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Most of the time, Kanae forgets that his partner is a vampire.
Well, perhaps forget isn’t the right word—it’d be more accurate to say that he’s gotten used to it. After years of working together, the things that used to be fascinating have blended into banality. When he sees a sharp fang peeking out from Kuzuha’s mouth as he laughs, or catches a pair of red wings on his back folding away after a shower, or even when he walks into their kitchen to see him in the sunlight, midday beams highlighting the sickly pallor of his skin, his first thought isn’t oh, a vampire, but rather, ah, it’s Kuzuha.
His complete lack of self-preservation with a monster who claims to have killed probably has something to do with proximity. After all, if Kanae often leaned his body against Kuzuha’s, no matter how stiff and cold it was, or spent nights listening to the beating of his heart, no matter how slow and erratic it could be, was it so strange to start thinking of that inhuman shape as a trusted friend? The traits that made Kuzuha’s existence markedly different from most humans had, at some point, translated into meaning something warm. Something comforting. Something like home.
(If Kanae takes the time to think about it, really think about it, the biggest reason for the lack of fear would most likely be Kuzuha’s kindness. There’s something about the way Kuzuha looks at him when he thinks he isn’t looking, a gaze so gentle it renders his body into a glass case, heart on display to grab. It’s less about being vulnerable and more that there’s no place for him to hide; Kuzuha never makes him want to hide.)
Long internal introspection short, Kanae is used to Kuzuha as a monster—but there are times when it strikes him that he doesn’t fully understand it.
Such as now. They’re at their apartment and playing Street Fighter 6 together at unreasonable hours, a rare night where they’re both back relatively early from work and done with streaming for the day. On a winning streak and perhaps influenced by Kuzuha’s bad habit of gloating, Kanae turns to the other with a shit-eating grin. “Weaaaak, aren’t you getting too used to losing?”
Kuzuha, of course, lets out a good-natured groan, almost slamming the controller down until he seems to remember at the last minute how expensive it was. He barely stops in time to let it drop on the table instead—albeit still letting out a playfully angry “Shit!” —and pulls on his hair while whining.
And with the pull comes out a giant patch of hair.
Kanae blinks once, twice, just to make sure he hasn’t started hallucinating from being up for too long. But Kuzuha crinkles his nose at the sight of his hair in his hands, confirming it as very real.
“Aw, shit,” Kuzuha says, far too casual. He drops the thin, white strands onto their living room table, shaking his hands harder when they don’t come off.
“E-eh? Kuzuha?” Kanae stutters out, too bewildered by the sight to complain about the now-loose hair strands that definitely missed the table and made it to the floor. “I didn’t know vampires could bald?”
Kuzuha rolls his eyes at that, and Kanae feels a tiny bit offended. “Stupid, I’m not balding. Just running lower on mana than I thought.” He then mutters under his breath, “I knew I shouldn’t have changed my nails on my own for today’s shoot…”
“Your hair falls out when you’re low on mana?”
“Why do you think I keep it so short now? Or that it grows when I use it?” Kuzuha says, as if this is something Kanae should know.
Huh. Interesting, Kanae thinks, and recalls the few photoshoots they’ve had where Kuzuha used mana to grow out his hair. He had thought that his partner looked good of course, whether he braided it, tied it, or simply let it loose. Maybe he had even begged a few times here and there for Kuzuha to grow it out so he could play with it when they were alone in their shared home.
But it’s hard for him to imagine that regal image as being the norm, rather than a special get-up for a music video or some fancy occasion. The only Kuzuha he’s ever known is the one who usually has short hair.
“I see,” is all he says, trying not to think about the implications of another Kanae who knew Kuzuha with long hair, who knew Kuzuha’s hair fell out when his mana was low. While Kanae has never given much grievance to his amnesia, it's at times like this he wishes he remembered, that memory could persist between reincarnations; at least then, he would have the knowledge to care for his partner better. He’s not sure what mana deficiency really means, but if there’s one thing he knows about vampires, it’s-
“If you need blood, you know you have me.”
For a moment, Kuzuha’s face twists as if Kanae’s said an awfully bad joke. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Kuzuha turns back to the game in front of them with a practiced sort of ease.
“Nah, my hair will grow back if I sleep.” Kuzuha shakes the controller with a languid grin. “Care for a rematch?”
Instead of responding immediately, Kanae takes a moment to study Kuzuha. His eyes trace over the slop of his nose, the dark shadows under his lashes. Surprisingly, red pupils meet his own with confidence.
There’s a tiredness in his gaze, a bit of muted melancholy too. But it’s also nothing that Kanae isn’t used to, especially when they’re alone together. From his own observations over the years together, he’s found that the best way to make those strange traces of sadness disappear is to treat Kuzuha normally and stay by his side. So Kanae picks up his own controller and loads into the next game. If Kuzuha wants to say something, he’ll say it at his own pace.
The room soon fills with the sound of their button-mashing and combo noises. They play for a few rounds, and sure enough, it isn’t long until Kuzuha decides to continue the conversation.
Kanae just wishes it wasn’t in the middle of his character’s Special Arts attack, his own character getting flailed around before a K.O.
“—Besides, it’s a crime to drink human blood. I may be a vampire, but I’m also a law-abiding citizen.”
Kanae snorts while the next round starts up. “But I’m literally giving you consent? And what, is there some sort of vampire police that’ll show up the moment you drink some?”
Kuzuha clicks his tongue as his attacks miss, a bad habit of his that only appears in full form when they’re alone like this.
“It’s called having morals okay?”
A combo into another miss. Kanae takes advantage of it and can’t help his crazy laughter when Kuzuha clicks his tongue again.
“That’s like waiting for the pedestrian light even if there’s no one around.”
“And what’s wrong with that? If everyone thought like you, society would crumble. I’m keeping the justice of the world together, thank you very much~ Ey!”
Somehow, Kuzuha has managed to avoid Kanae’s final combo and is now in the process of enacting his revenge. Kanae tries to block, but he’s too caught up in the flurry of attacks; all he can do is button mash in vain as his HP drops down to zero.
“Not fair! You’re distracting me with vampire lore!” The third round has started, and now their characters are shuffling on screen in wait for the other.
“What part about following traffic laws is vampire lore?”
“No, before that, idiot.”
“None of that was lore anyways, and you’re the one who started asking—hey, hey, blocking my face is cheating! Cheater!”
Now he’s sure that he’s being affected by sleep deprivation, because normally he doesn’t act this childish unless he’s in a particular mood. But it’s been a long day of recording and streaming and more work and it’s finally just the two of them, a rarity despite having moved in together. Was it so wrong to indulge himself a bit? He tackles his partner to start messing with his controls, and Kuzuha yelps as their characters start to move around senselessly. He tries to maneuver out of Kanae’s attack for about five seconds before giving up and wrestling for Kanae’s controller too.
In the end, the match ends due to time, and they’re both wheezing on the floor.
“Maybe… we call it a night,” Kanae offers, face down. He feels rather than sees Kuzuha get up, and when he tries to move his limbs he finds that he’s too lazy to do anything more than twitch.
“Oi, get up and go sleep in an actual bed if you’re that tired.” The television turns off with a click, casting the rooms into shadows.
“Mmm,” Kanae hums, and manages to roll onto his back.
