Chapter Text
That day came in waves, but it never fully left.
The screams had been so loud and shrill. Humans tended to be rambunctious and unable to control their emotions, for when the vampire troops invaded their village, chaos erupted in the form of terrified screams and racing hearts.
The Kim Coven had never been soldiers. They were simply vampires in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That entire day was burned into the back of their eyes. It was scratched into writing in about a hundred different languages. It was drawn and painted with such clarity that it was sickening.
Jungkook had always been such a gentle soul.
Vampires typically weren't, but Jungkook was.
He'd been a nurse in life. Taking care of colicy babies and bandaging soldiers was how he spent most of his days, back when he was human. It was how they'd met him, too, back when they'd been immature vampires and under the rule of others.
Jungkook's camp had been raided by their troops. He'd been arrested by vampiric forces, typically those who were captured didn't make it back to meet the vampire overlord, they'd be drained long before then, but Jungkook had always been different.
The night that their coven had been assigned to watch the hostages, Jungkook was the only one not shaking with fear. He'd been the only one to stay up. He'd been brave and fearless and when he'd asked Hoseok if he could bandage the injury to his hand, they realized he had the voice of a siren.
It was mesmerizing. And beautiful. And so, entirely, lovely.
They'd never held any personal hatred towards humans, not back then, and they'd told him that. How beautiful he was. They voiced their interest in why he was so unfraid—
Jungkook had said he'd never been scared to die.
And they'd been determined not to let that happen after a mere few hours with the human. They'd bitten him. They'd originally lied to the superiors and claimed that they had turned the human due to finding an interest in his work, but that was hardly the case.
They'd courted Jungkook for years. They'd mentored him. Brought him up as their own fledgling. And a marvelous fledgling he was, he was quick and reactive and enchanting.
It took eighteen years for them to work up the courage to ask. For them to ask Jungkook if he'd like to be their beloved, their mate, and he'd done that smile -- the one where a single dimple sank into his cheek and his eyes glimmered and he'd said, with every ounce of confidence he had, “I was wondering if, perhaps, this day would never come.”
They'd only thought of doing it for eighteen years. From the moment they'd met him. They'd wanted him and nobody but him, for Jungkook was everything they'd ever wanted in a mate.
Jungkook was gentle, but firm. He was fiery, but never used it for harm. He was teasing, but loving. Jungkook could be picky, but never expected too much. He was beautiful.
Everything about him was. Where he walked, they followed. When he sang, they joined. Everything with Jungkook felt perfect, even if nothing around them was at all.
Jungkook’s soul was enchanting. That was a gift that only pureblood sire’s could see -- they could bite into the souls of fledglings, those turned instead of born.
Jungkook's soul was purple and it moved like a dancing flame. It lit up behind his eyes when they saw one another. It was stoked, like a fire, when they touched.
They'd never seen anything quite like it before.
And they hadn't seen anything at all close to it in a hundred years.
Jungkook's weakness was his gentleness. He had a habit of caring for others more than himself and it was what had destroyed them, in the end.
A baby cried when the vampire troops raced through the village. They stormed in, they ripped pillars from homes and burned the buildings as they took captive anyone who refused to leave.
Jungkook went after the baby before anyone could grab ahold of him, before anyone had even registered he was gone.
The next thing they knew, the human mother had an arrow readied and mistook Jungkook's gentle nature as a threat, panic and fear controlling her actions.
That noise—
His whimper as the arrow pierced his heart.
It was impossible to unhear. It radiated. It destroyed nearly as much as the sight of black, fledgling blood running into the sewer grates did.
They'd loved Jungkook for eighty years. That was how long they had been privileged to have him as a mate. It was long enough to see the first carriage be built. It was long enough to have branched off from other covens and settle in a castle all their own.
It was not long enough for the coven to have even considered preparing a crypt for their beloved mate.
And yet here it stood. A hundred years later.
It was a beautiful crypt.
The outside was made of stone and opal. Jungkook had always loved opal stones. He'd loved the way they shone with different colors depending on the angle.
It was a rare stone. An expensive stone.
They made sure to buy hundreds. They bought enough to have the entire white stone doorway lined with it. The handle of the crypt was made of opal. The floors inside were solid opal. It was not an easy thing to do, to find such a rare gem in such excess, but they'd do anything for Jungkook.
