❛ ♠ taemin's flat｡

@☾ taemin l｡ The kind offer was warm like the beverage within the ceramic cup. The aromatic wafts quickly reached their nose, capturing their attention. The glint in their eyes were curious, awed by the familiar scent of their go-to brew.

To think Taemin was aware of their preferred mix too…

Heat spread across their chest at the same time weight pressed upon their jugular. They were touched by Taemin’s attentiveness, amazed at his knowledge of Ten’s favoured tea recipe. However, guilt also plagued their treacherously amnesiac mind, taunting their lack of memory of the vampire who they knew nothing about.

Ten gingerly took the cup, fingers grazing Taemin’s hand. Electricity seemed to spark from the contact, but Ten held fast on the ceramic.

“Thank you.”

A tender smile of appreciation. Then, a sip of their tea.

Ten might as well have melted there. The flavours were just right. They could not marvel Taemin’s understanding of themselves enough.

Under the vampire’s gentle guidance, Ten was soon seated snugly on the soft couch, a cozy blanket carefully draped over their lap. With the warmth of the tea seeping through the cup and into their cold palms, coupled with the coaxing caress of the fireplace’s heat, Ten felt themselves relaxing. The lull of raindrops against window panes did not help, threatening to cast the witch with a sleeping spell.

Ten shook their head, clearing their mind. The warmth and peace were a perfect combination for individuals to sleep in, tempting Ten to try the setting for themselves. However, Ten was here for other reasons, and they should not stray from the initial goal.

Speaking of which — Taemin cleared his throat then. Ten returned their focus to the vampire, palms cradling their cup of tea which rested on their covered lap.

Ten was not aware of Taemin’s predicament at all.

They were given the choice to choose a photograph and learn of its origins — like a child being presented an array of storybooks to listen to before bed. The imagery brought a smile to Ten’s face, absentmindedly scanning the collection. All of them held interesting tales within their respective images’ compositions, which only fuelled the witch’s curiosity.

Finally, Ten pointed at one.

“That looks interesting.”

In the picture, their doppelgänger and Taemin sat on what appeared to be a picnic blanket, plates of homemade treats set to the side. The two were leaning into the frame, shot from a high angle to display the snacks they brought for the occasion.

The story seemed to tell itself through the simple photography. Yet, Ten was intrigued. Although the straightforward composition, they were curious of its significance. Picnics may seem mundane to many, but it was not a regular occurrence for one to capture the moment.

Besides… Ten wanted to hear the story in /Taemin’s/ perspective. To see what /he/ saw, to feel what /he/ felt.

Perhaps, through Taemin’s own explanation, Ten could gain a deeper understanding of the vampire, and a better grasp of their forgotten relationship.

@★ ten l｡ In the quiet aftermath of Ten's departure to get changed, Taemin finds himself alone in the dimly lit living room. He watches Ten's retreating figure with an affectionate smile tugging on his lips. There's a softness in his gaze as he muses about how achingly adorable Ten looks when they pout, and he tucks the image away in his mind for later.

Taemin pulls himself together with a quiet exhale and retreats to the kitchen. The warmth of the tea Ten requested is a comforting task that helps ground him in the present. He takes his time, choosing a blend of spiced herbs that he knows Ten enjoys. The aroma fills the kitchen, a fragrant dance that evokes a sense of home and familiarity.

Returning to the living room, Taemin places the steaming cup of spiced tea on a small coffee table and stands before the fireplace. The flames, a subdued dance of warmth, cast a soft glow across the room. He carefully places a few logs onto the embers, the crackling sound echoing in the quiet room. As the flames dance and flicker, Taemin takes a moment to sit back and dazedly observe their mesmerizing play. The warmth seeps into his bones, a comforting embrace contrasting with the storm outside.

The hushed sounds of the floorboards quietly creaking underfoot signal Ten's return. Taemin stands up, a warm smile gracing his features. In his hands, he holds a steaming cup of the spiced tea. "You certainly look much, much cozier now," he notes with an amused lilt. He offers up the tea with finely practiced grace. “Here, I think you might enjoy this. It's a special blend of herbs and spices that I remember you liking." His eyes twinkle with fondness and a hint of something more.

With a gentle gesture, he invites Ten to the cozy spot on the couch nearest to the fireplace. "Take a seat here. The fire should keep you warm. And," he adds, unfolding a blanket draped over the back of the couch, "if you want, you can use this to stay extra cozy."