From the floor, his eyes meet Kuzuha’s, almost glowing in the dark. If Kuzuha smiled, he wouldn’t even be able to see his fangs. Should he be scared? The question comes to his mind suddenly, a random passing hypothetical. Maybe, he answers himself, because a monster who hid their fangs was probably the most dangerous of them all.
But Kanae doesn’t need light to know the outline of Kuzuha’s crooked, fang-toothed smile. Why be afraid of this shape he intimately knows? When the other kneels, holding out a hand to help him up, Kanae reaches out to cup Kuzuha’s cheek instead. His partner’s skin is cold to the touch.
“About your mana… you promise you’re okay?” A pause. He recalls dark eyebags and traces his fingers under them, as if his touch can magic all the fatigue away. He feels Kuzuha’s lashes flutter against his fingers, entire body leaning into him. Here, too, is a sign of trust, for what was worse to a monster than a human so close to his most vulnerable state?
“Don’t worry about it, Kanae,” Kuzuha mumbles.
“You seem more tired these days. I really don’t mind.”
“I could say the same to you, you’re about to fall asleep here.” Then, gentler, “I’m okay.”
It’s said with enough force that Kanae drops it.
Kuzuha pulls away, and this time when he holds out his hand, Kanae takes it. In this darkness it really feels like the world is just the two of them—so he doesn’t mind stumbling around, giggling like school kids sneaking out to get to the bathroom. After washing up for the night—an affair consisting of the two of them silently standing side by side while brushing their teeth—he ends up following Kuzuha to his bedroom.
“I have to wake up early tomorrow,” Kuzuha warns.
“I know. Don’t care.”
If Kuzuha refuses to drink his blood, then perhaps his warm body will be enough to lull a weary vampire to rest. A presumptuous thought maybe, but even more than that, sleeping by Kuzuha’s side simply felt like home. Maybe that’s all that really mattered.
Kuzuha takes one last lingering look at Kanae’s face before giving in, getting into bed and patting the open spot next to him. As Kanae snuggles in, Kuzuha pulls up his blankets to tuck the both of them in, lithe fingers tender in the way they trace over his form like some sort of final check.
It’s while he’s lying there, on the verge of sleep, that the question slips out.
“What does blood taste like?”
It takes a while for Kuzuha to respond, long enough that he starts to think that the vampire must have fallen asleep. But once again, his soft voice eventually comes through.
“I dunno. Hard to say.”
“If you had to put it simply…”
“If you’ve got time to ask questions then you have time to try going to sleep. I have an early morning, remember?”
“Right, right. Sorry,” Kanae relents, giving up for the night.
Once again it’s on the verge of sleep that it happens—and this time it’s not him speaking, but what seems like Kuzuha, so quiet it barely feels like a whisper:
“…It’s like bad memories.”
When Kanae opens his eyes, he meets with the peaceful face of Kuzuha smushed against his pillow, chest steadily moving in and out as he breathes deeply. A bit of drool glimmers from his open mouth, a sign of his exhaustion; it seems he did fall asleep.
Even when he leans in close enough that his breath overlaps Kuzuha’s, the vampire doesn’t twitch.
Huh. He must have imagined it after all.
Kanae doesn’t really think about it again—the gaps in his knowledge of how vampires exactly work—until it creeps up on him like an intrusive thought while chatting with Ririmu during their Hokkaido trip.
When he had first been told he’d be going to Hokkaido with Ririmu as a part of their sponsor, he’d been both excited and apprehensive. It was an honor, of course, to be allowed such a luxurious trip under the guise of work, and travelling was always something he was passively interested in. They reassured him that it would only be a one-day trip too, and he understood that staff had probably taken his streaming habits into careful consideration when planning this itinerary that focused on speed.
What wasn’t so great was the realization that he’d be dealing with two flights, extended travel in those film buses in between shoot locations, and constant PR work, all condensed into a busy 24 hours. There was a part of him that had hoped to save his first flight vacation with his partner too—but work was work, so Kanae swallowed his concerns, packed his bags, and set off early enough that it was still dark out.
Maybe it was the nerves of getting on a plane for the first time, but Kanae didn’t expect to make a mistake as big as getting to the wrong airport. What was supposed to be relatively easy trip handled by the company had suddenly become a mad rush of booking a flight, boarding a plane all on his own, and praying that he’d get to the shoot location as soon as possible.
Well. At least he was now familiar with the process for his next potential vocation with Kuzuha.
Despite the mishaps and general exhaustion, Kanae finds himself pleasantly surprised throughout the shoot: the food is all genuinely delicious, hanging out with Ririmu is always fun, and after each segment they’re allowed to enjoy each location for a little longer on their own.
After a long day, Kanae and Ririmu were finally on their way to a final shoot at the expansive, panoramic flower fields of Shikisai no Oka, Hokkaido. He honestly hadn’t been expecting to be impressed by it, secretly expecting to get bored after the first five minutes of looking at flowers. But as the last camera turns off, and Ririmu and Kanae are left to enjoy the flower fields for a little longer before flying back to Tokyo, he finds that he doesn’t mind continuing the tour at all.
Despite the early summer heat, there’s a gentle wind that flows through the open sides of their cart. They’ve been here for hours at this point, and the bright rows of various flowers still seem endless as they stretch out as far as Kanae can see. Even the air is sweet with the smell of pollen, but not overwhelmingly so. Against the backdrop of the clear blue skies and meticulously organized rows of warm reds, whites, yellows and browns, he feels strangely nostalgic.
Honestly, Kanae isn’t sure why he brings it up. Maybe it’s because he and Ririmu just discussed their hopes for the future, a rather poignant thing to bring up amidst all this natural beauty. Staring at the flower fields now, staggering in their volume and grace, he remembers when he used to say he wanted to die like one—before he wilted, at his most beautiful, a life snipped short to be preserved in a closed storybook.
Now, of course, things are different. It surprises him how little he thinks about it these days.
“Have you thought about how long you want to be a streamer?” Kanae asks, resting his chin on his hand as he lets the wind blow through the loose strands of his hair. If Kuzuha were here, the shy vampire would probably try to tuck a few behind Kanae’s ear and offer to retie his ponytail. Although he’s usually hesitant in his affection, he’s also been surprisingly bold when it comes to random small gestures like that.
“Eh? Hmm!” Ririmu answers with a contemplative hum, jarring Kanae out of his daydreaming. She kicks her legs back and forth while looking out to the fields, clearly charmed by their beauty as well. “It’s sort of like… not really? Not in the sense of having a solid plan. Ririmu just wants to stream for as long as she can! Whether that’s ten, fifty, or a hundred years, I wanna enjoy it to the end. Or something like that!”
“Ah, right, you’re from Makai too. Is your lifespan similar to Kuzuha’s?”
“Basically! We’re all near immortal.”
There it was, the word Kuzuha used whenever Kanae tried to express (albeit hypothetical) concern over his long hours of no sleep or excessive snacking. I’m near immortal, my body has a different constitution from your weak human ones, okay? I won’t get sick!
“What does that mean, anyway… living for so long seems pretty hard. Can you guys even die of old age?” Kanae asks absentmindedly.
