful precision. It made him feel less like his life was changing, and more like he was just going to a different kind of class, just packing a different kind of school bag.
“How was the train ride?” Johnny asks, smiling with concern.
“Tiring,” Doyoung answers, his grip tightening on his suitcase. “I’m glad to have arrived. I was wedged between a very amorous couple and my protests only seemed to urge them on.”
Johnny laughs, a low sound, like a gentle rumble, and he pats Doyoung on the back. “Let’s not keep you outside for too long then, shall we?” He turns on his heel, striding purposefully, and Doyoung lifts his gaze from Johnny’s back to the house rising above it.
In the letters they exchanged, Johnny had given detailed instructions on where he lived- even enclosed a map- but there was hardly a point. Cerasus Manor was the house on the tallest hill, overlooking the entire town like a watchful sentinel. Doyoung noticed the manor the second he left the train station, feeling something stuck in his throat as he stared at the peaks of the roof, chimneys jutting into the air, the distance making them look as thin as pencils.
“It’s big, isn’t it?” Johnny remarks, noticing Doyoung’s gaze. “It’s always been the traditional home of the mayors of Rookswood, and I never imagined I’d actually get to live in it when I was a young boy, staring at the smoke wafting from chimneys from the comfort of my own bedroom. Took me weeks before I stopped getting lost trying to find the bathroom in this place.”
In Doyoung’s medical history lessons, they spoke of rich men, of bankers and heirs who established themselves to such a position of financial security that they were able to retire to their mansions and spend their time engaging in their hobbies: in the case of those significant to medicine, usually it was cutting up unfortunate animals.
While Doyoung doesn’t think that Johnny is the kind of person to go around practicing amateur taxidermy, he certainly has the house for it. His manor is two storeys, perhaps not the tallest, but it rises up from the rocky ground on steady pillars, framed by large grounds and iron gates and it looks every bit as imposing as it did from the train station, like a watchful custodian that can protect and attack in equal measure. Doyoung hesitates when he’s about to enter, as if fearing that a step inside would cause the house to recoil in disgust and demand his exit.
It doesn’t.
Doyoung walks in, careful to follow Johnny’s exact path as he navigates past the many closed rooms, resolute in his destination. He’s talking while he walks, casual banter about the weather and the house itself that Doyoung struggles to concentrate on, far too overwhelmed at the sheer amount of decoration that lines the corridors. It’s all old paintings hanging perfectly aligned, unchipped ceramic plates and sculptures that are objectively ugly.
“Belonged to the previous mayor,” Johnny says as Doyoung pauses at an oil painting of an impressive moustache attached to a less impressive man. “Most of the furniture is inherited, really, I’ve changed very little. I suppose I’m traditional that way. What do you think?”
Doyoung searches for the word. “It’s… big. Very big.”
Johnny seems amused at the answer. “Did you come from a small town?”
Absolutely not. The city flows through Doyoung’s veins. He’s used to the tall factories and thick smoke. He’s used to a different scale of life, one where you can walk the street and be a ghost in the mist, entirely invisible. So no, Doyoung didn’t come from a small town. That’s not why the house is big. No, the difference between Johnny’s house and where he came from is that the city is big, yes, but it’s filled. Johnny’s house is just empty, entire rooms just left there for the sake of it. The very property the house stands on could have ten flats in its place, could house half of Doyoung’s university cohort.
“I just don’t think I’m used to the countryside yet,” Doyoung says. “It’s my first time out of the city limits. I haven’t travelled a lot.”
“You’ll have time to adapt,” Johnny says kindly, motioning to enter one of the few rooms in the house that is fully furnished. “I was hoping we could have a brief chat before you settle in? Just so we’re on the same page regarding your position. I won’t take up too much of your time, I, of course, want you to settle in as well.”
Anxiety spikes in Doyoung’s veins but he maintains a somewhat fixed grin. “Absolutely.”
The desk in the center of the room is hardly inviting. The stacks of messy papers piled on top of each other are intimidating, and there’s so many uncapped pens that Doyoung wonders if his first task could be to just pack up Johnny’s stationery. Johnny, however, is unaffected, casually sweeping away a particularly tall pile of papers, letting them flutter to the ground like leaves, and gazes at Doyoung.
“Would you like some tea?”
He does but he chooses not to voice that, feeling the swirling hole in his stomach and deciding not to fill it with liquid in risk of himself being his first patient. “No need. Would you, uh, like my papers?” Doyoung doesn’t wait for an answer, and with fingers that start trembling, he unclasps his briefcase and removes the neatly binded resume he had professionally typed up for this very moment.
“Not at all,” Johnny says, face crinkling into a smile. “Actually, though, I probably do need those. But no, this isn’t about your qualifications, I knew you were qualified from the moment you applied. I wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.”
Obviously. If Doyoung had bothered to think twice, he wouldn’t have been so silly as to just assume Johnny wanted to interrogate him the moment he sat down. There had been a very thorough reviewing process via their letters, what need would Johnny have to rehash things they already knew? It’s not like Doyoung’s alma mater changed in the last day. He pauses his mental chastisement to listen when Johnny starts to speak again.
“This is about the actual finer points of this position.”
Doyoung nods, folding his arms. He tries to sit up as straight as possible to try and convey ‘charisma’ and ‘confidence’ and all the other things he doesn’t possess but he’s read are important for making a good first impression.
“Rookswood is a small town. Most people who live here have always lived here. As a result of this, we’re close knit. An extended family of sorts. I take my duty as Mayor to a very personal degree because Rookswood isn’t just my job, it’s my home. I will not hesitate to protect it by any means necessary.”
