Archive of Our Own

People always said that nights were dark.

Shinsou didn't disagree, per se. There were times where nights were dark. Where black skies stretched on for miles and miles, where the air was so still it raised suspicions of being in a simulation. But not all nights were dark. Nights, much like living things, endured a plethora of varieties. Lonely, scary, warm, cold... Shinsou had experienced nights of a million kinds, and would go on to experience more for as long as he lived.

Which was, well, forever.

Tonight was what poets would refer to as a moonlit night. The sky had escaped its goth branding to take on a purple hue, sneaking in clouds of pink to make a pretty horizon oft seen in landscape paintings of dusk. Though, it was not dusk. It was too late to be dusk; in fact, too late to be evening. Hours had passed since children's bedtimes, and televisions across the city had long rung in the adult-targeted programming.

It was that time of the night. The time when creatures of the night had their run of the surface away from their underground caves, where humans rushed through their errands so as not to spot or be spotted by the glowing eyes floating amongst the trees. A time of clandestine activity. Secretive. Exclusive. Quiet.

Humans had one name for the elusive hour:

4.15AM.

Shinsou stomped at a patch of uneven soil in his garden while frowning at his metalised gold rainbow G-Shock. He couldn't believe it was already 4.15. 4.15! God. 4.15 was basically 4.30 (which was basically 5), and he'd accomplished nothing all day. So much for the determination to clean up the shed and repot the marigolds that had struck him over breakfast; 4 o'clock and he'd barely seen a rake. All he'd done was research and play Astral Chain on the Switch.

He was paying for that now. No amount of latenight gardening would give the marigolds their precious photosynthesis time back, and it was entirely his fault. If only he had thought more of his garden, and less of whether immortality would impress voice actress Waki Azumi enough to record a voice clip for him to use as an alarm tone.

It probably wouldn't, he'd concluded. One of the innumerous reasons immortality was not as sexy as the media made it seem.

Huffing, Shinsou turned over some soil with his trowel. The ground was too wet tonight, anyway. There was always tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that. And the one after that, for the rest of time. Since, as far as his intense research sessions went, there was no conceivable escape route from the labyrinth of imperishability.

He sighed. Deciding to take a quick walk before dayfall, he tossed his trowel into its bucket and pushed against the door that led out to the outside, pressing his palms against the broken glass window. His hand slipped. A jagged edge sliced his palm. Pain shot through his hand.

He blinked down at the fresh blood bubbling through. Another vein. This made it the fifteenth time. He should really replace this door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shinsou groaned. Not this again. This was easily the second time this week, and it was only Monday. He was certain the century-old knocker hadn't seen so much action since the height of door-to-door serial killers.

Wiping off his healed palm onto an errant rag, he trudged toward the main door.

He undid the latch and creaked the door ajar. "What."

"Hi! It's-"

"Not interested." He made to shut the door.

"No! Wait!" you called, recklessly jamming your fingers between the narrowing gap.

Shinsou yanked the heavy wooden door back.

"Are you insane?!" he yelled. "This door is a million kilos! You trying to get that hand amputated?"

"If I were, no medical professional would be more experienced than an immortal vampire," you grinned, massaging your unsevered hand.

He raised a brow, unswayed by your false flattery. "As you are well aware, my stalker, medicine is not one of my areas of study," he deadpanned. "Now get off my property."

Making sure no appendages were chilling on the door jamb, he swung the door closed.

The door jammed, as if a strong, durable steel-toe boot was in the way.

Shinsou looked down. A strong, durable steel-toe boot was in the way.

"I'm a researcher, not a stalker," you clarified, as you had multiple times before. "And if you let me study you, you would know that."

Shinsou picked up a shoehorn to nudge at the boot. "And if you've paid any attention the last times, you would know I said no."

The boot remained stuck. "Come on, I really need this grant—"

"Aren't there other vampires you can harrass?"

"Usually, yes, but now, no!"

His ears pricked up. "'Ordinarily, yes'? What do you mean by that?"

You raised a brow. "I said 'usually', but yeah." A moth danced close to your face. You waved it away. "The vampire fam on the other side of town upped and disappeared like, last week."

A joule of hope surged through Shinsou.

"What happened?" he asked, energy bounding around in his veins. "Do you know why they moved?"

You shrugged, bored. Juxtaposed against his exuberance, it made you seem more like the undead one. "My advisor said they turned back."

"Turned back?" The hope sunk its claws into him. "What do you mean 'turned back'?"

The funny look you shot him was discernable even under the shadows cast by the dim porch light.

"They're not vampires anymore."

