nightfall || minsung

Chapter 15

I walked, unwilling, into the meadow, sunshine crawling over my skin. Specks of light were bouncing off me, moving across the trees and grass. I refused to look at it, at myself, even though my nose was right there, flickering between my eyes.

Minho's eyes were wide, fixed on me. I felt naked. Regretful. What the hell was I doing, showing him this? He wouldn't understand what my skin meant, why it shone.

It meant that I was different. Not a human, a creature. It was a warning, telling him to wrap his head around the danger. To be afraid.

I stopped in front of him. He stared for a minute, blank, and then said simply, "Jisung, you're sparkling."

I smiled a bit. "Uh-huh."

"A vampire thing?"

"Yes."

He dropped down on the grass, looking up at me, eyes still big and curious. I sat, too.

"Can I...?" He reached for my arm.

I gave it to him, wary. He held my hand, flipped it over and pulled it closer, squinting at my palm like he was trying to read it.

"I have two questions and I really want to ask both," he said.

"Pace yourself."

He sucked in a breath, impatient. "What is this place? It's unreal."

"Haseong and Chan got married here around eighty years ago. It's special to all of us." It had been the 8 of us, Ephraim Black and his family. The afterparty had been a leisurely hike up Mount Everest — we'd left a pride flag at the top.

"Wow," Minho said. "A vampire wedding. What does that look like?"

"Pretty much the same, except our tuxes had little pop collars and capes."

"Are you joking...?"

"I wish I was." Poor Hyunjin had gotten the measurements wrong — the capes dragged on the ground. He still kicked himself for it.

"Did anyone officiate?"

"I did."

"You what?"

"I'm an ordained minister, don't act so surprised." I hadn't been the picture of a respectable minister in the 20s — we'd had to break into city hall to steal the documents.

"Have you ever gotten people married just for fun?"

"Maybe you would, you punk. I take my responsibilities seriously."

He did the 'loser' gesture on his forehead. I smacked his arm, pretending to glower.

He scooted closer. Our faces were inches apart, knees touching, his hands already hovering over my cheeks. It was overwhelming — in more ways than one — to have him so close, so suddenly. I held my breath, teeth clenched together.

"You mind if I touch your face?" he asked, his lips an awkward little smile. I shook my head.

He brushed his stubby fingertips over my cheeks, traced my eyes and nose and jaw. I took the opportunity to stare at his perfect face, so close to mine, his eyes narrowed, tongue poking out in concentration.

"Why do you sparkle like this?" he asked.

"It's a warning sign. You're supposed to run now."

"What happens if I don't run?"

That was the question — one of them. The answer was clear when I looked at him.

"Because it's you, nothing bad."