They wanted it to be perfect for when he awoke, but the years were leading them to believe that would not occur.
Fledglings were tied to those who turned them. Jungkook had a little bit of all of them running through his system. Those cells, the venom they provided, it was enough to reawaken him.
It should have been, at least.
Today marked a hundred years since they'd lost not only Jungkook, but themselves. A hundred years since a single smile was formed on the castle grounds.
The crypt was opened today, despite the vampires having agreed to not enter the crypt on such a day, Namjoon could not bare to walk past it without opening it, he never could.
The coven took sole responsibility for the crypt settled beneath a willow tree in their garden. The groundskeepers and servants were not to step within five feet of it.
Namjoon knew that Hoseok had cleaned it up yesterday. He knew that the other had entered and took care of things as someone did everyday, but the sight of new roses laying in front of the door still left the vampire struggling to keep quiet.
The vampire ripped it open, all thousand pounds of stone and opal grinding as he tore the crypt open. The door seemed to grow heavier with time.
The first time they'd closed the door, Taehyung had broken it off of the hinges. He'd destroyed the stone with his bare hands and turned into hysterics while screaming, demanding to know why did you shut the door! Jungkook is asleep, do not shut him out! H-How dare you! How dare you! Do not close the door! It needs to be open when he wakes up—
Only Jungkook did not wake up.
Namjoon's fingers glided along the walls of the crypt. Unable to control the soft, wet laugh that escaped his throat as he touched the painting. It was a new one, Jimin must have grown tired of the last one. He tended to do so. Sometimes he changed the paintings in the crypt up to three times a day if he disliked it.
The longest lasting one had been a realistic painting of Jungkook's room. He'd loved his room. Been entirely proud of it when they'd finished moving things into the castle.
Jungkook had ran into it with such a giggle it left tingles under their skin, even more so when the fledgling threw himself onto his new silken sheets and requested, with that siren-like tone of his, “Shall we see if it can withstand the love of seven vampires?”
This one was just as beautiful and a lot less painful than that one. It was the waterfall. The one nearby. It was one of the beautiful things that had made them purchase the castle.
Jungkook spent countless nights there, watching the moon. His hyungs spent countless nights there, watching him.
Deeper inside the crypt, was the coffin. It was situated below rows of vases filled with blood. It was tradition to continue gifting those unawake with food. It was their responsibility, as sires, to always care for their fledgling.
They'd opted for an opened coffin, but oftentimes they regretted such a choice, for Jungkook remained the same, but so different.
Vampires did not deteriorate. They simply dulled with time, so Jungkook's skin was grayed. His hair was ashy. His lips were purple. When Yoongi had first noticed the way he'd begun to change, he'd stolen Jimin's paints and covered the coffin in blood red.
They thought he'd finally lost it completely that day. The day they'd walked in on the vampire cradling Jungkook's body, red soaking them and the walls, because Yoongi had looked like he was snapping.
Only the second eldest had been crying too much to be completely unaware of his actions. He'd been clutching Jungkook so tightly they knew bones had been crushed, but they couldn't judge him for it.
Yoongi had been the first to fall for Jungkook, after all. He'd been the first to verbalize, to the fledgling, his beauty. It felt like just yesterday they'd been sitting at a stretching dining table and Yoongi’s deep, drawl of a voice came out in a way different than any of them had ever heard.
“Jungkook?” Yoongi had sounded sheepish. His voice was nervous, “Are you aware that you're quite a sight when it comes to beauty?”
“Are you calling me beautiful, sire?” Jungkook had cooed. It was all teasing and bell-like. He had blood on his chin when he raised his glass, he'd always been such a messy eater. “Because if you are calling me beautiful, then I may think you intend to keep me company in bed. Is that something you want, sire?”
One of the sins, the hardships, of being a pure blooded vampire, one born as a vampire, was the fact that they never forgot anything. They remembered every moment of every day. They remembered every detail of every single moment with Jungkook—
No matter how much they drank, or tried to, the pain continued. It grew. Every little thing reminded them of Jungkook. From birds chirping, to storms, to feeding—
Namjoon found the edge of the crypt and released a choked sound as his eyes landed on the silky purple material of Jungkook's shirt. He swallowed, wet eyes staring blankly down into the fledgling’s unmoving body.