Your words conjured a feeling so intense Shinsou felt it electrify his veins. He suddenly felt like he had to sit down. Carefully backing up, he lowered himself onto the foyer steps. So it was possible. Ditching the curse that had chained him to eternal life was doable—no, not just doable, it had already been done. Meaning, he could do it too.

"Come on, please?" you begged. "I just need three hours of your time. Every day. For the forseeable future."

From his position on the floor, he lifted a finger at you. You blinked in surprise.

He raised his eyes to meet yours. "On one condition."

Allowing an academic into his home was little more than a grave mistake. Days in, and you were already a thorn in his side.

To be specific, only four days had passed since he had agreed to this arrangement—a mistake he would not be wont to repeat, assuredly—and you were already getting on his nerves. Everywhere he went, you followed. Every time he did anything, you had a question to ask. It was as if you were some sort of researcher hellbent on getting a full picture of how vampires lived their lives from the mere three hours they were accorded every day.

Which you were, he supposed. But still. He thought you could be less annoying about it.

Especially today. Today was Tuesday, i.e., VA Night day. Despite his general disdain for television and the unending passage of time, Shinsou looked forward to VA Night every week, so much so that he set an alarm to remind himself to turn on the TV at 10PM on Tuesdays. Gentle and healing, it was a show capable of washing the frustrations of the day away. Away into a pond that reflected the scant redeeming qualities of humanity.

In fewer words, Shinsou had a thing for Uchida Maaya. And he didn't think it was too much to ask to want to appreciate her in solitude.

Your voice cut through the pleasant atmosphere like a hot knife through a marshmallow. "You watch TV?"

"I would," he said testily, "if people didn't talk at me when I tried."

"Jesus." You raised your hands in surrender, disappearing into the kitchen. "They were cutting to advertisements."

"That's the best part," he muttered.

"The best part is when they say, 'Let's cut to commercial'?" you called, somehow hearing him. A series of clanging travelled from the kitchen. The fridge seemed to let out a pained groan. "Isn't that sad?"

Shinsou scowled. The retort was halfway out his mouth when you joined him on the couch and handed him a glass of chilled yomeishu. He peered down at the beverage. An ice cube clinked. He didn't make a habit out of imbibing, much less the kind that appeared to contain more sugar than alcohol. Still, he found himself weirdly touched by the gesture. Despite complaining of your lack of funds, you never shied away from a chance to waste your money by offering to share your purchases with him. Perhaps this was what people referred to as "generosity".

He accepted the drink.

Casually, you sipped from your own glass. "The guy's adorable, though."

"Shimono Hiro?" He took a tentative sip, before wrinkling his nose at the taste. "Yeah, he's cute. Funny."

You hummed in agreement. "Girl's hilarious, too."

Pride filled his chest at your validation, as if he was somehow responsible for Uchida Maaya. "She is."

"It's needless to say," you added, "but she's super pretty."

"She is," he agreed, feeling the distaste he had toward you slowly defrosting.

"Actually, she kind of sounds like someone I know." You leaned toward him, eyebrows dancing suggestively. "Interested?"

The distaste froze up once more. He shot you a disdainful look. "In what."

"I dunno, expanding your social circle?" Swishing the liquid around in your glass so the ice cubes clinked, you shimmied a little closer. "Dating?"

"No," he responded, curtly.

Friends. A ludicrous notion. He couldn't expand his social circle if he didn't have one, and he had no intention of letting anyone else into his life. Especially those with countdowns hovering over their heads that ticked down whenever they faced illness or injury, and sometimes dropped to zero for no reason at all that they paid exorbitant amounts to medical professionals to put a name to. Friends were things he made in his human days. There was no need for them now.

There were other immortals, but he'd met all the established vampire families as a child and even then decided he was okay being friendless.

For some reason, this seemed to annoy you.

"Fine," you huffed. "Become a shut-in. See if I care."

You folded your arms defiantly, like a child. He ignored your tantrum.

You sniffed. "And I broke your ice machine."

Shinsou glowered at you in disbelief. 'Thorn in his side' had been generous. He thought you more like a javelin.

The marigolds had taken very well to their new environment. Shinsou had been worried about fungus, or that nasty bout of spider mites that had ravaged the daisies last time, but it seemed that these flowers had escaped a similar fate. More than that, they were thriving. The row of bright orangey yellow blooms proudly swayed in the wind, waving him into the garden as if requesting him to spend the day fussing over them.

They didn't have to ask. Since his inevitable fate had descended upon him—at 25, as was family custom—following which the only person who he'd genuinely cared for left him, the plants in his garden had been his only solace. It only made sense to dedicate fractions of his infinite days to caring for them.

