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Nobody took him seriously at first with his offhanded remark. Ryuji snorted and resumed toying with some game on his phone; Ann gave him a raised eyebrow and sipped at her bubble tea; Makoto spared but a blink at the suggestion before discussing the five steps required to solving some stupid math problem. Only Yusuke bothered to give him the time of day, leaning forward in interest, head tilted to one side as he replied, “Who is ‘Mishima,’ anyway? I hear of him often in your, ah, musings, shall we say.”
“A classmate,” Akira answered, readjusting his glasses. The tape holding the hinges together scratched at the side of his face. Ann rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Classmate is an understatement.”
“Mm,” Ryuji chimed in, his brow wrinkling at whatever happened on the screen, “more like, ‘Oh, I hope Mishima’s free!’ or ‘Did you see what Mishima did to the Phan-Site’ or ‘So how about them suspenders he wore the other day?’ He’s got it bad. You’d think he’d get some taste and crush on, like, me instead, but whatever. Saves me time in turning him down ‘cause there’s much better eye-candy now.” He shot Yusuke a grin with a wink, who completely missed it while tapping his chin in thought.
“I see. So the throes of passion even strikes someone like you, Akira. Interesting. Ah, perhaps that ought be the focus of my next piece.” He hummed, fingers twitching, before abruptly standing up. “Please excuse me! I must be going back. Akira, if you could, send me a message later and tell me how your relationship with this man develops. It would be very helpful for me if you do. Take care, everyone!”
He scrambled out of the cafe, the little bell over the door nearly becoming loose from the force. Ryuji frowned.
“Anyways, dude. Why don’t you just, like, ask him out already? He’s clearly into you, too.”
Akira leaned back against the booth, staring up at the ceiling. “He’s not into me, he’s into the Phantom Thieves. Taking on his Shadow kind of proved that much. I don’t like taking on challenges I know I can’t win.”
Ann gawked, straw popping out of her lips. “You’re kidding. He’s kidding, right? Akira. Come on, he stares at you like you’re the most goddamn beautiful guy alive. He--Ryuji, he knows, right?”
“For someone so cool, Joker’s kinda dumb with this, ain’t he.”
She nodded. “Looks like it.”
“Get off my ass, you guys. Besides, you’re missing the point.”
“Hah?” Ryuji glanced up from his phone. “Point? What? Didja say somethin’ earlier?”
Makoto jabbed her pencil rather roughly against her notepad, a vein visibly throbbing on her hand. She forced a smile. “Could you all focus on your homework, please? Break-time ended twenty minutes ago.”
Akira sighed, and stared at the characters blurring together in his notepad. The idle thought, scribbled in the margins of his History notes, would have to be returned to at a later time:
Is Mishima a vampire?
*
Yeah, it seemed absolutely asinine, but given how there’s a place called the Metaverse where he can steal the hearts of people to get them to change themselves and also how he can summon dick-monsters with the power of friendship, his known concepts of what is possible in reality have since been chucked out the window and plowed into roadkill by several delivery trucks, turning it into some vague amalgamation of the world he once knew. Maybe Slendermen existed, and maybe werewolves prowled the forests at night. Either way, there was just too much evidence to ignore.
And he was going to make them see it, too. He tapped “Send” and waited. Morgana glared at him with one eye, tail thwapping against his chest, as if silently telling him to go to sleep. But this couldn’t be slept on. Not anymore.
Ryuji: uh dude did you accidentally send us ur hw or something
Yusuke: ? A… Microsoft Powerpoint Presentation?
Akira: Download and open please
Akira: We’re getting to the bottom of this
Ann: omfg it’s midnight why are u waking me up w this
Akira: Slide one, if you please! Observe the Mishima in his natural habitat
Ryuji: dude holy shit
Akira: As far as we can tell, we’ve only ever seen him ingest “energy drinks” in seemingly innocuous cans. But I call shennanigans! Theyre where he keeps his blood that he gets from somewhere. He doesn’t bring lunch at all
Ann: how many slides are there in this stupid thing
Yusuke: Your art direction for this piece is rather lackluster, but I do admit there’s quite a bit of enthusiasm in this…
Akira: Slide two! He’s lethargic in the day, and much more active at night, as seen when he wanders thru shinjuku all the time
Ryuji: there’s ten
Ann: gsdfkjkld
Makoto: You all have ten SECONDS before I block all of you if you don’t let me sleep. Did you forget exams.
Akira: Makoto pls they need to know the truth
Makoto: NINE
Ryuji: gnite lol
Akira: FINE
Akira: BUT THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE
Ann: stop showing of ur weirdo fantasies and go to sleep lolol
Makoto: FIVE
*
The subsequent dates thereafter (or what Akira considered to be dates; Mishima babbled on and on about the Phantom Thieves while “sharing” an extra extra large hot-fudge sundae) unearthed more clues toward the truth. Mishima hardly took a sip of the sugary concoction, but utterly devoured the rare steak he ordered, smacking it down as though it were a blessing from the gods themselves. On the way back to the train station, Mishima walked in the shadows cast by the skyscrapers and trees, wincing whenever exposed to a splotch of summer sunlight. He yawned often, too, but as dusk crept into the skyline, his energy seemed to increase exponentially.