Doyoung has absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He can’t imagine feeling quite so passionate about something as abstract as where you live.
“I want Rookswood to be everything any other town is, but more intimate, where you can love your neighbour as much as your own family. It’s a lovely place to be.” Johnny pauses, tapping his fingers across the desk. “Quite something to look at as well.”
Doyoung takes this opportunity to nod in affirmation. “From what I’ve seen on the taxi here, it is beautiful.”
Johnny smiles at this. “The birds are our most boast-worthy feature, of course. I’m sure you’ve seen the rooks? They’re everywhere really, and if you can’t see them in the sky, you’ll most certainly be able to hear them.”
And yet, the first rook he saw when he set foot in the town was one that was already dead. Doyoung isn’t superstitious but he’s starting to be.
“Now, we have a hospital, of course, but our hospital often gets overcrowded with simple complaints. Stomach bugs, sore throats, the flu, things like that. I require a multi-disciplined doctor who can attend to these smaller issues, particularly in concern to myself and the other prominent members in our community.”
“A personal physician,” Doyoung sums up.
“Exactly so. Your predecessor was a wonderful man. I’ll keep in touch with Alexander I’m certain, but this opportunity seems perfect for someone just out of university such as yourself. Gives you an experience to hone your skills in a very controlled and low-risk environment.” Johnny crosses his fingers together, leaning forward. “I think it will be a welcome change to have someone a little younger in this position.”
“It’s an incredible honour to be chosen,” Doyoung says and he speaks honestly. When he applied for the job all those months ago, it was more to do something active in the throes of post-university unemployment. He was waiting for graduation and his subsequent hospital placement, everyone was, and Doyoung could not deny that the prospect of living in a manor and treating fevers was preferable to a public hospital tainted with leprosy. He would have been satisfied had he ended up there - but he can’t deny he had more reasons than squeamishness for accepting the offer of getting away from his hometown.
“Your duties are fairly straight forward. Patients will book; you’ll see them. There’s a wing in my house in which you can operate, but more often than not you’ll be doing home visits. You’re authorized to give medicine, of course. It will be administered by our pharmacist Sicheng, I’ll make sure you meet him soon.” Johnny pulls out a neatly stapled batch of papers from the top of the pile and slides it to Doyoung. At the top it proclaims in neat script: CONTRACT.
Doyoung carefully thumbs through the first few pages, scanning through them. It’s virtually the same one he was hand-delivered by messenger some weeks ago, and he had no adjustments then, and he doesn’t have any now. His hours are good, his pay is better - and he gets to leave the house with walls that started to close in on him.
“You work directly for me, I should note, not the town. Hence the phrase ‘personal’ physician,” Johnny says, stressing the syllables. “I am your employer. If you have any issues, you come to me directly. And, I suppose, if I have any issues, I’ll come directly to you.”
Doyoung’s nails dig into his palms. “I’m sure there’ll be none.” He says it more to reassure himself.
“I would hope not,” Johnny says lightly, reclining back in his chair. “Any questions before you sign?”
“Ah. Yes. There is one.” Doyoung pauses, considering the phrasing. “Living arrangements? You mentioned living in the house but I should clarify everything is in order.”
Johnny claps his hands together. “Of course! I can hardly forget! As per custom of your predecessors, you are given a room of your own in my estate. Living under my roof means you are entitled to use of my household employees, my maid and my caretaker. They’ll cook for you, clean for you.” Johnny hums thoughtfully, “Of course, I can understand if you’d prefer to live off premises, but that would be at your own expense.”
“Oh! No, that won’t be necessary,” Doyoung is quick to say. “I’m really not in that sort of financial position.” He belatedly realizes that was perhaps an inappropriate thing to say to his employer but Johnny appears unconcerned.
“No problem then,” Johnny says, eyes twinkling. “I’m happy to have a guest in this house. It’s far too big for just me.”
No wife, Doyoung notes. And then figures perhaps he shouldn’t make such assumptions, and then appends his mental note with: no husband either. It must be awfully lonely having such space and nothing and no one to fill it with.
“If that’s all,” Johnny says, taking an obvious pause. His eyes fall upon the contract in front of Doyoung pointedly.
“Oh! Right, yes, no problem,” Doyoung says, picking up one of the pens rolling on the desk and signing his full name. It feels strange, almost, making it official. He tries to tell himself it’s just a job but it also isn’t just anything. Doyoung left everything he had behind and the sum of it is this thick document. Johnny takes the contract and smiles, shoving it in one of the towers of files on his desk.
“I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. I’ll have Kun show you up to your rooms.” Johnny gets to his feet, and the height difference is intimidating. “I must thank you again for joining us. I do hope you like it here. It’s a small town, really, but it’s one that I think is very special. I always remind everyone to love their neighbours here, and I’m happy to have you as our newest.”
♜
His mind feels like a train station sometimes. Not the Rookswood train station, not that small grey building with its two tracks and one coffee shop. He’s thinking of the city’s train station, the one that sprawls out like discordant notes on a piano, always loud, always noisy, always chaotic. He’s got too many thoughts in his head, too many memories demanding to be remembered. There’s always a train delayed, always thoughts that gets missed, and there’s always that noise, that noise that gets inside his head and doesn’t leave. He tosses against the freshly laundered sheets of his bed, but finds no relief even on the cool side of the pillowcase.
Perhaps reminding himself of the train station was a bad idea. He got to the station before dawn, not risking missing the most important journey of his life, and perhaps that was bad timing. The man in shackles remains fixed in Doyoung’s mind.
