Chapter 1: Awakening
Chapter Text
Chapter One: Awakening
In the moonlit halls of Cross Academy, Kaname Kuran moved like a shadow cast by the centuries.
His steps, measured and soundless, carried the weight of an existence longer than time itself.
Crimson eyes, ancient and knowing, held the secrets of a thousand lifetimes, yet within them lay an ache he could neither name nor ease.
The silken fabric of his uniform whispered against the quiet air as he walked, a ghost of presence, a specter of longing.
For millennia, Kaname had waited—waited for the one who would complete him, for the other half of his soul, the missing thread in the tapestry of his eternal life.
Ten thousand years had passed, and still, the void within him remained unfilled, a silent hunger gnawing at the edges of his existence.
Night after night, he wandered through the halls, through centuries, through memory and dream alike, searching for something unnamed, something just beyond reach.
And then—Zero Kiryu.
A name that struck like a discordant note in the symphony of Kaname’s carefully controlled world.
A presence that unsettled the order he had long embraced.
Zero, the hunter born from tragedy, his silver gaze burning with defiance, his every breath a rebellion against fate itself.
The scent of his blood, sharp and laced with sorrow, called to Kaname in ways he could not comprehend.
It was not just hunger, not just the primal instinct of a vampire to covet the essence of a hunter—it was something deeper, something raw, something that set his very soul alight.
The first time he had seen him—truly seen him—was not in battle, nor in bloodshed, but in the quiet rebellion of a butter knife clutched in defiance at Chairman Cross’s house.
In that absurd moment, Kaname had felt it—a pull, a whisper, a shift in the world’s axis.
He should have dismissed it as fleeting, a passing intrigue, yet the sensation did not fade.
Zero stood apart from the world, unyielding, unbroken, refusing to bow even beneath the weight of his own suffering.
And Kaname, for all his centuries of wisdom, for all the control that defined him, found himself drawn in, helpless against the force that was Zero.
It was not love—not yet, not then.
It was war.
A battle neither had named but both waged with every glance, every word, every breath they shared.
It was in the way Kaname sought him out, in the way their silences spoke louder than words, in the way their meetings crackled with a tension neither could suppress.
It was in the way Zero, even in his hatred, always looked back.
Takuma Ichijo, ever observant, had long since seen what Kaname refused to acknowledge. He watched the way the pureblood’s gaze lingered too long, the way his presence subtly shifted when Zero was near.
He saw the battle Kaname fought, torn between his devotion to Yuki Cross—the gentle, human girl he had sworn to protect—and the unspoken truth that had begun to unravel within him.
Yuki was warmth, light, an innocent promise of a life Kaname had once dreamed of.
She was the one he had chosen, the one he had believed to be his destiny. Yet, deep in the marrow of his being, where truths could not be ignored, Kaname knew.
It was Zero. It had always been Zero.
A connection woven through lifetimes, a bond neither had words for, neither dared to claim.
Theirs was a love unspoken, hidden beneath the weight of centuries, masked beneath rivalry and duty.
But fate is patient.
And even as they stood on opposing sides, even as the world conspired to keep them apart, destiny whispered its truth into the spaces between them:
They had always belonged to each other.
Even if neither of them knew it yet.
As Kaname plotted his next move against Rido Kuran, his treacherous uncle, he couldn't shake the possessive feelings that stirred within him whenever Zero was near.
He wanted to protect him, to claim him as his own, but he couldn't understand why.
His every instinct screamed to shield Zero from harm, to ensure that no one else could touch him.
This possessiveness confused Kaname, for it seemed to contradict his intentions toward Yuki.
The duality of his emotions left him feeling fragmented, torn between his sense of duty and his primal desires.
The more he tried to distance himself from Zero, the stronger the pull became.
His dreams were haunted by silver hair and lavender eyes.
But whether he was ready to face the consequences of that truth remained to be seen.
Each step he took towards Zero was a step away from the carefully constructed life he had built around Yuki.
Kaname stood in the moonlit hall, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the first light of dawn would soon break.
He could feel Zero's presence like a beacon, drawing him in, promising both salvation and destruction.
Zero
Zero Kiryu prowled the moonlit corridors of Cross Academy, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor.
Hatred burned within him like a raging inferno, consuming his thoughts and fueling his determination to rid the world of the vile creatures that preyed upon humanity—especially pureblood vampires like Kaname Kuran.
Zero's hatred for Kaname was an all-encompassing force, an unrelenting fury that filled his every waking moment.
The pureblood's haughty demeanor and sense of superiority grated against Zero's soul, a constant reminder of the centuries of oppression and bloodshed inflicted upon humanity by his kind.
Kaname's very presence was a slap in the face of all the pain and suffering Zero had endured, a living symbol of the arrogance and cruelty he loathed.
But beneath the seething hatred lay a darker, more primal urge—a thirst that clawed at Zero's insides, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment.
The curse of his vampiric side was a cruel twist of fate, a constant battle against the bloodlust that threatened to consume him from within.
Zero could feel the hunger gnawing at his gut, a relentless reminder of the monster he struggled to keep at bay.
He was a vampire hunter, sworn to protect humanity, yet every moment was a struggle against the darkness that lurked within him.
His attempts to manage the bloodlust had been futile. Blood tablets, the supposed remedy for his cravings, had only caused him agony.
They would induce a violent reaction, making him vomit and suffer intense physical pain.
The tablets were a cruel irony, promising relief but delivering only more suffering. Zero’s struggle was twofold: battling his inner demon and resisting the allure of the very creatures he was sworn to destroy.
But Zero refused to surrender to his base instincts.
He was a hunter, a protector of humanity, sworn to rid the world of the abominations that plagued it.
And though the thirst burned like a fire in his veins, he would sooner die than succumb to the darkness that threatened to engulf him.
And then there was Kaname—the very embodiment of everything Zero loathed and despised.
The pureblood's mere presence filled him with a fury so intense it was maddening.
Yet, despite his hatred, there was something about Kaname that drew Zero in—a twisted fascination born of the undeniable power the pureblood wielded.
But Zero refused to be swayed.
He would never bow to the likes of Kaname Kuran, no matter how strong the pull of his influence.
For he knew that to do so would mean betraying everything he believed in, everything he had fought for.
In his quest to maintain his humanity, Zero clung to Yuki Cross as his anchor.
She was the one who grounded him, a beacon of hope and normalcy amidst the chaos of his existence.
Yuki represented the part of him that still held onto the ideals of humanity. He saw in her the innocence and purity he had lost.
A reminder of why he fought so hard against the darkness, of what he was fighting to protect.
Her presence was a comfort, she was his lifeline, the one thing that kept him from spiraling into the abyss.
Yet even with Yuki by his side, Zero felt the weight of his burden grow heavier with each passing day.
The bloodlust, the pull towards Kaname, the constant battle against his darker nature—it was all taking its toll.
He could feel the cracks in his armor, the edges of his sanity fraying. But he would not give in.
He could not.
The corridors of Cross Academy were eerily quiet, but Zero's senses were on high alert. The walls seemed to close in around him, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle he faced.
Every step he took was a testament to his resolve, a declaration of his determination to resist the darkness that threatened to consume him.
As he continued his patrol, Zero’s thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
The hunger that gnawed at him was a constant torment, a reminder of the price has to pay for his vampiric nature which he never wanted.
But he was determined not to let it define him.
He was Zero Kiryu, a vampire hunter, and he would never falter in his quest to protect humanity from the shadows that lurked in the night.
Blood.
The scent of it clung to the night like a curse, thick and metallic, curling around Zero Kiryu’s senses with cruel persistence.
It was everywhere—in the air, in his mouth, in the back of his throat where the hunger scratched like a beast caged too long.
He clenched his jaw until it ached.
He wouldn’t give in. Not tonight. Not tomorrow, Never.
The silver-haired hunter sat hunched on the edge of his narrow dorm bed, breath shallow, eyes burning a dull lavender—tainted by the curse that pulsed beneath his skin.
The tattoo on his neck, once a mark of honor, now felt like a brand, a reminder of everything he despised. Of everything he was becoming.
A vampire.
No—worse. A Level D. A time bomb waiting to go feral.
He hated it.
Hated the thirst, hated the loss of control.
But more than anything, he hated what it reminded him of.
Them.
The ones who had slaughtered his family.
The ones who fed off the world like parasites behind silken smiles and noble bloodlines.
The ones who ruled in shadows with ancient eyes and cold cruelty.
Purebloods.
And at the center of them all, like a crown atop rot—
Kaname Kuran.
Just thinking his name sent a bitter taste crawling up Zero’s throat.
The arrogance.
The quiet power.
The way the other vampires bowed their heads in reverence, as if he were some god carved out of bone and elegance.
Kaname Kuran represented everything Zero loathed.
Entitlement wrapped in velvet. Authority cloaked in softness.
A predator pretending to be protector.
And now he hovered around Yuki like some silent, ever-watchful guardian.
That’s what made Zero’s hands clench tight enough to draw blood.
Not the jealousy—not that, he told himself.
It was the danger.
Kaname wasn’t protecting her; he was grooming her.
Wrapping her in his world like silk threads spun by a spider. And Yuki, sweet, trusting Yuki, couldn’t even see the web tightening around her.
But there was something worse than that—something Zero didn’t want to name.
Something in the way Kaname looked at him.
Something in the way Zero's own pulse jumped when that crimson gaze fell upon him.
No. No, no, no.
He hated him.
He hated the way Kaname spoke like he knew all the answers, like he’d already read the ending of a book Zero hadn’t even finished the first chapter of.
He hated the calmness, the composure, the way the air shifted in his presence—how even the other vampires seemed to need him.
Zero had spent his life trying to escape the pull of blood, of fate, of the chains that tried to bind him to the monsters he hunted.
So why, then, did his skin burn with awareness whenever Kaname drew near?
Why did his instincts scream danger and desire in the same breath?
It wasn’t attraction.
It was war.
A collision course of ancient bloodlines and bitter destinies.
Kaname looked at him like he knew something—something Zero had yet to understand, some secret twisted in the bones of the universe that Zero hadn’t earned the right to learn.
And Zero wanted to tear it out of him.
With teeth. With words.
With anything sharp enough to make him bleed.
Kaname
Kaname's fists clenched at his sides, the cold ache of his fingernails pressing into his palms grounding him in the present.
Irritation flickered beneath his carefully sculpted calm, a rare storm behind the mask he wore like second skin.
Zero.
Even the thought of the name now drew his ire, a strange heat simmering beneath his composed exterior.
The hunter was an enigma, wrapped in contradictions—defiant yet vulnerable, broken yet unbowed. And worse, he felt. Kaname felt him in ways he should not.
That was the curse of it.
Of all the creatures in the world, of all the souls he had touched and forgotten across millennia, it was Zero who lingered—like ash caught in his throat, like the memory of fire across skin long turned cold.
He did not ask to be stirred in this way.
He had not waited ten thousand years to be undone by a boy with silver hair and a gaze that challenged the very foundations of his being.
Kaname’s irritation twisted deeper, fed not just by his own confusion, but by the sight—the unbearable sight—of Zero and Yuki together.
He had planned this—engineered their paths to intersect, sculpted fates with the precision of a god playing at puppeteer.
He had done it to protect her, to shield her from the chaos of her own blood.
And yet…
Yet watching them—the closeness they shared, the way Yuki’s eyes softened for Zero in a way they never quite did for him—filled him with a rage that burned slow and cruel beneath his skin.
He hated that Zero stood where he could not.
He hated that Yuki’s laughter belonged more easily in the presence of a hunter who should have been his enemy.
He hated the ache that unfurled in his chest when Zero looked at her—because it was not the look that tormented him.
It was the truth that hid behind it.
Kaname did not fear losing Yuki.
He feared what it revealed about himself—that his jealousy was not born of romantic rivalry, but of a deeper, unspoken longing.
He wanted Zero's eyes to turn to him with that same softness.
He wanted to rip the threads that tied them together, not because he hated what they were, but because he envied it.
Every laugh, every glance, every shared silence between them felt like a theft.
And Kaname Kuran was not used to being robbed.
His control—the one thing he prided himself on above all—frayed at the edges every time Zero walked into the room.
The scent of him—gunpowder and cold winter wind—clung to Kaname’s senses long after he was gone.
His voice, sharp and bitter like poison, echoed in Kaname’s mind. His very presence carved hollows in the fortress of Kaname’s detachment.
He loathed him for it.
And yet, as he stood there, in the bleeding cusp of night and day, Kaname could feel it again—the pull.
It was maddening.
He had spent millennia mastering patience, enduring loneliness that would have driven others to madness.
And now, here he was—shaken by a boy barely out of childhood, a hunter bred to hate him, someone who had no idea what he was doing to Kaname with every careless breath.
Chapter Text
Chapter 2: Sweet poison
In the quiet solitude of his chambers, Kaname Kuran sat alone, his thoughts a swirling tempest of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions.
The weight of his recent actions bore down on him like a heavy cloak, their implications stretching far beyond the confines of his own understanding.
He had made Zero drink his blood, a decision he had justified as being for Yuki's sake.
But as he sat in the silence of his thoughts with a glass of red wine, Kaname couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than that.
The memory of that night lingered in his mind like a ghost, its presence a constant reminder of the choices he had made and the consequences that will follow.
He could still see the look of shock and confusion on Zero's face, could still feel the heat of their shared connection sparking like electricity in the air.
And yet, amidst the chaos of his own turmoil, Kaname couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper at play, something he couldn't quite put into words.
He had told Zero that he was feeding him his blood to protect Yuki, to ensure her safety in the face of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. And while that may have been true to some extent, Kaname couldn't ignore the nagging doubt that gnawed at his insides.
Was he truly acting out of selfless devotion to Yuki, or was there a part of him that longed for something more?
As he pondered these questions, Kaname couldn't help but recall the feelings of jealousy and possessiveness that had surged through him when he had seen Zero drinking from Yuki's veins.
A scene that shattered the tranquility of the night.
There, bathed in the silver light, stood Zero Kiryu, his lips stained with the crimson essence of Yuki Cross's blood.
For Kaname, the sight was a visceral blow to his senses, a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatened to engulf him.
His heart, an ancient wellspring of desire and longing, convulsed with a profound sense of hurt and betrayal.
How could it be that the first taste of blood on Zero's lips belonged not to him, but to Yuki, the woman Kaname believed to be his destined mate?
A surge of confusion rippled through Kaname's being, mingling with the deep-rooted pain that clawed at his heart.
It was a paradox he couldn't unravel, a puzzle with pieces that refused to fit together.
Yuki was supposed to be his, the one he had waited millennia for, yet the inexplicable ache in his chest told him otherwise.
As Kaname struggled to make sense of his tumultuous emotions, a seed of doubt took root in the recesses of his mind.
Could it be possible that he had been wrong all along?
The thought sent shockwaves through his being, shaking the very foundation of his beliefs and convictions.
In the dimly lit chamber, the air hung heavy with tension as Kaname's words cut through the silence like a sharpened blade.
His voice, tinged with bitterness and wounded pride, echoed off the stone walls, filling the space with an oppressive weight that threatened to suffocate all who dared to listen.
"You have been reduced to a bloodthirsty beast, Zero Kiryu," Kaname's accusation hung in the air like a curse, each word laced with venom and disdain
Kaname's pain found an outlet in the form of harsh words, sharp and cutting as the blade of a sword.
It was a defense mechanism, a desperate attempt to shield himself from the vulnerability that threatened to consume him whole.
Zero's heart clenched at the harshness of Kaname's words, the sting of betrayal burning like acid in his veins.
He had never wanted to become the very thing he had sworn to destroy, had never imagined that his thirst for blood would lead him down such a dark and treacherous path.
And yet, here he was, facing the consequences of his own actions with nowhere to turn for solace or redemption.
Before Zero could respond, Kaname continued, his voice dripping with disdain and malice.
"You devoured her mercilessly, didn't you Zero?" The accusation hung in the air like a heavy fog
It wasn't just the thought of Zero hurting the girl he believed to be his mate that had filled him with anger and resentment; it was the underlying desire for Zero's first taste of blood to be his, and his alone.
Yuki tried coming in between them only to fall on to Zero's arms.
Which seems to only fuel Kaname's bitterness even more.
And then, as if to twist the knife even further, Kaname turned his attention to Yuki, his voice cold and calculated.
"So much that she can't even stand," he stated.
Kaname's words a cruel reminder of the pain and suffering Zero had caused.
And then, with a callousness that sent a shiver down Zero's spine, he asked, as he picked Yuki up in to his arms "How was Yuki's blood? Was it delicious?"
The words hit Zero like a physical blow, their impact leaving him reeling in disbelief. He had never imagined that Kaname could be capable of such cruelty, such callous disregard for the feelings of others.
And yet, here he was, using Yuki's pain as a weapon to hurt him, to twist the knife even further into his already wounded heart.
Kaname was hurt and he wanted Zero to feel the same. And so, as he watched Zero's reaction to his harsh words, Kaname couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt gnawing at his insides.
It was a selfish thing to do, one that Kaname knew he should push aside in favor of his duty to protect Yuki. And yet, as he stared into the darkness of his own soul, he couldn't deny the truth of it.
He wanted Zero to belong to him in a way that went beyond mere blood ties, wanted his connection to the vampire hunter to be deeper and more profound than anything he had ever known.
But amidst the tumult of his own emotions, there was a flicker of understanding, a whisper of truth that cut through the darkness like a beacon of light.
Kaname had made Zero drink his blood not just to protect Yuki, but because he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else laying claim to him.
He wanted Zero's first taste of blood to be his, wanted their bond to be as unbreakable and undeniable as the whatever ties that bound them to each other.
With a heavy heart, Kaname rose to his feet. He knew that he couldn't undo what had been done, couldn't erase the choices he had made and the consequences that followed.
In the unforgiving world where darkness and light clashed in perpetual conflict, Kaname Kuran navigated a labyrinth of emotions, each path fraught with peril and uncertainty.
Duty dictated his every move, demanding unwavering loyalty and calculated strategy in the face of relentless adversaries.
Yet amidst the chaos, Kaname's heart remained entangled in a web of unspoken desires and forbidden longings, a burden he carried in silence, unable to explore or unravel.
For Zero and Yuki, Kaname harbored feelings he dared not acknowledge, let alone indulge. With Zero, there existed a connection that transcended mere blood ties.
Despite their differences and the animosity that simmered beneath the surface, Kaname couldn't deny the pull he felt towards the vampire hunter, a pull that both comforted and tormented him in equal measure.
As for Yuki, she was the light in the darkness, a beacon of hope and warmth amidst the shadows that threatened to consume them all.
Kaname's feelings for her ran deep, rooted in a love that held secrets which in time he will have to reveal to her.
Yet even as he longed to protect her, to keep her safe from the dangers that lurked in the shadows, Kaname couldn't shake the feeling that there was something missing, something he couldn't quite name.
Amidst the turmoil of his own emotions, Kaname knew that he had no luxury to explore or indulge his desires.
Rido, his cunning and merciless uncle, loomed on the horizon, a constant threat to everything Kaname held dear.
He could not afford to show a moment of weakness, to let his guard down even for a second, lest everything he had fought so hard to build come crashing down around him.
And so, with a heavy heart and a steely resolve, Kaname pushed aside his own desires and focused on the task at hand.
For in a world where darkness and light were constantly at war, Kaname Kuran would always be the one caught in the middle, torn between duty and desire.
But no matter what the future held, one thing was certain: he would do whatever it took to emerge victorious, to protect those he cared for from the relentless onslaught of darkness that threatened to consume them all.
Zero
Zero Kiryu stood beneath the cold expanse of the night sky, the silver light of the moon casting his shadow long against the earth.
Yet, no matter how brightly the stars burned above, he could not shake the darkness that had settled within him.
Yuki’s blood.
It still clung to his senses, a haunting ghost of warmth and sweetness, a taste he was never meant to know.
He brought a trembling hand to his lips as if he could wipe away the memory, but it was useless.
The act had been done, the damage irreversible.
He had betrayed her.
The one person who had ever shown him kindness, the one person who had reached for him when the world had already cast him aside.
Yuki had trusted him, believed in him, and in return—he had sunk his fangs into her flesh, stolen from her, tainted her with the very thing he had sworn he would never become.
A monster.
Zero squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his temples as if he could force the memory away, erase it from existence.
But no matter how much he wished otherwise, he could still see it—her face pale, her breath shallow, her body trembling as he took what should have never been his.
The moment he had realized what he was doing, the moment he had pulled away and seen her fragile frame sway, weakened by his own hunger, he had felt something worse than pain.
He had felt disgust.
Not at Yuki.
At himself.
.
He should have known this would happen.
The moment his body had begun its transformation, the moment he had woken up in agony four years ago, marked by the fate he had spent his entire life fearing—this was inevitable.
A hunter turned beast.
A man turned parasite.
He had sworn he would never drink human blood. He had fought the hunger, suffered through every unbearable night, let the pain devour him rather than become the very thing he despised.
But in the end, his resolve had failed.
Because when the hunger clawed too deep, when his vision blurred, when the madness whispered in his ears and all reason abandoned him—he had turned on the one person he cared about most.
He had hurt Yuki.
And he could never forgive himself for that.
Never.
Zero exhaled shakily, bracing himself against the stone railing of the Academy balcony, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.
Would she forgive him?
She would, of course.
Yuki was kind. Too kind. She would smile at him, reassure him, tell him it wasn’t his fault.
But she didn’t understand.
She would never understand.
Because Yuki was human. She was pure, untouched by the darkness that had already swallowed him whole.
She had never felt the kind of hunger that drove him to the edge of sanity, never battled the temptation that now lived inside his veins.
She didn’t know what it was like to crave, to suffer, to need—only to realize that the very thing keeping you alive was the same thing that was killing you from the inside.
She didn’t understand what it meant to hate yourself.
And Zero hated himself.
For being weak.
For losing control.
For proving Kaname Kuran right.
Zero’s grip tightened on the railing as another image flashed in his mind—Kaname.
The way the pureblood had looked at him.
Not with his usual impassive gaze, not with the controlled indifference Zero had come to expect.
No.
Kaname had looked at him with anger. With bitterness. With something that almost felt like… betrayal.
"You devoured her mercilessly, didn’t you, Zero?"
Zero flinched at the memory of those words, each syllable laced with venom, with something sharp and accusing.
He had expected disgust, expected cruelty. But the intensity of Kaname’s gaze had unsettled him.
What had he seen in Zero’s actions?
Was it only the betrayal of Yuki?
Or was it something more?
Zero did not know, and he didn’t care to find out.
Because whatever game Kaname was playing, whatever manipulations he wove, it didn’t change the truth.
Zero had fallen.
And there was no redemption for a vampire who had tasted the blood of the one he was meant to protect.
No matter how much Yuki might try to comfort him, no matter how much she might insist otherwise—he knew the truth.
He had lost the last part of himself that was still human.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
Kaname
The halls of Cross Academy lay bathed in silver moonlight, an eerie stillness settling over its corridors.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint rustle of leaves whispered through the trees, but within Kaname Kuran’s chambers, silence reigned—a silence so thick, so suffocating, it was almost alive.
He sat in the glow of the candlelight, his fingers tightening around the delicate stem of his wine glass. It should not have bothered him this much.
And yet, the image burned itself into his mind like a cursed brand—Zero Kiryu, lips painted with the crimson of Yuki’s blood.
His grip on the glass tightened.
The memory was an uninvited specter, haunting the edges of his thoughts, clawing at his composure.
Why? Why did the mere thought of it send a twisted, unfamiliar ache coiling through his chest?
It was Yuki.
His precious Yuki.
The one he had sworn to protect, the one whose happiness meant more to him than anything else.
It should have been anger, righteous and clear-cut.
The sight of her fragile form trembling in Zero’s arms, weakened by the blood loss, should have fueled nothing but rage toward the hunter who had taken from her. And yet…
Beneath the anger, beneath the bitterness, something else festered.
Something darker.
Jealousy.
Kaname exhaled sharply, setting his glass down with a deliberate slowness. Impossible.
He was not the type to succumb to such base emotions.
He had lived long enough, learned enough, to temper his desires, to mask his weaknesses behind an impenetrable façade.
And yet, here he was—jealous.
The taste of the word in his mind was bitter, unwelcome.
He was jealous that Zero had taken from Yuki.
That Zero had left his mark on her.
That had to be the reason.
And yet.
The jealousy had bloomed the moment he had seen Zero, not Yuki.
Not the sight of her paling against the weight of her blood being drained.
But the sight of him—Zero, panting, his breath uneven, his fangs still extended, his tongue sweeping across his lips as if savoring what had just been stolen.
That was the moment the fire had ignited in Kaname’s chest, its embers smoldering deep within his bones.
His lips pressed into a thin line. Why?
He was drawn to Yuki.
She was warmth, innocence—his salvation, was she not?
It was her safety that concerned him, her well-being that dictated every choice he had made. So why did the image of Zero drinking from her feel like an insult directed at him?
Why did it feel like a theft?
His jaw clenched as the thought lodged itself deeper into his mind. It should not have been her blood that Zero tasted first.
The realization struck like lightning, white-hot and blinding.
He wanted Zero’s first taste to have been his.
Kaname surged to his feet, the chair scraping against the polished floor. No. No. No. That was not it. It could not be.
His fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into his palm.
The irrational possessiveness that gnawed at him—it had to be because of Yuki.
Zero was not supposed to touch her. He was not supposed to claim any part of her. That was the only explanation.
And yet, deep in the marrow of his being, the lie echoed hollow.
Zero after drinking from Kaname
In the stillness of the night, Zero Kiryu found himself grappling with emotions he dared not confront, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and painful memories.
The taste of Kuran's blood lingered on his lips, a taste so sweet, floral somehow yet powerful.
A bitter reminder of the choice he had been forced to make and the consequences that may follow.
As Zero grappled with the unsettling realization that he now owed something to Kuran, a sense of unease settled over him like a heavy shroud.
Kuran had told him it was for Yuki's sake, that drinking his blood would strengthen him and protect the girl they both cared for.
And while Zero wanted to believe him, wanted to trust in the purity of his intentions, there was a part of him that couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on.
The pureblood vampire's motives remained shrouded in mystery, his actions veiled in layers of deception and manipulation.
For Zero, drinking Kuran's blood was a betrayal of everything he had ever believed in, a violation of the very principles that had guided him through the darkness that threatened to consume him.
As a vampire hunter, his duty was to eradicate the pureblood vampires who had mercilessly slaughtered his parents and countless others like them. And yet, here he was, succumbing to the allure of the very creature he had sworn to destroy.
But amidst the turmoil of his own guilt and self-loathing, there was a flicker of understanding, a whisper of truth that cut through the darkness like a beacon of light.
Kuran was not just any pureblood vampire.
He was something to Zero but what Zero for the life of him couldn't figure out.
Zero did not realise Kaname Kuran was the one person in the world who was bound to him by fate and destiny.
Despite the undeniable connection between them, Zero couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that gnawed at his insides for Kaname Kuran's kinds.
He despised himself for drinking Kaname's blood, for allowing himself to be drawn into the web of deceit and manipulation that surrounded the pureblood vampire.
He despised himself for hurting Yuki, the girl he cared for more than life itself, whose warmth and kindness had brought light into his dark and lonely existence.
Zero knew that he couldn't undo what had been done, couldn't erase the choices he had made and the consequences that might come to be.
And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, he vowed to stay true to his principles, to never again allow himself to be swayed by the allure of darkness that threatened to consume him whole.
Never again will He drink from Kuran or anyone else for the matter.
For in a world where darkness and light were constantly at war, Zero Kiryu would always be the one caught in the middle, torn between love and loyalty.
But no matter what the future held, one thing was certain: he would do whatever it took to protect those he cared for from the relentless onslaught of these murderous monsters that tore his family apart.
Even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness in the process
Notes:
Do leave a comment if you are enjoying the story. So I know if I should continue.
Chapter Text
Chapter 3 In fires of fate
As Zero confronted Kaname regarding Yuki's memory, a hint of annoyance flickered across his features.
Despite everything going according to his meticulous plan, Kaname couldn't shake the unease that gnawed at him whenever he witnessed Zero's adoration for Yuki.
Every step Zero had taken, every moment he had spent by Yuki’s side—it had all been by his design. Kaname had ensured their fates intertwined, had placed Zero in Yuki’s life, carefully shaping their relationship like a master puppeteer.
And yet, despite his meticulous planning, despite everything proceeding as it should, why was Kaname restless.
Why did Zero’s unwavering devotion to Yuki unsettle him so deeply?
He had prepared for this moment. He had anticipated it. Every move, every decision, every spoken word had been meticulously calculated.
The plan had worked.
Zero and Yuki had drawn closer, exactly as he intended.
Yuki was safe.
She was cared for.
The pieces had all fallen into place.
And yet—
Why did it feel so wrong?
He had never intended to place himself at the center of this triangle. He had orchestrated it, knowing full well the emotional bonds that would form.
He had known Zero would protect Yuki. Cherish her. Possibly even love her.
He had known.
And still—it burned.
Every time he saw Zero’s gaze drift to her, softening in a way it never did with anyone else—not even him—Kaname felt a strange hollowness take root inside him.
As if something vital had been misplaced, as if a thread had been pulled from the tapestry of his eternity and he could no longer find where it belonged.
Everytime Zero spoke to him his words are always so cold and though Kaname does match the same coldness in return the feeling of wrongness still stays.
He knows the importance of Yuki's happiness and safety, a part of him couldn't help but resent the depth of Zero's feelings for her.
It was a complex mix of emotions—jealousy, possessiveness, and a lingering sense of unease—that stirred within him as he faced Zero's unwavering loyalty to Yuki.
Everytime he saw Zero's undying loyalty and love for Yuki he just couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness, like it wasn't right, it shouldn't be.
It's an itch he couldn't scratch, mystery he couldn't solve.
Wasn't this what he wanted?
Why?
Why did this bother him?
Why did Zero’s devotion to Yuki—the devotion Kaname himself had nurtured, had ensured—feel like a blade lodged in his ribs?
Why did it feel like something that was never meant to be?
Every time Zero spoke of Yuki, every time his unwavering loyalty burned in those cold, sharp eyes, Kaname felt it.
A hollow wrongness.
A puzzle that refused to be solved.
He could not understand it.
This was what he had wanted.
What he had planned for.
What he had ensured.
Then why—
Why did it feel like something precious was slipping from his grasp?
Why did Zero’s coldness cut deeper than it should?
Why did Kaname resent—no, loathe—the depth of Zero’s feelings for Yuki.
Why did the very love Kaname had planted, cultivated, encouraged, now feel like a splinter working its way into the deepest part of his soul?
As the confrontation unfolded, Kaname struggled to maintain his composure, his carefully crafted façade faltering under the weight of his conflicting emotions.
Deep down, he knew that his feelings for Zero ran deeper than mere resentment, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the truth lurking beneath the surface.
Yuki, All Zero cared for is Yuki. This is what Kaname wanted so why did it rub him the wrong way? Why can't he push unnecessary feelings that makes him feel uncertain of his actions away?
And yet, despite his inner turmoil, Kaname knew that he couldn't afford to falter. He had a duty to fulfill, a responsibility to protect Yuki at all costs.
He would feed Zero, he would ensure his sanity remained intact—for Yuki's sake. Yes, everything he did was for Yuki.
Kaname cut through the tension with words like a sharp blade, acknowledging Zero's ongoing struggle with his bloodlust.
"That thirst's more painful than death and still you insist on continuing to fight it. I'm impressed—you haven't completely lost yourself yet," he remarked, his tone cold and indifferent hiding away the mixture of admiration and concern.
When Zero hesitated to accept Kaname's offer, a surge of irritation flared within Kaname once more.
He couldn't help but feel vexed by Zero's reluctance, especially when he had witnessed Zero readily accepting blood from Yuki in the past.
The disparity in Zero's response stirred a sense of indignation within him—how could Zero deny him when he had been willing to take from Yuki?
Refusing to be denied, Kaname seized Zero's collar, his grip firm and unyielding. He forced Zero to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with determination.
"The purest blood that courses through my body will prolong your life and force the shadows of madness to recede," he declared, his words laced with a sense of urgency and conviction.
Even as Zero turned his face away, attempting to avoid Kaname's gaze, Kaname refused to allow him to escape.
With a steely resolve, he steered Zero's gaze back towards him, insisting with unwavering determination. "Understand one thing: I am not doing this for you. It is for Yuki. Now take my blood."
Though Kaname directed these words towards Zero, they resonated within himself as well. Deep down, he needed to convince himself that his actions were truly for Yuki's sake.
The reminder served as a reaffirmation of his purpose, a way to justify his intentions and reconcile his own conflicted emotions.
Yes, everything he did was for Yuki. He repeated the mantra to himself like a lifeline, a reminder of his purpose and his resolve.
As Kaname felt Zero's fangs pierce his skin for the second time, another surge of conflicting emotions flooded his senses, also overloading him.
He couldn't help but reflect on the significance of the moment—the rarity of a pureblood offering their blood to another, especially one who held no traditional importance or status in the vampire hierarchy.
When Zero's fangs sank deeper into his flesh, Kaname couldn't help but marvel at the irony of the situation.
Here he was, a pureblood vampire, offering his blood to a hunter, a mere human by vampire standards and enjoying his blood being pulled, enjoying having these soft warm lips on a sensitive part of his neck.
Their roles seemed to blur and fade away, replaced by a raw and unspoken understanding that defied logic and convention.
Why the neck? He could have offered his wrist—distant, clinical, impersonal. But both times, it had been his throat. Intimate. Vulnerable. A place one only offers when surrendering, or when trusting too deeply.
Clarity washed over him, sweeping away the fog of uncertainty that had clouded his mind for so long. In that moment, as their blood mingled together in a dance as old as time itself.
As the warmth of Zero’s body pressed into his own, Kaname felt an unfamiliar calm wash over him. It wasn’t peace—no, peace was too clean, too forgiving. It was belonging—a knowing that echoed in the marrow of his bones, as if every moment of his endless life had been meant to lead him here.
He was exactly where he needed to be.
With Zero....
Feeding and nurturing Zero felt like second nature to him, like it was his responsibility, his duty as Zero's mate.
And as the truth dawned on him with a sudden and undeniable clarity, Kaname couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion wash over him, threatening to drown him in its intensity.
It was Zero, his mate.
His true mate...how can this be?
As the realization that Zero could indeed be his mate sank in, Kaname was flooded with a whirlwind of emotions.
Kaname’s breath hitched—shallow, sharp, almost human in its fragility. For one fleeting, blinding moment, he felt a surge of elation—raw, golden, and wild.
The emptiness that had echoed within him for ten thousand years trembled, as though the silence might finally be broken.
The soul he had searched for through lifetimes… it had always been there, in the cold fire of silver eyes, in the quiet defiance of a boy who hated him.
His mate.
The universe had not forsaken him after all.
But as swiftly as that joy bloomed, it withered—crushed beneath the weight of guilt, despair, and the unbearable sharpness of reality.
Because Zero hated him.
And Kaname—Kaname had orchestrated every reason for that hatred.
The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the depths of his own heart with a clarity he hadn't known before.
All the pain he had caused Zero, all the suffering he had inflicted upon him, came crashing down on him in a full blow.
It was he who had let Shizuka free, he had planned Zero's parents' demise—his mate's parents.
The knowledge of what he had done to Zero, the manipulation and sacrifice he had orchestrated in the name of protecting Yuki, filled him with a deep sense of shame and remorse.
He couldn't shake the fear that Zero would never forgive him, that the betrayal he had inflicted upon him would forever stand as a barrier between them.
If there’s a hell for purebloods, let mine be this—knowing my mate will never look at me with anything but hate.
His obsession to protect Yuki might have costed him his long waited mate.
This evening is really turning into a roller coaster of emotional turmoil for Kaname. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Zero ever learned the truth about Yuki's true identity, about the role he had played in orchestrating the demise of his parents.
He planned for Zero to hate purebloods so he won't hesitate to kill Rido and when it is done, when Yuki is wakened as pureblood Zero won't chase after Yuki so Kaname can take her away and live happily with the girl he thought was his mate.
It seems in reality.... all along Kaname has been digging his own grave.
Would Zero still protect Yuki if he knew the truth?
Would he ever be able to accept Kaname as his mate, knowing the depths of deception and manipulation that lay between them?
It wasn't just Kaname's mind that was reeling—it was his entire world, his very perception of reality. Everything he had believed, everything he had fought for, suddenly seemed false and hollow.
The certainty he had once felt was replaced by doubt and uncertainty, leaving him feeling adrift in a sea of confusion and self-doubt.
As Zero attempted to pull back, Kaname's grip on his hair tightened slightly, a silent plea for him to stay just a little longer. There was a desperate need within Kaname, an insatiable hunger for the closeness and intimacy that only Zero could provide.
He wanted to bask in Zero's presence, to feel his fangs deep in his soul, if only for a moment longer.
Despite the mounting loss of blood and the growing weakness in his limbs, Kaname found himself strangely content to let Zero drink, almost to the point of letting him drain him dry.
It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced before—a mixture of pleasure and pain, desire and longing, all intertwined in a delicate dance of intimacy and vulnerability.
The warmth of Zero’s body against his own was grounding—too grounding. Like something he’d searched for across time and now feared to lose.
Kaname knew that he couldn't hide the truth from Zero, couldn't continue to deceive him in the name of protecting those he cared for. And yet, the thought of revealing the truth filled him with a sense of dread and apprehension.
If Rido were to find out about Zero's true identity, about the bond that existed between him and Kaname, Zero's life would be in grave danger. Zero could be used against Kaname.
Kaname couldn't bear the thought of continuing to lie to Zero, to hide the truth behind a veil of deceit and manipulation.
But he would if it meant Both Zero and Yuki will be safe.
Zero was his mate but that didn't mean he should push Yuki ahead and left her fend for herself.
With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Kaname knew he had to make a choice.
He would continue to keep the truth hidden, to protect Zero at all costs.
He couldn't afford to put both Yuki and Zero in danger.
He needed to be sure at least one of them will be a bit safer. Perhaps he needs to reanalysis his moves.
He finally let Zero pull his fangs free, the blood lose was becoming to much to handle.
It struck Kaname as odd that Zero, a level D vampire, would show such restraint in feeding from a pureblood like him.
Typically, vampires of lower levels would be unable to resist the allure of a pureblood's blood, succumbing to their instincts and draining them dry.
But Zero's considerate behavior suggested a deeper connection between them, one that transcended the boundaries of their respective statuses.
Could it be that Zero was aware of their mate bond, even if only on a subconscious level?
As Zero finally pulled back, Kaname found himself unwilling to let him go, his finger still intertwined in Zero's hair, keeping him close.
He watched with rapt attention as Zero's eyes shifted from red to lilac, a mesmerizing display, Zero seem drunk and sluggish in Kaname's arms.
In that moment, Kaname couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that radiated from Zero's every pore.
He had always thought Zero was a beautiful creature, but now, in the midst of their shared intimacy, his beauty seemed to intensify, captivating Kaname's senses in a way that was both intoxicating and irresistible.
It was then that Kaname realized the depth of his feelings for Zero, the profound connection that bound them together.
This beautiful being before him was not just a mere acquaintance or pawn to be used—he was Kaname's chosen mate, handpicked by destiny to be his eternal companion.
As he gazed into Zero's eyes, Kaname knew with certainty that their bond was unbreakable, forged in the fires of fate and destined to endure for all eternity.
Kaname Kuran had spent centuries mastering control. He had perfected the art of composure, of calculation, of remaining untouchable by sentiment or folly. Every decision, every sacrifice, had been orchestrated with precision. His world had been built on certainty.
And yet—this.
Zero.
The hunter had shaken the very foundation of Kaname’s existence.
Kaname had always known that purebloods did not form attachments lightly. That when they did, when they found a mate, it was absolute. But this—this was not how he had envisioned it.
Not Zero.
Not a hunter whose very existence was shaped by a hatred for his kind.
Not a boy Kaname himself had condemned to suffer.
The irony was cruel, almost laughable, if not for the unbearable weight pressing down on him.
Kaname watched as Zero slumped slightly against him, the aftereffects of feeding dulling his movements, making him sluggish, almost pliant.
His silver hair brushed against Kaname’s collar, his breath warm against the bare skin of his throat.
His mate.
Kaname exhaled, something dangerously close to a shudder working its way through his body.
The thought was unbearable.
The thought was inevitable.
His fingers, still tangled in Zero’s hair, tightened—not in control, not in dominance, but in something unspoken.
A need he did not wish to name.
Why did it feel so right?
Zero.
His mate.
His mate.
A cruel twist of fate. A truth he could not deny.
And yet, even as the realization settled deep within him, there was no relief. Only despair.
Kaname had spent years shaping Zero’s suffering.
Not out of malice, but necessity. The game he had played had required Zero’s pain, Zero’s hatred, Zero’s transformation.
All of it—every wound, every scar, every ounce of his grief—Kaname had orchestrated it.
So that one day, Zero would be strong enough to kill Rido.
And now—now that very same boy was bound to him by fate itself.
Kaname’s stomach twisted. His vision blurred.
It had never been Yuki.
It had never been the girl he had watched over for so long, the one he had sheltered, protected, believed to be his salvation.
It had been Zero all along.
And he had been the architect of his own ruin.
Kaname had built the perfect plan—but in doing so, he had damned himself.
Zero could never forgive him.
Not if he knew the truth.
Not if he realized what Kaname had done.
Kaname had taken everything from him.
His family. His humanity. His peace.
How could he ever expect Zero to accept this? To accept him?
No. He wouldn’t.
Kaname swallowed, the bitter taste of dread coating his throat.
Zero would hate him forever.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
Kaname forced his fingers to loosen in Zero’s hair, resisting the primal instinct to keep him close.
The warmth of Zero’s body against his own felt… grounding.
It felt right.
And it was a lie.
Because Kaname had done nothing to deserve it.
He had condemned his own mate to agony.
He had destroyed him.
And Zero didn’t even know it.
The hunter stirred, sluggish from the intoxication of Kaname’s blood, his lilac eyes hazy, unfocused. His lips, still red from feeding, parted slightly, a slow breath escaping—soft, vulnerable, unaware of the truth that lay between them.
Kaname felt a sharp, agonizing ache deep in his chest.
He had done this.
He had shaped this fate.
And now?
Now, he was trapped in it.
He needed to pull away before he succumbed to the impossible, unbearable need to claim what was already his.
Because it did not matter that Zero was his mate.
It did not matter that his body craved this closeness, that his very soul had been starved for this connection for over ten thousand years.
It did not matter that Zero felt like home.
None of it mattered.
Because Zero could never know.
Because if he did—
Kaname clenched his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides.
If he did, he would never look at Kaname the same way again.
Because the moment Zero found out the truth, the moment he realized what Kaname had done—he would hate him.
And that was a loss Kaname knew he would not survive.
Kaname could never allow that to happen.
And so, he did the only thing he could.
He hardened himself.
Buried the truth beneath layers of duty, of responsibility, of self-imposed lies.
He had one purpose.
To protect Yuki.
To ensure Rido was destroyed.
And after that?
It did not matter.
Because even if Kaname yearned for Zero, even if his very soul called to him, even if the bond between them demanded acknowledgment—
He had already lost him.
Before Zero even knew he was his, Kaname had already ensured he could never be.
And the weight of that truth?
It was the heaviest burden he had ever carried.
Zero stirred, pulling away slightly, eyes clearing. His expression flickered with uncertainty, with something Kaname did not wish to name.
For a fleeting moment, Kaname allowed himself to hope.
Hope that maybe, just maybe, Zero could feel it too.
That maybe, even in ignorance, his soul already knew.
But it was only for a moment.
Because Kaname knew better.
Fate was merciless.
And he had already doomed them both.
Notes:
Please comment and let me know if I am doing okay writing this.
Chapter 4: Kiss and miss
Notes:
Comment to let me know if you guys are still enjoying the story.
Chapter Text
As he pulled back, Zero couldn't help but notice the way Kaname's fingers remained intertwined in his hair, keeping him close, as if unwilling to let him go.
It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that existed between them.
And as he met Kaname's gaze, he saw something in those deep crimson eyes—something that stirred a sense of recognition and understanding within him.
Kaname's firm grip on his hair kept him rooted in place, and despite any inclination to pull away, Zero found himself unable to resist.
His body was suffused with a sense of contentment and satiety, unlike anything he had experienced since the night Shizuka had bitten him.
The overwhelming fullness from the blood he had consumed almost to the point of being over feed left him feeling lethargic, as if all he wanted to do was laze around and revel in the sensation of satisfaction.
The way Kaname looked at him, with an intensity that seemed to pierce through to his very soul, filled Zero with a warmth and comfort he hadn't known in a long time.
It was as if Kaname found him utterly fascinating, and the feeling was reciprocated in kind.
There was a magnetic pull between them, drawing Zero closer to Kaname.
Zero succumbed to the magnetic pull between him and Kaname, leaning in closer without a second thought.
In that moment, all thoughts of hatred towards purebloods faded away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort emanating from Kaname.
The need to be close to him, to feel his presence enveloping him, consumed Zero completely.
He couldn't discern who initiated the movement—whether it was him leaning forward or Kaname drawing him closer—but in that fleeting instant, it didn't matter.
Their noses brushed against each other, a tantalizing tease of intimacy that sent a shiver down Zero's spine. But just as quickly as the moment began, Kaname seemed to snap out of the trance, pulling away hesitantly.
However, before Kaname could retreat any further, a soft whine escaped Zero's lips, the sound so desperate and needy that it froze Kaname in place.
The sight of Zero's flushed cheeks, his half-lidded violet eyes, filled with an unmistakable desire, was enough to ensnare Kaname once more.
He couldn't resist the allure of Zero's gaze, the unspoken invitation that hung between them like a palpable tension.
Zero’s lips were parted, breathless, his pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed with something dangerously close to need.
His lilac eyes—so often filled with fire, with defiance—were half-lidded, vulnerable, wanting.
Kaname forgot how to breathe.
He had never seen Zero like this.
Without hesitation, Kaname closed the distance between them, his hand finding its way to the nape of Zero's neck as he lowered his head to capture Zero's inviting pink lips.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, a culmination of the longing and desire that had been building between them for so long.
And as their lips met in a fervent kiss, Zero couldn't help but lose himself completely in the embrace of the one who fate decided was best for him.
As Kaname's senses became completely consumed by the feeling of Zero's mouth on his own, he couldn't help but revel in the delicious sensation of their lips moving against each other.
With each tentative brush, each hesitant touch, Kaname felt a surge of satisfaction knowing that Zero was responding to him, reciprocating his desire in kind and for the first time he was likely to have something to be first in Zero's life.
Almost shy and Zero responded like he was on auto mode purely on instinct.
A smirk played at the corners of Kaname's lips as he realized the effect he was having on Zero, the way the younger vampire's movements became more confident and assertive with each passing moment.
It only fueled Kaname's own desire, igniting a primal urge within him to possess and devour Zero completely.
Without hesitation, Kaname wrapped his arms around Zero, pulling him closer as their mouths continued to explore each other with increasing fervor.
Their lips moved in sync, hungry and desperate, as Kaname's tongue finally invaded Zero's mouth.
The sensation of Zero's warm, wet cavern against his own sent a shiver down Kaname's spine, a wave of pleasure washing over him as they lost themselves in each other's embrace.
In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the consequences, nor the dangers that loomed on the horizon.
It was just Kaname and Zero, consumed by a pure and unadulterated love that demanded to be acknowledged and embraced.
And as they surrendered to the passion that coursed between them, Kaname knew that he would stop at nothing to protect and cherish the bond they shared, no matter what obstacles lay in their path.
Kaname found himself lost in the intoxicating sensations of their kiss, swallowing every moan and cute little sound that escaped Zero's lips.
Even though it was just kissing, the heightened sensitivity made it feel like so much more.
As they continued, Kaname couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through him, fueled by the tantalizing scent of Zero's blood that seemed to call out to him.
When Zero's finger brushed against the side of his neck, Kaname's tingling fangs made themselves known, reminding him of the deep connection between mates.
The urge to taste Zero's blood, to connect with him on a deeper level, became overwhelming.
The knowledge of the sacredness of blood sharing between mates and of now knowing that he had finally found the one he waited for so long, Kaname found himself unable to resist any longer.
With a deep growl of satisfaction, Kaname moved from Zero's lips to his cheek, slowly trailing kisses down to his neck.
There, he left gentle butterfly kisses before finally allowing his fangs to scratch the delectable skin, drawing out drops of sweet blood.
As he lapped at the blood, savoring its unique taste, Kaname felt a sense of euphoria wash over him, the effect of Zero's blood like a potent drug he couldn't resist.
However, his moment of indulgence was interrupted when he felt Zero trembling beneath him.
Before he could react, he was pushed away with surprising strength, the realization dawning on him that he had lost quite a bit of blood and was weakened as a result.
Despite his weakened state, Kaname couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Zero's strength and determination, even in the face of such overwhelming desire.
Kaname's heart ached with the longing to claim Zero as his own, to revel in the bond they shared as mates.
After millennia of waiting, the prospect of having found his other half filled him with both joy and agony.
Every fiber of his being urged him to seize what was rightfully his, to bind himself to Zero in body and soul.
But he knew he couldn't force Zero into something he wasn't ready for, something he might never be ready for.
Their connection was fragile, hanging by a thread of desire and uncertainty. Kaname had to tread carefully, to respect Zero's wishes even as his own desires threatened to consume him.
With a heavy heart, Kaname let Zero go, knowing that their journey was far from over.
He could only hope that someday, Zero would come to accept their bond and embrace the love that had been destined for them since the beginning of time.
The moment Zero felt Kaname's fang touch his skin, it was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over him.
What the hell was happening?
What had Kuran done to him?
There was no way Zero Kiryu would let Kaname Kuran, a pureblood, do this to him or enjoy it.
"What the fuck, Kuran?" Zero spat, his eyes blazing with rage.
Kaname blinked a few times, as if waking from a trance. "Whatever is the matter?" he replied coolly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Is kissing me also for Yuki’s sake?” he spat, eyes sharp with betrayal. “Is everything some manipulation with you?” How dare Kaname taint him like this?
Zero staggered back, breath ragged, heart hammering like a wild drum in his chest.
His lips were still tingling.
The warmth of Kaname’s mouth, the lingering taste of his blood, the way their bodies had pressed together—it was all still there, like a phantom touch burned into his skin.
He should’ve been disgusted.
He should’ve punched him.
Kaname stood up from the ground and turned away from Zero, unable to bear the pure hate radiating from Zero's gaze.
"You tell me, Zero. You kissed me back. For whom did you do it?" Kaname replied.
Zero’s mouth opened—then shut. His throat tightened. His mind, always so sharp in battle, was sluggish, tangled in thoughts he couldn’t name.
“I… I would never…” he began, stammering. “You must have done something to me. Used your pureblood tricks. Manipulated me!”
Kaname’s lips twitched, and not kindly. “Ah. Of course. Always my fault. So tell me, what sort of trick was it, exactly, that made your hand cling to me like that? Or your mouth follow mine?”
Kaname pressed, testing the waters to see if somehow Zero was aware of their true connection as mates.
Zero’s heart thudded painfully. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
"I didn’t manipulate you," he said softly. "But if believing that helps you sleep at night, then hold onto it."
"Don’t you dare play that card," Zero spat. "You think I don’t know what purebloods are capable of? You can bend people’s will, make them feel things that aren’t real—"
"Is that what you think this is?" Kaname stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes flaring. "That I forced your lips to part? That I made you whimper for more?"
Zero flinched at the memory—the whimper, the need.
He hated that Kaname had noticed.
Hated more that he himself couldn’t deny it.
Zero only narrowed his eyes, getting up to face Kaname head-on.
"Ever touch me like that again, and I will put a bullet in your head," he threatened, his voice firm and unwavering.
He knew now, remembered, that he had wanted Kaname near, close to him. But why? It was a question that plagued his mind, one he couldn't answer.
"When you put it like that, Zero I might just have to do it again. I do enjoy a good challenge after all." Kaname teased, his smile widening.
Zero needed to get away, to clear his head and make sense of what had just happened.
"Stay away from me, Kuran," he commanded as he made his way to the window, leaving Kaname standing there with a broken look in his eyes.
As Zero retreated to a safe distance, his mind was in turmoil.
Why had he allowed himself to be kissed by the very kind that had taken his parents from him?
How could he betray their memory like this?
The thought of Kaname almost sinking his fangs into him sent shivers down his spine, yet a part of him, a part he despised, yearned for it.
But the scariest part wasn't the desire itself.
It was the realization that he wanted it.
That he craved Kaname's touch and the taste of his blood.
How could he let himself succumb to such temptation, knowing the pain and suffering purebloods had brought upon his family?
He needed to distance himself from Kaname, to escape the allure of his presence.
He couldn't afford to let himself feel what he felt today.
He couldn't allow himself to want Kaname near, to find peace in the company of that beast.
No, he needed to remain vigilant, to stay true to his duty as a hunter, and to honor the memory of his family.
Kaname
The silence after Zero’s departure was deafening.
Kaname didn’t move.
He stood where Zero had left him—lips still tingling, hand still half-reached toward the window, the ghost of warmth from Zero’s body fading too fast in the cold air.
The taste of his blood still lingered on Kaname’s tongue.
But that wasn’t what haunted him.
It was the sound of Zero’s voice.
The hatred in it.
The betrayal. The shame.
“Is kissing me also for Yuki’s sake?”
Those words had cut deeper than any weapon Rido had ever wielded.
Kaname’s fingers curled into a fist, his perfectly composed mask cracking at the edges.
His chest ached, not from physical pain, but from the echo of rejection reverberating through the bond that now refused to be ignored.
He finally found his mate.
He feed his mate.
He had kissed his mate.
His mate had kissed him back.
Moment Kaname had long awaited had come, And then his mate had walked away, burning with rage.
As though Kaname’s touch had poisoned him.
He had known it would be like this. He had planned for rejection. For fury. For disbelief.
But he hadn’t planned for this.
Not the way Zero had looked at him.
Not the moment when desire and confusion blurred into one on his flushed, perfect face.
Not the way Zero had whined when he tried to pull away.
Kaname pressed two fingers to his lips, eyes closed, breath shaky.
That sound—it had nearly broken him.
He had wanted to stay in that moment.
To freeze time.
To pull Zero into him and never let him go. To whisper all the truths he had kept buried for centuries.
To tell him everything.
But he couldn’t.
He hadn’t earned it.
He’d taken so much from Zero already.
He was a thief of futures.
And now he wanted to steal a heart that wasn’t his to claim.
Or rather heart that was his to claim but he had no right to want it, need it.
The hunger inside him wasn’t just for blood anymore. It was for warmth. For connection.
For the one person who could make this endless existence feel like it had a purpose.
His hand clutched his chest, not for dramatics, but because it hurt. Physically. Tangibly.
The bond was awakening now, and it wasn’t gentle.
It pulled at his soul like a thread being unraveled—burning through the layers of control, dignity, legacy. All the things he’d built.
Zero’s rejection stung deeper than any wound.
Because he hadn't been rejected as a vampire, or a pureblood.
He had been rejected as a mate.
Kaname tilted his head back, staring up at the ornate ceiling, forcing the tears burning in his eyes to retreat.
This was the hell he had built with his own hands.
He had sacrificed Zero's life for a carefully laid plan.
Made him a monster.
Used his pain.
And now? Now he dared to crave him?
Shameful.
Kaname pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, as if he could block out the visions his mind kept playing back—Zero's parted lips, the soft sound he made, the way his breath had hitched when Kaname kissed him.
He had never felt anything so sacred. So intimate.
And he had ruined it.
The next time they met, Zero wouldn’t look at him with heat or confusion.
He’d look at him with disgust.
And Kaname would deserve it.
Because no matter what fate had written in the stars, he had carved his own destiny out of blood and betrayal.
Zero might have been his salvation.
But Kaname had made himself his ruin.
.
.
Kaname remained seated, unmoving, as the minutes bled into hours.
The room had long since fallen into stillness, but inside him—inside the hollow cavern of his chest—a storm raged.
The ache wasn’t just emotional. It was physical. His body throbbed with the aftershock of the bond he’d dared to touch—and almost lost forever.
He pressed his palm over the spot on his neck where Zero's lips had been, the skin still tingling from the heat, from the bite, from the closeness.
It was maddening.
To feel such peace in a moment—and such agony in its aftermath.
The hunger that stirred in him now was not the familiar bloodlust he had mastered long ago.
This was different.
This was need.
A mate’s need.
A soul-level, bone-deep craving to be close. To connect. To complete the bond.
But Zero had fled from it.
Fled from him.
And Kaname didn’t blame him.
He’s not ready. He may never be.
The thought carved a hollow pit in his stomach.
The silence in the room grew heavier, more suffocating. Not even the usual flickering of candlelight or the rustle of the wind outside could break it.
Everything inside him was screaming.
Not just for blood.
Not for vengeance.
Not even for Yuki.
But for Zero.
Zero
The very next day, Zero wasted no time and headed to the Hunter's association seeking longer missions.
Initially met with reluctance due to concerns about the safety of others if he were to become level E.
His luck turned when Yagari happened to be there.
Yagari volunteered to accompany Zero, offering further training and support.With Yagari by his side, there were no more excuses for the association to deny Zero's request.
With a look of annoyance they approved. Finally, he got his wish—to be away from Kuran's presence for a while.
Perhaps in this time apart, he could quell the unwarranted feelings stirring within him for the self-centered pureblood.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a brilliant glow over the courtyard of the Hunter's Association as Yagari and Zero stood outside, their silhouettes etched against the brightness of the day.
With practiced ease, Yagari retrieved a cigarette, its tip igniting with the flick of a lighter, as wisps of smoke spiraled lazily into the air.
"So?" Yagari's voice cut through the tranquil atmosphere, his tone casual yet laden with an unspoken gravity.
Zero met his mentor's gaze, understanding the implicit question that hung between them like a heavy curtain.
"Nothing," he replied, his words a carefully constructed facade, concealing the truth that churned within his heart. "It's just getting too suffocating with Kaien and the vampires at the academy."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
The weight of responsibility and expectation bore down upon him, the constant presence of vampires and their intricate politics suffusing the air with tension.
But beneath the surface, beneath the veneer of indifference, lay a tumultuous sea of emotions that threatened to consume him whole.
What was he supposed to say?
How could he confess the forbidden desires that gnawed at his soul, the undeniable pull he felt towards a pureblood he should despise?
The kiss it wasn't just the pureblood's doing it was him too.
He wanted it too.
To admit such behaviour, such vulnerability would forever disgrace him as a hunter, bring shame to the Kiryu name.
So he chose silence, masking his inner turmoil with practiced composure. For to reveal the truth would be to invite condemnation, to expose himself to the merciless judgment of his mentor and peers.
He cannot let such thing repeat again. He needs to get his act straight. It's the blood that made him feel these things.
He needs to stop taking Kuran's cursed blood. Yes that should put an end to it.
Yagari regarded him with a knowing gaze, his eyes betraying a depth of understanding that belied his stoic exterior.
He could sense the turmoil that lurked beneath the surface, the unspoken truths that Zero struggled to conceal.
"Okay," Yagari murmured, his voice a solemn acknowledgment of the limits of their communication.
He understood that there were depths to Zero's turmoil that words could not reach, and he respected his student's right to privacy.
Yet, beneath his calm facade, he remained vigilant, attuned to the subtle shifts in Zero's demeanor that hinted at the truth he dared not speak.
Zero and Yagari left for their extended missions. The time away from Cross Academy and Kaname Kuran had been both a blessing and a curse for Zero.
While the physical distance allowed him to focus on his duties as a hunter, the memories and emotions tied to Kaname remained an ever-present torment.
In the high noon sun, Zero stood with Yagari in a remote forest clearing, their breaths visible in the cool air.
They had just finished a grueling training session, sweat glistening on their skin.
Yagari's sharp eyes missed nothing as he observed Zero's form, noticing the increased intensity and focus in his student's movements.
"You've improved," Yagari said, lighting another cigarette, the smoke curling upwards. "But you're still distracted."
Zero met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "I'm fine," he insisted, his voice lacking the conviction he intended.
He knew Yagari could see through his facade, but he hoped his mentor would let it slide.
Yagari sighed, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before speaking. "Look, kid, I don't know what's eating at you, but you need to sort it out. Out here, distractions can get you killed."
Zero clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
He knew Yagari was right, but the turmoil inside him was not so easily dismissed.
He had hoped that time and distance would help him quell the feelings that had taken root during his last encounter with Kaname, but they lingered, haunting him in his quiet moments.
"It’s complicated," Zero finally admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He immediately regretted it, fearing the questions it might provoke.
Yagari raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Complicated or not, you need to deal with it. You can't afford to be anything less than your best out here."
Zero nodded, appreciating Yagari's understanding but feeling the weight of his unspoken struggles.
The memory of Kaname's touch, the conflicting emotions it had stirred, was a constant shadow over his thoughts.
He had wanted to kiss Kaname back, had felt something deep and undeniable in that moment, but he couldn't allow himself to acknowledge it.
Not here, not now.
They continued their mission, hunting rogue vampires and honing their skills. The physical exertion was a welcome distraction, and Zero found some solace in the routine.
Yet, every night, as he lay beneath the stars, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Kaname.
One particularly cold evening, as they sat by the fire, Yagari broke the silence. "You're stronger than you think, Zero. Whatever's eating at you, you'll find a way through it."
Zero looked into the flames, their warmth doing little to dispel the chill in his heart. "I hope you're right," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire.
As the weeks turned into months, Zero pushed himself harder, determined to bury the unwanted feelings beneath layers of duty and resolve.
He refused to take any more of Kuran's blood, relying instead on his own willpower to keep the madness at bay.
The process was agonizing, but it was a necessary penance for allowing himself to be drawn into Kaname's orbit.
By the time they returned to the Hunter's Association, Zero felt more in control, though the scars of his internal battle remained.
He knew he couldn't avoid Kuran forever, but for now, he was focused on his mission, his duty as a hunter, and the fragile sense of peace he had managed to reclaim.
As they walked through the association's gates, Yagari clapped a hand on Zero's shoulder. "Good work out there. Keep that focus, and you'll be fine."
Zero nodded, offering a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Sensei ."
But deep down, he knew that his true test was yet to come. Facing Kuran again would be inevitable, and when that day arrived, Zero hoped he would be strong enough to confront the feelings that still simmered beneath the surface, ready to consume him if he let his guard down.
Two months has passed.
It was Midday when Zero returned to the town. Sunlight bathed the streets as he made his way, his first stop being the grocery store.
Determined to provide decent meals for himself doubtful of whatever Chairman Cross and Yuki will cook will be eatable. He gathered ingredients, his mind focused on the task.
As Zero navigated the town, the sights and sounds triggered memories long buried within him.
The laughter of children, the aroma of home-cooked meals—it all served as a painful reminder of what he had lost.
The family he once had, the warmth of their love, now existed only in fleeting memories.
Despite the ache in his heart, Zero pressed on, determined to fulfill his duties and provide for those still in his life.
The thought of sharing a meal with Chairman Cross and Yuki brought a semblance of comfort amidst the turmoil within him.
Perhaps in their company, he could find solace and temporary respite from the weight of his past.
As he walked, his steps were heavy with the burden of his memories, yet there was a flicker of hope in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, in the company of his surrogate family, he could begin to heal the wounds that still haunted him.
When Zero finally arrived at Chairman Cross's place, he was greeted with excitement by both Yuki and Kaien Cross. Yuki rushed to him, but before she could reach him, Chairman Cross intercepted with a tight hug, leaving Zero momentarily stunned.
As Chairman Cross began his dramatic spiel, Zero attempted to tune out his ramblings, but Kaien's loud voice made it impossible to ignore.
"Gone for a year! How could you do this to your poor papa, Zero-rin?" Kaien exclaimed, his words echoing off the walls.
Yuki, trying to clarify the situation, interjected, "It's only been two months, Chairman..." but her words were drowned out by Kaien's continued rant.
"...you're growing so fast, where did the little cute Zero-rin go? I didn't even give you permission to stay away for so long," Kaien babbled on, oblivious to Zero's growing frustration.
Just as Zero was about to push Kaien away, the older man finally relented.
"What am I gonna do? Your rebellious stage has come! I need Yagari-kun to come help me. My children don't listen to me anymore," Kaien lamented, much to the annoyance of both Yuki and Zero, who decided to ignore him.
"Zero, you got groceries. Are you cooking tonight?" Yuki asked eagerly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
She had missed Zero's cooking during his absence.
As Kaien continued his monologue about being ignored by his "children," both Yuki and Zero busied themselves with putting away the groceries.
Yuki eagerly bombarded Zero with questions about where he had been and how his mission had gone, her curiosity piqued by his two-month absence.
Zero answered her questions with measured responses, careful not to reveal too much. "The missions were tough, but Yagari Sensei was there to help. We managed to take down a few rogue vampires."
Yuki's eyes widened in admiration. "Wow, that sounds intense! I'm glad you're back safe. We were worried about you."
Zero offered her a small smile. "I'm glad to be back too. I missed...home."
The word felt foreign on his tongue, but it was the closest he could come to expressing the sense of belonging he felt in their presence.
Once the groceries were sorted, Yuki headed over to the Crossover to ensure that the Night Class students were attending their classes, while Zero excused himself to freshen up before starting dinner.
He had no intention of joining Yuki at the Crossover today; he simply wasn't ready to see certain someone. He felt too exhausted for it.
All he wanted was to relax and enjoy a meal with Cross and Yuki tonight, away from the complications of the outside world.
After showering and tending to his laundry and equipment, Zero finally made his way into the kitchen, feeling somewhat reluctant as he donned Kaien's pink apron.
He decided to prepare a comforting meal of roast chicken, caramelized vegetables, mashed potatoes, and gravy. For dessert, he opted for a simple cotton cake, aiming to create a cozy atmosphere for their dinner together.
As he moved around the kitchen, Zero found solace in the familiar routines of cooking, letting the motions ease his mind from the complexities of his thoughts and emotions.
Cooking was a form of therapy for him, a way to ground himself in the present moment and find peace amidst the chaos of his life.
"Mmm, everything smells delicious, Zero-rin." Kaien said as he walked into the kitchen. "Looks delicious too! Zero, why don't you go rest in the dining room, and I'll set the table?"
Zero agreed, everything was ready, just waiting for Yuki.
"It's good to have you back, Zero-rin. The place wasn't the same without you." Kaien said.
Zero nodded though his face was stoic, his heart warming at the sentiment. "It's good to be back."
He couldn't deny that he missed both Yuki and Cross while he was away. Cross took him in and gave him a place to stay.
Yuki had been there for him when Cross brought him in after he lost his family, wiping away the blood from his neck where Shizuka had bitten him. Held him when he wanted scratch the skin off where Shizuka bitten him.
She had been there for him at his worst.
Feed him her blood.
He had a lot to be grateful to her about. But despite all that, he knew he could never compete with the feelings she held for Kuran.
Yes, Kuran. Zero had thought about him often during his absence.
Kuran seemed to creep into Zero's thoughts incessantly. The memory of their kiss haunted him, the peace and comfort he had felt in Kuran's arms now dearly missed.
Zero hated himself for it.
There was no escaping Kuran, the skin where Kuran fangs touched would tingling every now and then.
As a reminder. As a nudge. That Kuran was still out there, and he will not be forgotten.
It wasn't an unpleasant feeling but like a reminder to complete what was left incomplete.
But then, at that moment, Yuuki entered the dining room with an unwelcome tall figure behind her.
It was the one person Zero didn't have the will to see today, the one who plagued his thoughts.
Yuuki's eyes pleaded with him silently, her hands wringing nervously, begging him not to be angry with her.
He felt rage burn in his neck and ears. How could Yuuki do this to him?
Just the day he wanted to be around people he considered family, she brought the very thing that was a constant reminder of why and how he lost his family in the first place.
He really didn't want that today.
""Zero, I'm sorry. I-" Yuuki's voice began, but before she could finish, the accursed pureblood behind her interjected with his haughty tone and infuriating demeanor.
"There is no need to be sorry, Yuuki," the pureblood spoke, his words dripping with arrogance.
"It is my decision to come uninvited. I was only hoping I could have dinner with Yuuki, we used to do this more often before."
His eyes met Zero's with a glint of ruby amidst the darkness. "It has been a few years, you don't invite me like you used to."
The audacity of the pureblood's words ignited a firestorm of anger within Zero. How dare he blame Zero for his own intrusion.
Zero's refused to look at that face any longer than he'd have too.
He went away to avoid this ....this alluring beast and now here he was in front of Zero on a day when he really didn't want to see that smug face.
'Bastard! He's blaming me for not being able to have dinner with his beloved Yuuki. So beloved that he would kiss me behind her back' Zero thought heately.
Purebloods were truly the lowest of all.
He's playing Yuuki or else why would Kuran kiss him and talk to him like that? No, he's just a monster.
Zero disconnected with the pureblood's gaze and trained his eyes on Yuuki, who looked like she's on the verge of crying.
He could tell how much she wanted to spend the night with the pureblood.
Even though it was Zero who has been away for 2 months, she wanted to spend time with Kuran.
He'll never be a priority in anyone's life, and that's a fact he needs to accept. He'll die alone and unloved and soon be forgotten.
"I apologize then for getting in the way," he gritted his teeth.
He knows Yuuki would always choose Kuran, but it still feels like shit to be second best to a self-absorbed pureblood.
He moved to leave when he heard Yuuki start talking "Zero please-" and a strong hand wrapped around his forearm
Chapter 5: Beneath the surface
Chapter Text
Kaname's unease grew into a relentless gnawing at his insides as days turned into weeks, with still no sign of Zero's return.
The knowledge of Zero being his mate intensified his anxiety, leaving him feeling vulnerable and powerless.
He couldn't shake the feeling that Zero was in danger, and the thought of his mate being hurt filled him with a primal urge to protect him at all costs.
Despite his attempts to glean information from Kaien, Kaname was met with frustrating "I dont quite know, I am a ex hunter. I don't get mission information while it is being carried out".
The man was unaware about Zero's whereabouts, leaving Kaname feeling more isolated and helpless than ever.
As the days stretched on, Kaname's restlessness transformed into annoyance and then simmering anger.
How could he fulfill his duty as Zero's mate if he couldn't even ensure his safety?
It was unacceptable for Zero to disappear on missions without his knowledge, leaving Kaname in a state of constant worry.
Determined to prevent such situations from occurring again, Kaname resolved to take action.
He needed a plan to keep track of Zero's movements, to ensure that he would never be left in the dark about his mate's whereabouts again.
The thought of losing Zero, of being unable to protect him, was unbearable to Kaname, and he refused to let it happen.
Kaname thought exhaustively about his situation, feeling the weight of being mated to an ex-human hunter who lacked deep understanding of vampire society, particularly on a spiritual and emotional level.
As a pureblood vampire, Kaname realized that his mate, Zero, only possessed basic knowledge about vampires, mainly focused on their physical vulnerabilities and how to eliminate them.
This knowledge gap between them was a source of concern for Kaname.
He doubted that the journey with Zero would ever be easy.
Zero's background and training as a hunter had shaped his perspective in a way that might prevent him from ever fully comprehending Kaname's need to be near his mate, beyond the physical desire, which Kaname struggled to control due to his pureblood nature.
However, Kaname recognized the importance of ensuring Zero's safety and being able to access him easily.
Despite the challenges ahead, Kaname knew that he must find a way to navigate their relationship and protect Zero, even if it meant facing internal conflicts within himself.
"Is everything okay with Kaname-sama?"
As Aido's concern for Kaname reverberated in the room, Takuma's gaze shifted towards the balcony where their leader stood, his hands clenched tightly in a display of inner turmoil.
"I don't like seeing him like this," Ruka spoke up, her worry evident in her voice. "Kaname-sama hasn't been eating well either," her words tinged with sadness as she remarked on Kaname's declining health.
Kain nodded in agreement and asked " Do you know why Kaname-sama is behaving this way Takuma?"
Takuma had a bit of a inkling that there was more to Kaname's unease than just a lack of appetite.
"I'm a afraid not" he denied. Ever since Kiryu went away, Kaname's demeanor had shifted, growing more restless and agitated with each passing day.
Takuma overhearing Kaname asking Seiren to locate Kiryu's whereabouts only confirmed Takuma's suspicions. Kaname's attachment to the Kiryu boy ran deeper than anyone had realized, and the extent of his concern was becoming increasingly apparent. Well at least to Takuma.
As they watched Kaname standing alone on the balcony, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if searching for something, But Takuma knew Kaname wasnt searching for something rather waiting for someone.
He couldn't help but wonder about the nature of Kaname's connection to Zero and what it meant for their future.
Days turned into weeks, and now months,Takuma couldn't help but feel sorry for his friend as he observed Kaname's declining state with Kaname even beginning to miss classes.
Frustration, anger, and worry were etched on his face, painting a picture of his inner turmoil.
It seems even Seiren couldn't locate Kiryu's whereabouts. The boy was a hunter he was sure to know how to hide his scent.
Takuma didn't want to speculate about Kaname's feelings for Kiryu, but he couldn't deny that Kiryu held a significant place in Kaname's heart.
Perhaps, he thought, when Kiryu returned, Kaname would return to his normal self.
His thoughts were interrupted when Senri dragged him to the town during human hours to get dozens of pocky sticks. The bright sun hurting his eyes, but Senri, ever the optimist, seemed unfazed. As they walked back towards the academy, they spotted Zero Kiryu entering a grocery store.
"Isn't that Kiryu? Where has he been?" Senri asked, his curiosity piqued. "Didn't even notice he was gone till now," he surmised.
Takuma's heart leaped with excitement. This was a news Kaname needed to hear. "Let's go, Senri. My eyes are burning," Takuma urged, eager to inform Kaname of Zero's return.
Kaname lay awake in his bed, the sun high in the sky outside. In the vampire world, this hour was usually reserved for sleep, yet here he was, wide awake, consumed by feelings of helplessness and frustration.
The fact that his long-awaited mate had disappeared without a trace for two whole months was eating him alive.
Kaname felt utterly lost, unable to shake off the gnawing worry and anxiety that plagued him every waking moment.
Before discovering Zero was his mate, Kaname used to be angry at Zero for not being there to protect Yuki. but he understood now it was subconsciously because he didn't like Zero being away from his raider.
With the realization of their bond, the absence of Zero felt a hundred times worse. Kaname's heart ached with longing and uncertainty, his mind tormented by the endless questions of where Zero could be and if he was safe.
Then again Zero never went away for this long.
Kaname's heart sank at the news from Seiren. Zero had embarked on a longer mission, one he had personally requested.
The revelation struck Kaname with a mix of emotions – relief that Zero was safe, yet frustration and hurt that Zero had chosen to leave without a trace because of Kaname.
Kaname's mind churned with frustration as he grappled with the stark reality of Zero's avoidance. The very idea that his own mate was actively running from him was a bitter pill to swallow, leaving him feeling utterly powerless.
Despite his status as a pureblood vampire, Kaname found himself at a loss for how to navigate this unprecedented situation.
How could he hope to win Zero's love and acceptance when Zero seemed determined to keep his distance?
The weight of his past sins against Zero only added to Kaname's despair, serving as a constant reminder of the barriers standing between them.
It seemed unlikely, if not impossible, that Zero would ever be able to forgive him, let alone embrace him as his true mate.
As Kaname grappled with these thoughts, a sense of resignation washed over him. Perhaps this was his just punishment for the mistakes he had made in the past.
Perhaps fate had decreed that he would never know the love and companionship he so desperately craved with Zero.
A knock on Kaname's door shattered the stillness of his room, jolting him out of his daze.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from his bed, his senses already attuned to the presence on the other side.
"Come in," he called out, his voice tinged with weariness.
Takuma entered cautiously, his eyes widening at the sight of Kaname pouring blood tablets into a wine glass.
Dark circles marred Kaname's usually composed features, a testament to the toll his restless nights had taken on him.
"Kaname! Are you okay?" Takuma's concern was evident in his voice as he approached, his eyes scanning Kaname's tired form.
Kaname merely grunted in response, sinking into an armchair with a weariness that seemed to weigh him down.
Unsure of how to broach the subject, Takuma ventured carefully, his words laced with concern.
"I know this isn't my place, but why does Kiryu mean that much to you?" His question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken curiosity.
Kaname's reaction was subtle but noticeable, a flicker of surprise passing over his features before he composed himself.
"You don't have to answer," Takuma added quickly, sensing Kaname's discomfort.
"But so far, it's only me who's noticed. If you don't take care of yourself, others will follow suit."
In the quiet of the room, Kaname's sigh echoed with resignation, his vulnerability laid bare by Takuma's gentle probing.
"Thank you, Takuma," he murmured, taking a sip from the glass. "I can't help it."
In those simple words lay a confession, a glimpse into the depths of Kaname's longing and the weight of his responsibilities.
For Takuma, it was a moment of understanding, a recognition of the burdens that Kaname carried, seen and unseen.
A silent acknowledgment of the complexities of love and longing.
Takuma watched Kaname carefully, sensing the weight of his words and the vulnerability hidden beneath his stoic facade.
It was a rare sight to see Kaname in such a state, stripped of his usual composure and bearing the burden of his emotions so plainly.
"I understand," Takuma replied softly, his expression sympathetic. "Sometimes, the heart wants what it wants, and we find ourselves powerless to resist its pull."
Kaname nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze distant as if lost in thought.
" I hope this will help you in some ways, Senri and I saw Kiryu in town today " Takuma stated helpfully.
Takuma's revelation pierced through the fog of Kaname's despair like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
The mere mention of Zero's name breathed new life into him, igniting a spark of hope in his heart.
"When?" Kaname's voice was urgent, his eyes ablaze with determination as he prepared to seek out his elusive mate.
"30 or so minutes ago, I believe he's coming back to the academy," Takuma replied, sensing Kaname's desperation.
Kaname absorbed the information, his mind already racing with possibilities.
He couldn't afford to let this chance slip away; he needed to see Zero, to reassure himself that his mate was safe and within reach.
"Are you certain?" Kaname's eagerness was palpable, his yearning for Zero driving him forward.
"It seemed like it. He was doing grocery shopping," Takuma confirmed, understanding the gravity of the situation.
Kaname gave a determined nod.
He needed to approach this with caution, to devise a plan that would allow him to see Zero without overwhelming him.
Kaname's longing for Zero was like a relentless fire burning within him, consuming his thoughts and driving him to seek out his mate at any cost.
The ache in his heart, the hunger for Zero's presence, was overwhelming, transcending mere physical desire.
He knew he needed to find a way to see Zero, to feel his mate's essence, to reassure himself that Zero was safe and within reach. especially in his current vulnerable state.
Kaname needed Zero's acceptance, his willingness to be with him, not just physically but emotionally as well.
The idea of using Yuki to see Zero stirred conflicting emotions within Kaname but it was the only way.
On one hand, he was desperate to be near Zero, to feel the connection between them, even if it meant resorting to unconventional means. But on the other hand, he couldn't shake the guilt and remorse at using Yuki as a pawn in his pursuit of Zero.
Part of him yearned to complete the mate bond, to solidify their connection and ensure that Zero would never be able to push him away.
But he knew that such a decision couldn't be made lightly, especially in the midst of the looming threat of Rido's return.
Kaname understood that he wanted more than just Zero's body; he wanted his heart as well.
He wanted Zero to choose him willingly, to embrace their bond with open arms.
And he was willing to wait, to bide his time until Zero was ready to accept him fully.
At the Cross House.
"It has been a few years, you don't invite me like you used to." He told Yuki yet he was truly speaking to Zero.
As Kaname spoke, he observed Zero's reaction closely, searching for any sign of acknowledgment or recognition.
He could sense the tension radiating from Zero, the conflict raging within him.
Zero's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and defiance. He was struggling to maintain his composure in the face of Kaname's taunts and manipulation.
But Kaname could also see a flicker of doubt in Zero's eyes, a hint of uncertainty beneath the surface bravado.
It was a small crack in Zero's armor, a chink in his defenses that Kaname could exploit.
"I apologize then for getting in the way," Zero gritted out through his teeth.
Zero wouldn't be pushing Kaname away so hard if there were no feelings that Zero as a hunter may think abnormal or a betrayal to his kind.
When Zero move to leave Kaname on instinct reached out.
Kaname's fingers closed around Zero's forearm, a rush of relief washed over him, soothing the ache of Zero's prolonged absence.
It was as if Zero's mere proximity had the power to mend the fractures in his weary soul, offering a glimpse of solace in the midst of chaos.
With each passing moment, Kaname could feel the tension in his body easing, the weariness that had plagued him for weeks slowly dissipating.
It was as though Zero's touch held the key to his healing, providing a sense of grounding and stability that Kaname had sorely missed.
With a calculated move, Kaname tightened his grip on Zero's forearm, exerting just enough pressure to convey strength and dominance without causing pain.
He felt a surge of satisfaction as he sensed Zero's resistance falter, his resolve weakening under Kaname's touch.
"I understand you are afraid of me, Zero," Kaname continued, his voice low and persuasive. "It's natural for a hunter and low-level vampire to fear purebloods."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications.
Kaname watched as Zero's expression flickered, a mixture of defiance and uncertainty playing across his features.
"If you are too scared... to be in my presence, I can leave," Kaname added, his tone deceptively casual.
But his eyes bore into Zero's, daring him to make a choice.
In that moment, Kaname knew he had Zero right where he wanted him. He had planted the seeds in Zero's mind. Zero wouldn’t leave, he would never prove Kaname’s words right.
With a subtle shift of his stance, Kaname leaned in closer to Zero, his presence looming over him like a shadow.
He could feel the tension crackling in the air between them, the unspoken challenge hanging between them like a silent dare.
And as their eyes met, Kaname saw a reflection of his own desire mirrored in Zero's gaze—an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond that tethered them together, stronger than any words could convey.
His hope of Zero being subconsciously aware of their bond raised again.
Kaname was willing to wait, to play the long game if necessary. He knew that Zero's resistance would crumble eventually, that his own desires would betray him in the end.
And when that moment came, Kaname would be there, ready to claim what was rightfully his.
"Oh Kaname-kun! When did you get here?" Kaien asked when he came into the room.
" Just a moment ago, apologies for the intrusion Chairman." Kaname stated.
" I wasn't aware Zero was back before asking Yuki to join you both tonight" With practiced ease, Kaname played his part, feigning innocence as he delivered his well-crafted lie.
His words flowed effortlessly, masking his true intentions behind a veneer of polite concern.
"Ah that's alright Kaname-kun you are welcomed anytime. You are part of our family too". As Kaien extended his invitation, Kaname acknowledged it with a gracious nod, though his focus remained fixed on Zero.
He could sense the conflict brewing within the hunter, the war between pride and vulnerability waging behind his steely exterior
Kaien's response, though genuine, betrayed a hint of concern for Zero in his gaze. He wanted to maintain harmony within the group and be polite to Kaname. Yet he also didn't want Zero to be uncomfortable.
Meanwhile, Yuki's discomfort was evident, her movements betraying her inner turmoil.
She shifted uneasily, her eyes darting between the two men, as if unsure of her place in the unfolding drama.
Her eyes filled with worry as she said "Zero, please. I want you to stay. I missed you."
Zero hesitated, the anger and hurt warring within him. He didn't want to give Kaname the satisfaction of seeing him suffer, but he also didn't want to hurt Yuki.
Kaname grappled with a wave of guilt as he observed the concern etched on the faces of those around him.
Manipulating their perceptions weighed heavily on his conscience, but in his desperation to be near Zero, he felt compelled to resort to such tactics.
In this moment, his need for Zero eclipsed all other considerations. He couldn't bear the thought of being separated from his mate any longer.
" Thank you Chairman but It's seems I have spooked Mr hunter here, I'll take my leave" Kaname says a little mockingly towards Zero.
It was Zero who stood at the center of the storm, his pride wounded by Kaname's subtle taunts.
"You can stay leech" The hunter's defiance was evident in his sharp retort, a verbal jab aimed squarely at Kaname "I kill vampires like you for breakfast" Zero stated heately.
Kaname's couldn't stop a smile from appearing he had expected nothing less from the proud hunter, and yet, there was a hint of satisfaction in seeing Zero rise to the challenge.
"Th..thank you, Zero ," Yuki piped in hastily " I really am sorry". She found herself unable to refuse Kaname, her gratitude for his past actions overwhelming any reservations she might have had.
She knew Zero would eventually forgive her; after all, he cared for her deeply, and he would understand that the heart can be selfish.
She resolved to make it up to him somehow.
Zero, instead of responding, simply went and took his seat at the dinner table, head bowed in silence.
They all moved to the dining table, and Kaien quickly took his place at the head, motioning for Yuki and Kaname to sit.
The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension as they began to eat, the only sounds being the clinking of cutlery and the occasional murmur of conversation.
Zero kept his focus on his plate, avoiding Kaname's gaze, but he could feel the pureblood's eyes on him,piercing, unrelenting, like a physical weight pressing against his skin.
Watching his every move.
It was infuriating, and yet, a part of him couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Kaname.
It irritated him, set his teeth on edge, but what irritated him more was how much it affected him.
Kaname Kuran was an enigma, an infuriating, smug, beautiful enigma that Zero wanted nothing to do with—and yet here they were.
Sitting at the same table.
In the same space.
Zero should have left.
He should have walked away.
Zero felt like he was suffocating.
The air in the room was too thick.
Kaname’s presence was too much.
He tried to eat, tried to focus on his plate, tried to ignore the weight of those crimson eyes watching him.
But he couldn’t.
He could still feel Kaname’s touch from earlier, his fingers wrapping around his wrist—not forceful, not painful, but commanding. Possessive.
It had sent a shiver down his spine.
And that was what scared him the most.
Zero didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Didn’t want to admit that something inside of him had responded to Kaname’s touch, that his body had recognized something in the pureblood that his mind refused to accept.
He was a hunter.
Kaname was a vampire.
This was unnatural.
So why did it feel like the most natural thing in the world?
Kaname
Kaname could feel Zero’s resentment, the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his hand gripped his fork with just a little too much force. And yet, beneath the hostility, there was something else.
Awareness.
Zero was aware of him. Too aware.
And Kaname knew that despite his words, despite the sharp edge in his tone, Zero hadn’t left.
That meant something.
Kaname hid a small smirk behind his wine glass, taking a slow sip, the rich liquid rolling over his tongue.
His mate was still here. That was all that mattered.
And he had no intention of letting him go.
Kaname sat back in his chair, utterly composed, exuding nothing but calm elegance.
But inside, his mind was already turning.
Zero was here now.
But he would try to leave again.
And Kaname could not allow that.
His mate was stubborn, strong-willed, resistant—but Kaname had always enjoyed a challenge.
It had been two months.
Two excruciating months without the sound of Zero’s voice, without the brush of his presence in the halls, without even the bitter satisfaction of an argument. The silence had been deafening.
The emptiness, unbearable.
Kaname had not slept. Not truly.
He’d lain awake night after night, day after day haunted by the memory of silver-lavender eyes clouded with anger and something he couldn’t name.
He had gone days without feeding, ignoring the blood tablets that sat untouched on his desk, the thirst a punishment he welcomed. A penance.
And now—
Now, across the room, he was here.
Zero.
Sitting beside Kaien Cross like he hadn’t just torn Kaname's world apart and left him gasping in the aftermath.
Kaname’s gaze slid over him with the precision of a man starved. Every line of Zero’s body, every soft fall of hair over his brow, the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his collarbone beneath that too-loose shirt—he drank it in like a man in the desert, parched and reverent.
He looked thinner. Paler.
But still stunning. Fierce and unknowable.
Still his.
Kaname’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. He tilted it just slightly, hiding the emotion that threatened to flicker across his face.
How could Zero look so composed while Kaname felt like he was falling apart just looking at him?
The light coming in from the windows struck Zero’s hair like a veil of starlight, and Kaname had the sudden, maddening urge to touch it—to run his fingers through those silver strands and feel their softness.
Sixty-three nights of silence where Kaname had once heard the familiar echo of Zero’s footsteps.
Sixty-three mornings where the scent of gunpowder and blood didn’t linger in the halls.
Sixty-three evenings where Kaname sat alone, haunted by the ghost of a boy who didn’t even know he was his.
Kaname couldn’t stop staring.
Sixty-three days passed since that night—since the kiss, the quiet, devastating realization that Zero wasn’t just another piece in the delicate game Kaname played.
He was the piece. The final, immutable truth.
His mate.
And now he was here again, across the table, with that familiar scowl on his face and that same unbearable beauty that made something ancient and primal stir inside Kaname’s chest.
Kaname had spent two months starving. Not for blood, but for him. For the sound of his voice. For the weight of his presence. For those lips—damn those lips.
Kaname’s eyes dropped to them again. He tried not to. Tried to focus on the wine, on Cross’s idle chatter, on anything else. But he couldn’t.
Not when Zero was sitting there with his mouth slightly parted, licking a crumb from the corner of his lips, completely unaware of the chaos he was causing.
Kaname felt his control falter. Briefly. Sharply.
He wanted to kiss him. Gods, he wanted it so badly his fingers curled against the arms of his chair, aching to reach across the table and pull him in.
He wanted to taste him again.
To remind Zero of what he had felt—to press their mouths together and let instinct speak where words would fail.
Kaname forced himself to breathe, to wait, to be patient. His face remained smooth, expression unreadable, even as every part of him throbbed with restraint.
He would have his kiss. He would have his mate.
Chapter 6: A Fervent Embrace
Chapter Text
The tension in the air was palpable, but Kaname couldn't help but feel a glimmer of happiness knowing he would be able to spend some time around Zero.
Kaname couldn't shake the pang of guilt at having manipulated the situation, he knew he had to seize whatever opportunity he could to be near Zero.
Kaname felt something akin to relief being this close to his mate.
For the first time in two months, his mate was close. Close enough to touch, close enough to observe. Close enough for Kaname to finally breathe again.
It was an odd sensation, this quiet, simmering happiness amidst the chaos of longing, guilt, and manipulation. A temporary reprieve.
He would take what he could.
Even if it meant using every method at his disposal.
As Kaien whispered to Zero, asking if he was sure about his decision, Zero's response was laced with defiance. "I'm not going to give the leech the satisfaction of thinking I'm scared of him," he seethed.
Kaname's acute hearing caught every word, and he couldn't help but marvel at Zero's unwavering strength. Despite the inherent power dynamics between them, Zero never cowered in Kaname's presence.
Kaname felt a mixture of admiration and longing as he realized the depth of their bond.
Even though Zero had never been afraid of him, Kaname now understood that it was their bond that gave Zero the strength to stand firm against him.
Interrupting the tension, Yuki inquired, "Kaname,How do you like Zero's cooking?"
Yuki’s question broke the silence, drawing Kaname’s attention back to the present.
How did he like Zero’s cooking?
Kaname hadn’t even touched the food yet.
Instead, he had been too occupied—watching.
Memorizing every breath, every twitch, every flicker of expression that crossed Zero’s face.
It had been two months since he had last seen him.
Two months since that night—the night Kaname had realized what Zero truly was to him.
And for a pureblood to be apart from their mate…
It was agony.
Kaname had heard stories, tales of purebloods who lost their minds when separated from their destined partners. He had always dismissed such things as weakness, as the desperate sentiments of lesser vampires who had succumbed to their instincts.
But now, he understood.
Because every day without Zero had been unbearable.
Because every second spent away from his mate had felt like torture.
Because this—just being in his presence again—was the first moment of relief Kaname had felt in months.
Slowly, with deliberate grace, Kaname lifted his fork and tried the food.
It was good. Not exceptional, not otherworldly—but good.
Satisfying.
And yet… knowing Zero had made it, knowing his hands had touched the ingredients, that this meal was something Zero had created—
It was enough.
It was more than enough.
A quiet, unfamiliar warmth spread through Kaname’s chest as he chewed thoughtfully.
For the first time in weeks, he was feeding on something that did not taste hollow.
Not because of the food itself.
But because it was Zero’s.
It satisfied a hunger far deeper than the one blood could quench.
Kaname swallowed slowly, his gaze never leaving Zero.
The room was filled with muted conversation, the clinking of cutlery against porcelain, the faint hum of the world moving on around them. And yet, for Kaname, the only sound that truly mattered was the quiet rhythm of Zero’s breathing.
Every moment spent in his presence was fleeting, slipping between Kaname’s fingers like grains of sand. Two months had been far too long.
He wanted to savor this.
To memorize every detail—the way Zero’s lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks, the slight furrow in his brow as he focused on his meal, the way his lips parted ever so slightly before taking a bite.
His mate.
So painfully unaware.
"It’s lovely. You're a great cook, Zero."
Kaname’s voice was smooth, deliberate, drawing Zero’s attention to him. He had meant every word—but more than that, he had wanted a response.
Wanted to hear his voice, even if it was just a scoff or a begrudging retort.
But Zero gave him nothing.
Not a word.
Only silence.
"Yes, Zero is quite the chef," Kaien interjected, unknowingly filling the void that Zero refused to bridge.
Zero kept eating.
Avoiding his gaze.
Moving too quickly, as if he were trying to escape.
And Kaname could not allow that.
He wouldn’t.
Not yet.
Then—a moment of opportunity.
Zero reached for the salt shaker, his fingers stretching across the table.
And Kaname moved, purposefully, his own hand reaching for the same object—not because he needed the salt, but because he needed Zero.
Even if it was just for a moment.
Their fingers brushed.
A fleeting touch.
But to Kaname, it was everything.
A surge of warmth shot through him, a sensation unlike anything he had ever known—a deep, thrumming resonance in his very core, as if his soul had been aching for this contact and now, finally, was being soothed.
Zero’s fingers were warm. Firmer than he expected, yet so terribly soft.
Kaname had held many hands over the course of his long existence—but never like this.
Never with the feeling that he had found something he had been searching for all his life.
Zero froze.
His breath hitched—so quietly that only Kaname, with his heightened senses, could hear it.
And for the briefest of moments, he did not pull away.
Kaname felt the shift, the hesitation, the silent war raging beneath Zero’s carefully guarded exterior.
A battle between instinct and denial.
Between what his heart craved and what his mind refused to accept.
Then, slowly, Zero’s gaze lifted.
Lilac met crimson.
And Kaname saw it—the truth hidden behind the defiance.
A flicker of something unspoken.
A silent plea.
A quiet, aching recognition.
He did not jerk away like Kaname had expected him to. He did not lash out, did not sneer, did not retreat as he usually would.
Instead, Zero lingered.
A hesitation.
A moment where the world narrowed down to just the two of them, their hands touching, their souls reaching for something neither of them dared name.
Kaname’s fingers flexed ever so slightly, not gripping, not forcing—just feeling.
Memorizing the warmth, the reality of it.
Zero was here.
And he wasn’t running.
For the first time, Kaname saw it—not just the fight, not just the resistance, but the longing.
Zero felt it too.
Even if he didn’t understand it, even if he refused to acknowledge it—the bond was there.
It had always been there.
And for the briefest of moments, Zero let it be.
But then, reality crept back in.
A soft shuffle from Yuki, the sound of Kaien shifting in his seat—and the moment shattered.
Zero pulled his hand away, abruptly, as if burned.
Kaname allowed it, though every fiber of his being cried out at the loss.
Still, he had felt it.
And so had Zero.
Even if he would never admit it.
Even if he would fight it with everything he had.
Kaname exhaled slowly, forcing himself to lean back, to school his expression into something composed, unreadable.
But deep inside, he was smiling.
Because the bond was there.
Because Zero’s body had not rejected him.
Because for a single, fleeting second—Zero had wanted to hold on.
And Kaname would not forget it.
Not now.
Not ever.
It was a silent reassurance that their bond, though tested, still remained—a fragile thread binding them together in ways neither of them could fully comprehend.
Zero’s fingers were gone, the warmth of his touch retreating as quickly as it had come. And yet, Kaname could still feel it.
A lingering sensation—like a whisper against his skin, like a memory etched into his bones.
He resisted the urge to flex his hand, to chase that fleeting contact. Instead, he kept his movements slow, measured, collected.
But inside, his world had shifted.
He had thought himself prepared for this dinner. Thought himself ready to face Zero’s anger, his resentment, his carefully constructed walls.
But he hadn’t been prepared for this.
For the way Zero had let their fingers linger.
For the way his gaze had softened—if only for a moment.
For the undeniable truth that Zero had felt something too.
Kaname brought his wine glass to his lips, taking a slow sip to ground himself. To steady the hunger rising inside him.
Not hunger for blood.
But for Zero.
For more moments like that.
For the day when Zero would stop pulling away.
Zero barely breathed.
His fingers still tingled with the ghost of Kaname’s touch, an imprint he couldn't shake no matter how hard he clenched his fists under the table.
It had been nothing.
Just an accident.
Just a mistake.
And yet—why did it feel like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest?
Why did his skin still burn where Kaname had touched him?
Why had he let it happen?
Zero forced his gaze down to his plate, his appetite suddenly gone.
Everything about this night was wrong.
He had spent months staying away—for a reason.
Kaname Kuran was dangerous.
Not just because he was a pureblood.
The dinner continued in a haze of tension and unspoken emotions.
Zero did not meet Kaname's eye again.
As the meal came to an end, Zero rose abruptly, excusing himself with a curt nod.
Kaname's heart sank as he watched Zero retreat, leaving behind an empty space that echoed with the absence of his presence.
"Zero are not going to have desert? " Kaien called out in vain.
Kaname watched Yuki's eyes follow Zero sadly, he couldn't help but empathize with her sense of loss.
They both shared a deep sadness at seeing Zero depart, albeit for different reasons.
For Kaname, the absence of Zero meant the loss of a comforting and healing presence. The bond between them, unacknowledged yet palpable, had provided Kaname with a sense of calm and security.
The mere proximity of Zero, with the familiar scent of his blood and the soothing sound of his breath, had the power to ease Kaname's worries and anxieties.
Now, with Zero retreating to his room, Kaname felt the absence of that connection keenly, once again engulfed by his unresolved emotions.
Meanwhile, Yuki's sadness stemmed from a longing for harmony and understanding between Zero and Kaname.
Despite her efforts to convey Kaname's kind nature to Zero, she felt a profound sadness that their relationship remained strained.
Yuki cherished both Kaname and Zero, and she yearned for a future where they could coexist peacefully.
She hoped that Zero could let go of his grudge and recognize Kaname's kindness and compassion, allowing them all to be together without conflict.
Kaname could tell she longed for something simpler.
For peace.
For understanding.
For a bridge between them that Zero refused to cross.
To recognize the kindness she saw in him.
To accept that Kaname wasn’t his enemy.
But Kaname knew better.
There was no coexistence between him and Zero.
No polite, distant friendship.
No comfortable companionship.
There was only a war—a battle Zero fought every day between what he believed and what he felt.
Between the hunter he was trained to be and the mate he was born to be.
Between hatred and longing.
And in the end…
One of them would win.
Yuki was acutely aware of Zero's struggle with her feelings for Kaname.
She understood his reluctance to accept Kaname as anything other than a threat, despite her unwavering love for the vampire who had saved her.
Kaname was her hero, the man she dreamed of spending her life with, and she wished for Zero to understand and accept that truth.
After a while Kaname murmured "I should go," rising from his seat.
He had overstayed his welcome.
And there was nothing left for him here.
Not if Zero wasn’t here.
He placed his napkin neatly on the table, offering Kaien a nod of gratitude before turning toward the door.
"Kaname-kun, you don’t have to leave so soon," Kaien said, his tone laced with genuine concern.
Kaname smiled politely, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
"Thank you, Chairman. But I think I’ve intruded enough for tonight."
His gaze flickered briefly toward Yuki—toward the worry in her eyes, the hope she clung to.
She wanted so badly for Zero to accept him.
Kaname wished it were that simple.
But Zero’s resistance wasn’t just stubbornness.
It was fear.
Because if Zero let himself see Kaname as anything other than an enemy…
Then everything he believed about himself would shatter.
Zero closed the door behind him, feeling suffocated by the weight of his conflicting emotions. He rushed to the window and threw it open, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind.
Being in Kuran's presence was overwhelming for Zero.
It felt like his body was betraying his own convictions.
He had resolved not to drink from Kuran again, yet the craving persisted, stronger than ever. And now, there was a new desire stirring within him—to offer his own blood to Kuran.
"Shit!" Zero cursed, collapsing onto the bed.
This strange turmoil had begun ever since he started drinking from Kuran. How could he crave the blood of the very beings responsible for his suffering?
He wanted to feel revulsion, disgust, and disdain around Kuran.
Yet, when their hands touched over the salt shaker, Zero felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. It was as if all tension had melted away, leaving behind an inexplicable sense of peace.
Despite his best efforts to resist, Zero couldn't deny the allure of Kuran's presence.
The memories of their encounters—the sensation of feeding from him, the intimacy of their kiss haunted him, pulling him back into a tangled web of desire and confusion.
Zero lay on the bed, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He couldn't tell how long he had been lying there, hoping for sleep to claim him, his body weary and his mind distracted.
Why did Yuki have to bring Kaname into tonight's dinner? Yuki could be such a pain at times.
One day, Zero wished to feel normal again, to feel human, to fill the void left by the loss of his family with the people he considered family now.
Yet, Yuki's actions tonight served as a stark reminder of why things weren't normal, why he wasn't normal, and why he had lost his family in the first place.
It was a painful realization that his own body seemed to be betraying the memory of his family and his lineage.
Kuran Kaname must truly enjoy making his life difficult, Zero mused bitterly.
The pureblood's presence seemed to exacerbate all of Zero's internal struggles, leaving him feeling more lost and conflicted than ever before.
Zero realized a little too late that he wasn't alone in his room. His eyes jerked open, and he swiftly reached for his gun.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the intruder crawling through the window until it was too late.
"No need for hostility, Zero," Kuran said calmly as he closed the window with his mind and moved closer to the bed.
"Get out, Kuran," Zero seethed, his hand trembling as he reached for the bloody rose. Despite his anger, he couldn't muster the strength to lift it towards Kuran. The fuck? He never had this problem before.
"I am disappointed, Zero," Kaname stated, his voice tinged with sadness. "You've left Yuki unprotected for two whole months."
Zero snorted in response, his expression defiant. "Like I give a damn," he replied bitterly. Kuran always using Yuki against him.
Kaname's attempt to mask his pain and hurt with anger didn't escape Zero's notice. He could see the turmoil in Kaname's eyes, a reflection of his own inner turmoil.
Kuran's behavior struck Zero as peculiar. He had been acting strangely all evening, his gaze fixed on Zero as if he wanted something from him.
"Aren't you a fucking pureblood? Why do you need me to protect Yuki? You yourself said I will soon fall to level E," Zero said with indifference, trying to push Kuran away.
But Kuran continued to advance, his presence bringing a comfort and peace that Zero craved but couldn't afford to accept, especially from someone like Kuran Kaname.
"As long as you keep having my blood, it will prolong your life," Kuran said.
Zero’s breath hitched as Kaname’s fingers moved with deliberate ease, undoing the buttons of his pristine uniform.
The pureblood’s movements were calm, unhurried, deliberate—like a predator toying with its prey, yet this wasn’t a hunt.
This was something far more dangerous.
Kaname’s deep crimson eyes softened, but Zero could still see the flickers of something else beneath them—something intense, something hungry, something that mirrored the turmoil burning inside himself.
"No, I refuse. I'd rather go early to my grave," Zero declared, forcing himself to turn away from Kuran's exposed neck that seemed to call out to him.
That insatiable hunger, the craving that had haunted him for weeks, woke like a beast inside him.
A beast that knew exactly where its sustenance lay.
Right there.
Standing before him.
Unbuttoned shirt. Bare throat. Offering.
Shit.
"I refuse to be your puppet, you pawn" Zero continued adamantly.
He didn't want to be part of whatever sick game Kuran was playing. Kuran's cursed blood had already made him do and enjoy things that he never even thought about before.
It seemed Zero's words weren't even being registered in Kaname's mind. There was a time when Kaname would have been angry at Zero for talking to him like this, but now he felt overwhelming sadness.
He had treated Zero like a puppet, his mate, his one and only. How could he not recognize his own mate? How could he cause him so much suffering?
Kaname could only hope he could make up for it little by little, and maybe Zero would one day forgive this stupid pureblood who didn't recognize his own mate.
"You need to feed, Zero," Kaname said as he kneeled on the bed. "Come, my blood is yours."
Zero's eyes widened in shock as he turned to face Kaname.
What did Kuran just say?
Kuran's behavior left Zero genuinely perplexed.
"What are you saying?" Zero asked, his confusion evident.
"Don't think too much, come, Zero. You haven't fed in so long," Kaname replied, evading the question.
This response only irritated Zero further.
"If I need blood to avoid turning into a Level E, I can get it from elsewhere," Zero asserted, turning away from Kaname once more. "It doesn't have to be yours Kuran."
Kaname felt a sharp pang in his gut at Zero's words. The thought of Zero drinking blood from anyone other than him unsettled him deeply.
It was his responsibility to feed and nurture Zero's vampire nature. The fact that Zero had already tasted Yuki's blood first instead of his own fueled his simmering anger.
His mate drinking from others is a thought he cannot allow.
Zero considering drinking from others once again must be a punishment for his past sins. or perhaps it is punishment for being mated to a hunter who might never fully understand their bond or the intricacies of vampire society?
Kaname's fingers instinctively found their way to the back of Zero's head, entwining themselves in his silver hair and pulling Zero closer to him.
"Listen well, Zero," Kaname's voice was firm, filled with unwavering conviction.
"From now on, the only blood that shall touch your lips, tongue, or go down your throat is mine. Do you hear me? Mine," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The intensity and possessiveness emanating from Kaname, coupled with their closeness, began to cloud Zero's mind, much like that night 2 months ago.
Kuran's aura surrounded him, pressing against every pore of his body. Normally, being this close to a pureblood should have frightened or repulsed him, but instead, Zero felt the opposite—he felt safe, like he belonged. It was as if a missing piece of him had finally fallen into place.
With each nod of agreement, Zero sought to please Kaname, to ease any ache or burden he might carry.
Seeing the faint smile curve Kaname's lips brought an unfamiliar warmth to Zero's heart, a happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. It seemed that lately, he only experienced these long-lost feelings in Kaname's presence—comfort, peace, satisfaction, and now, happiness.
Kaname's breath brushing against Zero's face. They were now even closer than before.
Guided by instinct and a growing hunger, Zero found himself moving closer to Kaname's neck.
He took a deep breath, the scent of Kaname's blood igniting a primal desire within him. There was something else there too, something he didn't quite want to acknowledge but couldn't deny—their mutual lust.
His body moved on its own accord, his tongue tracing the delicate skin of Kaname's neck in preparation of the bite that would follow.
Zero's carefully bite down on Kaname's soft neck which unleashed a flood of sensations.
The overpowering taste of power and richness in Kaname's blood elicited a moan from Zero's lips. He felt Kaname's hold on him tighten, pulling him closer as if close wasn't close enough.
Driven by an insatiable need for closeness, Zero bit down harder, allowing his fangs to sink even deeper. Kaname responded with a moan of his own, lost in the intensity of the moment.
Before either of them knew it, Kaname found his back pressed against the wall, with Zero straddling his lap. In that moment, Zero drank deeply, forgetting any inhibitions or concerns that should have held him back. All that mattered was the connection between them, the undeniable pull drawing them closer together.
A part of Zero wondered why he cared so much not to hurt Kaname. But the dominant part of him, in control now, wanted to treat Kaname like he was the lifeline, like there was no one else in this world that mattered.
Zero drank deeply, without hesitation.
Without guilt.
Without shame.
And Kaname let him.
Welcomed it. Encouraged it.
"Very good, Zero," Kaname had whispered, his voice like velvet, threading through Zero’s mind and wrapping around his senses.
That phrase had sent a shiver down Zero’s spine, had done something to him that he couldn't ’t understand.
He had wanted to please Kaname.
Had wanted to hear more of that praise.
And when Kaname’s arms tightened around him, when their bodies pressed together in a way that left no space between them, Zero had felt something dangerous.
Something more than hunger.
Something more than thirst.
It was acceptance.
Belonging.
As if he had found the place he was always supposed to be.
Here.
With Kaname.
"Zero?" Kaname whispered, his breath sending shivers down Zero's spine. "Zero, do you not feel it?" Kaname asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
"Isn't this just perfect?" Kaname continued, his fingers tracing the contours of Zero's hip bone through his clothes, igniting embers in Zero's core.
Reluctantly, Zero pulled away from the delicious taste of Kaname's neck, the urge to continue sucking overwhelming. Their eyes met, a reflection of their mutual desire.
Zero was lost.
The taste of Kaname still lingered on his tongue—rich, dark, intoxicating.
His breath came in shallow pants, his chest rising and falling against Kaname’s, his entire body thrumming with a need he didn’t understand.
But Kaname did. Kaname always did.
Kaname was fully aware, while Zero's awareness of their connection lingered in his subconscious.
Zero shifted to the opposite side of Kaname's neck, the untouched side, and nosed and licked the skin there gently, like a cat lapping up milk. He sucked without biting, eliciting moans and pleas from Kaname.
"Are you playing with your food, Zero?" Kaname chuckled, fondly rubbing Zero's head with one hand while the other caressed his hip.
Unable to resist the temptation, Zero bit down again, drinking from Kaname's neck with the desperation of a starving man deprived of water for too long.
His fingers threaded through Zero’s silken silver strands, rubbing soothing circles against his scalp, while his other hand traced slow, deliberate patterns over the curve of Zero’s hip.
Zero whined softly against his neck in response, an almost frustrated sound.
As if he wanted to protest—
But couldn’t.
Because he liked this.
Because he craved this.
Zero didn’t speak. He only drank deeper.
Faster. Harder. And Kaname let him.
For a while.
For as long as he could.
Because this was his mate.
And he would give him anything.
But then—the world tilted.
The edges of his vision blurred, a creeping dizziness settling in, and Kaname knew.
Zero wasn’t drinking out of hunger anymore.
No, this was something else.
Something primal.
Something carnal.
Kaname’s head lolled back against the wall, his lips parting as a deep, pleasure-laced exhale escaped him.
"Come now," he murmured, voice teasing, affectionate. "Are you planning to suck my very soul?"
His fingers tightened around Zero’s hip, guiding him closer, closer, until there was no space left between them.
Until Zero’s entire body was molded against his.
It didn't take long for Zero to instinctively understand when his mate wanted him to stop, a behavior Kaname couldn't help but treasure.
His tongue darted out to catch the last drops of blood against Kaname’s skin, and Kaname swore his entire body shivered.
Then, Zero lifted his head.
And Kaname’s breath caught.
That look—
The same clouded look from two months ago. Heavy-lidded. Lips parted, pupils blown wide with something far too raw to be just hunger.
This was not the gaze of a hunter looking at a vampire.
This was a mate looking at his other half.
And it was beautiful.
Now, if Kaname were a more generous pureblood, he probably wouldn't take advantage of the situation.
But he was a selfish vampire.
A very selfish pureblood vampire, and Zero was his.
His mate.
So how could he resist taking advantage of every second he could squeeze out?
Slowly, deliberately, Kaname leaned in.
He moved with calculated ease, giving Zero every opportunity to push him away.
To refuse.
To resist.
But Zero didn’t.
He leaned in too.
And Kaname couldn’t help but smile
Kaname leaned in again, rubbing his nose against Zero's cheek, testing the waters. Would Zero push him away?
Their noses brushed, warm breath mingling, hesitation hovering between them like the last fragile barrier before the inevitable.
And then, finally—
Kaname claimed his lips.
It was slow at first.
Soft. Testing.
A whisper of a kiss.
Much like two months ago, Zero didn't resist.
But Zero responded.
Eager. Desperate. Raw.
His hands fisted into Kaname’s half-unbuttoned shirt, pulling him in, as if there was a distance between them that only this could close.
Kaname let out a soft sound of approval, his hands sliding up Zero’s back, fingers pressing into him, memorizing the warmth, the shape, the feel of his mate surrendering to him.
And oh, how easily Zero surrendered.
How beautifully.
How completely.
Zero kissed like he fought—with everything he had.
There was no half-measure.
No hesitation.
Only raw, undeniable need.
Kaname groaned softly into Zero’s mouth as their lips parted, only to come together again.
Deeper.
Hotter.
A slow, sensuous claiming.
Kaname tilted his head, angling the kiss, deepening it, devouring Zero in a way he had craved for so long.
And Zero let him.
Welcomed it.
Welcomed him.
Kaname reveled in this eagerness, cherishing the opportunity to guide his beloved mate through the realms of passion and desire.
Zero was his to unwrap, layer by layer, like a precious gift waiting to be discovered.
With each tender caress and passionate kiss, Kaname delved deeper into Zero's essence, savoring the intimacy they shared.
Their lips found a rhythm, moving together in perfect harmony, syncing their desires and igniting a flame that burned with fervent intensity.
Their hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of each other's bodies, seeking solace and satisfaction in their shared embrace
Slowly, as if guided by an invisible force, Kaname maneuvered Zero from his lap and onto the bed, their kiss unbroken, their connection unyielding. With Kaname settling between his legs, Zero felt a rush of anticipation and longing, his heart racing with the promise of what was to come.
Kaname finally broke the kiss, his breath warm against Zero’s flushed skin.
“Zero,” he murmured, voice soft but edged with hunger, “may I drink from you? If not your neck… then somewhere else?”
His tone was uncertain—unusual for Kaname—but the thirst behind his eyes was unmistakable. It wasn’t just blood he craved. It was Zero.
Zero hesitated.
He should have said no. He should have pulled away. But instead, his wrist lifted of its own accord—a silent offer of trust. Of something deeper he couldn’t name.
Kaname’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, pressing a reverent kiss to Zero’s wrist. The warmth of his lips sent a shiver through Zero’s spine. And for a moment, everything else faded.
Zero’s thoughts blurred. All he could feel was the heat of Kaname’s mouth, the pulse of want between them, the strange comfort blooming inside him at the vampire’s closeness.
He hated this. Hated how his body betrayed him. Hated how… safe he felt in Kaname’s arms.
Just as Kaname opened his mouth, fangs brushing against the skin, a sharp knock shattered the spell.
“Zero? Can I come in, please?” Yuki’s voice rang out from the hallway, full of concern.
Zero jolted, breath catching. The trance cracked, and with it came panic.
What am I doing?
He pulled his wrist back, as if burned. “No,” he whispered, backing away. “Not again…”
Why did he keep succumbing to Kuran's allure?
The very thing he was trying to escape from for the past two months.
What was Kuran doing to him?
What was wrong with him?
Kuran was the enemy, a monster, yet Zero found himself drawn to him, offering his blood willingly.
"Zero, can I come in, please?" Yuki's voice sounded from the other side of the door.
Panic surged through Zero; he couldn't let Yuki see him like this.
With urgency, Zero tried to push Kuran away, but the vampire remained unmoved.
Kaname's expression flickered, pain crossing his features—but only for a moment. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“Get off,” Zero hissed urgently, shoving at Kaname’s chest. “She’ll see us.”
DespiteYuki's efforts, the door remained stubbornly shut.
As Zero glanced at Kuran, he realized the vampire was the one blocking the door.
“Kuran—”
“Behave,” Kaname said calmly, “or I’ll let her in.”
Then, without hesitation, his mouth was on Zero’s again—firm, possessive, silencing his protest with the taste of forbidden fire.
Zero struggled, but the moan that slipped from his throat as Kaname sucked gently on his bottom lip betrayed him. His body arched forward, traitorous and aching. He was drowning in it—in him.
This shouldn’t be happening.
He didn’t want this.
He did.
As Yuki's voice persisted from the other side of the door, Zero's heart raced with apprehension. He couldn't let her see him entangled with Kaname like this. It would crush her; she adored Kaname, she was in love with him.
With renewed determination, Zero pushed against Kaname's chest, trying to create distance between them. But Kaname's hold remained firm, his lips refusing to release Zero's.
“Kuran,” he gasped, voice breaking, “we have to stop. Yuki… she can’t see us like this.”
Kaname stilled. A flicker of amusement played in his eyes—infuriatingly calm—but slowly, reluctantly, he released Zero, allowing him space to breathe.
Zero took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
“Bastard,” he muttered, rubbing his wrist where Kaname had kissed him, trying to erase the memory, the heat, the craving it had awakened.
Kaname’s gaze darkened with something unreadable. And then, with deliberate softness, he leaned in again—nuzzling the side of Zero’s neck, inhaling deeply like a man trying to memorize a scent he’d never again be without.
“You’re beautiful when you’re flushed,” he murmured against Zero’s skin. “Your cheeks look… delicious enough to bite.”
Zero’s breath hitched. His hand shot up and shoved at Kaname’s chest again.
“Get out, you leech,” he hissed, voice shaking.
And then—Yuki’s voice shattered the tension like glass underfoot.
"I'm truly sorry, Zero. Please don't be mad," Yuki's voice came through the door, interrupting the tense atmosphere. "Kaname-kun asked to join for dinner. I couldn't say no."
Zero turned his face away, shame twisting in his gut.
Kaname froze, guilt washing over him like a cold tide. He hadn't meant for Yuki to be caught in the middle—not again. His selfish desire to be near Zero had blinded him. Had used her.
“Zero… Kaname-kun is important to me,” Yuki’s voice trembled, muffled by the door. “Just like you are important to me.”
Kaname’s chest ached.
“I don’t want to hurt him… and I don’t want to hurt you either. Can’t I—can’t I have you both?” she asked, her voice cracking.
A silence settled over the room like fog.
“Kaname-kun isn’t a bad person,” Yuki added quietly. “I know he isn’t.”
Kaname felt Zero’s body tense at her words.
“I’ll let you rest,” she said finally, softly. “Please talk to me tomorrow, okay?”
There was a pause.
“…I missed you, Zero.”
Kaname's heart sank at the sound of her words, realizing the pain he had caused her. His own happiness seemed to come at the expense of others, a heavy burden to bear.
He was happy when Zero was so willing in his arms; it seemed that after the first blood sharing, Zero would instinctively slip into a haze whenever Kaname was too close, subconsciously accepting Kaname as a mate. But when Zero snapped out of it, he reverted to hating Kaname.
When Zero woke after Yuki's knock interrupted them Kaname couldn't help but kiss Zero again, hoping to evoke some response in Zero's awakened state.
Hoping Zero would feel the bond.
As he pressed his lips against Zero's, he poured all his hopes and fears into the kiss, praying that somehow, someway, Zero would feel the connection between them.
Yet, with each passing moment, doubt gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to unravel the fragile threads that bound them together.
But then, a subtle shift in Zero's demeanor caught Kaname off guard. For a fleeting instant, he sensed a flicker of recognition, a glimmer that only lasted for a second before Zero started pushing him away.
Zero's voice pierced the heavy silence, breaking Kaname away from his thoughts.
"Stop using Yuki's name in whatever game you are playing," Zero spat with disdain. "I don't see how any of it is for her."
Kaname sighed wearily, his frustration palpable as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.
"It is partly for her," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret as he glanced down at Zero lying beneath him.
The sight of Zero, vulnerable yet defiant, stirred conflicting emotions within Kaname.
"You must not leave like this again," Kaname urged, his tone firm, yet tinged with desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of Zero slipping away from him once more, or being in any kind of danger.
Zero snorted dismissively, his defiance unwavering.
"Who are you to say what I should and shouldn't do?" he retorted, his gaze unwavering as it bore into Kaname's.
"I am saving you from your impending fall; you owe me," Kaname replied, his words weighted with a sense of duty and obligation.
He hated resorting to such tactics, but he knew it was necessary to convey the gravity of the situation.
As the tension between them simmered, Kaname could feel the weight of Zero's resistance pressing down on him. If Zero went away again, the bond would make Kaname lose his mind. He needed Zero near.
"I owe you nothing," Zero's defiant declaration echoed in Kaname's mind, a sharp reminder of their fractured relationship.
Kaname's jaw clenched, the accusation hitting him like a blow. "You are a monster, you have no right to dictate my actions" Zero's words cut deep, fueling Kaname's inner turmoil.
Zero's hatred for purebloods was palpable, and Kaname knew that revealing the truth about their bond would only deepen that animosity.
He sighed heavily, the weight of their tangled emotions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. How could he navigate through this maze of conflicting emotions without revealing too much?
Kaname's mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions, each one pulling him in a different direction. He yearned to bridge the gap between them, to make Zero understand the depth of his feelings, yet he knew that revealing too much could push Zero further away.
"You may see me as a monster, Zero, but I am also the one who saved you from falling to level-E" Kaname spoke softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "You may not understand it now, but there are forces at play that go beyond our control."
Zero's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "And what forces would those be?" he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
Kaname leaned down, resting his forehead against Zero's, his plea resonated with a sense of urgency.
"Stay near the academy for Yuki's sake at least," he urged, his voice filled with a mixture of desperation and concern. Yet, deep down, Kaname couldn't shake the feeling of guilt for manipulating Zero once again.
He knew he was being selfish, but he couldn't help it.
Reluctantly, Kaname moved away from Zero, the separation weighing heavy on his heart. With one final, lingering glance, he vanished into the shadows, leaving Zero alone with his tumultuous thoughts.
Left in the wake of Kaname's departure, Zero's mind buzzed with questions and uncertainties.
"What the heck is wrong with me?" Zero muttered to himself, frustration bubbling to the surface.
Why did he allow Kuran to get close to him every time? Why did he feel this inexplicable pull towards someone he was supposed to hate? why he couldn't resist the pull that made him want to be near Kuran.
And what forces was Kaname talking about? What kind of danger was Yuki in ?
After Kuran left, Zero found himself restless, unable to shake off the questions swirling in his mind. Why was Kuran involving him in whatever intricate game he seemed to be playing? While the blood served a practical purpose in preventing Zero from descending into Level E, the lingering kisses left him puzzled.
What was Kuran's true motive behind them?
Despite his inner turmoil, when Zero encountered Yuki in the morning, he made a conscious effort to mask his feelings. He couldn't bring himself to harbor any resentment toward her.
Yuki was his pillar of support, the light in his otherwise bleak existence. She had been there for him when he had no one else.
If Kuran had asked Yuki to join for dinner, Zero knew she wouldn't refuse. Just as Zero would do anything for Yuki, he understood that she held the same unwavering loyalty toward Kuran. Yuki saw Kuran as her savior, just as Zero saw her.
Observing the genuine happiness on Yuki's face as they conversed, Zero couldn't muster any hurt or jealousy over her inviting Kuran to dinner. Her joy was paramount to him, and he couldn't bear to tarnish it, even if it meant tolerating Kuran's presence.
Takuma sat comfortably in an armchair, his fingers loosely resting on the armrest as he regarded Kaname with an amused yet knowing expression.
"Takuma, why are you here?"
Kaname’s voice was even, but Takuma didn’t miss the subtle shift in his tone—a quiet satisfaction, a rare ease that had been absent for months.
Takuma smiled knowingly, his gaze flickering to the faint traces of blood on Kaname’s neck.
"I was waiting to see if you would come back safely after meeting Zero," he admitted. "I still can’t fully understand your affection for Kiryu."
Affection.
If only Takuma knew how deep it ran.
How all-consuming it was.
How undeniable.
Kaname made no effort to respond, merely stepping further into the room as he began unbuttoning his coat with practiced ease.
Kaname exhaled softly, a rare genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips—small, but undeniable.
"Don’t worry, Takuma. I’m okay. I can handle Zero."
There was a lightness to his voice that Takuma hadn’t heard in a long time.
Kaname looked… better.
Healthier.
And, dare Takuma say it—happier.
Takuma had watched Kaname for years—always composed, always controlled.
But in the past two months, ever since Zero had vanished, a darkness had settled over him.
The tension in his shoulders. The faraway look in his eyes. The restlessness, the sleepless nights, the growing agitation.
Kaname had become untouchable, lost in his own world of waiting, searching, craving something he refused to name.
But now…
Now, after one night with Zero—
He was himself again.
It was subtle, but Takuma could see it.
The way Kaname stood taller, the way his gaze was sharper, the way his presence filled the room with quiet confidence once more.
Takuma sighed.
Zero, you have no idea what you do to him, do you?
Takuma's keen gaze drifted to Kaname's neck, where the remnants of dried blood lingered, evidence of recent feeding.
The potent scent of pureblood hung in the air, unmistakable and dominant. It was clear to Takuma that Kaname had been feeding Zero.
Kaname's rare smile offered reassurance to Takuma, who couldn't help but feel relieved. It seemed that Zero's return was already lifting the gloom and tension that had been weighing heavily on Kaname.
After a moment's pause, Kaname continued, his tone resolute, "Takuma, arrange for a group to intercept Zero's letters from the Hunter Association. Additionally, assign others to handle all of Zero's missions."
He paused, his gaze firm as he added, "Zero mustn't find out." The determination in Kaname's voice left no room for argument. He was determined to protect Zero and keep him near at all costs, even if it meant orchestrating behind the scenes to ensure it.
Chapter 7: Push and pull
Chapter Text
Takuma's lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across features usually so carefully composed.
Intercept Zero’s letters.
Reassign his missions.
The thoughts tumbled in his mind as his gaze drifted again—unbidden, searching—to the side of Kaname’s neck.
Faint remnants of blood, dry and stubborn against pale skin, whispered a story Takuma had not been meant to hear.
A bond inked not with pen, but with fangs and surrender.
Zero had fed from him.
And not just once.
Takuma had long suspected that Kaname’s attachment to the hunter ran deeper than even Kaname himself dared confess aloud.
But this—this was something else entirely.
A different hunger altogether.
"Kaname," Takuma began, carefully, gently, as one might approach a creature on the edge of breaking, "are you sure about this?"
The silver moonlight cut across the room, illuminating Kaname where he stood, quiet and resolute. He turned, and his eyes—deep, ageless—met Takuma’s without a flicker of hesitation.
"Yes," he said simply.
The weight of it echoed in the hush between them.
Takuma sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a helpless smile touching his mouth.
Of course.
Kaname Kuran never acted without purpose.
And when he loved—truly loved—it was a fire that burned the air itself.
"You're interfering with his work," Takuma pointed out, though his heart already understood the truth.
"I'm protecting him," Kaname answered without delay.
The words cut sharp and bright, like a blade held too close to the skin.
Takuma’s gaze lowered, noting the slight flex of Kaname’s fingers, the rigid set of his jaw—small betrayals of the storm that simmered beneath the surface.
It wasn’t only protectiveness. It wasn’t even obsession. It was something far older. Far deeper.
Instinct.
Bond.
Fate.
Takuma saw it now with painful clarity:
This was Kaname surrendering, utterly and completely, to the one thing he could never command or control.
Zero.
Kaname Kuran, sovereign of blood and memory, was lost—and he was content to be lost.
Takuma's chest tightened.
He nodded once, solemn, feeling the enormity of the step they both now took.
"Understood, Kaname-sama," he said quietly. "I will make the necessary arrangements immediately."
He hesitated at the door, glancing back with a half-smile, half-sigh.
"But don't blame me if he finds out," Takuma added, the humor softening his words, "and tries to kill you."
A low, rare chuckle slipped from Kaname's lips, warmer than the night around them.
"He won’t," Kaname murmured, voice rich with certainty.
Not until it was too late.
Not until the bond that tied them had knotted so tightly that neither could undo it.
Takuma shook his head fondly, surrendering to the inevitable tide.
There was no use fighting a current older than either of them.
"You look better," he said instead, with genuine warmth.
Kaname arched a brow faintly, but said nothing.
"Happier, even," Takuma pressed on, a knowing lilt to his voice. "I suppose we have Zero to thank for that?"
There was no answer, not in words.
But the corner of Kaname’s mouth lifted—just enough. A fleeting, private smile meant for no one but himself.
The moonlight caught in his hair, painting it with threads of silver.
The proud, lonely king had laid down his crown.
Not for peace.
Not for power.
For love.
And somewhere, even in his deepest anger, Zero would feel it too—
that pull, that warmth, that impossible belonging that neither war nor hatred could sever.
Kaname was no longer waiting at the edges of life for Zero to come to him.
He had stepped forward.
Crossed the unseen line between yearning and fate.
And he would not—could not—go back.
Not now.
Not ever.
As Kaname watched Takuma leave to carry out his instructions, a sense of relief washed over him.
He knew he had to tread carefully, navigating the delicate balance between protecting Zero and maintaining the illusion of normalcy.
Alone in his thoughts, Kaname couldn't shake the weight of his responsibilities. His bond with Zero tethered him to a fate he couldn't escape, yet he was determined to shield Zero from the dangers lurking in their world.
As Kaname contemplated the dangers lurking in the shadows, the threats posed by Shizuka and Rido weighed heavily on his mind. Shizuka's vendetta against Zero remained a persistent menace, and Kaname doubted she was finished with her schemes.
Meanwhile, the mere thought of Rido discovering the mate bond sent a shiver down Kaname's spine. He knew that if Rido ever learned the truth, he would exploit it mercilessly, leaving Kaname even more vulnerable.
Kaname couldn't help but feel a bitter twist of irony at his luck.
The very Knight he had planned to utilize as a weapon against Rido turned out to be his mate. It was a cruel twist of fate, one that added a layer of complexity and danger to his already precarious situation. Now how the fuck is he supposed to kill Rido?
He had believed that by fueling Zero’s hatred for vampires, he was making him strong enough to stand by her side. That by sharpening his edges, by hardening him into a weapon, he was ensuring Yuki’s safety.
That everything he had done was for her. But it was all a lie.
Because Zero had never been meant for Yuki.
Because Zero had never been meant to be a knight or a protector.
Because Zero had always, always, been meant to be Kaname’s.
And he had broken him before ever realizing it. He had stolen every chance Zero had at a normal life.
Kaname was no stranger to fear.
He had lived for millennia, watched empires rise and crumble, seen the strongest beings fall to time, betrayal, and fate.
But this fear—
This gut-wrenching, soul-consuming terror. Was unlike anything he had ever known.
The mere thought of Rido or Shizuka laying a hand on Zero left him weak, a rare and unwelcome sensation. It gnawed at him, insidious and unrelenting, curling around his ribs like iron chains.
He had lived for centuries, had orchestrated plans with ruthless precision, had watched the world turn to dust beneath his feet without a flicker of emotion.
And yet, the mere thought of Zero being harmed reduced him to nothing.
That was the terrifying part about this bond.
It made him vulnerable.
For so long, he had thought Yuki was the one to protect—his one purpose, his one weakness.
But fate had rewritten the script. And now, Zero was his greatest weakness.
And his greatest strength.
Because nothing terrified him more than losing Zero.
And nothing made him feel more alive than when Zero was near.
Kaname leaned back against the velvet chair, exhaling slowly, weighing his options.
Kaname knew he had two options.
One, continue the charade. Keep Yuki safe, maintain the fragile balance he had created, and hide the truth from the world. If no one knew Zero was his mate, perhaps he would remain safe.
Or—
He could come clean.
Tell Zero everything.
The truth about his past.
The truth about the mate bond.
The truth about why he had been pushing him away, why he had orchestrated the demise of his parents, why he had done everything in his power to shape Zero into what he needed him to be.
But if he did that—
He would be laying his heart bare.
Exposing himself to rejection.
To hatred.
To the very real possibility that Zero would never forgive him.
And Kaname didn’t know if he could survive that.
Because Zero was everything now.
And losing him—truly losing him—would be the end of him.
Kaname exhaled slowly, his breath shaky, his fingers trembling as he pressed a hand against his chest.
This bond—this unbreakable, primal connection—was killing him.
The mate bond was supposed to be a gift.
A rare, once-in-a-lifetime connection meant to bring completion. Peace. Happiness.
And yet, for Kaname, it was nothing but torment.
Because he had ruined it before it had even begun.
He had shaped Zero into a weapon, not a mate.
Had made him hate purebloods.
Had given him every reason to despise the very person he was meant to love.
And Kaname would never forgive himself for it.
But even so—
Even if Zero never forgave him.
Even if he had to suffer alone.
Even if his soul ached for something it could never have—
Kaname would protect him.
No matter the cost.
Even if it meant sacrificing his own peace of mind.
Even if it meant never knowing the warmth of Zero’s acceptance.
Even if it meant burning in the agony of an unfulfilled mate bond for eternity.
Zero would live.
Zero would be safe.
And Kaname would bear the burden alone.
Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this:
Zero Kiryu was worth it.
Zero’s avoidance was a constant presence, a silent war waged in the halls of Cross Academy.
He refused to acknowledge Kaname’s existence.
No words. No looks. No interactions.
Just absence.
Just defiance.
And yet, despite Zero’s best efforts, Kaname knew.
He felt it every time Zero stiffened when he passed.
Felt it in the tension coiled in Zero’s muscles, in the sharp way his hands clenched into fists, in the way his heartbeat would pick up just slightly whenever Kaname spoke.
It was infuriating.
And adorable.
Kaname, ever patient, had tried to break the ice.
"How are you doing today, Zero?"
"Good evening, Zero."
"I trust you've been keeping up with your classes."
Each time, his words were met with absolute silence.
Zero would keep walking, as if Kaname were nothing but air.
At first, it irked Kaname’s pride.
No one ignored him.
No one had ever dared to treat him with such outright disregard.
But Zero was always different, always challenging him and Kaname allowed him. Perhaps deep down they both knew they were meant to be.
The Night Class students were outraged.
Aido and Ruka seethed, unable to comprehend why their noble pureblood tolerated such blatant disrespect.
"That hunter has no manners!" Aido had spat one night, watching Zero brush past Kaname in the corridor without a single glance.
"It's disgraceful," Ruka had agreed, her golden eyes narrowed in disgust.
Even the others, who usually remained neutral, couldn't fathom why Kaname bothered.
Why waste his time?
Why chase someone who so clearly despised him?
Only Takuma saw past the surface.
Only Takuma understood the subtle nuances behind Kaname’s persistence.
Because Kaname was not merely engaging Zero.
He was reaching for something.
And Takuma couldn’t ignore the evidence.
Zero’s scent lingered on Kaname some nights.
Kaname’s blood, precious and rare, had been given to Zero willingly.
And that could only mean one thing.
"Kaname, you’re in too deep," Takuma had warned him softly, one evening after class.
Kaname had merely smiled.
"I know."
Shiki had never been one for gossip.
He preferred silence, the soft flick of a magazine page, or the hush of wind through the open window. But tonight, even he couldn’t ignore the sharp voices echoing down the corridor.
“That hunter has no manners,” Aido hissed. “It’s disgraceful the way he treats Kaname-sama. Walking right past him like he’s some… common Level D.”
“I can’t believe Kaname-sama lets him get away with that,” Aido seethed, his voice tight with indignation.
“It’s humiliating,” Ruka added, arms crossed, golden eyes burning with restrained fury. “Zero Kiryu walks past him like he’s nothing. Like he’s not Kaname Kuran. A Pureblood.”
“Hunter or not, he should show respect,” Aido snapped. “If it were anyone else—”
Shiki tuned them out, their voices dissolving into the background hum as he turned a corner and found Takuma, leaning casually against the railing of the Night Dorm balcony, eyes cast up at the silver moon a book in hand.
“Hey,” Shiki said quietly, stepping beside him. “They’re going off about Kiryu again.”
Takuma didn’t even blink. “Aido and Ruka?”
Shiki gave a lazy nod. “They’re loud.”
Shiki exhaled, bored. “You’d think they’d get tired of saying the same thing over and over.”
Takuma, standing nearby with a book in hand, glanced up at his cousin. “They’re upset. Kaname-sama’s patience with Zero is… unconventional.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Shiki pushed away from the wall, eyes settling on Takuma. “Why does he bother? Zero clearly wants to be left alone.”
Takuma looked at him then, green eyes unusually thoughtful.
Shiki shrugged. “I mean… He doesn’t even look at Kaname-sama. So why does Kaname keep bothering him?”
Takuma’s smile was faint, unreadable. “Do you really think Kaname-sama does anything without a reason?”
Shiki raised an eyebrow. “So there is a reason.”
Takuma didn’t answer immediately. He turned a page in his book, pretending to read. The silence stretched.
Shiki narrowed his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”
Takuma chuckled under his breath. “I’m respecting someone’s privacy.”
“That someone being Kaname?” Shiki asked flatly.
Shiki tilted his head. “Is it some weird pureblood game? Punishment? Because it doesn’t look like that. He’s not angry. He just keeps… trying. Like he’s waiting for something.”
Takuma’s smile was faint—too faint to read. “You’re observant.”
“I’m bored,” Shiki replied flatly.
Another pause. Then, softly, Takuma said, “It’s not a game.”
Shiki narrowed his eyes. “Then what is it?”
Takuma’s gaze drifted back to the moonlight. “Let’s just say… sometimes what we want and what we need aren’t always the same.”
Shiki frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give,” Takuma said gently. “It’s not my secret to tell.”
Shiki frowned. “You’re being cryptic.”
“On purpose,” Takuma said with a knowing smile. “Kaname-sama’s choices are his to explain—not mine.”
Shiki’s eyes narrowed. “But you know.”
Takuma didn’t deny it. “I know enough to stay out of it.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the quiet hum of the wind outside the Academy.
“Whatever it is,” Shiki said finally, “it’s making Zero miserable.”
Takuma’s smile faded slightly, his gaze distant. “And Kaname, too.”
Shiki and Takuma hears Aido stomping, and they both let out a exhausted sigh.
“That arrogant hunter,” Aido snapped, voice echoing through the corridor. “No respect. No manners. How dare he ignore Kaname-sama like that? Someone needs to teach him a lesson—!”
“Aido,” Kain said with a sigh, walking lazily behind him. “Stop being dramatic.”
Aido whirled around, eyes ablaze. “I’m not being dramatic! I’m being loyal!”
“You’re being a baby,” Kain replied flatly.
Aido gaped at him. “I am not!”
Kain raised an eyebrow. “You’re pouting and yelling because Kaname-sama is talking to someone else. Again.”
“He’s talking to a hunter,” Aido hissed. “And not just any hunter—that one.”
Kain didn’t bother responding. Instead, he grabbed the back of Aido’s collar and started dragging him down the hallway like a grumpy cat being carried off for a nap.
“Hey—! What are you doing?! Kain, let go! I’m serious this time! I’ll go talk to Kyiru right now and—”
“You’re going to bed.”
“Kain!”
“You always talk like this when you’re tired.”
“I do not! I’m perfectly calm!”
“You’re literally yelling.”
“Because injustice is loud!”
Kain stopped outside their shared dorm room and pushed open the door with his foot. Still holding Aido by the back of his coat, he gently (but firmly) steered him inside.
Aido tried to dig his heels in. “Wait—Kain, I’m not finished! I have righteous fury to unleash—!”
“You have a pillow to unleash your face into,” Kain deadpanned, releasing Aido at last and flopping onto his own bed like a man who had been forced to chaperone a particularly dramatic toddler all night.
Aido stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, still fuming.
“Kyiru doesn't deserve Kaname-sama's attention,” he muttered.
Kain rolled onto his side and looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “Then trust Kaname-sama to handle it.”
Aido's mouth opened for another protest, but Kain cut him off.
“If he needed help,” he said, voice already starting to drift, “he’d ask.”
Silence.
Aido stood there for a beat longer, the fire in him flickering.
Then, reluctantly, he kicked off his shoes and flopped down on his bed, face buried in his pillow.
“…I still think Kyiru's rude,” he mumbled into the blanket.
“I know,” Kain murmured sleepily. “And I'm sure you're tantrums wont teach him to be respectful. .”
Aido sat up instantly, face burning. “I wasn’t having a tantrum!”
Kain, already half-asleep, just chuckled.
“You’re the worst,” Aido grumbled, pulling the covers over his head.
But he didn’t get up again.
Kaname couldn't help but feel disheartened by Zero's avoidance.
Zero wouldn't even meet his gaze, let alone engage in conversation. Observing how the Night Class reacted to Zero's behavior, Kaname began to wonder if it was best to maintain some distance.
Pushing too hard might only raise suspicions among the students. Moreover, Kaname was determined to keep the true nature of his bond with Zero a secret, especially from Rido.
The knowledge that Zero was his mate must not reach his enemy's ears.
With Zero avoiding him, Kaname did what he did best.
Adapted.
He stopped forcing interactions.
Stopped trying to pull Zero into conversation.
Instead, he returned to how things used to be.
He spoke with Yuki more.
Smiled at her.
Expressed gratitude for her efforts in maintaining order among the Day Class students.
And at first, Zero seemed unbothered.
Seemed content to continue pretending Kaname did not exist.
But then—
Kaname noticed it.
The subtle way Zero’s posture shifted whenever he and Yuki spoke.
The way his fists clenched at his sides.
The sharp, fleeting glances Zero threw in their direction before quickly looking away.
This subtle change seemed to elicit a reaction from Zero. Despite Kaname's attempts to engage him in conversation, Zero continued to ignore him, refusing to acknowledge his presence.
Yet, whenever Kaname approached Yuki, Zero's body language betrayed his true feelings. His fists clenched, his jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in a display of frustration and resentment.
The mere thought of Yuki and Kaname's affectionate interactions made Zero's blood boil.
Kaname's behavior was beyond confusing. One moment, he was showering Yuki with affection, and the next, he was treating Zero with unexpected kindness.
It was as if Kaname was toying with his emotions, pulling him in different directions with no regard for the turmoil it caused.
Finally, Kaname caught sight of Zero averting his gaze, his eyes reflecting a sea of emotions—confusion, rage, and sadness.
This reaction was different from Zero's previous demeanor whenever Kaname was near Yuki. At first, Kaname was puzzled by Zero's behavior, but then realization dawned on him.
His dear mate was jealous.
Zero, stubborn and prideful, probably wasn’t even aware of it himself.
Zero did not like Kaname being close to Yuki.
Zero hated seeing Kaname close to Yuki.
And not because of Yuki.
Because of Kaname.
Because somewhere deep inside, Zero did not want to share him.
The way his lilac eyes darkened, clouded with something Kaname immediately recognized.
Possessiveness.
It was small.
Subconscious.
But it was there.
Despite the complexity of the situation, Kaname couldn't help but find Zero's jealousy endearing. At least this proves there is hope for them still.
The night was still, the air thick with the quiet hum of crickets and the distant rustle of wind through the trees. Cross Academy was bathed in silver moonlight, its elegant, gothic architecture standing as a silent witness to the secrets buried within its walls.
Kaname moved through the darkness like a shadow, his steps measured, controlled, yet driven by an undeniable force—the pull of their bond.
He had told himself he would stay away.
Had promised himself he would give Zero space.
But distance was a cruel punishment.
It was unnatural.
It was agony.
He could feel it in his bones, in his very soul—the way being apart from Zero left a hollow ache in his chest, a raw and gaping wound that refused to close.
Mates weren’t meant to be apart.
They were meant to be together.
And so, despite his better judgment, despite the risk, despite the ever-looming threat of discovery, Kaname found himself once again standing at Zero’s bedside.
Watching.
Waiting.
Needing
He entered quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound as he approached Zero's sleeping form.
Gazing down at him, Kaname felt a surge of conflicting emotions – longing, guilt, and a fierce desire to protect.
How he wished things were different. This distance was killing him slowly.
He was in a way glad Zero wasn't a pureblood, if he were he would not have been able to handle the pain and desperation. Or perhaps if Zero was a pureblood there would have been no need to stay away, Zero would have accepted him with open arms.
Zero lay asleep, his silver hair spilling over his pillow in soft, tousled strands. His face, usually marred by tension, was relaxed in the quiet serenity of slumber.
Kaname's throat tightened.
How cruel fate was.
That this beautiful creature, this fierce and unbreakable soul, this man who should have belonged to no one but himself—was his.
His mate.
Brushing a stray strand of hair from Zero's face, Kaname's heart ached with the weight of their complicated bond. He knew that their relationship teetered on the edge of danger, but he couldn't bring himself to let go.
The bond he felt with Zero was undeniable, but the knowledge of his own culpability in Zero's suffering filled him with a deep sense of guilt and regret. How could he ever hope to claim Zero as his mate when he was the one responsible for so much of his pain?
The questions swirled in Kaname's mind, each one more tormenting than the last.
If Zero ever found out the truth about Kaname's role in his family's death, how would he react? What would he do? Would there be any possibility of forgiveness, or would Zero's hatred for him only deepen?
The thought of Zero's anger and betrayal was almost too much to bear, and Kaname couldn't shake the fear that he would lose his mate forever.
With a heavy sigh, Kaname leaned in dropping a sweet kiss to Zero's forehead and inhaled long deep breaths taking in Zero's scent to calm the ache he felt in his chest.
He lingered for a moment longer before turning to leave.
As he stepped out into the cool night air, he couldn't shake the feeling that their fates were irrevocably intertwined, destined to collide in ways neither of them could predict. But for now, all Kaname could do was watch, and wait, and hope for a future where they could be together without fear or restraint.
Zero gradually opened his eyes to the absence of Kaname's presence in the room, he couldn't shake the lingering sensation of warmth that had enveloped him moments ago.
He realized then that he had been deeply asleep when Kaname had first entered.The gentle caress of Kaname's fingers brushing his hair away from his face stirred Zero from his slumber. Upon waking he knew he wasn't in any danger.
Instead of the expected rush of fear or disgust, an unfamiliar sense of comfort and security washed over him.
It was as if some hidden part of him had been yearning for Kaname's presence, welcoming him with open arms.Conflicting emotions swirled within Zero's mind as he lay there, pretending to sleep torn between curiosity and caution.
A part of him longed to see what Kaname would do next, intrigued by the enigmatic pureblood's actions. Yet, another part of him hesitated, wary of losing control and succumbing to the inexplicable pull he felt towards Kaname.
Despite the previous two interaction they had in each other's company alone had been very intimate in nature, Zero couldn't reconcile the absence of revulsion and hatred towards purebloods in those moments.
Even though he was fully conscious of Kaname's actions, there was only a sense of solace and reassurance that surrounded him, leaving him both comforted and unsettled. Which he felt even now as Kuran's lips brush over his forehead.
He knew he shouldn't feel this way about Kuran, shouldn't find comfort in the presence of the pureblood who embodied everything he despised.
Yet, ever since that first taste of Kuran's blood, something within him had shifted, eroding the barriers that once shielded and alerted him of vampires presences. The sense of impending danger, the instinctive recognition of monsters lurking in the shadows, had been shattered by the allure of Kuran's blood.
In its wake, Zero found himself grappling with emotions he shouldn't be feeling—comfort, safety, and a disturbing sense of longing.
His heart clenched with resentment whenever he witnessed Kaname's sweet interactions with Yuki. It felt wrong, out of place, a cruel reminder of a reality that shouldn't exist. And yet, despite his best efforts to push Kaname away, to deny the growing turmoil within him, Zero couldn't escape the pull of whatever connected them.
Kaname's behavior only added to Zero's confusion. His words were sharp and harsh, filled with hidden meanings that eluded Zero's grasp. And yet, his actions spoke of a tenderness that defied explanation—a gentleness that seemed at odds with the darkness that lurked within the pureblood's soul.
Why had Kaname come to him while he slept?
Why had he kissed him, fed him his blood?
The answers eluded Zero, taunting him with their elusive nature, stirring a sense of unease that gnawed at his insides.
And then there were those words, haunting and enigmatic: "My blood is yours." What did they mean? What hidden truths lay beneath Kaname's cryptic words?
Why would a pureblood, a creature Zero had been taught to loathe and fear, show such tenderness towards him? And what did it mean when Kaname claimed that his blood belonged to Zero?
The answers remained elusive, slipping through Zero's grasp like grains of sand. He knew he needed to confront Kaname, to demand clarity and truth in a world clouded by deception. But the thought of facing the enigmatic pureblood filled him with a sense of trepidation, a fear of what he might uncover.
The laughter drifted through the open doorway like a cruel perfume.
Soft, easy.
Yuki’s voice twined around Kaname’s, playful and familiar in a way that made Zero’s teeth ache.
He should leave.
Should turn away, close his door, bury the sound beneath thick blankets and thicker anger.
But he didn’t.
He stood there, frozen, the weight of something sharp and sickly twisting inside his chest.
Watching.
Listening.
Kaname sat beside Yuki on the garden bench, his posture relaxed, his smile indulgent.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with that same tenderness he gave to delicate things, as if she might break beneath his fingers.
Zero clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.
Why did it bother him?
It didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter.
And yet—
That same hand.
That same mouth.
Only hours before, those lips had pressed against his own.
Zero swallowed hard, the phantom memory searing through him—the taste of blood, the warmth, the way Kaname’s hand had cradled his jaw like a secret no one else could know.
Not once, but twice now.
Each time after Kaname had fed him that cursed blood.
Each time after Kaname had claimed it was all for her.
For Yuki.
He said it with those beautiful, lying eyes.
That he was prolonging his life—for her sake.
That feeding Zero, sharing his blood, was an act of duty. Of necessity.
Then why?
Why kiss him like that?
Why touch him as if Zero was something he could not bear to lose?
Zero gritted his teeth, fury burning beneath his skin.
It made no sense.
It hurt.
And he hated himself for it.
He shoved the door closed with more force than necessary, retreating into his room where the shadows felt safer.
Where he didn’t have to see the way Kaname’s entire body softened when he looked at her.
Where he could pretend the bruising ache in his chest was just the aftereffect of drinking the blood of a creature that caused so much suffering to human kind.
Zero paced.
Restless.
Fractured.
Every time Kaname’s blood touched his tongue, it stole something from him.
A piece of resistance.
A sliver of rage.
Another thread of the tattered soul he had fought so hard to protect.
Kaname’s blood made him weak.
Kaname’s kisses made him forget.
Forget what he was.
Forget why he should hate him.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, pacing faster now, the taste of Kaname lingering like bittersweet poison on his tongue.
He couldn’t understand it.
Couldn’t forgive it.
Couldn’t escape it.
Because when Kaname kissed him—
Zero didn’t think about Yuki.
Didn’t think about vengeance or survival or pride.
He thought only of the way Kaname’s hands trembled ever so slightly.
Of the raw, desperate sound Kaname made when their mouths met.
Of the unbearable, infinite longing that bled from Kaname’s very skin.
If Kaname loved Yuki, why kiss him like a man starved for salvation?
If Kaname’s heart belonged to her, why taste Zero as if he was dying without him?
Zero slammed a fist against the wall, breathing hard, dizzy with betrayal and a grief he could not name.
He hated Kaname.
Hated how Kaname made him feel.
Like he mattered.
Like he was wanted.
Like he was loved.
Zero slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands.
He was losing himself.
Piece by poisoned piece.
And worst of all—
some part of him didn’t even want to stop it.
.
Kaname was aware of him the moment he entered the courtyard.
Even if he hadn’t looked, even if he hadn’t listened, the bond would have whispered Zero’s presence into his blood like a secret too vital to ignore.
Zero stood by the far railing, arms crossed tightly, head turned away.
Not watching.
Pretending not to watch.
Kaname’s lips curved faintly.
How stubborn he was.
How beautifully, achingly stubborn.
Yuki giggled at something he said, and Kaname, without thinking, reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
It was an old gesture.
An automatic kindness.
But this time, it was not Yuki’s reaction Kaname sought.
It was Zero’s.
He let his fingers linger just a fraction longer than necessary.
Let his voice dip softer, warmer.
Let the scene play out like a script he no longer believed in, but used nonetheless.
And then—
he shifted his gaze.
Not to Yuki.
To him.
Zero’s body had gone rigid.
Not a sound. Not a word.
But Kaname could feel the violent pulse beneath his skin.
Jealousy. Anger. Pain.
Raw and wild, barely hidden beneath the fragile armor Zero wore like second skin.
Kaname’s chest ached.
So it was true.
Zero felt it.
The bond—silent, slow, inevitable—was awakening.
Yet still, Zero refused to look at him.
Refused to give even an inch.
Kaname drew back his hand from Yuki’s hair, his mind no longer on her soft smile, no longer on the game he had a play.
It was always him.
Always Zero.
His mate. So perfect. So infuriatingly far.
Kaname’s hands curled loosely at his sides, mastering the urge to cross the distance between them.
To drag Zero to him and make him feel it.
The gravity between them.
The truth in their blood.
The inevitability of belonging.
But Zero wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
Kaname let out a slow breath, schooling his face into something serene.
If Zero needed to rage, then he would let him.
If Zero needed to hurt him, he would take it.
If Zero needed to deny what was between them, Kaname would bear it with open hands.
Because he would wait.
For as long as it took.
Because love wasn’t about control.
It wasn’t about hunger.
It was about the quiet, patient agony of seeing the one you were born for—and letting them come to you when they were ready.
Even if it meant waiting forever.
Kaname stepped back, giving Yuki a quiet smile, murmuring an excuse neither of them truly heard.
He didn’t look at Zero again.
But he felt him.
Every heartbeat.
Every trembling thread of longing stretched taut between them.
And he knew—
one day, Zero would feel it too.
One day, Zero would stop running.
And when he did—
Kaname would be waiting.
Next few days went by still No new missions had been assigned to Zero, despite his persistent requests for them. He paced back and forth in his room, his frustration growing with each passing moment.
The lack of activity only served to intensify his sense of restlessness, leaving him on edge and unsettled.The night class students' glares seemed to follow him wherever he went, their hostile stares weighing heavily on his mind.
Their animosity towards him had always been palpable, but lately, it had taken on a more sinister edge.
Kaname's unexpected change in demeanor only added to Zero's growing unease. Gone was the cold and aloof pureblood he had come to know; in his place was a version of Kaname that was almost...kind.
This sudden shift in behavior set off alarm bells in Zero's mind, leaving him questioning Kaname's motives and intentions.
Kaname's behavior was beyond confusing. One moment, he was showering Yuki with affection, and the next, he was treating Zero with unexpected kindness.
It was as if Kaname was toying with his emotions, pulling him in different directions with no regard for the turmoil it caused.
As he pondered over the recent changes in Kaname's behavior, Zero couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.
Zero's frustration reached its boiling point. If the Hunter's Association wasn't going to assign him any new missions, then he would take matters into his own hands. With a determined glare, he made up his mind: he would venture out and eliminate some level E vampires himself.
Despite the risks involved, Zero couldn't ignore the increasing numbers of level E vampires in the surrounding area. It was his duty to protect the innocent and ensure the safety of the academy. He refused to sit idly by while the threat grew unchecked.
He prepared his weapons and geared up for the mission ahead.
As Zero marched toward the gate of the academy, he couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't turned into a Level E yet.
Without any blood tablets or blood, he had lasted this long. Normally, humans would fall to Level E much sooner.
Stopping in his tracks just near the fountain at the academy entrance, Zero's gaze fell upon Kaname and Yuki.
They stood together, engaged in conversation, laughter echoing around them.
The sight of them together grated on Zero's nerves. He didn't like seeing Kaname so close to Yuki. It rubbed him the wrong way, igniting a fire of jealousy and resentment within him.
"Tsk," Zero muttered to himself.
He had more important things to focus on.
He couldn't waste his time on them.
There were vampires to kill, and he needed to keep himself occupied, lest he end up killing lovebirds instead of level E vampires.
Just as he was about to turn and walk away, his eyes met Kuran's.
"Zero?" Kuran called out, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
It also alerted Yuki of his presence. "Ah, Zero, are you going somewhere?" Yuki questioned after noticing the backpack.
Zero scowled.
He didn't want any drama from Yuki now.
He didn't know why, but he was really annoyed with Yuki right now, as if she was doing something that harmed him or taking something that belongs to him.
"Out," he replied shortly.
"But it's late, we're not allowed off-campus at this hour," Yuki said, getting closer to him.
"I'll handle it with Chairman Cross," Zero said, his tone final as he resumed walking.
He didn't want to be interrogated by Yuki, not now, not ever. He needed to focus on his mission, on what was important.
As he walked away, Zero couldn't shake the feeling of irritation that lingered from his encounter with Yuki and Kaname. It was as if something wasn't right, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. But he pushed the thought aside, determined to focus on the task at hand.
Zero hadn’t made it far before a firm hand caught his wrist, halting him in his tracks.
He spun sharply, eyes flashing, but Kaname’s grip was immovable, steady as stone.
"You’re going hunting," Kaname said, voice low and certain, his breath stirring the cool night air between them.
Zero’s heart lurched, slamming against his ribs.
It wasn’t fear, not exactly.
It was something darker, something hotter, something he didn’t dare name.
He hated how easily Kaname could do this to him—
make him feel cornered, breathless, seen.
"Don’t touch me, Kuran," Zero snapped, yanking at his trapped wrist, but Kaname’s fingers only tightened, the hold almost reverent in its firmness.
Not possessive.
Not cruel.
Protective.
Kaname’s eyes locked onto his, and in them, Zero saw a flicker—
not anger, not command.
But guilt.
Heavy, unspoken sorrow that clung to Kaname like a second skin.
The weight of it hit Kaname all at once.
All the choices he had made, each one etched in blood.
The countless threads he had pulled behind the scenes—
setting Shizuka loose, sacrificing the peace of innocent lives, condemning Zero to a half-life of grief and hunger—
all for the sake of Yuki’s survival.
And now, here Zero stood.
Not as an enemy.
Not even as a punishment.
But as his mate.
His true, fated bond.
Fate had a cruel sense of irony.
It dangled Zero in front of him, so close Kaname could taste him on the air—
and yet every step forward felt like a betrayal of everything he had ever done.
A wound he had no right to heal.
"Let go!" Zero growled, fighting the pull in his chest.
"No," Kaname said simply, the force of centuries of restraint laced into that single word.
"Students aren’t allowed outside at night. It’s dangerous."
"I am not a student," Zero spat, turning fully to face him now, his eyes molten silver in the moonlight.
"I’m a hunter. It's my job to eliminate the dangers you’re so worried about."
Kaname’s gaze softened infinitesimally, the way ancient stone might soften under endless rain.
"I won’t allow you to throw yourself into danger," he said.
"Not after everything Chairman Cross and I have built."
But it wasn’t the academy Kaname was protecting.
It was him.
Always him.
Zero’s jaw locked stubbornly, his body thrumming with defiance.
"I don’t need your protection, Kuran. I can take care of myself."
The words were like knives, meant to cut.
But Kaname didn’t even flinch.
His hand, still encircling Zero’s wrist, loosened just slightly, thumb brushing lightly against the pulse point there—a touch so subtle, so devastating, it nearly unraveled Zero where he stood.
"I know you can," Kaname murmured, voice low and sincere, stripped of all the old arrogance he used to wear like armor.
"But that doesn’t change what I feel. I cannot let you go out into the night alone."
Something shifted in the air between them.
The bond.
Invisible, trembling.
Zero felt it too, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.
That dangerous, stupid part of him that didn’t want to pull away.
He cursed under his breath and ripped his wrist free with a violent jerk.
"Fine," he bit out. "But don’t expect me to thank you."
Kaname’s lips quirked in the barest ghost of a smile.
"I wouldn’t dream of it," he said, his voice almost fond, almost broken.
They turned—two figures against the bleeding sky—and began walking toward the gates.
Not together.
Not quite.
But no longer apart, either.
Behind them, Yuki hesitated, concern flickering in her gaze.
"Kaname-kun—" she started.
Kaname turned back to her briefly, offering a soft, reassuring smile.
He ruffled her hair with a tenderness he no longer truly felt.
"Go back inside, Yuki," he said gently.
"Tell Chairman Cross not to worry. We'll be fine."
Yuki’s mouth pressed into a worried line, but she nodded obediently and retreated toward the main building, glancing back only once.
And then they were alone.
Just the two of them.
The night stretched wide and endless before them, thick with mist and hidden dangers.
Their footsteps echoed side by side, steady and reluctant.
The silence between them was sharp, vibrating with things neither dared to say.
Kaname risked a glance at Zero—
at the stubborn tilt of his jaw, the angry set of his mouth.
At the way the moonlight caught in his silver hair, turning him into something unearthly and painfully beautiful.
His mate.
The soul he had been waiting for across centuries of darkness.
And now—
so close he could reach out and brush his fingertips along the tense line of Zero’s shoulder—
yet still so heartbreakingly far.
Kaname exhaled slowly, letting the ancient ache settle deeper into his chest.
This was his punishment.
This was his penance.
To walk beside the one he had hurt beyond repair—
and love him without asking for anything in return.
He had manipulated the world for the sake of protecting Yuki.
He had built kingdoms and burned them to the ground.
He had waited thousands of years for a bond that should have been a gift.
And now, fate had bound him to the one person who could never forgive him.
Zero Kiryu.
His knight.
His mate.
His damnation.
And still, Kaname would follow him into the dark.
Even if Zero never turned back.
Even if he was hated for the rest of eternity.
Because love—true love—was not something Kaname Kuran had ever been given the luxury to choose.
It had chosen him.
And it had chosen Zero.
Chapter 8: Shadows
Chapter Text
The moon was beautiful tonight, its light casting a silver glow on Zero's hair, making it look like strands of silver in the darkness. It was truly a beautiful sight. One Kaname couldn't help but admire. His mate was absolutely stunning.
Kaname knew he wouldn't be able to stop Zero from going out on his self-appointed hunting mission. Well, he could, but that would require force, and he didn't want Zero to hate him any more than he already did. Besides, this was a good opportunity for Kaname to spend some time with his clueless mate.
"Do you have any idea where to find the Level E vampires?" Kaname asked.
Though Zero ignored him and his presence, as if Kaname wasn't even there. For a long time, Zero didn't answer his question. Then, suddenly, as the town came into sight, he said, "Mask your aura. I don't want you scaring them away."
Zero stopped for a bit and crouched down while closing his eyes, focusing. Kaname, however, focused on their surroundings. Everything was peaceful; there was no loud music or drunks causing problems, dogs were barking in the distance.
It was an eerie calm, the kind that often preceded danger. Kaname couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Kaname couldn't shake the urge to let his aura free, his instincts telling him to protect his unclaimed mate. He felt as if he was being watched, yet he couldn't sense anyone. Level E vampires would not be capable of this.
"I can sense a few not far from here," Zero said. "You better not slow me down, Kuran," he added, sounding condescending. Yet, Kaname couldn't help but find it cute.
He was so focused on the hidden presence that he forgot about the Level E vampires. If he said something out loud to Zero, he might alert whoever was hiding in the shadows. watchin, listening...and waiting.
"Zero, perhaps we can do this during the day. They will be weaker," Kaname suggested, trying to get Zero to safety without alerting whoever might be listening in.
But, not to Kaname's surprise, the stubborn hunter wouldn't budge.
"You can head back if you find fighting Level E during the night too hard," Zero spat while walking towards where he sensed the Level E, he needed to hunt and he wouldn'tlet Kuran get in the way. Who asked him to come definitely not Zero. Leaving Kaname no choice but to follow his stubborn, brick-headed mate.
The two moved quietly through the dark streets, every sound seemed magnified. Zero was like a shadow, his movements silent and efficient.
Kaname, equally matching his stealth, tried not to use too much of his pureblood abilities.
As they moved deeper into the night, the air grew thick with tension. Kaname felt Zero's agitation, his readiness to confront the danger lurking in the darkness.
Suddenly, Zero stopped, his hand instinctively going to his gun. Kaname held his breath, his senses on high alert. They were close. Very close.
In the shadows, the Level E vampires were waiting, their hunger palpable, their eyes glowing with feral hunger. Zero and Kaname were walking right into their trap.
Zero's senses were on high alert as he scanned the darkness, his grip tightening on his gun. Kaname watched him, his own senses sharpened, ready to react at a moment's notice.
Without warning, the Level E vampires lunged from the shadows, their movements swift and predatory. Zero reacted instantly, his gun drawn, firing precise shots.
Kaname moved swiftly as well, his movements a blur as he engaged the vampires in combat.
The battle was intense, the sound of gunfire echoing through the night. Kaname moved gracefully, his movements precise and deadly. Zero fought with a fierce determination, his eyes flashing with resolve.
But something was different about these Level E vampires. They were stronger and more coordinated, and they didn't seem to be attacking out of hunger. Well there was hunger for blood but not the I want to drink you dry kind of hunger but rather I want you dead kind.
While both he and Zero had sensed only a few in this location, the numbers of Level E vampires were increasing rapidly. But where were they coming from? How come they couldn't sense them before?
They managed to take down ten of them, but Kaname could hear more approaching. This was a trap.
"Zero, We have to retreat," Kaname shouted over the chaos of the battle.
Zero nodded in understanding, but it was too late. More Level E vampires emerged from the shadows, surrounding them on all sides. The situation had gone from bad to worse in an instant.
Surrounded by the encroaching horde of Level E vampires, Zero and Kaname stood back to back, bloody rose at the ready. The air crackled with tension as the vampires closed in, their determined eyes glinting in the darkness, lacking their usual look of crazed hunger.
It could only mean another pureblood was pulling the strings.
Kaname glanced at Zero, his expression serious. "Stay close to me," he instructed, his voice low but firm.
Zero nodded, his jaw clenched in determination. Despite the dire situation, he couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for Kaname.
There was something reassuring about having the pureblood by his side, something that made him feel like he could face anything.
As the vampires lunged forward, Kaname unleashed his aura, dark and menacing, stopping the Level E vampires in their tracks momentarily and challenging the pureblood hidden in the shadows to come forward. It wasn't Rido, so whoever it was, Kaname could take them on.
The Level E vampires lunged toward them once again, which didn't make sense. They should be fleeing after sensing a pureblood. Kaname grabbed Zero's hand, maneuvering and shielding him from the attacks.
It seemed the hidden pureblood wouldn't come out until Kaname was exhausted. Kaname took down another Level E, but as he turned, he saw one coming at Zero with sharp claws.
Without hesitation, Kaname positioned himself in front of Zero, taking the attack on himself.
"Kaname!" Zero cried out, his heart pounding with fear and worry.
He really didn't want Kaname hurt, no Zero felt vile raise up to his throat no he definitely didn't want to see Kaname in pain.
But Kaname remained steady, his aura burning bright as he fended off the Level E attackers.
"We need to escape, Zero," Kaname declared, finally understanding the gravity of the situation.
Zero nodded in agreement. "But how?" Zero asked.
Kaname swiftly dispatched the Level E vampires, blowing their heads off with his power, and turned to face Zero, pulling him close by the waist and pressing him against his chest.
"Hold tight," Kaname instructed.
Before Zero knew it, they were up in the air. Immediately, his arms wrapped around Kaname's neck tightly. Kaname wasn't flying; he was jumping from building to building, his pureblood strength allowing him to jump incredibly high.
As they soared through the night sky, Zero couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline and excitement.
Despite the danger they had faced, he felt strangely exhilarated being so close to Kaname, their hearts beating in sync as they moved through the darkness together.
Kaname's grip around Zero tightened as they leaped from one building to another. Zero could feel the power in Kaname's movements, each jump effortless and precise.
For a moment, he forgot about the danger they had just escaped, lost in the thrill of the moment.
Zero's heart pounded in his chest as he held onto Kaname, the wind rushing past them. He stole a glance at Kaname's face, illuminated by the moonlight. There was a fierceness in his eyes, a determination that sent shivers down Zero's spine.
As they landed gracefully on the rooftop of a nearby building, Zero realized just how close he was to Kaname. Their bodies were pressed together, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and Zero found himself unable to look away from Kaname's intense gaze.
"Are you okay?" Kaname's voice broke through the silence, concern evident in his tone.
Zero nodded, his heart still racing from the adrenaline.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, though he couldn't deny the way his pulse quickened at the proximity between them.
Kaname's hand gently brushed against Zero's cheek, a gesture so tender that it took Zero by surprise.He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.