Shinsou crouched to view the peace lilies. Two days ago, they were looking one microsecond away from certain death. Now, they were as healthy as the ones that appeared in stock images when you Googled "peace lily". Drama queens. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Look at you guys," he murmured, examining a leaf. "One missed day of watering and you wilt on me."

The petal shook in the wind in response.

"Are you talking to the plants?"

Shinsou sucked in a breath. He didn't have to turn around to know that you were standing in his greenhouse, listening in on his private conversation with his flowers. Mortification swelled. He attempted to hide it.

"Yes," he breathed, keeping his tone light and even. "They say carbon dioxide from chatting to them helps..."

You were caressing a dangling tendril of ivy, clearly not listening. "You like gardening?"

A muddy face laughing among the sunflowers flashed in Shinsou's mind. He shut the memory away.

"When you're doomed to an eternal life..." Slowly, mysteriously, Shinsou ran his thumb over a smooth petal. "You find a way to pass the time."

"Weren't you turned like, a year ago?"

He spun around to glare at you. The flower slipped from his hands.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded irritably, embarrassment kicking out all trace of his fake cool.

You didn't seem to notice his irritation, busy examining the vine. "You said I could be here at 7PM," you said, other hand jingling the key to his garden gate.

He let out an exasperated breath. If he'd known, he wouldn't have allowed a nosy researcher drop by a mere two hours after his usual waking time. To be fair, you'd asked if you could observe him earlier in the night right as he was trying to kick you out of his home, as his desperation to get rid of you hit a high. Still, he should not have not given said researcher a key to his sanctuary.

He'd been blinded at time. Blinded by the possibility of escaping his curse, and from being shrouded in a haze of impatience. Damn his past self. Ire shoveled itself into his chest in spades.

"Stop touching the ivy," was the only retort he had.

Knees cracking noisily, you squat down next to him. You cocked your head. "Do you do this all day?"

"Are all monsterologists ignorant?" he spat.

"Demonology," you corrected mildly. "And vampires aren't my area of expertise."

"Then why are you studying me?" he asked. Bothering me, he added internally.

"Like I said, I'm pursuing a grant," you stated matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't mildly offensive that he wasn't the subject of your pursuit of knowledge. Not that he wanted to be, he supposed.

"University's full to the tits on gargoyle study, apparently," you continued, gaze boring a metaphorical hole into his marigolds.

The bitterness in your tone made him realise it was probably unwise to express his disgust at your phrasing, if purely for the sake of preventing you from boring literal holes into his flowers. He subtly shifted his attention to the hardier bush of marjoram, rustling their leaves in a bid to distract you like he would a dog.

"Sucks," he offered.

"Eh," you shrugged. "Once I get this grant, I'll be happy."

Shinsou cocked a brow. You'd said that before. The first time you'd pounded the heavy brass knocker into the front door of his home and he'd rushed to greet you thinking you were the disgruntled bearer of his weekly deliveries, you'd said that. 'Just give me permission to study you, and I'll be happy.' So it was a lie. If he had known... Well, if he had known, it would have changed nothing at all.

"Sounds familiar," was all he said.

You rolled your eyes. "Happiness is subjective, okay? And life's all about pursuing something, then the next thing, and then the next. You know how it is."

Shinsou didn't know how it was. He didn't need to. You and him lived vastly different lives. Goals, aspirations, these were terms irrelevant to his existence. What was the point? For someone who would never die, these were more like after-school activities than a great adventure.

That was the thing about living forever: nothing mattered. Nothing he did ever had any lasting consequences, people he cared about would soon leave him, and there was no point in leaving a legacy if he'd never be forgotten.

Concepts you would never understand. After all, you were human. Mortal. Lucky.

That said, there was something about your attitude that unsettled him.

Pretending to examine the soil, he watched your expression from the corner of his eye. "Aren't you happy now?"

You paused. "I will be," you said.

Something in your hesitation made his heart feel something a little too close to sympathy. He changed the subject.

"Let's go," he grunted, dusting his thighs off as he stood.

You angled your head to look up at him. "Where are we going?"

"You're trying to learn about vampires, aren't you?" he grumbled over the splashing water of the garden sink.

"Well, yeah," you said, watching him dry his hands from your crouched position. "What are you going to teach me?"

Unwillingly, he held out a hand to you. "How vampires feed."

***

You were quiet the whole way down to the basement.