As he waits for Ten to settle in, Taemin finds himself a bit distracted. His gaze lingers, tracing the lines of their fair, unblemished skin, the subtle flush on their cheeks, and the way the dim glow of the fire and candles accentuates their eyes' deep, starlit beauty. Their freshly dried, fluffy black hair frames their face like a halo, and Taemin is momentarily captivated by the ethereal sight before him.

Gods above, they’re beautiful.

It’s a rare instance in which he finds himself completely caught off guard, a faint dusting of red coloring his cheeks. He hopes Ten doesn't notice the subtle shift in his demeanor. He quickly clears his throat and directs his gaze toward the fireplace. The dance of flames becomes a convenient focal point, a diversion from the sudden intensity of the moment.

"So," he begins, his voice steady despite how his heart suddenly pounds against his ribcage, "which of these would you like to know more about? They're little snippets of our story, each with its own tale. Take your pick, and I'll share."

@☾ taemin l｡ The clamour of disorganised thoughts quieted as a smooth voice guided them to the present, glazed eyes refocusing as their hand hovered. Confusion shooed with every blink of dark eyes, Ten pulled their hand back, turning to the returned flat owner. A bashful smile graced their lips, heat on their cheeks an indication of their embarrassment at being caught.

Ten listened as Taemin explained the significance behind the photos, arms crossed over their chest as they rubbed their biceps. The crackling fireplace was warm, drying the front of their clothes in no time. The heat of the hearth nabbed the cold from their body, taking with it the trembles wracking their being.

A pout weaselled its way upon their features, displeased by the prospect of delaying Taemin’s story-telling. Still, they took the neatly folded clothes gratefully, fingertips grazing the vampire’s hand as they cradled the dry clothes. The fabric was soft, like wearable blankets — Ten had no doubt about their comfortability.

For a moment, when Ten looked at Taemin, they were blinded. His smile was bright and enchanting, its beam putting the sun to shame. As the heat filling their cheeks grew hotter with the passing seconds, the witch hoped the blush could be passed off as a result of the cold rain or the hot fireplace.

“A cup of tea would be nice.”

They shot Taemin a grateful smile before being ushered off to the bathroom. Thanks to the hearth, their clothes did not leave a trail of puddle in their wake. They eventually arrived at the bathroom and entered it, closing the door behind them.

After placing the folded clothes on the sink counter, Ten glanced at the mirror. Their reflection cringed as they realised their miserable state — hair hanging in streaks over their eyes and attire rumpled from its previously drenched condition. Taemin was right, they looked rather pitiful.

‘Oh god, he saw me like this.’

They were suddenly very aware that their rugged appearance was witnessed by Taemin. Their self-consciousness prayed for a hole to open up and swallow them right there. How embarrassing to be seen like this!

They hoped Taemin would not keep that image in his head.

Lightly slapping their cheeks, Ten refocused on the task at hand and quickly peeled off their wet clothes. With the extra towels, they wiped themselves dry before putting on the offered clothes from Taemin. The soft fabric hung over their body, thick and warm.

They absentmindedly brought the collar to their nose, inhaling deeply. Their body relaxed, a contented warmth spreading from their chest as they let the scent washed over their senses. They did not realise the smile sneaking upon their countenance.

It smelled of warmth, familiarity, and security.

Ten tightened his grip on the fabric for a split moment before letting go. Finally dry and changed, the witch folded their wet clothes before leaving the bathroom, padding back to the living room. They found Taemin waiting for them, heart fluttering in excitement as they approached the vampire.

“Thank you for the clothes,” mused Ten as they tugged on the collar, smiling appreciatively. “They’re really warm and snug.”

@★ ten l｡ In the heart of his dwelling, Taemin's measured steps resonate with the echoing symphony of raindrops outside. The storm's relentless percussion accompanies him, a haunting melody underscoring the gravity of his current situation. In the privacy of his bathroom, he sheds the vestiges of the downpour, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin like the now unresolved memories that cling to his soul.

As he gazes at his reflection in the mirror, a silent contemplation unfolds, the weight of the current situation pressing heavily on his shoulders. The reflection in the mirror, a mere silhouette of the vampire he is, feels almost foreign as he confronts the reality that their shared past is an abyss in Ten's memory. Forehead pressed against the cool surface of the glass, he closes his eyes, momentarily shutting out the world for a deep, grounding breath.