"I told you to stay close to me," Kaname said softly, his thumb tracing a line along Zero's jawline.
"Yeah, sorry," Zero replied.
Kaname grunted painfully and wobbled a little. "Kaname! Are you okay?" Zero asked, panicked.
Kaname nodded and said, "Do you know any concealing spells to hide our scent in case we are being followed?"
Zero nodded and immediately went to work, without needing to be asked. He focused his energy, casting a powerful concealment spell around them, masking their presence from any potential threats.
Zero wove a complex web of magic around them, obscuring their presence and scent from prying eyes. The spell shimmered in the air, blending them seamlessly into the shadows.
"There," Zero said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "We should be safe for now."
Kaname nodded in approval, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Good job, Zero," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "You were really brave today."
Zero felt a swell of pride at Kaname's praise, his cheeks flushing slightly. Despite their differences, it felt good to know that he could rely on Kaname, and vice versa.
“You should rest,” Zero said, trying to sound firm but coming off breathless instead.
Kaname's gaze lingered on him. “I will. Just… stay close a little longer.”
“Why?” Zero asked, voice catching before he could hide the question’s vulnerability.
Kaname’s eyes darkened—not with hunger, but something deeper. Something old. Something aching.
“Because I feel calmer when you’re near.”
Zero’s breath hitched. He didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t understand why his chest felt so tight or why his throat burned with the weight of unspoken things.
He should move. He should push Kaname away like always.
Zero watched him quietly, pulse still uneven. “You never answer straight, you know.”
Kaname’s lips curved faintly. “And you ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to.”
As they stood there on the rooftop near a door which led to the staircase, Zero pointed out, "We should hide in there."
Kaname nodded weakly, moving toward the door. Zero went ahead of him and opened the door, concern clear in his eyes.
As they stepped into the staircase, the adrenaline of the battle slowly faded away. Zero couldn't shake the feeling that something big was happening, something that went beyond the usual dangers they faced as hunters.
"Kaname, do you think this was just a random attack?" Zero asked as he closed the door.
Kaname shook his head, his expression grave. "No, I don't think so. The Level E vampires were too coordinated, too organized. Someone was controlling them."
"Another pureblood?" Zero asked, his mind racing with possibilities.
Kaname nodded. "Most likely."
Zero clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. Purebloods again playing with innocent human lives. "Then let's find them and put an end to this."
Kaname groaned and held onto the railing of the staircase.
Gaining Zero's attention "You're hurt, let me see," Zero said urgently, concern clear in his lilac eyes.
Zero gently guided Kaname to sit on the stairs, his concern deepening as he examined Kaname's injuries.
"You took a hit for me," Zero muttered, his voice filled with guilt and gratitude.
Why would Kaname do that for him? A pureblood nonetheless.
Kaname waved him off weakly. "It's nothing," he said, though the pain etched on his face told a different story.
Of course Kaname would protect his mate, they are one and the same.
With careful hands, Zero began to inspect Kaname's wounds, his touch gentle yet firm. He couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness toward Kaname, a desire to keep him safe from harm.
"Shouldn't purebloods have super healing or something?" Zero asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
Kaname nodded weakly. "Yes, something isn't right. I can feel myself getting weaker, and the bleeding isn't stopping either," he replied, his voice strained.
Zero noticed that Kaname was still bleeding, but what surprised him was the lack of hunger he felt for Kaname's blood right now.
It was as if his instincts knew that Kaname needed care, not to be feed on.
"Something isn't right. The Level E vampires must have had some sort of poison on their nails," Kaname said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Zero nodded in agreement. "How do we stop the bleeding?"
Kaname didn't reply, his breathing becoming shallower with each passing moment.
Zero sighed, his heart pounding with fear. He opened his backpack and took out some supplies, doubting that they would help a pureblood, but knowing that it couldn't hurt to try.
All thoughts of hating pureblood far, far from his mind.
His heart pounding as he slowly undid Kaname's shirt to get better access to his wounds. Kaname chest was well built not too much muscle, just perfect creamy chest, Zero felt heqt raise to his cheeks.
As he worked, he couldn't help but notice how vulnerable Kaname looked, his usually strong and composed demeanor replaced by one of pain and weakness.
"We'll figure this out, Kaname," Zero said, his voice determined as he began to clean and bandage Kaname's wounds with practiced efficiency.
Zero worked quickly, his hands steady as he cleaned and bandaged Kaname's wounds. He tried to ignore the fear gnawing at his insides, focusing instead on the task at hand. He couldn't understand why Kaname was suddenly so important to him, but he couldn't bear to see Kaname suffer.
Right now, none of that mattered.
Right now, Kaname was hurting because of him.
Because he hadn’t listened.
Because he’d insisted on hunting when Kaname told him not to.
A low, furious guilt twisted in Zero’s chest.
"You stupid pureblood," he muttered under his breath, adjusting the bandage with hands that were almost too gentle for the words he said.
Kaname’s eyes flickered open, faintly amused despite the pain.
Zero scowled and looked away, refusing to meet those warm, ancient eyes that seemed to see too much.
Once he finished dressing the wound, Zero sat heavily beside Kaname, his body tense and alert in case the Level Es came back.
He refused to let his guard down.
Not again.
He heard Kaname shift slightly, and a moment later, felt the heavy weight of Kaname’s head falling against his shoulder.
Zero stiffened.
Every muscle in his body screamed at him to push Kaname away—
to remind him who he was, what he had done, how much Zero should hate him.
But he didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Instead, he sat there, his shoulder supporting Kaname’s weight, feeling the slow, fragile rise and fall of his breathing.
Feeling the strange, terrible ache grow in his chest—an ache that had nothing to do with anger, and everything to do with how much he suddenly needed Kaname to live.
Zero stared out at the dim stairwell, his thoughts a tangled mess.
Why?
Why did Kaname protect him like that?
Why did his heart clench when Kaname winced in pain?
Why was there a part of him—a deep, broken part—that whispered that Kaname was his to protect, too?
Zero squeezed his eyes shut against the confusion threatening to drown him.
Later.
He would figure it out later.
Right now, all he knew was this:
Kaname had taken a hit meant for him.
And Zero would keep him safe, no matter what it took.
He shifted slightly, adjusting Kaname’s head so he wouldn't slip, his touch rough but careful.
"I’ll keep watch," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything.
"You just... rest, pureblood."
Kaname didn’t answer.
But his hand, resting loosely between them, brushed against Zero’s thigh in silent gratitude.
And Zero didn’t pull away.
Two hours passed.
The stairwell was thick with shadows and silence, broken only by the shallow rasp of Kaname’s breathing.
The pureblood, once so composed, so infallible, now looked fragile — too pale, too still.
Every breath he drew seemed to cost him, carving lines of pain into his otherwise flawless face.
Zero’s chest tightened painfully at the sight.
He didn’t know when it had happened, when the hatred he clung to had begun to crack.
But seeing Kaname like this — broken, suffering — did something to him he couldn’t deny.
Kaname… don’t you dare die.
"Kaname, stay with me," Zero urged aloud, his voice hoarse, the words spilling from somewhere deep, somewhere terrified.
Reaching out without thinking, he touched Kaname’s cheek.
The pureblood’s skin was cool against his fingertips, too cool.
Kaname’s eyes fluttered open at the touch.
Despite everything, he smiled — weak, but real — and lifted a trembling hand to grasp Zero’s arm, clinging to him with surprising strength.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kaname rasped. “Not now… not after I’ve found you.” he reassured, his mates concern for his well-being pleased him greatly it proved that Zero cares for him, feels something other than hate.
Zero blinked. “What?”
Kaname only smiled again, breath hitching.
Zero swallowed hard. He’s delirious, he told himself. Rambling.
Hearing the fierce determination in that broken voice, something warm and helpless bloomed inside Zero.
Kaname refuses to die, not after just finding his mate. 10,000 years of longing and waiting. the effort of speaking seeming to drain him further.
Zero’s throat burned with urgency.They couldn't stay here.He couldn’t lose him.
Zero shifted quickly, looping Kaname’s arm around his shoulders and pulling him upright with firm care.
"We have to get you back to the Academy," Zero said, voice rough with worry. "You need real treatment."
Kaname gave a faint nod, his body slumping heavily against Zero for support.
Together they staggered toward the stairs — but even with Zero practically carrying him, Kaname’s strength kept failing.
They staggered together up a few steps, Kaname leaning heavily on him, barely conscious. His legs kept giving out, each stumble worse than the last.
“Damn it—Kaname!” Zero hissed, gritting his teeth.
This wasn’t working.
With a frustrated breath, he lowered Kaname back down, easing him gently onto the stone step.
There was no other choice.
"You need to feed," Zero said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"You lost too much blood. You’re not going to make it like this."
Kaname blinked slowly, dazed, trying to protest.
Zero didn’t wait.
He dropped to his knees in front of Kaname, yanked his own collar loose, and tilted his head to the side — offering his throat, bare and vulnerable.
Heart hammering.
"Come on," he said roughly, "drink."
Kaname stared at him — stunned, almost afraid — his crimson eyes darkening with hunger.
But he didn’t move.
Not yet.
Instead, his trembling hands rose slowly, brushing along Zero’s exposed collarbone, as if memorizing the shape of him.
As if asking permission even now.
Kaname stared, trembling.
The smell of Zero's blood—warm, potent, devastatingly his—coiled into his senses like smoke.
Every instinct he had roared at him to take, to mark, to bind this stubborn, infuriating, perfect mate to him irrevocably.
But still, he hesitated.
Because once he crossed this line, there would be no going back.
Blood between mates was not a small thing.
It was a promise written in the oldest language of their kind.
A claiming of soul and body alike.
"It’s okay," Zero whispered, his voice barely audible. "I trust you."
Kaname’s last shred of restraint shattered.
Kaname made a soft, broken sound low in his throat.
A growl of something ancient and desperate and starving — not just for blood, but for him.
Zero braced himself for the pain, for the brutal sting he remembered so vividly from the vampire that had turned him.
But Kaname didn’t rush.
Instead, Kaname leaned in slowly, unbearably slowly, lips brushing first — feather-light — across Zero’s throat.
Zero’s breath caught.
He felt Kaname’s mouth moving against his skin, kissing along the vulnerable line of his pulse.
Soft, reverent kisses.
As if worshipping, not feeding.
Kaname licked once, his tongue slow and deliberate, tracing the vein beneath Zero’s skin — and Zero gasped at the sensation, electric and dizzying.
Kaname kissed him there, tasting him without breaking the surface, branding him with soft, almost tender touches.
Each kiss was a vow, a silent claim, a prayer of longing.
Mine.
Heat pooled low in Zero’s stomach.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
It wasn’t supposed to feel... good.
Kaname kissed again, licked again, wet and hot, before finally — with a low, helpless growl — sinking his fangs in deep.
Zero cried out — sharp and instinctive — the pain white-hot and immediate.
But almost at once, it blurred into something else.
Pleasure.
A throbbing, overwhelming pleasure that made his knees go weak and his hands clutch desperately at Kaname’s shoulders.
Kaname’s hands slid around Zero’s waist, anchoring him, holding him in place as he drank — slow, deep pulls that made Zero tremble with every pulse of blood between them.
Mine.
The word thundered through Kaname’s mind, possessive and ancient.
My mate. My blood. My soul.
A rumble built in his chest.
No more waiting.
No more distance.
No more denial.
Zero squeezed his eyes shut, a shudder wracking his frame. His body burned—hot, flushed, starving—but not with fear. Not with pain. With something else entirely.
Something ancient.
Something Kaname
His blood sang with it, every heartbeat echoing the steady rhythm of Kaname’s pull. Each draw of Kaname’s fangs lit up his nerves, flooding his mind with heat and haze and—
Gods, it felt good.
It should have felt wrong. Unnatural. Violating.
But it didn’t.
It didn’t feel wrong.
It didn’t feel monstrous.
It felt right.
Like this was the most normal thing to do. Like he was supposed to feed Kaname.
It felt like Kaname’s mouth belonged there—buried in his neck, anchored to him like gravity, claiming what had always been his. And despite everything—despite every reason Zero had to resist—his body betrayed him.
His hands, once clenched in defiance, now clutched at Kaname’s shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
“Kaname…” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Kaname didn’t answer. His arms wound tighter around Zero’s waist, possessive, trembling with the effort of holding back. He was barely keeping control. Barely remembering that Zero didn’t know—didn’t understand the bond, the connection, the ancient magic that wove their fates together now.
But Zero felt it.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Zero really was expecting agonising pain not this feeling of comfort and belonging and embarrassingly enough pleasure?
He feels warm and his body buzzing with the need for something.
Kaname drank deeply but carefully, pulling strength into his own weakening body.
He savored the taste of Zero, felt it settle into his bones, his very marrow.
His mates blood.
His mate.
It was unlike anything he had ever known.
He wanted to bite deeper.
To mark Zero so thoroughly no one else would dare touch him.
To brand him for all eternity.
Kaname drank deeply, the taste of Zero’s blood flooding his mouth, thick and rich and intoxicating.
It wasn’t just feeding—
it was claiming.
With every pull of Zero’s blood, Kaname felt the bond between them stitching tighter, weaving invisible chains between their souls.
Blood bond, the ancient part of him whispered.
He was completing it.
Zero was becoming his.
Kaname’s mind spun dizzy with instinct and hunger, imagining the moment when they would complete the bond fully—
when he would not only claim Zero’s blood and soul,
but also his body.
When they would finally be joined in the most primal, irrevocable way—
mates, forever bound.
Zero’s blood was the sweetest thing Kaname had ever tasted—pure, wild, beautiful—and he drank until he could feel his strength stirring back to life.
Finally, reluctantly, Kaname forced himself to pull back.
He licked the puncture wounds slowly, thoroughly, ensuring they closed without leaving scars.
But he lingered longer than necessary, lapping tenderly at the fading traces of blood, unable to resist the exquisite taste of his mate.
Zero was trembling in his arms, his breathing ragged, his body vibrating with a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper, something unnamed.
Kaname lifted his gaze—meeting Zero’s wide, dazed lilac eyes.
So beautiful.
So confused.
"Thank you," Kaname whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion, with hunger, with love.
Zero blinked, his cheeks burning scarlet as he realized their position.
He was straddling Kaname, knees on either side of the pureblood’s hips, his hands still gripping Kaname’s shoulders like he couldn’t bear to let go.
The bond tethered them together now, pulsing between them like a living thing.
Zero pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the faint throb of the healing bite.
He should be angry.
He should be afraid.
Instead, all he felt was the echo of Kaname’s touch.
The ache of the bond now woven through his blood
Zero nodded and looked down, blushing .
His heart pounding in his chest and he knows his cheeks are probably red from embarrassment. Kaname's fingers lifted his chin, and their eyes met.
Zero found he was unable to look away, knowing what was coming next:
Slowly, Kaname leaned in, claiming Zero's lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. It felt so right, so natural. It was a moment of connection, a moment of vulnerability and Zero couldn't deny the urge.
Willingly, he opened his mouth for Kaname, deepening the kiss, lost in the sensation of their lips moving together.
Lost in the heat of the moment Kaname's kiss ignited a fire within Zero, a fire he hadn't known existed.
His heart raced as he wrapped his arms around Kaname, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss further.
Kaname's hands around his waist pulled their bodies together, and Zero found his legs wrapping tightly around Kaname's waist.
It was as if a dam had burst, releasing all the pent-up emotions and desires they had been suppressing for so long.
Desperate need to be more closer to each other.
Kaname stood up instinctively, carrying Zero effortlessly as their lips remained locked in a passionate embrace.
Their kiss was desperate, a silent confession of their longing for each other.
Kaname pressed Zero against the wall, the urgency of their desire evident in every touch and every caress.
Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other's embrace, the world around them fading into oblivion. But as their need for air became too much to ignore, they reltantly broke the kiss, their for forehead resting against each other as they tried to catch their breaths.
"I'm sorry'" Kaname whispered, his voice barely audible.
Was he apologising for bitting Zero who didn't know what he was signing up for or for taking everything Zero was giving him with open arms"I shouldn't have-"
Before he could finish, Zero silenced him with another kiss.
Words weren't necessary, not when their hearts beat as one. Warmth was spreading all of Zero from where Kaname's fangs had bitten and from where their lips were connected. They were bound together in a way neither of them fully understood, but both welcomed.
Kaname's hands eager to explore. Sliding under Zero's shirt. Feeling the soft and warm skin.
Zero seems to only feel this sense of belonging only when he is in Kaname's arms, and he wanted to savor it for as long as he could Here, in Kaname's arms, he felt at home, peaceful, and safe.
They remained there, holding each other, their hearts beating as one. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the two of them, together against the world. It was a moment of pure bliss and Zero wanted more.
slowly with great effort, Kaname stopped as he felt the poison in his body start affecting him once again. He didn't want to do anything he might regret later, especially after the intimacy they had just shared.
Zero was still high on the blood bond being established between them as mates. Before coming any further he wants to tell Zero the truth.
"Zero," he rasped, voice strained and heavy with restraint.
"We... we have to get back. I..."
He pressed a hand briefly to his forehead, grimacing.
"I need to treat the poison still in my blood," he said, though what he didn’t say was clear in his eyes:
I need to tell you what you are to me.
Before we go any further.
Zero, still dizzy from the blood bond sparking to life between them, blinked up at him, confused but obedient.
The new warmth threading through his veins made him slow, dazed—but his hunter instincts remained sharp enough to catch the urgency in Kaname's voice.
Realizing their compromising position, Zero’s face flushed deep red.
He immediately dropped his legs from around Kaname’s waist, stumbling slightly as he pushed Kaname back to help him stand.
His hands, though firm, trembled with worry.
They made their way down the stairs, Kaname leaning heavily against him, every step a silent vow from Zero:
I will protect you. Whatever it takes
As they navigated the darkness, Zero's mind was already racing with plans and strategies.
Whatever was coming their way, he would be ready. He would protect Kaname, no matter what.
As they made their way back to the academy, Zero couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his senses on high alert for any sign of danger.
"Zero, we are being watched," Kaname murmured, his voice weak but determined.
Zero nodded, his grip on Kaname tightening. "The pureblood?" he questioned.
"No, it's different from before," Kaname replied.
Zero couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. The night seemed darker, more foreboding than usual, and every shadow seemed to hold hidden dangers.
Relief was a physical thing, nearly knocking Zero off his feet.
They had made it.
Zero half-dragged, half-carried Kaname through the halls, heading straight for the Night Class infirmary—a private facility built to handle injuries that normal human medicine could not.
A vampire nurse rushed over, her eyes widening in alarm as she took in Kaname's condition. "What happened?" she asked, her voice urgent.
Zero laid Kaname down on the nearest bed with a care that surprised even himself.
"Level E attack," he said shortly. "Poisoned claws. He's losing strength fast."
Zero quickly explained the situation, his words rushed and filled with concern. The nurse nodded, her expression grave as she began to examine Kaname.
"We need to neutralize the poison immediately," she said, her voice brisk as she prepared a syringe with an antidote.
Zero hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving Kaname as the nurse administered the antidote.
He felt powerless, his chest tight with worry. He had never seen Kaname like this; Kaname always gave out an aura of power and authority.
It was unbearable to see him like this.
The antidote began to take effect almost immediately. It seemed the night class infirmary was better equipped than the day classes. Kaname's breathing eased, and some color returned to his cheeks.
Zero let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion.
The nurse turned to Zero, her expression softening. "He'll be okay now," she reassured him, her voice gentle.
Zero nodded, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Kaname’s eyes fluttered open, and when they locked onto Zero, they softened.
A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—
so private, so filled with unspoken emotion, it made Zero’s heart stutter painfully in his chest.
Zero swallowed hard and stepped closer, intent on staying by Kaname’s side.
But the moment was shattered when the infirmary doors burst open.
Hurried footsteps echoed against the marble floors.
Night Class students poured in, their faces tense with worry—
and suspicion.
Aido Hanabusa's eyes landed immediately on Kaname—then snapped to Zero.
His face twisted with fury.
"What did you do to Kaname-sama?" Aido hissed, his voice venomous.
Zero sighed, too exhausted to argue.
He had no patience for posturing tonight.
"I’m leaving," he said flatly, glancing down at Kaname.
His voice softened despite himself.
"Rest. Get better."
He turned to go.
"Wait, Kiryu-kun!" Takuma Ichijo called after him, brows furrowed with concern.
"At least tell us what happened!"
Zero didn't even slow his pace.
He threw a glance over his shoulder, his voice cool and final:
"Ask your leader."
Do comment and let me know if you liked it.
Chapter 9: Growing dilemma
Chapter Text
"Zero, wait." Kaname's voice, calm but commanding, halted Zero in his tracks. Despite the turmoil brewing inside him, Zero couldn't bring himself to ignore the pureblood's call. There was something in Kaname's tone—something that gripped his resolve, that made him listen.
"Let the nurse take a look at you," Kaname continued, his voice soft but unwavering. "You’ve been through enough. You need rest, and we still don't know if you've been affected by the poison as well."
Zero's jaw clenched, every fiber of his being wanting to resist, but the exhaustion weighing him down was undeniable. He had barely slept, and his mind was swimming with questions—questions he wasn't ready to face. Yet, the look in Kaname’s eyes was one of genuine concern, something that confused him even more.
Nearby, Aido and Ruka exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of shock and curiosity. Kaname, the pureblood, expressing concern for a hunter? It was unheard of, unnatural.
Takuma, standing off to the side, looked more thoughtful than surprised. He approached Kaname."What exactly happened, Kaname?"
Kaname leaned back against the pillow that Aido had placed behind him. He was recovering, but the strain in his posture spoke volumes. "There was an attempt on my life," he replied matter-of-factly. "The poison was meant to weaken me, to prevent my wounds from healing. Whoever did this wanted me vulnerable, but not necessarily dead." Leaving out the more intimate details.
The nurse, diigenty checking over Zere. chimed in. The poison was indeed designed to inhibit Kaname-sama's regenerative abilities. It was strong enough to slow down his healing but wouldn't have killed him outright."
Takuma frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. "Whoever did this must have had a plan... They wanted you vulnerable, perhaps incapacitated but not killed."
"It's a very calculated move, but it was rushed." Kaname said.
The nurse, who had been silently working on Zero, chimed in, “It’s a good thing Kaname-sama was able to feed when he did. If not, the antidote might not have been enough to reverse the effects.”
Kaname nodded slowly, his eyes darkening. "I hadn’t planned to leave the academy tonight, so they couldn’t have been lying in wait for long. It was an opportunistic strike." Kaname leaned on the pillow that Aido put behind his back.
Ruka, standing at the edge of the room, spoke up, her voice tinged with worry. "Who would dare try to harm Kaname-sama? Who stands to gain from this?"
"It doesn’t matter right now," Kaname replied, his tone sharp but restrained. "Takuma, organize a team to sweep the surrounding areas—both in the academy and the town. I want answers by morning."
As Kaname's orders settled over the room, the nurse finished examining Zero. "Kiryu-san," she said softly, "I don’t see any visible wounds on you, but you’ve lost a significant amount of blood. Would you like some blood tablets? They’ll help replenish what you've lost."
Her question hung in the air, stark in its implications. Kaname had been the one attacked, yet it was Zero who needed blood, meaning only one thing: Zero had fed Kaname.
Aido’s eyes widened, disbelief coloring his expression as he stared at the hunter. "You gave Kaname-sama your blood? You—a vampire hunter—willingly gave your blood to a pureblood?"
Zero ignored Aido’s shock, his jaw tightening as he shook his head at the nurse’s offer. He had never been able to stomach blood tablets; they always made him nauseous.
He could feel his strength ebbing away, the overwhelming fatigue creeping in. There were so many questions swirling in his mind, but all he wanted now was to let the exhaustion pull him into the oblivion of sleep.
Kaname’s gaze, ever watchful, never left Zero. He could sense the conflict brewing within the hunter. Zero was caught in a whirlwind of emotions—torn between his ingrained hatred for vampires and the undeniable bond forming between them.
"Takuma, see to the investigation," Kaname commanded, his voice a low rumble. "I want a full report by dawn."
The nurse finished patching up Zero, her work quiet and efficient. Zero’s mind, however, was far from quiet. It raced with confusion and doubt, replaying the events of the night. How had it come to this? How had he, a hunter sworn to destroy vampires, willingly given his blood to one? And not just any vampire—Kaname Kuran, the very epitome of everything Zero was supposed to despise.
It didn’t make sense. Zero felt like a stranger to himself, as if the lines between right and wrong, duty and desire, had blurred beyond recognition
Kaname’s eyes, always so dark and unreadable, now held something else—something soft, something almost desperate. There was gratitude in his gaze, yes, but also understanding. It was as if Kaname could see the storm raging within Zero, and somehow, he understood it all.
Zero’s throat tightened. He couldn’t bear the weight of Kaname’s gaze any longer. "I… I should go," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet Kaname’s. Distance was the only thing that made sense to him now. He needed to get away, to clear his mind before this went any further.
“No, Zero.” Kaname’s voice was soft, but his words were resolute. The command in his tone was unmistakable.
Zero froze, his pulse quickening as his mind raced. He needed to leave, to create some space between them, but a small part of him hesitated. Why did he feel torn? Why, even after everything, did part of him want to stay?
"Stay," Kaname said, his voice barely above a whisper.Zero's eyes widened in surprise.
"But..."
Kaname smiled, a soft, understanding expression crossing his features. “I know you have questions, Zero. Questions that deserve answers.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Stay, and I will tell you everything. I owe you that much.”
The conflicting emotions inside Zero swirled, each vying for dominance. Every instinct told him to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the pureblood who had been at the center of his turmoil. But something else—a small, quiet voice—urged him to stay. It whispered that Kaname’s words held truth, that perhaps this conversation was long overdue.
"Please, Zero," Kaname pleaded.
Zero looked into Kaname's eyes and saw something there, something vulnerable and raw. He nodded slowly, his heart heavy with uncertainty.
Zero swallowed, his throat dry, but he found himself nodding, despite the voice in his head still screaming for caution.
“Okay,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, “I’ll stay.”
Kaname’s eyes softened with visible relief, and the smile that followed wasn’t one of triumph but of gratitude. There was something unguarded in that moment, something real, and for the first time, Zero felt a flicker of warmth in his chest that caught him off guard. He’d made Kaname smile.
Maybe....maybe staying was the right decision after all.
In the corner of the room, Aido observed them closely, his sharp eyes picking up on every subtle movement, every nuance of their interaction. He said nothing, but the thoughtful expression on his face spoke volumes.
Meanwhile, the nurse who had been tending to Zero completed her examination and gave him an approving nod. “Good,” she said in a motherly tone. “You need rest, both of you. I’ll administer an antidote just in case,” she added, preparing a small syringe. “It should help, given the strain your body has been under.”
Zero nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue. He barely registered the prick of the needle as the nurse injected the antidote into his arm. His body felt heavy, fatigue weighing down his limbs.
With the nurse finished, the night class students began to file out of the infirmary, leaving Kaname and Zero alone.
Takuma lingered by the door, a knowing look in his eyes. He gave Kaname a respectful nod. “We’ll guard the perimeter of the academy, Kaname-sama. No one will disturb you.” The glint in his eyes suggested he knew far more than he let on.
Only Takuma knew what Kaname drinking Zero's blood meant. As he also knew Kaname has been feeding Zero his blood for awhile now.
Zero, lying in the infirmary bed, turned his head to glance at Kaname. There were so many questions swirling in his mind, so much he didn’t understand. Why had Kaname fed him his blood? What was this strange connection between them? Why did being near the Pureblood make him feel… safe? Why did the pureblood’s touch make everything in him come alive.
As Zero lay on the small infirmary bed beside Kaname, the events of the night replayed in his mind like a relentless loop. Questions and doubts swirled around, leaving him restless and unsettled. He glanced at Kaname, who seemed lost in thought as well, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"K..Kaname,' Zero began hesitantly, breaking the heavy silence between them. "What... what was that back there?"
Kaname turned his head to look at Zero, his expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." Zero trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "l've never.. l've never felt anything like that before... the... the feeding... and ...and everything that followed." His cheeks flushed as he spoke, his words stumbling over each other. He couldn't bring himself to say the word kiss out loud.
Kaname's gaze softened, a small smile on his lips and he reached out, gently brushing hair from Zero's forehead while pushing the urge to place a kiss on it down.
"I know," he said softly. "I felt it too."
Zero's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat.
But as much as he wanted answers, his body was betraying him. His eyelids were heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, and the warmth of Kaname’s presence beside him was strangely soothing. Despite everything, he felt comfortable, as if Kaname’s very presence was lulling him into a sense of calm he couldn’t quite explain.
“Why… do I feel like this?” Zero murmured, his voice slurred with fatigue. His violet eyes fluttered closed as sleep began to claim him.
Kaname reached out, brushing a lock of silver hair away from Zero’s forehead. “Rest, Zero,” he said softly. “You’ve been through enough for tonight. We can talk in the morning.”
"I' will feed you my blood tomorrow so you won't be as tired."
"You don't have to feed me, don't worry about me. You need to focus on recovering," Zero sleepily replied before drifting off to sleep,
Kaname chuckled under his breath, the sound low and affectionate.
Zero didn’t realize how utterly endearing he was—
how his stubbornness only made Kaname’s heart tighten painfully with love.
He watched as Zero drifted off, the lines of tension melting from his face, leaving behind something softer.
Younger.
Innocent in ways Zero no longer believed he could be.
Kaname let himself smile, a private smile meant only for the sleeping boy beside him.
Who would have thought his mate—his fierce, beautiful Zero—could be so utterly adorable?
Despite the dangers, despite the chaos, Kaname’s heart felt full for the first time in centuries.
Zero was his.
Not just in blood.
But in soul.
The mate bond was forming, weaving tighter with every breath they shared.
Kaname would have to hide it—for now.
He would protect Zero from the political storm that would erupt if others knew.
But not from Zero himself.
No, he would never hide the truth from him.
Kaname’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of Zero’s hand, savoring the quiet pulse of warmth between them.
His pureblood instincts—wild, ancient, possessive—thrummed with satisfaction.
Zero was near.
Zero was safe.
Zero was his.
And soon—
Kaname’s mouth curled into a more primal smile—
he would consummate their bond fully.
He would make Zero his in every way.
He would learn every inch of that beautiful, defiant body.
He would find every spot that made Zero tremble, every place that made him gasp his name like a prayer.
Kaname imagined it—
Zero panting beneath him, silver hair splayed like a halo against the sheets, body arching into his touch, his voice breaking into soft, desperate cries.
Mine, Kaname thought, possessive hunger burning deep in his chest.
Only mine.
The images curled around him like smoke, thick and heady.
But he reined himself in.
There would be time.
Time to savor.
Time to worship.
For now, it was enough that Zero was here, sleeping so trustingly beside him.
Kaname closed his eyes, their fingers barely touching, and let himself drift into sleep.
A pureblood, a hunter—
two souls who should have been enemies,
now bound by something older, deeper, and far more powerful than either of them could resist.
Zero's eyes fluttered open at the sound of birds signaling midday. The darkness in the room felt odd, but then he remembered he was in the vampire infirmary, which explained the dim lighting.
Zero blinked, trying to focus as he lay there in the dimly lit infirmary. The events of the previous night flooded back to him—his encounter with Kaname, the raw intimacy, the emotions it had stirred within him. And now, in the cold light of day, he found himself grappling with what it all meant.
He heard soft voices, pulling him from his thoughts. Turning his head, Zero's gaze fell upon Yuki, who sat beside Kaname's bed. She was leaning in close, her voice trembling with concern.
"You shouldn’t have gone out last night, Kaname," Yuki said, her words heavy with worry. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and brimming with unspoken fears.
Kaname, ever composed, gave her a gentle smile. "I’m fine, Yuki. You don’t need to worry so much." His voice was soft, reassuring, the kind of tone that would calm anyone—anyone except Zero, who found it deeply unsettling.
Zero felt it then.
That sharp, ugly twist in his stomach.
Watching them together—seeing how easily Yuki leaned into Kaname’s orbit, how naturally Kaname soothed her—it scraped against something raw inside him.
It wasn’t jealousy, was it? He couldn’t quite place it, but it gnawed at him. The sight of them, so comfortable with each other, felt wrong to him now in a way it never had before.
After everything that had transpired between him and Kaname the previous night, seeing Kaname so tender with Yuki was like a slap in the face.
Zero couldn't stand seeing them together. He never really could, it always irritated him. But now that feeling was much stronger.
They didn’t even realize he was awake.
They continued their soft murmuring, wrapped up in their own world, oblivious to the ache rising in Zero's chest.
"Kaname-kun," Yuki whispered, her voice breaking as she leaned even closer, "I was so scared. When I heard you were hurt… I—" Her words cut off as she blinked back tears.
Zero felt his stomach twist.
Yuki’s concern was genuine—she loved Kaname, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. And why shouldn’t she? She had known Kaname for years, trusted him, depended on him.
They shared a bond that Zero couldn’t hope to understand. Yet, the fact that Kaname was with Yuki now, smiling at her with that same gentle gaze, made Zero want to scream.
He couldn't help but remember what happened last night—the attack, the kiss he shared with Kaname.... the feelings. But did it really have any meaning when clearly Kaname seemed very taken with Yuki, and Yuki with him?
"When I heard you were hurt," Yuki continued, "I—I didn’t know what to do. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Kaname-kun." Her hand hovered over Kaname’s for a moment before she grasped it, her fingers tightening around his. Zero’s heart clenched at the sight.
Kaname’s response was measured, calm. "Yuki, I’m alright. Zero was there with me, and he helped ensure that nothing went wrong." Kaname smiled as he reassured her, his hand reaching to ruffle Yuki's hair making Yuki turn into a red tomato.
"Kaname-kun, I apologize on Zero's behalf. You wouldn't have gotten hurt if he hadn't been so foolish. Please don't take any actions against him. I swear he won't cause any problems for you ever again," Yuki pleaded for Zero's sake.
Guilt slammed into Zero’s chest like a hammer.
Yuki, even now, trying to protect him—
And he had kissed the man she loved.
Had tasted him.
Had wanted him.
Zero bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, anything to stop the sickening wave of guilt and grief rising inside him.
At the mention of his name, Kaname’s gaze shifted.
For the first time, he looked at Zero.
And he smiled.
Soft.
Private.
"Ah, Zero, you are awake," Kaname said with a smile.
Zero forced his body upright, ignoring the way his head spun slightly.
He couldn’t meet Kaname’s eyes.
He couldn’t bear what he might see there—
Pity.
Guilt.
Or worse, indifference.
"Yeah," Zero muttered, voice rough, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor.
Yuki turned quickly at the sound of his voice.
Her stern expression softened into pure relief.
"Zero, you’re awake!" She rushed over to his side, standing with her hands on her hips, her face stern but her eyes filled with concern.
"Zero, you are such an idiot. I hope you have learned your lesson," she said sternly.
Zero groaned inwardly. He really wasn’t in the mood for this.
"Zero, do you have any idea how reckless you were? You got Kaname-kun hurt," Yuki scolded him, her tone sharp but her worry evident.
Zero rolled his eyes, feeling the headache intensify. "Please, Yuki, shut up. You’re giving me a headache."
"Typical." Yuki sighed, clearly disappointed but unable to stay angry at him for long. "You always act like nothing’s a big deal. Do you have any idea how scared we all were?"
Zero closed his eyes, trying to block her out.
He didn’t have the energy to deal with her scolding right now, not after the emotional turmoil he was already experiencing. But Yuki wasn’t done.
"You didn’t just put yourself at risk, you put Kaname-kun in danger too! You should be more careful, Zero! You never listen" she exclaimed, her frustration building.
Kaname, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, finally spoke. "Yuki, it’s alright. I told you, Zero was with me. He didn’t do anything wrong." His gaze flickered to Zero, softening. "If anything, he protected me."
Yuki turned back to Kaname, her eyes widening. "But Kaname-kun if he wasnt stubborn this wouldn't have ha—"
"Enough, Yuki," Kaname said, his tone kind but firm. "Zero is not to blame for anything."
Zero’s heart skipped a beat.
The way Kaname defended him, the way his gaze softened when he looked at him—it was confusing. Last night had been intense, and now, in the light of day, Zero was grappling with emotions he didn’t understand.
Yuki's expression showed a flicker of hurt at Kaname's words. "Kaname-kun, please take good care of yourself. And once again, I am sorry for Zero's behavior," she said, her tone laced with regret.
Kaname nodded. "Thank you, Yuki. Don't worry, I'll forgive, Zero this time" he said, his gaze lingering on Zero.
Zero felt a pang of guilt at Kaname's words. He knew he had acted foolishly, and he knew he had to make it up to Kaname somehow. But how? And why did it matter so much to him what Kaname thought of him?
As Yuki left the room, leaving Zero alone with Kaname, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. There were too many questions swirling around in his head, and he didn't know where to begin. All he knew was that he needed answers, and he needed them soon.
"Kaname," Zero began, his voice hesitant. "About last night.. I need to know."
"I know it must be confusing for you," Kaname said, his voice warm and unbearably kind.
"I should have explained sooner."
Zero waited, every muscle in his body tense, heart pounding so loud it echoed in his ears.
Kaname took a breath, steadying himself.
"The truth is," he said slowly, "I’ve felt a connection to you for a long time."
He smiled faintly—almost self-mocking.
"At first, I didn’t understand it. And it irritated me more than I can say. I hated not knowing... not understanding why I was drawn to you."
Kaname gave a soft, almost sheepish huff, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting back to meet Zero’s stunned eyes.
"but now I realize... we're bound by something deeper than I ever imagined."
Zero’s throat tightened. "Bound? What do you mean?" Zero asked, his confusion growing.
Kaname's expression turned solemn, sincere in a way that shook Zero to his core.
"Zero," he said gently, "you’re my mate."
The world stopped.
Zero's mind went blank for a moment, unable to process Kaname's words.
"Your...mate?"
He repeated it dumbly, disbelieving.
Kaname nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. "Yes. In our world, a mate is more than just a partner. It’s a deep, intrinsic bond that goes beyond physical attraction. It’s a connection that’s meant to be."
"It's a bond that goes beyond anything we can comprehend. It's why I feel compelled to protect you, why I can't stand to see you hurt. Why I can't control my urge to be near you"
Zero’s heart raced violently in his chest, his breathing shallow.
It felt like too much.
Too much to hear.
Too much to feel.
"But... I'm a hunter," Zero protested. "And you're a pureblood vampire. How is that even possible?"
Kaname reached out then, his fingers warm and gentle as they closed around Zero’s hand.
Zero flinched at first, but didn’t pull away.
"I don't fully understand it myself, but I know it's real.And it's unbreakable"
He squeezed Zero’s hand lightly, grounding him
"And I know one thing without doubt, Zero..."
He leaned closer, his voice almost breaking with the strength of it.
"I care about you more than anything else in this world."
Zero's heart raced as he looked into Kaname's eyes, seeing the sincerity there. It was overwhelming, confusing.
Zero's mind raced with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "Mate" was a word he never expected to hear from Kaname. It went against everything he had been taught as a hunter.
It terrified him.
It thrilled him.
It made something deep inside him tremble in recognition.
Mate.
The word rolled through his mind like thunder, shaking loose everything he thought he knew.
The bond between them pulsed softly, insistently, as if affirming everything Kaname said.
As if his very blood now whispered to him:
Yours.
His.
Forever.
But vampires are bloodthirsty monsters, incapable of love so why would they need mates?
A mate of a vampire? The being he and his parents before him dedicated their lives to hunting and eradicating?
As Kaname's words sank in, Zero's heart pounded louder, almost drowning out all other thoughts.
The implications of what Kaname had said sent a shiver down his spine.
How could this be? How could he, a hunter, be the mate of a pureblood vampire, the very creatures responsible for his parents' deaths?
The weight of Kaname's revelation pressed down on Zero, threatening to suffocate him. Betrayal loomed large in his mind.
Betrayal to his family, to his heritage, to everything he had ever known.
But as he looked into Kaname's eyes, saw the sincerity and vulnerability there, he couldn't deny the connection between them. It was as if they were two halves of the same whole, drawn together by an invisible thread that refused to be broken.
Kaname reached out again, his touch gentle yet insistent. "Zero, I know this is a lot to take in," he said softly. "But please, trust me. Trust us. We can figure this out together." Kaname would do anything to make this work.
His mind spun to Yuki.
Yuki.
How could he be mated to the man Yuki loved?
How could he accept something that would shatter the gentle girl who had always cared for him?
Memories of her kindness, her smiles, her hope for him—
they burned like acid now.
If he accepted Kaname...
he would be betraying her.
Betraying everything good left in his world.
Zero swallowed hard.
He owed her too much.
The girl he cared for. Sometimes, when he let his thoughts run wild, he would imagine her being his wife, having his kids, and building the Kiryu legacy together again.
But he always knew it was just a dream, as he knew he would turn into a Level E before it. And Yuki will always choose Kaname.
"What about Yuki?" Zero asked, his voice filled with uncertainty. "You want me to believe you and trust you. You've been toying with Yuki's feelings."
Kaname's expression softened, his eyes filled with regret. "I didn't mean to. At one point, I genuinely thought it was Yuki who was my mate. I do still care for her though it's completely different now"
Zero couldn't help but feel hurt by Kaname's admission. The thought of Yuki and Kaname being mates was painful. But he knows that if he accepted Kaname, it would hurt Yuki greatly, and he couldn't do that to the kind and caring Yuki.
"I refuse to be the cause of Yuki's pain." Zero stated firmly. "You said you did everything for Yuki's sake. Now, I have to reject this mate bond for Yuki's sake."
Kaname's eyes shot open, alarmed.
He lifted his head, meeting Kaname’s steady gaze with desperate finality.
"I reject it," Zero said harshly.
"I reject the mate bond."
"You can’t," Kaname said immediately, almost sharply.
"The blood bond is complete, Zero. There’s no rejecting it now.
You are mine.
And I am yours."
Zero’s blood ran cold.
"No," he hissed, shaking his head violently.
"I hate vampires.
I’m a hunter.
Your way of life—it’s not my concern.
I care for Yuki.
Those are enough reasons not to want you."
Kaname laughed softly, bitterly.
A sound full of ancient amusement—and infinite sorrow.
"I’m afraid we’re long past the stage of whether you 'want' me, Zero," Kaname murmured.
"You completed the bond last night.
There's no escape."
Zero’s heart hammered painfully in his chest.
Kaname pushed himself up from his bed, moving slowly, deliberately, toward him.
Zero stiffened, but couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Kaname stopped at the edge of his bed, voice lowering into something almost sinful, a whisper of possession and longing.
"Since last night," Kaname said,
"you’ve been calling me Kaname.
Calling me Kuran now won’t prove anything."
He reached out and caught Zero’s chin between his fingers, tilting it up with devastating gentleness.
Zero’s body shuddered at the contact, his throat working uselessly.
"You want me," Kaname said simply, the words landing between them like a vow.
"I felt it every time we kissed.
I felt it when you clung to me like you'd rather merge into me than ever part.
You wrapped your legs around me, Zero.
You pulled me closer like you couldn't stand even a breath of distance."
Zero’s cheeks flushed violently, shame and longing warring inside him.
Kaname’s thumb brushed against his lower lip, his touch searing, his voice impossibly tender.
"You want my lips again.
You want my arms around you.
Just like I crave having you in mine."
Zero’s heart hammered painfully against his ribs.
He had to get away—
had to move—
had to breathe.
But he couldn't.
He couldn’t move.
Kaname’s presence wrapped around him like a tide, drowning him in heat and aching tenderness.
He couldn't stay here and face Kaname, not when his heart was torn between his loyalty to Yuki, to his parents and the undeniable pull he felt towards Kaname.
As Kaname's hand gently held his chin, Zero's conflicted emotions intensified. He truly didn't hate it.
He couldn't deny the pull he felt towards Kaname, nor could he ignore the deep-rooted care he had for Yuki.
It was tearing him apart.
"I don't know what I feel," Zero admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't just forget about Yuki. I can't hurt her."
Kaname's grip softened, and he released Zero's chin. "I understand," he said, his voice gentle.
"I don't want to hurt Yuki either. But Zero, denying what we feel, what we are won't make it go away. The bond between us is real, whether we like it or not."
Zero felt a wave of frustration wash over him. He didn't ask for any of this. He didn't ask to be mated to a vampire, and he certainly didn't ask to be torn between his duty as a hunter and his feelings for someone he was supposed to hate.
"Can't we just... ignore it?" Zero asked, desperation creeping into his voice.
It pained Kaname greatly to hear Zero say this, he pushed it away and shook his head. "I wish it were that simple. But the bond won't allow it. It will keep pulling us together, whether we want it to or not."
"Before it was I that felt the uncontrollable desire to be near you because I had feed you my blood, and now so have you"
Zero felt a surge of anger rise within him. "This isn't fair," he said, his voice laced with bitterness. "None of this is fair. You should have told me before"
Kaname's expression softened, and he reached out to gently cup Zero's cheek. "I know," he said softly. "But we'll figure it out together, Zero. I promise."
Zero wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that they could find a way to make this work without hurting Yuki. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.
"Please, just give me some time to sort things out," Zero pleaded, his voice barely audible.
Kaname nodded, his thumb gently caressing Zero's cheek. "Take all the time you need," he said, his voice filled with understanding.
As Zero pulled away from Kaname's touch, he couldn't help but feel a sense of loss. He knew that no matter what he decided, someone would end up getting hurt. And that was a burden he wasn't sure he could bear.
Zero got up from the bed and made his way to the door. He needed some fresh air, some space to clear his head.
Just before Zero could walk out of the infirmary, Kaname's voice called out once again, stopping him in his tracks. How many times has he done that since last night.
"Zero, I haven't forgotten about feeding you," Kaname said, his voice calm but insistent. "I want you to come see me at my room later this evening."
Zero turned back to look at Kaname, surprised by the request. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say.
"Kaname, I..." Zero began, but Kaname interrupted him.
"Please, Zero," Kaname said, his voice soft. "I need to do this for you."
Zero looked into Kaname's eyes and saw a sincerity that he couldn't ignore. Despite his reservations, he knew he couldn't refuse Kaname's request.
"Okay, I'll come," Zero said, his voice barely above a whisper.
A smile spread across Kaname's face, and Zero couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth in his chest.
"Thank you, Zero," Kaname said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'll be waiting for you."
With that, Zero nodded silently and turned to leave the infirmary, his mind still reeling from the events of the night.
As he stepped out into the hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Do comment and let me know if you liked it. It will help keep me motivated and update more often.
Chapter 10: In silence
Chapter Text
Zero couldn't shake the feeling of conflict raging within him as he left the infirmary. Kuran's request echoed in his mind, and he really wanted to ignore it.
However, since last night, he had been finding it increasingly difficult to deny Kuran anything.
Was it the blood bond and mate thing messing with his head?
He couldn't be sure.
But one thing Zero knew for certain was that Kuran was the man Yuki was in love with—the girl who was there for him when he felt lost and lonely.
Could this mate thing make Zero Kiryu betray Yuki and his heritage?
Kaname was a vampire—a pureblood, no less—the kind of creature he was sworn to kill, the kind that had stolen his family and shattered his world.
He should have felt nothing but hatred, but instead, he felt… something else, something far more dangerous.
He stopped abruptly, leaning against the cool stone wall as he tried to catch his breath. His chest felt tight, constricted by conflicting emotions he couldn’t begin to untangle.
Yuki.
Her name hit him like a blade to the heart. Yuki, who had always been there, kind and unwavering. Yuki, who loved Kaname.
“What would she think... if she knew?” Zero whispered, his voice cracking with guilt.
He could see her face clearly—soft, innocent, trusting. She had saved him when he was drowning in darkness, offered him light when he thought none existed.
But fate was cruel. It had bound him not to Yuki—but to Kaname Kuran, the one person Zero had sworn to despise, the man Yuki herself adored.
Zero squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of Kaname’s touch, the way it had ignited something primal within him.
The way his blood had sung when Kaname’s fangs pierced his skin.
The way his name had fallen from Kaname’s lips—desperate, reverent, longing.
He slammed his fist against the wall, the pain grounding him in the present. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”
He was a hunter, bound by duty and blood to destroy creatures like Kaname.
He was a Kiryu, from a family of vampire hunters whose lives were ripped apart by Shizuka Hio—a pureblood vampire like Kaname. How could he even think of—
Zero’s breath hitched. “I’m betraying them... my family... Yuki.”
But his body ached, his heart twisted—not just from hunger, but from the pull of the bond he couldn’t deny. He hated himself for craving something that felt so inherently wrong yet so unshakably right.
His mind warred with itself—duty vs. desire, hate vs. need, past vs. future. Every instinct screamed at him to run from Kaname, to reject the bond, to cling to his hatred—his only constant through years of pain and loss.
But deep down, Zero knew the truth he couldn’t admit: he already belonged to Kaname. His heart, his soul—fate had claimed them long before he ever had a chance.
Zero paced his room in Chairman Cross’s house, the evening air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth drifting through the open window.
He had showered, eaten—done everything he could to distract himself—but the gnawing hunger remained, an uncomfortable, burning thirst that refused to be quenched.
Feeding Kaname the other night had drained him more than he liked to admit. His body was still weak, trembling, demanding sustenance, demanding… Kaname.
Zero had reluctantly gone to Kaname to feed.
True to his word, Kaname respected Zero's need for time, refraining from pushing him to accept their mate bond.
Yet, Kaname's gaze often lingered on Zero's lips, and his touches left a trail of warmth and longing that Zero couldn't easily ignore. Every brush of Kaname's fingers sent shivers down his spine, igniting a warm, fuzzy feeling in his gut that left him both confused and yearning for more.
This mate bond was truly dangerous, if Zero doesn't fight against it, he might lose himself to it.
Who would he be then If he lost himself? Mindless puppet that turns to puddle from the simplest touches from Kuran? What great hunter he will be if that were the case.
Aido's behavior had also changed since the infirmary incident.
The once brash and confrontational vampire now acted with an odd sense of deference toward Zero.
His hostility had diminished, replaced by a peculiar mixture of respect and curiosity that only added to Zero's growing unease. It was clear that Aido knew something, and his subtle shifts in behavior hinted at it.
Zero's thoughts had been running wild, consumed by everything Kaname had disclosed.
Accepting this bond they shared would cause a myriad of problems.
First and foremost, there was Yuki. The thought of breaking her heart was unbearable. She had been his anchor in a world that often felt chaotic and cruel.
Then there was Yagari-sensei, his mentor and father figure, who had taught him everything he knew about being a vampire hunter. Disappointing him would be a heavy burden to bear.
And finally, there was the Hunters Association and the vampire society. Both factions would be enraged, viewing the bond between a vampire hunter and a pureblood as an unforgivable betrayal.
Zero didn't take these concerns lightly.
Determined to find a solution, over the passing days he had immersed himself in research about the mate bond.
He poured over ancient texts, consulted obscure scrolls, and even reached out to the few contacts he trusted within the Hunters Association for any information they might have on such bonds disguising his questionas as finding better ways to kill vampires.
He needed to understand it fully—what it meant, how it could be broken, or if it could be resisted. The more he learned, the more complex and unyielding the bond seemed.
“There is no true severing of a soul bond. Only the illusion of distance. The bond, once formed, binds essence to essence. One does not ‘break’ it. One may only repress it… bury it beneath pain and suffering until the connection frays. But fraying is not breaking. And the cost… is ruin.”
“Those who have attempted to sever a soul bond have done so at the expense of their sanity. The more powerful the bonded pair—especially when involving a pureblood—the greater the backlash.”
“Effects of repression include: persistent phantom pain, emotional instability, feverish sickness, irrational aggression, loss of control over bloodlust, and in rare cases, full descent into madness or Level E.”
“To kill one’s mate—or to be separated for long enough with deliberate intent to reject the bond—has resulted in documented cases of: irreversible coma, feral breakdown, or spontaneous death of the surviving partner.”
With a sigh, Zero closed the book he had been reading and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. How could something so profound and bewildering be true?
The bond felt both like a curse and a gift, binding him to someone he was supposed to hate but found himself increasingly drawn to.
Just then, there was a knock at his door. Startled, Zero sat up, his heart racing. He half-expected Kaname to be standing there, but when he opened the door, it was Aido.
The blond vampire's demeanor was cautious, almost hesitant.
"Aido senpai?," Zero said, his voice laced with curiosity. "What are you doing here?"
Aido glanced around the room, taking in the mess of research materials before meeting Zero's eyes.
"I've noticed you've been doing a lot of research lately. About the mate bond, I assume?"
Zero's eyes widened, his guard still up. How did he know?
Aido sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't that difficult to find out. You've been getting books out of the vampire library. I saw what section you went to."
Zero sighed, resigned to the fact that his secrecy had been compromised. "I need to know about mate bonds and how they can be broken."
Aido walked inside, uninvited. Normally, Zero would have put a gun to this annoying vampire's head, but right now, having a vampire answer questions about his problems seemed like the easiest way.
"You need to know," Aido began, his voice serious, "the bond between you and Kaname... it's not something that can be easily broken or ignored. It's ancient, powerful, and it binds your souls together in a way that goes beyond physical attraction or mere infatuation."
Aido's words shocked Zero once more.
Zero's fists clenched at his sides. How did he find out it was Kaname? The question ran through his head, which Aido answered without him asking.
"You fed Kaname-sama your blood even though you hate vampires, and Kaname-sama is very interested in you, always protecting you, a mere ex-human." Aido looked disgusted when the said the word 'ex-human'
but he still continued "You've lasted this long without falling to Level E; you must have been drinking a pureblood's blood. The only pureblood around is Kaname-sama. You have been researching mate bonds. All of these add up to one conclusion."
Aido left the part where he and his cousin has been ordered to do the hunters missions.
Zero tsked in frustration and said, "There has to be a way to break it or resist the bond, to control it."
Aido shook his head at the foolish ex-human. "It's not that simple. The bond is meant to be embraced, not fought. Ignoring it will only cause you both pain. And trust me, Kaname-sama isn't the type to give up easily." Frustration welled up within Zero.
Aido's expression softened with empathy. "I understand your concerns, Zero. But sometimes, we can't control what fate has in store for us. You have to make a choice. Either embrace the bond and face the consequences, or continue to fight it and suffer in silence."
Zero looked away, the words 'suffer in silence' echoing in his mind. He was good at suffering in silence; it was familiar territory, one he knew so well.
He couldn't deny the bond's pull, but accepting it felt like betraying everything he had ever known and loved.
Aido continued, his tone more serious. "I didn't think you were fit to be Kaname-sama's mate, but if this is what fate has in store for Kaname-sama, I have to respect it." Aido shrugged as he continued.
"Mate bonds are sacred and considered holy in vampire society. Don't let your mind run wild and hurt Kaname-sama in the process. I don't really care about you, but you are Kaname-sama's other half. Have his well-being in mind. It's an honor to be a pureblood's mate."
Aido hoped this silly ex-human will heed his advice and not put Kaname-sama through anymore trouble. He now understood why Kaname-sama was unwell before, it was because Kiryu wasn't around for months.
He hated seeing their leader like that and Zero better not put their leader through it again.
After Aido left, and once alone, Zero laughed mockingly at himself.
Suffering in silence while fighting fate sounded like a battle he could win. He had been fighting fate since his parents were killed.
Fighting the blood lust, fighting falling to Level E.
Zero continued his research. There had to be a way. Aido was Kaname's lackey; he would always be biased towards Kaname, so he couldn't be trusted.
.
.
After Aido had gone, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the gentle rustle of papers disturbed by the night breeze. Zero stood frozen for a long moment, then turned slowly to the cluttered desk behind him.
The moonlight was cold now, detached—as if even the heavens had withdrawn their warmth in judgment.
He sank into his chair and stared blankly at the open books strewn across the wood. Ancient tomes, worn scrolls, records penned in elegant old script—each filled with truths he was desperately trying to deny.
The mate bond is eternal.
The mate bond is sacred.
The mate bond is unbreakable.
Every source said the same.
He traced his finger over one such passage, the ink faded but firm: “When two souls are forged by destiny into one, no blade nor spell can sever their unity. To deny a mate is to deny one's own blood, one’s own essence.”
He scoffed bitterly. Essence. Unity. What did those words mean to a boy whose very blood boiled at the thought of purebloods? To a hunter trained from birth to see their kind as monsters draped in velvet?
What did they mean to a son who had held his parents’ broken bodies in his arms while the scent of a vampire’s cruelty still lingered in the air?
Zero’s hands clenched into trembling fists. His nails dug into the wood of the desk as if he could will it to bleed. Kaname Kuran. The name itself was a contradiction—soft and noble on the tongue, but carved from steel beneath. The pureblood who had haunted his nightmares… and now, invaded his dreams.
How dare fate pair him with a pureblood?
How dare the universe give him comfort in the arms of the creature he had sworn to despise?
His fingers drifted to his neck, to the phantom feel of Kaname’s fangs. Not a scar in sight, and yet the memory burned—too tender, too intimate.
Every night since, Zero had awoken aching. His body betrayed him more with every passing hour: yearning for the taste of Kaname’s voice, the heat of his gaze, the warmth of his embrace.
But his heart—his heart remained shackled to ghosts.
To his mother’s smile, his father’s lessons.
To duty.
To honor.
What would they say now, if they could see him like this?
Their son. A hunter. Bound by blood and soul to the very thing they’d died fighting.
Zero leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. A bitter laugh slipped through his fingers—sharp, broken, hopeless.
“Traitor,” he whispered to himself. “Coward.”
And yet, the bond pulsed in him. It was not a chain, no—it was something far crueler.
It was a pull.
Soft.
Gentle.
Inevitable.
It whispered to him in the silence, in his dreams, in the warmth that lingered in his bones long after Kaname had gone.
It said, You belong with him.
And it enraged him.
He found another scroll, one he hadn’t touched yet. He opened it with trembling hands, desperate for a different answer.
But the words were the same.
“The mate bond, once formed through the sharing of blood, becomes law unto the soul. One cannot simply walk away. To reject it is to starve part of oneself, until love becomes agony and resistance turns to ruin.”
A part of him wanted to cry.
Another part wanted to scream.
Instead, he fell still. His breath shallow, his eyes glossing over the parchment as he whispered, “I’m not allowed to want this.”
Because wanting it meant betraying Yuki.
Meant betraying his parents.
Meant embracing the very world he’d been raised to hate.
And yet…
And yet…
He remembered the feel of Kaname’s arms around him, the safety he felt pressed against that cold, immovable chest.
He remembered the kiss—sweet, reverent, filled with something neither of them could name.
Kaname had not demanded. He had not commanded.
He had waited.
Patient. Heartbreaking. Hopeful.
Zero pressed a hand to his chest, over the place where he felt the bond most sharply—an ache that refused to dull.
“I’m trying, Mother. Father. I’m trying so hard to be the son you raised.” His voice broke.
But what did it matter?
Every answer pointed to the same truth.
The bond could not be broken.
But...
He could run from it.
He could deny it.
He could avoid it.
Zero’s research
Volume III: Of Blood and Bond
Translated from the Old Tongue of the Crimson Courts
> "The mate bond, when forged, is not merely a union of bodies—it is the joining of fates. Two souls, once adrift, recognize one another in silence. Not through logic, nor speech, but through resonance—like a forgotten melody remembered in the heart."
> "It begins subtly: a warmth where there was once cold. A shift in the air when the other is near. The bond hums beneath the skin, ancient and alive, as though the universe itself is exhaling after a long-held breath."
> "When one is near their mate, time softens. Scents sharpen. The heartbeat of the other becomes music to the bonded soul, and their pain becomes unbearable. Their joy? Ecstasy."
> "To feed from a mate is unlike any other feeding. It is not hunger. It is communion. One does not drink to survive—they drink to belong. The blood sings. It carries memories. Emotions. A kiss in crimson, binding the bond tighter with each shared pulse."
> "Side effects include ache when separated for too long, phantom touches in sleep, and heightened senses around the other. One might feel restless when the mate is distressed, even from miles away. Jealousy sharpens, not as possession, but as instinct—to protect, to preserve."
> "Mates can often feel each other’s moods, and dreams may be shared. When one cries, the other often wakes with the taste of salt. When one laughs, the other might smile without knowing why."
> "And if the bond is accepted—truly accepted—it becomes a sanctuary. No matter the war outside, within each other is peace. A home. A place to rest where the world cannot touch them."
> "To be chosen by fate is not a curse, though it may feel cruel. It is a gift—a reminder that even the immortal are not meant to walk eternity alone."
The Mourning Veil, Chapter X: When the Bond is Broken
> "To be mated is to have one's soul interwoven with another. When one is torn away—by death, by betrayal, by fate—the other does not merely grieve. They unravel."
> "Mortal lovers mourn and heal. But those who are bloodbound suffer far worse. The bond is not a thread—it is a root, dug deep into every corner of the being. When torn, it leaves behind a void that consumes light, warmth, and will to live."
> "Purebloods, whose souls are steeped in centuries of memory, fall the hardest. Their minds are not built to forget. Their hearts not designed to mend. Many fall into madness, driven by echoes of voices that no longer speak, scents that no longer linger, dreams that always end in screams."
> "Others surrender quietly. They go still. Their bodies remain, but their souls... vanish. Some sleep, drifting into comas so deep even the touch of another cannot reach them. Some walk into sunlight without fear, allowing their deaths to burn in silence."
> "It is said among the elders: ‘The death of one mate is not the loss of half a soul—it is the shattering of a whole.’"
> "Even separation without death causes decay. Those who resist the bond, who flee or reject it, wither slowly. The longer they stay apart, the more the bond frays into agony. Skin becomes sensitive to touch. The taste of food turns to ash. Dreams become fevered hallucinations of the one they’ve left behind."
> "Yet the cruelest truth of all: even in death, the bond does not vanish. A mate who survives still feels the other's absence like a missing limb. Still hears them in the quiet. Still reaches out in sleep, only to wake to emptiness."
> "To lose a mate is not to live alone. It is to live haunted."
Of Blood and Thread, Chapter I: The Bond Eternal
> “It is the rarest of all fates. The mate bond—soulbound, bloodbound—is not simply love. It is not a choice. It is recognition. A sacred alignment of essence that transcends time, species, and will.”
> “Only one in every hundred to thousand years will the thread stir. Many vampires, even purebloods, live and die without ever finding their mate. The stars align only for a few.”
> “Among mortals, it is rarer still. A human may pass their bonded soul on a busy street, in a lifetime of crowded rooms, and never know. Their senses too dimmed by mortality, their instincts dulled by fleeting years. And thus, two souls meant for each other may live and die as strangers.”
> “It is the tragedy of shorter lives: the bond may sing, but the heart cannot hear.”
> “Among vampires—especially purebloods—the senses are heightened, refined over centuries. They know the moment their mate draws breath near them. They feel it in the marrow, in the shift of the air, in the sudden clarity of the world.”
> “Traits of the bond are unmistakable to those who know them: an unnatural pull toward the other, a magnetic ache when apart, dreams shared across distances, and hunger that cannot be sated by any other. When mated, the bite becomes euphoric. The scent of their mate overrides all others. Their pain becomes shared. Their joy, amplified.”
> “Mates can influence each other’s moods with mere proximity. Some even report heightened strength, healing, or psychic resonance after the bond is sealed through shared blood and intimacy.”
> “But most of all, the bond brings a sense of rightness. Of finally being home. A completeness that no magic, no power, no false affection could ever replace.”
> “This is why the ancients called it a blessing from the gods. A whisper of divine design in a world of chaos.”
> “It is not chosen. It is found. And once found, never undone.”
Zero’s hands trembled as he set the worn leather-bound book down on the desk, the pages still fluttering from his hurried reading. The silence of his dorm room stretched heavy around him, thick like the weight now pressing on his chest.
One in every hundred to thousand years.
Dreams shared across distances. A pull in the chest. A hunger only one could ease. Pain when apart. Joy when close.
Zero pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to still the whirlwind of emotions clawing inside him. Everything in that damn book—it all lined up too perfectly.
The ache in his neck when Kaname was near.
The strange, electric awareness when Kaname looked at him—even across a crowded courtyard.
The way his blood had reacted when Kaname bit him. The way he had reacted.
He had convinced himself it was lust. Some twisted vampire blood-induced reaction. But that aching sense of loss when Kaname left the room, the warmth that soothed his constant anger when Kaname merely stood beside him…
He’d thought he was going insane.
But it wasn’t insanity. Not if what he’d just read was true.
He remembered how the air changed when Kaname walked in. How even when he was furious with the pureblood, a part of him—traitorous and uninvited—relaxed. He remembered the night of the attack, the terror he felt when Kaname was hurt. The irrational desperation that surged through him. The way the taste of Kaname’s blood hadn’t made him sick, but safe.
His heart was pounding now.
“You will feel it in the marrow, in the shift of the air.”
He had.
Zero closed his eyes tightly. “No… No. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.”
But his own body betrayed him. The longing. The phantom sensations. The way even now, Kaname’s absence burned under his skin like a fever.
This wasn’t normal.
And it wasn’t just physical.
He didn’t just want Kaname’s body. He wanted to understand him. He wanted to protect him—something Zero had never, ever wanted for a vampire.
And Kaname… had always looked at him like he was more.
Like he was everything.
His fingers tightened into fists on the desk.
“It’s not a choice. It’s recognition.”
It was horrifying. It was maddening. It was beautiful.
And he hated how deeply, how easily, his soul recognized it.
Zero rose from the chair, paced the room. The book’s words echoed in his mind, clinging like spider silk.
"A completeness that no magic, no power, no false affection could ever replace."
He’d been searching for something to make him whole for years. And somewhere, somehow, that completeness had found him.
In the form of the one creature he should despise most.
Zero stopped in front of the mirror. His own reflection stared back—haunted eyes, clenched jaw, trembling hands.
“I’m already feeling it,” he whispered.
A Few more Days Later Kaname still hadn't approached Zero yet, still giving Zero time. But Zero could feel Kaname's eyes on him, the way his neck tingled and his fangs ached, urging him to bite into Kaname and have Kaname do the same to him.
There was a nagging feeling that was urging him to go to Kaname.
He kept pushing it down, he has to try for Yuki.
Zero often received proposals from girls who were brave enough to withstand his glares, girls who thought they could change him and soften him up, like he was something broken.
He always turned them down coldly, but today, when a girl asked him out, an idea came to him.
This could be a way to fix things. If he found someone to love, surely Kaname would have no choice but to leave him be and forget about the bond.The girl was persistent, her admiration for Zero evident in her eyes.
She was a human, innocent and unaware of the complexities of his world. Zero saw an opportunity. If he could convince everyone, including himself, that he had moved on and found love elsewhere, maybe Kaname would let him go.
"Alright," Zero said, his voice surprisingly soft. "I'll go out with you."The girl's eyes lit up with excitement.
"Really? Thank you, Zero!"As she walked away.
"What the hell did I just do?" he muttered, watching the human girl practically skip away, her excitement palpable.
He couldn’t shake the guilt twisting in his gut. The girl—innocent, kind, trusting—had done nothing wrong. Yet he was using her, stringing her along just to escape.
The decision weighed heavily on him, but it felt like the only way out. Kaname’s presence loomed over his every thought, ever-present and unyielding, making it impossible for Zero to breathe, let alone think clearly.
If he could convince himself that he belonged with someone else—anyone else—maybe this bond would loosen its grip on him.
He needed to prove to Kaname, to the vampire society, and to himself that he could live a normal life without being bound to a pureblood.
He could already feel the ache in his chest, a sharp, persistent tug from the mate bond urging him back toward Kaname.
His fangs ached, his neck tingled, and his hunger stirred with unrelenting intensity, making it harder to resist.
But Zero clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay grounded. He wouldn’t be controlled, wouldn’t become a slave to fate.
He just… needed a way out.
.
.
.From the shaded balcony of the Moon Dormitory, Takuma Ichijo leaned against the ornate stone railing, the breeze lifting strands of his golden hair as his gaze followed Zero’s retreating figure. His usually cheerful expression was notably absent, replaced with a rare gravity that aged his youthful features.
He had seen the entire interaction—the human girl's timid smile, her shy invitation, and Zero's stiff, reluctant acceptance. To any bystander, it might have looked like a small, heartwarming moment.
A boy learning to live again.
A hunter trying to find love and light after a life marred by tragedy.
“Foolish,” Takuma murmured, almost sadly.
Not out of cruelty.
Not from disdain.
But because he understood.
Because he pitied Zero Kiryu.
The boy was grasping at straws—clinging to a world that no longer belonged to him.
Trying to convince himself that he could carve a path forward through sheer force of will.
But Takuma knew better.
He had always known.
He had been watching Kaname for years—had seen the subtle, almost imperceptible unraveling of the pureblood prince the moment Zero disappeared from the academy those two months ago. His carefully composed façade had cracked, just barely, but enough for Takuma to see.
Kaname had been unwell.
Distracted. Restless. Unanchored.
And now, seeing him again—he was better. Steadier. Stronger.
Because Zero was back.
Because Zero was close.
It hadn’t taken a genius to connect the dots.
Zero wasn’t just important to Kaname.
He was everything.
He had long understood Kaname’s bond with Zero, its depth and permanence, and he knew Zero’s plan—though well-meaning—was destined for disaster.
Takuma had spent decades among vampires—purebloods and nobles alike. He had seen obsession. He had seen infatuation. But never… this.
This connection.
This pull.
This bond that defied logic and expectation.
Zero, the hunter born to destroy Kaname’s kind.
Kaname, the pureblood born to lead them.
It was cruel.
It was ironic.
It was… fate
Did Zero truly think he could outrun fate? That he could sever something so profound with something as fragile as pretense?
Takuma could already imagine Kaname’s reaction when he inevitably found out. His old friend was calm, calculating, but when it came to Zero..
Kaname could manipulate pureblood politics like a seasoned puppet master. He could sway entire clans with a single word. But with Zero... he was just a man, lost in something even he didn’t fully understand.
Takuma sighed, resting his chin in his hand. “Even if Kaname doesn’t act on it, the bond itself will never let him escape.”
The mate bond was absolute—a primordial force that neither love nor hate could break. Zero could fight, run, and even pretend—but it wouldn’t change the fact that he belonged entirely to Kaname, whether he understood it yet or not.
“This isn’t going to end well… for anyone.”
Kaname is waiting in silence and patiently.
But his silence was louder than anything else.
Takuma knew his friend.
And he knew what that restraint was costing him.
Kaname was possessive. Pureblood instincts were not tame. They weren’t meant to be. And yet he was doing the one thing that went against every urge written into his nature.
He was waiting.
For Zero to come to him freely.
The First Date Their date was simple, a stroll around the academy grounds. Zero tried to engage in small talk, but his mind was elsewhere, constantly aware of the bond tugging at him, reminding him of Kaname.
The girl chatted happily, oblivious to Zero's inner turmoil.
Kaname watched from a distance, his expression unreadable, not quite understanding why Zero was spending time with a human that wasn’t Yuki.
He looked on sadly. He wished Zero would accept him soon; this distance was killing him. He had given his word to Zero about giving him time, but Kaname's patience was being tested.
Despite this, he remained resolute in his decision not to intervene, Zero has to choose him or else Zero might feel Kaname forced him to be with Kaname.
He did a lot of wrongs to Zero but now he will do this the right way. Kaname has yet to realise what his mate was planning.
Zero continued to go on more dates, each one a small act of rebellion against the bond he shared with Kaname. He started avoiding Kaname by not going to the crossover, the designated time for Day Class and Night Class students to mingle.
He also began to pull away from Yuki, hoping that by distancing himself, Kaname and Yuki would have more time to bond together and that Kaname would realize it was always Yuki he was meant to be with.
Yuki was saddened by this change. She missed Zero's presence, the silent strength he provided.
Yet, she was happy to see Zero going on dates. To her, it meant that he was finally leading a normal life and moving past his trauma.
Yuki bit her lower lip, her arms wrapping around herself as she watched Zero continue down the path with his date.
“He’s moving on... he’s happy.” She should feel relieved, glad that he was finding some kind of normalcy after everything he’d endured.
He deserved happiness after years of loneliness and pain.
Zero had always been there—a steady, protective presence she could rely on, even when he pushed her away. He was her constant, her silent protector, the one who stood between her and the darkness.
And now... he was slipping away.
“You’ve always been strong enough to stand on your own, haven’t you?” Yuki whispered, her voice trembling. “You never needed anyone... not even me.”
She hadn’t realized how much she depended on him, how much she’d taken his presence for granted until he began pulling away.
Chapter 11: Follow your instincts
Notes:
This chapter has mature content don't read if you're not up for it
Chapter Text
Yuki kept trying to talk to him and spend time with him. It was really difficult avoiding her, and every time he turned her down, she had this dejected look on her face that added more guilt to his already heavy burden.
"Just because you're dating doesn't mean we cannot hang out anymore," she called out in frustration one evening when he left her on the rooftop during patrol.
Zero paused, her words hitting him harder than he expected.
He turned to look at her, seeing the hurt and confusion in her eyes. "Yuki, it's not about that. I just... I have a lot on my mind right now."
She crossed her arms, her expression determined. "You've always had a lot on your mind, Zero. But you never shut me out like this before."
Zero sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not shutting you out. I just need some space to figure things out."
Yuki's gaze softened. "I understand that. But I miss you, Zero."
A part of Yuki wondered if Zero was somehow punishing her for liking Kaname senpai.
The girl Zero was dating had jet-black hair that reached her waist. She had a kind and innocent look on her face, and her icy blue eyes stood out even more against her dark hair.
Her name was Tamayo, and everything about her made Zero's insides ache with guilt.
His guilt compelled him to agree to everything Tamayo wanted to do.So here he was, going on dates with her, visiting the new flowery café in town she had been eager to try.
Zero tried to push the conversation with Yuki out of his mind as he continued his dates with Tamayo.
She was everything he wasn't—innocent, cheerful, and full of life. Her presence should have been a breath of fresh air, a distraction from his troubles.
But instead, it only made his guilt deepen.
At the new café, Tamayo chattered about the upcoming school festival, her excitement palpable. Zero nodded along, offering the occasional comment, but his thoughts were miles away.
He couldn't stop thinking about Kaname. How much he wanted to see him, touch him, be near him. It was maddening. He is yet to receive any new hunting mission either, so nothing to keep his mind of Kuran.
No matter how hard he tried to fight it, Zero couldn't deny the invisible pull towards Kaname. It was always there, a constant reminder of the bond they shared.
He knew that if he followed that pull, it would lead him straight to Kaname.
But he resisted, determined to stick to his plan.In his mind, he justified his actions. Yuki wouldn't get hurt, he wouldn't disappoint his sensei, and the Kuran obsession would shift back to Yuki. It made sense.
But deep down, he knew he was lying to himself. The bond with Kaname was not something that could be easily dismissed.
Tamayo noticed his distraction but chose to ignore it, instead focusing on making their date enjoyable. She suggested they try the café's signature cake, and Zero agreed, forcing a smile.
Yuki came to see Kaname. Kaname was lounging in his private chambers, a book in hand, when a soft knock echoed through the room.
"Enter," he called out, not lifting his gaze from the pages.Yuki stepped in, her presence immediately catching Kaname's attention.
He closed the book and set it aside, rising to greet her. "Yuki, what brings you here?" he asked, his tone gentle and inviting.
He led her to a comfortable chair and called for Seiren to bring some refreshments.
He happily accepted her presence. "What is it, dear Yuki? You seem upset," Kaname inquired gently.
Yuki sighed, a troubled look on her face. "I'm worried about Zero," she replied sadly, the name causing Kaname to become more alert and pay closer attention to the conversation.
Kaname's interest piqued, his mind already racing. "Is everything okay with Kiryu?" he asked, striving to maintain a neutral tone.
Yuki nodded but continued, "He's started dating, and now he seems to be avoiding me and spending all his time with his girlfriend. I mean, I guess it's normal to spend time with your girlfriend, but that doesn't mean no one else in his life matters," she spluttered out.
The words slammed into Kaname like a blow, though he didn’t flinch. He remained perfectly still, like a statue carved of marble, but inside—inside, everything cracked
Zero is dating after Kaname told him about their mate bond?
A low hum began in his ears, building with each passing second. The world around him dimmed, Yuki’s voice fading to a muffled echo as rage and confusion warred for dominance in his chest.
Here Kaname was, giving him time to think about them—about Kaname and Zero was using that time to make girlfriends?
He had given Zero space—respected his boundaries—despite every fiber of his being screaming to do the opposite. He’d endured the ache of the bond alone, feeling Zero’s absence like a phantom limb. And this was how Zero used that time? Finding solace in another’s arms?
Yuki continued, unaware of the silent war inside him. “I know it’s not unusual. He deserves someone kind. Someone normal. But I just…” Her voice cracked.
Kaname’s grip on the armrest of his chair tightened. The faintest crack split the wood beneath his fingers.
“Kaname-senpai?” Yuki called out, breaking his train of thought.
Her voice pulled him back, and he turned to look at her. “Hmm?” he murmured, recovering with the smooth elegance of someone who had lived for centuries.
"Sorry if I am wasting your time, but I don't know who else to talk to," Yuki said, her voice tinged with worry.
"Chairman Cross is really excited to meet Zero's girlfriend. I didn't want to trouble him with this."Yuki sighed.
“You’re not troubling me, Yuki,” Kaname said, his voice velvet-smooth. Seiren returned with a tray of rose tea and delicate sugar biscuits. Kaname poured a cup for Yuki himself, every movement calculated and graceful, masking the tempest within him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He handed her the cup, his hand steady even as his thoughts churned violently. Zero.
My mate.
With another.
Mine. He is mine.
“I’m probably just being silly,” Yuki continued with a shaky laugh. “It’s just... lonely without him around.”
Lonely without him.
Kaname wanted to scream. He wanted to burn the academy down and tear apart the walls between him and the ex-human who dared try to run from him.
Every word she said felt like a needle, pricking his already frayed patience.
Inside, he was seething. His every instinct clawed at him, demanding he go to Zero now, remind him—physically, spiritually, eternally—of what they were. What they are. A mate bond was not something one escaped. It was fate. Blood-deep. Soul-deep.
And yet, Kaname forced a smile.
A master of masks.
"It's understandable, Yuki. You two have always been close," he said softly.Yuki nodded.
The bond they shared was sacred, something that transcended mere relationships.
How could Zero ignore that? How could he not feel the same pull, the same undeniable connection?
"It just... he was always around me, and now it's like I am invisible to him." Kaname’s eyes softened with a trace of sympathy, though he was still grappling with his own intense feelings.
He reached out and patted Yuki gently on the head, a gesture meant to comfort but also to mask his own turmoil..
“He’s probably trying to find some semblance of normalcy,” he added, more for himself than her. Trying to pretend he's not mine.
“Give him time,” Kaname said. Even if I no longer wish to.
Yuki looked up at him with a hopeful expression. "You think so?"
"Yes," Kaname replied, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.
Kaname gave her a gentle smile, As soon as Yuki left, he would find Zero and remind him of their bond, of who he truly belonged to. He could not allow anyone, not even Zero himself, to come between them.
"Zero cares about you. He's probably just trying to balance his new relationship with his old ones. It can be challenging."Yuki's eyes softened, and she gave Kaname a small, grateful smile.
Yuki nodded slowly, sipping her tea.
“Maybe you're right,” Yuki murmured, her voice growing quiet again. “I just… miss my friend.”
You miss your friend. I am losing my mate.
He couldn't stand the thought of Zero with another, not when they were meant to be together.
As Yuki finished her tea and rose to leave, Kaname stood with her maintaining his composed demeanor "Thank you for talking to me, Yuki. I appreciate your trust."
She smiled, a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Kaname-senpai. I feel a bit better now."
"Anytime, Yuki. I'm always here if you need someone to talk to."As Yuki left, Kaname's mind raced.
The door clicked shut behind Yuki, and for a moment, silence reigned.
Then the calm shattered.
Kaname stood still in the center of his room, his breath slow and controlled, but his aura leaked like ink into the space around him. The shadows seemed to pulse with it—an ancient, possessive power that had only ever been tempered by one person.
Zero.
He had trusted him. Trusted him enough to give him space, time—his silence. He had stepped back when every fiber of his being wanted to claim him. He had been patient, kind. Gentle.
And what had Zero done with that gift?
He gave himself to another.
Kaname’s nails dug into his palm until blood beaded between his fingers. The sweet scent of his own blood barely registered.
In his mind’s eye, he saw it—Zero smiling at her. Talking to her. Letting her touch him.
And something inside him—ancient, territorial, primal—snapped.
He was a pureblood. A king among their kind. And Zero… Zero was his.
He had held back long enough.
The air in the room crackled, thick with his unleashed presence. The glass windows began to tremble in their panes, the candles flickering wildly even though there was no breeze.
Let the humans speak of romance. Let them write of love. This was a bond. Deeper. Stronger. Irrevocable.
Kaname turned to the mirror across the room and caught sight of his reflection—eyes glowing red with suppressed fury, lips slightly parted as his fangs pressed against his lower lip.
He didn’t look like the composed, graceful leader of the Night Class.
He looked like a predator about to claim what was his.
“Mine,” he whispered, the word soft, reverent… lethal.
He thought of the first time he tasted Zero’s blood. How it had ignited something in him—something dormant for centuries. That blood had bound itself to his soul, as if it recognized him.
As if it had been waiting for him.
Zero's resistance had been adorable at first. Even expected. Hunters weren’t taught to love. They were taught to kill.
But now?
This—this was betrayal.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness gently cloaked Cross Academy, Kaname Kuran made his way through the silent paths, his footsteps measured and quiet—deceptively calm.
Within him stirred a storm. A turbulent sea of emotions—hurt, jealousy, confusion, betrayal—but above all, an ache so ancient and deep it felt carved into the marrow of his bones.
He was angry. Yes, he had every right to be.
But the moment his eyes found Zero, all that fury dissolved like mist under moonlight.
There he stood—Zero Kiryu—bathed in the moon’s silvery glow, leaning against a railing, fatigue lining his features.
The tension in his shoulders, the restless twitch of his fingers, the look in his eyes that was just slightly too lost.
The image of him, haunted and beautiful beneath the night sky, struck Kaname still.
A storm raged within him—hurt, anger, betrayal—but all of it melted away the moment his eyes found Zero standing alone beneath the pale light of the moon. Weary and worn, yet achingly beautiful, Zero’s silver hair shimmered like strands of starlight, and Kaname’s breath caught in his throat.
Just like that, all the fury dissolved, replaced by a powerful tenderness that swept over him like a tide.
His mate. His other half. The one he had waited for—not for years, not even centuries—but for millennia.
His stubborn, infuriating, beautiful mate.
Ten thousand years. Wandering through time, always searching. Always hoping. Always alone.
Kaname still couldn’t decide whether fate was cruel… or painfully generous.
He found himself marveling again at its bitter irony.
For millennia, he had believed himself mateless—destined to walk eternity alone, an immortal king with no crown to share.
Even after awakening in this era, he resigned himself to the emptiness, certain his soul's counterpart did not exist.
He had once accepted the idea that he would remain that way—that he would never be blessed with a mate. Even after Yuki was born, he had tried to believe she was the one.
Tried to convince himself that the bond he longed for would blossom from familiarity, from responsibility.
But it hadn't.
The moment he laid eyes on Zero, something inside him had shifted. Not abruptly, not like lightning, but slowly—like the unfolding of a long-forgotten memory.
A pull that defied logic. A recognition that refused to be ignored.
And now, that pull was a constant burn in his soul. A need—fierce and consuming—that whispered to him in every heartbeat, in every breath.
He watched Zero for a moment longer, allowing himself the quiet agony of wanting him—before stepping forward, his presence gently washing over the space like the tide reaching shore.
.
After yet another date with Tamayo, Zero found himself wandering the rooftop, the same place he’d left Yuki not long ago. The cool night air wrapped around him like a cloak, a quiet balm against the storm in his chest.
Above, the stars twinkled—distant, indifferent to the aching weight of his choices.
He hadn’t heard Kaname approach, but he felt him—like a shift in the wind, a silent pressure in the air. The bond hummed between them like an invisible thread, tightening the moment Kaname stepped into the moonlight.
Zero turned, meeting Kaname’s gaze. The pureblood stood tall, the silver moon casting him in an ethereal glow. Regal, poised, heartbreakingly beautiful.
Zero’s breath caught in his throat.
He hated it. Hated how his heart stuttered. Hated that in this moment, Kaname didn’t look like the enemy. He looked like home.
Kaname, who looked every bit the noble pureblood vampire, his expression unreadable.
The sight of him sent a shiver down Zero's spine, and for a moment, he was struck by an unsettling realization: Kaname was undeniably, breathtakingly handsome. His heart raced, betraying the turmoil within.
He had never given much thought to Kaname's appearance before.
To Zero, Kaname was just another pureblood vampire, albeit one of significant influence and power.
"Zero," Kaname said softly, his voice a gentle caress that seemed to soothe and stir Zero in equal measure
“Kaname, I…” Zero’s voice faltered, swallowed by the wind.
The words lodged in his throat. How could he explain what he didn’t even understand himself? That every step he took away from Kaname only made the ache worse? That even as he tried to force Tamayo’s hand into his, it was Kaname’s touch his skin longed for?
Kaname stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator approaching a wounded creature—not to hurt, but to claim. His eyes never left Zero’s.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked softly. “To us?”
Zero clenched his fists. “Because I can't accept this bond. I can't accept what it means,” he whispered, barely audible.
Kaname’s gaze didn’t falter. It softened—just barely—but within it was a sadness that could drown kingdoms.
“You think avoiding me will make it go away?” he asked. “It won’t. The bond is not a chain, Zero. It's a thread woven into your soul.”
Kaname's eyes softened with a mix of sadness and understanding.
"The bond will always be there, no matter how much you try to deny it."Zero looked away, unable to meet Kaname's gaze.
"I thought... I thought if I found someone else, it would make things easier. For both of us. it would break the pull toward you. That I’d stop craving..." He trailed off, ashamed.
"You crave me?" Kaname asked, voice low, almost reverent.
Zero’s face flushed. "Don’t twist my words, Kuran."
Kaname stepped so close their chests nearly touched. "I’m not twisting them. I’m holding on to the one honest thing you’ve said tonight."
Kaname reached out, gently tilting Zero's chin up to look at him.
“Zero… what we share is not something that can be replaced. It’s not a crush. It’s not a fleeting desire. This bond—it was written into our blood, long before we were born.”
A tear escaped down Zero’s cheek, unbidden. “I don’t know how to do this. How to accept something that feels like a betrayal to everything I was taught to hate.”
Without hesitation, Kaname pulled him close, arms wrapping around him with a gentleness that made Zero’s heart ache.
“This isn’t betrayal,” he murmured into Zero’s hair. “It’s fate. It’s destiny. Fighting it will only hurt you.
And it did hurt. Every time he resisted, something inside him frayed a little more.
In Kaname’s embrace, the world felt distant. Quiet. Safe. It should have felt wrong. Instead, it felt like home.
Zero ripped his hand away. "Don’t throw that word at me like it justifies everything!"
"Would you rather I lie?" Kaname snapped. "Pretend I don’t ache for you? That I didn’t burn with jealousy at the thought of you giving your time—your smile—to someone else?" Zero breath hitched.
It should feel wrong, but somehow it felt perfect.
The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, embracing the bond wouldn't be the end of everything he held dear..
Zero whispered, his voice filled with uncertainty, "What does being mates mean? What do we have to be to each other?"
Kaname held him tighter, resting his chin on Zero's head. "Being mates means we are bound together in a way that transcends normal relationships."
Kaname continued while inhaling Zero's scent, "It means we share a connection that is deeper than any other bond. We support each other, protect each other, and understand each other like no one else can."
Kaname’s hold tightened, protective. “It means we are one,” he said softly. “It means I will stand between you and the world. It means you will never be alone again.”
Zero pulled back slightly to look into Kaname's eyes. "But what about Yuki? What about everything I've known?" Zero asked.
Kaname's gaze was steady and reassuring. "Yuki is important to both of us, and she will always be a part of our lives."
Zero listened, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions.
Kaname continues "But the bond between us is unique. It's not about replacing anyone; it's about accepting what fate has given us and making the best of it."
Zero taking it all in "Can we not just be friends and you be with Yuki?" he asked, even though the thought of Kaname being with anyone else romantically hurt him deeply.
“No.” Kaname’s voice was suddenly sharp, almost pained. “Don’t do that. Don’t reduce what we are to something so small.”
Zero flinched.
Kaname felt rage boiling within him.
Zero kept on testing his limits no matter how gentle he tried to be. "Do you think I can simply ignore the bond and pretend it doesn't exist?"
Kaname's voice was low and controlled, but there was an edge to it. "Do you think I can just be friends with my mate while you push yourself to someone else? It doesn't work that way, Zero."
Zero flinched at the intensity in Kaname's eyes, a mix of anger and pain.
Kaname continued, his voice firm, "You are mine, Zero, and as I am yours, I will not share you with anyone, nor will I share myself with anyone."
Zero pulled himself away from Kaname, defiance flashing in his eyes. "You said you would give me time, Kuran."
Kaname's patience snapped.
Instead of finding solutions, Zero was trying to treat him like a stranger, addressing him as if they were mere acquaintances rather than fated mates, two halves of one soul.
This was childish. After 10,000 years, Kaname wanted his mate completely, and his mate was suggesting they be just friends.
Like hell he would allow that.
"I gave you time, and you have been misusing it. Come now, it's time to feed you. And no more of this time nonsense," Kaname spat.
Zero needed to learn about the vampire way of life; perhaps then he would stop fighting the mate bond, which was such a blessed relationship that not everyone was lucky enough to have.
Zero recoiled at Kaname's sudden change in demeanor. "You can't just command me like that," he protested.
His voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "I am not your lackey follower that you can order around."
Kaname's eyes softened slightly, but his resolve remained firm. "I am not commanding you, Zero. I am trying to guide you. The bond between us is sacred, and you need to understand that. Fighting it will only bring us both more pain."
Zero's defiance wavered as he saw the genuine concern in Kaname's eyes.
“You don’t understand—” Zero began, but Kaname cut in gently.
“I understand more than you know,” he said, stepping forward, his voice low and sure. “I know who you are—and who you aren’t. And I know that you are mine.” His gaze held Zero fast. “Being mates in my world is no less than a marriage. A binding of souls.”
Zero’s breath caught. His eyes widened. “Marriage?” he repeated, as if the word alone could crack the foundations of the life he knew.
Kaname smiled softly, stepping closer still. “Do you think anyone else would dare speak to me the way you do? And live?” His tone was teasing, but there was a reverent glint in his eyes, like he treasured every barbed word, every glare, every ounce of fire Zero dared direct his way.
"Do you think my followers would get away with half the things you do or say to me?" Kaname's words made Zero blush deeply.
"Even when I didn't know you were my mate, I allowed you to be free with me, and that will not change. I… admire your spirit, Zero. I always have.” Kaname say genuinely.
"How can you be okay with this? Don't you want your family line to continue? Zero asked.
Zero’s gaze wavered, guilt creeping in as he turned away. “you’re a pureblood. You need an heir. A legacy. I can’t give you that. I’m a man, just a hunter —”
“You are everything,” Kaname whispered, stepping close enough that Zero could feel his breath. “I’ve waited lifetimes for you. I will never ask the universe for more than what it’s already given me. If children are meant for us, they will come. If not, I already have what matters most.”
Zero’s lips parted in silent disbelief. The weight of those words—of such quiet, unconditional love—hit deeper than anything else had.
"your soul, your heart—are what I was born to find.” Kaname says.
"I need more time," Zero whispered, almost pleading.
Kaname sighed, his anger ebbing away. "I understand, Zero. But we can't keep running in circles. You need to start accepting what we are to each other. Come with me, let me show you what it means to be mates."
Reluctantly, Zero nodded. He didn't know if he could ever fully accept the bond, but for now, he would try to understand it.
The next thing Zero knew, Kaname had swept him up into his arms in a bridal hold, making him shout out in surprise.
"The hell are you doing, Kuran?!" he exclaimed, his face flushing a deep crimson as he squirmed in an attempt to break free.
Kaname’s grip was gentle but resolute, his amusement dancing in his eyes. “Carrying you,” he said simply.
“I’ve never teleported with someone before. I don’t know what it would do to your body. I won’t risk it. Not with you.”
He leapt into the night sky before Zero could argue further. The wind wrapped around them like silk, and Zero instinctively buried his face in Kaname’s neck, gripping his collar tightly.
It felt eerily similar to that fateful night during Zero's self-appointed mission.
"Wait, you can teleport?" Zero asked muffled, awe evident in his wide eyes.
Kaname laughed, a light-hearted sound that reverberated through the air. "Yes."
"Why didn't you do it when we were attacked? You could have escaped easily!" Zero shot back, half in frustration, half in admiration.
"And leave my sweet mate alone in danger?" Kaname teased, his tone playful yet resolute. "No, Never."
Zero flushed deeper, guilt gnawing at his chest. “You could’ve died,” he whispered. “They poisoned you. I thought you—”
Kaname shrugged, as if death itself were a minor inconvenience, then he leaned down just enough to press his lips against the top of Zero’s head. “What is life,” he murmured, “without the soul it was meant to walk beside?”
Zero couldn't help but feel a swell of guilt at the thought of how much Kaname cared, risking everything for him.
The reality of their bond pressed down on him like a heavy stone.
They landed softly on the balcony of Kaname’s chambers. The night wrapped around them like a cocoon. Zero didn’t even realize Kaname hadn’t let him down until they were inside the room, passing the desk, into the bedroom that smelled faintly of cedarwood and something unmistakably Kaname.
Zero was set down gently atop soft black sheets, the mahogany bedframe dark and elegant like its master.
And then Kaname did something that stole the breath from Zero’s lungs.
He knelt.
Not out of submission, but out of reverence.
With careful, unhurried hands, he began to remove Zero’s shoes, his movements tender and precise, as if the act was sacred.
Zero watched, stunned, heart pounding loud in his chest. “You don’t have to…”
Kaname looked up, eyes glowing with warmth. “I want to. Caring for you is not a burden—it’s a privilege.”
Zero’s throat closed up, a lump forming there that wouldn’t dissolve. The tenderness was unbearable, overwhelming, and yet—it made him feel seen. Loved. Not just desired, but chosen.
“This isn’t just about duty, Zero,” Kaname said, rising and sitting beside him. “It’s about love. The kind that doesn’t ask to be returned but offers itself wholly anyway.”
Zero was struggling against emotions that felt too big to handle, too complex to articulate.
Kaname stood up, sitting beside him on the bed, his presence both comforting and overwhelming.. "It's okay to be unsure, to have doubts. But you need to trust me and trust the bond we share," he urged gently
Zero turned his face away, overwhelmed by the quiet ferocity of Kaname’s devotion.
And then he whispered, almost inaudibly, “I don’t know how to be loved like that.”
Kaname gently reached out, brushing a strand of silver hair behind Zero’s ear, his fingertips lingering along the line of his jaw. “Then let me show you.”
Zero swallowed hard, feeling the vulnerability in Kaname's words. "But this is all so new to me. Everything about you, about us, it’s... it’s a lot," he admitted, his voice trembling slightly.
Kaname leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. "I understand. But every bond has its challenges. Our connection is a gift, Zero, one that many would give anything to possess. I will always be here to help you navigate through it."
As silence enveloped them, the weight of the moment settled in. Zero glanced away, grappling with the swirling thoughts in his mind.
Could he truly embrace this bond? Could he let go of the fears and expectations that haunted him?
Kaname, sensing his turmoil, placed a hand on Zero's back, grounding him. "You are not alone in this." he said softly.
"You need to feed," Kaname said, his voice low and gentle.
He rose, fingers working open the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease. Each layer of fabric he removed felt symbolic, not just of undressing but of trust laid bare. He pulled away his blazer, his tie, and then finally his shirt, baring his throat in an offering as old as time.
“And this time… don’t hold back. Trust your instincts.”
Zero’s breath hitched. His eyes, already tinged red, glowed brighter as he stared at the pale expanse of Kaname’s neck. “But what if I hurt you?” he whispered, trembling with hesitation.
Kaname’s smile was calm, patient, impossibly tender. “I trust you. I always have.”
And with those simple words, the wall Zero had been desperately trying to rebuild crumbled.
Kaname smiled warmly. "I said I would help you understand the bond, and this is part of it. Trust me," he repeated, his eyes filled with unwavering confidence.
Zero nodded slowly, still hesitant but unable to resist the magnetic pull of Kaname's trust and reassurance.
Kaname took off his shoes and socks, then lay down on the bed, looking up at Zero with a mix of patience and anticipation.
Zero moved over him, dazed and trembling. With careful hands, he cupped Kaname’s jaw, then leaned in to lick the exposed skin of his neck.
The taste was faintly sweet, intoxicating, ancient. He felt Kaname shiver beneath him, and the sound that left his throat—low and needy—rippled straight through Zero’s chest.
With great care, Zero sunk his fangs into Kaname's neck, feeling an overwhelming sense of connection and belonging.
Their moans harmonized, a low sound of relief and something deeper—recognition. Kaname’s blood was like molten fire and honey, rich with power, thick with memory. With every swallow, Zero felt more grounded… and more free.
This was not feeding.
This was communion.
It was like an elixir, powerful and intoxicating, filling Zero with warmth and strength. For Kaname, having Zero's fangs sink into him felt like coming home after a long, arduous journey.
It was a sensation of completeness, a profound sense of rightness.
Kaname’s arms wrapped around him tightly, anchoring him in place, pulling him closer as if he never intended to let go. And in that embrace, Zero felt something more than safety.
Zero could feel the intensity of Kaname's emotions, the depth of his love and commitment.
How can he ignore it and pretend it's not true when can literally taste it in Kaname's blood.
This pureblood truly loved him, unconditionally.
After a few moments, Zero pulled away, sitting up on Kaname's torso, his eyes still glowing with the shared bond.
"Your hungry" Zero stated, his voice husky. He took off his own blazer and pulled down the collar of his shirt, using his fingernail to scratch his neck lightly before leaning down to drink from Kaname again.
The message was clear, and Kaname wasn't going to deny it.
He too licked and gently bit down on Zero's neck. The sensation was heavenly, a perfect blend of pleasure and connection.
Finally, his mate was reacting like a mate, and it felt like everything had fallen into place.
Kaname felt the warmth of Zero's body on top of him. the weight and presence both comforting and electrifying.
Finally his mate was willingly feeding from him and pravidng for him at the same time. This was how mate bond were meant to be. Zero's instincts knows what to do. They were bound together in a way that transcends mere physicality.
Their bond was deeply emotional and spiritual.
Zero’s breaths came in heavy and heated bursts against Kaname's neck, He could feel the power and vitality coursing through him from Kaname's blood. A life force so potent it made him feel invincible.
As he drank the world around them seemed to fade away leaving only the two of them connected in this intimate moment.
Zero pulled back slightly, his lips red with Kaname's biood, his eyes still glowing with an intensity that mirrored Kaname's own.
Two mates hungry for each other,to devour more than just blood.
He looked down at Kaname seeing not just his mate but someone who understood him in ways no one else could. Someone who accepted him fully without retervation.
Kaname reached up. his fingers brushing against Zero’s chin wiping away a stray drop of blood. "How do you feel?" he asked softly.
his voice a gantle murmur in the quiet room.
Zero swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. "Alive. Stronger. Whole" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper
Kaname smiled, a look of relief and satisfaction crossing his features.
"Good, You needed this Zero. We both did. I feel so full and content"
Zero nodded, understanding the truth in Kaname's words. This bond as overwhelming as it was, gave them both strength.
It was source of power and stabity. something they coud rely on in the chaos of their lives
Without warning, Zero leaned down and captured Kaname’s lips in a fierce, unspoken kiss.
It wasn’t planned—it wasn’t even conscious. It was instinct, the pull of something ancient and true that surged up from the core of his soul. Kaname responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Zero’s back and pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
Zero kissed him with gratitude. With surrender. With something frighteningly close to love.
Zero was willingly kissing him Kaname couldn't be anymore happier.
Kaname let him lead, content in the silence between heartbeats to follow wherever Zero’s newfound desire would take them. Their lips moved with growing hunger—slow at first, then deeper, bolder, the kiss speaking all the words Zero didn’t yet know how to say.
How did Zero deny this for so long? He needed this like he needed air and blood. He needs Kaname.
Kaname was his.
Completely.
Mate.
His mate.
When they finally broke apart, both were beeathless, their foreheads resting against each other.
Kaname's eyes searched Zeros and saw his own desire being reflected back. So he closed the gap once again, puting a hand Behind Zero's neck for support. Zero matched him with the same hunger.
Zero wrapping his arms around Kaname’s shoulders sucked gently on Kaname’s bottom lip, drawing a soft, involuntary groan from the pureblood’s throat. It was a sound that made Zero’s heart flutter.
Kaname rolled, shifting them so that Zero lay beneath him, the warmth of his body a comforting weight. Zero didn’t resist. In fact, he welcomed it, wrapping his legs around Kaname’s waist instinctively.
Kaname took things slow so Zero had time to refuse if something was uwanted. Kaname gently let his fangs pierced Zeros Iips and suckled the blood from there Zero hissed but didn't push away soon their kiss turned bloodied.
Mix of both of them.
They kissed again—long, slow, and unhurried—hands roaming, discovering. There was no rush in their touch, only reverence, like they were memorizing each other piece by piece. Every caress was a vow. Every sigh, a confession.
Zerp's hands found themselves on Kaname's back. Fingers digging in while he attempted to bring Kanarme even closer. He needed Kaname so close.
Their movements were slow and deliberate.
Each touch and kiss an declaration of their newfound intimacy.Kaname's hands roamed over Zero's body. tracing the lines and curves with reverence.
Zero responded with equal favour, his own hand discovering the familiar yet Intmately significant terrain of Kanames form. Both couldn't get enough of eachother.
As they continued, the connection between them grew stronger, more profound.
They moved together in a rhythm that felt timeless, as if they had always been meant to find each other in this way. The boundaries of where one ended and the other began blurred, leaving only the unified whole of their bond.
Kaname's eyes locked onto Zero's, a silent question passing between them. Zero nodded, giving his unspoken consent.
Kaname left kisses and bite down from Zero's neck to his chest and stomach, worshiping each of Zero's nipples with tender licks and sucks.
With that, Kaname guided them into the depths of their shared passion, using his blood and fingers to make it painless for Zero, blood serving as a natural lubricant, he made sure to stretch his mate good. Zero's eagerness making it difficult for Kaname to concentrate.
When he finally joined with Zero's overwhelming warmth, Zero hissed in pain grabbing Kaname's shoulders so tightly that he drew blood.
Each slow, tender movement was a testament to their bond, an emotional and spiritual connection they shared
"Ah, fuck, move,' Zero hissed, his voice strained.
Kaname paused, concern etched on his face. "I don't want to hurt you, Zero,' he whispered, his tone filled with a mix of worry and determination.
Kissing Zero deeply distracting Zero from the pain. he thoroughly conquered Zero's mouth with his tongue before moving his hips
Each movement, each touch between them was a physical manifestation of the emotional and spiritual connection they shared.
Kaname moved with deliberate care, ensuring Zero's comfort while deepening their bond with every moment.
The pain gradually subsided,replaced by an overwhelming sense of unity and closeness.
Soon the room filled with sounds of moans and groans. Ah, K... aname,' Zero arched up, lifting his hips to meet Kaname's chasing the feeling of fullness and completeness.
Finally Consummating their bond, they became true mates in every form there was. and no more running- this is where Zero belonged, with Kaname.
In the quiet aftermath, they lay entwined, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Kaname's fingers traced lazy patterns on Zero's skin, a gentle reminder of the bond that now connected them on every level.
Zero's head rested on Kaname's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting sound in the silence.
They felt as if nothing could break this blissful moment, not even the sticky residue of sweat and other bodily fluids that clung to their bodies
"Do you still think we can only be friends?" Kaname asked softly. his voice a murmur in the quiet room.
Zero looked up, meeting Kaname's gaze. "Erm, yes...? I do have a girlfriend."
The softness disappeared from Kaname's eyes, replaced by a red rage and jealousy that took over his expression.
"A girlfriend?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "After everything we've just shared, you still think we can be friends, and you mention a girlfriend?"
Zero's eyes widened in shock. His intention had been to tease Kaname and ask for a bit of time to break up with his gentle girl. He hadn't anticipated the depth of Kaname's reaction or the intensity of his possessiveness.
Kaname's expression hardened as he shifted their positions once more, taking control.
" guess we'll keep mating until all you can think about is me and our future", he spat, his voice dripping with a nix of possessiveness and anger .
"I gave you time to think about us, and you used that time to find someone else. Do you know how much it hurt to be away from you while you were with another?".
By the end of the night, Zero was a moaning mess, barely able to speak.
His cries of "more" and 'harder" had turned into desperate pleas for mercy. "Ahhh, can't anymore, Kana.. sorry," he gasped, his voice strained and hoarse.
Zero’s fingers clutched the sheets before seeking out Kaname’s hand. Their fingers intertwined—bloodied, bitten, claimed—and in that simple gesture, something wordless passed between them: trust, belonging, love.
He choked out a final, breathless promise, "Yours. promise," his exhaustion evident.
Kaname’s expression softened with tenderness, and in the quiet aftermath, their limbs remained tangled beneath the ruined sheets—evidence of a night where hearts had spoken louder than fears.
They had bared everything, not just skin, but truth. Every bite, every kiss, every whispered plea had been a seal upon their bond, branding them to each other more completely than even blood could manage.
They drank from one another with fervor, marking every inch of available skin. The act was both a culmination of their bond and ar assertion of their ownership over each other.
Kaname's relentless pursuit of Zero's complete surrender was evident in every touch and every bite.
Morning brought no relief. The room was filled with Zero's loud, unabashed moans and the unrelenting sounds of their activity.
Kaname hadn’t let up—not out of dominance, but desperation. As though, after having waited ten thousand years, he feared this might all vanish if he stopped holding, touching, loving.
The wet, rhythmic noises made Zero blush a deep red, both from embarrassment and the sheer intensity of their connection.
Kaname seemed determined to make up for every moment lost, his focus unwavering in solidifying their bond and ensuring Zero's commitment.
Zero could only cling to Kaname overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection. Kaname took him in ways Zero had never imagined, pushing him to the very edge of his physical and emotional limits.
Zero soon realized that their bond was far more than mere friendship. It demanded everything he had, just as Kaname demanded everything in return.
His body was a trembling mess, his nails digging into Kaname's skin as he reached the peak of pleasure. Despite having nothing more to give, the pleasure didn't wane. Kaname's fluids kept filling him, creating a warm, almost overwhelming sensation inside.
The bed sheets were in tatters drenched with the evidence of their passion.Both of their bodies were covered in bites and marks, the remnants of their fervent night together.
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Chapter Text
Kaname truly was making up for lost time, ten thousand years of waiting for his mate, and now, finally, he had Zero beneath him, their souls intertwined in a bond that was as ancient as it was unbreakable.
How could he stop loving his mate now? The sound of Zero's moaning was like music to his ears, a symphony that echoed the completion of something he had longed for through countless ages.
Tonight, they had consummated their bond, something Kaname hadn't anticipated happening so soon, but something that felt as natural as breathing.
Kaname moved slowly, savoring every moment, every shiver, every moan that escaped Zero’s lips.
It felt as though the universe itself had finally aligned. This was not just passion, though that burned between them like a wildfire. This was something far deeper, more sacred.
As he moved against Zero, feeling the heat of their bodies merging, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no Yuki, no other concerns—only the two of them, bound together by fate and blood.
The connection they shared was more than physical; it was spiritual, a melding of two souls that were always meant to find one another, despite the odds.
Kaname could taste it in Zero's blood, the acceptance, the surrender to what they were.
Zero might not fully understand it yet, might still wrestle with the complexities of their bond, but he had accepted it on some level. Kaname only hoped that when the dawn came, Zero wouldn’t try to back out, wouldn’t try to distance himself from the reality of their connection.
But even if he did, Kaname wouldn’t allow it.
This bond was sacred, a rare and precious gift that not even Kaname himself could fully comprehend right now.
Kaname was determined to help both himself and Zero understand, to guide each other through the intricacies of what it meant to be mates.
He would be patient, gentle when needed, but he would also be firm.
There was no going back from this.
They were bound in every sense of the word, and Kaname would make sure Zero felt that with every fiber of his being.
The night stretched on, the intensity between them never wavering. For Kaname, this was more than just physical pleasure—it was the culmination of centuries of waiting, of longing, of searching for the one soul that was made to complete his.
And now that he had Zero, he would never let him go.
No matter how many times Kaname took Zero, the feeling always takes his breath away. The way Zero's body fits around his, the way Zero trembles and arches beneath him, surrendering so completely.
The heat of him, the tight grip of his muscles around Kaname.—it's intoxicating, and every time Kaname enters Zero, it feels like coming home.
Kaname paused, buried deep inside Zero, savoring the moment, the way Zero's body clenches instinctively around Kaname, like it never wants to let go. Kaname felt the tension in Zero's muscles, the slight quiver in his thighs. Kaname brushed his lips against the curve of Zero's neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make his skin flush and his breath hitch.
"Kaname..." Zero’s voice broke on his name, a blend of desperation and trust, and Kaname’s heart clenched at the sound.
The sight of Zero like this—his hair fanned out against the pillows, his lips parted as he gasped for breath, his body moving instinctively in sync with Kaname’s—took Kaname’s breath away. It was a vision he wanted to etch into his memory forever.
"You’re so perfect," Kaname whispered, his lips brushing against Zero’s ear.
His hand slid down Zero’s side, his thumb tracing the soft curve of his hip. "I can’t believe you’re mine."
Zero’s response was a soft whimper, his fingers tightening in Kaname’s hair as if to keep him close. His legs wrapped around Kaname’s waist, pulling him in deeper, and the sensation was almost overwhelming.
Kaname's hands tighten on Zero's hips, as he pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, just to drive Zero crazy. Zero's whimper of protest is like music to Kaname's ears, and before Zero can beg for more, Kaname thrust back in, hard and deep.
"KANAME!" Zero cries out, his voice raw, and it sends a jolt of possessive pride through Kaname.
He pressed a series of lingering kisses along Zero’s jawline, his voice a husky murmur. "Does it feel like home, Zero? Because for me, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be."
Zero didn’t answer with words—he couldn’t.
The emotions were too much, too raw.
Instead, he tilted his head to capture Kaname’s lips in a kiss that was desperate and full of fire. Their tongues met, tangling in a rhythm as old as time itself.
Kaname swallowed Zero’s soft moans, pouring every ounce of his love and devotion into the kiss.
The room is filled with the sounds of their coupling—skin slapping against skin, Zero's cries, Kaname's own low grunts. Kaname's fingers digging into Zero hips, holding him in place as Kaname drove into him, over and over.
Kaname knew Zero was close, his body shaking, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
As they reached the peak of their passion, Kaname held Zero close, whispering words of love and devotion into his ear, letting him know that this was forever.
He would protect Zero, cherish him, and ensure that nothing would ever come between them.
No more running, no more doubts.
Zero was his, and he was Zero’s.
Kaname watched Zero sleep, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This was just the beginning of their journey together, and Kaname would do everything in his power to ensure that their bond remained strong, unbreakable.
Zero might struggle, might try to pull away, but Kaname knew that deep down, Zero felt it too—the rightness of this, the inevitability of their connection. And no matter what came next, Kaname was ready to face it, as long as he had Zero by his side.
As the light of midday filtered through the curtains, Zero lay entwined with Kaname, his body exhausted yet buzzing with the remnants of their intense night. His limbs were heavy with satisfaction, muscles sore in a way that promised he'd be feeling Kaname's presence in every movement for days.
He doubted he could move anytime soon.
Did they really do what they did? A pureblood vampire and an ex-human vampire hunter—what a funny couple they would make.
Part of him wanted to regret it, to take back the passionate surrender he had given to Kaname, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not after tasting Kaname's feelings through his blood.
That blood had been like a conduit, flooding him with Kaname's love, desire, and possessiveness.
There was no longer any room to argue that Kaname was just using him.
The way Kaname's arms were wrapped securely around him, holding him close, told Zero everything he needed to know. He was anchored, bound by an unspoken promise that felt both possessive and protective.
It was confusing, overwhelming, and yet, it felt like something inside him had finally clicked into place.
Zero's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, struggling to process the seismic shift in their relationship. His entire existence had been defined by hatred and vengeance against vampires.
Yet here he was, lying in the arms of the very embodiment of what he had been taught to despise. And not just any vampire—a pureblood, the epitome of everything his kind was supposed to hunt.
His sworn enemy.
And yet, Kaname’s touch now traced gentle patterns on his skin, a soothing contrast to the storm that had raged between them hours before. It was almost tender, as if the pureblood were trying to reassure him.
Zero blushed, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.
Did he really lose his virginity like that, so suddenly, without any planning? And to a male, no less?
The realization felt surreal. He had never thought about this sort of thing before; he had never had the luxury to.
He had always been too focused on survival, on hatred, on his duty as a hunter. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he would end up with a vampire—a male one.
He hadn’t imagined he’d end up with anyone.
Kaname’s presence beside him was calming, the rhythm of his breathing in sync with Zero’s own, pulling him back to the present moment.
He seemed lost in thought, his brows furrowed slightly, as if contemplating something beyond the physical bond they had shared. The tension in his body gradually eased as the moments passed, replaced by a quiet contentment that made Zero’s heart ache with confusion and yearning.
How had it come to this so suddenly?
From not being able to stand each other to becoming so crucial to each other's existence?
Zero thought back to the countless times they had clashed, their words laced with disdain, their glares burning with mutual resentment.
He had always seen Kaname as an arrogant, manipulative pureblood, someone who thought of him as nothing more than a tool, a pawn in his game. But now... now everything was different.
There was no denying the intensity of Kaname’s feelings, the raw passion they had shared, the undeniable connection that had bound them together.
Kaname seemed to sense his inner conflict. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Zero's forehead, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he understood.
"You're thinking too much, Zero," Kaname murmured against his skin, his voice a soothing lull.
"I need you to understand something."Zero shifted slightly, looking up to meet Kaname's gaze.
The intensity in Kaname's eyes had softened, replaced by a depth of emotion that made Zero's heart ache. "What is it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No more time to think, no more running. You are mine," Kaname almost growled. "I don't share."
Zero sighed. "You don't share, but I suppose I'd have to share you with Yuki. You were horrible to me and did everything for her sake. What now?"Kaname's expression darkened for a moment before softening again.
He took a deep breath, his fingers stilling on Zero's skin. "Yuki is important to me, but she and I have always had a complicated relationship. My feelings for her are different from what I feel for you."
"Different how?" Zero challenged, his voice tinged with bitterness.
Kaname looked deeply into Zero's eyes, his own filled with a mixture of regret and determination. "Yuki was my responsibility, someone I needed to protect. But you, Zero, you are my equal, my mate. My love for you is not born out of duty or obligation. It's something much deeper, something I can't ignore or deny."
Zero's heart ached at Kaname's words, the sincerity in them cutting through his defenses. "But can you truly let go of her? Can you prioritize us over her?" he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of his insecurities.
What if this was all some sort of illusion.
Kaname cupped Zero's face, his thumb brushing gently across his cheek. "I can and I will," he promised, his voice steady and unwavering.
"You are my mate, my partner in every sense of the word. Our bond is unbreakable, and I will do everything in my power to make sure you know that."
Zero swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. "What about Yuki? What about her feelings?" Zero asked sadly.
"She’s clearly obsessed with you. I can’t be the reason for her pain, Kaname. She was there at my lowest." Zero cannot believe how complicated this has become.
Never in his dreams did he think that he and Yuki will have to fight over a man.
"I can’t be the reason for her losing the man she loves." Zero continues "I am willing to accept the bond and I accept you, but how can we cause so much pain and chaos?"
Kaname sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and understanding. "Zero, I understand your concern for Yuki. She’s been a significant part of both our lives."
He knew Zero’s concerns were valid, and the weight of their situation bore heavily on him too. "But my feelings for her is driven by a sense of duty and protection. My feelings for her were shaped by the responsibilities I felt towards her."
He stroked Zero's cheek gently, his touch filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "What I feel for you, it’s different. It's raw, real, and undeniable. We are meant to be."
Zero listened intently, his heart aching with the truth in Kaname's words. He wanted to believe in the bond they shared, but the fear of causing Yuki pain held him back.
"Yuki deserves happiness, just as we do," Kaname continued, his voice steady but gentle. "But the happiness we’re talking about is not something I can give her. It’s something she needs to find on her own. My role in her life has changed, and in time she will understands that."
Zero nodded slowly, the logic of Kaname's words settling in. But the emotional turmoil within him was still evident. "But what if she doesn’t understand? What if she can’t accept it?"
Kaname’s gaze softened further, his fingers gently brushing through Zero’s hair. "Then it’s up to us to help her understand. To show her that while our paths may be different now, it doesn’t mean she’s lost everything. She has to find her own strength and path, just as we have found ours."
Zero’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the enormity of their situation pressing down on him.
He knew Kaname was right, but the fear of the unknown loomed large. "I just don’t want to lose anyone, Kaname. Not you, not Yuki."
Kaname pulled Zero closer, their foreheads resting against each other. "And you won’t. We’ll navigate this together. We’ll find a way to help Yuki see that this is the best path for all of us. Our bond is strong, Zero. It’s something we can rely on, something we can build our future on. Trust in that, and trust in us."
Kaname continued "You need to know what will happen from now on."
Zero looked up at Kaname, his eyes searching for reassurance.
Kaname's gaze was steady and filled with a warmth that seemed to anchor Zero amidst the storm of his emotions.
Kaname took a deep breath, preparing to lay out what lay ahead. "We've crossed a significant threshold," Kaname began, his tone calm and deliberate.
"What happened between us was not just a physical act; it was a profound change in our relationship. We are no longer just two beings with a complicated past. We've moved beyond that, and it means that our future together needs to be redefined."He paused, ensuring Zero was absorbing his words.
"From now on, our bond is deeper. We will face challenges together, but we will also experience moments of profound connection. You should know that being with me means accepting both the responsibilities and the rewards of our bond. I care for you deeply, and that care is not just about physical satisfaction. It's about being there for you, supporting you, and protecting you."Kaname's hand continued to trace soothing patterns on Zero's back, his touch gentle but insistent.
"Our relationship will evolve. We will continue to explore what it means to be together, to support each other, and to navigate the complexities of our lives. You will have a place in my world, and I will have a place in yours."
Kaname kept his tone gentle, his mate was young and not a born vampire. He needed to understand the bond and the vampire ways.
"But with that comes a commitment from both of us. We need to communicate openly and honestly, to understand each other's needs and boundaries."He looked into Zero's eyes, his expression sincere.
"I want us to build something lasting and meaningful. It won't always be easy, but it will be worth it. And above all, I need you to trust me. Trust that I am here for you, that I care for you in a way that goes beyond the physical. Trust that together, we can face whatever comes our way."
Zero closed his eyes, letting Kaname’s words wash over him.
He could feel the sincerity and determination in every word, the strength of their bond providing a reassuring anchor in the storm of emotions.
Slowly, he began to accept that while their path was fraught with challenges, it was also filled with the promise of a love that could overcome any obstacle.
"Alright," Zero whispered, his voice filled with a tentative hope. "I trust you, Kaname. I trust us."
Kaname smiled, a look of profound relief and gratitude crossing his features.
As the light continued to fill the room, Kaname and Zero lay entwined, their hearts and souls united by a bond that promised to withstand the trials ahead.
It was a new beginning, one filled with both challenges and the promise of a love that could transcend any obstacle. And in that moment, they found solace and strength in each other’s embrace, ready to face whatever the future held, together.
They lay there for a while longer, basking in the quietude of their newfound understanding. Kaname would kiss him sofly every other minute and trail lingering kisses along his shoulder blades making Zero blush.
The sun had fully risen by the time they reluctantly began to untangle themselves from each other, the reality of the day ahead starting to settle in.
Zero winced as he moved, his body still aching from the intensity of the night before, a pain shooting through his back that was already fading, probably because of Kaname's strong blood within him.
Kaname noticed and immediately helped him, concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?"
Zero gave a small, reassuring smile. "Just a bit sore. But I’ll be fine."
Kaname's eyes softened with a mix of guilt and love. "I’m sorry I was too rough. I never wanted to cause you pain."
Zero shook his head. "It wasn’t just pain, Kaname. It was... everything else too. It’s just going to take some time to adjust, though we could have done without you going at it all night."
Kaname smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Sorry, purebloods are possessive beings, and the more you called out my name, the more I wanted to hear it."
Kaname picked Zero up despite Zero's protests. "Let's get you cleaned up. I will arrange for food and hot healing tea for your throat."
Zero blinked. "How did you know my throat was hurting?"
Kaname chuckled. "Your voice is hoarse, but that's to be expected when you moan and scream your mate's name all night."
Zero blushed and murmured, "Stupid leech."
Kaname laughed out loud. "Not a nice nickname for the vampire of your life."
"Shut up, Kuran," Zero spat. Making Kaname laugh softly.
Kaname helped Zero into the bath. As Zero relaxed in the bath Kaname leaned in to press soft kisses to his forehead and whisper reassurances.
Kaname left to arrange for food, basically ordering Seiren and changing the bedding himself as he was sure Zero didn't want anyone to find out about last night's deeds yet.
Once done, he joined Zero in the bathroom sitting beside the tub and continuing to wash away the remaining traces of their passion with a gentle touch.
His attentiveness evident in every gesture.
The soothing warmth of the water was a welcome relief for Zero's sore muscles, but he soon noticed an uncomfortable sensation.
He could feel Kaname's fluids running down his legs, a reminder of their intense night. Zero shifted uncomfortably, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.
" What wrong?" Kaname asked.
Zero shut his eyes and looked away from Kaname. "Zero?" Kaname asked concerned.
"Shut up" Zero murmured. Kaname eyes in wide concern for Zero's well being made him bombard Zero with questions. Zero irritated realising Kaname won't leave him alone.
Kaname's cheek reddened when releastion drawn to him.
Zero really has done the impossible, after ten thousand years Kaname didn't think it was possible for him to blush.
His gaze softened with understanding, and he nodded. "My apology. Would you like me to help you clean up." His voice was calm and reassuring.
"Wh..what?..."Zero asked panicked.
With gentle hands, Kaname leaned closer to Zero.
Zero grabbed his hand stoping his task.
"Are you still shy after all we did last night?" Kaname chuckled amused. "We are mates Zero" Kaname remained.
Zero glared heatedly "I dont care, you perverted leech. Get out." Zero growled out shut his eyes hoping to hide away from the embarrassment.
Kaname smiled and cleaned himself up and left to give his embarrassed mate some privacy.
Kaname got some of his clothes for Zero, letting Takuma know he wont be attending class today. Before returning to the bathroom to help Zero out of the bath, wrapping him in a soft, clean towel and gently patting him dry.
Despite Zero insisting that he can do it himself.
Kaname's attentiveness was unwavering. He dressed Zero in fresh, comfortable clothing ensuring that every step was taken with care. His touch was soothing, and his presence was a comforting constant throughout the process
Zero dressed in Kaname's clothes, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in their shared intimacy.
The scent of Kaname clung to the fabric, a constant reminder of their bond. It's been a long time since someone took care of him like this. Kaname, noticing Zero's contemplative expression, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Are you alright, Zero?"
Zero looked up, meeting Kaname's concerned gaze. "Yeah, a lot has changed within a night."
Kaname nodded, understanding the weight of Zero's thoughts. "I can’t complain. I feel blessed. Finally, I have my mate within arm's reach, and we've already consummated our bond. I was truly becoming scared that you'd never accept me."
Kaname held Zero in his arms and tilting Zero's head by his chin, placing a soft loving kiss on Zero's lips.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Making them pull part. Seiren entered, carrying a tray laden with food and a pot of steaming tea. She placed it on the table and gave a respectful nod before silently exiting the room.
Kaname guided Zero to the table, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to him. "Drink this. It will help your throat."
Zero took the cup, the warmth seeping into his hands. He sipped the tea, the soothing liquid easing the rawness in his throat.
As he ate, Kaname watched him, a mix of affection and protectiveness in his gaze.
After they had finished, Kaname leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "Zero, I know we have a lot to figure out, especially with Yuki. But I want you to know that I'm committed to us. Whatever it takes, we will make this work."
Zero nodded, the weight of Kaname's words settling over him. "I want you to be committed to us too. No more girlfriends; I won't allow or accept it. To put it in human words, we are married now, though the mate bond is far more than that. It’s something that can never truly be explained in human words."
Zero sighed. "Tamayo is a nice girl. I can't just stop seeing and ignore her altogether."
Kaname clenched his fists. Zero continued "I will see her and break up with her as gently as possible."
Kaname exhaled. "Was it really necessary to start dating? How far have you gone with her? Did you kiss her? Did you drink from her?"
Jealousy was very evident in Kaname's voice. "Isn't my blood enough?"
Zero looked down, feeling the intensity of Kaname's emotions. "No, I never kissed her or drank from her. It wasn’t that serious. I started dating her because I was trying to convince myself that I didn’t need you, that I could move on. But it was all a lie. I know that now."
Kaname's expression softened, the jealousy and hurt easing slightly.
Zero nodded. "I promise I’ll handle this with Tamayo. She deserves to have an answer of some sort"
Kaname reached out, taking Zero's hand in his. "Zero. No more running, no more hiding. We face everything as a team now."
Zero squeezed Kaname’s hand, feeling the strength and warmth of their bond.
"Do you want to stay here since it's already afternoon? You've missed most of your classes," Kaname asked, his voice soft yet insistent. "We could catch up on sleep, and I can take today off too."
Zero looked at Kaname, raising an eyebrow. "Just sleep?"
Kaname chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "If you're up for more than sleep, I openly welcome it."
Zero sighed, the reality of his obligations pressing in. "I'm supposed to meet Tamayo in town."
Kaname’s expression darkened slightly, a hint of jealousy flickering in his eyes. "I see. Leaving your mate to spend time with other women. This is called having an affair, Zero."
Zero sighed again, more heavily this time.
"In this case, you're the other woman. I was dating Tamayo before things happened between us last night."
Kaname shook his head firmly. "No, we've been together since the moment you fed me your blood and completed the blood bond."
Kaname leaned in and kissed Zero, a blend of passion and possession. "Stay."
"How am I supposed to break up with her if I don't meet up with her?" Zero asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
"But you can barely walk. You need rest," Kaname insisted, his concern evident.
Zero let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "If I stay, I won't be able to walk anytime soon, will I? I'll go rest in my room then."
Kaname reluctantly agreed to let Zero go to his own room to rest, but only after extracting a promise from him. "Promise me, Zero. No seeing Tamayo today. You need to rest and recover."
"I promise," Zero replied, leaning in for a quick kiss before slowly making his way towards the balcony.
With a graceful leap, he jumped off, heading towards the Sun Dormitory to rest and think about the whirlwind of events since last night.
As he landed lightly on the ground and made his way inside, Zero reflected on how dramatically his life had changed.
He and Kaname had spent years as adversaries, their mutual distrust and animosity a constant barrier.
Yet now, they were acting like close friends—like lovers, married as Kaname put it even—as if their past enmity had never existed.
Despite his initial reservations, Zero found himself unable to reject Kaname's touch. In fact, he welcomed it.
Settling into his room, Zero sent a quick message to Tamayo, rearranging their meeting. She deserved better, he thought, just as Yuki did. Both women needed someone who held them in their hearts, not someone yearning for another while with them.
Exhaustion overtook him quickly, and he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, it was night. Moonlight slipped through the open window, casting a soft glow over the room.
"Your sleeping form looks radiant in the moonlight, like you were blessed by it," came Kaname's voice from a dark corner.
Zero didn’t startle; somehow, even in his sleep, he had known Kaname was there.
"Creepy leech," he murmured.Kaname chuckled, stepping out of the shadows.
"Your creepy mate brought food. It's almost dinner time. I doubt you had lunch." He placed a container full of food bedside table, the aroma of warm, freshly cooked food filling the room. "Go wash up."
Zero, still groggy, nodded and made his way to the bathroom.
Zero was sent to freshen up by Kaname. He washed his face and brushed his teeth while Kaname waited for him with food.
This should feel weird, Zero thought.
Just yesterday he was avoiding Kaname and trying to ignore the mate bond by dating a girl, and now he was mated to Kaname, with Kaname bringing him food.
Zero blushed, thinking about the things they did last night.
All night and into the morning, Kaname had been insatiable and possessive.
When Zero came out of the bathroom, Kaname stared at him before approaching and pulling him into his arms. Zero willingly wrapped his arms around Kaname's neck.
He would always go into a haze with Kaname near, like nothing else mattered—only them in their moments.
"You're blushing, Zero. What were you thinking about?" Kaname asked, making Zero blush even more.
Kaname groaned and brought their lips together, kissing his mate, who kissed him back.
This was perfect. Kaname was happy; after 10,000 years, he had finally found his other half. Yet, despite his joy, Kaname couldn't help but feel scared that this wouldn't last.
For so many reasons, Shizuka had a claim over Zero as she was the one who turned him, Rido would harm Zero if he knew how important Zero was to Kaname just to keep Kaname in line, the vampire and hunter societies, and finally the secrets Kaname held.
Kaname held Zero tightly, savoring every touch, smell, and feel, etching every moment with his mate into his mind as precious.
They reluctantly broke apart, sitting down to eat the meal Kaname had brought. The aroma of the warm food filled the room, providing a comforting backdrop to their conversation.
They ate in comfortable silence, the bond between them growing stronger with each shared moment.
Zero couldn’t deny the deep connection he felt with Kaname, a connection that went beyond physical attraction. It was something profound, something he couldn’t easily explain or dismiss.
sa
As Zero leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the table, a question began to gnaw at him. "So, what do you think the vampire society will say about us being mated?" His voice was steady but tinged with apprehension. "I mean, our relationship is bound to stir things up."
Kaname’s expression shifted, his usual calm now shadowed with contemplation. He set his fork down gently, folding his hands on the table. "The vampire society has always been a complex web of politics and old traditions. Our mating is… unprecedented. It will undoubtedly be seen as disruptive."
Zero frowned, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Disruptive how?"
Kaname met his eyes, the weight of his words palpable. "Vampire society thrives on order and hierarchy. As the head of the Kuran family, my actions carry significant weight. Our bond could be interpreted as a deviation from what is expected of me—choosing a mate outside of pureblood circles is unheard of. Some may see it as a betrayal of tradition. Others might perceive it as a threat to their own power, an unpredictable shift in the balance they so desperately cling to."
Zero mulled this over, his brows knitting together. "So, they’re going to see us as some kind of political statement? Even though… this has nothing to do with politics."
Kaname’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his tone remained serious. "Unfortunately, everything about my existence has always been political, Zero. Every move I make is scrutinized, analyzed for hidden motives. Our mating will not be exempt from that lens. There will be those who whisper that I am trying to manipulate the hunters or weaken my rivals within the pureblood circles."
Zero exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Great. And what about the hunters? What will they say?"
Kaname’s smile faded, replaced by a somber expression.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "The hunter society is no stranger to black-and-white thinking. To them, a bond like ours may very well be seen as an unforgivable betrayal. Some will see you as having ‘fallen’ to the vampires' influence. Others, however, might view it as an opportunity—a bridge between our worlds."
Zero scoffed lightly. "You’re making it sound like we’re some kind of diplomatic experiment. It’s not like I chose this, Kaname. The bond chose us."
Kaname’s gaze softened, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. "I know, Zero. And that’s what makes it all the more difficult. Fate brought us together, but fate is not kind enough to shield us from the consequences."
Zero’s jaw tightened as he processed Kaname’s words. "So we’re in the middle of a storm before it even starts."
Kaname reached across the table, his hand brushing against Zero’s. "Yes, but we are together. That is all that matters to me."
Zero glanced down at their joined hands, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I hate politics," he muttered, though there was no venom in his tone.
Kaname chuckled softly. "You and me both."
Zero looked back at him, his lavender eyes locking with Kaname’s deep crimson ones. "You’re so calm about all this. Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?"
Kaname hesitated, his eyes searching Zero’s face. "I am," he admitted quietly. "But fear cannot dictate how I live my life. I have existed alone for so long, bound by duty and responsibility. For the first time, I have something that is mine—someone who is mine. I will protect that, no matter the cost."
Zero’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Kaname’s voice. He swallowed hard, his voice softer now. "I… I don’t want to lose this either."
Kaname’s gaze grew intense, a fire burning in his eyes as he leaned across the table, his fingers brushing Zero’s cheek.
"You won’t," Kaname assured him, his voice firm. "We will weather the storm together."
The bond they shared felt stronger with each passing moment, drawing them closer in ways Zero had never imagined.
Before Zero could respond, Kaname closed the distance between them, capturing Zero’s lips in a kiss that was both passionate and urgent.
The kiss was filled with everything they hadn’t said aloud—their fears, their hopes, and the undeniable pull that bound them together.
Zero responded instinctively, his hands tangling in Kaname’s hair as he leaned into the kiss.
The intensity of the moment overwhelmed him, his worries fading into the background as he lost himself in Kaname’s touch.
Their lips parted only when they both needed to breathe, the room filled with the sound of their rapid breaths.
“Zero,” Kaname whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “I need you.”Zero felt a surge of warmth at Kaname’s words, his own desire mirroring Kaname’s.
“Then take me,” he replied, his voice trembling with anticipation.
With a sense of urgency, Kaname guided Zero to his small bed.
Their hands explored each other with a mix of tenderness and desperation, the urgency of their actions reflecting the depth of their emotions.
Kaname's touch was careful and deliberate, his fingers exploring Zero's body with a sensitivity that spoke of his care and experience.
He gently opened Zero with his fingers, mindful of the previous night's activities, making sure not to cause any discomfort.
As their bodies intertwined, Kaname’s lips found Zero’s still-sensitive nipples, kissing and sucking them with a gentle but insistent pressure.
The sensations sent shivers through Zero’s body, heightening his arousal and making him gasp softly. Kaname’s attentions were both soothing and thrilling, his touch a mix of devotion and desire.
Zero’s breath quickened as Kaname’s mouth moved over him, his hands gripping the sheets as he lost himself in the sensations.
Each touch and kiss from Kaname was a reminder of their deep connection, and Zero’s anticipation only grew stronger.
Kaname’s movements were both deliberate and gentle as he continued his exploration.
His fingers, still warm from their previous touches, moved with a practiced grace, preparing Zero carefully and ensuring that every sensation was pleasurable.
Zero responded with soft moans, his body arching instinctively towards Kaname’s touch.Kaname’s lips left Zero’s nipples and trailed down his body, planting tender kisses along his stomach and lower.
Each kiss ignited a trail of warmth that made Zero shiver in anticipation.
When Kaname’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin of Zero’s inner thighs, Zero let out a breathless gasp, his fingers gripping Kaname’s shoulders tightly.
“Kaname,” Zero murmured, his voice a mix of need and longing. “Please… I need you.”
Kaname’s eyes met Zero’s, dark with desire and affection. “I’m here,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
He positioned himself carefully, his touch reassuring and filled with intent. He guided Zero’s legs apart, his gaze never leaving Zero’s face.
The intimacy of the moment deepened as Kaname slowly entered Zero, his movements careful and deliberate, as if savoring every second.
Zero’s breath hitched, his hands gripping Kaname’s shoulders tightly as he adjusted to the sensation.
The fullness was different this time—comforting and grounding, a stark yet welcome contrast to the frenzied passion of the previous night.
Kaname’s hand rested gently on Zero’s hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the soft skin there. His touch was reassuring, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling between them.
“It’s alright,” Kaname murmured, his voice low and soothing, carrying a warmth that wrapped around Zero like a blanket. “You’re doing so well.”
Zero’s lavender eyes met Kaname’s crimson gaze, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no vampire society, no hunter society, no looming threats or hidden secrets—only the two of them, bound together in this moment of vulnerability and connection.
The room was filled with the soft sounds of their combined breaths and whispered endearments, an intimate symphony that spoke of trust and love.
Kaname moved in a slow, rhythmic pace, his thrusts deliberate and tender, as though each movement was a vow unspoken.
Zero’s body responded eagerly, his fingers trailing down Kaname’s back as a shiver coursed through him.
His soft moans grew louder with each movement, the pleasure spreading through him like a wave, overwhelming and consuming in the most beautiful way.
Kaname leaned down, capturing Zero’s lips in a kiss that was both passionate and gentle, a silent declaration of everything he felt but couldn’t fully put into words. Zero kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring his trust and newfound acceptance into the connection.
Kaname’s possessiveness was evident in every caress and every whispered word, his actions both claiming and cherishing Zero.
Their bond deepened with every touch, every thrust, every shared breath.
It wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, spiritual—a merging of two souls who had found one another against all odds.
“You’re perfect, Zero,” Kaname whispered against his lips, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything about you... everything we are together. I’ve waited so long for this.”
Zero felt his heart clench at the sincerity in Kaname’s words. His own voice trembled as he replied, “I’m yours, Kaname. I—” He broke off, his words swallowed by a gasp as Kaname shifted, hitting a spot that sent sparks of pleasure racing through him.
Kaname’s smile was soft, his movements never faltering. “Say it, Zero. Tell me.”
Zero’s eyes fluttered shut, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. “I love you.”
The words hung in the air like a promise, and Kaname’s heart swelled with an emotion so profound it almost brought tears to his eyes.
He pressed his forehead against Zero’s, their breaths mingling as he replied, “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
Kaname’s pace quickened slightly, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. The tension built between them, their shared pleasure reaching a crescendo as they surrendered to the overwhelming force of their bond.
The intensity of their union was both exhilarating and comforting, a reminder of the depth of their bond.As the moment reached its peak, Kaname’s name escaped Zero’s lips in a choked gasp.
Kaname responded with a deep groan, his thrusts becoming more fervent as he reached his own release.
The shared climax was a powerful affirmation of their connection, leaving them both breathless and satisfied.
Kaname collapsed beside Zero, pulling him into a protective embrace.
Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breaths heavy and uneven, but the comfort of each other’s presence made everything else insignificant.
Kaname ran his fingers through Zero’s silver hair, his touch light and affectionate.
Zero rested his head against Kaname’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt truly at peace.
For now, they were content. The challenges they faced would be dealt with in time.
in this moment, they had each other, and that was enough.
As they lay together, their bond felt unbreakable, a source of strength and unity that would guide them through whatever the future held.
And for the first time in a long while, Zero felt truly at peace, knowing that he had found his place in the world—right beside Kaname.
Chapter 13: Future and past
Chapter Text
Future after the battle with Rido.
Zero sat hunched over on the edge of the couch, his silver hair falling messily over his eyes, hands trembling as the baby's cries pierced the small apartment. Panic swirled inside him, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. He had faced Level E vampires, hunted dangerous beasts, and stared death in the face countless times, but nothing compared to the helplessness he felt right now.
His son was in distress, his tiny fists clenched, his face red from hours of crying. And Zero didn’t know how to soothe him. Every wail cut into him, deeper than any wound he’d ever suffered. The baby’s violet eyes, so eerily similar to his own, were wide with fear and hunger, and Zero could feel his heart shattering with every desperate cry.
"I don’t understand…" Zero muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "What am I supposed to do? I’ve tried everything."
From across the room, Aido Hanabusa stood with an equally concerned expression. He had rushed over as soon as Zero called, though now the blonde vampire seemed out of his depth, holding the small bottle of blood tablets that the baby had rejected earlier.
"I told you, Zero," Aido said, his voice low but urgent as he stared down at the squirming infant. "He’s a pureblood. Those blood tablets aren’t going to cut it for him. He needs something… stronger."
Zero shot him a glare, his exhaustion and frustration evident in his eyes. "I get that, Aido. But I’m not giving him human blood, and my blood was working fine but suddenly now he can't keep it down, you said those blood tablets would work. They didn’t."
Aido winced, glancing at the bottle before tossing it onto the counter. "Yeah, I thought they might, but… the thing is, your kid isn’t just any pureblood. He’s different."
"What the hell does that mean?" Zero snapped, cradling his son closer, trying to shield him from the world’s cruelty—yet knowing he was powerless against the hunger eating at the boy.
Aido hesitated, his eyes softening with something like pity, and Zero hated it. "He’s not just any vampire, Zero. He inherited something from his father—Kaname Kuran. Pureblood children, especially the firstborn, usually take the blood of their pureblood parent first. It’s… tradition. I am surprised this didn't happen from the start"
Zero froze. His heart pounded as Aido's words hit him like a slap across the face.
Kaname Kuran.
The name alone made Zero’s stomach turn. He had worked so hard to keep Kaname out of his life. For the past year, he had raised this child in secret, determined to protect him from the truth. From Kaname.
"Aido, no. That’s not happening," Zero growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I’m not going to Kaname. I won’t let him know about my son."
Aido frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Zero, I get it. You hate Kaname-sama, but—"
"This isn’t just about hating him!" Zero’s voice cracked, his emotions boiling over. "It’s about keeping him away from my son. He doesn’t get to claim him. He doesn’t get to ruin his life like he’s ruined mine."
"But—"
"No!" Zero shook his head, his eyes blazing with anger. "I’ll find a way, Aido. There’s always another way. He’s not going to rely on Kaname. He’s not going to be a part of that world."
Aido sighed, rubbing his temples. "Zero, I know you’re trying to protect him, but this isn’t about pride. The kid’s hungry. And if he’s a pureblood, which he is, nothing we try will work unless he gets that initial blood. It’s… biology."
Zero’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. He had been through hell to keep Kaname out of this—to make sure his son wasn’t bound to the world of vampires and purebloods. He had sworn to protect his child from all of that.
But if Aido was right… if he needed Kaname’s blood just to survive…
"I can’t," Zero whispered, his voice breaking as he looked down at his son, the tiny face scrunched up in pain and hunger. "I can’t let him take my son. I’ll raise him without Kaname. There has to be a way."
Aido’s voice softened, his usual arrogance gone. "I’m not saying you have to give Kaname custody or anything. I’m saying that your kid is suffering, and you’re running out of options."
The baby wailed again, louder this time, his small body shaking in Zero’s arms. Tears pricked the corners of Zero’s eyes as the reality of the situation hit him harder than ever. He couldn’t bear to see his son like this—helpless, in pain, because he refused to let Kaname in.
But how could he? How could he let Kaname, the one person he had sworn to keep away, be the key to saving his child?
Aido nodded grimly. "I hate to say it, but yeah. Kaname’s blood is the only thing that’ll stop this. You can hate him all you want, but for now… he’s the solution."
Zero stared down at his son, torn between his instinct to protect and his overwhelming love for the fragile life in his arms. The thought of seeing Kaname again—of facing him after all these months—made him sick to his stomach. But the cries, the hunger… his son was suffering.
Zero cradled his son gently in his arms. The baby’s cries had become weaker, his tiny body exhausted from the constant hunger. A pit of helplessness gnawed at Zero’s chest as the clock ticked away the seconds. His mind raced, searching for solutions, refusing to accept that Kaname Kuran was the only answer.
"There has to be another way," Zero muttered under his breath, his voice strained.
Across the room, Aido shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He glanced at the baby, his expression torn between concern and doubt. "Zero, pureblood children—need their father’s blood to survive. It’s how they’re made. It’s tradition for a reason."
Zero’s jaw clenched, refusing to meet Aido’s gaze. "I don’t care about traditions," he growled. "There has to be something else. Something other than… Kaname."
Aido sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Look, I’m trying to help, but the biology is against you here. Your kid’s part pureblood, part hunter, and that combination is rare. which is probably why he lasted almost a year without his father's blood. I mean, he’s got your hunter abilities, but the pureblood side needs something we can’t replicate with blood tablets, my blood or animal blood. He needs… his father's blood."
Zero fell silent, his grip tightening around his son as the baby whimpered softly. The thought of going to Kaname made his skin crawl. He had worked so hard to keep Kaname in the dark, to raise this child away from the world of pureblood politics and manipulation. He couldn’t let Kaname know. He wouldn’t.
"There has to be another way, please Aido" Zero repeated, his voice firmer this time. His eyes locked onto Aido. "You’re a vampire. You know things I don’t. You’re telling me there’s nothing—no obscure technique, no forgotten practice—that can help him without Kaname?"
Aido hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. Zero saw the flicker of something in his eyes—an idea. It was faint, almost reluctant, but it was there.
"Aido," Zero pressed, his voice low but urgent. "Tell me."
Aido shifted again, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "There is something. But… it's risky. Dangerous, even. It’s not something people do anymore because it’s unpredictable, especially for a child this young."
"What is it?" Zero demanded, his heart racing at the glimmer of hope.
Aido met Zero’s eyes, his expression serious. "There’s an old method. It’s called the Imprint Exchange. It was used centuries ago, before blood tablets were invented, mostly for vampires who didn't have any surviving family so orphans basically. It’s a type of blood bond where a compatible vampire gives their own blood to a pureblood child. The child imprints on that donor’s blood instead of their biological parent."
Zero frowned. "Imprint? Like… replacing Kaname’s blood with someone else’s?"
"Sort of," Aido said slowly. "But it’s not that simple. The donor has to be a pureblood or someone with an incredibly strong bloodline, someone who can trick the child’s instincts into accepting them. The bond is risky because it bypasses the natural connection. If it works, it could satisfy your son’s hunger, but if it goes wrong…"
"Then what?" Zero asked, his voice tight.
Aido sighed. "The child could reject the blood and go into a feeding frenzy. It’s a last resort for a reason, Zero. It’s not just dangerous for the baby—it’s dangerous for the donor too."
Zero’s mind raced as he considered the implications. It was risky, yes, but it was also the only option that didn’t involve Kaname. He would do anything to keep his son away from the pureblood world. And if this Imprint Exchange could work, he had to try it.
"Who?" Zero asked. "Who could do it?"
Aido hesitated again, glancing away. "Well, there’s only one person I can think of who might be strong enough to pull this off. And it’s not someone you’ll like."
Zero’s heart sank as realization dawned. "You don’t mean…"
"Yuki," Aido said softly, meeting Zero’s eyes. "She’s a pureblood. Kaname’s sister. Her blood is powerful. If anyone could bypass the biological bond, it’s her. Her being a Kuran is a plus the blood will be very close to Kaname-sama's"
Zero stood up abruptly, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t seen Yuki in so long. Ever since she had left the academy with Kaname, he had done everything in his power to avoid her. Their lives had diverged, and the old feelings—the confusion, the heartbreak—they were still raw.
But his son’s life was at stake.
Zero clenched his jaw, pacing the small room. His mind raced through the possibilities, weighing the risks and the emotions tangled up in them. Could he really ask Yuki for something like this? Could he trust her to help, knowing that her connection to Kaname was still there, still strong?
But then he looked down at his son, who had quieted, his cries now only soft, pained whimpers. The baby’s small hand gripped the edge of Zero’s shirt, and in that moment, the decision was made.
"I’ll go to her," Zero said, his voice firm. "I’ll talk to Yuki. But Kaname can’t know. He can’t ever know."
Aido nodded, though he still looked wary. "Don't worry, I’ll reach out to her. But Zero… you need to be prepared for the worst. If this goes wrong—"
"It won't, I know the risks," Zero interrupted, his eyes hardening with determination. "But I’m not giving Kaname the chance to take my son. I’ll protect him. Even if I have to go through hell to do it."
Aido gave a slight nod, though he didn’t look convinced. "I’ll make the arrangements. But we need to act fast. Your kid doesn’t have much time."
Zero watched as Aido moved toward the door, his heart heavy with the weight of what was coming. Zero didn't want to see Yuki But his son needed him, and Zero would do whatever it took to keep him safe.
Even if it meant confronting his past to secure his son’s future.
As Aido left the apartment, Zero sat down once more, holding his son close. He whispered softly, "I’ll find a way for us. I promise."
And he would. No matter what it cost him.
Few hours passed
Zero paced the length of his small apartment, his anxiety crawling under his skin like a thousand needles. Every second that ticked by felt like a weight pressing on his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He couldn't believe what he was about to do. He was about to ask her for help—Yuki Kuran, Kaname’s fiancée, the sister of the man who had caused him so much pain.
The irony of the situation made his stomach churn. He had sworn to himself, countless times, that he would never rely on a pureblood, never let himself be indebted to one of them. Yet here he was, about to ask a pureblood for help to save the child he had with Kaname Kuran.
His son stirred in his crib, his tiny body still too weak, his hunger gnawing away at him. Zero clenched his fists, teeth grinding together. He hated this. Hated that he had no other options. Hated that every step of this twisted path led back to Kaname, the man responsible for so much of his suffering.
His parents' deaths, his transformation into a vampire, Ichiru’s tragic fate—all of it could be traced back to Kaname’s meticulous, cold-blooded plans to protect Yuki from Rido. Everything had been for her. Zero had been nothing more than a pawn in Kaname’s elaborate game.
And yet… Kaname had claimed that Zero was his soulmate. Kaname had spoken of their bond, of how destiny had brought them together across centuries. But how could Zero believe any of that? How could he trust a word Kaname said when the pureblood had manipulated and destroyed lives without a second thought?
Zero had learned the hard way that destiny wasn’t some romantic, predetermined path. It was a cruel, unrelenting force that twisted lives and broke hearts. Kaname had claimed Zero, manipulated him, and destroyed everything he cared about—all while pretending to care, pretending to be in love with him.
"Love," Zero muttered bitterly under his breath. "Kaname doesn’t know the meaning of the word."
The irony of it all was that even now, even after all the pain Kaname had caused, Zero still couldn’t completely hate him. That was the worst part. He had tried. God, how he had tried to hate Kaname with every fiber of his being. But something deep within him, some irrational part of his soul, still lingered on the remnants of their twisted bond.
A sharp knock on the door broke through Zero’s spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. She was here.
Taking a deep breath, Zero crossed the room and opened the door.
Yuki stood on the threshold, her eyes wide with concern, her soft features framed by the familiar dark waves of her hair. She was dressed simply, no sign of the pureblood princess she had once been. But there was still an air of power around her, a reminder of who she was, of who she was related to.
"Zero," Yuki said softly, her voice tinged with surprise. "I came as soon as Aido told me. Is… is everything okay?"
Zero stepped aside, allowing her to enter. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he thought it might crack. Seeing her again—so closely linked to Kaname—brought back a flood of emotions he didn’t want to face.
"He's over there," Zero said, gesturing to the crib in the corner. Yuki walked over, her eyes immediately softening as she looked down at the baby.
"Oh, Zero," she whispered, crouching beside the crib. "He’s beautiful."
Zero swallowed hard, the tension in his chest rising. "He’s sick," he said, his voice rough. "He’s part pureblood, and… he needs blood. I can’t give him what he needs, and… his mother is dead."
It felt like a bitter lie falling from his lips, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t let her know that Kaname was the father of this child. Yuki might not intend to betray him, but once Kaname knew, everything would spiral out of control. He couldn’t risk it.
Yuki turned her head toward him, her brown eyes filled with sympathy. "I’m so sorry, Zero. Losing his mother… that must be so hard on you, especially now. But if he’s a pureblood, he needs real blood to survive. Blood from someone close to him, a strong bloodline. You’re sure there’s no one else?"
Zero’s fists tightened at his sides. "No. She was the only one. I— I don’t know what else to do. I wouldn’t have called you if I had any other option."
Yuki stood up slowly, crossing the room to stand in front of him. Her eyes searched his face, and for a moment, Zero felt exposed, vulnerable. "Zero," she began, her voice soft but firm, "I want to help you. But Kaname—"
"No." Zero cut her off, his tone sharp. "You can’t tell Kaname about this. He can’t know. I don’t want him involved in any of this."
Yuki blinked in surprise, but then her expression softened with understanding. She knew how much Zero despised Kaname, how deep the wounds ran between them. "Alright," she said quietly, nodding. "I won’t tell him. But, Zero, are you sure? If this is something only purebloods can handle—"
"I’m sure," Zero snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I don’t want him anywhere near my son."
Yuki seemed taken aback by the intensity of his reaction, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she nodded again, her eyes filled with quiet resolve. "Okay. I understand. I’ll help you. But, Zero… this is dangerous. The Imprint Exchange is not something we do lightly. I’ve only read about it, but it could put your son in danger. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Zero clenched his jaw, glancing at his son once more. His baby’s fragile cries echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the urgency of the situation. What choice did he have?
"I don’t have another option," he said, his voice raw. "I’ll do whatever it takes."
Yuki hesitated for a moment before giving a soft sigh. "Alright. We’ll need to do this carefully. You’ll have to leave the room during the process—it’s too volatile for anyone else to be near. But I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s safe."
Zero nodded, his stomach twisting with anxiety. The idea of leaving his son alone with Yuki, even for a moment, sent his protective instincts into overdrive. But he had to trust her. For his son’s sake.
As Yuki prepared herself, Zero stood by the window, staring out into the darkened night. His mind raced with conflicting emotions—guilt, anger, and a lingering sense of betrayal. How had it come to this? How had he, of all people, ended up needing help from the sister of the man who had caused him so much grief?
And worst of all, how had he ever fallen for Kaname in the first place?
Zero gritted his teeth, the bitterness rising within him like bile. Every day, he beat himself up over his weakness—over the fact that he had once let Kaname into his heart, even after everything the pureblood had done. Kaname, with his soft words and dark eyes, had convinced Zero that they were meant to be, that their connection was something ancient and unbreakable.
But it had all been a lie. Kaname didn’t love him. He never had. All of Kaname’s manipulations, his so-called love, were just another way to control Zero—just another piece in his grand scheme.
Yuki finished her preparations and stood beside the crib, her hands hovering over the baby. "I’ll start the process now. It won’t take long, but you’ll have to wait outside, Zero."
Zero gave a curt nod, his stomach twisting with nerves. "I’ll be right outside. Don’t… don’t hurt him."
"I won’t," Yuki promised. "I’ll protect him with everything I have."
Zero left the room, his heart pounding as he closed the door behind him. He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of everything pressed down on him—the lies, the secrets, the hatred he carried for Kaname.
This was the last time he would ever rely on a pureblood. This was the last favor. After this, he would find a way to raise his son on his own, far from Kaname’s shadow.
Kaname Kuran was the root of all his suffering. And no matter what happened, Zero would never forget that.
Back in present time.
Zero woke to the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the warmth of the body next to him pulled him back to the present. Kaname’s arm was draped loosely over his waist, his body pressed against Zero’s back in a way that made the vampire hunter feel both protected and cherished. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything felt perfect.
Zero turned slightly, his gaze settling on Kaname’s serene face as he slept. He could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark hair spilled across the pillow, and the peaceful expression that softened his usual regal features. A warmth spread through Zero’s chest, followed by the rush of memories from the night before. A faint blush crept into his cheeks as he remembered the way Kaname had touched him, the passion and intensity of their connection. It was something Zero had never experienced before, something that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
He hadn’t expected to find himself in this position—with Kaname, of all people. The pureblood vampire who had once been the source of so much of his anger, his frustration. And yet, lying here now, Zero couldn’t deny the bond between them. It was deeper than anything he had ever known.
As if sensing Zero’s thoughts, Kaname stirred beside him, his eyelids fluttering open. His deep, crimson eyes, still hazy with sleep, met Zero’s. A slow, soft smile curved his lips, a smile that made Zero’s heart stutter in his chest.
“Good morning,” Kaname murmured, his voice low and heavy with sleep.
“Good morning,” Zero replied, feeling a strange mix of contentment and apprehension. He couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the turmoil in his mind. The moment was too perfect, too intimate to be tainted by the worry that loomed over him.
Kaname, always perceptive, seemed to sense the shift in Zero’s emotions. His hand moved gently, brushing through Zero’s silver hair, his touch tender. “You’re troubled,” he said softly, concern threading through his voice. “Is it about today?”
Zero swallowed, nodding slightly. “Yeah. I’m… I need to end things with Tamayo today. It’s not fair to her anymore.”
Kaname’s expression softened, his fingers continuing their soothing path through Zero’s hair. “You’ll do fine,” he reassured. “Just be honest with her. She deserves that much.”
Zero took a deep breath, drawing strength from the calmness in Kaname’s voice. He knew Kaname was right—Tamayo deserved honesty. She deserved to know the truth, even if it would hurt her. But the thought of hurting her twisted something deep inside him. Tamayo had been nothing but kind to him, offering warmth and companionship when he’d needed it most. And yet, Zero knew he couldn’t stay in the relationship, not when his heart had shifted so completely toward someone else.
Toward Kaname.
Zero pushed the covers aside, getting out of bed with a newfound determination. He dressed quickly, pulling on his usual black clothes, the weight of the day ahead settling heavily on his shoulders. Kaname remained in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching him with a gaze that was both supportive and unwavering.
“I will wait for you here,” Kaname said softly, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “No matter how hard it is, you’re doing the right thing.”
Zero nodded, his throat tight. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not when the intensity of Kaname’s gaze made him feel so exposed. So instead, he crossed the room, his hand lingering on the door handle for a moment longer than necessary. As he glanced back at Kaname, his heart gave a strange, traitorous lurch. How had they come to this? How had they gone from enemies, constantly at each other’s throats, to this quiet intimacy?
Zero shook the thought from his mind and slipped out the door.
---
The walk to the café felt longer than usual, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him with every step. Zero’s hands were clenched in his pockets, his mind running over the words he would say. No matter how he phrased it, there was no easy way to break someone’s heart.
When he arrived, Tamayo was already waiting for him. She sat at a small table by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, a smile lighting up her face as soon as she saw him. The sight only deepened the guilt gnawing at his insides.
“Hey, Zero,” she greeted, her voice warm and inviting. She gestured for him to sit. “You’re early for once. I’m impressed.”
Zero managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He sat down across from her, the weight of what he needed to say pressing against his chest. He could see the happiness in her expression, the way she looked at him with such affection, and it made this moment all the harder.
“Tamayo,” Zero began, his voice low, but steady. “I need to talk to you about something important.”
Her smile faltered slightly, concern flickering across her face. “What is it?”
Zero took a deep breath, meeting her gaze directly. “You’re a wonderful person, Tamayo. You’ve always been kind to me, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve given me… but I can’t keep this going.” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. And I thought I could be that person, but… things have changed.”
Tamayo’s face fell, the light in her eyes dimming as understanding dawned on her. “Zero… what are you saying?”
He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. The gesture felt wrong—his heart wasn’t in it the way it should have been. He knew that now. “I’m saying that I can’t be the person you need. I’ve realized that my heart belongs to someone else. And it’s not fair to you for me to keep pretending otherwise.”
For a long moment, Tamayo didn’t speak. Her hand trembled slightly in his, and her gaze dropped to the table as she processed his words. When she finally looked back at him, there was a mixture of hurt and understanding in her eyes.
“I see,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I… I appreciate your honesty, Zero. It hurts, but I understand.”
Zero’s chest tightened, guilt washing over him like a tidal wave. He wished there was something he could say to make it better, but he knew the truth would always hurt, no matter how kindly it was delivered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret.
Tamayo smiled weakly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t be. It’s better this way, isn’t it? At least I know now. I just… I hope whoever it is… makes you happy.”
Zero swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”
......
When Zero returned to the apartment, he felt both relieved and hollow. The weight of guilt still clung to him, but at least now the hardest part was over. He had done what he needed to do.
As he stepped inside, Kaname was still there, just as he’d promised. The pureblood was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him, his eyes soft with understanding. Without a word, Zero crossed the room and sat beside him, feeling the tension slowly leave his body as Kaname wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“You did it?” Kaname asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Zero’s face.
Zero nodded, resting his head against Kaname’s shoulder, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort in the pureblood’s presence. “Yeah. It’s done.”
Kaname pressed a soft kiss to the top of Zero’s head. “You did the right thing.”
For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound in the room the steady rhythm of their breathing. Zero could feel the steady beat of Kaname’s heart beneath his hand, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel at peace.
In this moment, with Kaname by his side, everything felt right.
And for now, that was enough.
.....
The weeks that followed were a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered secrets. Zero and Kaname became adept at sneaking away from the watchful eyes of the Night Class and Yuki, cherishing these brief, precious times together. Each hidden rendezvous deepened the bond between them, intertwining their hearts in ways that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
Kaname, with his effortless grace, seemed to have an unending need to touch Zero. He would brush his fingers against Zero’s arm, intertwine their hands, or let his gaze linger just a moment too long. Each subtle caress ignited a warmth in Zero, one that he found both bewildering and comforting.
Kaname was relentless in his affection, often unable to keep his hands off Zero, and surprisingly, Zero didn’t mind. The warmth of Kaname’s touch ignited something deep within him, stirring feelings he had long buried beneath layers of pain and confusion. It was as if, with each caress, he was slowly unraveling the tightly wound threads of his heart, allowing light to seep in where darkness had once reigned.
One particularly sunny afternoon, they found themselves in a secluded part of the forest on the school grounds, hidden from prying eyes. Kaname had set up a small picnic beneath the sprawling branches of a large tree, its leaves rustling gently in the warm breeze. A checkered blanket spread out beneath them, adorned with an assortment of fruits and sandwiches —Kaname’s thoughtful inclusion that made Zero’s heart swell with affection.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” Kaname asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he handed Zero a sandwich.
Zero couldn’t help but chuckle, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. “Of course. I thought you were insufferable.”
“And now?” Kaname teased, leaning in close enough that Zero could feel the warmth radiating from him.
“Now, I know you’re insufferable,” Zero replied, smirking playfully as he nudged Kaname back, their laughter mingling in the air around them.
“Oh, is that so?” Kaname countered, feigning offense. “I should have known my charming demeanor would not win you over!”
“Charming? Hardly,” Zero shot back, a grin breaking across his face. “You’re more like a royal pain in the ass.”
“Pain in the ass, huh? I’ll remember that,” Kaname said, leaning in even closer, their faces inches apart now. The air between them crackled with energy, and Zero’s heart raced.
“Just don’t forget it, or I might have to give you a few more reminders,” Kaname said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.
Zero felt his cheeks heat, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement flooding through him. Despite the banter, he was acutely aware of the truth behind their playful words. Being with Kaname felt natural—like a puzzle piece sliding perfectly into place. The pain he had once associated with their bond began to dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace.
Zero felt the tension in his body slowly ease as he leaned back against the tree, allowing himself to relax.
The more time he spent with Kaname, the more he felt himself falling into a world of happiness that he had thought was lost to him forever. The fear of what the Hunter Association would do if they discovered their relationship, or what Yagari-sensei would say, faded into the background whenever Kaname looked at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.
As if reading his thoughts, Kaname turned serious, his gaze locking onto Zero’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. “Zero, I know this isn’t easy for you. I can’t pretend to understand everything you’ve been through, but—”
Zero cut him off, the sincerity in Kaname’s eyes stirring something deep within him. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here, Kaname. It’s just… this is all so new. I’ve spent so long pushing you away, fighting this connection.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “But being with you… it feels so natural now. Like it was meant to be.”
Kaname’s expression softened, his features becoming tender as he reached out, tucking a stray strand of silver hair behind Zero’s ear. “Then don’t fight it. Let yourself feel. I’ll be here, no matter what.”
The warmth of Kaname’s hand lingered on his cheek, sending a rush of warmth through Zero’s body. He wanted to surrender completely to this feeling, to the love that seemed to wrap around him like a warm blanket, but the scars of his past were not easily forgotten.
“Sometimes I still think about everything that’s happened—the pain, the loss. I can’t help but wonder if I’m just setting myself up for more heartache.” Zero admitted, the weight of his fears spilling out before him.
Kaname moved closer, their knees touching as he leaned in, his voice low and reassuring. “We can’t change the past, Zero. But we can create a future together, one where you’re safe and loved. I promise you that.”
Zero searched Kaname’s crimson eyes, finding nothing but sincerity and warmth. “I want to believe that,” he murmured, his heart pounding in his chest. “I want to believe in us.”
Kaname smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made Zero’s breath hitch. “Then let’s make this our moment. No more hiding, no more running. Just us.”
With a sudden burst of courage, Zero leaned in, capturing Kaname’s lips with his own. The kiss was sweet and tender, filled with all the words left unsaid, the emotions bottled up for far too long. Kaname responded instantly, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading through Zero’s hair as he pulled him closer.
Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, the world around them fading into nothing. All that mattered was this moment, this connection that felt stronger than anything they had faced before. Zero’s doubts and fears melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of belonging.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless and flushed, Zero leaned his forehead against Kaname’s, his heart racing. “I’m scared,” he admitted softly.
“Of what?” Kaname asked, his voice a soothing balm.
“Of losing you. Of what we’re building together.”
“You won’t lose me, Zero. I promise,” Kaname said, his voice steady and unwavering. “I’ll fight for you, for us. You’re my mate, and that means everything to me.”
With those words, Zero felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. Maybe they could create something beautiful, something that could withstand the storms of their pasts. With Kaname by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees, Zero and Kaname stayed entwined beneath the large oak, enjoying the quiet and peace between them. The world outside was chaotic, but here, time seemed to slow, just for them. The breeze carried the soft rustling of leaves, and the gentle warmth of the late afternoon began to cool, a soft chill settling over the forest.
Zero closed his eyes, leaning into the comforting warmth of Kaname’s body. Despite all the uncertainty, all the confusion about their bond, this felt right. Being with Kaname felt right. Each stolen moment with him was like balm to the wounds Zero had carried for so long—the pain of his past, the weight of his responsibilities as a hunter, the constant struggle between what he thought he should be and what he was becoming.
But here, with Kaname, none of that mattered. For once, Zero didn’t feel broken or conflicted. He just felt… loved.
Kaname shifted slightly beside him, his arm tightening around Zero’s shoulders as if anchoring him to the moment. "Are you cold?" he asked, his voice low and soft.
Zero shook his head, his eyes still closed. "No, I’m fine."
Kaname hummed softly in response, his fingers brushing along Zero’s arm, tracing invisible patterns that sent gentle shivers down Zero’s spine. The touch was intimate, but comforting, as though Kaname understood exactly what Zero needed without him having to say it.
For the first time in a long time, Zero felt truly happy.
......
As night fall they went to Kaname’s dorm room.
The night was still, the only sound in the room being the soft breaths of two souls who had finally allowed themselves to let down their walls. Zero lay back against the pillows, his body relaxed but his heart racing. He had grown used to the quiet moments they shared, but tonight felt different. There was an intensity in the air, a deepening of the connection between them that Zero could hardly explain, let alone understand.
Kaname’s gaze was smoldering as he leaned over Zero, his dark hair falling around his face like a curtain, framing the perfect stillness of his features. His hand moved to Zero’s cheek, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw before dipping lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck. Zero shivered at the contact, his breath catching in his throat.
“You’re mine, Zero,” Kaname whispered, his voice husky and low, filled with a possessiveness that sent a thrill down Zero’s spine. “No matter how much you’ve tried to deny it, no matter how long you’ve fought it—you’re mine.”
Zero’s heart pounded in his chest, but he found himself nodding, unable to argue with the truth of Kaname’s words. He was tired of fighting, tired of pretending that this bond between them wasn’t real. The more time he spent with Kaname, the more he felt like he was falling—falling into something he didn’t fully understand, but something that felt right.
Kaname’s lips found Zero’s, and the kiss was slow and deep, filled with a tenderness that made Zero’s heart ache. But there was a fire behind it too, a burning intensity that ignited something inside him. Zero’s hands instinctively reached for Kaname, pulling him closer, craving the warmth of his body.