Shinsou supposed that you were afraid. Not that he could blame you. Books tended to depict vampires as bloodthirsty creatures, sinking fangs into necks, blood dripping down their chins. They were right. Historically. Back in the day, Shinsou's ancestors were known to attack unwitting humans to get their feed fresh from the source; partake in the juice of the necktarine, if you would.

These days, however, the practice was considered to be outmoded, and frankly, a little disgusting.

He wondered if this was something he should emphasise as he watched you cautiously tread off the last stair.

You spoke before he could.

"So what do you eat?" you questioned, ambling along the shelf of vials as if the underground dungeon was a store in a shopping mall. "Cereal?"

Shinsou raised a brow. He had clearly been mistaken about your state of mind.

"What do you take me for?" he remarked, strangely relieved. "Count Chocula?"

You rolled your eyes. "What then?"

He shot you a withering look.

As if it finally dawned on you, your eyes widened, mouth open in a gasp.

There it was. The reaction he'd been anticipating. Fear and disgust were but natural responses that no longer surprised him. After all, belonging to an established vampire family came with its fair share of prejudices, the lack of friends growing up being the mildest evidence of his troubled childhood. Gasping was mild compared to the screaming and Carrie-esque bullying.

(A confusing memory, at most. It wasn't known what the fellow 9-year-olds had intended to achieve through upending a bucket of pig's blood onto him in the rich kid's backyard. Many years had passed and he was still unable to rationalise this. To the humans, it would have been no more traumatising than drenching someone in curry. A bucket-full of curry, at that.)

Bottom line, being a vampire came with certain social ramifications. Ramifications that mattered not at all. Shinsou's heart had long been hardened to it, fuelled by the knowledge that he was set to outlive all his bullies. After all, he had already outlived friends.

He stalked over to the fridge and opened it. Reaching in, he grabbed a foil packet and tossed it at you.

You peered down at it. "What the frick frack Big Mac dick dack paddy wack is this?"

He was more disgusted than you were.

"If you say... whatever the hell that was again, I will drain you where you stand."

"Okay, jeez." You raised the opaque packet to the light to see none of its contents. "So what is it?"

He curled his lip, half in disgust and the other in confusion. "What do you mean 'what is it'? It's blood. I thought you figured as much earlier. Aren't you a researcher?"

"We try not to assume," you said, waving a hand. "And I didn't figure it out earlier. I thought you were going to confess to something heinous."

He was almost afraid to ask. "What's more heinous than blood in a foil pack?"

Shrugging, you squished the liquid around its packet. "When I was an undergrad I lived with someone who put butter on their pizza."

"As..." he winced, "as a spread?"

"Like cream cheese on a bagel," you confirmed, tossing the blood back at him. In spite of his appalment, he managed to catch it. You pulled a notebook from your pocket and flipped it open.

"So, Blood Lad: A, B? AB?" You waved a pen at him. "More of an O type of guy?"

He stared at you. This nonchalance, almost acceptance of who he was... It might have been a first.

A strange feeling bloomed inside him.

Shinsou brushed it off as annoyance.

"It doesn't matter," he said irritably. "It's feed. They're all the same."

"What, no preference?" you insisted. "Even mosquitoes prefer O, you know."

"Do I look like a mosquito to you?" He glared as you immediately opened your mouth to answer. "Allow me to remind you once again that I could kill you."

You shrugged, nonplussed. "Fine. How do these come to you? Hospital?"

Shinsou stuffed the pack back among its brethren and shut the fridge door. "I don't know. Shipments come every week, I collect them."

Your quirked brow made you attractive, somehow. "You don't know? Never occurred to you, to, I don't know, ask?"

"I tend not to ask questions."

"Oooo-kay," you said, scribbling in your notebook. "Writing down: vampires are really just edgy sheeple."

"Excuse—"

"—and sensitive to being called edgy sheeple."

Shinsou grit his teeth. He was being well and truly fucked with, and he was fully aware. If it weren't for the fact that you were in possession of precious information that led to the goal he'd been pursuing for his entire existence, he would never have taken this lying down.

"I'm hungry," you announced, shoving the notebook back into your pocket. "You got any Garigari-kun in there?"

He glared at you. "Why the hell would I have Garigari-kun?"

Shooing him out the way, you threw the fridge door open. "It's all blood," you observed, dismayed. "Don't you eat ice-cream?"

"No." He shut the door, much to your chagrin. "And even if I did, it wouldn't be Garigari-kun."

You pouted. He tried not to think on why that little act caught his attention.

Defensively, you folded your arms. "Then what would you eat?"

"Coolish."