He was brandished by uniformed police that remained tight-lipped, a stark contrast to the way his own mouth hung open, blood dripping from the single pointed fang. Doyoung, just waiting for his train, stared at the living corpse in front of him. He turned when he felt Doyoung stare, and crimson eyes stared back. And then he smiled, he actually grinned, as if finding it so amusing to be watched - and was then kicked to the ground by the officer.
Sympathy stabbed at him as he saw the shackles slip down gaunt arms, revealing bloodied wrists, and despite himself, Doyoung quietly thought of how he would bandage those hands if given the opportunity. He wasn’t though, of course he wasn’t, and the prisoner was quickly whisked away. The only trace of his presence were the scuff marks on the train station floor. Doyoung thought he put the incident out of his mind as soon as he got onto the train and had other things to worry about, but the memory occupies his thoughts now as he lies in the unfamiliar bed, struggling against the heavy duvet. He’s unable to forget. It’s understandable, he supposes. It’s not everyday that you see a vampire.
He wonders what he did, wonders whose blood was dripping from his teeth, wonders if they’re dead and that’s why he got taken. Wonders if he deserved what punishment he gets. Doesn’t think he does. Everyone deserves to be saved, and that extends to both the drained victim and the imprisoned vampire on the train station floor.
Doyoung has been told it’s a complex of his, this desperate drive to save everyone and anyone - and Doyoung would argue it’s because it’s the sum of everything he’s had drummed in his head for six years of medical university but it’s not just that. Taeyong’s never had this problem, Taeil hasn’t either. Neither of them have ever lost sleep over strangers they never even had a chance to help, who never even set foot in their care. Empathy is a driving force in his profession, but Doyoung bleeds too deep too much, even in university.
Doyoung thinks if he didn’t get this job, he would have joined Taeil at the night hospital, coming home each morning with puffy eyes and tired hands. Would have found some semblance of purpose in selflessly serving the emergency room - or would have been too busy to worry about the purpose.
But that’s not needed. Doyoung got a job he’s by no means qualified for and gets to fall asleep on down pillows to the sound of birds outside his window. He should be happy. He should be happy but he isn’t - but it’s not like he was particularly happy back home either.
♜
Cerasus Manor is a house on a hill, an elegant building of darkened wood adorned with ivy that creeps along the walls and wide windows that nobody looks through. It’s a sizable building, far bigger than any Doyoung has ever lived in before, possibly bigger than he’s ever seen - but the grounds are even more substantial. The gnarled tree with roots that emerge from the ground is like a watchdog over the property, keeping careful patrol over the dark grass, meticulously cut and trimmed as the result of Kun’s labour.
He’s there now, oiling the iron gates, and he throws up a cheerful wave as he sees Doyoung approach the house. Doyoung’s almost grateful for it, he feels a lot more comfortable when Kun is the one who lets him inside. He still feels like he’s trespassing even though in his pocket is the weight of the key to the front door.
“Had a good day on the job, Doctor?” Kun asks, smiling broadly. There’s a smudge of oil above his right cheekbone. “Would you mind waiting outside for a moment? The gate’s almost done, just about a minute more.”
He nods. Doyoung had woken up that morning and walked himself down the annoyingly steep hill, map in hand, till he found the small house that operated as the pharmacy. Johnny had been kind enough to not schedule any appointments until the next Monday. It was for the best, really. Doyoung worries his own constitution suffers from the abrupt changes and a weekend to adjust to his new surroundings sounds helpful.
“It’s a long walk to the town, isn’t it?” Doyoung says, wiping the sweat condensing on his forehead, moving strands of black hair out of his eyes.
“Unbearably so. Once I rolled a lemon down the hill and it didn't stop until the bottom. Took more than ten minutes. Neighbourhood children came to watch.” Kun speaks fondly. “We should do it someday if you’re ever curious.”
“Ah, that won’t be necessary,” Doyoung says, more concerned for the fate of the lemon once it’s at the bottom of the hill. No one would eat a lemon that’s travelled a mile downhill. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
“Suit yourself,” Kun says, placing the oil can on the floor. There’s not a single drop spilled. “It must have been nice to have your first look at the town, at the very least.”
Doyoung can’t really describe Rookswood. The city is easy to describe in a technical sense: it’s got big streets, it’s got big buildings. But Rookswood isn’t as simple as that. The streets are winding, like they were built with no careful consideration; the houses alternate between manors of inordinate size and matchbox buildings. There’s no consistency in Rookswood, not really; it’s a patchwork quilt of a town knitted by a thousand unknown faces. The only real constant is the birds, the birds that are everywhere, cawing at any given moment, hiding in the trees, watching with judgemental eyes.
But Doyoung can’t say that to Kun.
“I met Sicheng,” Doyoung says by way of conversation. The pharmacist is a young man, younger than Doyoung, and seems perpetually bored with his life, but works hard. His neatly trimmed nails gripped the pencil tightly as he outlined how the appointment book worked and he leaned against the shelves of boxed medication, assuring Doyoung that if he had any questions, he could always ask him for assistance. He has a special method of labelling medicine, and already ensured that chronically ill patients always got their supply - so Doyoung notes that he’s competent if not chatty.
“Oh, Sicheng is a great guy,” Kun nods. “Think he said about two words to me once when he was fourteen and never spoke to me again, but he’s a great guy I’m sure.”
Fourteen? That’s… absurd. “Don’t you ever need something from the pharmacy?” Doyoung asks to which Kun flexes his arm, showing off his firm biceps. He throws a wink.
“Do I look like I ever get sick?” Kun says, chuckling, the sound big and bold. “I eat three oranges every morning, and it’s kept me healthier than any medicine any of the doctors could have given me. It’s what has kept me in this job since the previous mayor - as well as the one before that. My impressive intake of Vitamin C.”