The kiss deepened, and Zero felt like he was drowning in the sensation. Kaname’s lips were soft yet demanding, taking and giving in equal measure. There was nothing hesitant or unsure about the way Kaname kissed him—it was as if he was claiming every part of Zero, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.
Kaname’s hand slid down Zero’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness, as if savoring each moment. His lips moved from Zero’s mouth, trailing a line of kisses down his jaw and neck, each one sending sparks of pleasure through Zero’s body.
Zero gasped softly as Kaname’s mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of his neck, where his pulse thrummed beneath the skin. Kaname lingered there, pressing his lips against the spot, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin. The sensation was electric, and Zero arched into the touch, his body responding instinctively.
“Kaname...” Zero’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was filled with need. He wasn’t used to feeling this way—so open, so vulnerable—but with Kaname, it felt natural. Like this was what he had been missing all along.
Kaname’s mouth moved lower, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. His hands roamed over Zero’s body, caressing him with a reverence that made Zero’s heart swell. It was as if Kaname was worshiping him, and the intensity of that realization left Zero breathless.
“You drive me mad,” Kaname murmured against Zero’s skin, his voice filled with raw emotion. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this. I’ve waited for so long, and now that you’re here, I can’t get enough of you.”
Zero’s breath hitched as Kaname’s lips found his collarbone, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin. Every touch, every kiss, sent waves of pleasure coursing through him, making him forget everything but the feel of Kaname’s body against his own.
“I… I didn’t know it could be like this,” Zero admitted, his voice shaky with the weight of his emotions. “I didn’t know it could feel this good.”
Kaname lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Zero’s with an intensity that took his breath away. “This is only the beginning,” he promised, his voice dark and filled with desire. “There’s so much more I want to show you, so much more I want to give you.”
Zero felt his heart skip a beat at Kaname’s words. There was something intoxicating about the way Kaname spoke to him—like every word was a vow, a promise of things yet to come. It made Zero’s pulse race, his body trembling with anticipation.
Kaname leaned down again, capturing Zero’s lips in another searing kiss. His hands continued to explore, sliding under the fabric of Zero’s shirt, caressing the skin beneath with a gentleness that contrasted with the heat of his kisses. Zero’s breath hitched as Kaname’s fingers brushed against his bare chest, sending shivers of pleasure through him.
Zero’s hands found their way into Kaname’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. He could feel the weight of Kaname’s body pressing against him, grounding him in the moment, making everything else fade away. All that mattered was this—Kaname, and the way he made Zero feel like he was the most important person in the world.
“I need you,” Zero whispered against Kaname’s lips, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I don’t want to be without you.”
Kaname’s eyes softened at Zero’s admission, and he pressed a gentle kiss to Zero’s forehead. “You’ll never have to be without me,” he promised, his voice low and soothing. “I’m yours, Zero. Now and always.”
Zero’s heart clenched at Kaname’s words, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. Being with Kaname—accepting their bond—had brought him a kind of happiness he had never thought he would experience. All the pain, the anger, the fear—it had all been replaced by this overwhelming sense of belonging.
Kaname’s kisses trailed lower, his mouth finding the exposed skin of Zero’s chest. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to every inch he could reach, as if he was committing every part of Zero to memory. Zero let out a soft moan, his body arching into the touch, his fingers tightening in Kaname’s hair.
“Kaname...” Zero’s voice was breathless, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The warmth of Kaname’s mouth on his skin, the feel of his hands exploring him—it was almost too much, and yet not enough.
Kaname smiled against his skin, his lips brushing against Zero’s chest as he whispered, “I love you.”
Zero’s heart stopped for a moment, the weight of those words sinking into him. He had heard Kaname say them before, but this time, it felt different. This time, it felt real.
And for the first time, Zero didn’t feel the need to push those words away. He didn’t feel the need to run from them. Instead, he let them wrap around him, filling him with a warmth that made him feel whole.
“I…” Zero hesitated, his throat tight with emotion. He had never been good at saying the words, but with Kaname, they came easier. “I love you too.”
Kaname’s eyes softened, and he leaned down, capturing Zero’s lips in a kiss that was soft and slow, filled with all the love and tenderness he felt. Zero melted into the kiss, his heart full, his mind clear.
In that moment, everything else disappeared—the world, the dangers, the secrets. All that mattered was the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms, their hearts beating as one.
And for the first time in a long time, Zero felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
Future
The room was eerily silent as Zero re-entered after the Imprint Exchange. His son lay quietly in the crib, the color slowly returning to his small face, the soft rise and fall of his chest indicating that, for the first time in days, the baby was no longer in pain.
But Yuki looked drained, pale as she leaned against the edge of the crib, her breaths shallow. She wiped sweat from her brow and straightened herself with effort, her hands trembling slightly. It was clear that the process had taken a toll on her.
"He's going to be okay," Yuki said softly, her voice shaky but relieved. "For now. The bond should hold… but Kaname—"
"I told you, no," Zero cut her off harshly, his silver eyes flashing with anger. "This has nothing to do with him."
Yuki’s brows furrowed, hurt crossing her features. "Zero, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Kaname would have been better for this. He’s more powerful than I am. His blood is stronger, more stable. You know that. He could have—"
"No," Zero snapped, his voice cold as ice. He stepped toward her, fists clenched at his sides. "I don’t care how much stronger he is. I don’t care about his power. I don't want him anywhere near my son."
Yuki sighed, glancing at the baby once more before turning her gaze back to Zero. "Kaname wouldn’t hurt a child. You know that."
Zero’s laugh was bitter, sharp like the edge of a blade. "He wouldn’t hurt a child? Kaname has destroyed lives, Yuki. He’s used people—he used me—without a second thought. My parents, Ichiru… we were nothing but pawns in his game. Ichiru and I were children when Kaname twisted everything to suit his plans. It cost us our childhood"
Yuki flinched at Zero’s words, the pain in her eyes undeniable. "That was a long time ago. Kaname has changed. You don’t know him like I do now. He’s not the same man who—"
"I don’t believe that for a second," Zero interrupted, his voice low and full of venom. "People like him don’t change, Yuki. They just get better at hiding what they are. You can defend him all you want, but I’ll never trust him. Not after everything he’s done."
Yuki's shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with sadness. "Zero, I understand why you feel this way, but Kaname isn't your enemy anymore. I know he regrets what happened, what he did to you and Ichiru. He’s not proud of it."
"Regrets?" Zero scoffed, his voice raw with bitterness. "Does he regret using me as part of his war against Rido? Does he regret manipulating everything in my life, from the moment I lost my family to the moment I became… this?" He gestured at himself, the vampire he never wanted to be. "You think that matters now? My brother is dead. My family is gone. Nothing changes that."
Yuki swallowed hard, her voice soft when she spoke again. "I can’t undo the past, Zero. Neither can Kaname. But you’re not the only one who’s lost people because of him. He’s carried his own burdens, his own guilt…"
Zero shook his head, not willing to listen to another word. The idea that Kaname had guilt—that he somehow deserved sympathy—was laughable. And yet, the anger burning inside Zero only made him more resolute. He needed to cut ties with anything connected to Kaname, even Yuki.
Yuki took a step closer, her eyes softening as she gazed down at the baby. "What’s his name?"
Zero’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t thought much about naming his son, not until recently. The chaos of keeping the pregnancy secret, dealing with his own bitterness, and keeping his child safe from the world had consumed him.
“His name is Isamu Kiryu,” Zero said softly, as if testing the sound of it. The name felt strong and resolute, embodying both the courage he hoped to instill in his child and the legacy of resilience he wished to uphold.
Yuki’s eyes widened with surprise and admiration. “Isamu?” she echoed, her voice brightening with genuine warmth. “That’s a beautiful name! It means ‘courage,’ doesn’t it?”
Zero nodded, feeling a surge of pride. “Yeah. I thought it suited him. After everything that’s happened, I want him to be brave—strong enough to face whatever challenges come his way.”
Yuki smiled, the tension in her expression easing as she reflected on the significance of the name. “It’s perfect, Zero. Isamu will carry that strength with him, especially if he inherits your fighting spirit.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t inherit all of my burdens,” Zero replied, his voice tinged with bittersweet humor. “I want him to have a life free from the chaos I’ve known.”
Yuki nodded, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered Zero’s words. “You’ll be a great father, Zero. You’ve been through so much, but you’ve also shown incredible strength. Isamu will inherit that.”
Zero swallowed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him again. As soon as Yuki left, he would pack. He needed to get out of the town, needed to take Isamu somewhere far away. Somewhere Kaname could never find them. He couldn’t trust that Yuki would keep this secret forever. Not if she still believed in Kaname the way she used to.
"Thank you for your help," Zero said, his voice tense but sincere. "But this… meeting, everything that happened here, it stays between us. Promise me, Yuki. Kaname can’t know. Ever."
Yuki hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually she nodded. "I promise. I won’t say anything to him. But, Zero, I just… I hope someday you can find peace with all of this. For Isamu’s sake."
Zero’s eyes hardened. "The only peace I’ll ever find is far away from him."
Yuki gave him one last, lingering look, and then she turned to leave. As the door clicked shut behind her, Zero let out a long breath, his entire body tense with the strain of keeping it together. He looked at Isamu, who was finally resting peacefully, his tiny fists curled up by his face. The sight of his son like this—alive, safe, for now—filled Zero with a fierce protectiveness.
As soon as Yuki was gone, he pulled out his phone and texted Aido:
"Yuki helped. It worked. But we’re leaving tonight. I’ll be in touch when we’re settled."
Aido had been his rock throughout this whole ordeal. After the war and the fall of the Council, Aido had stuck by him. It was Aido who had diagnosed him with the pregnancy, back when Zero had thought he was succumbing to madness, falling into Level E as his body began to show the signs of morning sickness. The nausea, the exhaustion—it had all felt like the beginning of the end for him. A slow descent into the abyss.
But Aido had figured it out, had pieced together what Zero couldn’t admit to himself at the time: that Kaname had left him with more than just memories after their brief, complicated relationship. Zero had been pregnant with Isamu, and the revelation had nearly broken him. He hated himself for it—for allowing Kaname into his life, into his heart, even for a moment.
It was Aido who had helped him through the pregnancy, who had done the C-section when Isamu had been born, who had kept the entire situation under wraps. Zero owed Aido more than he could ever repay, but at least he knew one thing for certain: Aido was his friend.
Zero looked at his son, then around the apartment. He had already made up his mind. He would leave tonight. Before the sunrise. Before anyone could track him down. He couldn’t risk staying any longer. Kaname might be powerful, but Zero had spent his life outsmarting those stronger than him.
"Isamu," Zero murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll keep you safe. I swear it."
With that promise, Zero began packing. He was ready to disappear.
Zero moved around the small apartment with a sense of urgency, pulling clothes from drawers, packing bags with essentials, and glancing at Isamu every few moments to make sure he was still resting peacefully. He could still hear Yuki’s parting words echoing in his mind. She had promised not to tell Kaname, but Zero knew better than to take such a promise at face value. No matter how much Yuki wanted to help, she was still Kaname’s sister, still bound to him in ways Zero couldn’t control.
He couldn’t risk staying here. Not even for another night.
Just as he zipped the final bag, his phone buzzed with a message from Aido:
"Zero, we need to talk. I’m coming over. Don’t leave without seeing me."
Zero gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling inside him. He didn't have time for this. He couldn’t afford to waste another minute. But he knew Aido. If the ex-aristocrat wanted to talk, he wouldn’t let the issue drop until he had his say. And Aido had done too much for him—he couldn’t just walk away without at least hearing him out.
It didn't take long till there was a soft knock sounded at the door. Zero opened it to find Aido standing there, looking slightly out of breath. His eyes immediately scanned the room, taking in the packed bags, and then rested on Kaito, still sleeping in the crib.
"You’re leaving tonight, aren’t you?" Aido asked, his voice unusually serious.
Zero gave a curt nod. "We don’t have a choice. I can’t risk staying here. Yuki promised not to tell Kaname, but I don’t trust that. If Kaname even suspects…"
Aido closed the door behind him and crossed the room, his sharp blue eyes fixed on Zero. "I get it. But you can’t do this alone, Zero. You’re not a doctor. Isamu is still weak, and if anything happens—"
"I can take care of him," Zero snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I’ve been doing just fine on my own."
Aido raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Really? You’ve been doing ‘just fine’ while you’re barely getting any sleep, trying to hide a baby who’s part pureblood, and struggling to figure out why he’s sick in the first place?"
Zero opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. Aido wasn’t wrong. Kaito’s health had been a constant source of anxiety for Zero, and without Aido’s help over the past few months, he would’ve been lost. But he hated the idea of depending on anyone—especially now, when his entire focus was on getting away from Kaname’s influence.
"I’ve got this under control," Zero muttered, his voice less convincing than he would have liked.
Aido sighed, his tone softening as he stepped closer. "Zero, you know I’m not trying to get in your way. I’ve stood by you through all of this because I care about you—and Isamu. But if you leave without someone to help, you’re putting both of you at risk. The baby might still need medical attention, especially with his condition. I know you’re strong, but this isn’t something you can just power through on your own."
Zero looked away, his jaw clenched, a wave of guilt crashing over him. Aido had been there for him, had been the only person he could rely on since discovering the pregnancy. And now, Aido was offering to help again, even though it would mean abandoning the life he had here.
"I’m not going to drag you into this mess," Zero said, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve done enough. You’ve already risked so much. You don’t have to—"
"I’m coming with you," Aido interrupted firmly. "I’m a vampire who know more about vampires than you do and I am kind of a doctor. Isamu might still need help, and you’re going to need someone with medical knowledge to make sure he’s okay. You know that. "
Zero hesitated, looking at his sleeping son. Isamu’s tiny form was so fragile, and even though he seemed stable now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t need more care. The thought of something happening to Isamu, and being alone when it did—it terrified him.
Aido seemed to sense Zero’s struggle, and his voice softened. "Look, I’m not doing this for Kaname. I’m not even doing it because of some loyalty to the past. I’m doing it because I care about you, and I want to make sure you and Isamu are safe. If you leave without me, you’re going to regret it."
Zero swallowed, his resolve starting to crumble. He hated admitting that Aido was right, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t do this alone. Not completely.
"You really want to leave everything behind?" Zero asked, his voice quiet, unsure. "You’ve built a life here, Aido. You don’t have to throw that away for me."
Aido scoffed lightly, waving a hand. "Please. After everything we’ve been through, what kind of friend would I be if I let you run off alone with a sick child? Besides, Helping you… this is something I can do that’s my choice. No more following orders. Just being there for you."
Zero looked at Aido for a long moment, weighing his options. He had always hated relying on anyone, but Aido had proved time and again that he could be trusted. And as much as Zero hated to admit it, he needed help. Isamu needed help.
"Fine," Zero muttered finally, running a hand through his hair. "But we leave tonight. No delays."
Aido smiled faintly, relief flashing in his eyes. "Good. I already figured as much. I’ll pack what I need and meet you at the train station in an hour."
Zero nodded, grateful for Aido’s practicality. "One hour. Don’t be late."
As Aido headed for the door, he paused, turning back to look at Zero. "You’re doing the right thing, you know. Protecting Isamu. But don’t forget—just because you’re running doesn’t mean you’re running alone."
Zero didn’t respond, but Aido’s words stayed with him long after the door had closed.
...
An hour later, the streets were quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights as Zero stood outside the train station, holding Isamu close to his chest. The baby stirred in his arms, his small body still warm against Zero’s chest, his breathing slow and steady. The tension in Zero’s body had yet to ease, his senses constantly on high alert for any sign of danger, any hint that Kaname or his allies had found them.
But for now, the night was still. Peaceful, even.
Aido arrived, a small bag slung over his shoulder, looking more casual than Zero had ever seen him. His usual aristocratic air had all but disappeared, replaced with a quiet determination.
"I’m ready," Aido said simply, glancing down at Isamu. "How’s he doing?"
"Better," Zero murmured, shifting the baby slightly in his arms. "Thanks to you."
Aido gave him a wry smile. "Well, I didn’t do it alone. But yeah. Let’s keep it that way."
They boarded the train together, the tension between them slowly ebbing as the train pulled out of the station. Zero kept his gaze fixed on the window, watching as the city they had called home for so long slowly disappeared behind them. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see it again.
As the train moved further into the night, Zero tightened his grip on Isamu, silently promising his son that he would do whatever it took to keep him safe.
With Aido by his side, maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.
Past
The air in Kaname’s dorm room was thick with heat and the quiet hum of passion. Zero was on his hands and knees, his body trembling with every movement Kaname made inside him. His soft moans filled the room, each sound breaking the silence like music. Kaname moved with deliberate care, his hands gripping Zero’s hips, guiding their rhythm as though orchestrating a melody only the two of them could hear.
Kaname’s hands roamed over Zero’s bare back, tracing every line, every curve, as if memorizing him by touch alone. His fingers lingered at the dip of Zero’s spine before sliding lower, resting possessively on his hips. With deliberate gentleness, Kaname pressed Zero’s chest down against the mattress, tilting his hips higher, allowing himself to sink deeper with an intensity that left them both breathless.
“Kaname…” Zero gasped, his voice trembling with pleasure. His body arched, responding to every touch, every thrust, as though his very being was attuned to Kaname’s.
Kaname leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the curve of Zero’s back, his lips lingering on the flushed skin. His voice was low and filled with an intensity that sent shivers through Zero. “You’re mine, Zero,” he murmured, his tone both tender and possessive. “My mate. My everything.”
Zero tilted his head, his silver hair falling over his eyes as his breath came in ragged gasps. He couldn’t find the words to respond, but his body spoke for him, pressing back against Kaname, seeking more. He surrendered completely, trusting Kaname to lead, to guide him through the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body.
Kaname, unable to hold back any longer, straightened and pulled Zero up with him, guiding him to kneel upright. Their bodies remained connected as Kaname’s arms wrapped around Zero’s waist, holding him close. Zero leaned back against Kaname’s chest, his head resting on Kaname’s shoulder.
Their lips met in a searing kiss, a clash of passion and love that left them both breathless. Kaname’s hands roamed over Zero’s body, one sliding up to cup his jaw, tilting his head to the side. His lips trailed along Zero’s neck, pressing soft, reverent kisses to the exposed skin.
“Zero,” Kaname whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I love you. I’ve waited so long for you.”
Zero’s eyes fluttered shut, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then take me, Kaname. All of me.”
Kaname groaned softly at the words, his fangs elongating as he pressed them gently against Zero’s neck. With a tender bite, he sank them into the soft skin, the rich taste of Zero’s blood flooding his senses. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced—intoxicating, overwhelming, and deeply intimate.
Zero gasped at the sharp pain, but it quickly gave way to a pleasure so profound it left him breathless. His own fangs elongated in response, and he instinctively turned to Kaname, sinking them into his wrist as Kaname offered it. Their blood mingled, the bond between them deepening with every drop they shared.
The connection was electric, a merging of their souls that transcended the physical. Kaname’s free hand slid down to entwine with Zero’s, their fingers locking together as he continued to drink from his mate.
Their passion reaching a fever pitch as they both surrendered completely to the bond that tied them together.
As they reached the peak of their passion, their cries echoed in unison, a declaration of love and devotion that filled the room. Kaname held Zero close as their bodies trembled, their hearts beating in perfect sync.
The quiet of the night enveloped Kaname and Zero as they lay entwined, their bodies still buzzing with the aftermath of their shared passion. Kaname gently laid Zero down, curling protectively around him. His fingers brushed through Zero’s silver hair with a tenderness that made Zero’s heart ache. The soft, lingering kiss Kaname pressed to Zero’s temple felt like a promise in itself.
Kaname’s arms wrapped around Zero once more, holding him upright as their bodies remained connected, as though letting go would shatter the fragile perfection of the moment. He pressed his lips to the curve of Zero’s neck, kissing softly, reverently. His fangs grazed the skin, sending a shiver down Zero’s spine.
Kaname’s crimson eyes burned with something far deeper than desire—fear. A fear he could no longer suppress, born from centuries of loneliness and an eternity spent waiting for the one soul who could complete him.
Zero blinked up at him, still dazed but noticing the shadow of uncertainty flickering in Kaname’s gaze. He slowly cupped Kaname’s cheek, his thumb gently brushing against his pale skin.
“What’s wrong?” Zero whispered, his voice hoarse yet tender. “I’m right here.”
Kaname closed his eyes, leaning into Zero’s touch as though drawing strength from it. But it wasn’t enough—not against the crushing weight of his deepest fear.
“Swear it... Kaname whispered fiercely, “Swear to me that you’ll never leave.”
Zero’s eyes widened slightly at the raw intensity in Kaname’s voice. He could feel the ache of desperation vibrating through their bond, the unspoken fear of abandonment that haunted Kaname’s very soul.
“Kaname…” Zero whispered, his voice trembling.
Kaname gently but firmly grasped Zero’s hand, bringing it to his chest, pressing it directly over his rapidly beating heart. His gaze bore into Zero’s, unwavering, relentless.
“Swear that you’ll always be mine,” Kaname continued, his voice thick with emotion. “That you’ll never... never leave me. No matter what happens. No matter who tries to tear us apart.”
Zero felt tears prick his eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Kaname’s plea. He could feel the ancient sorrow, the centuries of loneliness and longing buried beneath Kaname’s calm facade—a soul laid bare, asking for the only thing he couldn’t bear to lose.
“I swear,” Zero whispered, his voice trembling but filled with certainty. “I swear, Kaname... I’ll never leave you. Not in this life, or any that comes after.”
Kaname let out a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling as he gently pulled Zero closer, pressing their foreheads together.
“Say it again... please.” His voice broke, heavy with vulnerability.
Zero cupped Kaname’s face, forcing him to meet his unwavering gaze. “I will never leave you. I will always love you.” His voice steadied, filled with undeniable conviction. “You are my mate, my future... my forever.”
Kaname’s breath hitched, and before he could speak, Zero closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss—a kiss filled with every promise he couldn’t put into words.
When they finally pulled apart, Kaname’s crimson eyes glistened with emotion. “You are everything... he whispered. “You always have been.”
Zero smiled faintly, resting his head against Kaname’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“You’re stuck with me, Kaname,” Zero whispered softly, “forever.”
Chapter 14: New Beginninga
Chapter Text
The train rumbled steadily along the tracks, its destination set for Kyoto. Zero stared out of the window, watching the darkened countryside roll by, though his thoughts were far from the serene scenery outside.
Isamu was resting quietly in his arms, his soft breathing a faint rhythm in the quiet train car.
Across from him, Aido was hunched over a tablet, scrolling through listings and scribbling notes into a small notebook.
He was in full planning mode, calculating everything from housing to medical resources. Zero could see Aido’s eyes flitting between screens, pulling up maps of Kyoto and nearby towns, scanning through neighborhoods. It all felt too… methodical, too precise.
Like Aido had done this before, as though this wasn’t the start of something new but just another task to complete.
"How about here?" Aido murmured, tilting the tablet to show Zero a picture of a large apartment in a quiet district.
"It’s secluded, not too far from the city center, and close to a clinic I can trust. It’s listed for a decent price, but I’ll need to check the neighborhood myself."
Zero glanced at the screen for a moment, then turned back to the window. "It’s too expensive. We don’t need anything that big."
Aido sighed, leaning back in his seat, clearly frustrated by Zero’s reluctance. "Zero, I’m not looking at it just for the space. Isamu’s health isn’t stable yet. You need to be somewhere with easy access to medical care, where he can be safe and you can breathe for once."
"We can’t afford it," Zero replied flatly. "I don’t need anything fancy. I’ll find something cheaper, smaller. I’ll make it work."
Aido rubbed his temples, clearly trying to keep his patience. "Listen, I get that you want to be independent, but you’re not thinking this through. You can’t just scrape by, not with a baby—especially not one like Isamu. He’s a pureblood without a sire bond, Zero. That comes with complications. You need a place that can handle that."
"I don’t want your charity," Zero muttered, the words sharper than he intended.
Aido raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about charity? I’m not giving you a handout. You can pay me back, slowly. You don’t have to shoulder everything by yourself."
Zero tensed, his grip tightening on Isamu.
The idea of accepting help from Aido—let alone owing him anything—felt wrong, like he was compromising the very independence he had been fighting for all this time.
The very independence he was clinging to.
"I don’t need your money," Zero said coldly. "I’ll figure something out on my own."
"You’re not doing this just for yourself anymore," Aido pressed, his voice calm but firm.
"You’re a father now. You need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about what Isamu needs. And right now, he needs stability, proper care, and a safe home." Aido stated firmly.
"I’m offering to help with that, not because I think you can’t do it alone, but because it’ll be easier for both of you."
Zero opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his tongue as he looked down at Isamu.
His son, small and fragile in his arms, was the one thing that mattered now.
He had already left everything behind to keep him safe. Could he really afford to be proud when Isamu’s well-being was on the line?
Aido watched him carefully, sensing the internal conflict. "I’m not asking you to rely on me forever, Zero. Just for now. You can pay me back over time. I’ll even set up a repayment plan if that makes you feel better."
Zero scoffed, though there was no real heat behind it. "A repayment plan? Are you serious?"
"As serious as you are about doing everything yourself," Aido replied, crossing his arms. "Look, it’s not just about money. I’ve seen enough to know that you’re going to burn yourself out if you keep trying to do everything on your own. Let me help, even if it’s just for now. For Isamu’s sake."
Zero fell silent, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess of emotions. He hated the idea of depending on anyone—especially Aido, whose loyalty had once been so firmly tied to Kaname. But Aido wasn’t the same vampire anymore.
He had stayed, even when Zero had shut everyone else out. He had helped when no one else knew what to do. And right now, that help was something Zero couldn’t deny his son.
"Fine," Zero muttered after a long pause, his voice heavy with reluctance. "But I’m paying you back. Every cent."
Aido smiled faintly, though he wisely chose not to gloat. "Deal. We’ll sort out the details when we get to Kyoto. I’ll handle the paperwork, and you can worry about the rest later."
Zero leaned back against the seat, the tension in his body easing just a fraction.
He hated how complicated everything had become, how he was forced into situations that felt so out of his control. But Aido was right about one thing—this wasn’t just about him anymore.
He had a son to think about now, and that meant making choices he would have never considered for himself.
As the train kept on going, Zero’s mind drifted again to the life he had left behind.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone since the pregnancy—hadn’t seen Chairman Cross, Yagari, or Kaito. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t bear the shame of explaining his situation.
A hunter falling for a pureblood.
Being mated.
It wasn’t just a betrayal of everything he stood for, but a violation of the very identity he had clung to for so long.
Cross might try to understand—he always did—but Zero couldn’t face it. He couldn’t explain to the man who had raised him that the child in his arms was a product of his connection to Kaname.
Chairman Cross had taken him in after the slaughter of his family, given him a home when he had no one and nowhere to go. The man had always been too kind, too idealistic for the world they lived in. Zero could still remember the way Cross used to talk about peace between vampires and humans like it was an achievable dream, something tangible.
How excited would Cross be if he knew about Isamu? A child born of both vampire and hunter blood—proof that coexistence was possible.
But Zero couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t face Cross’s hopeful eyes and tell him the truth. That the child wasn’t just a product of coexistence. He was the result of Zero’s tangled, painful connection to Kaname Kuran.
Cross might see Isamu as a symbol of hope, but to Zero, he was a reminder of everything he had lost—and everything he could still lose.
And then there was Yagari-sensei. Zero closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head back against the seat. The last time he had spoken to Yagari, the older man had tried to reach out to him, tried to pull him back from the brink. But Zero had shut him out.
He had isolated himself, drowning in anger and shame.
Yagari would never understand. How could he? The man who had taught him everything about being a hunter, who had raised him to hate vampires, could never forgive the truth.
"I fell for a pureblood," Zero muttered under his breath, the admission bitter in his mouth. "And now I’m running."
He adjusted Isamu’s blanket, pulling it closer around the baby’s small form.
The warmth of his son’s tiny body was both a comfort and a reminder of why he was doing this. He was protecting Isamu. From Kaname, from the world, from the twisted fate that had somehow linked them all together.
He glanced at Aido, who was back to scrolling through listings and sending off messages.
The vampire had stuck with him through it all. Aido, once so loyal to Kaname, had shifted his loyalty to Zero, standing by him in the moments when Zero had been at his weakest.
Aido was the one who had confirmed the pregnancy, back when Zero had thought he was losing his mind and slipping into Level E.
He was the one who had helped Zero through the worst of it, who had been there when Isamu had entered the world.
And now, as much as Zero hated to admit it, Aido was still the one offering him stability. Aido had gone from Kaname’s right hand to something more like a friend to Zero.
It was strange, the way life had twisted and turned.
"I owe you," Zero said quietly, breaking the silence between them.
Aido looked up from his tablet, surprised. "What was that?"
"I said I owe you. For everything," Zero muttered, his voice rough. "You’ve stuck around when I didn’t expect anyone to. I won’t forget that."
Aido smiled, a genuine smile this time. "You don’t owe me anything, Zero. I told you, I’m doing this because I want to, not because I expect something in return."
Zero gave a faint, bitter laugh. "You’re probably the only person who’s ever said that to me."
Aido's tone was light, but his eyes were serious. "You’re thinking too much."
Zero shrugged. "What else is there to do on a train in the middle of the night?"
"Could always sleep," Aido quipped, though there was no humor in his voice.
The train's gentle rocking had kept Isamu asleep, a rare moment of calm after the days of restlessness. Zero, exhausted from weeks of sleepless nights, leaned back into his seat, his eyes heavy with fatigue.
Aido, noticing the deep lines of exhaustion etched into Zero's face, reached out his hands.
"Here, let me take him for a bit," Aido said, his voice soft but firm.
Zero hesitated for a moment, his protective instincts flaring, but the exhaustion was too great.
With a quiet sigh, he carefully handed Isamu over to Aido, who cradled the baby with surprising tenderness. Aido's usual cocky demeanor was softened as he settled Isamu in his arms, adjusting the blanket around him.
"Get some rest, Zero. You need it," Aido added, his tone more serious now.
Zero didn’t argue. He leaned his head back against the seat, the weight of his exhaustion pulling him under. As much as he wanted to stay alert, to keep his guard up, his body finally gave in, the darkness of sleep overtaking him.
Aido glanced down at Isamu, who stirred slightly in his sleep but didn’t wake. The baby looked peaceful now, his small features relaxed.
Aido had already prepared a bottle with blood tablets, carefully hiding the red contents with a cover so that none of the other passengers on the train would notice. Even with the dim lights of the late-night train, Aido wasn’t willing to take any chances.
As he fed the sleeping child, Aido’s mind wandered.
He thought about how much had changed. A year and a half ago, he would never have imagined himself in this position—helping Zero Kiryu, of all people, and looking after his child.
A child born of a pureblood and a hunter. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had been Kaname’s loyal follower for so long, and yet, here he was, the one who had helped bring Zero and Kaname’s child into the world, and now, the one who was helping them escape.
Aido’s gaze flickered to Zero, who was finally resting. The hunter's face, even in sleep, was drawn with worry and exhaustion.
Zero had carried so much on his own for so long, refusing help, determined to do everything by himself. Aido couldn’t help but feel a twinge of respect for him—Zero was as stubborn as they came, but he had endured far more than anyone should have to.
When they reached Kyoto, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light over the city. Zero stirred awake as the train began to slow, blinking groggily as he took in their arrival.
"We’re here," Aido said quietly, handing Isamu back to Zero. The baby barely moved, still deep in sleep.
The station was quiet at this early hour, with only a few other passengers getting off the train.
Aido led the way, carrying their bags as Zero followed, cradling Isamu protectively. Kyoto felt different—quieter, more distant from the chaos of the town where the academy was.
Aido had already planned everything.
Once they left the station, he hailed a cab and directed it to a nearby hotel. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was comfortable enough for the night.
Zero barely had the energy to argue when Aido paid for the room, insisting that it was only temporary.
"You need to rest," Aido said as they entered the small hotel room. "I’ll be back later once I’ve sorted everything out. The apartment should be ready by tomoorrow. I’ve already ordered the furniture, and I’ll make sure it’s in place before you get there."
Zero sank onto the bed, still holding Isamu close. The room was simple, clean, with a small kitchenette and two beds for both of them.
Aido set down their bags by the door, giving one last glance at Zero before turning to leave.
"You’re really going all out with this," Zero muttered, still trying to wrap his head around Aido’s level of involvement.
Aido shrugged. "I told you. You’re not alone in this. And besides, Isamu deserves a proper place to grow up. You’ll see, everything will be ready by tomorrow. Just rest for now."
Zero didn’t respond, but the gratitude was there, unspoken.
Aido left the room quietly, and Zero let out a long, shaky breath. The weight of everything he had been holding onto finally seemed to ease, if only for a moment. He looked down at Isamu, still fast asleep in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
Zero was a bit worried Isamu was sleeping for so long but he let him be as the poor child barely got any sleep for the last few days.
Laying on the bed, Zero let his eyes close, his body relaxing into the soft mattress. Tomorrow was going to be a new beginning, a new life in Kyoto. Away from Kaname, away from the academy, away from the past.
It was evening when the door creaked open, and Aido walked in, looking pleased with himself.
He tossed his keys onto the small table and grinned at Zero, who raised an eyebrow at the vampire’s unusually smug expression
Zero was sitting on the bed with Isamu in his arms, who finally woke up.
The baby was cooing softly, his tiny hands reaching out for the air. It was the first time in days that Isamu seemed relaxed, free from the discomfort that had kind of plagued him since birth.
Zero smiled down at his son, relief flooding his chest at the sight of his happy child.
"Everything’s sorted. We can move into the new apartment tomorrow," Aido announced, his tone casual but proud.
Zero blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Tomorrow? Already? How did you manage that so fast?"
Aido smirked and made a playful motion with his fingers, mimicking the act of counting money. "Money, my friend. It makes many things possible."
Zero scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Stupid rich vampires."
Aido chuckled but didn’t argue. "Hey, it’s not like I’m complaining. I wanted you and Isamu to have everything ready, so I made it happen."
At that moment, Isamu gurgled happily in Zero’s arms, his bright eyes wide with curiosity as he squirmed a little, clearly wanting attention.
Zero and Aido both turned to look at him, and the sight of the baby in such a good mood after days of pain brought a shared sense of relief.
"Seems like the little guy is finally feeling better," Aido said, leaning down to tickle Isamu’s stomach gently, earning another soft giggle from the child.
Zero’s expression softened, and he nodded. "Yeah, for the first time in a while."
His voice was quiet, filled with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "I was really starting to worry."
Aido straightened up, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more genuine. "You’re doing a good job, Zero. And now that we’re settled, things are going to get easier. I promise."
Zero gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, though a part of him still felt uneasy. It wasn’t just about finding a safe place—it was about staying ahead of the dangers that loomed behind them.
But for the moment, he pushed those thoughts aside. Isamu was healthy, and they had a roof over their heads.
That was enough.
The next morning, Aido and Zero packed up the few belongings they had at the hotel and made their way to the new apartment.
As they approached the building, Zero couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at how well-located it was. It wasn’t flashy, but it was clearly in a quiet, upscale neighborhood, with tall trees lining the streets and a park nearby.
When Aido opened the door to the apartment, Zero was greeted by the sight of a spacious, comfortable home that seemed almost too perfect.
The living room was bright and open, with large windows letting in natural light. The kitchen was modern, fully equipped with new appliances, and there was a separate room for Isamu—already set up as a nursery.
A crib sat against the wall, soft blankets and toys arranged neatly. There was even a rocking chair near the window for Zero to sit in while watching over his son.
Zero stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. "You really thought of everything, didn’t you?"
Aido gave him a cheeky grin. "What can I say? I’m thorough. I wanted to make sure Isamu had everything he needed—and, you know, that you weren’t living in a dump."
Zero shot him a dry look. "I told you I don’t need anything fancy."
Aido waved him off, stepping into the apartment and setting down a bag. "It’s not fancy, it’s practical. And besides, don’t you think Isamu deserves the best?"
Zero looked down at Isamu, who was nestled comfortably against his chest, his eyes half-closed in drowsiness. Aido had a point. This wasn’t about him—it was about giving his son the best start he could, even if that meant accepting help he wasn’t used to.
He wandered over to the nursery, gently placing Isamu into the crib.
The baby settled immediately, curling up in the soft blankets as if the space had been waiting for him all along. Zero stood there for a moment, watching his son sleep, a sense of calm finally washing over him.
"You really did all of this?" Zero asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he turned back to Aido.
Aido shrugged, though there was a hint of pride in his expression. "I wanted to make sure you didn’t have to worry about anything, at least for a while. You’ve been through enough."
Zero didn’t respond right away, but the weight of everything he’d been carrying—both literally and metaphorically—seemed a little lighter as he stood there in the quiet of the nursery.
He had been running for so long, fighting every instinct to protect himself, to protect Isamu, and now… now there was a brief moment of peace.
Aido leaned against the doorframe, watching him. "It’s a nice place, right? Not too big, but not too small. Perfect for the three of us."
"Three?" Zero shot Aido a sidelong glance.
Aido chuckled. "Hey, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not."
Zero rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Aido had been with him through everything—the pregnancy, the birth, the sleepless nights. It was strange to think how much things had changed, how much Aido had changed.
He wasn’t the same vampire Zero had once seen as just another one of Kaname’s loyal pawns.
Now, Aido was something closer to a friend, though Zero wasn’t sure he’d ever admit that out loud.
"Fine," Zero muttered, heading into the living room. "But you’re not hogging the couch."
Aido laughed as he followed. "No promises."
As they settled in, Zero couldn’t help but feel a small, cautious sense of hope. The apartment was comfortable, Isamu was safe, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like they might actually be okay.
It wasn’t the life he had planned, and it wasn’t the life he had expected—but it was the life he had now. And for Isamu’s sake, that was enough
Kaname sat in the dimly lit study of his mansion, the weight of the world pressing down on him like a suffocating fog. The flickering light from the fireplace cast shadows on the walls, mirroring the turmoil churning inside him.
He stared blankly at the papers spread across the mahogany desk—reports, plans, responsibilities—but none of it held any meaning for him anymore. The words blurred together, becoming a meaningless jumble that reflected his fractured heart.
Ten thousand years. He had waited that long for a soulmate, believing he had found her in Yuki Cross. For her, he had orchestrated his life, planning every move to defeat Rido and protect her at all costs. He had sacrificed everything—his time, his desires, even parts of his humanity—only to discover that fate had played him for a fool.
The realization that his true mate was Zero Kiryu, the very person he had harmed so deeply, tore through him like a jagged blade.
Kaname's heart ached, a deep, hollow sensation that made him feel as if he were slowly unraveling. He thought of all the lives he had shattered in his quest for power and love, and the irony of it all settled heavily on his chest.
He had sought to protect Yuki, yet in doing so, he had condemned Zero, who had suffered the consequences of his actions. How could he have been so blind?
His mind flashed back to the conversation with Zero—the desperation in Zero's eyes as he had asked for space, for solitude, to be left alone with his pain.
Every word had been a nail driven into Kaname’s heart, each one echoing with the weight of their shared history. Zero had felt betrayed, and no matter how many apologies Kaname offered, they had fallen on deaf ears.
Kaname stood frozen as Zero's silver eyes bore into his, each word from his mate like a blade cutting deeper into his chest. Zero's trembling hand held Bloody Rose, its barrel steady and aimed directly at Kaname's heart.
But the anger in Zero's voice wasn't the worst part—it was the pain that laced his words, the anguish that cracked his voice and left Kaname with no defense
You,” Zero spat, stepping closer. “You freed her. Shizuka. You were the one who let her out of her cage. The one who made my parents' deaths possible. You.” His voice trembled with fury.
Kaname’s breath caught in his throat. His lips parted, but no words came out. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Shizuka to reveal the truth to anyone. Or for it to reach Zero's ear ever.
“I’m so sorry,” he had pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please, just let me explain. I never wanted-.”
"Stop lying!" Zero snapped, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You knew exactly what would happen when you let her out. You knew, and you didn't care."
Zero’s voice cracked as he cut him off. His eyes burned with tears he refused to shed. “My parents are dead because of you. My brother, my life—it was all destroyed because of your selfish plans. You let Shizuka out, knowing what she’d do. You knew she’d kill them!”
Kaname took a step forward, reaching out in desperation. “I did it to protect Yuki—”
“Yuki.” Zero’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Of course, it was for Yuki. Everything is always about Yuki.”
The memory of Zero’s face, twisted in anger and grief, haunted Kaname day and night. Zero’s words replayed in his mind.
Like a cruel mantra, each repetition a reminder of his failure. He had loved Zero with a fervor that felt both intoxicating and terrifying, but love had not been enough to undo the damage he had caused.
Kaname’s heart twisted painfully at the contempt in Zero’s voice. “Zero, I was trying to protect her, I didn’t know you were my mate, I would never want my mate to suffer-"
Zero’s eyes blazed with fury. “But I did suffer, Kuran! I lost everything—my family, my humanity. Your plans turned me into the thing I hate the most. And for what? To protect Yuki? To be a pawn in your game?”
He shook his head, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You destroyed my life for her. And then, you had the nerve to say you loved me.”
"I do love you," Kaname whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity. "More than anything. I would do anything to take back the pain I've caused you. Anything."
“Love me?” Zero’s laugh was harsh, cutting through the night air like a blade. “You don’t even know what that means. If you loved me, You wouldn’t have manipulated my entire life!”
Zero's grip on Bloody Rose tightened, his hands shaking with emotion. He stared down at Kaname, who looked so vulnerable, so broken, and felt a flicker of the bond between them.
But it wasn't enough to smother the fire of his rage.
"You want to fix this?" Zero asked, his voice dangerously low. "Then stay away from me. That's the only way you can make this right."
Kaname's head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Stay away? Zero, I can't—"
"Yes, you can," Zero interrupted, his voice steady. "If you love me, if you truly regret what you've done, then you'll give me the one thing I'm asking for. Leave me alone."
"Zero, don't do this," Kaname pleaded, his voice cracking. "I've waited years for you. You're my mate. I can't just walk away."
Zero's eyes softened for a brief moment before hardening again. "And I've waited my entire life to feel safe, Kaname. I'll never have that with you."
The words hit Kaname like a physical blow, and he stumbled slightly, his hands trembling at his sides. "Please," he whispered. "Let me be by your side. Let me spend the rest of eternity making this right."
Zero lowered the gun slightly but kept his stance firm. "I don't want your eternity. I want my freedom."
Kaname reached out, his hands shaking as he tried to bridge the distance between them. “I can’t lose you, Zero. Not like this.”
Zero took a step back, his voice trembling but steady. “If you don’t stay away, I’ll make sure I’m gone forever.”
Kaname froze, his crimson eyes widening in horror. “What… what are you saying?”
Zero met his gaze, his silver eyes filled with a cold determination that sent chills down Kaname’s spine. “I’ll end it, Kaname. I’ll take my own life before I let you ruin me any further. I swear, if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll make sure there’s no one left for you to love.”
Kaname closed the distance between them with desperation, cupping Zero’s face in his trembling hands. “Don’t say such ominous things. You can’t mean it, Zero. Don’t… don’t say it.”
“Try me,” Zero said, his voice steady despite the tears brimming in his eyes. “Because I’d rather die than live another day under the shadow of your manipulation.”
Zero pushed Kaname away, breaking the contact, breaking the fragile connection Kaname clung to so desperately.
Kaname felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, his composure crumbling as he whispered, “I can’t… I can’t live without you. We are mates, Zero. Soulmates. You know that.”
Zero’s lips trembled as he met Kaname’s desperate gaze. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—pain, longing—but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Then this is your punishment,” he said, his voice trembling but steady. He lowered Bloody Rose, but his stance remained firm, unyielding. “You get to live with the knowledge that I hate you. That I’ll hate you for as long as I live.”
Kaname’s breath hitched, his entire world collapsing around him. “No… you don’t mean that. You can’t mean that.”
Zero’s voice broke as he spoke again, his words cutting through Kaname like a blade. “Your punishment is to live without me. To know that you’ve lost the one person you claim to love. And to know it’s your fault.”
Kaname reached out again, his hand trembling, but Zero stepped back once more, his resolve unwavering.
The distance between them felt immeasurable, and Kaname felt as though he was falling into an abyss he couldn’t escape.
“You love me, Zero. You can’t deny it,” Kaname pleaded, his voice cracking. “I felt it every time I drank your blood, in every kiss we shared, in every moment we spent together.”
Zero let out a bitter laugh, though his expression was filled with agony. “Then this is a punishment for me too,” he said, his voice shaking. “For loving a monster like you. For being so weak, so gullible, that I let myself believe you might actually care.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes widened, his lips parting as if to speak, but Zero wasn’t finished.
“Every time I look at you, I hate myself,” Zero continued, his voice trembling. “I’m a traitor to my kind, a disappointment to my own eyes. How can I love the one who is responsible for so much pain—pain that you caused, and to my family no less?”
Kaname flinched as though struck, the weight of Zero’s words crushing him from within.
He knew Zero’s accusations were justified, but hearing them spoken aloud, hearing the venom in his mate’s voice, was unbearable.
“Zero, please,” Kaname whispered, his voice cracking. “I never wanted—”
Zero’s eyes flashed with fury as he cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t stand there and say you never wanted this. You planned everything, Kuran. Every lie, every manipulation, every death—it was all part of your grand design. And for what? Yuki. It’s always for Yuki.”
Kaname opened his mouth to speak, but Zero’s bitter laugh silenced him.
“You’re using Cross too,” Zero spat, his voice laced with disgust. “You’re not really here to coexist with humans. Whatever you’re planning, I bet it’s for Yuki. So finish what you came here to do, Kuran, then leave.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes glistened with desperation as he tried to speak. “Zero, no… things have changed. I—”
Kaname opened his mouth to speak, but Zero cut him off again with a bitter laugh, his silver eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“You turned her back into a pureblood, didn’t you?” he said, venom dripping from his words. “You made sure she’d live forever so she could stay by your side. For eternity.”
Kaname faltered, Zero’s words slicing through him like a blade. He couldn’t deny it. For so long, Yuki had been the center of his universe—her safety, her future, her immortality. And in doing so, he had unwittingly destroyed everything else.
Kaname’s chest tightened, his composure unraveling as he took a tentative step forward, desperation etched across his face. “Please, Zero. Let me prove to you that I choose you. Let me—”
“You can’t,” Zero snapped, his voice icy and unrelenting. “Because deep down, even you know it’s not true. Yuki is who you’ll have for eternity. She’s the one you’ll always protect. I refuse to live in anyone's shadow.”
Kaname froze, his crimson eyes wide with despair. The truth of Zero’s words echoed in his mind, the weight of his past choices crushing him. Every action, every sacrifice—it had all been for Yuki. And now, those choices had cost him Zero.
Zero’s voice trembled as he continued, softer but no less cutting. “Every time I feel this bond, I feel like I’m betraying everything I ever stood for. I hate that I love you, Kaname. I hate that no matter how much pain you’ve caused me, I still—” His voice broke, and he turned his back to Kaname, his shoulders trembling.
Kaname’s heart shattered at the sight, guilt clawing at him with relentless ferocity. “Zero,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you did,” Zero said, his voice raw with emotion. “You hurt me in ways I’ll never recover from. You turned me into this… this thing I hate. You took everything I had, everything I was, and you crushed it. And the worst part? I still love you.”
Kaname staggered back, his legs weak beneath him as the weight of Zero’s confession struck him. He had always known that his actions had consequences, but hearing the depth of Zero’s pain—knowing he had done this to the one person he cherished most—was a torment unlike anything he had ever felt.
Zero let out a shaky breath, his voice soft but no less cutting. “Spend your eternity with her, Kaname. Because you’ll never have me.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, leaving Kaname trembling as he tried and failed to respond. He watched helplessly as Zero turned his back on him, his movements slow but resolute.
“If I ever want to see you again,” Zero said, his voice hollow, “it’ll be because I came looking for you. Not the other way around.”
Kaname stood frozen, his hands trembling at his sides as Zero walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the stillness. The door closed behind him with a deafening finality, leaving Kaname alone in the suffocating silence.
Kaname sank to his knees, his body trembling as the weight of Zero’s words bore down on him.
His crimson eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at the empty room, the reality of his loss sinking in. Zero’s hatred was a wound that would never heal, and the knowledge that he had caused it—that his own actions had driven his mate away—was a torment beyond anything he had ever known.
He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as he buried his face in his hands. The proud pureblood, the manipulator who had spent centuries shaping events, now knelt in the ruins of his own choices.
For centuries, he had believed himself untouchable, above consequence. But now, stripped of everything that mattered, he realized the truth:
He had lost Zero.
Kaname knew he had to stay away. Zero had made his stance clear, and his mate did not make empty promises. If Kaname tried to push, he would lose Zero forever. And even as the thought tore through him like a knife, he knew he couldn’t risk it.
This was his punishment: to live with the knowledge of what he had done, to carry the weight of his choices for eternity. And as Kaname sat in the silence of the empty room, his heart shattered, he realized that eternity had never felt so unbearable.
The Beginning of Something New
Zero never thought he would get used to a life of quiet, of warmth, of stability—but here he was. The apartment felt more like a home than anywhere he had been in years.
He still had nightmares sometimes—of Kaname, of the past, of the life he had run from. But in the mornings, when the golden light filtered through the window and bathed Isamu’s crib in warmth, Zero felt something foreign and unfamiliar creeping into his chest.
Hope.
He watched as Isamu stirred in his sleep, his tiny fists curling into the soft blankets. The baby’s face was peaceful, his breathing even.
After all the nights spent worrying, running, and fearing what the future held, seeing his son finally sleep soundly felt like a victory in itself.
Zero exhaled and ran a hand through his silver hair. This was real. This was his life now.
It had been just a few days since they moved in, and yet, it already felt like this was where they were supposed to be.
"You're staring again," Aido commented from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the frame. "It’s kind of creepy, you know?"
Zero shot him a glare but didn’t move away from Isamu’s crib. "Shut up."
Aido smirked but didn’t press further. He was getting used to Zero’s softer moments—moments Zero would probably never admit to having.
Instead, Aido walked into the nursery and peeked into the crib, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He really does look like you. It’s kind of unfair, actually."
Zero frowned slightly at the remark. He had expected Isamu to look like Kaname. In some ways, he did. There was an air of quiet wisdom in those violet eyes, a depth Zero didn’t quite understand. But the rest of him—the shape of his face, the stubborn furrow of his brow, the small frown when he was displeased—that was all Zero.
"Good," Zero muttered. "Means there’s still a chance he won’t turn out like… like him."
Aido sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, you can’t run from him forever."
Zero stiffened, his hands tightening at his sides.
"Watch me," he bit out.
Aido rolled his eyes. "I’m not saying you should go running back into his arms or anything. I’m just saying, Kaname is… well, Kaname. He’s probably already suspicious. And once he figures out—"
"He won’t," Zero cut in, his voice sharp. "Because he’ll never find out."
Aido hesitated, studying Zero carefully before sighing. "If you say so." But there was doubt in his voice, and Zero hated it.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain. The unspoken truth lay between them—Kaname would find out, eventually. He always did.
He glanced down at Isamu again, brushing his fingers lightly over his son’s tiny hand. The baby’s fingers twitched in response, curling briefly around Zero’s own.
This was what mattered.
Not Kaname, not the past, not the world he had left behind.
This.
This small, fragile life he had brought into the world.
And he would fight for it.
No matter what it took.
Days turned into weeks, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Zero allowed himself to believe in the illusion of normalcy.
Isamu grew stronger with each passing day. His appetite was steady, his once-constant cries had settled into soft coos and curious babbling. He was healthy, happy, and—most importantly—safe.
.
.
Zero adjusted the tiny knit cap on Isamu’s head as they sat on the balcony of the apartment, the warm breeze carrying the scent of spring. Isamu gurgled contentedly in his lap, reaching up to tug on the edge of Zero’s sleeve with chubby fingers. The sky above Kyoto was a soft, hazy blue, the kind of sky that made everything feel… possible.
He had never imagined this kind of peace.
Aido joined him a moment later, two mugs in hand. He handed one to Zero without a word and sat in the chair beside him.
They sat in companionable silence, the kind that had grown over weeks of cohabitation and long, quiet nights.
“Do you still think about him?” Aido asked, not unkindly.
Zero didn’t look away from Isamu. “Every day.”
It wasn’t an admission he gave lightly.
Kaname lived in the shadows of his mind—present in every heartbeat of the child in his arms, in every decision Zero made about where to live, what name to give, what legacy to reject.
“You think he’ll come?” Aido asked after a moment, his voice quieter.
Zero finally looked at him. “If he does… I’ll protect my son.”
Aido nodded. “I’ll help you.”
Zero didn’t thank him—he didn’t need to. They had crossed some invisible line weeks ago. Aido was more than just Kaname’s old pawn now. He was Isamu’s godfather, his doctor, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—Zero’s friend.
Maybe even something close to family.
A soft breeze stirred, and Isamu let out a delighted squeal, wriggling in Zero’s arms. Zero smiled despite himself, the warmth of the moment anchoring him to the present.
Chapter 15: Time flies
Chapter Text
Kaname had been lost in his thoughts of Zero, the weight of memories and regret pressing heavily on his chest, when he sensed Yuki returning home.
Her familiar scent carried on the breeze, signaling her arrival at the mansion. But there was something else—another scent entwined with hers that made his heart clench.
Zero.
The recognition hit him like a blow. His body tensed as the unmistakable trace of his mate lingered in the air, faint but potent enough to stir a torrent of emotions.
Kaname didn’t move as Yuki entered the room, though his crimson eyes flickered toward her briefly. She appeared calm, but the slight hesitation in her movements betrayed her.
“Yuki,” Kaname greeted softly, his tone measured, though suspicion gnawed at him. “You’ve been out for quite some time.”
Yuki hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I—I went to see some old friends,” she said, her voice faltering just enough for Kaname to notice. “I wanted to catch up, you know... it’s been a while since we’ve had time for things like that.”
Kaname’s gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice gentle but probing.
His senses sharpened, focusing on the scent that clung to her—a scent that made his heart ache with longing and dread. Yuki was hiding something, and the truth was written all over her face.
“I’m... going to go to my room now. I’m tired,” Yuki said quickly, trying to escape the conversation as she turned to leave.
Kaname’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “How is Zero?”
The question hung in the air, sharp and unavoidable. Yuki froze, her shoulders tensing as she slowly turned back toward him. “What?” she asked, her tone strained.
“How is Zero?” Kaname repeated, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”
Yuki’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing in an attempt to feign denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said hurriedly, her voice wavering.
Kaname tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze holding her in place. “Don’t lie to me, Yuki,” he said softly, though his tone carried the weight of a command. “I can smell him on you.”
Yuki’s mouth opened and closed, her face paling as she realized there was no use in denying it. She looked away, wringing her hands as guilt and uncertainty filled her expression.
“I… I did see him,” she admitted quietly. “But it wasn’t… I mean, it wasn’t planned.”
“Is he well?” Kaname asked, his voice tightening despite his attempt to remain composed.
Yuki hesitated, her gaze flickering to his face as she struggled to find the right words. “He’s… he’s fine,” she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction. “He’s… doing well.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes darkened, his chest tightening at the vague response. She was holding something back—he could feel it.
“That’s all?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent.
Yuki nodded quickly, eager to end the conversation. “Yes, that’s all.”
But Kaname could see the unease in her expression, the way she avoided meeting his gaze. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of her demeanor and the scent she carried. Zero. He had been close enough to her for his scent to linger, but there was something more, something Yuki wasn’t saying.
“Yuki,” Kaname said, his voice gentler now, almost pleading. “ If you know something is wrong, you must tell me.”
Yuki’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone. She had always loved Kaname—his strength, his grace, his unwavering presence. But in moments like this, when his composure cracked and something raw and human showed through, she felt the depths of her love even more acutely. Yet, she couldn’t tell him the full truth—not about why she had gone to see Zero, and certainly not about the child.
She smiled“I told you everything,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “He’s fine, Kaname. That’s all that matters, right?”
Kaname nodded slowly, though his chest felt hollow. The faint trace of Zero’s scent still lingered, haunting him like a ghost. His mate—his other half—was close, yet unreachable. And now, even Yuki, who had been so devoted to him, was keeping secrets.
As Yuki left the room, her steps hurried and purposeful, Kaname sat back in his chair, his mind spiraling into a torrent of emotions. He felt an ache he couldn’t suppress, the weight of his guilt pressing heavily on him.
He had hurt Zero beyond measure, and now he was being punished by fate itself. His mate was out there, alive, but completely cut off from him.
His thoughts turned bitterly to Yuki. She didn’t knowwhat Zero meant to him. To her, Zero was nothing more than an old friend, a hunter tangled in their world of vampires. She didn’t know that Kaname’s soul had been irreparably tied to Zero’s, that the bond they shared had been the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own darkness.
And yet… Yuki had loved him. She still did. He could see it in the way her eyes lingered on him, in the way her voice softened when she spoke to him. But Kaname couldn’t return it, not anymore. The love he had once reserved for her had been replaced by something far deeper, far more consuming—a love for someone he had ruined.
Kaname leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as a wave of regret washed over him. He thought of the times he and Zero had shared—the stolen kisses, the heated arguments, the quiet moments of trust that had bloomed between them. He thought of the times Zero had resisted him, only to give in with a passion that had consumed them both.
It’s all gone now, Kaname thought bitterly. Because of me.
The scent of Zero lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. Kaname’s crimson eyes closed as he let the memories overtake him, filling him with longing and despair.
His punishment was clear: to live with the weight of his choices, to spend eternity knowing he had destroyed the one person who had truly mattered.
And now, even Yuki, who had once been his sanctuary, was slipping away, lying to him, keeping things from him. He had failed her too—failed to love her the way she deserved, failed to see the damage he had caused her with his coldness.
But his heart belonged to someone else, someone who wanted nothing to do with him.
Kaname sat in the silence, the mansion around him feeling emptier than ever. And for the first time in his long, immortal life, he felt truly alone.
Past.
Kaname rarely indulged himself with time away from his duties, and even less so for something as mundane as a stroll through town. But tonight wasn’t about him. It was about Zero, about giving his mate a brief reprieve from the constant burdens and pain he carried.
The Night Class members had been sent away under the pretense of “family obligations,” leaving the Moon Dormitory unusually quiet. It was the perfect opportunity for Kaname to create something memorable for Zero.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kaname led Zero out of the dormitory gates and toward the nearby town. The quiet of the evening was interrupted only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant chatter of villagers. Zero walked beside Kaname, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his silver eyes scanning the darkened streets.
“Why are we here, Kaname?” Zero asked, his tone laced with suspicion. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
Kaname chuckled softly, his crimson eyes glowing in the dim light. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But it seemed like something you might enjoy. You deserve a night away from everything—away from hunters, vampires, and all the chaos.”
Zero arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue. The idea of a peaceful evening was tempting, even if he couldn’t quite let his guard down.
They walked in silence for a while, the rhythm of their steps matching. Kaname occasionally pointed out little things—a quaint tea shop he frequented in the past, a flower stall still open despite the late hour. Zero listened quietly, though he occasionally offered a sarcastic comment that made Kaname smile.
When they reached a small café tucked into the corner of the square, Kaname gestured for Zero to sit at one of the outdoor tables. “Wait here,” he said softly before disappearing inside.
Zero watched him go, his silver eyes narrowing slightly. “He’s up to something,” he muttered under his breath, though he stayed put.
Moments later, Kaname returned with two steaming cups in hand, setting one in front of Zero.
“What’s this?” Zero asked, peering suspiciously at the drink.
“It’s hot chocolate,” Kaname said, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You seemed like you could use something sweet.”
Zero stared at him for a long moment before taking a tentative sip. The warmth spread through him, and though he’d never admit it, it was exactly what he needed.
Their conversation had drifted to the topic of bonds, particularly the mate bond that connected them. “You’ve said before that the mate bond is like marriage in vampire society,” Zero said, his voice steady but curious. “Does it… mean the same thing to you?”
Kaname set his cup down, his crimson eyes softening as they met Zero’s. “It means more to me than any human ceremony ever could,” he replied, his voice rich with emotion. “It is a binding of souls, a connection that transcends time, space… even death. You are my mate, Zero. That is an eternal vow.”
Kaname continues “Mate bonds like ours,” he began carefully, “are incredibly rare. The chance of a vampire finding their true mate in a single lifetime is almost nonexistent—even across centuries. The last confirmed bonded pair before us… was nearly a thousand years ago.”
Zero looked up, startled.
Kaname gave a faint nod. “Most vampires—especially those of noble blood—marry for alliance. Status. Legacy. Some fall in love over time. Many don’t. Love is not required.”
Zero’s gaze sharpened. “But you said… when a mate bond does happen…”
“It’s sacred,” Kaname said, meeting his eyes. “It overrides everything. It isn’t a choice. It’s fate. When a bond forms, it’s deeper than any vow, stronger than any bloodline. It’s… eternal. A bond of the soul.”
He reached out, fingertips brushing Zero’s hand—hesitant, reverent.
“And I’ve had power. Influence. Command over legions. But I never had this. I never had you. Not until the bond.”
His voice softened, trembling just slightly.
“I always wanted a mate whose love I wouldn't have to doubt. The Council tries to pair me off constantly—noble daughters thrown at me at every formal gathering, every banquet. They want my name, my legacy. They love the idea of Kaname Kuran."
Kaname’s voice dropped, quiet and raw. “But none of them could love me. Not truly. Not if they knew all of me.”
Kaname’s eyes darkened slightly as he looked away, thoughtful.
For ten thousand years he waited, he married out of duty. Had children to preserve the bloodline. Played the role. But he never knew love. He only waited. Quietly. Patiently. For the one who would love him in spite of everything.
His gaze flicked back to Zero, softened with centuries of ache.
And now… finally it paid off.
Zero’s fingers stilled on his cup, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “I guess that’s... kind of like what I wanted marriage to mean. Back when I thought I had a normal life ahead of me.”
Kaname tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “You once wanted to marry in the human way?”
Zero smiled faintly. “It’s funny… before all of this—before my family was taken—I used to dream of having something like my parents had.” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.
“They were so in love. I remember how my dad used to look at my mom, like she was his whole world. I wanted that.”
Kaname’s heart clenched at the rare glimpse into Zero’s past, at the vulnerable longing etched into his voice.
“I even imagined getting married someday,” Zero admitted, his cheeks tinged pink. “I know it sounds silly… but I wanted the whole thing—a familiar ceremony, vows, rings… Someone who’d stay with me, no matter what.”
His voice turned wistful, eyes shining with long-buried memories. “My dad wore a simple wedding band, and my mom always touched it when she thought no one was looking... I thought it was beautiful. I guess... I just wanted something like that—a family... a home.”
Kaname stilled for a moment, his grip on Zero’s hand tightening just slightly as if anchoring himself to the present. “You still can.” His voice was firm, filled with quiet conviction.
“It’s too late for those kinds of dreams,” Zero murmured with a hint of resignation. “We’re already bonded... that’s enough.”
Kaname’s eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight as a sudden determination took root. “It’s not too late,” he whispered. “Come with me.”
Before Zero could protest, Kaname intertwined their fingers, guiding him through the quiet streets until they reached a small, quaint chapel tucked between ancient oak trees. Its worn stone walls stood as a testament to countless vows made and kept.
“Kaname... we can’t just—”
“We’re already bonded by fate, by blood—it is marriage in vampire society but I want to give you this too... a human ceremony. Something that meant so much to you and will mean something to you.”
They pushed open the heavy chapel doors, and a lone priest emerged from a side chamber, his eyes widening at the sight of the two men standing hand in hand.
“May I help you, gentlemen?” the priest asked, his tone polite but wary.
Kaname stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding. “We wish to be married.”
The priest frowned. “I’m afraid... our traditions don’t allow for... men to marry each other.”
Zero’s heart clenched, but before he could speak, Kaname’s aura shifted—powerful, commanding, yet not cruel. His voice was velvet steel as he repeated:
“You will marry us. Now.”
The priest’s resistance crumbled under Kaname’s authoritative presence. His eyes glazed slightly, and with a slow nod, he gestured toward the altar. “Very well... come forward.”
The small chapel glowed softly in the flickering light of the aged candles lining its stone walls. The air felt thick with meaning, reverence, and an unspoken magic that needed no spells to bind it. Zero and Kaname stood side by side before the simple wooden altar, fingers intertwined, their hearts pounding in unison.
The elderly priest adjusted his robes, still slightly dazed under the subtle influence of Kaname's aura but speaking with solemn authority as if instinct guided him:
“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, his voice deep and steady, “we are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of two souls. Though the world may set limits, love knows no boundaries—neither time, death, nor destiny.”
Zero swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Kaname, whose steady, crimson gaze held nothing but love and certainty.
“Love is patient and kind,” the priest continued. “It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
Kaname's lips quirked softly, the familiar words holding a meaning he never expected to claim for himself—until Zero.
The priest’s gaze softened as he turned to them. “Before you declare your vows, let us honor the strength of your bond. Do you come willingly, prepared to commit your hearts and souls without hesitation or regret?”
“We do,” both whispered, voices steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within them.
The priest nodded towards Kaname. “Then speak your vows—first.”
Kaname gently took Zero’s hands, cradling them in his as though they were the most precious thing he had ever held. His voice was low and steady, yet thick with emotion:
“Zero, you were the light I thought I would never find. For years, I walked this world alone, believing I would never be whole... until you. You are my equal, my partner, my mate—and beyond that, you are my heart.”
Zero’s breath hitched as Kaname tightened his grip, his crimson eyes shimmering.
“I vow to stand by you, through eternity and beyond. I will cherish every breath you take, guard your life with my own, and protect your soul—just as you’ve saved mine.”
His voice trembled slightly as he whispered, “I am yours... always.”
Zero blinked back tears as the priest gently prompted, “And now, your vows.”
Zero took a steadying breath, his fingers lacing tightly with Kaname’s as he spoke with fierce, unwavering love:
“you found me when I was broken, drowning in my darkest shadows.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on, his lavender eyes gleaming with emotion. “You saw what I couldn’t... that there was still something worth saving.”
Kaname’s jaw clenched as his fingers brushing over Zero’s trembling hands.
“I vow to stand by your side—not because fate says I should, but because I choose you... again and again. You are my home, my future, my forever.”
Zero pressed their foreheads together, whispering, “I am yours... now and always.”
The priest nodded approvingly. “The couple will now exchange rings as a symbol of their unending love and commitment.”
Kaname’s expression remained serene as he addressed the priest. “We have no rings to exchange,” he said calmly. Turning to Zero, he continued, “Would you accept the exchange of blood, as is customary in our tradition? I can procure rings for us later.”
Zero’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “Yes, I would.”
The priest hesitated, clearly unaccustomed to such a request. The priest should be scared, he should run but somehow he couldn't help but the command of the dark haired male.
Under the subtle influence of Kaname’s aura, he found himself conceding. “Very well,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “You may proceed with your tradition.”
Kaname stepped closer to Zero, his gaze never leaving his beloved’s face. With a tenderness that belied his strength, he brushed Zero’s silver hair away from his neck. “This bond,” he murmured, “is eternal, transcending all.” He leaned in, his fangs grazing Zero’s skin before sinking in gently. Zero gasped softly, a shiver running through him as Kaname drew a small amount of blood.
Kaname then offered his own neck to Zero. Zero hesitated for a brief moment before pressing his lips to Kaname’s skin, his fangs piercing gently. The taste of Kaname’s blood filled his senses, sealing their bond in the most intimate way.
"By the power vested in me, through love’s eternal light, I pronounce you bound in heart, soul, and life. You may now seal your marriage.”
Kaname didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, cradling Zero’s face with infinite tenderness before pressing a slow, reverent kiss to his lips. The kiss was not just a meeting of mouths—it was a promise, a vow, a surrender.
Zero melted into the kiss, his hands tangling in Kaname’s hair, anchoring himself in the warmth of Kaname’s unwavering love.
When they finally pulled apart, Kaname rested his forehead against Zero’s, his voice breaking into a whispered declaration:
“You are mine... now and forever.”
Zero smiled, his heart full. “And you are mine… always.”
When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. Kaname whispered, “We were already bound , but I wanted this for you—for us—to honor the human traditions you hold dear.”
Zero’s eyes shimmered “Thank you,” he whispered back. “This means more to me than words can express.”
As they turned to leave the chapel, Kaname paused, glancing back at the priest. With a subtle wave of his hand, he erased the man’s memories of the evening, ensuring their union remained their cherished secret.
Hand in hand, Kaname and Zero stepped out into the night, their hearts light, their souls intertwined in a bond that neither time nor fate could sever.
.
.
The cool night air wrapped around them like a soft embrace as Kaname and Zero lay on top of the Moon Dorm, the faint sounds of the night echoing in the distance. Kaname had prepared the space with meticulous care—a plush blanket spread out over the rooftop, surrounded by soft pillows that promised comfort. The stars above sparkled like diamonds scattered across an endless canvas, casting a serene glow over the two of them.
Kaname turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes softening as he gazed at Zero. His mate’s silver hair glimmered under the starlight, his sharp features relaxed for once. Kaname had seen many things in his long life, but the sight of Zero at peace was something he cherished deeply.
Zero shifted slightly, resting his head against one of the pillows as he looked up at the sky. “I still can’t believe we’ve done this,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “The marriage… it wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”
Kaname smiled faintly, his hand reaching out to brush against Zero’s. “No, it wasn’t,” he admitted. “But I can’t say I’m unhappy about it. In fact, it feels… right.”
Zero turned his head, his silver eyes meeting Kaname’s. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, one that he rarely showed to anyone else. “You know I’m not accustomed to… to all these vampire traditions,” he said quietly. “But you didn’t make it about that. The human side of it… it means more to me than you probably realize.”
Kaname’s heart swelled at those words. He had known from the start that Zero wouldn’t respond to elaborate vampire customs, so he had made the ceremony simple—intimate, focused on what truly mattered. And now, hearing Zero acknowledge it, he felt a warmth spread through him that no amount of power or immortality could rival.
“I wanted it to mean something to you,” Kaname said softly, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. “Because you mean everything to me.”
Zero blinked, his usual sharpness replaced by something softer. He looked away, his cheeks faintly pink as he mumbled, “You always say things like that so easily.”
“Because they’re true,” Kaname replied, his tone warm but earnest.
They lay in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of crickets and the faint rustling of leaves filling the air. Kaname shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at Zero.
“Do you know what I was thinking while we were saying our vows?” Kaname asked, his crimson eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and affection.
Zero raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “That you’ve finally trapped me?”
Kaname chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Not quite. I was thinking about how fortunate I am to have you. Of all the years I’ve lived, all the people I’ve met, I never thought I’d find someone like you.”
Zero’s smirk faded, replaced by a softer expression as he looked up at Kaname. “You’re too smooth for your own good,” he muttered, but there was no malice in his tone.
Kaname leaned down, his face hovering just inches from Zero’s. “And you’re too stubborn for your own good,” he murmured, a playful lilt in his voice. “But somehow, we work.”
Zero didn’t reply, but his gaze softened further, the silver of his eyes reflecting the starlight above. Kaname closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against Zero’s in a tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, warm, and filled with unspoken promises.
Zero’s hand came up to rest against Kaname’s chest, his fingers curling slightly as he kissed him back. The moment felt timeless, as if the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of them beneath the vast expanse of stars.
When they finally pulled apart, Zero let out a soft breath, his cheeks faintly flushed. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you,” Kaname said simply, his crimson eyes shining with love.
Zero rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the small smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine,” Kaname replied, his voice a soft caress.
Zero didn’t argue, instead settling back against the pillows with a content sigh. Kaname lay down beside him, their hands brushing against each other before Zero intertwined their fingers. They stared up at the stars together, the silence between them filled with a warmth that needed no words.
For Kaname, it was a rare moment of peace—a glimpse of eternity he wanted to hold onto forever. And as he glanced at Zero, his mate’s silver hair glowing under the starlight, he knew that for the first time in centuries, he felt truly complete.
Zero
The streets of Kyoto were quiet that afternoon as Zero carried Isamu in a small sling across his chest. His son, now more cheerful than ever, giggled and grabbed at the air, his tiny fingers stretching out as if trying to catch the sunlight filtering through the trees. Zero couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through his chest, despite the constant tension that seemed to accompany him everywhere.
Isamu’s recovery had been steady, thanks to the frequent feedings from Zero’s own blood. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best Zero could do given the circumstances. Every night, he offered his wrist or neck to Isamu, watching as his son drank quietly, his small fangs barely causing pain anymore.
It was strange to be this close to someone so vulnerable, to care for someone with such intensity. It terrified him, but at the same time, it gave him purpose.
Isamu had Zero’s eyes, the same piercing silver that could cut through any darkness. But his hair was another story. Dark and silky, it was unmistakably Kaname’s, and that was a truth Zero had to face every day. As much as he tried to bury the past, his son was a living reminder of the man he had once loved—and now resented.
Walking beside him, Aido stretched his arms lazily, his blue eyes scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. He had been with Zero from the beginning, and his easygoing nature had helped Zero survive the last year and a half. He was the only one Zero had allowed close since Isamu’s birth, and even then, it had taken time for Zero to trust him fully.
“So,” Aido said, breaking the comfortable silence as they strolled, “have you thought about what kind of job you’ll take here? We can’t exactly keep living off my savings forever, you know.”
Zero shrugged, his eyes sharp as he scanned the area for any potential threats. Old habits died hard. “I can’t go back to hunting. I need something quieter, something that won’t draw attention.”
Aido smirked, his playful tone returning. “You? Doing a quiet job? I can’t picture it. Maybe you can open a bakery. You’ve got the cooking skills.”
Zero shot him a dry look. “I’m not exactly built for customer service.”
“True,” Aido conceded with a laugh. “You’d probably scare half your customers away with one glare.”
“Exactly,” Zero muttered. “And I’d rather not owe you forever. I need something to pay my own way.”
Aido took a moment to think, glancing down at Isamu, who was happily babbling and grabbing at the air. “Well, there are security jobs around. You’ve got the skills for it, and it’s not as flashy as hunting. I could put out a few feelers.”
Zero nodded. “That could work. But I’m keeping a low profile, so nothing too close to the vampire circles.”
Aido waved it off. “Relax, I’ve got you covered. Besides, who’d recognize you here? You’re just another overprotective parent now.” He grinned. “You’re actually a pretty good mother, you know.”
Zero stopped mid-step, giving Aido a flat stare. “Mother?”
Aido raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, yeah. You carried him in your belly for nine months, right? That makes you the mother, not the father.”
Zero glared, his lips twitching. “You really want to go there?”
Aido laughed, shrugging dramatically. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. You went through the cravings, the mood swings, the whole shebang. I’ve got to give you credit for that.”
Zero rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, a small giggle erupted from Isamu, who had been watching their exchange with wide, bright eyes. The child’s hands reached out, as if trying to grab onto Aido’s words in the air.
“See? Even Isamu agrees with me,” Aido teased, tapping Isamu’s nose gently.
Zero shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yep,” Aido said cheerfully, patting Zero on the shoulder. “But that’s why you keep me around.”
Zero let out a soft sigh, his eyes turning serious once again as they continued walking. “I’ve been exploring the area, making sure there’s no sign of Level E vampires. It seems quiet, but I’m not letting my guard down.”
Aido’s expression sobered as well. “It’s good to be cautious. We don’t want any unwanted attention. But Kyoto’s a big place, and most of the trouble stays out of this area. You’re safe for now.”
“I hope so,” Zero murmured, glancing down at Isamu, who was now napping peacefully against his chest. “For his sake.”
Aido gave him a sympathetic look. “We’ll make sure of it, Zero. You’ve done everything right so far. You’re keeping him safe.”
Zero didn’t reply, but there was a heaviness in his silence. The thought of Kaname finding out about Isamu was a constant weight on his mind.
He knew that if Kaname discovered their son’s existence, it would change everything. But for now, Zero was determined to keep that secret buried, no matter how much it cost him.
As they made their way back to the apartment, Zero felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. It wasn’t happiness—he hadn’t felt that in a long time—but it was something close to it. A small reprieve from the endless storm of his life. For now, Isamu was safe, and that was all that mattered.
When they arrived back at the apartment, Aido immediately flopped down on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Zero gently placed Isamu in his crib, watching as his son stirred briefly before settling back into sleep.
Zero stood over Isamu's crib, his silver eyes soft as he watched his son’s tiny chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath. The warmth of the afternoon sun streamed in through the window, casting a golden glow over the room. For a moment, everything was quiet, serene—a stark contrast to the chaos and turmoil that had defined Zero’s life.
Yet, even as he tried to hold onto this fleeting sense of peace, Kaname’s presence lingered in the corners of his mind, unshakable. The pull of their bond was faint but constant, a thread tugging at his heart, reminding him of what he had walked away from. Everything seemed to carry Kaname’s shadow—the warmth of the sunlight that Kaname would never feel, the steady rhythm of Isamu’s breathing that mirrored his father’s calm demeanor, and even the way the moonlight would spill across the sky each night, as if calling him to remember.
He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. I can’t afford to think about him. Not now. Not when Isamu needs me more than anything else.
In the living room, Aido was sprawled across the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as he lazily scrolled through his phone. He glanced up when Zero entered, his sharp blue eyes immediately catching the tension in Zero’s posture.
“Still brooding, huh?” Aido quipped, setting his phone down and sitting up. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”
Zero rolled his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorway. “I don’t brood. I think.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Aido said with a grin. “What’s on your mind this time? Let me guess—Kaname?”
Zero’s glare was sharp enough to silence Aido for a brief moment. “Don’t,” he said curtly. “We’re not talking about him.”
Aido held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But you know, you can’t keep avoiding it forever.”
“I’m not avoiding anything,” Zero snapped, though his voice lacked conviction. He turned away, staring out the window as if the answer to his turmoil might be found in the streets below.
Aido sighed, standing up and walking over to him. “Zero, look, I get it. You want to protect Isamu, and you’ve done a damn good job of it so far. But keeping everything bottled up isn’t going to make it easier.”
Zero didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he stared at the horizon. “Isamu is my priority,” he said finally, his voice firm. “That’s all that matters.”
“And what about you?” Aido pressed gently. “You can’t keep living like this—running, hiding, pretending that part of your life didn’t happen.”
Zero’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders stiffening. “I’m not pretending. I know exactly what happened. I know exactly what I walked away from.”
“And yet,” Aido said softly, “you can’t stop thinking about him, can you?”
Zero finally turned to face Aido, his silver eyes flashing with anger. “What do you want me to say, Aido? That I don’t hate him? That I can’t stop thinking about him even though he’s the reason my life is a mess? Is that what you want to hear?”
Aido didn’t flinch under Zero’s glare. Instead, he crossed his arms, his expression calm but firm. “No, I don’t need to hear it. I already know it. That’s what mate bonds are, Zero. They’re eternal. They’re not something you can just cut off, no matter how much you want to.”
Zero’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration boiling over. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel it every single day? It’s like a damn chain I can’t break, and it’s suffocating me.”
The silence that followed was answer enough. Aido stepped back, giving Zero space as the tension in the room thickened.
---
That night, after Aido had retreated to his own room, Zero found himself standing on the small balcony of the apartment, staring up at the moon. Its pale light bathed the city in a soft glow, and for a moment, he allowed himself to be still, to simply exist in its presence.
But the moon reminded him of Kaname—of the quiet nights they had shared atop the Moon Dorm, the soft murmurs of conversation that had turned into deeper confessions. He remembered how Kaname’s crimson eyes would soften in the moonlight, the way his voice would drop to a low murmur as he spoke of his dreams, his regrets, his love.
Stop it, Zero told himself, gripping the railing tightly. This isn’t about him. This is about Isamu. About keeping him safe.
But even as he tried to push the memories away, they came flooding back. Kaname’s gentle touch, his whispered promises, the way he had looked at Zero as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Zero closed his eyes, his breathing uneven. He hated that he still felt this way—that even after everything, Kaname’s presence lingered in his heart like a wound that refused to heal.
Inside, Isamu stirred in his crib, his tiny hands reaching out as if searching for something. Zero turned away from the balcony, his focus shifting immediately to his son. He knelt beside the crib, brushing a gentle hand over Isamu’s dark hair, so soft and silken that it reminded him all too much of Kaname.
“You’re everything to me,” Zero murmured, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “I won’t let anything take you away from me.”
Isamu cooed softly, his silver eyes blinking open as he looked up at Zero with a small, sleepy smile. For a moment, the weight on Zero’s chest lifted, replaced by a warmth that radiated from the tiny life before him.
Kaname’s shadow may have loomed large, but in this moment, Isamu was all that mattered. And for his son, Zero would endure anything—even the constant ache of a love that could never be.
Past.
Kaname chuckled softly, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief as he turned to face Zero. “You do realize,” he began, his tone teasing, “that this is technically our nuptial night.”
Zero turned his head sharply, his silver eyes narrowing as a faint blush crept up his neck. “Don’t start,” he muttered, though his tone lacked the usual bite.
Kaname smirked, leaning in just enough to close the space between them. “Am I wrong?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Traditionally, a couple spends their first night together after the ceremony… making memories.”
Zero scoffed, though his heart raced at the proximity of his mate. “You’re incorrigible. We’re stargazing. Not—”
“Not what?” Kaname interrupted, his voice laced with playful curiosity. “Not celebrating? I see no reason we can’t do both.”
Zero groaned, rolling his eyes, though a faint flush crept up his cheeks. “You’re insufferable, Kuran.”
“Am I?” Kaname asked innocently, though the glimmer of mischief in his eyes betrayed him. “I just thought it was my duty as your husband to remind you of these important customs.”
Zero groaned, covering his face with one hand. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
Kaname chuckled softly, leaning closer. “I merely wanted to remind you before you fell asleep. I wouldn’t want you to forget such an important custom.”
Zero peeked at him from between his fingers, his eyes narrowing further. “If you think I’m going to play along with your weird—”
Kaname cut him off with a swift, playful kiss, catching Zero off guard. The kiss was light at first, teasing, before Kaname deepened it, his hand gently cupping Zero’s jaw. Zero let out a muffled sound of protest, but it melted away as the kiss continued, his hand falling away from his face as he leaned into Kaname’s touch.
Kaname pulled away still leaned close, his fingers trailing down Zero’s jawline before tilting his face slightly. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice so low it was almost a plea. “If you want me to stop, just say it.”
Zero didn’t. Instead, he closed the small gap between them, capturing Kaname’s lips in a kiss that was both hesitant and eager. The teasing melted away, replaced by a growing intensity that neither of them could deny. Kaname’s hands cradled Zero’s face, deepening the kiss with a passion that left them both breathless.
Zero pulled back slightly, his cheeks flushed as he met Kaname’s gaze. “You really can’t let a single moment pass without making it dramatic, can you?
You’re lucky I tolerate you.”
Kaname laughed softly, his crimson eyes shimmering with affection. “Perhaps. But only because every moment with you is worth remembering.”
Kaname hand trailing from Zero’s hair to cup his cheek. “I’d say it’s more than tolerance, considering you’re lying here with me under the stars. Married to me, no less.”
Zero rolled his eyes again, but his faint smile gave him away. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” Kaname replied smoothly, his lips brushing against Zero’s once more.
The playful banter faded as their kisses grew deeper, more fervent. Kaname’s hands slid down Zero’s arms, his touch gentle yet deliberate as he coaxed his mate closer. Zero responded with equal fervor, his usual guarded demeanor slipping away as he surrendered to the bond between them.
Kaname shifted, guiding Zero onto his back as he hovered over him, their bodies pressed together beneath the vast expanse of stars. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the heat building between them, each touch, each kiss igniting a fire that burned brighter with every passing second.
“Are you sure?” Kaname whispered, his crimson eyes searching Zero’s for any hesitation.
Zero nodded, his silver eyes steady despite the faint pink tint to his cheeks. “Stop asking stupid questions.”
Kaname chuckled softly, his lips curling into a small smile as he leaned down to kiss Zero again. “As you wish, my love.”
The night unfolded in a blur of passion and tenderness, their touches both heated and reverent. Kaname’s hands explored every inch of Zero’s body with care, memorizing the way he responded to every kiss, every caress. Zero’s usual sharpness was replaced with soft gasps and quiet moans, his walls completely undone in Kaname’s arms.
Clothes were discarded in quiet urgency, the cool night air kissing newly exposed skin. Kaname guided Zero gently, laying him back on the blanket beneath the stars. The sky above glittered with constellations, ancient and endless, but Kaname’s entire universe narrowed to the man beneath him.
Kaname’s lips ghosted down Zero’s neck, across his collarbone, tracing every sensitive inch of skin with deliberate worship. Zero’s sharp wit faded into breathy gasps and low moans, his fingers threading through Kaname’s hair, tugging gently as his body arched toward each touch.
When Kaname finally entered him, it was slow, a moment steeped in reverence and intimacy. Zero’s body trembled, legs wrapping around Kaname’s waist as he clung to his mate’s shoulders. His head tilted back, silver hair fanned out against the blanket as he let himself unravel. The connection between them crackled with intensity, unspoken emotions passing between their joined bodies with every movement.
“Zero…” Kaname breathed his name like a prayer, pressing soft kisses to his mate’s flushed skin. “You feel like home.”
.Zero’s only answer was a choked moan, his hands gripping Kaname tighter as their rhythm deepened. Each thrust was measured, deliberate—Kaname wasn’t just taking, he was giving, honoring, loving with every motion. Zero’s voice broke into soft cries, quiet and vulnerable, his walls shattered in the safest place he knew—Kaname’s arms.
They moved together as if the stars above bore witness to their union, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in tandem. For Kaname, it was more than just physical—it was a reaffirmation of their bond, a moment of pure
Even after the high had passed, they remained wrapped in each other—hearts thudding, lips pressed, breaths shared.
As the heat faded into warmth, passion into peace, Kaname laid back with Zero cradled against his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles along his mate’s spine, grounding them both in the silence.connection that transcended words.
As the night stretched on, their passion gave way to quiet intimacy. Kaname held Zero close, his fingers tracing idle patterns on his mate’s back as they lay entwined on the blanket.
The stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if celebrating the love they had found in one another.
“I wasn’t planning on any of this,” Zero murmured, his voice soft and laced with exhaustion. “But… I’m glad it happened.”
Kaname pressed a gentle kiss to Zero’s temple, his arms tightening around him. “So am I,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”
They lay there in comfortable silence, the weight of the world forgotten for a while. In that moment, under the endless sky, it was just the two of them—two souls bound by fate, love, and a bond that no amount of time or hardship could break.
For Kaname, this was more than a nuptial night. It was a promise—a vow to cherish Zero, to hold onto these moments, and to never take for granted the love they had fought so hard to claim.
The soft light of the afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of the cozy apartment in Kyoto, casting a warm glow across the room. Zero sat cross-legged on the floor, watching his son, Isamu, crawl across the carpet with a determined little expression. Every time Isamu’s tiny hands and knees shuffled forward, Zero’s heart swelled with pride.
“There you go, you’re getting faster,” Zero murmured, his tone soft, as he leaned down to ruffle Isamu’s hair, a perfect shade of Kaname’s rich, dark brown. In contrast, Isamu’s wide, curious eyes—exact replicas of Zero’s own—gazed up at him, sparkling with excitement.
Isamu gave a happy gurgle, his small fingers grabbing onto Zero’s pant leg as he tried to pull himself up. Zero couldn’t help but smile. Every little milestone felt like a victory, a reminder of how far they had come together, despite everything.
From behind, Zero heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening and then Aido’s light, teasing voice filled the room. “Well, well, look who’s getting all the attention today.”
Zero rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his lips. “He’s the one learning to crawl. Of course, he’s getting the attention.”
Aido sauntered over, crouching down beside Isamu with a grin. “Come on, little man, show your ‘uncle’ what you’ve learned today!” he cooed, his voice exaggeratedly sweet.
To Zero’s surprise, Isamu let out a delighted squeal and immediately started crawling toward Aido with impressive speed. Aido clapped his hands, clearly enjoying the moment. “Look at that! You’re a natural!”
Zero chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course, he’d show off for you.”
Aido reached down, scooping Isamu into his arms and bouncing him gently. “Of course he would. I’m his favorite.” He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Isn’t that right, Isamu? Say it with me—‘Uncle Aido!’”
Isamu blinked up at Aido, his tiny lips forming a garbled sound that vaguely resembled “Un… Aaa.”
Aido gasped dramatically. “Did you hear that? He’s trying to say it! I knew I was the favorite!”
Zero folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. Let me know when he can actually say it clearly.”
Aido wasn’t done yet, though. He grinned down at Isamu again, his voice taking on a sing-song tone. “Alright, let’s try something else. Say ‘Mummy Zero!’”
Zero’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
Aido laughed, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, you carried him, didn’t you? Technically, that makes you more of a mom than a dad, don’t you think?”
Zero scowled, but before he could snap back with a retort, Isamu giggled at the sound of the playful exchange, his little fists patting Aido’s chest. “Ma…ma,” Isamu babbled, his voice full of joy.
Aido burst into laughter. “See? Even he agrees!”
Zero groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Now he’s going to grow up thinking I’m his mother.”
Aido shrugged, still grinning. “Hey, it could be worse. He could’ve picked up your habit of growling at everyone.”
Before Zero could respond, Isamu tugged at Aido’s shirt, his wide eyes filled with curiosity as he looked between Aido and Zero. It was almost as if the baby could sense their playful bickering, but instead of getting upset, he gave a loud, happy squeal.
Zero’s expression softened instantly. No matter what, Isamu’s laughter had a way of melting all his frustrations. He couldn’t help but smile, watching his son’s cheerful face.
“Fine,” Zero muttered, shaking his head. “He can call you ‘Uncle Aido’… but ‘Mummy Zero’ is off-limits.”
Aido chuckled, handing Isamu back to Zero. “We’ll see about that.”
Zero cradled his son in his arms, his gaze softening as Isamu’s tiny fingers grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. “I think he’ll say ‘Dad first,” Zero said, his voice gentler now. “Won’t you, Isamu?”
Isamu gazed up at him, babbling something unintelligible before breaking into a wide, toothless grin. Zero felt his heart swell with love. Every day, this little boy brought joy into his life, making all the struggles worth it.
Aido plopped down beside them, crossing his legs. “He really is the spitting image of both of you. Kaname’s hair, your eyes. It’s... kind of wild, to be honest.”
Zero nodded, his gaze fixed on his son. “Yeah, it is.” He paused, his voice quiet as he added, “But I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”
Aido leaned back, his usual teasing expression replaced with something more serious. “You’re a good father, Zero. Don’t let anyone—least of all yourself—tell you otherwise.”
Zero glanced at Aido, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. For once, Aido wasn’t joking or making light of the situation. He was being earnest, and it meant more to Zero than he cared to admit.
“Thanks,” Zero said after a moment, his voice soft.
Isamu, oblivious to the exchange, grabbed the air with his little hands, his laughter filling the room again. Zero held him close, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over him. Despite everything, he was doing alright.
And with Isamu’s bright laughter and Aido’s presence, maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up.
.
.He and Aido sat in the living room, the faint sound of Isamu babbling happily from floor as he played with toys. Zero leaned back on the couch, exhaustion creeping into his features as he finally allowed himself to speak about the darkest days of his life.
“I still don’t know how I made it through that pregnancy,” Zero began, his voice low and heavy with the weight of his memories.
His silver eyes, usually sharp and unyielding, softened as he glanced toward Aido. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it.”
Aido, sitting on the edge of the armchair across from him, gave a small, awkward chuckle. “Well, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about playing midwife, but someone had to keep you alive. You’re terrible at taking care of yourself, Zero.”
Zero let out a faint huff, Aido continued “ Isamu was draining you faster than you could replenish. You couldn’t even stomach those damn blood tablets.”
Aido’s face darkened slightly as he recalled those difficult days. “You were barely holding on. I had to come up with new blood tablets on the fly—mixing human and animal sources, adjusting the formula just to keep you from collapsing.”
“And half of them didn’t even work,” Zero muttered, his tone bitter but laced with reluctant gratitude. “I hated them. But I know you were doing everything you could.”
“I didn’t have much time to perfect them,” Aido admitted. “You were deteriorating so quickly. I had to try something, anything, to stabilize you.”
Zero ran a hand through his silver hair, his eyes distant as he continued. “I remember when you told me I needed my mate’s blood. I thought it was a cruel joke. The idea that Kaname’s blood could’ve saved me…blood of the man who took so much from me.”
Aido’s voice softened. “It wasn’t a joke, Zero. It was biology. Pregnant vampires—especially ones carrying pureblood children—need their mate’s blood to sustain them. Without it…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping. “Without it, they usually don’t survive.”
Zero’s jaw tightened, the familiar pang of anger and sadness resurfacing. “I didn’t have that option. I wasn’t going to call him, Aido. No matter how bad it got.”
---
The Night of Isamu’s Birth
Zero’s breathing had been ragged that night, his body trembling as he clung to consciousness. The makeshift operating table Aido had set up in the small apartment felt cold and clinical, but there was no time for comfort. Isamu’s birth had become a dire emergency—both lives were at risk.
“Aido,” Zero had gasped, his silver eyes glazed with pain as he lay on the table. “If I don’t make it…”
“Stop talking like that,” Aido interrupted, his voice firm but edged with panic. “You’re going to make it. Both of you are.”
Zero shook his head weakly, his grip on the edge of the table tightening. “Promise me… you’ll take care of him. If I—”
“You’re not dying, Zero,” Aido snapped, his usual calm composure crumbling as he scrambled to prepare. “Not on my watch.”
Despite Zero’s protests, Aido had taken precautions. In the corner of the room sat a small cooler, filled with blood bags he had secretly procured from a hospital weeks earlier. He had known Zero would refuse, so he hadn’t bothered asking for permission.
When the time came, and Zero began to fade, Aido didn’t hesitate. As the emergency C-section progressed and Zero’s blood loss became critical, Aido hooked him up to an IV, feeding the stolen blood into his system.
Zero had been too weak to argue, his body trembling as he fought to stay conscious. “What are you…?”
“Saving your life,” Aido said tersely, his focus unshaken. “You can yell at me later. Right now, you need this.”
---
Hours later, Zero had woken to the faint sound of Isamu’s cries. His entire body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together, but he was alive. And so was his son.
Aido had been sitting nearby, his head resting on his arms as he dozed off in exhaustion. Blood-stained gloves and surgical tools lay scattered on the table, evidence of the battle he had fought to keep them both alive.
When Aido stirred and saw Zero awake, his relief was palpable. “You’re alive,” he muttered, his voice thick with fatigue. “Thank God.”
Zero’s voice had been hoarse as he spoke. “You… you used blood from the hospital.”
Aido flinched but didn’t deny it. “You were dying, Zero. I didn’t have a choice.”
For a moment, Zero had simply stared at him, his emotions swirling in a chaotic mess of anger, gratitude, and shame. But then his gaze softened, his voice trembling. “Thank you.”
Aido blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Zero’s tone. “For what?”
“For saving him,” Zero said, glancing at the small bundle sleeping beside him. “For saving us.”
Aido had looked away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, well… don’t make me do it again.”
The Aftermath
The night had stretched long, and Zero had drifted in and out of consciousness, his body recovering from the trauma of birth and blood loss. Aido had remained at his side, his worry making it impossible to leave, despite his own exhaustion.
Zero had woken at dawn, his body aching, his head foggy with fatigue. But his son was still there, curled against his chest, sleeping soundly.
Aido had been slumped in a chair nearby, arms crossed, his blonde hair a mess from running his hands through it too many times.
“Go to sleep,” Zero rasped.
Aido snorted, rubbing his tired eyes. “Says the man who nearly bled out.”
Zero exhaled sharply, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He shifted slightly, adjusting the baby in his arms.
“you actually saved me.” Zero’s voice was quiet, but there was something genuine in it, something Aido hadn’t expected.
Aido looked away, feigning indifference. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t about to let you leave me alone with a newborn. I don’t know the first thing about raising babies.”
Zero let out a tired chuckle, but his grip on Isamu tightened slightly, a silent promise in his touch.
They had survived.
Somehow, against all odds, they had made it through the night.
And Zero knew—this was just the beginning.
The Present
Back in the apartment, Zero sighed as he recounted the memory to Aido. “I owe you more than I can ever repay,” he said quietly. “You did what I couldn’t, Aido. You kept us alive.”
Aido waved a hand dismissively, though there was a hint of pride in his expression. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now. It’s bad for my reputation.”
Zero smirked faintly, the rare expression lightening his face. “Your reputation can take the hit.”
The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the past hanging between them. Zero glanced toward Isamu, who was playing happily in his crib, oblivious to the sacrifices that had brought him into the world.
“You’re a good friend, Aido,” Zero said finally, his voice soft. “Even if you’re an annoying pain in the ass sometimes.”
Aido grinned, his usual confidence returning. “Well, someone had to be the responsible one. You’re hopeless without me.”
Zero rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. In that moment, he knew the truth of Aido’s words—and he was grateful for them.
Kaname.
Kaname sat in his study, the flickering light of a lone candle casting long shadows across the room. It had been a month since Yuki had returned home, smelling faintly of Zero—a scent Kaname couldn’t forget, a scent that haunted him endlessly. Every thought of Zero brought with it an unbearable ache, the weight of their severed bond crushing him more with each passing day.
He had tried to focus on his duties, tried to suppress the longing and curiosity that burned within him, but it was futile. The memory of Yuki’s nervous demeanor, the way she had avoided his questions about Zero, lingered like an open wound.
Kaname’s sharpened senses caught a faint sound—Yuki’s voice, speaking softly in another room. At first, he paid no attention, assuming it was a trivial conversation.
But as the minutes passed, her words grew clearer, and he realized she was on the phone. What truly made him pause was the tremor in her voice, the unmistakable sound of her crying.
He rose from his chair and stepped closer to the doorway, remaining silent as her words drifted toward him.
Cross,” Yuki’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the heartbreak in her tone was unmistakable. “I just… I hoped things would be okay between Zero and me.”
There was a long pause, and Kaname imagined Cross’s soothing voice on the other end, trying to comfort her.
“Since I became a pureblood,” Yuki continued, her voice cracking, “Zero and I haven’t been close. It’s like… it’s like he can’t even look at me anymore. Like I’m everything he hates.”
Kaname’s eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued. His chest tightened at the mention of Zero’s name, at the raw pain in Yuki’s voice. She continued, her words tumbling out as though she had been holding them in for too long.
“When Aido asked me to help Zero, I thought it would be a chance to… to finally have my brother back,” she said, her voice trembling. “But it’s been a month, and he hasn’t even reached out. He hasn’t forgiven me. He probably never will.”
Another pause, and Kaname could hear the faint murmur of Cross’s voice, though the words were indecipherable. Yuki sniffled, trying to collect herself. “I went to see him again,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But… the apartment was empty. He was gone. He must have left ages ago.”
Kaname felt his heart clench. Gone? His mind raced. Why had Zero left? Where had he gone? And why hadn’t Yuki told him about this sooner?
Cross’s voice grew louder for a moment, enough for Kaname to catch a few words. “What kind of help did Zero need, Yuki? What happened?”
Yuki hesitated, and Kaname could feel the tension in the air as if it were tangible. Finally, she spoke. “There was a child,” she said softly. “A pureblood child who needed a blood imprint to survive.”
Kaname’s frown deepened. His mind reeled with questions. A pureblood child? Why would Zero, of all people, be involved with a pureblood child? He loathed their kind—he had made that clear countless times. For Zero to risk involving Yuki in something like this was unthinkable.
Cross’s concern was evident, his voice rising slightly. “A child? Yuki, whose child is it? Is Zero—?”
“I can’t say,” Yuki interrupted quickly, her voice firm despite her tears. “Zero doesn’t want anyone to know. Especially Kaname.”
Kaname’s chest tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Especially me? What was Zero hiding from him? What was Yuki helping him with that he couldn’t know about?
His mind raced, piecing together fragments of the conversation. A pureblood child, a blood imprint, Zero’s secrecy… It didn’t make sense. The only purebloods who required a blood imprint to survive were orphaned infants with no parental blood to sustain them.
His heart sank as a horrifying thought struck him. Why would Zero have an orphaned pureblood child with him? Zero, who hates purebloods, who swore he would never trust them… Kaname’s thoughts spiraled, a mix of confusion and dread gripping him.
“Yuki,” Cross said gently, his voice tinged with worry, “I need to know. Is Zero all right? Is the child all right?”
“They’re fine,” Yuki said quickly, though her voice trembled. “They’re fine, but… I don’t know where they’ve gone. Zero was so adamant about keeping everything a secret. I don’t know much either.”
Cross sighed heavily on the other end of the line. “Zero has always been stubborn. But Yuki, if there’s something wrong, you must tell me. He’s still my adopted son.”
“I know,” Yuki whispered. “But I promised him I wouldn’t say anything. I promised.”
Kaname stepped back into the shadows, his mind reeling. Yuki’s words replayed in his head, each one adding to the storm of emotions brewing within him. A pureblood child. A blood imprint. Zero’s secrecy.
What are you hiding, Zero? Kaname thought bitterly, his crimson eyes darkening with suspicion. And why won’t you let me help you?
He couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong. The thought of Zero struggling alone, keeping secrets from him, filled Kaname with both anger and despair. He had lost Zero once—he couldn’t lose him again, not like this.
Kaname turned sharply, his resolve hardening. He called for Seiren, his most trusted aide, who appeared silently at his side.
“Find him,” Kaname commanded, his voice low but firm. “Find Zero Kiryu and bring me every detail of where he is, who he’s with, and what he’s hiding. Do it discreetly.”
Seiren bowed wordlessly and vanished into the night, leaving Kaname alone once more.
As the silence settled around him, Kaname’s thoughts turned dark. Whatever Zero was hiding, he would uncover it. And if it involved a child—a pureblood child—he would demand answers.
Because no matter what Zero thought, no matter how much hatred burned between them, Kaname would never stop protecting the one person who had ever truly mattered to him.
Chapter 16: Secrets
Chapter Text
Kaname sat at his desk, the soft glow of the lamp casting a golden hue over the room, but its warmth did little to reach him.
The papers before him remained untouched, a glass of blood tablets resting forgotten by his hand. His crimson eyes stared into the distance, unfocused, his mind adrift on a tide of memories and questions.
The scent of Zero, faint and fleeting, lingered in his thoughts. It had haunted him ever since Yuki had returned from her mysterious visit weeks ago.
It was more than a memory—it was a yearning, an ache that refused to fade no matter how much he tried to will it away. It wasn’t just the absence of Zero’s presence; it was the absence of everything they could have had.
Kaname exhaled softly, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the room. His heart, ancient and battle-worn, still beat faster when he thought of Zero—of the sharp defiance in his silver eyes, the quiet strength he carried even when the world seemed determined to crush him. And now, Zero was gone, slipping further away with every passing day.
The faint shift of air pulled Kaname from his reverie, and his gaze sharpened. Seiren had entered the room as silently as a whisper, her presence barely disturbing the tranquility. She bowed slightly, her expression calm as always.
“Kaname-sama,” she said softly.
Kaname straightened, his composure returning as he gestured for her to speak. “You’ve returned. What have you found?”
Seiren stepped closer, her movements precise and measured. “I located the apartment Yuki visited,” she began, her voice steady. “It belonged to Zero Kiryuu. However, he has since vacated the premises.”
Kaname’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his desk, the tension in his body barely perceptible. “And the child?” he asked, his voice low, controlled.
“There was no trace of a pureblood child,” Seiren replied. “However, Aido Hanabusa’s involvement is clear. He has been in contact with Zero for over a year. He was seen visiting often.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes narrowed, the mention of Aido stirring a mix of emotions within him. Aido, his once-loyal subordinate, now deeply entangled in Zero’s life? The thought was both surprising and… unsettling.
For years, Aido had been a constant presence, his unwavering devotion a source of stability in Kaname’s often-chaotic existence.
But now, to think of Aido by Zero’s side, in his life, supporting him through what Kaname could only imagine had been an agonizing journey—it struck a chord deep within Kaname’s chest.
“And you’re certain of this?” Kaname asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Yes,” Seiren confirmed. “Aido has been assisting Zero. His exact role remains unclear, but it is evident he has been a significant part of Zero’s life.”
Kaname leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as his thoughts raced.
He could picture it—Zero, stubborn and resilient, refusing help from anyone but Aido. The image filled him with a bitter mix of jealousy and regret.
“He chose Aido,” Kaname murmured, more to himself than to Seiren. “Of all people, he turned to Aido.”
Seiren remained silent, her presence unobtrusive, but her watchful eyes missed nothing.
Kaname’s mind wandered again, to moments he had once dreamed of. He had imagined holding Zero close, sharing quiet nights beneath the stars, raising a child together in the safety of his home.
He had wanted to show Zero a life free of pain and burden, a life where love and trust could flourish. But those dreams now felt as distant as the stars themselves.
His gaze hardened, his determination sharpening like a blade. “Find out what Aido has been doing with Zero for the past two years,” he instructed, his voice firm but measured. “I want every detail—where they’ve been, what they’ve done, and why Aido has taken my place.”
Seiren inclined her head. “As you wish, Kaname-sama.”
As she turned to leave, Kaname’s voice softened slightly, the vulnerability in it uncharacteristic. “Seiren,” he called.
She paused, glancing back at him. “Yes?”
“Be discreet,” Kaname said, his crimson eyes flickering with something unspoken. “I don’t want Zero to feel hunted.”
Seiren nodded, her expression unreadable. “Understood.”
She disappeared into the shadows, leaving Kaname alone once more.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he clasped his hands together. His gaze fell to the glass of blood tablets, but he didn’t lift it.
The bitterness of the drink was nothing compared to the bitterness in his chest.
Kaname closed his eyes, his lips curving faintly as he remembered the warmth of Zero’s lips against his own. Every kiss had been electric, a heady mix of passion and desperation, as if they both knew how fragile their connection was in the face of the world’s cruelty.
He remembered the way Zero’s breath would hitch when Kaname held him close, the way their hearts seemed to beat in perfect unison.
Those moments were seared into his soul, as much a part of him as the blood in his veins.
But then the pain crept in, sharp and unrelenting. The thought of Zero enduring everything alone, relying on someone else—Aido—for support, sent a wave of jealousy crashing over him.
The image of Aido being by Zero’s side during those most vulnerable times was almost unbearable.
And yet… Kaname couldn’t bring himself to hate Aido. As much as the thought stung, he knew the fault lay with himself. He had driven Zero away, hurt him in ways that words could never mend.
This pain, this emptiness, was his own doing, and it was a burden he would carry for as long as it took to earn Zero’s forgiveness.
But a part of him held onto hope, fragile but persistent. The mate bond between them was still strong, unbroken despite everything. Kaname could feel it in his very soul, the connection that tied them together.
He knew Zero felt it too, no matter how much he tried to deny it.
That bond, that love, was something Zero could never share with anyone else. Kaname knew that as surely as he knew the sun would rise.
“Why didn’t you come to me, Zero?” Kaname whispered into the quiet, his voice filled with longing and regret. “I know I hurt you in the past, but that was before I knew you were my everything.”
His hand tightened around the armrest of his chair, his head bowing under the weight of his guilt. He had spent centuries shaping the world to his will, bending fate itself to protect Yuki, to secure a future that now felt meaningless without Zero by his side.
And yet, the one thing he truly wanted—the one thing he needed—remained out of reach.
I will find you, Zero, Kaname vowed silently. And I will prove that I am worthy of you. No matter how long it takes.
The thought of Zero’s silver eyes softened the edges of his pain, and Kaname allowed himself a small, bittersweet smile. Even if he couldn’t undo the past, he would fight for the future—for the love he had once lost.
Kaname’s gaze shifted toward the window, where the moon cast its pale glow over the estate. The same moon he and Zero had once admired together. The same moon that had witnessed their fleeting moments of happiness.
“If I have to beg on my knees, I will,” Kaname murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
Seiren
The air in the abandoned research lab was heavy with stillness, the faint hum of dormant equipment creating an eerie backdrop as Seiren moved through the sterile corridors. Her steps were silent, her senses sharp, and her focus unwavering.
Every corner of the lab spoke of Aido’s meticulousness—papers filed neatly, equipment carefully arranged, and not a single item left out of place. Yet, beneath the order, Seiren could feel the weight of hidden truths.
She stopped before a sleek console, her fingers gliding across the keyboard as she began to bypass the security measures Aido had implemented. The system resisted her intrusion, layers of encryption slowing her progress, but Seiren’s precision and determination were unmatched.
After several tense moments, the screen flickered to life.
Rows of files appeared, their labels vague but intriguing. Seiren’s crimson eyes narrowed as she began to sort through them, her instincts telling her that whatever secrets Aido had buried here were significant.
The first file she accessed detailed a patient’s medical history—recent, but fragmented. The reports were clinical, listing symptoms and treatments, yet the name of the patient was notably absent.
Seiren’s gaze flicked over the details, her sharp mind piecing together the story hidden between the lines.
Fatigue. Severe blood loss. Repeated instances of near-collapse. The symptoms painted a picture of someone struggling against their own body, someone pushing themselves to the brink.
The treatments were equally telling—modified blood tablets, carefully adjusted to supplement a specific deficiency. But they weren’t working. Each entry noted the patient’s continued decline.
Seiren’s brow furrowed.
The pattern was familiar.
Someone with a bond unfulfilled, denying the sustenance they needed from their mate. It was a dangerous and self-destructive path. Her thoughts immediately turned to Kaname.
Was this Zero? Could he have been hiding his condition, refusing to let Kaname fulfill his role as a mate?
But before she could delve deeper, another file caught her attention.
This one was different. It wasn’t about Zero—or rather, it wasn’t only about him. The title of the file was vague, labeled “HX-V,” but the contents were anything but ordinary.
Her eyes scanned the text, and her pulse quickened as she read. It described a child—a pureblood child—struggling with a rare and life-threatening condition.
The entries were sparse, as though someone had deliberately deleted older records, but the details that remained were damning.
The child was rejecting standard pureblood feeding methods. Blood tablets were ineffective, and the child’s body had begun to reject alternative sources as well.
The only sustenance the child could tolerate was a singular source, but even that was proving insufficient as the condition progressed.
Seiren’s mind raced as she pieced together the implications. A pureblood child needing such specific care? This wasn’t just any child. Purebloods were rare, and children even more so.
The fact that Aido had been treating one in secret raised more questions than answers.
Her fingers hovered over the next section, and as she opened it, her breath caught.
The file shifted tone, moving from clinical observations to personal notes from Aido himself. His words were hurried, almost frantic in places, as though he had written them during moments of deep stress.
“The child’s condition is worsening. Feeding exclusively from the same source is no longer sustainable. They need pureblood sustenance, ideally from both parents. Without it, survival is unlikely.”
Seiren’s eyes narrowed.
Both parents?
The phrasing was deliberate, pointing to a lineage that couldn’t be ignored. The child wasn’t just a pureblood—they were part of a pureblood line strong enough to demand this level of care.
Her suspicion grew heavier.
Another note appeared, dated later:
“The situation is critical. Blood imprinting may be the only option left. Using another pureblood’s blood—if compatible—could stabilize the child, but it’s a desperate measure. It’s not a permanent solution, and it carries risks.”
The words felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Blood imprinting. Seiren’s mind immediately leaped to Yuki—Kaname’s sister, the only other pureblood who might have been involved. If Zero had turned to her for help… but why not Kaname?
Seiren scrolled further, her sharp eyes scanning for more. There was a final note, hastily written and brief:
“The child is stronger now, but the imprint may not hold forever. They might still need their pureblood parent’s blood. One parent’s refusal puts both lives at risk.”
Seiren froze, her mind racing. The phrasing suggested a connection to Kaname, but it stopped short of naming anyone explicitly.
She clenched her fists, frustration gnawing at her.
Aido had been careful to hide the full truth, but she could feel it lingering just out of reach.
Seiren’s lips pressed into a thin line as she closed out of the files, her mind racing. She had enough to report back to Kaname, but the gaps in the information gnawed at her.
Who was the child’s mother?
Why was Zero, of all people, raising a pureblood child?
And what illness had Zero been struggling with before the child came into the picture?
Aido’s Research Notes: Case File HXV
Stage 1: Initial Observation
Subject: Pureblood infant (Kuran lineage)
Condition: Stable at birth. No initial complications noted.
Feeding: Child accepted standard blood tablets diluted in nutrient solution for the first few weeks. Growth rate normal. Behavior aligned with healthy pureblood infants.
Notes: Initial observations indicated no abnormalities. Subject responded well to standard feeding protocols. No immediate concerns.
Stage 2: Feeding Complications Begin
Condition: Child began rejecting standard blood tablets at approximately six weeks old. Reactions included severe vomiting, dehydration, and signs of distress.
Intervention: Transitioned to donor blood sources under controlled conditions. All donor blood resulted in immediate rejection.
Alternative Feeding: Subject only accept direct feeding from Zero Kiryuu’s blood.
Notes:
Subject appears to have a heightened sensitivity to blood types, rejecting all external sources except Kiryuu’s blood.
Zero’s compatibility allows temporary stabilization, though this is not sustainable long-term as Zero himself is weak due to not having mates blood.
Subject shows dependency on Kiryuu’s blood, with rapid deterioration when feeding intervals exceed 12 hours.
Stage 3: Dependency on Zero’s Blood and Rejection Patterns
Condition: Subject’s tolerance for Kiryuu’s blood began declining over time. Symptoms of rejection included weakened pulse, increased convulsions, and periods of unconsciousness.
Analysis:
Subject’s pureblood nature requires a compatible source. Kiryuu’s human-vampire hybrid blood is insufficient to meet the child’s needs.
Signs point to a need for pureblood parental blood to stabilize the subject’s condition permanently.
Intervention Attempts:
1. Altered Blood Tablets: Modified tablets designed to mimic pureblood genetic markers failed.
2. Donor Blood Testing: Multiple compatible donors were tested but universally rejected.
3. Infusion Therapy: Direct infusion of blood plasma from Kiryuu led to temporary stabilization but resulted in rapid decline after 24 hours.
Notes:
The subject’s condition is deteriorating rapidly. Current feeding methods are unsustainable, and Kiryuu’s health is at significant risk due to blood loss.
Feeding intervals have shortened drastically, and Kiryuu exhibits symptoms of severe anemia and exhaustion.
Final Observation: Critical Condition
Condition: Subject’s health has reached a critical stage. Feeding from Kiryuu is becoming increasingly ineffective.
Analysis:
The subject’s condition is linked directly to their pureblood lineage. Without parental pureblood intervention, survival is unlikely.
Solution Attempts:
All alternative blood sources have failed.
Blood Imprint identified as the only viable solution.
Imprint requires a pureblood donor capable of overriding the child’s rejection patterns.
Final Notes on Blood Imprint:
Ideal Candidate: Yuki Kuran.
Her genetic compatibility is high due to shared lineage, and her unique abilities as a pureblood make her the most viable donor.
Complications:
The other parent has rejected the option of involving Kaname Kuran, despite the obvious compatibility.
Kiryuu has refused to approach Kaname Kuran for direct intervention, citing personal reasons.
Current Status:
Kiryuu continues to provide blood despite the strain on his health.
Blood Imprint remains the only long-term solution, but obtaining cooperation from Yuki Kuran is the best current path forward.
Conclusion:
Without immediate action, the subject’s condition will worsen. Blood Imprint must be initiated soon to ensure survival.
Kiryuu’s refusal to involve Kaname Kuran complicates the situation significantly, but Yuki Kuran’s involvement may provide a temporary solution or the child may die.
The sterile hum of Aido’s abandoned lab only heightened the tension curling in the pit of her stomach. Every new file she opened deepened the mystery, and with it, the weight of what she would have to report to Kaname.
Seiren leaned back, her lips pressed into a thin line as the full gravity of the situation sank in. A pureblood child—one tied directly to Kaname’s lineage—was on the brink of death. And Zero, of all people, had been the sole lifeline for this fragile existence.
Her mind raced with questions, but the fragmented data only hinted at the full story.
Why had Zero chosen to risk his life rather than seek Kaname’s help?
And why had Aido been so deeply involved, going so far as to conceal these details from Kaname himself?
But the most troubling question lingered in her mind like a shadow: What would Kaname do when he found out?
This changes everything.
Seiren knew that what she had uncovered was only the beginning. And when Kaname learned the truth, there would be no going back.
The deeper she dug, the more fragments of information she pieced together, her sharp eyes narrowing as the picture became clearer.
What she found chilled her.
The deleted files were encrypted heavily, but Aido’s meticulous nature worked against him now. Seiren bypassed the final layer of security, her heart pounding faintly as the recovered data began to load onto the screen.
Line after line of clinical notes appeared, the titles alone enough to set her nerves on edge.
Recovered File: Case File HXV - Pregnancy Notes
Stage 1: Early Detection
Subject: Zero Kiryuu
Condition: Pregnant. Symptoms include nausea, fatigue, heightened senses, and increased irritability.
Confirmation: The subject was confirmed to be carrying a pureblood child.
Notes:
• Initial symptoms mimic early Level E descent due to blood imbalance. Misdiagnosis was avoided due to further testing.
• The pregnancy is rare, bordering on impossible due to the subject’s hybrid nature.
Stage 2: Complications Arise
Condition: The subject exhibits significant blood loss as the developing fetus begins to drain its parent’s resources. Symptoms include severe anemia, dizziness, and fainting spells.
Intervention Attempts:
• Modified blood tablets were prescribed but proved ineffective due to the child’s pureblood requirements.
• The subject relied solely on natural feeding, which further depleted their strength.
Notes:
• Pregnant vampires require their mate’s blood for sustenance during gestation. The absence of the mate has exacerbated the subject’s condition.
• Multiple warnings were issued to the subject to contact the mate. These were disregarded.
Stage 3: Critical Risk
Condition:
The subject’s health reached critical levels during the second trimester. Blood loss led to periods of unconsciousness and prolonged weakness.
Complications:
• The fetus required continuous feeding, accelerating the subject’s decline.
• Without intervention, both the subject and child faced imminent death.
Notes:
• Emergency preparations were made for a C-section to save both lives. Blood bags were secured as a precaution despite the subject’s refusal.
• The subject refused to contact their mate for assistance, citing personal reasons.
Stage 4: Birth and Aftermath
Procedure: Emergency C-section performed successfully.
• The child was born alive but in critical condition, requiring immediate care.
• The subject survived but exhibited severe blood loss and extreme fatigue.
Notes:
• Blood from external sources was used without the subject’s consent to stabilize them. This decision was deemed necessary under the circumstances.
• Both the subject and child remain at risk due to the absence of the mate’s pureblood influence.
Seiren’s hands trembled faintly as she scrolled through the detailed notes. The truth hit her like a thunderclap.
Zero wasn’t just caring for Kaname’s child—he had carried that child. He was the mother.
Her crimson eyes darted across the screen, catching every painful detail: the risk Zero had taken, the near-death experience during childbirth, and the decision to keep Kaname completely in the dark.
She sat back for a moment, her usually stoic composure slipping as the weight of her discovery pressed down on her. The secrecy, the suffering—it all painted a harrowing picture of Zero’s life over the past two years. And yet, it wasn’t just Zero’s pain that struck her.
It was Kaname’s.
Seiren didn’t waste time. She selected the most damning files and began printing them, the quiet whir of the machine filling the room as page after page of evidence emerged.
Every detail of Zero’s pregnancy, every note about Isamu’s condition, every desperate measure Aido had taken to save them—it was all there.
As she gathered the printed pages, her grip tightened. Kaname deserved to know the truth, but she knew what this revelation would cost him.
The betrayal of being kept in the dark, the heartbreak of knowing what Zero had endured without him, and the fury of discovering that someone else had been there to support his mate and child when he hadn’t—it would be devastating.
But the truth could no longer be hidden.
The atmosphere in Kaname’s study was as cold as the night outside when Seiren entered. Kaname sat at his desk, his crimson eyes flicking up to meet hers. He had been expecting her, though the weight in her gaze made his expression tighten.
“Seiren,” Kaname said, his voice low and commanding. “What have you found?”
She stepped forward, placing the stack of printed files on his desk. “I found more than expected, Kaname-sama,” she said carefully. “This will not be easy to hear.”
Kaname’s gaze shifted to the papers, his expression unreadable as he picked up the first page.
The silence stretched thin as his eyes scanned the lines, his composure beginning to crack.
The tremor in his hands was barely perceptible at first, but as he read further, the truth hit him like a wave.
His child.
His mate.
The pregnancy.
The suffering.
The betrayal.
It was all there in black and white.
Kaname’s breath hitched, his usually calm demeanor unraveling as a storm of emotions surged within him.
Shock, anger, sadness, regret—all of it warred for dominance.
“Zero…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He carried my child. He almost died.”
Seiren’s lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her master struggle to process the revelation. “Yes,” she said softly. “And he refused to involve you. Aido made sure the survived.”
Kaname’s hands tightened around the pages, his crimson eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and heartbreak.
“He didn’t trust me,” he murmured, his voice laced with pain. “He thought I wouldn’t protect them. He risked his life—our child’s life—just to keep me away.”
Seiren remained silent, knowing there was nothing she could say to lessen the blow.
Kaname leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he stared at the stack of papers. Every word, every detail, was a reminder of what he had lost—of what had been kept from him.
“They treated me like I was dead,” he said bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper. “As if I wasn’t part of this. As if my child didn’t have a father.”
He exhaled sharply, his expression hardening. “But I am here now. And I will not be ignored. Not by Zero, not by Aido, and not by anyone else who kept this from me.”
Seiren bowed her head slightly, her presence as steady as ever. “What would you have me do, Kaname-sama?”
Kaname’s gaze burned with determination as he stood, the papers clutched tightly in his hands.
“We’re going to find them. And this time, I will do this right."
Aidos reports
Analysis of the Child’s Pain:
The pureblood child’s suffering is unparalleled due to the following factors:
1. Incompatibility with External Sources:
The child’s unique blood requirements reject all external sources, including specially formulated blood tablets and compatible donor blood.
This rejection triggers severe convulsions, dehydration, and eventual unconsciousness.
2. Dependency on Zero’s Blood:
Despite initial compatibility, the child has begun rejecting Zero’s hybrid blood as well.
Rejections result in prolonged starvation-like symptoms, increasing the child’s physical and emotional pain.
3. Pureblood Lineage Requirements:
The child’s pureblood genetics demand pureblood parental blood to stabilize. Without this, their body fails to process nourishment, leading to further decline.
Recent Episodes:
1. During a recent rejection episode, the child attempted to feed but immediately vomited and began seizing. The child’s cries were weak, their body trembling uncontrollably in Zero’s arms. Zero cradled them, his face pale from his own blood loss, whispering desperate reassurances that fell on deaf ears.
2. The child frequently reaches out with tiny hands, their movements sluggish and pained, as if seeking comfort they cannot find. Zero often responds by holding them close, his voice breaking as he promises, “It’s going to be okay,” despite knowing he has no solution.
3. Following each rejection, the child’s breathing grows labored, and their once-bright eyes become dull. They clutch at Zero’s shirt weakly, their small frame trembling from the effort of simply staying conscious.
Projected Outcome Without Immediate Intervention:
Survival Rate: Less than 10%
Without access to pureblood parental blood, the subject’s body will continue to reject all nourishment.
Continued feeding attempts by Zero will likely result in his collapse before the child’s needs can be met.
Physical and Emotional Toll on Zero:
Zero’s health has reached a breaking point. Severe anemia and exhaustion are taking their toll.
The psychological toll of watching the child suffer is visibly worsening his already fragile state.
Recommended Course of Action:
1. Blood Imprint Procedure:
A pureblood donor is required to imprint their blood into the subject’s system, stabilizing their rejection patterns.
Yuki Kuran has been identified as the most viable candidate.
2. Parental Involvement:
Both parental purebloods are required for complete stabilization.
Zero has refused to approach Kaname Kuran for assistance, citing personal reasons. This refusal significantly limits the child’s chances of survival.
Closing Notes:
I have exhausted every alternative method to save the child, but nothing has worked. Watching the subject suffer through each rejection is unbearable, and Zero’s continued sacrifice only worsens the situation. The bond between them is undeniable, yet it is not enough to sustain the child.
The blood imprint is the only viable solution left, but without cooperation from the other parent, the child’s future remains uncertain. Every passing day brings them closer to a fate neither Zero nor I are prepared to face.
Time is running out.
— Dr. Aido Hanabusa
Kaname sat alone in his study, the dim light of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. In his hands, he held the reports Seiren had brought him, the papers trembling slightly as he turned them over, one by one.
Each page carried the weight of a truth he wasn’t sure he was ready to face, but he forced himself to read.
The first report was clinical and detached, detailing the initial discovery of Zero’s pregnancy. It was almost too much to fathom—the impossibility of it, the sheer miracle of it.
Zero, carrying his child.
Kaname’s breath hitched as he read the notes on early symptoms: nausea, fatigue, and the telltale signs of a body struggling to adjust to an entirely new reality.
"Pregnancy confirmed. Subject exhibits signs of anemia and heightened irritability. Blood deficiency suspected due to hybrid nature. Additional support required to maintain health."
Kaname’s jaw clenched as he read those words. He could picture Zero enduring all of it alone, his stubborn pride refusing to let him reach out for help. And then the words that made Kaname’s heart ache:
"Subject refused to contact mate despite warnings. Lack of pureblood support may lead to complications."
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to move to the next report. This one was darker, the tone shifting as complications began to arise. Aido’s notes described Zero’s health deteriorating, his body unable to sustain both himself and the child without external intervention.
"Subject exhibits severe blood loss. Symptoms include dizziness, fainting, and prolonged weakness. Feeding intervals have shortened significantly as the developing fetus draws more resources. Subject is at risk of organ failure without immediate support."
Kaname’s hands tightened around the papers, the edges crumpling slightly. His mind painted a vivid picture of Zero—pale, trembling, barely able to stand but refusing to give in. How had he survived this? And why hadn’t he come to Kaname?
"Pregnant vampires require their mate’s blood to sustain them through gestation. Without it, survival is unlikely for both parent and child. Subject remains adamant in refusing contact with mate."
Kaname’s vision blurred momentarily as he stared at those words. It was one thing to know Zero had kept this from him, but to see it spelled out so plainly—to see that Zero had actively refused the one thing that could have saved him—was almost unbearable.
The next report detailed the most critical phase of the pregnancy, the point where both Zero and the child were on the brink of death. Kaname’s breath caught as he read Aido’s notes on the emergency measures he had taken.
"Subject entered critical condition during the second trimester. Blood loss reached unsustainable levels. Emergency preparations made for cesarean section to save both lives. Subject refused external intervention but was stabilized temporarily using pre-secured blood bags."
Kaname’s heart clenched painfully. Aido had acted without Zero’s consent, and Kaname couldn’t fault him for it.
The thought of Zero lying on an operating table, his life slipping away as Aido fought to save him, was almost too much to bear.
"C-section performed successfully. Child born alive but in critical condition. Subject survived but required extensive stabilization due to blood loss. Recovery remains precarious."
Kaname closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He could see it so clearly—Zero, exhausted and drained, yet still fighting to protect the life growing inside him.
It was so very like him, and yet, it broke Kaname’s heart.
The final reports focused on the aftermath, on the continued struggles Zero faced as he raised their child alone. The words blurred as Kaname’s anger and sadness warred within him.
"Child requires pureblood sustenance to thrive. Subject’s hybrid blood provides temporary stabilization but is insufficient long-term. Blood Imprint identified as only viable solution. Ideal donor: Yuki Kuran."
Kaname’s crimson eyes darkened as he read Yuki’s name. Of course, she had been involved. And while he understood the logic, the betrayal stung deeply.
They had treated him as though he didn’t exist—as though he were dead. His child had been imprinted with Yuki’s blood, as if Kaname himself hadn’t been the rightful father.
"Subject adamantly refused to involve Kaname Kuran despite warnings of risks. Cited personal reasons for decision."
The paper crumpled slightly in Kaname’s grip. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on nothing as the truth sank in. Zero had risked everything—his own life, their child’s life—all because he couldn’t bear to let Kaname in.
The betrayal, the anger, the sadness—it all mixed into an overwhelming storm within him.
His thoughts turned to Aido, who had been there for Zero in every way Kaname had not. He was thankful, yes, but also bitter. It should have been him by Zero’s side, not someone else.
It should have been his blood that sustained his mate, his presence that gave Zero strength. Instead, he had been shut out, denied the chance to protect and cherish the family he hadn’t even known he had.
Kaname set the papers down, his hands trembling. His crimson eyes burned with unshed tears.
The thought of Zero enduring all of this alone—of their child nearly dying because of his absence—cut deeper than any blade. Kaname knew there was no undoing the past, but he also knew one thing with absolute certainty:
He would not let this stand. Zero and their son were his family, and he would do whatever it took to bring them back where they belonged—with him.
Aido’s Report:
Subject: Zero Kiryuu
Case File: HXV
Initial Observations
When Zero first came to me, I thought he was dying.
His silver eyes, once so sharp and unyielding, were dulled by exhaustion. His already pale complexion had turned ghostly, and the faint tremor in his hands betrayed how far his strength had fallen. He said nothing of his condition at first, brushing off my questions with a glare that dared me to push further. But as I examined him, it became clear that something was gravely wrong.
At the time, I believed Zero was beginning to fall to Level E. His symptoms were textbook—blood deficiency, erratic mood swings, bouts of aggression, and periods of near-catatonia. He was even preparing for it. Zero wasn’t just resigned to the possibility—he was planning for it.
“Don’t intervene if I fall,” he told me, his voice cold and detached. “If it happens, put me down before I hurt anyone.”
His words were laced with pain, but not the kind he would ever admit. It was the pain of someone who had already given up. And for a moment, I believed him. I believed he was teetering on the edge, lost to the curse that had haunted him since the night he was turned.
But I was wrong.
The Revelation
It wasn’t until weeks later, after dozens of tests and endless sleepless nights, that the truth revealed itself. Zero wasn’t falling to Level E. He wasn’t deteriorating from his curse.
He was pregnant.
A pureblood child—a miracle by any standard—was growing inside him, draining him from the inside out.
The realization struck me like a lightning bolt, both impossible and undeniable. Zero was carrying a child, and not just any child. The bloodwork made it clear that this was a pureblood fetus, and given the nature of Zero’s and Kaname's relationship, it became immediately apparent who the other parent had to be.
When I told Zero, his reaction was one I’ll never forget. At first, he laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that echoed through the room. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice trembling. “That’s not possible.” Zero called the final curse from Kaname.
But the evidence was irrefutable, and as the truth sank in, I saw the walls he had built around himself begin to crumble. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t argue. He just sat there, his head in his hands, as the weight of it all pressed down on him.
Early Stages
The early stages of Zero’s pregnancy were fraught with complications. Morning sickness hit him hard, leaving him nauseated and weak for most of the day. His appetite became erratic—one moment he would refuse to eat, and the next he would be overcome by sudden cravings that bordered on desperate.
The Strain on Zero
As the pregnancy progressed, the physical toll on Zero became undeniable. His body, already weakened from years of fighting his transformation, struggled to sustain both him and the child. The fetus was pureblood, and its demands were relentless. It drained him of blood and energy, leaving him pale and frail.
Zero’s stomach began to swell, a visible sign of the life growing inside him. He tried to hide it at first, wearing loose clothes and avoiding mirrors, but there was no denying the truth. He was carrying a child—a child he hadn’t planned for, a child he wasn’t ready for.
“It’s like a parasite,” he muttered one day, his hand resting protectively over his abdomen despite his harsh words. “It’s taking everything from me just like it's father”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t a parasite, but I held my tongue. I could see the conflict in his eyes. Despite his anger, his fear, there was something else there—something softer. He would never admit it, but he cared for the child, even then.
Critical Moments
By the second trimester, Zero’s condition had worsened significantly. The fetus was draining him faster than he could replenish, and he refused to contact Kaname for help.
“You need your mate’s blood,” I told him bluntly. “This child is a pureblood. Without the other parent’s support, you’re putting both of your lives at risk.”
Zero’s glare could have frozen fire. “I don’t need him,” he snapped. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”
But he didn’t. As his health declined, I was forced to intervene. I began stockpiling blood bags, securing them from hospitals and other sources in case of an emergency. When Zero collapsed during a routine checkup, I hooked him up to an IV without waiting for his permission.
He was furious when he woke up, but I didn’t care. “You’re not dying on my watch,” I told him, my voice sharper than I intended. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re going to survive this.”
The Birth
The day the child was born was the most harrowing of my life. Zero was barely holding on, his body weakened to the point of collapse. The emergency C-section was the only option, and even then, I wasn’t sure he would make it.
Blood loss was inevitable, and despite his protests, I used the stockpiled blood bags to keep him alive. When the baby finally came into the world, small and fragile but alive, Zero’s first instinct was to reach for him.
I placed the baby in his arms, watching as Zero’s silver eyes softened for the first time in months. “You did it,” I said quietly, my voice thick with relief.
Zero didn’t respond. He just held his baby close, his trembling hands cradling the child he had fought so hard to protect.
Final Notes
Zero Kiryuu is the strongest person I have ever known. He faced the impossible and survived, even when the odds were stacked against him. But the scars of his struggle remain, etched into his body and his soul.
And yet, through it all, he never gave up on his child. For that, I will always admire him.
Kaname started reading more and more of Aidos records.
Every detail was laid bare before him, leaving no room for doubt. Zero’s pregnancy, the unimaginable toll it had taken on him, and the lengths Aido had gone to in order to save both Zero and their child—it was all there. Each line struck Kaname with the weight of a truth he had been too blind to see.
He could barely breathe as he read the early entries. The descriptions of Zero’s symptoms—nausea, fainting spells, his body struggling to sustain the life growing inside him—painted a harrowing picture. Kaname could almost see it: Zero, stubborn and silent, enduring it all without a word, without reaching out for help.
“Pregnant vampires require their mate’s blood to survive gestation. Without it, survival is unlikely for both parent and child.”
The line stood out starkly on the page, searing itself into Kaname’s mind. He closed his eyes, the weight of his guilt crushing him. Zero had been carrying his child, enduring the impossible, and yet Kaname hadn’t been there. He hadn’t known.
"Why didn’t you come to me, Zero?" Kaname whispered into the quiet room, his voice breaking. His crimson eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Why didn’t you trust me to protect you?"
But deep down, Kaname knew the answer. Zero hadn’t trusted him because Kaname hadn’t earned that trust. He had been the architect of so much of Zero’s suffering.
The massacre of the Kiryu family—the act that had stolen Zero’s parents, his brother, his humanity—was a direct result of Kaname’s manipulations.
He had justified it as necessary, as a means to an end, but now those justifications felt hollow.
Kaname turned the page and found himself reading about the second trimester. Aido’s notes detailed Zero’s worsening condition, the pureblood fetus draining him of everything, leaving him pale and frail.
Kaname’s fingers tightened on the paper as he read the line:
“You need your mate’s blood,” I told him bluntly. “This child is a pureblood. Without the other parent’s support, you’re putting both of your lives at risk.”
Zero’s response was a knife to Kaname’s heart: “I don’t need him. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
Kaname’s breath hitched, his chest tightening painfully. He could see Zero in his mind’s eye, his silver eyes blazing with stubborn resolve even as his body betrayed him.
He had fought so hard, pushing himself to the brink, and Kaname hadn’t been there to stop him.
Instead, Zero had turned to Aido, the only person who had offered him the support he so desperately needed.
The jealousy that flared in Kaname’s heart was fleeting, drowned almost immediately by regret.
How could he blame Aido for stepping in where he had failed?
How could he resent the man who had saved Zero and their child?
When Kaname himself had been too consumed by his own plans to notice what was slipping through his fingers?
His gaze fell to the next entry, the one detailing the birth of their son, Isamu. The words blurred slightly as tears filled Kaname’s eyes.
The description of Zero’s near-death experience, the emergency C-section, the blood loss—it was almost too much to bear.
“When the child finally came into the world, small and fragile but alive, Zero’s first instinct was to reach for him.”
Kaname closed his eyes, his mind conjuring the image of Zero, pale and trembling, holding their child for the first time. The thought brought him to his knees.
He should have been there.
He should have been the one to steady Zero’s hands, to hold both of them close, to whisper that everything would be okay.
Instead, he had been absent. Worse than absent—he had been the reason Zero didn’t feel safe enough to turn to him.
Kaname set the papers down, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. “I failed you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I failed both of you.”
The room felt suffocating, the weight of his regret pressing down on him like a heavy shroud.
He thought of Zero’s silver eyes, so fierce and unyielding, yet so vulnerable when they let down their guard.
He thought of the fire they shared, the bond that tied their souls together even now. And he thought of the pain he had caused—the pain he had seen in Zero’s eyes the last time they faced each other.
Kaname exhaled shakily, his resolve hardening. "I cannot change the past, but I will do everything in my power to fix this. I will make this right, no matter what it takes."
He stood, his crimson eyes blazing with determination.
For Zero, for their child, for the family he had failed to protect—Kaname would not stop until he had earned their forgiveness.
Even if it took an eternity.
Chapter 17: Dreams won't let me go.
Chapter Text
The city of Kyoto was quieter than what Zero was used to, but that was exactly what he needed. The winding streets, the distant hum of life, the serenity—it all gave him the illusion of peace. He knew better than to believe he could ever truly have that, but for now, it was enough.
He had finally secured a job, something normal, something far from his past as a hunter. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was stable, and that was all that mattered.
The small bookstore a few blocks from his apartment had been hiring, and Zero took the opportunity. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it allowed him to stay under the radar. No one here knew him as Zero Kiryuu, the hunter who had once sworn to kill vampires.
No one looked at him with the weight of the past hanging between them.
For the first time in years, he was just Zero.
He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he glanced up at the sign of the store. Hoshino’s Book Haven. The job wasn’t particularly demanding—sorting books, helping customers, managing the register—but it was enough to pay for food and Isamu's necessities.
It was a far cry from his old life, but it was a life he had chosen.
Back at the apartment.
The first rays of sunlight spilled through the curtains, painting the apartment in warm hues of gold and soft orange. It was quiet—the kind of peaceful silence that Zero had come to cherish. The world outside could wait. For now, it was just him and his son.
Zero sat at the small wooden kitchen table, his silver eyes watching the toddler in his lap with quiet fondness. Isamu’s small hands grasped at the bottle he held, his tiny fingers curling around it as he suckled eagerly.
His brown hair, so much like Kaname’s, was still messy from sleep, sticking out in odd directions that Zero absently smoothed down. His violet eyes—Zero’s eyes—blinked sleepily as he fed, one small hand occasionally reaching out to grab onto Zero’s shirt, as if grounding himself.
Zero sighed, adjusting the bottle to make sure his son was comfortable. “Slow down, Isamu,” he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep. “You’ll choke if you drink too fast.”
Isamu hummed in response, not slowing down at all.
Zero rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in amusement. Stubborn, just like him.
“You’re always so greedy in the morning,” Zero murmured, adjusting the bottle slightly. Isamu made a small noise of protest when the milk slowed, his tiny brows furrowing in frustration.
Zero huffed a small laugh. “Alright, alright. Be patient.”
Isamu suckled harder, his small body warm against Zero’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong. Alive.
Safe.
The warmth of his son pressed against his chest was something Zero still wasn’t used to, even after all this time. It was… grounding.
Zero let himself relax, just for a moment. He traced a single finger down Isamu’s chubby cheek, marveling at how soft and warm his skin was. Every day, his son grew stronger, his little body filling out, his eyes becoming more expressive. He was thriving.
And that was all Zero cared about.
When the bottle was empty, Isamu let out a satisfied sigh, blinking up at Zero with half-lidded eyes. Zero smirked. “Full now?”
Isamu made a tiny gurgling noise in response, and Zero took that as a yes.
He carefully lifted his son, resting him against his shoulder before beginning the gentle rhythm of patting his back. Isamu snuggled against him, his small body fitting so perfectly against Zero’s that it made something in his chest tighten.
A few minutes later, a soft burp escaped, followed by a happy little sigh.
Zero chuckled. “Good job, bud.”
Isamu’s fingers curled into Zero’s shirt, holding on tightly as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
But there was no time for sleeping now.
“Come on,” Zero murmured, shifting the baby into his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He carried Isamu to the small changing station in their bedroom, carefully placing him down on the soft pad.
Isamu blinked up at him with sleepy curiosity, his little hands reaching for the ceiling as Zero worked.
It was routine now—gentle wipes against his soft skin, fresh clothes folded neatly beside them. Zero made quick work of changing him out of his pajamas, cleaning his small face and fingers before slipping him into a fresh outfit.
Today, it was a soft blue onesie, decorated with tiny silver stars. The moment Zero fastened the last button, Isamu kicked his legs, cooing happily as if he already approved.
Zero smirked. “Yeah, yeah. You look great.”
He lifted his son again, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek, breathing in his warm, baby scent. His scent.
Aido had offered to help, of course. But Zero refused. This was his moment.
This was his.
Every gurgle, every coo, every tear.
Isamu was a piece of himself—and Kaname—that he had vowed to protect.
Forever.
Zero traced a gentle hand down Isamu’s back, feeling the way his son relaxed under the touch.
He thought about the nights when the baby would cry, his small body trembling with hunger that Zero struggled to satisfy. He thought about the fear that gripped him every time Isamu refused to eat, the panic that clawed at his chest when he didn’t know if he was doing enough.
But mornings like these reminded him—he was enough.
“You’re growing too fast,” Zero muttered, pressing a kiss against Isamu’s soft hair. “Pretty soon, you won’t need me to hold you like this.”
Isamu let out a contented sigh, his fingers clutching the fabric of Zero’s shirt as if to say not yet.
Zero smiled, a rare, genuine thing.
Zero’s world had once been filled with blood and war, with the weight of vengeance pressing against his bones.
But now?
Now his world was this.
Isamu giggled as Zero nuzzled his cheek, tiny fingers gripping his father’s silver hair in an uncoordinated attempt to play.
Zero sighed, shifting the baby against his chest. “Alright, let’s get you some fresh air before Aido wakes up and starts complaining about me hogging you all morning.”
With Isamu dressed and fed, Zero carried him toward the small balcony. The early morning breeze was crisp but gentle, rustling through their hair as Zero stepped outside.
The world was quiet.
No hunters. No vampires. No threats.
Just Zero and his son, wrapped in the golden glow of morning.
Zero closed his eyes, holding Isamu a little closer.
No matter what happened, no matter who tried to find them—this was what he would protect.
Always
Aido lounged on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone as Zero moved around the small space, preparing for work. Isamu sat on the floor nearby, happily playing with one of his stuffed animals, oblivious to the world’s troubles.
Zero sighed, crouching down to check on his son. “Be good for Aido, alright?”
Isamu giggled in response, reaching for Zero’s shirt with tiny fingers. Zero softened, pressing a gentle kiss to his dark hair before prying himself away.
Aido stretched, setting his phone aside with a smirk. “You act like I’m going to corrupt him or something.”
Zero shot him a glare as he pulled on his jacket. “I don’t trust you not to fill his head with nonsense.”
Aido placed a hand over his heart mockingly. “Zero, please. I am an exemplary babysitter.”
“Exemplary pain in my ass,” Zero muttered under his breath before grabbing his keys.
Aido chuckled, watching as Zero fussed over the baby bag for a moment longer before finally giving in and heading toward the door. “Relax, Kiryuu. We’ll be fine. Go earn some money so we can afford more snacks.”
Zero scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You act like I don’t already buy enough.”
Aido waved him off, picking up Isamu and holding him up in the air, making the child squeal in delight. “We’ll see you later, mama.”
Zero stiffened. “I will shoot you.”
Aido’s grin widened. “Not in front of the baby, you won’t.”
Zero groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before stepping out of the apartment, muttering curses under his breath.
As the door closed behind him, he exhaled deeply, centering himself.
This was his life now. A job, a child, and a nosy ex-noble vampire babysitting while he tried to keep them afloat.
It was far from perfect, but it was his.
Weeks turned into months, and life in Kyoto settled into a quiet, almost peaceful rhythm. Zero found solace in the small, unassuming bookstore where he worked, the scent of aged paper and ink grounding him in a way few things ever had.
It was a simple life—mundane.
His son had grown stronger, his once frail body now bursting with a liveliness that filled their modest apartment.
Isamu is growing quickly. Isamu’s hair had darkened into a warm brown, the very shade of Kaname’s, though everything else—his eyes, his expressions, his stubborn determination—was undeniably Zero.
Aido had become a steady presence in their lives, slipping seamlessly into the role of caretaker when Zero worked long shifts at the bookstore. He had never once complained, and though Zero would never say it out loud, he was grateful.
Aido had seen him at his weakest and never once abandoned him, never judged his choices, even when he himself seemed to struggle with the weight of their shared secret.
Kaname’s name had become taboo in their home. Spoken only in hushed whispers or avoided entirely, it was the one shadow that refused to fade.
Every time it surfaced—whether in an old memory or an unconscious slip—Zero’s mood would darken, his expression closing off in a way that even Aido couldn’t reach.
And so, Kaname ceased to exist—at least in words.
But never in thought.
Because at night, when the world was quiet and Isamu was curled safely in his crib, Zero still dreamed of him.
He dreamed of crimson eyes filled with something more than control—something raw, something terrifyingly real. He dreamed of warmth, of whispered promises under the moonlight, of a love so deep it threatened to drown him.
The dreams came without warning.
They always did.
No matter how hard Zero tried to suppress them, to bury them under the weight of his stubborn will, they found him. They pulled him back to a time when his body knew nothing but heat, when his breath was stolen by soft murmurs against his skin, when he was tangled in a bond that felt like a wildfire consuming everything in its path.
And tonight was no different.
The dream started as it always did—with Kaname’s touch
The room was bathed in silver moonlight, casting a soft glow over everything—over the silk sheets beneath him, over the familiar warmth that surrounded him, over the arms that held him like they never wanted to let go.
Zero knew it wasn’t real.
And yet, it felt too real.
Kaname was there, pressing against him, his breath hot against Zero’s neck. His lips traced a slow, reverent path from his jaw to the sensitive skin just below his ear, and Zero shuddered at the sensation. It was tender, yet possessive—the kind of touch that promised forever.
“I miss you,” Kaname’s voice was a whisper, low and full of longing.
Zero’s breath hitched, his hands gripping Kaname’s shoulders, his body betraying him as he leaned into the familiar embrace. He felt it then—the bond, raw and open, like a live wire humming between them. It surged through his veins, drowning him in Kaname’s emotions, emotions so intense they stole his breath.
Love. Desperation. Pain.
Zero’s eyes squeezed shut as he felt it all.
Kaname wasn’t just touching him. He was feeling him, craving him. The depth of his need, the unbearable ache of their separation—it was all there, bleeding through the bond like a tidal wave, threatening to pull Zero under.
Zero gasped as Kaname’s lips found his, the kiss slow but deep, a plea wrapped in passion. Kaname’s hands roamed his body, mapping him out like he was memorizing him all over again, as if he feared this moment would disappear. Zero felt himself responding, his walls crumbling, his body surrendering to something older than reason.
“Stay with me,” Kaname murmured against his lips, his voice barely above a breath.
Zero wanted to speak, wanted to fight it, but the words wouldn’t come. His heart pounded, his body igniting under Kaname’s touch, the heat between them unbearable. Kaname kissed him again, more desperate this time, as if trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into the space between them.
Zero whimpered into the kiss, his fingers tangling in Kaname’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. The bond flared, electric and all-consuming, forcing him to feel—to know—just how much Kaname was suffering.
He wasn’t sleeping.
He wasn’t eating.
He was breaking.
Because of him.
The realization sent a sharp pang through Zero’s chest, his eyes snapping open. He pushed against Kaname’s chest, breathing heavily, his body trembling.
“I—” Zero tried to speak, but his voice faltered.
Kaname’s gaze was dark, filled with longing, with heartbreak. “Don’t run,” he whispered. “Not from me.”
But Zero was running. He always had been.
The bond pulsed again, pulling him back, making it impossible to ignore the truth—he still wanted Kaname. Still needed him.
His body knew it. His heart knew it.
And yet, in reality, he had chosen to walk away.
The dream began to unravel, Kaname’s touch slipping away like mist between his fingers. Zero reached for him instinctively, a desperate whisper escaping his lips before he could stop it.
“Kaname—”
But it was too late.
The dream shattered.
He was alone.
The bed beside him was empty.
It always was.
Zero swallowed hard, running a trembling hand through his hair as he forced himself to breathe. To remind himself of reality.
Kaname wasn’t here.
Kaname would never be here again.
And no matter how many times he woke up reaching for him, he would never find him.
Because Zero had left.
Because he had chosen this.
So why did it still feel like he was missing a part of himself?
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the lingering sensations away, pushing down the raw ache that clawed at his chest.
This was his life now.
And no dream—no matter how intoxicating—could change that.
Zero sat on the worn wooden chair of the bookstore, absently flipping through a book without reading a single word. The scent of old paper filled the air, but his mind was elsewhere, drifting to the past—to a time when his freedom had first started slipping through his fingers.
When he had fallen so deep, when he thought he had a future with Kaname.
It had started subtly. At first, he thought he was being paranoid, that he was just imagining the lack of mission updates from the Hunter’s Association. It wasn’t unusual for a hunter to have periods of downtime, but months? That was unheard of.
Whenever he had mentioned it to Kaname, the pureblood had redirected the conversation, soothing him with reassurances that he deserved a break. That he had already done enough. That it was time to let others handle things for once.
But Zero had never been the kind to stand still.
That day had been like any other. He had gone into town under the pretense of checking Level E activity—though, in truth, he had intended to stop by the Hunter’s Association. He needed answers.
And that’s when he had seen them.
Takuma, Senri, and Akatsuki.
They stood near a quiet café, their presence in daylight an oddity. The Night Class never ventured out during the day. And yet, there they were, chatting casually—until Zero’s sharp eyes caught the edge of a letter sticking out of Takuma’s pocket.
The Hunter’s Association seal.
His heart had pounded with realization.
They were intercepting his messages.
Zero hadn’t even hesitated. He had stalked straight over to them, his tone sharp, his body tense with confrontation.
“What the hell is that?” he had demanded, his gaze fixed on Takuma’s pocket.
Takuma, ever the diplomat, had tried to smooth things over. “Zero, let’s not do this here—”
Zero had snatched the letter before Takuma could react, his hunter reflexes too fast even for a vampire. His fingers had trembled as he read the neatly printed words addressed to him.
A mission. One he had never received.
“You’ve been keeping these from me, haven’t you?” Zero’s voice had been dangerously low, his grip tightening around the letter.
Akatsuki had shifted uncomfortably, while Senri avoided his gaze. Takuma sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if Zero was being difficult.
“You should talk to Kaname-sama,” he had finally said.
Zero’s grip on the letter tightened, the paper crumpling slightly between his fingers. His pulse pounded in his ears as the weight of realization settled over him.
His missions had been deliberately withheld from him.
By them.
By Kaname.
The betrayal burned through his veins, igniting a fury that had been simmering beneath the surface for months.
His silver eyes locked onto Takuma’s face, sharp and unrelenting.
“Talk to Kaname?” Zero repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Why the hell would I need to do that when the Hunter’s Association sent this to me?”
Takuma’s usual easygoing demeanor flickered, his smile faltering just slightly. “Zero, I know this looks bad, but—”
“Looks bad?” Zero cut him off, his voice rising. “It doesn’t just look bad. It is bad. You’ve been stealing my mission requests—blocking me from doing my damn job!”
Takuma raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I wouldn’t say ‘stealing’ exactly. More like… rerouting.”
Zero’s jaw clenched. “Oh, well, that makes it so much better.”
Akatsuki, who had been standing beside them with his arms crossed, exhaled quietly. “We were following orders, Kiryu,” he said, his deep voice calm but firm.
Zero turned to him, his glare sharp as a blade. “Whose orders? Kaname’s?”
The way Akatsuki didn’t immediately answer told Zero everything he needed to know.
“Of course,” Zero muttered bitterly, his fingers flexing around the letter. His anger threatened to explode, but he forced himself to focus. “How long has this been going on? How many of my missions have you intercepted?”
Takuma hesitated, but when Zero’s glare intensified, he sighed in defeat. “A few months.”
Zero inhaled sharply through his nose. “A few months?”
Takuma nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kaname-sama thought it would be best if—”
“Don’t.” Zero’s voice was quiet, but the venom in it was unmistakable. He took a step closer, his entire body taut with tension. “Don’t you dare tell me what Kaname thought was ‘best.’”
Akatsuki, who had been watching the exchange with a calm expression, finally spoke again. “Kaname-sama didn’t want you risking your life unnecessarily.”
Zero let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Oh, really? Because last I checked, that’s what hunters do. We risk our lives to keep people safe—humans and vampires alike. It’s my job, and I don’t need Kaname Kuran deciding for me whether I’m capable or not.”
Takuma frowned. “You don’t understand, Zero. Kaname-sama—”
That had been all Zero needed to hear.
He will talk to the main problem directly instead of wasting time with them.
Always with Kaname sama this, Kaname sama that .
By the time Zero had returned to the Moon Dormitory, his rage had reached its boiling point. He had stormed past the Night Class students who had tried to stop him, shoving open the heavy doors to Kaname’s study without hesitation.
Kaname had been seated at his desk, elegantly poised as always, but the moment Zero entered, furious and breathless, Kaname’s calm expression had shifted.
Zero had thrown the letter onto his desk.
“How long have you been doing this?” he had demanded.
Kaname had glanced at the paper before exhaling softly, as if he had expected this.
“Zero—”
“Don’t ‘Zero’ me.” His voice shook with restrained anger. “How long have you been interfering with my missions? How many letters have you hidden from me?”
Kaname's crimson eyes dark with something unreadable. “It doesn’t matter—”
“It matters to me!” Zero had cut him off. “You had no right.”
Kaname’s presence commanding yet gentle. “I had every right,” he had murmured.
Zero had laughed bitterly. “Since when do you get to decide that?”
Kaname had reached for him, but Zero had stepped back, his fists clenched.
“You promised me freedom. You promised you wouldn’t control me. And yet, here we are.” His voice had cracked with frustration.
Kaname meet Zero’s eyes met without hesitation, unreadable yet unwavering.
"Why?" Zero demanded, . "Why the hell have you been intercepting my missions?"
Kaname didn’t look at the letter. He didn’t need to. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. His gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. "Because I refuse to go through that again."
Zero scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Through what? Keeping me trapped here like some fragile doll? I’m a hunter, Kaname! My job is to—"
"To disappear for months without a trace? To leave without telling me? To let me wonder if you’re alive or dead every single day?" Kaname’s voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it, something raw and unyielding.
Zero froze.
Kaname exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk as if steadying himself. "The last time you left, right after I realized you were my mate, you were gone for two months, Zero. Two months of absolute silence. No one knew where you were. Cross wouldn't tell me, Seiren couldnt track you. Not even the Association knew exactly where you were. And I—" Kaname swallowed, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking at Zero again.
Zero clenched his jaw, his anger flickering into something more complicated. "I was with Yagari. We were handling a Level E infestation. I wasn’t in danger."
"You think that matters to me?" Kaname’s voice wavered slightly, the first crack in his composure. "I’m a pureblood, Zero. My instincts don’t work the way yours do. When you were gone, I felt it. Every second."
Zero narrowed his eyes. "Felt what?"
Kaname stood then, walking slowly around the desk until he was standing right in front of Zero. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that Zero could feel the weight of his presence.
"You don’t understand what it means for a pureblood to have a mate," Kaname murmured, his voice almost pained. "It’s not just emotional, Zero. It’s physical. The longer you were gone, the worse it got. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think. Every moment without you was like my body was tearing itself apart. Like I was dying."
Zero swallowed, his throat dry.
Kaname’s eyes burned into his. "Imagine knowing your spouse was missing. Imagine the worry, the fear, the helplessness. Now multiply that by a hundred. That is what I felt, Zero."
Zero’s breath hitched. The way Kaname said "Spouse" made something shift inside him, something he wasn’t ready to face.
"Kaname, that still doesn’t give you the right—"
"I have every right!" Kaname cut him off, stepping even closer, his voice vibrating with intensity. "Because you are mine, and I am yours. That’s what it means to be mates, Zero. You don’t get to ignore that just because it’s inconvenient for you."
Zero stared at him, his pulse pounding.
Kaname’s voice softened, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach for Zero. "You think I did this to control you? I did it because I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it. And I dont mean it figuratively I mean it quiet literally"
Zero exhaled sharply, his anger dimming, replaced by something far heavier. "You know what happens when a pureblood losses their mate. I'd rather die than live like that."
He had always known Kaname was possessive, but he had never truly considered what that nightmarish absence had been like for him.
Kaname was suffering.
Because Zero himself feels it when he doesn't see Kaname for a day or two. He becomes restless and cannot focus on everything and feels empty. Like something important is missing.
Zero turned his face away, his voice quieter now. "I… I didn’t know it was that bad."
Kaname let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Of course, you didn’t. You would have just told me to ‘fuck off.’ if i told you this before you accepted me as your mate"
Zero flinched. That was… probably true.
Silence settled between them. Kaname watched him carefully, waiting for something—anything—from Zero that wasn’t just anger or defiance.
Finally, Zero sighed, running a hand down his face. "So, what? You’re never going to let me take a mission again?"
Kaname’s lips pressed together. "No. I just need to know where you are. I need to be able to reach you. I can’t go through another two months of silence, Zero. I won’t."
Zero met his gaze again, searching for any sign of manipulation, but there was only honesty. And exhaustion.
He exhaled slowly. "Fine."
Kaname blinked. "Fine?"
Zero rolled his eyes. "I’ll tell you before I leave. You don’t have to stop my missions. Just… let me do my job."
Kaname studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright."
Zero scoffed. "That easy?"
Kaname gave him a small, tired smile. "That hard?"
Zero let out a slow breath, tension draining from his shoulders. "You really are impossible, Kuran."
Kaname’s smirk returned, just slightly. "And you love me for it."
Zero didn’t answer.
But he also didn’t deny it.
Zero exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his silver hair as he met Kaname’s unwavering gaze. The tension between them was palpable, hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. But this wasn’t a fight either of them needed to win—it was something they needed to settle, once and for all.
“No more intercepting my missions,” Zero said firmly, his voice steady despite the weight of the conversation. “No more having your Night Class minions keep things from me, and no more deciding what’s best for me without telling me.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes studied him carefully, as if measuring whether Zero truly meant it. “Zero—”
“I mean it, Kaname,” Zero interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to control this part of my life. My job, my duty as a hunter—it’s who I am. I won’t let you take that away from me.”
Kaname sighed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not about control,” he murmured, stepping closer. “It’s about knowing you’re safe. About knowing I won’t wake up one day and feel you slip away from me.”
Zero clenched his fists at his sides. He wanted to be angry, to snap at Kaname for being so stubborn, but deep down, he understood. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Kaname during those two months he had been gone, not when he now knew how deeply, painfully purebloods felt separation from their mates.
That didn’t mean Kaname got to make choices for him.
Zero let out a slow breath and forced himself to meet Kaname’s gaze head-on. “I promise,” he said quietly. “No more disappearing for weeks at a time. I’ll only take missions that I can finish in a day or two.”
Kaname’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected Zero to compromise.
“I’m not asking you to like it,” Zero continued. “I just need you to trust me. I know how to take care of myself, and I know my limits. I won’t do anything reckless.”
Kaname searched his face, looking for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he murmured. “No more intercepting your missions. And you’ll tell me when you’re leaving and come back within a day....”
Zero raised one of brow at Kaname.
Kaname sighed and murmured " fine, within a day or two."
Zero gave a short nod. “Yeah.”
Kaname reached out then, his fingers brushing against Zero’s hand before he caught it properly, lacing their fingers together. “Then… I suppose that’s all I can ask for.”
Zero rolled his eyes. “Glad you finally see reason.”
Kaname smirked, tugging Zero closer until their bodies nearly touched. “You say that, but we both know I’ll always worry about you.”
Zero huffed but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, well… maybe I don’t mind that as much as I used to.”
Kaname’s smirk softened into something fonder, something warmer. “Good.”
Zero let out a sigh, pressing his forehead briefly against Kaname’s chest. “You’re still annoying, though.”
Kaname chuckled, his fingers tightening around Zero’s. “And yet, you still put up with me.”
Zero scoffed but didn’t argue. And Kaname took that as the victory it was.
Kaname didn't waste a second.
The moment Zero's forehead rested against his chest, his fingers tightening slightly around Kaname’s, the tension in the room shifted.
Kaname reached up, his fingers brushing through the strands of silver hair before tilting Zero’s chin up. Their eyes met—crimson and silver, fire and steel. Zero’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away.
That was all the invitation Kaname needed.
He leaned in, capturing Zero’s lips in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—this was something else. A promise. A claim. A rekindling of something that will never die.
Love.
Passion.
Bond of being soulmates.
Zero exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands gripping the front of Kaname’s shirt as he kissed him back. He wasn’t passive—he never was. His lips parted slightly, allowing Kaname’s tongue to slide against his, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent heat curling low in Zero’s stomach.
Kaname backed him up against the edge of his desk, one hand sliding down to Zero’s waist, gripping firmly as he deepened the kiss. He could feel the rapid thrum of Zero’s pulse beneath his fingertips, could taste the faint remnants of coffee on his lips. Everything about this moment—about Zero—was intoxicating.
Zero let out a quiet sound against Kaname’s lips, frustration and want tangled into one. Kaname swallowed it, pulling Zero closer until there was no space left between them.
Kaname’s free hand slid to the desk, shoving aside papers and books without care as he lifted Zero onto the polished wood surface. Zero let out a small grunt, half-annoyed but mostly breathless, his legs instinctively spreading slightly as Kaname moved between them.
"You’re such a damn control freak," Zero muttered against Kaname’s lips, his hands gripping Kaname’s shoulders to steady himself.
Kaname hummed, smirking as he traced a teasing bite along Zero’s lower lip. "And you’re insufferably stubborn. It’s a miracle we function."
Zero let out a sharp breath, fingers tightening in Kaname’s shirt as he pulled him in for another kiss, this one more urgent, more demanding. Kaname groaned softly, his hands roaming up Zero’s sides, relishing in the warmth beneath his touch.
Back in the Present
The sharp chime of the bookstore's bell shattered the fragile haze of memory, pulling Zero back into the present like a cruel snap of reality. His breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening around the spine of the book he had been absently holding.
His heart ached.
The ghost of Kaname’s lips still lingered on his own, the warmth of his touch haunting him like a phantom he couldn't shake. It was maddening—how even after all this time, Kaname still had this power over him. Even when he wasn’t here. Even when Zero had built a new life, tried to erase every trace of him.
And yet… it was as if Kaname had never truly left him.
Zero exhaled slowly, forcing the memories down, locking them away where they couldn’t hurt him anymore. He adjusted his expression, schooling it into something neutral before turning toward the entrance of the store.
“Welcome,” he said automatically, his voice steady despite the turmoil still raging inside him
That memory—**that confrontation—**felt like a lifetime ago.
He had walked away from Kaname. He had left behind the tangled web of love, pain, and devotion that had bound them together.
And yet, even now, the weight of Kaname’s words still clung to him.
Zero swallowed thickly, pushing the memory away.
Kaname wasn’t here anymore. That part of his life was over.
Isamu was his future now. And he would do everything in his power to keep his son safe—even if it meant erasing Kaname Kuran from their lives forever.
But deep down, a quiet voice whispered that Kaname would never let that happen.
And Zero was terrified that one day, he wouldn’t want him to.
Zero exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples as he stacked the last of the books on the shelf. The soft chime of the bookstore’s closing bell signaled the end of another quiet day, and he was more than ready to head home.
The past had crept up on him again—memories of Kaname, of their fights, their bond, their pain. He had spent years trying to bury it, to move on, but the truth was, it never really left him.
and Zero doubted it ever will.
He leaned against the counter, staring out the glass window at the darkening sky.
The evening air had turned crisp, a reminder that autumn was settling in. He could almost picture Isamu waiting for him at home, bundled in a small sweater Aido had insisted on buying for him, his bright violet eyes looking up expectantly when Zero walked through the door.
A faint smile tugged at his lips at the thought.
This was his life now.
Not the bloodstained world of hunters and purebloods, not the tangled mess of love and betrayal that had once consumed him. His life was quiet evenings with his son, reading bedtime stories, hearing Isamu’s laughter, and knowing—for the first time in a long time—that he was truly living for something.
And yet…
He still felt Kaname.
It was always there, that invisible thread tying them together. The mate bond he had tried so hard to sever. He had spent months ignoring it, pretending it wasn’t there, but in weak moments—when he allowed himself to feel—the pain of separation clawed at him like a wound that refused to heal.
And that was his punishment.
For loving the very monster responsible for the Kiryuu name’s demise.
Kaname had been behind everything—the death of his parents, the twisted fate that had turned him into a vampire, the shattered life he could never reclaim. It didn’t matter that Kaname had whispered words of love, had tried to protect him in his own warped way. None of it erased the truth.
Zero clenched his jaw, gripping the countertop as he forced the ache back down. He couldn’t afford to feel this way. Not now. Not when Isamu was waiting for him.
The door chimed softly as the last customer left, giving him a polite nod on their way out. Zero locked the entrance behind them and exhaled.
He was ready to go home.
He grabbed his coat, turning off the lights as he stepped outside. The streets were quiet, only the occasional sound of footsteps echoing down the alleyways. He kept his head low, his thoughts drifting toward the warmth of home.
Aido would be waiting with Isamu, probably complaining about how difficult it was to keep up with an energetic toddler.
Zero smirked slightly. You were the one who insisted on staying, he thought, shaking his head.
Despite his complaints, Aido had been a constant. He had become family in a way Zero never expected.
Zero walked briskly, eager to return, but as he turned a corner, his steps faltered.
A shiver ran down his spine.
The night felt… different.
His instincts, honed by years of hunting, screamed at him.
He kept walking, his movements casual, but his fingers itched for the weapon tucked beneath his coat. He scanned the streetlights, the shadows stretching along the pavement.
Then, for just a second—
A flicker of crimson eyes in the darkness.
Zero’s breath caught. His pulse quickened.
And just like that, the presence was gone.
The night swallowed it whole, leaving Zero standing there, his heart pounding, his fingers trembling.
Kaname.
Zero swallowed hard, shaking his head as if to dispel the thought. No. It couldn’t be. He was imagining it. It was just his mind playing tricks on him after spending too long thinking about the past.
Still, he moved faster.
.
Zero’s steps quickened as he neared the apartment, his fingers tightening around his coat. His breath was steady, controlled, but his heart pounded in his chest.
He wanted to believe that the flicker of crimson he had seen was nothing more than a trick of the dim streetlights.
That the past wasn’t about to catch up with him.
Zero cursed under his breath, clenching his fists as he forced himself to focus on what mattered—getting home to Isamu. Whatever was coming, whatever Kaname wanted, he’d deal with it later.
Reaching the building, Zero unlocked the door and stepped inside, feeling the warmth of his home wrap around him. The faint sound of Isamu’s laughter drifted from the living room, followed by Aido’s exasperated voice.
“Alright, alright, Isamu, enough with the tiny tyrant act! I’m not your personal jungle gym—stop climbing on me!”
A small giggle erupted in response.
Zero exhaled, some of the tension melting from his shoulders. This was reality.