The stone coffin crackled where his fingers tightened, the new marks would match the hundreds of old ones around the edges. The edges of the coffin were originally sharp and lined with velvet, but their hands had crushed it into an entirely different shape.
“One hundred.”
Namjoon didn't dare look at Jungkook's face. He didn't dare wipe away his tears either, but he did stumble a bit, when he shifted to lay his forehead on the stone. He was intoxicated at the moment, just enough to steady his nerves and lose his footing.
“One hundred years. A hundred-- Jeon Jungkook!”
The shout reverberated against the walls of the crypt, came back and filled his ears with his own anger. His own fury. And the vampire sobbed upon hearing the mock of a response.
Jungkook yelled. He used to yell twice as loud as they did, and he'd cry twice as heart wrenchingly.
When they'd fight, he'd scream so loudly it would make glass break, but he was usually right. And they argued so rarely that it happened only in extreme cases.
Truthfully, Namjoon could barely recall the last thing any of them had fought with Jungkook about, perhaps when they'd disagreed about one of the vampiric kingdom’s decrees demanding humans surrender during the war.
Namjoon used to wonder how Jungkook would react to know that they'd come to an agreement with humans to live mutually, because the fledgling used to fight with them until he couldn't cry anymore about how they could never understand his helpless humans must feel to be attacked in their own homes the way vampires were attacking them. (He wondered, too, if the arrow would have changed Jungkook's mind.)
“Jungkook, Jungkook!”
And when Namjoon finally looked at his face. His beautiful, peaceful face, the vampire cracked. His venomous tears fell faster and the fury in his voice simmered when he reached a shaky hand over to cup Jungkook's jaw.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my love.” Namjoon whispered, leaning down to brush his lips over Jungkook's brow, then forehead, wetting gray skin with venom and sobbing, “I should not raise my voice at you. I apologize. I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry-- just tell me I am wrong, Jungkook.”
The vampire sucked in a harsh breath against his cheek, hand moving to Jungkook's nape, voice growing louder, “Yell at me, Jungkook. Just- anything. Anything at all, little one. Anything. My lovely boy. Any-Any… I love you.”
Namjoon gathered Jungkook's face in his hands, throat tightening, eyes closing as he wailed, pressing a kiss against Jungkook's forehead again and again, pleading, “A h-hundred years, Jungkook. I cannot do this -- I can't. Not anymore. Not- I…”
“Hyung!”
“Namjoon!”
The sound of rushing feet made Namjoon freeze for a moment, freezing with an icy cold realization that he'd broken his promise. Again. Thus, when others entered the crypt, he did not turn around.
Namjoon did, however, try to pull himself together, just a bit, and laid Jungkook back down carefully. Brushing his curls from his face and straightening out Jungkook's pillow beneath his head.
“You came. We promised not to come today, Joon.”
Seokjin sounded disappointed. Namjoon swallowed, his voice sounded dry when he replied, quietly, “Yes, well, you promised. I did not verbally agree, if you recall.”
“You smell of whiskey,” Hoseok sounded even more disappointed. He stepped closer, eyes on anywhere but the coffin, “Jungkook would hate that.”
Namjoon spun around then, hissing more than speaking when he cried, venom-filled veins appearing in his forehead as he burst, “You say this to me, when Taehyung walks around filled with wine, starving himself, most hours of the day? You dare scold me for such habits when the youngest withers away this way? Do not ever speak for Jungkook without taking a good look around, Jung Hoseok!”
Hoseok blinked, startled. Namjoon was not normally this testy, but many things were tense on days like today.
Thankfully, Namjoon was right about one thing. Taehyung was much too drunk most days to comprehend anything that happened around him. It was something they'd grown used to ignoring. It was a good thing, sometimes, because drunken Taehyung was not breaking things.
Drunken Taehyung had disillusioned himself into falling back into daydreams and memories. And drunken Taehyung did not notice where they were, nor the discoloration of Jungkook's skin.
He was smiling, such a handsome, boxy smile, as he stumbled towards the coffin. His words were slurred. Even his laughter sounded slightly slurred, “Ah, there you are, tiny.”
“I was looking for you, beauty. Is it fun to hide here? Is it your new favorite place?” Taehyung laughed and swept fingers over Jungkook's hair, leaning down to nuzzle against his face, unable to notice he was unable to smell running blood flowing through Jungkook. “Jungkook is very beautiful today, is he not, hyungs?”