He snaps out his strange state as soon as the words leave his mouth, internally wincing at how casually he breached the heavy topic. He’s not with Kuzuha, who’s the kind of person who can stomach all the weird or concerning things he likes to think about, and he doesn’t want to remind Ririmu of sad things while they’re supposed to be enjoying out here.
But despite the macabre topic, Ririmu takes it in stride. “Uh, probably?”
Kanae can’t help the small snort that comes out. “Why do you sound unsure?”
“Well, this Ririmu is far away from needing to worry about it, so she simply hasn’t yet!” Ririmu declares. She opens her mouth again as if to say something, then pauses, eyes quickly darting over to Kanae. They only make eye contact for a few seconds, but it’s enough for him to see the same exact look Kuzuha sometimes gives him.
You “near-immortal” types sometimes seem so defeated. Is it really so painful, living with us, who barely make it to a century? Then at the same time, why do you seem so happy to be here? By our side?
These are questions he knows are better kept inside, so Kanae lets them linger in silence. It’s not awkward at all, and soon Kanae finds his thoughts wandering to his partner once more. He wonders if Kuzuha would like this place, if they should come here for their hypothetical vacation. Although he doesn’t usually associate his partner with this sort of nature-esque scenery, he’s sure Kuuzha would look beautiful against the backdrop of vibrant flowers. He even thinks about bringing a few bundles home but quickly dismisses the idea when he considers Kuzuha’s sensitive nose. They’d probably make awful plant parents anyways—their hands are already full with Wan-san.
With their cart tour soon coming to an end, Kanae has resigned himself to ending their conversations about the future and hopes and dreams and death behind. But just before they come to a stop, Ririmu speaks up.
“Honestly, I’ve never heard of a succubus or vampire dying from old age when I was in Makai. Buuut… Ririmu did hear something interesting about Kuzuha’s vampire clan before.”
“Oh?”
Kanae’s heart starts beating a little bit faster. He’s tried asking Kuzuha about his family and background plenty of times, but his partner has always had such a strange and bitter face whenever he talked of his past, that Kanae eventually stopped trying at some point. For a while, his knowledge of the realm mostly stayed to what was said publicly before—that it was a stifling place, that he had run away.
It’s only recently that he’s been hearing bits and pieces of more: childhood stories with his brothers, descriptions of the estate garden his mother tended to, the various (annoying) lessons he was made to take as the son of a royal family.
He didn’t realize that Kuzuha’s family name was illustrious enough to have a reputation even Ririmu heard of, but if he thinks about all he’s heard, it makes perfect sense. He makes a vague noise of affirmation, encouraging Ririmu to continue.
“It was something like… instead of dying, vampires go to sleep.”
“Sleep?” Kanae tilts his head in thought. He supposes that the few times he’s offered blood, Kuzuha did mention sleep as an alternative. But it was never really said like a sort of death sentence, and Kuzuha slept normally all the time. Well, as normal as sleep could get for streamers.
“Mhm!” Ririmu continues, voice getting brighter. “I don’t know about other vampire clans, but from what I’ve been told, one reason the Lagusas are so powerful is because they can use deep sleep instead of blood to recover mana or injuries. I guess Kuzuha can be sort of cool sometimes. But don’t tell him I said that!”
“Haha, I won’t, don’t worry. Your secret is safe with Nii-yan~”
“Heh, I knew I could trust you,” Ririmu preens. “But this is good news, yeah? Nii-yan doesn’t have to worry about sacrificing blood! Ah, and I also heard that these vampires can fall into a coma when they’re emotionally stressed too. There’s this fairy tale of a vampire who sleeps for one-thousand years after losing her lover. She only wakes up after getting a true love’s kiss from the great-great-great-great, uh, great grandson of him—or wait, was it some sort of reincarnation? Umm, well, the point is, it was really romantic!”
“Sounds like some alternate version of a Disney movie,” Kanae says with a laugh.
But even as Ririmu smiles brightly at him and continues to share various interesting fairy tales she likes (some of which he thinks are getting confused with actual Disney movies), it feels like there’s something lodged in his throat, buried beneath his earlier morbid questions, and even the phantom traces of I want to die he had been reminded of earlier.
He thinks of how tired Kuzuha has seemed lately. Just how hurt did a vampire need to be to trigger something like that? Did exhaustion contribute to the whole emotional stress factor too? “Emotional stress” was somewhat of a vague parameter too. Was Kuzuha sleepy not because of a lack of proper sleep schedule, but because his body was on the verge of shutting down into a recovery coma? How could he tell? If it happened, how could he help?
If you would just drink my blood, caring for you would be much easier, Kanae thinks, the cart finally coming to a stop. It seems that their flower tour is done. Ririmu lets out a disappointed sigh as she gets off, exclaiming how she doesn’t want to leave yet, maybe she could take a few flowers home?
Kanae gets off too, and as he takes one final look around the area, his eyes catch on a row of bright, orange-yellow flowers that remind Kanae of little candies. A little sign that reads ‘California Poppies’ is buried just before the dirt patch gives way to tangled roots and leaves.
He lets out a sigh of his own. Suddenly, the smell of flowers feels sickeningly sweet.
Time passes, and although Kuzuha’s sleeping patterns are something he becomes more aware of, nothing much comes from his discussion of vampiric fairy tales with Ririmu that day. His own schedule is starting to ramp up after all, with future performances and various other sponsors, recordings, and regular long streaming hours he wants to keep up with.
It’s on the days his muscles ache the most, tongue slightly burned from all the black coffee he’s been making himself drink, that he’s really, truly grateful that they live together now. Even if they can only catch each other for a few seconds, Kanae always rushes over to hug him in these limited moments, trying to gain what little warmth he can.
The first few times he’d done this, Kuzuha had startled at the way Kanae would sneak up behind him. What the hell, what is it? He’d scowl, toothpaste dribbling down his chin, or nearly dropping his fork while waiting for the microwave to heat up his dinner.
I’m recharging my Kuzuha meter, he’d then say, voice muffled into the fabric of Kuzuha’s jersey.
What, have you been reading shojo manga or something? Kuzuha might say mockingly, you’re not cute. But then he’d also pat Kanae’s head, fingers running through the strands of his hair or sometimes even resting against his forehead to check for a temperature, mellow, tender, kind in his touch.
And while Kuzuha usually sleeps whatever short or odd hours he needs in his own room to avoid waking up Kanae, these days he’s been murmuring sorry and crawling in beside him anyways. Kanae doesn’t mind it, corners of his lips curling up even in a state of being half-asleep, because despite his demeanor, Kuzuha’s selfishness also comes in the form of these silent, physical pleas.
Now matter how battered the two of them get, in this quiet indulgence in each other, they’ll be okay.
…Is what he wants to think, but he can’t help but get nervous every time he catches Kuzuha napping outside of their apartment. He trusts Kuzuha, but he also knows that his partner is the kind of person—vampire? living creature?—to keep things to himself, especially if it was something that might cause trouble to others. In the nights where he clings to Kuzuha’s skin and bones, his fingers start to trace deeper and deeper into the groves of his ribs. Sometimes, he wakes to the sound of Kuzuha sneezing and coughing, or catches him just before a shoot trying to hide away tissues and heat packs.
He starts seeing Kuzuha’s loose strands of hair everywhere, and the joke about living with a shedding dog and Wan-chan dies somewhere in his throat when he catches Kuzuha staring blankly at their bathroom mirror one too many mornings.