This was what mattered. Not the ghosts of the past.
He stepped inside, hanging his coat by the door. The soft glow of the living room lights illuminated the space, revealing Aido sprawled on the floor, Isamu sitting triumphantly on his chest with a victorious grin.
Zero crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “You’re really struggling against a toddler, huh?”
Aido groaned dramatically. “I’d like to see you handle him all day without losing your sanity.”
Zero smirked, walking over and lifting Isamu off Aido with ease. The toddler beamed up at him, his small hands grabbing at Zero’s collar. “Papa!”
The single word, spoken with such excitement and familiarity, was all it took for the lingering tension in Zero’s chest to fade completely. He held Isamu close, pressing a kisses to the top of his brown hair and his chubby cheeks and nose.
“Were you good today?” Zero murmured, rocking his son slightly.
Isamu nodded enthusiastically. “I plwy! And Unca Ado say I boss!”
Zero snorted. “I’m sure he did.”
Aido sat up, ruffling his own disheveled blonde hair. “He is a boss. Do you know how many times I had to make his food just the right temperature? And he has a system for where each toy belongs. It’s terrifying.”
Zero chuckled softly. “Yeah, well… he gets it from you.”
Aido gasped in mock offense. “Excuse you, I am a charming and low-maintenance house guest.”
Zero shot him a look. “You rearranged my kitchen because you didn’t like where I put the spices.”
Aido sniffed. “Because your system was barbaric, Zero.”
Zero shook his head, amused, as Isamu giggled between them. The moment was light, warm, normal—but deep down, Zero knew that something was coming to shatter it.
Kaname’s presence still lingered in his mind like a whisper he couldn’t ignore.
For now, though, he refused to let it in.
He carried Isamu to the couch, settling him down before sitting beside him. The toddler climbed into his lap instantly, curling up against his chest. Zero rested his chin lightly on top of his son’s head, savoring the quiet peace of the moment.
Aido’s gaze softened as he watched them. “So… you gonna tell me why you look like you saw a ghost when you walked in?”
Zero tensed slightly. He should’ve known Aido would pick up on it.
He sighed, rubbing slow circles on Isamu’s back as the toddler’s breathing slowed. “I think… i saw something.”
Aido’s casual demeanor vanished in an instant. “Him?”
Zero nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw something—felt something. And you know as well as I do, that’s not something I can just shake off.”
Aido swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”
Zero knew exactly what he was thinking. They had worked so hard to keep this life separate. To build something where Kaname’s shadow couldn’t reach them.
And now, it was crumbling.
Zero’s voice was quiet but firm. “If he knows, if he finds us, I won’t let him take Isamu.”
Aido met his gaze, his usual arrogance replaced by something serious, something protective. “I know. And he won’t.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them.
Then, Aido exhaled sharply, shaking off the tension. “You should sleep. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”
Zero wanted to argue, but exhaustion was settling into his bones.
Instead, he nodded and stood, carrying Isamu to his bedroom. The toddler mumbled something incoherent as Zero tucked him into bed, his small fingers curling around the fabric of Zero’s sleeve.
“Papa?” Isamu murmured sleepily.
Zero’s heart clenched. He brushed soft brown hair out of his son’s face, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, Isamu. I’m right here.”
The child sighed contentedly and drifted off.
Zero lingered for a moment, watching his son breathe, before finally standing and leaving the room.
As he stepped back into the living room, Aido was already by the window, peering out into the night.
Zero stopped beside him. “See anything?”
Aido shook his head. “Not yet. But if he’s here, it’s only a matter of time.”
Zero clenched his jaw, staring out at the moonlit streets.
Zero and Aido remained by the window, the night stretching out before them in eerie stillness.
Aido sighed, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the plan? If He really is sniffing around, you know it’s only a matter of time before he finds us. These spell won't stop him from finding his mate eventually.”
Zero’s jaw clenched. He had spent so much time carving out a life here, giving Isamu stability, a sense of normalcy. He wasn’t about to let Kaname rip it away.
“We need to move,” Zero said finally, his voice low but firm.
Aido exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I figured you’d say that.” He turned to face Zero fully. “Where to?”
Zero hesitated. “Somewhere off the radar. Another quiet town, maybe far from here.” His mind was already running through possibilities.
Somewhere rural, away from the prying eyes of both vampires and hunters. “We need to disappear before he even has a trail to follow.”
Aido frowned. “You know that’s not going to be easy. He isn’t just anyone—he’s one of the most powerful purebloods alive. If he really wants to find you, he will.”
Zero’s fingers curled into fists. “Then we make it harder for him.”
Aido studied Zero for a long moment, his usual smugness absent. “You’re really prepared to do this? To uproot everything again?”
Zero’s throat tightened. He looked toward the closed bedroom door where Isamu slept peacefully, oblivious to the war being waged for his future.
“This isn’t just about me,” Zero said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I can’t let him take Isamu. I won’t let my son grow up in that world, constantly under the influence of a pureblood, being molded into something he’s not.”
His voice hardened. “I won’t let Kaname claim him and take him from me.”
Aido let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright. We do this, but we do it smart. No rushing off in the middle of the night without a plan.”
Zero gave a small, tired nod. “Agreed.”
Aido tapped his fingers against his chin. “I have a few connections who could set us up with new identities, untraceable records. It won’t be cheap, but I’ll handle it.”
Zero frowned. “Aido—”
“Don’t,” Aido cut him off, giving him a knowing look. “You already know what I’m going to say. You’re not in this alone, and I’m not about to let you and Isamu disappear without a solid safety net.”
Zero exhaled, too drained to argue. “Fine.”
Aido smirked slightly. “Good. Now, let’s talk logistics. We’ll need to move Isamu’s things first—bit by bit, so it doesn’t look suspicious. You continuing going to work and tell the work place your going to a hot spring. I’ll start making arrangements with my contacts tomorrow.”
Zero nodded, his mind racing through the checklist of what needed to be done. He would find a way to protect his son, no matter what it took.
They had a plan. They would leave. Before Kaname could take everything away.
But deep down, Zero couldn’t shake the gnawing fear in his gut.
Next morning.
The weight of their decision pressed heavily on their shoulders—if they were going to disappear, they had to do it right.
Aido traced a finger over the map of Matsumoto, a small town nestled in the Nagano Prefecture. “It’s quiet, rural, and has just enough human population to blend in. No hunters, no vampire activity—at least, none we need to worry about.”
Zero exhaled, rubbing his temples. “It’s perfect.”
Aido nodded, flipping through a file. “I’ve already got a few leads on a house. Something out of the way, but not suspiciously secluded.” He glanced up at Zero. “We’ll have to do this gradually, though. The more abrupt the move, the more likely it is to leave a trail.”
Zero’s jaw clenched, but he knew Aido was right. Kaname was meticulous. If he suspected they were running, he would track them without hesitation.
“What about the protective seals?” Aido asked. “You sure they’ll hold against a pureblood?”
Zero leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “They’ve held this long. I’ll reinforce them before we leave—layer them over the new place too. Kaname might be strong, but these spells were designed to suppress all traces of vampiric energy. He won’t be able to track us through them.”
Aido raised an eyebrow. “And the bond?”
Zero hesitated. The mate bond—his greatest weakness and Kaname’s strongest weapon. It had remained muted, distant, but still there, a faint pulse he tried to ignore.
“The seal I used dampens my end of the bond,” he admitted. “It blocks him from sensing me through it. But if he gets too close… he might feel something.”
Aido frowned. “That’s risky.”
Zero’s fingers drummed against the table. “It’s the best I can do. I’m not leaving any openings for him to follow us.”
Aido sighed, closing the file. “Then it’s settled. We start moving things slowly, keep your routine normal, and once everything is in place, we vanish.”
Zero’s silver eyes flickered toward the bedroom where his son slept. “We don’t have a choice.”
Aido’s smirk softened into something genuine. “No, we don’t. But we’re in this together, Zero. We’re going to make sure you and Isamu are safe.”
Zero nodded, a rare flicker of gratitude crossing his expression.
Now, all that was left was executing their plan before Kaname could find them.
The next few days were carefully orchestrated.
Zero continued going to work at the bookstore, feigning normalcy while Aido discreetly arranged for their relocation. Slowly, Isamu’s things were packed and sent ahead, along with their more important belongings.
When asked at work, Zero mentioned an upcoming trip to a hot spring, a perfect cover for why he would be leaving the city. The fewer people who questioned their absence, the better.
At night, Zero reinforced the protective seals, layering his magic to conceal not only their scents but also their very presence from vampire senses. The enchantments were powerful, enough that even a pureblood wouldn’t be able to pinpoint their exact location.
Still, despite all their preparations, Zero couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping up his spine.
Kaname was close. He could feel it.
The thought alone made his pulse quicken. He refused to acknowledge the lingering bond between them, but some part of him—whether he wanted to admit it or not—was still tied to Kaname.
And the moment Kaname got too close, Zero knew he would feel it.
Which meant time was running out.
The apartment was nearly empty now, only a few last-minute things left to take with them. Isamu slept soundly in the bedroom, oblivious to the chaos surrounding them.
Zero sat on the edge of the couch, gripping a mug of coffee in his hands, his mind restless. Aido stood by the window, keeping watch as he always did.
“You’re thinking too much,” Aido muttered, not looking away from the street.
Zero huffed. “You’d be worried too if you were in my position.”
Aido turned to face him. “I get it. But we’re almost out of here. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be in Matsumoto, and Kaname-sama will have no trail to follow.”
Zero nodded, but the tightness in his chest didn’t ease. “I just… I can’t shake this feeling. Like it’s too easy.”
Aido scoffed. “You call this easy?”
Zero gave a dry laugh. “No. But you know Kaname. He doesn’t let go.”
Aido’s smirk faded. “Yeah. I know.”
Silence settled between them, both men lost in thought.
Finally, Aido exhaled. “Look, even if he does figure it out, he won’t take Isamu.”
Zero looked up sharply. “How can you be so sure?”
Aido shrugged.
Kaname’s Search
Kaname was not used to feeling powerless. Yet, here he was, weeks into the search, and Zero remained just out of reach.
Knowing Zero had relocated to Kyoto had been the easy part. Finding him within the sprawling city, however, had been a different challenge entirely. His mate was clever, resourceful, and far too skilled at evading detection. The protective seals Zero had used to mask his scent, to suppress the mate bond, were powerful. It was humiliating to admit, but Kaname could not sense him. Not his presence. Not even Aido’s.
But he was close. He knew it.
The ache in his chest—the pull that had drawn him to Zero since their bond was first forged—was stronger than it had been in years. It was an instinct that ran deeper than logic, deeper than reason. Zero was near, hiding from him, fighting against the inevitability of their connection.
Kaname let out a slow breath, reining in his frustration as he walked the quiet streets of Kyoto. Seiren moved beside him, silent and calculating, while Takuma and Akatsuki spread out, carefully combing through the city without drawing too much attention.
It had been days without progress—until Takuma, of all people, had stumbled upon the answer in the most human way imaginable.
Takuma had wandered into a bookstore, browsing manga in one of the quiet back alleys of Kyoto, when he had casually asked the elderly shopkeeper about a man in a photograph. He hadn’t expected anything to come from it. It was a long shot. But then—
“Oh, you mean Kaito?” The old woman had peered at the photograph through thick glasses before nodding. “Yes, he works here, but he’s on vacation for a few days.”
Takuma had barely concealed his shock, thanking her before stepping out of the store and calling Kaname immediately.
Zero had changed his name. It wasn’t surprising, but it still sent a wave of emotion crashing over Kaname.
He’s still running from me.
Still, the lead had given them what they needed. They had found Zero’s apartment not long after, only to discover it was empty. No furniture. No lingering scent. No trace of him at all.
Kaname stood in the middle of the vacant space, staring at the barren walls. This had been Zero’s home. The place where he had lived, where he had built a life—without him.
His fingers curled into fists.
Takuma hesitated before speaking. “He really covered his tracks well.”
Akatsuki crossed his arms, frowning. “We were just a step too late.”
Kaname said nothing. His crimson eyes scanned the room, his mind turning over everything he had learned. Zero had stayed here, hidden from him, raising their child.
Our child.
The thought sent a sharp pang through him.
Kaname had dreamed, countless times, of what it would have been like to raise their child together. He had imagined holding them, watching them grow, teaching them the ways of their lineage while ensuring they never felt the pain of loneliness. He had wanted that future—with Zero.
But Zero had denied him that.
Kaname inhaled deeply, searching for any trace, anything at all, that might remain. But Zero had been thorough.
Too thorough.
Then, something caught his eye.
Near the door, a single overlooked item lay on the floor—a child’s toy, a small stuffed rabbit, slightly worn from use.
Kaname knelt down, picking it up carefully. His hands trembled as he turned it over, his mind racing. This was his child's.
His child.
He had never seen them, never heard their name. He didn’t even know if he had a son or a daughter.
Kaname closed his eyes, gripping the toy tightly.
“Zero,” he whispered.
The sheer loss of it all weighed heavily in his chest. Zero had taken their child, hidden them away, and Kaname had missed so much already. The crawling. The first words. Perhaps the first steps too. The quiet moments of holding them close, of being the father he was meant to be.
He had nothing. No memories, no name—just the lingering ghost of what could have been.
Seiren shifted slightly behind him. “What do you want to do, Kaname-sama?”
Kaname straightened, his expression unreadable as he placed the stuffed rabbit into the pocket of his coat.
“We keep looking,” he said quietly.
Takuma hesitated. “Kaname, if Zero doesn’t want to be found—”
“He is mine,” Kaname cut in, his voice calm but unyielding. “They are mine. My mate. My child.” His eyes darkened. “Do you think I will simply give up?”
Silence.
Kaname exhaled slowly, gathering his composure. When he spoke again, his tone was gentler. “Zero is afraid. He believes I will take our child away. He believes he must protect them from me.”
Akatsuki frowned. “Wouldn’t he be right? You are a pureblood.”
Kaname’s gaze flickered toward the window, where the city lights stretched far into the horizon. “I don’t want to take our child away from Zero.” His fingers tightened slightly. “I want them both. I always have.”
He turned, facing his men. “We will find them. I will not force Zero into this. But I will bring them home. I wont force him to accept me as his mate, if he does it has to be his choice.”
Kaname’s voice softened, but the determination in his eyes did not fade.
“I just need him to see it.”
Because if Zero ever allowed himself to feel their bond again, if he let himself truly remember what they had once shared—Kaname knew he would never run from him again.
And this time, he will do it right.
Chapter 18: In the bones
Chapter Text
Kaname had not loved the time he had been born into, and nor did he love the time he had been awakened into.
Centuries had passed between those moments, and yet the same bitterness curled in his chest like an old, familiar ghost.
He did not love what he was—a pureblood, a relic, a symbol of power and fear wrapped in ancient elegance. Perhaps once, in the earliest days of his awareness, he had relished the awe he commanded. Perhaps the reverence, the worship, the fear... it had stirred something like satisfaction in his otherwise still heart.
But that too had long since faded.
Now, every breath he took felt like a burden. Every decision, every step, weighted by the countless years of survival and sacrifice.
He had watched the world reshape itself again and again—wars, peace, love, betrayal. And through it all, Kaname had remained, eternal and unchanged.
He had been tired of his existence then.
He was tired now.
But this time… this time the ache ran deeper. Because now he had known love.
He had held it in his hands, tasted it on his lips. He had watched it curl in silver hair and bright violet eyes. And then he had watched it walk away, carrying with it the last flicker of light in his world.
Kaname leaned against the cold glass of the window in the temporary Kyoto estate, staring into the night.
His reflection stared back at him—calm, beautiful, soulless.
He had been feared as a god and dismissed as a monster. But never once, in all his long life, had he felt more alive than when Zero looked at him with defiance in his eyes and love still buried somewhere in his soul.
And now?
Now, he couldn’t even feel the thread of their bond.
Zero had hidden himself, sealed the connection so tightly that even Kaname, with all his ancient strength, couldn’t find him.
And it was unbearable.
Not because of pride. Not because of power.
But because Zero was his mate. The one thing in all his long, cursed existence that had mattered.
And he was gone.
Kaname closed his eyes, The silence of the night seeped into him, hollowing him out further. The vastness of the world outside felt distant—untouchable, meaningless.
He had shaped this world once, carved paths with blood and sacrifice, rewritten fate with the cruelty of necessity. He had worn the crown of ancient power, played god to protect those he loved. But what had it left him with?
A shell.
A title.
A grief so deep it felt carved into his bones.
He had wanted rest. Not sleep, not death—just peace. A quiet corner of existence to hold in his arms the only soul who had ever made him forget the centuries crushing his spine.
Zero had been that reprieve. His storm. His warmth. His contradiction.
And he had almost had him.
Almost.
But almost was not enough.
Now, Zero was gone—hidden behind magic and willpower and fear—and with him went the last illusion of peace Kaname had ever dared to believe in.
Their child…
Kaname exhaled shakily, his hand curling into a fist against the glass.
His child.
He didn’t even know their name. Didn’t know if they had his eyes or Zero’s sharp jaw, if they giggled like Zero did when his guard was down, or if they had inherited his quiet silence.
Boy or girl, tall or small, he knew nothing.
And it killed him.
Because in all his years of existence, all his power, all his foresight—he had never imagined being a stranger to his own family.
Sometimes—on nights like this, with the moon too bright and the silence too loud—Kaname thought death might be better than this emptiness.
It would be easier, wouldn’t it?
To slip into the quiet. To finally lay down the burden of his name, his blood, his eternal guilt.
But then…
He remembered the feel of Zero’s lips trembling against his.
The ghost of a heartbeat that had never belonged to him, but pulsed in tandem with his own.
And the fragile dream that somewhere, his child—their child—was alive.
And that dream kept him breathing.
Even if it hurt.
Even if he was no longer wanted.
Because Kaname Kuran had lived long enough to know that pain was better than forgetting.
And love—real love—was always worth chasing.
Even if it shattered him.
The road curved like a ribbon through the rolling hills, the headlights of Aido’s car cutting through the mist that clung stubbornly to the morning air. The sun had only just begun to rise behind the mountains, casting a soft amber glow across the distant peaks. Trees lined both sides of the road, tall and stoic, their leaves rustling in the early breeze as if whispering secrets only the wind could hear.
Inside the car, silence reigned, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional cooing sound from the backseat where Isamu sat, wrapped in a fleece blanket, dozing peacefully. Zero turned slightly in his seat to check on him again—his protective instincts refusing to let go—even though he had done the same thing at least five times in the last hour.
“He’s fine,” Aido said quietly from behind the wheel, his tone gentler than usual. “He slept through half the ride. Like I said—born traveler.”
Zero didn’t answer. He kept his gaze trained on the sleeping child for a moment longer before finally looking out the window.
Matsumoto unfolded before them like a picture from a storybook—quaint, quiet, and nestled between forested ridges. It was far smaller than the city they had left behind, with its old-fashioned streets and traditional wooden homes, tiled rooftops and paper lanterns swaying gently outside closed storefronts. The town felt untouched by time, preserved in soft stillness and peace.
“Looks like something out of a painting,” Zero murmured.
Aido smiled faintly.
They passed a small river that glistened in the light, the stone bridges arching gracefully over its surface. There were few people out this early—an elderly couple walking their dog, a bakery owner unlocking his shop door, the scent of fresh bread wafting into the crisp morning.
And then, they turned onto a narrow road lined with trees and low stone walls. At the end of it sat their new home.
The house was modest in size but sturdy, built in a traditional Japanese style. A steep, dark-tiled roof stretched over pale wooden walls. The veranda wrapped around the front like an embrace, and a small garden sat nestled along the side, already sprouting early spring blooms.
A gravel path led from the car to the wooden porch, where wind chimes stirred with a soft, melodic tinkling in the breeze. Beyond the garden, the land sloped gently upward, giving them a view of the mountains that stood as both a backdrop and a shield.
“This is it,” Aido said, turning off the engine. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. Secluded. The neighbors are far enough away to avoid suspicion, and I will reinforce barriers. No one’s finding this place without bloodhounds and a miracle.”
Zero didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stared at the house.
It was… peaceful.
Aido stepped out of the car and opened the back door, gently unbuckling Isamu, who blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes with tiny fists.
“Welcome home, little guy,” Aido said softly.
Zero walked around and took his son from Aido, cradling him against his chest. Isamu looked around with a wide, curious gaze, then snuggled into Zero’s shoulder with a content sigh.
Zero stepped onto the porch and turned back, watching Aido unload the bags from the car. The weight of the last few weeks still sat heavily on his shoulders—but here, surrounded by trees and quiet and the scent of blooming earth, he felt it begin to ease.
Just a little.
He looked down at his son, who was already drifting back to sleep. “We’ll be okay,” he whispered.
He had to believe that.
Because here, in this small, forgotten corner of the world, they had a chance to begin again.
Aido joined him on the porch, pausing to take it all in.
“It’s not forever,” Aido said after a while. “But it’s a start.”
Zero nodded, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like enough.
.
.
The day passed slowly, but not unpleasantly. As the sun crept higher into the sky, warm light filtered through the paper shoji screens of the house, painting golden bars across the wooden floors. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still air, disturbed only by the occasional breeze and the faint sound of footsteps padding through the rooms.
Isamu had taken to the new house faster than either of the adults. The moment Zero laid him down on the soft tatami mats of what would now be his room, the toddler was off—tiny feet stumbling with barely-contained excitement, hands reaching for every new corner, drawer, and dangling charm in sight.
“Curious little monster,” Aido commented, crouching down beside him to pick up the cloth fox doll Isamu had hurled across the floor in favor of chasing his own shadow. “You sure he’s not part gremlin?”
Zero, barefoot and tired, rolled his eyes as he unfolded a soft blanket and spread it over the futon in the corner of the room. “He gets that from you. Loud. Messy. Overdramatic.”
Aido grinned as Isamu latched onto his sleeve with both fists, babbling nonsense. “Overdramatic? I’m not the one who threatened to kill a postman last week because he rang the doorbell too many times.”
“I was sleep-deprived,” Zero muttered, brushing his fingers over the edge of the window frame. It creaked softly, but the view beyond—moss-covered stones and the slow swaying of trees—was calming in a way he hadn’t expected.
The living room was nearly set up. Aido had been efficient with everything—supplies stocked, furniture brought in ahead of time, even a small bookshelf already half-filled. And now Zero’s fingers moved automatically, unpacking essentials while Isamu squealed at a wind chime hanging above the porch.
Later that afternoon, Zero stood in the center of the kitchen, holding a cup of tea, watching the steam curl upward like ghostly fingers. The silence around him felt gentle, not oppressive. For the first time in what felt like years, there was no tension crackling under his skin. Just… calm.
Isamu was napping, curled up in a little ball on his futon, one hand clutching the corner of his blanket. Aido had fallen asleep in a sunlit patch by the window, arms crossed and mouth parted just slightly, still clutching a pillow he claimed was “too expensive to be decorative.”
Zero wandered through the hallway, hands in his pockets, eyes tracing the grain of the wooden walls. The house was old but well-kept. Lived-in. It smelled faintly of cedar and plum blossoms, and every creak of the floorboards felt like an old, familiar voice.
Outside, birdsong echoed faintly.
This place was nothing like Cross Academy. Nothing like the dorms or the blood-stained grounds he used to patrol at night. Here, there were no vampires waiting around corners. No shadows breathing down his neck.
Just the soft sound of his son sleeping.
Just the quiet peace of a home.
He leaned against the doorway of Isamu’s room, watching the gentle rise and fall of his small chest. A lump formed in his throat as he whispered, almost too soft to hear:
“We’ll make this work.”
He didn’t know how long they’d be able to stay. Maybe a few months. Maybe more.
But right now… they were safe.
And that was enough.
Would you like a scene next of their first evening together in the new home—perhaps cooking together or sitting outside under the stars?
It was a quiet Wednesday morning the sun had just broken through the cloud cover, casting a soft gold over the narrow street that led from the bus stop to the local market.
The chill of spring still lingered in the air, but the plum blossoms had begun to bloom, filling the town with their sweet scent.
Zero had just left the small grocery store, Isamu nestled in a sling against his chest and bags in both hands, when one of the paper handles gave way. His groceries tumbled across the sidewalk—apples rolling, a box of cereal bursting open, rice scattering like tiny white stones.
He swore under his breath, bending down quickly to catch the escaping food before it went too far, but his son stirred in the sling and began to fuss.
"Here—let me help."
The voice was warm, smooth. When Zero looked up, he saw a tall man crouched beside him, already collecting apples with quick hands. Jet black hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he had the kind of face that might’ve been forgettable if it weren’t for the earnestness in his expression.
“Thanks,” Zero muttered, cautious but not rude.
“No problem,” the man replied, standing and offering the slightly crushed box of cereal with a sheepish grin. “They always put the heavy stuff on top, don’t they?”
Zero gave a short nod, shifting Isamu slightly. “Yeah.”
The man glanced at Isamu then, a gentle softness in his eyes. “Your son?”
Zero paused for a beat, then nodded again. “Yeah. His name’s Isamu.”
The man smiled, a little too quickly. “He’s adorable.”
Zero murmured something noncommittal as he gathered the rest of the groceries into his arms.
“I live a few streets over,” the stranger added, gesturing vaguely behind him. “I’ve seen you around, I think. I’m Fujita Kenta.”
Zero gave a polite smile. “Kaito. Kaito Yamada.”
It was the name he used here, the one on all the documents Aido had forged—Kaito Yamada, twenty-three, bookstore employee, widowed father.
And Aido, of course, was now Satoshi, his ever-annoying, ever-helpful “brother-in-law.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Kaito-san,” Kenta said, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “If you ever need anything, I live in the green house with the azalea bush. Just down the hill.”
Zero gave a nod, offering a quiet “thanks” before adjusting his grip on the groceries and walking away.
But that wasn’t the last he saw of Kenta.
Over the following weeks, Zero kept bumping into him. Once at the market again. Once near the shrine. Once—oddly—outside the small bookstore he worked at, though Kenta insisted it was coincidence and mumbled something about “new releases.”
And each time, Zero noticed how the man would look at him. Long stares when he thought Zero wasn’t watching. A quick blush and nervous shift when their eyes met. There was something earnest in Kenta’s awkwardness, something almost... endearing.
Zero didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t want attention, didn’t need anyone else complicating things. But Kenta’s smile was harmless, his help genuine. It was annoying. And a little comforting.
Meanwhile, Isamu had made his own mark.
The grannies in the neighborhood adored him.
“Oh my, what a handsome little boy,” one of them cooed, folding her hands over her lap. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
Isamu peeked shyly from behind Zero’s shoulder before whispering, “Isamu.”
The woman gasped softly and beamed. “Isamu-chan! That’s a strong name!”
Zero set him down gently, and Isamu toddled forward on uncertain feet, still getting used to the change in altitude and air. The grandmothers leaned in with coos and soft laughter, offering him small candies and coarser sweets wrapped in rice paper.
“Would you like a sweet?” asked one, holding out a soft piece of yokan.
Isamu looked up at Zero for approval. Zero gave a small nod, and Isamu took the candy with both hands like it was treasure.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
The women melted.
“He’s so polite!” one of them exclaimed. “And such lovely manners. How old is he?”
“Two,” Zero answered, smiling faintly as he watched Isamu climb onto the bench with the help of one of the grannies. “Almost three.”
“You must be proud,” another said, her eyes kind. “He looks just like you.”
Zero chuckled softly. “Yes, unfortunately.”
The women laughed, and one leaned closer to Isamu. “Do you help Papa at home?”
Isamu nodded seriously. “I help make toast. And I pour juice. Sometimes I spill, but Papa says, ‘good try.’”
The women erupted into soft laughter again, clapping their hands in delight.
Zero sat beside them, his chest lighter than it had been in ages. He watched Isamu chatter about his picture books and the bird he saw out the window that morning. It was one of the first times he had truly spoken to strangers. His voice was full of wonder, his gestures animated, and Zero couldn’t help the warmth blooming in his chest.
One of the older women patted Zero’s arm gently. “You’re doing a fine job, Kaito-san.”
He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “Thank you.”
“He looks just like you,” Oba Yumi said with a knowing wink. “But he has his mother’s hair and nose, doesn’t he?”
Zero smiled faintly. “Something like that.”
They didn’t need to know.
No one here needed to know who Isamu’s father really was—or what it had cost Zero to carry him into the world.
They didn’t need to know about the nights he spent whispering reassurances to a child who wouldn’t stop crying, trying to soothe a hunger he couldn’t satisfy. They didn’t know the blood he’d lost, the panic, the bone-deep fear that he wouldn’t make it to see his child smile.
They didn’t know the grief.
They only saw the boy now—bright-eyed and beautiful, with Kaname’s poise and Zero’s fire.
When it was time to go the grannies sent Isamu off with a handful of dried fruit and soft, murmured blessings.
Isamu waved goodbye with sticky fingers, half a dried apricot still clutched in his hand. Zero lifted him into his arms, holding him close as they made their way back up the narrow road toward home
“Papa?” Isamu asked sleepily.
“Hm?”
“I like the flower ladies.”
Zero huffed a soft laugh. “I think they like you too, little bird.”
And he kissed his son’s hair—Kaname’s hair—and kept walking.
The past still lived inside him, but here, in this small, gentle town, the grief wasn’t all-consuming. It lived in quiet corners, in memory and shadows, but it wasn’t the whole of him anymore.
Every time Zero walked by with the toddler in his arms or toddling beside him with a stuffed fox clutched in hand, he was stopped—offered sweets, compliments, and the occasional “He looks just like you, Kaito-chan!”
"His mother must have been a beauty!"
Zero played the role well. He smiled politely, answered their questions with soft, vague responses. Yes, he had married his high school sweetheart. Yes, she had died after giving birth. No, he wasn’t dating anyone. Yes, it was hard. But he had family—Satoshi, his wife’s brother, had moved in to help raise Isamu.
And with every visit, every conversation, the lie grew more real.
One of the grannies—Oba Sachi, who always wore a cardigan regardless of the weather—leaned in and pinched Isamu’s chubby cheek with a laugh. “He’s such a little charmer! Just look at him—already stealing hearts like a prince.”
Isamu giggled, clutching a dried apricot in one fist, clearly enjoying the attention.
Another elder, Oba Yumi, squinted at Zero and waved her hand. “He looks just like you, Kaito-san. Same nose, same eyebrows. But this one—” she pointed at Isamu with a knowing glint in her eye, “—his attitude must be from his mother. You barely speak, and he’s out here giving us courtship eyes.”
The other women chuckled in agreement as Zero flushed faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s just friendly.”
“Friendly?” Oba Sachi scoffed playfully. “He bowed to me like a tiny gentleman, said thank you with both hands, and called me ‘ma’am.’ That’s not just friendly, Kaito-san, that’s noble.”
Zero bit back a smile. “Maybe it’s just the way I raised him.”
Oba Yumi gave him a teasing smirk. “Then you’re raising him like a prince. You sure your late wife wasn’t from a royal family?”
At that, Zero’s smile faltered for the briefest second.
Royal, he thought bitterly. Close enough.
Because yes, Isamu had inherited that composure, that unspoken grace—the gentle tilt of his head when he listened, the soft thank-you that sounded practiced yet sincere, the calm way he met people’s eyes even when shy. Traits Zero never possessed. Traits that weren’t his.
They were Kaname’s.
Zero’s chest tightened as he glanced at his son. Isamu was now on the bench between two grannies, nodding along as they told him about the sparrows nesting in the nearby shrine roof, legs swinging and apricot forgotten in his lap.
He had Kaname’s stillness. Kaname’s way of making people feel seen.
“Your boy has a good heart,” Oba Sachi murmured to Zero. “He must’ve had two parents who loved him very much.”
Zero swallowed. “He had one.”
The woman gave his hand a gentle squeeze, saying nothing more.
And as Isamu smiled brightly at the grannies and waved goodbye when it was time to go, Zero felt both pride and pain swelling in his heart.
Because his son was all he had left of Kaname.
And it was both a blessing.
And a quiet, beautiful ache.
Their new life in Matsumoto was quiet, wrapped in routine and pretend smiles. But there was peace in it, too. Safety. And Zero would cling to that for as long as he could.
.
.
.
.
It was Valentine’s Day.
Zero hadn’t remembered until he stepped out onto the narrow street and saw the neighborhood draped in subtle red—paper hearts taped to café windows, little schoolgirls giggling behind their mittens, old women chuckling over warm tea and sweet bread, and bouquets of roses spilling from the arms of the corner florist.
He had no intentions of celebrating it. His arms were full of groceries, mostly vegetables and simple broth ingredients—Isamu had barely eaten in two days, and Zero was determined to make something light and gentle for him tonight. Something that would soothe his stomach and, perhaps, calm his restless sleep.
He had just stepped out of the store, distracted by the slipping plastic of one overstuffed bag, when someone called his name—or rather, his cover name.
“Kaito!”
Zero turned, blinking at the man approaching him. The neighbor. Kentaro, or Kenta—something close. He was always… there. Always friendly. Too friendly.
Today, he was holding a small bouquet of bright red roses, his hands dusted faintly with snow, and his face wearing a bashful, boyish grin.
“These are for the grannies down the road,” he said, lifting one rose from the bunch. “But I figured... you should have one too.”
Zero’s mouth opened to object, but the rose was already being offered to him. A single stem. The petals curled gently outward, fresh and fragrant.
“It’s just a flower,” Kentaro added with a shrug, almost teasingly. “It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”
Zero hesitated.
And then, reluctantly—he took it.
The moment his fingers closed around the cool, thornless stem, memory rushed up to meet him like a wave too fast, too wide to brace against.
A rose. Pale red. Soft and trembling like the one Kaname had once brought him—cut that morning from the Kuran manor’s garden.
Zero blinked, the street around him going still, his breath catching in his throat.
“You didn’t bring me anything,” Kaname had said, voice tender but teasing, “so I’ll take what I can.”
The chocolate. The kiss. The way Kaname had unwrapped it slowly, fed it to him like a secret, then kissed him until Zero forgot everything except the feel of Kaname’s mouth and the sound of their names tangled in the silence between them.
You’re mine, he had said. And I am yours.
The memory burned sharp and sweet at once.
It wasn’t even that long ago, really. And yet it felt like another lifetime.
A life where he hadn’t fled. A life where he hadn’t sealed away their bond to keep his heart from fracturing under the weight of everything unsaid. A life where he hadn’t run with a child in his arms and a wound in his soul that no time or distance seemed able to heal.
He looked down at the rose in his hand, a tightness building in his chest.
“Thanks,” he said finally, voice softer than he intended.
Kentaro grinned. “Anytime, Kaito.”
Zero managed a nod, clutching the rose tighter than necessary, and turned to leave.
As he walked the quiet path home, past snow-capped roofs and shuttered windows, the rose trembled faintly in the cold. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.
He couldn’t stop thinking of him.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think of Kaname in weeks. Months, even. Not seriously. Not this way.
But the rose… the rose had undone something.
Where are you? he wondered suddenly. Are you well? Are you... getting flowers and chocolate this time too?
And the strangest part was the chill that ran up his spine. A familiar emptiness that had nothing to do with the cold. He shook it off, clutching the groceries tighter, refusing to linger on it.
Because this was Matsumoto. His new life. His son. His peace.
He was no longer the boy who blushed over chocolates and roses.
And yet…
That night, after putting Isamu to sleep and preparing the light miso broth that his son ate with a tired smile, Zero stood by the kitchen window.
The rose sat in a glass of water beside the sink.
It was just a flower.
But it made the past bloom inside him all over again.
Past Memory — Chocolate Day
It was supposed to be an ordinary afternoon—if any day at Cross Academy could be called that. The Day Class girls were breathless with anticipation, their arms full of carefully wrapped chocolates and hopes as fragile as spun sugar.
Valentine’s Day. A day of tradition. Of confessions.
Zero hated it.
He wasn’t exactly the romantic type, but what made the day unbearable wasn’t the squeals echoing through the halls or the endless perfume that clung to the air. It was watching Kaname Kuran calmly, politely accept gift after gift—roses, heart-shaped boxes, delicately written notes—all with that distant, elegant smile.
He stood apart, as always. Regal. Untouchable.
And yet he never refused them.
Zero had watched from the shadows, pretending not to care, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. But the tightness in his jaw gave him away to anyone who knew how to look.
What made it worse—what made it twist deeper into something acidic—was Yuki.
She had asked him for help.
“Zerooo, you’re good at chopping things, right? Please help me melt the chocolate evenly!” she had begged, holding out her bowl and her puppy-dog eyes.
He had relented, reluctantly. Partly because it was easier than listening to her whine, partly because he felt guilty. Guilty for harboring the truth. Guilty for being bonded to the man she was trying so hard to impress.
So he stood beside her in the kitchen, trying not to wince every time she said Kaname’s name with that starry look in her eyes.
The chocolate had come out well. Perfectly smooth.
He stirred the melted chocolate with practiced ease, refusing to look at her too long, because every time he did, the guilt clawed deeper into his ribs.
How could he tell her?
How could he look Yuki in the eyes—Yuki, who had once been his reason to fight—and tell her that the man she loved was already tied to someone else?
That Kaname was already his?
About the bond. About what Kaname truly was to him. About the nights they spent tangled in silence, about the stolen kisses that felt like war and worship at once. About the guilt that clawed at his chest every time he saw her smile.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
The words had never formed. He had buried them beneath silence, beneath duty, beneath the fear that she would never look at him the same again.
She hadn’t noticed the way his hands trembled when she offered a taste from the spoon. She hadn’t seen the way his eyes flicked away when she spoke Kaname’s name with reverence, with longing.
Zero had smiled—tight-lipped and hollow—and kept stirring.
When the chocolates were done, he’d helped wrap them. He even tied the ribbon around the box, his fingers numbed by the motion. And when she thanked him, so sweet and proud, his heart broke a little more.
Because he was helping her give her heart to a man who already had Zero’s.
It had been unintentional. That was what Zero told himself every time the guilt threatened to crush him. He hadn’t meant to fall for Kaname. He hadn’t meant to take something Yuki had cherished. But bonds didn’t ask permission. Fate didn’t wait for clarity.
Still… he could never forget the soft joy in Yuki’s voice when she said she hoped Kaname would love it.
And he could never forget the quiet shame of knowing Kaname would never love her the way she wanted—because his heart, his soul, had already been given elsewhere.
To Zero.
It had felt like betrayal. Even if it wasn’t by choice.
.
Later that night, when Kaname knocked softly at his door, Zero was already tense.
The pureblood stepped inside, always so calm, so composed. Zero didn’t look at him, not right away. Not until he heard the soft thump of something falling onto the floor.
A small, ribbon-wrapped package.
Yuki’s chocolate.
It had fallen from Kaname’s coat pocket.
Something twisted violently inside him.
“You kept it,” Zero said before he could stop himself, his voice flat, too casual to be real.
Kaname blinked down at the chocolate. “Ah. It must’ve slipped out. I didn’t realize.”
“You threw the others away.” Zero’s voice was tighter now. “I saw you. All the other chocolates. All the other gifts.”
Kaname was quiet for a beat. “Yes.”
“But not hers.”
Still, Kaname said nothing.
Zero’s heart pounded. He didn’t want to be this petty. This jealous. But the feeling was there, rising like bile in his throat.
“You like that she made it for you?”
Kaname finally looked at him, crimson eyes searching his face. “I kept it because you helped her make it.”
Zero stilled.
“I could smell your touch on the chocolate,” Kaname said softly. “Your hands. Your scent. That’s why I didn’t throw it away.”
Zero’s throat tightened. He looked away, shame blooming beneath his anger.
“I hate this day,” he muttered.
Kaname stepped closer. “Then let me make it better.”
But even as Kaname leaned in to kiss him, Zero’s mind clung to that flash of pink ribbon on the floor.
It wasn’t the chocolate he hated.
It was how much he cared.
Kaname’s kiss was soft, tentative—a rare thing, considering how often their touches were forged in heat and hunger. This one was different. He brushed his lips over Zero’s like a whisper, like a question. As though he feared being pushed away.
Zero didn’t move, his breath caught somewhere between resistance and surrender. The silence between them vibrated with unspoken things: jealousy, guilt, longing… and love, cruel as it was.
Then he bit Kaname.
It wasn’t hard—not enough to break skin—but firm enough that Kaname flinched slightly, his lips parting in surprise. Zero’s eyes glinted, a flash of something fierce and defiant rising to the surface.
Kaname didn’t pull away.
Instead, he smiled.
“That’s more like you,” he murmured, voice velvet and amused.
Zero scowled. “Don’t kiss me after keeping someone else's chocolate.”
Kaname’s smile deepened, but he said nothing. He reached into his coat again and retrieved something else—a single rose, pale and delicate, the softest blush of crimson on its petals.
“I brought this for you,” he said, extending the flower. “From the garden at the Kuran manor. I asked them to cut it just this morning.”
Zero stared at it, unmoving. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to give you something" Kaname said simply.
Zero’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he didn’t reach for the rose. “I don’t want it.”
“You do,” Kaname said, stepping closer. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
Zero turned his head away, jaw tight. “Throw away the chocolate.”
Kaname blinked once, then bent slowly to pick up the little pink package. He held it in one hand, balancing it thoughtfully in his palm.
“I won’t.”
Zero’s silver eyes snapped back to him. “Why not?”
Kaname’s voice lowered. “Because you made it. Your hands melted the chocolate. Your scent clings to it more strongly than Yuki’s. You were the one thinking of me while you stirred it, weren’t you?”
Zero’s cheeks flushed with heat, but he said nothing.
Kaname stepped even closer, close enough that Zero could feel his breath. “You didn’t bring me anything else" Kaname had said, voice tender but teasing, “so I’ll take what I can
And with that, Kaname unwrapped the chocolate slowly—his fingers delicate, reverent. He held it up to Zero’s mouth.
“Open,” he said gently.
Zero hesitated, lips pressed together in defiance, but Kaname’s eyes softened with something like affection. “Let me have this.”
Zero’s throat bobbed. He opened his mouth.
Kaname popped the chocolate in, letting it rest on Zero’s tongue—but before Zero could bite down, Kaname leaned in again and kissed him, this time with purpose. His mouth claimed Zero’s, coaxing a surprised gasp from him.
And then Kaname bit into the other half of the chocolate, breaking it between their lips.
The taste of dark cocoa, sweet and bitter, melted into the kiss. It clung to their mouths, slick and rich. Kaname licked the corner of Zero’s lip, stealing the final trace of sugar from his skin, and when he finally pulled away, their breath was ragged, mingled.
Zero stared at him, flushed and dazed. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
“That was cheating.”
Kaname’s eyes sparkled. “Call it what you like. I call it claiming what’s mine.”
Zero snorted, turning away so Kaname wouldn’t see the way his lips wanted to curl into something traitorous. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you,” Kaname said, gently placing the rose on the desk beside them, “are beautiful when you’re jealous.”
Zero grunted, trying to will the heat out of his face. He took the rose when Kaname wasn’t looking and placed it in a tall, narrow glass, filling it with water from the tap. He set it on the windowsill.
It looked… perfect there. Like it belonged.
Kaname stood in the doorway, watching him with a rare softness in his eyes. “You know,” he said, “this day wasn’t about the chocolate, or the rose.”
Zero didn’t turn around. “Then what was it about?”
Kaname’s voice was quiet. “It was about letting you know that I see you. Even when you think you’re invisible.”
Zero's hand clenched around the edge of the counter. Part of him wanted to scream. Part of him wanted to cry. And a foolish part of him—buried deep in his bones—wanted to turn around and kiss Kaname until the rest of the world disappeared.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he whispered, “You shouldn’t have kept hers.”
Kaname’s footsteps came closer, and then warm arms slid around his waist from behind.
“I didn’t keep it for her,” Kaname murmured into the crook of his neck. “I kept it because it was the only thing that came from your hands.”
Zero closed his eyes, the confession sinking deep into the space where his hurt and his longing had been warring all day
Zero didn’t speak for a long time. His back remained turned to Kaname, his hand absently tracing the rim of the glass where the rose now sat, its petals soft and still unfurled. The silence wasn’t cold—it was heavy, like the air before a summer storm.
“I hated it,” he finally muttered, voice low.
Kaname tilted his head slightly. “Hated what?”
Zero turned, and there was no hesitation in his silver eyes now—only the raw edge of vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. “Seeing them give you chocolates. Roses. Smiles.”
Kaname blinked, caught off guard by the blunt honesty.
Zero took a step forward, his voice rough. “I wanted to tear their gifts out of your hands. I wanted to shove them away. I… I felt like I was going to explode when Yuki gave you hers.”
Kaname’s brow softened, but he said nothing.
Zero scoffed, almost to himself. “Last year… I thought it was just because I was close to her. I helped her make the damn chocolate, and it stung when you took it. But this year…” He looked up, his expression dark with something deeper. “This year I wanted to rip every girl apart. I couldn’t stand seeing you smile at them, even if it was fake. I couldn’t take it.”
Kaname stepped closer, the barest whisper of movement. “Because now the bond is complete.”
Zero looked up at him sharply.
Kaname’s voice was soft, warm, knowing. “You’re being territorial. It’s natural for mates. Especially when one of them is a pureblood who’s used to being… offered to.”
“I don’t care what’s natural,” Zero snapped. “You’re mine.”
The words dropped like stone into still water—sharp, powerful, undeniable.
Kaname didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked breathless, as if he’d waited a thousand years to hear those words spoken aloud.
Zero’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re mine, Kaname. And I can’t—” He swallowed hard. “I can’t think of you with anyone else. Not with Yuki. Not with them. It makes me want to break things. To fight someone. I didn’t feel that before, but now I—now it feels like it’s burning me from the inside out.”
Kaname closed the final distance between them, cupping Zero’s face in both hands, his thumbs gently stroking the curve of his cheekbones.
“I am yours,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Always.”
Zero's eyes flicked between his, still clouded with the sharp ache of possessive emotion.
“And you're mine,” Kaname continued, his tone firm now. “Every glance, every breath, every bitter word—you belong to me, just as I belong to you. This bond didn’t make it true. It only made what was already there... permanent.”
Zero stared at him, lips slightly parted.
Kaname leaned forward, brushing their foreheads together. “So if your jealousy is burning,” he murmured, “know that mine has scorched empires.”
Zero let out a shaky breath, half a laugh, half something dangerously close to a sob. “Damn you.”
Kaname smiled. “You already did.”
Zero huffed against him, and Kaname’s hands slid down, wrapping around Zero’s waist and drawing him close until their chests pressed together.
“And I’ll never take another gift from anyone else again,” Kaname said against his hair. “Not unless it comes with your blessing. Or better yet—unless it’s from your hands.”
“You’re impossible.” Zero murmured.
“And so are you.”
Zero didn’t speak, but he leaned into him, letting his cheek rest against Kaname’s shoulder
A long, warm silence wrapped around them as the storm inside Zero began to quiet—not because the jealousy had vanished, but because it had finally been seen. Acknowledged. Answered.
The rose on the windowsill shimmered in the soft light, a silent witness to a moment that neither of them would forget.
Later, in the quiet hush that followed the storm of emotions and tangled kisses, they lay together on the bed.
Zero’s head rested against Kaname’s chest, his ear pressed to the steady, ancient rhythm of a heart that had only ever quickened for him. The covers were pulled high, cocooning them in warmth, and the air smelled faintly of roses and chocolate — bittersweet, like the things they couldn't say aloud.
Kaname’s fingers stroked lazily through Zero’s silver hair, smoothing it down again and again, as though he still couldn’t believe this was real. Every pass of his hand was tender, reverent, full of quiet gratitude.
Zero shifted slightly, one arm draped over Kaname’s waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He wasn't asleep — not yet — but his body had softened into something vulnerable, something at peace.
Kaname dipped his head and pressed a kiss to Zero’s temple. Then another, near his hairline. Another, beneath his ear. Sweet little things, feather-light and unhurried.
“I miss this,” Kaname whispered, his voice like a sigh into Zero’s skin. “You… in my arms. Like this. As if the world isn’t trying to take you from me.”
Zero didn’t answer. But the way he leaned closer, the way his fingers curled tighter — it was enough.
“You smell like rain,” Kaname murmured, kissing the tip of Zero’s nose. “Like storms and steel. No one else smells like that.”
Zero huffed softly. “Don’t start.”
Kaname smiled, brushing his lips over Zero’s cheek. “I like it when you get flustered.”
“I’m not flustered.”
“You’re blushing.”
Zero groaned, burying his face against Kaname’s collar. “Stop talking.”
But Kaname didn’t stop.
He kept whispering.
“You have the most expressive eyes. Even when you’re trying to glare at me, I can see everything in them. And I love that.”
A pause. Another kiss, slower this time, to Zero’s forehead.
“You’re stronger than you know, Zero. Fiercer than you think. But even more than that… you’re kind.”
Zero muttered something unintelligible, but Kaname only chuckled, the sound deep and soft in his chest.
“I love you,” he said simply, no teasing in his tone now. Just truth.
“I love you so much it aches.”
Zero finally looked up, his violet eyes half-lidded but clear. There was no denial in them tonight. No sharp words. Just quiet understanding.
He didn’t say it back.
But he didn’t have to.
Because when he curled closer and whispered, “Stay,” it was enough.
Kaname did.
Kaname stayed.
Because Zero asked.
And that, to Kaname, meant everything.
They lay in the soft hush of table lamp, skin brushing skin, breath mingling. Kaname kissed him slowly, tenderly, his lips mapping the angles of Zero’s face like he was memorizing every shadow and every scar.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not for either of them.
Zero’s fingers slid into Kaname’s hair, tugging gently. His voice was low, hoarse, but sure. “I need you.”
Kaname didn’t need to be asked twice.
He leaned in, and the kiss that followed was no longer soft or tentative — it was hungry, heated, full of the ache of time and distance and everything they had fought so hard to deny. Zero pulled him closer, his own hands wandering with intent, shedding hesitation like discarded armor.
Zero opened his mouth letting Kaname claim it.
It was Zero who made the first move — and Kaname who answered it with reverence.
He touched Zero like he was something rare, something sacred. His mouth found the sensitive curve of his throat, lingered over his collarbone, and dipped lower to the chest he so often admired with silent restraint. He worshiped every inch, letting his lips speak what words never could.
Zero gasped, back arching at the touch — at the heat of Kaname’s mouth on his bud and the patience of his hands and fingers on other.
Kaname took his time.
He explored every part of Zero’s body like it was a language he had once known but was relearning with awe. His fingers traced delicate lines down Zero’s sides, coaxing sighs and shivers until Zero was pliant beneath him, his skin flushed, his eyes dark with want.
When Kaname moved lower, Zero stilled — not in fear, but in anticipation.
Kaname's fingers were gentle, precise, taking their time as he prepared him, easing the tension with quiet murmurs and soft kisses. One finger, then two — slow, careful, attuned to every reaction Zero gave.
And when he finally entered him, it was with a breathless moan from them both — Zero’s voice catching as Kaname sank in fully, their bodies fitting together like something long prophesied.
They moved together in the quiet rhythm of understanding, of reunion.
There was nothing rushed about it — just the slow unraveling of two people who had spent too long denying what they felt, too long apart, and who could now do nothing but fall back into each other.
Kaname whispered Zero’s name like a vow.
Zero clung to him like he was afraid of waking from a dream.
It was love.
Raw. Unforgiving. Eternal.
The kind that didn’t need to be spoken — because it lived in every kiss, every breath, and every whispered promise made in the hush between heartbeats.
Zero’s breath hitched, his hands fisting in the sheets as Kaname moved slowly above him — every thrust deliberate, reverent, as if trying to carve love into every corner of Zero’s soul.
“Kaname…” Zero gasped, his voice high and trembling. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy with heat and something softer — deeper. Pleasure bloomed through him in waves, relentless and overwhelming. He couldn’t hold back the soft, helpless sounds that slipped from his lips — moans that melted into whimpers, and whimpers that turned to something close to a cry.
Kaname kissed the tears from the corners of his eyes, his voice low and coaxing as he rocked into him, steady and patient. “Tell me,” he murmured, brushing his lips over Zero’s ear. “Tell me what it feels like when I’m inside you.”
Zero’s back arched under him, body tightening as another wave of pleasure struck. “It—” His voice broke. “It feels… like I’m burning. Like I’m breaking apart and becoming yours all over again.”
Kaname groaned softly, the sound pressed against Zero’s skin as he thrust deeper. “That’s because you are. You’re mine, Zero. Every part of you.”
Zero let out a soft sob, wrapping his legs tighter around Kaname’s waist as he begged through gasped breaths. “More… please—don’t stop. I need it. I need you.”
Kaname’s mouth found Zero’s neck again, his fangs brushing the skin just above the place he had bitten before — the mark of their bond.
“I want to taste you,” he whispered, reverent. “May I?”
Zero could only nod, too far gone to form words.
Kaname sank his fangs in gently, drawing from Zero’s neck as he thrust once more — slow, deep, precise. The mixture of pain and pleasure made Zero cry out, his voice raw, choked with feeling.
The bond flared between them, reigniting in fire and light.
Kaname groaned against his skin, his lips slick with blood and adoration. “You taste like home.”
Zero was trembling now, tears slipping freely down his flushed cheeks. “I love you,” he whispered, voice shaking as he clung to Kaname. “I tried not to… but I do. I love you. I always have.”
Kaname kissed him then — fierce and aching, swallowing every word and every sob.
“I know,” he whispered back, their foreheads touching. “And I’ll never let you forget it again.”
Zero moaned again, his voice breaking on Kaname’s name. “Please, Kaname… don’t stop… I want to feel you—more.”
And Kaname gave him everything. Every kiss. Every thrust. Every vow he hadn’t dared speak until now.
They moved together, no longer two broken men, but one—bound in blood, in soul, and in the kind of love that could shatter centuries of silence.
They shifted, the sheets rustling beneath them, and soon Zero found himself with his chest pressed to the bed, hips raised, breath catching in his throat. His fingers curled into the fabric, his body trembling slightly as Kaname guided him gently into position.
Zero's face burned with heat. He hated how exposed he felt—how open. His silver hair fell into his eyes, shielding his expression, but it did nothing to hide the way his ears flushed pink or how his breath hitched with every brush of Kaname’s hands along his sides.
He was embarrassed. Ashamed of how much he needed this—how desperately his body responded to every slow, reverent touch.
Kaname leaned over him, his chest warm against Zero’s back, lips pressing soft kisses along the nape of his neck and shoulders. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice velvet and thick with emotion. “There’s no need to hide from me.”
Zero bit his lip, trying to swallow down the sound that wanted to escape. “Don’t say things like that,” he muttered, his voice tight. “You’re making it worse.”
Kaname chuckled softly, one hand smoothing over the arch of Zero’s back. “You say that, and yet your body’s trembling for me.”
A soft, broken sound slipped from Zero’s lips as Kaname began to enter again—slow, deep, and careful. The angle made everything sharper, more intense, and it took Zero’s breath away.
He buried his face in the pillow, trying to contain the wave of pleasure, but it was too much. His embarrassment only heightened the sensation, the raw intimacy of it all.
Kaname kissed his spine, whispering between each breath, “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just feel. Let me take care of you.”
And Zero did. Against all his pride, all his defenses, he surrendered—to the pleasure, to the bond, to the quiet love neither of them could keep buried anymore.
In that moment, there was no past. No war. No pain.
Only them.
And the promise of something whole.
The air was still, warm, and scented faintly of rose and chocolate. The night had settled in around them like a second blanket, wrapping their bodies in hush and shadow. Kaname lay beside Zero, their limbs entangled, skin damp with the remnants of passion and closeness, breaths slowly falling in sync.
Zero’s head rested against Kaname’s chest, his cheek rising and falling with each measured breath. He could hear the steady thrum of Kaname’s ancient heart beneath his ear—a rhythm that felt both comforting and surreal. How many centuries had that heart beat without him? And how strange, how maddeningly beautiful, that now it beat for him.
“I didn’t know,” Zero whispered at last, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, almost lost in the hush between them. “I didn’t think I was capable of this… of love.”
Kaname turned his head, brushing his lips against Zero’s temple. “You’ve always been capable,” he murmured. “You just never let yourself believe it.”
Zero let out a shaky breath, curling a little closer. “Maybe I didn’t want to. After everything that happened—my parents, Ichiru, the Hunters… I didn’t think someone like me got to have this. Got to be loved. Not really.”
Kaname’s hand drifted slowly up Zero’s back, trailing warmth where he touched. “You are not the sum of your grief,” he said softly. “You are fire and loyalty. You are courage carved out of pain. And you—” he paused, pressing a kiss to Zero’s damp hair, “—are loved. Deeply.”
Zero’s throat tightened. He hadn’t expected the ache that accompanied hearing those words aloud—not from Kaname, not now, not after everything. He tilted his head back slightly to meet Kaname’s gaze, silver eyes luminous in the low light.
“I didn’t think I’d find love in someone like you,” Zero admitted, his lips quirking with something between guilt and wonder. “You were supposed to be the enemy. The monster.”
“And yet,” Kaname said, with a ghost of a smile, “here you are.”
Zero nodded slowly. “Here I am.”
Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling. There was nothing hesitant in the way they held each other now—just a quiet desperation to memorize every detail, to make the moment last.
“I love you,” Kaname whispered. “Zero, I love you more than I know how to put into words. I tried to stay away, tried to let you go because I thought it would spare you pain. But the truth is… I am yours. Entirely. Irrevocably.”
Zero’s breath hitched, and then he was kissing him—softly at first, then with something deeper, more urgent. The kind of kiss that tasted of fear and hope and the fragile promise of a second chance.
When they broke apart, Zero’s voice was hoarse. “And I’m yours. I think I always have been. Even when I hated you. Even when I tried to pretend I didn’t feel this.”
Kaname’s eyes darkened with emotion. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”
Zero shook his head, slowly, firmly. “No. Not anymore.”
He leaned back into Kaname’s chest, pressing a soft kiss just above his heart.
“This wasn’t the life I planned,” Zero said quietly. “But maybe it’s the life I was meant to find.”
Kaname tightened his arms around him, burying his face in Zero’s hair. “Then let’s keep it,” he murmured. “Let’s stop running—from the world, from each other. Let’s build something new.”
Zero smiled against his skin. “We already have.”
And outside, beyond the quiet shelter of the bedroom, the night passed in stillness. Two broken hearts, finally mended. Two wandering souls, finally home.
The soft rustle of linens whispered beneath them as Kaname and Zero lay together, their bodies curved into one another like a pair of celestial halves long separated. The night was hushed around them, the quiet broken only by the sound of their breath—slow, heavy, drawn from the depths of emotion neither dared name aloud until now.
Their lips found each other again, as they always did in the dark—like magnets, like fate, like something eternal written in stars too ancient to read. Kaname’s hand slid tenderly along the curve of Zero’s thigh, lifting it, guiding their bodies closer until there was no space left between them, nothing but shared heat and heartbeats pounding in tandem.
Kaname entered him slowly, carefully, like a promise. Zero let out a soft gasp into his mouth, and Kaname caught it—tasted it—swallowed every sound with reverent hunger. Their kiss didn’t break. Not once. Tongues brushing, lips parting only to be drawn back together again, breath shared like lifeblood. As if speaking might ruin the fragile, perfect sanctity of what passed between them.
Every gentle thrust was accompanied by the delicate arch of Zero’s back, his trembling sighs muffled against Kaname’s mouth, his fingers clutching Kaname’s hair, his skin, anything he could hold onto as waves of sensation pulled him under. Kaname's pace remained unhurried, worshipful, his touch never wavering from tenderness.
“You feel like home,” Kaname murmured between kisses, his voice rough with love and restraint. “You always have.”
Zero’s only response was a soft, aching moan—drawn from a place deeper than want. It was need. It was love. It was every word he struggled to say, woven into breath and the trembling of his limbs.
Kaname kissed him harder, deeper, as if anchoring them both. “This night,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion as he brushed Zero’s tears away with his lips, “this Valentine’s Day—will be etched into our souls. A memory neither time nor distance could ever erase.”
Their kiss deepened further, tongues dancing with longing and devotion. Kaname’s movements grew more intense but never lost their grace. Each motion was a plea, a prayer, a wordless way of saying stay, stay, stay.
Zero's body trembled beneath him, his moans growing softer, needier, every one swallowed by Kaname’s waiting mouth. Their kiss never faltered. It was the constant—the promise. They breathed through each other, cried out into each other, held tight in the dim-lit quiet like the world outside didn’t exist.
Zero felt himself unraveling—body and soul—as Kaname thrust deeper, his voice low and sweet against Zero’s lips. “I love you,” Kaname murmured over and over, like a chant, like a vow. “I love you, and I will keep loving you. Even when you're angry. Even when you're far. Even if you forget, I will remember this night for both of us.”
Zero didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His voice was lost to tears and pleasure and the overwhelming weight of what he felt for the man holding him like he was sacred.
And when it became too much—when Zero’s body arched high and his breath broke in a cry—Kaname kissed every sound from his lips, catching it like a secret. Neither of them let go. Neither of them looked away. And even when the tremors stilled and they collapsed into the sheets, hearts still racing, they stayed there—foreheads pressed together, lips brushing softly, murmuring I love yous into the space between them.
That night, they didn’t sleep.
But neither of them needed rest.
Not when they had each other. Not when the memory was still being written into their skin, etched with every kiss, every whispered name, every promise made with trembling hands and open hearts.
And indeed, as Kaname had said—it would be a Valentine’s neither of them would ever forget.
Akatsuki Kain
Akatsuki Kain had never seen Kaname like this.
The once-powerful pureblood, the revered and untouchable Kaname Kuran, sat in his study, barely moving, barely breathing—reduced to nothing more than a man clinging to the last remnant of his child.
And it was unbearable to witness.
Kaname’s fingers ghosted over the fabric of the small stuffed rabbit, his grip almost too delicate, too reverent, as if it were made of glass. He held it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
In a way, it was.
It was the only thing he had left of his child.
Akatsuki leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as Kaname brought the plush toy to his face, inhaling deeply. His eyes fluttered shut, his brows furrowing as if trying to commit the scent to memory, as if trying to force his mind to remember a child he had never even met.
Akatsuki swallowed hard. This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t Kaname Kuran.
This was a mate mourning his lost family.
They had found the toy in the abandoned Kyoto apartment. The apartment that had once housed Zero and Kaname’s child.
By the time they had arrived, the place had been stripped of any major belongings. Zero and Aido had been careful—too careful. No scent trails, no loose documents, no traces of where they had gone.
Only this.
A single, forgotten stuffed rabbit.
At first, Akatsuki had thought it was useless. A child’s toy wouldn’t help them find Zero or Aido.
But when Kaname had picked it up…
Everything changed.
Kaname hadn’t let it go since.
He would sit there for hours, running his fingers over the soft ears, pressing it to his face, inhaling deeply as if that alone could bring his mate and child back to him.
It was painful to watch.
Kaname was broken.
Akatsuki knew it.
Seiren knew it.
Hell, even Takuma knew it, though he tried to distract Kaname with tasks, hoping to keep him from spiraling further.
Akatsuki clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to slam his fist against the wall. Kaname should have never let it get to this point.
He should have found Zero before it had come to this. He should have fixed things. He should have protected what was his before it slipped through his fingers.
Instead, he had let his stubbornness—his pride—drive them away.
And now, Kaname Kuran was a hollowed-out version of himself.
For all the talk of purebloods being gods among vampires, they were pathetically weak when it came to their mates.
And Kaname was the worst of them all.
For all his power, for all his wisdom, he hadn’t fought hard enough when it mattered.
And now, he had nothing.
Akatsuki’s eyes flickered to the untouched glass of blood tablets on the desk. Kaname wasn’t even feeding properly.
It was getting worse.
Every day, the weight of the severed mate bond ate away at him. The bond was still there, but muted, muffled by the spells Zero had used to suppress it.
Kaname couldn’t feel Zero.
Couldn’t reach him.
And it was driving him mad.
They were still searching, still following whatever faint clues they could find. But Zero and Aido were smart. They knew how to disappear.
And it was slowly killing Kaname.
Akatsuki let out a slow breath, watching Kaname hold the rabbit against his chest, as if willing it to tell him where his child was.
Kaname didn’t even know if he had a son or a daughter.
Akatsuki had never hated Zero Kiryu before.
But right now, he did.
Because how could Zero do this?
How could he deny Kaname the right to know his own child?
How could he deny their child the right to know their father?
Akatsuki understood that Kaname had made mistakes—terrible, unforgivable mistakes. But this… this was cruel.
And yet, he also knew that Zero was just as broken as Kaname.
They were both suffering.
And the worst part?
Neither of them knew how to fix it.
Akatsuki stood by the hallway window, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon beyond the estate. The early spring wind rattled against the glass, carrying with it a chill that no fire could warm—not when the entire manor had begun to feel like a mausoleum.
Behind him, the air was too still.
Too quiet.
Kaname hadn’t left his chambers in days. Meals remained untouched. Blood tablets piled on the desk, unopened. The scent of sickness clung faintly to the walls—something no one dared acknowledge aloud, but all of them felt deep in their bones.
And Akatsuki… he was starting to feel something else entirely.
Anger.
Not at Kaname, never at him. But at the one person who had reduced the strongest vampire Akatsuki had ever known to this.
Zero.
He entered the chamber silently, just as Takuma left with a furrowed brow and a silver tray still full of untouched food. The lamps were dimmed low, casting long shadows over Kaname’s form where he sat by the window, unmoving, wrapped in a long dark coat despite the warmth.
“You haven’t fed again,” Akatsuki said, trying to keep his voice even.
Kaname didn’t look up. “I don’t need it.”
“That’s a lie,” Akatsuki said flatly. “You look like you’re dying.”
“I am,” Kaname murmured. “Just slowly.”
The words sliced something open in Akatsuki’s chest. He strode forward, fists clenched at his sides. “Why? Because he left?”
Kaname didn’t respond. Kaname’s fingers twitched slightly in his lap, the only sign that he was listening
“Then what’s the point of any of this?” Akatsuki grit his teeth. “You’re wasting away for someone who chose to leave you. Who sealed your bond. Who ran.”
Kaname whispered, “He didn’t run from me. He ran from what I made him feel.”
“And you’re just going to sit here?” Akatsuki stepped forward, fury simmering low in his throat. “He doesn’t even let you know if your child is a boy or girl, and you still—still—refuse to resent him?”
“I can’t resent the one who carries my heart.”
That stopped Akatsuki cold.
Silence fell again.
He could see it then—not just Kaname’s grief, but his surrender. Not to death, but to love. A kind of love Akatsuki had never understood. The quiet, relentless kind that didn't demand anything in return.
The kind that stayed.
“And what has that love given you?” Akatsuki snapped, unable to hold it in anymore. “You’re withering away for someone who clearly doesn’t care. He left you to suffer. How can you still—?”
“He does care,” Kaname interrupted softly, almost mournfully. “He just doesn’t know how to stop hurting.”
Akatsuki felt his anger boil over, even as guilt curled underneath it. “And you do? Is this what love is supposed to look like—wasting away in silence, pining for someone who’s too proud to look back?”
“I hurt him first,” Kaname whispered.
Akatsuki let out a breath that sounded almost like a growl. “And how long are you going to pay for that, Kaname-sama? Until you die? Until Zero feels better knowing you're a ghost of who you were?”
Kaname didn’t answer. His eyes slipped closed, lashes dark against pale cheeks, and for a moment, Akatsuki feared he might never open them again.
He stepped back, his voice thick with bitterness. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
Kaname opened his eyes then, barely a flicker of red in the dark. “But I still belong to him.”
Akatsuki didn’t stay to hear more. He turned on his heel, storming from the room, the heavy doors closing behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Down the hall, he exhaled a long breath and clenched his jaw.
He didn’t know if he hated Zero or envied him.
But one thing was certain.
If Zero ever returned—
Akatsuki didn’t know if he’d embrace him…
Or drag him out by the throat.
Kaname Kuran sat in the dim candlelight of his study, his fingers curled tightly around the small, worn stuffed rabbit in his lap. It was soft—well-loved, the fabric slightly frayed at the edges from tiny hands clutching it night after night.
And it smelled like him.
Like his child.
Kaname’s crimson eyes burned as he inhaled deeply, desperate to memorize the scent, to engrain it into his very being. It was the only piece of his child he had—the only connection he could hold onto.
And so, he held it.
He clung to it.
For hours, for days, he did nothing but sit in silence, staring at the rabbit, feeling its softness, breathing in the faint traces of innocence and warmth.
He had nothing else.
He had no name to whisper.
No voice to remember.
No memory of holding his child, of hearing their laugh, of seeing them look at him with trust.
He had nothing.
And it was his fault.
Kaname had thought he had suffered before. He had thought he had known pain. He had lived through war, betrayal, the loss of his parents, of his clan, of lifetimes upon lifetimes of solitude.
But nothing—nothing—compared to this.
This emptiness.
This silence.
This unbearable ache of knowing his mate and his child were out there, living, breathing… but not with him.
Not his.
Zero had stolen them from him.
Zero had taken his child and vanished.
Zero had sealed their mate bond—had locked Kaname away from the one connection he had that could bring him peace.
Kaname was dying.
No one saw it, but he felt it.
Every day, the hollow feeling grew worse.
His body was strong, but his soul was crumbling.
And the only thing keeping him from breaking apart completely was this—this stupid, tiny, stuffed rabbit.
Kaname closed his eyes, pressing his lips to the fabric, imagining what it would be like to hold his child, to feel those small arms wrap around him, to hear them call him—
At first, no one noticed.
Kaname was always quiet. Composed. Pale. It wasn’t unusual for him to retreat into long stretches of silence, or for his appetite to wane for days at a time. But slowly, the signs became impossible to ignore.
His steps grew heavier. His movements slower. The strength that once radiated from his presence dulled at the edges, like a sword left too long in its sheath.
He no longer touched his glass of blood tablets. It sat untouched for days, a symbol of something lost. Food, sustenance, sleep—none of it held meaning. Not without Zero.
The ancient blood running through his veins had always kept him sharp, indomitable. But even that had begun to fail him.
The bond—the severed, silenced thread between him and Zero—had once been a source of vitality. A soul-deep connection that gave him strength. But now, that absence was draining him from the inside out. Every passing day without his mate left him weaker.
Takuma noticed first. He said nothing at first, hoping it was just exhaustion. But when Kaname collapsed after a short walk through the estate’s garden, Seiren had appeared at his side in an instant. He’d waved her off, insisting he was fine.
He was lying. Everyone knew it.
He was starving, not for food—but for his mate’s presence. For the blood, the closeness, the stabilizing warmth that came only from being near Zero. A bond as ancient as time itself was withering inside him.
One night, he didn’t rise from bed.
Seiren stood at his side, the untouched tray in her hands. “Kaname-sama,” she said softly, but his eyes were unfocused, hollow.
“I can’t feel him anymore,” he murmured. “It’s like… my body is forgetting what it means to be alive.”
She said nothing, though her throat tightened. She was no stranger to loss, but watching Kaname—the strongest being she had ever known—fade like smoke through her fingers… it was unbearable.
Kaname’s mind, when it wasn’t clouded in weakness, spun endlessly in memory and regret.
He remembered Zero’s warmth. The soft curve of his frown. The sting of his words. The weight of his love.
He remembered dreaming—just once—of a home filled with laughter. A child’s footsteps echoing through halls that had known only silence. A chance to be more than a guardian of death and war.
But that dream had died the moment Zero walked away.
And now, Kaname was dying too.
Not in fire. Not in battle.
But in quiet, aching stillness.
And the worst part?
He no longer fought it.
Because without Zero, and without their child... what was there left to live for?
Zero
The cold came first.
Not the kind that lingered in a drafty room or crept in from an open window, but a chill that sank into the bones, marrow-deep and ancient, as if something vital had been torn from the world itself.
Zero woke with a start.
The bedsheets clung to his damp skin, his breath visible in the early morning air. Sweat clung to his brow, though the room was freezing. For a moment, he simply lay there, heart hammering in his chest, silver eyes wide and unfocused.
The world felt distant, hollow—like something had shifted beneath the surface of reality, too subtle for the eyes but undeniable to the soul.
He sat up, clutching the edge of the bed as the trembling in his fingers betrayed him.
There was a weight pressing down on him—not physical, but emotional. A pressure in his chest like a scream that refused to be released. A hunger gnawed at him from within, but not for food. It was… darker. Deeper. And it wasn’t his.
He ran a hand through his silver hair, damp with sweat, and pressed his palm against his chest. Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The house was silent, the kind of silence that stretched too long, like the air itself was holding its breath. Isamu was still asleep in the other room, and Aido hadn’t stirred from the guest room.
Everything was in its place—and yet Zero felt utterly out of place. As if he were standing at the edge of some unseen cliff, staring into a darkness that had begun to stare back.
He rose from the bed, feet touching the cold wooden floor, and padded to the window. The mountains outside were blanketed in soft gray mist, hiding the sunrise behind a curtain of cloud. Matsumoto was peaceful. Untouched. But Zero’s peace was unraveling thread by thread.
His hand gripped the windowsill as another wave of cold swept through him. This time, he staggered slightly. His body was screaming, but not from illness. Not from exhaustion. It was something older, more instinctual. Something he had felt only once before.
A phantom echo.
A bond.
“No…” he murmured to himself, closing his eyes. “It’s sealed. He can’t reach me. I made sure.”
But the seal didn’t matter. This wasn’t Kaname reaching for him.
This was something bleeding through the cracks of their connection, despite every ward, every spell. Because pain—true, soul-shattering pain—could not be so easily locked away.
And what Zero felt now… was agony.
Not his own.
Kaname’s.
He felt it in flashes: an ache in his chest like lungs gasping without air; a coldness in his veins like blood turning to ice; a fatigue so crushing it felt like dying in slow motion. It wasn’t constant—but it surged in quiet, harrowing pulses. And in those moments, Zero knew.
Something was happening to Kaname.
“No,” he muttered, pacing. “No. It can’t be. The bond is sealed. He’s probably fine. He’s always fine.”
But the tightness in his throat betrayed him.
Zero clenched his fists. “Damn you, Kaname.”
He hated that name. He hated how it tasted in his mouth. How it twisted inside his gut like a dagger turned inward. How it came with a thousand memories: stolen glances, whispered confessions, blood-slicked lips, and promises broken before they were ever spoken aloud.
He hated Kaname.
But he loved him too.
And he hated himself most of all for that.
Because no matter how many times he told himself he didn’t care, no matter how fiercely he had sealed the bond and fled from the man who had caused him pain—Kaname still lived in him.
Still owned a piece of his soul.
And tonight, that piece had cried out in torment.
Zero leaned his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging the window. His reflection stared back at him—tired, pale, haunted. A man who wanted to forget, but could never stop remembering.
Kaname had done unforgivable things.
He had taken everything from Zero: his family, his humanity, his peace.
And yet…
Zero had also seen the moments where the mask slipped. Where Kaname’s hands trembled when he touched him. Where his voice broke when he whispered his name. Where he reached for Zero like he was the only thing anchoring him to life.
Zero had been that anchor.
And he had cut the line.
“Is this what you’re feeling now?” he whispered into the glass. “Is this what I left you with?”
No answer came. Only silence. And that terrible, unshakable cold.
Zero couldn’t sleep.
The chill that crept through the house wasn’t from the lingering mountain air of Matsumoto or the spring winds whispering through the trees.
It was a deeper cold—bone-deep and unwelcome, like something ancient had stirred beneath his skin. It wrapped around his ribs, wound its way into his lungs, and made every breath feel just a little too tight.
He’d been trying to ignore it for days.
He kept himself busy—rising early to help Isamu dress, prepping small meals with Aido, keeping the house spotless. He took long walks into town for groceries he didn’t need, offering polite smiles to neighbors and listening to old grannies coo over Isamu with a detached kind of fondness.
But the cold remained.
Something’s wrong.
He couldn’t explain it. The bond had been sealed for so long now, numbed and veiled behind layered spells. And yet… something pushed against that seal, like the soft knocking of regret against an old, locked door.
He thought of Kaname—unbidden, as always.
The scent of roses. The low rumble of his voice when he spoke Zero’s name like a prayer. That maddening mix of tenderness and obsession that had wrapped around his heart like ivy.
Zero shook his head, trying to chase away the images. He’s fine. He had to be. Kaname was always composed, always too proud to fall apart.
But the cold didn’t leave him. And neither did the guilt.
Isamu’s appetite hadn’t improved either. The boy had grown quiet and clingier than usual, refusing to eat more than a few bites at meals. He cried at night sometimes—not loud or dramatic, just soft whimpers in his sleep.
Zero worried. About his son. About Kaname. About everything he couldn't name and didn’t want to admit.
Aido, perceptive as always, noticed the tension. “You’re pacing again,” he said one afternoon, watching Zero from the kitchen.
Zero glanced at the floor beneath his feet. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Aido replied, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”
Zero didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.
It didn’t help that Kenta—or was it Kentaro?—had begun stopping by more often. The man was friendly, too friendly. Always smiling.
Always looking for excuses to “help.” Whether it was carrying groceries or dropping by with vegetables from his grandmother’s garden, he was always there. And when he wasn’t talking about the weather or complimenting Isamu’s laugh, he was letting his fingers brush against Zero’s for just a moment too long.
Zero had noticed. He wasn’t stupid.
He also hadn’t pulled away.
Not out of interest, but out of exhaustion. Out of that part of him that needed to feel something normal.
But each time it happened, guilt rose in his throat like bile. Because even if Kaname wasn’t here—even if their bond was hidden and their paths fractured—Zero couldn’t pretend his heart had moved on.
No one else had ever made him tremble with a single kiss. No one had ever known how to break him open and still hold him together like Kaname had.
He sighed, pressing a hand to his chest.
Where are you, Kaname?
The cold remained.
Zero leaned back against the kitchen wall, arms crossed, the faint clatter of dinner plates from the sink behind him barely registering. The low light in the room flickered slightly, shadows stretching along the tiled floor as if echoing the hollow ache he carried inside.
Aido was drying his hands, watching Zero from the corner of his eye.
“You’ve been quiet again,” Aido said finally. “More than usual.”
Zero didn’t answer at first. He stared at the floor like it might give him some answer. Some reason for why he felt the way he did—like something inside him was cracking slowly, painfully, without making a sound.
“It’s cold,” he muttered.
Aido frowned. “The heater’s on.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Zero turned to face him, arms tightening around himself. “I feel empty. Like something’s missing—like I’m missing.”
Aido dried the last dish and set it down. “You think it’s him.”
Zero gave a short nod. “I sealed the bond. I know that. I shouldn’t feel anything. But this… it’s not mine, Aido. This pain, this hollowness—it’s not mine. I think…”
He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Aido looked at him, eyes soft with understanding. “You think it’s Kaname. You think he’s suffering.”
Zero didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.
The silence between them was thick, like snow falling in the dark.
Later that evening, Kenta showed up with a basket of herbs and soup ingredients from his grandmother’s garden. He was cheerful, as always—warm in the way people are when they’ve never known war, or loss, or blood. Zero envied him a little for that.
Kenta stayed to help cook, filling the kitchen with laughter and steam. At some point, Zero found himself smiling, even laughing—until the quiet crept in again. That same ache returned, stronger now, humming beneath his ribs like a bruise that never faded.
When Kenta’s hand brushed his as they reached for the same spoon, Zero didn’t pull away. He didn’t pull away when Kenta stepped closer, voice quieter now, gaze lingering. And when Kenta leaned in and kissed him—softly, questioningly—Zero didn’t stop him.
Maybe this would help, he thought. Maybe this would be enough to forget the cold for a moment. To forget the man whose name still ached in his chest.
But it wasn’t.
The kiss deepened, and Zero let it. He let Kenta’s arms slide around him, let him lift him gently onto the edge of the kitchen counter, the wooden edge biting into the backs of his legs. He let Kenta press closer, mouths meeting again, and he kissed him back.
But all he could think of was Kaname.
Kaname’s voice, rich and warm against his ear. Kaname’s hands, reverent and familiar. Kaname’s kiss, fierce and full of everything he’d never said out loud.
And it hurt.
It hurt more than he expected, that even here, in someone else’s arms, the ache hadn’t dulled. The cold hadn’t lifted.
Because he didn’t want this kiss.
He wanted Kaname’s.
Zero pulled back gently, hand on Kenta’s chest. His breathing was uneven, his eyes dark with something deeper than guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “I thought… I thought this might help. But it doesn’t.”
Kenta blinked, confused and hurt but too kind to press. He stepped back with a small nod, giving Zero the space he needed.
The silence stretched—fraught, uncertain—until Kenta finally spoke, voice quiet but steady.
“…Is this about your wife?” he asked, his gaze searching Zero’s. “The one you said you lost?”
Zero blinked. The lie they’d told—the story they used to protect their identities—suddenly felt like more weight pressing against his ribs. His chest tightened as he looked away, shame and sorrow curling together like smoke in his lungs.
Kenta mistook his silence for confirmation. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to push. I just—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you, Kaito-san. I know that probably sounds selfish with everything you’ve been through. But I do. And I didn’t kiss you tonight because I expected anything back. I just wanted you to know.”
Zero’s fingers curled around the edge of the counter, grounding himself in something solid.
Kenta took another breath. “I can wait. I don’t need anything from you right now. But if someday… if you want something more, I’ll still be here.”
There was no pressure in his voice, only honesty. And kindness.
It made Zero’s heart ache even more.
He turned back toward Kenta and offered the smallest of nods—a silent thank you for his understanding, for the space he hadn’t asked for but had been given. But his voice, when he finally spoke, was almost too soft to hear.
“There are parts of me that are still broken,” he said. “And I don’t know if they can be fixed.”
Kenta gave him a sad smile. “That’s okay. I don’t need you to be whole.”
And with that, he gathered his coat and left, the door clicking gently behind him.
Zero stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, feeling everything.
And in the silence that followed, he whispered into the night:
“ Kaname you were the only thing that ever felt like home.”
Zero slid off the counter and stood alone in the middle of the kitchen, heart pounding.
He wrapped his arms around himself, the cold settling deeper into his bones.
And somewhere far away, where the bond should have been sealed, something trembled.
That night, the air in the small kitchen was still, thick with quiet worry.
Zero sat at the table, cradling Isamu in his arms with practiced gentleness. The little boy was unusually quiet, his violet eyes half-lidded as he drank from the warm bottle held to his lips.
Zero stroked a hand through his son’s soft brown hair, whispering soothing nonsense under his breath—more for his own comfort than the child’s.
Aido stood nearby, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, watching every movement with veiled concern. His eyes weren’t on Zero, but on Isamu—and the barely noticeable way the boy seemed more sluggish tonight than the day before.
“He’s drinking slower,” Aido murmured.
Zero didn’t look up. “He’s tired.”
“He’s always tired these days.”
Zero’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second in Isamu’s hair. Then he resumed the gentle stroking, his jaw tightening. “It’s nothing. He’s just adjusting to the move.”
Aido pushed off the counter, walking closer. His tone was more cautious now, almost gentle. “Zero… you know it’s not just that.”
Zero looked up sharply, silver eyes meeting Aido’s.
“What are you trying to say?”
Aido hesitated before replying. “I’m saying… we both knew the blood imprint wasn’t a permanent solution. We hoped it would last longer, but if he’s growing, his needs are changing. He might be starting to reject it.”
Zero's throat tightened. He looked down at Isamu, who was nearly asleep in his arms, his tiny fingers curled weakly against the bottle.
“He’s stronger than he looks,” Zero said, but the words came out brittle. “He’s fought through worse.”
“Zero…” Aido’s voice dropped. “If the imprint with Yuki is fading—if his body is starting to realize the blood didn’t come from his true parent—then we don’t have time.”
The bottle slipped slightly in Zero’s grip. He steadied it, holding Isamu closer to his chest.
“I’m not going to Kaname,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t say you had to.”
“But you were thinking it,” Zero shot back. His voice was tight, ragged with fear he refused to name.
Aido sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m thinking about the kid. About how much longer he can hold on like this. That’s all.”
Zero didn’t respond right away. He looked down again at the child in his arms, the tiny miracle that had turned his world upside down.
His world. His son.
But what if Aido was right?
What if the blood imprint with Yuki—the only thing that had kept Isamu stable—was unraveling?
And worse… what if the only one who could save him now was the person Zero had fought so hard to escape?
He kissed Isamu’s forehead and whispered, “You’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
But in the depths of his soul, a chill was forming—a creeping dread that not even the warmth of his child could chase away.
And behind Aido’s calm mask, he too felt it.
The countdown had begun again.
The afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows of the small Matsumoto house in golden streaks, dancing across the hardwood floors. It was unusually quiet—only the soft rustle of wind through the trees and the distant murmur of neighbors in the street filled the silence.
In the center of the living room, Aido lay on his stomach, legs kicked up behind him like a lounging teenager, flipping lazily through a picture book with exaggerated drama. “And then,” he gasped, widening his eyes for effect, “the brave rabbit snatched the magic carrot and—what did he do next, Isamu?”
Isamu sat between Aido and Zero on the thick, quilted rug, his small frame wrapped in a loose sweater that looked two sizes too big. His brown hair curled slightly at the ends from the earlier bath Zero had given him, and his violet eyes—dimmer than they had once been—blinked slowly as he tried to keep up with the story.
“Uhh…” the toddler mumbled, lips pressing into a thoughtful pout, “the rabbit… ran really fast!”
Aido laughed, ruffling his soft curls. “Exactly! So fast he left the fox coughing in dust!”
“Coughing in dust,” Isamu repeated, giggling softly, the sound breathy and light like the echo of a bell far away.
Zero sat nearby, legs crossed, a cup of cooling tea in his hands that he hadn’t touched. He watched Isamu carefully—how his little body leaned into Aido’s side more often now, how his laughter came slower, how he tired faster even during simple moments like these.
The smiles didn’t come as easily anymore.
“Unca Hana,” Isamu said suddenly, reaching up to pat Aido’s cheek with one small hand. “You read good.”
Aido blinked. “Unca… Hana?”
Isamu gave a toothy grin, and even Zero cracked a half-smile.
“Guess you’re Uncle Hanabusa now,” Zero murmured, sipping his tea finally. “You’ve been demoted from noble vampire lord of elegance and eternal youth to Unca Hana who reads bunny books.”
Aido scoffed but didn’t stop smiling. “As long as I’m still his favorite uncle, I’ll take it.”
Isamu turned, then, crawling awkwardly into Zero’s lap and curling into him without warning. Zero froze for a heartbeat, startled by the sudden weight, and then softened. He held the toddler close, resting his cheek against the crown of Isamu’s head.
“Papa…” Isamu whispered, voice small, as if the word was a secret just for them.
Zero felt it, that ache again—the one that rose behind his ribs every time Isamu called him that. Because it was love, yes, but also responsibility, and fear, and the haunting guilt of not being able to give his son what he truly needed.
“What is it?” Zero asked quietly.
“M’tired…” Isamu yawned, rubbing his eyes with one chubby fist.
“But you just woke up an hour ago,” Aido said gently, voice lined with the same concern now mirrored in Zero’s expression.
Isamu didn’t respond. He just let his head fall against Zero’s chest, eyes fluttering closed.
Zero shifted slightly, brushing his hand over his son’s forehead. He was warm—not fevered, but warmer than usual. His breathing was even, but shallow. Fragile. Too fragile.
Aido stood silently, walking to the kitchen. Zero heard the clink of the kettle being filled. He knew Aido was trying not to say it—that he was trying to give Zero this moment, uninterrupted by the reality that was quietly creeping in from the edges.
They were losing time.
Isamu stirred and muttered something, half in dream, half in speech. Zero kissed his head, barely keeping his voice steady. “I’m here.”
“You always say that,” Aido said softly as he returned. “But how long can you keep being ‘here’ if the imprint fails?”
Zero didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
And holding his son like this—warm, drowsy, nestled trustingly in his arms—he couldn’t bring himself to say what they both were thinking:
If things didn’t change soon…
If the blood stopped working completely…
There wouldn’t be many more afternoons like this.
But for now, they had this moment. A quiet room, a book of brave rabbits, and the soft weight of love and fear resting against Zero’s chest.
He closed his eyes and breathed in his son’s scent.
And he vowed silently, fiercely, that no matter what it took, he would find a way to keep Isamu safe.
Even if it meant breaking the one promise he never wanted to break.
.
The afternoon sun filtered gently through the branches above, dappling the path with warm gold and soft shadow. Matsumoto Park was quiet that day, save for the occasional breeze rustling leaves and the laughter of distant children playing. It was the perfect kind of day for pretending things were normal.
“Kaito, catch up,” Aido—Satoshi, here—called over his shoulder with a lopsided grin. He was carrying a small basket, while Zero trailed a few paces behind, holding Isamu’s tiny hand.
Zero gave him a flat look but said nothing as he adjusted Isamu’s hat and guided him toward the open clearing where they’d set up their picnic blanket. Isamu’s steps were small, slow, and unsteady, but he held tight to Zero’s fingers like they were lifelines.
They were.
As they neared the picnic spot, a familiar chorus of voices rose from a nearby bench.
“Ohh! Isamu-chan!”
“Look how big he’s gotten!”
“Ara, Kaito-san, he’s so handsome in his little hat!”
A cluster of neighborhood grannies—wrapped in pastel shawls and chatting like a flock of birds—immediately flocked to them. Isamu blinked up at them sleepily, offering a small wave with the energy he could spare.
“Hello, baa-chans,” he murmured softly.
One of the older women, a sprightly lady named Emiko, bent down with a smile. “He’s always so polite,” she cooed, but then her brow furrowed. “But he looks thinner, doesn’t he? Pale too. Is he eating properly?”
Before Zero could answer, another chimed in. “You should give him more tamago—egg is good for growing boys. And liver! My Tetsuya used to hate it, but we made a stew with miso and—”
“Steamed sweet potatoes help with strength too,” another offered. “Mash it up with some apples, easy on the tummy.”
Aido, standing to the side with a forced smile, muttered under his breath, “We’re going to need a second picnic just for the advice.”
Zero knelt by Isamu, his voice gentle. “Say thank you to the nice ladies.”
“Thank you…” Isamu mumbled, leaning into Zero.
“Ohh,” Emiko sighed, her eyes softening. “Poor dear. Maybe he needs one of those—what do you call them? Vitamins!”
“Or a charm from the shrine. There’s a blessing for sickly children.”
Zero kept his face composed, nodding politely, answering their questions with practiced ease. “He hasn’t had much appetite lately, but we’re trying different things. He’s just a little tired these days.”
Another woman patted his shoulder fondly. “You’re a good papa, Kaito-san. And your brother-in-law—such a help.”
Aido managed a smile. “What can I say? Family.”
After a few more minutes of advice, concern, and the gifting of three hard candies and a pair of knitted mittens from a purse, the grannies moved on, gossiping cheerfully among themselves.
Once they were alone again, Zero sank onto the blanket, exhaling deeply. He placed Isamu gently in his lap, running a hand through his son’s soft brown hair.
“She’s right,” Aido said quietly as he sat across from him. “He does look thinner.”
“I know,” Zero replied.
Isamu leaned against him, his small fingers curling into Zero’s shirt. “Papa… I’m not hungry.”
Zero held him closer, swallowing the ache in his chest. “That’s okay. Just rest.”
Aido unpacked the basket slowly, laying out the food in quiet ceremony—cut fruits, rice balls, soft boiled eggs, and a thermos of miso soup. All chosen carefully, all prepared with hope.
They didn’t talk much during the picnic.
They just sat in the soft sunlight, surrounded by birdsong, with the wind threading through the trees—and the slow, heavy dread that clung to Zero’s heart like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
The soft hum of cicadas filled the air, mingling with the rustle of leaves above them. The park had settled into a gentle quiet, broken only by the occasional laugh of a child in the distance or the far-off bark of a dog. The warmth of the sun kissed Zero’s skin, but it did little to ease the cold knot that had formed in his chest.
Zero shifted, gently lifting Isamu to sit upright on the blanket beside him. The toddler blinked up at him, eyelids heavy, cheeks paler than usual.
“Isamu,” Zero said gently, brushing a bit of hair from his son's brow. “Let’s try a little, yeah? Just a few bites.”
Isamu’s lips pursed, his brows furrowing in that stubborn little way that reminded Zero so painfully of Kaname it almost made him flinch. “No hungry,” he mumbled.
Zero forced a soft smile, his tone light but coaxing. “What if Papa shares with you? We’ll eat together. And after that, Uncle Hana will show you how to fly like a bird.”
At that, Isamu peeked over at Aido, who sat cross-legged with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a makeshift origami bird in hand.
“I fly?” Isamu asked weakly.
Aido grinned. “Only if you fuel up first, kiddo. Even little birds need their rice.”
Zero reached for a rice ball, carefully unwrapping it and breaking off a soft, small bite. “Just a little. For Papa?”
Isamu hesitated, then nodded slowly. Zero brought the bite to his lips, and this time, Isamu accepted it—chewing slowly, his expression blank but cooperative. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“Good boy,” Zero whispered, relief loosening something in his chest.
He fed him another bite, and then another. Isamu stopped after just a few, but Zero didn’t push. He offered him some miso soup from a small cup, and Isamu took a tiny sip before curling back into his father’s side.
“He tried,” Aido said softly, watching them. “It’s more than yesterday.”
Zero nodded, stroking Isamu’s hair, his heart aching at how light his son felt in his arms.
“Alright, little bird,” Aido announced, standing and brushing grass from his trousers. “Time to stretch those wings.”
Isamu looked up at him with a glimmer of curiosity.
Aido held out his arms. “Come on, up we go.”
Zero lifted Isamu gently and passed him over. Aido cradled the boy like something fragile, then with a swoop, he tossed him lightly into the air. Isamu squealed—a soft, tired sound—but it was laughter nonetheless.
“Wings out!” Aido grinned, lifting him high and gliding him in circles. “We’re flying over the mountains! There’s a dragon! Quick, dive!”
Isamu giggled, his arms flapping clumsily, his head resting lightly on Aido’s shoulder as they twirled.
Zero watched them, a quiet ache blooming behind his ribs. In that moment, with the golden light falling across the grass and Isamu’s soft laughter mingling with Aido’s theatrical narration, everything felt… normal.
Fragile, fleeting—but beautifully normal.
Isamu would tire quickly. They all knew that. But in that moment, he was smiling. And that was everything.
Chapter 19: Loving can hurt
Chapter Text
Zero woke again in a cold sweat.
The sheets were tangled around his legs, damp and clinging, his chest heaving as though he’d run for miles. Moonlight spilled through the cracks of the paper screen, painting silver lines across the floorboards. The world outside was still. Too still.
He sat up slowly, hands trembling as they raked through his hair. The chill wasn’t from the night air. It came from somewhere deeper—something bone-deep, soul-cutting.
His heart was pounding. His skin clammy. His throat dry.
And his mind was still trapped in the dream.
Kaname.
He had been there again.
But not the Kaname Zero remembered—the proud, composed pureblood who always stood like the world bent for him.
No, this Kaname had been different. Terrifyingly still. A phantom of sorrow wrapped in velvet.
Zero had been standing in an unfamiliar room—an endless space cloaked in shadows and silence. The only light came from Kaname, bathed in that impossible glow of moonlight and memory.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
He only stared.
And smiled.
That smile—so full of love, of worship, like Zero was the center of every truth Kaname had ever known—was wrong. Not because of what it held, but because of what it couldn’t hide.
Sorrow.
Bone-deep, marrow-rotting sorrow.
It radiated from him like frost on glass. It filled the space between them with so much heaviness that Zero had nearly dropped to his knees. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
And Kaname just smiled.
Not pleading. Not begging.
Just… loving. Painfully.
Like Zero was the last dream in a dying man’s mind.
Zero had woken with a gasp then, the echo of Kaname’s gaze seared behind his eyes. That soft, aching smile haunted him more than any nightmare. It had been carved with so much tenderness that it had felt like a knife.
He rose shakily, stepping into the hall. The floorboards were cool beneath his feet, grounding him in the here and now.
The small nightlight in Isamu’s room glowed soft and warm, casting long shadows across the walls.
Zero peeked in.
Isamu slept curled up in a bundle of blankets, thumb tucked near his mouth, breathing shallow but steady.
Zero exhaled. His shoulders dropped.
He padded to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, but the coldness in his chest didn’t fade. It lingered, pulsing, twisting like a tether pulling from inside.
He stared at the reflection in the glass of water—his own face pale, eyes dark, jaw clenched.
“What are you trying to tell me…” he murmured into the silence. “Why now?”
He’d spent months keeping the bond buried, sealed beneath spell and spite and sheer force of will.
He’d fled. For Isamu. For himself.
But now?
Now it felt like something was breaking. Cracking through every wall he’d built. The seal still held—but barely. There were tremors.
And he wasn’t sure if they were Kaname’s doing… or his own.
Because in that dream—
Kaname hadn’t looked like he was reaching for Zero.
He looked like he was saying goodbye.
Zero set the glass down harder than necessary, the sharp clink echoing off the kitchen tiles.
“No,” he whispered.
He couldn’t forget that look in Kaname’s eyes.
Like he was a ghost.
A soft creak came from the hallway.
Zero turned, and there was Isamu—blinking blearily, dragging his blanket like a cape. “Papa?”
Zero knelt at once, pulling him close. “What are you doing up, little bird?”
Isamu yawned and pressed his face against Zero’s neck. “I had a dream,” he mumbled. “It was sad.”
Zero’s throat tightened. “Yeah… me too.”
They sat on the floor for a while, before moving to the futon in the living room. wrapped in the stillness, father and son curled together like a puzzle the world had tried to scatter but couldn’t quite break.
Zero pressed a kiss to Isamu’s hair, his voice a whisper barely meant for the air.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, not even sure who the words were for.
Zero shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket around Isamu’s small shoulders as he held him tighter.
The weight of the dream, of Kaname’s distant sorrow, still clung to him like smoke that wouldn’t lift. But his focus narrowed now, grounding in the warm, drowsy child curled against his chest.
After a few quiet minutes, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of Isamu’s head.
“You said you had a dream,” he murmured gently. “What was it about?”
Isamu didn’t answer right away. His breath puffed warm against Zero’s collarbone, steady but soft, like he was still halfway in that other place.
Then, quietly—almost too quietly—he whispered, “A man.”
Zero froze.
“A man?” he repeated slowly. “What kind of man?”
Isamu shifted, little hands fisting into Zero’s shirt. “He was standing in the garden… I think. With the trees and the big wind chime and red flowers. He had Isamus hair. And eyes like the moon. But Red… but not scary.”
Zero’s breath caught in his throat.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
Isamu kept going, voice drowsy but certain. “He saw me, Like he loved me.” He paused. “Like you do.”
Zero’s eyes stung, but he kept his voice steady. “Did he say anything?”
Isamu shook his head, then hesitated. “He smiled. Like he was happy to see me. But sad, too. Really sad.”
The boy paused. “He looked sad Papa. Like when I cried because I lost my rabbit.”
The words hit Zero like a blow to the ribs.
He closed his eyes, pulling Isamu even closer, as if he could shield him from the echoes of blood ties and broken bonds that refused to stay buried.
“He said nothing?” Zero asked again, needing to be sure.
“No,” Isamu whispered. “But… think he was tried to. He open his mouth then the wind came. And it took him away.”
Silence stretched between them.
And Zero felt it again—that tremor in the bond. A thrum of grief, raw and vast and quiet as a prayer.
Kaname.
Even sealed, even worlds apart… he was reaching. And somehow, through it all, he had found his son’s dreams.
Zero pressed his face into Isamu’s hair, willing his voice not to break.
“That man…” he said softly, “he was someone very important.”
“To me?”
“To both of us.”
Isamu’s small hand patted Zero’s chest. “Is he gone?”
Zero hesitated. “Not gone,” he said softly. “Just… far away. And maybe hurting.”
And in that moment, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—Isamu, or himself.
Isamu was warm against him, fallen to heavy sleep, his breath puffing softly against the crook of Zero’s neck.
Zero shifted slightly, brushing a thumb across his son's delicate cheek.
He was so small. Still tiny in a way that made something deep in Zero’s chest ache. But not as small as he had once been.
The memories came without warning, bittersweet and vivid.
He remembered the first night. The first time he held Isamu outside of his own body.
That night had been chaos, blood, and pain. He'd barely made it through. The searing agony of the emergency birth, the dizzying wave of blood loss, the terrifying silence before Isamu's first cry pierced the air. And then—the weight.
That impossibly small, impossibly real weight laid against his chest.
Zero had stared down at the bundle Aido had placed in his trembling arms, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Isamu had been so tiny—a warm, pink thing, blinking up at the world with wrinkled skin and confused, violet eyes. Eyes just like his.
He’d looked fragile, breakable. More creature than child.
"This came from me?" Zero had whispered that night, voice hoarse, disbelieving.
The child hadn’t answered, of course, only whimpered softly and tucked himself closer to the warmth of Zero’s chest. But that moment had etched itself into Zero's heart.
Even now, he remembered how unnatural it had felt at first.
How terrifying it had been to realize this little being—this soft, needy life—had been inside of him. Growing. Moving. Kicking.
Throwing tiny tantrums in the belly.
He had thought those early movements were a curse. A cruel joke played on a man who had never wanted to feel such vulnerability. But now he knew better.
That discomfort had been life. That pain had been the first sign of a will to survive. That kicking had been Isamu.
The first time he fed him, Zero had nearly broken down.
He'd held the tiny baby in shaking arms, heart hammering in fear. The bottle felt too big for those small, pink lips. Isamu had struggled at first, too weak to latch properly.
Zero had panicked, his body aching, his mind screaming that he wasn’t enough. That he couldn't do this.
But then Isamu had taken the bottle. Slowly. Greedily.
And just like that, he had survived another moment.
Zero closed his eyes now, in the present, holding that same child—older, stronger, heavier—and let the memory wash over him.
The first diaper. The first change of clothes. The first time Isamu had soiled himself so completely Zero had to throw the tiny onesie away.
He’d sat on the floor afterward, exhausted and half-laughing, half-frustrated , the baby in clean clothes resting peacefully nearby.
He hadn’t known he was capable of this.
Of care.
Of love.
Zero looked down at the now-sleeping toddler in his arms, his silver eyes soft, distant.
"You’re the only piece of him I can let myself keep," he whispered.
Because even now, the name Kaname tasted like guilt on his tongue.
Kaname, who had hurt him.
Kaname, who had loved him.
Kaname, who he had loved back—and hated himself for it.
Zero couldn’t let himself love Kaname again. That door had closed the moment he decided to raise this child alone.
The betrayal, the fear, the pain—it had all been too much. He couldn’t go back.
But Isamu—Isamu was innocent.
Pure.
A new beginning.
So all the love he couldn't give to Kaname, all the tenderness that burned in his chest like a wound, he poured into their son.
Every bottle fed. Every kiss to a soft, warm cheek.
Every sleepless night.
It was for Isamu.
It was for the piece of Kaname that he could allow himself to love without shame.
And he would keep loving him.
Fiercely.
Endlessly.
Because no matter how broken Zero felt, no matter how much of his past haunted him, Isamu was his light.
His future.
His reason.
Zero leaned down and pressed a kiss to Isamu’s forehead. His arms tightened protectively around the little boy, his eyes shining with something raw and unwavering.
"I’ll love you enough for both of us," he whispered.
And he meant it.
The morning began with frost still clinging to the windowpanes, thin and fragile as spun glass. The Matsumoto house was quiet save for the faint bubbling of a pot on the stove and the gentle clinking of wooden utensils against ceramic.
Light filtered in through pale curtains, soft and diffused.
Zero stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, silver hair still slightly damp from the quick shower he'd taken.
He moved with quiet purpose, whisking miso paste into a pot of simmering dashi broth, the scent of seaweed and bonito warming the air.
Behind him, seated at the low kitchen table, Isamu sat with his arms wrapped loosely around his favorite stuffed fox. He wore a thick sweater that hung too long in the sleeves, and his cheeks were still pink from sleep.
He blinked slowly, legs swinging above the floor, watching his father in silence.
Zero glanced over his shoulder. "You want tofu or egg in the soup today?"
Isamu shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tofu's okay."
Zero nodded and turned back to the stove, reaching for the soft, white cubes he'd set aside. He dropped them gently into the broth, then added a dash of soy sauce, tasting it with the precision of someone used to small, necessary routines.
"I made rice too," he said after a moment. "And I cut some apple slices. Thought we could try something light."
Isamu didn't respond. He rested his chin on the table, eyes drooping with a kind of quiet exhaustion far too old for his small body.
Zero felt it again.
That tug. That strange coldness coiling deep in his bones. It wasn't physical. Not a chill from the winter air or from lack of sleep. It was something else.
Hollow. Grieving. Fading.
It came in waves now, every few hours—like a phantom pain in a limb he’d never lost. It wasn't his emotion. It couldn't be. He had learned to recognize the difference between his sorrow and... Kaname's.
Because that was what this was. This slow, aching numbness. The cold that slid beneath his skin whenever he closed his eyes. The whisper of despair that didn’t belong to him. It was Kaname.
It had to be.
Zero stirred the soup a little too hard. Drops sloshed onto the stove, hissing against hot metal. He turned down the flame and sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.
"Papa?"
He looked over. Isamu had slid off the chair and was now holding one of the small bowls Zero had laid out, cradling it carefully in his hands.
Zero dried his hands and took the bowl from him. "You didn’t have to get up. I’ve got it."
Isamu just shrugged again and climbed back into his seat, stuffing the fox back under his arm. He watched as Zero ladled soup into the bowls, added a small serving of rice to a plate, and placed apple slices around the edges like a sunburst.
He set the tray down in front of his son. "Try to eat some, okay? Just a few bites. You’ll feel better."
Isamu picked up his spoon but didn’t move it. He stared into the broth, lips pressed into a thin line.
Zero crouched beside him. "Isamu? You feeling okay?"
The boy blinked slowly. "Just tired."
Zero brushed a hand across his forehead. Warm. Not fevered. But not right either.
He swallowed his worry and sat beside him, slowly eating from his own bowl to set the example. Isamu mimicked him, lifting the spoon and taking one small bite.
Then another.
That was all.
Zero forced a smile. "Good job. Even a little helps."
A memory slipped in, unwelcome and vivid.
A different kitchen. A different night.
The soft, citrusy scent of yuzu peeling under his fingernails. The rustle of his apron. The sound of laughter—Yuki's—echoing from upstairs as she picked out a dress. Cross humming something absurd to himself in the hallway, muttering about fetching plum wine “for diplomacy.”
Zero had been at the stove, carefully searing tofu, concentrating too hard. Because he’d promised to make something "edible" tonight, and because Yuki had smiled so brightly when she asked if he’d help. And because deep down, part of him wanted that night to be good. Wanted someone to have a good memory out of it.
He wanted Yuki to be happy too.
He hadn't heard Kaname enter the kitchen. Not at first.
But then there had been the sudden, quiet shift of the air—the subtle silence that always accompanied him. Zero had tensed before even feeling the warmth at his back.
“Yuki will take longer than she thinks,” Kaname had murmured against the nape of his neck, voice low, too close, too soft. “She always does.”
Zero hadn’t dared turn around. His hand hovered over the pan, motionless. “Get out of the kitchen,” he had whispered, not even sure he meant it.
Kaname’s arms had come around him then, slow and certain, the press of his chest against Zero’s back grounding and maddening all at once.
His breath had ghosted over the skin just beneath Zero’s ear. “It’s the holidays,” he had said, brushing his lips along the line of Zero’s neck. “Surely there’s time for one kiss.”
Zero blinked back into the present, the memory hanging in his chest like a heavy ornament.
Isamu leaned against him, curling slightly into his side. "Papa?"
"Yeah?"
"You sad again."
Zero froze.
Isamu’s voice was quiet, dreamy. "You’re cold inside. Like when the window’s open."
Zero didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
He wrapped his arm around his son instead and held him close.
Zero wiped his son’s mouth gently with the corner of a towel, his fingers brushing against soft skin that felt just a little too warm.
He forced a small smile.
“Alright, little bird,” he murmured, voice low, “go wake Uncle Hana.”
Isamu blinked up at him, blinking sleep from violet eyes that still held shadows. “Can I… jump on him?”
Zero smirked faintly. “Only if you steal the warm blanket, too. That’s the rule.”
Isamu’s lips twitched upward in a sleepy grin. “Okay.”
Zero helped him down from the chair, steadying him as his tiny feet touched the floor.
The toddler wobbled slightly, but caught himself. His fingers gripped the hem of Zero’s sweater before letting go.
“Tell him,” Zero added gently, “that maybe he can take you to the bookstore today. If you feel up to it.”
Isamu gave a soft nod and padded off, bare feet whispering across the floor, his little hand trailing along the edge of the wall as he disappeared down the hall.
Zero waited until the sound of his steps faded.
And then the smile dropped from his face.
He turned back to the stove, turning off the flame, the kettle clicking faintly as it cooled. The room felt too quiet again, too still—like something had been left behind in the space where Isamu had been just moments before.
He pressed both hands against the counter, shoulders tight, head bowed.
The cold was still there.
That strange, unnatural chill he couldn’t shake.
It was inside him.
Like a shadow in his bones.
Like a whisper from somewhere far away.
Zero closed his eyes and breathed in slow.
This hollow ache in his chest. This echoing sense of absence.
It wasn’t his.
But it was real.
He gritted his teeth, fighting against the rising wave of panic. He had spent so long holding himself together—for Isamu, for the life he’d built in this quiet mountain town.
There wasn’t room for breaking down now. Not when Isamu was barely eating. Not when each day his son grew quieter, sleepier, more distant.
Zero had promised he’d protect him.
Promised he’d never let Kaname near them again.
And yet…
And yet the bond was still there, sealed or not. And something in it throbbed like a pulse beneath ice—distant, broken, but not dead.
“Stop,” Zero whispered to himself, palms curling into fists against the wood. “Stop thinking about him.”
But it was impossible.
Because every time he saw Isamu, he saw Kaname.
Because every time he wrapped his arms around his child, some piece of him longed—aching and unspoken—for the other warmth he’d turned away from.
All the love he had once wanted to give Kaname, he had poured into their son.
But it hadn’t stopped the ache.
And now, as the house settled into morning quiet again, Zero realized he was afraid.
Afraid that the silence he had fought so hard for was starting to feel like a grave.
Aido was still tangled in the blankets when the door creaked open.
Sunlight filtered in through the half-closed blinds, dust motes swirling lazily in the air. The room was quiet—peaceful in the way all mornings pretended to be before chaos found them.
Isamu stood just inside the doorway, small and quiet and swaying slightly on his feet.
He clutched the corner of his oversized sweater in one hand, the other curled into a soft fist at his side. For a moment, he just stared at the lump beneath the blanket.
Then, with all the seriousness of a mission assigned by a king, he tiptoed forward.
“Unca Hana…” he whispered.
Nothing.
He reached out and poked a shoulder through the comforter.
Still nothing.
Papa had said it was allowed. He had said.
So Isamu took a breath.
And then launched himself up onto the bed.
Aido groaned dramatically as a tiny knee jabbed into his side and a small pair of cold hands tugged at the warmest part of the blanket.
“Traitor!” Aido mumbled into his pillow. “Little goblin. It’s too early…”
Isamu giggled, curling into a lump on top of Aido’s stomach. “Papa said I can.”
“He would say that,” Aido muttered, blinking one eye open. “He doesn’t value sleep the way I do.”
Isamu tugged at the covers. “We have to go to the bookstore.”
“Do we?” Aido yawned. “We must?”
Isamu nodded seriously. “ Maybe we gets book with dragons.”
At that, Aido cracked a full smile.
“Well, why didn’t you lead with dragons?”
Isamu beamed, sitting upright now, a bit of color returning to his cheeks.
Aido reached up, brushing a hand over the boy’s forehead with a quick, quiet assessment. Still warm. Still pale. But awake. Engaged.
That was something.
“Alright,” he said, sitting up with a groan. “Bookstore it is. But only if you help me pick a ridiculously strong coffee on the way.”
“I pick the biggest ones,” Isamu offered, already climbing off the bed like a determined kitten.
“Atta boy.”
Fifteen minutes later, Isamu stood at the front door, bundled in a soft scarf and hat, boots, gripping Aido’s hand while the latter adjusted his coat.
Zero stood nearby, still barefoot, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe as he looked down at his son.
“Pick out something you like,” he said quietly, crouching to eye level. “And maybe something for me too.”
Isamu nodded determined like a hunter going on mission.
Zero brushed a hand over his cheek. “And if you get tired, you tell Uncle Hana right away, okay?”
“Okay.”
Aido gave Zero a look—brief, knowing, almost gentle. “We won’t be long.”
Zero nodded, not trusting his voice.
He watched them go—Isamu’s small hand wrapped tightly in Aido’s, scarf tails fluttering as they stepped into the brisk morning air.
The door shut with a soft click.
And the house fell into silence.
Again.
Zero stood still in the quiet, arms crossed over his chest, listening to the absence.
He needed this just for a moment he wanted not to pretend.
It felt heavier than ever.
And he didn’t know how long he could carry it.
The house had grown too quiet again.
Zero sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees, a half-knit blanket draped over his shoulders. The tea had gone cold in his hands. Even the heat from the space heater nearby did nothing to chase the cold from his bones. It wasn’t the kind of chill that could be solved with warmth—it was the kind that lived under the skin.
He had tried everything.
Layers. Hot tea. Standing in the sun near the window. Even holding Isamu earlier hadn’t shaken it loose. That deep, sinking cold that wasn’t his own.
It was Kaname’s.
He knew it, even though he didn’t want to.
It made his hands shake.
A knock at the door startled him.
For a moment, he didn’t move—heart hammering with that sudden, irrational hope. No. Not him. Don’t be him.
The second knock was gentler. More familiar.
Zero stood slowly, walking to the door, the blanket still draped around him. He cracked it open.
Kenta stood outside, holding a small glass bottle of milk and a plastic bag with what looked like ginger, honey and herbs.
“My grandmother sent these,” he said sheepishly, lifting the bag. “Said it might help your boy feel stronger. Home remedies and all that.”
Zero blinked, surprised. “You walked here?”
Kenta offered a half-grin. “Didn’t trust the bottle to survive the bus ride.”
Zero stepped aside silently and gestured for him to come in. “Thanks.”
Kenta stepped inside, the warmth of the house fogging his glasses briefly. He set the bag gently on the kitchen counter, then turned, hesitant.
“I… I didn’t mean to come by uninvited. I just thought it might help.” His voice was quieter now. “And I wanted to say sorry. Again. For the other night.”
Zero didn’t answer right away. He moved to the kettle, flicking it on automatically, fingers trembling only slightly.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I kissed you without asking,” Kenta said firmly. “That’s… not okay. I was caught up in the moment. I misread things.”
Zero turned, finally meeting his gaze.
“Kiss me again.”
Kenta blinked. “What?”
Zero’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Kiss me again.”
Kenta looked confused. “Kaito-san-”
“I said kiss me again,” Zero repeated. “Please.”
Kenta stepped forward slowly, searching Zero’s face for any trace of clarity. “Why?”
Zero didn’t answer. He only stepped closer, his breath fogging slightly in the air. His fingers tightened around the edge of the counter behind him.
“I just… I want to feel something else,” he murmured.
Kenta paused—then, slowly, cautiously, leaned in.
Their lips met. Soft. Brief.
Zero kissed him back this time, but there was no fire in it. No want.
Just motion.
Just silence.
And cold.
Kenta pulled away slowly, his breath brushing against Zero’s cheek. His brows were furrowed, his expression hesitant—concerned.
“Kaito… this doesn’t feel right,” he murmured, voice low, as if afraid to break the quiet stillness between them. “Not if it’s not what you really want.”
Zero didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
The cold was still there—coiled like a serpent beneath his skin. He needed it gone. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend he wasn’t freezing from the inside out.
“I do want it,” he said quietly. “Please. Don’t stop.”
Kenta searched his face, unsure. But Zero stepped closer, bridging the gap between them, his eyes half-lidded, the shadow of something desperate swimming in their silver depths.
So Kenta leaned in again.
And this time, the kiss deepened.
Zero kissed him back—because he didn’t want Kenta to stop. Because the cold inside him flared every time he was left alone. Because something in him wanted to feel… anything else.
The kiss grew more open, messier. Zero tilted his head as Kenta’s hands slid under the blanket still clinging to his shoulders, his fingers brushing over Zero’s waist, the hem of his jumper.
Zero let it happen.
He let himself be touched. Let the warmth of another body sink into his skin. Let himself fall backward onto the futon when Kenta gently guided him down. He didn’t stop him when a hand slipped beneath his shirt, brushing over his chest with slow, reverent curiosity.
But the whole time, his eyes stared past the ceiling. Past the room. Past the boy above him who whispered his false name softly, like it was a question.
Because even now—especially now—he was thinking of someone else.
Kaname.
The man who had kissed him with worship and war in his breath.
The man whose hands had once trembled when they touched Zero’s skin, like every part of him mattered.
The man whose agony Zero could still feel, bleeding through the sealed bond like frost creeping beneath a door.
Kenta's mouth traced along Zero’s jaw, his chest pressing gently to his. There was kindness in it. A warmth Zero almost envied.
But it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t Kaname.
And no matter how hard Zero tried to lose himself in the moment, he couldn’t stop the ache that burned quietly behind his ribs.
He wasn’t here because he wanted Kenta.
He was here because he didn’t know how else to survive the cold.
The kisses continued—soft, open-mouthed, searching.
Zero forced himself to respond.
He needed to feel anything other than grief.
Anything other than longing.
Anything other than the absence of the man he had once called home.
Kenta’s lips moved across Zero’s chest, slow and open-mouthed, warm where Zero felt nothing. His hands were careful, reverent even—sliding under the hem of Zero’s jumper, fingertips grazing over pale skin with hesitant curiosity.
To someone else, this might’ve been tender.
But to Zero, it was hollow.
He wasn’t here.
Not really.
The ceiling above him blurred, the sensation at his chest distant, disconnected.
Every time Kenta’s mouth touched his skin, his mind dragged him back to a different touch. A different mouth. A different name.
Kaname.
It was Kaname’s voice he imagined whispering against his neck. Kaname’s hand sliding along his waist. Kaname’s gaze—worshipful and tormented—burning into him as if he were both sanctuary and punishment.
Kenta’s fingers moved lower.
Zero squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to flinch. He gripped the blanket beneath him, jaw tight, body trembling. Not from want—but from the absence of it.
And still, he said nothing.
Because silence was easier than explaining that he was using this. That he was using Kenta—his kindness, his warmth, his honesty—just to feel something that wasn’t this bottomless cold.
That he’d begged for a kiss just to drown the screaming ache inside of him. The one that had Kaname’s name etched into it like a wound.
Kenta kissed him again, lips dragging lower.
Then he paused.
Zero’s breath hitched. He hadn’t said anything—but when Kenta looked down, the truth had betrayed him Zero.
Tears.
They were falling silently. Steady. Wetting his cheeks, soaking into his hair. He hadn’t even realized they were there until Kenta leaned back in alarm.
“Kaito—san” Kenta’s voice cracked. “You’re crying.”
Zero blinked, as if just realizing it himself. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
Kenta sat back, hands gently resting on either side of Zero’s ribs. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, softer now. “Did I hurt you?”
Zero shook his head, barely.
“No,” he rasped, voice frayed. “It’s not you. I just… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Footsteps.
They both froze.
The sound of the front door opening echoed down the hall. A familiar voice—young and bright—cut through the quiet.
“Papa, we’re back!”
Isamu.
And Aido, behind him, calling out in a cheerful tone that didn’t match the dread pooling in Zero’s stomach.
“We found a whole bag of picture books,” Aido’s voice carried through the entryway. “And someone may have gotten bribed into a new stuffed fox.”
Zero sat up fast, pushing Kenta off him gently but urgently. His sweater slipped back down, his tears still falling, even as he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
Kenta stood, backing away, guilt dawning on his face. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Zero said quickly, voice low and shaking. “But you need to go. Please.”
There was no anger in his voice—just panic. And something broken underneath it.
Kenta grabbed his coat and moved toward the back door quietly, leaving the bag of milk and herbs untouched on the counter.
At the threshold, he turned back, his eyes sad. “You’re still in love with someone else.”
Zero didn’t reply.
Didn’t have to.
Because in that moment, it wasn’t love he was drowning in.
It was grief.
And it was written in every tear that still clung to his lashes, even as his son’s footsteps padded closer—calling for him with innocent joy.
“Papa?”
Zero turned, hastily pulling the blanket around himself as Isamu toddled into the room, holding a book twice the size of his head.
His voice cracked as he forced a smile.
“Welcome home, Isamu.”
The moment Isamu stepped into the room, the air shifted.
He paused just inside the doorway, tiny hands clutching the edges of the new book he’d chosen with such care. His violet eyes—wide and solemn—locked onto his father’s face.
“Papa?” he asked quietly. “You okay?”
Zero swallowed hard, blinking once—but the tears still clung to his lashes, shimmering like betrayed light.
He couldn’t answer.
Behind him, Aido stepped into the doorway, smiling at first, ready to tease or distract—but the words died on his tongue.
Because he saw it.
Zero’s eyes were red-rimmed, lashes still wet. His breath was uneven. He couldn’t hide it. The carefully constructed walls that had kept him upright for years were cracking, and the man who had survived too much was now shaking in the center of a quiet living room.
The infamous Zero Kiryuu, who once bared his fangs at fate itself, was crying.
And Aido froze.
In all the years he had known him, through carnage and exile and escape, Zero had endured everything—rage, betrayal, war, heartbreak—and never once had Aido seen him weep.
Not when the Hunters turned their backs on him. Not when Yuki had left. Not even in the nights he sat sleepless with an ailing newborn in his arms.
But now?
Now, the tears came quietly. Without violence or screams. Just grief, long-withheld, finally unraveling at the seams.
Aido’s throat tightened.
“Isamu,” he said softly, crouching beside the boy. “Why don’t you go introduce your new fox to the others? Maybe show him your little bookshelf fort.”
Isamu looked hesitant, glancing between them. “But Papa—”
“I’ll stay with him, promise,” Aido said with a small smile. “He’ll be okay.”
There was a moment’s pause, a flicker of understanding in those wide eyes far too perceptive for a child his age.
Then Isamu gave a solemn nod and padded down the hall, the book clutched to his chest, the fox swinging at his side
The moment the door clicked shut, Aido turned.
Zero was still sitting on the edge of the futon, his shoulders hunched, fists clenched into the folds of the blanket draped across his lap. His lips were trembling now, as if holding the dam back by sheer force of will.
Aido didn’t ask with softness this time.
“What happened?” he asked, stepping forward, his voice low but firm. “Zero. Tell me.”
Silence.
Then, quietly—cracked and ruined—
“When did I start loving him so deeply?”
The question hit the room like a drop of blood in still water.
Zero didn’t look up. His voice was barely a whisper, but each word was like a blade pulled from a wound too long ignored.
“When did it start? I was supposed to hate him. I did, once. He was the one thing that turned my life upside down and I…” He shook his head, the tears falling faster now, soundless and unchecked. “And I let him in.”
Aido sat down slowly beside him, stunned silent by the rawness in those words.
“I don’t know how it happened,” Zero went on, his voice breaking apart with every word. “I just—one day, I stopped wanting him gone. I started needing him close. I started hearing his voice even when he wasn’t speaking. I started… feeling him. Every damn breath. Every glance.”
His hand curled over his chest, fingers clenching as if to tear something from beneath his skin. “Why can’t I forget him?”
Aido said nothing.
“Why do I need him?” Zero’s voice rose, cracked and shattered. “Why does it still hurt like this? Why did I let myself fall so deep when I knew—I knew—he’d break me?”
Tears streamed now, unhindered.
“I see him every time I look at Isamu. In the curve of his mouth. In the quiet way he stares when he’s thinking. In the way he curls into me like I’m the only safe place he knows. He’s Kaname, and he’s me, and it hurts.”
Aido reached out then, without hesitation, and pulled Zero into his arms.
Zero didn’t resist.
He collapsed into the warmth like something long unraveling, his forehead pressed to Aido’s shoulder, his body wracked with quiet sobs.
“I miss him,” he whispered. “I miss him so much I think it’s killing me.”
Aido’s grip tightened, his own eyes stinging. “You still love him.”
“I never stopped,” Zero choked. “I don’t know how.”
There were no more walls now. No more silence to mask the pain. Just grief laid bare in the arms of an old friend, in a house too quiet, in a morning that had started like any other.
Zero clung to Aido—not because Aido could fix it, but because there was no one else left who knew what it meant to love Kaname Kuran and survive.
And for once, Zero didn’t want to be strong.
He just wanted to be held.
Zero’s breath hitched as he sat hunched over Aido’s shoulder, the tremors wracking his frame refusing to quiet.
Aido didn’t speak. He simply held him—his hand firm against Zero’s back, anchoring him as wave after wave of grief pulled him under.
But then the words began to pour out. Broken. Beautiful. Like a wound too deep to heal had finally split open.
“I loved him.”
Zero’s voice was low, hoarse, barely more than air. “I loved him like a sin I couldn’t repent for. Like something I was never supposed to have… but couldn’t stop reaching for.”
He pulled back just enough to breathe, to look down at his own shaking hands. His eyes were wild with memory, silver and wet with unshed storms.
“He touched me like I was sacred,” he whispered. “And I hated that. I hated how gentle he could be. How his fingers always knew where to rest, where to linger. He’d hold my hand like it was a vow.”
Aido said nothing. His throat had closed around the shape of Zero’s pain.
“And his voice…” Zero shook his head, a tear falling like glass from his jaw. “He’d say my name like it was a prayer. Zero. Soft. Always soft. Even when he was furious. Even when I was spitting venom at him.”
He laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the stillness. “I dreamed of him, Aido. For years. I’d wake up aching. Starving. Not for sex, not for blood. Just… for him. For the way he’d press his forehead to mine after a fight. For the way he’d brush my hair behind my ear like he had all the time in the world. I wanted to hate him for it, but he made even hatred feel tender.”
His voice cracked, the weight of the confession dragging each syllable like a chain.
“I gave him everything. My hatred. My love. My body. My soul…” He looked up then, his eyes meeting Aido’s, raw and glistening.
Aido’s lips parted in silent.
“I didn’t even know I could feel that deeply,” Zero went on, almost to himself. “I didn’t know it was possible to hold someone in your heart so fiercely that it leaves something alive behind.”
He pressed a trembling hand over his chest.
“But I can’t forgive him.”
The admission came like a sudden storm. The truth beneath the yearning. The blade hidden in the rose.
“I can’t forgive him for my parents,” Zero whispered. “For standing there while they died. For watching it happen because of some ancient game he was playing. he didn’t save me from that pain, no he planned it.”
More tears fell, silent and salt-bitter.
“Even after everything. Even after he destroyed what was left of my faith. I hate him for what he’s done. For what he let happen. But I love him harder than I’ve ever known how to love anything.”
He buried his face in his hands. “I loved him so hard that a child bloomed inside me. That’s how much. That’s how deep.”
Aido swallowed. His voice was thick. “Zero…”
“I don’t know how could I love someone who let my world burn.”
His breath caught.
“But I do. I still do. And I hate myself for it.”
He looked down then, curling inward as though the shame could crush him if he let it.
He pressed his hand over his eyes, trying to dam the tide—but it was too late.
“I want to forget him. I need to. But I can’t. Because no matter how far I run, he’s still in me. In every breath. In every heartbeat.”
His voice became a whisper. Fragile. Final.
“And I don’t know how to live like this anymore.”
Aido reached for him then, pulled him close again—not as a friend, not as an accomplice, but as someone who saw the wound and finally understood how deep it went.
They sat there, wrapped in silence and salt and sorrow. One mourning a love that never let go. The other mourning the pieces that had to be held in place just to keep one broken soul from shattering entirely.
And outside, the sky turned to dusk.
Like even the world was bowing its head in grief.
Aido watched Zero sleep on the futon, and for the first time in a long while, he felt helpless.
Zero was curled on his side, a blanket tangled around his waist, his breath soft but uneven.
His silver hair fell in damp strands across his pale face, and his lashes—still clumped from tears—rested against cheeks that were too hollow for someone so young.
He looked nothing like the unshakable hunter. Nothing like the boy Aido had once dismissed as cold or distant.
He looked like a man who had held on too long, for too many people, and finally, painfully, let go.
Aido had never seen Zero cry before.
Not through war, not through blood, not even after the birth—when Zero had been broken and shaking in a pool of pain, still managing to grit his teeth and hold his newborn son.
But now, here he was.
Silent and wrecked.
And all because of Kaname.
Because of a love so deep, Zero had tried to destroy it to survive. And it had nearly destroyed him instead.
Aido exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat back against the wall. The kettle whistled faintly in the kitchen, but he didn’t move.
The warmth of the tea would do nothing to thaw the ache in his chest.
The room was dim now.
Quiet.
The sun had slipped behind the mountains, casting the small home in the blue hush of twilight.
Then—soft, small footsteps padded across the hallway.
Aido turned his head just as Isamu peeked around the doorframe.
The toddler’s hair was tousled from his nap, and one of his socks was missing.
His round violet eyes blinked up at Aido with quiet concern, his thumb tucked halfway into his mouth.
“Unca Hana?”
Aido softened instantly. “Yes, little Goblin?”
“Papa’s… still sleepin’?” Isamu asked, voice hushed, like he was afraid of waking the silence.
Aido nodded, lowering his voice to match. “He’s very tired.”
The boy stepped forward slowly, his free hand clinging to the hem of his too-long sweater. “Papa… sad?”
Aido hesitated. Then gave a quiet, honest answer. “Yeah. He is.”
Isamu's lip wobbled. “Papa have bad dreamies?”
Aido swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sort of. A long one.”
The little boy thought for a moment. Then, without another word, he tiptoed toward the futon.
He crawled carefully across the tatami mats, moving with the wobbly determination only a three-year-old could possess.
And then—like a tiny, determined snake—he wriggled under the blanket and into the curve of Zero’s body.
Zero stirred faintly, his brow furrowing in his sleep—but the moment Isamu pressed his small body against his father’s chest, his arms moved instinctively, curling protectively around his son.
Isamu sighed, tucking his head beneath Zero’s chin, like he knew he belonged there.
“I’ll makes him feel betters,” he mumbled, his thumb back in his mouth.
“You’re a good kid,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Isamu’s eyes fluttered closed, his voice already slurring with sleep. “I gived him huggies. Huggies make the sads go ‘way…”
Aido watched in silence.
There was something sacred in the way they fit together. Two halves of something left behind. Two pieces of Kaname’s love—one who tried to forget it, and one who had never known it but carried it in every heartbeat.
Together, they were fragile. Fierce.
And utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful.
The house was still.
The only sound came from the quiet hum of the space heater and the soft, steady breathing of Zero and Isamu curled together on the futon.
Aido stood in the hallway, just out of sight, fingers tightening around his phone.
He glanced back once, making sure Isamu was sound asleep in the crook of Zero’s arm before stepping onto the veranda. The cold air bit at his skin, but it helped clear his head.
He needed it.
His thumb hovered over the contact for a moment.
Then he pressed call.
The line rang once. Twice. Then—
"Hanabusa?"
Kain’s voice came through, low and rough with exhaustion.
"Yeah," Aido said quietly, pacing the wooden deck in socked feet. "It’s me."
There was a pause on the other end. A knowing kind of silence.
“…You’re calling about Kaname.”
Aido swallowed. “Yeah.”
“He’s not getting better.” Kain says.
That wasn’t the answer Aido wanted to hear.
He closed his eyes. “How bad is it?”
Kain exhaled through the receiver. “Bad. He barely eats. Doesn’t leave his study. He sleeps too much, but it’s not restful. He won’t talk to anyone—not even to Takuma.”
Kain Paused than asked “…Is the bond still sealed on Zero end?”
Aido hesitated before admitting "Yes. It is."
Kain sighed frustrated “Something’s… changed. We can all feel it. It’s like something in Kaname is fading. Like he’s letting go.”
Aido’s stomach twisted. He glanced through the window at Zero, sleeping still, brow furrowed even in rest.
“I think he’s dying,” Kain said softly.
The words hit like ice in his chest.
“Kain,” Aido whispered, “you don’t mean—”
“I do. He won’t say it, but he’s running out of time. I’ve never seen a pureblood burn out like this. It’s not physical, Aido. It’s grief. The kind that sinks into the bones.”
Aido pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “And Zero… he’s not doing much better. He’s breaking. Slowly. Silently. He cries now. He never did before. And it’s not just the bond—it's him. He's not holding together anymore.”
There was another pause on the line. The weight of a decade in a single silence.
“They still love each other,” Kain said eventually.
“They never stopped,” Aido whispered.
Then, softly: “So what the hell do we do, Kain?”
Kain’s voice was tired, quiet, but resolute. “We find a way to bring them back to each other. Before there’s nothing left to save.”
Aido nodded, even though Kain couldn’t see it.
“I’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “Even if I have to drag Zero back by the collar and throw him into Kaname’s arms myself.”
A quiet, broken laugh came through the line. “Sounds like you.”
Aido glanced back toward the futon again, his voice softening.
“I think if Kaname saw them—just once… saw Isamu, heard him laugh, held him even for a moment… it might be enough.”
“…And what about Zero?” Kain asked.
Aido’s hand clenched tighter around the phone.
Aido exhaled slowly, the mist of his breath curling in the cold air like smoke. He leaned one hand against the wooden post of the veranda, eyes still fixed on the shadowed outline of the sleeping figures inside the house.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice ragged. “I don’t know what it would do to Zero. Seeing Kaname again… it could save him, or it could destroy him completely.”
There was a heavy silence on the other end. Then—
“So… Isamu?” Kain asked cautiously. “Kaname’s child?”
Aido closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Another pause. Then Kain’s voice dropped to a whisper, like he couldn’t believe it. “It’s a boy?”
Aido nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah. His name’s Isamu. He’s... incredible, Kain. Bright. Polite. Stronger than he should be, considering what Zero’s managed alone. But he’s fading too. The blood imprint’s starting to fail. He’s not eating well. Sleeps too much, always tried. And when he looks at Zero, it’s like he knows something’s wrong, even if he doesn’t understand it.”
Kain was silent on the line for a long time after Aido’s voice trailed off. Aido could hear the wind on the other end, the faint creak of the old estate’s walls, the muffled sound of someone pacing—maybe Takuma.
Then finally, Kain spoke. “Tell me where you are, Aido. We’ll come get them. Kaname needs to see his child. He—he needs Zero.”
Aido closed his eyes, head tilted back against the wooden post of the veranda, the phone pressed tight to his ear. The stars above were sharp tonight—brilliant in their clarity, but distant. Like memories.
“I can’t,” he said quietly.
There was a pause. Then Kain’s voice rose slightly, frustrated, disbelieving. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“I mean I won’t,” Aido replied, firm now. “Not without talking to Zero first.”
“Aido—”
“No,” Aido cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to make this about duty or loyalty to Kaname. I know what he’s going through. I know what absence of a mate does. I have a perfect example in front of me. I know he’s unraveling. And Zero—he’s not any better. He’s hanging on by threads.”
“I know that,” Kain said, voice softer.
“Then understand this,” Aido said, his breath shaking a little. “Zero is my family now. Not just a friend. Not just an old school mate. He let me stay here, trusted me with his child, leaned on me when he had no one else. "
His voice broke, but he didn’t stop
"I watched him raise that boy with nothing but stubbornness and love. I watched him cry, Kain. Cry. Not in pain, not out of anger—just grief. Raw, suffocating grief.”
Aido groaned “If I go behind his back, if I tell you where we are without his say… it’s not just betrayal. It’s breaking him, Abandoning him.”
The line was quiet again. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Aido inhaled, slowly. “Do you think I haven’t thought about it? About how easy it would be?" Aido asked
"Just a phone call. A location drop. And maybe Kaname can heal his son. Maybe the bond would flare back to life. But what if it doesn’t? What if all it does is remind Zero of the pain he’s spent years trying to survive?” Aido finished.
Kain’s voice was hushed now. “You think he’ll say no.”
“I don’t know what he’ll say,” Aido admitted. “But I owe him the choice. He deserves to decide how this ends—or how it begins again.”
There was another breath, long and ragged, and then Kain spoke more gently than Aido had ever heard him.
“Alright,” he said. “Talk to him. And if there’s even the smallest chance… call me.”
Aido looked through the window again. Zero hadn’t moved. The hard lines of his brow softened by sleep. Isamu was tucked tightly against his chest, one small hand clinging to the hem of Zero’s sweater like an anchor.
“I will,” Aido promised. “But not until he’s ready.”
And with that, he ended the call, stepping back inside, the weight of all their hearts heavy in his chest.
The floorboards creaked softly beneath Aido’s feet as he stepped back into the quiet warmth of the house.
The door whispered closed behind him, cutting off the night air, but not the heaviness that clung to him like wet cloth.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the kitchen lamp.
The futon lay undisturbed, bathed in gold light. Zero still slept curled protectively around Isamu, one arm tucked beneath the boy’s small body, the other slung over his back like a shield.
Isamu had wriggled closer in sleep, his cheek pressed to the hollow of Zero’s collarbone, fingers curled in the worn fabric of his father’s sweater. He looked impossibly small. The soft rise and fall of his breath was the only movement in the hush.
Aido’s throat tightened as he watched them.
He had seen Zero fight Level E’s with blood pouring from his side. He had seen him stand alone against vampires stronger, older, and crueler than most could imagine. But this version of him—cracked open by love, hollowed by grief, and still somehow fighting for every inch of peace—was the most fragile thing Aido had ever seen.
He sat down slowly at the edge of the tatami mat, not wanting to disturb them.
The call with Kain echoed in his head. His words still burned behind his ribs.
"I owe him the choice."
Yes. That much, at least, was true.
But when to give him that choice? And how?
Aido glanced at the sleeping pair again. Zero’s brows were slightly furrowed, even now. His body was never fully at rest—always bracing for something. For loss, for pain, for the world to take another piece from him.
And yet, in sleep, his arms didn’t loosen. Not for a second. They held onto Isamu with the kind of fierceness that said, I’ve already lost everything else—just not this. Please, not this.
Aido leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling a slow, steady breath.
How could he ask Zero to open that door again?
To risk the grief he’d buried just to bring Kaname back into his orbit?
But the boy—Isamu—he was growing weaker. Quieter. His light dimmed more with each passing day. If there was a solution, if there was anything that could help—
It was Kaname.
Aido closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair.
He would wait.
Wait until Zero could look him in the eye without flinching. Wait until the name Kaname didn’t feel like fire in his throat.
Wait until Zero, broken and bleeding though he may be, was ready to let himself hope.
Because if this was going to destroy him… Aido wouldn’t be the one to light the match.
From the futon, Isamu stirred softly. A tiny murmur escaped his lips—something like “Papa…” and then the boy shifted deeper into Zero’s arms.
Aido smiled faintly, blinking back the sting behind his eyes.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he’d try.
Tonight, he would keep watch—over the last remnants of a love neither of them had the strength to hold, but couldn’t quite let go.
The faint glow of morning light seeped in through the paper shoji screens, soft and golden. It spilled across the wooden floors in long, quiet strips, touching the futon where three bodies lay tangled in silence and sleep.
Zero stirred first.
His eyes blinked open slowly, bleary and heavy-lidded. The air was still, warm with breath and sleep, and the weight on his chest was small but familiar. He looked down—and there, nestled into the curve of his arm, was Isamu.
The little boy had his cheek pressed to Zero’s sweater, his breath steady and slow. His small fist clutched the hem of Zero’s shirt like it was a lifeline. One leg had wormed its way over Zero’s stomach sometime in the night, and his other hand was curled near his mouth, twitching faintly in a dream.
Zero’s heart clenched.
He was here. Safe. Warm.
And then—movement.
To his left, another figure.
Aido.
He lay sprawled half on and half off the edge of the futon, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other clutching a blanket that clearly wasn’t his. His mouth was slightly open, breathing soft and even.
His usual polished appearance was nowhere to be seen—his blond hair was mussed and falling over his forehead, and there was a faint line on his cheek from the futon pillow.
Zero blinked at them both. The memory of last night trickled in, slow and heavy.
The crying.
The confessions.
The dam finally breaking.
He turned his face toward the ceiling, shame flushing up his neck like heat.
He had cried. In front of Aido. In front of Kenta. And not just tears—he had sobbed. Like a child. Like someone lost in the deep end with no one left to blame.
And Aido… hadn’t mocked him. Hadn’t judged. He’d just listened.
Sat there while Zero’s world finally cracked under the weight of everything he’d carried alone for too long.
Zero exhaled shakily, then gently slid his arm out from under Isamu’s sleeping form.
The boy whimpered quietly, shifting, but didn’t wake.
Zero tucked the blanket around him, then stood, careful not to disturb either of them.
He padded out of the room, feet bare against the cool wood, and made his way into the small bathroom.
He splashed cold water over his face, letting it sting the rawness around his eyes. His face blotchy. It felt… foreign. Like looking at someone else's reflection.
He dried off quietly, then moved to the kitchen.
He needed something normal.
Something routine.
He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, and started prepping breakfast.
The clink of bowls. The rustle of rice. The familiar rhythm of the knife against the cutting board.
He made miso soup—gentle, warm, with softened tofu and green onions—and started the rice. Sliced something fruits and peeled a few of the soft, sweet orange Isamu liked best. He even cracked eggs into a pan, the soft sizzle a comfort in the stillness.
He moved quietly, efficiently. Not because he felt fine—but because doing something for them helped steady his breath.
They’d wake soon.
And he’d be okay.
Not whole. Not healed.
But present.
Still here.
And for now, that would be enough.
The morning had almost felt normal
Zero had laid out the food carefully—small bowls for each of them.
Isamu sat propped up on a cushion, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he picked at his rice with clumsy chopsticks. His cheeks were pale, but he was trying.
Trying to smile. Trying to eat. Trying to be strong.
Zero watched him closely, every bite counted.
"Mm!" Isamu said suddenly, mouth full of tamago. He grinned, a bit of egg sticking to his lip. "Papa, 'sgood! You cook like chef!" He waved his chopsticks for emphasis, though the movement made him a little dizzy.
Aido, sitting across from them with his own bowl of rice and soup, let out a warm laugh. “Wow, a compliment from our little Goblin-chan before noon? Must be a special day.”
Isamu puffed out his chest proudly. “Unca Hana’s turn next time! You make… pancakes! The funny kind!”
“I make excellent pancakes,” Aido declared, dramatically placing a hand to his chest. “With chocolate chips. And drama.”
“Wha’s ‘drama’ taste like?” Isamu asked, blinking with a sleepy smile.
Zero huffed a quiet breath through his nose, trying not to laugh, watching his son with cautious hope. This was good. The boy was eating. He was talking.
But then—
Isamu’s hands stopped moving.
His smile wavered.
The chopsticks clattered from his fingers onto the floor.
Zero’s breath caught. “Isamu?”
Isamu blinked once. Twice. His little face screwed up, and then he swayed forward.
“Isamu—!”
Zero caught him just as he doubled over. A wet gag, and then—he vomited. Into his lap, all over his shirt. His tiny body shuddered with the force of it, coughing, retching, whimpering as more came up—soup, rice, all of it.
Aido scrambled to his feet, his chair screeching back.
Zero was already on the floor, cradling Isamu against his chest, hands trembling. “It’s okay, bird, it’s okay, shh—”
Isamu let out a weak sob, clinging to Zero’s shirt. “Papa… hurts…”
“I know,” Zero whispered, pressing his lips to Isamu’s clammy forehead. “I know.”
The heat from his body was wrong—too much. His skin was flushed, yet he shivered violently.
Aido rushed in with a towel and a bowl of cool water, dropping to his knees beside them. “He’s burning up,” he said, voice sharp now, all amusement gone. “Zero—his eyes. They’re—”
Zero looked. The soft violet had dulled. Like someone had wiped the color away with grief.
And all Zero could feel was that same cold again, clawing back into his chest.
The small house, once filled with the soft warmth of routine, had turned cold again.
Isamu lay curled in Zero’s arms, his breathing shallow, skin too hot to the touch. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and his lips were pale, trembling as his small frame fought against whatever storm was brewing inside him.
Zero had tried everything.
He had crushed fever roots into water, the herbs Kenta’s grandma sent, soaked cloths in cool tea to ease the heat, whispered reassurances that barely kept his own panic at bay.
And then—when Isamu’s eyes rolled back, when he vomited again, this time laced faintly with pink, the blood tablet.
—Zero bit his wrist “Please,” he whispered, pressing the bleeding wound to his son’s lips, cradling Isamu close.
“Please take it. Just a little. Just enough to feel better.”
Aido had frozen where he stood by the door, eyes wide, lips parted as if about to speak.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Because he saw the desperation in Zero’s face.
He saw the guilt.
The same guilt that had haunted Zero every time Isamu cried, every time he was too weak to stand, every time he reached out with tiny hands and Zero could only give him fragments of comfort.
The blood touched Isamu’s tongue.
And for a moment—just a breath—Zero thought it might work.
But then Isamu choked.
His tiny body convulsed in Zero’s arms as he turned and wretched, vomiting again, this time more violently, his soft cry breaking into a sob that tore through Zero’s chest like glass.
“No—no, no, no—” Zero pulled him close, holding him through it, rocking him gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby, I’m here. I’m here.”
But his blood hadn’t worked.
Just like before.
Just like when he was a baby.
Aido knelt beside them, his hand resting on Isamu’s back, but his eyes were fixed on Zero. Something in his throat was fighting to be said.
Zero didn’t notice. He was too busy wiping Isamu’s mouth, whispering apologies.
“I’ll call Yuki,” he murmured, voice shaking. “She can reinforce the imprint. It worked before.”
Aido flinched.
“No.”
Zero didn’t hear him. “I’ll call her. Maybe tonight. Or I’ll go myself. She’ll do it, I know she will. We just need to hold on—”
“I said no, Zero.”
Zero finally looked up.
Aido’s jaw was clenched, his hands shaking at his sides. “Why are you asking for a bandage when you know what the wound really needs?”
“Yuki’s blood helped once—”
“It helped,” Aido snapped. “It didn’t fix anything. It was temporary. A stopgap. That child isn’t Yuki’s. He’s Kaname’s. You know it. I know it. His body knows it.”
Zero looked down at Isamu, who whimpered softly in his arms.
Aido pressed forward, voice quieter now but no less fierce. “You’re killing yourself trying to pretend Kaname doesn’t exist. You’re letting your son fade because you’re afraid to face him. You want to talk about what’s best for Isamu?”
His voice broke slightly. “Then stop choosing the pain that almost worked and choose the one thing that might actually save him.”
Zero opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Only silence.
And Isamu’s trembling breath.
And Aido’s next words fell like a blade—
“Call Kaname.”
Zero stood, still clutching Isamu tightly to his chest, as if shielding him from the weight of Aido’s words.
“No.”
The answer came flat. Immediate.
Aido’s brows furrowed. “Zero—”
“I said no,” Zero snapped, louder now, voice sharp and cracking with barely controlled emotion. “I’m not calling him. I’m not bringing him into this house. I won’t let him near my son.”
Aido stared at him for a long moment. “Your son?” he repeated, low. “Your son?”
Zero didn’t reply.
Aido stepped closer, anger beginning to bleed into his voice. “Isamu is his son too, Zero.”
“I carried him,” Zero hissed, trembling. “I bled for him. I raised him alone. Kaname—he wasn’t there when Isamu cried through the night. He wasn’t there when I thought he wouldn’t survive his first fever. He wasn’t there for any of it!”
“And whose choice was that?” Aido threw back. “Who ran, Zero? Who disappeared without letting anyone in? You did what you had to—fine. I respect that. But this?”
He gestured at the pale, fevered child in Zero’s arms. “This is not what you swore to protect him from.”
Zero flinched.
“You think this is better?” Aido asked, voice quieter now but shaking. “Letting him suffer, wasting away while you hope another imprint might work for a little while longer? What happens next time? What if there isn’t a next time?"
Isamu with town grannies.
I will move these pictures to other chapters later.
Valentine’s Day.
Chapter 10 or 11. When Kaname asked zero to give the bond a try.
Dinner at Cross’s after Zero's mission chapter 3 or 4
Chapter 17.
Isamu
Zero change Isamu. Chapter 14 or 15
Zero barping Isamu chapter 14 or 15
Chapter 20: Need and Want
Chapter Text
Zero’s lip trembled. He looked down at Isamu, who whimpered and curled closer, his small body far too light, far too warm.
“You think I want this?” Zero whispered.
“I think you’re afraid,” Aido said gently now. “I think you love Kaname so much it terrifies you. And I think you’re willing to let yourself suffer for it—but you’re not the only one paying for that choice anymore.”
The words hit like ice water down his spine.
Zero looked at his son again. Really looked.
The sunken cheeks. The shallow breaths. The way his little fingers barely gripped his shirt anymore.
“Isamu doesn’t need you to be right,” Aido said, softer now. “He needs you to be brave.”
Zero’s breath caught in his throat.
“I’m not asking you to forgive him,” Aido added. “I’m asking you to save your son.”
There was a long silence. Only Isamu’s weak sighs and the tick of the old wall clock filled the space between them.
Zero closed his eyes, chest caving as he whispered,
“I don’t know how to face him.”
Aido stepped forward and rested a hand on Zero’s shoulder.
“Then don’t,” he said gently. “Let him face you.”
Zero laid Isamu gently on the futon, brushing a damp strand of hair from his fever-warmed forehead. The child barely stirred, lost in the fog of exhaustion and pain. Zero’s heart clenched as he tucked the blanket more tightly around that small, fragile frame.
He sat there a moment longer—just watching. As if by sheer force of will he could pull Isamu back from whatever edge he was nearing.
But the warmth in the room was stifling. Heavy.
Zero rose wordlessly and stepped out into the garden, barefoot, ignoring the chill of the air as it bit at his skin. The sky was overcast, the soft light dim and gray, casting the blossoms in the yard in a subdued hush.
He walked to the edge of the stones and stood still, arms crossed, staring down at the dark soil and early buds just starting to push through.
His breath ghosted out in pale clouds.
Behind him, the door slid open with a soft thud and the crunch of gravel followed—Aido’s footsteps.
Zero didn’t turn.
He felt Aido behind him.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Then Aido said quietly, “He looks worse.”
“I know.”
“He’s sleeping too much.”
“I know.”
“He’s in pain.”
“I know, Aido.”
Zero’s voice cracked on the last word, and Aido exhaled softly. “I’m not saying it to hurt you. I’m saying it because I think you need to hear it. All of it.”
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Aido said quietly, “If the roles were reversed… what do you think Kaname would do?”
Zero’s shoulders tensed.
Aido stepped closer. “If you were the one dying. If he was in the hiding, unreachable. If he had your child in his arms—sick, fading—what would he do?”
Zero’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He closed it again, jaw tight.
Aido continued, not unkindly, but with a steady edge. “Would he run to you? Would he fall to his knees? Break the world in half to get to you?”
Zero closed his eyes.
Aido continued. “He would cross every line, spill every drop of blood, destroy everything in his path for his son. You know he would.”
“I’m not Kaname,” Zero whispered, his voice sharp and hoarse. “I don’t have that luxury.”
“This isn’t about luxury,” Aido said. “It’s about truth. You love that child more than your pride. You love him more than your fear. And Kaname is the only one who can truly save him now.”
Zero turned, his eyes rimmed red, though he no longer wept. Not now. There was no room left for tears.
Zero felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Aido’s voice softened. “Kaname’s made mistakes. Big ones. You’re right to be angry. You’re right to hurt. But he loves you, Zero. And he would burn the world if it meant saving you.”
“I know,” Zero rasped.
He bowed his head, silver hair falling like a curtain over his face. His voice was hoarse, raw, barely above a whisper.
“I know he would. That’s what scares me.”
The garden fell silent again, save for the quiet rustle of wind through the budding trees.
He let out a shaky breath and whispered, “I don’t even know if I have the strength to see him.”
“You don’t need strength,” Aido said. “Just a decision.”
Aido stepped closer, his voice gentle now.
“You don’t have to forgive him,” Aido said, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to go back to the way things were. But you can give Isamu a chance. You can give Kaname the truth.”
Zero didn’t speak.
The clouds rolled darker above, and a few drops of rain began to fall, gentle and cold.
Zero tilted his head back, letting them hit his face, his lashes catching them like tears he was too numb to cry.
And then, finally, in a voice so soft it nearly broke:
“Call him.”
Aido stepped back, exhaling slowly. “Are you sure?”
Zero nodded. “Tell him the truth.”
"Tell him to come quickly, tell him I....need him to save our child.
And as the rain fell harder, as the wind rose, Zero stood alone in the garden, arms at his sides, his heart wide open and bleeding in silence.
Somewhere far away, a bond stirred.
And began to burn.
And Zero stood there in the cold, the memory of Kaname’s hands in his hair, his voice in the dark, his name spoken like a sacred thing—echoing through his mind like thunder before a storm.
The decision pressed down on him like gravity.
The wind had shifted.
It wasn’t violent—not the kind that howled or tore branches from trees—but it carried a solemn weight. The kind of wind that moved through temples and graveyards, through forgotten streets just before a storm. It swept across the garden now, brushing over the wet stone paths and the still-standing figure of Zero Kiryu.
He hadn’t moved from the garden.
Rain had started to fall—gentle at first, like mist, clinging to his silver hair in dewdrop strands. It soaked through his clothes, kissed the skin of his neck, and clung to his lashes like tears. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t wipe his face.
He simply stood, staring into the trees as if he could will the world to be still. To stop turning. To give him just a little more time.
Behind him, the shoji door slid open with the softest whisper of wood on wood.
Aido stepped back into the house, glancing once over his shoulder at the silhouette in the rain. For a long moment, he simply stood there in the quiet threshold, his heart heavy with the weight of what Zero had finally given up.
Pride. Pain. Silence.
He reached into his coat and pulled out his phone again.
His thumb hesitated for only a second before pressing the contact.
The line rang twice.
Kain picked up.
“Aido?”
Aido’s voice was low. Controlled, but with an undercurrent of urgency that hadn’t been there in their first conversation. “I need you to do something for me.”
Kain’s breath caught on the other end. “Is it… Zero?”
“It’s Isamu,” Aido said, walking further into the kitchen. His voice dropped, softer now. “It’s bad. The blood imprint is failing faster than we thought. He’s not keeping anything down. He’s fading.”
There was silence.
Then Kain’s voice—quiet, firm. “What do you need me to do?”
Aido hesitated only a second before answering. “You need to bring Kaname.”
Kain exhaled like the world had just shifted under him. “Are you sure? Does Zero know?”
Aido glanced again at the rain-slick garden. Zero stood like a stone monument to grief and sacrifice.
“He told me to call.”
Another silence. Longer this time. “He said that?”
“He said to tell Kaname everything. About the child. About the blood imprint failing. ”
Kain’s voice cracked just slightly. “He’s ready to see him?”
“No,” Aido said honestly. “He’s not ready. He’s terrified. He’s breaking apart at the seams. But he knows what matters now. He knows what’s at stake.”
Kain’s answer came with steel. “Then we’re coming.”
Aido let out a breath and closed his eyes. “I’ll send the address.”
He hung up.
But his hands lingered on the phone a moment longer—hesitating before opening his messages. He stared at the blinking cursor in the text field, as though even this final step was too fragile. As though the truth might shatter if spoken aloud.
Then he typed it out:
Matsumoto. Small house tucked off the eastern forest path. Near the temple ruins. You’ll feel the barrier.
He hovered over the send button.
Outside, a crack of thunder rolled over the hills.
Aido hit send.
And the truth—everything they’d held back for three long years almost 4—left the safety of his silence.
He placed the phone on the table like it weighed too much, dragging his hands down his face. His fingers trembled, not from fear—but from the knowledge that everything was about to change.
Outside, the rain deepened.
And Zero still stood in it, untouched by the wet chill like he couldn’t feel it at all.
Aido walked to the doorway and paused there, watching his friend.
Kaname was coming.
And the past, which they had buried beneath layers of spells, silence, and half-truths, was now rising to the surface—one heartbeat at a time.
The mansion was still.
A heavy silence pressed down on every ornate hallway like a forgotten shroud. The once-golden corridors of the estate had dimmed, their grandeur lost to a sorrow that had no name. Dust lingered in corners. Curtains stayed closed. Rooms that once held council, laughter, or tension now held only time.
And in the heart of it all, Kaname Kuran lay unmoving.
He had not left his chambers in weeks. Not truly. He no longer read. No longer touched the keys of his piano. His fingers—those graceful, powerful hands—had stilled. The velvet drapes drawn across the windows gave his room the air of perpetual twilight.
He looked like something out of a painting: pale, elegant, and lifeless.
Kain stood near the edge of the bed, his strained, one hand curled into a fist. "Kaname-sama," he said again, gently—but with growing urgency. "You need to wake up."
There was no response.
Beside him, Takuma Ichijo glanced toward the door as if hoping for some divine intervention. He held a small tray with untouched blood tablets and a porcelain cup of tea that had long since cooled.
"It’s like he doesn’t even hear us," Takuma whispered.
Kain clenched his jaw. "He does. He just... won’t listen."
For days now, they had tried. Speaking softly. Speaking firmly. Bringing him music. Bringing him memories. Seiren had even placed Isamu’s stuffed rabbit beside him again. Nothing stirred him from the fog of stillness that had wrapped around him.
Until now.
Kain stepped forward, this time kneeling beside the edge of the bed. His voice was low. "Kaname-sama. Zero’s child—your child, it's a boy. We know his name."
No reaction.
Kain swallowed, heart pounding. "His name is Isamu."
A breath caught.
It was faint—just a slight hitch in the silence.
Takuma leaned forward. " Kaname. Your son. Zero named him Isamu...But... he’s not well."
Kaname's lashes fluttered. His lips parted slightly.
Takuma stepped closer, his voice now trembling. "The blood imprint is failing. The same one Zero had Yuki create to protect him. It’s breaking down. His body is rejecting it."
Kaname’s brow furrowed.
"He's getting weaker," Kain said. "Aido sent us a full report. Kaname-sama.. it’s happening again."
"You’re son needs you Kaname. Your mate needs you. You're family needs you." Takuma says.
The change was slow. Agonizing.
Kaname's fingers twitched beneath the blanket. Then, with effort, he shifted his head. When his eyes opened at last, they were dull, hollow pools of garnet.
"Mate..."
His voice was little more than air. But it was enough to make both men freeze.
Kaname struggled to sit up. His limbs protested, his body trembling with the strain of weeks of starvation. He looked less like the king he once was and more like the ghost of the man he had become.
Kain caught him before he could fall forward.
"Don’t push yourself," Kain said quickly.
Kaname's hands clenched in the blanket. "Let me see it. The report."
Kain reached into his coat and withdrew his phone and showed him the message Aido sent. Listing everything that is happening with the child. With reverent care, he placed it in Kaname's hands.
For several moments, the room was still but for Kaname scrolling the screen.
Kaname read every word. Every line. Every note Aido had written of the child's condition—his fatigue, his silence, his failing appetite. The vomiting. The first time it had happened, Isamu had been a newborn, and Seiren had found reports by sheer chance. That report had been clinical. Harsh.
But this one was different.
This one described a boy who spoke in soft tones. Who played gently. Who hugged his father with tired arms and whispered about dreams and rabbits.
Kaname's hands trembled as he read the final line:
"Zero is losing him. He won't say it, but it's written all over him. If something doesn't change, he will lose Isamu. And when that happens, I fear we will lose Zero too." Takuma says.
Kaname inhaled sharply.
"He was suffering," he whispered. "All this time, my son was suffering... and I didn't know."
Takuma said nothing.
Kain reached forward, gripping his shoulder. "Then come with us. Come to him. He needs you."
Kaname looked up at them, anguish painted across every inch of his face. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough."
"You are," Kain said. "Because it’s not about being strong anymore. you’ve loved them both for too long to let that love waste away in silence."
Takuma reached for blood tablets saying "You need to drink. It will get your strength up" but Kaname simply shock his head denying the drink.
Kaname closed his eyes.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing.
Then he whispered, "Help me dress. We leave tonight."
Kain and Takuma exchanged a look—one of muted shock and swift, unspoken resolve.
Without another word, Kain moved to the wardrobe while Takuma eased the blanket from Kaname’s shoulders. Beneath the velvet layers, his body was too thin, skin pale even by vampire standards, every rib and joint too visible. His once-pristine robes hung off him like silk on bone.
Takuma swallowed hard. “You haven’t taken anything in days,” he murmured. “You’re going to collapse if you—”
“I said no,” Kaname rasped, his voice barely more than wind through dry leaves. “Not until I see them.”
The act of standing was a torment. Even with both men helping him upright, Kaname swayed as though the weight of his grief had hollowed his bones.
His knees buckled once—then again—but each time he caught himself, jaw set with fragile determination. He allowed them to dress him, his fingers barely responsive as Takuma buttoned his coat and Kain draped a cloak over his shoulders.
He looked like a king carved from marble: ancient, aching, and worn by time.
By the time they stepped into the corridor, Kaname was leaning heavily against Kain’s arm. His breath came shallowly, each step a battle.
The long corridor outside his chambers had never felt so vast.
Every few steps, Kaname faltered. His hand caught the edge of a table, a doorframe, the wall. His fingers left pale smudges where they touched. He was trembling, burning from the inside out with hunger. His vision swam. The taste of Zero’s blood still haunted his mouth—faint, like a dream he couldn’t wake from.
'That taste was the last time I felt alive.'
He gritted his teeth and took another step.
It was agony.
By the time they reached the grand stairway, Kaname was shaking so violently that Takuma moved behind him, prepared to catch him if he collapsed. “Please,” Takuma murmured, “just one tablet. You’ll collapse before you reach the car.”
But Kaname only shook his head. “I will not numb this. I want to feel it. I should feel it.”
His body was failing, and he let it. Punishment, perhaps, for the silence he had let stretch too long. For the child who had suffered without his arms. For Zero, who had carried the weight of two alone.
“Bring the car to the north exit,” he said, voice hoarse. “We’ll avoid the courtyard. Too many eyes.”
Takuma moved ahead with unnatural speed, blurring into the darkness to prepare. Kain stayed at Kaname’s side, steadying him, wordless in his support.
He pressed a hand to the wall. Just to steady himself.
"Kaname-sama—" Kain moved to help, but Kaname lifted his other hand.
"No. Let me."
It took everything in him to take the first step. Then another.
He didn't move like a king. He moved like a shadow trying to remember how to exist.
Zero stepped out of the shower, steam still curling in the air like ghostly fingers, the towel around his shoulders doing little to chase away the chill that lingered in his skin. His rain-soaked clothes lay in a heap on the floor, heavy and cold with the weight of everything he still couldn’t say aloud.
He rubbed the towel roughly through his hair, then paused—something had changed.
The silence was broken.
Not by wind. Not by footsteps. But by a sound that tore through the quiet like a jagged blade.
A cry.
Thin. High.
And unmistakably pained.
Zero dropped the towel and bolted out of the bathroom barefoot, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet as he raced down the hall toward the futon.
“Papa—!”
Isamu’s voice, broken and trembling, rose in pitch as Zero skidded into the room.
The little boy lay twisted in the blankets, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks, his small fists gripping the fabric tightly as if trying to hold the pain in his belly still.
Zero dropped to his knees beside him, heart pounding in his chest. “Isamu—hey, hey, I’m here, I’m here.”
Isamu sobbed harder, his voice catching between hiccups and groans. “Hurts, Papa… it hurts…”
Zero gathered him into his arms, cradling him against his chest.
The boy’s skin was hot, too hot, and his body trembled with fever.
Zero kissed his hair, rocked him gently, his voice low and tight.
“I’ve got you, little bird. I’ve got you.”
Isamu sniffled, trying to be brave, curling his fingers in Zero’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him anchored. “M-my tummy… it’s loud again… hurts like b-booms inside…”
“I know,” Zero whispered, pressing a trembling kiss to his son’s forehead. “I know, bird. I’m so sorry…”
Isamu gasped, a whimper escaping him. “Make it stop, Papa… p-please make it go ‘way…”
Zero’s throat tightened so hard it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I wish I could,” he said, barely audible. “I’d take it all if I could.”
The toddler hiccuped again, curling into Zero’s chest like a kitten seeking warmth. “I don’t want yucky blood again… it make me more sick,” he mumbled, eyes glassy. “No more pink stuff…”
“I won’t,” Zero promised quickly. “No more unless it helps, okay? No more unless it’s the right kind.”
Isamu’s voice was a whisper now, barely there. “Will it stop hurting if… if I see the man?”
Zero froze. “What man, baby?”
Isamu didn’t answer right away. He blinked slowly, lashes wet with tears.
Then:
“The one from dreams,” he mumbled. “The one who look like a sad prince. He look at me like he know me…”
Zero’s heart skipped. “Do you mean the man with dark hair? Red eyes?”
Isamu nodded faintly. “He look like he wanna cry. But he smile too. Like you, when I say I love you.”
Zero held him tighter, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled.
“I see him,” Isamu whispered, already drifting, “and I feel warm. Like with you…”
And then he was asleep again, head tucked under Zero’s chin, his breathing shallow.
Zero held him there, frozen in place, the world narrowing to the fragile, too-warm weight in his arms.
He closed his eyes against the fresh wave of tears burning behind them, whispering into the silence:
“Come fast, Kaname. Please. I can’t watch him hurt anymore.”
Isamu whimpered once in his sleep and Zero flinched, curling protectively around him, his body curved like a shield. As if he could hold off the sickness through sheer will. As if love could stop the slow unraveling.
He didn’t cry. Not yet.
But the ache inside him was vast—cracked open like a canyon, too wide to ever close again.
He pressed his lips to Isamu’s damp hair. “You’re so small,” he whispered. “So small and strong, and I don’t know how to save you.”
His voice broke.
He wanted to scream. To punch the walls. To tear out his own heart and offer it to whatever cruel god had allowed this. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when his son needed his warmth, his steadiness.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
But the storm was far from over.
Sleep didn’t come to Zero.
Not with the fear crawling beneath his skin. Not with the memories that clawed at the edges of his thoughts, demanding to be seen. To be felt.
Kaname…
That name—once a sanctuary, once a comfort—now stirred something bitter in his chest. A sorrow so profound it no longer had shape. Only a quiet ache that never left.
He had loved him. Even now, he loved him. Somewhere beneath the anger, the betrayal, the grief, love still curled in his chest like the last ember of a fire refusing to die.
But it was that very love that made everything else hurt worse.
He rested his cheek against Isamu’s head and let the past bleed through him.
Yuki...
He remembered it vividly—too vividly. The night Kaname awakened her as a pureblood. The flash of her eyes as the blood took hold. The weight of Kaname’s hand on her back, steady, reverent, as if she were the center of his universe.
Because she was.
She had always been.
Zero had stood there, stunned and shaking, his gun lowered, his heart crumbling inside his chest. He had watched the truth unfold, piece by piece, like a puzzle that had always been complete—just waiting for him to see it.
Kaname had done it all for Yuki.
Every choice. Every manipulation. Every sacrifice.
Including him.
Zero squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching.
It's not like Kaname lied, when he made Zero drink his blood he did say it was all for Yuki. Because it moved the pieces forward.
Because it brought Zero into Yuki’s orbit.
He was never the goal.
He was never anything but a means to an end.
The bloodlust…the bond it was probably all planned out by Kaname.