Doyoung’s laugh is awkward at the mention of his predecessor but he suppresses the feeling. “Have you really been here for so long?”
“Are you trying to find out my age? That's very impolite.” Kun's eyes twinkle.
“Oh, oh, no, not at all, I just wanted to know if you've had this job for a while, oh I'm sorry-”
“It's a joke, Doctor,” Kun can't contain his laughter. “Yes I've been caretaker for the estate for quite a while, but caretaker doesn’t quite cover all my duties. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, your breakfast was made by me.”
“Johnny didn’t seem like a particularly culinary versed man, so I did realize it had to be someone else.” Fluffy pancakes were plated, drizzled with maple syrup by Sua that morning, and Doyoung devoured them like he hadn’t eaten in years.
“I don't think you've lived until you've tried my bacon, I swear you’ll be a changed person. I should try and whip up some tomorrow - you could take some to Sicheng, perhaps if he had some of it as well, he’d be less quiet. Even as a child, he hardly spoke.”
Doyoung tries to imagine Sicheng as anything but the tall, bored youth that he currently is. His mind can’t comprehend it. “Did you really know Sicheng since he was fourteen?”
“Earlier, even. It’s perhaps cliché but in a town this small, you do really know everyone.” Kun observes the way Doyoung’s face seems to fall at this. “But you shouldn’t be intimidated by that. It means we’re all very excited to have a new friend.”
With that, Kun swings open the gate, flourishing dramatically. “Come inside. I’ve got a pie in the oven, it’s going to be amazing.”
♜
Doyoung’s life fit into two suitcases. It was sad, really. He built up an image of himself as a man of possessions and memories in equal measure, but he’s had headaches that lasted longer than it took to bundle the lingering remnants of his life. In just a few days, he had carefully wrapped everything of significance in newspaper and packed it, giving Taeyong the instruction that while it would be nice if he could keep the things he left behind, he could just throw it out if he needed space There was this underlying understanding that ran between them that Doyoung would come back, really, he would - even if Doyoung himself wasn’t sure if he would.
It’s just sad. Twenty four years of existence and all he had to show for it were two suitcases. Doyoung unpacked the first one, the one with all his essentials. It had his clothes - only the nice ones of course. He had filtered through his wardrobe and begrudgingly parted with his preferred fluffy but shapeless sweaters in favour of the formal shirts and ties. It has his shaving cream, the kind that his father used and then he just started using as well, more out of convenience than any other preference. It has his eyedrops, the ones he needs when he’s been staring at his own handwritten patient files for a moment too long and his eyes feel like they’re cracking inside. Things like that were easy to unpack.
The other suitcase was more difficult. It had the other things, his favourite novels, his favoured cologne - it had all the material trappings, the things he needed to make himself feel more like himself because sometimes he forgets he’s a person and not an automated medicine machine. He’s long since developed the habit of throwing himself into his work until his eyes sag with sleep deprivation and in Rookswood, there’s no Taeyong to appear at the door with a cup of soothing tea and a gentle command to put the book away. There’s no one at all, really.
In a brief moment of sentimentality while packing, he took one of the sculptures from the house - the dove. Doyoung’s parents gifted him with the wooden statue on his nineteenth birthday and it always had been one of his favourite presents from them, if just for its aesthetic appeal. The once rich mahogany was already starting to dim with age but there was no denying that the dove was simply beautiful, elegantly carved, and Doyoung’s vanity dictated he wanted something nice with him, even if it was just a bird. In a house as nice as Cerasus Manor, he wanted something of his own life that suited its glamour.
It’s the only thing from that suitcase that he bothered to unpack. He places it on his bedside table and the lamp beside it casts a warm glow on the wood. He knows there’s letters from Taeil, Taeyong, and his sister still resting in the case, and speaking of Gahyeon he’s got several novels that he’s meant to read and discuss with her and he had promised to write to both of them and he does have stationery in there, it’s just-
If he starts to dig in this suitcase, if he hollows out the packaged contents of his life, he’s really got nothing left to go back to. He’s got to accept that he’s here in some quiet town in the middle of nowhere, in a stranger’s house and this is where he lives now. No one knows who he is besides what they assume of his position, and Doyoung has to rebuild himself up from his own shadow. He’s not really sure how exactly to do that.
His suitcase remains shoved against the dresser, zipper facing inward, if just for one night longer. His room was finely furnished and probably twice the size of any he stayed in up to that point. Living with Taeyong was tripping over shoes in the morning rush, was wearing mismatched socks because the others have gone missing, was applying bandages to their feet weekly from trodding into furniture - Doyoung should be happy that he can actually breathe in this room, but it just makes him realize how there’s more empty space here than anything else. He knows he had to leave but it’s difficult to convince himself of that when he misses his lumpy mattress. He keeps the dove out though, as a kind of nighttime guardian - but privately thinks it looked better in the lounge of his and Taeyong’s house, or in his university dorm room, rather than on the bedside table of this lonely manor.
♜
The roses in the parlour room are a stunning sheen of pink. They unfurl like silk blankets, blossoming out and light catches on the turquoise vase that they call home. The curtains are drawn, tied with golden rope, knotted with careful precision. The room itself is a dull burgundy, the same colour as the foyer, and it makes Doyoung wonder if they had bought too much of the shade and decided to cut their losses and bathe the room in its dark hues. The several paintings that hang on the wall are lifeless, just bland landscapes in fancy frames, the kind that would get looked at once, when purchased, and then never again. All of that is disregarded though, forgotten the moment Doyoung sees the roses, the sole point of beauty in this room.
