Chapter Text
Yoongi had not expected moving to feel this exhausting.
He had handled everything with his usual efficiency, directing movers with clipped instructions, checking each box against his mental inventory, ensuring that nothing fragile was mishandled.
By the time the last of his belongings had been carried in and the door finally shut behind them, the house felt both unfamiliar and overwhelmingly his, cluttered with half-open boxes and the faint scent of dust disturbed after too long.
The quiet that followed should have been satisfying, it pressed in on him.
He dragged himself toward the sofa with a heaviness that settled deep in his bones, every muscle protesting as he let himself fall back without care for posture or decorum. The cushions dipped beneath his weight.
He allowed his eyes to close, if only for a moment. He told himself it would only be a minute, just enough to gather himself before he started unpacking again.
The knock at the door came almost immediately.
Yoongi exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flaring before he could suppress it. His first instinct was to ignore it, but the sound came again, insistent and poorly timed.
Namjoon would not come unannounced, not when he knew how busy moving day would be. The realization left only one option, and Yoongi found that he did not particularly like it.
He pushed himself upright with a quiet groan and made his way to the door, each step slower than the last as if prolonging the inevitable might somehow make the interruption disappear.
It did not.
When he opened the door, he found himself staring down at a child.
The boy could not have been older than six, small and bright-eyed, with an energy that seemed almost excessive for the quiet afternoon.
Before Yoongi could even ask what he wanted, the child pointed at him with startling confidence and shouted, “Dracula!”
Yoongi blinked.
The boy did not wait for a response. He began circling Yoongi with quick, excited steps, craning his neck as though trying to examine him from every angle. “You’re a vampire, right? Right?” he asked, voice bubbling with enthusiasm, his movements growing more animated with each repetition.
For a brief, uncharitable moment, Yoongi considered closing the door in his face. But he told himself to get a hold of his composure. It was just a child. There was no need to escalate the situation into something unnecessarily unpleasant.
Reaching out, he gently guided the boy back outside, ignoring the way the child attempted to continue his circling even as Yoongi repositioned him.
“Go find your parents,” Yoongi said, his tone even but firm as he shut the door before the boy could protest further.
The knocking resumed almost immediately.
Yoongi stared at the door for a long second, his jaw tightening. He did not move to open it again. Whoever the child belonged to would eventually notice his absence, and until then, Yoongi refused to indulge whatever strange game this was.
The knocking continued for a while, uneven and persistent, before eventually fading. Yoongi allowed himself to sink back onto the sofa, the earlier exhaustion returning twice as heavy now that it had been interrupted. He closed his eyes again, telling himself that this time he would not be disturbed.
Sleep came quickly, until the doorbell woke him.
Yoongi inhaled sharply as he sat up, disoriented for a moment before the unfamiliar surroundings settled back into place.
The sound of the bell lingered, more deliberate than the earlier knocking, and he scrubbed a hand over his face as he stood, already certain that the quiet he had hoped for was no longer an option.
He paused briefly to splash water on his face, the coolness helping to clear the remnants of sleep from his mind. The boy from earlier would not have been able to reach the doorbell, which meant this had to be someone else. A neighbor, perhaps, or a delivery he had forgotten about.
That assumption lasted exactly as long as it took him to open the door.
There were two children standing outside.
The boy from earlier beamed up at him, entirely unbothered by their previous interaction. “I brought Shiwoo!” he announced proudly, as though presenting something of great importance.
The second child stood slightly behind him, smaller and quieter, his large eyes fixed on Yoongi with an intensity that made him vaguely uncomfortable. “You are a real vampire?” Shiwoo asked, his voice softer but filled with earnest curiosity. “Hwan didn’t lie!”
Yoongi exhaled slowly, already feeling a headache beginning to form. “How did you reach the doorbell?”
Hwan puffed up immediately, straightening his posture as though preparing to demonstrate something impressive. “I carried Shiwoo,” he said, gesturing toward Shiwoo with exaggerated pride. “On my shoulders.”
He flexed his arms, which contained no discernible muscle to speak of, but the gesture was met with visible admiration from Shiwoo, whose expression shifted into open awe.
Yoongi crouched down slightly, bringing himself closer to their height. “What’s your name?” he asked, directing the question at the more animated of the two.
The boy responded with unexpected formality, bowing deeply. “My name is Lee Hwan! I’m six years old and I’m in the first grade of the Haebaragi elementary school.”
The introduction was so earnest that Yoongi found himself nodding despite everything. “Nice to meet you,” he said, before adding, “Now why don’t you go play somewhere else with your friend and stop bothering me.”
Hwan considered this for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Okay,” he said finally, “but only if you show us your vampire fangs.”