Zero’s hands trembled as he cradled Isamu closer, guilt and fury roiling inside him like a storm without lightning.
He used me. Got me turned me into something I hated. Let me hate myself—
And yet still, Kaname had looked at him like he mattered. Had kissed him with hands that trembled, held him like he was precious. Had whispered his name like it was sacred.
Why?
Why love him at all if he was disposable? A weapon. A pawn. A boy born to suffer so that someone else could have a throne.
What terrified Zero most wasn’t what Kaname had done to him.
It was the quiet, clawing fear that Isamu—their son—might one day become part of that legacy too.
A piece on a board.
Another sacrifice.
He looked down at Isamu, whose fingers were curled tight in the collar of his shirt. Even now, even unconscious, the boy held on to him like a lifeline.
What if I can’t protect him from you?
The thought turned his stomach.
Kaname had always been ten steps ahead—elegant, calculating, ancient. Capable of love, yes. But also capable of cruelty in the name of it. Of justifying anything in pursuit of the world he wanted to build. Of the people he wanted to protect.
And Zero had learned, painfully, that the line between protector and destroyer blurred quickly when it came to Kaname Kuran.
Still… when he thought of those nights in silence, Kaname curled behind him in bed, breath warm against his shoulder—when he remembered how Kaname’s voice broke the first time he said “Zero, please” with nothing but longing in his voice—
He knew it wasn’t all lies.
It couldn’t have been.
“I hate you,” Zero whispered into the dark, tears slipping soundlessly down his cheeks. “But I still… I still want you to walk through that door.”
Isamu stirred faintly against him.
Zero blinked back the salt burning his eyes.
He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to his son’s. “Don’t break him,” he whispered, a plea ripped from the deepest part of himself. “If you come back… if you touch this boy—don’t break him the way you broke me.”
He couldn’t bear it.
He could carry his own hurt. His own ruin. But if Isamu was just another consequence of Kaname’s great, bloody vision for the world…
Then Zero would tear it all down with his bare hands.
The rain had thinned into mist by the time Aido heard the chime of his phone.
He stood in the entryway, the house still dim and thick with worry, the scent of wet earth and boiled rice clinging to the air.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and checked the message.
[Kain: We’re on our way. Leaving now. A few hours at most.]
Aido exhaled shakily, fingers trembling slightly as he clutched the phone to his chest for a moment longer than necessary. The silence behind him was heavy—he could hear the soft creak of the house settling, the faint hum of the heater in the main room, and Zero’s footsteps pacing gently on the tatami.
A few hours.
Not fast enough. But soon.
He turned the phone over in his hand, thumb hovering above the screen, then messaged back.
[Aido: He’s getting worse. Be careful. And hurry.]
There was no reply—only the little read receipt that blinked back at him like a promise.
He lowered the phone, eyes falling on the quiet living space. Isamu’s blanket was balled up on the futon, abandoned. The toy fox had been dropped on the floor, its soft tail bent underfoot.
Zero had taken Isamu into the other room after the latest episode, needing space. Needing to breathe.
Aido stepped softly toward the hallway, careful not to disturb the fragile peace.
He stopped in the doorway and watched.
Zero was now seated on the edge of the futon, shirt clinging to his back from earlier, his hair still damp.
Isamu lay in his lap, his head nestled in the crook of Zero’s arm, little hands curled into fists against his chest. He was sleeping again—but only just.
Every few moments, his body twitched, like he was trying to fight something invisible.
Zero didn’t speak.
He hadn’t for a while.
His eyes were open, but unfocused, staring out the window at the foggy slope of the mountains.
Aido cleared his throat gently. “They’re coming.”
Zero blinked. He didn’t look up, just moved his hand slowly to stroke Isamu’s hair.
“Kaname?”
“ Yes and Kain and Takuma.”
The silence that followed was long and sharp.
Zero’s throat bobbed. “How long?”
“Few hours,” Aido said softly. “Maybe three.”
Zero finally looked at him then—and the exhaustion in his eyes was devastating.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Aido hesitated, stepping closer. “Do you want me to take him for a bit? You haven’t slep—”
“No,” Zero said quickly.
He adjusted Isamu gently, holding him tighter. “He needs me.He gets scared when I’m not here.”
Zero hadn’t slept.
Not really.
He hadn’t left Isamu’s side for more than minutes at a time. And even then, only long enough to breathe in hallways, shoulders braced against doorframes like the weight of fatherhood might fold him in two.
Aido sank to his knees nearby. “You’ve done more than anyone could’ve asked, Zero.”
“I wasn’t enough,” Zero whispered, voice cracking on the words. “If I had been, he wouldn’t be like this again.”
“He wouldn’t be here if not for you.”
“I don’t know anymore.”
They sat in silence again, the seconds stretching long.
Aido glanced at the child, watching how pale he looked even in sleep, how his lips parted like he couldn’t quite breathe fully.
“He asked about him,” Zero said suddenly. “He called him the sad prince.”
Aido tilted his head. “About who?”
Zero’s voice hollow "Kaname."
“He’s dreaming of him. He sees him. And I… I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t make it. Or if Kaname takes him away from me.”
“You don’t have to think that way,” Aido said gently.
“I do,” Zero replied. “Because I’ve already lost too much. ”
He bent down and pressed a kiss to Isamu’s temple.
“I’m not a good parent,” Zero whispered. “I can’t even give him what he needs to live.”
Aido’s voice cracked. “You gave him everything else. The warmth. The strength. The love.”
“But not the blood,” Zero murmured. “Not the right kind.”
He looked down at Isamu again. His voice broke. “He’s in pain. And I can’t take it away.”
The quiet ticked on.
Aido remained kneeling nearby, gaze shifting from Zero’s hunched shoulders to the too-still form curled in his lap. He didn’t speak again. Didn’t push. The air was too fragile, thick with dread and the sharp sting of helplessness.
Zero’s fingers moved gently through Isamu’s hair, again and again, the same slow rhythm. It was all he could do. It was the only thing left.
Then—
Isamu twitched.
Not like before. Not the small, dreamy flicker of a restless sleeper.
This time, it was sharper. A jerk.
Zero froze. “Isamu?”
The boy twitched again, more violently—his limbs spasming once, twice, and then his whole body arched in Zero’s arms as if pulled by invisible strings.
“Isamu!”
The word tore from Zero’s throat as he shifted, trying to hold him steady, trying to ease the sudden, violent tremors wracking the small body.
Isamu’s eyes flew open—wide and wild but unseeing. His mouth opened in a silent scream, a choked, rasping sound emerging instead as his back bowed and his limbs flailed.
Zero tried to hold him closer, protect him from himself. “No, no, baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you—shhh—it’s okay—it’s okay—”
But it wasn’t.
Isamu’s convulsions continued, small arms beating weakly against Zero’s chest before his fingers seized tight again, his entire form trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
Aido was already moving, his voice tight with panic. “We need to cool him down. He’s seizing—his fever’s too high—”
“I know!” Zero barked, but his voice cracked mid-syllable, raw with terror.
He adjusted Isamu’s position carefully, laying him across his lap and brushing the hair from his soaked forehead. The heat radiating from his body was wrong—unnatural.
“Bird, please,” Zero whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just breathe for me.”
Isamu’s eyes fluttered, lashes wet and stuck together, his mouth gasping uselessly as if he couldn’t quite remember how to pull air into his lungs.
Aido returned with a bowl of water and a damp cloth from the kitchen, moving on instinct, hands shaking as he knelt beside them. “We have to bring it down—try his forehead—his neck—”
Zero didn’t hesitate. He pressed the cool cloth gently to Isamu’s brow, then to his cheeks, then along the delicate curve of his throat.
Isamu whimpered, muscles jerking again—then went still. Limp.
For a split second, Zero stopped breathing.
“Isamu?”
No response.
“Isamu!”
Then—just barely—a breath.
A wet, rattling sound.
Zero exhaled shakily, his hand moving to cup the child’s cheek. “That’s it. That’s good. Just breathe. Stay with me, little bird. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”
Isamu moaned faintly, barely conscious now, the seizure having drained what little strength he had left. He lay slack in Zero’s arms, small and shivering.
Zero clutched him tighter, wrapping his body around the boy as if he could transfer his own heat, his own strength. “You’re okay,” he whispered, tears sliding freely down his cheeks now. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
Aido sat back, pale, watching in stunned silence. The damp cloth had slipped from his hand onto the floor.
Zero kissed Isamu’s temple again and again, hands moving restlessly over his back and sides, as though constant contact could keep the darkness at bay.
“I can’t lose him,” Zero said. His voice was quiet, but the words were final. Desperate. “I can’t.”
He rocked gently, holding the boy like he had when he was a newborn, when everything was fragile and unknown—but now, the fear wasn’t new.
It was ancient.
It was every day.
“I don’t care what Kaname has to do,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t care what it takes. I just need him to get here. I need him to save our son.”
Zero lowered his forehead to Isamu’s, the two of them breathing in tandem—one ragged, one shallow. One father, one fading light.
“Please,” he whispered again. “Come faster.”
And somewhere far away, barreling through the rain-slicked roads with Kain behind the wheel and desperation carved into every second—
Kaname Kuran opened his eyes.
The bond pulsed faintly again.
His mate was calling him home.
The car cut through the dark like a blade, headlights dissolving the mist into silver ghosts.
Inside, it was quiet.
Kain’s hands gripped the wheel, knuckles tight, eyes fixed forward with the quiet intensity of someone who knew time was working against them. Takuma sat beside him, posture tense, his usual calm long since frayed.
Kaname sat in the back seat, too still. Too silent.
He hadn’t spoken in almost an hour.
Not since the fevered rush of dressing. Not since he’d read Aido’s message on Kain’s phone: He’s getting worse. Be careful. And hurry.
Kaname’s eyes were half-lidded now, staring out the window. But he didn’t see the trees or the winding road. Didn’t hear the tires on gravel or the engine humming low beneath them.
He was elsewhere.
With him.
The mate bond had been silent for so long—quieted, frayed, nearly severed by pain and absence. But now…
Now, it was singing.
No, screaming.
He could feel it.
It had been quiet for so long—dulled, buried beneath years of silence and Zero’s seething need to sever him from his heart. But now, all at once, it had surged awake. Not like a whisper, not like a thread—but like a cry.
It burned through his veins like wildfire. Raw. Desperate. Calling to him with unmistakable agony.
Zero.
Kaname’s fingers clenched in his lap.
He felt it all—sharp bursts of panic, a wave of sorrow so deep it nearly brought him to his knees, and beneath it, the iron-strong terror only a parent could feel.
And love.
Crushing, overwhelming love.
He’s not blocking me anymore, Kaname thought, and the realization was like a dagger and a gift all at once.
Zero was no longer holding it back. No longer walling off the bond with fury and willpower and years of practiced resistance. Kaname could feel the ache pouring through it like light through a cracked dam.
Panic. Guilt. Desperation.
A cry. Not in words, but in something older. Something deeper.
Kaname clenched his jaw, eyes flickering shut.
He could feel Zero again.
And it gutted him.
Zero wasn’t just afraid. He was breaking.
Kaname’s hand tightened around the fabric of his coat, fingers trembling. The warmth of the bond rushed over him like a flood—and beneath it, a memory rose, unbidden.
The first time.
He remembered the first time he’d seen Zero—truly seen him. Not across a battlefield, not as a hunter, not as a problem to be solved—but as a boy. Standing beside his twin brother. The cursed twins.
Kaname had felt it then—something tugging in his chest. Something he didn’t understand. A gravity. A presence. A pull he couldn't name. His focus was on Zero.
Even then, even before he knew, Zero had felt it too he looked at the place Kaname was in.
They had circled each other like stars forced into wrong orbits, bound by a force neither of them could define. And Kaname—fool that he was—had assumed it was something else. A challenge. A Resistance. Hatred. Jealousy. A means to an end.
It had been recognition.
Too late, he realized that Zero had never been the weapon. He had been the reason.
His mate.
The one Kaname should have protected before anyone else. Before Yuki. Before his own schemes. Before the centuries of plans and blood-soaked legacies he’d wrapped himself in like armor.
He pressed a hand to his chest, just over his heart.
It hurt.
Not physically. Not in the way his body still trembled with hunger or cold.
But in the way his soul was fraying at the edges.
He trusted me once.
And I broke him.
I let him suffer.
And now… now our son is paying for it.
He thought of Isamu—how small he must be, how fragile. A piece of them that had never asked to carry the weight of their history. Of their mistakes.
Kaname swallowed hard.
“I should’ve known,” he said suddenly, voice low and hoarse.
Takuma turned slightly. “Known what?”
Kaname’s eyes opened, glowing faintly in the darkness. “That he was mine. From the first moment. I was drawn to him even then… I just didn’t understand why.”
Takuma’s gaze softened.
“Everything I did to him,” Kaname whispered. “Everything I let happen… I would undo it all if I could. I would give back his family. His humanity. His peace.”
The bond pulsed—another surge of anguish, raw and wild.
He’s afraid.
“Faster,” Kaname said tightly, his voice sharper now.
Kain didn’t ask why.
He just pressed down on the accelerator.
And Kaname—still trembling, still too weak—closed his eyes and reached for the bond again. This time, not to pull it closer. Not to ask for anything.
Only to answer.
I hear you, he thought.
I’m coming.
I won’t let him suffer anymore.
Not our son. Not you.
Not again.
The house in Matsumoto was still. Not the peaceful stillness of a place at rest—but the kind of silence that followed devastation. The kind that lingered in walls and floorboards, in shadows and breath.
Outside, the wind whispered across the veranda, stirring damp leaves that clung to the wood like ghosts.
Inside, Zero sat motionless, Isamu cradled in his lap.
The boy whimpered in his sleep—thin, breathless sounds that cracked something in Zero’s chest each time. Fever still kissed his skin, and his little fists had long since loosened, twitching only now and then as if he were fighting monsters in his dreams.
Zero stroked his hair gently, over and over, the way he had when Isamu was a baby too small to know safety. Each stroke was a promise. Each breath was a prayer.
He didn’t look up when the engine died outside. When gravel crunched beneath approaching feet. When Aido, voice low and tight, said:
“They’re here.”
Zero already knew.
He’d known the moment the bond stirred.
The moment Kaname crossed whatever threshold still existed between them—not the physical one, but the deeper, older one. The one Zero had spent years holding closed with clenched teeth and a shattered heart.
Now it was wide open.
And it was aching.
Zero didn’t speak. He simply looked down at the child in his arms one last time. His thumb brushed a line of sweat from Isamu’s brow. He leaned in and murmured something too soft for Aido to hear—something meant only for one pair of ears.
Then, with a quiet exhale that seemed to pull from the bottom of his soul, Zero shifted. He laid Isamu down gently on the futon, tucking the blanket around him with a reverence reserved for the dying.
He knelt beside the boy a moment longer, as if memorizing the shape of him. Then he stood—slowly, stiffly, like his body didn’t quite belong to him anymore—and walked to the side door.
He didn’t glance back.
The screen slid open with a soft click, and he stepped barefoot onto the veranda.
The mist reached for him like it knew his name.
His shirt still clung to him, not from the rain—but from the heat of holding a child whose body was too hot, too small, too close to slipping away. The boards beneath his feet were cold. The mountain air bit at his skin.
Still, he didn’t shiver.
Because inside him, something else was burning.
Behind him, the front door opened.
Kaname stepped inside.
Aido’s breath caught audibly—but Kaname didn’t notice. He didn’t see him.
He saw only the futon.
The shape on it.
And then he fell.
No grace. No dignity. No royal composure.
He dropped to his knees with a sound that wasn’t quite a gasp and wasn’t quite a sob—just breath that caught and broke as his body folded under the weight of everything he hadn’t done.
“Isamu,” he said.
The name tore from his lips like it had been trapped there for years.
He crawled forward, hands shaking violently, and stopped at the edge of the futon. His eyes—hollow, sunken, red—devoured every inch of the child’s face. Every shiver. Every too-pale patch of skin. The bruised circles beneath his eyes. The fine tremble in his breath.
And he crumbled.
Tears fell without sound. Without protest. As if his body had no choice but to weep.
Aido stood frozen for a beat—then quietly stepped out, closing the door behind him.
Kaname didn’t notice.
He didn’t see Zero watching from the shadows just beyond the veranda slats, hands clenched at his sides, mouth pressed hard to keep from making a sound. He didn’t feel the way Zero’s heart twisted tighter with every breath he took. Didn’t know that his mate was holding himself together by sheer force of will, lest the sight of him break him all over again.
Kaname only saw him.
The boy he’d never held. Never fed. Never watched fall asleep.
The child he hadn’t protected.
His hand shook as he reached out, fingers hovering over Isamu’s chest until finally—gently, like a man touching a miracle—he pressed his palm flat against it.
It rose.
It fell.
Alive.
But barely.
His mouth trembled. “My son,” he whispered. “You’re so small…”
He leaned down, pressing his lips to the burning skin of Isamu’s forehead. A gesture so soft, it could have shattered glass.
“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m here now. I should’ve been here all along. Forgive me. Please—just forgive me.”
The boy didn’t stir.
But the bond did.
It bloomed like something half-dead breaking through frozen ground. Weak, hesitant—but there. Alive.
It reached for him.
And then—it reached further.
Kaname felt it.
Zero.
Still outside. Still silent.
But present.
The mate bond trembled—wound tight with anguish, rage, history—but it did not retreat. It opened.
And Kaname broke.
He bowed his head beside his son and let the tears fall freely, no longer caring who saw.
“I would give you my life,” he whispered. “ Just don’t take him from me. Don’t let it be too late.”
Outside, Zero stood like stone, his expression unreadable.
But his hand, clenched so tightly at his side—
Loosened.
And in the silence of that ruined room, in the space between one breath and the next—
The bond answered.
And for the first time since their world fell apart—
Hope lived.
Kaname’s fingers trembled as he unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve.
The fire in the hearth had long since gone out, and the room was cold now—but his skin burned. With shame. With love. With desperation.
He pushed his sleeve up to the elbow, exposing the pale skin of his forearm. Isamu lay still before him, lips parted, breath shallow, lashes trembling on flushed cheeks. The fever hadn’t broken. Time was slipping through their fingers like ash.
Kaname brought his wrist to his mouth.
He bit down, sharp and deep.
Blood welled to the surface—dark, rich, ancient.
The scent filled the room instantly, thick and warm, something that lived in the bones. The bond pulsed with it. Stirred. Called.
He shifted closer, cradling the back of Isamu’s head as he pressed his bleeding wrist gently to the boy’s lips.
"Just a little," he murmured. His voice wasn’t steady—but it was full of reverence. Of longing.
“Enough to take the pain away.”
Isamu stirred faintly at the taste—his body reacting instinctively to what it had been starved of. His lips latched weakly, and he drank.
Kaname closed his eyes.
And for a moment—just a moment—he let himself speak.
Not aloud.
Not by name.
But through the bond. Through breath.
“I didn’t know he would look so much like you.”
He stroked the child’s damp hair as the feeding continued, gently, tenderly. As if touching something sacred.
“I didn’t know he would cling to his father the same way you clung to silence. So fiercely. So stubbornly. As if needing was weakness.”
The bond pulsed again.
Kaname turned his head slightly, toward the wooden slats of the veranda, toward the place just beyond the wall where he could feel it—
Him.
That steady presence, trembling behind silence. That heartbeat he had known for centuries, long before they ever spoke their first words to each other.
He didn’t look.
But he knew Zero was there.
He didn’t need to see him to feel him.
“You didn’t tell me,” Kaname whispered, voice barely audible. “You carried him alone. You endured everything—again—because that’s who you are. Because that’s what I made of you.”
He touched Isamu’s cheek. The fever was already beginning to shift.
“But you shouldn’t have had to. You shouldn’t have held him through every night alone. You shouldn’t have whispered away his fevers while I sat in shadows telling myself I was doing the right thing.”
Kaname’s hand shook as he brushed Isamu’s hair back.
“I was a coward. I told myself I was giving you freedom. That if you hated me, at least you could live without me. But I think the truth is…”
He swallowed.
“I couldn’t bear to see what I’d done to you.”
The bond answered—not with words, but with a sharp, shuddering ache that made Kaname inhale sharply.
He let the silence settle again. Let the weight of it drape over them like the mist outside.
Isamu’s body relaxed slightly. His breathing slowed, deepened. A small hand twitched and then went still, his head resting against Kaname’s knee.
Kaname bowed over him, hand pressed to his chest, trembling.
“You were always stronger,” he murmured. “Stronger than I deserved.”
His voice softened to a hush, barely spoken at all.
“But I never stopped being yours.”
Outside, Zero stood like a statue, fists clenched, head bowed.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
But inside, he was breaking.
His mate—his husband—was there, inches away, kneeling beside the child they had made together in love and grief and defiance.
Kaname was right there, speaking with a voice that cracked and trembled, saying all the things Zero had tried not to need.
And it hurt.
God—it hurt.
He wanted to crash into him, fall to his knees and bury his face in the shoulder he used to sleep against. He wanted to sob in his arms and whisper, I’m scared. I’m so scared of losing him. I don’t know how to live if he goes.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t forget the past. Couldn’t betray the family that bled for him. Couldn’t forgive everything—not yet.
So he stood in silence. Listening. Remembering.
And aching.
Because even now—after all the heartbreak, the distance, the choices that broke them apart—Kaname was still his.
And Zero was still his.
Even if the world had made them forget how to say it aloud.
Kaname bent forward, kissed his son’s forehead one last time, and whispered—
“I’ll stay. No matter what you decide. I’ll stay.”
The blood stopped flowing.
The bond didn’t.
And the night held them all.
Mate. Husband. Father.
Heart, still breaking.
But together again. Even in silence.
The room was quiet again.
The kind of quiet that followed storms. Not peace, exactly—but a fragile stillness, like the world had paused to breathe.
Kaname sat unmoving, one hand resting gently on Isamu’s chest, feeling each breath as it came—slow, shallow, but no longer ragged. His own blood had steadied the fever’s cruel hand. For now.
He didn’t look toward the door.
Didn’t need to.
The bond had stretched out and touched him the moment he crossed the threshold of this house, and it hadn’t let go since. Zero was still out there. Just beyond the paper wall, just past the slats of the veranda, unmoving.
Kaname could feel the ache in him. The restraint. The longing.
And the terror.
He kept his gaze fixed on their son.
“I’ll stay,” he whispered again, though no one answered.
He had made promises before. All of them empty.
This time, he would let his presence speak.
Let it be an answer.
Isamu stirred.
It started with a twitch of his fingers, a little frown. His eyes fluttered, then closed again.
Kaname leaned forward slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”
The boy’s lips moved.
At first, no sound.
Then:
“…Papa?”
A breath. A plea. Small and soft.
Kaname went still.
“Papa…” Isamu’s voice came again, faint, hoarse—but stronger than before. “Where’s Papa…?”
And that—
That undid Zero.
The shoji door slid open so fast it nearly came off its track.
Barefoot, pale, chest heaving, Zero crossed the room in three silent strides and fell to his knees beside the futon.
Kaname didn’t move. He didn’t speak.
He only bowed his head and shifted back, giving space without being asked.
Zero’s hands were already on their son—one cradling the back of his head, the other smoothing damp bangs from his fever-flushed brow.
“I’m here, bird,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Papa’s here.”
Isamu blinked up at him, eyes wet but clearer. “You were gone…”
“I was close,” Zero said quickly. “I never left.”
The child reached for him with weak arms, and Zero gathered him up immediately, holding him against his chest as if anchoring them both.
Kaname watched.
Silent.
Zero didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his eyes burning too hard. But he felt him—every heartbeat, every breath, every bit of Kaname's soul bared and broken at his side.
It made something in him ache so fiercely, he thought it might split him in two.
Their son was safe.
Kaname had saved him.
And Zero couldn’t even say thank you.
Because if he looked Kaname in the eye, if he let himself speak—
He would fall apart.
He would cry, not from weakness, but from the unbearable, suffocating relief.
He would throw himself into his arms and whisper how scared he was, how the days had bled together in fevered prayers and how he’d almost stopped believing that anyone was coming. That Kaname was coming.
He would tell him that despite everything, despite the years and the silence and the war between them, he still loved him. Still belonged to him.
Because Kaname wasn’t just his mate.
He was his husband.
The one he had married under pale lantern light, in a quiet chapel where the world had briefly made room for joy.
But that memory lived in a place Zero couldn’t touch right now.
So he just held their child.
And Kaname sat beside them, still kneeling, his hands curled tightly in the fabric of his coat to keep them from reaching out.
The silence stretched long.
Kaname hadn’t moved from where he knelt.
His knees ached, but he didn’t notice. He couldn’t take his eyes off them—Zero holding their son, brushing his fingers lightly through his hair, murmuring something too soft to catch.
The sight was more than he deserved.
But he drank it in anyway, like sunlight after centuries of cold.
Zero didn’t look at him right away. He just rested his chin on Isamu’s head and listened to the quiet.
And then, after a long moment, he spoke.
His voice was tired. Rough from wear and nights without rest. But there was no venom in it.
Just something softer.
Resigned.
“Lay down,” Zero said.
Kaname blinked, startled.
Zero glanced up at him now, finally meeting his gaze. His expression unreadable, but not cruel. Not closed.
His arms shifted slightly around the boy.
“You should sleep next to him,” he said. “In case he needs you again.”
Kaname stared at him. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He hadn’t expected that—hadn’t dared to hope.
Zero looked away again, stroking Isamu’s back absently.
“He asked for you,” he added, more quietly. “Before. When he was hurting. You might help him rest.”
Kaname’s throat tightened.
The air hung heavy with unspoken things.
Zero sat with Isamu bundled tightly against his chest, the warmth of his son's small body pressing into his ribs like an anchor to reality.
Kaname remained still, barely breathing, just feet away—yet it might as well have been a world.
Isamu stirred, rubbing at his eyes, still dazed from fever and sleep.
He peeked up at Zero, voice thin and drowsy.
“Papa… 'm not cold no more…”
Zero swallowed hard. “I know. That’s good, little bird.”
The child blinked slowly, then turned his gaze toward the figure still kneeling quietly beside the futon.
“…Sad prince helpedt?”
Zero’s breath caught in his throat.
Kaname didn’t lift his head.
After a long moment, Zero answered carefully. “Yes. He helped you.”
Isamu’s fingers curled into the front of Zero’s shirt. “He looks real sad…”
Zero closed his eyes. He is, he wanted to say.
He always has been.
But instead, he kissed his son’s forehead. “Sleep a little more. I’ve got you.”
Isamu obeyed, already half-asleep again, his limbs going slack in Zero’s arms. The faint color that had returned to his cheeks made Zero feel like he could breathe for the first time in days—and yet, something in him still throbbed painfully, deeper than relief.
He looked at Kaname at last.
The man hadn’t moved, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, his lips parted slightly like he was trying to remember how to draw air.
His entire being looked frayed—threadbare.
Zero studied him, and for the first time since Kaname stepped back into his life, he allowed himself to feel everything.
The man before him was barely more than a whisper of who he used to be.
Gaunt. Starved. Empty-eyed.
And it’s my fault, too, Zero thought with a flash of guilt. Because I walked away… because I hid our child…
Because I still loved him.
Zero gently laid Isamu back on the futon, tucking the blanket around his legs. The boy murmured faintly but didn’t wake.
Zero rose, his legs shaky with exhaustion and too many emotions.
He turned toward the veranda, where the wind still pushed cool mist through the slats of the wooden porch.
But he didn’t step out.
He hesitated.
And then he spoke, his voice low, strained, nearly broken.
“Why aren't you saying anything?”
Kaname flinched.
Zero’s hands curled into fists. “You haven’t looked at me. You haven’t even spoken my name.”
Kaname’s head lifted slowly.
Their eyes met—and it was like time buckled.
Silver to crimson.
And every wound opened again.
“I don’t have the right,” Kaname said, voice hoarse. “Not after what I did. Not after what I let happen.”
Zero's breath stilled.
Kaname stood slowly, not reaching for Zero, not daring to come closer.
“I wanted to say it a thousand times,” Kaname whispered. “I wanted to run to you, fall to my knees. But what right do I have? After I used you? After I chose Yuki’s safety over your soul?”
Zero's throat worked, the sting in his eyes returning too fast.
Kaname shook his head, his hands trembling at his sides. “If I hadn’t freed Shizuka … if I hadn’t twisted you into a weapon, tried to make you into something you weren’t—we would have raised him together. He wouldn’t have suffered like this.”
His voice broke. “You wouldn’t have suffered like this.”
Zero stepped back slightly, his expression unreadable—but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.
Kaname took one breath. Then another.
And then he got to his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For the nights you cried and I wasn’t there. For the pain I put into your body and your heart. For letting you carry him alone. For not coming sooner.”
Zero stared at him, heart slamming against his ribs. The words were jagged and messy. There was no grace in Kaname now—only rawness.
And it shook something loose inside him.
“I hate you,” Zero said quietly. “I hate what you did to me.”
Kaname nodded, silently. “I know.”
“But I never stopped—” Zero stopped himself, turning his face away. “Never mind.”
He looked at the man kneeling before him, hollowed by his own regret, and felt something warm and cruel twist in his chest.
“This doesn’t change everything,” Zero murmured.
“I know,” Kaname rasped.
“But it changed something,” he added, softer.
Kaname dared to lift his gaze again, and in that moment, they saw each other fully—no masks, no roles, no war between them.
Just pain.
And love.
And the fragile thread of a bond still beating.
Behind them, Isamu stirred, his small voice reaching into the silence like sunlight breaking cloud.
“Papa… where’s the sad prince goin’?”
Zero looked down at Kaname who bowed his head once more.
But the smallest broken sound escaped him then.
And it was the beginning of something—unfinished, uncertain, but no longer silenced.
Zero knelt beside the futon once more, brushing the damp curls from Isamu’s forehead as the boy blinked blearily into theS
“I wanted to stay asleep. It was the only way I could be with you two.” Kaname closed his eyes and whispered.
The silence between them now was quieter—less brittle. The air no longer felt like it was waiting to break.
“You gave him a name,” Kaname murmured. “Isamu.”
“Yeah.” Zero says
“It’s beautiful.” Kaname whispered.
“It means courage,” Zero said after a beat. “Because that’s what he gave me. What I needed to survive when I had nothing left.”
Kaname opened his eyes again, and for the first time, they were full—not just with sorrow, but awe. “You’ve always had courage.”
Zero looked away, jaw tight.
A moment passed. Then another.
Then, quietly, Kaname asked, “May I sit closer?”
Zero hesitated. His chest tightened.
And then—slowly, wordlessly—he nodded.
“I did offer you a place next to him to sleep,” Zero added, barely audible. “You might as well take it.”
Kaname shifted carefully across the tatami, each movement slow and reverent. He didn’t reach for Zero. Didn’t touch him.
He slowly laid beside his son—a son who didn’t even know that this was the man that sired him. That this man’s blood ran through him like a second heartbeat.
And Zero allowed it.
Allowed Kaname this fragile gift. This mercy.
Not because it was forgiveness.
But because it was something closer to compassion.
A reward for saving their son’s life.
And maybe, deep down, for not letting go of him even after everything.
They sat there in silence, watching over the boy who bore the best of them both. The bond between them—once severed and sealed—throbbed faintly in the space between their skin.
Not healed. Not yet.
But alive.
Zero spoke at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”
Kaname let out the faintest breath of a laugh. “I’d let you.”
They didn’t look at each other.
But they didn’t move apart either.
And from the futon, Isamu stirred again—half-asleep, but safe.
“Papa… prince…” he mumbled.
Kaname leaned forward instinctively. “I’m here, little one.”
Zero watched the way Kaname said it—how softly the words left his mouth, how reverent they sounded.
And something in him—some small, wounded thing—uncoiled.
Not healed.
But beginning.
And Kaname, lying beside the child he never thought he’d see, didn’t sleep.
He couldn’t.
Not while the shape of his guilt still shadowed the doorway.
He would not close his eyes until he was sure that Isamu’s fever didn’t return.
Until Zero, silent beside him, finally let him in.
Only then would he dare dream again.
Zero helping Yuki make chocolate for Kaname.
Zero researching how to break the bond.
When they got married.
Kaname in Zero's room in sun dormitory
Isamu and Zero after their dream chapter 19.
Chapter 21: Home at last
Chapter Text
The house had quieted again.
Isamu was finally resting, tucked under layers of warmth, his breathing thin but steady. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the wooden floorboards.
The remnants of breakfast lingered in the air—warm rice, miso broth, the faint hint of over-steeped tea—and the faint echo of strain still hummed beneath the silence.
Aido stood near the sliding door, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared out at the thinning mist. The clouds had broken slightly, letting a pale line of light stretch over the forest ridge. But it wasn’t the dawn that kept him rooted there.
It was the footsteps behind him.
He didn’t need to turn. He knew who it was.
Kain stepped into the room with that same familiar slowness, the quiet strength that had always grounded them both. Behind him, Takuma lingered just at the threshold, one hand resting lightly on the paper frame, hesitant but watching.
Aido’s jaw clenched. He still couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“Aido,” Kain said softly.
That voice—low, warm, and edged with quiet concern—made something inside Aido tremble.
He turned slowly, eyes rimmed red but dry. His throat was tight.
Kain studied him for a moment. His gaze wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t soft either. It was steady. And then, without asking, he crossed the room and pulled him into a firm, wordless embrace.
Aido froze.
And then—just for a second—he let go of the weight he’d been carrying for years.
His arms locked around Kain’s waist, fingers curling into the back of his coat, and he buried his face in his cousin’s shoulder.
“I thought—” Aido’s voice cracked. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“You didn’t tell us, idiot,” Kain muttered, his tone equal parts exasperated and kind. “Not until it was almost too late.”
Takuma stepped in at last, his footsteps light as always, smile gentle. “You disappeared for years, Aido. Then we get here and find you… playing godfather in a hidden mountain house with Zero and Kaname’s secret child.”
Aido gave a weak, watery laugh against Kain’s shoulder. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I would’ve come,” Kain said, his voice firmer now. “The second you asked. Don’t you know that?”
“I know,” Aido whispered.
He pulled back a little, eyes dropping to the floor. “But Zero… he had nothing left. He didn’t trust anyone. He was sick. Alone. I had to protect him. I had to protect the baby.”
Takuma’s expression softened even further. “And you did. You did more than any of us could’ve imagined.”
There was a pause.
Then Kain’s brows furrowed. His voice lowered, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Were you in love with him?”
The question landed like a dropped stone.
Aido flinched, looking away sharply. “What?”
“Zero,” Kain said. “Were you in love with him?”
“No,” Aido said quickly, too quickly. “No, I wasn’t—”
But Kain didn’t press. He just tilted his head.
Aido let out a breath and looked back toward the door, his voice quieter. “I admired him. Maybe even envied him. But no. I was never in love with him. He was always Kaname’s—whether either of them knew it or not.”
Takuma watched Aido carefully, then said, “But you did help him keep Kaname’s child a secret. You lied to everyone. Even us.”
Aido’s jaw tightened. “I did what I thought was right.”
Kain exhaled, stepping back now, folding his arms. “Even if it was a crime?”
Aido looked up.
Kain’s tone was no longer gentle.
“You know what it means, Aido,” he said quietly. “To hide a pureblood child from their blood parent. Especially one as old as Kaname. It’s a crime.”
Aido said nothing.
Kain’s eyes darkened slightly. “You risked everything. For him. For Zero. Why?”
Aido’s shoulders slumped.
“Because Zero didn’t ask to be turned. Didn’t ask to be used. And that child… Isamu… he didn’t ask to be born into a war. Into bloodlines. Into legacy. He was just a baby. Just a heartbeat.”
He turned away again, voice trembling. “And for once, I wanted to protect something before it broke.”
Takuma’s gaze fell, quiet and sorrowful.
Kain exhaled slowly. “And now?”
Aido’s fingers dug into his sleeves.
“Now…” he whispered. “Now I pray it’s not too late to fix it.”
The room settled into silence again.
Only the fire crackled—low, flickering. Soft light spilled across the tatami, warming the edge of the room where three vampires stood, caught in the wreckage of choices long buried.
Then Takuma finally spoke, voice barely a whisper. “What will you do if Zero sends him away again?”
Aido didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
Because he knew that if Zero let Kaname go this time—there might not be another chance.
The storm had passed, but the hush it left behind was heavier than silence.
Morning light filtered pale and uncertain through the shoji screens, painting faint silver lines across the floorboards—across the futon, across the soft, still body curled between two men who hadn't spoken a word to each other in hours.
Zero hadn’t slept.
He hadn’t even closed his eyes.
He sat upright, back rigid, Isamu tucked securely in his arms while Kaname lay just inches away—motionless, silent. His eyes were closed, but Zero knew better. He wasn’t sleeping.
The bond said so.
That thread, long-muted and sealed for years, pulsed faintly again—alive but faint, cold as snow, coiled beneath his skin like a whisper too soft to name. Zero could feel Kaname’s stillness and the way it wasn’t rest, but tension. Waiting. Dreading.
The cold hadn’t left either. Not the kind that came from weather, but something deeper, crueler. The kind of chill that sank into marrow. That bloomed from grief and guilt and love left to rot.
Zero stared.
What if he wakes before me and takes him?
What if I open my eyes and he’s gone?
What if he leaves me with nothing again?
He tightened his grip on Isamu, holding him closer, as if the child might dissolve without touch.
Because Kaname had taken everything once.
Not with violence.
No. Kaname never needed violence to destroy him.
He had taken Zero’s life quietly, elegantly—one thread at a time.
He had released the monster that killed his family.
He had let Shizuka turned him into the very thing his family hunted.
He had placed him between fate and ruin, between Yuki and power, between duty and desire—and left him to drown there, alone.
He had taken Zero’s choices, his future, his body, his soul.
And now…
Now, he was here.
Lying quietly beside their son.
The son he hadn’t known about, hadn’t touched, hadn’t fed. Because Zero made sure Kaname would have no role in Isamu’s life.
What if Kaname decided he will do the same to Zero.
He couldn’t risk it.
So he didn’t move.
Not until the first light of dawn crept up over the hills and spilled across the wood floors in quiet lines.
Then—only then—did Zero shift.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t give Kaname a glance, even as his entire being was braced for movement. He simply gathered Isamu—still warm, still too weak—and rose with a stiffness carved from fear.
He walked out of the room.
Away from the futon.
Away from Kaname.
He carried his son into the living room and laid him gently on the futon near the hearth. The fire had long since burned low, so Zero rebuilt it with practiced ease, stoking it until flames began to flicker again.
Zero tucked Isamu in with quiet precision, folding the blanket high over his chest, brushing the damp curls from his forehead with the same care he might use to trace a prayer into stone.
Then he stood, the bones in his knees cracking softly as he moved toward the kitchen.
From there, he could see everything.
Isamu on the futon, bathed in the flicker of the rekindled firelight.
The hallway stretching into shadow.
And further back, Kaname Kuran—still lying where Zero had left him, unmoved, untouched, as if the night had preserved him like wax. As if the world had forgotten he was alive.
A ghost, not of death—but of memory.
Zero turned his back on him.
He cooked because there was nothing else to do. Because motion made silence bearable. Because if his hands stayed idle, he’d remember how badly they ached to throw something—to break.
Rice. Miso soup. Grilled fish. Tamagoyaki.
His fingers moved with the practiced grace of someone who had once learned how to survive hunger—not just for food, but for normalcy. The skillet hissed. The broth simmered. The scent of soy and dashi filled the space like warmth trying to disguise something bleeding.
He plated enough for everyone.
Even for him.
But he didn’t look at the table when he set the bowls down. He didn’t glance at the extra place.
He only watched Isamu—turning restlessly in his sleep, small fingers curled into the blanket like they were clinging to something tethered just beneath the surface.
A door slid open behind him with the faintest sigh of wood on wood.
Aido stepped inside.
His eyes were bloodshot, hair unkempt, clothes wrinkled. Fatigue hung from him like smoke. He said nothing at first. Just crossed the room and crouched beside the futon, his fingers finding the boy’s wrist with soft, clinical care.
Zero stood still.
Watching.
Waiting for words like bullets.
“He’s less warm,” Aido murmured. “More color. But his pulse is still shallow.”
Zero’s throat constricted.
“If we want this to stick…” Aido looked up, voice gentler now. “He’ll need more.”
Zero swallowed. “More?”
“More of Kaname’s blood.”
It was as if the words summoned him.
Or maybe he’d already been there—hovering like breath on glass, waiting for permission to exist in the same room.
Zero felt it first.
The pressure behind him.
A presence heavy as centuries, quiet as snowfall.
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. The bond trembled faintly in his blood, not warm, not comforting—but cold and constant. A ghost of what once tethered them, now half-unbound.
Kaname.
He didn’t need to look to know.
Still, his breath hitched—just for a moment—just enough to betray the storm beneath his skin.
Kaname said nothing as he approached the futon. His gaze swept over the child—over his own son—and then rose, lifted across the space to the kitchen, to Zero.
Their eyes didn’t meet.
Zero reached for a glass.
He filled it with water, dropped in the blood tablets, and stirred until the red bled through like ink in water. Then he set it down hard on the table.
“Drink.”
Kaname didn’t move.
“I don’t—”
“I said drink.” The words cut sharper this time. “You’re no use to him if you collapse the next time he needs you.”
Kaname’s lips parted, slow. “Zero…”
“You want to help?” Zero’s voice cracked then steadied—cold, controlled, dangerous. “Then help. Strengthen your blood. Make sure he survives the next wave. Because I can’t—I won’t—watch him suffer again.”
Kaname’s gaze dropped to the glass.
His fingers twitched.
“I haven’t taken any in—”
“I know how long it’s been.” Zero’s voice was low, furious. “Everyone fucking knows. That’s why you look like death wearing silk.”
Kaname hesitated.
Then, with slow, reverent movements—as if the glass were a thing too sacred to hold—he reached out. His hand trembled as it closed around the stem.
And that was when they arrived.
Kain and Takuma stepped into the doorway, breath caught like a prayer.
They froze.
“Kaname…” Takuma’s voice was barely more than a whisper, heavy with disbelief. And something like hope. And sorrow, sweet as rot.
Kaname didn’t answer.
He lifted the glass.
His hands shook. Not subtly. Not delicately.
Violently.
For a moment, Zero thought he would drop it. That it would slip and shatter, red and sharp across the wood floor like a warning.
But it didn’t.
Kaname drank.
The scent bloomed into the air like incense, rich and unmistakable. Pureblooded. A scent older than memory. The kind of scent that stirred instinct before thought.
Zero’s fangs throbbed. Not in hunger.
In grief.
Kain turned his face away. Jaw tight. Takuma exhaled sharply, shoulders dropping like the moment had cracked him open.
Aido didn’t speak. He was already checking Isamu again, focused, present, the only one holding the room steady.
Zero didn’t move.
He watched.
Watched the man who had once held his heart like it was a relic drink from a glass he hadn’t earned. Watched the slight flush rise to Kaname’s cheeks.
The faint return of life.
Their eyes met.
Zero’s were hard. Cold. Daring him.
Kaname’s were hollow. Defeated.
But something passed between them then—unspoken and raw.
You don’t get to die.
Kaname lowered the glass, setting it down with trembling fingers.
Zero turned back to the stove. Not because he was finished—but because he didn’t trust his legs if he looked a second longer.
Because if he stayed in that moment too long—if he let the bond breathe even one breath closer—
He might fall apart.
And there was no time left for that.
A soft whimper broke the air.
“Papa…?”
Zero was there in seconds, kneeling by the futon. “I’m here, little bird.”
Isamu’s voice was a whisper. “I’m… hungwy.”
Zero’s throat clenched. He turned toward Aido. “Can he?”
Aido stood slowly. “Yes. But keep it small. And… he’ll probably need more blood again soon.”
Zero nodded once.
Behind them, Kaname stood frozen.
Zero didn’t look at him.
Didn’t have to.
He could feel him through the bond—aching, afraid, desperate.
Still there.
Still his.
But for now… his focus was Isamu.
Only Isamu.
The rest would come later.
They sat around the low table, steam curling up from miso soup bowls and freshly grilled fish. The scent of breakfast lingered in the air—warm rice, tamagoyaki, apples sliced thin and fanned neatly on the wooden plate.
Zero had taken his place at the center, Isamu tucked into his lap like always, nestled against his chest. The little boy was still weak, but his eyes were open now, brighter, more aware. Every so often, he’d glance around the table, blinking slowly, like trying to remember who everyone was.
Zero held him steady, arms curved protectively around his body, spooning soup and tearing soft pieces of egg with gentle hands. He didn’t speak unless Isamu needed something. He didn’t look up unless he had to.
There was too much to feel. And too much he could not afford to.
Aido sat stiffly at the far end of the table, as far from Kaname as distance would allow. His chopsticks clicked against his bowl with unnecessary force. He didn’t look at Kaname, didn’t speak.
Kain sat beside him, shoulders tense but gaze soft as he kept sneaking glances at the child in Zero’s lap. Takuma, for once, was too stunned to speak, his eyes wide, almost reverent.
Because now that the dust had settled, now that they were all seeing clearly for the first time—they saw the truth.
That little boy, too pale for a human child, too poised for one so small, with silver-violet eyes that shimmered like frost at dawn…
He was theirs.
Zero’s and Kaname’s.
There was no denying it.
No accident of blood could’ve crafted something so deliberate.
Takuma cleared his throat gently. “He’s… beautiful.”
Kain nodded once, voice quiet. “And powerful. Even now, I can feel it.”
Zero didn’t respond. He broke off a piece of egg, blew on it, and gently held it to Isamu’s lips. The boy opened his mouth and accepted it obediently, chewing slowly.
Kaname hadn’t touched his food.
He sat with his hands folded politely in his lap, his posture too perfect, too still, like a painting of someone who didn’t know how to exist in the moment. His eyes—shadowed, hungry—stayed locked on Zero and Isamu with a look that bled longing.
He watched the way Zero cupped the back of Isamu’s head. Watched the way the boy leaned into his father’s chest without hesitation. Watched them like they were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Because to him, they were.
Zero didn’t look at him. Not really. But when his eyes did flick Kaname’s way—brief, sharp, wordless—it was a glare carved in salt.
Kaname flinched.
And Isamu noticed.
He looked between them—between his father’s quiet glare and the man who stared at him with such quiet devastation.
Then, without a word, Isamu reached forward.
His small hand fumbled toward the plate of apples near Takuma. The slices were slippery, and it took him a moment to grasp one—his fingers trembling slightly, but determined. He leaned forward in Zero’s lap, stretching across the table with a sleepy seriousness, and offered the fruit.
He reached across the table and pressed it gently to Kaname’s lips.
“Eat, sad prince,” he said.
Kaname froze. His eyes widened.
Isamu tilted his head, the way children do when trying to understand adult things. “Papa gets mad if people don’t eat.”
Then, with utter seriousness: “Angwy papa is scawy papa.”
For one frozen moment, the entire room hung in stunned silence.
Then Aido choked into his tea, shoulders shaking with a breath he hadn’t expected to laugh on. Kain coughed once—half laugh, half disbelief. Takuma covered his mouth, his smile softening at the edges with misty warmth.
Zero groaned faintly, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Isamu…”
But he didn’t take the apple away.
Kaname glanced at the slice—then at Zero.
And Zero, with his face half-turned, muttered, “He’s not wrong.”
Kaname’s throat bobbed as he leaned forward and opened his mouth just enough to let the slice pass. His lips brushed Isamu’s fingers.
He chewed slowly. Carefully.
It was the first thing he’d eaten willingly in days.
And in that moment, surrounded by unlikely peace, it felt like the smallest, strangest kind of healing.
Isamu gave a sleepy smile and leaned back against Zero’s chest. “See? Not scawy now.”
Kaname looked at his son, then at Zero. He didn’t speak.
But when he reached slowly, reverently, to take the plate of apples and set it gently in front of him—Zero didn’t stop him.
They ate in silence after that.
But the kind that meant something was beginning.
Not repaired. Not forgiven.
But allowed.
And in a world where the past still bled and the future remained uncertain—sometimes, allowed was everything.
The table was still set long after the food had cooled.
The miso broth had gone tepid in its bowl. The tamagoyaki sat half-eaten. Isamu had dozed again in Zero’s lap, worn out from the effort of chewing, his small hand curled against his father’s chest like a leaf clinging to stone.
The others had drifted to their corners of the house.
Aido had stepped outside under the pretense of air but hadn’t come back in. Kain leaned in the doorway, arms folded, gaze somewhere distant. Takuma, gentle as always, had taken to cleaning up quietly, pausing only when the tension in the room grew too thick to breathe.
Only Kaname remained across the table.
Still.
Watching.
But no longer with the desperation of before. Something had softened. Not in his face—but in his posture. The rigid edge of penance had given way to something smaller. Something like waiting.
Zero stroked Isamu’s hair.
Once. Then again.
His hands never stopped moving. If they did, he might think too long about what came next. About the questions that would eventually come. The decisions he hadn’t made.
He could feel Kaname’s eyes on him.
Not devouring.
Not pleading.
Just… there.
A quiet ache in the shape of a man who had once held his world in his hands—and shattered it.
“I thought he wouldn’t make it,” Zero said quietly.
It wasn’t addressed to anyone.
Not really.
Kaname flinched anyway.
Zero didn’t look up. “I thought… I’d lose him. And I’d be the only one left to remember he existed.”
Kaname’s voice was hoarse when it finally came. “You wouldn’t have been.”
Silence.
Then, softly:
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
Kaname blinked. “What?”
Zero’s hand stilled.
His gaze didn’t lift, but his next words came sharper, like something dragged from a wound.
“You weren’t supposed to know about him. Not ever. That was the plan.”
Kaname’s breath caught.
“I left so you couldn’t find out,” Zero continued. “I ran. I hid. I buried everything. Because you’d already taken so much from me—and I couldn’t let you take this, too.”
The words rang through the room like breaking porcelain.
Kaname didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Not when the truth unfurled between them like a blade.
“You took my family,” Zero whispered. “My humanity. My choices. You turned my entire life into a chessboard and made me a piece on it.”
He looked up then, and his eyes weren’t cold—they were tired.
Full of something that had died a long time ago and never been buried.
“You said it was for her. For Yuki. For the world. But it wasn’t your world to carve.”
Kaname swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “I know.”
“You don’t,” Zero snapped, and his voice cracked. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry a child you never asked for. To feel him move and wonder if he’ll hate the part of him that came from you. To go through agony every night and still love him enough to bleed.”
Kaname looked like he was breaking—slowly, quietly, in that dignified way he always did. The kind of breaking that didn’t sound like shattering glass but like snowfall on a coffin.
“I would’ve loved him,” he whispered. “If I had known. I would’ve come to you. I would’ve—”
“I know.” Zero’s voice dropped, rough with barely-leashed grief. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you.”
The silence that followed was the kind that only came after war.
Kaname sat there, still as stone, his eyes wet now, though no tears had fallen. He blinked slowly—once, then again—and for the first time, he looked older than his ten thousand years.
“I wanted him to be mine alone,” Zero said at last, quieter now. “Something you hadn’t ruined. A life I could protect. A love you couldn’t rewrite.”
Kaname bowed his head.
“And I failed,” Zero finished bitterly. “Because I can’t save him without you.”
Kaname’s hands trembled where they lay in his lap. He looked at Isamu—peaceful now, sleeping against the chest of the only parent he had ever known—and something in his chest cracked open.
“You didn’t fail,” he said softly. “You gave him everything.”
Zero didn’t answer.
Not right away.
He only bent down, pressed his lips to his son’s temple, and whispered something neither Kaname nor the bond could catch.
And when he straightened, eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to grief, he said—
“You gave me nothing but suffering. You gave her everything.”
Kaname looked up.
And Zero met his gaze—finally, fully.
“I was always meant to be yours,” he said, voice trembling. “And you chose her.”
He breathed shallowly, shoulders stiff. His hands curled protectively around Isamu, like a shield against every wound Kaname had ever opened.
“I never wanted to be your mate,” Zero said, softer now, but shaking. “You think it’s fate. But to me, it feels like punishment. Like I was cursed the moment you looked at me.”
Kaname’s face went utterly still.
Zero continued, his voice hollow. “What did I do to deserve you? What sin did I commit to end up bound to the man who made me into a weapon and called it salvation?”
And this time, Kaname couldn’t say I know.
Because knowing wasn’t enough.
Not anymore.
Zero’s voice didn’t rise.
It didn’t need to.
The quiet in it was heavier than a scream.
“Why did my parents have to die?”
The question cracked through the stillness like ice underfoot.
Not rhetorical.
Not poetic.
A demand.
Kaname didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe.
Zero’s fingers tightened around Isamu’s shoulder, a tremor running down his spine. His mouth twisted, but he didn’t cry.
He’d cried enough for lifetimes.
“Why did they have to die screaming while I stood there, helpless?” he said. “Why did my brother become someone I couldn’t save? Why was my family shattered—so yours could survive?”
Kaname flinched, eyes falling.
Zero laughed. A sharp, hollow sound—more broken breath than mirth. “I lost my humanity. I lost everything. And you watched it happen. You let it happen.”
“I am sorry Zero, I wish I could take it all back. I regret—”
“Don’t.”
Zero’s voice cut through the air like a blade through silk.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Kaname’s jaw tensed.
“You never regretted it,” Zero said. “You never even hesitated.”
His voice trembled now, rising like thunder wrapped in steel.
“Do you know what it was like? Every goddamn day? The hunger? The sickness? My body rejecting blood tablets like they were poison?”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “You probably do. You probably planned it. Sat back in your ivory tower and thought, ‘Let him rot. Let him suffer.”
Kaname opened his mouth—then closed it again.
“And the worst part,” Zero whispered, voice raw now, “is you didn’t even pity me. Not once. You looked at me like a wild dog. Something broken you could leash when you needed. A weapon. A shadow.”
His chest heaved.
And still—his voice didn’t rise.
It didn’t need to.
“You used me,” Zero said. “Again and again. And you smiled while you did it. That same calm, cold smile. That voice like ice wrapping fire. You stood there, untouchable, and made me feel like bleeding for Yuki was my place.”
Kaname’s eyes glistened.
But he didn’t interrupt.
Zero turned his gaze toward him now—full of something blistering. Something scorched and blackened with grief.
“And then, one day,” he said, quieter now, but no softer,
“…you said I was your mate.”
The silence that followed hit like a blow.
“You said I belonged to you,” Zero continued, bitterness like acid in his mouth. “That fate had chosen us. That there was a bond, something sacred, something destined.”
His voice cracked.
“And like a fool, I believed you. I went against everything I believed in. I let myself think… maybe you did love me. Maybe there was something true in it.”
He took a breath that shook his whole body.
Kaname stepped forward now, slow—like approaching an injured animal.
“Zero,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I did love you. I still do-”
Zero laughed again, this time quieter. Crueler.
His eyes didn’t soften.
“No,” he said.
“You loved what I gave you. You loved the idea of me—rebellious, loyal, tragic. Something you could mold. Something to sacrifice.”
Kaname’s voice cracked. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Zero snapped, standing now, still holding Isamu close. “Because I remember every look you gave her. Every moment you made me feel like a footnote in her story. I remember being used in the dark and hidden in the light.”
He stepped closer now, teeth gritted. “You don’t get to stand there and say it was love. Not after everything. Love doesn’t look like this.”
Kaname’s mouth parted—his hands shook—but no answer came.
And Zero delivered the last blow in a voice so quiet, it hurt to hear.
“Being your mate wasn’t fate,” he said. “It was the most cruelest joke to happen to me.”
Kaname closed his eyes.
And for the first time, he didn’t try to speak.
Because Zero’s silence after that said everything:
You don’t get to rewrite the pain you caused.
You don’t get to name it love and expect me to bow.
Not anymore.
The sun had barely reached its peak when the knock came at the door—sharp and rhythmic, followed by the unmistakable chorus of gossip-laced laughter.
Zero barely had time to move from the kitchen before the door slid open and three familiar figures bustled in like a whirlwind of pastel shawls and polished shoes.
“Ohh, Kaito-san!”
“We saw that fancy black car—looked like something out of a movie!”
“We thought something had happened to the little one, we just had to check!”
And there they were. The grannies.
Neighborhood queens of unsolicited wisdom and unfiltered affection.
One of them was Kenta’s grandmother, Emiko-san, her cane tapping lightly on the tatami as she shuffled in, peering around with practiced curiosity. “Where’s our sweet boy?” she asked, eyes already scanning for Isamu.
“He’s resting,” Zero said gently, gesturing toward the futon in the living room where Isamu lay nestled in a mound of blankets. “He had a rough night.”
“Oh, poor darling,” another granny gasped. “Look at those cheeks—so pale!”
Granny Emiko leaned in close. “Still the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. And look how he smiles even when he’s tired.”
Isamu, already basking in the attention like a sun-soaked cat, lit up when he saw them. “Baa-chans!” he squeaked, waving with a tiny hand.
“Oh, he remembers us!” one of them beamed. “What a polite little prince.”
Kaname stood quietly by the hallway, half-shadowed, his tall figure still as marble. Kain and Takuma flanked the back wall like confused furniture, unsure whether to intervene or offer tea. Aido, wisely, had vanished to another room.
The grannies turned to Kaname next, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“And who is this handsome gentleman?”
“He looks like a movie star.”
“Are you related to Kaito-san’s wife?” one of them asked, tilting her head. “You and the boy… there’s a resemblance. Same regal nose and hair.”
Granny Emiko chimed in, “Well, I said it before, and I’ll say it again—Kenta and little Isamu look so alike! Especially around the eyes.”
Zero’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Kaname remained silent, polite, eyes lowered as though he might disappear if he stayed still enough. But Zero didn’t miss the flicker in his expression at the mention of Kenta.
Of resemblance.
He felt it before he heard it—the shift in the air, the subtle pull in the bond.
Cold.
Takuma smiled politely as the grannies turned their full attention toward him and Kain, eyes twinkling with playful suspicion.
“And who are you two, hmm?” one asked, peering over her glasses. “Family, too?”
“Distant cousins,” Takuma said smoothly, his voice laced with practiced warmth. “From the city.”
“Ahhh,” another granny nodded sagely, as though that explained everything. “The refined look. I knew it.”
Kain, ever the statue, simply gave a small bow. He didn’t trust his mouth. He rarely did in these kinds of situations.
Granny Emiko, ever persistent, turned her sharp gaze back to Kaname, who still hadn’t moved from the shadows of the hallway. “And you, young man? You haven’t said a word.”
Kaname inclined his head, graceful as always. “Just a guest.”
“Hmph,” she said, unconvinced. “Well, if you’re staying under Kaito-san’s roof, you’re family now, whether you like it or not.”
Kaname gave the smallest smile, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes. “That’s very kind of you.”
But Zero saw it.
The stiffness in his shoulders. The subtle tension in the jaw. The frigid shift in the bond that pulsed faintly under his skin like a thread pulled too tight.
It was Kaname’s restraint.
Because they had compared his son’s face to another man’s blood.
And they didn’t even know they were cutting him open.
Zero swallowed hard, expression blank.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t correct them.
Because he couldn’t.
A chill began to seep across the floor like the breath of winter. Not the kind born of open windows or shifting seasons, but the kind that made the skin crawl—an unnatural stillness that wrapped around bone and breath alike.
Then—
“Gran?”
Kenta’s voice echoed softly from the genkan as he stepped inside, slipping off his shoes with practiced ease.
Emiko turned with a warm smile. “Oh, Kentaro, there you are. We were just admiring Kaito-san’s guests.”
Kenta offered a polite nod to the room, catching Zero’s eye briefly with a sheepish smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, Kaito-san. They insisted I help them walk over.”
He trailed off as his eyes landed on Kaname. His expression didn’t shift much—just a subtle lift of his brows. Curious. Cautious. But not intrusive.
Then, quickly, he turned his attention back to his grandmother and gently took her by the elbow.
“Alright, time to get you back, Granny. That’s enough mischief for one morning.”
Emiko sighed dramatically, brushing invisible lint from Isamu’s sleeve. “We’ll visit again soon, little one. You take care of your papa, alright?”
“Okay!” Isamu chirped with a bright smile.
Once the women were safely shuffled toward the path, Kenta lingered in the entryway, his eyes drawn back to Zero. Something had changed in his expression. No more teasing. No spark of flirtation.
Just a question he’d carried too long.
“Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asked, voice low.
Zero hesitated. There was a weight behind those words—something unfinished, unsettled. And at his back, the cold deepened.
Still, he nodded.
They stepped out onto the small wooden engawa, the late afternoon sun slanting over the trees. Wind stirred the branches, brushing against them like even the air had gone tense.
Kenta didn’t speak right away. He didn’t meet Zero’s eyes.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said finally. “For the other day. And for my grandmother too. She doesn’t mean to pry—she just… wants everyone to be a little less lonely.”
Zero crossed his arms. “It’s fine.”
“No,” Kenta said quietly, firmly. “It’s not.”
He looked up then—and this time, there was nothing casual in his gaze. No joking edge. Just sincerity. Regret.
“I should’ve made sure you were okay after I kissed you. I didn’t think about what it meant to you. Or what you were carrying.”
Zero exhaled, eyes flicking away. “It’s fine.”
Kenta studied him. “You don’t seem fine.”
He paused. The next question came softer, like he already knew the answer.
“Did you want me to kiss you, or… were you just trying to forget something?”
Zero opened his mouth.
And the cold struck.
It wasn’t subtle this time.
It slammed through the walls of the house like a storm born of ten thousand years of silence and blood. The porch boards trembled beneath their feet. Lamps flickered. The shoji screens quivered in their frames.
Inside, the air thickened to ice.
From the hallway, Kaname’s presence surged—vast, ancient, and furious. A wave of pureblooded power unfurled like a predator stretching awake, and it coiled around the house like a snare.
Isamu whimpered from the living room.
Even the old women fell silent, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Kenta stiffened, lips parting slightly. “What… was that?”
Zero didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
He turned slowly toward the house, jaw clenched, hands twitching at his sides.
He didn’t need to see him. He could feel Kaname—his fury, his grief, the sharp, acidic scent of jealousy surging up through the cracks in his control.
Kaname had heard everything.
The mention of Kenta.
The kiss.
The question that still lingered between them like smoke from a fire neither of them had started—but one Kaname would burn the world to extinguish.
Inside, the frost thickened.
Zero didn’t speak.
But he knew.
The past wasn’t content to stay buried.
And Kaname—Kaname wasn’t just jealous.
Not a little.
Not gently.
Not in a way anyone could walk away from.
Because jealousy, in a creature like Kaname Kuran, wasn’t just emotion.
It was possession.
It was blood.
It was war.
The cold hadn’t even settled before Kaname moved.
The moment Kenta’s voice dropped to a whisper by the gate—soft apologies, half-spoken longing, and that foolish, lingering “if you really want me to”—the aura from the house shifted into something ancient and violent.
Aido felt it first, his spine snapping straight where he sat on the edge of the veranda. Takuma flinched. Even Kain narrowed his eyes, wariness blooming as that familiar, suffocating pressure rolled over the air like thunderclouds gathering in a single breath.
Zero didn’t have to turn. He knew what it meant.
Kaname had heard. Every word.
He glanced at Kenta, his expression unreadable. “You need to leave.”
Kenta blinked. “What?”
Zero stepped back, his voice tighter now. “Go. I mean it.”
“I just—”
“You don’t want to be here right now.”
The words were clipped. Too calm. But Kenta wasn’t a fool. He caught the edge beneath them—the glint of something sharp enough to bleed—and nodded quickly, guiding his grandmother and the others away with tense apologies and curious glances cast back over their shoulders.
Zero didn’t look behind him as he closed the gate.
But he felt it.
That aura still crackling from the house. Low. Dangerous. Like a storm only just held in check.
He stepped inside.
Kaname was standing in the center of the room, pale as frost, crimson eyes ablaze beneath long lashes. His lips were parted, but no breath passed through them.
Zero barely had time to speak before Kaname turned to Aido, voice cold and commanding.
“Gather Isamu’s things. We’re leaving.”
Aido stood slowly. “Kaname—”
“Now.”
Takuma moved toward the hallway instinctively, Kain rising beside him.
“Wait—what the hell are you talking about?” Zero snapped, stepping forward. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“This house is too small,” Kain murmured. “Kaname-sama isn’t at full strength. If anything happens here, we’re vulnerable. We need a stronger perimeter. A secure estate.”
“I don’t give a damn about the house,” Zero shot back.
“This isn’t up for debate,” Kaname said, his voice like a blade slipping beneath the ribs. “Isamu needs care you can’t give him alone. I won’t take him from you—but I will protect him. Even if I have to level this mountain to do it.”
“You can’t just—”
“I won’t force you to be my mate,” Kaname said suddenly, too quickly, too raw. The words tumbled out like shattered glass. “I won’t ask you for anything you can’t give. But I will do what’s necessary to keep our child safe.”
Zero froze.
The way Kaname said our child—as if it burned him to say it and healed him in the same breath—made something fracture behind Zero’s ribs.
Then, coldly:
“So this is about Kenta.”
Kaname’s eyes darkened.
“You moved before,” he said, voice low. “You’ve never been this attached to a place. Unless there was a reason.”
“You don’t get to do this,” Zero snapped. “You don’t get to waltz in after everything you did and question me. Who I see. Who I kiss.”
Kaname’s fists curled. “I heard him. I heard what he said.”
“It’s not your business.”
“It is,” Kaname hissed. “Because you’re my mate. You always were. That hasn’t changed.”
“I sealed the bond,” Zero spat.
Kaname didn’t flinch.
“You treated me like a pawn. Like a means to your end. And now you think you still have a claim on me?”
“I’ve always had a claim,” Kaname said, stepping closer, voice trembling.
“We are still married, Zero. In your human rites. I am—” his voice caught, cracked, “—I am your husband. And I have a claim on Isamu. He’s not just yours. He’s ours.”
Zero flinched. The word husband landed like a slap.
He wanted to deny it. Wanted to scream that Kaname had no right to say that, to want them, not after what he did.
But Isamu was still in the next room.
And Zero knew the truth.
Kaname’s blood ran through their son like a second pulse.
The bond still flickered in the dark corners of his soul.
His heart still stuttered when Kaname spoke his name.
So instead, he turned away.
“I’ll go,” he said flatly. “But only for Isamu.”
He walked past Kaname, each step heavier than the last.
And behind him, Kaname stood alone in the middle of the house—his hands trembling, his throat burning with a thousand unsaid words.
He would not touch Zero again. Not until Zero allowed it.
But he would protect them.
Even if it meant destroying himself in the process.
The bags were packed by nightfall.
Zero hadn’t spoken to Kaname again.
He moved through the house like a ghost—folding Isamu’s little sweaters into a cloth bag, wrapping his favorite toy fox in a scarf for warmth, collecting old picture books with worn corners and soft spines. Every action was mechanical.
Each breath carved from something deeper than exhaustion. Something that felt like surrender.
Not to Kaname.
But to the truth.
Isamu needed more than what this house could offer. More than warm miso and carefully prepared blood tablets and a father who hadn’t slept in days from the fear of losing him.
And even if it made something bitter settle in Zero’s throat, he knew that going meant giving Isamu a better chance.
Aido moved silently through the rooms, organizing supplies, medicine, spare bedding. Takuma coordinated with their destination—another estate in the mountains, farther north, one with better security and isolation. Kain watched the windows like a soldier preparing for war.
Kaname didn’t move from the veranda until everything else was done.
He stood barefoot on the wood, sleeves rolled up, his long coat slung carelessly over his arm. The rain had started again—soft and steady. It soaked the tips of his hair and clung to his lashes, but he didn’t seem to feel it.
He was waiting.
Not for an invitation—but for permission.
Inside, Zero crouched beside the futon, adjusting the scarf around Isamu’s shoulders. The boy’s fever had broken again, and his body was stronger—enough to sit up and eat small bites of rice and fish. But he was still tired. Still fragile.
“Papa… we goin’?” he asked sleepily.
Zero nodded. “Yeah, little bird. We’re going somewhere safe.”
“Where the sad prince goin’?”
Zero swallowed. “With us.”
Isamu blinked, and then smiled, like that made perfect sense. “Good. He makes the bad cold go away.”
Zero looked away before his son could see the ache behind his eyes.
Aido appeared in the doorway. “We’re ready.”
Zero lifted Isamu into his arms and stepped out onto the porch.
He paused at the sight of Kaname, still unmoving in the rain, and hated the way his chest tightened just seeing him.
“Let’s go,” he said curtly, brushing past him.
Kaname fell into step beside them, a silent shadow. He didn’t reach for Zero. Didn’t look at him. But his eyes never left the bundle of blankets in Zero’s arms—never left their son.
Two cars waited quietly in the gravel drive: Aido’s SUV, windows fogged from the heater within, and the sleek black Rolls Royce that gleamed like polished obsidian in the dusk.
Zero stood beside Aido's car, Isamu nestled in his arms like something too precious to set down. The boy's small body was warm and heavy against him, cheek resting against his collarbone, his breath slow but shallow with lingering weakness.
The twilight air was cool, the last of the rain having left a damp sheen on the earth and rooftops. The sky above them was painted in bruised purples and silver.
"This one's ours," Zero whispered, adjusting the blanket around Isamu's shoulders. "You and me. Like always."
But Isamu stirred, lifting his head with effort, eyes half-lidded and searching the driveway until they landed on the tall, still figure beside the black Rolls Royce.
"Prince..." Isamu murmured.
Kaname stood like a monument in the dusk, unmoving and soaked to the elbows from where he'd stood too long beneath the eaves. He hadn't looked at Zero once since the confrontation—hadn’t spoken. But his eyes hadn't left Isamu. Not once.
"I wanna go with prince," Isamu whispered.
Zero blinked. "No, little bird. You're coming with me and Uncle Hana. You can see him later."
Isamu shook his head stubbornly, clinging tighter. "Wanna go with prince... Papa, please. He makes the bad cold go away."
Aido approached, quiet. His gaze flicked from Kaname to Zero, then down to Isamu.
"It might be best if he stays near Kaname," Aido said. "Just in case."
"I can handle it," Zero snapped, bristling.
"You shouldn't have to," Aido replied gently. "Feeding once should have been enough. But Isamu's body isn't like others. He's a pureblood raised too long without his sire's blood, and then we gave him a false imprint..."
"Don't talk to me about that," Zero hissed, as if Aido's words had struck something raw.
To Zero, it felt like blame. Like an indictment of the choice he made to raise his son alone.
Kaname stepped forward then, voice low and steady. "He's right."
Zero turned sharply. "Of course you'd think so."
Kaname met his gaze without flinching. "I'm not trying to absolve myself. But this isn't just on me."
He turned to Aido. "You knew the risks. You helped him forge a false imprint instead of coming to me. You kept my child from me."
Aido's jaw clenched. He didn’t deny it.
Kaname's tone hardened. "The only reason you’re standing is because I owe you. You protected them. You kept them alive. But don’t confuse my gratitude for forgiveness."
Zero stepped between them, voice flat with fury. "You want to talk about forgiveness? You didn’t lose us because we hid. We left because you freed Shizuka. Because you treated people like pawns. Because I was just another piece in your game."
Kaname flinched visibly. "I didn’t know you were my mate. I never would have hurt you if I'd known. I would’ve given you everything."
"But you didn't. And now look where we are," Zero said.
Kaname's voice dropped. "If I had known... we would have raised him together. He wouldn't have suffered. You wouldn't have been alone."
The driveway fell quiet again.
Isamu shifted in Zero's arms, raising one small hand to his father's cheek. "Papa... please?"
Zero looked down, aching at the trust in those violet eyes. He exhaled.
Turning to Aido, he said, "Drive safe."
Aido nodded silently. Kain opened the door for him, and the two climbed into the second vehicle.
Zero hesitated, then approached the Rolls Royce.
Takuma opened the door without a word, his expression shadowed.
Zero slid inside with Isamu in his arms. The scent of aged leather and fading roses hit him instantly, like memory wrapped in dust.
Kaname joined a moment later, quiet and composed, but the tremble in his hands gave him away. He said nothing. Just watched the child curled against Zero's chest like he was watching the stars burn out.
The car eased forward, gravel crunching beneath its tires.
Neither man spoke.
Zero kept his eyes on the window, on the world slipping past. Kaname kept his eyes on his son.
The sun was gone. The road ahead was long and uncertain.
But for the first time in years, they were on it together.
The car was quiet but not still.
Mountains rose in the distance, jagged teeth of ice and sky, but the road stretched smooth and endless under the tires of Kaname’s black Rolls Royce. Inside, warmth pooled like a fragile cocoon.
Curtains were drawn to shield Isamu from the glare of the late afternoon sun. Takuma drove in silence, sensing that the tension in the backseat was something sacred, or dangerous, or both.
Zero sat with his back pressed against the door, body curved around the small, fevered weight of Isamu. His silver hair was mussed from the wind earlier, his shirt slightly damp with the heat the boy gave off. Isamu’s lashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks, breath shallow and uneven, his little fingers twisted in the fabric of Zero’s shirt like roots clinging to earth.
Then the soft rustle of silk.
Kaname moved.
Zero’s eyes snapped up—his hunter’s instinct never dulled, even now, even with him. Kaname’s hand hovered just above Isamu’s back.
“He’s warm again,” Kaname said quietly, voice low and steady, like wind through bare branches. “His fever is climbing.”
“I know.” Zero’s voice was clipped, jaw tight. “He’s my son.”
A pause. Not a flicker of reaction from Kaname. Only that eternal stillness, carved from centuries of practice and pain.
“I can help him,” Kaname said, even softer. “My blood is correcting what the false imprint damaged. He needs more.”
Isamu stirred in Zero’s arms, a low, broken whimper escaping his lips. Zero closed his eyes for a moment. His heartbeat thrummed in his throat, not from panic but from memory—so many nights with a burning child in his arms, helpless, alone.
He should tell Kaname to go to hell.
He should never trust him.
But—
“Take him,” Zero said hoarsely, and held his son out with a reluctance that cracked something inside him.
Kaname moved as if handling glass. He gathered Isamu against his chest, cradling him close, and for a moment Zero could see it—what might’ve been, what should’ve been. A father holding his child, not a king correcting an ancient wrong.
Isamu blinked weakly and let out a sleepy sound. “Sad prince…”
Kaname froze.
Zero looked away.
Then Kaname tilted his wrist, the sharp scent of blood filling the car like roses wilting in the snow. Isamu latched on without opening his eyes, instinctive, like he’d been born to know that blood.
Zero watched it all with a sick twist in his gut. His son feeding from the man who ruined his life. The man who should’ve been his safe place, his partner, his husband—but had chosen war and bloodlines and strategy over love.
“He was never supposed to suffer,” Kaname murmured, not looking up.
Zero’s jaw clenched. “But he did. Because of you.”
Silence.
Then, softly, “I didn’t know you were my mate.”
Zero’s breath caught. The word landed like a blade, ancient and aching. “And if you had?”
“I would’ve burned the world down to protect you,” Kaname said. “I would’ve never let her out. I would’ve found another way. Any other way.”
“Too late.”
“I know.”
Isamu finished feeding and drifted into sleep again, his fever easing already. Kaname tucked him into the blanket with infinite gentleness.
The silence stretched. Tense. Raw. Then Kaname dared to speak again.
“Do you hate me?” His voice was barely a whisper.
Zero’s eyes were fixed on his son, not answering the man beside him.
I wish I could. He thought
The hum of the road faded beneath the rhythm of breathing.
Zero had drifted into sleep, exhaustion finally pulling him under despite himself. His hand, even slack with sleep, still reached for Isamu—like his body didn’t know how to stop protecting.
His head lolled against the window, pale lashes brushing the hollows under his eyes. For once, he looked… not peaceful, exactly. But softer. Quiet. Like maybe he wasn’t fighting the world in that moment.
Kaname couldn't stop looking at him.
Even last night, Zero hadn’t let himself rest—watching over Isamu like a man afraid someone would come through the walls and take him away. It wasn’t wrong. Kaname had done worse. Had been worse.
He smoothed the blanket over Zero’s legs gently.
Beside him, Isamu shifted upright, small and warm against his side. His fever was gone completely now, and color had returned to his cheeks, though a slight shine still lingered in his eyes.
“The dream is still here,” he said suddenly, in that clear, serious voice of a child who didn’t yet know how to lie.
Kaname turned, blinking. “What dream?”
Isamu looked up, solemn. “The one where you’re sad.”
Kaname’s breath hitched.
Before he could answer, Takuma glanced back from the front seat, smiling like sunlight in winter. “Hey, someone’s awake! Look at that—no more fever. That’s a relief.”
Isamu lit up a little. “Hi, Taku-san!”
“Hello, prince.” Takuma gave a wink in the mirror. “You gave us a scare, you know. But you’re tough, huh?”
Isamu nodded proudly. “I was strong. Papa was crying but I didn’t tell him I saw.”
Kaname stilled. So did Takuma.
Snow drifted past the windows, white streaks against tall pine. The silence that followed was not empty—it was full. Heavy with things no one could quite name.
Kaname touched Isamu’s hair lightly, brushing it back from his face. “He loves you very much.”
“I know,” Isamu whispered. “He held me all night. When I was hot and hurting, he walked around and didn’t put me down.”
Kaname smiled, though his throat ached. “He always does that, doesn’t he?”
“Mm-hmm,” Isamu nodded, then leaned against Kaname's arm, thumb slipping into his mouth for a moment before he remembered he was almost three and pulled it back out.
He looked up, blinking. “Are you sad now?”
Kaname hesitated. “A little.”
“Why?” Isamu frowned in concern, his small fingers pressing into Kaname’s sleeve. “Is it 'cause I was sick?”
“No,” Kaname said gently. “Not because of you. You made me… happy, actually. I didn’t know how much I missed someone calling me their prince.”
Isamu beamed at that, proud. “I saw you in my dream a long time. I thought maybe you were lonely. Like a storybook prince. You were waiting for someone. Were you waiting for me?”
Kaname’s heart cracked like ice underfoot.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say, I waited ten thousand years for your father. I didn’t know you were even possible. I didn’t know love could leave behind a miracle like you.
Isamu tilted his head. “Do you have a boy?”
Kaname blinked. “A… boy?”
“Like Papa has me. Do you have a kid?”
Kaname looked down at him, stunned. His voice, when it came, was barely there. “I think I might.”
Isamu’s eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Yes,” Kaname said, brushing a curl behind the boy’s ear. “But I didn’t get to meet him until recently. I missed a lot. Too much.”
Isamu considered this. “Maybe he missed you, too.”
“I hope so,” Kaname whispered.
“Can I meet him?” Isamu asked.
Kaname smiled. It trembled. “You already have.”
Takuma cleared his throat gently from the front seat. “There’s food in the bag by your feet, Kaname. There’s a sandwich for Isamu and those bunny crackers he likes.”
Kaname eased Isamu upright and reached for the bag. As he passed it to the child, he looked back at Zero—still sleeping, brow furrowed even in dreams.
He gently tucked the coat tighter around him and whispered, “Rest, love. Just a little longer.”
And somehow, Zero did.
Chapter 22: Stay
Chapter Text
Yuuki.
There was no snow at the Kuran estate.
Only stillness.
The gardens stood in a hush of late autumn bloom—crimson maple leaves clinging to branches like memories, too warm for frost, too still for wind. The air was crisp, but unmoved, like the world had forgotten how to breathe.
It was the kind of beauty that didn’t live.
It simply… lingered.
Perfect.
And utterly hollow.
Yuki stepped barefoot onto the balcony, the silk hem of her robe whispering over the wooden floor. The sky above was pale, stretched thin over the horizon like parchment left too long in the sun. The clouds did not move.
She stood at the edge of the walkway, eyes fixed on the distant iron gate, half-wishing, half-dreading that she might see Kaname there—appearing as he once had, serene and strong, brushing hair from his eyes with that quiet smile that made her believe the world could be kind.
But the gate remained closed.
Like always.
He had left.
Weeks ago. No—months. Almost a full year, though time no longer moved in a way she could hold. It slipped through her hands in increments of silence, counted by footsteps that never came home.
And before he left, he'd already begun fading.
Not physically—but piece by piece.
The warmth in his gaze.
The patience in his touch.
The way he used to meet her eyes and see her—not as a role, not as legacy, not as the girl he’d once protected—but as Yuki.
That had vanished long ago.
She wrapped her arms around herself, fingers curling tight over the carved railing. The ache inside her chest was sharp and formless—not quite grief, not quite jealousy.
Just… emptiness.
Because what did she have now?
Zero had left her years ago, his distance hard as stone, his silence sharper than any blade. Kaname, once her anchor, had become an echo—hollow, unreadable, unreachable. She had once dreamed of becoming Kaname’s wife. A promise written in blood and sealed in history. It was supposed to be hers.
She had once loved Kaname with her whole heart. Her savior, her protector. The one who had always stood between her and the darkness. The idea of marrying him had filled her with joy for years—comfort, stability, the honor of carrying on the Kuran legacy.
But the man she loved had vanished before the wedding ever came.
He had grown distant after the war with Rido. After sacrificing so much. He no longer smiled with ease. He no longer touched her with gentleness. He made decisions in silence. He wore grief like a second skin.
That day.
The memory rose unbidden.
Years ago. A visit arranged by Aido’s request—one she hadn’t understood at the time. He’d asked her to check on Zero. Said he needed help. That there were… complications.
So she went.
She remembered the apartment. Small, neat, lived-in. A faint scent of metal and soap and something warm. She’d stepped inside and—
Felt it.
Power. Not feral. Not ancient. But young.
Undeniably pureblooded.
A child.
Sick.
Barely conscious in a futon near the heater. Silver-violet eyes barely open. Feverish. Fragile.
Zero had told her the child belonged to his late wife—a pureblood woman. A private marriage. Tragic. Short-lived.
She had touched him.
Held his too-warm hand, and something inside her clenched.
The child needed blood imprint to survive and she agreed to it.
The imprint settled in her bones before she understood what it meant.
Zero had asked her not to tell Kaname. Had made her swear it.
And she hadn’t.
But Kaname had known.
The moment she returned home that day, he had smelled Zero’s presence on her skin—subtle, but unmistakable.
Kaname had drawn back even further.
He’d passed her in halls with eyes clouded by something unreadable.
He stopped kissing her forehead.
He stopped touching her at all.
And then one night, without ceremony, he left for Kyoto—with Seiren, Takuma, and Kain.
He didn’t ask her to come.
Only told her to stay.
No explanation.
Only a single request:
“Stay. Handle the Council. Take care of what remains here."
The Council. The bloodlines. The great machine of legacy that could not stop.
He had left her with a fortress and a script and called it protection.
“Shiki will watch over you,” he said.
“Cross will advise you.”
“Ruka will stay.”
"Rima will listen"
“You will be safe.”
He had killed Rido. Built the circle. He had done everything right.
As if she were a steward of a kingdom .
A soft knock broke the quiet behind her.
She didn’t turn until the door cracked open and a quiet voice broke the silence.
“Yuki-sama?”
It was Ruka. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a deep violet dress reaching a little bellow her knees that shimmered faintly under the dying light. Her posture was poised, her expression unreadable—but her eyes, always too honest, were tight with concern.
“May I come in?”
Yuki nodded without a word.
she said carefully, her voice formal but warm. “I hope you’re well.”
Yuki turned, still barefoot, arms loosely wrapped around herself.
Yuki turned slowly. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not wearing shoes,” Ruka said gently.
Yuki glanced down. “I like the cold.”
Ruka said nothing at first.
Ruka hesitated. “Have you heard anything? About Kaname-sama?”
Yuki shook her head.
“And Kain? Takuma?”
“They left with him,” Yuki murmured. “But they’re not in Kyoto anymore.”
Ruka’s frown deepened. “You’re his fiancée… and his sister. Shouldn’t he have told you?”
Yuki flinched. Just barely. But Ruka saw it.
“Seiren said they were safe,” she whispered. “That they needed time. That’s all she would tell me.”
Ruka’s gaze softened. She reached forward, gently brushing Yuki’s shoulder. “We’re all worried. He’s not… himself. He hasn’t been for some time.”
Yuki turned away, her voice distant. “He hasn’t been mine either.”
Yuki forced a smile.
Then turned away.
“I don’t know where he is,” she said. “Or why he left.”
Ruka’s face remained unreadable, but her voice turned gentle. “We’re worried about you too.” she said.
“You loved him,” Yuki said. “Once.”
“I still do,” Ruka replied. “But not the way you did.”
Yuki looked down.
“I waited,” she said. “I waited for him to look at me the way he used to. To touch me the way he did when I was still Yuki Cross. When everything was simpler. When he was a young vampire boy who saved me in the snow, and Zero a hunter who would’ve bled for me.”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought Zero loved me. I thought Kaname loved me.”
“They did,” Ruka said.
“Did,” Yuki echoed. “Not do.”
Ruka reached for her hand, hesitated, then let it fall.
“If you need anything—”
“I don’t need anything,” Yuki said. “I need them.”
Ruka stepped back quietly.
And Yuki turned again toward the gate.
Her eyes were dry.
But her soul was not.
Ruka lingered a moment longer before retreating into the house, the soft sound of her heels fading behind her.
Yuki stood alone again.
And for a moment, she let herself imagine what it might feel like to still be Yuki Cross.
A girl, not a princess.
Someone who had been protected.
Wanted.
Loved.
Because as Yuki Kuran… she had nothing.
No husband. No brother. No fiancé.
Not Zero.
Not Kaname.
And somewhere, she thought—
If I had stayed Yuki Cross…
Would they have stayed too?
She had once believed Zero loved her. Had once believed that love was enough to steady the ache.
But he had left, too.
Had built a life she was never meant to find.
A child.
A family.
And Kaname—who had promised eternity—had turned his back on her, not with cruelty, but with silence. With distance. With duty.
He had loved her once. She still believed that.
But now she wondered if his love had always belonged to someone else.
Someone he hadn’t realized until it was too late.
She hugged her arms around herself, looking out at the quiet, perfect gardens.
..........
The headmaster’s house smelled like memory.
Old wood and rain-soaked earth. Lavender tea and waxed pages. Chalk dust still clinging to the corners, stubborn and familiar. It was a scent that hadn't changed—though everything else had.
Yuki stood in the doorway longer than necessary, hesitant. Like she was waiting for something—permission, maybe. Or the strength to turn around.
Cross Kaien looked up from his chair behind the old desk, glasses slipping low on his nose, a book resting forgotten in his lap. His eyes lit with quiet surprise.
“Yuki,” he said softly. “You haven’t come by in ages.”
She stepped inside like someone returning to a dream.
“I had nowhere else to go,” she whispered.
Cross closed the book and set it aside, rising with the kind of care only someone familiar with heartbreak could manage. “Then you’re exactly where you should be.”
She sat on the old couch, knees together, hands folded in her lap. Everything about her posture was too neat, too careful—like a child afraid of breaking in front of someone who once knew her whole heart.
“I think he’s left me,” she said.
Cross didn’t ask who.
“Kaname,” she clarified, her voice barely above a breath. “He’s always had secrets. Always held something back. But I thought I was part of what he held onto. One of the few things he chose to keep.”
Her voice wavered.
“Now I think… maybe I was something he outgrew.”
Cross sat down slowly across from her, the floor creaking in gentle protest.
“He doesn’t write. Doesn’t call. Doesn’t ask me to follow. He’s just… gone.”
Her hands trembled in her lap. She looked smaller than he remembered. Not because of age—but grief.
“And Zero…” she added after a long pause. “Zero stopped speaking to me years ago.”
There was a crack in her voice. She looked away, ashamed of it.
“I used to think it was because I turned. Because I became what he hated. But then…”
She hesitated.
“He married a pureblood. Had a child. A family. He built a life. Without me.”
Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her skirt.
“So maybe… it wasn’t purebloods he hated.”
She looked up, her eyes gleaming.
“Maybe it was just me.”
Cross’s heart clenched.
“And now Kaname—he doesn’t even look at me anymore. Not like I’m someone he loves. Just… someone he promised once.”
Her breath caught.
“Like a duty he can’t quite shed.”
And finally, the tears broke free.
Not loud. Not violent.
Just soft. Trembling. Years in the making.
She wept—not for one man, but two. For a boy with silver eyes who once guarded her like a vow. For a pureblood prince who once held her like something holy. And for herself—for the girl she used to be, and the woman who was still trying to remember how to be loved.
Cross stood, gently. He crossed the room and lowered himself beside her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid she might shatter at his touch.
When he wrapped his arms around her, she folded into him without resistance.
She clung to him like a child to the last safe place on earth.
“You gave them love,” he said quietly, brushing her hair back. “It may not have lasted—but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. It changed them.”
She didn’t answer, but the tears came harder.
“It mattered, Yuki. It mattered to Zero. It mattered to Kaname.”
She sobbed into his shoulder.
Cross held her tighter, more firmly now, like a father holding the pieces of someone else’s storm.
“You gave Zero something to anchor him,” he continued. “He was on the edge of becoming something he didn’t want to be. You reminded him he was still human. Still capable of choosing who he was.”
“And Kaname…” Cross’s voice gentled, “Kaname fought Rido for you. Built a peace for you. He created a circle to protect you. He loved you, even when he didn’t know how to show it.”
Yuki pulled back slowly, wiping her face with the heel of her hand.
Cross reached for the teapot beside them and poured her a cup. His movements were steady, familiar. A ritual of comfort.
“I miss him too, you know,” he said after a moment.
She blinked. “Kaname?”
“No.” He looked down into his tea. “Zero.”
Yuki stilled.
“I know he’s out there,” Cross said. “I hoped my home… this home… would be the place he came back to. When he needed something. Or someone.”
He looked toward the window, where the moon hung pale over the trees.
“It’s been so long since I heard his voice. Since I saw his eyes. I don’t even know what his child looks like.”
He paused.
“I don’t know why he didn’t tell me.”
Yuki lowered her gaze.
“Maybe he didn’t trust me,” Cross continued. “Or maybe he was protecting someone. Maybe himself.”
A soft silence fell.
“Maybe…” he exhaled, “he just didn’t want to hear me say how proud I was.”
Yuki’s throat tightened.
“He was always carrying too much,” Cross murmured. “And he never asked anyone to carry it with him. Not even me.”
Yuki looked at her cup. It was trembling faintly in her hands.
Cross reached for her hand.
“And Kaname?”
She didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to know,” he said. “But I think he still loves you.”
Yuki let out a small, broken breath.
“I think he’s… hurting.” Cross said. “You know how he is. He holds centuries behind his eyes. And right now, I think he’s trying to carry something too big for even him.”
She whispered, “But I want to help him. If he’s breaking—I want to hold him through it.”
“Then do,” Cross said. “Wait for him. Or go to him.”
She looked up at him, hesitant.
“Not because you need him,” Cross added gently. “But because he needs you. Even if he’ll never say it.”
They sat in silence after that.
Two broken hearts sharing a space built on old dreams and stubborn love.
Outside, the wind stirred again, carrying the scent of coming winter. Leaves danced across the path like echoes of the past—unsettled, but still beautiful.
Northern estate
The estate came into view just as the sky began to blush with morning.
Pale light stretched over the horizon, brushing the snow-draped trees in lavender and silver. The road wound upward through the mountains, and with each curve, the air grew sharper, cleaner—laced with frost. Here, winter always arrived early, drawn by the drop in altitude and the ancient hush of the land.
The estate rose from the white like something half-remembered from a dream.
Tall stone walls veiled in ivy. Arched windows glinting gold with candlelight. A long stairway led to double doors already opened, waiting. Smoke curled from the chimneys. It was ready. Despite the distance, the cold, the secrecy—it had been made ready.
Inside the car, Isamu stirred again, bouncing lightly on Kaname’s lap.
“Woooow…” he breathed, wide-eyed. “Is that a castle?”
Kaname smiled faintly. “Something like that.”
“Does a king live there?”
For a moment, Kaname didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the estate, quiet and unreadable.
“…He used to,” he said at last.
Isamu turned to him. “Is it your house?”
Kaname met his eyes. “It was. Once. I left it a long time ago.”
Isamu blinked. “Did you forget the way back?”
Kaname’s smile faltered. “Something like that.”
Then, with no warning, Isamu clutched his lower stomach and gasped. “I gotta go pee-pee!”
Takuma twisted in his seat. “Roger that! Emergency pit stop, coming right up.”
Kaname chuckled softly and handed Isamu into Takuma’s arms, steadying him as he scrambled to get out.
“I’ll take the prince to his porcelain throne,” Takuma said with a grin. “Come on, little guy—let’s find that royal chamber.”
Isamu giggled as Takuma carried him toward the side entrance where staff had already appeared, bowing, the door held open.
Behind them, headlights swept across the snow as Aido and Kain’s car pulled into the drive. Aido stepped out first, stretching dramatically, scarf fluttering. “Five hours of Kain’s driving and I still have all my limbs. It’s a miracle.”
“Be grateful,” Kain muttered.
Kaname didn’t wait.
The moment he stepped out, snow crunching under his polished shoes, he moved to the other side of the car. Quiet. Intent.
Zero was still asleep—barely—but beginning to stir, brow twitching, breath shallow. The long journey had not given him peace, only a pause.
Kaname opened the door, leaned in, and gathered him gently into his arms.
Zero’s body tensed immediately, even half-asleep, but Kaname only tightened his hold, one hand braced behind his back, the other under his knees.
“It’s me,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Zero didn’t speak, but his fingers clutched Kaname’s coat before going slack again, head resting against Kaname’s shoulder.
The snow fell softly as Kaname carried him up the steps, past the waiting staff, through the doors of the house he’d abandoned centuries ago.
Behind them, Takuma returned with Isamu, now bundled again in his coat, cheeks pink from the cold.
Isamu stood in the entryway, staring up at the vaulted ceiling and crystal chandeliers, then turned to Takuma with a gasp. “There’s stars on the ceiling!”
Takuma laughed. “Magic stars.”
“Does the sad prince live here?” Isamu asked, in awe.
Takuma’s eyes flicked toward the sweeping staircase, where Kaname was still carrying Zero, careful as if he were made of glass.
“…Yeah,” Takuma said quietly. “I think he does now.”
The room still smelled like winter and memory.
Kaname laid Zero gently on the master bed—his bed, once. No, not just his. Theirs, in some dream that never came to pass.
The silk sheets were smooth beneath Zero’s form, silver hair spilled like snow across the pillow, lashes trembling faintly with each breath. He hadn’t stirred much, but his face was tense even in sleep, lips parted slightly, like he was bracing for something even now.
Kaname sat beside the bed, but didn’t touch him again. Not yet. He couldn’t trust himself.
The room had been prepared. Fire already crackling in the hearth, warm light catching on carved wood and soft velvet. Everything had been dusted, aired out, returned to how it once was—or how it should have been.
But the bed felt too wide. The space too quiet.
Kaname stared at Zero’s sleeping form and felt the hollow pain that had lived in his chest for so long begin to quiet. Not disappear. It would never disappear. But seeing him again—hearing his voice, watching him hold their son, watching him live—had pulled Kaname back from the edge.
He didn’t want to die anymore. Not the way he had, not in the deep, drowning sleep that came every century or so. The kind where he left everything behind, slipping into darkness without knowing if he’d ever wake.
That was the kind of sleep he’d known these past years—since Zero left. Since Zero found out the truth. Since he learned that Kaname, the one who claimed to love him, had set loose the very monster that shattered his family.
All because Kaname had thought he could move the pieces of fate like a chessboard.
All because he hadn’t known. Hadn’t known who Zero truly was. What he would mean.
My true mate.
The one I waited ten thousand years for… and still failed.
Kaname’s fingers curled into the edge of the mattress.
Zero stirred slightly, a sound slipping from his throat, faint and wounded even in rest. Kaname’s hand twitched toward him—but didn’t land. He didn’t have the right.
So he simply sat there. Watching. Breathing. Drowning.
“If I could go back,” he whispered, “I’d undo it all. I’d burn the whole world down before I let her out. Before I turned you into this. Before I—”
His voice caught, and he bowed his head.
The sorrow hadn’t gone. It never would. It wrapped around his ribs like vines, cold and endless. But now, there was something else beneath it.
Not hope.
Purpose.
“I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “You and our son. Even if you never forgive me. Even if you never speak to me again.”
His hand finally lifted, trembling slightly as it hovered near Zero’s face. He didn’t touch. Only let his fingers linger near the curve of Zero’s cheek, the edge of his breath.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he said, lower now, like a vow to no one. “And then… if it’s time, I’ll let go. If death is all that’s left for me, I won’t fight it. Not if it means you can live.”
The fire cracked softly in the hearth. Snow ticked against the window.
Kaname looked down at Zero one last time, and his voice—when it came—was barely a breath.
“My love. My mate. I’m sorry.”
The room was too still.
Zero stirred beneath heavy furs, lids fluttering open slowly, breath catching against the unfamiliar warmth. The scent in the air wasn’t hospital-sterile or damp like their old Matsumoto home. It was cedar and faint lilac—something older, deeper. A fire cracked softly across the room, its orange glow throwing restless shadows across the stone.
He sat up abruptly.
The bed beneath him was massive. The sheets soft. The chamber like something lifted from the pages of a history book: thick stone walls, arched windows, dark wooden beams latticing the ceiling above him. Everything breathed age and reverence. Even the silence was thick.
Zero’s heart kicked against his ribs. He shoved the blankets aside and scanned the room with a hunter’s edge, body taut with old instincts.
Then—
“Careful.”
That voice. Soft. Familiar. Worn.
Zero turned fast.
Kaname was there.
Sitting in an antique chair near the fire, hands loosely folded in his lap, posture composed—but only barely. The way his shoulders sagged betrayed the truth: he hadn’t rested in days. Maybe longer. His eyes looked hollowed out by centuries.
Zero stared at him.
And for a moment, it hurt.
To see him like this. So worn. So silent. So human, somehow. Not the orchestrator of his ruin. Not the pureblood prince. Just a man. His mate.
Zero’s fingers twitched. Then curled.
He remembered what Kaname had done. What he had suffered for it. And what his parents—good, kind people—had lost. He would not let himself forget. He would not dishonor them by falling into the arms of the one who loosed their killer.
This was Kaname’s punishment.
It was Zero’s too for loving him still.
“Where are we?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and silence.
Kaname didn’t speak right away. He only looked at Zero, something unreadable flickering through his eyes.
“This estate is in the northern mountains,” he said at last. “It’s old. Hidden. Safe.”
Zero pushed himself upright, joints stiff, breath catching as he found his feet.
“Safe,” he repeated, flatly. As if that word could ever mean what it used to.
“You were sleeping so deeply…” Kaname’s voice wavered but didn’t break. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“How long?”
“A few hours. We arrived just after dawn.”
Zero’s eyes swept over the room again—the tapestries, the carved mantle, the ornate trim. The massive bed he’d been laid in, wrapped in velvet and furs. A nest, made ready for a life they’d never lived.
He stepped to the edge of it, voice cold. “Whose room is this?”
A pause.
Then, softly—“Yours now.”
Zero’s breath hitched. He turned away sharply, unwilling to meet that look in Kaname’s eyes. The firelight painted the wall gold and red, flickering like blood and memory.
Why here? his thoughts whispered. Why now? Why this place in the middle of nowhere, halfway up a mountain no one remembers?
Out loud, he said, “Why are we here?”
Kaname’s answer was measured. Too measured. “It’s the safest place I could think of.”
But Zero didn’t believe it. Not really.
He crossed his arms. “I was running from you all this time. And now we’re running again?” His voice was low. “Why?”
Kaname didn’t flinch. He’d expected the question. “Isamu needs me. And I’m… weakened. There are still those who would want my blood. And perhaps his too. "
Kaname sighed.
"Isamu is a pureblood from the Kuran bloodline.”
That landed.
Kaname continued, quieter now. “There are vampires who would try to kidnap him. Use him. Feed from him, or worse. And there are still hunters who haven’t abandoned their old ideals—who believe the only way to end the cycle is to end the pureblood lines entirely.”
Zero’s jaw tightened.
“In my current state,” Kaname said, finally letting some of the exhaustion slip through his tone, “I can’t protect him the way I should. Not out there. Not while we’re exposed.”
His voice went even lower. “It’s not just about me anymore. It’s about him. About keeping him alive.”
Fear struck like a blade in Zero’s gut. Cold and fast.
He remembered how small Isamu’s hands were. How warm. How fragile.
Kaname didn’t speak again. He just sat there, watching like a man who had already lost everything, and knew it.
Zero turned toward the door, heart thudding.
“Where’s Isamu?” he asked, not trusting himself to look back.
Kaname’s voice was barely a whisper. “In the garden. With Takuma. He wanted to chase the snowflakes.”
Zero nodded once. That image alone unraveled something in his chest.
And then he left.
The door whispered shut behind him.
Kaname didn’t move.
And the room that had waited ten thousand years for love, waited still.
The corridor was silent as Zero stepped out, the stone floor cold beneath his socks. The walls were hung with ancient tapestries, deep blues and greys, their patterns faded with time but meticulously kept. Every window he passed framed the outside world in a blur of frost and white—like a painting behind glass.
He followed the sounds.
Not voices, but laughter.
The hallway led to a small side entrance—heavy oak doors slightly ajar. Cold air drifted in, edged with pine and snow and the faint echo of joy. Zero stepped through, squinting slightly against the sudden brightness.
The garden opened wide beneath a pale, clouded sky.
Snow blanketed everything—the stone paths, the empty fountain, the skeletal hedges. But it wasn’t harsh. It was soft. Quiet. The kind of snow that hushed the world without choking it. That softened sharp edges.
And in the middle of it, Isamu was spinning in circles.
His coat flared around him as he turned, arms outstretched, mouth open wide in laughter. Takuma stood nearby, wearing gloves and a scarf far too elegant for the setting, gently tossing handfuls of snow into the air so the flakes would fall like confetti.
“Catch the stars!” Takuma called playfully.
Isamu shrieked with delight, trying to catch flakes on his tongue.
Zero stopped at the edge of the stone path and just watched.
His son’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. His hair stuck out from beneath his beanie. His boots were too big, and his coat too long, sleeves nearly covering his hands. But he looked alive. Gloriously, chaotically alive.
Zero had nearly forgotten what that looked like.
How long had it been since he’d seen Isamu play without pain tugging behind his smile? How many nights had he walked the halls of the Matsumoto house with a burning child in his arms, whispering lullabies between sobs?
Too many.
Takuma noticed him first.
He offered a small nod, soft and knowing, before turning back to Isamu. “Look, Isamu! Look who’s here!”
Isamu whirled, wobbling a little from the momentum. His eyes lit up when he saw him.
“Papa!!”
He barreled toward Zero, arms wide, boots crunching in the snow. Zero caught him without hesitation, scooping him up with a strength born of instinct.
“Easy,” he murmured, brushing snow from Isamu’s coat.
“I caught so many snowflakes!” Isamu announced, breathless. “And I saw a bird! It was red. Like a firebird! Taku-chan said it’s good luck!”
Zero smiled, just a little. “You believe everything Takuma says?”
Isamu nodded earnestly. “Yes.”
Zero glanced over Isamu’s shoulder. “Did you bring him out here?”
Takuma shrugged. “He was wide awake. Said he "needed" not wanted but needed to catch the snowflakes. Apparently they look like raining stars. How could I say no?”
Zero didn’t answer right away.
He looked down at his son. At the bright, unfiltered joy still glowing in those soft violet eyes.
“I missed this,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I forgot what he looked like… when he wasn’t hurting.”
Takuma stepped closer. His voice gentled. “He’s stronger already. You know that, don’t you?”
Zero’s fingers tightened slightly around Isamu’s coat. “I know.”
They stood like that for a moment, the wind teasing the hem of Zero’s shirt, the snow falling in slow spirals. Isamu had started humming against his chest, head nestled under Zero’s chin, warm breath fogging in the cold air.
Takuma looked toward the house. “Kaname’s not well, either. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth.”
“I know,” Zero said again, barely audible.
Takuma continued “He’s not trying to take anything from you. He just wants to make sure Isamu has what he needs. And… he wants to make sure you’re both okay...."
Takuma gave him a long look. Before saying "Even if it kills him.”
Zero didn’t respond.
Didn’t deny it.
Didn’t look away.
He just stood there in the snow, his son in his arms, his heart too full of ghosts to speak.
“Oi! You planning to freeze your toes off out here?”
Zero turned as Aido appeared on the garden path, holding a pair of boots with a flourish. His coat flared dramatically in the wind, scarf draped like he was walking a runway rather than crossing snow.
“You left these behind,” Aido said, lifting the boots. “Figured you’d rather not lose any toes.”
Zero sighed. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. but you can't act like an child when you have an child.” Aido paused, gaze drifting to the bundle in Zero’s arms. His tone softened. “He looks good.”
Zero nodded once.
Aido handed him the boots, then looked over to where Takuma was already heading back toward the house, brushing snow off his shoulders.
“Come on,” Aido said. “Breakfast is ready. And warm. And weirdly fancy.”
Isamu stirred in Zero’s arms. “Breakfast?”
“Yeah, little goblin,” Aido grinned. “You’ve got a royal spread waiting.”
Isamu gasped. “Like jam?!”
Aido gave a mock bow. “Like five kinds of jams.”
Isamu clapped his hands in delight, and Zero couldn’t help the faint ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
He set Isamu down briefly to pull on his boots, then took his hand as they followed Aido back toward the doors.
As they walked, Aido glanced over his shoulder. “I missed this, you know.”
Zero raised a brow. “The cold?”
“The fancy stuff.” Aido waved a hand dramatically. “Silver teapots. Hand-folded napkins. Fruit carved into actual animals. I mean—after living like commoners for so long, I started dreaming about pâté.”
Zero snorted. “Was the food I made over the years really that bad?”
“What? No!” Aido turned around, walking backward for emphasis. “It wasn’t bad. It was really good. Too good for what we had, honestly. But—” he shrugged, smile wistful, “—I missed how things used to be. Good teas. Seven kinds of cheese, Quality fabrics. Having people make things for me. It’s shallow, maybe, but I’m not ashamed.”
Zero shook his head, amused despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“And impeccably groomed,” Aido added without missing a beat.
Isamu giggled beside them.
They reached the door, warm air spilling out as Aido opened it. Inside, the scent of spiced bread and brewed tea greeted them.
Aido gave a satisfied sigh. “Finally. Civilization.”
The halls were warmer now, filled with the scent of hearthfire and something sweet baking—berries and spice and butter. Servants moved quietly in the background, efficient and silent, like ghosts trained in centuries of etiquette.
The dining room doors were open.
And Kaname was already seated at the head of the table.
He rose as they entered, automatically—out of respect or instinct, Zero couldn’t tell. His eyes found them immediately, lingering on Isamu before flicking to Zero’s face. He didn’t speak, but something shifted in his expression. A softness. A sadness.
The table was long and carved from dark wood, polished to a gleam. A dozen chairs lined each side, but only a few places were set. A low fire burned in the hearth behind Kaname’s chair. Sunlight filtered through frosted windows, catching on the silver in Zero’s hair, the flush in Isamu’s cheeks.
Takuma was already seated beside Kain, who offered Zero a respectful nod. Aido dropped into a chair with his usual flair, already pouring tea into a delicate porcelain cup.
Zero hesitated. Then walked the length of the table with Isamu.
He didn’t look at Kaname. Not directly. But he could feel the weight of Kaname’s gaze the entire way down the table.
“Here, little prince,” Takuma said warmly, pulling out a chair near him. “This one’s for you.”
Isamu clambered up eagerly. His eyes went wide at the spread before him—berries, fresh bread, cheeses, tiny pots of jam in every color.
Zero seated himself beside his son, gently helping him with the napkin. He still hadn’t said a word to Kaname.
Kaname sat again, silently, at the head of the table.
Like a king in exile.
Like a man surrounded by all he once dreamed of, and unable to reach a single piece of it.
For a while, no one spoke.
Cutlery clinked softly. Tea steamed in delicate cups. Isamu was the only one eating with any enthusiasm, alternating between bites of jam-smeared toast and marveling at the “berry treasure” Takuma declared hidden in the oatmeal.
But despite the warmth of the hearth, the table felt cold.
Kaname sat at the head, regal in posture but unmoving. His plate remained untouched. So did the crystal glass set just off to the side—its pale, dissolved blood tablets tinting the water faintly pink.
He hadn’t taken a sip.
Zero noticed. Of course he did. He wasn’t looking at Kaname, not directly, but his gaze flicked once—sharp, assessing—and then returned to his son.
Then, suddenly—
“Why aren’t you eating, sad prince?”
The question landed like a bell rung in a quiet temple.
All eyes turned to Isamu, who had twisted in his chair to look at Kaname with wide, curious eyes. A smear of berry painted one cheek.
Kaname blinked, startled. “What?”
“You didn’t even bite anything,” Isamu said, small brows furrowing. “Not even the jam. Taku-san said jam makes everything better!”
Takuma covered a cough with his teacup.
Kaname’s lips parted, but no words came. He looked down at his plate. Then at the glass beside it.
“I’m not very hungry,” he said gently. “But thank you for worrying.”
Isamu frowned, unconvinced. He leaned closer to Zero, tugging his sleeve.
“Papa,” he whispered—though it wasn’t very quiet, “can you cook the one that makes people better? The warm one. You made it when I was sick. The soup with the sleepy flowers and the soft carrots.”
Zero paused, caught off guard.
“You want me to cook…?”
“For him,” Isamu said, pointing earnestly at Kaname. “So he gets better like I did.”
Zero’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes flicked up—met Kaname’s for the first time since entering the room.
Kaname looked stricken. Not because of the offer, but because of the kindness. The instinctive care in that child’s voice. The child who didn’t even know he was speaking to his father.
“I don’t—” Kaname began, voice rough.
“Please?” Isamu pressed.
There was silence again, but this time it was different. Heavier. Something had shifted. A single stone moved in the dam of grief and regret.
Zero looked at Kaname fully then. His expression unreadable. But his voice was steady when he said, “Fine. I’ll make it.”
Kaname’s hands curled slightly around the arms of his chair.
“You don’t have to—”
“I said I’ll make it,” Zero cut in, eyes narrowing just a little. “Because he asked.”
Not for you.
Because of him.
Kaname bowed his head, throat working silently.
Isamu beamed. “Yay! Papa’s soup makes everything better!”
And for just a moment, the room warmed.
Just a little.
The kitchen was at the heart of the estate, tucked behind carved doors and wide stone arches, meant for the quiet hum of staff. But now, it stood still—warm, filled with early morning light and the faint scent of herbs and old wood.
Zero rolled his sleeves up.
The room had already been stocked, prepped by unseen hands during the five hours they’d traveled. Everything was in its place. As if Kaname had ordered it not just for survival—but for comfort. For him.
He tried not to think about that.
He focused on the ingredients instead. Carrots, soft and sweet. Onions, leeks. Dried petals of sleep-flower—a rare herb known for its calming properties. Chicken stock. A hint of ginger. The kind of things you simmer, not rush. Food meant to warm the body from the inside out.
Isamu called it “the sleepy soup.”
It had gotten them through so many nights—when fevers climbed, when sleep wouldn’t come, when Zero thought he would break from the helplessness.
He hadn’t made it for anyone else.
Not even himself.
As the pot began to warm over the stove, the scent rose—delicate and grounding. Zero stirred slowly, hand gripping the wooden spoon tighter than necessary. His thoughts wandered without permission.
To the way Kaname had looked at him across the table.
To the untouched glass.
To the way Isamu had leaned into him like he belonged there.
He doesn’t even know. Doesn’t know the man who gave him life sits a few feet away every day, too afraid to say the word “father.”
Zero clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the soft boil beginning beneath the surface.
But it wasn’t just the soup that simmered.
It was him.
Because he didn’t hate Kaname. Not truly. Not fully. He had tried—God, he had tried. Had let others touch him just to forget the way Kaname once did. Had screamed and sobbed and bled and still, still—
He looked into Kaname’s eyes and something in him ached.
“I won’t forgive you,” he said under his breath, voice low and tight. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
The soup stirred.
“But I won’t let you starve, either.”
He ladled the first portion gently into a porcelain bowl, garnished it like he used to when Isamu was too sick to smile. A sprig of green. A soft dusting of dried petal.
He wasn’t cooking for Kaname.
He was cooking because their son had asked him to.
But part of him—a buried, bitter, yearning part—remembered how Kaname used to lean into the first bite like it was a kiss. How his eyes softened after the second. How he once said, “You make things that hurt less, Zero. Without even knowing.”
Zero closed his eyes. Exhaled.
Then turned, bowl in hand.
And walked back toward the dining room.
The hallway back to the dining room felt longer than it had before. The soup was warm in his hands, cradled carefully, its soft scent trailing behind him like a memory. Each step echoed off the stone, too loud in the quiet.
When Zero reached the threshold, he stopped.
The room was still.
The head of the table was empty.
Kaname was gone.
Only the faint imprint of his presence remained—the chair slightly pushed back, the untouched plate, the blood-tinged glass still full beside it.
Takuma was whispering something to Isamu, who had a mouthful of toast and jam and didn’t seem to notice anything strange. Aido and Kain kept their heads down, as if they, too, felt the absence like a bruise.
Zero stared at the vacant seat.
He didn’t move for a moment. Just stood there, bowl in hand, heart twisting—not in anger this time, but something far more dangerous.
Regret.
Not his own, not entirely.
Kaname had sat at the head of that table like a man trying to pretend he still belonged there. As if he hadn’t already exiled himself in every way that mattered.
He waited, Zero realized.
He waited for me to say something. To hand this to him. To soften. Even a little.
But Zero hadn’t.
Because he didn’t know how.
“Zero,” Takuma said quietly, breaking the silence, “he stepped out. Said he wasn’t hungry.”
Zero didn’t answer. Just walked slowly to the head of the table and placed the bowl down—carefully, like it mattered. Like the act of setting it there was a kind of apology he couldn’t say out loud.
The steam curled upward, catching the light. The smell filled the air. Sleep-flower. Carrot. Warmth.
Home, if such a thing still existed.
Isamu looked over, eyes lighting up. “You made it!”
Zero nodded once. “He’ll eat it later.”
“But you said it’s best when it’s hot!” Isamu frowned.
Zero looked at the chair. At the untouched food.
“…He knows.”
He turned before the ache reached his eyes and brushed his hand gently over Isamu’s head. “Eat, sweetheart. I’ll be back.”
And then he left the dining room, retracing Kaname’s steps.
The corridors twisted like branches, silent and chilled in the places the fire hadn’t reached. Zero’s boots were soft against the old stone, the sound swallowed by thick carpets and older ghosts.
He didn’t know exactly why he followed.
Only that he had to.
Only that something in him wouldn’t rest until he found him.
The estate was vast, a place built for isolation and power. There were too many rooms, too many doors that hadn’t been opened in decades. But Zero followed the instinct that had always guided him to Kaname, even when he swore he wanted nothing more than to walk the other way.
Eventually, he reached a hall of narrow arched windows, overlooking the snow-covered garden below.
The air here was colder. Thinner.
And at the far end—Kaname.
He stood alone at the glass, one hand braced against the frame, head slightly bowed. Snow fell in slow spirals behind him. His coat was open. His shoulders drawn in. His entire figure held the quiet of a man not praying—but waiting for punishment.
Zero stopped a few paces behind.
Neither of them spoke.
For a moment, there was only the ticking of the old clock in the nearby alcove. A slow, deliberate beat.
Then, softly—Kaname spoke.
“I shouldn’t have stayed at the table.”
Zero swallowed. “Why did you leave?”
Kaname didn’t turn. “Because I couldn’t bear to sit there. Not with him laughing. Not with you close enough to reach and yet thousand miles away.”
He exhaled, the fog of his breath ghosting across the glass.
“I thought if I stayed, I might say something selfish. I might ask for something I don’t deserve.”
Zero stepped forward slowly. “He asked me to make you the soup.”
“I know.”
“I brought it.”
Kaname’s hand curled slightly against the windowpane. “I couldn’t eat it. Not while you looked at me like that.”
Zero’s jaw tensed. “Like what?”
“Like I’m everything you hate. And everything you used to love. All at once.”
The silence returned, pressing between them.
“I don’t hate you,” Zero said at last. Quiet. Honest.
Kaname finally turned.
His eyes were dark, rimmed in the faint red of blood denied and sorrow swallowed. But beneath that, there was something else. Hope, maybe. Or the memory of it.
“You should.”
Zero didn’t deny it.
He just stood there. Hands at his sides. Breath shallow in the cold air.
“I don’t forgive you,” he said, steady. “You destroyed everything I was. Everything I believed in.”
Kaname’s lips parted. A breath. Nothing more.
“But…” Zero looked away for a second, then back. “I made the soup anyway.”
That landed.
Kaname blinked, slowly, like it hurt to do it. His voice, when it came, was quieter than the falling snow.
“Does it still taste the same?”
“I don’t know,” Zero said. “I didn’t try it.”
He paused. Something raw in his throat.
“I only ever made it for people I didn’t want to lose.”
The silence cracked then—just a little.
Kaname didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Only looked at him like Zero had handed him the last piece of a soul long buried.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Soft. Steady. Unforgiving and beautiful.
Zero turned without another word.
He didn’t slam the door. He didn’t look back. He simply walked—straight-backed, deliberate, shoulders tight beneath the thin weight of everything left unsaid.
Kaname followed.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t call out. But his steps moved in rhythm behind Zero’s, quiet and constant, like a shadow bound by gravity. There was no anger in his stride. Only the pull of something invisible—ancient, aching. A thread that had never quite snapped between them.
Down the corridor.
Through the carved archways.
Back into the quiet warmth of the dining room.
Takuma looked up first, catching the flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. His smile faltered into something softer, more careful, as his gaze moved from Zero to the man trailing behind him.
Kain, across the table, stilled mid-bite.
Zero crossed to Isamu and crouched beside him without a word. He fixed the boy’s collar gently, brushed crumbs from his cheek. Isamu turned and leaned into him immediately, still chewing a bite of toast soaked in berry jam.
Then, without looking at Kaname, Zero said softly, “Your soup’s getting cold.”
And left the room.
Again.
Takuma and Kain said nothing. They didn’t need to. The silence was thick with meaning. The door whispered shut behind Zero.
Kaname stood at the edge of the room for a breath, eyes on the chair where Zero had sat. Then he moved—slowly, with the weight of someone stepping onto sacred ground.
He returned to the head of the table.
To the seat that had always felt more like a throne and less like a home.
And sat.
The bowl waited for him.
Steam had begun to fade, but the scent still lingered—subtle and warm, an echo of something tender. Sleep-flower, soft carrots, ginger, and broth. A dish not made by servants or chefs or stewards, but by him. By Zero.
Takuma’s gaze flicked to Kain.
Neither said a word.
Kaname picked up the spoon.
And for a long moment, he just stared into the bowl. Into the quiet offering laid before him. It wasn’t just soup.
It was mercy.
It was memory.
It was the first thing Zero had made for him in three years.
He took a bite.
The taste bloomed gently across his tongue. Nothing extravagant. No excessive seasoning. Just warmth. Simplicity. Care.
But it was different.
He’d tasted Zero’s cooking before, long ago in the fleeting years when things were good—when they were reckless and in love and building something fragile in the dark. But this was not that.
This soup had a weight to it.
A softness that couldn’t be imitated or trained.
It had the patience of someone who had stood awake through nights of fever, whispering lullabies into burning skin. The sorrow of a parent who knew how to measure medicine by instinct. The gentleness only someone who had carried a child inside their body could ever master.
Every bite felt like being forgiven for a second. Not longer. Just enough to ache.
Takuma shifted in his seat, watching the way Kaname bowed slightly over the bowl—as if afraid it might vanish. As if he didn’t deserve it.
“Is it good?” Takuma asked softly, when Kaname paused.
Kaname didn’t look up.
He nodded once. “Yes.”
Kain murmured, “First real meal you’ve had in weeks.”
Kaname exhaled through his nose. “It’s the first thing I’ve tasted that doesn’t feel like ash.”
He didn’t explain what he meant.
Didn’t have to.
Because they all knew. Every one of them at that table knew what it meant to live without ones mate, the pain of separation and to live with guilt.
But Kaname’s guilt was older. Sharper. A blade he’d turned against himself for centuries.
And now, without ceremony, he finished the soup.
Down to the last drop.
Then sat there, spoon resting against the bowl, hands quiet in his lap.
The dining room was still. The fire cracked low. Isamu was telling Aido a story about the “firebird” he saw in the garden. But none of it reached Kaname.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
And let the warmth settle in his chest, where the cold had lived for far too long.
The room Zero had taken for himself was modest. Smaller than the master chamber, tucked quietly at the end of one of the east-facing corridors. Golden curtains framed a wide window overlooking the snow-covered garden below. Light filtered in gently—frost-muted, soft.
He hadn’t asked for this room.
He had simply walked past the master suite—the one Kaname had said was his now, the one that felt too intimate, too theirs—and kept going. That room wasn’t his. It was too large, too elegant. And it belonged to the master of the house. Zero was just a guest here.
This room felt empty enough to breathe in.
Isamu sat on the rug, bundled in a fleece blanket patterned with stars and moons. He’d taken off his coat but not his boots—one of which lay sideways a few feet away. His cheeks were still pink from the cold, his breath quick with leftover excitement.
A cracker rested beside him, forgotten.
He was humming a song with no real tune, colored pencils scattered around him like flower petals. On the paper in front of him, he’d drawn a sun, a square house, and three tall stick figures holding hands with a smaller one in the middle. He’d tried to draw the snow, too, scribbling little white dots all over the sky.
Zero sat curled on the window seat, knees drawn to his chest, head leaning against the cold glass. He watched the snowfall with a distant gaze, like it had nowhere else to be. Neither did he.
“Papa didn’t finish his toast,” Isamu said, not looking up.
Zero blinked. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“Sad prince says that too.”
Isamu reached for a purple pencil and pressed it hard against the paper.
Zero’s gaze shifted. “Why do you call him that?”
Isamu shrugged, still coloring. “He just feels that way. Like when the sky gets quiet before it rains.”
Zero let out a soft breath.
“You’re too observant.”
Isamu shrugged again, more dramatically. “I got big eyes. See everything.”
Zero smiled faintly. “You sure do.”
There was a pause.
Then Isamu said, more quietly, “I think you sad too.”
Zero didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he pushed himself off the window seat and crossed the room. He knelt beside his son on the rug.
Isamu looked up at him with serious eyes—the color of twilight skies—and tilted his head. “I think the prince is lonely. Like… like he forgot how to be hugged.”
Zero’s chest ached.
“Did you know him before I was born?” Isamu asked suddenly, tilting his crayon so it wouldn’t snap.
“Yes,” Zero said softly. “A long time before.”
“Was he nice?”
Zero hesitated.
The weight of betrayal and memory pushed hard at his ribs. But also—the echo of soft hands in his hair, words whispered like promises, Kaname’s eyes looking at him like he was the only one in a world of centuries.
“…He didn’t know how to be,” Zero said at last. “But I think he wanted to be.”
Isamu blinked, thoughtful. Then looked at him fully.
“I love you more than anything,” he said quietly, snuggling closer under his blanket.
“I know, and l love you too” Zero whispered, pulling him gently into his lap.
They stayed that way for a few seconds, warm and quiet.
Then, muffled by Zero’s shirt, Isamu said, “But maybe… we can love sadface too.”
Zero stilled.
The question went straight to the wound. It didn’t ask about the past. It didn’t leave room for anger. It just was.
“I think sadface wants you to love him,” Isamu continued, serious in that guileless way only a child could be. “Like you love me.”
Zero closed his eyes.
He didn’t answer.
“Will you love him?” Isamu asked again.
Zero’s arms tightened around him. Not because he meant to. Not because he knew how.
But because he hurt.
“I don’t know how to,” he said finally.
Isamu didn’t seem disappointed. He just nodded, like he understood. “It’s okay if you do. I won’t be mad. I still love you even when you’re mad. Or sad. Or when you yell at the stove.”
Zero blinked. “I… yelled at the stove?”
Isamu nodded gravely. “You said it was bein’ stupid shit.”
Zero stared at him.
“Okay,” he said, sighing. “First of all, you’re not supposed to say those words.”
Isamu gave him a mischievous look. “I didn’t say it. You said it.”
Zero groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Great. I’ve corrupted you.”
“Cuh-rupted,” Isamu repeated slowly, testing the syllables. “Is that like… burnt toast?”
Zero let out a low laugh despite himself. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Isamu wriggled forward, dragging the blanket like a cape. “I love you,” he said suddenly, all breath and sweetness. “Even when you’re burnt toast.”
Zero blinked hard. Swallowed.
He scooped Isamu into his arms, holding him close, cheek against soft hair.
Then Isamu used both hands to cover his lips like a secret and whispered, “I call him sadface in my head, but prince out loud. So he doesn’t get more upset.”
Zero didn’t respond.
The snow kept falling.
And outside, somewhere in the quiet halls of a house too full of history, a man who called himself unworthy finished the last spoonful of soup someone still loved him enough to make.
The days that followed passed in a kind of hush.
The snow didn’t stop, but neither did it threaten. It fell steadily in flakes like feathers, a soft curtain between the outside world and the quiet life slowly knitting itself back together inside the Northern estate.
Mornings began with the scent of cinnamon and firewood. Staff bustled gently in the background, respectful and nearly invisible, as if they too understood the sacredness of these tentative days.
Isamu woke early, always.
Wrapped in his starry blanket, his hair a tousled halo of brown, he would scamper through the halls barefoot, his rabbit trailing behind him. If Kaname wasn't awake, Isamu would climb into bed and tap his face until he was. If Kaname wasn’t in the room, he would go searching.
Sometimes, Zero would find them in the east solarium, curled together under a mountain of pillows, Kaname reading aloud from an old, gold-trimmed book about enchanted forests and wolves that turned into men. Isamu, wide-eyed and spellbound, would interrupt constantly to ask if he could be a wolf too.
On other days, Zero walked into the conservatory to find Kaname and Isamu at the grand piano—Kaname guiding tiny fingers along ivory keys with patience Zero didn’t know he had. Isamu would hit a wrong note and collapse in giggles, and Kaname would laugh with him, a sound so soft it felt like velvet brushing old scars.
And Isamu didn’t know yet.
Didn’t know who Kaname really was.
But his body knew.
He leaned into Kaname’s side the way children lean into trust. He reached for Kaname’s hand when they walked. He offered him half of his toast in the mornings without being asked.
And Kaname… Kaname never refused.
Zero hated how it made him ache.
Not with jealousy.
But with the unbearable weight of what could have been—what still might be, if he ever dared step forward again.
The snow had quieted to a soft dusting on the windowsills, clinging like powdered sugar to the glass. In the east corridor, morning had long given way to afternoon, and the curtains in Zero’s room glowed with light.
Isamu was a restless bundle of energy, pacing the rug in uneven circles with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
“I wanna go explore the castle,” he announced grandly, standing tall in his too-big boots, one glove missing, his hair sticking up in every direction from a static-filled nap.
Zero arched a brow from where he sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not a castle. It’s just a big house.”
Isamu turned, eyes wide and scandalized. “It’s a castle. It has a fireplace taller than me. That’s how you know.”
Zero smirked faintly. “Is that the rule?”
“Yup,” Isamu nodded with authority, pointing toward the hallway. “Castles have towers and big rooms and secret places. Come on, Papa. What if we find treasure?”
Zero sighed, but it was more affection than exasperation. He stood and reached for Isamu’s second boot. “Treasure, huh? I thought you already found that with your five kinds of jam.”
Isamu grinned. “That was breakfast treasure. This is adventure treasure.”
Once bundled properly—gloves found, scarf tugged awkwardly into place, and his boots firmly on—Isamu grabbed Zero’s hand and pulled him into the hall like a knight escorting royalty.
The corridors seemed brighter now. Less haunted. Isamu’s footsteps echoed with excitement rather than hesitation, and Zero let himself be led, letting the warmth of his son’s grip ground him.
They rounded the corner into the grand hall—and nearly collided with a flash of blue and blond.
“Ah! Little Goblin, there you are,” Aido drawled, stepping back just in time to avoid being barreled into. “Or should I say Gremlin, since you’ve clearly been stirring up mischief again?”
Isamu squealed with delight. “Uncle Hana! I am a Knight ”
Aido crouched to catch him as Isamu launched into his arms, giggling. “You’re going to wear your poor papa out with all this royal business.”
“I’m showing him the castle,” Isamu said proudly, tugging on Aido’s sleeve. “We’re gonna find treasure. Maybe even a dragon!”
Aido raised a golden brow at Zero. “Treasure, huh? Should I alert the guards? Maybe hide the silver and gold?”
Zero shook his head, deadpan. “You should probably warn the dragon.”
Aido smirked, standing with Isamu perched on one hip. “Well, if there’s a dragon around, I’m sure our little gremlin here will tame it with his dangerous cuteness.”
“I’m not a gremlin,” Isamu said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m a knight. Knights are brave.”
“You’re absolutely brave,” Aido agreed. “But you also ate three pieces of toast with jam and then tried to steal Kain’s coffee, which is a very gremlin thing to do.”
Isamu giggled. “It smelled like burnt socks.”
Aido laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’re not wrong.”
Zero watched them with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Seeing Isamu like this—bright, loved, unafraid—it softened something in him.
“Come on, Uncle Hana,” Isamu said urgently, wriggling down. “You can come on the castle tour too. Papa said yes.”
Aido looked at Zero, one brow raised. “Did he now?”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
Isamu took Zero’s hand again, then Aido’s. “You’re both coming. No arguing. I’m in charge today.”
Zero let out a long breath, but he didn’t resist. “Yes, sir, Commander Gremlin.”
Isamu beamed. “That’s Knight Gremlin to you.”
They continued down the hall together, the three of them—one small boy between two men who’d both suffered too much at such a young age and yet somehow still found joy in his laughter.
The estate stretched before them, full of hidden staircases and locked doors, of long-forgotten sitting rooms and balconies draped in frost. And for a little while, the past fell quiet.
And the house that had waited centuries for warmth echoed with the sound of a child’s joy.
The castle—because at this point, Zero had given up correcting Isamu—was full of strange little places. Secret staircases. Sunken reading nooks. Stone corridors where candle sconces hadn’t held flame in decades.
They were following Isamu’s determined path toward what he called “the treasure room”—really just a hallway with three locked doors—when Aido pulled up short outside one of the drawing rooms.
Isamu didn’t notice at first, tugging at Zero’s hand. “Come on! Maybe there’s shiny armor in this one—like the knight books!”
Zero was about to humor him when Aido gently reached out and touched his shoulder, signaling quiet.
Voices.
Low, but tense.
The door was cracked just slightly, golden light spilling across the floor.
Zero stilled.
“…the council is expecting an answer soon,” a calm, clipped voice said—Seiren’s, no doubt, unreadable as always.
“We’ve been delaying for nearly two years,” came Kain’s deeper voice. “They’re going to escalate this.”
“They already are,” Takuma added. “The Elders have started asking about Kaname’s return. About Yuuki."
Takuma sighed and continued, "They want a wedding date. they want a child from Yuki and Kaname. It’s only a matter of time before—”
The voices cut off.
Because the door creaked just slightly open.
And Kaname looked up.
He was seated near the fire, flanked by Kain and Seiren, with Takuma pacing quietly behind him. A fire burned low in the hearth. Kaname’s posture was perfect. Still. But his eyes—
His eyes shattered when they landed on Zero.
Guilt, sharp and immediate, bloomed in his expression.
He stood. “Zero—”
Zero didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, drowning out the silence in the room. The crack in the door had become a crack in his chest.
Yuuki.
A child.
Marriage.
He had known, on some level. Had always known the Council wanted Kaname and Yuuki united. That it had been the plan since before Zero could even speak Kaname’s name without venom.
It was always Kaname’s plan.
But to hear it now.
To hear it spoken so plainly, so inevitably.
It was like being set on fire from the inside out.
Isamu looked between them all, confused by the sudden stillness.
Then, oblivious to the tension, he looked up at Zero. “Papa, what’s wrong?”
Zero forced his voice steady. “Nothing.”
But it wasn’t true.
It was everything.
Kaname took a tentative step forward. “Zero, I can explain—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
The words dropped like a knife. Cold. Final.
"Please, it's not what you think-" Kaname started again.
"I don't need to think anything, It has nothing to do with me." Zero spat.
Kaname flinched.
The others were silent. No one dared speak.
Zero bent to lift Isamu into his arms, clutching him just a little tighter than usual. His heart was pounding. His ribs ached. Every breath burned like regret.
Of course Kaname would do this.
Of course the Council came first.
Of course the mate bond—that ancient, sacred, soul-bound thing—meant nothing in the end. Their marriage in that small church was a joke.
And yet—
“Sad prince,” Isamu said softly, leaning into Zero’s shoulder to peer at Kaname. “You look tired.”
Kaname blinked, caught off guard.
“Do you have a fever?” Isamu asked, reaching out to press his little hand to Kaname’s forehead with all the solemnity of a healer. “Are you hot?”
Kaname’s eyes stung.
“I’m alright,” he said quietly.
Isamu frowned, unconvinced. “Did you drink your red juice?”
Kaname looked away. “Not yet.”
Isamu wiggled out of Zero’s arms and held out his wrist. “You can have mine. It made me better.”
The silence cracked.
Takuma turned away quickly. Aido looked down. Kain’s face stiffened.
Kaname’s eyes went wide. “Isamu—no. You don’t need to—”
“But I have lots!” Isamu insisted. “And you gave me yours when I was sick, so i have extras. I want you to feel better, too.”
Zero couldn’t speak.
The gesture was too pure. Too small and enormous all at once.
Kaname knelt, but he didn’t take Isamu’s wrist. He simply touched his hand—very gently—and said, “That means more to me than you know. But I don’t want to take anything from you.”
Isamu blinked. “But I’m sharing.”
Kaname smiled faintly. “Then thank you. For sharing.”
Zero’s throat burned.
He couldn’t stand here another second. Couldn’t watch this man pretend to care while the Council whispered about heirs and bloodlines, while Yuuki waited for a marriage proposal and everything Zero had meant to Kaname faded beneath duty.
Maybe this was better.
Let Kaname have Yuuki.
Let the Council have their legacy.
Let Zero and Isamu slip away into the world like ghosts, living something quieter, something real.
Something that didn’t feel like being kept as a secret.
He swallowed hard, and pick Isamu up again then spoke without looking at Kaname.
“When can we leave?”
The question landed like a slap across the stone floor.
Kaname’s head lifted slowly, his face pale, unreadable. “Zero—”
“I asked when,” Zero repeated, voice tight. “He seems fine. His body is stabilizing. The imprint’s broken. He’s feeding. So… when.”
Silence.
Isamu squirmed, sniffling. “But I want to stay.”
“I know,” Zero said softly, brushing a hand through his son’s hair. “But this isn’t where we belong.”
“Why not?” Isamu’s voice was small. “He’s nice. Even when he’s sad.”
Zero’s throat burned. His arms curled tighter around the boy who had no idea what he was asking for. Who didn’t know that the man he loved was the same one who had almost destroyed them.
“Because…” Zero couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say because he chose someone else. Because he lied. Because he still might.
So instead, he whispered, “Because it’s complicated.”
Kaname stood slowly, but didn’t step closer. “You can leave anytime you wish,” he said, each word careful and quiet. “I won’t stop you. But the house is protected. The roads are not. If someone comes looking…”
Zero didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink.
Because he didn’t trust what would come out if he spoke now.
“I’ll make arrangements,” Kaname added. “If that’s what you want.”
Behind him, Takuma shifted, clearly wanting to speak—but staying silent.
Kain looked away.
Aido stood in the doorway like a sentinel with no orders.
Isamu clung to Zero’s shirt, heart beating fast against his father’s chest. “I want to stay with everyone,” he whispered again. “Please.”
Zero turned to go.
His steps were stiff, sharp with restraint. Each movement felt like walking through glass—careful, cutting.
But the small weight in his arms shifted.
“No!” Isamu cried, wriggling suddenly, eyes wide and teary. “Papa, wait! I don’t wanna go yet!”
Zero paused.
“I want to stay with the sad prince!” Isamu’s voice cracked with emotion, lower lip trembling. “He’s still sick. He needs me!”
Zero’s grip tightened, his arms a shield, his heart breaking open all over again.
“Isamu,” he said gently, but his voice was fraying at the edges. “You don’t understand.”
“I do,” Isamu insisted, pressing his cheek into Zero’s collar. “He’s lonely. You’re lonely. I’m not sick anymore, but he is. I can help.”
Kaname hadn’t moved like he was afraid any movement would shatter what remained of the moment.
“Please, Papa,” Isamu whispered, small fingers clutching Zero’s collar. “I want to stay with him. And Uncle Hana. And Taku-san. And Big Kain. I want lots of people to love me. I want to stay.”
Zero’s breath caught.
He stood frozen in the center of a room he didn’t belong to, holding the only good thing he had left, while the man who once swore to protect him waited a few feet away, wearing a crown made of silence and shame.
It was too much.
Too much
And still, Zero didn’t move.
Because what do you do when the person who hurt you is the only one your child wants to save?
Chapter 23: Cold as ice
Chapter Text
The corridor had long gone quiet.
Zero’s footsteps faded into the distance like a dream dissolving in daylight, and Kaname stood there—still as the statues in the garden. Still as old grief.
His mouth was set in a line he could no longer hold straight. The air felt thin. Like breathing had become something he no longer remembered how to do.
His hands were at his sides, fingers limp, forgotten. The chill from the marble floor was beginning to climb up his legs, into his spine, but he didn’t feel it. What he felt—what he couldn’t stop feeling—was the ache beneath his sternum. The kind that didn’t wound the body but carved through the soul.
The kind that said you deserve this.
And his heart—
His heart had never felt heavier.
“Kaname,” Takuma said softly behind him, voice low with concern. “You need to sit.”
“I’m fine,” Kaname replied, though his tone betrayed him.
He wasn’t fine. He was breaking.
His knees gave out a moment later.
Takuma surged forward just in time to catch him before he hit the stone floor. Seiren was already there too, silent and efficient, easing Kaname’s arm across her shoulder as they helped lower him to a bench beneath one of the tall windows.
He was trembling.
Kaname Kuran—pureblood King, progenitor, ancient guardian of legacy—was shaking like a child lost in the snow.
“I can’t—” Kaname choked, pressing the heel of his hand to his chest. “I can’t breathe.”
Takuma knelt before him, steadying his shoulders. “It’s a panic attack. You’re safe. Just breathe through it. In. Out. Kaname, listen to me—look at me. In. Out. Try to copy my breathing. You’re not dying.”
Kaname’s breath hitched, raw and ragged.
“But I already did,” he rasped. “The day I let him go.”
Kaname’s fingers twisted in the fabric over his heart, his breaths shallow and uneven, like he needed to hold himself together physically or he’d fall apart entirely.
Kain stepped forward, drawn by the sound, his usual silence edged with tension. His eyes swept over Kaname’s shaking form. Then, slowly, he said, “You don’t have to let him go.”
Kaname didn’t look up.
Kain crossed his arms. “If you wanted, you could keep him here. You have the power.”
A sharp inhale from Aido at that Kain just suggested, His brows furrowed, lips parting like he was about to protest, but the words never made it out.
Because Kaname finally lifted his face—and there was no fury there. No cold resolve. Only exhaustion. Only grief.
“I’m not going to cage him,” Kaname said hoarsely. “Not again. Not after everything I’ve done.”
“But—” Kain began.
“He was a child when I took his choices away the first time,” Kaname continued, voice trembling. “When I made my move—lwhen I decided he would be part of my war… I didn’t ask if he wanted to be. I told myself it was for the greater good. For Yuuki. For peace. But it was for me. It was always for me.”
Takuma’s hands tightened on Kaname’s shoulders, steady, grounding.
Kaname’s head dropped again.
“And now he’s… carrying everything I broke. Still raising our child with love. Still feeding me kindness in bowls of soup while I sit there, pretending I have any right to call myself his mate.”
Seiren said nothing—but she was listening.
Kain’s voice was quieter this time. “Isamu is your child too.”
“I know,” Kaname whispered.
“Then don’t let him be your regret.”
Kaname’s breath faltered again. His hand lifted—shaking—to press over his heart.
“He looks at me like he wants to know me. Like he… feels something. Even without knowing the truth.”
Aido finally spoke, voice low and tight with disbelief. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Kaname laughed—but it was hollow. Empty.
“I’ve never been like this,” he said. “Because I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him.”
“Zero,” Takuma said quietly.
Kaname nodded.
“And Isamu.”
Another nod.
Then a broken exhale. “I thought waiting was the hardest thing I’d ever do. But it wasn’t. This is. Losing him over and over again.”
He looked toward the end of the hall—toward the place Zero had disappeared with Isamu pressed against his chest like the most sacred thing in the world.
“I’d give everything,” he whispered, “just to be part of that world again.”
No one replied.
"Part of their world"
Because there was nothing to say.
The fire in the hearths burned quietly behind the doors.
When he spoke again, it was with a softness that made the words heavier, not lighter.
“I won’t force him,” Kaname said. “Not again.”
Takuma flinched. “Kaname—”
“No.” His voice did not rise. It didn’t need to. “I won’t reach for what I broke. I won’t chain him to the ruins I made.”
He tilted his head back, resting it against the wall, eyes fluttering shut like the weight of them was too much.
“I loved him more than myself,” he whispered. “And that’s the truth I was too proud to speak. Even back then.”
He breathed, slowly, like every inhale was a thread pulled taut over old wounds.
“Isamu is mine by blood, yes. But he is Zero’s by everything else. His care. His warmth. His sacrifices.” A pause. A bitter curve to his lips. “His sleepless nights. His trembling hands. His songs in the dark when no one was listening.”
Seiren didn’t speak. Neither did Aido. Kain looked away entirely.
Kaname’s gaze drifted to the far end of the corridor once more. The shadows pooled deeper there, where the world had already moved on. Where Zero and Isamu had already vanished beyond reach.
“I won’t follow,” he said.
The words felt final. But not cold. Not even resigned.
Loving.
“I won’t chase him anymore. I won’t haunt his steps like a wound that refuses to close.” His voice cracked on the next breath. “Because he deserves freedom. A life without the stain of me.”
His hands opened on his knees, palms upturned. As if giving something back.
“I tasted everything in him. In the blood he gave so freely… when I had no right to take. I felt it,” he whispered, voice fraying. “His fear. His strength And I tasted his love.”
Takuma closed his eyes.
“In his kisses,” Kaname continued, “there were whole lifetimes. There were mornings I never thought I’d deserve, nights I didn’t know I could survive. And even in silence… there was trust.”
He inhaled. Exhaled.
“And I broke it all.”
His fingers curled slowly into fists.
“So let him be free,” Kaname said. “Let him have peace. Let him build something untouched by me.”
Then—barely audible—he added, “He’s the only one who ever saw me not as a Kuran, but just… as Kaname.”
The name fell like a stone into a deep well.
And in the corridor, surrounded by friends and silence, Kaname grieved what he had destroyed with his own hands.
Kaname remembered it clearly now.
Sunlight slanted through the high boughs, filtered gold and silver through green leaves like lace over skin. And there he was—Zero, curled atop a hay sack in the old stable in Cross Academy, boots dusty, hair falling like mercury over one eye, the scent of leather and straw curling through the air like something older than time.
Sleeping.
Unarmed.
Unburdened.
Kaname had stood there far longer than he should have—long enough to memorize every breath. Every freckle kissed by dawn. He breathed him in, not like prey… but like home. Like belonging.
Zero, who carried the weight of the world in his shoulders and the end of it in his eyes, had found, just for that moment, peace. And Kaname had wanted to worship it. Freeze it in time. Steal it into memory so he could survive the centuries to come.
He’d knelt beside him, fingers brushing a fallen strand of hair from Zero’s cheek. The skin beneath was warm. Real. Irreplaceable.
“Are you hiding from the world again, hunter?” he had whispered.
Zero blinked awake, eyes hazy, brow furrowed. “Not hiding,” he grumbled. “Napping.”
Kaname had smiled then, soft and shameless. “Liar.”
That was how their ride began.
Kaname had bribed him—with silence, with the promise of a forest untouched, with Lily, the mare who never startled, never judged. Zero had agreed, grumbling all the way, but not resisting.
They’d ridden through the thick woods, where the canopy cloaked the world in twilight, where the wind whispered secrets only lovers heard. Zero sat in front, Kaname behind—his arms a loose circle, quiet and reverent. Not claiming. Just... holding.
For a long while, there were no words.
Then Kaname leaned in, breath brushing the shell of Zero’s ear.
“You smell like home.”
Zero scoffed. “If you want blood, just say it. You don’t have to turn it into a haiku.”
Kaname’s laugh was velvet. “Poetry is the language of devotion.”
“And your mouth is the language of bullshit.” Zero spat but he didn’t pull away.
They stopped at a hidden pond—a silver pool in the woods, still as a secret. Kaname helped him down, his fingers lingering, careful. Zero turned, ready to snap a retort, but Kaname was already close. Too close.
One hand behind his neck. A tilt of the head. A kiss—soft and just beneath the jaw.
“I won’t take much,” Kaname had murmured.
And he hadn’t.
He drank like it was sacred.
Small sips. Slow reverence. The taste of blood—Zero’s blood—was so full of love, it burned. Kaname moaned softly, the bond roaring to life between them like wildfire. He drank that love in—not out of thirst, but hunger of a different kind. One fed only by him.
Zero’s hands clutched his hair, breath trembling, neck bared further in silent offering.
When it ended, Kaname drew back slowly. His lips were red. His eyes glowed red beneath the trees.
“You love me,” he said, not with pride, but awe. “So very much.”
Zero flushed, lips parted. “You’re delusional.”
“No,” Kaname whispered. “I tasted it.”
Kaname kissed Zero neck tenderly and whispered "It's okay, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I love you very much too"
A blushing Zero pushed him away saying something about clinging blood sucking leeches.
The room was dim, lit only by the low amber glow of a single standing lamp and the pale moonlight spilling through the window. The curtains were drawn halfway open, casting soft shadows across the modest bed, where an open duffel bag lay half-packed.
Zero moved with practiced silence, folding Isamu’s spare clothes, placing them carefully inside. A bottle of fever medication. The lavender balm for his growing pains. A small leather notebook filled with half-scribbled drawings and notes.
He hadn’t decided yet if they’d leave tonight or tomorrow.
But they were leaving.
He couldn’t stay here.
Not in this house.
Not in this ghost of a life.
A knock came at the door—just a soft rap of knuckles. Deliberate. Patient.
Zero didn’t look up. “It’s open.”
Aido stepped inside, more careful than usual. No sweeping entrance. No dramatic commentary. Just quiet footsteps and eyes—startlingly blue—tracking every motion.
“You’re packing.”
Zero folded another shirt. “Observant as ever.”
Aido closed the door behind him but didn’t move closer. He lingered near the dresser, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His usual brightness was gone, replaced with something quieter. He looked older tonight.
“Don’t do this.”
Zero didn’t pause. “I’m not asking permission.”
“I know,” Aido said softly. “I’m asking you to listen.”
Zero kept folding.
“He’s not going to marry Yuuki.”
That made Zero glance up—briefly. Sharply.
“Kaname-sama,” Aido clarified. “He told the Council no. Told them to go to hell, actually. They threatened to strip his title. Said Yuuki was expecting a proposal. He didn’t even flinch.”
Zero turned back to the bag. “He’s always been good at playing the martyr when it suits him.”
“He’s not playing.”
Zero zipped the side pocket with more force than necessary. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“I do,” Aido said. “I know exactly what he’s capable of. But I also know who he is now. And he’s not the same man who played the Council like chess pieces. He’s not the boy who thought sacrifice was love.”
Zero’s hands stilled on the zipper.
“He’s a broken man,” Aido said quietly. “And he needs his mate.”
“Don’t,” Zero cut in sharply. “Don’t use that word.”
Aido didn’t flinch. “You’re his mate. And you still love him. And he still loves you.”
Zero turned to face him then, slow and cold. “You’ve helped enough, Aido. You can stay here with your family.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” Zero whispered. “None of this is.”
His eyes burned. His jaw locked. And when he spoke again, his voice was barely a rasp.
“But don’t ask me to dishonor my parents. Don’t ask me to pretend their deaths were a necessary price. If I stay… if I say yes to him after everything… it feels like I’m saying they didn’t matter.”
He looked away, staring at the moonlight pooled across the floor.
“I can’t stay,” he said, quieter now. “Not here. Not in a place where every hallway smells like him. Not where I have to see them together—Kaname and Isamu—standing like something out of a dream I’ll never get back.”
His throat tightened. “It kills me to see him like this. Hollow. Weak. Human. And it’s taking everything in me not to crumble into his arms and give him what he wants.”
Aido didn’t speak. There were no words soft enough for that.
Zero wiped at his eyes roughly, like he hated himself for needing to.
“He’s done so much for her,” he said. “Lied for her. Killed for her. Sacrificed my family and my humanity for her. Maybe that’s the kind of love he understands. So let them have each other.”
“That’s not what he wants,” Aido said, voice low.
Zero didn’t answer.
Silence settled over the room like snowfall.
Then, at last, Aido asked, “Where will you go?”
Zero exhaled slowly. “Back to Matsumoto. For now. I’ll plan from there.”
“It’s not safe,” Aido said immediately. “That property’s been exposed. If they’re not watching it already, they will be soon.”
Zero said nothing.
“Plan from here,” Aido tried again. “Just for a little while. You don’t even have to see him. Just—stay long enough to think clearly.”
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly,” Zero said.
But even he didn’t sound convinced
Then, quietly—finally—Zero added, “Thank you.”
Aido blinked.
“For everything,” Zero said, turning to face him. “For standing by me. For protecting Isamu when I couldn’t. For being the only one who didn’t ask me to forget.”
His voice trembled, but he didn’t let it falter.
“But I can’t ask you for more. From here on… this is my road. My choice. My weight to carry.”
He stepped closer and placed a hand on Aido’s shoulder. “You’ve done more than anyone ever could. It’s time you rest. Be with your family.”
Aido’s throat worked, eyes bright. “Zero… you and Isamu are my family.”
Zero’s expression softened. “Then take care of him. For us.”
Aido frowned. “Who?”
“Kaname,” Zero said. “He needs you more than I do now.”
For a moment, Aido looked like he wanted to argue.
But instead, he nodded.
And for the first time in a long while, Zero saw what loyalty looked like when it didn’t come with conditions.
Just love.
Aido looked toward the door, voice quiet. “Dinner’s ready.”
Zero didn’t respond. Didn’t look at him.
“Thanks,” he murmured, but made no move to follow.
Aido lingered another moment, then turned and slipped out into the corridor, footsteps fading into the hush of stone and shadow.
What neither of them saw—
Just around the corner, knees drawn to his chest, was Isamu. Wrapped in his star-blanket cape, a worn stuffed rabbit tucked in his arms.
He didn’t understand everything he heard.
But he understood enough.
His papa had been crying.
And the word leaving…
That word was going to matter more than it should.
Dinner was quiet.
The long, polished table that had once hosted nobles, councilmen, and bloodline heirs now seated only three: Zero, Aido, and Isamu.
A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the paneled walls. The overhead lights had been dimmed, as if the estate itself understood that conversation tonight should be hushed, careful.
Zero sat with his shoulders tight, his posture guarded. He pushed the vegetables on his plate without eating them. Across from him, Aido sipped from a crystal glass, uncharacteristically restrained. He’d made some attempt at small talk earlier, something about the wine being too dry, but even he couldn’t force brightness into the room.
Isamu, at least, was content for now—munching happily on his rice and grilled fish, feet swinging under the chair. His favorite cup, shaped like a cartoon rabbit, sat beside his plate, filled with warm barley tea.
It would’ve almost passed for a peaceful meal.
Until Kain entered.
The doors opened with a faint creak, and the tall man stepped in, boots echoing against the tile before softening across the rug. He wasn’t dressed for dinner, still in a simple linen shirt and the coat he hadn’t bothered to hang.
“Big Kain!” Isamu chirped, lighting up immediately. “You came!”
Kain’s expression softened briefly as he approached, resting a hand on the boy’s head with surprising gentleness. “Little knight.”
“Are you eating with us?” Isamu asked.
Kain shook his head. “Just checking in.”
Isamu nodded solemnly. “I drawed a dragon today. It had four wings. And fangs. And I made Papa be the damsel.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Kain’s mouth. “Sounds like a fearsome creature. Did you save the damsel?”
“I gave him toast,” Isamu said proudly.
“Well, that usually works.”
Kain crouched beside him then, eyes still gentle as he picked up one of the scattered napkin doodles from the corner of the table. He studied it—childlike scribbles of what might have been a garden and four stick figures, one drawn with a crown.
“Which one is me?”
Isamu pointed. “You’re the tall one with the fire boots.”
“And this?” Kain touched the crowned stick figure. “The sad prince?”
“Yup.” Isamu paused, his voice dropping slightly. “He’s not here tonight.”
Kain nodded slowly, setting the napkin down with care. “No. He’s not.”
Isamu frowned. “Where is he?”
Silence.
Zero’s hand stilled on his fork.
Kain’s gaze didn’t move from Isamu—but the edge in his voice was impossible to miss when he said, “Unwell.”
A beat.
Then his eyes flicked, cold and deliberate, to Zero. “He’s not well tonight.”
Zero didn’t flinch, but his hand curled slightly on the tablecloth. He didn’t look up. Didn’t take the bait.
Isamu looked between them. “Is he sick again? He needs red juice?”
“He’s resting,” Kain said gently, brushing a hand over Isamu’s hair. “Don’t worry.”
"Sometimes grown-ups needs rest, Especially when people they care about walk away from them.”
He looked directly at Zero now. But there was no mistaking the accusatory weight behind his words.
The silence stretched.
Aido’s fingers froze on the stem of his glass. Even Isamu sensed the shift, glancing between them with quiet confusion.
Zero didn’t move. His hand tightened slightly on his fork, knuckles pale, but his face remained unreadable.
“Sometimes,” Kain continued, still speaking to Isamu but clearly not, “when someone feels like they don’t belong anymore, they start to disappear from the inside out. Not because they want to. But because they think no one wants them to stay.”
Isamu’s lips parted slightly. “I want him to stay.”
Kain smiled, slow and solemn. “I know, little knight. And maybe if you tell him that… it’ll help.”
Aido’s gaze shifted from Kain to Zero, mouth pressed into a thin line.
Zero picked up his fork again, voice flat. “Thanks for the update.”
Kain lingered another moment, then gave Isamu a small, reassuring smile. “Finish your dinner, little guy. You’ll need energy for adventures tomorrow.”
“Okay!” Isamu said brightly, returning to his plate.
And with that, Kain turned and left the way he came—shoulders broad, footsteps heavy, the door whispering closed behind him.
The silence he left behind felt heavier than before.
Aido cleared his throat. “That was subtle.”
Zero said nothing.
Across the table, Isamu lifted his bunny-shaped cup to his lips. He paused just before sipping, his little brow furrowing in thought.
“Papa?”
Zero’s head turned slightly, the word catching him mid-breath.
“Yeah?” he said, voice carefully steady.
Isamu looked up at him with eyes too wide, too knowing for someone so small. His feet still swung under the chair, bumping softly against the leg.
“Can I take soup to the sad prince later?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing. Like bringing soup could fix what had broken.
Zero froze.
Aido, across the table, lowered his fork with a quiet clink, eyes dropping to his half-eaten rice.
The silence stretched, delicate as glass.
Isamu blinked, unbothered by the lack of an answer. “He didn’t eat lunch and dinner. Maybe he’s hungry now.”
Zero’s throat worked around something that wasn’t food.
He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to hear kindness echoed back at him from a child who still didn’t know the man he was speaking about was his own father. Still didn’t know the man curled in grief upstairs had once dreamed of him before ever touching his skin.
“I…” Zero cleared his throat. “Maybe.”
Isamu nodded, satisfied. “Okay. But I’ll need help with the tray. 'Cause it’s hot. And I’m little.”
“You’re not that little,” Aido muttered gently.
“I am,” Isamu said solemnly. “But I’m strong.”
Zero gave the smallest smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The hallways of the estate always grew quieter after dinner. The flickering sconces threw long shadows against the stone, and the air turned cooler, more still. Servants moved like whispers through the corridors. Doors remained closed. The entire house seemed to hold its breath.
But one small figure crept silently through the east wing, wrapped in a star-patterned blanket like a cloak, a stuffed rabbit tucked tightly into the crook of one arm.
Isamu had waited until Papa was distracted—his face turned toward the window, lost in something heavy and quiet—and Uncle Hana had gone to refill the tea. Then he’d slipped from his chair like a ghost, barefoot and determined, following the path Big Kain had come from earlier.
He didn’t need directions.
Something in him just knew the way.
He padded past the grand staircase, down a corridor he hadn’t explored yet. The ceilings were taller here. The shadows deeper. The air smelled like old paper and cold.
At the end of the hallway, a door hung slightly ajar.
Isamu hesitated.
Then he pushed it open.
Inside, the fire burned low.
Kaname sat on a chaise near the hearth, still in the dark jacket from earlier. His hair was untamed, falling in soft waves over one shoulder. His face was turned toward the flames, unmoving, as though trying to make sense of something flickering and fragile.
He didn’t notice Isamu at first.
Not until a small voice broke the hush.
“Sad prince?”
Kaname flinched—just barely—but turned.
His eyes, dark and red-rimmed, softened the instant they landed on the boy.
“What are you doing here, little one?” he asked, voice rough from disuse.
Isamu shuffled in, dragging the blanket behind him. “You didn’t come to dinner.”
Kaname smiled faintly. “I wasn’t very hungry.”
“That’s what Papa says,” Isamu replied. “When he’s sad.”
Kaname’s smile faltered.
“And Big Kain said you’re not well,” Isamu added, stopping in front of him. “Are you sick again?”
Kaname exhaled, something like a laugh but hollowed. “No. Just tired.”
“Did you cry?” Isamu asked, softer now. “Like Papa did?”
Kaname blinked. “What?”
“I heard him,” Isamu said, stepping closer. “In our room. He was packing clothes and his voice was all cracked. He didn’t know I was listening.”
Kaname turned away sharply, as if the words were too much. His hands curled in his lap.
“Do you…” he began, then stopped. His voice broke. “Do you know why your Papa cried?”
Isamu frowned, thoughtful, then climbed up onto the chaise beside him, settling down with the stuffed rabbit tucked between them.
“Dunno all of it,” he said, voice quiet. “But I think I heard him say you’re gonna get married.”
Kaname froze.
Isamu kept going, matter-of-fact in the way children are when they don’t yet know how sharp the truth can be.
“Because you love this girl sooo much,” he said, drawing the words out with a frown. “More than anything. That’s what he said.”
Kaname’s breath hitched like someone had punched the air from his lungs.
“And,” Isamu added, “Papa told unca Hana he couldn’t stay. Because he might want to hug you and give you anything you want. But he can’t. Because it hurts.”
Kaname closed his eyes and pressed a hand hard over his mouth. His shoulders trembling.
Isamu continued "I don't understand how it hurts to hug. Hugs are nice. And warm"
Isamu reached over and tugged on the edge of Kaname’s sleeve. “You made papa cry.”
Kaname’s voice, when it finally came, was broken glass. “I know.”
“I don’t like when Papa cries.”
“I don’t either,” Kaname whispered.
Isamu stared at him a long moment, then leaned in slowly—quietly—and rested his head against Kaname’s side. The stuffed rabbit flopped into Kaname’s lap.
“You can cry too,” Isamu said softly. “If you need to. I won’t tell.”
Kaname choked on the smallest sound. Not quite a sob. Not quite a breath.
He wrapped one arm carefully around the boy, as if he were afraid to touch something so pure. His hand shook as it settled on Isamu’s shoulder, curling gently over the fabric of the star-blanket.
“I’ve lost him,” he whispered.
Isamu blinked up at him from the crook of his arm, soft hair mussed from his blanket. “Where he go?”
Kaname’s throat bobbed. “Far away.”
Isamu squinted. “Far like the park far? Or like sky far?”
Kaname gave the smallest smile, lips trembling. “Sky far.”
“Oh,” Isamu whispered, clearly troubled. “But… he’s not in the sky. He’s here. He was just with me. He gave me juice.”
Kaname closed his eyes. The warmth of that tiny body against his side was unbearable. Sweet. Aching. Familiar in a way that made his bones feel older than they were.
“I meant… he doesn’t want to stay,” he said carefully, gently. “Because I made too many sad things.”
Isamu tilted his head. “Like when I broke the bowl with the bunny?”
Kaname let out a soft sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Maybe worse than that.”
Isamu was quiet for a moment. Then he said seriously, “Papa forgived me.”
“I don’t know if he can forgive me,” Kaname said softly, stroking Isamu’s hair once, carefully. “I hurt him too much.”
Isamu thought this over as seriously as a toddler could. “You say sorry?”
Kaname nodded. “I did. Many times.”
“Papa says sorry too sometimes,” Isamu offered, picking at the soft ear of his rabbit. “Even when he just say mean thing to the stove. He say ‘sorry Stove, I was mad.’”
Kaname blinked. “He apologizes to the Stove?”
“Uh-huh,” Isamu nodded, completely serious. “After he called it stupid shit.”
“uh...I see,” Kaname said gently, his voice rough again.
Isamu sat up a little straighter, his little hand coming to rest on Kaname’s chest—tiny fingers pressing right over his heart.
“Your heart still there?” he asked, brows furrowed.
“Yes,” Kaname whispered. “Still here.”
“Good.” Isamu’s voice softened. “Then Papa can find it. and he'll know you're sorry.”
Kaname’s eyes burned. “And what about you? Can you find it too?”
Isamu nodded solemnly. “I can find anything. ‘Cause I’m a knight.” He held up his stuffed rabbit like a sword. “Bunny says so.”
Kaname smiled again, wet-eyed, brushing the back of his knuckles gently along Isamu’s cheek. “You’re very brave, little knight.”
“I’m little but strong,” Isamu said, repeating his earlier words with stubborn pride.
Kaname touched his forehead gently to Isamu’s. “You are the strongest thing in the world.”
Isamu didn’t answer. Just burrowed closer, tiny fingers lacing around Kaname’s coat like he knew the man was starting to unravel.
For a moment, Kaname forgot how old he was. Forgot what titles he carried. Forgot the centuries of silence that lay behind him.
There was just this: a boy with starlight on his blanket, a rabbit in one hand, and enough love in his little body to soften the sharpest sorrow.
His and Zero’s boy.
“You don’t have to be ‘sad prince’ forever,” Isamu mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Kaname blinked, startled. “Why… why do you call me that?”
Isamu yawned wide, his nose crinkling. “ ‘Cause you look like the prince in the book. The one who’s sad all the time. But he gets better. In the end.”
Kaname’s throat tightened. “He does?”
Isamu nodded against his chest, a slow, heavy motion. “He gets hugs. Lots and lots. And pancakes.”
A soft sound escaped Kaname, helpless and raw. “Is that all it takes?”
“Uh-huh.” Isamu’s voice was muffled now, words curling at the edges. “Hugs and pancakes and someone to tell him he’s not bad anymore.”
Kaname’s eyes stung. He turned his face into Isamu’s soft hair and breathed in deeply—children's shampoo, warm skin, the faint scent of orange clinging to his pajamas.
He didn’t know if he believed in happy endings. Not for himself. Not after everything.
But this moment—this impossible, unearned moment—felt like mercy.
The fire popped softly in the hearth. Snow ticked against the high windows.
And slowly—slowly—the quiet between them became something gentler.
And when sleep finally came, it took them both—Kaname slumped slightly against the cushions, one arm still around the child he hadn’t known how to keep, and Isamu curled safe against the sadness he was too young to name.
Zero stood in front of the parlor window, one hand resting lightly on the frost-kissed pane.
The snow had already gathered on the ironwork balcony outside. Beyond it, the estate grounds sprawled beneath the storm, white and pristine.
Isamu had gone to him.
Zero had known the moment his son slipped away. He hadn’t stopped him. Not this time. Not tonight.
Just once more, he told himself.
Just once, I’ll let him have this. Let them have this.
Even if it burned.
Even if it felt like handing his son over to the past—to a ghost that had stolen everything from him.
He’d stood in the doorway and watched his son pad barefoot down the hallway, dragging his blanket and bunny, the ghost of Kaname’s aura calling to him like a beacon.
Zero hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t moved.
He had just turned back to the window, and let the snow fall.
He had thought, once, that leaving would be enough. That taking his unborn child and walking away from the ruins of Kaname’s war would sever him from the cycle. From pain. From power. From fate.
But blood never forgets.
And children—no matter how gently you raise them—hear the call of what they come from.
Isamu had felt it from the moment Kaname entered the room. Even before that, he has been dreaming of the man whose seed sired him.
He hadn’t known what it meant. Hadn’t known the man’s name, or what kind of history lived behind those still, shadowed eyes.
But he had reached for him.
Had clung to him. Had whispered, “Prince,” as if some instinct deeper than memory recognized him.
Zero’s jaw clenched.
Kaname was not a prince.
He was not a savior.
He was a man who had watched the world burn and called it mercy.
His reflection in the glass looked older than it should have. The silver of his hair caught the dim firelight, and the shadows beneath his eyes were deeper than they’d been even during the worst nights of Isamu’s fever.
He looked like someone who had been through war.
Because he had.
But the scars that ached most weren’t the ones on his body. They were the ones stitched into memory—into the quiet moments like this. When the world was still. When he had nothing left to distract him from the weight of it all.
Isamu, bright-eyed and fearless. His little hands tugging at sleeves, his laughter echoing through the halls, his voice calling out for warmth like it had never known the cold.
And yet… he would.
One day.
If Kaname stayed close—if the past kept bleeding into the present—then Isamu would know.
Would learn.
Would see it all.
The blood.
The power.
The war buried beneath every noble name.
And worst of all, he would see Kaname.
See him not as a shadowy, sad-eyed “prince,” but as what he truly was. A weapon cloaked in silk. A man who loved like fire and destroyed with just as much heat.
Zero closed his eyes, forehead pressed against the glass.
He didn’t want that for Isamu.
He didn’t want his son to wake one day and understand what Kaname had done to him. What Kaname had allowed. What Kaname was.
He didn’t want his boy to look into those crimson eyes and see himself.
Because the truth was cruel.
Kaname had given Isamu life.
But Zero had given him everything else.
Every scraped knee cleaned with trembling hands. Every fevered night spent whispering lullabies. Every nightmare chased away with a hunter’s heart and a father’s fury.
He will give his son love.
Zero had raised him not with privilege, but with choice.
And he would not let that be undone.
Not by legacy. Not by bloodlines. Not even by the lingering pulse of a bond that still throbbed like a wound beneath his ribs.
Kaname Kuran is not his father, Zero told himself again, breathing hard now. Not in the way that matters.
He would raise Isamu as a Kiryu.
With values. With restraint. With courage.
Not politics. Not superiority. Not pureblood pride wrapped in velvet and rot.
He would teach him to fight for the innocent, not rule them. To be loyal to justice, not legacy.
Not born of ancient blood—but born of scars endured and survived. Of doing the right thing, even when it cost you everything.
Isamu would never grow up surrounded by court politics, by whispers of power, by the eyes of council members who saw him as nothing but a weapon in waiting, and hunters association to see him as treat.
He would never become a prince.
He would be a boy.
A child.
And someday, a man.
One who knew love.
But not the kind of love that burned you down.
Not the kind Kaname gave.
Zero’s hand slid down the frosted windowpane. His breath left a small cloud on the glass.