Yoongi closed his eyes and looked down at the ground. His jaw shifted, and his eyes were wet. He replied, “Of course, Taehyung. He always is.”
“He's dead, Taehyung.”
Everyone sent Jimin the most furious expressions for uttering such words, but nobody dared to speak in hopes Taehyung did not hear those words.
Jimin stepped closer, cloak pulled over his eyes, head down. Taehyung's voice cracked when he shifted to straighten up, body shaking, crumbling, “W-Why would y-you say t-that?”
“Oh, Tae. Sweetheart,” Hoseok reached out for him, tugged him closer, held the youngest even when Taehyung sank onto the floors. “Sh. Don't listen to him. Don't listen-”
“Keeping him drunk does not protect him from the truth,” Jimin said, voice a cold drawl, stepping over Taehyung's legs and moving to the coffin. He began to fix Jungkook's shirt, flattening it out, perfecting every little thing on the fledgling once more. He glanced at Namjoon, then said, firmly, “Get off of the coffin. You wrinkled the velvet.”
Jimin used to not be like this. He used to care for others more than himself. He used to help Jungkok bandage up birds who fell from trees. He used to paint only flowers and rainbows and, when Jungkook had once said he'd wished he could see the sun, Jimin had painted a sun across the entire back of the castle overnight.
Jimin used to be the crescent-eyed sweetheart that flustered when Jungkook called him handsome, but would praise the fledgling twice as intensely, until Jungkook saw no other choice but to claim his lips in a kiss that left them tangled together for hours.
Jimin had not been the same for a very long time.
“Everyone get out.” Seokjin spoke up, stiffly, but firmly, “Get out. Get out of my sight. Get out of this painful place! Get out! Get out!”
“Hyung.”
Seokjin cut himself off. Pretended his expression was not teary. He stared at Yoongi even when Namjoon and Jimin walked out of the doorway. Yoongi stared back at him, sharing silent reassurance, for only Yoongi knew the weight Seokjin felt.
In the beginning, Taehyung and Jimin used to blame Seokjin. For he was the one who fell for Jungkook's request to go to the market. The duo used to also team up to yell at him, to ask how he was not reacting to their loss? Why wasn't he crying? Did he not feel anything at all—
Seokjin did feel. Deeply.
The loss of Jungkook was an entire chunk of his own soul ripped out of him and devoured in darkness and despair, but Seokjin did not react. He did not show it. He was the eldest and it was his responsibility to pretend he was strong.
The truth was he was not strong. He was not any stronger than Taehyung or Namjoon. He was not any better than them, but Seokjin shielded his pain from their eyes in fear of causing them even more.
“They're gone now,” Yoongi whispered, tucking himself into the corner of the crypt, “It is alright to cry.”
“I will not cry.” Seokjin said firmly, removing a white handkerchief from his pocket as he slowly approached the coffin.
Yoongi swallowed audibly, his voice cracked as he pressed the back of his head against the wall and finally looked at Jungkook. “That is quite alright, I cry enough for both of us.”
Despite meaning it as a joke, Seokjin did not find it amusing. He ignored the comment and carefully took the handkerchief in his hand and unbuttoned Jungkook's shirt. Just enough to see the hole on the left, upper part of Jungkook's chest.
Just as open as it had been from the moment Seokjin had torn it out of his skin. It still bled, too.
Seokjin's nostrils flared as he struggled to keep the tears at bay, watching the white of the cloth turn black as he pressed gently on the wound. He sucked in a handful of breaths, and heard Yoongi begin to cry.
“D-Did we not love him enough?” Yoongi asked, voice low-pitched as he struggled to keep the sobs in his throat, “I thought we did. I did. When I held him… when he was here,” He choked, held his shaking hands out, “In my arms. I… I finally felt worthy, like I was someone who could be loved.”
Again. Seokjin did not reply to that. He just tucked the black stained cloth into the sleeve of his shirt, so the others would not see, and begin to button up the shirt again, voice barely a whisper.
“Another year is asking far too much of us, darling. These days, the ground seems a suitable resting place, because the world is not worth living in without you in it.” The eldest leaned down to press a kiss against Jungkook's ear, finding the fledgling’s fingers and swearing, “If you do not awaken this year, we will join you, beloved.”