Yoongi resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, he let his shoulders slump slightly, adopting a tone of exaggerated disappointment. “I haven’t had any blood in a while,” he said. “My powers are fading. I can’t show them right now.”
Hwan’s eyes widened, not with fear but with concern. He reached out and tugged at Yoongi’s sleeve. “It’s okay, Dracula,” he said reassuringly. “You can drink mine!”
Yoongi stared at him.
“Oh no,” he replied after a beat, shaking his head. “It will hurt. And I’m very hungry. I might drink all your blood, and then you’ll die.”
Shiwoo’s reaction was immediate. His face crumpled, and within seconds, he began to cry, the sound soft but unmistakably distressed.
Yoongi felt something inside him tighten.
“I won’t,” he said quickly, his voice losing its earlier dryness as he leaned forward slightly. “I won’t do that. It was a joke.”
Hwan turned to Shiwoo, patting his shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Dracula is a good vampire,” he said with quiet certainty. “He won’t kill me.”
“Yes,” Yoongi agreed, nodding once. “I won’t kill him. Now please stop crying and go home.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Hwan gasped, as though struck by a sudden realization. Without explanation, he grabbed Shiwoo’s hand. “Bye, Dracula!” he called, already turning away.
Yoongi did not question it. He watched them leave, the relief that followed their departure immediate and profound.
He took a shower, letting the water wash away the lingering exhaustion, and managed to organize a few more things before deciding that food was a more pressing priority than unpacking. By the time he stepped outside, he felt marginally more like himself.
He had only taken a few steps when he heard hurried footsteps approaching.
“Wait, Dracula!”
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly before turning around.
Hwan came running toward him, Shiwoo trailing close behind, both of them slightly out of breath. “The sun will burn you,” Hwan said urgently. “So we made this magic bracelet!”
Before Yoongi could respond, Hwan took his wrist and tied a worn piece of string around it, securing it with careful determination.
Yoongi looked down at it, then back at the children. “…Thank you.”
Shiwoo stepped closer, tugging lightly at his trousers. “Are you going out to kill people?” he asked.
“No,” Hwan answered for him, his tone confident. “He’s a good vampire. He defeats villains.”
Yoongi hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. That.”
“I’m just going to a restaurant to have lunch,” he added, attempting to move past them.
Hwan’s eyes lit up again. “My mom said to invite you for lunch,” he said, as though remembering something important. “To welcome you as the new neighbor.”
“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied immediately.
“Why?” Hwan asked.
“Why?” Shiwoo echoed.
The question repeated, persistent and increasingly difficult to ignore, until Yoongi felt his resistance wear down under the combined force of their expectation.
He exhaled, long and resigned. “…Fine,” he said.
Hwan cheered.
And just like that, Yoongi found himself being led somewhere he had never intended to go, his wrist remained firmly captured in Hwan’s small hand while Shiwoo trailed along on his other side, as though the three of them had established an unspoken formation that could not be broken.
The worn string bracelet brushed lightly against his skin with every step, a constant reminder of how quickly his afternoon had derailed from quiet solitude into something he could not quite define.
The house they approached sat immediately to the right of his own, close enough that he could now see how easily the children must have noticed his arrival earlier. He felt a faint, belated awareness of how visible he had been, moving in and out with boxes, entirely unaware that he had apparently been observed and categorized as something supernatural.
Before he could gather himself, Hwan pushed the door open without hesitation and rushed inside.
“Mom!” he shouted, voice echoing through the house. “I brought Sir Dracula! And we already gave him the magic bracelet so the sun won’t burn him!”
Shiwoo followed closely, slightly breathless but just as intent. “Auntie, did you remember not to use garlic?” he asked earnestly. “Hwan said garlic kills vampires and I don’t want Dracula to die.”
Yoongi stopped at the doorway, one foot still outside, suddenly very aware of how absurd the situation must appear from any reasonable perspective. He considered retreating, briefly, but the thought barely had time to form before footsteps approached from inside.
Hwan’s mother appeared quickly, her expression shifting from confusion to immediate understanding in the span of a second. She took in Yoongi, the children, and the situation as a whole, and then offered him a warm, slightly apologetic smile.
“I am so sorry,” she said softly, stepping closer and lowering her voice as though to keep the conversation from carrying further into the house. “They’ve been talking about you all afternoon.”
She did not mention the word vampire, nor did she acknowledge the elaborate narrative her son had clearly constructed. Instead, she gave Yoongi a quick, almost embarrassed look before gently ushering him inside.
“It’s really kind of you to come,” she added, her tone sincere enough that Yoongi found himself stepping forward without protest.
As they moved further in, she leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping into a quiet whisper meant only for him. “Shiwoo’s uncle is here as well, with Shiwoo’s little sister,” she explained. “They live on the other side of your house, actually.”