.
.
The halls were colder now.
The firelight had dimmed across the east wing, and the silence in the corridors grew heavier the closer Zero came to the room at the end of the hall. He didn’t rush. He didn’t call out. He just knew.
Isamu was gone from their room. His little shoes by the door.
Zero had waited 30 minutes before moving.
He knew where to find him.
Knew who Isamu would go to.
He wanted to give them what little time he could.
The door to the drawing room was still slightly ajar.
Inside, the fire was low but warm, casting an amber glow across the furniture. And there, on the chaise, curled together like something out of a dream Zero had once dared to want—
Kaname, sitting slumped with his head tilted back against the cushions, hair loose and shadowed around his face. And in the crook of his arm, nestled beneath a familiar star-blanket, was Isamu.
The boy’s head rested against Kaname’s chest. His rabbit toy draped across both their laps.
Zero stood in the doorway for a long moment.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Something in his chest twisted so tightly it felt like a rib might snap.
Because this—this quiet, this closeness—should have been his.
It should have been their life.
The three of them.
Not this broken thing. Not this bleeding edge of what could’ve been.
He stepped into the room without a word.
Kaname stirred at the sound of the door creaking. His eyes blinked open slowly, disoriented, until they found Zero’s face—and then widened.
He sat up straighter, instinctively drawing Isamu closer as if afraid Zero might vanish. “Zero—”
“Don’t,” Zero said sharply.
His voice wasn’t loud. But it was final.
Kaname swallowed the rest of whatever he had been about to say. His arm remained around Isamu, who shifted in his sleep, sighing softly. Unaware of the fault line cracking through the room.
Zero crossed the floor with slow, measured steps. He stopped in front of them. Looked down at the two halves of his heart tangled together.
“Give him to me.”
Kaname didn’t move at first.
He stared at Zero—like a man on the edge of a cliff, holding a piece of sky he wasn’t ready to release.
“He came on his own,” Kaname said, voice low, raw. “I didn’t ask him—”
“I know.”
“Please,” Kaname added. “Let him stay a little longer.”
“No.”
It wasn’t cold.
It was tired.
Zero reached down and Kaname, after a long, shaking moment, slowly released his hold.
Isamu stirred as he was lifted, wrapping sleepy arms around Zero’s neck and pressing into his chest with a sigh.
Zero cradled him with practiced ease. Familiar. Protective. Absolute.
Kaname’s hand lingered midair a second too long, like his fingers hadn’t gotten the message yet—that the warmth was already gone.
Zero turned to leave.
But paused in the doorway.
“I’m not trying to punish you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t keep letting you hurt me either.”
Kaname didn’t reply.
Didn’t move.
He sat there, in the dim light, hands curled into his lap like they’d forgotten how to hold anything at all.
Zero hesitated.
For the smallest, most painful moment, he wanted to cross the room again. To press his forehead against Kaname’s and pretend none of it had happened.
Instead, he tightened his grip on Isamu and walked away.
And Kaname, once worshiped like a god, once powerful enough to tear down kingdoms with a glance—
Sat alone.
And realized that love, when it leaves, doesn’t slam doors or shatter windows.
It simply takes warmth with it.
And leaves nothing behind but the echo of what was almost his.
.
.
From just beyond the turn in the corridor, cloaked in shadow and silence, Kain and Takuma stood like statues carved from guilt.
They hadn’t meant to linger.
But when the soft click of the drawing room door echoed down the hall—and when they saw Zero step out with Isamu in his arms, wrapped in that star-patterned blanket like some fragile constellation—neither man could move.
Kain’s jaw tightened, his arms folded across his chest, knuckles white against his sleeves. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The lines in his face said enough.
Zero didn’t see them at first.
Or maybe he did—and chose not to look.
Takuma’s gaze lowered to the floor as the pair passed. The boy’s small head was tucked into the hollow of Zero’s shoulder, arms clinging sleepily to his father’s coat. A quiet sigh escaped his lips, and the sound felt too loud in a house that had forgotten peace.
But Zero… Zero didn’t falter.
He walked with the kind of stillness born from exhaustion. From choosing, over and over again, not to break. From carrying the weight of a history none of them could undo.
When he passed them, Takuma raised his head. Just barely.
“Zero,” he said gently.
Zero stopped.
Half-turned.
But he didn’t speak.
Didn’t ask.
Didn’t want comfort or permission or apologies.
Only Isamu stirred—pressing his face deeper into his father’s neck with a tired, quiet sound.
Takuma’s voice was softer now, threaded with something close to mourning. “You didn’t see his face. After.”
Zero’s eyes didn’t move. But something shifted in his jaw. A flicker of breath.
“I don’t need to,” he said, calm as snow. “I already know it.”
Kain exhaled sharply. Not angry. Not even bitter. Just helpless.
“He’s not trying to take him from you,” he said. “You know that.”
“I know,” Zero replied, steady.
“He’s breaking Zero.” Takuma says
Zero’s gaze lifted then—sharp, clear. The silver of it made Takuma flinch just slightly.
“So am I,” he said.
He adjusted the blanket around Isamu, fingers brushing through the boy’s hair. Isamu made a sleepy murmur, but didn’t wake.
Then he turned fully.
And walked away.
Takuma’s shoulders dropped, the breath leaving him slowly. “He still loves him.”
Kain didn’t respond. Not at first.
He stared down the hall where Zero’s figure had vanished, where the child’s warmth had disappeared like the last flicker of a candle in wind.
And then, low—quiet enough that Takuma almost missed it—he said:
“They still love each other. That’s the tragedy.”
Takuma’s throat tightened.
Behind them, beyond the door that no one opened, Kaname Kuran sat alone in a room gone cold.
And no one moved to warm it.
The sky had turned grey by morning. Pale and heavy with the weight of more snow. It was quiet outside the estate—too quiet, as if the world itself were holding its breath for what was about to be lost.
Zero stood at the open front door, Isamu bundled in his arms beneath layers of fleece and wool. A duffel bag rested by his feet, packed and ready. The black car waiting past the steps wasn’t Kaname’s.
It was Aido’s.
He’d offered it quietly. No speeches. No clever comments. Just keys, a new route, and a destination that didn’t exist on any Council maps.
A different place.
A different life.
Away from this house.
Away from him.
Takuma stood nearby, coat wrapped tight, trying one last time.
“Zero… please reconsider. Just stay until the storm passes. Or at least until—”
“I’ve stayed long enough,” Zero said, voice clipped. Final.
Takuma didn’t argue. But his face was pulled tight with worry.
Further back, Kain leaned against the stone archway, arms crossed, jaw tense. Not surprised. Just disappointed. As if he’d hoped—really hoped—Zero wouldn’t go through with it.
“You sure this is what you want?” Kain asked.
Zero didn’t answer.
Because it wasn’t about what he wanted.
Isamu shifted in his arms, face tucked into Zero’s collar. His fingers clutched at the edge of Zero’s coat, but his gaze kept drifting to the stairs.
He hadn’t said a word since breakfast.
But now—just as Zero stepped toward the car—he wriggled hard.
“No,” Isamu said suddenly, voice small but clear. “No, I don’t wanna.”
Zero froze. “Isamu…”
“I don’t wanna leave Sad Prince.”
Zero’s heart cracked.
He crouched slightly, adjusting the boy in his arms. “We talked about this, baby. We’ll be okay.”
“But he’s not okay,” Isamu said fiercely, lip trembling. “He didn’t come to breakfast. He didn’t say goodbye. That’s not okay.”
Kain looked at Takuma, eyebrows drawing together.
“He’s usually so well behaved,” Kain murmured.
“Not today,” Takuma said softly. “Not since Zero started packing.”
“I need to say goodbye,” Isamu insisted, twisting in Zero’s arms to look toward the staircase. “It’s rude if I don’t! Papa, we have to—he’ll be sad.”
Zero closed his eyes.
He knew. God, he knew.
He knew what it meant to be left without a goodbye.
“I’m sorry, little bird,” he whispered. “Sometimes… we don’t get to say goodbye.”
Isamu’s eyes welled, but he didn’t cry. “That’s not fair.”
No, Zero thought. It never is.
The wind shifted outside, cold against his cheeks. He stood again, turning toward the car—
And then—
A sound.
Soft. Fragile. Bare feet on stone.
Everyone turned.
At the top of the stairs stood Kaname.
He looked—
Broken.
His hair was loose and tangled. His face pale, shadows etched beneath his eyes. He wore only a thin linen shirt and dark pants—no shoes, no coat—his bare feet already dusted with frost from the cold marble.
His breath fogged visibly. His chest rose and fell too fast, like breathing alone was a struggle.
“Kaname-sama,” Takuma said, alarm rising, “you shouldn’t—”
Kaname raised a trembling hand.
And began to descend.
Step by step. Slower with each one.
He was shaking. Not from cold—but from sheer effort.
Zero’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Kaname didn’t look at him—not at first. His eyes went straight to Isamu.
And when their eyes met, the boy lit up.
“Sad prince!” Isamu cried, arms reaching out. “You came!”
Kaname nodded, voice hoarse. “Of course I did.”
He stopped a few feet away. Snow clung to his ankles. His skin was grey beneath the frost.
“You’re sick,” Isamu said instantly. “And you don’t have shoes!”
Kaname gave a faint, broken smile. “I had to see you off. A prince must say bye to their Knights.”
Then his eyes met Zero’s.
And that—that—undid him.
Zero wouldn’t look at him.
“I’m sorry,” Kaname whispered. “For everything. For every step that took you away from me.”
Zero didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Kaname’s breath hitched. He swayed on his feet, but lifted his hand—not toward Zero.
Toward Isamu.
Zero hesitated. Then lowered the boy into his waiting arms.
Kaname gathered Isamu close, holding him like he was the last warm thing left in the world. He pressed his forehead gently to the child’s, trembling with the effort to stay upright.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Always. Even if I never see you again.”
“You will see me,” Isamu whispered fiercely. “When you’re better. I’ll come back. I’ll bring Papa too.”
Kaname gave a soft, fragile smile. “Okay. I will wait for you.”
He looked at Zero again. “I won’t stop you. But… let me say goodbye.”
Zero’s eyes met his then—and the weight in them was unbearable.
Kaname put Isamu down and took a slow step forward.
Raised a trembling hand towards Zero’s face.
A cold touch yet somehow so hot. Like a fire being lit under Zero skin heating his frozen heart.
And Kaname kissed him.
Softly.
Not with heat. Not with desperation.
But with finality.
It was gentle. It was slow. It was love.
Kaname’s eyes fluttered shut. His shoulders trembled.
"My mate.." Kaname whispered.
Then he let go.
Zero pulled Isamu back into his arms.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t look back.
He turned and walked toward the car, boots crunching in the snow, heart burning in his chest.
Zero’s legs moved, but his heart didn’t.
Each step away from Kaname was like dragging rusted blades through his ribs.
His hands clenched around Isamu, tighter than necessary, like if he didn’t anchor himself to their son, he might run back and do something unforgivable—like stay.
The kiss still lingered on his lips. It haunted him.
It wasn’t hungry or possessive.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss you steal.
It was the kind you give. With both hands. With your whole soul.
And Kaname had given it like it was goodbye.
Isamu stirred in his arms, soft and drowsy, pressing closer with a sleepy murmur. “Papa…?”
Zero tightened his grip around him.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
But who had him?
He looked up at the horizon. The woods beyond the estate. The long road waiting.
He saw it clearly now: he could leave. He could go back to Matsumoto. He could raise Isamu, protect him, give him a life free from war, from politics, from blood-soaked legacies.
He could survive.
But he wouldn’t live.
Not really.
Because his soul wasn’t whole.
And no matter how far he went, it would always ache for what he left behind.
What he was leaving behind.
Kaname.
His mate.
The one person who had always loved him in the most unbearable, imperfect, irrevocable ways.
The person who had ruined him—and somehow still made him feel more whole than anyone else ever had.
.
.
Kaname took a step back.
Then another.
And—
He collapsed.
“Kaname-sama!” Aido was already moving, catching him just as he fell to his knees in the snow.
Kaname was still conscious—but barely. His skin was ghostly, his breath ragged.
“He hasn’t fed,” Takuma said sharply. “Not properly. Not in months.”
Zero stopped dead.
His whole body tensed.
No.
Keep walking
Isamu clutched him, confused and afraid. “Papa?”
Zero’s breath came too fast. His pulse roared in his ears.
Before he could think, before he could lie to himself one more second, he was running.
Through the snow.
Toward the man who had ruined him.
The man he still, somehow, couldn’t stop loving.
Zero pushed Isamu into Aido’s arms.
The snow didn’t feel cold anymore.
Kaname wasn’t sure when that happened—when the sting gave way to numbness, when his legs stopped holding him up, when the wind ceased to matter.
He heard voices—Aido, sharp with panic, Takuma, issuing orders—but they were distant.
Like echoes underwater.
The world was slipping away from him, white bleeding into grey, the sky folding into itself.
His vision blurred at the edges.
But his thoughts—
They were clear.
Clearer than they had been in years.
Zero’s breath fogging in winter.
The way his voice cracked when he was angry, then softened again when he was afraid.
The first time he touched Kaname without flinching. The way he trembled after, like it had cost him something sacred.
The scent of their son’s hair.
The warmth of soup passed between hands that didn’t know how to say I forgive you.
The kiss in the church.
The first drop of Zero’s blood—hot and defiant and alive.
The rooftop. The taste of grief. The sound Zero made when Kaname held him like prayer.
That was love.
That was everything.
And now—
He had no blood left.
No pride.
No armor.
Only ache.
And if this was the end—
Let it end in the snow.
Let it end with the memory of Zero’s voice in his ears, their son’s laughter tucked somewhere in his bones.
Let it end soft.
Not sharp.
Not cruel.
Let me vanish gently...
But then—
Footsteps.
Fast. Urgent.
Running.
Not away.
Toward.
And then—
Hands.
Familiar.
Strong.
Desperate.
“Kaname—!”
The world rushed back like breath into lungs too long still.
Kaname’s eyes fluttered open.
Zero was crouched beside him, one arm bracing his head, the other gripping his hand—tight enough to bruise, like if he let go, Kaname might disappear into the snow for good.
Kaname’s breath caught. “Z… Zero…”
“Don’t,” Zero rasped. “Don’t you dare—”
His hands moved fast—checking his pulse, brushing snow from his face, pressing a palm to his cheek.
“You’re freezing. You idiot. You stupid, selfish—”
Kaname’s lips trembled. “You’re… here?”
Zero blinked hard. His voice cracked when he answered. “I never left. You never left”
He cupped Kaname’s face, eyes burning. “I just… I couldn’t breathe. But I was always with you. You were always with me. In every breath.”
Kaname stared up at him, pain carved deep in his bones.
And then—
Zero tilted his head.
Bared his throat.
Pulled Kaname’s mouth to his skin.
“Drink,” he said, low. Final. A command. A plea.
Kaname’s body tensed.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered.
“I’ve seen you worse,” Zero said, voice breaking. “I’ve seen you cruel. I’ve seen you cold. But this—this is something I cannot... Drink.”
Kaname shook his head, barely. “Let me go. Let me fade.”
“No.”
“I want to be where the memories of us lived,” Kaname said. “If I sleep there, it will be enough.”
Zero’s hands curled tight into his coat.
“You don’t get to choose death or sleep,” he said. “Not when I’m still here. Not when he’s still here.”
He pulled Kaname closer, forced his face to the curve of his neck.
“Drink.” Zero commanded again.
"If you ever loved me truly you will drink."
Kaname resisted—but his body knew better. His mouth grazed the skin reverently, trembling.
And then—
He bit.
Soft. Shallow.
Just enough to let life in.
The heat hit him like fire through frost. Zero’s blood poured into him—rich and wild, full of fury and heartbreak and love.
Color bled back into his limbs. Strength. Bond.
Mate. Mates blood after so long .
It was instinct. It was hunger. It was home.
Kaname pulled back after only a moment, gasping. His forehead fell against Zero’s shoulder, breath trembling against soaked fabric.
His hands fisted into Zero’s coat like a man drowning.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered.
Zero didn’t answer.
Not with words.
But he didn’t let go.
Not yet.
And Kaname—collapsed in the snow, shivering in the arms of the only person who ever truly knew him—let himself be held.
Not as a prince.
Not as a pureblood.
But as a man who had loved once, and ruined it, and still—still—was loved.
Kaname’s breath hitched once.
Then slowed.
His body sagged against Zero, heavy and limp, the last of his strength extinguished like a candle drowned in snow.
“Kaname?” Zero whispered, shifting him upright, trying to see his eyes. “Hey—look at me.”
Nothing.
No response.
“Kaname!” he said again, louder this time, panic rising like blood to the throat.
Still nothing.
Kaname’s head lolled against his shoulder, his hair clinging wetly to the side of his face. His skin was like ice. Too pale. Too still. His pulse, though stronger now, was faint beneath Zero’s fingers—a shallow flutter, like a heartbeat from another world.
Zero’s own heart stuttered.
He pressed Kaname closer. “No—no, stay with me. You don’t get to do this.”
Then—snow crunched behind them.
Takuma was the first to reach them, dropping to his knees, his hands already moving with practiced urgency.
“How much did he take?”
“Barely a mouthful,” Zero said, voice hoarse. “Not enough. He didn’t take enough—”
“He’s not gone,” Takuma said firmly, fingers on Kaname’s neck. “But he’s close. We need to move him. Now.”
Kain appeared next, already pulling off his coat. Without hesitation, he knelt and draped it over Kaname’s shoulders, shielding his frozen body from the wind.
“We’ve got to get him inside,” Kain said. “The cold’s only accelerating the crash.”
Behind them, Aido hovered in stunned silence. His usual poise was gone—he looked shaken, wide-eyed, staring at Kaname as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“He wasn’t feeding,” Aido whispered. “He was really—he was starving himself…”
“He wanted to Fade,” Kain said flatly.
Zero flinched.
Takuma’s voice was quiet but razor-sharp. “He hasn’t drunk real blood since you left.”
Zero’s breath caught.
Takuma kept working, efficient. “Not even from donors. Just blood tablets at first, barely enough to survive—but even those, he stopped months ago. We didn’t think he’d… we didn’t think he’d ever wake again.”
Zero was silent, wind howling in his ears.
“He only woke because of Isamu,” Takuma continued. “The night we arrived in Matsumoto, he forced himself to his feet. He only drank those tablets because you gave them to him.”
Zero’s hands clenched in Kaname’s coat.
“And since then?” Takuma’s voice softened. “Nothing. Not a drop. He’s been feeding Isamu, and starving himself in silence.”
Zero’s jaw locked.
He didn’t let go.
“Help me get him to his room,” he said, voice tight.
Takuma nodded. “Seiren already has his room prepared.”
Together, they moved.
Takuma and Kain lifted Kaname with practiced care, one arm over each shoulder, holding him up like a wounded brother.
Zero never left his side.
He walked close—too close—as if afraid Kaname might vanish again if he so much as blinked. His eyes never wavered, focused only on the curve of Kaname’s brow, the tremble in his lips, the barely-there warmth in his skin.
Behind them, Aido followed, gently rocking a crying Isamu, whose face was buried in Aido’s shoulder.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Aido murmured, voice softer than snow. “He’s tough. Just like your papa.”
But Isamu only cried harder. Not tantrum cries—but the kind that had no shape. The kind that came from knowing something was wrong even if you didn’t have the words for it yet.
Inside, the estate was dim and warm, quiet in reverence. The hearth in Kaname’s room had already been stoked to life, casting a soft gold across the carved floor and velvet drapes. The sheets had been turned down. A fire crackled gently. Every inch prepared.
They laid Kaname down like glass.
Carefully.
Silently.
Zero knelt beside the bed, his hands trembling as he helped ease Kaname back into the world of warmth. He never let go. Not once.
He brushed damp hair from Kaname’s forehead with fingers that remembered too much.
Kaname wore only a thin black shirt and dark pants. His feet were bare. His skin was cold. He had walked into the snow that way—to say goodbye. To offer the only thing left of himself without a trace of dignity or demand.
And now that he was inside, everything was clearer to Zero. So painfully clear.
Kaname hadn’t just walked into the snow.
He had given up.
Zero’s breath hitched when he saw him clearly under the firelight.
Hair longer. Tangled. Damp from melting frost.
His body—once regal and carefully sculpted—was thinner now. Shoulders no longer broad, but sharp. His cheeks hollowed beneath once-noble eyes.
He hadn’t been eating. Hadn’t been sleeping. Hadn’t been living.
Not really.
Kain stepped back, silent.
Takuma checked his vitals again. “He’s stable for now. He’ll need more blood. And rest.”
Zero didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
He just watched him—his mate, pale and wrecked and barely breathing—and felt something inside himself shift.
This man.
This reckless, broken, beautiful man—
Had nearly died with Zero’s name on his lips.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth.
The room was quiet—too quiet.
Kaname lay pale and still beneath the heavy covers, dark lashes resting against skin far too ashen, his chest rising and falling in fragile increments. He looked less like a sleeping man and more like a memory—fading slowly into silence.
Zero sat at the edge of the bed, unmoving. One hand cradled Kaname’s wrist. The other braced his weight, his head bowed low, eyes burning holes into the linens.
He’d been quiet since they got Kaname inside. Since Takuma and Kain helped settle him beneath the blankets and stepped back to give him space.
But now—
And something inside Zero—something old and long-protected—snapped.
His chest twisted sharply, like the grief had reached in and tied itself around his heart.
His fingers curled into fists on his thighs.
His jaw clenched.
And then—without ceremony, without hesitation—
He lifted his wrist to his mouth.
And bit.
The skin tore open beneath his fangs with ease, practiced and unflinching.
Blood welled immediately—hot, rich, pulsing with life, carrying memories, truths, pain and power all at once.
Takuma stiffened near the hearth. “Zero—”
But Zero didn’t stop.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t explain.
He leaned down over Kaname’s still form, cradling his cold cheek in one blood-slicked hand, the other guiding Kaname mouth to open.
And with the gentleness of devotion—he kissed him.
But it wasn’t passion.
It wasn’t desire.
It was resuscitation.
It was love.
Mouth to mouth. Vein to vein.
A transfer of life.
Of soul.
Of everything.
He tilted Kaname’s head back just slightly, let the blood slip into him slowly, parting his lips with a breath barely more than a whisper.
“Take it,” Zero murmured. “Come back. You don’t get to leave me like this.”
Kaname didn’t move.
Not at first.
But then—
A flicker.
A swallow.
Almost imperceptible.
Zero’s chest hitched. He bit again—fresh, quick, brutal—and pressed another kiss to Kaname’s mouth.
Another transfer. Another offering.
Again.
And again.
It was a ritual now.
A prayer whispered against the gates of death.
Each kiss was soaked in memory.
In rage.
In sorrow.
In the stubborn, stupid, terrifying love that never really left.
His voice cracked. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
He kissed him again.
“You selfish bastard,” he said against Kaname’s lips. “You always did everything the hard way.”
Kaname stirred.
Fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
A breath—shaky, uneven—ghosted past his lips.
But it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
Zero bit his wrist again, breath short, his face pale now too—drained and frantic.
“Zero.”
Takuma was beside him in a heartbeat.
His voice was quiet—but heavy with command.
“That’s enough.”
Zero didn’t answer.
Didn’t even hear him.
“I said that’s enough.”
Zero leaned in again.
Takuma was there in a blink, hand gripping Zero’s shoulder, pulling him gently but firmly back. “Stop. You’ll drain yourself.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.” Takuma’s voice didn’t rise, but it cut deep. “And so would he. You’ve given him enough. His body needs time now. Let it work.”
His hand trembled as he tried to raise his wrist one more time.
Takuma didn’t flinch.
He tightened his grip and leaned in, pressing his forehead briefly to Zero’s. “I know,” he whispered. “I know you love him. I do. But he’s not dying anymore. His body just needs time. You’ve done more than enough.”
Zero’s breathing hitched—short, uneven.
His throat burned with unshed cries.
Then, slowly—reluctantly—he let Takuma pull his wrist down.
Blood dripped from the corner of Kaname’s mouth, smeared faintly like a kiss left too long.
Zero reached to wipe it away with his thumb, soft as silk, and rested his forehead against Kaname’s for a moment longer.
“I should hate you,” he whispered. “But I don’t know how to.”
Takuma stood back, watching the both of them. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t see two broken men.
He saw a bond reforging itself.
Through blood.
And breath.
And a love too old to die.
Zero didn’t pull away immediately—but he stopped. He stayed hovering just above Kaname, blood on his lips, his wrist still leaking warmth.
Kaname stirred again, mouth parting on a ragged breath.
His voice was a whisper of silk and ash.
“…Zero…”
Zero closed his eyes.
And for the first time in hours—he breathed.
Aido followed behind the others as they brought Kaname in—his steps slower, more careful.
In his arms, curled tight against his chest, was Isamu.
The little boy had stopped crying only minutes before, worn out from the storm of it—but now, as they crossed the threshold into the fire-warmed room and Isamu caught sight of the bed, of the pale man lying so still beneath the blankets—
He stirred again.
Wide eyes blinked toward the figure on the bed.
Then toward his papa.
Who was kneeling at Kaname’s side.
Kissing him.
Watching as his papa leaned over Sadface.
As blood was shared.
As kisses that weren’t kisses passed between them.
Watching as something sacred and terrifying unfolded across the bed, wrapped in silence and firelight.
Isamu didn’t understand everything he saw.
But he understood enough.
He understood that Papa was giving something important.
And that Sadface looked more like a ghost than ever.
And that no one was smiling.
Not even Uncle Hana.
Not even the fire.
He whimpered softly, fingers curling tighter into Aido’s collar.
His papa’s wrist was bleeding.
And he was pressing it to Sadface’s mouth like he was feeding him red juice, only not from a cup, and not the way anyone was supposed to.
Isamu gripped Aido’s coat tighter.
Takuma glanced toward the door, saw Aido standing there—and the small, shivering bundle in his arms.
He turned quickly. “Zero.”
Zero didn’t move.
“Zero,” Takuma said again, softer now. “He’s here. Isamu. He saw.”
That broke him.
Zero’s head jerked up.
He turned—his eyes finding his son’s instantly.
And the pain in them doubled.
He stood, slow and unsteady, the blood still drying on his lips. Crossing the room felt like wading through regret. But he went anyway—straight to the door, where Aido gently passed Isamu into his arms.
The moment Zero took him, Isamu let go.
Small fists grabbed at his shirt.
His face buried into his neck.
And then the sobbing started again—soft, breathless, broken.
“I didn’t want Sadface to be sick,” he hiccupped into Zero’s shoulder. “Didn’t want him to hurt. He was getting better. He smiled. He—he read me the story.”
“I know,” Zero whispered, wrapping both arms around his little boy. “I know.”
Isamu pulled back just enough to look at him, tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. “Did you give him too much red juice? Will it hurt you too?”
“No, baby,” Zero said gently, brushing his thumb over Isamu’s cheek. “Papa’s okay. I just gave him a little. I promise.”
“You promise-promise?”
“Promise-promise,” Zero said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Isamu’s lip wobbled. “He’s gonna die?”
“No,” Zero said firmly. “Not on my watch.”
He took a breath, steadying himself. “I’m gonna stay and help him now, okay? I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?”
Isamu sniffled, rubbing at his nose. “Do I gotta go far?”
“No,” Zero said. “Just with Uncle Hana. He’s gonna stay with you until I’m done.”
“Okay.” Isamu said with determination but still clinging to him. “Can I… tell him a bedtime story later?”
Zero’s heart ached.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
He kissed Isamu one more time, then carefully handed him back to Aido, who nodded silently and began to lead him from the room, cradling the child with a softness only seen when he thought no one was looking.
Isamu looked over Aido’s shoulder as they reached the door, eyes still wet, but brave now.
“Be nice to Sadface, Papa,” he called out, voice wobbling.
Zero turned.
“I will,” he said quietly. “I promise.”
And then they were gone.
And the room was silent again.
Except for the fire.
And the sound of one man returning to the bedside of the only person who had ever broken his heart by loving him the wrong way—and who just might, finally, be trying to love him the right way again.
The fire had burned low.
Only the faintest ember-glow flickered in the hearth, casting gold and amber against the walls of the room like a heartbeat drawn in light. The heavy curtains billowed gently in the breeze from a cracked window, letting in the scent of pine and snow.
The bed was warm.
And Kaname, for the first time in weeks—no, years—breathed without pain.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes heavy with sleep, his body sluggish as he came back to himself. Everything hurt—but it was distant, muted. A throb beneath skin, not the cold fire that had burned through his veins for so long.
At first, he didn’t remember where he was.
Then he felt it.
A hand.
Warm and familiar, resting over his heart.
The fire had burned low. Only embers now. Faint orange glow clung to the edges of the hearth, casting long shadows across the stone and fur.
The room was still.
Zero hadn’t moved since he'd slipped beneath the covers. His arm rested across Kaname’s chest, his breath steady and soft against the silence.
Outside, the snow fell in hushed flurries, blanketing the world in white. A world paused. Waiting.
And then—
A shift.
Slight. Barely a stir.
Kaname’s fingers twitched.
Then curled.
Zero’s breath caught as a flicker of awareness stirred in the bond. His lashes lifted as Kaname’s chest rose, more fully this time, followed by a quiet, rasped inhale.
“…Zero?”
The voice was hoarse. Dry. Like it had been buried beneath too much silence.
Zero sat up slightly, eyes narrowing in relief and frustration both. “You’re awake.”
Kaname blinked up at him, slow and disoriented. “You stayed.”
“Of course I stayed,” Zero snapped, though his voice was low. “You collapsed in the snow like some tragic romance novel. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”
Kaname blinked again.
Then—he smiled.
Just faintly. Just for a second. But it was real.
“I thought I was dreaming.”
“You almost died, Kaname.”
“I know.” His voice cracked around the words. “I wanted to.”
Zero's hands clenched the blanket.
“Don’t say that.”
Kaname turned his head slightly, just enough to see Zero properly. His expression was raw. No walls left. No pride.
“If I had known,” he whispered, “if I had known you would be my everything from the beginning… I would have chosen differently.”
Zero went still.
Kaname swallowed. “I would have chosen you. Not the plan. Not the Council. Not Yuuki. Just you.”
The quiet between them stretched.
Zero stared at him, his heart beating too loud in the hush.
“You always say the right things after the damage is done,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair from Kaname’s forehead.
“I’m sorry,” Kaname whispered. “For all of it. For what I did. For what I didn’t do. For not being strong enough to fight for you.”
Zero didn’t speak for a long moment.
Then—
He huffed. “You absolute idiot. Do you even know what you’ve done to yourself?”
Kaname blinked, surprised.
“You haven’t fed in months. You’ve been giving Isamu blood while starving yourself like some kind of martyr. Do you have any idea how close you were to—” His voice cracked.
Kaname stared at him. “I didn’t want to take from anyone but you.”
Zero looked away, jaw tight. “You didn’t even ask.”
“I didn’t think I had the right.”
Zero exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re the most exhausting person I’ve ever loved.”
Kaname froze. “You—”
“Don’t,” Zero warned. “Don’t ruin it by making it a moment.”
Kaname’s eyes softened.
“…Is Isamu okay?”
“He’s fine. Aido’s with him. He cried when you collapsed.”
Kaname closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face.
Zero softened just a little. “You scared him. You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Kaname murmured.
Kaname closed his eyes. The pain of that was almost worse.
Zero reached out and placed his hand over Kaname’s again.
“He wants to come back when you’re better. He said he’d read you a bedtime story.”
A broken laugh slipped out of Kaname. “He’s stubborn.”
“Like you,” Zero said.
“I was going to say like you.” Kaname whispered.
They both laughed—soft and tired and barely there.
Kaname reached out, hand brushing the sheets, hesitant.
“I didn’t want our last moment to be a goodbye.”
Zero looked down at him, and the ache in his chest gave way to something warmer. Something older.
Without a word, he bit into his wrist again. Slower this time. Clean. And leaned down.
Kaname blinked. “Zero—”
“Shut up and drink properly this time.”
He held Kaname’s face gently and kissed him—slowly, deliberately—pressing blood past his lips with soft insistence. Kaname shuddered as warmth returned, as the bond hummed stronger, as his body began to remember life.
Zero kissed him again. And again.
Only when Kaname’s skin was no longer cold did he stop.
Kaname’s breath hitched. “You don’t have to give me more. I’ll be alright.”
“You’re still weak,” Zero said, brushing his thumb over Kaname’s lips. “I’m here. So drink.”
Kaname hesitated. Then whispered, “I want to kiss you. Properly.”
Zero stilled.
Their eyes met.
For one breathless beat, nothing else existed.
Then—quiet, vulnerable, tired—Zero nodded.
Kaname reached up, trembling fingers brushing Zero’s cheek.
And kissed him.
It was soft. Careful. Tasting of blood and warmth and years lost to silence. Kaname didn’t push. Didn’t rush.
Zero let it happen.
He let himself feel it.
It wasn’t fire or passion.
It was something gentler.
Older.
A returning.
Kaname kissed him like a man rediscovering the meaning of home.
And when he finally pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he whispered, “Don’t make me lose you again.”
Kaname nodded. “I won’t.”
For the first time in years, the space between them held no anger.
Just heat.
And the promise of something still alive.
Something worth saving.
Chapter Text
The fire had burned down to embers. Moonlight pooled faintly at the edge of the window, silver spilling like a memory across the cold stone floor. Inside the warm cocoon of the bed, Zero lay with his eyes open, his arm still draped lightly over Kaname’s chest.
Kaname was asleep now—his breathing steady, his face finally peaceful in rest.
Zero hadn’t moved in hours. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the bond humming low beneath his skin, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Was this truly the same Kaname from Cross Academy?
This Kaname—willing to die for him, to offer freedom and happiness at the cost of his own existence—felt like a ghost wearing the same face.
Because the Kaname in his memories had been something else entirely. Possessive to the point of obsession. Cruel with words knew exactly where to press to cause the most emotional damage.
The weight of those memories threaded through Zero’s bones, heavy and cold.
He remembered the first time he’d tried to walk away—after the bond had been accepted.
It had been a night like any other at Cross Academy. The halls had gone quiet after night class began. He’d chosen a shadowed corridor near the east wing, sleeves rolled up, collar stiff, body still tense with restlessness. A part of him had known Kaname would come. That he’d feel him there.
He always did.
“Yagari’s here,” Zero had said as Kaname approached, voice flat, eyes fixed on the stars through the long windows. “It’s better if we don’t talk for a while.”
Kaname had gone still, staring at him like he’d just spoken a forbidden language.
“You’re joking,” he’d said, scoffing.
“I’m not.” Zero sighed.
Kaname stepped closer, his posture composed but his eyes darkening—shadowed and dangerous.
“Because of him?”
“Because of me,” Zero snapped, jaw tight. “Because I’m trying to hold on to the last part of myself that isn’t tied to you.”
Kaname had fallen silent. Not a word. But the silence had felt like the calm before a storm.
Then his voice dropped, silken and sharp. “I am your mate, Zero. Do I need to remind you what that means?”
Zero turned to face him fully now, defiant even with the ache blooming beneath his sternum. “And I’m a hunter. Do you need a reminder of what that means to me, Kuran?”
Kaname’s expression twisted—hurt, anger, something desperate behind his eyes at the use of his surname. “Nothing comes above the bond,” he said quietly. “Nothing. Not your pride. Not your mentor. Not even the past you’re clinging to.”
“For god’s sake, Kuran,” Zero hissed. “It’s just for a little while. You had no problem treating me like dirt before. Can’t you just go back to that—for a few days—until Sensei is gone?”
The words stung as they left his mouth.
Kaname flinched, just barely. But he didn’t argue.
Zero sighed, exasperated and aching. “Just don’t approach me. Don’t come to my room. Don’t talk to me until he leaves.”
Kaname hadn’t answered. Not at first. The silence between them stretched long and taut like a bowstring
Thinking it was over. Thinking Kaname had listened. Zero had turned, started down the corridor, pulse hammering against his ribs.
—but he didn’t make it more than halfway before a hand seized his wrist, yanking him into the shadows behind the library wall.
The scent hit him first—roses and blood, rich and unmistakably Kaname.
Then the heat of his body, the hum of their bond sparking where their skin touched.
Zero opened his mouth to protest—but Kaname was already there, crowding into his space, voice low and furious.
“You think I’ll just let you go?” he hissed. “Let him come between us?”
“It’s not about him—”
Kaname’s hand was on his throat in a breath, not squeezing, just holding. Anchoring. Possessive.
“It’s always about you,” Kaname said.
“About the way you keep trying to run. To carve out pieces of yourself and say they don’t belong to me.” His eyes burned in the dark—velvet rage, longing sharpened into threat.
“You think I’ll stand back and watch you build walls between us?” Kaname asked.
“Kaname—”
“I’ll tear down every last one,” he said, voice shaking now. Not with anger, but something deeper. Desperation. “I won’t let you pretend. I won’t let anyone—not even Yagari—drag you back into a life where I don’t exist.”
Zero's breath caught as Kaname stepped even closer, hand sliding to cup his jaw, fingers trembling slightly now.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, fierce and aching. “You’ve always been mine. And I am yours."
Their breath mingling as Kaname whispers "Whether you admit it or not. Whether we speak or not. Whether the whole world burns trying to pull us apart—I’ll still be here. I’ll still come for you.”
Zero didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The bond was roaring under his skin now, drowning out thought.
Kaname’s forehead touched his.
“I won’t lose you,” he said. “Not ever.”
Kaname’s thumb brushed over Zero’s lips, slow and deliberate. He traced the curve of his mouth like it belonged to him—like he had every right to touch him this way.
Zero stiffened, breath catching.
Kaname tilted his head gently upward, forcing Zero to meet his eyes.
“Us,” he murmured. “Before anything else, Zero.”
Zero’s throat worked, but he said nothing.
Kaname’s voice softened, dangerously tender. “Shall we tell Yagari what you are to me? That way you won’t have to pretend. We won’t have to avoid each other.”
Zero’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? No—absolutely not.”
Kaname didn’t flinch. “Why not?” he asked calmly, brushing a strand of silver hair behind Zero’s ear. “What are you afraid of? That he’ll look at you differently? Or that he’ll see you for what you really are—mine?”
“This isn’t a joke,” Zero hissed, trying to twist away. “You don’t get to parade this around like some power play.”
Kaname’s hand tightened just slightly at the back of Zero’s neck. “Who said anything about parading? I just don’t like hiding. Or pretending you’re not my mate.”
“Kaname,” Zero growled, heart racing, “he’s my mentor. My last connection to the life I had before all of this. Just... let me have this space. Let me keep something.”
A tense silence hung between them.
Then, Kaname sighed, his fingers loosening but not letting go.
“Fine,” he said at last. “I won’t tell him.”
Zero let out a slow, shaky breath.
“But,” Kaname added, voice hardening like silk drawn over steel, “I will not let you avoid me. Not in the halls. Not at night. Not in your dreams.” He leaned in, nose brushing Zero’s cheek. “You can have your silence if you need it—but you won’t erase me.”
Zero opened his mouth to respond, but Kaname’s lips crashed into his before he could speak.
The kiss was fierce. Demanding. Possessive. And it dragged a sound from Zero’s throat he hadn’t meant to make.
When Kaname finally pulled back, his voice was low and rough.
“Let’s go to your room.”
Zero stared at him, caught somewhere between fury and want.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Kaname whispered, smirking slightly now. “You started this, Zero. You stood in the dark, waited for me. You wanted me to come.”
“I didn’t—” Zero began.
Kaname silenced him with a brush of his fingers across his mouth. “Lie to him if you must. Lie to yourself if you’re desperate. But don’t lie to me.”
And just like that, he took Zero’s hand—and began to walk.
Kaname spoke again—quieter now, but no less serious.
“One more thing,” he said, voice steady, eyes locked onto Zero’s.
Zero turned, brow furrowing.
“I don’t want you to call me Kuran again, especially when we are alone.”
The words were simple. But they landed like a stone in still water—sending ripples through the silence.
Zero blinked. “What?”
Kaname’s gaze didn’t waver. “You use it like armor. Like a wall. Every time you say it, it’s like you’re trying to push me back into that role—the pureblood, the distant enemy. Like you’re telling yourself I don’t belong beside you.”
Zero opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I know what you’re doing,” Kaname continued softly, stepping closer. “You call me Kuran when you’re scared. When you’re trying to forget what I mean to you. When you’re pretending none of this is real.”
“It’s habit,” Zero muttered, looking away.
“No,” Kaname said. “It’s self-defense.”
Zero tensed—but didn’t deny it.
Kaname’s voice dropped, painfully tender now. “When you call me Kaname… it’s different. It’s you. Not the hunter. Not the student. Just you. And when you say my name like that… it feels like I matter. Like I’m yours, too.”
Zero’s throat worked around something he couldn’t quite swallow.
“Kaname....your annoying.” he said quietly.
Kaname smiled and stepped close enough that their foreheads touched again, fingers curling at Zero’s jaw, not to hold him—just to feel him.
That night, Kaname’s hunger had been relentless. Not just physical—but emotional, consuming. Like he needed to feel Zero, to burn himself into his skin so no distance, no silence, could ever undo what they were.
Kaname’s mouth pressed to Zero’s throat, lips dragging over the sensitive skin, breath ragged.
“You have no idea,” he groaned, voice deep and strained, “how hard it is to hold myself back when I’m with you.”
Zero barely managed to scoff between panting breaths. “Clingy leech,” he muttered.
Kaname actually laughed, low and husky against his neck. “Oh?” he said, lifting his head with a smirk. “And just who is clinging to whom right now?”
He shifted, motioning downward with a tilt of his chin. Zero glanced—and promptly flushed scarlet.
His arms were looped tightly around Kaname’s shoulders. His legs locked around his waist.
Zero’s scowl deepened. “Tch—shut up,” he snapped, trying to unwind himself, pushing weakly against Kaname’s shoulders.
But Kaname’s eyes darkened with something wicked and warm. Without breaking their connection, he pulled back just enough—and then drove forward again with a deliberate thrust.
Zero gasped, the movement stealing the breath from his lungs.
“Don’t even think about letting go,” Kaname warned, voice low and sharp against his ear. “Unless you want me to make it impossible for you to walk tomorrow.”
Zero gasped, head tipping back, hands clutching tighter on instinct.
“That’s what I thought,” Kaname whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You say one thing... but your body knows who it belongs to.”
Zero’s breath came in stuttering waves now, body arching toward him despite himself. “Damn you,” he whispered.
Kaname kissed the corner of his mouth, soft but possessive. “You already have.”
Zero didn’t respond—couldn’t.
All he could do was feel—and accept what Kaname was pouring into him.
It was hot. Overwhelming. Every thrust tore sounds out of Zero he couldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, dragged a shaking wrist over his mouth to muffle the broken noises—but Kaname noticed.
Kaname always noticed.
“Don’t,” he murmured against Zero’s cheek, voice like smoke and silk. He caught Zero’s wrist with one hand, gently but firmly pulling it away. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t ever hide from me.”
Zero turned his head, jaw clenched in a last-ditch effort to preserve some scrap of pride—but Kaname was relentless. His other hand found Zero’s lips, thumb brushing over them until they parted on instinct. He slipped two fingers between them, soft but commanding, and Zero—gasping—let him in.
“Softer than your words,” Kaname whispered, voice gone reverent. “Warmer than your glare."
Zero’s eyes fluttered shut. His breath stuttered around the fingers in his mouth, body arching as Kaname’s hips kept moving—slow and unforgiving. Claiming. Like he meant to leave something of himself behind in every inch of Zero’s skin.
He did.
Every movement branded. Every kiss bruised. Every whisper etched deep.
“You try so hard to stay silent,” Kaname murmured against his throat, tongue dragging over the pulse there. “But your body… our bond… it screams for me.”
Zero made a choked noise around Kaname’s fingers, back arching.
“I want you loud,” Kaname breathed, hips grinding in a rhythm meant to undo him. “I want every sound. Every shiver. I want to hear what you won’t say.”
Zero whimpered before he could stop it, and Kaname shuddered at the sound—his composure splintering. He withdrew his fingers from Zero’s mouth just long enough to cradle his face between both hands, eyes burning with something raw endlessless.
Zero could only shake his head, trembling, overwhelmed by the tide of sensation. “You’re greedy Ah.....you ask for too mcuh.” he managed to whisper.
The bed creaked beneath them with every motion, the sound rhythmic, intimate—like the heartbeat of something ancient and undeniable.
Kaname whispered things between every thrust, half-gasps, half-pleas, things that Zero could barely comprehend in the haze of need:
“You’re mine.”
“I need you.”
Zero’s hands fisted in Kaname’s back, nails dragging down hard enough to leave marks. Kaname groaned at the sting—but never faltered.
He kissed Zero again—deep, consuming—like he wanted to steal the breath from his lungs and make it his own. And as their mouths tangled, their bodies moved in sync, Zero realized the truth of it:
There was no line between surrender and defiance anymore.
There was only Kaname.
Only the bond between them, burning brighter than either of them could bear.
And now, years later, he was here again.
In Kaname’s bed.
In his arms.
In his home, tucked away in the snowy mountains of the north.
Still not ready to forgive—but unable to leave.
Still unable to hate him completely…
But not yet able to love him fully.
Zero blinked slowly, his gaze drifting to the man sleeping beside him.
Kaname’s lashes twitched. He was dreaming.
Zero wondered if it was that dream again. The one Isamu always mentioned. The one that haunted Zero, too, in Kyoto. In Matsumoto. In every quiet place he’d tried to forget.
The dream of the sad prince—standing alone, silent and still, drowning in loneliness and despair.
Zero’s fingers curled against the blanket resting over Kaname’s chest.
“Clingy bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
But there was no venom in his voice.
Just memory.
Just the echo of being held before he ever knew what it meant to be loved.
So much pain. So much blood between them. He had Suffered, hated, fought, lost because of this man, this pureblood king.
And still—somehow—Zero would always love him.
Even after everything.
Even with the emptiness still carved deep into his chest.
That emptiness in his chest, the ache that never left him—
Not even Kenta’s kisses could erase it.
Not even Kenta, warm and kind and safe, could touch that hollow place inside him the way Kaname did just by existing.
By simply laying here beside Zero.
This man—this entity—was both his undoing and his salvation.
And Zero wasn’t sure he’d ever be free of him.
Or if he even wanted to be.
The snow had started falling again just as dawn broke.
Soft light poured through the frost-kissed windows, painting pale gold across the stone floor and the thick blankets tangled on the bed. The embers in the fireplace had long since gone cold, but the room remained warm—held together by the body heat of the two figures beneath the covers.
At some point, Zero had dozed off. One hand curled protectively over Kaname’s heart, the other somehow ending up beneath Kaname’s head—his pulse a steady thrum against Zero’s wrist, each heartbeat a quiet miracle.
Kaname slept deeply. Peacefully.
His skin was no longer cold.
His breath no longer fragile.
He was alive.
And Zero hadn’t let go. Not once.
Outside the door, the quiet hush of morning was broken by quick, uneven footsteps. Then—
A knock.
Then a pause.
Then another.
“Papa?” a small voice called softly, muffled by the wood.
More knocks, urgent and drowsy. “Papa?”
Zero blinked awake just as the door creaked open.
There stood Isamu—wrapped in a blanket that trailed behind him like a cape, little star-patterned pajamas rumpled from sleep, and only one sock clinging stubbornly to his foot. His hair stuck out wildly on one side like a little comet had landed in it, and he clutched his well-loved stuffed bunny by one floppy ear.
His sleepy eyes lit up the instant he saw them both curled together in the bed.
“Papa!” he cried, charging into the room with all the subtlety of a tiny elephant. “Sadface!”
Zero pushed himself up on one elbow, trying not to jostle Kaname. “Hey, little bird. What are you doing awake so early?”
“Uncle Hana snores,” Isamu said with the gravity of someone reporting a national emergency. He climbed up without asking, legs and blanket tangling around him. “Like a big sleepy bear. He goes ‘gorrr-grrr-nnk.’ I heard it all night.”
Zero groaned. “I told him to sleep in the other wing.”
Isamu, unconcerned, crawled straight toward Kaname, pausing only when he was nose-to-nose with him.
“I didn’t wanna sleep by myself,” he mumbled, pouting. “I missed you.”
Zero’s expression softened. “I know, sweetheart.”
The little boy blinked up at him, twilight-colored eyes wide and serious. “Is he still sick?”
Zero shook his head gently. “No, baby. He’s just sleeping now. Real sleep. Not the hurting kind.”
Isamu leaned down, gently bumping his nose against Kaname’s.
Then, with the purest little smile, he whispered, “Hi, Sadface. I found you.”
Zero watched, heart twisting and warming all at once.
Isamu didn’t wait for an answer—he wiggled under the blankets beside Kaname like he’d done it a hundred times before. “I bringed Bunny,” he said proudly, placing the stuffed rabbit between himself and Kaname. “So he’s not lonely.”
Kaname stirred.
Zero froze, breath caught in his throat.
Then—softly, slowly—Kaname’s eyes fluttered open.
He blinked once. Twice. Focus returning.
And the first thing he saw was a tiny child with unruly hair and wonder-filled eyes staring right back at him.
“…Isamu?” he rasped, voice hoarse with sleep and something else—something achingly alive.
Isamu beamed. “You’re not allowed to leave Isamu all alone,” he declared, as if issuing a royal decree.
Kaname’s eyes filled with tears so fast it stunned even him. His throat worked around a sound that didn’t quite make it out.
“I thought…” he whispered, “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Isamu scooted closer, one tiny hand patting Kaname’s cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’re warm now,” he said with a little nod. “I checked. No more cold nose.”
A soft, cracked laugh broke out of Kaname’s chest.
Zero leaned over slightly, brushing a piece of hair from Isamu’s forehead. “He insisted on coming in here. Climbed into bed like he owns the place.”
“I do,” Isamu said with a very serious nod. “It’s a castle. I’m the prince. And a knight.”
Zero raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Okay… I’m half a prince,” Isamu said, pointing at Kaname. “He’s the whole one.”
Kaname blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “That’s how it works?”
“Yup,” Isamu confirmed with complete confidence. “So I can sleep in your bed like Papa, too.”
Kaname laughed again—this time fuller, richer, like something inside him had been unclenched for the first time in years.
Zero tried—and failed—not to smile. He reached down, ruffling Isamu’s hair. “You didn’t even brush this. You’re a disaster.”
“I did brush it,” Isamu yawned. “With my hands.”
Kaname looked over Isamu’s head and met Zero’s eyes. Something passed between them. Quiet. Raw. Grateful.
Then, Kaname gently asked, “So… if I’m the whole prince, and you’re half a prince and a knight…”
He tilted his head, eyes playful. “What does that make your papa?”
Isamu paused, scrunched up his face, clearly thinking hard.
Then his eyes lit up. “He’s the damsel! The one we rescue from the dragon!”
Kaname slapped a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter.
Zero groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”
“Don’t worry, Papa,” Isamu said seriously, settling between them like a puppy. “We saved you. You’re safe now.”
Kaname pulled the blanket up over all three of them, tucking it gently beneath Isamu’s chin.
Zero met his gaze again. And neither of them looked away.
Isamu had fallen asleep again within minutes.
Tucked between his two parents, one hand still wrapped tightly around his stuffed bunny, the other fisted gently in the fabric of Kaname’s linen shirt. His head rested against Kaname’s chest, ear pressed to the slow, steady rhythm beneath.
His breath came in soft, even puffs, lips parted in peace.
Kaname hadn’t taken his eyes off him.
Zero, on the other side of the bed, lay propped on one elbow, watching them both.
He wasn’t sure what was more dangerous: the silence… or how badly he didn’t want it to end.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Just quiet.
The faint wind against the windows.
The gentle crackle of the fire, rebuilt sometime after dawn by Seiren.
And the steady breathing of a child who somehow managed to bring both of them to their knees without trying.
Eventually, Kaname whispered, “He always sleeps like this?”
Zero nodded. “Like he owns the bed.”
Kaname’s lips curved faintly. “He takes after you.”
Zero arched a brow. “Takes after me? Please. He’s bossy. Has that cold stare when he’s mad. Dramatic and stubborn like—”
“—you,” Kaname finished, almost smiling.
Zero blinked, then sighed in resignation.
That pulled a soft laugh from Kaname, but it faded quickly, like a wave breaking too early.
He looked down at the child curled against him. “I missed so much.”
Zero didn’t respond.
Because it was true.
Because no amount of words could rewind the years Kaname had lost.
And because for all the damage he’d done, there was still something undeniably tragic about a man who had waited for love—waited for Zero—only to nearly destroy it before he ever understood what it was.
“I thought I could make it hurt less for you,” Kaname said softly, his voice barely rising above the fire’s whisper. “Thought I could make the path easier. That if I stayed away, you’d be free. That it would spare you from me.”
Zero scoffed under his breath, his voice sharp despite the softness of the morning light. “And in the meantime, you almost died.”
“I deserve to die.”
Zero’s jaw tensed. “Don’t.”
“It’s true,” Kaname murmured. “But… I won’t say it again if you don’t want me to. Still—” he paused “—it is true.”
Zero finally looked at him.
And for a moment, he saw not the pureblood king, not the ghost from the past.
But the man.
The man who had waited.
The man who had loved too deeply and too recklessly.
Who made the wrong choices for the right reasons and the right ones far too late.
“You should eat,” Zero said, his voice gentler now. “More blood. Real food. You look like a skeleton pretending to be royalty.”
Kaname gave a faint smile. “And you look like someone who didn’t get any sleep.”
“I didn’t,” Zero replied dryly. “You were too busy being dramatic and dying in the snow. Someone had to make sure you didn’t turn to dust while everyone else slept.”
Kaname turned his face toward the ceiling, expression wry. “To be fair, I didn’t plan that part. I thought it was happen after you left.”
Zero rolled his eyes. But the edge in his expression softened again, like ice cracking under the sun.
“I couldn’t leave,” he said after a moment. “Even when I wanted to.”
Kaname turned to look at him, but now it was Zero staring at the ceiling.
“Every time I tried to put space between us, the bond just pulled tighter. Like a damn rope. I didn’t want to give in. Didn’t want to want you.” He glanced down at the small body between them. “But then…”
Kaname followed his gaze. His expression shifted—soft, reverent.
“I never meant to make you love me so much that it became poison,” Kaname whispered. “That it hurt you.”
Zero gave a tired, bitter smile. “You didn’t. I did that. You just… didn’t know what to do with it.”
The fire crackled gently.
Isamu stirred, murmured something incoherent, and burrowed closer to Kaname with a tiny sigh.
The moment melted—quiet, warm, delicate as snow on glass.
Kaname’s voice was almost inaudible. “Do you think… you’ll ever forgive me?”
Zero didn’t answer at first. He just looked at Isamu, reached out and ran his fingers gently through his messy hair.
Then, at last, he said—softly, honestly:
“I don’t know.”
A pause.
“I don’t think I can forget… and I don’t want to forget, either.”
His voice wavered slightly as he added, “But I haven’t left.”
Kaname exhaled. It sounded like something cracking open and beginning to heal.
“…Thank you,” he whispered.
Kaname rested with his head turned toward Zero, like he couldn’t quite believe he was there—as if Zero would vanish if he blinked a moment too long.
His face was still pale, but no longer deathly. He looked alive now. Fragile, yes. But here.
Zero shifted beneath the covers, gently pulling Isamu closer who was still curled against Kaname, clutching his bunny like a talisman. A soft breath escaped the child’s parted lips, warm against Zero’s hip.
“You need more,” Zero murmured, eyes never leaving Kaname’s face. “You’re still not strong enough.”
Kaname started to object, his lips parting—
But Zero shook his head. “You almost died,” he said, quietly firm. “Just… take what you need.”
He moved Isamu carefully, adjusting the blanket around Isamu and slipping between them—between his mate and his son. A natural place. The place he belonged.
Kaname blinked at him, eyes already glowing faintly now, hunger no longer hidden—no longer ignored.
He hadn’t felt hunger like this in years. Not real hunger. Not since Zero left. But now, after tasting Zero’s blood again, it stirred. Whether it was hunger for Zero’s blood, or for Zero himself, he didn’t know anymore.
Zero tilted his head, exposing the pale column of his throat. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Kaname hesitated. “You’ve fed me too many times already.”
Zero’s voice softened. “Don’t worry. Takuma gave me blood tablets. I’m not running on empty.” Zero lied.
Kaname leaned in slowly—reverently. His lips brushed the skin at Zero’s neck. He pressed a soft kiss there, then another, and inhaled deeply.
There was no urgency. No violence.
Just longing. Just memory.
Just home.
Then—fangs. The faintest prick.
Zero’s breath caught, but he didn’t flinch.
The pain was brief.
The warmth that followed was instant.
Kaname drank. A low moan left him at the first taste—like he’d found something vital he hadn’t known he was missing.
Slowly. Softly.
Drawing it out, not out of greed, but reverence.
Each swallow was steady, like life pouring back into him, drop by drop.
Zero closed his eyes, biting down gently on his bottom lip.
It felt like something broken inside him was being made whole again. Like something that had never sat right was finally falling into place.
Kaname groaned as he finally pulled back. “If I take any more,” he whispered, “I’ll want more than just blood.”
Zero’s breath hitched. A flush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks and ears pink.
Kaname licked the wound closed with tender care.
Behind Zero, Isamu stirred.
Tiny fingers reached out sleepily, tugging at Zero’s arm. “Papa…”
Zero turned slightly, voice gentle. “Shh, you’re okay.”
Isamu blinked up at him, glassy-eyed, still caught between sleep and waking. Then—
“I’m hungry.”
Zero chuckled under his breath. “You too, huh?”
Kaname began to rise, concern flickering in his eyes—but Zero lifted his wrist when he brought it to his mouth, Kaname stopped him, hand closing gently around his. “You’re giving too much.”
“I’m fine,” Zero said softly. “You rest. I’ll have tablets later.”
Kaname tried to protest but Zero already bit his wrist, slower this time. The skin parted neatly, blood welling up warm and red.
He held it out to Isamu, and without hesitation, the child’s tiny fangs sank in. No fear. No flinching.
Zero cradled him close, thumb brushing Isamu’s cheek. His movements were gentle, practiced. The kind of care that only came from time, from love. From being there, every day, from being a parent.
Kaname watched in silence.
Awe mingled with quiet sorrow in his eyes.
“You’ve done so well with him,” he whispered.
Zero didn’t look at him. His hand continued stroking Isamu’s back, soothing. “He’s my whole world.”
“I know,” Kaname said softly. “I see it. Every time you look at him.”
When Isamu finished, he let out a soft sigh and curled up again on Zero’s chest, bunny squished between his arms, his breath warm and content.
Zero shifted back against the pillows, careful not to jostle the small body rising and falling against his chest. Isamu was fast asleep again, curled like a little fox pup—bare feet tangled in the sheets, one hand still clinging to the fabric of Zero’s shirt.
Kaname lay beside them, his hand resting lightly on Zero’s wrist. His fingers gently brushed the vein that pulsed there, the same place their son had fed from not long ago.
“I never thought I’d have to share you like this,” Kaname said softly, voice just above a whisper. “If it had been anyone else but this tiny being we created together… I don’t know what I’d do.”
Zero didn’t answer right away.
There wasn’t anything to say.
The room was still.
Safe.
Until Zero sighed and murmured, “You’re still a clingy leech.”
Kaname huffed a soft, half-laugh—but something settled in his chest.
He wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
Zero lay on his back, arm curled protectively around the child on his chest, holding him like he was something precious. Like something breakable.
Kaname watched the way Zero’s thumb traced slow circles over Isamu’s tiny shoulder.
The way his hand instinctively adjusted the blanket so it covered the boy’s feet. The way his entire body curved around their son without thinking, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Isamu stirred as the f pale light of morning became brighter through the window. His nose wrinkled, face scrunching up adorably against Zero’s chest.
Then, a muffled voice:
“Papa…”
Zero groaned faintly but didn’t open his eyes. “Mm?”
A tiny finger tapped his cheek. “Papa.”
“Five more minutes,” Zero mumbled.
“Pancakes,” Isamu said firmly, his tone full of purpose.
Zero cracked one eye open and looked down at him. “Already?”
Isamu nodded with determination. “You said we could have pancakes every morning.”
Zero sighed dramatically, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “I also said we have to brush our teeth first.”
Isamu blinked, clearly calculating. “We can do both.”
Zero chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Isamu’s wild hair. “Smart boy.”
Then he turned his head—
And found Kaname propped on one elbow, watching them quietly.
His expression was unreadable: soft, distant, reverent. Something caught between awe and ache.
“How long have you been staring?” Zero asked, voice still thick with sleep.
Kaname’s lips curved faintly. “Long enough to know you look beautiful with him.”
Zero’s breath hitched.
He didn’t have a reply.
Isamu, oblivious to the weight of that moment, suddenly sat up like a spring. “I gotta go potty!”
Zero groaned, catching him before he could roll off the bed like a falling star. “Alright, alright. Little menace,” he muttered, sitting up fully and smoothing the boy’s hair.
Isamu giggled and immediately wrapped his arms around Zero’s neck, nuzzling in like he’d done since infancy.
Zero kissed his cheek, then his temple. “Let’s go, stinky. Bathroom first, pancakes second.”
He stood, cradling Isamu easily on one hip like he’d done it a thousand times, his hand supporting the boy’s back, fingertips gently rubbing circles to keep him calm.
As he passed Kaname, he gave him a tired look. “Try not to die in the five minutes it takes to keep this one alive and hygienic.”
Kaname gave a faint hum. “No promises.”
Zero rolled his eyes—but a smile tugged at his lips as he carried Isamu into the bathroom tucked just off in the room Zero pick for himself.
The next few minutes were filled with the usual chaos: running water, sleepy grumbling, and the sound of Zero’s voice cutting through it all with practiced patience.
“Don’t eat the toothpaste, Isamu!”
“That’s your left foot—no, left, baby. Try again.”
“Stop trying to wipe the mirror, it’s already clean.”
Kaname washed up as well, moving slower, more mindful.
He was drinking in these small moments—hoarding them in his mind like treasure, afraid of losing them all over again.
Nothing good stayed, not with him.
But this—
This felt like a second chance.
Eventually, Zero returned, Isamu clean and dressed in a cozy dark blue sweater dotted with tiny white stars. His hair was only slightly tamed, his face bright and full of pride.
As they passed, Isamu reached out and gave Kaname’s hand a quick pat. “You better come get pancakes,” he warned, eyes serious. “Or I’ll eat yours.”
Kaname gave him a soft, amused smile. “I wouldn’t dare risk it.”
Zero glanced over his shoulder. “That wasn’t a threat. It’s a promise.”
Kaname let out a quiet laugh.
They walked down the hall together, Zero carrying Isamu easily on his hip, hand cupped protectively around the child’s back. Every few steps, Zero murmured little things into his ear—soft words, sweet nonsense, Kaname was listening earnestly.
“You’re getting heavy, you know.”
“I think it's all the jams and syrup you been having since coming here.”
Isamu pouted.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you try to put socks on over your slippers.”
Isamu giggled, arms looped around Zero’s neck like ivy.
And Kaname followed, just a few steps behind, watching with quiet wonder as the two most important parts of his world moved just ahead—together.
For the first time in a long time, he let himself believe maybe… maybe this time, they wouldn’t slip away.
The estate already smelled of cinnamon and warmth.
In the kitchen, the morning staff moved with quiet precision—familiar now with the particular urgency of one small boy’s appetite. Pancakes were on the griddle. A pitcher of warm syrup sat on the counter beside softened butter, fresh berries, and—somehow—chocolate chips Isamu had charmed from one of the maids yesterday.
The second they stepped into the kitchen, Isamu let out a squeal of pure joy. “Pancakes!”
One of the staff turned with a smile. “Good morning, young master. We’re just about ready for you.”
Zero set Isamu down at one of the long counters, where a cushioned stool was already waiting.
Isamu climbed up like a king ascending his throne.
Zero leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, gaze lingering on the boy—soft with fondness, alert for any sign of mischief. Kaname entered a moment later, a quieter presence behind him.
Zero didn’t say anything. But when their eyes met—
There was no anger.
Only memory.
Only bond.
Only breath.
“Papa,” Isamu said through a mouthful of pancake, “I gave some pancake to Bunny. But I think he doesn’t like syrup.”
Zero raised an eyebrow. “That’s because Bunny’s made of stuffing.”
“I’m gonna teach him,” Isamu replied solemnly. “One bite at a time.”
Zero sighed dramatically. “Great. I’m gonna have to put Bunny in the washing machine again.”
Kaname gave a soft laugh.
The warmth in the kitchen had spread like sunlight across snow. Soft light spilled through the tall windows, painting the stone walls gold. Plates clinked. Butter sizzled.
The scent of browned cinnamon and maple syrup wrapped around them like a comfort long overdue.
For the first time in years, Kaname felt alive. This place felt like home now. Filled with Laughter.
Isamu was well into his second helping of pancakes. Talking to Bunny like a living being.
Zero had long since given up trying to stop him.
“Bunny says thank you,” Isamu said solemnly, holding out a berry-stained finger. “He likes chocolate chip the best.”
Zero arched a brow, wiping syrup from his cheek with a napkin. “Your Bunny has very specific and ever-changing preferences.”
“He’s a fancy Bunny,” Isamu replied with pride. “He likes warm beds and food with feelings.”
Kaname, seated beside Zero now, smiled faintly into his tea. “Then he fits right in.”
Before Zero could respond, the kitchen door opened.
Takuma was first—sleep-rumpled but elegant, as if he’d just wandered through a field of morning dew instead of a castle hallway. He smiled warmly when he saw them.
“There’s actual color in your face again, Kaname,” he said, reaching for the silver teapot. “You might survive the week after all.”
Kaname offered a tired but genuine look. “Thanks to Zero.”
“I would thank Zero,” Takuma said, glancing at him, “but I think he’s busy being force-fed the sacred teachings of Pancake Philosophy.”
Isamu lit up. “Do you wanna hear Bunny’s syrup sermon? It’s holy.”
Zero rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Another time, little monk,” Takuma said with a wink.
Then the kitchen door burst open again in a swirl of cold air, scarves, and dramatic tension.
Aido arrived like he’d been wronged by the weather personally. His coat was half-unbuttoned, scarf flung dramatically over one shoulder, gloves still on.
“I swear,” he grumbled, “why is it colder inside this castle than ou—”
He stopped dead.
His gaze landed on Kaname and Zero, seated side by side, with syrup-faced Isamu next to Zero like a crowned prince.
Aido blinked.
Then blinked again.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“…Are we pretending he didn’t almost die in the snow yesterday?” he asked Zero. “Because if so, I definitely didn’t get the memo.”
Kaname gave him a long, unreadable glance. “Good morning to you too, Aido.”
Aido narrowed his eyes. “You’re upright. Breathing. Not dramatically collapsed.”
“I’ve been known to do that,” Kaname said dryly.
Aido turned to Zero, incredulous. “Is this allowed?”
Zero didn’t even glance up from slicing bananas onto Isamu’s plate. “He eating. He drank. He’s not face-down in the courtyard. It’s allowed. For now at least.”
Kaname flinched.
Aido looked scandalized, but before he could launch into a proper monologue, Kain entered behind him.
He looked half-dead—eyes shadowed, hair tousled from too many exhausted hand rakes.
He took in the scene—Kaname alive, Zero calm, Isamu giggling—and something in his shoulders softened.
He exhaled, muttering, “Well. It’s about damn time.”
Isamu perked up instantly. “Hi Big Kain! Bunny says hi too!”
Kain blinked—then, surprisingly, smiled. “Good morning.”
Aido hovered for another second, then sighed dramatically and crossed the room.
He leaned down and dropped a kiss on Isamu’s head. “Morning, little goblin.”
“Hi Uncle Hana!” Isamu giggled.
Takuma groaned. “Stop calling him that. He’s not a goblin. He’s an innocent flower.”
Isamu smiled widely at Takuma.
“He bit you yesterday,” Kain pointed out, slumping into a chair like a falling tree.
“He was playing,” Takuma said lightly, inspecting the faint bite mark on his hand.
“He left a mark,” Kain muttered.
“Means he likes me,” Takuma said smoothly, passing him a plate stacked high with pancakes and berries.
Handing over the syrup, he adds “which is more than I can say for you.”
Aido eyed the bite mark. “I stand by goblin.”
“Bunny says he’s a warrior,” Isamu announced gravely trying to change the subject.
Aido bowed his head. “Forgive me, noble Bunny.”
Zero shook his head but didn’t interrupt. Not when the laughter came so easily.
Not when Kaname sat beside him, alive and no longer a ghost.
Not when Isamu’s joy filled the kitchen like a song this house had forgotten how to sing.
A plate was passed to Zero. Then to Kaname.
Their hands touched—just briefly.
Kaname looked over, catching Zero’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he said softly, just for him. “For this. For him.”
Zero didn’t answer with words.
He simply pressed a steadying hand to Isamu’s back, smoothing the fabric of his tiny star-covered sweater.
Yagari
Yagari tugged the brim of his hat lower as he walked the narrow, sloping street. His coat flared faintly behind him with every step, the hem brushing dust and leaves. The air in Matsumoto was crisp, clean, the kind of early winter dryness that bit the lungs but didn’t freeze the skin.
He passed a row of quiet houses with garden gates and low stone walls. The kind of place where people knew their neighbors. Where no one had secrets for long.
Which made it the perfect place to hide in plain sight.
He’d been searching for Zero for years.
Every whisper, every trail had gone cold—until recently. A old friend and an ex hunter passing through a remote part of Nagano had spoken of a young man with silver hair and a quiet child. It had taken time to verify. To follow the threads. To be sure.
Now Yagari stood outside a small grocery shop tucked between a post office and a shuttered bookstore. Inside, the lights were warm. Shelves lined with canned goods and miso. A radio murmured softly behind the counter.
A young man in a navy apron looked up as Yagari entered.
“Konnichiwa. Can I help you?”
Yagari removed his hat slowly. His eye, the single one still whole, fixed on the man. “I’m looking for someone.”
The man blinked. “This is a small town. You might have better luck if you’re specific.”
Yagari stepped forward, voice low and even. “He’s in his twenties. Silver hair. Pale eyes sharp eyes. Keeps to himself. Has a kid. Quiet type.”
Recognition flared in the young man’s expression immediately.
“Oh,” he said. “You mean Kaito-san.”
Yagari’s jaw tensed. “Kaito.”
The man smiled faintly. “Yeah. Lives down near the bend in the road at the every edge of town, past the old bamboo gate. Used to come in every Friday. His son’s adorable—calls me ‘Ken-ta!’ like it’s a superhero name.”
Yagari’s eye softened, barely.
Kenta glanced toward the door, then back. “But... he’s not around right now.”
Yagari straightened. “What do you mean?”
Kenta rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… about 2 weeks ago, his kid got sick. High fever. Scary kind of sick. I was just closing up when a big black car pulled up to his house in the middle of the night.”
Yagari stilled. “What kind of car?”
“Sleek. Black, Expensive. Looked out of place here.” Kenta’s brow furrowed.
"Next day my grandma went to see Isamu with other grannies. I took them there myself."
Yagari asked if he knew who came with the car.
“Three guys distant family they told grandma. One of them… tall, blond. One had bright orange hair. The third was quiet—dark coat, brown hair didn’t speak, kind of… cold. Beautiful in a scary way.”
Yagari’s hand clenched at his side.
“And that evening, they were gone,” Kenta continued sadly. “Took the boy and Kaito-san with them. No note. Nothing.”
Yagari’s voice turned hard. “And no one’s heard from him since?”
“No. We are worried about them. My grandmother—she adored the little boy. We used to bring soup when his papa worked late at the book store.” Kenta’s frown deepened. “Is something wrong? Are they okay?”
Yagari didn’t answer. Just tipped his head in thanks, turned, and left.
Outside, he flipped open his phone. The signal crackled faintly, but the call went through.
“Cross,” he said the moment it connected. “It’s Yagari.”
There was a pause. Then, “...Yagari? Where have you been?”
“Tracking Zero.”
A longer pause. “...You found him?”
“I found where he was. Matsumoto. He’s not here now.” Yagari’s jaw clenched. “A black car took him. And his child. The driver matched Takuma Ichijou. Kain Akatsuki was there too. And the third—was Kaname Kuran.”
The line went quiet.
Then Cross’s voice dropped, serious. “Do you think he took them against their will?”
Yagari’s eye narrowed. “I don’t think. I know. Kuran’s involved. That’s enough for me.”
Cross exhaled. “There’s no Kuran property near Matsumoto.”
“Not near,” Yagari agreed. “But maybe remote. Hidden.”
Cross hesitated. Then muttered, “There is a place. An estate in the northern mountains. Long abandoned. One of the first ancestral holdings."
Yagari’s hand closed around his phone like a weapon. “Then that’s where I’m going.”
"Wait for me, I’ll get Yuk” Cross said. "She been restless.”
“If Kuran’s done anything to hurt my stupid disciple,” Yagari growled, “I don’t care what his bloodline is. I’ll kill him.”
Then he hung up.
The snow shimmered like silver under the mid-morning sun, blanketing the courtyard in pristine silence.
From the wide window of one of the estate’s sitting rooms, Kaname and Zero stood side by side—watching through the frost-slicked glass as Isamu played in the snow below.
Laughter echoed faintly through the thick windowpanes.
Isamu was bundled in three layers of wool, his knitted hat slightly crooked atop his unruly hair. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, breath visible in little puffs as he ran in quick, delighted circles around Aido.
Aido, for his part, was crouched beside a towering snowman—twice Isamu’s height, complete with twig arms, a carrot nose, and glowing blue eyes courtesy of some minor ice enchantment.
“I used my ice power this time,” Aido declared, brushing imaginary snow from his sleeve and ruffling Isamu’s head like a mentor knight in some wintery epic. “It’s now indestructible. Strongest snowman in vampire history, made by the strangest vampire.”
Isamu’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” Aido said gravely. “It could survive a tornado and a war.”
Then—
A quiet whoosh. A shimmer of heat.
Kain had lifted one hand lazily. Fire rippled in the air, gentle but precise.
The snowman sagged. Drooped.
Collapsed into a sad, slushy puddle with a muffled plop.
Isamu gasped in horror. “NOOO—!”
Aido staggered back like he’d been shot. “WHAT—?!”
Isamu turned to Kain, betrayal and awe battling in his expression.
Kain, entirely unfazed, offered a single, dry statement:
“Looks like I’m the strangest vampire. ”
A pause.
Then Isamu nodded solemnly. “You are.”
Aido looked like he’d just been publicly disowned by the toddler.
“You traitor!” he cried, staggering dramatically. “You always cheered for me! Don’t cheer for Kain! He’s a big, lumbering bully!”
He launched himself at Kain with all the grace of a collapsing tree. Kain sidestepped with all the energy of a bored cat.
“Big Kain’s the strongest!” Isamu shouted, clapping his mittened hands. “Fire Knight! Fire Knight!”
“Goblin!” Aido gasped ay Isamu’s betrayal. “Kain, you musclebound forest demon! You’ll be single forever! No one will marry you! You’re stealing my Isamu!”
“I curse you! And you still can’t get Ruka!”
Kain didn’t even blink. “Fine. I’ll just marry you instead.”
Aido froze mid-rant. “What—?”
Kain turned to Isamu, deadpan. “Have you ever been to a wedding?”
Isamu shook his head. “Nope.”
“Well,” Kain said, “now you can attend mine and Aido’s.”
Aido made a strangled noise like a kettle about to explode. “I hate everything!”
.
.
Kaname let out a soft breath beside Zero. It wasn’t quite a laugh. But it was close.
Zero’s arms were crossed, back straight as he watched in silence. His expression unreadable. He looked tired—but not physically.
Tired in the soul.
Kaname turned toward him slightly. “He’s happy.”
Zero nodded, eyes never leaving the window. “For now.”
Zero finally glanced at him, just for a moment. “He’s… becoming more talkative. Brighter. He laughs more. Maybe it’s the change in the air. Maybe it’s the attention. Or maybe it’s just that… he feels safe.”
“He is safe,” Kaname said quietly.
Zero’s jaw tensed. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
A pause.
“Or maybe it’s just because he’s not sick anymore.”
Zero continued, voice softer. “He’s always wanted more people around. More love. That’s all he’s ever wanted.”
Kaname's voice was low, firm with promise. “He’ll have it. Everything he wants.”
Zero turned to him, eyes sharp. “No. Not everything at a whim. I won’t raise him like that.”
Kaname blinked, surprised by the sudden edge.
Zero continued, “He’ll grow up loved. But he’ll also learn to wait. To know the difference between wanting and needing. Between right and wrong.”
His voice was calm, but unyielding.
“I won’t let him grow up entitled. I’ll raise him to be kind, not spoiled. Strong, not selfish. He can be surrounded by love—but he’ll also learn patience.”
Kaname didn’t argue.
Kaname didn’t respond, but his eyes didn’t leave Zero’s face.
The silence stretched between them—long, quiet, but not empty.
Kaname’s fingers twitched at his side. “You haven’t said anything about last night.”
Zero didn’t look at him. “I don’t need to. You almost died. I stopped you. That’s all there is to say.”
Kaname frowned. “You stayed.”
“I did.”
“You held me.”
“I did.”
“You fed me,” Kaname added softly, “with your mouth.”
Zero’s jaw tensed. “…I did.”
“We kissed,” Kaname whispered.
Zero avoided his eyes. “…We did.”
Kaname turned to face him more fully. “Then why does it feel like you’re preparing to leave again?”
Zero finally looked at him.
His eyes weren’t cold.
They were resigned.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said quietly. “What you did. What it cost me. What it cost my family. I haven’t forgotten the pain or the blood or the years I spent trying to unlove you.”
Kaname’s breath caught. His heart cracked wide open again. He was right—he’d hoped too early.
“But,” Zero continued, voice steadier now, “I also don’t want that pain to define my son’s future. Or mine.”
Kaname’s chest tightened. “Zero—”
“I’m not saying I forgive you. And I’m not saying I don’t love you. I’m past pretending.” Zero looked down at the snow. “But I’m saying… I’m tired. And I want peace. For myself. For my son. And yes… even for you. And for Yuki.”
Kaname’s expression faltered.
Zero’s next words were soft, but deliberate.
“So if you want to marry Yuki, I won’t stop you. That’s the life you planned anyway. I get it now. I always did.”
Something cracked behind Kaname’s eyes.
“I’ll return to Matsumoto in the spring,” Zero went on, steady but pale. “You can visit Isamu when you want. He’s your son. You’ll always have a place in his life.”
Silence. Sharp and suffocating.
“…A place in his life?” Kaname echoed, voice low.
Zero didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“And what about mine?” Kaname’s voice trembled now, rising. “What place does he have in mine? What place do I have in yours?”
Zero looked away again. “You planned your future with her. I was just… the mistake between the lines.”
“No,” Kaname said, louder now, pain rising like a tide. “You were the only part of it that ever felt real.”
Zero turned back, slow and weary. “Then why did I always suffer? Why was I always last on everyone’s list?”
Kaname’s hands clenched at his sides—tight, white-knuckled, but he didn’t reach for Zero. Not yet.
Kaname’s voice deepened, raw. “You did this before too—back when I told you we were mates. Your first instinct wasn’t joy. It wasn’t even confusion. It was guilt. Not over us—but over how it would hurt Yuki.”
Zero’s gaze hardened. “Because I lived in her shadow for years. Because everything you ever did, you said it was for her. Every sacrifice. Every choice. Every lie.” His laugh was bitter. “Maybe you embedded that in my head yourself.”
Kaname flinched.
Zero’s laugh was hollow, not cruel. Bitter, but not sharp. “You’re the one who made her the center of everything. So don’t act surprised when I still think I’m orbiting someone else’s sun.”
Kaname’s fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t want to hear her name when I talk about us, Zero, Our future. ”
Kaname closed his eyes for a moment. A sharp exhale passed through his lips, like his own words were choking him now.
“I don’t hate you anymore,” Zero said, quiet as falling snow. “Maybe I never did. But we’re poison together. Every time I look at you, I remember the cost. The people we lost. The pain.”
Kaname’s hands curled into fists. “So what, Zero? We pretend we’re nothing? We pretend this—” he gestured between them, voice cracking, “—this bond never existed?”
“I’m saying,” Zero said firmly, “that maybe it was never meant to last. Maybe this was destiny—brief, brutal, and already fading. You made your choices. I’ve made mine. I’ll raise Isamu in peace. You’ll marry Yuki and restore your line. The Council will applaud. Everyone will win.”
“I won’t,” Kaname whispered, voice raw.
Zero said nothing.
"You wont either Zero."
Kaname stepped forward. “Do you really think I can look at my son and not tell him who I am? That I can sit in a corner and visit like some distant uncle?”
Zero’s voice was steel. “I think you can do what’s best for him. That’s what being a parent means. It means doing what’s best for your child. Even when it breaks you.”
Kaname stared at him, disbelief and devastation bleeding into one. “I’m not just his father, Zero. I’m your mate.”
Zero’s voice shook now, thin and tight. “And that bond has done nothing but burn us both. Maybe… maybe we were never meant to be mates. Maybe the universe got it wrong.”
Kaname looked like he’d been stabbed.
He took a step back. Then another. A deep, shuddering breath left him.
“Then why,” he whispered, voice broken, “does it still feel like I’m losing everything?”
Zero swallowed hard, his throat tight with unshed emotion.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe because… you are.”
They didn’t speak again.
Not for a long time.
Only the echo of their son’s laughter outside filled the stillness—bright, oblivious, untouched by the war between two hearts still bleeding from wounds too old to close.
After a long pause, Zero added quietly, almost to himself:
“Maybe being mates doesn’t mean we have to be lovers. Or married. Maybe we can just be… friends. With history.”
Kaname turned toward him slowly, eyes searching.
“Is that really what you want?”
Zero looked down. “It’s what I can offer right now.”
Zero turned to walk away, hand already brushing the doorframe when—
Kaname started laughing.
Low at first. Then louder. Wild. Unhinged.
“We really are going in circles, Zero.” His voice dripped bitter amusement.
“‘We can be friends,’ isn’t that what you said that night on the rooftop before we consummated our bond?”
He scoffed. A hollow, broken sound.
Zero’s shoulders ststiffened.
Kaname’s voice dropped, darker now. “And the fascinating thing is—my answer’s still the same.”
He spat the word like a curse.
“No.”
The word wasn’t loud.
But it stopped Zero cold.
He turned back slowly.
Kaname stood rigid, hands trembling—not from weakness this time, but from something far more dangerous.
Resolve.
“No,” Kaname said again, firmer now. “I won’t accept that.”
Zero’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I won’t be your friend with history,” Kaname said, voice shaking with emotion. “Not with my soulmate. I won’t accept what you just said—any of it. I won’t live in a future where I’m just a visitor. A guest in my son’s life. A mistake in yours.”
Zero’s jaw clenched. “It’s not about what you accept, Kaname. This is about protecting Isamu.”
Kaname stepped forward, eyes darkening. “And what part of me have I ever not protected?”
“Your plans,” Zero shot back. “Your legacy. You used me. Destroyed my family. And even if you regret it now, it doesn’t erase what you did.”
Kaname didn’t flinch. “I do regret it. Every moment I live without you beside me is punishment enough. But if I had to do a thousand things worse—if it meant you and our son could live—I would.”
Zero’s voice was cold now. “Then let us go.”
“No.”
The room froze around them. Time held its breath.
“I won’t let you go,” Kaname said quietly. “Because we’re mates, Zero. That bond—this pain—it’s not a thing that goes away. Not in a hundred years. Not in ten thousand. If it’s not you... it’s no one.”
Zero’s hand fell from the doorframe. His breath caught.
Kaname’s voice softened, thick with centuries of longing. “I don’t want Yuuki. I don’t want a Council-approved life. I want you.”
Zero looked away.
Kaname stepped closer. Closer than Zero was ready for.
“If the Council threatens our son, they’ll be removed. If any vampire lays claim to what’s mine, I will erase them. I’ve destroyed bloodlines for less.”
Zero stiffened. “That’s not what Isamu needs. He needs peace. Not war.”
“He needs us,” Kaname said, voice cracking. “Whole. Together. Not broken across someone else’s version of safety.”
“You’re talking about burning the world for love, Kaname. That’s not romantic—it’s insane.”
Kaname’s eyes flared. “Is it insane to protect the only thing in existence that’s real to me?”
Zero didn’t answer.
Kaname’s gaze never left him. “I don’t care what the world says. I don’t care if they call our bond unnatural. I won’t chain myself to a lie just to make the Council smile. I will not choose Yuuki. I will not choose politics. I will choose you. Every time.”
Zero’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Even if I say no?”
Kaname faltered—just for a moment. Just long enough for the pain to show.
“If your heart is closed to me forever,” he said quietly, “then I will not force your hand. I meant it when I said I would respect your choices. But you said you love me. And I believe you. And I believe… being apart is more damaging than being together.”
His voice cracked like breaking glass.
“But know this: if anything or anyone dares to come between us again—be it a thousand Yuukis, or a thousand Kentas, or the Council itself—I will remove them.”
Zero stared, chest rising and falling.
“And if I’m the one in the way?” he asked, voice raw.
Kaname’s eyes gentled. “Then I will kneel at your feet. And wait. Until you stop pushing me away.”
Silence bloomed between them.
Not empty. Not quiet.
Sacred.
Shattered.
And full of truths they’d both bled for.
Outside, their son laughed in the snow.
Inside, two hearts broke open all over again.
The frost had crept along the edge of the window, thin and crystalline.
Below, Isamu was still laughing—bundled in snow gear between Kain’s quiet calm and Aido’s dramatic flailing as he attempted to rebuild the snowman for the third time.
The scene outside was peaceful. Even joyful.
But inside—
There was nothing soft in the air between Kaname and Zero now.
Only truth.
And the terrible ache of it.
Kaname’s voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than any blade.
“I gave you the chance to leave.”
Zero didn’t respond. His shoulders were rigid, his mouth drawn into a hard line.
Kaname stepped closer. “I gave you the chance to take our son and start a new life. Away from this estate. Away from me. I let you go once… even though it broke me.”
Zero looked up then, eyes bright with restrained emotion. “You were dying in the snow, Kaname. How the hell could I leave like that?”
“Exactly,” Kaname whispered, and the word thundered between them. “You didn’t.”
Something fragile and fierce cracked beneath the surface of his voice.
“You didn’t because you love me,” he said. “And I let you go because I love you. Even after everything. Even through the hate. Through the silence. Through the years that stole us from each other.”
Zero’s jaw clenched. “That doesn’t mean we can go back.”
“I’m not asking to go back,” Kaname said, his voice shaking now. “I’m asking to go forward. With you.”
Zero looked away, heart slamming against the walls of his chest.
But Kaname wasn’t finished.
“I wanted to die, Zero.” His voice was glass now—sharp, transparent, breaking. “If I couldn’t have you—if I had to keep breathing in a world where your eyes looked at me like I was just a mistake—I didn’t want it.”
Zero’s breath caught.
“But you wouldn’t let me.” Kaname’s eyes burned. “You ran to me. You fed me. You held my life in your hands and gave it back to me—because even when you hate me, you love me.”
He reached out—slowly, cautiously—and touched the sleeve of Zero’s shirt.
“I let you go. Because I thought you were safer without me.”
A sharp breath left Zero’s lungs.
Kaname reached out again, this time bolder. His fingers brushed Zero’s knuckles, warm and gentle.
“But I was wrong,” he said. “Safer doesn’t mean happier. Safer doesn’t mean whole.”
Zero turned his face away—but not before Kaname saw the sheen of tears gathering in his eyes.
“I’ve wanted to repent,” Kaname said, voice cracking, “but not in exile. Not in isolation. I wanted to do it beside you. With you. I’m not asking to be loved the way I once was. I just want the chance to earn the right to stand beside you again.”
Zero didn’t speak. His silence was louder than anything.
“I’m your husband,” Kaname said softly. “Your mate. You may not wear a ring or say the words aloud—but it's still real, still true.”
Zero’s spine straightened like he was ready to walk away—ready to shut the door on all of it.
“There wasn’t a night,” Kaname said, stepping closer still, “not a single night, that I didn’t ache to hold you. To kiss you. To make love to you—not just out of desire, but out of need, Zero. The kind of need that breaks something permanent inside you when it’s denied.”
Zero’s fingers curled slightly at his sides, but he didn’t back away.
Kaname’s eyes—dark, burning—never left him.
“You hunted my dreams,” he whispered. “Every night. Every single one. Your voice. Your scent. Your touch. Waking or sleeping, I reached for you. You were everywhere. And nowhere. All at once.”
He swallowed, voice beginning to tremble again—not from weakness, but from the weight of the years. From longing so deep it had shaped him.
“I saw you in mirrors. In crowds. In the silence between footsteps. ” he said, stepping so close now their breaths brushed together,
"There’s a reason purebloods aren’t meant to be denied their mates for too long. It warps us. Unroots something inside.”
His voice trembled, low and guttural.
“You are my balance, Zero. My axis. Without you… I was unraveling. And the cruelest part was knowing I deserved it. Every second of it.”
Zero’s jaw tensed.
Kaname reached up, slowly, fingers trembling as they hovered just above Zero’s cheek—but didn’t touch. “Didn’t you feel it too? The phantom of my touch? My lips on your skin? My arms around you, like a missing limb? Tell me, Zero… didn’t I haunt you?”
Zero keeps quite and avoided Kaname’s eye's. Which was an answer enough for Kaname.
Kaname let out a slow breath like something inside him was breaking and healing at once. His hand finally touched Zero’s cheek—barely.
“I will not marry Yuuki,” Kaname said firmly. “Because I am already married. I belong to someone. I belong to you.”
Zero blinked. His expression didn’t change—but something in his body shifted, barely.
“I have a son,” he said, voice low, trembling. “A son who doesn’t even know I’m his father. Who loves me anyway—I can feel it. Who reaches for me. And I want… I need… you to be the one to tell him.”
He reached for Zero’s hand—only that—and brought it slowly to his chest.
“I want him to know I didn’t love him in silence. That I’m not just his prince. That I am his blood. His family.”
Zero still couldn’t speak.
Kaname’s hand tightened slightly around his. “You don’t have to forgive me today. Or tomorrow. But I’m not letting you go again. Not when I’ve tasted your blood. Not when I’ve held our child. Not when I know—you still wake up reaching for me.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Holy.
Cut open with years of love, and hate, and things more powerful than either.
Zero didn’t pull away.
He stood there—eyes closed, his hand over Kaname’s heart—unable to move.
His eyes were glassy now, sharp with emotion that was too vast for words, too heavy for silence.
“If you can’t forgive me…” Kaname whispered, “then kill me, Zero. End it. Because I can’t live without you and keep calling it life. Either let me try to love you right this time—or be done with me.”
Zero’s breath hitched audibly.
Kaname’s face was stark with raw, aching sincerity. “You’ve always had that power. You always will. So do it. If that’s all I deserve.”
Zero’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening. “Don’t say that.”
Kaname’s voice cracked. “Zero. I was wrong. About everything. About Yuuki. About fate. I thought I knew what destiny meant. I thought she was my purpose. I was a fool.”
He took a trembling step closer. “You—you were always the one. The real bond. My first thought in the morning and the last ache before I sleep. You're the one I love before my own life. Before duty. Before legacy. You're not a mistake in my story—you are the story.”
Zero closed his eyes, jaw tight, shaking his head slowly.
“Stop,” he murmured. “Just… stop. My heart—Kaname, I can’t hear this without wanting to believe you. Without needing to believe you.”
Kaname’s voice dropped lower, reverent and ruined. “Then believe me. Please.”
Zero didn’t speak—but his hands were shaking now, clenched into fists like he was holding himself together through sheer will.
“I haven’t thought of marrying Yuuki,” Kaname went on, softer, but firmer. “Not since I knew. Not since the bond pulled me to you like gravity. I haven’t thought of loving anyone else—not for a moment. Not in the long, aching years we were apart.”
He moved forward again, slow but deliberate, closing the last of the space between them.
“If you love me, and I love you,” Kaname said, “then why must we keep choosing suffering? Why must we live apart when everything in us begs to be whole?”
Zero opened his eyes, and they burned.
“Because people died,” he said hoarsely. “Because I lost everything while you played god. Because I spent years rebuilding myself from the ground up. Because even when I wanted to hate you—this damn bond wouldn’t let me.”
Kaname’s lips parted—but Zero wasn’t done.
“You think I didn’t feel it?” Zero asked, voice breaking now. “Every time you bled. Every time you cried out in the dark? I felt it. I knew you were hurting. I knew you wanted to die. And it nearly killed me not to run back.”
Kaname’s face crumpled, his pride gone, his knees threatening to follow.
“I know my part in your parents’ death,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I know what I destroyed. And you’re right—I didn’t care who got hurt when I was focused on Rido. All I saw was Yuuki. I was a weapon, not a man. I didn’t know what I was throwing away.”
He swallowed, shaking. “I haven’t breathed a full, guiltless breath since I realized what I did. Since I understood that the mate the universe gave me—the one thing that was mine to cherish—was the one I hurt the most.”
Silence fell.
Their bond throbbed in the stillness between them, not pulling, not burning—but aching. Old, deep, eternal.
Zero stepped forward—just one small, quiet step—and Kaname’s breath caught.
Zero’s voice was low, shaken, full of everything he didn’t want to say but couldn’t stop from pouring out.
“I’m tired, Kaname.”
“I know.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“…But I still love you.”
Kaname’s eyes filled, his hands trembling again—but this time, he didn’t reach. He waited.
“I want to believe you,” Zero whispered, “but I need more than words.”
Kaname met his eyes, steady now. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving them.”
Their bond pulsed—warm, gentle. No longer a chain.
But a heartbeat.
Shared.
And for the first time… not in war, or in desperation—
But in hope—
Zero didn’t walk away.
Question who do I pair, Takuma with? And Kain and Aido.
Chapter Text
After lunch, the estate fell into a warm hush.
The fireplace crackled steadily in the next room, low embers glowing like watchful eyes. The clink of cutlery had faded, replaced by laughter echoing faintly from one of the farther halls—Isamu and Aido dragging a grumbling Kain and an overly enthusiastic Takuma into a “very serious” game of hide and seek.
But at the head of the long dining table, Kaname hadn’t touched his food.
Zero noticed. He always did.
He approached without ceremony, arms folded across his chest, his voice low and steady—but firm. “You’re not eating.”
Kaname didn’t look up right away. His eyes remained on the untouched plate in front of him, the silver fork lying forgotten at the edge.
“I’m not hungry,” he murmured.
Zero’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the point. You need to feed. Properly. No more starving yourself.” He hesitated, his voice tightening. “And no more fainting in the snow.”
That last part came out sharper than intended—more memory than reprimand. The image of Kaname collapsed in the snow, white against white, haunted him more than he liked to admit.
At last, Kaname lifted his gaze. There was no arrogance in his expression—just exhaustion. And beneath that, something quieter. Sadder.
“Everything’s tasted like ash,” he said softly. “Since you left.”
Zero stilled.
Kaname’s voice dropped further, fragile now, almost breaking. “Even blood,” he admitted. “Especially blood.”
Silence bloomed between them like frost in still air.
Then, more to the table than to Zero, Kaname added, “Except… the soup you made me.”
Zero blinked. “The one Isamu asked for?”
Kaname gave the faintest nod. “It tasted… real. Warm. Like something alive.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Zero’s again, steady this time. “Like you.”
Zero’s breath caught. Heat crept into his face before he could stop it. He turned away, flustered, exposed.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he pivoted on his heel and headed toward the kitchen.
Behind him, Kaname blinked. “Zero—?”
“I’m making you something to eat,” Zero said gruffly, already opening drawers, his hands moving with quiet purpose.
“But—”
“Sit. There. Be quiet.”
Kaname watched him, lips parting in soft surprise—then curving, slowly, into something between amusement and complete adoration.
He obeyed.
Ten minutes later, Zero returned with a tray and set it down carefully in front of him.
A simple bowl of rice porridge sat at the center, nestled in a clear, lightly seasoned broth. Steam curled upward in soft, inviting spirals. Fresh herbs floated across the surface—chopped green onion, a hint of ginger, and a dash of yuzu zest. The scent was delicate. Comforting.
Zero pulled out the chair beside him and sat down without ceremony. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were anything but.
“Finish every bite.”
Kaname looked from the bowl to Zero, then back again.
And then, he smiled.
Not the regal, composed smile he wore in public. Not the polite mask he gave the Night Class.
But something smaller. Unshielded.
Real.
“Of course,” he murmured, picking up the spoon.
“How could I possibly deny my mate’s command?” he added gently.
Zero made a face. “Don’t start with that mate stuff again.”
“But it’s true,” Kaname replied, tilting his head slightly, lips quirking. “You’re very commanding when you’re worried. I find it endearing.”
“Doesn’t mean you get to use it as an excuse to flirt every five minutes.”
Kaname’s smile deepened, and he stirred the porridge gently. “I haven’t even started.”
Zero rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. He didn’t argue.
He just sat there, arms still folded, gaze fixed on Kaname like a silent sentinel.
Kaname ate slowly, each mouthful measured, reverent. As if the food might disappear if he rushed. As if it were the first real thing he’d tasted in months.
The fire crackled in the distance. Laughter rang faintly down the halls. And in the quiet of that dining room, something settled between them—tentative, warm, unspoken. Healing.
Zero didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
But as he watched the tension ease from Kaname’s shoulders, something in Zero’s own chest loosened too.
Not completely.
But enough.
The warmth from the hearth crept along the wooden floorboards. Outside, the wind rattled gently against the windows, a whisper of winter still lingering in the air. Inside, the house felt full—for once, not with ghosts, but with laughter and life.
From somewhere down the hall came the unmistakable echo of raised voices:
“I’m telling you, he’s in the library!” Aido shouted, exasperated.
“No, he’s under the stairs again!” Takuma countered, equally indignant.
Then—clear as a bell—a delighted squeal from Isamu rang out, pure and triumphant.
Kaname’s gaze flicked toward the sound, something soft flickering in his expression, like a lantern catching flame.
“They’re really playing,” he said quietly, almost in disbelief.
Zero huffed a faint laugh, arms folded across his chest again as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “Of course they are. They never say no to him. He’s got them wrapped around all ten fingers.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with a tired smile. “First it was just Aido. Now it’s Takuma, and even Kain. And Takuma’s worse than Aido—he tried to sneak him candy floss at breakfast. Said he wanted to ‘train his palate.’” He rolled his eyes.
Kaname laughed—genuine and soft. A sound Zero hadn’t heard in so long it made his throat tighten.
“Aido’s good to him,” Kaname said, the amusement giving way to something more reflective. “I never thought you two would be more than… hostile acquaintances. But now… you call him family. And he acts like it.”
Zero’s expression sobered. He nodded, gaze dropping to the tabletop. “Yeah. I owe him more than I ever thought I would.”
There was a pause—quiet, but weighted.
“Without Aido…” Zero hesitated, then let the truth come. “I doubt I would’ve made it through. Not the way I did.”
Kaname set his spoon down gently, deliberately, and turned to face him fully. The firelight caught in his eyes, turning them to something deep and vulnerable.
“I don’t want to miss this,” he said softly. “Not anymore. I want to be present in your life, Zero. Always.”
Zero looked up sharply, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice. His instinct was to deflect—but before he could speak, Kaname reached across the table and took his hand.
No hesitation. No fear.
Zero blinked, startled. But… he didn’t pull away.
Kaname’s fingers curled around his, warm and certain. He lifted their joined hands, pressed a kiss to Zero’s knuckles, then turned his palm and placed it gently over his own chest—right above his heart.
“Feel it?” Kaname whispered.
Zero stilled.
Beneath his palm, the rhythm was steady. Strong. Alive.
“It only beats right when you’re near,” Kaname said, voice thick with emotion.
Zero’s breath hitched.
And when he met Kaname’s gaze again, there were no walls left.
No barbed words. No brittle defenses. No pride to shield the ache beneath.
Only hunger. Only ache. Only— Love.
Kaname leaned in first, brushing a soft kiss to Zero’s forehead.
Then to the edge of his cheek.
The corner of his mouth.
The line of his jaw.
Each one slow. Deliberate. Like a man carefully kissing the broken pieces of something holy—something he’d once shattered with his own hands and now dared to hope he could mend.
And then—
He kissed Zero’s lips.
It wasn’t careful. It was fierce. Desperate.
A breaking-open. A surrender. A letting-go of years of silence, pain, and longing.
Zero kissed him back. He did so after hesitating for a bit. He didn’t know if he was allowed to have this.
It wasn’t forgiveness. But longing.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless and flushed, Kaname cupped Zero’s face with trembling hands. His thumb brushed gently beneath one eye, reverent.
“Will you stay tonight?” he asked, voice low. “With me?”
Zero’s breath caught again. He looked away, flustered, mouth twitching toward something between a smile and a protest.
But before he could answer—
“Papa!”
They jolted like guilty teenagers caught behind the school building.
Isamu stood in the doorway, holding Aido’s hand, his hair slightly tousled from running, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity.
He blinked at them. “You and Sad Prince have to hide! We’re playing!”
Zero coughed into his hand. “Right. Hide. Got it.”
Kaname, ever the composed noble, straightened his collar with dignity—though the faint color on his cheeks betrayed him. Mischief danced in his eyes.
“Where do we hide?” he asked, voice full of faux solemnity.
“Only on the first floor!” Isamu declared, very official, like a tiny king issuing orders.
“Understood,” Kaname said with a bow. “We shall obey.”
With the rules decreed, Zero gave one last glance at Kaname—who looked back with the barest, fondest smile—and slipped down the hallway.
He ducked into one of the unused guest rooms
He opened a tall wardrobe, muttered under his breath,
“Let’s just get this over with,”
and stepped inside—
closing the door quietly behind him.
And behind the door, in that stillness, his lips still tingling—
Zero could feel it. The bond. Not tugging. Not breaking. But settling.
Like the hush after a storm.
Like something heavy had finally stopped fighting gravity.
Zero leaned back against the wood-paneled interior of the wardrobe, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t believe how many times since yesterday he’d let Kaname kiss him. Had kissed him back.
Is this what near-death does to you? he thought bitterly. Breaks down the walls you thought would stand forever?
But the truth was, the cracks had always been there.
He had tried so hard to stay angry. To hold the pain like armor. But now that Kaname was warm again—real again—he couldn’t stop remembering that love had never been far from hate. That his fury had always lived beside longing.
What he hated most… was himself.
Because even when Kaname had broken him, he could never hate him completely.
He shifted his weight, adjusting his footing between the hem of a forgotten coat and a box of mothballs—
And that’s when Kaname slid in after him, smooth as shadow.
Zero turned with a hiss. “There’s not enough space. Go find another—”
“There’s plenty of space,” Kaname murmured, stepping forward until there was none. Heat radiated between them. The air turned thick—too warm, too close, too charged.
Zero narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about it—”
But Kaname was already moving, fingers curling around the back of Zero’s neck, firm but gentle, tilting his head just so. “Thinking’s long gone.”
His breath ghosted across Zero’s lips.
“Let me feel my mate,” he whispered. “My soul has been starved far longer than you realize.”
And then—he kissed him.
Slow. Deep. Possessive. Like he was reclaiming breath itself.
Zero’s breath hitched
A sound slipped out of him, unguarded. Soft. Wrecked. Real.
A moan.
Low and damning.
And then Kaname’s lips moved—along his jaw. A kiss beneath the ear. A nip that made Zero flinch and swear under his breath.
“Kaname,” he growled. A warning. Sharp.
But his hands didn’t push him away.
They gripped his shoulders.
Another kiss. This one to his collarbone.
“…fuck,” Zero muttered under his breath.
A third, right at the curve of his neck.
Zero shoved at his chest—not hard. Just enough. “Kaname.”
“Mm?” Kaname murmured against his skin, utterly unrepentant.
“You might want to keep it quiet,” he added with a lazy grin, nipping again—this time at Zero’s bottom lip. “Isamu’s looking for us.”
“Clingy leech,” Zero hissed.
Kaname only bit his bottom lip in response—this time a little harder.
Zero gasped—just for a second. Kaname—opportunist that he was—captured Zero’s again in an open-mouthed kiss, tongue slipping in.
Zero’s knees buckled slightly. Heat flooded his skin. And Kaname pressed him back, caging him with his body, like nothing else mattered in the world.
And that’s when the door creaked open.
They froze like startled prey.
Takuma peeked in, his expression shifting from innocent curiosity to full theatrical horror in under a second.
“Oh.”
There was a pause. A beat.
“…OH.”
Kaname didn’t move.
Zero didn’t breathe.
Takuma blinked. “This is not how you play hide and seek.”
Zero groaned into Kaname’s shoulder. “Kill me.”
“Oh no, no, please. Don’t let me interrupt,” Takuma said, stepping fully into the room like a man taking the stage.
He gestured vaguely to the half-open wardrobe. “I mean, this is very… avant-garde. Closet-based ambush strategy? Or are we redefining ‘hide and seek’ as something more *steamy secret romance thriller’?”
Kaname, still calm, still maddeningly composed, met his gaze without flinching. “There was limited space.”
Takuma nodded, completely deadpan. “Naturally. And the only reasonable course of action was to press Zero into a coat rack and kiss the life out of him. For tactical reasons.”
Zero was visibly dying inside. “He kissed me. I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
Takuma held up both hands. “No judgment! Really. I’m just the guy trying to keep your toddler from discovering you two reenacting vampire courtship rituals in the guest room closet. Which, by the way, is now something I can never unsee.”
Kaname, cool as ever, merely shifted his stance—tucking Zero slightly behind him as though shielding him from embarrassment. Which, somehow, only made it worse.
“I mean,” Takuma went on, voice bright with unrestrained glee, “you could’ve waited until after the child-led espionage game. But who am I to ruin fate’s timing?”
“Get out,” Zero muttered, face buried in one hand.
Takuma grinned as he backed toward the door. “You’re lucky it was me and not Isamu. Explaining why his papa and Sad Prince were hug-fighting in Narnia would’ve been a story for the ages.”
Zero made a strangled, dying noise.
Kaname, in front of him, was smiling. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… content. Soft.
Takuma smirked as he backed toward the door. “Carry on. I’ll delay the search party. Five minutes—no more. After that, your son’s declaring war.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Zero slowly turned to Kaname, glare sharp and burning. “This. Is. Your. Fault.”
Kaname had the audacity to look innocent. “I was improvising.”
“You bit me,” Zero hissed.
Kaname brushed gentle fingers across the mark just below Zero’s ear, his eyes dark and pleased. “You let me.”
Zero glared harder, jaw tense.
But despite everything—despite the wardrobe, the toddler army, and Takuma’s smugness—he didn’t deny it.
Zero leaned back against the inside wall of the wardrobe with a long groan. “Why am I even surprised?”
Kaname licked his bottom lip slowly, unapologetically. “Because part of you hoped we were past being caught in closets?”
Zero shot him a dry look. “You’re a menace.”
Kaname stepped closer again—close, but not touching. Not yet. “You didn’t say, ‘Don’t kiss me.’”
“I didn’t get the chance.”
“You moaned.”
“I was ambushed.”
Kaname’s mouth curved. “And yet... you kissed me back.”
Zero looked away, breath shaky now. “Shut up.”
“I could,” Kaname whispered, leaning in again. “But you taste better when you’re talking.”
Zero slapped a hand over Kaname’s mouth. “You’re done. We’re done. You ruined hide and seek.”
“Paapaa.”
Footsteps came thundering down the hall—little ones. Uncoordinated. Eager.
“Nope. Not in here,” Isamu muttered to himself as he passed the first door.
"Taku-Chan said you're in a closet!
Zero stared at Kaname in horror.
“Paaaapaaa!”
His voice rang like a bell down the corridor. “You in here!”
Inside the guest room, Kaname gave Zero one last look—quiet, warm, and fiercely certain—before opening the wardrobe door just as Isamu skidded into the room, socks slipping on the polished floor.
He stopped in the doorway, wide-eyed and breathless from running.
Zero stepped out behind Kaname, straightening his collar, fixing his shirt, doing everything possible to look like he hadn’t just been kissed stupid inside a closet.
Isamu’s eyes lit up. “Found you!” he cried, triumphant, bunny plush swinging wildly in one hand like a victorious banner.
“Looks like you win again,” Zero said, crouching briefly to brush imaginary dust off the boy’s sweater and steady him by the shoulders.
“Yayy! I wiiinn!” Isamu announced with great ceremony. “Sad Prince isn’t very good at hiding.”
Kaname crouched down to meet him, smiling. “Maybe I wanted to be found.”
Isamu blinked, as if that possibility had never occurred to him, then grinned so wide it crinkled his nose. “Then you definitely lose.”
Kaname laughed. Soft. Unrestrained. Real.
Zero’s eyes lingered. He couldn’t help it.
There had been years—too many years—where that sound had only lived in memory. Now it was here. Alive. And laughing with his son.
Isamu reached forward and grabbed Kaname’s hand, tugging with all the insistence only a toddler could muster. “Come on! We’re hiding next! Me and Bunny and you. Papa counts!”
Kaname glanced back toward Zero with a lifted brow. “Can you be trusted to count fairly?”
Zero crossed his arms, playing along. “Can you be trusted not to cheat?”
“No cheating!” Isamu giggled, dragging Kaname out of the room with bunny flopping behind them. “Or Bunny and I will bite! We have very sharp fangs.”
Kaname looked properly concerned. “Noted. I will behave.”
Zero followed slowly, hands in his pockets, watching them ahead of him—Isamu pulling Kaname through the hall like a tethered star, bounding from rug to rug, narrating their next hiding plan with solemn purpose.
Kaname didn’t resist.
His expression was lighter than Zero had seen in years. Maybe since before everything. Before war. Before grief. Before silence and sacrifice.
And in that moment, watching the two of them together, Zero thought—
Maybe this was what healing looked like.
Not dramatic. Not loud. Just footsteps in the hallway. A boy and his Bunny.
They played for hours—long after lunch, long after the sun dipped low behind the snow-draped trees and the golden light began to fade into violet dusk. Footsteps thudded up and down polished corridors. Blankets became capes. Closets became castles. The world narrowed to laughter, the occasional crash, and shrieking declarations of victory.
Eventually, the inevitable came.
“You,” Zero said, voice flat, “little menace, need a bath.”
He intercepted Isamu mid-run, sweeping him into the air. The boy squealed, limbs flailing, laughter bubbling from his chest.
“Im not dirty!” Isamu protested, squirming half-heartedly. “I’m sparkly! Like snow!”
“You smell like wet socks and mischief,” Zero muttered, nose wrinkling. “That’s not sparkly.”
Kaname, standing nearby with sleeves rolled and hair slightly mussed from play, smiled faintly. “You could have the maid draw a bath,” he offered. “They’re trained. They can even help wash him—”
“No.”
The answer came fast. Sharp. Final.
Kaname blinked, startled by the intensity.
Zero didn’t raise his voice, but something in the set of his jaw—his spine, his arms wrapped around Isamu’s body like armor—made the refusal resonate.
“He’s my child,” Zero said quietly, but with steel. “I’m not letting others raise him.”
Kaname’s expression shifted. The lightness faded. He took a breath.
“You’re doing so much on your own,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I only meant to help. I… I don’t know how to do the things you do for him. I wish I did. I wish I could.”
His voice trailed into a sigh, heavy. Regretful.
“I missed so much. I wish I hadn’t.”
Zero glanced down.
Isamu was blinking up at him, eyes heavy with sleep now, little arms looped around Zero’s neck. His head nestled beneath Zero’s chin like it belonged there—and it did. It always had.
Zero’s voice came out quieter. Tighter.
“Are you accusing me of keeping Isamu from you?”
There was pain in the question—unpolished and sudden. “Are you saying I made you miss out?”
Kaname’s heart cracked a little at the sound of it.
“No,” he said immediately, his voice thick. “No, Zero. I’m not blaming you. I would never. I blame myself. Always. I just…”
He looked at them—at the way Isamu curled into Zero like he was home.
“I wish I had been there. From the beginning. Watching you with him—it’s beautiful. But it’s also… it’s heartbreaking.”
Zero’s jaw tightened.
“I know how your kind raise children,” he said, his voice brittle. “Cold hands. Distant eyes. Wet nurses. Nannies. Bloodlines and obedience. I didn’t want that for him.”
He took a slow breath, steadying the shake in his own chest.
“I gave him something different. Something real. I didn’t hire anyone to feed him. Or change him. Or rock him when he cried for hours in the middle of the night.”
He shifted Isamu in his arms, brushing hair from his forehead with the lightest touch.
“I did all of it. Myself. Every sleepless night. Every fever. Every tantrum. Because he’s mine.”
There was a pause.
Then, Kaname whispered, soft as snowfall: “Ours.”
Zero said nothing. Couldn’t.
Because it was true. And truth always hurt, even when it healed.
Kaname followed in silence as Zero carried Isamu down the hall, into the warm, tiled bathroom. Steam drifted in lazy ribbons above a half-filled tub, the scent of lavender rising with the warmth.
Zero knelt beside the tub like it was sacred.
“Okay, arms up. Shirt first,” he said gently, working the wriggling shirt off with practiced ease. “That’s it. One arm. The other. Good.”
Isamu yawned. “Bunny doesn’t take baths.”
“Bunny doesn’t get mayonnaise in his ears,” Zero replied, holding back a smile as he tugged off one sock. “Bunny is not the one who was running around all day.”
Kaname stood quietly in the doorway, watching.
Zero’s touch was efficient, but gentle. His hands knew every motion. Every curve. Every scar. He guided Isamu into the tub with a protectiveness that bordered on reverence.
“Don’t splash. This is a bath, not a koi pond.”
Isamu giggled and immediately splashed anyway. A wave of water sloshed dangerously close to the edge.
“Isamu.”
“Sorry, Papa,” he whispered, not sorry at all.
“Right arm. No, that’s your left.” Zero’s voice had taken on that calm, instructional rhythm only parents knew. “Close your eyes. You got shampoo in them last time and acted like I poisoned you.”
“I screamed so loud,” Isamu said proudly.
“I remember,” Zero muttered, drizzling shampoo into his hair. “The neighbors remember.”
Kaname stepped closer.
And his heart twisted—not from guilt. Not this time.
From awe.
Zero didn’t even realize how soft he was. His hands were sure, his eyes watchful. He moved with the effortless grace of someone who had been this boy’s world for years. Fierce in his tenderness. Protective in a way that went beyond instinct.
Motherly. Not in gender—but in soul.
In the quiet message that radiated from every gesture: I carried you. I fed you. I stayed when no one else did. I held you when the screaming wouldn’t stop. I didn’t give you away. I didn’t look away. And I never, ever will.
Kaname stepped in slowly.
“I’m not saying you were wrong to raise him this way,” he said, voice low. Careful. “But… didn’t I deserve a place in his life? If I had known—he wouldn’t have needed fake imprints. Or suffered hunger. You wouldn’t have to do it all alone.”
Zero stilled. His hands paused in Isamu’s hair.
He didn’t respond. But Kaname saw it—the tremble.
Tiny. Almost invisible. But there. Not weakness.
The echo of years spent fighting alone. Nights with no relief. The weight of love carried on one back.
Zero rinsed Isamu’s hair gently, cupping water with his hand to avoid stinging his eyes.
Kaname knelt beside him.
“Let me help,” he said quietly.
Zero glanced sideways.
“Not because I am yours.” Kaname added. “But because he’s ours. And because I want to be the kind of parent you can lean on. If you’ll let me.”
There was silence.
Then Zero reached for the washcloth and held it out.
Not a word passed between them. But Kaname took it.
Later that evening, the manor glowed with the kind of warmth that only comes after a storm has passed and the hearth has been rebuilt.
In the drawing room, Kain and Aido sat cross-legged on the rug, surrounded by scattered storybooks, crayon drawings, and a small battalion of stuffed animals that had been enlisted into the great battle against bedtime.
Isamu sat in the middle of it all, blinking slowly, stubbornly upright despite the way his head kept listing to the side like a flower too heavy for its stem.
“I am not sleepy,” he mumbled, hugging Bunny to his chest with fierce, fading strength.
“You just yawned so hard your soul tried to escape,” Aido said dryly, adjusting a pillow behind the boy’s back.
Isamu blinked up at him. “That’s not true.”
Kain chuckled from across the rug, holding up a toy soldier. “He’s going down.”
“No,” Isamu insisted, though the word sounded more like a sigh than a protest. “I have to play now. I have people now. Papa always said I had to rest ‘cause I’d get sick. But I have Sad Prince. And Big Kain. And Taku-chan. And Bunny. And Uncle Hana. I have all the people. I can play forever.”
Aido reached out and smoothed Isamu’s hair with a gentleness that betrayed his usual theatrical flair. “You’ll still have us in the morning, you know. We’re not going anywhere.”
“But morning is far,” Isamu whispered, and then yawned mid-sentence.
“Caught you,” Kain said smugly.
Aido shot him a glare. “Don't break his spirit. He’s in denial. It’s the only thing keeping him upright.”
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Zero rolled up his sleeves.
The staff turned at once.
“Master Zero—please, allow us—”
“No, that’s okay,” Zero said without looking up, already reaching for the chopping board. “And just call me Zero. I’m no master. No lord. Just... me.”
The head cook hesitated. “We can prepare whatever you need—”
Zero cut him off, gentle but firm. “You can handle the rest of dinner. I just need this one plate. For Kaname.”
The name landed like a pebble in still water.
The kitchen paused. The servants exchanged glances.
But no one spoke again.
The ingredients had already been laid out: carefully portioned chicken breast, peeled root vegetables, fresh herbs washed and waiting.
Zero worked in silence, sleeves pushed to his elbows, fingers moving with calm precision. He diced, seasoned, seared. The room filled with the rich scent of rosemary and garlic, golden broth, something warm and human and real. The kitchen, usually full of clatter and bustle, hushed around him like a cathedral.
When dinner was served, the staff moved with quiet efficiency.
Plates were set at the long dining table. Silverware gleamed. Crystal glasses caught the firelight. But one plate was different—smaller, humbler, arranged with unusual care.
Kaname’s.
It was placed at the head of the table, its contents warm and fragrant. Isamu sat to his right, in his usual seat with his bear-shaped plate and a cup with a lid. Zero took the seat beside the boy, already cutting vegetables into bite-sized pieces, feeding him between quiet words and soft touches to his back.
No one said anything at first.
But everyone noticed. Kaname was eating.
Not because he was expected to. Not out of obligation.
He was eating because it mattered.
And—most startling of all—he reached for a blood tablet, dropped it onto a glass of water and drank it down with calm deliberation.
The table collectively blinked.
Aido rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t hallucinate that, right?”
Seiren stared, unmoving. Even her usual expressionless calm faltered.
Takuma choked on his wine. “What—what was that?”
Across the table, Kaname caught Zero’s raised eyebrow. His lips quirked upward into a faint smirk, amused, unrepentant.
“Well,” Kaname said smoothly, “my mate lost too much blood recently. He’ll need to feed properly soon. I’ll need my strength for that.”
Zero sputtered into his water, nearly dropping his fork. “Don’t say things like that in front of—”
He looked to his left. Isamu was entirely absorbed in an elaborate mission involving a single pea balanced precariously atop a mountain of mashed potatoes.
Zero sighed. “Never mind.”
Kain reached for the wine again. “I’m going to need another glass.”
Kaname turned his gaze to Zero once more. His voice, this time, was soft. Honest.
“Thank you. For making my dinner.”
Zero, despite himself, smiled. Just a little. Just enough.
From across the table, Takuma leaned toward Aido, grinning. “So that’s why he’s eating like a civilized person. Our dear Zero cooked for him.”
Aido gasped dramatically. “Zero… caring for a pureblood that isn’t Isamu? Scandalous.”
Kaname ignored them completely. His gaze never left Zero.
He watched the way Zero gently wiped syrup from Isamu’s chin with a napkin, the way his hand lingered a moment too long—not just protective, but intimate. Loving.
their son laughed at something Takuma whispered to Bunny, as if the world had always been like this.
Warm.
Whole.
As if it had always been filled with laughter and light and chicken dinners cooked by the hands of someone who used to pretend he didn’t care.
And now—he did.
So much it showed in everything he did. Even in a single plate of food.
After dinner, the estate settled into a hush—the kind that only follows full bellies, tired limbs, and hours of laughter. Plates had been cleared, silver polished and stowed.
The clink of glass had faded to memory, and wine glimmered dully in the firelight. In the great hall, the hearth burned low and steady, its warmth stretching into quiet corners of the house like a soft breath.
Kaname had retreated to his study, though the heavy double doors remained slightly ajar. Inside, he stood near the fire with Takuma, their voices low and deliberate.
The mahogany desk between them was buried in documents—sealed scrolls, cracked bindings, and fresh parchment penned in Kaname’s elegant, measured hand. Takuma pointed at something with a silver pen, brow furrowed with unusual gravity.
On his way through the corridor—after helping Isamu brush his teeth and rescuing Bunny from a toothbrush ambush—Zero paused. Just long enough to see them framed in the study’s firelight. Kaname stood still, a hand braced against his jaw, Takuma whispering something that made him nod, slow and grim.
Council business, Zero thought with a quiet frown. It could wait.
Meanwhile, Isamu—still warm from dinner, cheeks pink with the tail end of excitement—was clearly losing his battle with consciousness.
His steps slowed, feet dragging across the carpet, little hands rubbing at his eyes with clumsy stubbornness. His shoulders slumped like a wilting flower, breaths turning slow and uneven.
Zero appeared beside him before the inevitable stumble, lifting him in one fluid motion.
“I’m not sleepy,” Isamu mumbled into his shoulder, voice already soft around the edges.
“Oh really?” Zero murmured, adjusting his grip as the boy burrowed deeper into his chest. “Then I guess I’m just carrying you for fun.”
“I’m wide awake,” Isamu insisted. His voice was muffled by the collar of Zero’s shirt.
“Of course you are,” Zero said dryly, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step deliberate, careful. One arm cradled beneath Isamu’s legs, the other wrapped protectively across his back, fingers resting at the nape of his neck. Zero’s palm lingered there—gentle, grounding—like a lullaby without a sound.
As he turned the corner at the top of the stairs, he nearly collided with Kaname.
Kaname caught his elbow without thinking, steadying him with a hand. His eyes softened the moment he saw what Zero carried.
“He’s out already?” he asked, voice low.
Zero shifted Isamu slightly. “He claims he’s not sleepy.”
A sleepy eye cracked open, blinking at Kaname. “Sad Prince… I don’t wanna sleep yet…”
Kaname stepped closer and crouched slightly, meeting Isamu at eye level. “Of course not. Sleep is for mere mortals. Not for warriors who battle dragons after dessert.”
Zero sighed. “You’re really not helping.”
Kaname’s mouth twitched. “May I help put him down?”
Zero hesitated.
Then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
The guest room was quiet now, washed in the low flicker of firelight and the gentle glow from a bedside lamp. The walls were painted in shadow. The scent of lavender clung to the pillows.
Zero knelt by the bed and laid Isamu down with reverence, as though setting down something sacred and impossibly fragile. The boy groaned in sleepy protest, kicking once beneath the blanket.
“Nooo… No bed… No sleepy time…”
Zero sat at the edge, tugging the blankets back, then up over Isamu’s chest in one smooth, practiced motion.
He tucked the corners in gently, guiding the boy beneath the quilt with one hand while brushing hair from his eyes with the other.
“Little bird,” he murmured, voice all hush and velvet, “you need rest. Your kingdom will still be here when you wake up.”
On the other side of the bed, Kaname crouched as well, his movements slower, less rehearsed—but careful. He reached forward, fingertips barely brushing the boy’s hair back from his forehead. The touch was light. Reverent.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Just close your eyes for a minute. I’ll keep you safe.”
Isamu blinked again, resisting. But when Kaname leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his brow, his lashes fluttered… then finally fell.
And then—quietly, gently—Kaname released his aura.
It wasn’t overwhelming. There was no surge of power or pressure. Just… peace.
Warmth radiated through the room, subtle and soft. A calm that sank into the walls, the bedsheets, the bones. It wrapped around Isamu like lullaby and safety and breath.
Isamu stilled.
His limbs relaxed. His breathing deepened. His tiny hand reached in the dark and found Zero’s sleeve, clinging loosely, fingers curled like they always did when he fell asleep. Holding on. Trusting.
Then, at last, he slept. Fully. Deeply.
Zero blinked, exhaling slowly. “...That was almost unfair.”
Kaname stood and reached across, tucking the edge of the blanket closer beneath Isamu’s chin. His voice was soft with wonder. “Does he fight it every night?”
“Not always.” Zero kept his gaze on the boy, brushing his knuckles gently across a flushed cheek. “But since he got here… he doesn’t want to sleep. He wants to live. I think he’s afraid if he closes his eyes, he’ll wake up weak again.”
He swallowed, the next words quieter. “He’s afraid it won’t last.”
Kaname was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.
“He’s like you,” he said finally. “Stubborn to the end.”
Zero huffed a tired laugh. “He doesn’t get it from me.”
Kaname raised an eyebrow. “He absolutely does.”
Zero didn’t respond to that. Just reached down and gently unhooked Isamu’s fingers from his shirt.
Kaname straightened. His voice was soft, but clear. “Shall we?”
Zero looked up. “Shall we what?”
Kaname’s smile touched the corners of his eyes. “Go.”
“…Go where?”
“To our room.”
Zero flushed immediately. “That’s not—I didn’t say—”
“I asked you this afternoon,” Kaname said evenly, “if you would sleep in our room tonight.”
“I said no,” Zero muttered, folding his arms.
“You blushed and looked away,” Kaname pointed out. “That’s not a no. That’s evasive body language.”
Zero stared at him flatly. “Don’t play games, Kaname.”
Kaname took a slow step forward. Not pushing. Not imposing. Just… there.
Kaname took a slow step forward—deliberate, but never crossing the line. “I’m not playing anything. I’m simply asking. Again.”
There was a silence. The hearth crackled behind them.
“Unless,” Kaname continued, his voice dipping lower, “you plan to stay here. Watching me from across the hall. Just in case I faint again.”
Zero scoffed. “Dramatic, much?”
“It happened yesterday,” Kaname said, all humor fading. “Forgive me for thinking my mate might care if I collapsed again.”
Zero looked down at Isamu—soft, safe, asleep. Then up again at the man he’d spent a lifetime loving and hurting in equal measure.
“…Fine,” he muttered, ears still burning. “But I’m not staying forever.”
Kaname smiled faintly. “One night at a time.”
"I’m sleeping on the left side.” Zero said.
Kaname’s smile was immediate. Not smug—just… full. “I would never dare take the left.”
“Good.”
“Also,” Kaname added as they walked together down the hall, “I promise not to faint tonight.”
Zero arched a brow. “You better not.”
Kaname chuckled, low and soft.
They left the room together, slow and quiet. Zero shut the door gently behind him, casting one last glance back at the sleeping child.
Kaname waited for him—no smugness. No arrogance.
Only patience.
Kaname’s chambers were warm, lit with low golden lamps and the soft scent of cedarwood curling through the air. The bed was already turned down—dark sheets smooth, pillows fluffed.
Zero stood awkwardly near the door at first, arms crossed.
“Just get in,” Kaname said gently. “I’ll shower and join you.”
Zero muttered something under his breath but complied, toeing off his shoe and slipping under the covers. The mattress was firmer than his usual, but the blankets were thick and warm, and Kaname’s scent lingered faintly on them—clean, cold, like snow over deep earth.
He didn’t admit to himself how comforting that was.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The soft sound of running water from the adjoining bathroom was the only thing keeping Zero from being completely alone with the thrum of his own thoughts.
Sleeping next to Kaname last night had been one thing.
Kaname had been unconscious. Dying, practically. Zero hadn’t thought. He’d acted. On instinct. On bond. On pain.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, Kaname was awake. Whole. Present.
And he wasn’t hiding what he wanted.
Not from Zero. Not from himself. Not from anyone.
Not after what happened in that closet.
Zero’s fingers brushed his bottom lip, as if the memory still lingered there. The kiss—no, kisses. Plural. Deep. Slow. The kind that branded you. That haunted.
Not just lips—but teeth. Tongue. Throat.
And the way Kaname had murmured “You might want to keep it quiet…” against his skin like he was barely holding himself back.
Zero exhaled shakily.
It was too much.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.
His eyes stung.
Four years.
Four years since he’d walked out of Kaname’s life.
Four years of trying to forget. To hate. To survive.
Four years since he’d fled with nothing but rage, grief, and a secret growing inside him—one even he hadn’t known was there.
And Kaname hadn’t followed.
Not because he hadn’t wanted to.
But because of what Zero had said.
Because of the threat that had shattered both of them.
“I’ll end it, Kaname. I’ll take my own life before I let you ruin me any further. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll make sure there’s no one left for you to love.”
The memory echoed in his chest like a curse.
Kaname had stopped chasing him after that. Not out of guilt. Not out of regret.
But out of desperation.
Because even Kaname’s obsessive, all-consuming love had its limits.
Zero swallowed hard.
But now?
Now Kaname had found him again. And more than that—he knew. About Isamu. About everything.
And Zero knew Kaname could feel it: the difference. Zero wasn’t the same man who had threatened to disappear. Not anymore. Not with a child sleeping two rooms down. Not with small hands that curled into his shirt in the night. Not with a heart that no longer beat only for himself.
Kaname had changed too. Or at least—he was trying.
Zero could see it in the way Kaname held back. The restraint. The reverence. The way he touched him like something sacred and breakable. The way he said mine like it cost him breath.
Kaname was begging—not taking.
Begging for what instinct told him already belonged to him.
Begging for permission to love the one his blood had already chosen.
But the question that dug claws into Zero’s ribs was simple.
How long could he keep holding back?
The water shut off.
Zero straightened immediately, his body going rigid.
The soft rustle of fabric. A towel being folded. The quiet creak of the bathroom door.
And then—Kaname stepped out.
His hair still damp, clinging to his neck. Loose black cotton pants. A robe tied just once at the waist. Calm on the surface.
But Zero could see it. The tension. The fire. The careful control.
Their eyes locked. Zero didn’t speak.
Kaname’s voice was gentle. Measured. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m not,” Zero said quickly.
But his hands didn’t stop shaking.
Kaname stepped forward slowly. “Do you want me to leave?”
Zero’s mouth opened. Closed. That was the problem. He didn’t want Kaname to leave. Not even a little.
And that—that was the part that terrified him most.
Kaname stood still. Waiting.
Zero didn’t answer right away. He stared at the bed—the gentle rise of the duvet, the flicker of firelight painting soft gold on the sheets. The silence stretched, fragile and full.
Then finally, in a voice barely louder than breath, Zero said,
“No.”
Kaname’s brows drew to together. “No?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Zero admitted, his gaze still fixed on the bed. Not on Kaname. Not yet.
Kaname moved quietly, the towel still in hand as he sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just continued drying his hair, each motion unhurried, his presence patient.
The silence between them was not cold—but heavy. Weighted with history. With choices. With the ache of things not said.
Then, still not looking at him, Zero murmured,
“I know what you want.”
Kaname paused, the towel resting in his lap. “…Do you?”
“I just…” Zero exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if I can handle what you want from me.”
Kaname’s voice was low. Steady.
“I don’t want anything you’re not ready to give.”
Zero turned slightly—just enough to see him from the corner of his eye. “You made it clear this afternoon. When you said you wouldn’t marry Yuuki.”
Kaname’s gaze flickered. But he said nothing.
“I know you love me,” Zero went on, voice calm but tight. “That’s never been the problem. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t doubted it. There was a time I truly believed you didn’t. Sometimes I still do. In the dark hours.”
He paused, his voice quieting to a thread.
“But even then... even when I’m drowning in those doubts, something in me knows. There’s no one else in your heart but me.”
Kaname didn’t interrupt. He watched. And listened.
“But what I don’t doubt,” Zero continued, “is what you’re capable of.”
His tone sharpened, but his voice didn’t rise.
“I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. You’ve lied. You’ve hurt people—me included. You’ve done things no one should walk away from clean.”
Kaname nodded once, slow. “I know. And it almost cost me the love of my life.”
Zero’s eyes finally met his.
Sharp. Glinting.
“You’re possessive. Obsessive. You can be cruel, Kaname. You’ve manipulated kingdoms. Rewritten fate. Sacrificed lives without blinking.”
“I have,” Kaname said softly. “And I won’t pretend otherwise.”
“You’re obsessed with me,” Zero said, the word carved sharp and deep.
Kaname’s lips curved slightly—not in humor, but in honesty. “I am.”
Zero blinked. “You’re not even going to deny it?”
“There’s no point lying to you,” Kaname said. “You’ve always seen through me.”
“And now you expect me to believe you can be gentle with me?” Zero’s voice was low, cautious. “Always?”
“No,” Kaname replied, without hesitation. “Not always.”
He set the towel aside and turned fully toward him, shifting closer—but still not touching.
“Purebloods are possessive by nature,” he said evenly. “It’s in our blood to be territorial about what we love. What’s ours.”
His eyes held Zero’s. “Sometimes obsessively so. That part of me exists. It always will. My soul sees you as part of me. Just as I am yours.”
Then—quietly, clearly—he added,
“But I swear to you—whatever darkness I carry, it will never be turned on you again.”
His voice dropped, soft as a promise carved in stone.
“I won’t manipulate you. I won’t use you. I won’t make decisions that affect you without your consent.”
He leaned forward slightly, bracing his hand on the mattress beside Zero’s. Close—but not touching. Never forcing.
“If there’s ever a plan,” he continued, “you’ll know it. You’ll be part of it. You’ll have the final say—about Isamu. About me. About us.”
Zero searched him. Eyes sharp, unreadable.
Kaname didn’t look away.
“This isn’t just about love anymore,” he said. “It’s about trust. I know I broke it. I won’t pretend I didn’t. But I want to rebuild it—with you. At your pace. However long it takes.”
Zero’s shoulders slowly loosened, just a fraction. The breath he released trembled faintly at the edges.
And for the first time in a long time, the quiet between them didn’t feel like absence.
It felt like a beginning.
Then Kaname said, “I want to earn my rights back. I know my mistakes won’t be forgotten—but I want to earn, at the very least, the right to prove I won’t make them again.”
The silence between them deepened.
Then—slowly—Kaname reached out. His hand slid along Zero’s jaw, fingers tentative at first. Gentle. Reverent.
And when Zero didn’t pull away—Kaname kissed him.
Soft at first. Like a question.
Then again—firmer. More certain.
Zero let it happen.
His eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting under Kaname’s. He tasted warmth. Memory. Home.
His breath caught when Kaname’s hand trailed down, grazing the side of his neck, fingertips brushing the sensitive line of his throat like a secret.
Then—
Lips at the edge of his jaw. A kiss just beneath his ear. Another at the hollow of his collarbone. Gentle nips. Breath—hot and unsteady—ghosting over the thrum of his pulse.
“Kaname…” Zero whispered—half warning, half plea.
Kaname’s voice trembled against his skin.
“I won’t go further than you allow. I’ll never take what isn’t given.”
The quiet stretched between them—not cold this time, but warm.
Heavy.
Filled with things unsaid.
Kaname’s fingers flexed lightly against the bedding. Then, softly—like someone afraid of the answer—he asked,
“Would you still harm yourself… if I came too close?”
Zero stilled.
There was no manipulation in the question.
No guilt. No pressure. Only sorrow. Only fear. And the quietest thread of hope.
Zero looked away, jaw tight. His throat worked as he tried to shape the truth into something that wouldn’t shatter them both.
“…No,” he said finally.
Kaname’s breath caught. Relief hit him like a wave, visible in the sag of his shoulders, the sudden drop in his chest—as though he'd been holding himself together with string and silence.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t reach. He just waited.
Zero turned his gaze back to him.
“I meant it that day,” he said quietly. “If you had followed me—if you hadn’t given me space—I would’ve done it.”
Kaname’s eyes darkened, pain etched in every line of his face.
Zero kept going, voice steady now, like something rehearsed in the dark.
“Because I thought I’d betrayed everything I was supposed to be.” His fingers curled into the sheets. “I hated what I felt for you. Knowing what you did… and still not being able to stop.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I hated myself for being so weak.”
Kaname’s voice was hoarse. “You were never weak.”
Zero looked at him—really looked.
“I was broken,” he said. “And you were the one who broke me. Being loved by you… it made me into something I couldn’t live with.”
Kaname didn’t defend himself.
He didn’t justify.
He simply nodded. Once. Shoulders bowed under the weight of everything that truth carried.
A pause.
Then Zero tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Your eyes... they’re glowing.”
Kaname blinked. He hadn’t even noticed.
“You’re hungry,” Zero said—more observation than question.
But Kaname shook his head slowly. “Not for blood.”
Zero frowned. “You sure? I can feed you—”
“No.”
The word was gentle. Firm.
Kaname reached out and took his wrist, thumb brushing over the steady pulse beneath Zero’s skin.
“You need to feed.”
Zero froze.
Kaname’s voice stayed soft, grounding. “You’ve given too much. Too fast. Since I collapsed. You’ve been running on instinct and pain.”
Zero opened his mouth to protest—but stopped. Because his limbs felt heavy. His thoughts, slow. He was running on fumes and memory.
Kaname leaned in, close enough for his breath to warm Zero’s cheek. “Let me give something back,” he whispered. “Please.”
Zero hesitated.
Then, slowly, wordlessly, he shifted closer.
Kaname tilted his head back in silent invitation, the long line of his throat bared in quiet trust.
Zero hovered. Just for a moment. His lips brushed Kaname’s skin first—soft, reverent. His eyes burned with memory, with disbelief. With awe.
Then his tongue swept gently across the spot—tasting warmth, life—and his fangs slid in, careful, controlled.
Kaname exhaled.
Slow. Deep. Like he could finally relax.
Finally be. The blood was warm. So warm. Familiar. Deep.
It flooded Zero’s senses like memory. Like truth. Like something he hadn’t dared to touch in years.
It was water in a drought. Anchor in a storm. Sanctuary. Zero drank only what he needed. No more.
A quiet moan slipped from his throat—soft, grateful—the taste grounding him, smoothing every raw edge, quieting the ache beneath his ribs.
When he pulled back, he ran his tongue over the wound, sealing it with tender precision.
Already, his body felt lighter. His mind clearer. The tremble in his hands, gone.
But Kaname’s eyes... still glowed.
Zero frowned. “You said you weren’t hungry.”
“I’m not,” Kaname replied.
“Then why—?”
Kaname reached up and brushed his knuckles along Zero’s cheek, his gaze soft—not just with desire, but something deeper. Older.
Something sacred.
“I’m not hungry for blood,” he murmured. “I’m hungry for you.”
Zero’s breath caught in his throat.
Kaname’s gaze didn’t waver.
“For your hands. Your voice. Your presence. Your forgiveness—even if I don’t deserve it.”
He leaned in slightly, his hand rising to cradle Zero’s jaw. His thumb brushed along the curve of his cheekbone, trembling just a little.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not just your body. You. All of you. The stubbornness. The fury. The fire. I want to be the place you come to rest… not the war you run from.”
Zero’s chest clenched. Painfully. His eyes stung.
Kaname’s thumb swept the corner of his mouth.
“I won’t ask for more than you’re ready to give,” he whispered. “But if you let me love you again… I’ll never stop.”
Zero didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
Instead—slowly, deliberately—he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t desperate. It was warm.
Deep. Steady.
A promise. Not a perfect one. But real.
The kiss deepened—slowly. Unrushed.
Unraveling years of silence. Of pain. Of things too long left unsaid.
Kaname pulled Zero closer, arms wrapping around his waist like a man anchoring himself to something he feared might vanish if he let go.
And Zero—
Zero let himself be held.
Let himself lean into the warmth of Kaname’s body.
Into the even warmer tide of everything between them.
And for the first time in years—
There was no shame. No guilt. No war. Only this. Only them. Still healing. Still broken in places. But no longer alone. Never again.
Kaname’s mouth was warm, reverent. His hands cradled Zero like something sacred—precious, breakable, irreplaceable.
Their kisses deepened, slow and searching, like they were tasting the years they’d lost.
Like they were making a new language out of breath and touch.
A way back to each other. Every brush of lips was a promise. Every press of body to body was an ache coming undone.
Zero’s fingers threaded through Kaname’s damp hair, tugging softly.
A sound escaped him—half breath, half longing—unbidden, raw.
Kaname shuddered.
That sound—
It broke something in him.
Unmoored him. Lit something wild in his blood.
Their mouths moved in rhythm, drawn together like tides to the moon.
But beneath the fire, Zero felt it—Kaname trembling.
He pulled back, brows furrowed. “You’re shaking.”
Kaname didn’t meet his eyes. His breath came in ragged draws. “I’m trying to hold it back.”
Zero sat up slightly, worry blooming in his chest. “Hold what back?” He asked.
Kaname finally looked at him. And in those wine-dark eyes was something ancient. Starving. Not just desire. But need. Soul-deep. Feral. Centuries old.
“I want you,” Kaname whispered.
“I need you. Every instinct I have is screaming to claim my mate.”
His skin was flushed—warmer than usual. His body taut with restraint. The bond between them pulsed—bright, alive.
Every heartbeat thick with want, with ache, with the unbearable tension of long-denied yearning.
Zero reached up, cupping Kaname’s face in both hands. His thumbs stroked along the edges of his jaw, grounding him.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice steady. “Look at me.”
Kaname’s eyes flicked to his, full of fire and fear.
“I’m here,” Zero said gently. “You’re not losing me. You don’t have to rush.”
Kaname’s breath shook.“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” Zero insisted.
“I’m afraid I might.” Kaname’s hands clenched against the mattress again, white-knuckled.
“The bond—it’s stronger than it’s ever been. It’s louder. Like my body remembers what it lost, and now it’s trying to take it all back in a single breath.” His voice cracked.
Zero leaned in, resting their foreheads together.
“Then don’t take,” he whispered. “You don’t need to. Not with me.”
“You don’t have to claim everything all at once.”
Kaname’s eyes fluttered shut, another tremor rolling through him.
But this time—he breathed with it.
Through it.
“You don’t need to prove anything,” Zero said, his voice like balm. “You already have. Just be here. With me.”
Slowly, Kaname nodded.
His fists unclenched.
His hands found their way to Zero’s back, fingers splaying across fabric and skin like he was still learning how to believe this was real.
Zero kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s start with this,” he said.
“Let’s just be here.”
Another nod.
And then they lay down together.
Drawn under the blankets like a tide. Their limbs tangled. Breath shared.
Warmth rising between them in soft waves.
Their hands moved slowly. Not greedy. Not urgent. Just… curious. Tender.
Mapping what had once been familiar and now felt new again.
They touched with reverence—like rediscovering a sacred text written in skin.
Kaname traced the shape of Zero’s shoulder.
Zero brushed a thumb beneath Kaname’s eye.
And though the bond between them burned—hot and undeniable—
It wasn’t instinct that carried them through the night.
It was love. Not possession. Not power.
Not the hunger of a Pureblood desperate to take.
But love. Messy. Earned. Hard-won. Healing.
And when the fire burned low, and the hush of midnight settled around them like snowfall, they found peace in the quiet.
Not with words.
But with the steady rhythm of hearts pressed close.
With breath soft against collarbones. With fingers curled into fabric.
With the scent of skin and soap and something older than time.
They fell asleep slowly—Safe. Content. Holding each other close. Not as conqueror and captive. Not as weapon and wound. But as two souls—Finally allowed to rerest. Together.
The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the bedding. The fire in the hearth had long since dimmed to a warm glow, but the room was still comfortably warm.
Kaname lay awake, bare-chested, the covers pulled loosely around his waist. His arm was curled securely around the sleeping figure against his side—Zero, breathing steadily, face buried against Kaname’s shoulder.
His silver hair spilled over Kaname’s chest in a soft wave, and every time Kaname inhaled, it was all he could smell. That scent he’d ached for. Remembered. Dreamed of.
His mate was here. In his arms. Not as a dream. Not as a memory.
But real. Breathing. Warm.
Kaname closed his eyes briefly, nuzzling gently into Zero’s hair, smiling softly against it. Peace, for once, didn’t feel like a distant lie.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door rattled.
A muffled voice followed:
“Papa? Papa! Why is the door locked?”
Kaname blinked.
Another knock. More urgent now.
“Papa! I can’t open it! Why can’t I open it? Why is it locked?” There was the unmistakable sound of small fists twisting the handle repeatedly. Then a little sniffle.
Kaname groaned softly and slipped out from under the covers. Zero stirred but didn’t wake, only murmured something unintelligible and turned onto his side.
Kaname quickly reached the door, unlocking it with a soft click.
Isamu stood there in his footie pajamas—half teary, half scowling, clutching his stuffed bunny tightly. His lip wobbled.
“You locked the door,” he accused immediately. “Papa never locks doors. What if there were monsters? What if something tried to take me?”
Kaname crouched instantly and rubbed gently beneath Isamu’s eyes, wiping away the beginnings of tears. “No monster would dare come near you, little lion. Not while I’m here.”
Isamu sniffed, eyes wide. “But I needed morning cuddles. Papa promised I’d get them every day. Even if he’s sleepy.”
Kaname’s lips twitched at that. “He did promise, didn’t he?”
From inside the room, a voice called groggily:
“Just bring him to bed already…”
Isamu’s face lit up immediately.
“Papa!”
Kaname stood and scooped the boy into his arms. “Let’s go get your morning cuddles then.”
Isamu was already halfway leaning into his shoulder by the time they crossed the room. Kaname climbed back into bed, settling Isamu between them.
Zero blinked one eye open, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.
“I’m the cutest,” Isamu said with a confident nod, already burrowing under the covers between them.
Zero pulled him close with a sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You win. Cuddle time.”
Kaname wrapped his arm around both of them, exhaling slowly.
Isamu snuggled deeper into Zero’s chest, his bunny half-crushed between them. His small hands gripped the fabric of Zero’s sleep shirt like he’d never let go.
Kaname watched quietly, the weight of contentment settling low in his chest like something sacred. Something earned.
Zero was already half-asleep again, one arm protectively around Isamu, the other pillowing his own head. Kaname leaned over and kissed the crown of Zero’s head—then Isamu’s.
Warmth. Peace. Love.
It was more than Kaname thought he would ever have again. And it was here. Now. In this room. In this bed.
“I’ll get a room ready for him,” Kaname said softly, stroking his fingers down Isamu’s back as the boy dozed. “Next to ours.”
Zero opened one eye, sleep-hazy. “…Why?”
Kaname smiled. “Because he’s our son. And I want him close. But… not between us every morning.”
Zero snorted faintly, but the sound was fond. “You’ll never get rid of him.”
“I’m not trying to,” Kaname said, his voice quiet and honest. “I just want him to have a space that’s his. Safe. Warm. Right beside us.”
Zero was silent for a moment, gaze drifting to Isamu’s peaceful face. Then he murmured, “He’ll like that. Just don’t tell Aido—he’ll make it something too dramatic.”
Kaname chuckled, low and soft. “Maybe we let Takuma do it instead.”
“Fair trade.”
Isamu stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbled something about soup and moon bunnies, then settled again with a content sigh.
Kaname looked down at the two of them—his mate, his son—and something deep in him shifted.
Not obsession.
Not longing.
But devotion. Quiet. Steady. Unshakable.
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of silver hair from Zero’s eyes.
“I’ll build you both a world,” Kaname whispered, barely audible. “No thrones. No cages. Just peace. Just us.”
And for the first time in decades, he believed it was possible.
He curled in beside them, one arm draped protectively across both bodies, and let his eyes close.
The afternoon light slanted through the windows in long, golden beams, dust motes floating lazily in the glow like tiny stars. The living room was bathed in amber warmth, the kind that made everything softer around the edges.
On the plush rug near the low table, Isamu sat cross-legged, surrounded by a colorful storm of crayons, open sketchbooks, and a constellation of construction paper scraps. His sleeves were smudged with red and green. There was a crayon mark on his cheek.
He held up a drawing proudly, waving it like a flag.
“Look, Papa! It’s us!”
Zero, emerging from the kitchen with a dish towel in hand, crouched beside him. His sleeves were rolled up, damp at the cuffs from washing dishes. He leaned over, eyeing the sketch with mock seriousness.
“Is that me?” he asked.
Isamu nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm! You have the grumpy mouth—like this.”
He scrunched his face into a dramatic pout, lower lip stuck out, brows furrowed.
Zero gave him a flat look. “I do not look like that.”
“You do,” Kaname’s voice offered smoothly from the nearby armchair, where he sat with a cup of tea balanced elegantly in one hand, legs crossed. The soft clink of ceramic followed.
Zero turned slowly, narrowing his eyes. “No one asked you.”
Kaname sipped, unfazed.
Isamu giggled.
“And this one—” Isamu pointed proudly to the figure beside Zero’s, one drawn with exaggerated brown hair cascading like a waterfall, “—is Sad Prince. I made his hair super loooong.”
Kaname tilted his head in amused curiosity. “You certainly did. It’s magnificent. I appear to be part Rapunzel.”
Zero squinted at the paper. “It is long. Maybe too long.”
Kaname arched a brow, lips curving. “Are you implying something?”
Zero grinned. “Yup. You need a haircut.” He ruffled Isamu’s hair gently. “Want me to give you one?”
Kaname considered it with mock gravitas. “If you’re doing it, yes. But if a certain toddler gets near me with scissors…”
“Hey!” Isamu pouted, arms crossed.
Zero chuckled. “You can supervise. That’s a very important job.”
“I can hold the comb,” Isamu bargained, eyes hopeful.
Kaname gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose I can allow that. ”
Isamu gasped, delighted. “Okay but only if I get to wear the towel cape!”
“Deal,” Kaname and Zero said at the same time, then glanced at each other. The flicker of a shared smile passed between them—quiet, easy.
Across the room, Kain and Aido lounged near the open windows, basking in the drifting breeze. Takuma had set his book aside, one leg tucked beneath him on the couch as he watched the scene unfold.
There was something wistful in his expression, something soft.
“You know,” Takuma said, almost to himself, “I’m a little jealous.”
Aido blinked. “Of? Kaname-sama's luscious locks?”
Takuma ignored him. “Of Isamu.”
Aido blinked again, this time slower.
Takuma smiled faintly. “The kind of childhood Zero’s giving him... it’s real. Warm. Free. No stiff collars or tutors breathing down his neck. If he were born into any other vampre household, he’d be halfway through etiquette manuals and diplomatic training.”
“And stuck in formalwear,” Aido muttered. “Tailored vests, buttoned to the throat.”
“Exactly,” Takuma said, gaze returning to Isamu. “But look at him. Crayon on his nose. Star-patterned pajamas in the afternoon and bear-shaped plates. Drawing his family. Being loved just for existing.”
Kain, leaning against the window frame, gave a grunt of agreement. “Some of us wouldn’t even know what a parent’s smile looked like.”
Takuma’s voice dropped slightly, more contemplative now.
“I wish my mother had been like Zero.”
Aido raised a brow. “Did you just call Zero a mother?”
“I didn’t,” Takuma groaned, already regretting his words.
“You did,” Aido insisted, grinning wide. “You said, and I quote: ‘Zero is the ideal nurturing maternal figure.’”
“I never said that.”
“You thought it. I felt it.”
“It was the love,” Takuma muttered, ignoring Aido. “The consistency. The security. What it means to fall asleep in someone’s arms without fearing what they expect from you in the morning.”
And across the room, Kaname had gone quiet.
His eyes were fixed on Zero—still crouched beside their son, helping him draw more curls into the sketch version of Kaname’s comically long hair. Zero was smiling softly, talking to Isamu in that gentle, no-nonsense tone he used when he didn’t want to admit he was being affectionate.
And something in Kaname ached.
Regret. Gratitude. Love—sharper than anything he’d ever known.
He looked at Isamu, radiant with joy and smudged crayon.
And then at Zero—the man who had raised their child with unflinching devotion. Who had stayed. Who had given every drop of himself without ever asking for praise.
Kaname’s chest tightened.
The silver-haired hunter was patient, attentive, focused entirely on the child in front of him.
There was no condescension. No distant parenting. Just… presence.
It was beautiful. And it hurt.
Zero’s eyes met Kaname’s then, catching his stare.
“What?” Zero asked, one brow lifting slightly, the barest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Kaname hesitated.
Then: “You’re… remarkable.”
Zero blinked, clearly thrown.
Isamu, unfazed, piped up, “Papa is amazing. He can make pancakes and fix boo-boos and do scary-eyes at monsters under the bed.”
Zero coughed lightly. “I don’t think that’s quite what he meant.”
“I did, actually,” Kaname said softly.
Zero glanced at him again, wary now. But Kaname’s eyes held no sharpness. Just quiet admiration—and something else, too. Something older. Wounded.
“You raised him with everything I didn’t know how to give,” Kaname said. “You gave him more than a life—you gave him joy.”
Zero looked down at Isamu, who was trying to decide if his bunny also needed to be in the drawing.
“I tried,” Zero said after a moment. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Not really. But he was… he was so small. And so loud. And so mine. I couldn’t let anyone else touch that.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Kaname stood.
He crossed the room slowly, setting down his tea, and sank onto the rug across from them. His long hair fell forward slightly as he sat, and Isamu immediately reached over to tuck it behind his ear with solemn precision.
“Too long,” the boy muttered.
“I’m told I have an appointment,” Kaname murmured, gaze still fixed on Zero.
Zero looked away.
Kaname didn’t push.
But then Isamu offered up his drawing again, squinting at it like he was checking for approval.
“I like the middle one the best,” Kaname said. “Because he’s smiling.”
“And who’s that?” Zero asked, gently nudging the crayon toward the boy.
Isamu beamed. “It’s me!”
“You didn’t draw Bunny?” Zero teased.
“I tried,” Isamu said dramatically. “But I didn’t like how his ears came out, it looks scary so I don't draw him anymore.”
Kaname laughed. He couldn’t help it.
It slipped out of him like warmth finally cracking through years of cold.
Takuma smiled from the other side of the room. “You’re laughing more.”
Kaname glanced at him. “I think I forgot hhowl for a while.”
Zero looked up then, Their eyes met.
And Kaname, barely trusting himself to speak, said quietly—
“You’re the reason he’s happy.”
The room fell still. Aido’s teasing died. Takuma sat up straighter.
Even Kain glanced over, surprised by the sudden seriousness.
Kaname’s voice didn’t rise, but it resonated.
“All the good in him—he got from you.”
Zero blinked, caught off-guard. His lips parted, but no reply came.
By evening, the room next to the master bedroom was ready.
Kaname had personally asked the staff to prepare it—not grand, not overly formal, but warm. Comfortable. Safe.
Every choice had been made with quiet care.
Soft, honeyed lighting.
A sturdy, child-sized bed with star-patterned sheets.
Shelves for picture books and drawings.
A cozy chair in the corner for reading aloud.
Little drawers with wooden handles shaped like moons.
A plush rug that looked like a sleeping fox.
Curtains the color of twilight—like the sky just before the first star appears.
Kaname stood in the doorway with Isamu tucked in his arms, the child’s head resting drowsily on his shoulder.
Isamu wasn’t fully asleep, but close—his thumb hovering near his mouth, unsure.
He was quieter than usual.
No Bunny today.
Zero had put it in the wash after lunch, and although Isamu had been gently assured, “Bunny will come back fresh and clean,” it had left him slightly off-balance.
Kaname adjusted his hold, cradling Isamu a little closer.
“Hey, little prince,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “Do you want to see something special?”
Isamu blinked up at him—slow, heavy-lidded like a baby owl.
Kaname nudged the door open with his foot and carried him inside.
“This is your new room,” he murmured, pacing slowly so the boy could take it in. “It’s right next to Papa’s.”
Isamu stirred, lifting his head slightly. His lip wobbled.
“…But Bunny’s not here.”
“I know,” Kaname soothed, brushing a hand over his back. “Bunny’s just getting a bath. He’ll be back before bedtime, I promise.”
Isamu didn’t respond, but his eyes began to wander—curious, despite himself. He peeked over Kaname’s shoulder at the shelves.
Kaname smiled.
“See that shelf?” he said softly. “It’s waiting for all your drawings. And that one over there?” He turned slowly toward the fox-shaped rug. “That’s just for your books. You and Papa can read there together.”
Isamu rested his chin against Kaname’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering.
“…What if I don’t like it?” he mumbled.
Kaname’s steps slowed. His chest tightened at the quiet worry in the child’s voice.
“Then we’ll change it,” he said simply. “Whatever you want.”
Isamu looked up at him, studying his face.
“Even… green stars?”
Kaname nodded solemnly. “Even green stars.”
The boy considered this for a moment, then let out a tiny sigh and rested his head back down.
“…You smell like clean soap,” he said, muffled against Kaname’s collarbone.
Kaname chuckled quietly. “So do you. We match.”
They walked the room together once more, slow and gentle.
Kaname pointed to the folded blanket at the foot of the bed—navy blue, soft, embroidered with tiny golden constellations.
“This one,” he said, lifting the edge, “is special. It catches dreams.”
Isamu’s eyes opened just a little more, intrigued. “Really?”
“Only the good ones stay,” Kaname said. “The bad ones bounce right off.”
Isamu reached out with one small hand and touched the fabric with something close to reverence.
“…Papa will like it too.”
Kaname swallowed the knot rising in his throat.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “He will.”
He sat down slowly in the reading chair, still holding Isamu close. The boy sighed again, thumb slipping gently into his mouth as he curled deeper into Kaname’s arms, soothed by the warmth and the quiet.
Kaname looked down at him—at this small, miraculous creature who had cracked his world open in ways he hadn’t thought possible.
A child made from love and pain and hope.
A child with Zero’s fire and Kaname’s stillness.
A child they had never planned—
But now could never imagine life without.
He brushed his fingers gently through Isamu’s hair, heart so full it ached.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured. “So brave. So bright. And you have no idea how lucky I am to have you.”
Isamu murmured, sleepily, “I like you, Sad Prince.”
Kaname smiled, lips brushing the crown of his head.
“I like you too,” he whispered. “More than anything.”
A pause.
Then, from somewhere between sleep and dream, Isamu asked softly,
“More than Papa?”
Kaname blinked.
The question landed gently—but it rooted itself in the tenderest part of him.
He leaned his cheek down against the boy’s messy little head, closed his eyes, and breathed in the scent of warmth and innocence and soap.
Then, quietly—smiling into Isamu’s hair—he answered:
“Well… because you’re part of Papa, you’re on the same level as Papa.”
Isamu made a tiny, satisfied sound.
And then he was asleep.
Fully.
Peacefully.
Safe.
Kaname sat there, unmoving, holding the sleeping boy as if the world had gone still.
And in that quiet room, filled with soft starlight and golden-threaded dreams, Kaname whispered one last promise into the dark:
“I’ll never lose again. Not him. Not you. Not either of you.”
And he meant it.
With all that he was.
The soft click of the door echoed gently as Kaname stepped out of Isamu’s room, closing it behind him with careful hands.
He lingered for a moment—just long enough to rest his palm against the wood. Inside, Isamu was tucked beneath star-patterned sheets, his freshly washed bunny resting beside him, lost to dreams Kaname prayed would remain light and wonder-filled.
Before leaving, Kaname had kissed the boy’s forehead.
Not because Isamu would remember it.
But because he needed to.
For the first time in his long, cursed life… he had a son.
A child.
With his true mate.
And a second chance.
Kaname turned, walking softly down the quiet corridor. The estate had settled into its nighttime hush—staff dismissed, doors closed, the scent of lavender still lingering faintly in the halls. Only the low crackle of the hearth guided him now.
Their bedroom door was open.
The fire inside had burned low, casting flickers of gold across the room in lazy shadows. In the armchair nearest the flame sat Zero—knees drawn up, a thick book draped across his thigh. His silver hair caught the firelight, glowing faintly like it had been dipped in moonlight.
Kaname paused in the doorway.
There was something about seeing him like this—quiet, unaware, utterly at peace—that stole the breath right from his lungs.
Then, without looking up, Zero murmured, “You walk too quietly.”
Kaname’s mouth curved. “I was hoping you’d be too absorbed to notice.”
Zero snapped the book shut and lifted his eyes. “You put him down?”
“Fast asleep. One story, two yawns. No bunny required.”
Zero let out a low groan. “It’s actually unfair how easy you make it look. When I do it, I get grilled about the moon. Last week he asked if stars can cry. Once, he sobbed because I told him milk comes from cows.”
Kaname chuckled softly. “Would you like me to take over bedtime?”
Zero raised a brow. “Are you offering, or just showing off?”
“Maybe both,” Kaname said, settling his hands behind his back. “Though I’d never deprive you of the privilege of explaining bovine dairy to a three-year-old philosopher.”
Zero tossed the book on the side table and rolled his eyes. “He asked me if vampires hibernate.”
Kaname blinked. “What did you say?”
“I told him it was a forbidden topic.”
Kaname laughed again, the sound softer than wind through silk. He crossed to Zero and let his fingers slip gently into his hair, brushing it back.
Zero tilted his face into the touch—without hesitation.
A wordless surrender. A trust hard-earned and newly cherished.
“Sit,” Zero murmured.
Kaname raised a brow. “Sit?”
Zero nodded once.
Kaname obeyed, easing himself into the wide armchair. It had just enough space for two—and within moments, Zero had settled into his lap, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Kaname inhaled slowly. Deeply.
Zero’s scent surrounded him—salt, warmth, something vaguely metallic. And his body—lean and familiar—fit against Kaname’s like it had never truly left.
For a while, they didn’t move.
Kaname’s hands settled lightly on Zero’s hips. Zero traced a finger along the collar of his robe.
“You’ve been good,” he murmured.
Kaname’s smile was small. “Have I?”
“Mmh.” Zero nodded lazily. “No dark closets today. No declarations in front of the staff. Very un-Kaname of you.”
“I’m restraining myself.”
“I noticed,” Zero whispered, though he leaned in closer, their foreheads nearly touching.
Kaname’s eyes darkened. “Would you rather I remind you what I’m usually like?”
Zero didn’t answer with words—just shifted in his lap, closing the space between them entirely.
Kaname moved then, slowly, reverently. One hand slid up Zero’s spine, the other curling around the back of his neck, guiding him in.
Their lips met.
The kiss was quiet at first. Gentle. Familiar.
Not need. Not claim. Just warmth.
Just the rediscovery of something lost and precious.
When Kaname pulled away, it was only to press his mouth to Zero’s jaw, then lower—to the curve of his throat, where the bond thrummed strongest.
He kissed him there once. Then again. And again.
“I thought I knew obsession,” Kaname murmured against his skin. “But I didn’t. Not until I lived without you.”
Zero’s fingers twisted slightly in his robe. “Don’t get poetic.”
“I’m being honest.” His lips dragged lower, brushing the edge of Zero’s collarbone.
“Kaname…”
“I’ll stop,” Kaname said, voice low. “If you want me to.”
Zero didn’t move. His breath hitched.
He didn’t want to stop.
Not when, for the first time in years, his soul didn’t feel like it was unraveling inside him. Not when the ache he’d lived with—day in, day out—was finally quiet.
“…I don’t.”
A beat of silence. Then Zero leaned forward, resting his forehead against Kaname’s.
His voice was barely audible. “You’re still annoying.”
Kaname’s lips curved. “And you’re still beautiful.”
They stayed like that—tangled in firelight, breath to breath, hearts finally beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.
Minutes passed.
Then Zero sighed. “Isamu’s going to be up at dawn.”
Kaname didn’t open his eyes. “Then let’s hold onto this moment. While we can.”
Zero hesitated. Then leaned in. And kissed him again. And that… was all the answer Kaname needed.
Their kiss deepened—slowly, achingly—until the firelight felt miles away. All that existed was breath and skin, and the soft sound of memory colliding with desire.
Kaname’s hands moved with reverence, undoing each button, brushing away each layer like a page he’d longed to read again. Zero let him, breath shallow, his fingers curling into the back of Kaname’s robe.
“Zero…” Kaname whispered like a prayer, his voice already breaking. “Tell me this is real.”
Zero didn’t speak. He just kissed him harder.
Kaname’s robe slipped from his shoulders. Zero’s shirt joined it on the floor. The chill in the air never touched them—too much heat, too much ache, too much want.
Then Kaname’s arms tightened around him and lifted him in one smooth motion. Zero’s legs wrapped around his waist like it was instinct. Like he remembered how.
Kaname carried him toward the bed, slow and steady, lips brushing over his throat—right where the bond pulsed just under the skin. He kissed that spot again and again, reverent, as if trying to apologize for every year he hadn’t touched it. Every year he hadn’t been allowed to have this.
Zero trembled in his arms. Not from fear.
From knowing that this man—this immortal, flawed, obsessive man—still worshipped him like nothing else in the world existed.
And he didn’t know what was more terrifying.
That he wanted it.
Or that he needed it too.
Kaname laid him down gently, as though Zero were made of glass. His hands roamed slowly, fingers spreading over ribs and hipbones and old scars—scars Kaname hadn’t made, but which he carried just the same.
Zero arched up into the touch, his voice cracking softly. “You always do this…”
Kaname paused above him, breath caught. “Do what?”
“Look at me like you’re the one breaking.”
Kaname leaned in close, their foreheads touching. “Because I am.”
Zero blinked.
Kaname’s voice cracked. “You gave me a second chance. And every part of me knows I don’t deserve ”
Silence stretched—fragile, raw.
Then Zero whispered, “I don’t want you to deserve me, Kaname. I just want you to stay.”
Kaname’s hand moved to cup his cheek. “Forever.”
He kissed him again—soft this time. Sad. Full of promises not yet spoken.
And in that kiss, there was grief.
There was forgiveness.
There was love—older than blood, older than vows.
The fire had burned low, a soft amber glow casting long shadows against the walls. Outside, snow fell quietly, muffling the world.
Inside the room, there was only breath and skin.
Only hands.
Only heartbeats that had once drifted apart—and found each other again.
Kaname kissed Zero like the world was ending.
Like he was still afraid he would wake up alone.
And Zero held onto him like he was tired of running.
They were slow. Careful. Not because there was uncertainty.
But because the need was so deep—so ancient—that rushing would have felt like tearing something sacred open before it was ready.
Kaname’s hands trembled as he touched him, as he memorized every scar, every new shift in muscle, every breath that caught in Zero’s throat.
His mouth moved over skin like he was reciting a prayer.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered against Zero’s collarbone. “But in my dreams… I never got this far.”
Zero’s voice was a quiet rasp. “Then stay awake. Don’t miss it.”
Kaname looked up at him then—his eyes soft and glowing, hunger held on the edge of reverence.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured.
Zero hesitated. His body ached in ways that weren’t just physical. But his voice was clear when he answered:
“You.”
Kaname groaned softly, forehead dropping to Zero’s shoulder as he held him tighter. “I’ll go slow.”
“I’m not asking you to be gentle,” Zero whispered, fingers curling around Kaname’s wrist. “I’m asking you to be real.”
He worshipped Zero’s body with a quiet intensity, leaving a constellation of love bites along his neck, across his chest, down the line of his belly—each one a memory reborn, a vow remade.
He took his time.
He prepared him carefully—never rushing. Zero’s body responded with quiet gasps, with shifting hips, with the low, vulnerable sounds he’d only ever made for this one man.
And only this man would ever hear them.
Only Kaname had ever been allowed this close. Only Kaname ever would be.