"Coolish?!" you screeched. Any positive feeling he felt for you dried up like a prune. "Bad Taste!" you shouted, as if the words were capitalised. You cupped a hand by your mouth, as if making an announcement to a non-existent audience stand. "Vampires got Bad Taste!"

He covered your mouth with a hand, as if he was afraid the hoards of nobody would hear you. Both your hands grabbed his and pulled it away enough to speak.

"'Oh, I really want an ice-cream, guess I'll pick something that I have to hold for ever until it gets melted enough that I can SUCK IT.' God," you tilted your head to look up at him, "vampires really love sucking, huh?"

Your phrasing made his body heat up. His gaze dipped down to meet yours.

"Stop talking," he said.

"Are you going to make me?" you challenged.

Dauntless eyes bore into his.

Rebellious eyes. Stubborn. Irksome. Humans were naught but aggravating dust specks on his horizon, parading about without a care in the world as if there weren't a million creatures lurking in the night who could snap them like a twig. He was willing to bet you wouldn't be half as bold if he showed you a sliver of his powers. Impulsively, he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

"And if I do?" The threat came out softer than he'd intended.

Before he could feel pheromones seep from his skin, he felt your body melt into his. Your defiant gaze turned heavy-lidded as you stared at his face, gaze darting from his eyes to his lips.

"Are you seducing me?" you asked, lowly.

He smirked. "Are you feeling seduced by me?"

As if there was a mechanism in your back, you sprung away from him. He watched as you coughed, blushing up to the roots of your hair. This was unexpected. He hadn't thought you had feelings.

"Yeah, I'm feeling really attracted to someone who'd rather drink their ice-cream than eat it," you sneered. "Slurp, slurp."

Gnashing his teeth, Shinsou narrowed his eyes at you. He turned and made his way up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" you called after him.

"Get your coat," he demanded, hearing his voice echo in the rotunda. "We're going to the store."

"Bread."

"No."

"Natto."

"Gross, no."

"Lucky Charms."

"No."

"This is so sad!" you wailed.

Shinsou's brows shot up, alarmed at your outburst.

A couple days had passed since the incident in his basement. Days that hadn't done anything to cause your fervour for the subject that was his diet to wane. In fact, it had increased, as if you were now more determined than ever to uncover every minute detail of his life.

He wondered if this had anything to do with the strange phone call that had taken you away from your research that day. Halfway out the door, you had gotten a call, which you'd excused yourself to answer. When you returned, you looked stressed, saying you had to leave. He hadn't thought it good news. The following days had you showing up on the dot to grill him with rigorous intensity, though without much enthusiasm. It was only today, when he'd brought up the grocery store again, that you'd smiled for the first time in days.

Not that he had been paying attention, nor that it was any of his business. You were merely an overenthusiastic researcher infringing upon his privacy by hanging around his house 3/7. Who had endless commentary for the most mundane of things. A person who simply would not shut up about architecture. An avid fan of video games who had yet to return his copy of Xenoblade Chronicles 2.

Fine. Unfortunate as it was, you were growing on him.

Not the way a single peony would bloom in a painstakingly-cared after flower bed, nor a new shoot from a vegetable garden. Not even the way moss would creep over a log. Not in any way that could be considered pleasant. More like a mushroom, poking its gross little fungal head from somewhere you wouldn't necessarily want to see a mushroom. Like the uncleaned corner of a shelf, maybe. Or the palm of someone's hand. Just... Unpleasant. Almost nauseating.

He hated it, and he hated you. The fact of which he had convinced himself in order to get by.

A box of Lucky Charms flew off the shelf into your arms. "This is the best thing on earth!" you cried, raising it to the ceiling, as if divine powers were the ones responsible for the creation of marshmallow cereal. "This is the peak of human evolution!" You shoved it in his face. Lucky the Leprechaun shook like the contents of a protein shake. "You're telling me you don't eat it?!"

"You're being ridiculous."

Saying that, he pretended to look away as you snuck the box into the basket.

"Does this mean you can't eat?" you questioned, voice brimming with sorrow. As if it were one of the greatest tragedies of the world that he lacked a functioning human digestive system.

He supposed that wasn't too far from the truth. Before he turned, he'd enjoyed a good bit of ramen. Now, he still could, but there was no need. It took the joy out of eating. What was the point if it didn't really go anywhere? Food just sort of sat in his body, not providing any nutrients, like he was a matryoshka doll.

Even this bit of joy, he had lost.

"I can," he sighed. "I just don't have to."

There was a short silence. He looked down at you, only to find that your eyes were boring into him, an unreadable expression on your face.

You grabbed his hand. He blinked in surprise.