Kanae tries to help when he can, makes his body as soft and inviting as possible, a person he can vent his troubles to, but in the end there’s not much he can do about the nature of their work.
So when he walks into the studio one morning to find Kuzuha sleeping against the walls, his first instinct is to feel nervous. Maybe it’s because of his sitting position—one knee raised with his head lolled to the side, white strands falling across his closed eyes, peaceful, but awfully pale—but he’s suddenly reminded of Ririmu’s words, flashing like lighting across his mind.
Instead of dying, vampires go to sleep.
“Kuzuha?” He tries calling out, putting his own water bottle down and lightly-jogging-and-totally-not-rushing over. No response. “Kuzuha, I think we’re starting soon… Kuu-chan?”
Kuzuha was the kind of person to wake easily, not to mention had trouble falling asleep in places that weren’t his bed in the first place. So when he doesn’t do anything more than twitch, Kanae panics. He kneels as fast as his stomach drops, puts both hands on Kuzuha’s shoulders, and starts shaking him. “Hey, Kuzuha, wake up? Hey… hey!”
This time, his partner finally stirs awake with a slurred “Nghh?”, and its then that Kanae wonders if violently shaking a vampire could be bad for their health. Before he can think to ask, or maybe even apologize, Kuzuha’s eyes snap half-open. “K-ne? Earthquake?”
…Huh?
He doesn’t think he shook Kuzuha that hard, but suddenly he’s being pulled into the other’s lap, bright red wings popping out from under his T-shirt and expanding to encase the two of them. Although he wants to protest, his arms wrap around Kuzuha’s chest of their own accord.
“S’ okay, I got us,” Kuzuha mumbles in a way that tells Kanae he isn’t fully aware of their surroundings yet. He’s squeezing Kanae with a surprising amount of strength for his supposed health condition, pulling Kanae’s head into the crook of his neck. Like this, the familiar yet comforting smell of worn-out cotton fills his nose; plain and neutral, it’s the scent of someone who doesn’t leave the house too much.
Kanae squirms, unable to escape. He admits that the hands that hold onto him are comforting, but…
“Um. What are you doing?”
It isn’t until Kanae’s bewildered voice comes out, small and trapped in the enclosure of Kuzuha’s wings, that Kuzuha snaps out of his strange stupor. Red eyes look around the room, haze clearing as he takes in the mirrored walls and wooden floors of the office practice rooms.
Blood red wings fully unfurl to reveal a pouting Kanae and now-sheepish Kuzuha.
“Practice is starting soon, so I was just trying to wake you…”
“Did—did you really need to shake me that hard for that?” Kuzuha splutters, and despite the way his eyes dart to the entrance to check for a potential staff member coming in, he doesn’t try to move Kanae off him. Kanae doesn’t try to move either. “Ugh, now I’m all dizzy.”
Kanae shakes his head. “I don’t think I shook enough to warrant that reaction. And even before that, why is your first instinct when there’s an earthquake to, to encase me like that?”
This seems to give Kuzuha pause, and pressed up against the vampire like this, Kanae doesn’t miss the flush in his cheeks, or the warmth radiating from his body.
Wait. Warm?
Kanae might not know everything there is about vampires, but if there’s one thing he’s intimately familiar with, it’s their body temperature. Having been here in this open room with nothing but his usual practice T-shirt and pants for who knows how long, there’s no reason for this sort of heat to be emanating from the vampire’s skin. In fact, he should be shivering and asking for a hoodie to wear until practice officially started. Kanae leans back with a frown.
Taking Kanae’s silence as waiting for an answer, Kuzuha keeps his gaze low as he mutters. “…So that the shaking won’t get to you.”
His voice is softened in embarrassment, and Kanae finds his own cheeks flushing as well despite not really getting it. Goddamn it, this isn’t the time to be acting cute with me, he thinks.
“What’s that even mean,” he ends up saying, tone weaker than he’d like.
“It means what it means,” Kuzuha says petulantly. Then, “Can you get off me? I can’t feel my legs anymore.”
“You can’t feel your legs because you’re sick, idiot. You think you can dance when you’re burning up like this?” He puts a hand to Kuzuha’s forehead and almost recoils from the temperature. Ah, shit, you were fine this morning, he thinks, trying to recall Kuzuha’s state before his partner left ahead of him.
“I’m not—” Kuzuha sneezes, then covers his mouth. Kanae raises an eyebrow.
“…I think I’m getting sick.”
When Kuzuha stares at him helplessly, face growing paler by the second, Kanae can only curse under his breath.
As much as he wants to berate himself for letting it get to this point, there’s no time for self pity—the truth of the matter is that Kuzuha liked to hide his pain, and centuries had made him a master at it. As a mere human with incomplete memories and no guides as to how to care for a NEET vampire, all he can do is grapple around in the dark when it comes to situations like this.
He wishes he knew, though. Wishes there were easy answers to these questions, how do I care for you and understand you the way you care for me, how do I love you properly so that you trust me to catch you?
“I’m going to text your manager, and then we’re going home. Okay? Honestly, call out if you’re going to be like this.” Taking a deep breath, he gets off Kuzuha’s lap and starts collecting their things as quickly as he can. “Here, I know you’re hot but wear your jacket, it’s windy outside—”
But as he turns around with the cloth in hand, Kuzuha has already fallen back asleep.
Sasha is dreaming.
Vampires do not usually dream—Sasha isn’t sure where he’s heard this before, but he knows it to be true. Still, the hand that brushes through his sweaty forehead lulls him deeper into slumber, until it feels as if he’s breathing in the scent of his childhood home, his body smaller than he’s used to. Smaller in a way he thought he forgot.
Smaller, like he is seven years old with his first cold, too weak to even maintain his physical form. He floats as an unstable black mass of mana and fever, trapped in his bed.
“Vampires do not dream, but we are special, Sasha,” reminds a voice. It is sweet and lethargic in its intonation, a tone he hasn’t heard in many years. Mother, he tries to say, but all that comes out is a trembling cough. It hurts to breathe. Why does it hurt in a dream?
“No need to speak, my dear. Focus on recovering enough mana to get your form back. You could sleep the sickness away, of course, for that is the blessing of our kind—but depend on it for too long, and you may never wake up. Sleep, then drink. Then you will get well enough to play with your brothers as you wish.”
Sasha knows this. He wishes his mother would stop nagging him so. What does she think he’s been trying to do this entire time? He’s tired. He wants to play. Most of all, he’s thirsty. If he could only get enough strength to get his body back, he’s sure Buta will already be there by his side, the finest blood in hand.
Ah. But why does the thought of drinking cause his stomach to turn?
A vampire who refuses to drink blood would not be treated with such warm hands, he thinks. To err from his own nature, is he not degrading into dust as he whittles his body away? Is he not an abomination to his own kind? As a monster to not only humans, but also to those who share his red eyes and pale skin, where in this world can he go to?
(There is a place. There is a person.)
His heart hardens with determination. Yes, there is a place. A person. No matter how parched his throat is, no matter how distorted he becomes, Kuzuha will not bear his fangs. Not again. Instead, he will sleep. Vampires do not dream but Kuzuha has learned to dream as naturally as he eats beef bowls.