Doyoung approaches them carefully. He’s not really got a reason to be here but Johnny has never bothered to forbid him from entering any room - rather he expressed he wished Doyoung to feel at home. It doesn’t feel like a home, though.
He walks down the halls of Cerasus Manor like he’s a ghost, like he’s not supposed to be there, like any minute a local priest will burst through the door, fingers pointed and exorcise him out. Nevermind the rational fact that Doyoung is literally being paid to be here; Doyoung still can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong, like he’s a shade of grey in a monochrome painting.
But it’s only been his first day. He shouldn’t expect to feel like this manor is his new home, it would be ridiculous to even think so. Doyoung takes a long time to get settled, he knows this - when he moved back from university, there was a permanent suitcase littering the bedroom floor, permanently left unpacked. They weren’t of any real importance, leftover school books and supplies that he swore he’d “sort out one day”. He wonders if Taeyong will just throw it out now and get some extra space. It won’t matter really, he’s brought all the important ones with him - as well as the unnecessary ones - and Johnny did say he can make full use of the manor library but even then, did he really mean it? Doyoung is treading on a thousand eggshells everywhere in this house and he does not want to overstep any boundaries. he wonders if he should even be in this part of the house-
There’s a man in the corner. Doyoung hadn’t noticed, hadn’t expected anyone to be here at this odd hour in the day but steps back upon noticing the figure. His face is obscured by the massive bouquet of flowers he holds in his hands. It’s a jarring image, like he belongs in some kind of museum, this Man of Roses so to speak, not bound by human features but rather by the rise and fall of petals grasped by slender fingers.
“Oh sorry, are you busy here?” the Man of Roses says, muffled. “I can come back later to set the room.”
“Not at all!” Doyoung quickly responds, taking another step back. “It’s my fault, I didn’t see you here, what with all of the… greenery.”
There’s a repressed chuckle. “I’m just setting the flowers for tonight.” It’s not Kun’s voice. This voice has a lower cadence than the warmth that spreads when Kun speaks. The Man of Roses, fittingly, has a voice that suits roses - soft and melodic.
“Do you work for Johnny too?” Doyoung asks carefully.
“I hope not. I think I’d have already been fired.” He laughs at his own joke, a muted sound. The face of the Man of Roses is revealed when he sets the bouquet down on the table and looks up at Doyoung through his honey gold gaze. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new in town?”
There’s a speck of pollen resting on the slope of his sharp nose - it’s the only imperfection on his otherwise perfectly sculpted face framed by a wave of chestnut hair. Doyoung fixates his gaze on the single fleck of pollen because looking at the rest of him is like staring into the sun. He’s burningly beautiful - he seemed more human with a face full of roses than without it.
“I am,” Doyoung replies, mouth dry. “I’m the new personal physician to the Mayor.” The words feel foreign. He’s certain he’s forgotten a syllable because it just tastes strange - but no, he spoke perfectly. The term is just unfamiliar.
“Oh, you’re replacing Alexander. It’s wonderful to meet you.” He sounds cheerful, looking at Doyoung with eyes conveying curiosity. “My name is Jaehyun. I’m certain we would have met sooner rather than later - I’m Johnny’s neighbour.” Jaehyun gestures to the window. The view from this window is just of the hill and the long way down, but it’s more a metaphorical gesture of direction than anything else. Doyoung’s eyes follow it anyway, as if he’s expecting to see his actual house. “So, I guess we’re neighbours now as well.”
Doyoung nods slowly. “It’s lovely to meet you.” It’s an automatic response more than anything else. “If I may ask... if you’re his neighbour, what are you doing here?” He regrets the words as soon as he says it, deciding that they’re far too rude.
“Setting the flowers,” Jaehyun says simply. He pulls out a rose from the bouquet and eyes it critically before plucking the petals off individually, scattering them on the table. “He’s having a function tonight, and he requested fresh flowers.”
“Ah. Yes, I remember he told me about it at breakfast.” Doyoung feels his own ignorance press upon the walls of his mind. Of course, there’s certain customs that he doesn’t know about yet, there’s a way things are done here, and Doyoung wouldn’t be aware of it. He doesn’t say anything more, for fear his stupid tongue would say something even more embarrassing, but eventually he adds: “Sorry, I’m still finding my footing.”
Jaehyun looks up from the petals, eyes wide. “No, it’s okay. You’ve only just got here, haven’t you?”
“Yesterday.”
“Have you had a chance to go around town? Been to the square yet?”
“Not really, I’ve mostly been unpacking and sorting my equipment out-” Doyoung begins, not even sure what ‘the square’ is and mentally making a note to ask Kun for its whereabouts.
“Then you have no need to apologize. You’ve only just got here. When I first arrived, it took me weeks before I’d even leave the house, so the very fact that you’re walking around, talking to people is impressive.” Jaehyun speaks softly, as if he’s comforting a startled deer, and perhaps that’s an adequate manner in which to conduct this conversation. Doyoung does feel like if he was even spoken to with a raised voice he’d just run away into the woods. He holds the petalless stem and runs his hand over its vivid green surface. “Do you like flowers?”
“I don’t know much about them, but those ones are beautiful.” It sounds like a compliment for the sake of giving one, as if he was prompted. Doyoung wishes he could convey his sincerity. The roses are beautiful, even as petals they cast a glow of elegance to an otherwise dreary room.
Jaehyun looks up at Doyoung and smiles. “You’ve met Kun, I assume? He usually sets the flowers but he’s rather busy at the moment. Johnny probably asked if he could assemble an ice sculpture of his face in time for tonight or something equally ridiculous - so he asked if I could help him out. He claims I have an eye for decor, but I think he just wanted me to bail him out.”