Yoongi nodded once, unsure what response was expected of him, but she continued before he could say anything.
“Shiwoo’s mother…” She hesitated briefly, as though choosing her words with care. “She passed away after giving birth to Miu, four years ago. Jimin’s been raising them since. The children think he's their actual father, so it’s better if you do the same in front of them.”
Yoongi absorbed the information in silence, a faint crease forming between his brows. It felt… personal, more than he would have expected from a first meeting, but there was no discomfort in her tone, only quiet trust. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
“I understand.”
The conversation ended there, seamlessly, as though nothing unusual had been shared at all.
By the time they reached the living area, Hwan had already taken it upon himself to gather everyone’s attention.
“I brought him!” he announced again, standing proudly beside Yoongi as though presenting something rare and valuable. “This is Dracula!”
Yoongi exhaled through his nose.
“Min Yoongi,” he corrected, his voice calm but firm enough to carry.
Hwan either did not hear him or chose to ignore it entirely.
“This is my older brother Hyun,” he continued, pointing toward a boy who looked mildly inconvenienced by the entire situation. “He’s in middle school now, but he failed his English test last week.”
“Yah,” Hyun muttered under his breath, his expression tightening.
“And this is Shiwoo’s papa, Uncle Jimin,” Hwan added, gesturing enthusiastically.
Yoongi’s gaze shifted instinctively.
The man seated nearby looked younger than Yoongi had expected, his features soft in a way that made the resemblance between him and Shiwoo immediately apparent. A small girl sat comfortably on his lap, her attention divided between the room and whatever quiet amusement she found in her own thoughts.
“He makes the best cookies,” Hwan went on, entirely undeterred. “Even better than my mom’s. And he buys me honey chips from the convenience store when mom won’t let me. And this is Miu—she’s really cute and doesn’t wear diapers anymore but still uses a milk bottle sometimes, but it’s okay because she gives me kisses, and—”
“Hwan,” his mother interrupted gently, though there was a hint of laughter in her voice.
Hwan paused, just long enough to take a breath.
“—and Uncle Jimin doesn’t let me braid his hair,” he finished, as though that were the most important detail of all.
A faint flush spread across Jimin’s face, and he shifted slightly, one hand coming up to rest protectively against Miu’s back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, directing the apology toward Yoongi with a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “If Shiwoo bothered you earlier…”
His voice was soft, warm in a way that felt unexpectedly grounding.
Yoongi found himself shaking his head almost immediately. “Not at all,” he replied. “He’s a sweet kid.”
Shiwoo brightened at that, pressing a little closer to Jimin’s side.
Miu, who had been watching the exchange with quiet curiosity, suddenly leaned forward, her small hand reaching out toward Yoongi. “Hello uncle,” she said, her voice soft and uncertain.
Hwan gasped, scandalized. “No, Miu! This is Dracula,” he corrected, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. “You have to call him Dracula, not uncle.”
Miu blinked at him, processing the instruction with visible concentration. “D… cola,” she said finally, her face breaking into a wide, delighted smile.
There was a brief pause.
Yoongi felt something in his chest loosen unexpectedly.
“Cola is fine,” he said, more easily than he would have expected.
Jimin let out a quiet laugh, the sound light and unguarded. “I think that’s the best version yet,” he said, glancing at Yoongi with a warmth that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
Yoongi looked away first.
He became aware, then, of how close they were standing, how easily the space between them had diminished without either of them noticing.
Jimin adjusted Miu slightly in his arms, his movements careful and practiced, and Yoongi found his attention drawn to the small, domestic details of it—the way Miu leaned into him without hesitation, the way Shiwoo stayed within reach as though it were instinct.
There was something steady about it. Something that made the unfamiliar house feel, unexpectedly, like a place people returned to rather than passed through.
“You just moved in today?” Jimin asked after a moment, his tone softer now, as though the initial awkwardness had settled into something more manageable.
Yoongi nodded. “This morning.”
“That must have been exhausting,” Jimin said, his brows drawing together slightly in quiet concern. “You didn’t have to come right away. We could have—”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi interrupted, though there was no sharpness in it. “I was going to eat lunch in a restaurant, so it's perfect actually.”
Jimin hesitated, then smiled again, smaller this time. “Then I’m glad they caught you first.”
Yoongi did not respond immediately. He found himself looking at Jimin again, at the easy way he held Miu, at the softness that lingered in his expression even after the conversation paused. There was a quiet sincerity there that Yoongi could not quite categorize, something that settled uneasily—and not unpleasantly—somewhere beneath his ribs.
He looked away again, slower this time. “…Yeah,” he said, almost under his breath.