He feels his mother leave, and Sasha is soon cast back into the solitude of his room, which now feels too big and wide. When did his home start feeling so cold? Distantly he recalls a childhood of scattered dreams like this, his go-to response to any injury being a few days of sleeping it all away. He eventually grew out of it when he gained enough mana to consistently maintain a physical form even through injury. Then, he grew out of blood when—
“Lagusa! You’ve been sleeping long enough, haven’t you?”
He opens his eyes again, and what greets him is round glasses perched on top of a small nose, hiding pale, cloud-like irises. Grey-brown hair falls in gentle swoops and frames the sides of pale cheeks, tied into a low ponytail with a simple black ribbon. His hands, which rest against Lagusa’s forehead, are calloused from years of work and battle.
For some reason, the sight is enough to choke him up.
(Strangely enough, before the tears fall it feels as if a phantom hand has wiped them away.)
“You worried me sick you know, collapsing after the last demon fell. You do realize it was not easy carrying you back all the way here, and discreetly at that? And your sword is incredibly cumbersome while dragging against the floor, mind you…”
When he tries to look outside the window, it is dark. Why is there nothing there? His head hurts. It feels as if he’s forgetting something, but the lingering warmth in this familiar room leaves him with a nostalgia so strong he wants to stay. Perhaps it is a new moon tonight. That would explain why he still feels weak.
“Here. I’m not sure how to treat a sick vampire, but tea should at least warm you up. You were shivering awfully during the night.”
“That’s just how vampire biology works,” Lagusa replies. “It’s how we generate heat, seeing our heartbeats are so slow.”
The priest says nothing more, handing him the mug with a smile. The one that only reached his eyes when they were alone together like this. He takes it with a smile of his own, bringing it up to his nose to try and smell it—but as the steam rises to his face, he feels something against his forehead. Strange. A wet towel? But the Priest is now sitting by his bedside, both hands handling a teapot, no water basket in sight. In fact, now that he’s taking a closer look, the Priest’s clothes seem stained with something wet. Did he not wash himself after their battle? It…
It almost looks like blood.
Something in Lagusa’s chest squeezes. His hand starts trembling. His breathing feels uneven. The Priest, seemingly unaware, holds out the teapot like an offering.
“Is that not enough? Do you want more?”
Whatever dark liquid stains his abdomen starts spreading until it reaches the edges of his sleeves, almost black against the paleness of his skin. Such fair skin should not be stained by something like this. It drips, staining his hands, it drips from his kind eyes, his upturned lips, Lagusa wants to shout, to yell, to save him, but all he can do is sit frozen as more and more blood pours from the Priest’s body.
“Why don’t you take a sip, Sasha?”
And then the Priest’s stained hand is reaching out to him, pouring more tea into his cup but instead of tea comes blood, it overflows and scalds his hands, it’s all over him, it’s all over Kanae, his neck, it’s the most delicious thing he’s had and he wants to spit it all out, a taste gone spoiled in memory.
Memory, yes—this must be a memory. In this church he could not save he remembers that he prayed and prayed and prayed, not to god but to the demon that lived on Kanae’s shoulders, a black cat who he’d come to cross paths with many times. Neither of them had wished for this specifically: the artificial binding of their souls, a string of reincarnated lives never lived until the end. But Kuzuha was selfish and would take even this broken string of repetition if it meant he could find Kanae again.
How many years did he sleep after losing the priest? The number has blurred in his mind. It must have been decades. Long enough for the world to have completely fallen into the war the next time he woke, for a new Kanae to have been born and worn thin by the hands of violence.
Vampires did not die, but every time Kanae did, he slept as if he were.
There was no reason for him to be awake if Kanae wasn’t there, after all. And dreams would always be kinder to him than reality ever could be.
A gentle smell washes over him now, and his entire body relaxes. It’s a neutral cotton—the scent of someone who rarely leaves home. Here in this darkness, he is safe. There is a gentle pressure that flutters ever so occasionally over his face, his hands, his neck. It cools him when he feels like he’s overheating and holds onto him tightly with warmth when he can’t stop shivering. It talks to him, although he can’t quite make out the words.
He isn’t sure how long he stays like this, blissfully unaware, blissfully in peace.
…Yet, at some point in this placid limbo, he becomes suspicious. Usually the darkness would be an achingly lonely place. So who is this hand that grips onto him? Who is this body that keeps close to him, as if listening for his heartbeat?
Someone must be calling out to him. He remembers a promise, that if that voice called out his name, he’d—
His dream changes. Suddenly he is on a beautiful field of white flowers, a blue sky stretching out as far as he can see. In front of him is a single, great Sakura tree, pink petals flowering in the wind. Right by the base of the tree is a neat picnic blanket, on top of which lies the Priest, no longer bloody but in a beautiful garb of white. Like this, he almost looks one with the flowers.
“It’s been a while since you visited, Sasha. But aren’t you a little early?”
Kuzuha takes one tentative step forward. Then two. Then he’s running, legs desperately stepping through flowers upon flowers to try and reach him, hands extended towards that kindness—but no matter how hard he strains his body, the tree and the Priest never gets any closer.
A picnic in spring that can never be fulfilled; in here lies his kindness nightmare.
Although he is far, the Priest’s voice feels as if it’s right beside his ear, a tune carried by the wind. “Since you’ve made it all this way, I suppose I have to ask if you want to stay and enjoy this lovely weather with me.”
Of course, Kuzuha wants to say. Of course I’ll stay with you. I miss you. I never figured it out before but I love you, how can I make it up to you? He must have said these words a thousand times in his dreams, but they still burn on his tongue, a secret he hasn’t been able to spit out.
Even so, he hesitates.
(There’s a warm body next to him. Perhaps sleeping with him… waiting for him.)
He can’t say it. Not now. Not yet.
(Here is the truth Kuzuha learned all these years ago, beyond life and death and sleep: vampires did dream, in place of grief. And maybe in another world, Kuzuha would let himself fall into this fantasy; surrendering himself to this perfect world, he would never have to lose a loved one again.
But then what of their promise? No—vampires might dream, but Kuzuha would choose to wake up over and over again, if it meant he could play with Kanae one more time.)
The priest smiles, and the world seems to warp around them in its brilliance. Like the sun, no, a star in the vast universe, a single, solidarity light he knew would guide him where he needed to go.
“No? Well, that’s fine. One day you will wander here again, as you always have. Perhaps this one will come to my garden as well. Until then, my sweet.”
Reaching into the picnic basket beside him, the Priest pulls out his trusty sniper. Even after all these years, he can recall its shape so clearly, remembers the view of the nozzle being pointed directly at him. He almost smiles at the bittersweet nostalgia.
Kuzuha closes his eyes, and the sound of the trigger echoes in his ears.
Until then, he thinks, waiting.
And this time, the priest delivers on his promise, fingers twitching against the trigger.
“Wake up.”
Kuzuha opens his eyes to darkness.
Sweat soaked and numb, it takes a moment for him to realize this is because he’s somehow buried himself into what must be his blankets. He’s in his usual solo-sleeping position of lying on his stomach, head nestled under his pillows—but now there’s an extra layer of sticky heat trapped with him. When he tries to stretch, what follows is a particularly crunchy snap from his bones. He groans.
Well, Kuzuha thinks, I’m definitely sick.