“Yes, I know Kun,” is all Doyoung says. He knows he’s being a conversational sinkhole but he feels as if he stepped into the room wearing his shoes on the wrong feet and he can’t seem to get them the right way. He just needs a moment to process everything but he can’t do that mid-conversation and the result is an overwhelming tangle of thoughts in his mind.
Jaehyun is undeterred. He lifts up several roses, selecting only the ones with the fullest stems. He works quickly. “The nice thing about tonight is you can meet some new people. It’s a very casual event, Johnny enjoys meeting with his friends and uses this as an excuse - but he’d never say it so bluntly. I’m sure they’re all very excited to meet the new physician,” Jaehyun says. He places the flowers in an empty vase on the wine cabinet, arranging it carefully, center in full view.
“I hope I’m to their expectation,” Doyoung replies. Jaehyun’s attempt at telling him it’s a casual event just makes his own anxiety spike. He’s not good at anything ‘casual’.
“They won’t have any expectations,” Jaehyun says dismissively. “Your predecessor used to drink so much he’d fall over. The very fact you have good posture will be impressive to them. I’m certain the fact that you’re a doctor will be a talking point of much interest.”
Doyoung feels his stomach clench. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t think they’d be interested in that. What could I say to them? I’d just bore everyone.”
“Does it matter if you do, though? You’ve got no responsibility to entertain them.” Jaehyun says. His fingers stops arranging the flowers. “I’m sorry if I’m talking too much, by the way. I just know what it’s like to be new in town.”
It’s so unfamiliar to Doyoung that it takes him a moment before he realizes a very important aspect of Jaehyun. Jaehyun is nice. Jaehyun is a rare example of a person who is genuinely nice. It’s the only explanation for the warmth that fills the air, the gentle way in which he speaks, the time he’s taking out of his duty to assuage Doyoung’s own insecurities. Jaehyun has absolutely nothing to gain by showing kindness to Doyoung, and he will gain nothing for it, and no one will ever know of his goodwill. He’s doing this with no reward and for that reason he is nice.
Doyoung’s forgotten what that’s like.
“Thank you Jaehyun,” Doyoung says.
A laugh crosses his face and Doyoung instantly assumes he’s said something stupid. “I would say it’s no problem, but you haven’t told me your name yet, I’m afraid.”
“Oh! Doyoung.”
Jaehyun holds a white rose in his hand and smiles at it. “Nice to meet you, Doyoung. I do apologize for chattering away, you must need something from here and I’ve interrupted you.”
“Need something?” Doyoung repeats.
“I mean, why else were you here?” Jaehyun says gently. “This room is just for receiving company. Not much else of interest here, unless you’d like some of the mayor’s sherry.”
“Not so early in the day,” Doyoung replies, a hint of a smile on his face. “I was lost. I was looking for the kitchen truthfully.”
“Down the hall, past the grandfather clock,” Jaehyun says kindly. “My home has a very similar floor plan. If you ever get so lost that you end up in the opposite house, I’m sure I can set you straight.”
“Oh… thank you Jaehyun. I’m grateful for all you’ve said so far.” Words are stopped by his tongue, and he leaves it at that. He doesn’t dare say anything further.
“I’ll see you tonight, Doyoung.”
“Oh, you’ll be there?” He sounds far too excited, and forces restraint upon himself.
“I think you’ll find I have a habit of appearing at any formal function,” Jaehyun says, something like a smirk on his plush lips. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find me, I sort of stick out.”
Doyoung thinks he knows how that feels like.
♜
“Doctor?” Kun’s knock is gentle. At Doyoung’s hummed affirmation, he opens the door, his head peeking through. “Mr. Seo has requested your appearance. Most of his guests have arrived.”
“Oh,” Doyoung says, gazing at himself in the mirror. The tie is still not proper. It’s uneven, the knot’s been wrong every time he’s done it, and he can’t go down until it stops looking terrible. If he embarasses himself, that’s one thing, but he can’t embarrass Johnny by going down looking the way he does. His position demands a certain level of decorum and it’s a level Doyoung does not possess, not with his sloppy tie. “I’m not ready.”
“You look like you are,” Kun says kindly, opening the door wider. “It’s a fairly informal affair, you really don’t need to worry. You look fine.”
“But everyone is there, and they’re just-” Doyoung breaks off in frustration, wrenching his tie off, letting it fall to the ground.
“It’s not that many.” Kun steps into the room, swiftly picking up the offending tie. His fingers kindly knot Doyoung’s tie for him, flattening it with his palm once it’s presentable. “It’s just some of Mr. Seo’s personal friends. It’s more of his own gettogether than anything else. The focus is most certainly not on you.”
Doyoung appreciates Kun’s attempts at placating him, but it’s pointless. Doyoung will catch the eye of every individual at this function whether there were two people in attendance or two hundred - and it’s because of the very reason that he’s heard since he arrived: it’s a small town where everyone knows each other.
His discomfort stems from the nature of it as well: Doyoung’s always felt itchy in silky shirts. Life as a middle-class university student left him with little money for such luxuries as expensive clothing - nor the time to attend such events. He wore such formal clothes perhaps a handful of times in his life. He was endlessly grateful he packed in the one well-pressed silk shirt he owned - couldn’t help but wish it wasn’t lilac though. He loved it, of course he did, but the unusual colour scheme would only draw further undesired attention to him.
“Is there anything I should keep in mind?” Doyoung says as he leaves the comforting confines of his room. “Are there any topics I should avoid?”
