Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful vampire who lived in a grand castle deep within a magical wood. Whether he had chosen to live alone or had been sealed away by a powerful magic, nobody knew, but he never stepped a single foot outside the castle walls. On the other hand, those who attempted to enter were rarely ever seen again. Rumors flew about the vampire, of why he had suddenly appeared one day or what his purpose was… but nobody knew except the vampire himself and gradually the rumors died and were forgotten along with the vampire’s existence.
Once upon a time, there was a werewolf with a truly wild and unruly nature. While all praised him for having the true heart and nature of a warrior beast, the wolf gradually grew dissatisfied with his life within the pack and so he chose to break away and strike out on his own. He traveled the world, sometimes on his two feet, sometimes on his four legs, and explored the different sights and smells. But werewolves were feared beasts and any humans who discovered his true nature eventually chased him away. A bounty was placed on his head and soon Hunters were on his tail, chasing him to the furthest parts of the world. Eventually the werewolf traveled to a cursed wood where humans dared not tread.
Once upon a time…
Shouto jolts awake as his book falls to the floor with a loud thud.
The afternoon sun shines warmly through the west tower library curtains. It’s a beautiful autumn day outside. The leaves have changed to fiery reds and oranges and golden hues and there’s a crisp breeze that drifts through the cracked glass of the window. Blearily, Shouto rubs at his eyes and bends over to pick up the book from underneath his armchair.
Maybe I’ll go outside to the courtyard today, he thinks to himself.
As he makes to stand up and reach for his cloak, he’s hit with a dizzying spell of thirst. There seems to be something in the air that makes his instincts rise against his will. The desire to drink burns in the back of his throat and mind and something primal within himself seems to roar. Gasping, Shouto stumbles and leans against the wall to catch his breath.
No, he tells himself firmly. No more.
Wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, he staggers his way down the crumbling staircase and curses the man who caused him to be born.
* * *
The courtyard is filled with beautiful flowers at all times of the year. Before she had left, his sister Fuyumi had made sure of it. She had wanted him to at least be surrounded by beautiful things, even if he was all alone.
Are you sure you don’t want to come live with us? Fuyumi’s gray eyes, so much like their mother’s, were sorrowful. Are you sure you want to be alone?
Shouto shakes his head free of the memory and places a hand on the door to the courtyard. Reminiscence was never a happy thing for an immortal. For a moment he thinks guiltily on the poor flowers that his sister worked so hard to plant and wonders if they’ve finally all died from lack of care.
Shouto steps outside and takes a deep breath of the crisp autumn air.
An overwhelming, familiar stench invades his senses.
Strong, rich, and faintly metallic. A smell that warms him from his chest down to his toes. Something pricks painfully on the inside of his mouth and he vaguely recognizes the feelings of his fangs growing back in.
No! The rational part of his mind screams. You’ve held out for so long! Don’t ruin everything!
The instinctual part of his whole body flings his entire body forward, fangs bared, to the source of the smell.
Locate. Approach. Smell. Blood. Blood. Blood--
In a delirious swirl of color and smell and thirst, Shouto latches on and bites deep deep deep…
“Get off of me!”
The roar startles Shouto enough to loosen his jaw. All at once there’s an enormous pain in his side and he’s flying backwards, bouncing twice before landing hard on his stomach amongst pure white begonias.
His side throbs. Shouto thinks that he’s been kicked.
“Who the hell are you?” snarls a hostile voice. With every word it uttered the voice turned guttural, more animal. Shouto slowly props himself up on his forearms and looks up.
A lycanthrope?
Snarling at him with erect ears and bristling fur is undeniably a lycanthrope. A huge beast with golden fur paler than the sun and wine red eyes, fierce and bright. The wolf crouches down on all four legs and a low rumbling growl fills the air.
On its left foreleg, Shouto’s eyes and nose hones in on the two thin streams of blood trailing down that beautiful golden fur. The toxin in his fangs had done its work, keeping the blood flow steady with no signs of clotting.
Was there any on his teeth? Was there any of that delicious, succulent addiction on his teeth? Just a small lick, a little taste, it wouldn’t hurt, it wouldn’t stop everything he’s worked for--
Shouto bites down so hard on his tongue that he can almost feel his incisors touching.
The wolf lets out a startled grunt at the sudden display and takes an almost questioning step forward. Shouto holds up his hand as a sign for the beast to wait as he uses his gloved fingers and delicately swipes away the lycanthrope blood from his elongated fangs. None of it had touched his tongue, thank God.
“The hell is wrong with you?” this time the voice, while still hostile, became more human with every word. When Shouto looks again, the wolf is gone. In its place stands a young man dressed in a green coat with messy hair the same color as the wolf’s fur and the same wine red eyes. Fluffy ears poke out the top of his head, along with a matching fluffy tail from beneath his coat.
“...It’s nothing,” Shouto says. When he stands up, he’s surprised to find that he’s actually taller than the lycanthrope, if only by a little. “State your business. What are you doing in my castle, lycanthrope?”
“HUH?!” the lycanthrope snarls. “First of all, you dumbass, it’s ‘werewolf’. Nobody uses outdated terms like ‘lycanthrope’ anymore.”