"No," you declared, marching off into the grocery store like a general on a warpath. Or, with him in tow, like a resolute dog-walker and their reluctant shiba inu. "What did you like to eat?"

Dazed, Shinsou could only stare down at your hand as you dragged him along. "G-gyoza."

You grinned. "Got it." A pause. "Gyot it," you chuckled to yourself.

You came to a stop in the freezer section. Throwing open a fridge door, you began to examine the wide selection of dumplings.

"This one has six in a pack, oh, there's the vegetarian variety," you gave him the up-down, "but I doubt you were into that... Oh!" You leaned past the frosted door, a bag of gyoza in one hand. "We could make some from scratch, if you'd prefer that."

He stared at you. Crowds of unanswered questions rivalling train commuters at peak hour crammed themselves in his brain. In spite of his attempts, he was unable to figure out what you were thinking. The enthusiastic march, determination flashing in your eyes; there was an energy thrumming behind every one your actions, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to leap to any conclusions as to what it could possibly have meant.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

You raised the bag. "Getting gyoza? Hello? Earth to Shinsou."

He feigned insouciance at the over-familiarity you'd adopted in your lack of honorifics. "Why?" he pressed. "I told you, food does nothing for me."

"So? You can still taste, can't you?"

He wasn't quite sure why your insistence annoyed him. "Food is for survival, and I—"

You slammed the fridge door shut. "Food is for eating. The same way life is for living." You placed a hand on his shoulder. "While you're alive, you should live."

He examined your face. You stared right back up at him, expression devoid of fear nor judgement, unwilling to back down. Something that felt scarily reminiscent of attraction wormed its way into his chest.

Until he looked down and spotted the almost-faded, mottled bruise snaking around your knuckles from catching them in a door jamb over two weeks ago.

He flicked your hand off him.

"Actually, I'm dead," he said. "And I'll be staying that way. 'Carpe diem' is for those who can actually die." Saying that, he picked the frozen bag from you and tossed it into the basket. "Also, 'life is for living' are some bold words for someone in love with their job."

Your mouth fell open. Ignoring your surprise, he turned to go. A pause. Angry footsteps quickly stomped to catch up to him.

"I'm not in love with my job," you said hotly. You snatched the bag of dumplings out of the basket. "No gyoza for you."

He slapped your hand. The bag fell back in. He switched the basket to his other side so you couldn't reach it.

"Vampires," you grumbled under your breath.

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Shinsou readjusted his grip on the basket. He had almost forgotten. This little excursion to the grocery store wasn't a leisurely jaunt, but a field trip with a purpose. He was a vampire on the hunt for a cure, and you were the researcher from which he was to garner information. A relationship of equal exchange.

Shinsou cursed himself for momentarily losing sight of his goal.

He cleared his throat. "So this advisor you speak of..."

You still sounded a little miffed. "Literally wasn't talking about him, but go on."

"Well, this advisor—"

"Grant."

"No, your advisor, the one who uh, advises you."

"No, yeah. His name is Grant," you said, joining the self-checkout queue. "What about him?"

"Well," Shinsou hummed, unsure of the best way to broach the topic. "Does he study vampires?" he settled.

"Yeah," you answered, none the wiser. "If I get a glowing review from him, I'm a shoo-in to the grant." You paused. "The money grant, not the human Grant."

"I got it," he replied, a little impatiently.

An available counter opened up. You both headed toward it. Neither of you made to continue the conversation. This was going nowhere.

Shinsou cut to the chase. "Does he know anything about... the reversal?"

"The reversal?" you echoed, prodding at the screen.

"Yeah," he said, handing you the Lucky Charms. "The cure for vampirisim."

He'd been under the impression that you had no idea what he was talking about, but the grit of your teeth as you scanned the box of cereal suggested otherwise. The cheery beep-beep! contrasted starkly against your darkening face.

"This again," you muttered, picking up a can of Strong Zero. Tetchily, you rotated the can this way and that, in a bid to locate the bar code. When you finally managed to scan the thing, you set it down with a heavy clunk. Shinsou could practically hear the over-shaken bubbles fizzing.

"It was my condition," he reminded.

You didn't seem to hear him.

"Remember?" he attempted. "You promised to—"

"You realise being a vampire means having infinite time to pursue your goals, right?" you interrupted. The next can begun its rotation.

He scoffed. "I don't have goals."

"What's wrong with you?" You sounded exasperated. "Everyone has goals."

He scowled. Why were you so mad at him?

"Not if they're immortal," he argued, catching your infuriation.

You glared at him. "You love excuses, don't you?" you shot back, accompanied by an eyeroll. "As if being immortal even makes a difference!"