When Kaname finally pressed into him, he groaned—a low, shuddering sound full of years of restraint, of longing, of aching devotion.
Zero bit down on a cry, his fist clutching the sheet in a white-knuckled grip.
He had forgotten the intensity of it—how full it felt, how overwhelming.
It was too much. It was not enough. It was everything.
Kaname held him as though breaking him was not an option, even as his instincts screamed to claim, to bind, to mark Zero as his for all eternity.
And Zero—panting, breathless—held him back just as tightly.
“This—” Kaname gasped, voice thick and raw, “—this is how it was meant to be.”
Zero slid his hands into Kaname’s hair, anchoring him with touch, grounding him with truth.
“Then don’t waste it.”
Kaname buried his face in the curve of Zero’s neck, breathing in his scent like it was oxygen, like it was something sacred. He moved with him slowly, carefully, holding back the storm that roared beneath his skin.
The warmth of Zero’s body surrounded him—something he had dreamed of, mourned, and never thought he’d feel again.
His hands gripped Zero’s thighs, trembling from restraint. He wanted to make this last, to stretch time itself, even knowing Zero would carry the bruises come morning. Proof. Memory. A mark made of reverence, not conquest.
Every movement held meaning.
Every thrust, a promise.
Every breath, a confession.
And when Zero arched up into him, his mouth parting in something between a gasp and a broken curse, Kaname felt the bond between them tighten—not in pain, but in deep, soul-deep satisfaction.
The mate bond sang.
For the first time in years, it was whole again.
Zero had never let himself be this bare, this open, this known—not to anyone but Kaname.
And only Kaname had ever seen him like this: shaking, vulnerable, teeth gritted from how much he felt.
“I hate how much I need you,” Zero whispered, voice cracking. “I hate it—because no one else makes me feel like this.”
“You’re mine,” Kaname breathed, not possessively, but reverently. “And I’m yours.”
Their lips met again—sloppy, gasping, honest.
A kiss born not of lust, but of longing. Of reunion.
And when release came, it wasn’t explosive—it was shattering.
Silent.
They held each other through it, faces buried in the crook of neck and shoulder, too overcome to speak.
The bond pulsed—satisfied.
At peace.
Kaname lay there for a long while, still inside him, cradling him like something holy.
Zero’s eyes were closed, but his fingers never stopped moving—tracing Kaname’s spine, his ribs, his shoulder blade, as if to be sure he was still real.
“Are you okay?” Kaname whispered, finally.
Zero opened his eyes. They were damp, but clear. “I’m tired. I’m sore.”
Kaname started to stop his movements, worried. But Zero tightened his legs around him.
“I didn’t say stop.”
Kaname laughed softly, burying his face in Zero’s chest.
Then he lifted his head, his hair falling between them like silk, shadowing the intensity in his eyes.
They were glglowing.
Still.
As if the bond itself was shining through him.
“Zero,” he murmured, voice reverent and shaken, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”
Zero’s eyes, half-lidded and glassy with feeling, locked on his. “I’m not asking, Kaname. I’m telling you. I want more.”
A soft laugh escaped Kaname, part wonder, part despair. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“Then die slowly,” Zero said—and pulled him into another kiss. This one deeper. Open. Raw.
Kaname groaned into him, the sound fractured at the edges. Every last thread of control unraveled, and this time, he didn’t try to hold it back.
He gave in. Not to instinct. But to love. To devotion.
To the kind of need that was older than either of them.
Their movements turned hungry. Urgent. Still reverent—but with a quiet desperation that had built over four long years apart.
It wasn’t claiming. It wasn’t dominance.
It was remembering.
It was rebuilding.
Kaname whispered Zero’s name like it was too holy to be spoken aloud, while Zero arched beneath him, his voice hoarse with breathless pleas. And this time, Zero didn’t hold back his sounds. He didn’t flinch from the pleasure. He didn’t hide behind walls of shame or pride.
He moaned.
He gasped.
He reached for Kaname like he needed him to breathe.
And when his nails scratched deep down Kaname’s back, Kaname growled—a low, primal sound torn from the center of him.
He moved harder, deeper, no longer trying to pretend he didn’t want to burn in this. Not when Zero’s body welcomed him back like it had been waiting, suffering, aching for this exact moment.
Zero’s thighs pressed in tightly, curling up toward his ribs as Kaname leaned in—burying his face in the curve of Zero’s neck. His breath came hot against sensitive skin, lips brushing before fangs sank gently into the soft flesh there.
Zero cried out, arching into him, his voice raw and beautiful in its need.
“Ah—Kaname…”
He didn’t push him away.
He pulled him closer.
Zero took everything Kaname gave him—and begged for more.
“Don’t stop,” he gasped, nails digging into Kaname’s shoulders.
Kaname groaned into his skin, the sound almost desperate, and kissed the bite mark reverently.
“I won’t,” he promised, voice shaking. “I won’t—I can’t.”
For four years, Zero had dreamed of this.
The weight of Kaname above him.
The warmth. The pressure. The safety. The unbearable, exquisite ache of being wanted.
Not just desired—but seen. Loved. Claimed in truth.
He clung to Kaname like he was drowning—arms wrapped around him, breath hitching, a storm of heat and surrender.
He moaned again—longer, louder, his back arching as Kaname angled just right.
“Ah—Kaname—there—please—”
His voice cracked, his head falling back into the pillow, baring his throat. His entire body was flushed, trembling, open.
He wasn’t a boy anymore.
He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t afraid.
He wasn’t denying how much he wanted this.
He asked for more.
He needed more.
And he knew—he felt—that Kaname needed it just as deeply.
Kaname’s hand moved from the sheets to cradle Zero’s face, brushing damp silver strands back from his forehead. His eyes searched Zero’s face like he was memorizing him again—every sound, every sigh, every tremble.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice so soft it nearly cracked. “I forgot what it felt like to breathe you in.”
Zero’s lips parted, eyes fluttering shut for half a second under the weight of that tenderness.
“Then don’t stop,” he whispered. “Don’t forget again.”
Kaname kissed him—slow and aching, a kiss that said I never wanted to.
And when he moved again, it was with purpose. With reverence.
Every stroke deep, deliberate, etched with promises.
Every movement a confession of love and regret and hope.
Zero held him like he’d never let go again, arms looped around his shoulders, fingers pressing into Kaname’s back as if trying to fuse them together.
And Kaname never stopped touching him—mouth pressed to his neck, his shoulder, his cheek—tracing all the places time had not changed.
“I missed you,” Kaname whispered against his skin. “Every day.”
“I know,” Zero breathed, voice shaking. “I felt it.”
Their rhythm built, steady but raw. And when Zero arched into him again, eyes wide with emotion, mouth parting in something between a gasp and a sob, Kaname felt it—the bond.
It surged.
It sang.
He wasn’t hiding.
“This,” Kaname panted against his skin, pressing kisses along his jaw, his chest, the scar over his shoulder blade, “this is where I belong.”
Zero’s voice trembled. “Don’t make me regret letting you in again.”
Kaname pressed their foreheads together. “You won’t. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that.”
They moved until neither of them could think. Until the bond—scarred, stretched, silent for years—sang like it had been reforged in fire.
Eventually, they stilled.
Bodies flushed.
Hearts racing.
Their breathing fell in sync, shallow and uneven.
The air between them was warm and heavy, full of sweat, love, memory—and something deeper.
Completion.
The mate bond pulsed steady and sure, no longer thrumming with strain, but settled. Whole.
Kaname gathered Zero in his arms like a vow, chest to chest, skin to skin. He pressed his forehead to Zero’s, breath ragged.
And Zero, raw from the force of it all, whispered:
“No one has ever made me feel like this.”
Kaname’s voice came rough and low, rising from somewhere ancient and possessive. “No one should make you feel like this. No one but me.”
Zero didn’t argue.
He only breathed.
Held.
Kaname’s voice came low, rough around the edges. “Does that mean… someone else has tried?”
Zero looked up "what ?"
Kaname says “ You said 'No one has ever made me feel like this'.”
Kaname stilled.
Zero groaned, “Are you seriously bringing this up now?”
Kaname’s eyes were glowing faintly again, not with lust this time—but something more primal. “You said no one has ever made you feel like this. Which means someone else tried.”
Zero exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. “Kaname…”
Kaname stilled beside him, his eyes beginning to glow faintly—not with desire this time, but something darker. Older. Possessive in a way that only a pureblood could be.
Zero sat up just enough to shoot him a glare. “You really are impossible.”
Kaname didn’t flinch. “You’re bonded to a pureblood. Jealousy is in my bloodline. You’re mine, Zero. And I don’t like the idea of anyone else even trying to take what’s mine.”
Zero snorted. “You literally just made love to me all night and now you’re interrogating me like a jealous ex?”
“Was it Kenta?” Kaname’s voice was deceptively calm. Quiet. But beneath it was steel—sharp and unyielding.
He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.
“I just want to know who put their hands on what belongs to me.”
Zero gave a long, exhausted sigh—the kind that came from someone who knew resistance was pointless. “It was two kisses. Maybe three.”
“Maybe three?” Kaname echoed, his voice flat.
Zero peered at him through his fingers. “You’re doing the thing with your eyes again.”
“What thing?”
“The glowing thing. It's very judgey. ”
"I am your husband,” Kaname said flatly. “I get to glow when some human put his lips on my mate.”
Zero rolled his eyes, though the edge of a smirk betrayed him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I just made love to you all night,” Kaname said coolly. “Let me be ridiculous.”
Zero gave him a look but didn’t argue.
After a beat, he added, reluctant but honest, “The second time… it went a little further. But not all the way. Nothing close to this. Nothing even near it.”
Kaname said nothing at first, but the tension in his shoulders eased. Just a little.
Zero shifted, turning toward him. His eyes, even bleary and sleep-soft, were clear.
“I tried, okay?” he said, voice low. “I tried to move on. To forget you. To be normal. But no matter what I did… it always came back to you.”
Kaname stayed silent, though his gaze never wavered.
Zero looked away for a moment, voice softer now. “It was around the time Isamu got really sick. I was spiraling. Cold all the time. I kept dreaming about you. And when I woke up… it just hurt. I felt empty. Wrong. Like a piece of me was missing.”
His voice cracked.
“So when Kenta showed up to check on us, I… begged him to kiss me.”
Kaname’s expression flickered. “You begged him?”
“Because I was empty,” Zero snapped. “Because I didn’t know what else to do. I was trying to feel something real.”
Kaname’s hand slid to Zero’s jaw, fingers curling there—not rough, but firm.
“Here?” he asked quietly.
Zero hesitated… then nodded.
Kaname leaned in and kissed the spot, lingering. “Mine.”
His hand moved, fingers brushing lightly down Zero’s chest. “Did he touch you here?”
Zero nodded again, slower.
Kaname kissed over his heart, lips lingering like a vow. “Still mine.”
Then his hand slipped lower, hovering just above Zero’s hipbone. His eyes burned. “Here?”
Zero’s breath caught. “Yes.”
Kaname growled softly—not in anger, but claim. He bent down and kissed the skin, slow and searing. “Only mine.”
Zero made a sound—quiet, raw. Not resistance. Surrender. Relief.
Kaname’s palm splayed across Zero’s stomach, holding him. Grounding him.
“I don’t share, Zero,” he murmured, voice almost trembling. “You’re my mate. We are also married. And I don’t care how many years pass—I will never stop needing to make that clear.”
Zero blinked. “You’re insane.”
“I’m a pureblood,” Kaname said without apology. “We’re possessive by nature. You know that.”
“You don’t say,” Zero muttered, tugging the covers up. “I live with a three-year-old who inherited all of it.”
Kaname chuckled softly, finally easing down beside him again. “He inherited your fire too.”
Kaname swallowed. His voice was barely a breath. “Did you love him?”
“No.” Zero’s answer came fast. Firm. “I wanted to. I thought I should. But I didn’t.”
He softened then, reaching up to brush his fingers through Kaname’s hair, still damp from sweat and effort and closeness.
“I couldn’t give him what he wanted because my heart was still locked up with you,” Zero admitted, quiet now. “Even after everything. Even when I hated you.”
Kaname’s chest rose and fell with something too big to name.
Zero leaned up, pressing his forehead gently against Kaname’s. “There’s never been room for anyone else. Not really.”
Kaname’s arms circled him again, tighter this time.
A whisper: “Good.”
Zero huffed a soft, tired laugh. “You’re so jealous.”
“I’m yours,” Kaname replied simply. “And you’re mine. That doesn’t leave room for someone like Kenta.”
Zero rolled his eyes—but the sharpness was gone. “He’s a good guy, you know.”
Kaname’s lips brushed against his temple. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”
They both laughed then—quiet and ragged, like a sigh given shape.
And when the laughter faded, Kaname kissed him again—soft, reverent, unhurried. Like a vow.
“I’m not angry. I’m just… terrified I almost lost you. That I did lose you. And that someone else might have seen the parts of you I once thought were mine alone.”
“You didn’t lose me,” Zero whispered. “Not really. Not when the bond was still humming, even when I hated you.”
Kaname kissed him again—slow, soft, reverent.
“Then let me stay,” he whispered. “Not just tonight. Always.”
Zero didn’t answer in words.
He just pulled Kaname down into his arms again.
And held on.
The snow had lightened by morning, soft flakes drifting past the high windows of the estate. Breakfast was already being laid out in the sun-warmed kitchen when a small figure stormed in—blanket trailing behind him like a cape, bunny clutched under one arm, expression thunderous.
Takuma looked up from his tea and blinked. “Well. Good morning, Isamu.”
Isamu marched straight to him, chin high and voice deadly serious. “Taku-chan, we have a problem.”
Takuma set his mug down slowly. “Oh no. Is it about syrup again?”
“No,” Isamu huffed, insulted. “It’s Papa. And Sadface.”
Aido, just entering with a bowl of berries, stopped mid-step. “Kaname-sama? What’d he do this time?”
“He keeps stealing Papa,” Isamu declared. “Every night.”
Takuma valiantly fought a smile. “Stealing?”
“Yuh-huh. At bedtime. He sneaks Papa away to the big bed. Then locks the door! I tried to go in this morning for cuddles, but it was all locked and they were still sleeping. It was locked yesterday too.”
Aido choked on his juice. “Oh my god—”
“And!” Isamu raised his voice, hand slicing the air for emphasis. “When I did go in later, Papa said no jumping because the bed wasn’t clean.”
Takuma blinked. “Not… clean?”
“It was messy and smelled funny,” Isamu said gravely. “Like soup. And sleepy sweat.”
Aido collapsed against the counter, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the berries.
Takuma turned red and hid behind his teacup.
“I don’t like it,” Isamu grumbled. “I always have morning cuddles. Always. And now I don’t.”
“You poor, betrayed gremlin,” Aido wheezed.
“I’m not a gremlin,” Isamu snapped. “I’m a pancake knight.”
“That’s right,” Takuma said solemnly. “And as the bravest pancake knight, what do you want us to do?”
Isamu climbed into a chair, placing bunny with ceremony on the table like a second commander. “We need a plan.”
Aido leaned in, mock serious. “A plan?”
“A rescue mission,” Isamu whispered dramatically. “Tonight. We take Papa back.”
Takuma tilted his head. “And… leave Sadface all alone?”
Isamu considered. “He can cuddle Bunny. Just for one night.”
Aido doubled over again. “I can’t—”
Just then, the door creaked open, and Zero stepped in—hair mussed, sweater slipping off one shoulder, looking like sleep was still clinging to him like fog.
“Isamu?” he asked, scanning the room. “There you are. I was looking for you. You left our room so suddenly—I checked yours, but…”
He paused. His eyes narrowed at the assembled trio. “What’s going on?”
Isamu turned dramatically, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Zero blinked. “What’d I do?”
“You left me,” Isamu said, tone accusing. “Again.”
Zero opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed. “Oh.”
“You promised cuddles. Every morning, you said.”
Zero rubbed the back of his neck, guilt obvious. “We… got distracted.”
“Papa,” Isamu said flatly. “This is betrayal.”
Zero walked over, kneeling in front of him. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, brushing a hand through Isamu’s hair. “I thought you wanted me to be nice to Sadface. So he wouldn’t be sad anymore. So we could be a family.”
“You and me are a family,” Isamu said, lip wobbling. “Now you’re cheating.”
Zero’s eyes softened. He cupped Isamu’s cheek. “Hey. I’ll always be yours first. Okay? Always.”
Isamu’s frown deepened—but then he leaned forward, forehead pressing lightly against Zero’s. “I said I’d share you,” he whispered. “But Sadface is hogging you. He’s not sharing back.”
Zero didn’t answer right away. He just exhaled softly, brushing a thumb across Isamu’s cheek.
“You’re right,” he said gently. “We’ll talk to him. And I’ll make sure things feel fair again.”
Isamu gave a dramatic sigh, small shoulders rising and falling like the weight of the world rested squarely on his footie-pajamaed frame.
“You’re the best,” he mumbled. “But he’s not.”
Zero blinked. “Kaname?”
Isamu nodded with a fierce scowl. “Sadface isn’t being nice or caring. He’s not sharing you.”
Aido, who had barely recovered from his last laugh, made a choking noise and turned away, pretending to cough into a napkin.
Takuma hid his smile behind his teacup again. “This is the best court drama I’ve ever seen.”
Zero stood, gently patting Isamu’s head. “Come eat. We’ll sort this out later.”
Takuma whispered to Aido, “Maybe let’s postpone the rescue mission.”
Aido whispered back, “Only if I get to keep the blueprints.”
Zero turned toward them suspiciously. “What are you two plotting?”
Takuma smiled. “Nothing at all. Just admiring this very determined pancake knight.”
“I want extra syrup today,” Isamu declared. “To make up for betrayal.”
Zero kissed his cheek. “You got it.”
But sorting it out turned out to be much harder than expected.
When Kaname entered the room five minutes later—fully dressed, composed as ever, but visibly softer at the edges—Isamu didn’t even look up from his toast.
“Good morning,” Kaname offered carefully.
Isamu took a loud, deliberate bite of toast.
Kaname moved to sit beside him at the table.
Isamu subtly slid his plate half an inch away. Bunny stayed exactly between them like a silent bodyguard.
Zero raised a brow. “Seriously?”
“I am busy eating,” Isamu informed the table, without so much as a glance in Kaname’s direction.
Kaname tried again. “Did you sleep well, Isamu?”
Isamu chewed very slowly, then turned to Zero and said, “Papa, can you please tell other people that we don’t talk during breakfast unless we’re being polite and sharing?”
Takuma, unable to hold it in, let out a quiet, high-pitched squeak of laughter.
Kaname looked down at his coffee. “I see.”
Aido, completely useless by this point, whispered to Takuma, “This is the most savage breakfast I’ve ever attended.”
Takuma nodded solemnly. “He learned from the best.”
Isamu didn’t say another word to Kaname all through breakfast.
He asked Zero to pass the butter.
He asked Takuma if they could bake pancakes again this weekend.
He asked Aido whether fire magic could toast bread from across the room.
But to Kaname?
Not a single word.
After breakfast, he scooted down from his chair, took Bunny under one arm, and trotted off toward the library without so much as a backward glance.
Kaname watched him go in silence.
“He’s mad at me,” he said finally.
Zero raised an eyebrow. “That would be a yes.”
Kaname turned toward him, trying not to look openly wounded. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Share,” Zero replied dryly, sipping his tea. “Apparently.”
“I thought I was sharing,” Kaname muttered. “You sleep with me. He gets you all day.”
“He’s three. Logic doesn’t apply. Only cuddles per capita.”
Takuma leaned in. “If you want my advice—”
“No,” Kaname said flatly.
“Win him back,” Takuma continued anyway, undeterred. “A quest. An offering. A noble apology.”
Kaname sighed. “He’s not exactly receptive to diplomacy.”
“Then try bribery,” Aido chimed in. “That usually works.”
Zero stood and as he went to follow Isamu he says. “Just talk to him. He might be dramatic, but he’s not cruel. He wants to forgive you.”
Kaname looked thoughtful. “What do you think he’d accept as a peace offering?”
“Not sure,” Zero mused. “But you might want to start with giving him back his morning cuddles.”
“And letting him jump on the bed again,” Takuma added helpfully. “If you can keep the sheets clean, that is.”
Zero flushed crimson.
“And not stealing Papa five nights in a row,” Aido smirked.
Kaname rubbed his temples. “This child rules the entire estate.”
Zero sighed, already making his way toward the library. “Yes. And the sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be. Consider it karmic justice—you finally get to learn how annoying possessive purebloods are.”
The air in the estate had gone quiet again, blanketed in a soft winter hush. Kaname moved through the corridor outside the library with unhurried steps. He could hear the faintest murmur of voices behind the double doors—the unmistakable lilt of Zero’s voice. A low, soothing tone he only ever used when reading aloud.
Kaname paused at the entrance. He didn’t open the doors right away. Instead, he stood there and listened.
“...and then the fox said, ‘Not everything that glitters is gold, and not every snowflake melts the same way.’”
There was a quiet hum of agreement—small and sleepy.
“I don’t think I like that fox,” Isamu mumbled.
“He sounds like he’s hiding something.”
Zero laughed softly. “He probably is. But that’s what makes the story good.”
Kaname finally pushed the door open, careful not to startle them. Inside, sunlight poured through the tall windows, pooling like honey across the carpet and bookshelves.
Isamu lay curled in Zero’s lap, one cheek squished against his thigh, bunny discarded by his side. Zero was lounging back in the reading chair, a thin leather-bound book in hand and a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The moment Kaname stepped in, Isamu turned—and the light in his eyes dropped. His body stiffened.
Zero raised an eyebrow. “Truly? You’re going to keep this up all day?”
Isamu didn’t answer. He turned back around and nuzzled further into Zero’s lap, making a point of ignoring the towering Pureblood standing patiently by the door.
Kaname sighed and crossed the room.
“Isamu.”
No reply.
“Little Knight.”
Nothing.
Kaname crouched next to the chair. “May I have a moment of your royal attention?”
Isamu finally turned his face—not all the way, but enough to give Kaname a suspicious side-eye.
“What do you want?”
“I come in peace,” Kaname said with a straight face. “And I’ve come to negotiate terms.”
Zero snorted from above. “You’re making this worse.”
“I’m taking him seriously,” Kaname replied. “This is diplomacy.”
Isamu rolled over, arms crossed tightly. “Do you even know what a negoshishi is?”
Kaname blinked. “…A what?”
“A negoshishi. Papa and I do it all the time,” Isamu sniffed. “Have you ever done one, or do you just take other people's Papa?”
Kaname tried very hard not to laugh. “I’ve negotiated with warlords, vampire councils, and territorial elders.”
Isamu crossed his arms. “Well, I’m harder than all of those. Because you took Papa.”
Zero covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. Kaname, to his credit, looked entirely serious.
“You’re right,” Kaname said. “I did.”
Isamu blinked, surprised.
Kaname continued. “I took him for many reasons. Because I was sad. Because I was scared. Because I love him very much and forgot how to share.”
Isamu’s face pinched, as if he wanted to stay angry but didn’t quite know how to handle the honesty.
“...So what now?” he asked warily.
“I propose a compromise.”
“A what?” Isamu tilted his head confused.
Zero offered gently, “It means you both get something you want.”
Kaname leaned in, folding his hands. “I propose… a schedule.”
Isamu blinked. “A schedule?”
Kaname nodded.
“You may have Papa in the mornings three times a week. You get him for wake-up cuddles, breakfast, dinner, reading time, bath time—and two out of every three bedtime stories.”
Zero raised an eyebrow. “I feel like I should leave the room.”
“No,” both of them said—one grumpy, one clam.
“Fine,” Zero muttered. “Go ahead, negotiate over me like I’m a dinner roast.”
Isamu’s eyes narrowed.
Kaname held up a hand. “In return, I will have him in the evenings. After-dinner walks. He will sleep in my room. And night cuddles.”
Isamu tapped his chin.
“Why does Papa sleep in your room? Why not mine?”
Kaname replied patiently, “You have your own room now. You need to learn to sleep on your own—like a brave knight.”
Isamu scowled. “Then Papa should have his own room too. His very brave. He doesn’t have to share.”
Kaname tried not to smile. “He’s still taking care of me. I’m… recovering. So he has to be close. For health reasons.”
Isamu squinted. “Hmm…”
“What about Saturdays?”
Zero raised an eyebrow.
“Saturdays?” Kaname asked.
“That’s Isamu Day,” the boy said, very seriously. “We make pancakes. We go to the park. Papa does anything I say.” Isamu said seriously. “I need full Papa.”
Kaname blinked. “You’re three.”
“I’m almost three and a half.”
Zero let out a theatrical sigh. “Apparently, I’ve got a full-time job now. Not even weekends off.”
Kaname gave him a faint smirk. “You did sign up for this.”
“Remind me when,” Zero muttered.
“What about holidays?” Isamu demanded.
Zero blinked. “Oh my god. He’s serious.”
“I’m serious too,” Kaname said. “Winter Solstice can be joint custody. Birthdays go to the one whose birthday it is. I get him on mine, you get him on yours. On his, we share. Valentine’s Day is mine. Father’s Day is yours.”
Zero grumbled, “Can I please just have my birthday to myself? Maybe go somewhere quiet. Recover from all this overbearing pureblood behavior?”
Isamu blinked, scandalized. “That’s silly, Papa. You’d be lonely.”
Kaname nodded solemnly in agreement. “Tragic. We can't have that.”
Zero muttered something very un-princely under his breath.
“When can I sleep next to Papa?” Isamu demanded.
Kaname looked mildly offended. “Only Papa? Not me?”
“You’ll hog all the cuddles.”
Kaname pretended to think. “Then how about this: you can sleep next to Papa—but only if I’m there too. We’ll put him in the middle. Equal cuddles.”
Zero groaned into his hands.
“Agreed,” Isamu said gravely.
He tapped his fingers against Bunny’s head. “What happens if you break the schedule?”
“I’ll owe you any dessert you want.”
Isamu’s eyes lit up. “With extra whipped cream?”
Kaname nodded solemnly. “Anything you want.”
“…And you let me jump on the bed again?”
Kaname’s eye twitched. “Within reason.”
“Every morning.”
“Every Saturday.”
“Deal,” Isamu said, holding out a tiny, solemn hand.
Kaname shook it.
Zero just watched, stunned. “Did you just broker a custody treaty with our toddler?”
Kaname stood with a faint smile. “A treaty between nobles. It was only fair.”
Isamu crawled back into Zero’s lap with a satisfied sigh. “I like you again.”
Kaname’s heart—immortal and usually unmoved—stirred like it hadn’t in centuries. He crouched one last time and gently brushed his fingers through the boy’s hair.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For letting me try.”
Isamu nodded, magnanimous. “You can sit near me at dinner.”
Kaname gave a humble bow. “An honor, my prince.”
Chapter 26: Hold me
Chapter Text
The call came just after sunset.
Yuki sat alone in the study of the Kuran estate, her tea untouched, cooling in silence. Ruka had left hours ago, and the house had returned to its habitual stillness — grand, elegant, and painfully empty.
When her phone rang, she stared at it longer than she should have before answering.
“Headmaster?” she asked softly.
“Yuki,” Cross said, voice steady — but edged with something that made her sit upright. “I need you to listen. It’s about Zero.”
Her breath caught. “What about him?”
“He was in Matsumoto. Living under an alias. With the child.”
Her fingers tightened around the ceramic cup.
The child.
The tiny baby with lilac eyes. Face wrinkled in pain. The one she had touched — saved — forging a false imprint to help Zero. A lie she had sworn to protect from Kaname.
“Isamu,” she whispered.
Cross’s voice softened. “Yes. That’s what the locals called him.”
She closed her eyes. “What happened?”
“He’s gone. Taken. Two or three weeks ago.”
The blood drained from her face. “Taken? By who?”
“A black car. Three men. One blond. One orange-haired. And one with brown hair… and a face no one forgets.”
Yuki stood abruptly, the teacup nearly slipping from her hands.
“Kaname,” she said.
A pause.
“Yes,” Cross replied grimly.
Silence stretched between them — long, cold, and sharp.
“Do you think…” Her voice trembled. “Do you think he hurt Zero? Or the boy?”
“I don’t know. Yagari doesn’t trust him. He’s heading to the mountains.”
Yuki’s gaze shot to the window. Night had fallen — the darkness thick and pressing. A cold wind stirred the branches like whispers.
“The mountains?” she echoed.
“There’s an old Kuran estate. Remote. Hidden. Kaname knows it. It’s a day’s drive from Matsumoto. Juri mentioned it once or twice. So my guess is… he took them there.”
Yuki’s lips parted. “He never told me about it.”
She gave a dry laugh. “He never tells me anything important. Not why we keep delaying the wedding. Not why he looks like a body without a soul.”
“Do you want to come with me?” Cross asked gently. “I told Yagari to wait. I want to see Zero. And his child.”
“Yes,” she answered without pause.
“No hesitation,” he murmured.
“No,” she said quietly. “Because I need answers. From my husband-to-be... and from the friend who abandoned me.”
Yuki stood motionless in the quiet aftermath of the call, the teacup trembling slightly in her hands.
Kaname took them.
The thought echoed in her mind, sharp and surreal. She set the cup down, her fingers numb, and slowly turned toward the window. The night beyond the glass was dark and endless.
She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to make sense of it.
Kaname. Zero. And the child. Together.
It didn’t add up.
What could Kaname possibly want with Zero? Why now?
At the Academy, she’d tried so hard to build a bridge between them. She wanted to believe it was possible—to keep them both in her life, even if it meant carrying all the weight herself. She had been so sure that if she loved them enough, they’d find peace.
She remembered every time she had stepped between their arguments, every time she had pleaded for calm. For understanding.
For coexistence.
And every time, she had failed.
They never truly accepted each other. Kaname tolerated Zero—barely. And Zero… Zero had hated everything Kaname stood for. His blood. His secrets. His darkness.
They spoke only when forced. Looked at each other like old wounds that would never heal.
So how could they be together now? In the same place, under the same roof?
Kaname wouldn’t hurt him… would he?
But then again, Kaname was no longer the boy who once sheltered her under moonlight. He had become… something else. More quiet. More distant. Colder. His eyes often empty when he looked at her, like he was always seeing something far beyond her reach.
He didn’t speak of the wedding. Not unless she brought it up first. And even then, he deflected. Delayed. Smiled without warmth.
Was he trying to pull away? Gently, like snow falling from a branch?
Or had he already left—just in ways she couldn’t yet see?
Yuki’s throat tightened.
And then there was Zero.
The boy who once stood beside her like a shield. Who raged against the world and still carried its weight. Who walked away without ever saying goodbye.
She remembered that night clearly. The day she turned back into a pureblood, and the look on his face when he saw her.
Like she had died.
And maybe, to him, she had.
Still, she had held out hope that one day he would come back. That they would talk again. That he’d forgive her for becoming something he hated.
The Car Ride
The countryside passed in slow silence — trees stripped bare by wind, mountains rising like jagged spines under a winter moon.
Yuki sat in the back seat, arms folded around herself. Her posture was still; her face, unreadable.
Ruka sat beside her, silent but present. Yuki had called her—not wanting the estate to stir with rumors about her leaving with a former hunter. Ruka’s presence was both shield and statement.
Cross glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?”
“I’m tired,” she replied. “Tired of waiting for people to tell me the truth.”
He nodded slightly, returning his eyes to the road. “When you came back from seeing the child… three years ago. You said his mother was a pureblood.”
“That’s what Zero and Aido told me,” she said. Her voice was flat, distant.
“You never questioned it?”
Yuki was quiet for a long moment.
“I did,” she admitted finally. “Of course I did.”
She looked out the window. The stars above the trees were pale and sharp — like shards of something broken.
“I didn’t push,” she continued. “I thought… if I knew where they were, I could visit. Ask later. Give him time.”
Her voice faltered.
“But Zero left that same night. Aido disappeared too. No warning. No goodbye.”
She shook her head, a bitter sound escaping her lips.
“Zero hated purebloods. He hated me after I turned. He wouldn’t even look at me. And yet… he had a child with one?”
The words stung, even now. “That night… he looked so exhausted. So broken. I didn’t want to push him.”
Cross said nothing. He didn’t need to.
“Something doesn’t add up,” she whispered. “It never has.”
She turned her eyes forward, sharper now. Colder.
“I need answers. I need to know why Kaname has been avoiding me. Why our marriage keeps being delayed. Why he left me with the Council while he disappeared into the snow with Takuma and Kain.”
She exhaled hard, fists tightening in her lap.
“And most of all… I need to know why he went to Zero.”
That night, after Rido’s death… she remembered Zero standing with his gun raised, towards Kaname’s heart. Bloody Rose humming with power. And Kaname—
Kaname had looked at peace.
Like he would’ve welcomed death.
But he hadn’t flinched.
And Zero… hadn’t fired.
Even back then, something had passed between them. Something she didn’t understand. Something she had deliberately looked away from, because she hadn’t wanted to lose either of them.
.
Ruka kept her gaze fixed on the blurred lines of moonlit forest beyond the window. She had remained silent for most of the ride, content to let the tension between Yuki and the Headmaster unfold.
But now, with Yuki’s last words—why he went to Zero—the silence in Ruka’s chest felt heavier. Tighter. Like something unspoken pressing into her ribs.
She didn’t understand it either.
Zero Kiryu.
The name alone grated.
That arrogant, sharp-tongued boy who had done nothing but challenge Kaname at every turn. Disrespectful. Reckless. A hunter raised to hate their kind. And yet, for some reason Ruka never understood… Kaname-sama had always spared him.
Even at the Academy—when Zero glared like Kaname was something beneath him, when he questioned orders meant to protect everyone—Kaname had done nothing.
No punishment. No public scolding.
Only patience. And silence.
As if that insolent boy was allowed to speak to him however he liked.
Even now, years later, she remembered standing beside Kaname on cold moonlit nights, watching as Zero stood across the courtyard, always too close to Yuki. Always armed. Always dangerous.
Why?
Why had Kaname protected him? Why had he allowed such defiance?
Ruka’s fingers curled in her lap. It made no sense.
Anyone else would have been cut down. Erased. Kaname-sama did not tolerate disrespect. Not from nobles. Not from elders. Not from traitors. But with him… he had always made an exception.
Why?
Past
There were cherry blossoms blooming late that spring.
In the private garden behind the Kuran estate, the trees had flowered weeks past their season. Pale petals drifted lazily through the air, catching on the red roses blooming in perfect rows. Some of them, Kaname had planted himself.
Yuki sat beneath the trees now, knees drawn to her chest, her hair braided loosely down her back. She wore a pale dress — one Kaname had given her for her last birthday — and her eyes were closed as the blossoms settled over her shoulders like snow.
Kaname stood a short distance away, watching her in silence.
He had come to speak with her today.
Not about the Council. Not about duty, or bloodlines, or alliances.
About the truth.
The truth he had carried too long — that the path they were on no longer belonged to him. That the dream she still held in her hands was one he had helped build… but could no longer live within.
But how do you unbuild a dream you helped shape?
How do you break the heart of the person you once swore to protect?
“Kaname,” Yuki called softly, without opening her eyes. She had always known when he was near.
He stepped forward, walked to her side, and sat beside her on the soft grass. His hands folded neatly in his lap, his posture graceful, composed.
The wind stirred the blossoms.
“You’re quiet today,” she said, eyes still closed.
“I am often quiet,” he replied with a soft, controlled smile.
She opened her eyes and smiled too. “But usually not with me.”
He gave a slight nod. “That’s true.”
She studied him carefully. “Is something wrong?”
He hesitated.
Say it, he told himself.
She deserves that much.
But instead, he said, “I’ve been thinking about the future.”
Yuki brightened, unaware of the shift in his voice. “Me too. The wedding isn’t far off now. Cross is already organizing the guest list. Ruka and Rima won’t stop fussing over flower arrangements.”
Kaname’s gaze lowered.
“Yes… the wedding.”
A quiet stretched between them.
“I wonder,” he said softly, “are you truly happy with this arrangement?”
She blinked, surprised. “Of course I am.”
He turned his head slightly, his eyes following a petal as it floated down and landed in her lap.
“Even if it isn’t quite the life you imagined?”
Yuki tilted her head, thoughtful.
“Even when I was Yuki Cross, I dreamed of marrying you,” she said gently. “You were my savior. My protector. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”
She gave a small smile. “I gave up everything I was… to become everything I am now.”
She reached for his hand, fingers warm as they laced with his.
“I gave that up for you.”
Kaname’s breath caught — just for a moment.
She didn’t see the flicker of guilt that crossed his eyes.
“I know things haven’t been easy,” she continued. “But I can endure. I can be what you need. We were meant to be, weren’t we?”
He looked down at their joined hands.
“Meant to be…” he echoed softly. “Or did we believe in it so deeply… that we made it true through sheer will alone?”
Yuki’s brow creased. “What are you saying?”
Kaname gently withdrew his hand from hers, brushing a petal from her shoulder with practiced grace.
“There are many forms of love,” he said calmly. “And many shapes that fate may take. But some paths are chosen for us before we even understand who we are.”
She was quiet.
“You deserve to love freely,” he said. “And to be loved freely. Without obligation. Without the weight of legacy.”
“I do love you,” she said quickly. “And you—”
He cut her off, gently. “Yuki…” His voice lowered, almost a whisper. “I will always care for you. You are… precious to me.”
He had hoped that would be enough—that she would understand what he was trying not to say.
That she would see it. But still, she asked, softly— “Then why…?”
Kaname stood.
The blossoms were falling harder now, as though the trees themselves sensed the shift in the wind.
He looked down at her, and saw the girl she had once been—still waiting, still hoping, still holding on to a future he could no longer promise her.
“You were my light in the darkness,” he said. “But the man I am now… is not the one you waited for.”
Yuki rose, slowly, her expression unsteady. “You’re just tired. The Council. The pressure. That’s all this is. You’ll feel better in time.”
He stepped closer and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was gentle—always gentle.
“Would you still love me,” he asked, “if the path I chose… was one you could not follow?”
She looked up at him, uncertain.
But instead of answering, she stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“You are my dream,” she whispered. “My hope. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Kaname closed his eyes.
When she turned and walked slowly back toward the house, he did not stop her.
He did not call out. He simply watched her go. Because he was a man bound by time, and by guilt.
A man who could not even walk to his mate — not while Zero still stood at the edge of something dangerous, trembling and fragile.
If Kaname dared reach for him too soon…God only knew what Zero might do. And so, Kaname remained behind in the garden. Alone beneath the falling blossoms.
And he wondered:
Is ignorance kinder than heartbreak? Is that why Yuki pretends not to hear what I’m saying?
He had tried. Gently. Quietly. He had given her the truth in pieces, hoping she would see. But she would always wait.
Because she believed he loved her. And because, in some way, she loved the illusion of him more than the truth.
Three days later, Yuki received a sealed letter in Kaname’s handwriting. No ribbon. No crest.
Just five words:
The wedding has been postponed.
And beneath it, in a second hand — smaller, more personal, more careful:
'There are things I must understand, and things I must let you learn on your own.'
She read it once.
Then folded it quietly and placed it in her drawer.
She would wait. She always had. She didn’t cry. Yuki Kuran had grown used to waiting.
It had been this way since she was a child. Since the day Kaname first saved her in the snow, and she clung to his hand like it was the only warmth left in the world. That feeling had never left her. Not really.
She remembered, at Cross Academy, how she used to watch him from the rooftop. How she would borrow binoculars from the disciplinary room and stare at the path near the Moon Dorm, just to catch a glimpse of his silhouette.
Just to know he was there.
Even when she couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t reach him, couldn’t understand him — just seeing him was enough.
Enough to feel safe. Enough to feel… less alone. Kaname had always made her feel less alone. And that was love, wasn’t it?
Not loud. Not desperate. Not even fully requited — not always. But constant.
Kaname had saved her again and again — from monsters, from secrets, from her own blood.
And when she couldn’t reach him, when he was too far, when he drifted away into duty or silence or shadow… she waited.
She waited. And she would do it again. Because she loved him.
Northern Estate
The fire crackled low in the library hearth.
Its glow painted the walls in flickers of orange and gold, the shadows dancing like memories too old to name.
Across the room, Zero sat in the wide reading chair, legs tucked beneath him, his expression relaxed in a way Kaname hadn’t seen in years.
Isamu was curled snugly in his lap again—a sleepy weight of blankets, bunny, and warmth.
He sucked softly on two fingers, eyes half-lidded, as Zero’s voice read steady and slow from a storybook.
“…and the stars whispered, ‘You are not alone.’ And the sky smiled, because it finally believed them.”
Isamu sighed contentedly and nestled closer.
Kaname watched them from his seat by the fire.
Quiet. Still.
But inside—everything moved.
He watched the way Zero’s fingers brushed absently through the boy’s hair.
How his voice softened at all the right places.
How his body curved just slightly around Isamu, protective in ways that weren’t conscious—but instinctual.
Like he had been made for this. And Kaname wondered—
Why?
Why did this feel so different?
He had had children before. Long ago.
Back when the world was colder. Crueler. When his role had been to rebuild, to preserve the Kuran bloodline. To secure the fragile balance of a collapsing world.
It had been necessary. Strategic. He couldn’t remember their faces now. Only vague outlines. Names on parchment.
Children born from duty. Raised by wet nurses. Guarded by cold, silent halls.
He had rarely touched them. Never read to them by firelight. Never kissed their bruises. Never tucked them beneath soft blankets at night.
He had given them blood. Names. Titles.
But not love. That… had never been asked of him.
Isamu, though—
He was something else entirely.
A child born not from duty or design. But from need. From chaos. From love.
And not just any love—but the kind that had waited ten thousand years to find breath again.
Zero.
Kaname’s mate. His anchor. His punishment and his salvation.
Zero, who had cursed him, fought him, burned in silence for him—and still, still, had returned.
Holding the child they had created.
With eyes too tired to give forgiveness, and a heart that had never stopped loving.
Was that what made Isamu different? That he was theirs?
Not a symbol. Not a tool. Not a legacy.
Just a boy.
A wild, stubborn, brave little boy—who ruled the breakfast table like a prince and made pancake forts in the dining room.
He was Zero’s son. Their son. Born not of manipulation or strategy,
but of something rare in Kaname’s long, hollow world.
Love.
It had been painful. Messy. Unplanned. But it had been real.
And now, Kaname sat watching them, watched Isamu whisper something to Zero, who responded with a soft hum and adjusted the blanket around him.
The boy smiled and nestled deeper into his arms.
It was like watching something holy. Kaname’s throat tightened.
He had never known what it truly meant to be a father.
He had known how to create. How to pass down power.
How to shape futures like chessboards.
But this—this soft, human thing—
This presence? It had never been part of the plan.
And now?
Now he wanted it more than he had ever wanted peace or power. He wanted to be someone Isamu could run to.
Not Lord Kuran. Not the Pureblood Prince.
But his father. Someone real. Someone who stayed. Because a child born of blood could carry a name.
But a child born of love?
He could carry your soul.
And Isamu…
He was his soul.
Born from two shattered hearts that still beat toward each other.
Born from a bond too stubborn to break. Born not to preserve a dynasty…
But to teach Kaname what love looked like when it wasn’t negotiated.
And maybe that’s why it mattered so much.
Why the word “Sad prince ” meant more to him than any title ever had.
Because for the first time in ten thousand years—
He had something that wasn’t made of ash.
Something pure. He didn’t deserve it. But gods help him—he would fight to keep it.
Even if it took centuries to earn it. Even if it meant learning every lullaby, kissing every wound, and standing beside Zero not as a Pureblood, but as a man.
A mate. A father.
The soft rhythm of Isamu’s breathing pulled him from his thoughts.
The boy had fallen asleep—fingers curled in the edge of Zero’s sweater, bunny tucked beneath his chin.
Zero looked up from the book. Their eyes met. Kaname said nothing. He only smiled.
And in that smile was a vow:
I will not waste this. Not this time. Not this child. Not you.
Zero’s eyes hadn’t left Kaname since the moment the firelight caught that distant glint of thought in his gaze.
Something was… stilling inside him.
Not tense. Not angry. Just quiet in a way that Kaname rarely was anymore.
He looked thoughtful. Tired. Wistful. And unbearably soft.
Zero closed the book, brushing a hand through Isamu’s hair once before gently slipping out from beneath the sleeping weight. Isamu barely stirred—just sighed, curling tighter around Bunny, his mouth twitching in a dream.
Zero stood, crossed the room, and stopped just before Kaname’s chair.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
Kaname didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at him.
Like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to.
Then—without a word—he reached out and pulled Zero into his lap, arms circling his waist with quiet, unshakable intent.
Zero stiffened, startled. “Kaname—what are you—?”
“You looked cold,” Kaname said mildly, burying his face in the crook of Zero’s neck.
“I’m not,” Zero muttered, cheeks flushing pink.
Kaname inhaled deeply.
“Hnn… You smell even more divine than before.”
Zero scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”
Kaname didn’t move. He kept breathing him in, slow and reverent.
His voice, when it came, was softer than before. Low. Almost prayerful.
“I was just thinking…”
Zero tilted his head. “Dangerous.”
Kaname gave a quiet, restrained laugh. Then: “That I never really had all of you.”
Zero stilled.
Kaname’s arms tightened slightly. “And somehow… a child born from our love has already had everything I dreamed of.”
Zero’s breath hitched.
“Morning. Afternoon. Evening. Night. Every hour. Every season. Every version of you. And I’m happy for him, Zero. Truly, I am.” He pressed a kiss to Zero’s throat—slow, aching, almost unsure.
“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t… envious.”
Zero blinked, caught off guard. “Envious?”
Kaname gave a low chuckle, brushing his lips along Zero’s skin again, just beneath his jaw.
“At the Academy… I had pieces of you. Fragments. Stolen nights. Kisses in dark corners. Glances when no one was looking. But never the full day. Never the whole of you.”
His voice faltered. Then steadied.
“You belonged to everyone but me. The Hunters. The school. Yuuki. Duty. Anger. Grief. Even your hatred—”
He leaned back, lifting his eyes to Zero’s face.
“You gave something to everyone.”
Zero’s throat tightened.
“Even before I knew you were my mate,” Kaname whispered, “I wanted something from you. I didn’t know what it was. Only that I couldn’t stand being invisible to you. Even your rage… I would’ve taken that.”
He looked down, voice softer still.
“And now, I watch you with him. With our son. And I see the love I always knew you had. A love I never got to hold.”
Zero looked away, jaw clenched.
“I know it’s childish,” Kaname said, his smile faint and not quite reaching his eyes. “But I’m jealous of our own son. Because he can demand a full ‘Papa’—and you give it to him without hesitation.”
His hands slid up Zero’s back, holding him closer. “And I’ve never had my full mate. Not for a whole day. Not truly.”
Zero exhaled slowly. “Kaname…”
“There’s so much we could have had,” Kaname murmured. “So much time lost. So many mornings I never woke beside you. Nights I never got to hear your breath in the dark.”
A pause. Then:
“I think I survived all those years by convincing myself you deserved a life without me in it.”
Zero’s fingers twitched against his shirt—uncertain whether to push him away or pull him in.
“But I was wrong. We both suffered from that distance.” Kaname’s voice dropped to barely a breath.
“And now you’re here. With our son. With your strength. With your scent and your tired little glares and the way you fold the laundry like you're waging war.”
He smiled faintly.
“And I realized…”
His hands rose, cupping Zero’s face with the care of someone holding something holy.
“I still want all of it. Not scraps. Not pieces. I want every version of you. The mornings when you’re grumpy. The afternoons when you’re quiet. The nights when you fall asleep mid-sentence.”
He kissed Zero’s temple. “I want to eat beside you.”
He kissed his cheek. “To read in the same room.”
He kissed his jaw. “To hold you when you’re angry.”
And finally—he kissed his lips. Slow. Gentle. No pressure. Just presence.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely audible. “I want all the time we missed.”
Zero didn’t speak at first. His throat moved. His eyes shimmered. Then—quietly—he whispered: “You have it now.”
Kaname blinked.
Zero leaned in, resting his forehead against Kaname’s. “Idiot,” he murmured. “Don’t be jealous of your own child. You can still have what we didn’t get then—now.”
Kaname exhaled, like the air had been knocked from his lungs.
And he held Zero like he might never get another chance.
Even though—finally—he knew now that he would.
Because Zero was here. Not just in pieces. But in full. At last.
Kaname's voice came again, barely more than breath against Zero’s skin. “I know I’m selfish, Zero… but I want you. Not as the world wants you. Not even as you were meant to be…”
His arms wrapped tighter, more certain now. “I want you to be mine. Not just my mate—mine in a way no one else has ever been. I want you to be more mine than you are even your own.”
Zero stiffened for a second—then drew back slightly, just enough to meet Kaname’s eyes.
A dry, tired scoff escaped his lips.
“You’re getting more obsessive by the day,” he muttered, silver eyes narrowing.
But there was no real anger behind the words—just that familiar, biting edge Zero used when he didn’t quite know what to do with emotion. That sharp tongue, his oldest armor.
Kaname only offered a faint smile. He knew this part of Zero too well by now. The push when he needed to pull. The deflection when things got too real too fast.
“Possessive, not obsessive,” Kaname corrected softly.
Zero rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he shifted closer.
“It’s getting harder to tell the difference,” he muttered.
Kaname dipped his head, brushing his nose lightly against Zero’s jaw. “Would it be so terrible,” he asked, “if I wanted to be the one thing in your life you never let go of?”
Zero was silent for a moment, breath catching slightly.
Then, his reply—quiet and dry, but sincere beneath the surface. “…You already are. That’s the problem.”
Kaname’s hand moved to cradle the back of his neck, thumb brushing slowly along the edge of his hair. “Then let it be a problem we never fix.”
Zero sighed against him, long and low, like someone too tired to keep pretending they weren’t moved.
Kaname’s fingers moved slowly through the strands at the base of Zero’s neck, his voice dropping into that calm, steady warmth only Zero could soften.
“Say it,” he murmured.
Zero blinked. “…Say what?”
“What you feel.”
Kaname’s breath ghosted across his skin, feather-light. “Not for anyone else. Not dressed in sarcasm. Just for me.”
Zero shifted slightly in Kaname’s lap, the comfortable silence between them starting to fray.
His eyes flicked down. His brows pulled in—subtle, but telling. “You already know what I feel,” he said gruffly.
“I want to hear it,” Kaname said, barely above a whisper.
A long pause.
Then, Zero huffed out a quiet, frustrated breath and leaned back just enough to look Kaname directly in the eyes—like he was bracing himself.
“You don’t make this easy.”
Kaname’s mouth curved faintly. “You never liked easy.”
Zero scowled but didn’t argue. His silver eyes narrowed.
“You want some big, poetic speech? That’s not me. I’m not like you.”
“I know,” Kaname said gently. “I didn’t fall in love with someone like me.”
Zero held his gaze.
His throat worked. Something vulnerable passed behind his eyes, like a shadow cutting across still water.
And then—quietly, and with that same rough honesty that always made him dangerous and beautiful all at once—Zero spoke.
“I used to think you just wanted control.”
“I did,” Kaname admitted.
“I hated it,” Zero said flatly. “I hated you.”
“I know.”
Zero’s jaw clenched. He looked away briefly, then back again.
“But even then… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop wondering what you were thinking, why you were always one step ahead… why you looked at me like I was worth noticing when I felt like nothing.”
The words sat heavy in the room. “You were never nothing to me,” Kaname whispered.
Zero gave a weak snort. “You made me feel like I was burning every time you were near. You still do.”
Kaname’s lips parted slightly, but Zero kept going. “I’m not good with… this. Talking. Feeling. But you—you never gave up. Even when I told you to. Even when I tried to forget you.”
Zero’s voice dipped, hoarse and low. “You make me feel like I still matter. Like I’m still… me.”
Another beat of silence passed, then—
“So if you want words, Kaname… fine.”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against Kaname’s again. “I love you.”
Simple. Clean. Honest.
“You’re infuriating. You’re smug. You’re annoying as hell. But I'm still in love with you.”
Kaname inhaled slowly, as if breathing that in for the first time.
Zero's voice dropped again—barely audible now. “And I’m tired of pretending like I'm not.”
Kaname’s hand trembled slightly at the nape of Zero’s neck—just once. Then steadied.
Kaname smiled against his lips. “Took you long enough to say it.”
Zero grunted. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t,” Kaname promised. “I’ll earn it again. Every time.”
And with that, he pulled Zero closer, no longer with desperation—but with reverence.
The fire in the library had dimmed to embers, casting a low amber glow across the room.
Outside, snow had begun to fall again—soft and silent against the windows.
Inside, the warmth lingered in every corner—but most of it was concentrated in the armchair, where Kaname sat with Zero in his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his mate like he never intended to let go.
Zero shifted, wincing slightly.
“Thigh still sore?” Kaname asked innocently, brushing hair from Zero’s cheek.
Zero shot him a glare. “You nearly bruised me last night. You couldn’t even restrain yourself.”
Kaname smiled, utterly unrepentant. “You weren’t complaining then.”
Zero huffed and looked away, face faintly pink. His shirt was tugged halfway off one shoulder, and his hair was a mess from fingers that refused to leave it alone. His mouth was swollen—kissed too many times to count.
Kaname’s mouth was everywhere—his throat, his jaw, the corner of his lips.
Teasing. Trailing. Tasting.
Zero let out a low, breathless sound, muffled into Kaname’s neck. “You said just kissing.”
“I am just kissing,” Kaname murmured, brushing his lips lightly over Zero’s skin again. “You’re the one making it sound like more.”
He tilted Zero’s face with two fingers and kissed him—slow and deep, with that infuriating level of control only Kaname Kuran could maintain after a solid hour of making out like a man starved.
Zero pulled back, breath ragged. “You’re not giving me any breaks.”
“You’ll survive,” Kaname whispered against his lips. “You’re the stronger one, remember?”
Zero slumped against him with a groan, resting his head on Kaname’s shoulder. “My thighs disagree.”
Kaname’s arms curled tighter around his waist—possessive and warm.
Across the room, Isamu lay curled in the reading chair, snoring softly, Bunny clutched to his chest like a beloved war trophy. Peaceful. Unbothered.
Kaname’s voice came low. “We should take advantage of this time. Before your little tyrant wakes and accuses me of stealing you again.”
Zero laughed softly.
“You know,” he muttered, “I’ve been meaning to ask… How did my sweet, innocent son become this possessive? He used to be so thoughtful. Gentle.”
Kaname blinked innocently. “Genetics, maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” Zero narrowed his eyes. “He growls when he doesn’t get his morning cuddles. Demands loyalty in the form of extra syrup. Talks like he’s issuing decrees.”
Kaname shrugged, nuzzling into the curve of Zero’s neck. “He’s articulate.”
“He’s controlling,” Zero countered.
“He’s… motivated,” Kaname replied.
“He insists on being first for everything when it comes to me. First to get food. First to be greeted. If I so much as say good morning to anyone else before him, he glares at me like I’ve committed treason.”
Kaname gave a solemn nod. “He values order.”
Zero stared at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
Kaname smiled—soft-lipped and infuriating. “I find it… familiar.”
Zero narrowed his eyes. “You made him this way. I’m starting to see more of you in him every day.”
He sighed. “How is this even possible? I kept him away from everything Pureblood-related. He only met you recently.”
Kaname gasped theatrically. “Are you accusing me of imprinting my more charming traits onto our son?”
“Charming?” Zero echoed flatly.
Kaname leaned in, voice smug. “You didn’t seem to mind my charm last night.”
Zero’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Mmm.” Kaname tilted his head. “It felt very similar.”
Zero slapped a hand lightly against his chest. “You’re impossible.”
Kaname caught that hand, turned it over, and kissed the center of his palm.
“Only kissing,” he murmured.
“You’re a liar.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Constantly.”
Kaname’s mouth brushed the corner of his lips again—teasing. “Well… if it’s just kissing…”
And before Zero could reply, Kaname was kissing him again—deep and slow and utterly maddening.
Zero melted into it, his breath catching as Kaname’s tongue brushed his lower lip—lazy, sinful, unbearably slow.
He mumbled into the kiss: “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Kaname chuckled against his mouth. “Maybe. But if I am… I’ll make it a beautiful death.”
“Dramatic,” Zero muttered.
Kaname pulled back just enough to look at him seriously, voice suddenly quieter. “You know… as much as our son insists you belong to him, I know better.”
Zero blinked, breath still unsteady.
“You’re my mate,” Kaname said softly. “And I don’t think even our son can knock me into second place—not in your heart.”
His hand cupped Zero’s cheek, thumb brushing softly. “I was your first. And I intend to be your last.”
Zero swallowed hard.
Kaname’s voice gentled even more. “There may be more children someday. Maybe even more chaos. But you’ll only ever have one mate. That’s me.”
Zero stared at him—flushed, breathless, overwhelmed. And he didn’t look away.
Instead, he leaned in—pressing his lips to Kaname’s one more time.
A quiet answer. A vow in return. Kaname smiled against his mouth.
“Only kissing,” he whispered.
Zero shook his head, voice breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”
Kaname kissed him again.
Zero pulled back from the kiss, breath caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed, lips still tingling. Kaname’s earlier words—first and last, only mate, more children—echoed in his ears like a curse and a promise.
It settled in his chest with a heavy, fluttering ache.
And then—
Zero narrowed his eyes. “There are not going to be any more children,” he said flatly.
Kaname’s dark gaze didn’t falter. “Why?”
Zero slid off his lap in one sharp motion, tugging his shirt back up over one bare shoulder. “Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not.”
Kaname’s expression remained perfectly composed. “You don’t want—?”
“No. If you want more children, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He paused. “Or do you plan to try with someone else?”
Kaname’s eyes flashed—just a glint, like heat behind glass. “You know better.”
Zero gave a slow, venomous smile. “Do I?”
Kaname’s voice dropped into something silken and deadly. “If you believe I would ever touch another, even to continue the Kuran line… then you’ve misunderstood me entirely.”
Zero leaned down, voice razor-sharp. “I had back pain for nine months. My ribs were bruised. My organs moved. I sobbed—sobbed—because I dropped a spoon. And I had to pee every ten minutes.”
Kaname’s brow twitched, but he remained eerily calm. “…I can imagine.”
“I couldn’t sneeze without feeling like my spine was going to snap,” Zero hissed. “And don’t even ask about the cravings. Pickled rice and hot fudge. Together. For three weeks.”
Kaname opened his mouth to respond.
Zero raised a hand. “Don’t.”
He hesitated—then looked away, voice quieter, but colder. “You don’t actually care about having another. You just want to see me pregnant. You think you missed out.”
Kaname stilled.
"You weren’t there when I carried Isamu,” Zero said, arms tightening across his chest. “You didn’t see the days when When I looked in the mirror and hated everything staring back.”
Kaname inhaled—deep and careful—but didn’t speak.
“I’m not letting you see me like that,” Zero said, softer now, more vulnerable than angry. “Not round. Not miserable. Not swollen and sweating and angry. Not full of stretch marks and waddling around like I was made of glass.”
His voice dipped to a whisper. “You don’t get that version of me.”
He turned slightly, shoulders stiff. “You get this one. The one that survived it.”
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Kaname stepped forward—slowly, like he might startle something delicate.
“You think I only want the beautiful parts,” he said, voice low and steady.
Zero didn’t answer.
Kaname’s fingers brushed the hem of his sleeve—not pulling, just touching. “But I didn’t love you after the storm, Zero.”
He looked at him then—truly looked.
“I loved you when you hated me. When all I had were stolen glances through windows… half-swallowed words. I loved you even when you were pointing your gun at me.”
Zero’s breath caught, silver eyes wide and unblinking.
Kaname moved closer, voice trembling now—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous: regret.
Kaname stepped closer, voice softening even more.
“I would’ve loved your stretch marks,” he whispered. “I would have kissed them like they were holy. I would’ve held you when you were vomiting. I would’ve fetched your weird cravings at midnight and help you sleep when your back hurt too much to lie still.”
He paused. “But you were alone.”
His voice cracked, and for once, Kaname Kuran—the always-composed, always-collected—looked truly broken.“You were alone, and I hate that. That’s what I want to rewrite. Not because I missed out on a child—” he swallowed, “—but because I missed out on being there for you.”
His hand lifted, just barely brushing Zero’s arm.“That’s the memory I want to overwrite, Zero. Not your body. Not your pregnancy. Your loneliness.”
Kaname inclined his head in silence. Pureblood pride wounded. Slightly.
“You keep thinking there’s a version of you I wouldn’t want. But I’ve already loved every impossible version—angry, grieving, sharp-tongued and silent. Why would a swollen belly change that?”
Zero flinched, just slightly.“Because I wouldn’t feel like me,” he muttered. “I’d feel… out of control. Ugly. Weak.”
Zero crossed his arms. “So no. We are not doing that again. It probably shouldn’t have been possible in the first place.”
Kaname, unfazed, tilted his head ever so slightly. “Yet it was. A gift from fate. A miracle, perhaps.”
“Fate can mind its own business,” Zero snapped. “You want another child? Be a father to the one you already have.”
Kaname’s voice remained low, velvet-smooth. “I’m trying.”
“Start with one bath. One tantrum. Toilet duty.”
Kaname gave the smallest of sighs. “That seems… manageable.”
Zero arched a brow. “We’ll see.”
A pause. Then: “You’re a stupid pureblood.”
A twitch of Kaname’s lips. Almost a smile. “And yet you married me.”
Before Zero could respond, a sleepy voice cut through the room like a knife through fog.
“Papa?”
They froze.
Isamu was sitting up in the reading chair, hair sticking out wildly, one hand gripping Bunny by the ear, his face solemn with that uncanny toddler wisdom that made both of them feel two inches tall.
“Why were you yelling about ‘stoopit pureblood’?” he asked groggily.
Zero flushed crimson.
Kaname knelt smoothly beside the chair, tone composed, princely. “We were having a grown-up disagreement.”
“About pureblood? What's a pureblood?"
Zero ran a hand down his face. “A pureblood,” he muttered, “is a very dramatic, very stubborn, overly possessive person who causes trouble and doesn’t listen when told no.”
Kaname turned his head slowly toward him, one elegant brow lifting with perfect, amused precision. “Is that what pureblood means now?” he asked, dry as dust.
Zero didn’t meet his eyes. “To me, yeah.”
Kaname’s lips twitched—part offense, part reluctant fondness. “A bold definition.”
"We were talking about the consequences of bad decisions.” Zero says to Isamu.
Kaname, perfectly unbothered, offered, “No it was about love.”
Isamu frowned. “Love makes Papa yell?”
“…Sometimes,” Zero admitted.
“Love sounds hard,” Isamu said, already flopping dramatically under his blanket.
Kaname brushed a hand gently through his hair. “It is. But it’s also worth the trouble. Especially when it gives you someone like Papa.”
Isamu yawned. “Can we just go outside and play?”
Zero sighed. “Yes. No more yelling.”
Kaname looked up. “Even if I bring up… hypothetical siblings?”
“We do not talk of such nonsense,” Zero snapped immediately.
Isamu blinked. “Siblings? What’s that?”
Kaname opened his mouth.
Zero’s eyes cut across the room like silver daggers. “Forbidden magic. I’ll explain when you’re older.”
Isamu gasped. “Like dark spells?!”
“Exactly,” Zero said smoothly. “Never speak of it again.” but looking it Kaname pointedly.
Kaname murmured under his breath, “I was going to say ‘family expansion.’”
“Forbidden,” Zero repeated darkly. “Like arrogant purebloods who don’t know when to shut up.”
Kaname raised his hands in mock surrender, lips curving slightly. “Understood.”
Isamu curled tighter under the blanket. “You both talk too much. I get confused and don’t understand anything.”
Zero bent and kissed the top of his head. “Boots. Snowball war. Ten minutes.”
Isamu perked up immediately. “With weapons?!”
Kaname smiled. “Just snowballs and mittens.”
Isamu pointed. “And I want a truce! No yelling, no secrets, and no stealing Papa!”
Zero shot Kaname a smug look.
Kaname brushed his fingers subtly against Zero’s. “Still your mate, though.”
Zero narrowed his gaze. “You’re pushing it.”
Kaname leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost across Zero’s skin. “I’m very good at pushing.”
Zero rolled his eyes. “Get your coat before I ban you from touching me.”
Kaname gave a low, aristocratic gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, Pureblood.”
And then—Kaname swept gracefully out of the room, following their pint-sized war general who was already shouting orders to Bunny in the hallway like a pint-sized commander of chaos.
Zero lingered by the fire a moment longer, arms crossed, watching the flames shift and flicker.
The estate was quiet again.
And somewhere beyond the walls, he could hear Isamu’s shriek of laughter.
.You’re still a controlling bastard, he thought. But you’re trying.
And that—That was enough for now.
—Zero closed his eyes. Because he knew. He knew how much effort that had taken.
The Kaname Kuran of old wouldn’t have walked away. Wouldn’t have allowed a discussion to be shut down with sarcasm and scowls. Wouldn’t have smiled and surrendered, even in jest. Wouldn’t have paused at the threat of being “banned from touching” anything—let alone his mate.
A part of Zero still expected the old version—the one who broke kingdoms and drank loyalty like wine—to rise in that moment and insist.
But instead…He left.
With a gasp and a laugh, following their son like the man had never ruled anything larger than a snow-covered garden.
You’ve changed, Zero thought, staring into the fire.
Not because you’re weaker. Because you’re trying. That was the real miracle, wasn’t it?
Not Kaname’s charm. Not his vows. Not even his slow-burning seduction.
But his restraint. He could still command if he wanted to. He could push. Could demand. Could take.
He was a Pureblood. That instinct was carved into his bones—older than history, colder than winter. Dominion, legacy, control—it was his nature.
But these days? He was choosing not to follow it. He was choosing Zero instead.
Zero rubbed the heel of his palm over his chest, like trying to ease the unfamiliar ache rising there.
He’d spent so long thinking that being Kaname’s mate meant giving things up. Freedom. Safety. Himself.
But lately… lately it felt like Kaname was the one learning how to give.
And that frightened him more than anything. Because he wanted to believe in this change.
He wanted to believe that this version of Kaname—the one who joked with Isamu, who stood silent during tantrums, who yielded to Zero’s sharp words with nothing but a small nod—wasn’t a phase. Wasn’t a performance.
He wanted it to be real.
Because the truth was, it wasn’t just Kaname risking something by being soft.
Zero was, too.
He turned toward the door, listening as faint laughter echoed back from the far wing of the estate.
Isamu’s little boots thudding down the stairs.
Kaname’s voice—low, amused—offering him a mitten in mock surrender.
And Zero thought… Maybe love was a kind of war. But at least they were fighting for the same side now.
He grabbed his coat from the hook, his hand brushing the familiar fabric of Kaname’s beside it.
He paused.
Then smiled.
And followed the sound of their son’s joy into the snow.
Zero stepped through the tall front doors, snow crunching beneath his boots.
And paused. The front yard had been transformed.
Crystalline archways glittered with hoarfrost, their edges sculpted like delicate ice lace. Pillars of frozen light spiraled upward from the hedges, catching sunlight in soft rainbows. Snow was packed in glimmering ridges, forming what could only be described as a miniature winter fortress.
Aido stood nearby, one hand still outstretched, his ice powers crackling faintly as he crafted another ornate ramp.
He caught Zero’s stare, grinned, and gestured with a dramatic flourish.“Welcome to Isamu Kingdom.”
Zero blinked. “You did all this?”
Aido adjusted his scarf like a smug designer. “The brief was ‘magical and strategically fortified.’ I exceeded expectations.”
Nearby, Kain was silently rolling what could only be described as a small snow boulder, his expression stoic as it gained more mass with every pass.
Zero nodded toward him. “What’s Kain doing?”
Aido shrugged. “Siege weapon. Obviously.”
Zero turned toward the center of the ward and spotted them—Kaname and Isamu ducked behind a snow wall, locked in an intense snowball barrage with Takuma, who looked utterly betrayed and completely overwhelmed.
“You could have picked me!” Takuma shouted, ducking behind a bush. “You said we were allies!”
Isamu’s voice rang out like a war cry. “You didn’t want me on your team when I said I couldn’t throw far! But now you regret it!”
A snowball slammed into Takuma’s head with a splat. “Zero! Help! They’ve turned on me!”
Zero laughed, unable to help himself.
Just then, Isamu popped up from behind the wall, bunny hat askew, arms flailing for balance.
“You didn’t believe in me, Taku-chan!” he yelled. “Said I was too small! But now me and Sad Prince will take your fort! This garden is ours now!”
Kaname, crouched beside him with regal solemnity, passed him another snowball. “Well said, Commander.”
Aido, watching the chaos unfold, muttered, “Small? Yes. Terrifying? Absolutely. Especially now that he’s had his sire’s blood.”
Zero stepped up beside him, arms crossed. “He’s changed. He used to be so quiet. So well-mannered.”
“He still is,” Aido replied, glancing toward the boy. “But he’s got more people now. He wants to do everything he couldn’t before—because he was sick. Now? He’s making up for lost time.”
Zero’s gaze softened. “I’m glad for it.”
Aido sighed dramatically. “And apparently I’m now the royal architect. And Kain’s the siege weapon.”
They both turned to look at Kain, still silently maneuvering the ever-growing snow boulder with alarming precision.
“He hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes,” Aido added. “He’s in the zone.”
Zero watched Kaname laugh as Isamu pelted Takuma in the leg, while Takuma slipped with a yelp. Kain calmly positioned the snow boulder for maximum destruction.
For the first time in years, Zero didn’t feel like an outsider. He felt like this—all of this—belonged to him, too.
His son. His mate. His chaos. He exhaled, breath fogging in the cold. And smiled.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Guess I’ll help the losing side.”
Takuma’s voice rang out like a divine plea. “Finally!”
Zero crouched, scooped up a snowball, and aimed.
It hit Kaname square in the chest.
Kaname blinked. Looked down. Then slowly raised his eyes to meet Zero’s across the battlefield.
Zero gave him a look that said, What are you gonna do about it?
Kaname’s mouth twitched—You just declared war.
Isamu gasped. “Papa betrayed us!”
Zero laughed. “It’s not betrayal. It’s called being fair. Two against one wasn’t.”
Isamu turned to Kaname, wide-eyed. “We have to be fair in snowball fights, right?”
Kaname passed him another snowball. “Papa’s dramatic. But he’ll lose. Because you have me.”
Isamu beamed and roared, “CHARGE!”
And just like that, the winter battlefield erupted once more—snow flying, laughter echoing, magic sparkling faintly in the air.
Aido joined Zero’s side, hurling icicle-sharp snowballs. Kain, now firmly entrenched with Isamu and Kaname, released his snow boulder with methodical precision—and Aido promptly disappeared beneath it.
“That’s a war crime!” Aido’s muffled voice cried from under a heap of snow.
Zero ducked behind a wall of ice as a snowball whizzed past his head.
Then—
A streak of motion.
Isamu, mid-charge, tripped on a patch of ice and skidded feet-first across the snow—
Straight into Zero’s legs.
He latched onto Zero’s knee like a koala, clinging tight with mittened hands.
“Papa!” he cried. “I missed you! Be on my team! You’re mine!”
Zero, caught off balance, stumbled and let out a winded oof—then burst out laughing as he crouched to ruffle the boy’s hair.
Kaname stood behind them, snowball in hand, smiling softly—like nothing in the world had ever looked better than this.
And honestly? Zero couldn’t argue with him. Not today.
After lunch, the estate settled into a soft, steady rhythm.
Eager as ever, Aido had taken Isamu to the library. He made a show of sighing dramatically about his “unending responsibility as tutor,” but in truth, he enjoyed their lessons far more than he let on.
Isamu, all bright eyes and bouncing energy, soaked up knowledge like a sponge.
Though only three, he was already well ahead of most human children in reading and comprehension. Being a vampire helped. Being a pureblood helped even more.
His development had always been ahead of the curve—he’d crawled early, walked early, spoken in full sentences before most toddlers could form simple words.
Physically, he’d been fragile in his first year. But intellectually, he was anything but.
He didn’t know that Kaname was his sire. But the resemblance revealed itself in subtler ways—the speed with which he grasped new concepts, the quiet precision in how he held a book, the sharp, inquisitive spark in his gaze. He was Zero’s in soul, yes. But Kaname's imprint was unmistakable in the way the boy learned.
Aido sat across from him at a low reading table, watching with barely disguised pride as Isamu pointed to words with chubby fingers and read them aloud, stumbling only occasionally.
Kain had joined them too, drawn more by Aido than the lesson. He hadn’t said as much, but it was obvious in the way he hovered nearby, always watching. Isamu had taken to calling him “Big Kain,” and once told Aido very seriously that Kain was “like a mountain that reads stories in its head.” Kain hadn’t corrected him.
Truthfully, Kain just wanted to be near Hanabusa again. He’d missed that idiot more than he’d ever admit aloud.
Meanwhile, Zero—exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and the constant presence of others—had retreated to the bedroom, hoping for just an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep. As soon as the door clicked shut, the estate seemed to exhale. The quiet was welcome.
—
Elsewhere, in the study, the fire burned low and steady.
Kaname stood near the tall windows, one hand resting on the glass, watching the snow settle over the outer gardens. His eyes were distant, his mind somewhere far beyond the frost-laced trees.
Takuma lounged on the couch, a ledger open in his lap but only half-read.
The silence broke when Seiren entered with her usual soundless grace.
“Kaname-sama,” she said softly.
Kaname turned. “Yes?”
She bowed slightly. “A report from the Kuran estate.”
That caught both men’s attention.
Kaname’s brow lifted. “What happened?”
“Yuuki-sama is not there,” Seiren said calmly. “She left early this morning with Headmaster Cross and Lady Ruka Souen. No formal notice was given. They took only a single travel case.”
Takuma sat forward, frowning. “Yuuki left? Without even sending word?”
“She appointed Shiki and Rima to oversee the estate in her absence,” Seiren continued. “There were no signs of distress or emergency. The departure appeared planned.”
Kaname’s expression remained unreadable, though a crease formed slowly between his brows.
“She’s not the type to leave without saying anything,” Takuma said. “Especially not to you.”
“No,” Kaname agreed quietly. “She isn’t.”
He turned from the window and walked back to his desk. “And yet… she did.”
Takuma closed the ledger gently. “Should we be concerned?”
Kaname considered for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the flames. “No. Not if Cross is with her. Wherever they’ve gone, it’s not danger. And if Ruka followed… it must be something personal.”
Seiren remained still, waiting for instructions.
Kaname glanced her way. “Keep a distant watch. Don’t interfere. If Yuuki wants to be found, she’ll make it clear.”
Seiren nodded. “Understood.”
With that, she vanished back into the hall like a shadow dissolving into snow.
Silence fell again.
Then Takuma spoke, gentler now. “What do you think this is about? You haven’t been yourself since we went searching for Zero and Isamu… and you haven’t kept in touch with Yuuki either.”
Kaname watched the fire. “Maybe she’s simply trying to remember who she was before all of this. Before destiny and legacy and me.”
He sat slowly at the desk, folding his hands.
“I haven’t spoken much to her since the Academy,” he admitted. “Not truthfully. She kept asking about marriage. I told her, as gently as I could, that I didn’t want that. Not with her. Not anymore. I didn’t want to hurt her. But I also couldn’t lie about the bond that belongs to someone else.”
“You didn’t tell her about Zero?” Takuma asked.
Kaname shook his head. “No. I couldn’t. Not then.”
“Do you mind that she left?” Takuma pressed, quieter now.
Kaname gave a faint, tired smile. “I’m learning not to be too controlling of other people’s choices. She was never mine to keep. I’ve done my part—I protected her. I gave her the life our bloodline promised. Now she has to choose for herself who she wants to be… without expecting me to define it for her.”
Takuma watched him in stillness. Then he smiled. “That’s growth.”
Kaname gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Or penance.”
He looked toward the flames again, voice low.
“She needs to learn how to be Yuuki… not as someone’s sister, or someone’s bride. But as herself. She needs to love herself before she asks anyone else to.”
Takuma didn’t speak for a moment. Then, gently, “And what about you?”
Kaname’s eyes flicked up. “Me?”
“Do you know who you are without carrying everyone else?”
Kaname looked down at his folded hands.
The fire crackled softly, casting a slow golden glow across the walls. Shadows danced along the floor as the snow beyond the window drifted in slow, silent spirals.
Kaname’s gaze was fixed on the hearth, but his thoughts had gone far beyond it—further than the estate, further than the frozen mountains that guarded them. He wasn’t seeing flames. He was seeing memories.
He had wandered the world with aims bigger than any one soul should ever be asked to carry. Entire empires had moved like pieces across his mental board. He had plotted and planned—always ten moves ahead, always ready for betrayal or consequence. He had manipulated dynasties, erased legacies, re-written the future in blood and silence.
That had been his life.
A war without end. A purpose with no peace.
Because he had always believed the world needed him to be that way—sharp, distant, unwavering. And maybe once, it had.
But now?
Now the world felt like it could go on without him.
And more than that… he wanted it to.
He let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair, eyes distant.
“I always had plans,” he said quietly. “Always had things to do. Maps in my mind. Goals that spanned centuries. I believed I had to keep moving or everything would fall apart.”
Takuma didn’t speak, sensing the gravity in Kaname’s voice.
“But now…” Kaname’s fingers flexed slightly. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”
He looked up—eyes calm, steady, and almost gentle.
“I don’t want to lead anyone. I don’t want to change the world. Let it go on without me.”
He smiled faintly—tired, but honest.
“For once, I don’t want to be ten moves ahead.”
Takuma studied him quietly. “Then what do you want to be?”
Kaname’s answer came slowly, but with a certainty that rang deeper than any command he’d ever given.
“I want to be someone who loves his mate. And earns that love in return.”
The fire popped softly.
“I’m a pureblood,” Kaname said, voice low. “We’ve always been raised to believe we deserve everything the world can offer. Power. Obedience. Fear. Devotion. But I’ve had all that.”
He looked toward the window, where snow still drifted beyond the glass.
“And I’ve never felt more hollow than I did when I held it alone.”
He turned back to Takuma, and now his voice held a quiet truth—weightless and heavy at once.
“All I want now is one thing.”
Takuma waited.
Kaname’s eyes softened. “A life of peace. With my Zero.”
There was no grandeur in his tone. No arrogance. Just longing. Just clarity.
Takuma leaned back slowly, a small, true smile tugging at his lips.
“That,” he said, “is the most un purebloodish thing I’ve ever heard.”
Kaname huffed a soft breath of laughter. “It shouldn’t be.
“No,” Takuma agreed. “But I’m glad it is. Im a bit jealous though."
Kaname tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly—not in offense, but with a flicker of curiosity. “Jealous?”
Takuma let out a long, theatrical sigh, stretching his arms lazily along the back of his chair. “Mm. Terribly.”
He turned toward the fire, his voice softening. “Not because I envy the drama—gods, no. You two exhaust me just by breathing the same air.”
Kaname smirked faintly. “That’s fair.”
“But I envy the way you look at each other,” Takuma said, smiling a little, almost wistfully. “Even back at the Academy, when you hated each other, it was like something still pulled you together. Like gravity.”
Kaname fell quiet, his thumb absently tracing the rim of his teacup. “It’s not easy, you know. Having a bond like this.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“I broke him,” Kaname admitted, voice low. “Again and again. And he still came back. Not because he had to—but because, somewhere deep down… he still believed in me.”
Takuma watched him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“You say that like it’s surprising.”
Kaname blinked, as if not expecting that response.
Takuma shrugged. “You’ve always been impossible to love, Kaname. And yet… everyone still does. Even when you don’t deserve it.”
Kaname gave a soft chuckle. “That sounds like a compliment buried in a complaint.”
“It is,” Takuma said, grinning. “You’re frustrating. Brooding. Overly dramatic. And occasionally an emotionally constipated mess.”
“Charming.” Kaname deadpan.
“But you’re also loyal,” Takuma continued, his tone softening. “And when you love… you love deeply. Quietly. Without expectation. You love Zero in a way I’ve never seen any pureblood love anyone.”
Kaname looked into the fire, throat tight. “I think he always knew that. Even when he hated me most. That’s probably why he couldn’t stop loving me.”
Takuma nodded. “He never stopped. That’s what makes it real.”
“I’m still learning how to be worthy of it,” Kaname murmured. “Of him.”
“Good,” Takuma said simply. “Because he deserves someone who keeps trying. Who keeps learning how to love him better.”
A silence stretched between them—comfortable, full of flickering firelight and old friendship.
Then Takuma leaned forward abruptly. “Still—if the universe has any sense of humor, it’ll send me someone equally impossible soon.”
Kaname raised an eyebrow. “Are you hoping for a mate bond or a lifelong headache?”
“Both,” Takuma said solemnly. “Preferably someone with better fashion sense than Zero.”
Kaname laughed—a low, quiet sound that cracked the silence. It was real, and it settled something inside him.
Takuma grinned. “There it is. I missed that sound.”
Kaname exhaled, the fire’s warmth finally sinking into his chest. “You’ll find someone someday, Takuma.”
He paused, eyes drifting upward toward the ceiling. But inwardly, he doubted it. Not out of cruelty—just truth. It had taken Kaname over ten thousand years to find his bond. And he was a pureblood ancestor.
He spoke softly. “The mate bond… it’s rare. Rarer than most will ever know. It’s absolute. A love without doubt. A love written into the bones of your being.”
He looked down at his hands. “People have claimed to love me before. Admired me. Obsessed over me. But only with Zero do I feel… safe. Known. Trusted.”
Takuma stayed quiet.
Kaname looked back up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I finally have something real. And I finally know what real love feels like.”
A beat passed.
Then Takuma groaned dramatically. “I swear, if you propose to him before I even get a decent date, I’m throwing something at your head.”
Kaname’s smirk curled like a secret. “Well… about that.”
Takuma stilled. “…What?”
Kaname’s smile deepened, maddeningly serene. “We’re already married.”
Takuma choked on air. “You’re what?!”
Kaname took a slow sip of tea. “We got married back at the Academy. Quietly.”
“No—no, no, no, back up.” Takuma sat upright, scandalized. “When? How?! Why didn’t I know this?!”
Kaname looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Being mated is equivalent to marriage anyway. But I knew Zero wouldn’t understand the weight of that—he was raised human, trained to be a hunter. So we got married the human way. Something he could value.”
Takuma stared at him, mouth open. Then slumped back with a loud huff. “So let me get this straight. You found your soulmate—already rare. You’re married. And you have a child with said soulmate.”
Kaname nodded.
Takuma threw an arm over his eyes. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”
Kaname chuckled. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“You’re the most insufferably fulfilled vampire I’ve ever met.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.” But Takuma smiled anyway. He truly was happy for Kaname.
Because somehow, despite the impossible years behind them—despite the heartbreak, the silence, the grief—here they were.
Still friends. Still alive.
And somehow… for once, no one had to lose anything to hold on to something real.
Kaname stood, brushing invisible lint from his coat as he glanced toward the hallway.
“You’re not going to stay and gloat?” Takuma asked, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Kaname offered a quiet smirk.
“No. I think I’ll spend time with my mate… before my own son begins issuing official cuddle restrictions again.”
Takuma leaned back with a theatrical sigh.
“Please, yes—at least let Isamu make you struggle. You already have the rarest bond in vampire existence, you’re married, and you have a child. It’s time something got in the way of your romantic moments. Let your own blood betray you.”
Kaname’s chuckle was soft, nearly fond.
“He already has.”
And with that, he left the study—silent and graceful as always, his presence lingering in the air even after he disappeared down the hall.
The master bedroom was still and warm, wrapped in the hush of twilight. Shadows danced lazily across the tall windows, streaks of amber casting soft gold over the bedding.
Zero lay asleep, half-buried beneath the comforter, silver hair fanned like moonlight over the pillow. His brow was smooth. His lips slightly parted. The ever-present tension he carried had finally, mercifully, let go.
Kaname stepped inside quietly, reverently—as if he were entering a sacred space.
He moved to the side of the bed and knelt, eyes tracing the delicate lines of Zero’s face. His lashes. The curve of his jaw. The way his hand clutched lightly at the edge of the blanket, even in sleep.
Zero’s scent reached him, soft and familiar—warm spice and snow and something uniquely his. It was stronger lately. Richer. More alive.
Kaname leaned in and buried his nose in Zero’s hair, inhaling deeply.
He would never tire of this scent. This closeness. This peace.
He began kissing Zero’s face in soft, careful brushstrokes.
His forehead. His temple. The curve of his cheekbone. The tip of his nose. The corner of his mouth.
Zero stirred, groaning low in his throat. His lips twitched in a half-annoyed grant. “Stop that.”
Kaname kissed his jaw and murmured, “What?”
A sleepy voice, muffled by blankets: “Waking me up like you’re trying to worship me out of sleep.”
Kaname smiled against his skin. “I am.”
Zero cracked one eye open, bleary with sleep. “That’s ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Kaname said softly, his voice dropping into a low hum near Zero’s ear, “here you are. Awake.”
Zero groaned again and tried to burrow deeper into the covers. But Kaname slid beneath the blanket with practiced ease and gathered him close—slowly, firmly—until Zero was half-draped over his chest, one leg thrown lazily across his hips.
Kaname’s hands moved to cradle the small of his back, holding him there like something precious.
“Stay like this,” Kaname whispered, “for a while.”
“You’re clingy,” Zero muttered, his voice muffled by the hollow of Kaname’s throat. But he didn’t move away.
“You’re warm…” Kaname breathed, eyes slipping shut. “You smell so good.” He exhaled into Zero’s hair. “And you’re mine.”
Zero sighed. “Do I get a say in this?”
Kaname kissed the crown of his head. “You always did. You still do.”
There was a quiet beat. The hush between heartbeats.
Then Zero’s fingers slid beneath the hem of Kaname’s shirt, fingertips tracing lightly against skin. “Then you can hold me.”
Kaname’s eyes opened, soft and shining—red tinged with something gentler than blood.
“Then I’ll hold you,” he said, his voice a vow, “until the world stops turning.”
Zero said nothing. He didn’t need to.
He simply relaxed into the arms that had once caused him pain but now held only peace.
Kaname lazily trailed kisses across Zero’s face—his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Each one softer than the last. He brushed their lips together, feather-light, over and over… until Zero finally gave in and let him deepen it.
They kissed—slow, deep, with a quiet hunger that curled between breaths. What began as something gentle quickly turned warmer. Hands slid beneath fabric, fingers grazing skin. Heat stirred between them like a tide rising—inevitable, familiar.
Zero moaned into it, low and reluctant.
He was the first to pull back, just barely—his breath uneven, silver lashes dipping low over storm-gray eyes.
“Tch. You really are insatiable,” he muttered, voice rough. “Perverted pureblood.”
Kaname’s lips curved faintly.
“I was holding you,” he said, tone smooth as silk. “You’re the one who responded.”
Zero scowled, fingers tightening in the front of Kaname’s shirt.
“You made love to me all night. And now… you’re starting again? It’s not even evening yet.”
“I didn’t say I was,” Kaname replied mildly—though his hands were doing the exact opposite of stopping.
Zero shifted just enough to make his point—his hip brushing against something unmistakably hard beneath the blankets. He stilled. Then slowly turned to glance down.
Raising a unimpressed brow, he asked dryly: “Right. And what exactly is that? Should I be concerned? Is it… a frog?”
Kaname blinked, caught off guard. “A frog?”
Zero’s lips quirked with faint mischief. “Mm. It’s not small, so I assume it’s at least a decently sized frog.”
Kaname’s brow twitched. “Decent?”
Zero nodded with mock solemnity. “Average. Manageable.”
In one fluid motion, Kaname rolled them, pinning Zero beneath him with the ease of someone who knew every inch of the body under his hands.
His eyes darkened, his voice low and steady. “Do you want me to prove otherwise?”
Zero sighed, long-suffering. “Of course you do. For someone who wasn’t starting anything, you seem awfully eager to defend a frog’s size.”
Then, with a smirk: “Must be a very special frog.”
Kaname leaned down, brushing his lips along the line of Zero’s throat. “You provoked me.”
“And you have to win,” Zero muttered, though his breath caught.
Kaname’s reply came like a whisper against his pulse. “With you… I don’t need to win.”
Zero’s hands slid up Kaname’s back, the last of his resistance melting like snow under fire. “Still sounds like you’re trying to,” he murmured.
Kaname pressed a slow kiss beneath his jaw. “No. I’m just trying to remind you…”
Zero’s voice was barely a breath.
“…Remind me of what?”
Kaname lifted his head, eyes soft but steady. “That we’re finally one. And we’re home.”
Zero’s heart stuttered in his chest. He didn’t answer—not with words.
But the way his fingers tangled in Kaname’s hair, the way his body arched into the touch, the way his breath caught with every kiss—
It said everything.
And Kaname—Kaname, who had waited ten thousand years and nearly lost everything—finally let himself smile.
Because Zero was here. In his arms. And this time? He wasn’t going anywhere.
Kaname wouldn’t let him. Not ever again.
Kaname’s lips ghosted over every mark he had left the night before, as if he could soothe the memory of how tightly he had held back.
His hands moved slowly—stripping away the layers of cloth like unraveling something sacred.
He murmured against Zero’s skin, “You’re always so warm… even when you’re being impossible.”
Zero groaned, his arm draped across his eyes. “And you’re always so dramatic. Just get on with it.”
Kaname chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. “You called me average, Zero. I have no choice now but to correct that slander.”
He lingered over the bruises on Zero’s inner thighs—faint, blooming reminders of his restraint, of desire barely tempered by control. Zero trembled beneath him, flushed and breathless, already coming undone. A mess—beautiful, overwhelmed, and achingly responsive.
Kaname took his time, worshipping Zero’s body with reverence. His touch was slow, deliberate. He kissed and caressed his chest, lips closing gently over his pert, sensitive buds. Zero arched into him with a quiet gasp. His pale skin glowed with heat, and the marks scattered across him bloomed like Kuran roses in snow—stark and lovely, a testament to the night before.
When Kaname finally aligned himself and pressed in, Zero gasped—one hand gripping Kaname’s shoulder, the other twisting the bedsheet in a white-knuckled hold.
“Kaname…”
Kaname paused, letting him adjust. His voice was a low tease at Zero’s ear. “Is it still only… decent?”
Zero hissed through clenched teeth, caught between a growl and a moan. “You’re the worst.”
Kaname smiled. “You’re not denying it.”
He eased in further, slow and purposeful, chuckling softly. “How about now? Still just average?”
Zero cursed under his breath—but it dissolved into a gasp as Kaname sank in fully.
“And now?” Kaname murmured, voice like velvet. “Manageable?”
He shifted, angling his hips just right—drawing a sharp, involuntary cry from Zero’s lips.
Their movements turned slower, deeper—less about conquest, more about connection. Each breath was matched. Each sigh, echoed. Touch met with touch. Will met with will.
And in the dim light of the room, as snow drifted lazily past the windows like falling silence, Kaname didn’t take. He asked.
Zero didn’t surrender. He gave.
There was no force in their union now—only the quiet certainty of knowing and being known. Each kiss, each thrust, was a promise: of trust, of yearning, of something neither of them dared name aloud. And somewhere between the gasps and teasing murmurs, between the bruises and whispered names, bloomed something deeper than instinct—older than blood.
Zero’s fingers tangled in Kaname’s hair, his breath ragged, voice hoarse.
“I take it back,” he gasped, pulling him closer. “It’s not decent. Not average. Not even close.”
Kaname smiled against his throat, brushing his lips over the fluttering pulse there.
“I should hope not,” he whispered, kissing a fresh mark into his skin. “You’re far too divine for anything less.”
Zero moaned, low and desperate, hips moving in rhythm with Kaname’s. “Kana… please…”
Kaname shifted, lifting one of Zero’s legs over his shoulder, deepening the angle. Each thrust pulled another gasp from Zero’s lips, his hands clinging to Kaname like he was the only steady thing left.
“Ahh… slow, Kana—” he whimpered, trembling.
Kaname held nothing back—but even then, he waited. He always waited, never letting himself fall until Zero had found his release first. Only then did he let go, burying himself deep with a groan that spoke of surrender, of everything he had to give.
A bond, reforged—not through dominance or desire alone, but through devotion.
Through the silent, sacred act of choosing each other, again and again.
Even in the dark.
They lay tangled in the quiet aftermath, bodies warm beneath the weight of the blankets and the soft hush of snow beyond the windows.
Zero was sprawled across Kaname’s chest, breath steady but uneven, eyes already half-lidded in sheer exhaustion.
Kaname’s fingers brushed lightly through his hair, content and unhurried.
“You’re cleaning the bed,” Zero mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “I am not letting the staff think we’re going at it like rabbits.”
Kaname laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Most mated pairs do go at it like rabbits during their honeymoon period.”
Zero made a noise of disapproval and buried his face in Kaname’s shoulder. “Well, good for them. We’re not most people. We have a child. A child who walks in without knocking. And who thinks I’ve abandoned him if I lock doors.”
He grumbled under his breath, “He learned to crawl just to follow me to the bathroom. And screamed like a banshee when he couldn’t open the door.”
Kaname hummed, clearly unbothered. “I didn’t get a honeymoon period back at the Academy. Consider this… delayed compensation.”
Zero lifted his head, eyes narrowing. “Delayed compensation? Really?”
Kaname smirked faintly. “Very delayed. Years, in fact. I think I’m still owed.”
Zero groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Kaname murmured, brushing a kiss against his temple, “here we are.”
Zero sighed, resting his cheek back against Kaname’s chest. “Unfortunately.”
Kaname’s smile widened. “Fortunate for me.”
A beat passed.
Then Zero muttered, “Get up. Shower. Clean the bed. And if Isamu walks in before you do any of those things, I’m blaming you.”
Kaname didn’t move. “He likes me more now. He’ll forgive me.”
Zero’s voice dropped into dangerous territory. “You really want to test that theory?”
Kaname sighed dramatically, slipping an arm beneath Zero and rolling them both gently to the side. “Fine, fine. I suppose that means there won’t be another round.”
Zero grunted in warning.
Kaname chuckled, kissing his shoulder one last time as they began to untangle from each other. “Let’s get cleaned up… before our tiny general marches in demanding food and reclaiming ‘his’ Papa. I’ll just have my fill of you again at bedtime.”
Zero muttered, dragging himself up with a grimace. “Why am I surrounded by purebloods?”
Both freshly showered and dressed, Zero and Kaname entered the living room just as Aido arrived from the opposite hall, gently herding Isamu toward them.
Isamu’s eyes lit up the moment he saw Zero.
“Papa!” he cried, launching himself into his arms with unhesitating trust. “I missed you!”
Zero caught him with a small grunt, but his smile softened into something real and full. “You were gone for two hours.”
“Forever,” Isamu declared dramatically, burying his face in Zero’s neck. “It felt like forever.”
Kaname chuckled softly, brushing a hand through Isamu’s hair. “Papa has to make dinner now. Want to come with me instead?”
Isamu peered over Zero’s shoulder. “Will we do music?”
Kaname nodded. “Piano practice.”
“Okay,” Isamu said seriously, letting Zero set him down and taking Kaname’s hand. “But if Papa makes pancakes, save me one.”
Zero ruffled his hair. “Dinner, not breakfast, bird.”
Isamu pouted and let Kaname lead him away.
Zero watched them go—Kaname murmuring something soft to Isamu as the little boy skipped beside him, chattering about notes and stories that sounded like songs.
Zero turned and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’ll cook for everyone today,” he told the staff when he arrived. “You’ve all been looking after this place, and… after Kaname. And Isamu. Let me take care of you for once.”
The head chef blinked, then offered a bow. “Of course, Kiryu-sama. We’ll help—but only if we’re allowed to brag about your food later.”
Zero huffed. “Just Zero, please.”
He worked with the staff as equals—chopping, seasoning, roasting, and stirring while chatting lightly with them about seasonal produce, Isamu’s appetite, and which dishes made Kaname raise an eyebrow and quietly ask for seconds.
They were clearly delighted to be cooking with him, not for him. By the time the last dish was on the stove, the kitchen staff had already begun setting the long dining room table.
Zero wiped his hands on a towel, surveying the nearly finished spread with a rare sense of calm.
That was when Aido sauntered in.
“So…” Aido began casually, leaning against the counter, “are you using protection?”
Zero blinked. “What?”
“You and Kaname.” Aido gestured vaguely. “You’re… back to being extremely close, aren’t you?”
Zero flushed, tossing the towel aside. “That’s none of your business.”
Aido raised a brow. “You’re right, but I’m asking anyway. Are you using protection or not?”
Zero scowled. “We’re both male. No risk of pregnancy. And we’re vampires—no risk of disease. So—no. We’ve never used anything. Even back at the Academy.”
Aido gave him a long, judgmental look. The kind that said: You’re smart, but sometimes impressively dumb.
“…Zero,” he said slowly, “how do you think Isamu happened?”
Zero froze.
The silence stretched. His eyes widened, horror dawning.
“Wait. No. That—” He shook his head. “That was a fluke. A one-time, biologically impossible thing.”
“Uh-huh,” Aido said dryly. “And now that your bond is fully reestablished? You’re just… hoping lightning doesn’t strike twice?”
Zero stared at him, horrified. “You’re not serious.”
Aido crossed his arms. “Say it.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Say it: ‘Oh shit, I did get pregnant last time.’”
Zero muttered under his breath, “Oh shit.”
Aido smirked. “There it is.”
Zero dragged a hand down his face. “I’m male.”
“You’re also a vampire,” Aido said with infuriating cheer. “And bonded to Kaname Kuran, pureblood prince and walking biological enigma. You really think anyone’s researched what happens when two male vampires form a complete mate bond?”
Zero looked away, jaw clenched. “I didn’t think it’d happen again.”
“You literally told me,” Aido continued, raising his voice in an exaggerated impersonation, “‘It’s not like I’m ever going to sleep with Kuran again, so stop trying to drag me into your experiments.’”
“Stop quoting me.”
“You were dramatic,” Aido said with a wicked grin. “You swore on your grave. ‘Over my dead body. I’ll never let Kuran near me again.’ Very passionate.”
Zero dropped onto a stool with a groan. “I am not getting pregnant again.”
“Then stop acting like logic will save you.” Aido leaned in. “Because unless you’re planning to raise a sibling for Isamu in ten months, maybe—and I mean this nicely—stop being an idiot.”
Zero looked like he wanted to throw up. “You think… it’s possible?”
“Let’s go down the list,” Aido said, ticking fingers off. “Mate bond? Fully active. Kuran? Obsessed. You? Practically glowing.”
“I am not glowing.”
“You’ve also been—how do I put this—very active lately.”
Zero scowled. “Shut up.”
“No barrier,” Aido continued like he hadn’t heard. “No tests. No caution. Just vibes and poor judgment.”
Zero closed his eyes. “Why the hell is this my life.”
Aido snorted. “ Unless you’re secretly hoping for a second round of late-night feedings and blood cravings, maybe—just maybe—stop playing with fire without gloves.”
Zero glared harder at Aido.
Aido clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. If it happens again, I’ll knit you maternity robes with little roses this time.”
Zero growled low in his throat. “I swear, Aido—”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you and Kaname-sama can’t keep your hands off each other.” He leaned in and sniffed pointedly. “Honestly, Zero, right before dinner?”
Zero looked like he was about to combust. “I will shoot you.”
Aido laughed. “Just saying. The hallways still smell like pureblood hormones.”
Zero made a strangled noise. “Don’t joke! I might have an heart attack. I want a blood test. Now.”
Aido blinked. “Wait, now now?”
“Yes, now! Before I lose my mind.”
Aido sighed dramatically and turned toward the hallway. “Alright, fine. Lab it is. Let’s find out if another Kuran is already in the oven.”
Zero groaned into both hands.
“God help me,” he repeated.
Aido led Zero down the hallway, both of them ignoring the fact that Zero was muttering death threats under his breath.
“It won’t take long,” Aido said casually as they reached the small private medical suite Kaname had set up for emergencies. It was sleek, sterile, and unnervingly modern.
Zero climbed onto the examination table, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Just do it.”
Aido snapped on gloves with the glee of someone who had waited years for this moment. He grabbed a syringe and a vial.
“You know, if you’d let me run a few tests years ago, we wouldn’t be here.”
“If you don’t shut up and take my blood in the next five seconds, you’ll be pulling this needle out of your forehead.”
“Touchy,” Aido muttered—but complied.
A few minutes later, blood drawn and samples secured, Zero sat in brooding silence while Aido loaded everything into the diagnostics machine.
“Results will take an hour,” Aido announced, pressing a few glowing buttons.
“An hour?” Zero repeated flatly, glaring at the machine like he could will it into submission with pure hate.
“Advanced vampire diagnostics,” Aido said brightly. “You can’t rush bio-scan cross-referencing. Science takes time.”
Zero muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, I hope it explodes in your face.
“I heard that,” Aido grinned. “You’re very grumpy for someone who might be pregnant again.”
He paused.
“Actually, no—that sounds exactly like someone who’s pregnant.”
Zero hurled a glove at his face.
They entered the dining hall just as everyone else was seated. The long table was warm with food, flickering candlelight, and scattered laughter.
Isamu spotted them instantly.
“Papa!” he chirped, abandoning his seat and barreling into Zero’s arms.
Zero crouched down and caught him easily.
“You missed me again already?” he asked, voice softer now.
Isamu nodded into his shoulder. “Uncle Hana took you away. Me and Sad Prince missed you.”
They returned to the table. Zero helped Isamu back into his chair—and sat beside him, pointedly not beside Kaname.
Kaname glanced over, tone light, but his eyes sharp. “Where were you?”
Zero didn’t even look at him. Didn’t blink.
“Don’t talk to me,” he said flatly, stabbing a piece of roasted meat with slow, surgical precision. “Just eat your dinner.”
Kaname’s hand, halfway to his wine glass, froze. “…What?”
“Papa?” Isamu blinked between them. “Are you mad?”
Takuma leaned toward Kaname, whispering under his breath. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Kaname frowned. “Everything was fine. It was… better than fine.”
Across the table, Kain narrowed his eyes at Aido. “What did you do?”
“Nothing permanent,” Aido replied, beaming.
Kain elbowed him sharply. “Hanabusa.”
“Sorry,” Aido said, not sounding sorry at all. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
Kaname’s brow creased deeply. “Doctor? What are you talking about? Is Zero okay?”
Zero exhaled slowly through his nose and turned toward him—just slightly.
His voice was cold and cutting, like frost on a blade. “Can you be quiet for one hour? Just one?”
“Zero—” Kaname began.
“I said,” Zero snapped, “don’t talk to me.”
Silence fell like a hammer on porcelain.
Even the cutlery stilled.
Aido leaned back with a smug sip of wine. “This is better than dessert.”
Zero’s eyes slid to him—sharp and full of threat. “Keep talking, and I’ll volunteer you for a live bloodletting demonstration in the courtyard.”
Aido wisely shut up.
Isamu blinked up at the adults, clearly trying to decide if he needed to mediate or simply take cover under the table.
Zero took a bite of food—measured, slow, and deadly calm.
Kaname didn’t say another word. If it had been anyone else who told him to shut up at a table full of nobles and allies, he might have incinerated them where they sat.
But this was Zero.
His mate.
And Zero being this quiet… worried him.
Because Kaname knew—something had happened.
The meal passed under the weight of unspoken tension.
Zero barely touched his plate. Kaname remained eerily still, his gaze flickering to Zero’s face every few seconds like he was waiting for a cue he’d already missed.
When the plates were finally cleared, Zero stood abruptly.
“Aido,” he said, tightly. “Let’s go.”
Isamu, still working on his second bowl of soup, started to get up too. “Papa, wait! I’m coming!”
Zero turned, his expression softening. “No. Stay with Sadface and Taku-chan for now, alright?”
Isamu blinked, sensing his papa’s mood. He looked at Kaname, then Takuma, clearly torn—but he nodded slowly.
“Okay… but you better come back.”
“I will,” Zero said, brushing a hand through his son’s hair before striding out of the room.
Aido followed, smirking. “Someone’s testy tonight.”
Zero walked ahead stiffly, shoulders taut, every step filled with murderous intent.
Behind him, Aido practically floated down the corridor, hands in his coat pockets, whistling softly like he hadn’t poked a live bear with a silver-tipped stick.
“Hey, don’t glare at me,” Aido chirped, clearly delighted with himself. “This is all your and Kaname-sama’s doing.”
Zero stopped walking. He didn’t turn around—just slowly, slowly, tilted his head, one silver eye gleaming with thinly veiled murder.
Aido only smiled wider.
“Why are you mad at me?” he continued, all fake innocence and bright tone. “Because I pointed out the big, pulsing, glowing-in-the-dark elephant in the room? The one you’ve been violently ignoring for the past week?”
Zero’s jaw clenched.
Aido kept going, utterly fearless. “I didn’t put a ring on a Pureblood and forget how under researched male bonds are. I didn’t crawl into bed with the vampire equivalent of a fertility charm and go, ‘Hmm, what could possibly go wrong?’”
Zero turned around so fast Aido barely had time to react—but his grin didn’t waver.
“If you value your existence,” Zero said through gritted teeth, “stop talking. Right now.”
“Oh, come on,” Aido grinned, practically vibrating with joy. “You two are soulmates bound by fate and hormones. You think the universe wasn’t gonna double down on the drama?”
Zero’s eye twitched.“You really want to die today.”
Chapter 27: Broken peace
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Aido smirked at a clearly tense Zero as the monitor beeped once. Then again.
The smirk slid off his face.
He turned to the computer, fingers flying over the controls, checking the results. His brows slowly lifted.
Zero sat up straighter. “What?”
Aido didn’t respond right away. He scanned the readout again, double-checked a number, then swiveled back around like he was preparing to deliver a eulogy.
“Well?” Zero snapped, voice sharp.
Aido cleared his throat. “You’re not pregnant.”
Zero exhaled hard, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Good. Thank goodness. I guess luck hasn't abandoned me completely yet.”
Aido held up one hand. “But—”
Zero narrowed his eyes. “Why is there always a ‘but’?”
Aido stepped closer, checking Zero’s temperature with the back of his hand, then lightly touched his wrist. “Be honest—has your body felt hotter than usual? More… sensitive?”
Zero hesitated, then muttered, “Maybe. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Would you say your body is unusually eager for… physical affection?” Aido said delicately.
Zero recoiled, face reddening. “What the hell, Aido?!”
“I’m being thorough!” Aido snapped. “Answer the question, Kiryu.”
“…Maybe. Yes. Just spit it out already,” Zero muttered, clearly embarrassed.
Aido tapped the chart with a grim sigh. “Your hormone levels are spiking. The same ones that surged during your first pregnancy. Your body is… preparing itself.”
Zero blinked. “Preparing for what?”
Aido looked him dead in the eye. “To get pregnant again.”
Zero let out a strangled noise and buried his face in his hands. “This cannot be real.”
“Oh, it’s very real,” Aido said solemnly. “You are, biologically speaking, a walking miracle of vampire fertility. What a pair you and Kaname-sama make."
Zero groaned louder.
“I was fine for years,” he muttered. “Nothing happened—why now?”
Aido folded his arms. “Could be the recent, uh… increased activity. Plus all the pureblood blood Kaname-sama keeps feeding you. And, well, other sorts of fluids being released in… private situations. That much vampire bonding tends to activate things.”
Zero looked horrified. “You mean Kaname literally overfed me into fertility?!”
Aido shrugged, half-sympathetic. “Overfed, overfucked— Look, I’m just saying—you’re glowing more lately.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Zero hissed.
“He’ll probably just say it proves how compatible your souls are.”
Zero let out a defeated groan, dragging his palms down his face. “I hate that he’d actually say something like that.”
Aido leaned against the counter, very clearly enjoying himself now. “You could always abstain.”
Zero gave him a flat, dead-eyed stare. “We just got back together. Abstinence is not in the cards. Kaname’s… insatiable.”
“Just Kaname?” Aido asked, raising a brow.
Zero didn’t dignify that with a response.
“Fine, then,” Aido said, flipping the chart shut. “Use protection. Try condoms. Pills won’t work—they’re mostly made for women. Or, I don’t know—talk to your mate?”
From the doorway, a familiar voice chimed in—calm, composed, and far too well-timed.
“I’m right here.”
Zero froze.
Kaname stepped inside, his presence calm, his expression unreadable. “You might as well say it now.”
Zero turned, eyes narrowing. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Kaname replied, walking closer. “Your aura was… turbulent.”
“You followed me,” Zero accused.
“I follow when you leave the room looking ready to stab someone,” Kaname said evenly.
Aido stepped back slightly, sensing danger. “I’ll, uh… go check the printout again.”
He slipped out, leaving tension—and Zero’s patience—behind.
Kaname ignored him. His eyes stayed on Zero. “So. It’s happening again?”
“No,” Zero snapped. “Not yet. But apparently, my body is thinking about it.”
“So. You’re not pregnant.”
“Yet,” Zero muttered flatly.
Kaname tilted his head. “Do you want to be?”
“I told you today in the library,” Zero snapped. “No. Absolutely not. This feels like your fault—like you brought it into the universe, and now my body’s like, ‘Hey, why not?’”
Kaname’s lips curved slightly. “In my defense… you’re far more extraordinary than I planned for.”
Zero groaned. “Stop trying to make it sound cute.”
Kaname stepped closer, resting a hand gently on Zero’s knee. His voice dropped, steady and serious. “Zero.I would never put you through something you don’t want. Not again.”
Zero stared at him, pulse slowly steadying.
“…So you don’t want another child?” he asked quietly.
Kaname’s eyes softened. “I didn’t say that.”
Zero narrowed his eyes.
“I said,” Kaname continued, voice low, “I want what you want. If it’s peace, we’ll have peace. If it’s one child or ten or none at all… I don’t care. As long as you’re beside me.”
Zero was silent for a beat. Then muttered, “…You’re lucky you’re decent-looking.”
Kaname’s smile twitched. “Decently sized, too, I’ve heard.”
Zero’s eye twitched. “Stop talking.”
Kaname looked far too pleased with himself.
Zero exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. “Fine. We’ll abstain from… anything, until we figure out what to do.”
Kaname paused.
“…No,” he said simply.
Zero’s head snapped up. “No?”
Kaname’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re asking me to starve when we’ve only just found our bond again. When you’ve only just let me hold you without fear.”
“That’s exactly why we should abstain,” Zero shot back. “Because clearly my body’s ready to—” He waved a hand at his stomach, flustered. “—do things.”
Kaname stepped closer, hand sliding from Zero’s knee to his thigh—steady, grounding, unyielding. “I won’t deny you. Not after everything we’ve lost. Not after everything I’ve already been denied.”
Zero glared, voice rising. “You think I’m joking? I am not going through that again. I am not waddling around this estate like some hormonal duck while you sit there acting like it’s a miracle of fate!”
“Zero,” Kaname said quietly, cutting through his anger. His thumb brushed slow circles against his thigh, voice soft but laced with steel. “I will not give you distance when all I want is to be closer. I won’t pretend I can go without you—not now. Not ever.”
Zero’s breath caught, his frustration cracking under the weight of that raw honesty. “…You don’t get to use that voice on me right now.”
Kaname leaned in, their foreheads nearly brushing. “I’ll use whatever voice it takes to make you understand: I love you. I’m not going to treat what we have like something I can put on pause. Not for fear. Not even for this.”
Zero groaned, covering his face. “Then what the hell do you suggest?”
Kaname’s lips curved faintly, calm and maddeningly composed. “I’ll have Seiren acquire… precautions.”
Zero dropped his hands slowly, blinking. “Precautions?”
“Something to prevent accidents,” Kaname clarified smoothly.
Zero stared at him, deadpan. “…You’re going to send your assassin to buy condoms?”
Kaname’s tone didn’t falter. “I trust her to be discreet.”
Zero made a strangled sound. “Seiren. Discreet. Walking into a pharmacy and asking for condoms for her lord.”
Kaname’s eyes softened, entirely unbothered. “She’s efficient. She'll bring it before we head to bed.”
Zero buried his face in his hands again. “I hate this family.”
Kaname’s voice dropped into a whisper as he leaned close enough that his breath ghosted over Zero’s ear. “And yet… you’re the heart of it.”
Zero made another strangled sound—this one somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
Kaname smiled faintly. “Unbelievable… and insatiable. You said so yourself.”
Zero grabbed the edge of the exam table like he was restraining himself from throwing something. “I was being sarcastic.”
Kaname looked unbothered. “You seemed very serious when you said it, so forgive me if the sarcasm didn’t quite land.”
Zero let out a strangled sound somewhere between a groan and a threat. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Kaname considered. “Not when it’s this fun.”
Zero stood abruptly, stepping away from the table. “That’s it. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”
Kaname didn’t move, only tilted his head. “We both know you won’t.”
“I will.”
“You won’t,” Kaname said gently. “Because you sleep better when I’m next to you. And I don’t say that as a challenge. Just... a fact.”
Zero paused.
Kaname stood too, more slowly, stepping into his space—not crowding him, but close enough to feel. His voice, when he spoke again, had softened into something more real. “I don’t want to push you, Zero. Truly. If you say stop, I’ll stop. No questions. No arguments. But I do want you. Always. In every way I’m allowed.”
Zero didn’t respond right away.
He looked down, jaw tight, thoughts clearly warring behind his eyes. Then finally, with a sigh like it hurt to let it go, he murmured, “…I hate when you say the right things.”
Kaname’s smile was faint. “That’s only because you secretly love it.”
Zero shot him a flat look. “Stop being smug. We are not doing anything tonight.”
“I understand,” Kaname said, surprisingly sincere. “I’ll just hold you.”
Zero arched a brow. “That’s how it started this evening.”
Kaname’s eyes twinkled. “Then I’ll try harder to behave.”
Zero gave him a look that could've turned snow to ash. “You have one chance.”
Kaname inclined his head like it was a royal decree. “Understood.”
They turned to leave, the tension finally beginning to dissipate when Zero added darkly, “And if you so much as breathe suggestively tonight, I’m staking you in your sleep.”
Kaname chuckled under his breath. “So noted.”
The soft clink of mugs carried faintly from the kitchen, along with Zero muttering under his breath about “pureblood-induced migraines” and “stupid medical science.”
The door creaked and Aido slipped into the study, spotting Kaname alone by the fire. His smirk from before was nowhere in sight.
“Kaname-sama,” he said quietly. “I want to run another test in seven days.”
Kaname’s brows drew together. “Why?”
Aido kept his eyes on the datapad in his hand. “It’s better to check again.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kaname said, his voice calm but carrying steel.
Aido exhaled through his nose. “For humans, it takes about a week for pregnancy to show in bloodwork. Vampires? Faster, but not immediate. You two…” He hesitated, adjusting his grip on the tablet, “…were together today. If anything’s going into Zero’s... oven, it wouldn’t register yet.”
Kaname’s eyes narrowed. “So today’s result isn’t conclusive.”
“Not entirely,” Aido admitted, still not looking up. “Seven days will give me a real answer.”
From the kitchen came another faint clink of mugs and Zero’s irritated voice: “Stupid purebloods. Stupid cocoa powder.”
“You didn’t tell him,” Kaname said quietly.
Aido shook his head. “No. Last thing I want is Zero spiraling for a week over something that might not even be real. He’d lock himself up or do something impulsive. Let him breathe—for now.”
Kaname was silent for a moment, then said evenly, “Can you create a contraceptive? Something reliable. For him.”
That made Aido glance up. “For Zero specifically?”
“Yes. Custom. Tailored to his biology and the bond. I want him to have that choice.”
Aido exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can work on it, but it won’t be simple. I’ll need to map his hormone cycles, aura responses, bond resonance. Multiple blood draws. Scans. He’ll have to agree to be my guinea pig.”
Kaname’s lips twitched faintly. “He might kill you.”
“He already threatens to if I breathe too loud,” Aido muttered. “What’s a little more?”
“You’ll need his consent,” Kaname said softly.
“I know. You’ll have to convince him. If he thinks I’m experimenting on him for fun, he’ll bolt—and I like my head where it is.”
From the kitchen came a muffled curse as Zero apparently spilled cocoa powder.
“Seven days,” Aido repeated firmly. “And if you want that contraceptive, get him ready for the tests. The sooner we start, the better.”
Kaname inclined his head slightly, though his fingers flexed against the chair arm.
Aido turned toward the door, then froze when Kaname’s voice came again—lower, quieter.
“One more thing.”
Aido glanced back.
Kaname’s eyes stayed on the fire. “Quietly… look into termination options. For bonded males.”
Aido stilled. “…You mean—”
“In case he doesn’t want this,” Kaname said, voice even but heavy. “If he is… I want him to have every choice. Even that one.”
For once, Aido didn’t joke. He nodded once, his voice subdued. “Off the record. I’ll see what I can find.”
The soft sound of Zero stirring mugs drifted in again from the kitchen. Kaname’s gaze lingered in that direction, his expression unreadable.
“Seven days,” he murmured again, almost to himself.
Zero drank his hot chocolate with a scowl, as if the mug itself had offended him.
Kaname, seated across the table, tilted his head slightly. “Why so grumpy?”
Zero shot him a glare over the rim of his cup. “Because nothing seems to be going my way today. I feel… restless. I used to make so much hot chocolate for Yuki back at the Academy. Later for Isamu in Matsumoto. Perfect. Every time. But the one day I try to make it for myself?” He gestured to the cup. “It clumps up. It tastes wrong. And then—”
He took a sharp sip, muttering, “—I get negotiated over like a roast by my son and husband, and top it off with a pregnancy scare.”
Kaname’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I’ve seen your rage. Your irritation. Your sadness. Your love.” His eyes softened as he studied him. “But this is the first time I’ve seen your grumpy side. I wonder how many more sides you have left to show me.”
Zero narrowed his eyes. “Keep talking, and this cup’s going in your face.”
Kaname’s smile only deepened. “Even this side of you is beautiful.”
Zero groaned and muttered into his drink. “Stop talking.”
Later, they made their way toward the east sitting room, where Takuma had last been spotted with Isamu.
Kaname moved with his usual composed grace, hands folded neatly behind his back. The dim lighting threw soft shadows across his face. Zero followed a step behind, arms crossed, expression unreadable but sharp.
As they neared the doorway, a gentle voice floated out.
“…and that’s why bunnies don’t wear armor,” Takuma said patiently.
There was a small, dramatic gasp—Isamu’s.
“But what if the bunny has to fight a dragon?”
“Then,” Takuma replied with mock seriousness, “the bunny finds a clever fox. And they win with brains, not swords.”
Kaname stepped into the room first, voice low and calm. “He’s not keeping you from your work, I hope.”
Takuma looked up and smiled. “Not at all. This is the most important work—bedtime stories for our little knight.”
From under a star-splattered blanket, a head popped up. The second Isamu spotted them, his whole face lit up.
“Papa! Sadface!”
Zero exhaled softly and stepped forward. “That nickname is going to stick, isn’t it?”
Before he could protest further, Isamu launched himself across the room. Zero caught him instinctively, adjusting the boy’s weight with ease.
“Careful,” he muttered. “You’re going to break your neck one of these days.”
Isamu giggled, clinging to him. “You came late. I waited.”
Kaname moved closer, gently fixing the bunny-eared hat slipping sideways on Isamu’s head. “It’s bedtime. You promised Taku-chan you’d be good.”
“I was!” Isamu declared proudly. “Brushed my teeth and everything! Papa is angry-papa tonight, so I made sure he has nothing to be angry at me for!”
Zero blinked, then sighed. “I’m not angry at you.”
“Indeed he did behave,” Takuma said, amused. “Even tolerated the mint toothpaste this time.”
“Only because Taku-chan said it makes you brave,” Isamu mumbled into Zero’s shoulder.
Kaname cast Takuma a glance. “Creative as ever.”
Zero adjusted Isamu with a small huff. “Alright, let’s get you to bed. It’s late.”
Kaname nodded, falling into step beside them. “He shouldn’t be up much longer.”
“Tell that to him,” Zero muttered. “He thinks bedtime is a negotiation.”
Isamu yawned hugely, snuggling deeper into Zero’s shoulder. “Not tonight…”
Zero arched a brow. “That’s suspicious.”
“Peaceful,” Kaname corrected gently.
They reached Isamu’s room. Kaname moved ahead to pull back the blankets. Zero lowered Isamu onto the bed carefully, brushing hair away from his face.
“Will you stay until I sleep?” Isamu asked, his voice already soft and fading.
“We’ll be here,” Kaname said quietly.
Zero sat at the edge of the bed. “Close your eyes.”
Isamu obeyed, his small fingers curling in Zero’s sleeve as his breathing slowed.
Kaname rested his hand gently on his son’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath his palm.
The room fell into silence.
And for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Isamu’s breathing—soft, even, wrapping the room in a rare, fragile kind of peace neither of them had ever known how to hold until now.
.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Kaname was the first to speak, voice low and playful. "Still brooding over our very illuminating medical discovery?”
Zero pulled off his cardigan and tossed it over the chair. “I’m brooding over how I ended up with a mate who needs to be monitored like a heat-starved wolf.”
Kaname chuckled. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.”
Zero turned toward the wardrobe, muttering something about needing a fresh shirt. Kaname stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him.
That’s when he noticed it—again.
Zero’s scent.
It was always intoxicating. Always his favorite. But now… now it was sharper. Richer. Like snow warmed by fire and tinged with something sweet, something living.
Kaname’s pupils dilated slightly, and he stilled.
Zero caught the shift immediately and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
Kaname tilted his head. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“You’re breathing like a dog locked outside in summer. I know that look.”
“I was admiring you,” Kaname said, completely unapologetic.
Zero took a cautious step back. “Admire from a distance.”
“You know,” Kaname said, voice low, “you smell different tonight.”
Zero paused.
“Hotter. Sweeter. Like your skin is warmer too. Maybe it’s… those ‘spiking hormones’ Aido mentioned.”
Zero rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”
Kaname gave him a wounded look. “I merely meant it’s... distracting.”
“You’re always distracted when I’m shirtless.”
Kaname stepped closer again. “That’s not entirely true.”
“Oh no?”
“You could be wearing ten layers and I’d still want to kiss you.”
Zero’s jaw tightened—but his ears turned red.
Kaname smiled, eyes softening. “May I?”
“No.”
“Just one kiss.”
“I don’t trust you,” Zero said flatly.
“I’ll behave.”
“You said that last time.”
“That was last time.” Kaname pleaded.
Kaname held out his hand like a knight making an oath. “Just a kiss.”
Zero hesitated.
Then—grudgingly—he stepped closer.
“Fine,” he said, eyes sharp. “But if your hands wander, I’m knocking you off the bed.”
Kaname leaned in slowly, reverently, like Zero was made of something sacred.
Their lips met—soft, unhurried, warm.
It stayed gentle.
But even that was enough to make Zero's breath catch, his skin flush, and something beneath his ribs tighten.
Kaname pulled back first, visibly restraining himself. His voice was quiet. “You’re burning.”
Zero glared. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m just… realizing I’m in very real danger of worshiping you again.”
“You never stopped.”
Kaname’s eyes flickered—briefly surprised, then utterly undone.
Zero shoved a hand against his chest. “Now back off before I regret that kiss.”
Kaname stepped away with mock surrender, hands raised. “I’ll be good.”
Zero muttered, “You don’t even know how to spell good.”
Kaname smirked, already reaching for the blanket. “That’s why I married someone who does.”
Zero rolled his eyes—but the small smile pulling at his lips gave him away.
Later in bed, Kaname pulled Zero into his arms, one arm wrapping firmly around his waist while the other slid slowly up his back, anchoring him there—closer than necessary, like he wanted their bodies to merge into one shadow.
“I hate distance,” he murmured against the curve of Zero’s ear, voice low and warm.
Zero gave a small, tired sigh, his hand resting over Kaname’s chest where he could feel the steady pulse beneath his palm. “You are the clingiest pureblood to ever exist.”
Kaname didn’t so much as flinch. If anything, he sounded pleased. “And yet, you’re not pushing me away.”
He brushed his lips lightly against the shell of Zero’s ear.
Zero rolled his eyes, though he didn’t shift an inch. “Purebloods are supposed to be elegant and aloof. You’re ruining the brand.”
Kaname’s smile curved into his shoulder. “Let them be aloof. I have a mate to hold.”
For a while, the room settled into a quiet rhythm. Kaname’s breathing slowed and evened out, the weight of his arms grounding and steady.
But Zero lay wide awake.
His skin felt too warm, nerves faintly buzzing under the surface, restless energy twisting through his chest. He’d had a nap earlier in the evening. Now, of course, sleep had no interest in finding him.
He turned his head slightly, glaring at Kaname’s calm, serene face. That stupid pureblood had actually fallen asleep.
After what felt like an eternity of staring at nothing, he gave in to irritation and poked Kaname’s cheek. No reaction. He poked harder. Then, scowling, he grabbed the perfect curve of Kaname’s cheek and tugged.
Kaname’s lashes fluttered and one crimson eye opened slowly. “…What’s wrong?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.
“I can’t sleep,” Zero muttered, glaring like it was Kaname’s fault. “I’m bored.”
Kaname blinked lazily, a small smile ghosting his lips despite be awakened. “What do you want to do then?”
Zero hesitated. His cheeks flushed faintly in the dark, and his voice dropped into something quieter, almost shy. “…Did you manage to make Seiren get the protection?”
Kaname stilled for a heartbeat. Then that slow, sinful grin spread across his face, sharp and knowing.
“I thought,” he said, voice dipping into something deep and amused, “I was the heat-starved wolf in this relationship…” He leaned in until his lips brushed the edge of Zero’s temple, his breath warm against his skin.
“…but my Zero,” Kaname murmured, “you are a wanton little vixen.”
Zero’s entire face went scarlet. “Shut up,” he hissed, shoving lightly at Kaname’s chest.
Kaname caught his wrist effortlessly, his grin only growing. His voice softened—but the steel beneath it made Zero’s stomach flip.
“If you wake me for this,” Kaname said lowly, “and you’re the one making the first move… I won’t be able to stop. Not even if you beg me to.”
Zero froze, heat curling through his veins.
Kaname leaned in a fraction closer, his voice brushing over Zero’s lips now, velvet and dangerous. “Are you sure you want to test that, my vixen?”
Zero swallowed hard. “…Shut up,” he muttered again, but the edge in his voice had cracked.
Kaname’s soft laugh was like silk unraveling in the dark.
Without saying anything else, Zero kissed him. No hesitation, no warning—just heat.
Kaname’s response was immediate and visceral, his lips parting under the sudden rush of contact, a low, possessive growl vibrating deep in his chest as he pulled Zero closer. The kiss was messy, wet, unrestrained—and exactly what Zero needed.
Shame prickled at the edges of his mind, not for the act itself but for the hunger clawing through his veins. For the way his body ached for this—for him. It was a need so deep it almost frightened him. A heat curling low in his belly, wild and untamable. Except… Kaname always tamed it.
Kaname’s hands came up, framing his face with unexpected gentleness as his thumbs swept across flushed skin, brushing stray strands of silver from his eyes.
“You look,” Kaname murmured, voice low and dark velvet, “adorable enough to eat.”
Zero’s breath stuttered, and before he could throw back some biting retort, Kaname’s mouth claimed his again—hot, demanding, hungry. Clothes were forgotten in a blur of fumbling fingers, soft gasps and the rustle of fabric, until bare skin met bare skin, heat pressed to heat.
By the time Zero’s mind caught up, he found himself straddling Kaname’s lap, trembling slightly under the weight of crimson eyes. His breath came quick and uneven. His hands tightened on Kaname’s shoulders without realizing.
From the bedside drawer, Kaname retrieved a small foil packet and pressed it into Zero’s hand.
“If you want me,” Kaname murmured, voice rough with restraint and desire, “you’ll have to do some of the work tonight.”
Zero stared down at the packet, his cheeks burning. “You’re… unbelievable.”
Kaname’s smirk was lazy, dangerous. “You’ve told me that before.”
Zero tore it open with fingers that shook more than he wanted to admit. It felt strange—clumsy and mechanical—and all the while, Kaname simply lay back, watching him with a quiet intensity that made Zero’s breath catch.
Neither of them had ever needed protection before. Never thought about it. Their bond had rendered barriers irrelevant—until now.
Zero’s blush deepened as he rolled the thin layer carefully into place. Kaname’s breath hitched—not from the touch itself, but from the sight of Zero in that moment. Nervous. Shy. Vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. And utterly breathtaking for it.
When Zero finally positioned himself and sank down, a quiet, broken sound tore from his throat. His fingers dug into Kaname’s chest for balance, and his eyes squeezed shut at the stretch, the burn, the sensation both familiar and… different.
After a few careful motions, his brows knit together, and he muttered under his breath, “…It feels weird. With the… rubber.”
Kaname’s laugh was low and breathless, his hands sliding up Zero’s waist to hold him steady. “Then we’ll just have to make you forget it’s there.”
His voice was quiet, promising, and it sent a shiver down Zero’s spine.
Zero opened his eyes, glaring faintly through the flush creeping across his cheeks. “I don’t like it. It feels like… there’s a distance.”
Kaname’s hands tightened, grounding. His gaze softened, heat mixing with something achingly tender. “It feels strange to me too. Like I can’t feel you the way I want to.” His thumb brushed against Zero’s hipbone, reverent. “But if you want it raw again… you’ll have to let Aido run tests. He’ll have to make something safe.”
Zero let out a frustrated grunt, dropping his forehead against Kaname’s shoulder as his blush deepened further. “…Fine. But he’s going to love that.”
Kaname’s smile curved against his ear, voice dipping to a low murmur. “He already loves tormenting you. What’s a little more?”
Zero huffed a breathless laugh despite himself and moved again, testing the rhythm, letting Kaname guide his hips with slow, deliberate care. Even with the thin barrier between them, the bond thrummed hot and electric through every touch, every quiet gasp.
And soon enough, even the distance of latex felt like nothing at all, drowned out by heat and trust and the weight of Kaname’s voice whispering his name like a prayer.
Zero shifted, sitting straighter with Kaname still buried deep inside him. His hands pressed against Kaname’s shoulders for balance as his back arched slightly. He began to move with more purpose, lifting himself higher before sinking back down, every bounce sending sparks up his spine.
His head tipped back, silver hair spilling down his shoulders as a moan broke past his lips, unrestrained and raw. The sound made Kaname’s hands slide up his thighs, reverent and grounding, his crimson eyes drinking in every trembling motion.
“Zero…” Kaname’s voice was a low, husky whisper, thick with awe. “You’re… perfect like this.”
Zero’s only answer was another broken gasp as he bounced, the bond between them burning hotter with every movement. And through it all, Kaname watched—rapt, adoring—as if this was something holy, something meant to be worshipped.
Very soon, Zero learned exactly what Kaname’s warning had meant.
His stupid, infuriating pureblood mate hadn’t been lying. Not even a little.
Kaname had taken him apart slowly, carefully, like he was unwrapping something precious. And then, once Zero had shattered that first time, he hadn’t stopped. Not after the second. Not even after the third.
Zero was wrecked—his body trembling, his skin slick and overheated, his voice hoarse from gasps and broken curses. And yet Kaname… Kaname hadn’t even finished once.
Every time Zero thought the pureblood might finally follow him over that edge, Kaname would change the angle, shift the pace, roll them into a new position that made Zero keen helplessly. It was like he was proving a point with every controlled movement of his hips, with every low murmur against his ear.
Pureblood stamina and restraint on full, maddening display.
Zero clung to him, nails dragging over his shoulders as another climax tore through him—too much, too soon—and still Kaname held back, his crimson eyes dark and steady, his control infuriatingly unshaken.
Zero’s breath hitched into a shaky, breathless laugh against his neck. “You… you’re a bastard.”
Kaname’s voice was velvet-soft against his ear, laced with heat and something deeper. “I warned you. If you started this… I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Zero wanted to tell him to shut up. He wanted to shove him, to spit back some biting remark. But all that came out was a low, desperate sound that made Kaname smile against his skin.
He wasn’t going to beg. He wasn’t going to beg.
But gods, Kaname was going to kill him.
Zero’s breaths came in sharp, uneven huffs as Kaname’s low voice brushed over his ear, velvet and maddeningly calm.
“Beautiful,” Kaname murmured, every word sinking into Zero’s overheated skin. “You take me so well. Every time.”
Zero squeezed his eyes shut, his nails digging into Kaname’s shoulders as if he could anchor himself in the storm unraveling his body. “Shut up,” he gasped, a moan breaking free despite himself, his voice ragged around the edges. “Just—just come already.”
Kaname’s quiet chuckle vibrated against his skin, warm against the shell of his ear as his hips kept that unrelenting pace. “Zero…”
The way he said his name—soft, reverent, like a prayer—sent something traitorous fluttering in Zero’s chest.
“But I want to make it last,” Kaname whispered, his tone steady and controlled, dragging out every second like he was etching it into memory. “You don’t know how much I hold back… every time. How much I have to, just so I don’t scare you off.”
Zero let out a strangled sound, half-growl, half-plea. “You’re already scaring me off, you lunatic.”
Kaname smiled against his temple, utterly unrepentant. “I can go on for days, Zero.”
Zero’s head dropped against his shoulder with a shaky, breathless laugh that bordered on hysteria. “Days? You’re insane. I’m going to die. You’re going to kill me.”
Kaname’s lips brushed his hairline, tender where everything else was heat and hunger. “No pureblood has ever killed their mate through pleasure… yet.”
Zero wanted to hit him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to scream. Instead, another sharp gasp tore from his throat as Kaname shifted just slightly—finding that perfect angle again like he had mapped every inch of him.
“You’re…Ah” Zero panted, barely able to form the word. “You’re… a mon...ster.”
Kaname’s laugh was low, rich, almost a purr. “A monster in love.”
His hands slid up, catching Zero’s wrists and pinning them above his head as he drove into him with devastating control.
“I—can’t—” Zero choked out, another climax shattering through him so violently it left him sobbing into Kaname’s shoulder.
He was wrecked—tears streaking his flushed cheeks, drool slicking his lips and chin, his voice breaking into raw, unsteady sounds he couldn’t swallow back. And through it all, Kaname looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing in existence, reverence and hunger twined together in his crimson eyes.
Zero didn’t know how long it lasted—minutes, hours, lifetimes—but when Kaname finally slowed, finally stopped, his body collapsed into boneless jelly against the mattress. He wasn’t sure he had anything left to give.
Kaname’s touch was gentle now, reverent as he cradled Zero’s head and guided him to his throat. His voice softened, but there was quiet command beneath it. “Drink.”
Zero blinked, dazed, his thoughts sluggish. “Wha—”
“So you can function tomorrow,” Kaname murmured, his hand stroking soothing circles down Zero’s spine. “Otherwise, it will take you a while to come around.”
Zero’s lips brushed the pulse beneath his skin, and in a last flicker of defiance, his fangs sank in sharply—a deliberate bite. Payback.
Kaname’s low groan was half-surprise, half-pleasure. “Vicious,” he whispered, voice frayed but full of quiet adoration.
Zero drank just enough to feel the warmth settle in his limbs again, though his body still trembled under the aftermath. When he finally pulled back, Kaname kissed his hair softly, grounding him.
Without a word, Kaname cleaned him gently with a wet towel, changed the damp, tangled sheets with practiced ease, shifting Zero with careful hands like he was spun glass.
When they finally settled beneath fresh sheets, Kaname wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into the steady hum of his heartbeat.
Zero barely had time to register the warmth of that embrace before sleep claimed him instantly—safe, claimed, and utterly loved in the quiet cradle of their bond.
The room was still.
Only the soft crackle of the fire and the faint whisper of snow brushing against the tall windows disturbed the quiet. The air carried the gentle warmth of hearth and bond, that soft, unspoken hum that came after the storm when survival had been earned and silence became sacred.
Kaname lay with Zero curled into his chest, one arm draped securely across his mate’s waist. Zero’s breath came slow and warm, brushing lightly over his collarbone with each exhale. The bond thrummed between them, steady and calm, like a second heartbeat beneath the skin.
No hunger.
No hate.
No words.
Only warmth. Only presence. Only the rare and precious quiet that followed pain when it was finally allowed to rest.
Kaname’s eyes remained closed, but his senses were awake—cataloguing the weight of Zero in his arms, the subtle rhythm of his breathing, the faint trace of his scent that lived in Kaname’s bones now.
Kaname didn’t sleep often. Not truly. But when he did, it was always like this.
With Zero.
With the one person he hadn’t planned for. Hadn’t meant to love. The one person who had undone centuries of purpose and replaced it with something that mattered more than the world itself.
In these brief, borrowed moments, Kaname could almost believe forever might not be cruel. That it might not demand so much and give so little in return.
He could stay like this forever.
Until the knock came.
Sharp. Measured. Familiar.
Kaname’s eyes opened instantly, the faint flicker of crimson glowing behind long lashes. His body shifted in silent readiness.
For a heartbeat, he thought it might be Isamu. Another bad dream. Another sleepy request for cuddles or warm milk.
But his senses told him otherwise.
Not Isamu.
Seiren.
Carefully, Kaname eased out of bed, his hand lingering on Zero’s hair just long enough to press a kiss there, a small whisper of grounding before slipping from beneath the covers.
Zero stirred faintly, murmuring something soft, his fingers brushing the patch of warmth Kaname had left behind. His lashes fluttered, half-aware, silver hair falling across his face in soft disarray.
Kaname pulled on his robe with practiced calm and crossed the room, his steps soundless.
Seiren stood beyond the door when he opened it, snow melting silently off the black of her coat, her expression as calm and steady as ever.
“Yuki-sama’s car is pulling up the drive,” she said softly.
The words landed like a stone into still water.
Kaname blinked, his spine straightening almost imperceptibly. “…She’s here?”
Seiren nodded. “With Ruka. Cross and Yagari.”
He turned slightly, his gaze drawn unbidden back to the bed.
Zero was sitting up now, silver hair tousled, his eyes still heavy with sleep but sharp enough to catch the weight in the air.
“What’s going on?” His voice was low, rough.
Kaname’s throat tightened. His robe suddenly felt too thin. The fire too far away.
He wanted to say nothing. Wanted to close the door, crawl back into bed, pull Zero against him, and sleep the day away beneath warm covers and unspoken promises.
But his voice came, steady despite the ache beneath it.
“Yuki is here.”
Zero stilled.
The bond hummed—soft, low, like the first whisper of a storm about to break.
And down the hallway—like the estate itself had sensed the disturbance—Isamu’s small, sleepy voice called again, this time laced with distress.
Zero’s jaw tightened.
He swung his legs out of bed, standing on shaking legs that still hadn’t fully recovered from Kaname’s relentless love-making even with Kaname blood in his system. His hand dragged through his silver hair as he moved toward the door, his expression unreadable, but his shoulders already braced.
Tired.
Preparing.
Kaname watched him pass, something twisting deep in his chest.
No.
Not yet. Not like this.
Before Zero could take another step, Kaname’s hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist.
Zero stilled. He glanced down at Kaname’s hand, then up, silver eyes wary and guarded.
“Kaname…”
Kaname didn’t answer with words.
He stepped forward, closed the small gap between them, and before Zero could retreat—
He kissed him.
Hard. Hungry. Desperate.
It wasn’t soft or measured. It wasn’t planned. It was the kind of kiss born from fear and love colliding, the kind you gave when you felt something slipping away and tried to hold it together with sheer force of will.
Zero inhaled sharply, his body stiff with surprise—but he didn’t pull away.
Not immediately.
Kaname’s hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing warm skin, trembling just slightly. He kissed him like the world outside that room didn’t exist. Like there was no past, no future, no name, no bloodline.
Only this.
Only them.
When Kaname finally broke the kiss, he pressed their foreheads together, his voice raw and unshielded.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you. No matter what happens today. No matter who walks through that door.”
Zero’s breath caught. His eyes were wide, lips parted, pulse hammering against the fragile quiet between them.
But he didn’t pull away. And he didn’t say no. For now, it was enough.
Kaname’s grip loosened, his hand sliding away.
Zero stepped back slightly, silver lashes lowering as Isamu’s voice called again down the hall.
“He needs me,” Zero murmured, softer this time.
Kaname inclined his head once. “I know. If you’re not ready to see them… I can send them away.”
Zero shook his head. “No. I’ll join you. Once I make sure Isamu’s okay.”
And then he was gone, bare feet padding silently into the corridor, his presence slipping away like a fading heartbeat.
Kaname stood there a moment longer, heart pounding, the echo of the kiss lingering on his lips.
He had said it.
And for once…
He hadn’t said it too late.
He turned back into the room, dressing swiftly in a dark shirt and tailored pants. The man who descended the stairs moments later was no longer just Zero’s mate; he was the Pureblood Prince, calm mask in place, crimson eyes steady.
Ready to greet the uninvited guests who had dared disturb the fragile peace he had built in this house.
Zero’s steps were soft as he entered the dimly lit room, the faint sound of Isamu’s distressed murmurs pulling him in like a thread. The little boy tossed and turned under his star-splattered blanket, his small fists clutching the fabric as if he were holding onto something that was slipping away.
“Papa…” Isamu whimpered, his voice cracked and broken by sleep. “Papa… don’t go… please…”
Zero’s chest tightened. He crossed the room in a few strides and sat gently on the edge of the bed. His fingers threaded through Isamu’s brown hair—soft and stubbornly unruly, just like Kaname’s—and brushed it back from his damp forehead.
“Isamu,” Zero murmured, voice low and soothing. “Wake up, little bird. Papa’s here.”
Isamu jerked awake with a sharp gasp, his wide brown eyes shimmering with fresh tears. The moment he saw Zero, he scrambled forward, clutching at his shirt with shaking hands.
“Papa!” His voice broke as the tears spilled over. “Papa, you… you left me! You left me and Sad Prince and… and I called for you and you didn’t stop! You didn’t even look back! You kept walking and—” His words dissolved into hiccuping sobs. “And I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find you!”
Zero gathered him up without hesitation, pulling the trembling little body against his chest. One hand splayed protectively over Isamu’s small back as he held him tight.
“Shh… shh, I’m right here,” Zero whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? Not without you. Not ever.”
Isamu shook his head against his chest, still clinging like a lifeline. “You disappeared, Papa… I was so scared… I thought you were gone forever…”
Zero exhaled slowly, rocking him gently as if his own heartbeat could soothe the fear out of him. “No, little bird. Never forever. I’d never leave you like that. You know why?”
Isamu sniffled, lifting his face just enough to meet his eyes. “...Why?”
Zero’s expression softened, his thumb brushing away a tear from the boy’s cheek. “Because you’re mine. My Isamu. And I always come back for what’s mine.”
His voice dropped even softer as he leaned their foreheads together. “Papa loves you too much to ever leave you. Papa wouldn’t survive without you.”
Isamu’s small hands tightened in his shirt again, though his sobs had quieted into little hiccups. “Promise?”
Zero pressed a kiss into his hair, his voice steady and certain. “Promise. Always.”
Slowly, the boy’s breathing began to even out. The tension in his little body melted away until he relaxed in Zero’s arms completely. His drowsy voice murmured just before sleep reclaimed him.
“You smell nicer, Papa… and you smell like Sad Prince…”
A breathless laugh slipped from Zero, soft and bittersweet. “Go back to sleep, little bird. It’s still too early to be awake.”
He stayed there for a while, cradling him until the last traces of the nightmare faded and Isamu drifted into peaceful sleep, tiny fingers still curled into his shirt as if to anchor him there.
When Zero finally laid him back down and tucked the blanket snug around his shoulders, he lingered a moment longer, brushing one last gentle hand through his son’s hair.
Only when he was certain Isamu was safe in dreamless rest did Zero rise.
He pulled on a dark jumper and plain pants, dragging a hand through his silver hair, his face unreadable but his movements quiet and deliberate.
Casting one last glance at the sleeping boy, he stepped out into the hushed corridor. The air was still heavy with the hour before dawn.
And now, it was time to follow Kaname.
Zero had just reached the top of the grand staircase when the heavy doors below creaked open.
Kaname stood near the entryway with Takuma and Seiren flanking him, their attention snapping to the sudden movement. Zero froze where he was, his hand tightening unconsciously on the banister as the cold air from outside swept in.
And then they stepped inside.
Yuki.
Ruka.
Cross.
And Yagari.
For a heartbeat, the world tilted. His pulse roared in his ears as panic dug its claws into his chest. So many ghosts. Too many memories. What can I even say to them?
Yagari’s face flashed in his mind—stern, tired, proud. What would he see now? Disappointment? And Yuki… gods, Yuki. Her heart would break. And it would be his fault.
Zero’s fingers curled tight against the railing, nails biting into the wood.
“Kaname!”
Yuki’s voice shattered the heavy silence like glass. Before anyone could react, she was running—feet pounding against marble—straight into Kaname’s arms.
Takuma and Seiren both stiffened in shock. Even Kaname faltered, his hands hovering awkwardly before gently bracing her shoulders to create space. “Yuki—”
“You left!” Her voice cracked, raw and thick with emotion. “You left without a word—I was so scared. I missed you so much…”
“Yuki,” Kaname said quietly, his tone careful, his hands steady as he tried to ease her back without hurting her. “You don’t understand—”
But she didn’t let him finish.
To the utter shock of everyone in the northern estate, Yuki surged forward again, this time rising on her toes and pressing her lips to his.
The world stopped.
Takuma went pale. Seiren’s hand twitched at her side. Kaname froze entirely, his body rigid as marble.
And at the top of the stairs, Zero felt his entire body go cold.
The kiss lasted seconds at most. But it was enough.
Zero’s stomach turned violently. He could still feel the heat of Kaname’s lips on his own from not even fifteen minutes ago. He could still taste him. His skin still trembled from last night, from Kaname’s touch, his words, his love.
And now… this.
Yuki in his arms. Yuki on his lips.
Will I always be in the shadows?
Zero’s breath hitched painfully. His vision blurred. And before anyone could see, before his knees gave out entirely, he turned on silent feet and retreated down the hall, toward Isamu’s room. Away from the open wound forming at the bottom of the stairs.
Kaname broke the kiss gently, his voice calm but edged like a blade. “Yuki. Enough.”
Her wide, tear-bright eyes stared up at him in confusion, but Kaname’s gaze had already shifted—upward. Toward the fading trace of a familiar aura retreating fast.
Zero.
Takuma opened his mouth to speak, but Kaname cut him off, his tone clipped and controlled. “Takuma, settle everyone. They can rest and have breakfast. I’ll speak once they’ve eaten.”
“Kaname—” Yuki’s hand lifted toward him.
And then Yagari’s voice cut through the tension like a gunshot. “Where’s Zero?”
Kaname’s jaw tightened. “After breakfast,” he said evenly, his tone brooking no argument, “I have something important to handle.”
And without another word, he turned sharply and followed the fading bond, his steps quick and sure, leaving behind stunned silence and the lingering echo of a kiss that meant nothing compared to the one he had left upstairs.
Zero sat on the floor near the fireplace, his back pressed to the side of Isamu’s bed, knees drawn loosely to his chest. The flames crackled low, casting soft shadows across his face, painting the silver of his hair in warm gold. He didn’t hear the door open, but he felt the shift in the bond before the quiet footsteps followed.
Kaname stepped inside without a word and, instead of the bed or a chair, he lowered himself gracefully to the floor—right in front of him. Close, but not touching. Not yet.
“I’m sorry,” Kaname said softly, his voice like silk frayed at the edges. “That you had to see that.”
Zero’s eyes flicked up, sharp and bright in the dim light. His voice, when it came, was quiet, but it cut deep.
“I didn’t just see it,” he said. “I felt it. And it’s sharper than any knife you can ever put in my hands.”
Kaname’s chest tightened. He reached out but stopped halfway, fingers curling against his own palm. “I didn’t kiss her back.”
Zero let out a breathless, broken laugh. “You didn’t stop it either.”
"I did stop her." Kaname says quickly.
Zero hand scrubbed at his face harshly, trying to erase the heat gathering behind his eyes. “Gods… this is all so confusing. My sensei is here. Yagari. He’s going to look at me and see everything I swore I’d never become. And Yuki…” His voice faltered, and for a moment the only sound was the fire. “She’s going to look at me and her heart will break. And it’ll be my fault.”
Kaname shifted closer, but Zero’s next words froze him in place.
“This would’ve been easier,” Zero whispered, “if I just left. Disappeared before they got here. Before any of this happened.”
Something dark and primal surged through the bond.
Kaname’s hand shot out, grabbing Zero’s arms in a bruising grip. He pulled him forward harshly until their knees knocked together, until there was nowhere for Zero to look but into his crimson eyes.
“Why,” Kaname hissed, his voice a low growl vibrating with barely restrained fury, “is your first instinct always to run? You face hordes of Level E’s without blinking. You stand against purebloods without fear. But the moment it’s about us—about this bond—you want to vanish like a coward.”
Zero’s breath caught, anger and hurt clashing violently in his chest. “I’m not—”
“Not happening,” Kaname cut him off sharply, his grip tightening as if he could anchor him in place with sheer will. “Not again. I will bar every exit in this estate, I will tear down every escape route you’ve ever planned, but you are not leaving me again.”
Zero flinched, the rawness in Kaname’s voice striking harder than the words.
Kaname leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “You will not hurt yourself. You will not hurt me. And you will not rip apart this family we’ve built because of fear that isn’t even yours to carry. Do you hear me, Zero?”
For a long, shuddering moment, neither of them moved.
Then Zero’s fists curled in Kaname’s shirt, his voice cracking on a single word.
“…I hear you.”
Kaname exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. He pulled Zero into his chest, holding him like something both precious and infuriating, his own heartbeat loud against the quiet crackle of the fire.
Zero’s voice, muffled in Kaname’s shirt, was thin but defiant.
“So what… you’re going to keep me here as your captive now?”
Kaname didn’t flinch at the words. He didn’t even hesitate. His lips pressed to the crown of silver hair, a quiet anchor in the storm that was Zero.
“If that’s what it takes to keep you,” Kaname whispered, voice low but edged with steel, “then yes.”
Zero stiffened at the calm certainty in his tone. He leaned back just enough to see his face, his own violet eyes narrowing even as they shimmered with something raw. “You can’t just—”
“I can.” Kaname’s hand slid to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing the flushed skin beneath his eye with infuriating tenderness. “And I will. Because you’re mine, Zero. And I’m done pretending I can survive without you.”
The bond between them pulsed—sharp, aching, alive. Zero’s throat worked, words caught somewhere between anger and the bone-deep ache in his chest.
“You’re infuriating,” he muttered.
Kaname’s lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile. “So you’ve told me. Many times.”
Kaname’s voice dipped, velvet and wicked all at once. “Besides… if you run, who’s going to satisfy those wanton desires of yours? Doubt anyone else can hold out the way I can.”
Zero groaned, half-mortified. “You a disgusting, Perverted piece of work"
Kaname’s quiet laugh warmed the cold air. “So you won’t want a repeat of what happened last night, then?”
The flush that flared across Zero’s cheeks was all the answer Kaname needed. His silence was louder than any denial.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Zero admitted suddenly, voice breaking under the weight of it. “I don’t know how to stand in front of them. Yuki. Yagari. I don’t know how to not… ruin everything.”
Kaname leaned in until their foreheads touched again, his voice soft and steady, grounding him like an unshakable tide. “Then don’t do it alone. You’ve carried every burden by yourself for so long, Zero. Let us do it together.”
Notes:
Hello readers. This has been a long journey. I am thankful to everyone who has been commenting and keeping me motivated. I have posted a new KaZe story called "Contract" if interested please have a look. I am slowly wrapping up Eternal bonds.
Chapter Text
The words sank deep, heavier than any vow. Zero shut his eyes, the fight in his chest clashing with the quiet tremor of relief he didn’t want to admit to.
“You’re not letting me run, are you?” he whispered, and it was almost a plea.
Something cold and sharp flashed in Kaname’s crimson eyes at the word. His hand tightened just slightly on Zero’s jaw, enough to still his breath.
“Don’t,” Kaname said, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever say that to me again.”
Zero blinked, startled at the sudden edge.
“Every time you say run, it feels like you’re ripping this bond apart with your own hands. Like you’re choosing to disappear instead of choosing us.” Kaname’s voice cracked, raw and aching beneath the steel. “You don’t get to threaten me with leaving. Not when I’ve fought and bled and waited for you this long.”
Zero swallowed, guilt twisting with pain in his chest. “Kaname—”
“No.” Kaname cut him off, dragging him closer until their noses almost brushed, until there was nowhere to hide. “I can survive your anger. I can survive your fear. But I will never survive you running from me again. Do you understand?”
For a long, shuddering moment, Zero just stared at him. The fire crackled low, their bond thrumming heavy between them.
“…I understand,” he whispered at last.
Kaname exhaled, his tension bleeding out as he pulled Zero against him again, arms wrapping around him like chains that didn’t bind but anchored. His lips brushed the crown of silver hair once more.
“No more running,” Kaname murmured.
Zero didn’t argue. He didn’t even think of it.
But Kaname wasn’t done.
He tilted Zero’s face back, forcing their eyes to meet again. His crimson gaze burned with a desperate, possessive fire that made Zero’s breath catch. “You are mine,” Kaname said, the words rough and unyielding. “Not because I’ve claimed you, but because everything in you belongs here—with me. There is no world where I let you go. No world where I let you choose anyone or anything over us.”
Zero’s lips parted, but no words came. Kaname’s thumb brushed over the sharp edge of his jaw, a gentle contrast to the steel in his voice.
“You think you can run from this bond, from me? You can’t. You could cross oceans, burn cities to ash, and I would still find you. I would tear the world apart piece by piece until you were back in my arms.”
Zero’s chest ached, his pulse quickening under Kaname’s touch. “That’s… possessive,” he managed, voice hoarse.
Kaname’s mouth curved into something between a smile and a warning. “Good. Be afraid of that, if you want. But never doubt it. I have been patient with you, Zero. I have let you push me away and told myself it was enough just to keep you breathing. But I’m done pretending I can survive at a distance. You are mine.” His fingers tightened slightly, not hurting, just anchoring. “And I am yours. There is no undoing that.”
Zero’s breath shuddered out of him, the weight of Kaname’s words sinking deep. “Kaname…”
Kaname lowered his forehead to Zero’s, his voice softening, though the steel never left it. “Say it back. I need to hear it.”
The words caught in Zero’s throat, thick and trembling, but they came. “I’m yours.”
Kaname’s arms tightened, holding him so close it felt like he wanted to merge them into one. His lips brushed over Zero’s temple, lingering there as if staking a claim no one else could erase.
“Good,” Kaname whispered. “Now remember it. Because if you ever try to run again…” He trailed off, and Zero felt the dangerous promise in the silence.
“I won’t,” Zero said, and this time, it wasn’t just to soothe Kaname. It was the truth.
Kaname’s hold on him eased only slightly, though his hands didn’t let go. “No more running,” he repeated, voice a vow.
Zero closed his eyes and let himself sink into the warmth and weight of Kaname’s embrace. For the first time, he didn’t want to escape.
They were still sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around each other, the fire casting soft flickers of gold and red across the room when a gentle knock broke the quiet.
Seiren slipped inside with a tray balanced perfectly in her hands, her voice calm as always.
“Breakfast,” she said softly. Her gaze swept over them briefly, lingering on the small bundle of blankets on the bed. “For you, and the young master.”
Zero exhaled, brushing his fingers once through Kaname’s hair before slowly untangling himself. “Thanks, Seiren.”
She set the tray down with silent precision, then paused at the door. “The guests are in the dining room,” she added, voice soft and formal. “They will wait in the living area after breakfast.”
Zero’s shoulders tensed. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of the morning pressing in again.
Turning to the bed, he softened his tone. “Isamu,” he murmured, kneeling beside it, brushing the boy’s soft brown hair from his forehead. “Little bird, time to wake up.”
Isamu stirred, eyes fluttering open with a sleepy groan. “Papa…”
“Bathroom first,” Zero said gently.
He scooped the boy into his arms, Isamu’s small body leaning against his shoulder, still half-asleep as Zero carried him to the washroom. Setting him on the stool, he guided the tiny hands with practiced care as they brushed his teeth.
“Yucky mint,” Isamu mumbled around the foam, wrinkling his nose.
Zero smirked. “Brave knights don’t complain about toothpaste.”
Isamu spit into the sink and scowled, cheeks puffing slightly. “Still yucky…”
When they returned, Kaname was kneeling beside the bed, having laid out warm winter clothes. He helped Isamu out of his pajamas, buttoning the soft sweater with slow, deliberate care.
“Sad Prince,” Isamu whispered suddenly, glancing up at him.
Kaname’s crimson eyes softened. “What is it, little one?”
“I had a scary dream,” Isamu murmured.
“Tell me,” Kaname said quietly.
“Papa left me… with you,” the boy whispered. “We were both so sad. And then you were gone too. And I was alone. I looked and looked, but… I couldn’t find Papa.”
Kaname’s hands stilled on the buttons, a heavy ache lodging itself deep in his chest. His palm came to rest gently atop Isamu’s hair.
“I’ve had that dream too many times,” Kaname admitted softly. His voice dropped to a vow. “But we won’t let it happen. We’ll chain Papa to us, so he’ll never leave us.”
Isamu’s wide brown eyes lit with tentative hope. “We can really do that?”
Zero, seated at the small table, groaned loudly as he spread butter on his and Kaname’s toast and jam on Isamu’s. “Don’t listen to him, Isamu. And you—” his glare snapped to Kaname “—stop trying to make my son into a lunatic like you.”
Kaname’s lips curved, the faintest hint of amusement slipping through. “It isn’t lunacy if it keeps him with us. Right, Isamu?”
Isamu giggled, the sound soft and light. “Then Papa’s chained now. He can’t leave me. Or Sad Prince.”
Zero dropped his forehead into his palm, muttering a curse under his breath. “I won’t leave you, Isamu. So no chaining anyone.”
Kaname didn’t reply, but his gaze lingered on the boy, on that flicker of fear in his small voice. A mirror of his own, and of the man sitting just feet away.
Kaname lifted Isamu carefully and set him in the chair beside Zero, the boy’s legs swinging freely as he reached for his toast. For a moment, the sound of buttered bread and quiet laughter filled the room—a fragile, stolen peace.
The hallway stretched long and heavy, shadows clinging to the walls like old regrets. Each step echoed softly in the vast silence, but the weight in Zero's chest was louder. His fingers trembled at his sides.
Then a warm hand slid into his. Steady. Grounding. He turned his head slightly.
Kaname met his gaze and gave his hand a firm squeeze. "I'm here, Zero."
And then he let go, just as the door to the living room opened.
Voices spilled out immediately, breaking the quiet like shattering glass.
"...Why are you stopping me from going to Kaname?" Yuki's voice was high, taut, laced with frustration.
"Because, Yuki-sama—"
Ruka's voice cut through like a blade. "What was wrong with you, Hanabusa? Running away with that insolent Kiryu for more than three years—"
"Don’t talk about Zero like that!" Aido snapped, his voice sudden and fierce.
The air grew brittle, charged. Ruka's crimson eyes narrowed, her stance tense, predatory.
Kain moved without a word, stepping in front of Aido with the solid calm of a man used to containing storms.
"You're standing up for a mere Level D?" Ruka spat. "What has he done to you? Charmed you? Or have you fallen in love with him?"
Behind the door, Kaname’s hand clenched into a tight fist. Just the suggestion—just the thought of Aido falling in love with his mate—sent a cold spike through his chest. That Aido had been there when he hadn't.
Then the door clicked shut behind Kaname and Zero.
The room went silent.
Every eye turned toward them.
Cross was the first to react. His breath hitched audibly, his hands lifting half an inch as if to reach before freezing entirely.
Cross was the first to react. His breath hitched, his hands lifting slightly, as if drawn toward Zero by instinct alone.
"Zero..."
His voice cracked with disbelief, and something deeper—relief tangled with ache. He hadn’t seen Zero in nearly five years.
He took a single step forward.
And stopped.
His gaze dropped to the boy in Kaname's arms.
Yagari’s single sharp eye cut straight to Zero. It was the same gaze that had once taught him how to hold a gun, how to stand his ground. But now… it was a question. A demand. A silent accusation. You’re not a child anymore. You’re a father.
And gods, the boy—
The child in Kuran’s arms looked more like Kaname’s son than Zero’s.
Yuki’s trembling smile faltered mid-breath. Her lips parted as her gaze shifted from Kaname… to Zero… to the boy resting against Kaname’s shoulder, blinking curious lavender eyes at the strangers. The air in her chest seemed to vanish.
Ruka didn’t speak at all. Her face was carved from shock.
Takuma stayed quiet, as did Kain. Only Aido’s jaw was tight, protective heat in his gaze flicking toward Zero and the child as if daring anyone to speak.
Isamu tilted his head, confused by the silence, his small fingers curling tighter in Kaname’s shirt as he looked between the unfamiliar faces.
Kaname’s voice was soft but commanding. “Kain.”
Kain moved immediately.
“Take Isamu to the playroom.”
The little boy hesitated. His wide, intelligent eyes turned to Zero.
Zero bent slightly, brushing soft hair away from his son’s face. "It’s okay, little bird. Go with big Kain. I’ll be right here."
Isamu nodded and allowed Kain to lift him gently. He glanced back once before the door clicked shut.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
Yagari broke it first. His voice was sharp, but beneath the edge was a quiet note of hurt that cut deeper than steel.
“What’s going on here, brat?”
Zero flinched, every muscle tight. His mouth opened, but nothing came.
Kaname stepped forward slightly, his presence sliding around Zero’s like a shield. His voice cut through the heavy air with calm authority.
“Sit down,” Kaname said. “It’s a long conversation.”
Yuki didn’t wait. She crossed the room in two strides and threw her arms around Zero.
Zero stiffened.
"You’re so cruel," she whispered. Her fingers twisted in the back of his shirt, her voice breaking. "How could you stay away for this long? I thought you hated us."
Before Zero could respond, Cross engulfed them both, his long arms wrapping tightly around the two of them. His frame shook.
"My children are finally together," he whispered.
Zero stood rigid in the embrace, his heart a storm in his chest.
"Why didn’t you come back? Or at least contact us? We were so worried," Cross said, pulling back just slightly to look at Zero’s face. "I thought... I thought you were gone for good."
Zero still didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
The guilt clawed at his throat, thick and choking. Not because he didn’t care. But because he did.
And because explaining meant unraveling everything they’d built in silence.
Kaname stepped beside him, eyes unreadable.
"Let us explain," he said.
Zero finally nodded, his voice barely a breath.
"It’s time."
But beyond the embrace, Zero could feel Yagari’s gaze. Sharp. Unyielding. Piercing right through him. Not asking. Demanding.
And Zero’s heart pounded against his ribs, knowing the real storm hadn’t even begun.
Once everyone settled, Yagari leaned back in his chair, his voice rough and cold.
“Tell me straight, brat. Did you steal Kuran’s illegitimate kid with some other woman and run or something?”
The question hit like a gunshot.
Zero’s violet eyes lifted slowly, meeting his teacher’s with quiet steel. His voice, though soft, didn’t waver.
“No, sensei,” he said firmly. “Isamu… is my child.”
The living room felt like a stage set for a confession, the air heavy with anticipation. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, a faint contrast to the cold weight pressing down on the room.
Kaname lowered himself into the armchair by the fire, his posture regal but his eyes unusually soft. Across the room, Zero stood by the tall window, his back straight, gaze fixed on the falling snow beyond the glass.
The distance between them was deliberate. A buffer. Because when the truth came, standing too close—feeling all those judging eyes at once—would be unbearable.
Kaname’s voice broke the silence, low and steady.
“Do you all know of the mate bonds in vampire society?”
Ruka and Cross exchanged a glance and nodded. Takuma’s eyes dropped. Aido sat tense, already knowing what Kaname was about to reveal.
Ruka spoke first, her voice quiet.
“A rare… blessed bond. When a vampire finds their soulmate.”
Cross’s tone followed, soft with reverence.
“Rare indeed. Almost as if the universe itself cultivates for years, and as a reward… grants a soulmate. Only a few vampires in history have been lucky enough to find one. Others… drive themselves mad searching. Or waiting.”
Yuki’s brow furrowed, her fingers tightening in her lap as the information sank in.
Kaname inclined his head slightly.
“Yes. A once-in-a-thousand-years kind of occurrence.”
Yagari leaned back in his chair, unimpressed.
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Kaname’s gaze turned to the fire for a moment, the flames reflecting faintly in crimson eyes. His voice when it came was quiet.
“For a long time, I believed I had found my mate… in Yuki Cross.”
Yuki gasped softly, her voice trembling. “Kaname…” Mate? Whatever it was she wanted to be that for Kaname.
But Kaname didn’t look at her. Didn’t even pause.
“I was wrong.” His eyes lifted slowly, shifting past the firelight to the figure by the window. “My mate was standing in front of me the entire time. It simply took me a while to recognize them.”
Zero’s fingers twitched against the glass. His shoulders stiffened. But he didn’t turn.
Kaname’s next words fell like a blade through still water.
“It has always been Zero.”
Ruka’s breath caught audibly. Yuki’s hand flew to her mouth, her wide eyes wet and stunned. Cross exhaled a soft, broken sound.
"What?" Yuki whispered in disbelief.
Yagari didn’t move. He only narrowed his sharp eye and stared at his former student. Zero didn’t return the gaze. His violet eyes stayed fixed on the snow outside as if the world inside the room no longer existed.
Ruka’s voice trembled as she whispered, “How… how can that be? A Level D… and a Pureblood?”
Yuki said nothing. Her gaze was empty, lost in some faraway place.
Cross finally found his voice. “Kaname… are you certain? When did you even know?”
Kaname’s voice softened. “At the academy. After feeding Zero my blood for the second time.”
Ruka recoiled like she’d been struck. Yuki’s whisper trembled.
“You… you were feeding Zero at the academy?”
Kaname’s sigh was soft but heavy.
“At first, I fed him to keep his strength up. To make sure he’d survive till Rido came. I had planned tl use Zero against Rido." Regret clear in Kaname’s eyes.
He continued "And… to stop him from feeding on Yuki.” His gaze flickered toward her briefly, then back to the fire. “But later… I fed him because it was my duty as his mate.”
Aido closed his eyes briefly, jaw tight. Takuma’s hands twisted together in his lap.
Kaname’s tone softened further.
“It took time. I tried staying away from him. I didn’t want anyone to know who he was to me—not with enemies lurking in every shadow. And with Zero’s hatred toward me…” Kaname’s lips curved in something faint and pained. “I thought it would be easy to let him go.”
Zero’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
Kaname’s eyes lifted, finally, locking onto the silver-haired hunter by the window.
“But soon… I couldn’t help it anymore. And I told him the truth.”
For the first time, Zero turned slightly. Just enough for the firelight to catch the edge of his profile. His voice was quiet, a whisper barely carrying across the room.
“And I rejected you.”
Kaname’s lips curved faintly. “Yes. Obviously You did.”
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the soft hiss of the fire.
But Zero didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
Kaname continued, his voice the gentlest it had been in years, but steady. Certain.
“I tried to fight it. Deny it. Punish myself for it. I thought… if I could bury it deep enough, if I gave myself to the idea of fate through Yuki, maybe I could escape it. Escape him.”
He paused, and the fire crackled again, soft and mocking.
“But the bond doesn’t vanish because you pretend it isn’t there. It grows. Hungers. Becomes unbearable when unacknowledged.”
Kaname’s voice lowered, intimate despite the room full of witnesses.
“It took time. But eventually… Zero accepted me. And we chose to keep it quiet.”
Cross’s breath shuddered. Yuki stared at Zero’s back like she’d never seen him before. Yagari’s eye didn’t leave his student for a second, unreadable.