But despite how gross he feels, it seems that he’s slept through his worst symptoms. Mind starting to clear as he collects himself, Kuzuha is eventually able to wriggle his way out of his blanket prison.
It’s not much brighter outside his bed, and his vision is quick to adjust. He assumes it’s late at night, the only light in his room being the familiar blue-white glow of a computer monitor bouncing against his walls. He eyes sweep across the area, noting that it’s quite messy—right next to him are a few used towels with an empty bucket, and various clothes and plastic takeout bags are scattered across the floor. His nose wrinkles. It smells like takeout. Specifically, it smells like the omurice Kanae always liked to get even if it had mushrooms—sometimes, he thought he got it exactly because it had mushrooms, all so that he could pick them all out and slide them over to Kuzuha with a cunning smile, demanding a few bites of Kuzuha’s meal in interest of “fair food exchange.”
(He'd be more against it if he didn’t secretly like feeding Kanae anyways. Not that he’d ever admit this out loud, even in another 150 years.)
He blinks away his wandering thoughts, confirming his suspicions when he finds his partner slumped over at his desk, half-eaten takeout bowl abandoned to the side. He isn’t sure why Kanae is at his computer, but he must have fallen asleep in the middle of whatever it was he was doing. Taking a closer look, he recognizes the screen interface as OBS, and notes that Kanae isn’t wearing any pants.
Was Kanae… streaming? In my room?
“Kanae?” He calls out, a bit hesitant. His voice comes out scratchy and dry.
Always the light sleeper, Kanae’s eyes flutter open immediately, slowly scanning around him. They freeze when they get to Kuzuha’s half-propped up body. He blinks once, then twice, as if in disbelief.
“…Yo,” Kuzuha eventually tries, unsure of what else to say under such a scrutinizing gaze.
Kanae keeps staring at him. Okay, maybe not the best opening.
Just as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, Kanae gets up. He almost knocks over his omurice bowl as he rushes over, steps hurried as he practically climbs into the bed with him before kneeling by his sideintensely observing him.
“Woah, hey—”
The words in Kuzuha’s throat dies as Kanae stretches his hand to hover just above his cheeks. As if he’s afraid to touch. He waits, eyebrows slightly raised, but when Kanae makes no further movement, he decides to lean into his hand instead. Kanae’s palms perfectly cup against his cheeks. Kuzuha grins cheekily.
Like a switch that’s been activated by touch, Kanae’s thumb carves an arc just under his eyes, slowly, gently. Then they leave, and like a butterfly fluttering by, the pads of his fingers begin tracing over the other parts of his face—his matching teardrop mole, the slope of his nose, his lips. He even opens his mouth as if checking for his fangs, and Kuzuha has half the mind to teasingly bite the intrusion. What’s making you so anxious? He thinks, knowing he doesn’t need to speak to convey these words. I’m right here.
In response, Kanae merely frowns.
While this Kanae doesn’t easily cry, Kuzuha is ready to catch tears if need be, or to listen to some sort of verbal nagging, or to indulge him in whatever physical contact he craved. He’ll wait as long as Kanae needs to do or say whatever it is he wants to.
He’s ready for anything, really, is what he’d like to think. But what he doesn’t expect is for Kanae to pull away, hands once again hovering above his face…
…before he pinches his cheeks.
Hard.
“Ow, what the hell?!” Kuzuha exclaims, leaning back to get away, which only results in him banging his head against the wall. He hisses, clutching the back of his hair while scowling at Kanae, whose expression remains steadily blank. “What was that for, you—”
“You’re awake,” Kanae finally says, ignoring Kuzuha’s reaction. When he moves towards his face again, Kuzuha is quick to grab his wrist, stopping him mid-motion.
“Stop pinching me, what did I do?!”
“You’re actually awake,” he mutters again, more to himself. “Or maybe…?” he shakes off Kuzuha’s loose grip to pinch himself instead, and if he weren’t so bewildered he might have laughed at the sight of Kanae pulling on his own cheeks.
“Oi, don’t bruise yourself you idiot—”
“You know, you’ve been sleeping for six days now,” Kanae says. He lets go of his cheeks. There’s nothing accusatory to his tone, voice light, as if he’s just stated a simple fact: The sky is blue. The earth spins around the sun. Kuzuha has been sleeping for almost an entire week, and there are dark bags under Kanae’s eyes.
“Oh,” Kuzuha says. Because there isn’t much else he can say to that.
…Did I really leave you for that long?
“Sorry, Kanae,” he tries again, and the softness of his tone is tinged with hoarseness. His throat is dry. That makes sense, considering it’s been six days. The number feels floaty above Kuzuha’s head.
Kanae’s face flickers through a myriad of different emotions then, and even in his confused, sickly haze, Kuzuha catches them all: relief, exasperation, annoyance, then something vague before it all settles into something carefully neutral.
“…I’ll go get you something to drink,” Kanae eventually replies. Then, after a bit of hesitation, “Stay here?”
Kuzuha lightly snorts. “Why is that a question? It’s not like I can go anywhere.”
“Stay here,” Kanae repeats, firmer.
“Kay,” he agrees easily.
Kanae takes a second to stare into his face again—and although he isn’t sure what he’s looking for, Kanae seems satisfied enough to leave, squeezing his arm one last time before making his way to the door, leaving it slightly ajar as he leaves.
And just like that, Kuzuha is left alone.
He lets out a sigh, rubbing at his cheeks while grumbling to himself. Although it was more shock than actual pain that had him reeling back, the impact to the back of his head wasn’t the lightest. And now that Kanae isn’t here to distract him, he feels the sweaty grossness of his skin and the slight, pounding headache in his skull again.
Running his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, he freezes.
He didn’t realize it earlier, but Kuzuha hand trails down… and down, beyond the usual short taper above his neck, reaching just above his shoulders. His stomach sinks a bit further. While it had been hard to process Kanae’s words earlier, the evidence of their weight is now in his hands—the fact that he managed to generate enough mana to grow out his hair unconsciously is proof of his excessive sleep. All too aware of his body now, he notices the itchiness of his lower back too; a telltale sign that his wings needed to be stretched out. He laughs dryly.
Surely, this was a consequence of reducing his blood intake for decades. If this were fifty years ago, Kuzuha’s sure he would have recovered from his cold within eight hours of solid sleep. Hell, if he went a century back, he’s sure he wouldn’t even get a cold like this. The fact that he’s starting to get sick like a normal human gives him a strange feeling—because no matter how ‘human’ it is to get sick from things like stress or exhaustion, it’s clear that his body’s recovery methods are still irrefutably not.
Losing six whole days was concerning for a human, and an embarrassment for a vampire.
At least it wasn’t a whole week, Kuzuha tries to convince himself, but even to himself his argument sounds weak.
(Inside, a familiar voice whispers again: where can you go? You, a deformed vampire who turns at the sight of blood and sleeps while your body rots? Who will accept you?
He hasn’t doubted the answer to this question in a long while, and even now, he does not waver.
But still, in this empty room he starts to feel a little lonely).
Finally, Kanae returns with a steaming mug. Kuzuha recognizes it as the one they got when they moved in together, a matching set of red and blue mugs with illustrations of a dog and cat on each. When put side by side, the two animals were nose to nose. It was the exact kind of thing Kanae loved and Kuzuha was too embarrassed to admit they had.