"Because there's no point," he snarled.

You threw your hands up. "Of course there's a point! God, you're so—"

You flinched as he snatched the can from you. "No. There's no damned point to anything when you can't die. Not to eating, not to making friends. Not to goals," he hissed. "Do you know what it's like to have to live, interacting with people, knowing you have to see them leave you over and over again?" Violently shoving it to the scanner, he slammed the can down. "No! You don't! Because you're human. And when the last cell on this earth dries up and dies, you won't be stuck here to witness it."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. The quiet fizzle of the shaken can anchored him back to the overblown flourescents of the grocery store, dotted with shoppers pretending to avert their eyes.

Guilt rushed him like a tidal wave. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

You looked away. He didn't feel like you wanted to hear the rest of his sentence.

"We should go," you said. You didn't meet his eye. "The gyoza's defrosting."

In short, neither of you addressed your fight at the grocery store.

In long, you seemed to lack the desire to bring it up nor acknowledge that it had happened, and Shinsou was more than willing to play along. Days had passed since, and you'd continued your daily visits as if you hadn't attempted to talk him out of his search for a cure, and he hadn't snapped at you in the middle of the self-checkout counters in front of the evening shoppers of his local grocery store.

In fact, you had both agreed to extend your hours at the mansion. On your part, you wanted to get more research done in the day. For him, it was extra help on his path to mortality. You were spending nearly ten hours a day together, researching, gaming, and watching the occasional VA Night. Sometimes, you were at the house without him. He didn't know what you got out of hanging out there without the research subject, but it wasn't like he thought you would steal anything. There wasn't much of value there, anyway.

This was one of those times. You'd texted an hour ago, while he was at the library, that you were going over. Sighing, he shrugged off his raincoat and entered the house.

Just because neither of you wanted to discuss the incident didn't mean it hadn't been weighing on his mind. He'd felt terrible since. For losing his patience, but especially because it was over something he couldn't expect a human to know. It wasn't your fault that everyone had painted immortality to be such a dream, when it was no more than a curse. He wanted you to understand. A little too much, perhaps. You didn't show it, but you must hate him for it. He would.

Mulling over it wasn't getting Shinsou anywhere. He headed to the greenhouse to clear his mind.

Thunder boomed. This rainstorm wasn't letting up. He hoped the plants were okay.

He entered the greenhouse from the kitchen.

"Where the hell were you?!" demanded a voice.

Shinsou jumped. His gaze roved over the garden to land on the figure standing on the far side, beside a shelf of newly re-potted saplings, shivering body half-sheltered by a bright yellow umbrella that hovered protectively over the plants.

He stared at you. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?!" you snapped, chattering teeth taking the edge off the venom you intended to inject into your question. Your thumb jerked at the broken glass door next to you, the one that led outside, where rain was entering to splash off the umbrella. "Out gallivanting doing God knows what leaving your babies to drown in the elements, that's what!"

"It's just a little rain," he said, walking over to throw his raincoat over your shaking body.

"Maybe to you, but they're so tiny!" you protested, scowling.

"They'll be fine." He examined your fresh white shoes, now muddied by the soil. Rainwater dripped off your elbow to soak into the laces. "Did you get this drenched trying to protect them?"

You looked at the tiny saplings, their little leaves blowing in the wind. "Thought it was what you'd do," you huffed. "Being Poison Ivy reincarnate, or whatever."

Shinsou felt his brows shoot up. He wondered if the strange feeling threatening to overwhelm him stemmed from the fact that you were right, or from neglecting to let you know that the tarp he had for this exact purpose was sitting in the corner of the shed.

"Open up!" The knocker banged thrice, as was custom. "Gross penis medicine delivery!"

He threw the door open. "Stop yelling."

You toed your shoes off, peering at the welcome mat. "Where are my slippers?"

"Oh, right." He rummaged in the shoe rack and tossed them in front of your feet. "Got you new ones."

"You went to the grocery store without me?" you accused, though it lacked any kind of heat in it. Lazily, you waved a sheet as you maneuvered past him to enter. "Got the recipe, by the way. Grant swore his life on this one. How's your progress on the Mohra blood transfusion?"

"I spoke to Bob," he answered, shutting the door. "He said no."

"Bob?" you questioned, shooting him a judgemental look over your shoulder. "The Mohra's name is Bob?"

He followed your jaunt toward the kitchen. "It's what he calls himself," he said mildly.

You leaned into the heavy French doors, not noticing him subtly pushing it above your head. "You guys have been friends for years and you don't know his real name?"

He eyed you drily. "Us demons don't exactly make a habit of finding out each other's true names."