“You’re an accomplished doctor,” Kun says as he leads him down the staircase. Doyoung can already hear the indistinct noise of conversation melding with a light piano melody from downstairs. “That will be enough to start any conversation.”
Doctor - yes. Accomplished - highly debatable. He thinks to ask Kun about a thousand other questions ranging from who would be in attendance to their favourite colour but he stops himself, not wanting to appear foolish in front of him. He does feel foolish though, feels like he stands out in his stupid shirt and stupid tie. Kun pauses on the landing.
“It’ll be okay, Doctor. They won’t even notice you,” he says with a reassuring smile.
Doyoung has heard from the stories and rumours that vampires have supernatural powers. That they can see a thousand yards into the distance even on the blackest night, that they can run faster than the bullet of a shooting rifle, that they can cause euphoria beyond human comprehension - however, what vampires cannot do, is turn invisible. Doyoung, apparently, can.
It’s the only explanation for why he’s become well acquainted with the wall since he’s walked down the staircase and into the parlour room. Johnny was kind enough to introduce him to the circle of men and women surrounding him, the air sharp with perfume - but they merely greeted him and returned to their own conversation, one that Doyoung had absolutely nothing to contribute to, lacking any knowledge of Rookswood’s school system and the criticisms thereof. Doyoung kept stepping back until he made his residence in the shadows, wedged between a wine cabinet and an end table, and he could assuredly say he felt happier in the company of the furniture than the guffawing men and women.
He properly meets Sua while she circulates the room, handing out glasses of sherry on a silver tray, balanced perfectly. Her long black hair is tied severely behind her back and on her forearm is a dish towel. “Mr. Seo’s guests have a habit of being sloppy once they get a few glasses in them,” she says, words thick with exhaustion. “Can I top you up?”
“Why not?” he shrugs, his voice cracked from disuse. It’s not like he’s doing anything else particularly interesting. “Does he often have gatherings like this?”
“Mmm.” Sua nods, handing him another glass. “Mr. Seo is a very social man, and he likes having his company. Coincidentally, his circle of friends are all the most common ones who need to see his personal physician, so I’d recommend learning their names.”
Doyoung raises an eyebrow in surprise. He wouldn’t expect that a maid would know anything about the health of these individuals. She seems to notice and throws him a half-smile.
“I’ve been in the job a while. You start to notice the people who come to see the doctor more often than others,” Sua replies. Her voice is soft, musical. “It’s not always easy working here but-” She breaks off at the sound of a high whistle, and with a sigh, she disappears back into the crowd of people.
Doyoung instantly misses her company. Without her now, all Doyoung has is the soft piano music flowing from the next room and the sounds of conversations he’s not part of. He can’t pretend to have any semblance of friendship towards her, but at least she was a fellow employee. She didn’t want to be here either. There may not have been friendship but there was camaraderie. He downs the rest of his sherry, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy it. He’s never been much of a drinker, and it doesn’t seem like an appropriate place to pick up the habit.
He takes a look at the circle of people surrounding Johnny. He recognizes the one on the right, Mr. Huang, because he introduced himself as the principal of Rookswood High School and Doyoung had thought to himself that he would not have taken him seriously in a position of power at a school. It was his stature, probably: he was rather short.
He stares at the man next to him, blonde, and he’s desperately trying to remember his name because this was a man who definitely needed to see a doctor. It was the way he walked, with an obviously pained gait, emphasizing his right side - in Doyoung’s opinion, it must have been an injury from his youth that had never been properly treated.
Doyoung always had a fondness for physiotherapy and it was frankly incredible the way people’s bodies betrayed their health. A simple gesture or change in posture could have tremendous implications if Doyoung observed it at the right moment.
“Did you impress them yet?”
Doyoung startles, turning around. “Oh!”
A white rose protrudes from his lapel, hinting at his identity but there’s hardly a point - Doyoung would have recognized him across the room at the first sign of his tawny hair.
“Sorry, did I surprise you?” Jaehyun’s hands are clasped at his sides, and he has a soft smile on his face.
“A little, and ah, no I don’t think anyone is asking me for autographs just yet,” Doyoung says. “You came late.”
“What do you mean?” Jaehyun says, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “I’ve been here since seven.”
Doyoung sips his sherry. “That’s not possible. I would have noticed you.” He had spent many moments in the evening searching for Jaehyun among everyone else and trying to ignore the hint of disappointment he felt when he was not found.
Jaehyun stifles a laugh. “I mean, I was in the next room. Perhaps you just didn’t think to turn the corner.”
“What were you doing there?”
“The piano,” Jaehyun states like it’s obvious. “That was me.”
Doyoung pauses and realizes the dulcet tune that permeated through the evening conversation has paused. He looks to Jaehyun as if expecting the music to continue now as he stands in front of him. “You play?”
“I do.”
If you had told me that it was you playing, I would have paid more attention, Doyoung thinks to himself - and keeps it to himself. He knows that the song was nice, a vague but pleasing sound, but he can’t even recall the notes. It was entirely background noise to his own worried thoughts about fitting in with Johnny’s companions.
“I heard Mr. Na speak about you earlier,” Jaehyun says conversationally. “He said you look like a good doctor. You’ve got the ‘bone structure’ for it, in his words.”
“That’s a strange assumption to make based off my bones but I suppose I’m glad for it anyway.” Doyoung feels his skin prickle at the thought that these men are talking about him. “I feel like they’re waiting for me to impress them and I don’t know how to do that. I’m not sure what to say to them, truthfully.”
“Then don’t say anything. It’s not like you owe them a conversation. It’s not in the job description by my guess.”