“Here,” Kanae says, and although he’s still a bit quiet he seems to have collected himself a bit while out. “I’m not sure what’s good for a sick vampire, but tea should warm you up. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been shivering since you woke up.”
…Ah.
Kuzuha freezes at those familiar words, and for a second he’s thrown back into that dark and dreary room, grey hair and glasses juxtaposed over softer browns and blues. That voice, mellow, yet sometimes horribly hollow in the night, echoes in his mind. Those same, pale hands offered him a drink all those years ago—his neck, no, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t, he didn’t want to drink his blood again---
“Kuzuha?”
A sound breaks through, calling his name.
--but this Kanae is different, isn’t he?
Born in this kinder world, where he’d never have to see real blood shed a battlefield: Kanae the romantic, Kanae the entertainer, Kanae, his partner. In this world he was much more relaxed than the priest, less sadistic than the solider, more open than the author.
Kuzuha smiles, taking the mug from Kanae’s hands. As he brings it to his nose, he notes that it smells of roasted grains, nothing like the earthy musk of blood. Yes, he remembers it much more clearly now: an injury on a new moon had left him embarrassingly under the weather for a few days, and Kanae had dutifully nursed him back to health even with the limited resources of the church, introducing him to tea for the first time. Kanae wouldn’t stop teasing him after he spit out the offending drink when he tried it, unused to the bitter taste.
Yes, he’s always different, but--
“You never change when it comes to me, do you?”
Kuzuha takes a long sip of tea. The taste is familiar, a refreshing barley he’s grown to love.
Kanae tilts his head. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing much.”
“Alright then.” Kanae accepts without question as usual. They were always so easy when it came to each other, weren’t they? Lapsing back into silence as Kuzuha continues drinking, Kanae starts cleaning up the uncharacteristic mess around them. Gathering the towels into one spot, collecting the stray bits of garbage lying around. He also disposes of his omurice, and Kuzuha doesn’t miss the picked-out mushrooms lying by a few of his favorite snacks and drinks, still unopened.
He doesn’t need to ask to understand—Kanae must have never left his side. The piled-up mess was a byproduct of his focus on caring for Kuzuha and stress, and his streaming in Kuzuha’s room probably had to do with wanting to always be by his side without sacrificing work. He recalls the phantom touches that had stayed with him throughout his dreaming and can’t help the guilt and love that swells in his heart.
Putting the last of the garbage away, Kanae soon returns to his side. This time, Kuzuha is careful in observing his partner. He seems a bit more tired than usual, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to have gotten whatever cold it was that was plaguing Kuzuha. His eyes are clear when they meet.
Are you okay, he wants to ask. Aren’t you mad?
“Can I take a bath?” He says instead.
Other than almost-falling as he tries to get up without Kanae’s help, the trip to the bathroom is uneventful. A cursory glance at his phone tells him it’s almost 3 A.M. Although he’d rather Kanae be sleeping by now he also knows it’s not so strange for them to be up like this.
They undress slowly. Kuzuha sighs in relief as Kanae helps him peel off his sticky layers, bathroom mirrors fogging up as their bath fills with hot water. His dirty clothes are thrown into the corner while Kanae neatly folds his plain boxers and shorts, rolling his eyes but saying nothing when Kuzuha grins at him.
Apparently, Kanae had tried to wash him as best as he could with towels and changed him out of his pajamas once, but he had been too afraid to try to give him a proper bath when his temperatures were wildly fluctuating between burning hot to unbearably cold. He’d also mumble incoherently from time to time, which made streaming in his room a bit difficult.
“Blame the mana imbalance, not me,” Kuzuha sighs as he slides into the warm water, Kanae is quick to get in behind him even while complaining, and while they made sure to get a bathtub big enough for the two of them when they bought this apartment, his partner sticks to him as if they need to be squeezed together. Kuzuha reciprocates by leaning back into that flushed skin silently.
So far, their conversations have been light and somewhat pointless—but Kuzuha knows that Kanae hates to be alone, can only imagine how lonely the quiet of the past six days must have been. Although Kanae is smiling now, it feels more shaped by artificial muscle memory than genuine respite.
And while verbal affection is rare between them, he knows a conversation is coming.
Sure enough, it’s as Kanae is threading shampoo through Kuzuha’s long hair that he finally speaks up, so quiet that his ears strain to hear:
“I thought you were dying.”
Kuzuha stares ahead of him rather than behind, watching water drip from the bath faucet. It ripples, fading out before it reaches his bent knees. He licks his lips. “It’ll take a lot more than a cold to kill a vampire like me, Kanae. You know that—”
“—No I don’t. I don’t—I don’t know anything about vampires,” Kanae interrupts, leaning his forehead on Kuzuha’s bare shoulders, and that now that he’s started it seems he can’t stop, voice raising with every word. “I didn’t know what to do when you didn’t wake up. I didn’t know you could sleep to recover mana or whatever. I didn’t know you lose your hair when you’re low on it either. And where you’re from, and your family. You… you always seem to know everything about me. When will I be able to say that about you? It’s not fair.”
He tapers off at the end—did he mean that it was unfair to Kuzuha, or to himself? He isn’t sure. Maybe it was both. What was fair about losing a loved one repeatedly? What was fair about grief, or the way it always made it so easy to run away and hide? His scars are always fresh; he’s sure that, while Kanae helped him live in this unbearable world, Kanae was also a part of it too.
But did that matter?
“You do know me,” Kuzuha says. Although he isn’t facing Kanae, he makes sure that his tone is steady, stern. “You know when I don’t wanna talk to anyone. Or when I’m genuinely annoyed by stupid comments online. You know what to order for me when we get takeout without asking and that I don’t actually care when you try to eat my food after forcing your mushrooms onto me. Even—even back at home,” and Kuzuha swallows, “there’s no one. No one that knows me like you.”
“I just… want to care for you.”
“You do. You make me less lonely.”
When Kanae doesn’t respond, Kuzuha tries again.
“I woke up because you called my name.”
“…I want to care for you better.” Kanae continues, stubborn. His fingers tug a little harder, making Kuzuha yelp as his neck is stretched back, water poured down his scalp to wash away the soap without it getting into his eyes. Like this, he can see Kanae’s face albeit upside down: the upturn of his nose, his quivering lips, the wet plaster of hair against skin. All around them is the smell of Kanae’s gentle floral shampoo. “So next time, tell me. If you think you’re going to sleep longer than usual. Or if you need something like blood. You don’t need to explain things in detail if you don’t want to… but at least let me see you.”
Drip, drip, now he’s watching the water fall off Kanae and into the bath, ripples hidden by suds. Between the two of them in this quiet night, the only sound he can hear is his own heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears.
Then, softer, with a smile that finally reaches his teary eyes. “If I call your name, you know that means I want you to stop hiding, right?”
Kanae hands move from his scalp to his cheeks, wiping way the wet streaks that have started to fall. Ah, Kuzuha thinks, water must have gotten into my eyes.
“Okay,” he says. He tries not to let his voice crumble. “I’ll try. Sorry.”
What more can he say? He’s supposed to be a creature of the night, yet every time, without fail, Kanae ends up chasing him, no matter how blind humans are in the dark. And like a fool himself, he always gets caught. Even if he changes his name, his hair, his body, Kanae always finds him—and after, Kanae will learn his shape, trace every crevice of his skin, adapting to be with him no matter what pocket of the world he tries to run away to.