And it didn’t happen just once, either. On every expedition they shared, Mishima continued to show off these peculiar traits - with the exception of crepes. He moaned while scarfing his down, licking his fingertips with delight. Akira almost threw out his entire idea afterward; vampires couldn’t consume human food lacking blood without consequences, or so told 98% of the legends he read.
The next day, however, Mishima didn’t show up to class. “Sick,” or so said Ms. Kawakami. But Akira, with a glint in his eye, knew better.
“It’s so obvious,” he puffed out as he completed his third rep of pull-ups that evening. “Like, come on, you’d have to be an idiot to miss all the signs, right?”
Morgana rolled his eyes before resuming cleaning his ears. “I think you’d have to be an idiot to believe in such stupid things. Vampires? Are you kidding me?”
“Says the talking cat.”
“Ohohoho, that’s it.” Morgana’s tail poofed out as his eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re going to bed nice and early for that snarky attitude, mister.”
His belief persisted in spite of his friends’ dismissive comments. Even when Mishima sputtered out an acceptance of Akira’s real date proposition (featuring two movie tickets to some horrendous zombie hack-and-slash film and too much popcorn Akira ate by himself), the idea simmered in the back of his mind, flaring alive when their fingers interlaced and boy, were Mishima’s hands cold.
But asking about it - getting confirmation at long last - proved much harder than it seemed. Every time Akira dredged up the near-bottomless reserves of his courage to bring up the topic, something got in the way: a new request on the forums, ill-timed phone calls, or even the weather literally raining on Akira’s parade. It was as though the universe itself pitted against Akira’s theories and used everything in its power to stop him from talking about it.
Unfortunately for the universe, he had other plans. Grander plans. If words wouldn’t work, then actions would. He maxed out his courage by eating three too many burgers and exploiting himself to books rambling on and on about seriously toxic masculinity before sending Mishima a text, asking to hang out. It took all of fifteen seconds to get an excitable reply back: “Sure!! I’ll see you in an hour or so? I’ll bring my homework!”
Bingo. Akira snickered, prompting a wary Morgana to look at him.
The little bell jingled upon Mishima’s arrival, bag slung over his shoulder. Despite the heat, he wore his baggy green sweatshirt with a volleyball emblazoned on the front. Suspicious. Akira waved from behind the counter, finishing the last couple of mugs needing to be washed before hanging them up to dry. Sojiro already left for the day, leaving the final duties to Akira, which was fine. If it meant securing alone time with Mishima for his experiment, he would clean a mountain of plates and scrub at a gajillion countertops until they sparkled.
“Did the sign say closed out front?”
Mishima nodded.
“Good. I’ll meet you upstairs in a sec, go ahead and get comfortable.”
He eyed the stairs leading up and shuffled by, footsteps creaking as he ascended. Akira, after ensuring everything looked clean and the front door was locked, followed him, heart pounding against his chest. This was it. This was where all his speculating came to fruition. Now or never.
Mishima already laid claim to the floor, books spread out, pencil rapping against his notebook. His brow furrowed as he contemplated the equations seemingly taunting him to write his answer. Akira watched for a few moments, leaning against the doorframe, as Mishima’s concentration slowly unraveled into a groaning, irritated mess. Poor guy never did well in algebra, apparently. He sauntered over, catching Mishima’s attention, and sat across from him while propping his chin onto his palm.
“That’s distracting,” Mishima complained.
“Mm?”
“You. Doing that smirk of yours. It’s,” he tugged at the collar of his shirt before glancing back down at his textbook, “y’know, a thing.”
“Eloquent as always, dear Mishima. Knew you got top-marks in lit for a reason.”
“Oh, shut up.” He ducked his head and laughed. Akira got a glimpse of Mishima’s teeth, but not enough to satisfy his curiosity. “That was a fluke, anyways. I’m half-convinced Ms. Kawakami didn’t even read my essays. I swear there’s like at least five run-on sentences in the last one.”
Akira made an appropriate “hm” as he reached for his books half-chucked underneath his shelves. His cool facade refused to betray his nerves as he thumbed through his own book to match Mishima’s page. He paused. The corner of the page rested lightly against his thumb, its sharpness tickling his skin. He swallowed, glanced at Mishima one more time, then steeled himself as he sliced his finger open with a papercut.
The silence that followed drew out for what felt like an eternity, even though it lasted less than a second. A pencil lead snapped and rolled across the floor. The scribblings stopped. A sharp inhale. Morgana, as if sensing danger, hopped off the futon and scrambled downstairs. Movement came to a halt as soon as the cat left. Akira’s gaze flickered upward, peering at Mishima over the rim of his glasses, only to see widened eyes and a clenched jaw.
“Papercut,” Akira drawled, holding up his thumb.
Mishima didn’t respond. He almost appeared like a statue; his harrowed expression was carved perfectly into his face, as though Michelangelo had a hand in Mishima’s creation.
“I see,” Mishima finally replied, voice strained.