In the confined space, where the soft glow of the bathroom light embraces solitude, Taemin grapples with the ever-growing storm of emotions within him. The pain of Ten not remembering, the pang of being a stranger to the one he loves most—it's a bitter cocktail. One that leaves the most wretched aftertaste lingering in the back of his throat.

Yet, amidst that turmoil, a flicker of hope dances in his chest. The fact that Ten, despite not remembering who he is, is so open and so receptive to his words and gestures offers Taemin a hint of optimism. With careful steps, there is a hope that he might guide them back to the shared past they once cherished.

Admittedly, it’s a very selfish thing to hope for, but a deep, traitorous part of him simply refuses to let go.

Exhaling, he straightens his posture, changes into a warm, dry set of clothes, and steels himself for the journey ahead.


Leaving the bathroom, Taemin treads through the dimly lit corridor leading to his bedroom, the rich scent of aged wood and lightly scented candles engulfing him. The creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet adds a symphony of subtle sounds to the quiet ambiance. The familiarity of his home, intertwined with the scent of old memories, contrasts sharply with the current situation. He pauses for a moment, his senses keenly attuned to the atmospheric dance between the elements. The muted glow of the bedside lamp casts gentle shadows on the walls, like the fleeting memories that flicker in the darkened recesses of his mind.

He opens the wardrobe, the scent of aged cedar wafting through the air. The soft rustle of fabric accompanies his search for fresh clothes. The soft rustle of fabric accompanies his search for fresh clothes, each fold and crease holding an intricate tale of its own.

A neatly folded sweater and a pair of sweatpants catch his eye, their textures a familiar balm against the storm raging within him. He retrieves them, figuring they’re probably the closest thing he has to Ten’s clothing size, and quickly retraces his steps to the hallway. The creaking floorboards whisper tales of centuries past as he moves. The ambient warmth of his flat becomes a refuge from the relentless downpour outside. The incessant tapping of raindrops on the windows becomes a distant echo, overshadowed by the warmth and serenity within.

As he returns to the living room, Taemin can't help but notice Ten’s lingering gaze on the photos he keeps on his fireplace. He chuckles softly as he approaches, his free hand reaching for one of the frames. "Curious about these, are you? These pictures hold some of my favorite memories of us.” His eyes sparkle with a hint of fondness. "You can ask about them later, /after/ you're all settled in. But first, let's make sure you're not freezing. You look miserable.” He offers the clothes up with a warm smile. “Here, these should keep you warm. The bathroom is just down the hall, second door on the left. There’s a couple of extra towels on the third shelf in the closet. Get changed, and I’ll make you a cup of tea or coffee—whichever you prefer.”

The casual tease leaves Taemin's lips, a momentary departure from the weight of unspoken truths. With a gentle shooing motion, he encourages Ten to go and get comfortable. “Off you go now. I’ll have something warm waiting for you when you get back.”

@☾ taemin l｡ The heavens continued to weep above their heads, showering the earth with their sorrow. Harsh droplets hit the ground in pitter-patters, playing a cacophonous symphony of collision. Iciness accompanied the tears drenching their beings, seeping into their bones, on the verge of freezing over.

Yet, the noise became a mere drawl as Taemin’s hand enveloped theirs. The warmth of his palm soaked their spirit, spreading heat through their body. The chill and din disappeared as Ten steeped in the vampire’s presence, cosy with a welcoming aura.

They let themselves be led away, entering the building once more. Where the cries of the gods could reach them no more, the wails of their misery no longer bothered them. Environmental heat wrapped them in its warm embrace, sheltering them from the harsh cold of Mother Nature.

The door to the rooftop shut heavily behind them, closing another chapter of their budding tale.

≪ ❈ ≫

The rain carried on with its heavy downpour, knocking on glass windows and begging entry. The dark sky outside shrouded their environment with shadows, the small illuminations of lit candles providing the abode its only source of glow.

Although the gloomy atmosphere, the warmth of Taemin’s flat hugged them like a thick blanket. The tumult of the storm sounded muffled — the only indication of its existence being the raps against the windows and the occasional thunders. The appearance of lightning was scarce, popping in as if to peek into their privacy before vanishing the next second.

Ten could sense the history in the trinkets adorning the accommodation. They whispered in their ears centuries of life, weaving tapestries of forgotten eras. The residence may be loud with memories, but it was also imbued with endearment and longing.

Taemin’s flat felt like home.

When Taemin let go of their hand, a sudden urge to chase after the warmth seized them. Ten resisted the desire, ignoring their soul’s whimpers and whines. They pretended not to notice their heart squeezing, or their throat constricting.