And Zero, still by the window, let his hand press against the cold glass. The distance between him and Kaname felt like an ocean. And yet, with those words spoken aloud… it was also a thread. A bond that no one in the room could deny anymore.
The fire crackled softly, but its warmth didn’t reach the icy weight pressing down on the room.
“You knew,” Yuki’s voice trembled, breaking the silence like a fragile thread. Her wide eyes burned into Kaname. “You knew and you didn’t tell anyone? Why? So you could play with people’s hearts?”
Kaname’s gaze softened, but the sadness in his eyes was undeniable.
“Zero…” He said his mate’s name gently before turning his voice toward the room. “I wouldn’t say he had fully accepted me at the academy. Born human, raised a hunter… no matter how many times I explained what we were, what he was to me, it only seemed to register for a moment. Then the next… he’d think like a hunter again.”
Zero’s hands clenched at his sides, his back still half-turned to the room.
Yagari’s voice cut through the heavy air, sharp and proud.
“So he should. He is a hunter. Whatever strange animal mating thing you purebloods have has nothing to do with Zero.”
Zero stiffened visibly.
Takuma’s voice was quiet but firm, breaking the rising tension.
“Please do not insult a mate bond, Yagari-san. It is a sacred thing in our society.”
Kaname’s voice slid through again, velvet and steel.
“The mate bond pull isn’t one-sided. It is torture to reject it. It doesn’t care if the other was raised as a hunter. It pulls on the soul itself. And the more Zero rejected me… it wasn’t just hurting me. It was hurting him.”
Zero’s shoulders shook imperceptibly.
Kaname’s eyes slid to him for the briefest moment, then back to the others.
“Zero’s greatest fear wasn’t me. It was hurting Yuki. And disappointing you, Yagari. You who instilled every value, every belief into him. To Zero, accepting me meant betraying his lineage. Betraying you. Betraying Yuki.”
The words fell heavy in the quiet room.
Kaname’s voice dropped further, low but clear.
“While we were on Zero’s self-appointed mission, we were ambushed. A horde of Level E’s. Poison in their claws. I believe it was Shizuka’s doing.”
Zero’s breath caught faintly, memory flashing in his mind.
“I was injured,” Kaname continued, “and Zero fed me his blood. Unknowingly… he completed the blood bond of mates.”
Yagari’s lone eye sharpened like a blade. His voice was low, dangerous.
“The blood bond?”
Takuma answered before Kaname could. His tone was careful, instructional.
“There are stages in finding and fully activating a mate bond. First: recognizing the soul. Second: emotional attachment—attraction, connection. Third: the exchange of blood. And last… consummation. Each stage makes it harder, sometimes impossible, for one to reject the other.”
Kaname’s voice followed seamlessly, quiet but unwavering.
“It was after the blood exchange that I told Zero the truth. That we were mates.” His eyes slid to the silver-haired hunter by the window. “He started avoiding me. Dating a human girl. He thought… he could be someone else. That Yuki’s feelings would be spared. That his dignity as a hunter would remain intact.”
Yagari’s hand slammed against the armrest, the sound like a gunshot. His voice was sharp as a whip.
“Explain the child then, Zero.”
His tone cut right past Kaname. He wasn’t interested in pureblood explanations. He wanted the truth from his student.
For a moment, Zero didn’t move. The fire popped quietly. His reflection stared back at him from the window, pale and distant.
Then, slowly, he turned. His eyes lifted to meet Yagari’s. His voice was quiet but steady, carrying the weight of everything he’d held in for years.
“Sensei…” His throat tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment to you.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the door where his son had gone, then back. “But I can’t regret my child.”
A beat of silence.
“He’s mine,” Zero said, firmer now, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “Mine. And Kaname’s.”
The words struck the room like thunder.
Stunned silence followed. Even the fire seemed to hush, the weight of truth pressing down on every soul inside those walls.
Cross shot to his feet with a choked sound. Ruka’s crimson eyes were wide, and Yuki… Yuki didn’t speak. Silent tears had already been streaming down her face long before the words had sunk in.
Yagari’s voice was harsh, raw, cracking like a whip in the stunned air. “The fuck do you mean he’s both of yours? You’re both male.”
Zero said nothing. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Kaname’s gaze flicked toward him, reading the tension like a second heartbeat.
Every instinct screamed to cross the room and shield him, to hold him until the trembling stopped. But not now. Not in front of them. Not when the conversation teetered on the edge of shattering.
Aido broke the silence, voice quick but steady. “Well, you see… mate bonds are kind of… logic-defying.”
He glanced between them all, swallowing under Yagari’s glare. “It’s… it’s a soul thing. One soul fitting another perfectly. Gender doesn’t matter. When it’s the same gender, the bond doesn’t just… end bloodlines. It finds a way. A suitable carrier and a sire are chosen by the bond itself so that life can still be created.”
Yuki’s sob cracked the room like fragile glass.
Yagari’s voice dropped to something grim, something low and sharp. “How old is the child?”
Zero’s throat worked before he forced the words out. “Three. Three and a half.”
The moment the number left his lips, Yagari’s hand moved in one fluid motion. The chair scraped, his gun was out, cocked, and leveled straight at Kaname before anyone could breathe.
Seiren was faster.
No one saw her move, but suddenly her pale hand was against Yagari’s neck, her other arm braced, voice calm but like steel. “Drop it.”
The room froze.
Even Zero’s breath caught. Even Yuki’s sobs stopped cold.
Yagari didn’t look at her. Didn’t look at anyone but Kaname. His single eye burned with a rage so sharp it cut through the air. “You were raping my student at the academy. You fucking rapist.”
“Kaname-sama isn’t like that!” Ruka’s voice cracked through the heavy silence, sharp and defensive. Her eyes cut to Zero. “How do we know it wasn’t Kiryu who seduced him?”
Yuki’s wet, broken gasp filled the room. She turned, eyes wide on Zero, horror and heartbreak twisting her face.
“Enough!” Cross barked, but his voice shook. “Everyone just—”
“I’ll beat you to pulp, Cross,” Yagari snarled without looking away from Kaname. “Your student was fucked and brainwashed under your roof while you were off singing your coexistence songs.”
Kaname’s voice cut through the chaos, calm but commanding. “Put your gun down. That weapon can’t kill me—I’m a pureblood. You’d need more than that. And I will not have the sound of it scaring my son.”
“You smug pureblood—” Yagari’s voice was raw, breaking around the words. “I should kill every single one of you.”
Zero’s voice came quiet but unwavering. “Sensei.”
Yagari’s gaze cut to him like a blade.
“My son is a pureblood,” Zero said, his voice breaking on the truth but not faltering. “I cannot allow you to do that.”
The words stilled the air like a shot.
Yagari’s hand tightened on the trigger. “Don’t you dare—”
“It wasn’t rape.” Zero’s voice rose, sharp enough to slice through the room. “It was consensual.”
“Consensual, my ass!” Yagari’s snarl shook the air. “You were a child. A student. Pregnant in school—what the hell do you even know about anything—”
The sharp crack of skin against skin silenced him.
Zero’s head snapped to the side, his left cheek stinging where Yuki’s hand had landed. The sound of it echoed like a gunshot.
“You knew!” Yuki’s voice tore from her throat, raw and breaking. “You knew how I felt about Kaname! You knew—and you were—” Her voice fractured into a sob, but her words hit like knives. “You were sleeping with him behind my back while I… while I…”
Zero didn’t lift his head. His bangs shadowed his face, his body trembling, but he didn’t move. The silence was suffocating, the weight of every eye crushing down on him.
He deserved this, he guessed. Kaname was Yuki’s fiancé. Yes, he hadn’t known at the academy, but he knew now—yet he was still with Kaname.
What did it matter if they had some spiritual bond? So what if they had secretly married at the Academy? There was no proof, no witness.
“Were you laughing at me, Zero?” Yuki’s voice broke further. “While I came to you to make chocolates for Kaname, while I told you Kaname was my savior?”
Her hand lifted again, shaking, tears streaming. Her breath hitched on a sob as she swung down—
It never landed.
A pale hand caught her wrist mid-air, firm. At the same moment, another hand slid unyielding around her neck, stopping her cold.
Zero blinked up through his bangs—and froze.
It wasn’t Yuki in front of him anymore. Not really.
Kaname’s back was there instead, his tall frame a wall of calm fury between them. His voice was a low, dangerous growl that vibrated through the floorboards, the teacups on the table trembling from the sheer force of his aura.
“How,” Kaname hissed, his crimson eyes glowing faintly as he met Yuki’s wide, tear-streaked gaze, “dare you lay a hand on my mate?”
For a heartbeat, the room was nothing but silence and raw, stunned eyes.
Kaname’s fingers were still curled around Yuki’s wrist and throat when her tear-streaked gaze snapped up to him, wide and shaking. “Kaname…?”
Zero’s voice cut through the suffocating tension, low but steady. “Kaname. Stop it. Already.”
Crimson eyes swung toward him, still faintly glowing, still thrumming with the lethal edge of his aura. Takuma and Cross were already kneeling beside Yuki, their steps shaky but urgent.
“She hurt you,” Kaname growled, the sound deep and primal, vibrating through the walls. His gaze didn’t waver from Zero. “She dared to—”
“Kaname.” Zero stepped forward, his own voice soft but laced with iron. He reached for Kaname’s hand, fingers gripping tightly. “She did. So look at me. I need you to let her go… and hold me.”
It was the only thing that cut through.
Kaname’s grip loosened instantly. Yuki crumpled as if her legs had vanished beneath her, Cross catching her as she hit the carpet.
Kaname turned immediately, his hands rising to cup Zero’s face, thumbs brushing over the angry red mark on his cheek, a guttural sound low in his throat.
Zero brushed him off quickly and dropped to his knees beside Yuki instead.
Her eyes lifted to his through a blur of tears, betrayal carved into her delicate features. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered, voice breaking before she buried herself in Cross’s arms, her sobs soft but sharp in the silence.
“Kaname-kun…” Cross’s voice cracked like old wood, full of heartbreak as he held Yuki’s trembling shoulders. His eyes burned into the man by the fire. “How can you do this? Not only did you just reveal you’ve been cheating on her all this time, but now you’ve hurt her.”
Zero flinched at the word cheating, the sound cutting sharper than any blade. His shoulders tightened, his head dropping a fraction. He could feel every gaze in the room like weights pressing against his skin.
Kaname’s crimson eyes narrowed, his voice low and lethal. “She hurt my mate.”
Cross closed his eyes briefly, letting out a long, unsteady sigh. “I understand. I don’t blame you or Zero for the bond. I know what it means. I know bonds aren’t chosen—they’re written by fate itself.” His voice softened as his gaze flicked to Yuki, then back to Kaname.
“But Kaname, you must understand how she feels right now. She shouldn’t have hit him, no. She shouldn’t have laid a hand on Zero. But Yuki was raised human. She doesn’t know mate bonds. Even after becoming a pureblood again, her entire life since then has been shaped to be your wife and the lady of your estate. That’s what she’s been preparing for.”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” Yagari’s voice snapped like a whip through the fragile air.
His single eye burned with rage as it locked on Kaname. “The princess’s feelings are hurt? Who gives a damn? The main thing here is this monster, evil son of a bitch touched my student and did God knows what to him—and pooped out monster babies!”
“Sensei—” Zero started, but Yagari’s gaze pinned him silent like a nail through wood.
“Don’t tell me…” Yagari’s voice dropped, cold as a loaded gun. “Don’t you fucking tell me it was you, Zero. Did you give birth? Was that thing in your belly?”
Zero’s breath caught. His gaze fell to the floor, the silence answering for him.
Yagari’s curse was a low, vicious thing. “Of course. Of course it was you. What the hell else can anyone expect? This pureblood bastard degraded you, made you suffer, made your body do unnatural things, groomed you until you couldn’t think straight.” His voice cracked, raw with a rage that bled grief.
“All this bond bullshit—soulmates, destiny—if any of it were true, why didn’t he carry the unnatural child? Why put you through that kind of pain?” Yagari spat.
“Yagari…” Cross tried, his voice soft but firm, stepping between the hunter’s words and Zero’s shaking shoulders. “Stop. This isn’t helping.”
Kaname’s voice cut through, quiet but carrying a weight that silenced the room. “Do not speak about our son like that.”
Yagari’s eye snapped to him, burning. Kaname didn’t waver.
“We didn’t plan for a child,” Kaname continued, his tone still calm, though his crimson gaze softened slightly as it shifted to Zero.
“In truth, I didn’t even think it was possible. If I had known…” His hand curled once at his side, the mask of calm cracking just a fraction. “If I had known Zero was pregnant, I would have done everything in my power to make sure he didn’t suffer.”
The words hung heavy in the air, sinking into the tense silence. Yuki’s quiet sobs were the only sound.
Yagari’s jaw clenched, his gaze cutting to Zero again. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice low but shaking with fury. “Tell me you didn’t suffer. Tell me he didn’t make you suffer.”
Zero’s fingers curled into fists, his bangs shadowing his eyes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The weight of the truth sat heavy on his tongue, and the silence itself became the answer Yagari had dreaded.
Kaname’s hand twitched, aching to reach for him, to shield him. But he stayed still. This was Zero’s voice to give or to hold. His pain to reveal or bury.
Cross’s sigh was heavy, his hand smoothing over Yuki’s shaking hair. “This… is more than any of us were ready for.”
Cross cleared his throat, his voice strained and trembling. “I think… we should pause these talks for now.”
“Zero.” Yagari’s voice cut through, low and sharp as a blade. “Come. We need to talk. Privately.”
Kaname moved, his hand twitching toward Zero, but the hunter’s sharp gaze snapped to him instantly.
“Stay here. Don’t follow me.”
The bond pulsed painfully at the words, but Kaname froze mid-step, crimson eyes tracking Zero until the door closed behind them.
The cold air outside hit like a slap. Yagari lit a cigarette with steady, practiced hands, the smoke curling into the pale light of late morning edging toward noon.
“So…” His voice was gravel, disbelief laced in every word. “You pooped out a baby with Kuran.”
Zero flushed crimson, his shoulders tight. “I had… an operation. Aido did it.”
Yagari’s gaze was like a rifle barrel. “Mm. And why’d you run, huh? If it was all as ‘consensual’ as you claim?”
Zero’s lips parted, then closed again. The truth sat like a blade in his throat. He gave the half he could bear to voice.
“…After I found out Yuki was a pureblood. That she was Kaname’s fiancée.” His voice was clipped, quiet. “I felt cheated. Lied to. So I broke things off. After Rido, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t tell Kaname. At first, I wasn’t going to keep it. But then…” His voice softened, trembling at the edges. “As time went on, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to end the life growing in me. I guess… having lost every member of my family, I wanted this child to be mine.”
The metallic click of a safety broke the air. Zero’s body went rigid. The barrel glinted in the pale light.
And then the air shifted.
Not wind. Not sound. The estate itself seemed to hum with suppressed power, thick and suffocating. Yagari’s eye flicked to the courtyard shadows for a heartbeat.
Zero sighed, exhausted. “…It’s Kaname. Watching. He doesn’t like you pointing that at me.”
Yagari’s gaze snapped back, hard and cutting. “How the hell am I supposed to know you’re still you and not some brainwashed puppet of a pureblood? Groomed to think you’re his fucking mate?”
He spat into the snow, his voice raw. “The Zero I know would rather die than let a pureblood touch him—let alone fuck him.”
Zero let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “I thought that too… when Kaname told me I was his mate.”
His voice steadied as he met Yagari’s eye. “If I were his puppet, Sensei, I wouldn’t have left him for years. Wouldn’t have kept our child away from him.”
His voice cracked despite himself. “I hated what I felt for him. I fought it with everything I had. I can fight Level E’s, purebloods, even bloodlust itself. But I couldn’t fight this.”
Yagari’s voice cut low, bitter. “You were a child, Zero. A child who shouldn’t have had to carry a child. And to have your body changed by some vampire magic to make it happen—”
Zero’s spine stayed straight, but his voice softened, raw. “I’m sorry for what I’ve become. But I can’t hate my son. He’s so pure… so kind. I’ll raise him differently. Away from all that pain and hatred.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve lost so much, Sensei. Can’t I have something to hold on to?”
Yagari didn’t speak. Just stared. Silent. Measuring.
“There was a time,” Zero whispered, “I would have welcomed you killing me. Happily. But now… I want to live. I want to love and be loved. I want to be happy.”
The silence stretched until Yagari cursed under his breath, lowering the gun with a sharp click.
The cigarette burned low between his fingers. “What a fucking mess.”
His next words were quieter, heavier. “Do you really need that Kuran to be happy? We can kill him. Take you and your son. Disappear.”
Zero’s lips curved into something bittersweet. “I don’t think I can survive if Kaname dies. Him being my soulmate and all.”
Yagari’s expression twisted, part disgust, part grief. “You actually believe that shit they’re spouting?”
“Not at first,” Zero admitted. “Not at the academy. But I did the research. Old scrolls. Old records. It’s real. And…” His hand tightened against his side. “The fact that my son was born at all—that’s proof enough.”
Yagari’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped, a hiss between his teeth. “So what now? The Kuran princess isn’t taking it lightly. She actually slapped you.”
Zero’s eyes lowered. “I never wanted to hurt her. But… I guess I deserve it.”
“No.” Yagari’s voice was sudden and sharp, cutting through the smoke.
“You don’t. If anyone deserves her anger, it’s Kuran. That’s her fiancé. Yet she’s taking it out on you.” His eye narrowed, his tone dark. “She should be taking it out on him.”
Zero followed Yagari’s gaze to the horizon. The sky was darkening, heavy clouds rolling in low and fast.
“A snowstorm,” Yagari muttered, flicking ash into the wind. “Figures.”
They turned back toward the estate. The weight of the conversation hung between them like lead.
Inside, the air was tense and quiet. Kaname’s aura lingered like a shadow in the hallways, still watching, still coiled.
Takuma was already issuing orders to the staff, his calm voice cutting through the growing unease. “Prepare rooms for our new guests. Kaname-sama said no one is leaving in this weather.”
Upstairs, Yuki had been given a room. The silence there was thicker than the snow outside.
Chapter 29: Run away?
Chapter Text
Yuki’s sobs hadn’t stopped since Kaname’s fingers had closed around her wrist—since his hand had wrapped around her throat.
Now she clung to Cross like a drowning child, her fists twisted into the fabric of his coat, her face buried against his chest. The cries spilling from her weren’t loud, but they were relentless—shaking, guttural.
The kind of sound that didn’t come from heartbreak alone, but from something deeper. Grief. Confusion. The unraveling of everything she thought was true.
Cross held her tightly, rubbing slow, steady circles across her back. His own shoulders trembled beneath the weight of her pain. He didn’t speak. Words failed him. None existed for this kind of fracture.
Across the room, Kaname stood perfectly still.
His eyes—deep, dark crimson—remained fixed on the hallway where Zero had disappeared with Yagari. His aura pulsed faintly, thin tendrils of restrained power stirring the air like a phantom wind.
The only part of him that moved was his jaw, clenched tight, grinding down on emotion he would never let loose in front of them.
Then, quietly, he stepped forward.
“She needs to rest,” he said, voice low and even.
Cross looked up sharply, protectiveness flaring in his gaze. But Kaname didn’t challenge him. He simply nodded toward the hallway.
“Take her to her room,” he said. “She’s exhausted.”
Yuki stirred at the sound of his voice. Her sobs slowed into fractured gasps. Her head lifted just enough for her tear-streaked eyes to meet his. For a moment—just a breath—she looked at him not with hatred, but with the hollow ache of someone who had lost everything.
Cross helped her gently to her feet. She didn’t resist. Her body moved without direction, heavy and numb. Her fingers curled into his sleeve, clinging, but she followed him.
At the threshold of the main hall, Cross hesitated. He started to follow her toward the stairs—but Kaname’s voice stopped him.
“Cross.”
Cross turned slowly.
“I know I haven’t been good to her,” Kaname said, his voice quiet but clear. “To Yuki.”
His gaze remained on the closed door at the end of the corridor. Distant. Heavy.
“But whatever pain I’ve caused her,” he continued, “I’ve caused Zero a hundredfold more. It’s something I carry with shame.”
Cross blinked, surprised by the weight of honesty in his words.
“Zero,” Kaname went on, “from the very beginning, thought only of her. Of Yuki’s happiness. He stayed beside her, protected her, helped her—even when it tore him apart. He never once acted for himself.”
He turned his gaze to meet Cross’s.
“Zero is a good person. Always has been. But he was always overshadowed—by others, by circumstance, by fate… by me.”
A breath passed. Then Kaname’s voice hardened—not cruel, but certain.
“That ends now. I won’t allow him to be trampled again.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Do not let her lay another finger on him in anger. Not with bitterness. No matter how much I care for her… no matter how much Zero might forgive… I will not allow anyone to hurt my mate.”
The words weren’t a threat. They were law.
Irrefutable.
Final.
Cross looked down, guilt rising in his throat like bile. But before he could speak, a voice broke the silence behind them—soft, hoarse, and trembling.
“…How can you be this cruel?”
Yuki stood partway up the staircase, her hands shaking at her sides. Her eyes—red-rimmed, swollen—locked on Kaname with a grief that carved her open.
“I gave you everything,” she whispered. “I waited. I tried to be the girl you needed… the woman you wanted me to become. I tried. And now you throw me away? For him?”
Kaname didn’t look away.
“I’m not throwing you away, Yuki,” he said gently. “But I won’t lie to you anymore.”
Her breath hitched. Her lower lip trembled. Cross reached for her shoulder and guided her toward her room. This time, she didn’t resist.
The door closed behind them with a whisper of finality.
Cross lingered in the hallway. His expression was twisted—hurt, confused, heavy with memory. His voice, when it came, was low.
“How could you be so harsh with her?” he asked. “I understand Zero is your mate… but this?”
He hesitated.
“You promised Juri you’d protect Yuki. You swore to be her shield.”
Kaname turned slowly, and something weary settled in the slope of his shoulders.
“There’s no danger now.”
Cross frowned, uncertain.
“Yuki doesn’t need a shield anymore,” Kaname said. “What she needs… is space. To become herself. Not the Kuran bride. Not your daughter. Not the echo of anyone else’s dreams.”
He stepped past Cross, heading toward the stairs. But before he descended, he paused.
“You need to stop seeing her as Juri,” Kaname said, voice quiet. “And start seeing her as Yuki.”
Cross said nothing. He remained still, watching as Kaname disappeared down the steps.
At the foot of the stairs, Kaname paused once more, his voice reaching back through the dim, echoing hall.
“I wanted to tell her before. I really did. But I couldn’t—not while Zero was out there, away from me. Unprotected.”
He sighed, something ancient and tired slipping into his voice.
“If the Council had found out Zero was my mate, a new war might’ve begun. They would have used Yuki. Forced new matches. Forced our hands.”
His voice softened further.
“I wanted her to have a chance to grow into her own soul. To choose her own future. Not one carved by bloodlines… or by my guilt.”
And then he was gone, his footsteps swallowed by the quiet corridor.
Cross remained alone at the top of the stairs, one hand still half-raised, as if reaching for something that had already vanished.
Cross stood at the top of the stairs, the silence swallowing everything Kaname’s words had left behind. He stared after him—long after his footsteps had faded—listening only to the echo in his own mind.
You need to stop seeing her as Juri. And start seeing her as Yuki.
He closed his eyes.
Had he truly been doing that? Seeing Juri every time he looked at Yuki? That same stubborn tilt of her chin. That same passionate fire in her voice. Her grief. Her love.
Yes… he had loved Yuki as his daughter. Fiercely. Unconditionally.
But maybe, just maybe… he had been loving the memory of someone else through her all along.
Cross exhaled slowly, bracing a hand against the banister. His chest ached—not with pain, but with the weight of truths long buried.
He cared for Zero too. Just as much. Maybe more than he’d ever admitted.
Zero wasn’t his by blood, but he was his all the same. A boy orphaned, broken, dragged into a war he hadn’t chosen. A boy who had stood tall despite the weight crushing him from all sides. All Cross had ever wanted was for Zero to find peace. To be safe. To be loved.
And I didn’t see it…
So much had been happening right under his nose. Yagari had said as much—and maybe he was right.
Cross had been so focused on the dream of coexistence… so caught up in protecting Yuki from every possible threat… that he had failed to see Zero. Not just look, but see.
All those years—those moments at the Academy—when Kaname would ask where Zero was going, how his bloodlust was faring. Always watching, always circling.
Kaname had said it was for Yuki’s safety. That it was precaution.
But now? In hindsight… it had been something else entirely.
And Zero…
Even in his hatred, Zero had always been so passionate when it came to Kaname. Cross had thought it was fear. Vengeance. Resentment. He had even believed Zero hated Kaname more than he hated Shizuka—the woman who had killed his family.
But what if it hadn’t been that simple?
What if Zero hadn’t hated Kaname being around Yuki…
But hated Yuki being around Kaname?
The bond, Cross realized, might have been guiding him even then. Twisting his heart in ways neither of them understood. Prioritizing Kaname. Reacting to a pull they both resisted but could never truly sever.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
He’d never tried to correct Yuki’s feelings for Kaname. Never told her that her love might never be returned the way she hoped. Maybe because, deep down, he accepted that she was a Kuran. A pureblood. That her world was different. That her love—though strange by human standards—fit into the quiet legacy of her kind.
He had always known that once Rido was gone, she would return to that world. She would take her rightful place. Become what she was born to be.
But now…
Now everything had changed.
Zero was Kaname’s mate.
That bond overrode every rule, every tradition. There was nothing purer than a mate bond. And nothing more sacred than a child born of it. It wasn’t duty. It wasn’t bloodlines. It was love—unfiltered, unconditional. Chosen by something older than all of them.
Still… Cross knew there were those who wouldn’t accept it.
Zero was a hunter. A Level D vampire. To some, those titles alone were enough to discredit everything. There would be whispers. Denial. Even threats.
But Cross would not be one of them.
He would stand where he always stood—by what was right.
Kaname and Zero belonged together. The bond had chosen them. And Zero… gods, that boy deserved a family. A real one. And now, against all odds, he had one.
Never in his wildest dreams would Cross have imagined that family would be with Kuran Kaname.
But it was.
And it was real.
He would support them both.
And Yuki too. Because her love hadn’t been wrong. Her heart was never a mistake. It was just… a path that had now diverged from the dream she once held. Her future was no longer Kaname.
It had to become something of her own making.
And maybe… maybe that was the gift Kaname had given her without even knowing it:
The freedom to finally choose herself.
Cross leaned against the bannister, a long breath escaping his chest.
There was so much more to come. But for the first time in years, he didn’t feel afraid of what came next.
The house was quiet now. Too quiet.
The snowstorm outside had muffled the world, as though the night itself wished to hush what had been said and what had been left unsaid.
And yet the words would not leave him.
He had a great deal to apologise for.
To Yuki.
To Zero.
The truth of it pressed into him, slow and heavy, as if it had been waiting years for him to admit it aloud.
He had let Yuki build an entire kingdom in her heart—bright, perfect, untouched by the shadows he knew would one day come for her. He had never once told her that some dreams do not arrive at their imagined ending. That some loves are not meant to be kept, but to teach: how to love better, or more wisely, or—sometimes—how to love oneself first.
She had been so young, so unspoiled by the cruelties that stalked the edges of their lives. After her losses, after her suffering, he had wanted only to shield her from more. If clinging to a fragile hope brought her light, then he would let her keep it, no matter how impossible.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The more uncomfortable truth was that he had never thought otherwise. Kaname had seemed fixed on her—gentle, patient, always circling.
Never once did the pureblood show outward hesitation—no, not exactly. But perhaps… he had delayed. Always delayed. Marriage. Final vows. The completion of what everyone assumed was inevitable.
And one does not delay what the heart truly longs for.
By pureblood standards, Yuki and Kaname would have been king and queen—unquestioned rulers of their society. Who was he to intervene? He was only a caretaker, a man playing father to a child who had never truly belonged to him. And perhaps he had been selfish, too. Perhaps in seeing Yuki as his own, he had blurred the lines of what was best for her with what he feared losing.
Then there was Zero.
Zero, with his life stitched together from grief and loss. Parents slaughtered before his eyes. A twin brother who had chosen betrayal over blood. A boy born into the ranks of hunters, then dragged into the unthinkable—becoming the very thing he was raised to destroy.
No one had thought he would make it this far.
Yet against every prediction, every quiet bet whispered behind closed doors, Zero had survived. More than that—he had endured. He had carved out a place for himself, however scarred, however small.
And through it all, Cross had been—what? Present, perhaps. But not watchful enough. Not seeing enough. Not there enough.
So much had happened to Zero while he, the supposed adult, the supposed protector, had been blind.
Cross knew he owed him more than a passing apology. He owed him the truth—that he had failed him in ways that mattered most.
But the moment wasn’t now. Not yet. Zero was not a boy anymore; he was a man, and a man who carried far too much already. When the time came—when the air between them was still enough to hold the weight of it—he would speak.
Zero deserved to hear it.
He deserved someone to say the words that every adult in his life had been too proud, too fearful, or too blind to give him: I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t.
The bannister was cool beneath Cross’s palm, grounding him as he stared into the shadowed corridor below.
He had made many mistakes in his life. But he was older now. And the years, though they had not dulled the ache of regret, had sharpened his understanding of what mattered.
The time for pretending was over.
It was time to make things right—if not for himself, then for the two children, now grown, who had trusted him when they had no one else.
And whom, despite his failings, he had loved with all that was in him.
The moment the front doors shut behind them, Zero barely had time to draw breath before he was engulfed in a fierce, crushing embrace.
“My Zero,” Cross whispered into his shoulder, his voice thick with emotion—a trembling chord strung between laughter and tears. “You went through so much on your own. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Zero stiffened for all of two seconds.
Then something in him gave way.
Not weakness. Not surrender.
Just… release.
His arms rose, slowly, returning the hug. Awkward at first, but steady. Solid. Real.
Cross pulled back, cupping Zero’s face between both hands like he was holding something fragile and sacred. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes misted. “You’ve grown so much. A man now. Yagari—can you believe it? Not as cute as before, but still—very handsome.”
Zero groaned low in his throat and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Don’t start.”
“I miss the baby fat,” Cross said dramatically, his thumbs brushing along Zero’s cheekbones. “You were so soft. Now it’s all sharp angles and hunter eyes. Tragic. But—oh! Where is he? Where is my grandchild? I’ve been dying to meet him! I want to see what kind of parent my Zero-chii is. Are you a strict father, or should I say… mother?”
A sharp, choked laugh broke across the room.
Aido was leaning against the doorway, doubled over, one hand over his mouth and the other clutching his side.
“Mother!” he gasped, wheezing. “I’ve been calling him that since the beginning and finally—finally someone else sees it too!”
Zero turned a glare on him so sharp it could’ve stripped the paint from the walls. “Shut. Up.”
Across the hall, light footsteps slowed just shy of entering. Kaname stood quietly at the edge of the corridor, arms loose at his sides. His expression was calm, but the faintest twitch tugged at the corner of his lips—betraying his amusement.
Cross, however, was far from finished.
“Though, I am curious…” he mused aloud. “How did it happen? I mean, I’m terrified of the details, but this is such a unique biological case. Were there mood swings? Morning sickness? Was it like a normal pregnancy? Were there—”
Cross gasped, eyes watering “—contractions? Did he kick in your belly? Did your water break? Did you panic?”
Zero made a strangled noise of protest. “Why are you like this?”
“I should’ve taught you about the birds and the bees better,” Cross continued, completely ignoring him. “It was wrong of me to assume you weren’t interested in such things. You were clearly just a very hormonal teenager! Honestly, Zero, I always assumed you were asexual—but now look at you! You’ve made a child. A whole child!”
He paused, blinking. “Wait… I’m sure I arranged proper sex education at the Academy. Didn’t I? The teachers taught about protection, right? Zero, were you even listening?”
Aido snorted from the doorway and said mockingly “That’s one class Zero really should have paid attention too.”
Kaname didn’t speak, but turned his face ever so slightly away—just enough to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. Clearly thinking about how much Zero hated the said protection.
Zero ran a hand through his hair in utter exasperation. “This is hell,” he muttered, and stalked across the hall toward the playroom door like a man chasing sanity.
He reached the frame, fingers brushing the wood.
Then he stopped.
He turned his head just slightly, his voice cutting through the laughter like a blade—not sharp, not cold. Just certain.
“Isamu doesn’t know Kaname is his father.”
The entire room fell silent.
Zero turned slowly, sweeping his gaze across each face. “Don’t tell him. Not before we do. Understood?”
Aido’s grin faded, replaced by something somber. He straightened.
Yagari gave a single, firm nod, arms folded.
Cross’s teasing expression softened to something quieter, more reverent. “Of course,” he said gently. “That’s your moment. Yours and Kaname’s.”
At the edge of the corridor, Kaname didn’t move. But his crimson eyes met Zero’s—fierce, tender, and full of something unspoken.
Gratitude.
Hope.
A quiet vow.
Because in those words, Kaname heard what Zero didn’t say out loud:
He wasn’t going to hide it forever.
Their son would know. Would hear it from them. As it should be.
Zero nodded once and turned the handle, slipping quietly into the playroom.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Kaname’s eyes lingered on it for a long moment.
Then he exhaled—and smiled.
The gentle clink of wooden blocks was the first sound that greeted him.
Isamu sat cross-legged on the carpet, his small hands carefully balancing a leaning tower with all the focus of a master architect. Kain sat beside him, one hand hovering midair, ready to catch the whole thing if it fell.
The boy’s head shot up at the soft creak of the door. His entire face lit up like the sun breaking through clouds.
“Papa!”
Zero barely had time to crouch before Isamu scrambled across the carpet and launched himself into his arms. His tiny fingers fisted into Zero’s shirt, his voice muffled against his neck.
“I missed you, Papa.”
Zero caught him easily, sinking into the familiar warmth, one hand already smoothing over soft brown hair. “I missed you too, little bird.”
Behind them, the others filed in quietly. Yagari’s boots thudded against the floorboards—heavy, purposeful. Cross’s steps were lighter but trembled with anticipation.
Ruka’s soft gasp broke the quiet the moment her eyes landed on the boy. Aido lingered in the doorway, Kaname at his side. Both silent. Both watching.
Zero rocked his son gently. “There are some people who wanted to meet you.”
Isamu peeked over his shoulder shyly, blinking at the new faces. “...Who’re they?”
Cross stepped forward first, hands clasped as though he were approaching something holy. His voice was barely a whisper. “He’s beautiful… Zero, he looks so much like you when you were little…”
Yagari stood a few feet back, arms folded. His single sharp eye drank in the boy’s details—the shape of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the unmistakable lavender eyes. Familiar, and not.
“So this is him,” Yagari said gruffly.
Isamu tilted his head at the scarred man with quiet curiosity… then ducked back into Zero’s neck.
“Shy?” Zero teased gently, pressing a kiss to his son’s crown. “It’s okay, little bird. They just wanted to say hi.”
Kaname moved at last. His steps were soft. His voice even softer.
“Isamu.”
The boy’s head lifted immediately. His eyes brightened, and his face split into a joyful grin.
“Sad Prince!”
Ruka’s head snapped toward Kaname at the name. Cross and Yagari blinked in surprise.
Kaname only gave a faint, patient smile, crouching a few feet away.
“Did you have fun?”
Isamu nodded, solemn as a king. “I built a castle. But it’s crooked. Big Kain says it’s creative archi… archi…”
“Architecture,” Zero supplied with a snort.
“Yeah! That.”
Zero smoothed his son’s hair. “Come on. Introduce yourself, little bird.”
Isamu hesitated… then wriggled free of his father’s arms. He padded forward and, with all the seriousness in the world, gave a small, stiff bow.
“Hello. I am Isamu Kiryu. I am Papa’s child. Nice to meet you.”
The room went still.
Kaname’s gaze snapped toward Zero instantly. For a moment, the ancient calm on his face cracked. Crimson eyes burned—not with anger, but something raw and unreadable.
Kiryu.
A child’s surname belonged to their sire.
And Isamu was a Kuran.
Zero met his gaze evenly, cool defiance in his eyes as if to say: He’s mine too.
Then he looked away and reached to straighten the boy’s hair.
Cross, oblivious to the silent storm, choked on a sob.
“He’s polite! Zero, you taught him manners. I am truly shocked you of all people raised someone so charming—look at that little bow! He’s adorable!”
Cross dropped into a crouch at once, voice trembling. “I’m Kaien Cross—your granddad! And this grumpy guy—” he grinned toward Yagari, “—is Old Man Yagari.”
Yagari’s brow twitched. “Don’t call me old, idiot.”
Isamu blinked, tilting his head again. “...Old Man?”
Aido cackled from the doorway. “Oh no. That name’s going to stick.”
Kaname’s jaw tightened just slightly. His eyes hadn’t left Zero since the boy spoke his name.
Cross was circling now—like a man in a dream, his hands fluttering as if he couldn’t decide whether to touch or worship.
“My Isamu…” Cross whispered, kneeling beside the boy. “You’re perfect. Zero, he’s perfect. Look at him. Those eyes. That smile. You and—” he caught himself, glancing toward Kaname, “—you made something beautiful, my Zero.”
Zero muttered under his breath, half-exasperated. “He’s not a project, Cross.”
Cross sniffled dramatically. “He’s a masterpiece! You raised him on your own. Do you know how proud I am of you? And now—” his fingers brushed Isamu’s sleeve, asking silent permission. “Now I finally get to meet him.”
Isamu looked up at him with cautious curiosity. Then, slowly, a smile bloomed.
“Hi… Grandpa?”
Cross made a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a laugh. “He called me Grandpa…”
Zero rolled his eyes, though he pulled Isamu slightly closer. “Don’t encourage him.”
Cross cupped the boy’s cheek with reverent care. “You’re safe here, little one. You’re loved.”
Behind them, Ruka still hadn’t moved.
Her crimson eyes were locked on the boy, drinking in every detail like proof. The soft brown of Kaname’s hair. The delicate line of his jaw. And those eyes—Zero’s eyes, bright and unflinching even in such a tiny face.
A Level D. A hunter. A creature born of human blood and hatred for their kind. Kaname-sama’s mate.
Her nails dug crescent moons into her palms.
And not only that—the boy. A pureblood child carried by that hunter’s body. A child born of a bond so rare most vampires would kill to even glimpse it.
How… infuriating. How unfairly lucky.
Her thoughts were acid and honey all at once. Does he even realize what he has? Does he value it? Or is he so blind, so wrapped in his own self-loathing that he doesn’t see how blessed he is?
Zero’s voice broke her trance.
“Little bird,” he murmured to his son, “Cross is someone I grew up with. He was good to me. And that scary man over there—” he gestured toward Yagari with a faint smile, “—he’s my sensei. Like how Aido teaches you. You can call him whatever he wants.”
Isamu glanced between Zero and Yagari.
“...Old Man?”
Aido collapsed against the doorframe laughing again. “He’s going to own that.”
Yagari sighed. “That’ll do.”
Kain turned slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Zero chuckled softly, brushing a hand through Isamu’s hair. “You’re going to make enemies early.”
Kaname’s voice brushed the room then, quiet and fond. “He speaks his mind. A good trait.”
Zero didn’t look at him.
But he didn’t pull away either.
Takuma joined in after sorting out things with the staff, making sure the guest rooms would be prepared for the new people staying with them due to the snowstorm. He’d double-checked the firewood stacks, ensured the pantry was more than ready, and arranged for extra blankets to be brought out. Only after ticking each task off in his mind did he step into the playroom, drawn by the warmth and faint hum of voices.
Zero had already retreated to his room, Kaname following behind without a word.
Aido, Kain, and Ruka had stepped into the hallway for what looked to Takuma like a discussion destined to end in sighs, side-eye, and possibly furniture damage—if Ruka’s expression was anything to go by.
Isamu, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of any tension. The boy didn’t have an ounce of fear in him.
In fact, he seemed positively delighted that more people were going to be stuck here. More people meant more potential playmates, more people to impress with his “architectural genius,” and possibly more people to boss around.
Takuma’s gentle laugh mingled with Cross’s delighted chatter as they sat on the carpet with Isamu, who held up a small wooden block like a royal seal.
“This,” he announced with a knightly seriousness, “is the strongest tower in the whole kingdom.”
Takuma smiled warmly. “Is that so?”
Isamu nodded solemnly. “Taku-chan, my castle is very strong.”
“Of course it is,” Takuma said, barely hiding his amusement.
Even Yagari, crouched nearby, couldn't pretend to be unaffected. His gruff expression softened at every word the child spoke.
Isamu turned to him suddenly, big lavender eyes curious. “Do you have a ship, Old Man?”
Yagari blinked. “What?”
“A ship,” Isamu repeated, completely serious. “Because you're a pirate, right?” He pointed directly at the eyepatch. “Only pirates have one eye.”
Takuma made a small choking noise and pressed a hand to his mouth. Cross immediately buried his laugh into his sleeve, shoulders shaking.
Yagari’s eye twitched. “Not a pirate.”
“Yes, you are,” Isamu said with the confidence of a witness in court. “You look like one. You just… lost your ship, maybe. That’s okay. My castle is big enough for a pirate to live in. You can stay in the tower.”
Cross smirked. “Generous offer. You could be the Royal Pirate in Residence, Yagari.
Yagari’s eye twitched, but something flickered in his chest—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He studied the little boy, with his messy brown hair and Zero’s eyes and that relentless spark that dared the world to challenge him.
He didn’t think he’d ever like a pureblood child.
But this one… this one had Zero in every inch of him. His stubbornness. His fire. His honesty.
Isamu shoved another block onto the leaning tower. It wobbled, but didn’t fall. “See? Creative archi....arch.....architure.”
“Creative gravity violation,” Yagari muttered as Isamu proudly presented his crooked block tower again.
Isamu puffed out his cheeks. “Papa says being different is brave.”
Cross beamed. “Wise words from Papa.”
Then he added, without a moment’s hesitation, “So even if you're a pirate without a ship, it's okay. I bet you’re still brave.”
Yagari’s hand froze on his knee. He stared at the boy for a long, quiet moment.
Yeah, he thought, glancing briefly toward the closed door where Zero had gone. That sounds like him.
.
But in the hallway just beyond that laughter, warmth gave way to fire.
Aido’s voice cut through the air like static. “I don’t regret it. I’ll say it again—I’d do it all over if I had to.”
Ruka stood rigid, her crimson eyes flaring with fury. Her hands were clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. “You aided him in keeping a pureblood from his child, Hanabusa. Do you even understand what you’ve done?”
She took a step forward. “That is a crime. Treason.”
Kain immediately moved between them, a calm wall of muscle and steadiness. “Enough, Ruka—”
“No!” Ruka snapped. Her voice cracked like shattering glass. “Don’t you dare side with him!”
Her gaze darted past Kain to Aido, seething.
“All of this… because that hunter couldn’t value what he was given. That bond is sacred. Vampires would kill to be chosen by fate, and he—he ran like a coward.”
Her voice broke into a whisper, teeth clenched around the words. “That ungrateful, insolent mongrel… Level D. He doesn’t deserve Kaname-sama.”
Aido’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling slightly.
“You don’t know anything about what happened,” he ground out. “So don’t talk like you do.”
Ruka scoffed bitterly, her anger bubbling over. “Then tell me! What justifies keeping a child hidden for three years? What makes it right to leave Kaname-sama in pain?”
“He did it to survive, Ruka,” Aido said sharply. “He did it to stay sane.”
Her chin lifted defiantly, eyes narrowing. “Kaname-sama is a pureblood. He has authority. So what if a mere ex-human had to obey it? That’s how it’s always been.”
Aido’s eyes darkened. “And maybe that’s the problem.”
For the first time, Ruka’s posture faltered.
Aido took a step forward, his voice quieter now, but far more dangerous.
“You think Kaname-sama suffered? He did. I know he did. But so did Zero. He nearly died bringing Isamu into this world. He had no one. No protection. No one to speak for him. And still, he kept going—for that child. For a child he didn’t even think he’d live to meet.”
Ruka looked shaken for the first time, but her voice still burned low. “Still doesn’t mean he deserved Kaname-sama.”
Aido laughed, a raw, bitter sound. “You say that like it’s your decision to make.”
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t let her speak.
“You worship Kaname-sama so much?” he asked, stepping closer. “Then respect his mate. Because if you truly loved Kaname-sama, then you'd honor the one person the universe chose for him.”
Ruka’s hands shook. Her teeth clenched. But she couldn’t find the words to refute him.
Aido’s voice dropped lower, quieter, more personal.
“Zero’s the only one who could ever love Kaname-sama the way he needs to be loved. The way he deserves to be loved. Not out of worship. Not out of bloodline obligation. But out of real, raw, undeserving love. Because Zero sees the worst in him and still stays.”
The words hung heavy in the narrow space between them.
Even Kain, unmoving as a stone, didn’t break the silence.
Ruka looked away, her crimson eyes glassy. Her voice was a hollow echo of itself. “If he had to be mated… I could’ve accepted another pureblood. I would’ve understood that. But him?”
Aido didn’t raise his voice again. He didn’t need to.
“Zero is Kaname-sama’s mate,” he said, calmly now. “Because the universe—whatever ancient force makes bonds happen—decided there was no one better. And that truth is bigger than your jealousy.”
The words landed heavy and unmoving, like the world had shifted.
“How can he be right for Kaname-sama?” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone.
“He always disrespected Kaname-sama,” she whispered, more to herself than to them. “Always challenged him. Looked at him like he was no better than anyone else. No one does that to him. No one should.”
Finally, Kain spoke, his voice deep and steady. “Perhaps that’s why Zero is perfect for him. Because he’s not scared of him. Because he’s not obligated to bow. He’s someone who can tell Kaname-sama when he’s wrong.”
Ruka turned her gaze to him sharply, but Kain didn’t look away.
Kain’s amber eyes were unwavering. “A perfect partner isn’t someone who only obeys and worships. It’s someone who stands beside you as an equal.”
Ruka blinked at him, startled.
Ruka’s throat tightened. She had always obeyed. Always yielded. She’d believed that was what Kaname-sama needed—a quiet, graceful shadow at his side. Someone of equal status, perfect manners, perfect composure. Someone flawless.
Kain’s voice softened, but the truth in it was unyielding. “Think how lonely it must be when someone agrees with you all the time. Like a puppet with no voice of its own.”
The words sank deep, heavy and cold
Kain continued with a huff "Any person in their right mind would want a partner who’s brave enough to love them without fear. Zero takes care of Kaname. Cooks for him. Keeps him feeling humble and alive."
And beyond the corridor, behind the thin line of a wooden door, the sound of Isamu’s soft laugh drifted down the hall like sunlight. Innocent. Bright. Untouched by war and politics and pain.
Aido’s voice picked up again, gentler now but still with that stubborn spark.
“And all the things you call ‘negative’? Those are exactly the things Kaname-sama loves about him.”
Ruka swallowed hard, her gaze flickering between them. Her voice was barely a whisper now. “Then… I never knew him at all.”
Kain exhaled slowly and stepped back, tension melting from his shoulders as the fight simmered into silence.
They all listened to the laugh of the boy born from a bond none of them could control.
Zero moved down the hall in silence, his footsteps steady, each one echoing with tension. His spine was straight, his shoulders set like steel, but the weight pressing on him was more than physical.
Behind him, the low murmur of voices carried softly from the sitting room—Takuma’s easy warmth, Cross’s familiar cadence, even Yagari’s deep grumble mixing with the clear, light laughter of a child.
Isamu.
The name struck deeper than any of the words spoken today.
He mounted the first step of the grand staircase without faltering, but inside, something coiled tighter with every beat of his heart. The day he’d dreaded had finally come.
And somehow… Yagari’s reaction wasn’t the worst.
But Yuki—
Her face. Her voice. The slap.
The sharpness of it hadn’t just stung his skin, but his very soul.
Guilt pulsed under his skin, impossible to ignore. He deserved that slap. Maybe more.
He was the one who had slept with her fiancé. Even if the bond had made it inevitable, even if it wasn’t a betrayal in the truest sense… it still felt like one.
And then Kaname—Kaname, grabbing Yuki’s neck like that. The image burned in his mind, heavy and wrong.
He shouldn’t have done that, Zero thought bitterly. That wasn’t right. Not for her. Not for anyone.
A shadow followed behind him, moving as silently as his own thoughts.
Kaname’s presence was unmistakable—quiet, restrained power gliding up the wide staircase after him. He didn’t speak until they reached the top landing, his voice slipping into the quiet like a thread of breath.
“…Are you okay?”
Zero didn’t answer.
He brushed his fingers against the railing, not slowing his pace, turning toward the master bedroom like the question hadn’t even reached him.
Kaname’s voice came again—gentle, but weighted with something more. “You know… we should really change Isamu’s name.”
Zero froze mid-step. His body stilled, shoulders tense, but he didn’t turn.
Kaname approached slowly, his footsteps soft against the marble, his tone even. “You named him. And I love it. It’s perfect. But his last name…”
His eyes softened as they fixed on the rigid line of Zero’s back. “It should be mine. For many reasons.”
Zero’s head tilted slightly, just enough to show he was listening. His voice, when it came, was cool. “Reasons, huh?”
Kaname moved closer, stopping just shy of touch. “I’m his sire. He was born of my blood. A pureblood. A Kuran. He should carry that legacy. And…”
His hand hovered near Zero’s arm, the bond between them humming faintly with his nearness.
“I want him to belong to me, too. Everything about him belongs to you—his smile, his laugh, his little stubborn streak. But he’s mine as well. I want the world to see that. A child born of this bond deserves the name that binds him to both of us.”
Zero let out a sharp breath through his nose. “You think a surname changes anything?”
Kaname’s lips curled faintly. “In our world? Yes. It changes a lot.”
He lifted a hand, fingers brushing lightly through Zero’s hair. “It’s not just a name. It’s status. Shield. Recognition. It means no one can challenge who he is—or who you are.”
Zero turned then, violet eyes locking with Kaname’s, hard and unyielding. “And what? You think slapping ‘Kuran’ on him fixes everything? Makes our bond palatable to the world? Makes what we are more acceptable?”
Kaname didn’t look away. Instead, he stepped forward into Zero’s space, until the air between them was heavy with heat and closeness, their bond vibrating just beneath the surface of their skin.
“No,” he said simply. “It doesn’t fix anything. But it claims what’s ours. It protects him. And it shows that no matter what the Council says, no matter what anyone thinks…”
His voice dropped into something softer. Deeper.
“You are mine. And he is ours.”
The words landed like stones—no threat, no demand. Just truth. Just weight.
Zero’s throat worked once. The bond pulsed between them like a heartbeat.
Kaname’s next words were quieter still. “Honestly… I think your name should be Kuran, too.”
That earned him a glare. Zero narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
Kaname’s smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, unrepentant. “Zero Kuran. Or… Zero Kiryu Kuran. I’d be fine with either.”
Zero scoffed and turned away, heading for the bedroom door.
“Isamu is mine,” he said, his voice cold but not cruel. “He’s a Kiryu. That’s how I raised him. That’s the name that kept him safe. If the name ever changes—it will be his choice.”
Kaname didn’t argue.
He didn’t push.
“And stop acting like I’m your wife who should take your name,” Zero added, annoyance flaring.
Kaname’s expression turned thoughtful, almost amused. “That image isn’t a bad one. We’re already married in every way that matters. I’m your husband, after all.”
Zero gave him a flat, warning look. “Don’t start.”
Kaname’s smile deepened. “You’d make a perfect wife. You might even look lovely in a dress.”
Zero growled low in his throat. “Maybe you should take my name instead.”
Kaname only shrugged, utterly unfazed. “I wouldn’t mind. But in vampire society, the one with the higher rank claims. Being a Kuran pureblood makes me the highest-ranking.”
Zero muttered something under his breath, striding into the master bedroom.
He just followed as Zero crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, the scent of old cedar and the faint echo of firewood wrapping around them.
The door shut softly behind them.
Inside the master bedroom, the air was heavy—thick with tension, silence, and the echo of words left unspoken. It wasn’t peace. It was the quiet that came before a storm, clinging to the walls like fog.
Zero moved with precise detachment, ignoring the vampire behind him. His footsteps were deliberate. His focus was fixed. His jaw, tight.
Kaname watched from across the room, arms at his sides, tension simmering beneath the surface of his perfect calm.
They were supposed to still be in bed. The morning had started with warmth and connection—slow kisses, soft sheets, and the aching intimacy only they shared.
They were supposed to have more.
More time. More touch. The damn interruptions today had stolen it from him.
He hadn’t even had Zero in the shower yet, or on the desk, or—Kaname’s jaw tightened—every place he’d fantasized about for years.
And now here Zero was, halfway inside the walk-in closet, folding a shirt and pulling another down from the shelf like none of it mattered.
The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound.
Kaname’s voice cut through the quiet like silk over steel. “What are you doing?”
Zero didn’t look at him. “I’m going to stay in Isamu’s room few nights. Until this all settles.”
The shirt crinkled in his fist. “Yuki’s hurt enough. Me being here… it adds fuel.”
The hiss Kaname let out was quiet—but laced with danger.
In a blur, he crossed the room. The shirt was ripped from Zero’s hands and shoved back onto the shelf with a snap of cotton and fury.
“We talked about this this morning,” Kaname said, voice low and controlled. “No more running.”
Zero’s violet eyes flared with fire. He yanked the shirt back again. “I’m not running. And I’m not leaving your stupid ass, if that’s what you’re panicking about.” He turned to face him, chin lifted. “But you nearly strangled Yuki today. What the hell were you thinking?”
Kaname’s eyes darkened, glowing faintly. “She hurt you.”
His hand moved before he could stop it—rising to Zero’s jaw, tilting his face toward the light, his thumb brushing the faint mark that had long since healed. His lips hovered there, a breath from skin, and a quiet growl built in his throat.
“How dare she.”
Zero stilled beneath the touch, but his voice was rough. “Because I deserved it. I slept with her fiancé. Got pregnant with his kid.”
Kaname’s gaze snapped to his, voice sharp. “No. You did nothing with anyone’s anything but your husband.”
Zero gave a short, bitter laugh. “You know what? You’re right.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s not my fault.”
He stepped closer, the bond between them thrumming like a taut wire. “And it’s not Yuki’s fault either. It’s yours.”
Kaname blinked. The accusation cracked something in his composure—just for a second.
“If you’d told me at the Academy that you and Yuki were engaged…” Zero’s voice dropped. “I wouldn’t have given in to you. I would’ve walked away before any of this started.”
Kaname’s lips parted, but the words came out barely audible. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Zero stepped in even closer, close enough that their foreheads almost touched, his breath a tremble between fury and anguish. “You will make this right. You will talk to Yuki. You will apologize for what you did today. For putting your hands on her.”
Kaname didn’t speak. His eyes locked on Zero’s, intense and unreadable.
Zero’s voice softened—barely. A whisper of pain slipping through. “She wouldn’t have slapped me if she knew the truth from the start. I should’ve told her. But at the time, it felt like the right thing to do.”
He let out a shaky breath. “And I wouldn’t have accepted the bond if I knew you were engaged to her. What were you thinking, chasing after me like some—some obsessed lunatic while being promised to someone else?”
Kaname’s response came fast, low, but absolute. “Because once I knew you were my mate, nothing else mattered.”
His voice deepened, rippling with something primal. “Not the engagement. Not the politics. Not even my own future. Everything else lost meaning. I didn’t want any path that didn’t lead to you.”
The bond between them pulsed.
For one breathless heartbeat, they stood in the stillness—two souls, raw and frayed, wrapped in the ache of love and betrayal.
Then Kaname’s hands dropped to Zero’s shoulders, firm but not forceful, grounding him.
He pulled Zero into his arms, holding him tightly, forehead resting against silver hair. His voice was low, reverent, sacred.
“I don’t regret it, Zero. Not Isamu. Not marrying you. Not consummating our bond. I treasure every kiss, every moment your skin touched mine. There is no regret in what we created.”
Zero’s eyes fluttered closed, lips pressed tightly as emotion swelled in his chest.
Kaname’s whisper ghosted across his ear, a vow more than a promise.
“I’ll fix this,” he said. “For you. For her. For all of us. If that’s what you need… then that’s what I’ll do.”
Zero’s breath caught, but he didn’t move.
Kaname’s hands rose to frame his face, long fingers firm yet careful, thumbs sweeping along the sharp lines of his jaw as though he could smooth the tension from his bones. His eyes—deep, dark, unblinking—searched Zero’s like they were the only truth left in the room.
The kiss hit like a breaking dam—sudden, deep, and fierce. It carried everything Kaname refused to put into words, pouring it into the heat of his mouth, coaxing and demanding in the same breath.
Zero turned his head, meaning to push him away, to hold onto the thin thread of control he still had. But Kaname followed, his mouth unrelenting, swallowing the protest before it could escape. His tongue pressed past Zero’s lips with deliberate force, claiming the space, tasting, mapping, taking.
Zero’s fingers curled into Kaname’s shirt, nails biting into the fabric, his body betraying him even as his mind screamed for distance. A startled sound escaped him when Kaname sucked at his tongue—sharp, wet heat—followed by a teasing bite that sent a jolt down his spine.
The bond flared, surging like lightning through his veins, pulling him under.
Kaname drank him in, every flick and sweep of his tongue deliberate, almost punishing in its tenderness. A soft sound—half choke, half groan—slipped past Zero’s lips, and Kaname’s grip tightened fractionally, like he’d felt the surrender in it.
“Please…” The word was rough against Zero’s mouth, Kaname’s voice raw and low, fraying at the edges. “I don’t want to part from you. Not even for a night.”
Before Zero could gather enough breath to respond, Kaname kissed him again. This time slower—infinitely slower—like he meant to memorize the taste, the shape, the way Zero’s breath hitched each time their lips met.
Zero opened for him without thought, without intent—letting him in, letting him take. Kaname’s breath was warm, faintly spiced, and the heat of it coiled low in Zero’s gut with every rub of their tongues, every soft pull and press that blurred thought into sensation.
His mind was unraveling. He could feel it—slipping, loosening—yet something stubborn in him still clung to the edge.
When Kaname finally drew back, their foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling in the charged heat between them. Neither spoke.
Kaname’s thumbs brushed his jaw again, slower this time, like he was grounding himself just as much as grounding Zero.
The room held its breath around them.
Kaname’s arms wrapped tighter around Zero, pulling him flush against his chest like something he couldn’t afford to lose. His voice was low when it came—low and worn, tinged with a kind of exhaustion Kaname Kuran rarely let show.
“Should we run away?”
The words landed soft but sharp, almost foreign in his refined voice, like something he wasn’t meant to say aloud.
Zero froze, breath caught in his throat. His hands, still resting against Kaname’s chest, curled slightly. Slowly, he leaned back just enough to look up at him.
“…What?” he breathed, stunned.
Kaname’s gaze met his. Open. Raw. His expression had lost all pretense, all the polished civility of the Kuran pureblood. What remained was a man. Tired. Honest. Stripped down to the bone.
“All of it, Zero,” he said. “The politics. The legacy. The council. Yuki. This estate. Every time we try to breathe, something finds a way to suffocate us. I’m tired of it.” His fingers slid up, curling into the silver strands at the back of Zero’s neck, grounding himself in the only constant he truly trusted. “We could disappear. Take Isamu. Start somewhere new. Quiet. Free. Just us.”
Zero stared at him—blindsided by the simplicity of the offer. The danger of it.
“You’re serious…”
Kaname’s lips twitched into something faint and bitter. “Deadly.”
He let the silence sit for a breath before continuing.
“I can give it up. The title. The bloodline. The burden. The damn council can have the throne—I never wanted it. Not truly. Not like this. All I want…” His voice softened. “Is you. And him. A life where no one calls me the head of anything, and no one looks at you like you’re an anomaly.”
Zero’s grip tightened in his shirt.
And for a single heartbeat, he let himself imagine it.
A quiet house. Isamu’s laughter echoing across a field in the morning light. No watchful eyes. No blood ties weighing them down. Just the three of them—safe, hidden, whole.
Zero’s throat thickened. “It sounds…” He swallowed hard. “Too good to be real.”
Kaname tilted his head, lips pressing gently to Zero’s temple, like sealing the dream with something sacred. “I can make it real,” he murmured. “Say the word, and I’ll take you both tonight. No one will find us.”
A laugh broke out of Zero—soft, unsteady. “You’re insane.”
“Possibly,” Kaname replied, not missing a beat. His fingers traced the edge of Zero’s jaw with reverence. “But I’d burn the world to give you a quiet life. A garden. A home. Peace. If that’s what you want… I’d turn everything to ash.”
Zero opened his eyes. That crimson gaze held nothing back. No manipulation. No plans. Just desire. Devotion.
Love.
And still—Zero shook his head.
“Kaname…” he said softly. “We can’t run. Not forever. You and I both know they’d find us eventually. The council. The hunters. Someone.”
He stepped back just slightly, his hand brushing Kaname’s wrist. “And Isamu deserves more than a life in hiding. He deserves to walk freely in the world. To be proud of who he is—not afraid of it.”
Kaname didn’t respond at first. His lips pressed together, eyes shuttered for a brief moment. But his grip never loosened.
“Then tell me,” he said quietly. “What can we do, Zero? Because right now…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “All I want is you and him. That’s it. Nothing else matters to me.”
Zero’s arms slipped around his waist, pulling him close again. His head rested against Kaname’s chest, grounding himself in the steady rhythm beneath his ear.
“I never thought I’d say this,” he whispered. “But it’s the same for me.”
Kaname didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Zero’s voice broke a little. “I want you so much, Kaname… that sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind.”
He looked up then, his violet eyes full of every contradiction they’d weathered—pain and passion, betrayal and devotion.
“How can I want you… need you… love you the way I do after everything?” he asked, breath catching. “After knowing how flawed you are… how selfish you were?”
Kaname didn’t flinch.
Zero’s gaze softened, deepened. “And still… not one ounce of me doubts how you feel about me. Not anymore.”
The bond between them thrummed with quiet affirmation, pulsing like a living thing.
Kaname exhaled. Slow. Reverent. As if the air had turned sacred.
“Then we fight for it,” Zero said, voice gaining strength. “Together. Even if the whole damn world’s against us.”
Kaname lowered his head, resting his chin against silver hair. His arms tightened.
“Then together it is,” he whispered. “Always.”
Yuki skipped lunch.
She didn’t think she could eat without bile rising to her throat.
Outside, the storm raged like something alive—snow slammed against the old windows with relentless fury, the wind howling through the trees like a grieving ghost.
The estate’s ancient walls groaned under the weight of it all. Inside her small guest room, Yuki sat curled into the armchair near the frosted glass, wrapped in silence and unraveling grief.
Her hands were clenched tight in her lap, nails biting into her palms until they stung.
Why can’t I ever be happy?
Her heart felt like glass, fracturing with every breath. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
She’d worshipped Kaname from afar for so long—quietly, secretly, like a girl gazing up at the moon. The perfect aristocrat. The pureblood who carried himself like a savior carved from ancient stone. She’d never believed someone like him could ever be hers.
And yet… he had looked at her. Smiled at her. Protected her.
When she’d regained her memories, it had felt like a miracle. She wasn’t just some orphan pulled from the snow. She was his family. His fiancée. His bride.
Her heart had soared with that truth.
He’s mine.
All her pain, her waiting—it had meaning now. She had meaning now.
But now?
Now, it all felt like a cruel joke written in blood.
All those moments she’d cherished—his warmth, his words, the way he’d watched over her like a guardian star—they hadn’t been hers alone.
Because while she’d been dreaming of him, building a future in her heart, he’d been in bed with Zero.
Her breath hitched on a sob as her hands flew to her mouth, trying to keep it all inside.
A child.
They’d made a child together.
How could Zero do this to me?
He had listened. He knew. Knew how she loved Kaname. How her soul ached for him. How many nights she’d whispered dreams aloud with hope carved into every word.
Did you laugh at me, Zero?
Did you hear my heart and go to him anyway?
Her vision blurred with tears.
And now… that child. That little boy. Alive. A piece of them breathing in this very house.
Her chest ached with the weight of it.
Then—a soft knock at the door.
“Yuki-sama?”
She swallowed hard, wiping her face quickly with shaking hands. “Come in.”
Takuma stepped into the dim room, carrying a tray. The scent of miso soup and green tea floated in, warm and gentle. He set it on the table beside her, then turned with that calm, snow-light expression she’d known for years.
He didn’t approach immediately. He gave her space. Because they both knew this visit wasn’t really about soup.
“Did… did Zero ask you to come?” she asked, her voice cracking.
Takuma nodded once. “He thought you might prefer not to see him or Kaname right now.”
Smart. Too smart.
Her throat tightened. “Do I…” She hesitated, then forced the words out, bitter and broken. “Do I look like a fool, Takuma?”
He stilled, the question like a slap. The ache behind her voice worse than any scream.
“Why am I always the fool?” she whispered, curling in tighter. “Every time I think I’ve found happiness… the world just rips it out of my hands. Like I’m not meant to keep anything I love.”
Takuma crossed the room slowly, kneeling in front of her. His hands reached out gently, wrapping around hers with careful reverence.
“You’re not a fool, Yuki-sama,” he said, softly but firmly. “You’re someone who loves completely. And sometimes… that’s what hurts the most.”
Her lips trembled. “He was my everything. Since I was a child.”
Takuma nodded. “And for Kaname… Zero became the same thing.”
Her head jerked up, pain flashing in her eyes. “Don’t. Don’t ask me to understand them. Not right now.”
“I’m not,” he said gently. “I’m asking you to understand him. Zero.”
She froze.
“Do you know what it means to be mated?” Takuma’s voice remained calm, but his words carried weight. “To be bound by something so deep… it goes beyond logic. Beyond timing. Beyond anything we humans or vampires can fully understand.”
Yuki didn’t answer. Her silence said enough.
Takuma continued, voice softer now. “He didn’t choose Kaname over you. He chose you over himself. Over and over.”
Her brows furrowed, the words unraveling something inside her.
“He fought it. The bond. Fought Kaname. Denied every instinct he had—because he didn’t want to hurt you. Because he thought loving Kaname meant betraying you. And every time he pushed that bond away… it broke him a little more.”
Her breath hitched again.
“It doesn’t erase your pain,” Takuma whispered. “But Zero wasn’t laughing at you. He wasn’t mocking your love. He was bleeding for it.”
Her tears returned, falling in thick, silent rivers.
Takuma didn’t press. Instead, he gently placed the warm teacup into her trembling hands, his voice soft. “Drink. Just a little. You’ll need your strength.”
Yuki stared down at the cup. Steam curled upward, catching the reflection of her tear-streaked face.
Outside, the storm raged on, battering the walls with wind and snow.
Inside, the pieces of her heart scattered like frost across the floor—sharp, silent, and glinting with the grief of dreams undone.
Chapter 30: Distance
Chapter Text
The tea in Yuki’s hands had gone cold. She didn’t even notice. The porcelain was heavy and delicate all at once, trembling faintly between her fingers as she sat frozen by the window.
Outside, the storm screamed against the glass like it wanted to get in, white snow beating hard until the pane itself shivered in protest.
It matched the sound in her chest. That cracking. That breaking.
It still doesn’t make it okay.
Takuma’s gentle voice had been soft in the beginning, a steady murmur in the background. He’d tried to explain, to soothe, to place gentle words over jagged wounds. It did nothing. Her dreams, her whole world, lay in shards across the floor where Kaname and Zero had left them.
Every memory she’d clung to at the academy—the soft smiles Kaname had given her, the quiet moments when his hand brushed hers, his voice calming her when she was afraid—it all shattered in an instant.
Zero.
Her throat closed on his name.
Zero, her anchor. Her first friend. The boy who had walked beside her in the night when everything else was too frightening. The one she had trusted to listen, to protect, to always, always stand at her side.
He should have told me.
He should have told me.
The thought burned like fire.
She had poured her fears into his hands. She had laughed with him, cried with him. She had believed in his honesty when the rest of the world felt too complicated, too heavy.
And all that time—
All that time—
Her hands shook so violently the tea sloshed over the rim. Hot. Then cold against the blanket in her lap. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even notice.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the images. She couldn’t see them together.
Not them.
Kaname with his calm, regal grace. Zero with his sharp edges, his cold defiance. They’d been at odds from the moment they met. She’d spent years pleading with them to find common ground, to stop hating each other.
And now.
Now to hear they hadn’t just gotten along, not just loved each other but… created a child together while she dreamed of a future that never existed?
Her breath hitched painfully.
“No…” The word tore from her throat in a shaking whisper. “No, no, no. There has to be a mistake. There has to be. It can’t be like this. It can’t.”
How could Kaname hurt me?
Her Kaname. The Kaname who had never once raised his voice at her, who had always been gentle, always her savior.
Now she could still feel his hand on her throat, his fingers around her wrist. His voice—not calm, not kind, but full of a fury so deep it had rattled the walls.
This bond. This thing between him and Zero.
It had changed him. So completely, so violently, that she barely recognized the man she loved.
It can’t be good. It can’t be love. Love isn’t supposed to make you suffer or twist you into someone unrecognizable.
Love is supposed to protect. To shield. To cherish. Like Kaname had always done for her.
Her breath came shallow, sharp, as her nails dug into her palms.
How could Zero do this to me? To us?
Takuma sat quietly across from her, his own tea untouched. He said nothing, simply letting the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable.
If what he said is true…
If Zero had been suffering because of this bond, if it hurt them both to fight it, if this thing tied their souls together in pain—then it wasn’t love. It was something else.
Something evil.
This bond was poison.
Dragging him into darkness. Dragging Zero too
There has to be a way to undo it.
There’s always a way. She just had to find it. She could save Kaname. Save Zero. Save herself.
Her nails bit into her palms. There has to be a way to fix this.
But no matter how hard she told herself that, the images didn’t leave her mind.
Kaname and Zero. Together. Whispering to each other. Touching each other. Creating him. A child with Kaname’s hair and Zero’s eyes.
It burned like poison under her skin, like acid in her veins.
Tears slipped silently into the tea cup, a soft, hollow sound in the suffocating quiet.
“Yuki-sama…” Takuma’s voice finally broke the stillness. It was quiet, heavy with sadness that mirrored her own.
“Please don’t cry. I am sure you will find happiness someday. With someone who loves you.”
Her lips trembled. She turned her face away from him, back to the storm outside, where the white had swallowed the world whole.
Find someone…
How could she? How could she when her heart had always been Kaname’s? When she had always been his in her own mind, in her own heart, long before anyone had ever spoken the word fiancé?
It doesn’t matter if he has a child.
The thought cut sharp through her chest.
If I Kaname allowed her… I would raise that child with him. We could still be a family. I could still be his.
I could be a mother to that child. We could still be a family.
Her tears blurred the white storm outside until it all looked like splintered glass.
Her breath broke on a sob, but the fantasy bloomed stubbornly anyway. She saw herself cradling that boy, teaching him, holding his hand as they walked together.
She saw Kaname’s arm around her shoulders, the three of them in the sunlight that lived only in her mind.
It doesn’t matter that he isn’t mine by blood. If Kaname let me… I would love him. I would love his child.
Behind her, Takuma sat silently, his hands folded in his lap, watching a girl who’d just lost the shape of her whole world and didn’t even know where to start picking up the pieces.
Zero.
Her chest twisted with a sharp, unbearable ache.
How could he?
How could he of all people do this to her?
He knew.
He knew how she felt about Kaname.
All those nights on the rooftops, crouched in the shadows while Kaname moved through the Academy halls with his quiet, commanding grace—Zero had been there. He had seen her watching. He had teased her about it sometimes, but he knew. He knew she loved him.
And still.
Still, Zero had taken him.
Her throat burned as she remembered those days, when she had pressed her wrist into his mouth, let him drink her blood to keep him sane, to keep him alive. She had been his anchor. His safe place. She had cared for him like family. She had thought—hoped—that maybe one day, when Kaname and she were gone, Zero would still be there, standing beside her as someone she could always trust.
Her heart cracked with the memory.
She had given him her blood. She had trusted him with her life.
And this was how he repaid her?
By lying. By hiding. By secretly sharing something so deep, so intimate, with Kaname—the very man she had poured her heart into?
Her vision blurred again with fresh tears.
The child.
Their child.
The one proof in the world that Zero hadn’t just fallen into Kaname’s pull—that he had chosen him. That he had let himself be bound to him in every way.
Yuki’s chest heaved.
Zero, who had sworn to protect her. Who had stood at her side, sharp and unwavering, every time she was afraid.
Zero, who had said he hated Kaname. Who had sworn to never forgive him.
Was that all a lie? Were those words, those promises, just another mask?
She pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to crush out the sting.
It wasn’t just Kaname she had lost. It was Zero too.
The one she had trusted most. The one she had thought of as family.
The one she had let drink her blood, again and again, so he wouldn’t fall.
And in return—
In return, he had stolen everything from her.
The northern estate was wrapped in silence.
Snow pressed against the tall windows, whispering against the glass in a hush that seemed to seep into every hall and chamber.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving only the faint scent of ash and cedar.
Kaname lay on his side in the master bed, eyes closed.
But no sleep came.
It hadn’t for years—not since the Academy. Not since the night Zero had turned from him, eyes burning with rage and fear, and walked away. For too long, Kaname had lived in that hollow absence, in the echo of rejection that deepened with every passing year.
Only after finding Zero again—after the bond snapped back into place with agonizing, undeniable force—had something like peace returned.
And now, cracks had already formed.
Their son still didn’t know the truth. Didn’t know Kaname was his father.
Yuki’s shattered face lingered behind his eyes.
And Zero—his mate—had chosen to sleep in Isamu’s room instead of by his side.
Kaname’s crimson eyes opened into the dim dark. He turned his head toward the wall, toward the room where he could feel them both: Zero’s steady aura, Isamu’s bright little spark.
For a moment, he almost rose. He pictured slipping into the bed beside them, pulling Zero close, their son curled between them.
But he knew Zero would not welcome it tonight.
He thinks back to the conversation earlier with Zero:
Zero stepped away from Kaname’s embrace without a word.
The heat of their earlier closeness lingered on his skin like a memory that hadn’t been granted time to fade. But it wasn’t guilt that made him pull away—it was resolve. Quiet. Measured. Unbending.
He moved across the room with purpose, heading not toward the bed they’d shared just this morning, but toward the bathroom.
Kaname watched him go, brow furrowing slightly.
The first flicker of irritation sparked in his chest when Zero disappeared into the bathroom and came out with his toothbrush and face towel in hand.
“What are you doing?” Kaname asked, voice taut.
Zero didn’t look up. “I told you. I’m staying in Isamu’s room for a couple of nights.”
The words hit heavier than Kaname expected. Something about the phrasing—"a couple of nights"—like a wedge being gently but firmly driven between them.
"Still?" Kaname asked.
“You don’t have to do that,” Kaname said, stepping forward.
Zero was already moving again, folding clothes into a small overnight bag. Calm. Efficient. Like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“I’m not sleeping here while Yuki’s crying down the hall,” he said. “That feels… wrong.”
Kaname’s lips thinned.
“Wrong?” he echoed, voice laced with disbelief. “It feels wrong to share your mate’s bed, does it?”
Zero’s hands didn’t falter on the fabric, but his shoulders stiffened.
Kaname’s voice dropped further, velvet edges fraying. “What else feels wrong, Zero? Kissing me? Loving me? Needing me?”
Zero let out a sigh, the kind born from weariness rather than anger. His hands lingered on the folded shirt. “Kaname—don’t.”
But the ancient pureblood’s composure—always so immaculate, so carefully worn—began to unravel, thread by thread.
Kaname’s steps were slow, deliberate as he closed the distance. His voice cut through the air, deceptively calm but edged with desperation.
“Perhaps you don’t understand vampiric bonds. Perhaps the idea of a mate doesn’t register in your hunter’s mind. But tell me this, Zero—” His hand swept out in a sharp gesture toward the bed. “Did we not marry in the human way too? Do we not have a child together?”
His voice darkened, heavy with frustration. “Does that mean nothing in your head and heart?”
Zero finally turned, violet eyes sharp but steady. His tone was quiet, but unyielding. “Kaname. Calm yourself. Don’t make this into something it isn’t.”
The words stung like cold iron.
Kaname’s crimson gaze sharpened. “Are you saying I can’t control myself?”
“Yes,” Zero said simply. No hesitation. “When it comes to me, you can’t. If you could… you wouldn’t have grabbed Yuki like that.”
The truth struck harder than any blade.
Kaname’s body went still, though his aura rippled faintly—power brushing the edges of the room like a restless storm.
“She hurt you,” he said at last, his voice low and guttural, vibrating with restrained fury. “And I am your husband. How else am I supposed to react? I should have stopped her before she did it.”
Zero sighed "It just a slap."
Kaname looks at Zero like he has grown a second head. "Just?" Kaname asked.
“Why is it always about her?” Kaname asked quietly, but the heat under his words was unmistakable. “Even now. After everything. After years apart. After a child. Why does she still come first?"
Kaname looked straight as Zero and continued "Because for me that has changed Zero, you come first, you always will but ....why do you still think of her first?”
Zero froze, his shoulders drawn tight.
Kaname stepped closer, voice rising—not in volume, but in intensity.
Zero turned then, his eyes cool but direct. “Don’t twist this.”
Kaname’s expression cracked, raw in a way few had ever seen. “Why can’t I be the one you put first? For once. Why can’t you just… choose me, choose us—this bond, this family—without always leaving room for her?”
The shirt in Zero’s hand fell back into the bag without sound. He looked Kaname dead in the eye.
“I am choosing us,” he said. “You. Me. Isamu. This is for us.”
Kaname’s brows pulled together. “Then why does it feel like you’re making decisions for her sake? That you’re still protecting her more than you’re protecting us?”
Zero’s voice didn’t waver. “Because she’s your family too.”
Kaname flinched, just barely.
“She doesn’t have anyone else, Kaname,” Zero said, softer now. “She lost her parents. She lost her place. And now, the person she thought she was going to spend eternity with turns out to be someone else’s soulmate. That kind of betrayal doesn’t just hurt. It shatters.”
He continued packing, slow and steady. “You have me. You have Isamu. Who does she have?”
Kaname looked away, crimson eyes shadowed.
Zero didn’t let the silence fester.
“She’s grieving, Kaname. You were her anchor. Her future. She worshipped you. Built her entire identity around you. And you—” his voice lowered “—you grabbed her like an enemy. What do you think that does to a person? To a girl who only ever wanted to be loved by you?”
Kaname’s fingers twitched at his sides.
“This isn’t penance,” Zero continued. “This is mercy. Empathy. Love. Not just for her—but for us too. For the world we want to raise Isamu in. One where people don’t get tossed aside just because they’re inconvenient.”
Kaname moved, pacing a few slow steps across the thick carpet, his palm braced against his brow. The tension in his shoulders spoke louder than any growl.
“I hate that you’re right,” he muttered finally.
“I hate that you made me be right,” Zero replied.
He zipped the small bag closed and slung it over one shoulder. The quiet rasp of the zipper sounded louder than a slammed door.
He stepped toward the exit, his hand on the doorknob before he paused.
“Kaname,” he said without looking back.
The pureblood lifted his gaze. “Yes?”
“You will talk to her. Not as the Head of the Kuran. Not as her protector. As her brother. Apologize. Explain. Be honest with her. Let her decide what she wants to do with the truth.”
Kaname didn’t respond at first. Then, finally, a solemn nod.
“And when she decides,” Zero said, “you let her walk whatever path she chooses.”
The door opened with a soft click. The cool air of the hallway slipped in like a ghost.
Zero didn’t glance back as he stepped through.
But Kaname stood there for a long time afterward, unmoving. Alone in a room heavy with the scent of cedar, sandalwood, and regret.
Back in Kaname’s room
Kaname rose from the bed, silently, his bare feet gliding across the carpet. He pulled on his robe with the same grace he carried into battle and left the room. Down the hall, past the door he longed to open, his steps led him elsewhere.
The library.
It greeted him with the scent of old paper and leather, with the heavy stillness of a room meant for secrets. He crossed to the same chair where weeks earlier Zero had lain exhausted in his arms, his silver hair spread across his chest.
Now, Kaname sat alone. His hand brushed over the worn armrest, remembering the weight of him there. His head tilted back against the chair, eyes closing—not for sleep, but to hold stillness in place.
The door creaked softly.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Kaname’s eyes opened. His aura stayed calm, but his gaze shifted toward the doorway.
Cross Kaien.
The headmaster looked different in the lamplight. The warmth was still there, but shadowed by grief, by disappointment, by the raw ache of truths laid bare too suddenly.
Kaname didn’t answer the question. He straightened slightly in the chair, his posture as composed as always. “Neither could you, it seems.”
Cross stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He lingered near the shelves, trailing his fingers across the spines of old tomes as though stalling for courage. Finally, he turned, sighing through his nose.
“Kaname… may we talk?”
Kaname inclined his head. “If you wish.”
Cross pulled out a chair opposite him. For a moment, he simply studied him—as if weighing centuries of mystery against the very human ache in his chest.
“I never questioned your plans,” Cross began softly. “Even when I didn’t understand what you were doing, I trusted you. I thought—who am I to judge? I’ve made too many mistakes myself.” His voice trembled, his hands folding in his lap. “But tonight… I can’t keep quiet.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes remained steady, waiting.
Cross leaned forward, his expression taut. “There’s more, isn’t there? More that you and Zero haven’t said. I can see it. I raised him, Kaname. I know that boy. His silences are louder than his words.”
Kaname didn’t speak, though the faintest tension flickered through his jaw.
Cross’s next words cracked with grief. “I only wish you’d respected me enough to tell me before consummating the bond.” His hands pressed briefly against his knees.
“You’re a vampire. You’ve had an education, a way of life steeped in centuries of your kind’s traditions. But Zero…” His voice faltered, heavy with fatherly ache.
“Zero was still a child in so many ways. Not just in age—he didn’t have the knowledge, the preparation. He wasn’t ready to carry something like this. To carry you.”
Kaname’s gaze lowered briefly, then returned, steady as ever.
“And for him to carry a child—” Cross’s voice shook. “A boy, forced to bear what no human body was ever meant to. Do you know what a terrifying image that is to me? What it must have been for him?”
Kaname’s lips parted, his voice quiet but unyielding. “It was my fault. I never believed it possible. I was careless. If I had known, I would have shielded him from that pain.”
His crimson gaze softened, shadows flickering there. “But the mate bond isn’t something that can be explained in human terms. It isn’t courtship. It isn’t choice. It’s soul recognizing soul. Once it locks… there is no walking away.”
Cross leaned back, shaking his head faintly. “Kaname… I’ve studied your kind my whole life. I know the bond is sacred. I know you can’t choose it.”
His hand clenched briefly on the armrest. “But Yagari isn’t wrong in his anger. Zero wasn’t raised in your world. He was raised in mine. And you—you should have told me before you ever touched him.”
The words hung like lead.
The fire cracked softly, the snow whispered against the windows.
Finally, Kaname spoke, voice low. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should have told you. Or Yagari.”
His gaze dropped for a moment, then rose again. “But I feared losing him. I feared that if I named it too soon, he would reject me completely. None of it was planned. I have planned everything in my life… but with Zero, nothing was planned. It was instinct. Desire. Love.”
Cross’s throat tightened. For once, the pureblood before him didn’t look like a prince carved of marble and steel. He looked like a man—fallible, guilty, desperate.
And it broke no less heavily for it.
Cross rose slowly to his feet, pacing toward the shelves, trailing a hand over leather-bound volumes like a man grounding himself. His voice was low.
“Zero was my responsibility. My student. His legal guardian. And you—” His hand curled briefly around a book spine before letting go. “You bound him. Consummated the bond without me even knowing.”
Kaname stood near the window, the snow’s pale light carving his face into shadow.
His crimson eyes shifted to Cross, his voice calm but carrying weight. “You know what it means to be a pureblood’s mate, Kaien. From the moment I recognized Zero as mine, everything shifted. Every law. Every duty. From that instant, he was no longer yours to guard. He was mine.”
The storm outside howled, filling the silence.
Kaname’s voice softened slightly. “At the Academy, I thought like a pureblood. I believed the bond would explain itself. That his soul would understand even if his mind could not."
Kaname sighed "I was wrong. He was raised human. He carried human fears, human morality. I should have slowed down. I should have shown him not a pureblood’s authority, but the man who loved him.”
Cross’s fingers dug into the armrest of the chair he had abandoned. “You think admitting that fixes anything?”
Kaname turned fully toward him now. His voice carried no arrogance, no defense. Only quiet gravity. “No. But it is the truth. And it is why I’m here. I cannot undo what has been done. But I can repent. I can be better. For him.”
Cross stared at him, firelight glinting in his glasses.
His voice was softer when it came, but no less heavy. “You’ve lived with more knowledge than him all your life. You knew more, saw more. All the pain you put him through—bonding, bearing a child at his age, as a boy. That was trauma he never should have faced.”
Kaname’s eyes softened faintly, and his voice, for once, carried something fragile. “I know. And that is my burden to carry. But I will carry him, too. Always.”
Cross’s shoulders sagged. He shut his eyes briefly, his voice weary. “I didn’t mind when it was you and Yuki. You understood the same world. But Zero… Zero was different. He shouldn’t have been dragged into this life.”
Kaname’s gaze lowered for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, edged with something uncharacteristically raw.
“I have committed sins. I don’t deserve forgiveness. But I will live. Not for duty. Not for bloodlines. For him. For our son. Even selfishly—for myself. Because my love for Zero…”
His eyes lifted, crimson burning with quiet intensity. “…is beyond words.”
The library held its silence again, filled only with the soft hiss of snow against the glass and the muted crackle of dying embers.
Cross let the silence stretch, the library pressing in with its quiet. His gaze flicked to the fire, then back to Kaname.
“You speak like a man who already carries too much,” Cross murmured. “But forgive me if I say… I don’t know if I can trust you with Zero’s future.”
Kaname didn’t flinch. “I don’t expect you to. Not yet.”
Cross blinked. He had expected a defense, an argument, some polished persuasion. Instead, Kaname’s voice was steady, resigned.
“Zero’s trust is the only one that matters,” Kaname continued. “And he has given it to me—grudgingly, painfully, but freely. I will not betray that again.”
Cross leaned back against the table, his fingers tightening briefly on the wood. His chest felt heavy. “Do you know what it was like to raise him? To watch a boy who’d lost everything—his parents, his humanity—fight every day just to stay standing?”
Kaname’s crimson eyes softened. “I saw it. Even if from afar.”
Cross shook his head, bitter laughter ghosting past his lips. “You saw a hunter with sharp eyes and sharper teeth. I saw a child hiding under blankets at night, terrified he’d wake up a monster. I saw him grind down his own heart just so Yuki wouldn’t be afraid of him. I watched him become a weapon because he thought that was all he was allowed to be.”
His hand lifted, trembling slightly as he pressed it against his glasses. “And now I find out that in the middle of all that pain, he was bound to you? That he carried your child alone? Gods, Kaname—he must’ve been so frightened.”
Kaname’s jaw tightened, his gaze lowering. “He was. And that is the greatest shame of my life.”
Cross exhaled sharply, the sound thick with grief. He wanted to rage. To strike. To demand answers no words could ever satisfy. But instead, what came out was softer, quieter.
“Why him? why this poor child? Out of all people.”
Kaname’s eyes lifted, crimson glowing faintly in the dim room. His answer was not rehearsed, not polished—just raw. “Because the universe gave me no one else. Because his soul fit mine like it had always been waiting. Because I look at him and know I could burn centuries of plans, crowns, and bloodlines to ash if it meant keeping him breathing.”
Cross stilled. The conviction in those words, quiet though they were, made the air feel heavier.
Kaname went on, slower now. “You think I don’t know what he’s lost? I do. And I will spend the rest of my life giving back what was stolen from him. If he wants peace, I’ll build it. If he wants war, I’ll fight it. If he wants freedom, I’ll cut away every chain, even if it means tearing apart the council itself. That is the truth of what it means to have him as my mate.”
Cross lowered his hand from his face, staring at him for a long, searching moment. The firelight flickered against his glasses, hiding his eyes, but his voice was low and strained when he spoke again.
“ Zero grew up believing he didn’t need anyone. That his strength could carry him. I thought I was protecting him. But maybe… maybe I just left him too alone.”
His throat tightened, his voice almost breaking. “If he’s chosen you, then gods help me—I’ll learn to live with it. But if you ever betray that trust again, Kaname…”
His eyes glinted as the light caught them, sharp and trembling all at once. “…you’ll answer to me, to Yagari.”
Kaname inclined his head once, solemn. “Then you have my vow—you will never need to.”
The storm outside pressed harder against the glass, a low howl rattling the panes. For a long moment, the two men—guardian and pureblood, father and mate—sat in the quiet weight of the future they both wanted to shield, even if in very different ways.
Cross was the one to break it at last. His sigh was long, heavy, but not hopeless.
“I suppose neither of us will sleep tonight,” he murmured.
Kaname’s lips curved faintly, without humor. “No.”
Cross turned toward the door, pausing just before he opened it. His voice, when it came, was softer—closer to the warmth Zero had known as a boy.
“Don’t forget, Kaname. He may be your mate. But he’ll always be my son.”
Kaname’s reply was steady, crimson eyes unwavering.
“And for that, I will always be grateful.”
The door clicked softly behind Cross as he left.
Kaname turned back to the window, to the faint spark of aura down the hall where his mate and child slept. His hands clenched once at his sides before he let out a slow breath, crimson eyes dimming with exhaustion he’d never show to anyone else.
He whispered into the dark, as if the storm itself might carry it to them:
“My Zero.”
Yagari had never been one for quiet mornings in other people’s homes, but the northern estate was a strange mix of old stone silence and childish laughter that carried from room to room.
And today, the source of that laughter had him firmly by the hand.
“Come on, Old Man!” Isamu’s small fingers tugged insistently, leading him down another sunlit hallway. “You haven’t seen this room yet!”
Yagari’s brow twitched at the nickname. “You know, you could just call me Yagari.”
“Ojii-chan says Old Man is your name,” Isamu replied cheerfully, peeking up at him with wide lavender eyes.
They were the only part of him that betrayed Zero’s blood—eyes so unmistakably Kiryu, even if the rest of the boy looked every inch a Kuran.
Yagari grunted. “Of course he did.”
The boy dragged him along, pointing out paintings, windows, and hallways like each was a treasure.
“Papa told me you’re a knight,” Isamu said suddenly, his voice full of awe. “A brave knight that protects humans. When I grow up, I’m gonna be like you!”
Yagari glanced down at him. “That so?”
“Uh-huh!” Isamu nodded so hard his messy hair bounced. “I’m gonna be brave—so brave—like Papa and you. I’m gonna save so, so many humans. And…” His grin turned mischievous. “I’m gonna be a better knight than you.”
Yagari stopped walking. The boy stumbled to a halt, blinking up at him.
“Old Man can’t walk anymore?” Isamu asked, tilting his head.
“Tch. I’m not that old,” Yagari replied flatly.
“Ojii-chan said you are old. And that you get tired easily.”
For a moment, Yagari just studied him—the stubborn little chin, the fearless gleam in his eyes, the unshaken conviction in his voice.
Zero. It was like looking at a smaller, brighter echo of the brat he’d trained years ago.
Then, without a word, Yagari bent and scooped Isamu into his arms. The boy blinked in surprise, then giggled.
“If that’s the case,” Yagari said gruffly, “I’ll help you any way I can.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The moment was broken by the quiet approach of footsteps.
Kaname appeared at the far end of the hall, his presence as controlled and unyielding as always—though the faint crease between his brows betrayed his disapproval.
“I’ll take him from here,” Kaname said smoothly as he drew closer. “I wouldn’t want you to forget whose child he is.”
“I know whose kid he is,” Yagari replied evenly, not putting Isamu down until the boy reached for Kaname of his own accord.
“You’ve called him colorful names I didn’t appreciate,” Kaname added, voice calm but carrying a quiet edge.
Kaname accepted the weight of his son easily, pressing a kiss to his hair before tickling his side until Isamu squealed. “Why don’t you find Papa?” Kaname suggested lightly. “I need to speak with our guest here.”
“Old Man isn’t a guest,” Isamu said matter-of-factly. “Papa says Old Man is his family. So he’s my family too and yours too.”
The words landed heavier than they should have. Kaname’s jaw tightened, irritation simmering behind the smoothness of his expression. Zero’s family. Zero’s. How many others did Zero intend to fold into that word, as if it belonged to everyone?
Isamu, oblivious to the shift in the air, grinned and squirmed until Kaname set him down. “I’m gonna go find Papa!”
Kaname watched him run off, the sound of his small footsteps fading into the distance, before turning his gaze back to Yagari.
The air between them shifted—less about the child now, and more about the man who wasn’t there.
Kaname’s gaze lingered on the spot where Isamu had disappeared until the last echo of small footsteps faded. Then his crimson eyes slid back to Yagari, the weight in them like a blade resting against skin.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” Kaname said evenly. “More than I prefer.”
Yagari didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to prefer it. The boy likes me. And I like him.”
Kaname’s expression remained smooth, but the air between them cooled, the faint hum of power threading the hall like static. “He is my son.”
“He’s Zero’s son,” Yagari shot back without hesitation, his voice steady as steel. “That makes him worth protecting. And I’m not about to stand by while someone decides who he can or can’t see.”
Kaname’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something sharp breaking through his perfect composure. “You think I would harm him?”
“I think,” Yagari said, his tone slow and deliberate, “that you’ve done plenty to hurt his father. And kids feel that, whether you mean them to or not.”
Something in Kaname’s aura spiked—sharp, cold, possessive. “Zero is mine. He always has been. And so is our child. Do not mistake my civility for permission to… insert yourself into what belongs to me.”
Yagari’s single eye locked on him, unblinking, steady. “If you’re so sure he belongs to you, then you shouldn’t be afraid of him having people who’d fight for him too.”
For a beat, neither moved. The tension stretched, tight as a drawn bowstring—the clash of two men bound to the same person in different ways.
Finally, Kaname’s voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “Family is not something you take. It is something you are given.”
“And Zero,” Yagari said, turning slightly toward the corridor, “has already given me mine.”
He stopped, his voice dropping to something darker. “I don’t like you, Kuran. And ‘like’ is a mild word.” His glare hardened, ice over steel. “I hate you.”
Kaname’s eyes narrowed further, the air thickening between them.
“You will never deserve Zero,” Yagari continued, his tone flat but laced with promise. “And if you—or that princess—hurt him again…” He took a step forward, his single eye burning into crimson. “…it will be a bloodbath.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air between them.
When Kaname finally spoke, his voice was smooth—too smooth. “You presume much.”
Yagari didn’t answer, his glare unyielding.
“My love for Zero runs so deep, Yagari,” Kaname began, each word slow and deliberate, “that the depth of it is something you will never understand. Your human mind could not comprehend it.”
Yagari’s single eye narrowed, his jaw tight, but he didn’t look away.
“You want to protect him because you care for him,” Kaname continued, his tone precise as if carving the words into stone. “But for me… it is different.”
The air between them thickened, pressing against the walls of the corridor. Kaname’s aura began to hum—a subtle vibration that made the space feel smaller, heavier.
“I protect Zero,” Kaname said, his crimson gaze darkening to a deeper shade, “because without him, this world does not deserve to exist.”
Then his tone sharpened, cold and absolute. “You held a gun to his head the other day. I will say this only once—if you hurt my mate, I will kill every hunter, every human, and I will not stop until there is nothing left.”
Yagari’s lips twisted into a humorless scoff. “So much love… yet you’re the one who keeps on hurting him.”
His voice turned flat, hard. “You put him through childbirth and god knows what else.”
Kaname flinched—subtly, but it was there. A flicker of raw remorse passed through his crimson eyes, cracking his perfect composure.
“I would never have put Zero through that knowingly,” he said quietly but firmly. “And I’d be lying if I claimed I don’t care for Isamu—because I do. He is a part of Zero, and there is no part of Zero I wouldn’t love or treasure.”
His voice dropped. “But I would never have wanted any child at the cost of Zero’s suffering.”
Yagari studied him in silence, the glow of the lantern catching on the scar over his eye. “I don’t believe a word you’re spitting. But I do believe Zero deserves happiness. If that’s with a beast like you, then so be it.”
He stepped closer. “But when he finally sees your real face—your evil side—I’ll be there to take him away.”
Kaname’s jaw tightened, his aura flaring hot enough to make the air prickle. “You’re welcome to try,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “But Zero will not leave me again. Nor will I allow it. Leaving me will not only hurt me, Yagari—it will hurt him too.”
The silence was taut as a bowstring.
Yagari’s hand flexed near his coat out of old instinct. “Possessive words,” he said, “for a man who’s already lost him once.”
Kaname stepped forward, their auras colliding like two storms locked in place. “I will not lose him again,” Kaname said, voice like forged steel. “Not to you. Not to Yuki. Not to anyone. And certainly not to his own doubts.”
For a long moment they stared—two predators bound to the same man, neither willing to yield.
Then Yagari spoke again, his tone a warning. “You may think you’re untouchable, Kuran. But if you hurt him again, if you make him bleed for you one more time… you won’t lose him to anyone else. You’ll just lose him.”
Kaname’s crimson gaze narrowed to a razor edge. “You think you can take him from me. You can’t. You won’t. And the day you try will be the last day you stand.”
Yagari smirked faintly, not in amusement but in acknowledgment of the threat. “You have no idea how badly I want to punch you right now.”
Kaname’s reply was quiet, but it carried enough weight to make the air feel heavy. “You’d better hope you never do.”
Then, after a beat, his voice dropped into something quieter, more dangerous. “The difference between us, Yagari… is that you fight because you care. I fight because I cannot exist without him.”
The words landed like an oath.
“I don’t require your approval,” Kaname went on, his tone smooth but with steel beneath it. “And I certainly don’t require your permission to protect what is mine.”
Yagari’s lip curled faintly. “Possession’s a poor excuse for love.”
Kaname’s eyes narrowed. “Call it what you like. It will not change the fact that I will keep him safe—even from you, if I must.”
Their auras scraped like drawn blades.
Kaname’s voice lowered to a whisper, dangerous in its calm. “Cross my family’s path with harm, Yagari… and I won’t stop at a bloodbath. I will end you and the world you know.”
For a long moment, neither moved. Then Yagari gave the faintest smirk—a hunter’s acknowledgment of a line drawn in stone.
“Then we understand each other,” he said, brushing past.
It had been over a week since the snowstorm, and the arrival of uninvited guests had shattered the fragile balance of the northern estate.
The snow had settled. The storm had passed.
But the tension had not.
Yuki remained within the estate’s tall walls, their presence pressing into the air like a weight no hearth fire could warm.
The corridors felt tighter, the silence heavier, as if the estate itself strained beneath the burden of too many breaking hearts.
By the seventh morning, Yagari had had enough. The storm outside might have quieted, but inside, the vampire’s stone walls pressed on him like a coffin. He was not a man made to be caged.
His boots crunched over the fresh snow as he strode toward the waiting car, his coat collar pulled high against the sharp wind. At the threshold, he stopped only once. His scarred hand clamped down on Zero’s shoulder, hard and grounding.
“Don’t you dare run without telling me,” he muttered, voice low and gravel-edged. His lone eye, sharp as ever, burned into him with the tired fire of too many battles fought and lost. “If you decide to leave that pureblood, I’ll be the one to help you this time.”
Zero blinked, then gave the faintest smile. It was small, weary, but real. “Yes, sensei. I will. I’ll tell you if I do.”
At the top of the stairs, Kaname had frozen. Crimson eyes narrowed, his aura spilling into the hall like a blade unsheathed.
The wood groaned faintly under the pressure of it, the chandelier above trembling as if caught in a gust. The power was restrained, but sharp. Dangerous.
Kaname did not like Yagari’s offer.
And he liked Zero’s agreement even less.
Yagari scoffed, catching the shift of the air. He spat into the snow, his lip curling with open contempt. “How you can stand to look at that thing…” His eye cut back to Zero, cold. “Or stand its stench long enough to make a child.”
Heat flared in Zero’s face, crimson burning through pale skin. He looked away, ashamed and furious all at once.
Yagari’s next words fell heavier, quieter, but no softer. “I still find it hard to believe you’re mated to that thing.”
The insult rippled through the bond like acid. Kaname’s aura flared hotter, a thunderclap of ancient fury ready to strike.
But before it could erupt, Zero straightened. His violet eyes cut to Yagari with steel that surprised even Kaname.
“I tried,” Zero said firmly, his voice carrying through the cold air.
“I tried fighting it. My feelings. The bond. Him.” His hand curled into a fist at his side. “I fought it harder than I’ve fought anything in my life. I thought hating him would be enough. I thought duty, lineage, even my own disgust would be enough.”
Yagari’s jaw tightened, but Zero pressed on.
“It wasn’t.” His voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “I don’t want to keep fighting anymore. Not him. Not myself. Our relationship might go against everything hunters believe in, everything vampires believe in. But it’s the only thing that feels right. The only thing that makes me feel alive.”
Kaname’s breath stilled. His crimson gaze locked on Zero as though drinking in every syllable.
“I’ve accepted it,” Zero went on. “Kaname is my mate. And he’s the father of my child.”
His shoulders eased, his throat working as he swallowed past the knot of everything he’d held in for years. “I won’t run from that anymore. I won’t let anyone take it away from me.”
For a moment, even Yagari had no answer. His eye flicked between them—the scarred hunter, the ex-human, and the pureblood whose power hummed like a storm contained in human skin.
Finally, Yagari let out a sharp exhale through his nose.
His voice was low, rough, but carried something like reluctant respect. “Good thing you’re the one raising the boy. That’s why he’s bearable.”
Zero’s lips twitched faintly. He knew those words for what they were—praise, in Yagari’s way.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
The hunter’s scarred hand squeezed his shoulder once, firm, protective. “I’ll be back to check on you,” Yagari said. His glare swung to Kaname, sharp as a blade. “No one better harm my student. Or his child.”
The warning thrummed in the silence before he turned and left, boots crunching into the snow.
At the threshold, Kaname finally moved, his aura still vibrating faintly around him. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was dry, edged with irony. “Isn’t he such a bright person.”
Zero snorted, unable to help himself. “So bright you want to pluck his head off and bury it somewhere dark.”
Kaname’s lips twitched. He threaded his fingers through Zero’s, grounding them both.
For a fleeting moment, Zero let himself hold on.
“Why can’t I like him?” Kaname murmured, quiet but sharp.
Zero tilted his head. “Why?”
“Because he wants to take you away,” Kaname said simply, crimson gaze unflinching. “And how can I like a man who would steal my soul from me?”
Zero didn’t answer. He only squeezed his hand once, steady and certain.
The warmth of his palm lingered, enough to tell Kaname everything he needed to know.
Zero wasn’t leaving him.
The northern estate sat wrapped in stillness.
The snowstorm had broken days ago, leaving the grounds blanketed in white, but the silence inside the walls carried a sharper chill than the winter outside.
The master bedroom remained untouched. Its great bed sat cold and empty, mocking in its vacancy.
Zero had not slept there since that night.
Instead, he curled each evening around Isamu, his son’s small body tucked against his chest, Zero’s silver hair spilling over the pillow like a shield. And each night, Kaname found himself drawn—relentlessly—to the doorway.
The sight always stilled him.
He would step inside quietly, his aura soft, careful not to disturb the child. His hand would brush over Zero’s waist, his voice a whisper against silver strands.
“Come back to me,” he would murmur. “You are my mate. I miss you.”
But Zero’s answer was always the same.
A quiet shake of his head. The blanket pulled tighter around their son.
“Not until things are sorted.”
And so Kaname bore it. Night after night.
The only kisses he stole were in the dark, fleeting brushes of lips when Isamu’s breaths had slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep. Always cut short by Zero’s retreat, his whisper sharp in the hush:
“Not now.”
The ache settled in Kaname’s chest like a second heartbeat—constant, unrelenting. Hunger without release.
Sometimes, though, Zero woke to find him there. His body pressed close behind him, an arm curved protectively over his waist. In those moments, Zero only sighed. He allowed it.
Because it wasn’t rejection that kept him apart.
It wasn’t punishment.
It was restraint.
Zero knew himself too well. If he let Kaname pull him fully into his arms, if he let their lips linger, their bond flare unchecked, he would not stop. He would say to hell with Yuki’s pain. He would claim Kaname, wholly, selfishly, without regret.
And though he missed Kaname’s warmth, his love—ache gnawed deeper than longing—he held the line.
For Yuki. For now.
For ten days, Yuki’s door had stayed shut. Only opened to Takuma’s gentle knock. Ruka’s silent trays of food. Cross’s patient coaxing.
The silence inside her chamber weighed heavier than screams.
But when the snowstorm broke, so did her seclusion.
Tentative steps in the hall.
A shadow on the staircase.
A figure crossing the parlor without a word.
She did not look at Zero. She passed him as though he were a ghost.
Zero returned the distance, deliberate in every move. He kept Isamu close, guiding him away from her gaze.
He could not bear the thought of her heartbreak touching his child—could not let her see in Isamu the truth of her loss.
Even when Isamu left the room, it was only in Aido’s arms. The boy’s laughter would echo down the corridors as Aido whispered silly stories to keep him smiling. But Zero stayed behind.
He was never near Kaname when Yuki passed. Never.
He would not twist the knife deeper. He would not stand before her as Kaname’s mate.
And yet, Kaname’s eyes never left him.
From across long corridors. From doorways. From the head of the staircase where he lingered like a sentinel.
His gaze was constant, crimson heat tracking Zero’s every retreat. Sometimes his lips would part—Zero’s name, a whisper unspoken.
But Zero always slipped away.
The snow had stilled. The storm outside was over.
But within the estate, another storm lingered.
Not of ice. Not of wind.
But of silence.
Of longing.
Of wounds left raw and unhealed.
And Zero—
Zero felt it in his bones.
Every morning, his body grew heavier. His limbs sluggish, his breaths thinner. He told himself it was fatigue, stress, the weight of too many nights half-slept with his son in his arms. But sometimes, when he rose too quickly, the room tilted. A faint ache throbbed behind his eyes.
He hid it well. He always had.
The east wing had long been quiet, but Kaname found laughter there.
It was soft at first, a sound that drifted down the hall and curled like smoke through the silence that had smothered the estate these past weeks. It drew him closer, step by step, until the doorway opened to a scene he hadn’t seen enough of.
Isamu sprawled across the carpet, wooden knights and crooked towers scattered around him like a battlefield of imagination. Cross crouched nearby, his face flushed with delight as he helped the boy balance a lopsided wall. Aido leaned back on his elbows, smirking at every giggle, while Kain’s steady hands hovered near the pieces, ready to catch the falling ruin.
For a moment, Kaname lingered.
The sight stirred something deep inside—soft, aching, hungry for the kind of peace he’d never been given.
Isamu’s laughter spilled across the carpet as wooden knights clattered and toppled. Kain sat, patient and steady, while Aido made a dramatic show of protesting his exile in the corner.
“You’re in knight time-out,” Isamu declared with all the seriousness of a little lord. His small finger pointed accusingly. “Bad knight behavior.”
Kain’s lips curved faintly. “You heard him, Hanabusa.”
“This is treason!” Aido threw his hands up, though he didn’t dare move. “Punished by a child with sticky fingers and crooked castles—”
“Papa says knights have to listen to orders,” Isamu interrupted, puffing out his cheeks. “You didn’t listen. Time-out.”
Cross chuckled quietly, crouched low beside the boy, helping him balance another lopsided tower.
“Isamu.”
His voice slipped gently into the room, calm and steady.
The boy’s head popped up, lavender eyes wide before they lit in recognition. His grin was instant, bright as dawn.
“Sad Prince!”
Kaname’s lips curved faintly despite the weight in his chest. “May I borrow a knight’s time?”
Isamu puffed his little chest out, squaring his shoulders with mock seriousness. “Yes! Papa says knights always answer when called.”
Kaname extended a hand. Isamu bounded up without hesitation, small fingers curling around his own.
“I have a gift for you,” Kaname told him, voice low and warm.
Isamu’s eyes rounded, sparkling. “A gift? What is it?”
They sat together in the master bedroom, the vast space still carrying the faint scent of cedar and Zero’s presence, even in his absence.
Kaname knelt to meet his son’s height, and from behind his chair, he drew a small stack of new books—stories he had asked Seiren to fetch from the city.
Isamu gasped, clutching them like treasure. “For me?”
“For you,” Kaname said, his crimson gaze soft as he studied the boy’s face.
The room was quiet but for the sound of pages turning as Isamu peeked through the first. Kaname’s voice broke it gently.
“How is Papa?” he asked. His words carried careful weight, his throat tight. “Is Papa… well?”
Isamu’s smile was immediate, sunshine breaking through clouds. “Papa’s good! Papa always takes care of me.”
Kaname swallowed against the warmth and ache twisting together in his chest. “I’ve missed him,” he murmured, softer still. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Isamu tilted his head, considering, then said simply, “I missed you too, Sad Prince.” And without hesitation, he threw his little arms around Kaname’s neck.
The embrace startled Kaname, pierced him. He gathered the boy carefully against him, hand curling against his small back. “We haven’t been spending much time together, have we?”
Isamu pulled back, his little face earnest. “Papa said… I have to not talk to you much. Not until he says so.”
Kaname froze.
The words landed like ice, piercing deep. His hand stilled against Isamu’s back, his composure stretched taut.
Zero had told their son to avoid him.
Zero had built a wall between them.
Crimson eyes darkened, a quiet storm brewing beneath the calm mask. His voice stayed soft for the boy’s sake, but a sharpness crept into it all the same. “Did he now?”
Isamu nodded with all the innocence of certainty. “Papa said it’s for the best. That I have to trust him.”
Beneath Kaname’s calm mask, anger stirred. A slow coil of fire beneath still water. Zero… He forced his hand to stay steady as he smoothed Isamu’s hair.
The boy blinked up at him. “Papa sleeps a lot now. More than before. He gets tired easy. Sometimes he looks sick. But he says he’s fine.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes sharpened, something dark flickering in their depths.
Isamu nodded, innocent and sure. “Sometimes he says we can’t play because he’s too tired. But I don’t mind. I just curl up with him.”
Kaname’s jaw tightened. His aura stirred faintly, shadows coiling in the corners of the room. Zero was hiding something. Weakness. Illness. And keeping Isamu away from him.
Unforgivable.
Before he could press further, a small sound at the doorway pulled both their gazes.
Yuki stood frozen there, her hand braced against the frame, tears streaking down her cheeks unchecked. Behind her, Ruka hovered, sharp-eyed and protective.
Yuki’s gaze was fixed on Kaname—no, on Kaname with Isamu. On the sight of small arms around his neck, a father’s warmth in his face.
And it broke her.
She had come with words on her lips, courage finally gathered after days of silence. But the scene struck her first, unraveling her.
A father. Not to her child. Not to the life she’d once dreamed of.
But to Zero’s.
Kaname’s crimson eyes softened, just slightly. “Come in, Yuki,” he said quietly. His voice carried no edge, no sharpness—only inevitability. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Then his gaze cut to Ruka, sharp as a blade. “Take Isamu to Aido.”
The weight in his tone was clear. A silent command, and beneath it, a warning: Behave around my son.
Ruka bowed her head. “Of course.” She knelt, murmuring gently to the boy. Isamu clutched his books tight but nodded.
He glanced back once, waving his tiny hand. “Bye, Sad Prince!”
Kaname lifted his fingers in a faint wave, his expression unreadable. “Goodbye, little knight.”
The door shut behind them, leaving silence heavier than before.
Kaname gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
Yuki obeyed, stiff and quiet. Her eyes fixed on the floorboards, her hands twisted in her lap until her knuckles turned white.
Kaname sat back slowly, studying her through the hush. The memory of storm winds still hung in the walls though the snow outside lay still.
“Yuki,” he said softly, the weight of her name sinking deep into the silence.
Her shoulders trembled once. She didn’t lift her gaze. Didn’t speak.
Kaname’s voice lowered further, gentler but no less certain. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
Chapter 31: The Pulse Between Us
Chapter Text
The northern estate had grown heavy with silence these past days, but laughter bright, unrestrained rang time to time down the hallway like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
It began in the east corridor, where Ruka, walking carefully with Isamu’s small hand in hers, nearly faltered at his question.
“Ruka-nee,” Isamu piped up, his eyes wide with earnest curiosity. “Do you know how to make pancakes?”
She blinked, startled. “…Pancakes?”
“Mm-hm!” He nodded with the gravity of a knight making a request of his queen. “Papa makes the best ones. With butter and syrup. Sometimes chocolate chips. But we haven’t made any together in a while.”
Ruka hesitated, her crimson gaze flicking down to his small, hopeful face. “…No. I don’t know how to make pancakes.”
Isamu tilted his head. “Okay… what do you know how to make?”
Her lips parted—then pressed shut. The faintest wrinkle appeared between her brows. “…Nothing.”
The boy gasped, hand flying to his mouth. “Nothing?!”
Ruka stiffened under his wide-eyed judgment.
“You don’t cook?” he whispered dramatically, as though she had confessed a terrible sin. “Not even toast?”
“…No.”
Isamu’s little jaw dropped. “That’s terrible.”
Before Ruka could answer, he released her hand and darted down the hall with the speed of a boy on a mission, his small voice carrying ahead of him. “Uncle Hanaaaa!”
Ruka rubbed her temple, sighing.
In the sitting room, Aido sprawled lazily on a sofa, flipping through a magazine, while Kain leaned against the mantel in quiet thought. Cross sat nearby, humming to himself as he polished his glasses.
The tranquility shattered when Isamu barreled in, books clutched in his arms.
“Uncle Hana!” he cried, skidding to a stop in front of Aido. “Sad Prince got me new books! Look!” He shoved them into Aido’s chest with no room for protest.
“Wh—hey! Watch it!” Aido fumbled, blinking at the covers.
Cross perked up instantly, leaning forward with wide, eager eyes. “Ohhh, what kind of books?”
“Stories!” Isamu declared proudly. “With knights and castles and dragons. I'm going to read them with Papa.”
Cross’s glasses fogged with sudden tears. “Kaname-kun bought you those? Oh, Zero… you’re raising such a precious boy!” He sniffled, dabbing at his face with his sleeve.
Isamu, oblivious to the dramatics, continued with utmost seriousness. “Papa doesn’t come downstairs much. And we haven’t had pancakes in forever.”
Cross froze. Then his head snapped up like a man struck by divine revelation. “Pancakes?”
“Yes!” Isamu nodded vigorously, his eyes shining. “Papa makes them, but he’s tired all the time now. So… maybe…”
The boy’s voice trailed off, his hopeful gaze swinging between the three adults.
Cross slammed a hand onto the table with sudden, theatrical fervor, startling Aido so badly he nearly dropped the books. “Then pancakes we shall have!”
Aido groaned, sinking lower into the sofa. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Don’t be silly!” Cross declared, puffing out his chest. “Cooking is an art. And I am an artist of many talents.”
Kain arched a brow, dry. “Do you even know how to cook pancakes?”
Cross waved a hand dismissively. “How hard could it be? Flour, eggs, sugar, milk—voilà!”
“Don’t forget the stove,” Aido muttered.
“And butter!” Isamu added eagerly.
Cross swept the boy into his arms, spinning him dramatically. “Exactly! Together we shall make a pancake feast fit for kings!”
Isamu squealed with delight. “Yes!”
The kitchen, moments later, was chaos.
Flour dusted the counters, the floor, and—somehow—Aido’s hair.
Cross was whisking something so violently it splattered across his sleeves, the bowl threatening to leap out of his grip.
“Is it supposed to look like that?” Isamu asked, peeking into the batter with wide, uncertain eyes.
“Of course!” Cross said confidently. “Pancakes are all about… texture!”
“It looks like glue,” Aido muttered, trying to shake flour out of his hair.
Kain had taken over cracking eggs, though his stoic calm was broken when the third one slipped through his fingers, splattering yolk onto the counter. Isamu laughed so hard he nearly toppled off the stool.
“See?” Cross said proudly, batter flying from his whisk. “We’re having fun already!”
“This is not fun,” Aido deadpanned, brushing flour off his jacket. “This is a health hazard.”
“Uncle Hana,” Isamu piped up from his stool, giggling, “your hair is white now. Like Papa’s!”
Cross clutched his chest dramatically. “Adorable! He’s inherited Zero’s sass!”
“Shut up,” Aido muttered, though a faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him.
Kain, meanwhile, finally managed a half-decent pancake in the pan, golden brown and—miraculously—round. He slid it onto a plate and set it in front of Isamu with quiet triumph.
Isamu’s eyes went wide. “It looks like a real pancake!”
Cross puffed up, claiming the victory as his own. “Of course! I told you, together we can accomplish anything!”
“You didn’t make it,” Aido muttered.
“Details, details,” Cross said, waving a flour-covered hand.
Isamu, too delighted to care, grabbed his fork and dug in. His little face lit up with joy. “It’s good!”
Kain allowed himself the smallest, rarest smile.
Cross’s glasses fogged over again, his whole face shining with pride. “We must take pictures! Yagari is missing out on this moment!”
Aido dropped his forehead onto the counter with a groan. “I’ll never eat pancakes again. This is traumatic.”
Kain calmly slid a plate in front of him. “Eat.”
“I lost my appetite just watching you idiots—”
“Isamu says it’s good,” Kain interrupted simply. “If you don’t eat, the image will haunt you forever.”
Aido groaned louder but reluctantly lifted his fork.
By the time the chaos ended, the kitchen looked like a battlefield. Flour coated the counters, eggshells littered the sink, syrup clung to sleeves and hair alike. But Isamu was sticky with syrup, cheeks smeared with crumbs, his grin brighter than the winter sun.
From the doorway, Ruka crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You do realize there are cooks in this estate, don’t you?”
Cross turned to her with flour in his hair, syrup on his sleeve, and tears sparkling in his eyes. “But none of them could give us this memory!”
Isamu giggled, sliding off his stool to climb onto Kain’s lap with his plate. He pressed a bite to Kain’s lips, insisting, “Big Kain is big. He needs to eat lots and lots. He’s the strongest fire vampire.”
Kain sighed, but let the boy feed him.
From his slump, Aido muttered something about Kain stealing his “goblin.”
Cross leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “What about Ojichan, hmm? Aren’t you going to feed me too?”
Obligingly, Isamu offered him a bite.
Cross nearly wept on the spot. “Ahhh! My grandchild is perfect!”
Isamu He held up his fork with solemn gravity. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”
Aido groaned into his hands. Kain sighed, but didn’t move the boy.
Cross sparkled like a man reborn.
And for a fleeting moment, the estate no longer felt so heavy.
The fire in the hearth crackled low, its warmth failing to soften the weight pressing down on the master bedroom.
Kaname sat across from her, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly in his lap. His crimson gaze did not waver.
Yuki, however, could not bring herself to look at him. Her eyes were fixed on her hands clenched white in her lap, her dark hair hanging loose to veil the tremor of her face.
For a long while, neither spoke. Only the sound of the fire filled the silence.
At last, Kaname’s voice broke through—quiet, but certain.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
The words did not accuse. They simply were. A truth spoken aloud.
“I didn’t want to push you,” he continued softly, “until you were ready to face me. You deserved your space. And the right to decide when you were ready for answers.”
Yuki’s lips parted, trembling faintly. “Answers…” Her voice cracked, raw from days of silence. “Then give them to me. Tell me why.”
Kaname inclined his head, just slightly. “Ask what you wish. I will not lie to you.”
Her hands twisted tighter. “Zero,” she whispered. The name alone fractured her voice. “Why him? Why… not me?”
Kaname’s eyes softened, though his face remained composed.
“Because the bond chose him,” he said simply. “Not I.”
Yuki’s head snapped up, her wide eyes finally meeting his. “The mate bond,” she breathed, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. “You told me… you told me once I was your everything.”
Kaname’s crimson eyes did not flinch. “At the time, I believed it. I wanted to believe it. I thought fate had given me you, the sister I had protected, the girl who saw me as her savior. I convinced myself it was enough.”
His voice lowered, softer now. “But the mate bond is not swayed by desire, Yuki. It is not about choice. It is soul recognizing soul. And mine recognized Zero. As my equal.”
Her breath hitched, her throat closing around the words that wanted to come but couldn’t.
Kaname leaned forward, his tone steady but heavy with the gravity of truth. “When I gave him my blood at the Academy—at first, it was only to keep him alive. To keep him strong enough to survive Rido. To keep him from feeding on you.”
His lips curved faintly, bitter at his own irony. “But it awakened something I could not bury. The bond flared to life. Painful. Irrefutable. I could not look at him without feeling it. Could not breathe without knowing he was mine.”
Yuki shook her head, tears spilling fast. “And what was I, then? A lie? A shield until you found what you wanted?”
Kaname’s voice was quiet, threaded with regret. “Never a lie. Never unwanted. You were precious to me, Yuki. You still are. But Zero… Zero was different. From the beginning. It just took me a while to see it.”
She pressed her hand to her chest, as if to still the ache tearing her open. “And all that time—you let me hope. You let me… love you.”
His eyes lowered briefly, shadows cutting across his expression. “I did. And for that, I am sorry. More than I can say.”
Her voice cracked. “Did he even want you? Did he want this?”
Kaname’s gaze lifted, meeting hers with quiet certainty. “No. Not at first. He rejected me. Again and again."
Kaname called as if he was recalling memories "He tried to fight it, for your sake, for his Yagari’s sake, for the ideals he was raised with. He thought of you, Yuki. Always of you. His guilt was heavier than his own desire.”
The admission struck her harder than she expected. Her breath trembled. “…He thought of me?”
Kaname nodded once. “He protected you even when it tore him apart. He stayed by your side, hid his pain, and carried every burden quietly. He would rather have suffered alone than hurt you."
He added softly "Neither of us wanted you to be hurt, Yuki. That is the one thing we always shared.”
Her tears fell faster, dripping onto her lap. She bit her lip hard enough to sting, her chest heaving with broken sobs. “Then why—why didn’t you tell me?”
Kaname’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Because I was afraid. Afraid of losing both of you. I was selfish and broken. Afraid the Council would tear us apart, force you into another match. I thought… if I stayed silent, if I buried the truth, I could protect everyone.”
"After the war when Zero left me, I had neither the will nor desire to play politics."
His crimson eyes glinted in the firelight, soft but unyielding. “But silence only hurt you more. It is the one choice I regret above all.”
Yuki pressed her sleeve to her eyes, trembling. “You had a child. With him.” The words were ragged, bitter in her mouth.
Kaname’s lips curved faintly, pain and pride mingling in his expression. “Yes. A gift neither of us expected, but one I will treasure until the end of time. Isamu is proof of the bond. Proof of a love I cannot deny, no matter how much it hurt you.”
Yuki’s breath shuddered out, her tears slowing but her voice sharp with grief. “How can you be so cruel, Kaname? How can you look at me now and speak of love for someone else?”
Kaname’s eyes softened with something fragile, almost mournful. “Because lying to you any longer would be the cruelest act of all.”
The silence that followed was thick, fragile. "You deserve the truth."
Finally, Yuki whispered, voice hoarse. “…Then what am I, now? If I am not your bride, not your mate—what am I to you?”
His hand hovered above her hair, then gently lowered to rest against the crown of her head, as he had once done when she was only a child.
“You are still precious,” he said softly. “Not as my bride. Not as my mate. But as yourself. As Yuki. That is enough.”
Her sob broke free at last, quiet and small, but it carried years of tangled threads finally unraveling.
He had given her the truth. All that remained now was what she would choose to do with it.
The silence between them was thin, fragile — a thread stretched taut, ready to snap.
Yuki sat rigid in her chair, her eyes glistening as tears traced hot lines down her cheeks. The firelight flickered against her face, catching the trembling curve of her lips.
Her voice cracked as she finally spoke.
“We were supposed to build a life together,” she whispered. “I loved you for so long… I still do. Kaname, you always cared for me — I know that. So how could you hurt me this way? To the point you laid your hand on me… in anger.”
Her words wavered, but they struck sharp all the same.
Kaname’s crimson eyes softened once more, though the regret in them ran deep as blood. Slowly, he inclined his head.
“You are right,” he said quietly. “I should not have laid my hand on you. For that, I am sorry. No matter how much my fury burned, you did not deserve that from me.”
Her breath hitched, as if the apology — soft as it was — only widened the fracture in her chest.
But Kaname’s voice, low and steady, pressed on.
“Yet understand this, Yuki. You struck my mate. You raised your hand against Zero. That is not something I can take lightly. Not as a pureblood, not as his mate. "
Kaname continued firmly. " It is instinct, it is law, it is everything I am. To lay a hand on him in anger is to wound me as well.”
He looked at shaking Yuki and said.
"I will never stand by and watch while he is harmed — not even by you.”
Yuki flinched, her dark eyes widening at the unshakable certainty in his tone.
Kaname’s gaze held her there, unblinking.
“I have apologized for my anger. But you must also apologize to him. Zero has endured more than you can imagine, and too often, his pain has been overlooked — by you, by others, even by me.”
Yuki shook her head, tears falling faster. “You make it sound like I hated him — I didn’t! I loved him, too. I wanted us all to be together!”
“Did you?” Kaname asked softly, but there was steel beneath the question.
Her lips parted, but the words stuck in her throat.
Kaname leaned forward, his voice even, though his crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.
“At the Academy, Zero could hardly stand to breathe in the same space as me. My presence reminded him of everything he had lost — his parents’ deaths, his turning."
His gaze turned inward, shadowed with old memories.
"Still, you forced him into my path, again and again. Not because it eased his suffering. But because you wanted both of us."
He exhaled, long and low, crimson eyes dimmed by something that looked close to regret.
"You wanted peace between us, for your sake. Even when it tore him apart.”
Yuki’s head turned sharply, her eyes widening, but she could not deny it. She had seen the hatred in Zero’s eyes herself—had simply chosen to soften it with her own hopes.
Yuki’s throat worked, her fists tightening in her lap. “I… I didn’t know…”
“You didn’t want to know.” Kaname’s voice cut gently, without malice but with quiet truth.
“You wanted him to accept me because it made life easier for you. Because you could not bear to choose. "
Kaname continued. "And still — even then — Zero cared for you. He shielded you. He sacrificed himself, again and again, for your happiness. You saw what you wanted to see, Yuki, but you did not see him.”
Her tears spilled harder, her voice cracking under their weight.
Kaname’s voice softened then—not gentle, but raw, stripped of the careful distance he had always worn like armor. “I was cruel to Zero. Evil. When I did not yet understand what he was to me, I cared nothing for his pain.”
Kaname did not let the pause linger. His voice pressed on, relentless in its quiet truth.
“But you, Yuki…” His gaze lifted, narrowing faintly, steel threading through velvet. “Why did you always overlook his pain, too? Why, when you were so sweet, so caring—why did you never see how much he was breaking?”
Her breath hitched, and for the first time she looked away, staring into the fire as though searching for something to anchor her. Her silence was answer enough.
“You think I wanted to see him hurt? Cause him pain?” she asked.
Kaname’s gaze softened just slightly. “I know you didn't. But there was more at play than you ever knew. More than either of you understood at the time.”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes lowering briefly, shadows flickering across his expression.
“Time after time, when vampires surrounded you, when Aido nearly fed on you, when danger clawed at your throat—you still stood tall before Zero and told him vampires could be good. That he was wrong. That he should believe in coexistence.”
He turned his head, crimson eyes glinting faintly in the firelight. “Did you not think of what those words meant to him? A boy who lost his parents, his humanity, his very life to vampires?”
Yuki’s tears spilled over, hot trails down her cheeks. Her voice cracked, her breath ragged. “I wanted him to see what I saw. I wanted him to see hope, not just pain.”
Kaname’s reply was low, quiet, but devastating. “And in doing so, you trampled his grief. You asked him to smile at the monsters who destroyed his life. You told him to forgive what could not be forgiven.”
Her sob broke loose, sharp and small. She shook her head, tears falling freely. “No… I just wanted peace. I wanted us all to believe—”
“You believed because you had the privilege to,” Kaname cut in, his voice edged with a truth she could not escape. “Because you were protected. Because you were loved. But Zero had no such shield.”
The firelight caught the sharp line of his jaw as he turned slightly, his profile half-lit, half-shadowed. His voice fell to a low murmur.
“Do you know the truth, Yuki? I never believed in Cross’s dream either. Not truly. Humans are food to vampires. Keeping them close, letting them idolize us—it was dangerous. A cruel joke." Kaname stated coolly and continued.
"The Academy was never my hope. It was my army. I built the Night Class to prepare for Rido, to gather power for the day he came for you.”
The admission hit like a thunderclap, shattering the silence.
Yuki’s breath caught. Her eyes widened, breaking anew. “Kaname… You… you didn’t believe in it either?”
His gaze slid back to her, crimson irises steady and soft, yet unyielding. “No. I was there for you. For my plan against Rido. For the war I knew would come. Every move, every lesson, every gathering—it was never for coexistence. It was for survival.”
The fire hissed low, spitting embers into the dark.
Yuki’s face crumpled, her shoulders curling in, her hands clutching over her heart as if to hold it together. Her voice came out in a trembling whisper, ragged. “Then everything… everything I believed in was a lie?”
He lowered his gaze, his voice dropping softer, though no less steady.
“Not a lie, Yuki. A dream. Yours. Cross’s. A dream worth having. But it was never mine.”
When he spoke again, his words were quiet — confessional.
“Zero was right. We purebloods… we are monsters. Selfish monsters.” His lips curved in something that was not quite a smile, not quite self-mockery. “You told him I was different. That I wasn’t like the others who hurt humans, like the one I saved you from. You were wrong.”
Her breath hitched, her gaze snapping up.
Kaname’s eyes darkened, old shadows rising. “To keep you safe from Rido, I did many things. Dark things. I made choices I cannot undo.”
Yuki froze, her entire body rigid, her pulse fluttering fast at her throat. “What… what do you mean?”
Kaname’s gaze lifted, locking with hers. His voice was steady, though regret laced every syllable.
“I was the one who orchestrated Shizuka’s release from her cage.”
The words dropped like stones into deep water, rippling, suffocating.
Yuki’s face drained of color, her lips parting in shock. “What…?”
“I knew what she would do,” Kaname continued, quiet but unrelenting. “I knew she would seek revenge on the hunters who killed her lover. I knew she would target the Kiryus. And I let it happen.”
Her hands flew to her mouth, her sob muffled against trembling fingers.
“Zero’s parents died because of me,” Kaname said softly. “He was turned because of me. All of it was part of my plan to ensure you would be protected when the time came. So Zero would grow beside you. So he would become the weapon strong enough to kill Rido.”
Yuki shook her head violently, tears spilling unchecked. “No… no, that’s not true… tell me you’re lying…”
“I cannot.” His voice was iron wrapped in silk, steady even as it carried the weight of centuries.
His hands tightened once in his lap, as though holding back the tremor that wanted to escape. “For your sake, I was willing to bear any sin. Even if it meant condemning an innocent boy to a life of pain.”
Her sob broke free, raw and sharp, her whole body trembling. “How… how could you? He was just a child!”
“I know.” For the first time, Kaname’s voice cracked faintly, like glass under strain. “I told myself it was necessary. That the end would justify the means. But then I discovered he was my mate. That all along, the soul I had scarred most deeply… was the soul bound to mine.”
Yuki’s tears streamed, her chest heaving with the force of her grief.
Kaname’s gaze lowered, his words heavy with old shadows. “I used him as a shield. I spoke cruelly to him, pressed him to hate me, to fight me—all for you. Every word was meant to drive him closer to you, to keep you safe. I believed that was the right path.”
His voice fell almost to a whisper, crimson eyes dimming. “When Zero discovered the truth, he left me. He could not forgive me. He carried our child in silence, alone, because he did not trust me enough to tell me. And that… is the weight of my sins.”
The fire filled the hollow silence that followed, crackling as if mocking the confessions spoken aloud.
Yuki’s voice finally broke through, hoarse, trembling. “You hurt me, Kaname. You hurt me so deeply I don’t know how to breathe without pain. But him… you destroyed him. And yet he still—” Her voice broke, the words strangled into sobs.
Kaname’s gaze did not waver, but his eyes softened with sorrow. “Yes. And still, he is here. Not because I deserve him, but because love like ours does not fade. His soul craves me as mine craves him. Even now, as I sit before you, part of me is here, but part of me is with him.”
Yuki pressed her hands to her face, her sobs muffled, her body shaking, folding in on itself as though she might vanish into her grief.
Kaname did not move to comfort her. He let her cry, his silence heavy but resolute.
He had given her the truth. And truth, like any blade, cut sharpest where it was needed most.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her shoulders trembling. “Why would Zero stay with you? How can he even look at you, knowing you destroyed his family? How can he bear it?”
Kaname did not flinch. His expression remained composed, but his crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the fading light, old sorrow lurking in their depths.
He let the silence stretch—heavy, suffocating—before answering.
“…He had every right to kill me.” His voice was low, quiet, yet it rang like a blade unsheathed. “Every right to put a bullet from Bloody Rose into my heart and end me. I would not have resisted. I would have welcomed it.”
A flicker of darkness passed through his gaze. “But he didn’t.”
He rose, slow and deliberate, his tall figure cutting against the fire’s glow. His presence filled the room like the weight of eternity itself.
“He left me,” he said, his voice dropping into something raw, stripped bare. “And that… was worse than death. It was torture. I would rather have felt the burn of Bloody Rose than the emptiness of his absence.”
Yuki’s head snapped up, her swollen eyes locking on his.
Kaname’s gaze softened, though his words pressed forward with relentless gravity. “Zero’s heart—against all logic, against every warning of his mind—still loves me.”
A faint, sorrowful smile touched his lips. “Without wanting anything in return.”
He moved closer, the fire painting his features in molten shadow.
“He will never say it aloud, not the way one longs to hear it. But I see it. I see it in his eyes every time they meet mine. Even knowing I am the source of his suffering, even knowing the weight of my sins—he only knows peace in me. He craves my presence. He yearns for my touch.”
Yuki’s lips trembled, her breath caught on a sob.
Kaname’s voice deepened, velvet and unyielding. “If not for this bond, perhaps he would never have believed my love. But this bond allows him to feel it—the truth in my words, the weight of my devotion. He knows, beyond reason, that I am his, and he is mine.”
The silence stretched. Only the faint crackle of the fire broke it.
When Kaname continued, his voice was softer, threaded with rare vulnerability.
“I love him, Yuki. More than I can put into words. More than I ever thought myself capable of. He is my mate, my equal, my soul. For him, I would forsake every law, every legacy, every eternity promised to me.”
His lips curved faintly, not with triumph, but with quiet awe. “Because without him, I am nothing.”
Yuki’s tears spilled again, slow and bitter. She shook her head weakly, voice breaking. “What about me, Kaname? Did I mean anything to you?”
Kaname’s gaze gentled. Shadows lingered in his eyes, but warmth flickered there too—distant, mournful warmth.
“You have lived in shadows for so long,” he said softly. “Shadows not of your own making. You are not to blame for that. I am. Juri is and so is Cross.”
Her breath hitched, her nails digging into her palms.
“Please forgive me,” Kaname whispered, crimson eyes lowering with something raw. “And find yourself. Learn who you are—not as my sister, not as the Kuran princess, not as a piece in anyone’s plan.”
He offered her the kind of smile he had once given her at the Academy—gentle, kind, almost tender. “You are pure. You are kind. You deserve to be free of me, to discover who Yuki truly is when no one else is pulling the strings.”
He paused, shadows tugging faintly at the corners of his mouth. “I know it is late—too late—but I truly hope you find love someday. True love. The kind that is mutual, burning, undeniable. Because love is beautiful when it is shared. But one-sided love…” His gaze lowered, his voice dipped with sorrow. “…is hollow. It only hurts.”
Yuki pressed her trembling hands to her chest, sobs strangling in her throat.
Kaname’s voice remained steady, though the quiet carried more weight than any roar. “What you felt for me was love, yes. But it was worship. Admiration. A devotion born of who you believed I was, not who I truly am.”
She shook her head, tears spilling fast. “No…”
“You loved me all along,” Kaname said, his tone firm but not unkind, “but you were never in love with me. And I… I was never in love with you.”
Her eyes widened, another crack splintering through her chest.
“I loved you as my sister,” Kaname whispered.
“As family. As someone I swore to protect. And for a time, I convinced myself it was more.” His hand brushed against his chest, the faintest wince crossing his features. “But only in Zero did I learn what it meant to be in love. Only with him do I ache, crave, and burn.”
Yuki’s sobs broke harder, shaking her entire frame.
“It’s that bond,” she choked, her voice sharp with anguish. “That evil bond. That’s the only reason. Without it, you would still be mine."
The look in her eyes was desperate. "Without it, you wouldn’t have changed."
She nodded in agreement with her own statement. "Why else would you do so much for me, only to turn away now?”
Kaname’s gaze softened with pity, though his words pressed on like steel. “You are wrong. The bond did not change me—it revealed me. All my life, people have wanted me for reasons: my blood, my power, my face. I longed for the bond because it is love without doubt. Pure. Endless. Selfless.”
He turned toward the window, moonlight tracing his profile. “Zero is that truth. He is the only one who has ever seen me and not wanted something in return.”
Yuki’s grief twisted sharp, her tears glittering bitterly. “Zero deserves better. Not someone who's responsible for thr death of his parents."
"He will never be happy with you, Kaname.”
She lurched to her feet, her sobbing voice cutting like broken glass. “I will always love him. He deserves to start again—with someone else. Someone who isn’t you."
"You and I—we deserve each other. Because we are poison. We ruin everything we touch.”
Kaname’s face remained calm, but his crimson eyes burned faintly. The thought of Zero with another—it scraped raw against him.
Yuki’s chest heaved, her sobs breaking as she forced the words out. “I will raise your child with you. I’ll do it."
She doesnt stop she keeps talking. "Because that child will always remind Zero of you, of what you’ve done. He shouldn’t have to carry that."
"He should be free. Please, Kaname. Let him go.” She pleaded.
The silence that followed was jagged, suffocating.
Kaname’s reply came quiet, but sharper than steel.
“Tell me, Yuki,” he murmured. “Has your love ever been selfless?”
Her breath caught, her body freezing.
“How can you suggest taking yet another thing from Zero?” His words came deliberate, each syllable weighted.
“After everything he has lost, you would ask him to give up his son? The child he nearly died to bring into this world? The one light he clung to in my absence?”
His crimson gaze glowed faintly, the air around him vibrating with restrained power.
“Zero will not survive losing Isamu. Do not fool yourself. He may bend, he may break—but without that child, he will shatter.”
Yuki’s sob choked, her body folding in on itself beneath the weight of his words.
Kaname stood tall above her, the fire’s glow casting him as shadow and flame—regal, ruinous, unmovable.
“Do not mistake your grief for love, Yuki,” he said softly, though his eyes cut like knives.
“And do not mistake worship for devotion. Zero is mine—not because I deserve him, but because no one can love us like we love each other.”
His gaze sharpened, crimson eyes narrowing. “Zero loves you so much that he tried to spare you. He withheld what was rightfully his—me—to protect your heart. But you? You would strip him of his child without a care for his soul.”
Yuki’s face was streaked with tears, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.
She ignored what Kaname said, she cannot afford to think if she was sounding heartless right now.
Her voice was hoarse, trembling, but laced with desperate resolve.
“We’ll find a way to break it,” she whispered. Her gaze rose to meet his, fractured but burning. “The bond. We’ll find a way to set Zero free from you.”
Kaname stilled.
For a heartbeat, crimson eyes flared, deep and sharp with anger that threatened to bleed through his calm.
His aura swelled faintly in the air, restrained but vibrating like a blade begging to be drawn.
But he forced himself to breathe. To still the wrath that wanted to rise. To remember Zero.
Losing his composure now would only disappoint Zero, his mate.
And hadn’t Zero already endured enough of his selfishness? Hadn’t he himself put Yuki on this pedestal—made her fragile heart into something untouchable, a piece of porcelain Zero had always been forced to protect?
Kaname’s voice came soft, quiet, but firm as steel. “Bonds are sacred, Yuki. They are not chains to be cut. They are souls entwined by fate itself. There is no way to break them.”
Her lips parted, trembling with protest, but he pressed on.
“And even if there were…” His eyes softened, though his words carried unshakable weight. “Why would I? I want this bond. I want him. And Zero wants it too.”
He stepped closer, his figure casting long shadows across the floor. “Do you think I cannot feel it? Through his blood, through the thread that ties us, I feel his heart. I feel his love. It is real. It is ours. And nothing—nothing—will sever it.”
For a moment, silence pressed between them, broken only by the faint hiss of dying fire.
Kaname’s gaze drifted briefly toward the corridor, toward the place where he could feel Zero’s aura flickering faintly in the dark. His chest tightened, aching with the pull of instinct.
He wanted to go to him. To gather him into his arms. To make sure the weakness in his aura wasn’t what he feared it to be.
They needed Aido to run another test—Zero had been tired according to Isamu, Kaname doesnt know if it is because he hadn’t been able to feed Zero or the what he suspected—but he could not focus on that now, not while Yuki sat before him in such fragile ruin.
So he anchored himself here.
Kaname’s voice gentled, though it carried a weight that silenced the air. “Zero won’t let me near him until I’ve spoken to you. Until I’ve told you everything. Until I’ve made things right.”
Yuki’s tear-blurred gaze lifted toward him, her hands shaking by her side.
“And still,” Kaname continued, his eyes softening faintly, “this is how you think. To tear him from the only bond that keeps him whole.”
He stepped closer, kneeling slightly so that his crimson eyes met hers evenly.
His voice was quiet, almost tender. “You are important to him, Yuki. Do you not see that? For him, you were the girl who tethered him to his humanity."
"You were the one who made him fight against bloodlust when he wanted to give in. You were his light in the dark.”
Her breath caught, her lashes lowering as fresh tears slid silently down her cheeks.
Kaname’s tone grew softer still, but no less resolute. “And for me… you were his saving grace. Without you, Zero would have fallen long before I understood what he was to me. For that, I will always be grateful.”
He rose then, straightening, his figure tall, shadowed by both strength and sorrow. His voice was low, steady, final.
“But Zero is my mate. And that means he comes first. Always. I will care for you because he cares for you. I will protect you because he would want it so. But my life, my eternity, my soul—belong to him.”
The fire hissed softly as if to punctuate his words.
Kaname’s crimson gaze sharpened faintly, though his voice remained calm. “You care for him, Yuki. I know you do. But you have always been used to being placed first. To being the center of everyone’s devotion—mine, Zero’s, Cross’s, later the Vampire society.”
He paused, his eyes searching hers, unwavering.
“It is time you learn to love differently. Selflessly. Not as someone who must be shielded, but as someone who can stand beside others. Especially beside Zero. He deserves that from you.”
Yuki’s breath shuddered, her tears falling fast, though she had no answer.
Kaname’s voice lowered into something almost gentle, but no less piercing. “Learn to love him without expecting him to do something or give something back."
"Learn to give him your kindness without asking for his soul. That is how you will find yourself, Yuki—not by trying to sever what cannot be severed.”
The door to the master bedroom creaked wide, and Yuki’s trembling steps faltered.
Her chest heaved with sobs she no longer had the strength to hide, Kaname’s words still echoing inside her like knives.
Selfish. Worship, not love. Never in love with you. Learn to love. Stand besides others.
She couldn’t hear it anymore. Couldn’t breathe in the same room as him.
The firelight blurred in her vision as she stumbled toward the hall, her tears blinding. She needed air—cold, sharp, punishing air.
Anything but the suffocating weight of his truth.
But as she crossed the threshold, she froze.
Zero stood there.
He had just stepped out of Isamu’s room, his silver hair mussed from restless sleep, his shoulders stiff with fatigue. And yet his violet eyes—the moment they lifted and caught hers—held nothing but startled softness.
“Yuki…”
Her name broke in his throat, raw and aching.
For a moment, the world stilled.
Their gazes locked, and everything that had been between them—the laughter of childhood, the sweetness of shared innocence, the promises unspoken—came rushing back in one violent wave.
But then she turned her head, her eyes darting away as if the sight of him seared too deep.
Zero’s hand lifted instinctively, reaching for her before he could think, before he could stop himself. “Yuki—”
Her voice cut him down with the sharpness of a blade.
“Please…” Her shoulders shook, her voice trembling on the edge of collapse. “…please don’t.”
The plea shredded through him.
Zero froze, his hand falling uselessly back to his side.
The guilt swelled sharp and unrelenting inside his chest. He owed her so much—his life, his light, his anchor in those dark years—and this was how he had repaid her.
By breaking her heart. By standing beside Kaname instead of her.
Her footsteps brushed past him, light but hurried, the faint trail of her scent and sorrow curling in the corridor like smoke.
Zero stood rooted to the spot, his throat locked, his hand still trembling faintly at his side.
He got out to look for Isamu and in hopes to see Kaname. He was missing Kaname so much it hurt. However seeing Yuki’s tear stained face and red puffy eyes made his desire to see Kaname seem to cruel and horrible.
On shaky legs he turned back. Going inside Isamu’s room once more locking himself in.
When did he accept his feelings for Kaname like this. Without a care for the people who will get hurt around him. When did he become so heartless so evil, so selfish?
Yuki’s vision blurred again as she fled, her knees weakening beneath the weight of grief. Her heart beat frantically, every sob threatening to shatter her chest open.
Selfish. Worship, not love. Never in love with you. I love him. Zero is my mate. I hope you find love someday.
The words roared through her, louder than her own heartbeat.
She didn’t even see the figure rounding the corner until she collided with him.
A soft chest, steady arms—Takuma.
“Yuki-sama—” His hands caught her gently, steadying her before she could fall.
Her knees buckled anyway, and she collapsed fully into his arms, clutching at his jacket as though he were the last solid thing in the world.
“Takuma…” Her voice cracked, raw and desperate.
“He said… he said I was selfish. That I never knew how to love properly. That I worshiped him, but he was never in love with me.” Her sobs came harder, each word strangled.
“How could he say that to me? After everything? How can he love Zero more when Zero is the one who always despised him, was mean to him—”
Her voice broke off, too sharp, too jagged to finish.
Takuma’s hold tightened, his hand smoothing gently over her hair. His own heart ached at the sound of her sobs, but his voice remained soft, grounding.
“Yuki-sama…” He guided her toward a small alcove by the window, easing her onto the cushioned seat as the snow’s pale glow filtered in.
He knelt before her, hands resting lightly atop hers where they twisted in her lap.
“I know it hurts,” Takuma said gently. “And I know it feels cruel. But Kaname-sama… he didn’t speak out of malice. He spoke the truth he has hidden for too long.”
Yuki shook her head furiously, fresh tears spilling. “The truth? That he doesn’t love me? That everything I felt was meaningless?”
“No.” Takuma’s voice remained calm, soothing. “Not meaningless. Never meaningless. I do dont belive he would think like that. Ever."
"You were everything to him once. His purpose. His anchor. The reason he built the Night Class. The reason he endured.”
Her sobs softened, though her tears still fell in rivers.
“But love…” Takuma’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Love takes many forms. What he feels for you was love. A protective love. A devotion born of family and promise. But what he feels for Zero is different. It is… consuming. Equal. A love that burns from both sides.”
Yuki pressed her trembling hands to her face, muffling a sob. “Then why me? Why lead me on? Why make me believe—”
“Because he wanted you safe,” Takuma whispered.
“Because he wanted you happy. Because he wanted you to have a place in this world."
Takuma squeezed her hands and continued. "I dont think he meant to mislead you, Yuki-sama. He probably only meant to give you the strength until the truth revealed itself.”
Her sobs shook her shoulders. She curled inward, small and fragile against the storm inside her chest.
Takuma reached carefully, brushing a tear from her cheek with infinite gentleness.
“Kaname-sama was wrong to let it go so far. I won’t deny it. But that doesn’t make your feelings false. What you felt was love. What you gave him was real.”
Her breath caught, breaking into another sob.
“But now…” Takuma’s voice grew softer still. “Now you must choose what to do with that love. Will you hold it as a wound? Or will you transform it into something that can carry you forward?"
Takuma kept his tone as gentle as possible. "Kaname-sama cannot return you're feelings the way you want. But Zero still treasures you. He always has. And he always will. Don’t lose that bond, Yuki-sama. Not out of pride. Not out of grief.”
Yuki’s tears fell faster, hot against her trembling hands.
Takuma stayed with her, steady and quiet, his presence a balm against the storm. He let her cry, let her break, because sometimes comfort was not in words but in being the arms that caught someone when they fell.
The snow pressed against the windows in silence, the world outside still and white. Inside, Yuki’s sobs filled the hall, soft and jagged, but no longer alone.
Takuma’s voice came once more, low and gentle, a whisper meant only for her.
“You are not unloved, Yuki-sama. You never will be. But it is time to learn what kind of love is truly yours.”
Yuki’s face was pale, lashes clumped from tears. She knew she was a mess, but she couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t dam the flood breaking inside her. When she finally spoke, her voice sliced sharp through the hush, jagged with more than grief.
“Takuma…”
Her throat worked, raw and tight. “Do you know what he told me?”
Takuma’s green eyes lifted, patient, steady. He had found her collapsed into his arms, her sobs still shaking through him. It wasn’t his place to press, but he knew Yuki needed to be heard.
“What did he say?” His tone was soft, coaxing.
Yuki’s lips trembled. The words spilled out, each one tearing at her chest.
“He admitted it. He admitted he was the one who set Shizuka free.”
Takuma’s brows flickered, but he didn’t speak. He let her continue.
Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails bit her palms. Her body shook as she forced the confession out.
“He let her out… knowing she’d go after Zero’s family. Knowing she’d kill them. Knowing she’d turn him.”
Her voice cracked, but she drove on, her anguish hardening into something bitter.
“He said it was all for me. To protect me from Rido. To give me someone strong enough to fight at my side when the time came.”
The tears came again, hot and bitter, sliding down her cheeks unchecked.
“Takuma—” Her eyes snapped to his, red-rimmed and burning. “How can he stand there and say he loves Zero more than anything, when he’s the reason Zero lost everything? How can he claim that bond is love when it was born out of his cruelty?”
Her sob rose, ragged and raw. “How can he even look Zero in the eye?”
The silence after her words was crushing.
Takuma closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow, steady breath. His hands rested lightly atop hers, grounding her trembling form. When he spoke, his tone was low and gentle, but weighted with truth.
“Because love is rarely clean, Yuki-sama.”
Her head jerked up, her eyes wide and wounded.
"Especially love of a pureblood."
Takuma’s voice was calm, unflinching. “Kaname-sama has sinned. Terribly. He has carried burdens and made choices I could never defend. And yes…”
His lips pressed thin for a moment. “…what he caused Zero to endure was unforgivable in human terms.”
Her tears thickened, but she didn’t look away. She clung to his words as though they might explain the impossible.
“But Kaname-sama has never thought in human terms,” Takuma said softly. “From the moment he was born, he has thought as a pureblood. His love is not the kind you are used to. It is fierce, consuming—sometimes cruel. Beyond measure.”
His green eyes softened, though his tone held steady. “He would sacrifice anything, anyone—even his own peace—for the sake of the one he swore to protect.”
Yuki flinched at the words, her shoulders curling inward, but Takuma pressed on.
“He loved you, Yuki-sama. Enough to damn another boy’s life. Enough to stain his own hands with blood so yours never would be.”
Her lips parted, trembling, a strangled sound escaping.
“And Zero…” Takuma’s voice gentled further. “Zero knows this. Perhaps not every detail, not every plan. But he knows Kaname-sama’s sins. He has carried them in silence. And still… he stayed. Not because Kaname deserves forgiveness. But because their bond is stronger than sin. It is something neither of them can escape.”
Takuma almost has a tender look in his eyes. "I dont think neither of them wants to escape it, Zero fights it yes but doesn't want it gone. Mate bond is love in it's purest form."
Yuki’s breath hitched, her sobs muffled by shaking hands pressed over her mouth.
“But he destroyed him,” she choked. “He turned him into the very thing Zero hated most. How can that ever be love?”
Takuma’s gaze didn’t waver. His words came softer, threaded with quiet steel. “Kaname thought Zero was just a hunter child, one small sacrifice for the greater good. But fate had other plans. I doubt he would have done any of it if he knew what Zero would mean to him."
Takuma continued. "As for how can this be love. Even from afar, Zero could not unlove Kaname-sama. He could not bear Kaname-sama’s pain. Again and again, he could not stay away, no matter how much he hated it.”
Her eyes widened at the certainty in his voice.
“Zero’s hatred of Kaname-sama was not born of indifference,” Takuma whispered. “It was born of obsession, of connection that came from need. A that need became a pull so cruel and pure it left him no choice."
"Every glare, every bitter word, every trembling hand clutching Bloody Rose—it was proof that even in hatred, Zero was bound to him.”
The fire in the corridor lamps flickered, shadows shifting across Yuki’s stricken face.
Takuma’s hand brushed gently against her damp cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was steady, a warmth that asked for nothing.
“You ask how Kaname-sama can love him despite his own sins. But perhaps the better question is—how can Zero love him because of them? And yet, he does.”
"Isn’t that what love is? Accepting someones faults and flaws and still choosing to care, still choosing to stay."
Yuki’s shoulders trembled, her breath shallow. “Then what does that make me? What was I to him, if not love? Did I not accept him the way he was too.”
Takuma’s lips curved faintly, bittersweet. His voice was soft but firm. “You were his light. His anchor. His sister. His promise. Without you, he would not have endured long enough to reach Zero. You were never nothing, Yuki-sama. You were the beginning.”
Her sob softened, her tears slowing though they did not stop.
“But Zero…” Takuma’s tone deepened, gentle but resolute. “Zero is the end. And there is no changing that.”
Yuki’s hands flew to her face, muffling the sob that broke free. Takuma drew her carefully against his chest, his embrace firm and steady, allowing her to cry without shame.
Her voice was muffled against his coat, trembling with despair. “Then why does it hurt so much?”
Takuma’s eyes dimmed with sorrow, his hand smoothing over her hair. He spoke in a whisper meant only for her.
“Because loving someone who cannot return it always hurts.”
Her sobs came softer now, her body shaking in his arms.
“And because letting go…” His voice lingered, a quiet truth. “…is the hardest kind of love there is.”
The snow outside pressed pale and silent against the windows. Inside, Yuki wept into Takuma’s steady chest, her grief heavy—but no longer held alone.
The air in Isamu’s room was stifling, heavy with silence.
Zero sat curled against the window seat, knees drawn up, sleeves pulled over his fists like a boy trying to disappear. His eyes burned, though no tears had fallen yet.
The soft scatter of Isamu’s toys across the floor mocked him with their colors, bright and innocent, untouched by the ruin that clung to every adult in this house.
The knock came like a pulse against the quiet. Gentle. Deliberate.
“Zero.” Kaname’s voice slipped through the wood, calm and low, yet carrying that weight that always pressed on Zero’s chest. “Open the door.”
Zero squeezed his eyes shut. The guilt burned hot in his stomach, acidic, unrelenting. His throat ached. “Go away.”
“Zero—”
“Don’t.” The word came sharp, frayed at the edges. “I asked you to make things right. And what did you do? You made her cry harder! You’re making everything worse!”
His voice broke, raw and hollow. His fingers dug into his hair as if to claw out the ache in his skull. “I can’t— I can’t do this anymore. Haven’t I suffered enough already?!”
The words tore out of him, brutal, unfiltered. His breath hitched, uneven.
“Now I have to live in this shame, this guilt, and it never ends!” His laugh was jagged, bitter. “Stupid… damn pureblood…”
The confession spilled out like poison, self-inflicted wounds he couldn’t stop tearing open.
“I owe Yuki so much,” he rasped, his voice trembling. “Not only did she help me at the Academy, she… she saved Isamu after he was born. Created the fake imprint. And this is how I repay her? By taking everything she ever wanted? Ever loved.”
His chest heaved, every breath a fracture. His emotions has been all over the place recently. And he hated it, it must be because the past he was running from for so long came at him all at once.
“Why can’t you just marry her like you planned?” he spat, though the instant the words left his lips, regret carved through him.
His gut twisted, but it was too late to take them back.
It's gotten quite outside the door.
Zero pressed his sleeve against his mouth, shaking. “Being with you is more trouble than you’re worth.”
His voice dropped to a bitter whisper. “Fucking annoying purebloods…” His nails dug crescents into his arms. “…leech sucking on my soul. Why can’t I just hate you and be done with it?”
The room wavered, his mood swinging like a pendulum—rage, sorrow, guilt all bleeding into each other until he felt unmoored, broken.
Tears finally slipped hot down his cheeks. His voice cracked. The fuck was wrong is him. “Why do I have to be in love with someone as heartless as you? You never listen. Would it kill you to listen to me?”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then the air shifted.
A hum of power rolled through the walls, low and thrumming.
The lock groaned, then snapped with a sharp metallic crack.
The door flew open, slamming into the wall with such force the whole room seemed to flinch.
Zero jerked upright, breath caught in his throat.
Kaname filled the doorway, tall and terrible, his aura thick and unyielding, crimson eyes locked on him like a predator who’d finally stopped playing with its prey.
“Kaname—”
He didn’t finish.
In two strides, Kaname was on him. Arms like iron wrapped around him, lifting him off the floor as though he weighed nothing.
“Kaname, what the hell are you—?!”
The world blurred—the corridor flashing past, the air vibrating with pureblood fury. The master bedroom door slammed shut behind them, sealing with a crash of power.
Zero hit the mattress with a startled gasp, bouncing once before pushing himself up, silver eyes blazing.
“What the hell are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?!”
Kaname didn’t answer. He stepped forward, his presence a storm pressing down on the room, his shadow long against the firelit wall.
His crimson gaze burned into Zero, furious yet underpinned by something deeper—raw, breaking need.
“How dare you tell my son to stay away from me?” Kaname’s voice was low, each word deliberate and laced with restrained violence. “You don’t tell him I’m his father, and now you try to keep him from me?”
Zero’s breath caught, his throat tight. “Kaname—”
“And you,” Kaname cut in, his voice a blade. “You tell me to marry someone else? To go to her, when every vein in my body screams for you?”
His aura flared, crimson eyes glowing like banked fire suddenly fanned. “Do you have any idea what it means, hearing my own mate say such things? The agony of it?”
Zero’s fingers curled in the blanket, trembling.
“I don’t listen to you?” Kaname’s voice cracked sharp, his composure splintering. “I’ve become a fucking dog for you, Zero. I sit when you tell me to. I stand when you tell me to. I bend until I break just to prove I’m not a monster anymore that I could change, that I want to change. For you. And still—you say I should go to someone else?”
The words hit like blows, furious and aching all at once.
Kaname’s voice lowered, rough, his fists clenching at his sides. “You are my agony, Zero. My salvation. My mate. Every waking moment is torment when I’m not joined with you. And you—” His chest heaved once, as though steadying himself. “You tell me I should go to her?”
Zero stared, wide-eyed, his own breath ragged. His emotions swung violently—anger, guilt, sorrow—so sharp it left him dizzy. His body felt weak, as though every word exchanged between them sapped something vital.
But under the fury, under the crushing heat of Kaname’s aura, he felt the bond pulse steady and relentless, a tether that would not break.
Even in anger, even in shame—neither of them could let go.
The air in the master bedroom was thick with Kaname’s aura, vibrating through the walls like the hum of a storm ready to break.
The door behind them was sealed, the fire in the hearth hissing low, shadows flickering across the carved wood and the expanse of the bed.
Zero sat rigid on the mattress, silver eyes blazing, his chest heaving from the volley of words they had already flung like blades. His hands were clenched so tightly in the blanket that his knuckles had gone white.
And then Kaname moved.
He climbed onto the bed with a predator’s grace, his weight sinking into the mattress as he straddled Zero, caging him in without hesitation. The sudden closeness made the air shift, made the bond hum alive between them, raw and unrestrained.
His palm slammed against the carved headboard above Zero’s head, the sound a sharp crack that reverberated through the silence. His crimson eyes burned down at him, fierce and unyielding.
“I told you,” Kaname growled, his voice low and shaking with conviction, “let me love you right this time—or kill me, Zero, and be done with me once and for all. Why are we going in circles again and again?”
Zero flinched, but his jaw tightened. His throat worked around words that fought their way out, raw and jagged.
“Do you think it’s easy for me?” he spat, his voice cracking. His fists trembled at his sides. “I’m a fucking mess, Kaname. I should hate you. I should despise you. But I can’t.”
His voice rose, breaking, silver eyes wide and burning. “I ran from you for nearly five years—because I knew if I stayed near you, I’d fall right into your arms. You could kill millions and my heart would still—” His breath hitched, sharp. “…still love you.”
The admission ripped out of him like blood from a wound.
A laugh broke from his throat, harsh and mocking, but the sound was brittle. “And look what happened. You came back into my life and in no time, I’m in your arms, in your bed.”
His head tilted back against the headboard, bitter tears pricking his lashes. “Knowing everything you did, I still can’t stop wanting you. Needing you. Craving you.”
His voice cracked again, softer, almost strangled. “I wasn’t able to get over the guilt of loving you when it went against everything I was. Everything I was brought up to be. And now I have to live with the guilt of betraying Yuki, too. The girl who showed me kindness when I had nothing.”
His body shook with each word, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m a traitor to everything. Spineless. Shameless.”
Kaname’s jaw tightened, but his gaze softened, his aura dimming slightly as if to meet Zero’s breaking point.
“You’re none of those things,” he said quietly, firmly.
His hand lifted from the headboard, trembling faintly before brushing down Zero’s arm. “I am the real problem. I know this. I’ve been too selfish for too long.”
He leaned closer, his shadow falling heavy over Zero.
His voice dropped to a whisper that cut through the room like a confession. “I shouldn’t even be here in this world.”
Zero’s eyes flew open, startled, but before he could speak, Kaname’s hand found his.
Fingers cold and sure wrapped around Zero’s trembling hand, and he guided it to his own chest—pressing it firmly against the steady, ancient beat of his heart.
His face hovered just inches from Zero’s, crimson eyes gleaming with something raw and unguarded.
“I don’t know how to fix the past anymore,” he whispered, the words breaking against Zero’s skin like a vow. “But I am tired, Zero. So tired. My soul knows no rest except beside you.”
His hand tightened slightly over Zero’s. His lips curved in the faintest, saddest smile.
“I cannot undo the past. I cannot take back my sins. I cannot give you back what I have taken from you.”
Zero’s throat closed, his chest heaving as Kaname’s voice sank deeper, heavier, like a weight pressing into his ribs.
“All I have,” Kaname continued, “is the present. And the future. And I…” His hand trembled, his jaw tightening until the tendons in his neck stood out.
“I became a joke as a pureblood,” Kaname said softly, bitterly. His mouth twisted into a faint, sad smile. “Purebloods are meant to rule. To be obeyed." His gaze burned, unrelenting.
"But I—I became a man who kneels before a hunter, begging not for love I know I already have, but for the chance to deserve it.”
The words slammed into Zero’s chest, cracking something fragile.
Kaname leaned closer, his forehead brushing Zero’s, his voice breaking into a whisper. “Every day, I fight myself. I fight the instinct screaming in my blood. I fight the part of me that wants to cage you, bind you so tightly you could never leave. I fight it—because I know it would destroy you. Because I know you would hate me.”
His voice cracked faintly. “And it’s a battle I am losing, Zero.”
The words cleaved through the bond, raw and agonizing.
Zero sucked in a sharp breath, his violet eyes flickering with something dangerous, something pained.
“You have no idea,” Kaname hissed, his voice trembling with fury barely leashed, “how angry—how hurt—I was to hear you say you wanted me with Yuki.”
Zero flinched, guilt flashing across his face.
Zero shook his head, his mouth parting—but Kaname pressed on, the grief in his voice spilling into anger.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, crimson eyes blazing, “how it feels to hear you say you want me with Yuki. To hear you offer me away like some consolation prize, as if I am not already dying to prove I belong to you.” His voice deepened, vibrating with anguish. “Do you know what that does to me, Zero? To the bond?”
Zero’s throat worked, but no words came.
“It is torture,” Kaname said, his voice low, venomous—but the venom was only for himself. “Every time I touch you, you tremble between love and guilt. Do you know what it does to me, to feel through this bond how much you want me, and how much it hurts you to admit it?”
His hand shook as it cupped Zero’s jaw, thumb brushing trembling skin. “Do you know how it feels to be both your salvation and your curse?”
Zero’s eyes burned, his teeth clenched tight, but Kaname gave him no reprieve.
Zero tried to turn away, but Kaname’s hand caught his jaw, holding him steady, forcing violet eyes to meet crimson.
“I want to change,” Kaname breathed, his lips ghosting against his hair. “I want to be a man you can love without shame. Without guilt. I want to be someone worthy of your forgiveness. But for the first time in my life, I don’t know how. I am at a loss, Zero. I am a pureblood who has moved kingdoms like pawns, but here—”
His crimson eyes shimmering with despair. “—here, I don’t know what to do.”
“I am a pureblood,” Kaname whispered harshly. “But I have become nothing more than your trained dog. Always at your heel. Always begging for your touch. Always needing your attention. My pride, my legacy, my entire being—worthless in comparison to you.”
The bond pulsed between them, loud, merciless.
“And still,” Kaname’s voice cracked, trembling between rage and sorrow, “I see now… perhaps it is already too late. Perhaps all I can bring you is pain. Perhaps every time you look at me, you see not your mate—but your wound.”
Zero’s breath hitched, his lips parting in protest, but Kaname pressed on, unrelenting.
“Then there is only one path left.”
His hand released Zero’s jaw and slid down, gripping Zero’s trembling hand once more. He pressed it hard against his own chest, above the pounding heart that belonged to him—and yet didn’t.
“The problem,” Kaname said softly, his voice breaking, “has to disappear.”
“I am the source of your pain. Please—” his voice cracked, fragile in its quiet desperation, “—take my heart out and set me free. I no longer wish to be your enemy, your wound. I can’t live this life without you. So end it. Set yourself free of me.”
The words struck like a blade through the bond, vibrating with every ounce of truth and helplessness he carried.
Zero’s breath caught. Shock pinned him in place, his hand trembling where it pressed against Kaname’s heart.
Kaname’s voice was steady, final. “If my existence keeps you chained to guilt, then I will end it. I will remove myself. You will have Isamu. You will have freedom. You will have peace. And I will—”
His breath trembled, though his words stayed resolute. “—finally stop hurting you.”
The bond screamed in protest, thrumming so violently it nearly stole the air from the room.
Zero’s eyes went wide, horror crashing through him as Kaname’s intent bled into him—real, raw, a willingness to vanish from existence if it meant sparing him pain.
He could feel it—steady, strong, and yet vulnerable under his palm. The bond pulsed, flooding him with Kaname’s emotions—helplessness, pain, the faint acceptance of death, but most of all… the desperate, unrelenting love that bound them.
And then Zero saw it.
Tears.
On Kaname.
Crimson eyes wet, lashes shadowed by the firelight, tears streaking faintly down the marble planes of his face. The sight cleaved through Zero like no weapon ever had.
For a long, shattering moment, neither of them moved. The room was thick with the weight of their breaths, the bond thrumming in their blood.
Zero’s throat worked, but no words came. His hand twitched, curling tighter against Kaname’s chest, not in violence, but in something far more dangerous.
Need.
The tears in Kaname’s eyes did what no plea, no command, no threat ever could. They broke him.
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