Akira leaned forward, grinning as though he were teasing, before whispering, “Kiss it to make it better?”
The cut oozed out blood that dribbled down to his wrist, a streak of red staining his otherwise pale skin. Mishima opened, closed, then opened his mouth again, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He lifted his shaking hands and gripped Akira’s arm, a strangled garble escaping his lips before croaking,
“How long did you know?”
“Ha hah!” Akira rose to his feet, triumphant, victory pose jutting into the air. “I knew it. I knew it! I am a genius. For you see, dear Mishima, all it took was a little deductive reasoning and evidence compounded over time to reveal that you are, in fact, a--”
His sentence ended with an abrupt thud and eager, clawing hands digging for more crimson gold. His head banged against the wooden floor, glasses becoming askew on his face. He blinked at the ceiling in a daze before feeling something hot and wet wrapping itself around his thumb. A tongue lapped over the self-induced papercut, and Mishima, now straddling Akira’s hips, strengthened his grip around Akira’s arm.
“A, uh,” he managed to squeak out, swallowing as his courageous facade shattered into an adrenaline-addled, horny mess of a teenager, “a vampire?”
Mishima made a deep growl from the back of his throat, thumb falling out of his mouth with a sickeningly slick pop. He glanced up at Akira as he licked his lips. A small chill ran down along Akira’s spine.
“For like, maybe a year and a half now, yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Holy shit.” Akira wiggled his thumb and gawked. “Holy shit, really?”
“Yes, yeah, jeez, how many times do you got to--why are you smiling?” Mishima frowned. “...You had a bet on this, didn’t you?”
“Perish the thought.”
“You’re awful. I can’t believe you’d purposely try to get a vampire to suck your blood without knowing how dangerous that is. People die from blood loss, you know.”
“Oh, yes, dear heavens,” Akira deadpanned, “the maybe sixteen droplets you drank out of my thumb is going to kill me. Woe is I, but a fool for provoking such a terrible creature to deprive me of my life juices that ought flow freely through my veins--”
“Yeah, gotta talk Ms. Kawakami into putting an end to the Shakespeare lesson sooner.” Mishima rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he gave a small, shy smile. “So,” he asked, looking away, “you, uh, don’t hate me? For this, I mean. I mean, it’s totally weird, right? Like, pssh, vampires, they’re not even supposed to be real--”
“Chill, Yuuki.” Akira grinned and patted his cheek. “You’re fine. It’s all fine. If you’ve seen half the shit I’ve seen? This is totally not weird.”
Mishima raised both eyebrows. “Really? Like what?”
“Rotted birds that speak like four-year-olds? Floating pumpkin wizards? A dude lugging sand around for fun?”
“Wow. Yeah. That’s--yeah, I can’t top that.”
“But you can,” Akira said, voice dipping in what possibly qualified as sultry territory while gesturing somewhat (totally) suggestively to himself, “top this.”
“Kurusu.”
“Yuuki,” he parroted.
“No, seriously, Kurusu, this entire meet-up was to do homework. We can’t just--”
“--be young and stupid and gay? C’mon, Yuuki.” He sat up and pecked a kiss against Mishima’s jawline. Mishima shuddered. “C’mon. Homework’s for straight people. Let’s do something fun to celebrate that you get to be cute forever.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a weirdo.” Mishima laughed as Akira smooched his cheeks. “You’re just turned-on because your b… your boyfriend turned out to be some bloodsucker. I’m sure there’s a kink for that.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You were supposed to deny that, Kurusu.”
Akira smirked. Mishima sighed.
“Alright, fine. Just--just a little fun, I guess. But no going overboard.”
“So does that mean a ‘no’ on asking you to... suck me off?”
“...Did you just try to make a joke.”
“That’s some funny shit, don’t lie. You mad?”
Mishima pushed Akira onto the floor and pinned his wrists down. He swallowed hard and stared at the fangs that now seemed all too visible.
“Maybe,” he whispered, planting a none-too-subtle kiss on Akira’s neck.
“Aw, man.” Akira forced a laugh in a futile attempt to hide his blush. “This bites.”
“That’s it.” Mishima snickered. “You’re asking for it.”
*
Akira: [attachment: suckit.png]
Akira: your proof, ladies and gents
Ryuji: dude wtf don’t just post ur hickeys in the group chat!
Ann: OMG
Akira: the teeth marks prove it tho!! Mishima’s a vampire
Akira: and I banged said vampire
Akira: git gud bella swan
Ryuji: what even is a bella swan
Ann: OMFGGGGGGGG
Ryuji: dude i aint giving you any money for a bet u forced me into anyways
Ryuji: besides this looks like something a make-up artist did
Yusuke: Fascinating. I will have to ask them about their technique sometime.
Ryuji: why did we make him leader again
Ann: IM DYING
Makoto: Not yet you’re not, but you will be if you all don’t learn to stop texting at 3 IN THE FREAKING MORNING
Akira: that’s fine my vampire bf will just turn me into one of his kind and then i’ll live forever to pester you
Makoto: I’m packed with crosses and stakes, bitch
Makoto: Try me.
Akira is offline.