They forced a smile on their face, masking the confusing hurt pulsing through their veins with gratitude. “Thank you, Taemin. I’m so sorry for troubling you.”

As the student left to retrieve said change of clothes, Ten took a tentative step further into the flat. They allowed their feet to carry them yonder — exploring the cave of mysteries and secrets. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet as they padded towards the living room.

The colour scheme was dark but cosy, exuding an air of hospitality and serenity. Flames crackled idle in the fireplace, bathing the quarters in a gentle incandesce. Green furnitures matched the plant decorations situated in each corner of the room, cementing its friendly atmosphere to the guest.

Ten noticed a few photo stands on the fireplace. They approached it, scanning the pictures sealed within them. Their eyes widened as they saw the contents, warmth colouring their cheeks as a small smile tugged their lips.

They were images of Taemin and Ten. Some looked to be selfies, while others appeared to be taken by a third party. All of them had the two of them grinning, seeming so happy and content with life.

A fond smile graced Ten’s lips, mindlessly reaching out to touch the photos, as if they could be transported to those times with a single of the fingers.

@★ ten l｡ Enveloped in the ethereal ambiance of the pouring rain, Ten's unexpected gestures create ripples in the atmosphere, calling forth a surge of emotions within Taemin.

As their fingers reach out, brushing against the strands of his dark hair, time seems to stand still. He freezes for a fleeting moment, his breath caught in his throat. It's not just surprise; it's a tender astonishment, a flicker of emotions that have laid dormant for years dancing across his eyes. Like a canvas waiting for the artist's brush, the sensation of Ten's touch paints vivid across the landscape of Taemin's soul, resonating with the echoes of a love that time has failed to erase.

The urge to lean into the warmth, to surrender to the familiarity of their touch, pulses beneath his skin. It's as if the gravitational pull of their shared history, the magnetic force of their souls being intertwined, is urging him forward. The touch is more than a gentle caress; it's an anchor, grounding him in the present while simultaneously pulling him back to the moments where their love first blossomed.

Yet, he refrains, the caution born from the delicate balance of rekindling what was once lost. It's a dance of restraint, a deliberate choice not to overstep the boundaries of newly-formed spaces where once there were none. The longing to lean into the touch is tempered by the awareness that some bridges, once burnt, cannot be fully rebuilt.

"Your touch," Taemin breathes out, voice trembling as if on the sudden verge of tears. "It's just as warm and gentle as it was back then." The words escape him like the soft whisper of a breeze through a forest of memories, each syllable a testament to the enduring nature of their connection.

When Ten's hand slips into his extended palm, a delightful shiver races through him. The touch is like a rediscovery of innocence, a reminiscent echo of the first time their hands intertwined in a youthful dance of affection. The sensation, though familiar, feels new and exciting, akin to the fluttering heartbeats of a first love.

Beneath the surface of this tender moment, however, a quiet melancholy lingers. The warmth of their joined hands is a stark reminder of the years lost, the memories forgotten. It's a bittersweet symphony playing in the background—a melody of love that once bloomed but now carries the weight of unspoken sorrow.

Gazing at Ten, he feels a subtle ache in his chest—a mixture of longing and caution. Ten, a once familiar constellation in his life, now appears like a distant star, their light still reaching him through the vast expanse of forgotten memories. Ten, the enigma he fell in love with, embodies the songs and poetry of a bygone era—a timeless muse etched into the fabric of his existence.

Taemin takes a step, leading the way off the rooftop and into the dimly lit corridor. The rain's whispers follow them, harmonizing with the silent song of their intertwined souls—a melancholic melody of familiarity, longing, and the depth of affection that has withstood the test of time. The transition from the exposed rooftop to the sheltered corridor mirrors the vulnerability and comfort of that rediscovered love, even if it is only temporary.


As they cross the threshold into Taemin's room, the soft glow of strategically placed candles bathes the space in a warm, comforting radiance. Adorned with artifacts from centuries past, the room seems to hum with the whispers of their shared history. In the dim light, Ten becomes the living embodiment of elusive moonlight, casting a gentle glow that tugs at the corners of Taemin's heart.

Once inside, he reluctantly releases Ten's hand. A subtle ache reverberates through his soul, a yearning for the bond they share. "I'll be right back," he says. The bond between their souls tugs at him, and there's a slight hesitation in his step. "I'll fetch you a change of clothes and some towels. You can make yourself comfortable."