Sua makes her rounds and without stopping her stride, Doyoung leans forward and takes another glass of sherry and hands it to Jaehyun. He accepts with his left arm but moves the drink to his right, an odd gesture that Doyoung makes a mental note of. “Thank you,” he says, bowing his head slightly. “If I may ask, what made you take up this position? I’ve never quite seen someone so young take up residence here.”
“I saw the advertisement and applied,” Doyoung says simply. Lying by omission isn’t lying, after all, and getting into the finer details of why Doyoung was desperate to leave quite so quickly is not pleasant after-dinner conversation. “It’s quite a change for me to be here. I’m from the city.”
He said the last part as an afterthought, a lingering ember of a dying conversation but Jaehyun grins. “I’m from the city as well! Oh, I cannot tell you how nice it is to meet someone who didn’t grow up in the countryside. I feel like I’m the only one here who knows what it’s like to not have to walk a mile just to get some firewood.”
“Oh no, is that a thing in the countryside?” Doyoung says, aghast. “I really am not a fan of all this walking.”
“I’m certain Johnny makes his handyman do it for him, but it is a reality here. The countryside is incredibly different - it’s been years and I still haven’t completely adjusted,” Jaehyun pauses, “You’ll need to get used to the cawing.”
“The cawing?” It sounds ominous. “Of the birds?”
“Of the rooks,” he confirms. “They’re loud birds, especially in the numbers that they are here. They just swarm the sky, a black cloud every evening. It’s extraordinary, if nothing else. But, yes, the cawing is quite an adjustment. You might have trouble sleeping.”
“I think I already do,” Doyoung says, thinking of the dark rings under his eyes.
“It was very difficult when I first moved here,” Jaehyun says, his eyes unfocused ever so slightly, like he’s looking into the past. “Rookswood is nothing like anywhere I’ve lived before. Everyone here knows everyone else, and they don’t take kindly to strangers. It’s like coming into the middle of someone else’s story.”
If he’s trying to cheer Doyoung up about his failed social skills, it’s not helping. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to,” Jaehyun says, laughing softly. “It’s supposed to be honest. I don’t think it’s easy to live in Rookswood, but I think it’s quite difficult to leave.” He crosses his arms and Doyoung’s eyes narrow in on the way his left arm is supported by the other.
“Pardon my intrusion, but is there something wrong with your arm?”
Jaehyun’s honey gold eyes widen. “Ah - well. I-” he breaks off. “Does it look like there’s something wrong with it?” His tone is startled, like he’s been caught out.
“I apologize if it’s a personal matter, but I might be able to help. It’s just that your entire left shoulder seems to be in tension. Did you perhaps overwork it?” He asks the question as a courtesy but Doyoung can see from the way his posture naturally favours the right side that this is a long term issue. Perhaps to do with his piano playing? It’s difficult to say without a proper consultation. “I have a tendency to notice little things like that.”
“That’s interesting.” Jaehyun’s tone isn’t unkind. “It’s just an old injury though, nothing to worry about, it hardly hurts. No need to pull out your stethoscope in the middle of the evening.” It’s a rebuke, but in the most gently worded way.
And Doyoung instantly regrets bringing it up. It was a neat trick in university, his professors found it endlessly interesting that someone could be so perceptive as to note the slightest changes in posture and infer the exact nature of the injury. It scored him a well-deserved ‘A’ in his physiotherapy module. But this wasn’t university, and for whatever reason, Jaehyun feels uncomfortable bringing it up and Doyoung probably should not have been so presumptous as to mention it in the first place.
Perhaps Jaehyun is also a perceptive person because he leans closer to Doyoung. “That’s very impressive what you did.”
“It’s just a thing I picked up at school,” Doyoung says, downing the rest of his sherry, as an excuse to not have to look into Jaehyun’s kind face.
“It really is something special. Not many people would have noticed, not so quickly, perhaps not ever.” He smiles, a dimple forming at the corner of his mouth. “But, I don’t think you’re like everyone else.” Jaehyun pauses, gazing at Doyoung. “Your hair reminds me of the rooks at sunset, you know?”
Doyoung’s used to the black of smoke unfurling from chimneys - not the kind that Jaehyun describes, of roosting birds across a twilight sky. Doyoung’s used to the sounds of screeching wheels on roads - not of the rooks calling to each other. And Doyoung’s used to the little bubble of familiarity he made for himself in his hometown, not this strange place, talking to this strangely entrancing man.
Doyoung runs a hand through his fringe. “Is that so?”
“It’s nicer than that though. Birds are fickle creatures, squabbling over worms in the dirt. You seem far more elegant than that.”
“I should certainly hope so. I would never squabble over worms, only a finely cooked steak,” Doyoung says, and the laugh that falls from his mouth is so unexpected it shocks himself.
Jaehyun’s gaze meets Doyoung’s - and then looks past him, and his mouth curves into a grimace. “Ah. I… should get going. It is late, after all.”
“Oh, really?” Doyoung says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “It’s not even after eleven yet, though.”
“Your boss is giving me a very pointed look - of course, there’s hardly a point in me being here if I’m not playing the piano. Besides, I’m certain you’ve had enough of talking to me for one night. I’m hardly that interesting.”
How laughable the notion is - Doyoung gets the impression that he would have been content to discuss the history of the entire Earth with Jaehyun. “I would disagree with that.”
He really does have a compelling smile. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m certain we’ll talk again so.”
Doyoung hopes so. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll see you soon - we are neighbours, after all.” Jaehyun bows his head one final time and disperses through the crowd. No one bids him farewell, and it’s like he was never here at all, if not for the untouched glass of sherry left behind.