To be seen in light is probably one of the greatest weaknesses for a vampire, but still. He’d try. For Kanae, who called his name in that same cadence, he’d let the light of the stars shine on him even if it burned.
“Then I forgive you.”
Kanae’s hands start making their way down to his neck, then his shoulders, outlining his collarbones, then his ribcage. They trail lower until they dip underwater, stopping just above the thin slits on his back.
“…These look a little inflamed,” Kanae mutters absentmindedly, prodding at them. Kuzuha hisses at the contact, arching his back.
“Oi, it’s sensitive there!”
“Sorry~” Kanae says in tone that doesn’t sound too sorry. Then, “Anything I can do?”
Kuzuha purses his lips.
“...Help me stretch them?”
It’s a peace offering. Fine, Kuzuha is saying. I’ll let you look at me.
“Tell me what to do,” Kanae replies easily. I won’t run away, he’s saying back.
Kuzuha lets out a breath. “Let me scooch up so I don’t hit you…”
He doesn’t often let Kanae see his wings this closely, especially when he’s opening them. Perhaps feeling a bit indulgent, he lets his mana pool slowly in his lower back, slits trembling under the pressure. He wonders what it must look like—his pale, sickly skin exposed under the bathroom lights and submerged, thin red slits opening to reveal a deep, fleshy red. He lets the thin, leathery skin push out, curled so that they’re tight against his back. He sits up a bit, trying to get them above water.
For what it’s worth, as Kuzuha chances a look behind him, Kanae doesn’t seem disgusted. In fact, he almost seems enamored. Kuzuha snorts.
“It’s been a while, so they’re stiff. Sometimes I can’t stretch them well on my own, so.”
Kanae tilts his head contemplatively, tracing his fingers against the outer curve of the wings. Kuzuha tries not to shudder. “So I just need to pull them out?”
“Basically. If you don’t mind.”
When was the last time he let Kanae touch his wings like this? He thinks it must have been the author. Or no, it had to be when he met Kanae as a child, whose sheer curiosity towards Kuzuha always gave him a headache. The sparkle in his eyes as he begins gently coaxing his wings to unfurl reminds him of that time—but there’s a reverence in it too that reminds him of the priest.
He blinks the memories away. Reminiscing was always a bad habit of his—this Kanae was his own person, so he needed to treat him as such.
Kuzuha lets out a sigh as he starts to unfurl his wings with the help of Kanae’s gentle pulling. This was another reason why his mother was against using sleep as a recovery method—it often bent their bodies, which needed mana to form, out of shape. Like stretching a muscle left strained for far too long, it takes an embarrassing amount of time to actually unfurl the bright red leather to their full width.
“Good, you’re doing so good,” Kanae is murmuring, and although it’s his first time he seems to know exactly where to push with his thumbs to help his movement, wipes away the beading sweat on his back with experienced care.
Under Kanae’s gentle care, Kuzuha can’t help the trembling of his body, even while sitting in the warmth of their bath. It’s always like this, really.
Being held so devoutly always hurts in a way he craves.
His breath hitches when Kanae’s hands pause over the thin scar lines that mark the fleshy part of his wings. They’re hard to see, he knows, under regular conditions. But this close and this exposed to light, it’s impossible to hide. At the very least, he’s sure Kanae can feel the raised, uneven surface of his wings with his fingers, which rub into the uneven grooves with hesitance.
“…It’s fine, my wings are the most regenerative part of my body. There, that’s a new vampire fact for you.”
“And these are from?”
A pause.
“Battles. Things. Y’know.”
“I see.”
When Kanae presses a kiss the back of his neck, he tries not to shake harder.
The rest of their bath is left in relative, comfortable silence. Pulling his wings back into his body, he stretches in satisfaction as they quickly finish washing the rest of their bodies. Or rather, Kanae finishes washing their bodies—when Kuzuha tries to help Kanae, he’s forced back down into the water with a “Sick people should just sit still and listen!” as water is poured over his head.
Before he knows it, he’s been toweled up and redressed in fresh, warm clothes, hair sticking out in wild directions as Kanae dries it for him. By the time they make it back to bed—in Kanae’s room now, as Kuzuha’s is still sweat filled and they’re both too tired to change the sheets right now—the sun is starting to rise, golden hues seeping in through the blinds of their windows.
Kanae snaps them shut, then yawns.
“Are you coming to bed too? Or do you have work,” Kuzuha asks as he settles into Kanae’s fluffy sheets. He ignores Roto, whose plushie form stares at him from the corner of the bed he’s propped up on.
“You’re sleeping again? What about food?” Kanae answers with a question of his own. He doesn’t miss the slight anxious tone of his partner.
Patting the spot next to him almost childishly, he pouts. “I’ll eat in the morning. Or, uh, later this morning. If I’m not awake by then you have permission to shake me super hard.”
Kanae seems to weigh options, but when another yawn attacks him, he relents and climbs in.
He has to admit: the sight of Kanae lying by his side, beige hair falling in curls against the pillow, small mouth pursed as he stares at him, is something that he’ll never tire of no matter how many times he wakes up.
“Hah,” Kanae sighs, settling in comfortably. “You’re not gonna think it’s an earthquake again and try to trap me?”
“Hey, look, I was—I was confused then, okay? Don’t use that against me!” He flicks Kanae’s forehead lightly when he giggles. “…But seriously, don’t worry. I recovered enough to go back to my usual sleep schedule, so I should be up again in a few hours. You need to rest too, don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing for me these past six days.”
“Mmm?” Kanae tilts his head.
“I know you well, you overworking idiot.” Then, with a rare, toothy smile of his own, fondness seeping into his voice, he reaches out a hand to cup Kanae’s face. “Thanks for always taking care of me, Kanae.”
“E-eh?”
Even he knows it’s rare for him to be so forward. A bit of an unfair attack from his side, but he can’t help but feel a bit smug at the way Kanae’s cheeks immediately color red, lips trembling as he buries himself under the blankets to hide.
“…Just say my name, okay? No matter how long I want to sleep, I’ll always wake up to be with you again.”
Kanae peeks back out, placid blue shining even in the darkness. “Promise?”
“Yes, yes,” He says languidly, and although his tone is light, he knows Kanae understands the weight of his words. Kuzuha said these words to himself a long, long time ago, leaving behind the priest and his time travelling companion with an unspoken promise—but now, he’ll say them out loud so even an amnesiac like Kanae can remember.
“I promise.”
Shivering even under the blankets, he ends up scooting closer to Kanae, using his arms to wrap them together. The best way to stay warm really is human touch, he thinks, resting his chin on top of Kanae’s head. Perhaps a bit of an over-indulgent position, but Kuzuha is too exhausted to care. For having slept for six days straight, sleep is coming to him again awfully easily; it must be the influence of having someone to hold.
“Goodnight, Kanae,” He murmurs, already letting the edges of darkness seep into his vision.
“Goodnight, Kuzuha.” Kanae replies. Steady, slow, a lilting melody that never changes. “Sweet dreams.”
No need, he thinks, placing one last kiss to Kanae’s head. When I’m awake with you is when it’s the most fun.