Werewolf. Hm. Well, it’s not as if it’s all that unique for certain words to change over the years. Shouto privately thinks he needs to catch up on his slang.
“Secondly, this is my place. I found it two seasons ago and I’ve been living here ever since.”
“You what?” Shouto frowns before tilting his nose into the air and sniffing.
Certainly, the smell of lycan--werewolf was all over the place. Shouto thinks back to when he first awoke and realizes that the ‘something in the air’ that had kickstarted his thirst was probably this werewolf’s scent. Underneath the scent of blood, there’s an earthy smell of musk. It was on the handle of the well, on the gates of the curtain walls around the courtyard, even the flowers themselves had a faint whiff of musk on them. The full, blooming, still healthy-looking flowers. Shouto blinks a little at that.
“Have you been tending the gardens?”
The werewolf snarls and noticeably does not answer that question. “If this is your place, then why the fuck haven’t I seen you around? When I came here the place was completely deserted! No food or anything! Where'd you go? A damn vacation?!”
“I don’t leave the castle, so no,” Shouto crinkles his nose and pulls his cloak up to cover his face. The werewolf is frowning down on his arm where those tempting trickles of blood just smell so very delicious, it’s messing with his thinking. Before his eyes the werewolf sticks out his tongue and laps at his own arm and the sight spikes jealousy through Shouto’s heart. He closes his eyes and tries to regather his thoughts. “... When did you say that you came here?” he asks, the cloak muffling his voice slightly.
“Two seasons ago. It was still spring.”
“Did you explore the whole castle during that time?”
“Not every single room, but most of them.”
“Did you ever go up the west tower?”
The werewolf narrows his eyes. “... No. The staircase looked like it could crumble any minute. I figured it would be stupid to risk my neck just for something that could be up there.”
“It actually holds weight quite well despite appearances. There’s a whole library up there,” Shouto mildly says, lowering his cloak. The werewolf’s saliva seems to have a healing component to it. The smell of (delicious, decadent) blood is almost gone.
“... So, what?” the werewolf crosses his arms. “So you were up that damn tower for two fucking seasons?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Shouto wracks his brains for the memory. He remembers sitting down in the armchair in the library, drinking his handpicked chamomile tea, picking up a book and then...
“... I think I fell asleep?”
The autumn wind blows through. Somehow Shouto thinks he feels a chill running down his spine and it looks like the werewolf feels the same thing.
“You think you fell asleep?” the werewolf doesn’t even sound hostile anymore, just baffled. Shouto glances up at the colorful leaves around them.
“Well, the last time I was awake it was still winter, so…” Shouto frowns. “I suppose it could have been longer than two seasons though…”
“Who the fuck are you, Rip Van Winkle?!”
“I’m Shouto.”
“That was a rhetorical question you half n’ half bastard!” the werewolf gives a deep sigh as if tired and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who the hell falls asleep for more than three seasons?! Does this always happen to you?”
“More often than not,” Shouto shrugs noncommittally. “I stay awake for a fair amount of time too though.”
“I can’t believe this,” the werewolf gives a low, angry growl that Shouto can feel through the ground. “I finally find a place and it’s already occupied. Fucking hell, fine. I’ll pack my stuff and be out of here by nighttime--”
“You’re leaving?” Shouto blurts out. The werewolf’s ears perk up in his direction, seemingly of their own will. “You don’t have to leave. I don’t mind a tenant.”
Actually Shouto does very much mind having a (bleeding) tenant, but the words are out of his mouth before he even realizes what he’s saying.
Gods, just how lonely has he been?
“Ten--” the werewolf frowns at him, though Shouto notices that his tail seems to be wagging. “The hell? A stranger barges into your place, stays for two whole seasons, you finally find out, then you let him stay? Do you have any self-preservation instincts, or do all of your kind just not care because you’re already dead? Besides,” the werewolf crosses his arms again and, perhaps being conscious of where Shouto’s eyes were, tucks his tail up into his coat, “being a tenant means that I need to pay rent or something, right? You want my blood or something?”
“No. I don’t drink blood,” Shouto ignores the way the werewolf’s eyebrow arches and the way his red eye drifts down onto the puncture marks on his arm. “And you’re not particularly a threat.”
The fur on the werewolf’s ears and tail bristle. “Oh really?” he sneers as he bends his knees and curl his hands. Shouto thinks he can see the nails elongating. “So you’re confident, huh? So am I. I’m not just any other werewolf, you know.”
Shouto opens his mouth, then thoughtfully closes it. “Oh,” he mumbles to himself.
“... Huh? What?”
“I don’t know your name.”
“Wha--Is that important?!”
“We’ll be living together, of course it’s important.”
“Ugh… I’m Katsuki,” the mood to fight killed, Katsuki straightens up again. “But just because we’re living in the same castle, don’t think that we’ll be all friendly with each other, vampire.”
“That’s fine,” Shouto holds out a hand then lowers it when Katsuki clearly has no intention of taking it. “And call me Shouto.”
Once upon a time there was a werewolf who chanced upon a vampire’s dwelling and settled in to make itself a home. But the vampire still lived within the castle walls, slumbering. Upon awakening, it discovered that the werewolf had invaded its territory.
So they agreed to be roommates.