"Right." You propped the paper in your hands onto his cookbook stand. Or rather, if he had to be accurate, your cookbook stand that you had foisted upon him. "So? Why'd Bobert say no? Didn't want his blood swimming around in your boner?"

Shinsou curled his lip at your reference. "No."

Thoughts of the implication swam around his brain like someone else's blood in his pudendal arteries. He shuddered. Trying to erase the image from his mind, he dug around his cabinet for a pot.

"He said something about 'consequences beyond conception', and 'haste is the folly that plagues both man and demon', then refused to elaborate because 'if I burn this stew one more time my mate's going to kill me, dude'," he lowered the air quote, "so, that, I suppose."

"Fair." You scratched at your cheek. "I think."

He set a dusty pot on the stove. You picked it up to run it under some water. He turned his attention to the printed recipe.

Which is how you both ended up fifteen minutes later, him emptying his bottle of dried sage and your fingers reeking of chopped garlic, finally getting past the page of ingredients to mull over the instructions that spanned a maximum of three lines.

"Now we add the blood." You lowered the sheet and gave him a strangely hopeful look. "From the origin of one's vampirism."

Shinsou nodded, sticking his hand in his pocket for the vial he knew he'd stashed there. "With love from Father."

Your brows furrowed. "Uh, is that how vampires refer to the people who sired them?"

"No, he's actually my father." Locating the vial, he set it on the counter. "Here."

"You got your father's blood?" You eyed him suspiciously. "How?"

"Asked," he replied, bored. "He didn't question it. We don't ask questions."

"Oh," you said, sounding a little disappointed. "I thought you literally stabbed him in the back, or something."

"Is that what you think of me? I'm wounded," he deadpanned.

"You'll heal quick," you countered.

He wanted to retort, but your phone buzzed. You snatched it up to scan the screen for a moment, then returned it to the countertop. Disappointment overwrote your features.

This had been happening for a while now. You checked the thing every five minutes as a broker would the stock market, and each time, you seemed to face disappointment. Too many times to be considered occasional, and too frequently to be sporadic. It made his heart twinge in a funny way.

"Bad news?" he probed.

Your brows shot up. "What? No. Nothing."

He wondered why your shutting him out troubled him as much as it did.

Almost guiltily, you grabbed the blood off the counter. "I'm adding it."

You uncorked the vial. Then you paused, as if expecting a skull and crossbones to waft out of the bottle like poison from a 90's cartoon. The comedic way you sniffed it wiped his troubles like a whiteboard eraser. He stifled a snicker.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "What are you smiling about?"

Shinsou feigned innocence. He didn't have much talent in hiding laughter, it turned out.

"Not much," he lied. "Just hoping this works."

Your shoulders seemed to tense. The hand stirring at the brew slowed considerably, as if you were contemplating a way to phrase something.

"But it wouldn't be so bad, would it?" you finally said, still staring at the pot. "If this doesn't work?"

Shinsou kept quiet. He knew the caveats of the potion, and it was more likely than not that it wouldn't. Yet you had harboured hope, which he had taken to mean an acceptance of his goal. He had been wrong.

Bracing himself for another one of your lectures on why eternal life was worth living, he begun to tidy the kitchen. He picked up the chopping board with the garlicky knife on it.

The knife slid off the board. His hand shot out to catch it. The blade sliced his palm open.

Hissing, he jerked his hand back. The knife clattered into the sink.

You whipped around. Your eyes widened at the blood dripping off his hand.

"Oh God, oh God, oh fuck." You dashed from the kitchen. "Where's your first aid kit?!"

"It's fine," he called, holding the cut closed. "I'm fine."

"Tell me!" you screeched.

"Wh-" He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't have one!"

In seconds you rushed back, a scarf in hand. He recognised it as the one you'd gotten from Uniqlo two days ago. Without missing a beat, you wrapped it around his hand.

"Wait-!"

"It's okay, everything's okay," you comforted, agitation barely suppressed under your veneer of calm. "You're okay."

Surprised, he looked down at your head, bowed over his hand as if in prayer.

His heart lurched. "Hey..."

"Who doesn't have a first aid kit in their house?" you muttered under your breath.

He resisted a smile. The lack of medical equipment in his home was not something he'd thought much about since his childhood years. Being the human child of two newly-turned vampires meant witnessing them celebrate their freedom from mortal shackles, and build a life around immortality and invulnerability. Getting headaches or catching colds were a ridiculous thing of the past.

For them, anyway. That their child was still human seemed to slip their minds when it was most convenient. Gauze and plasters may have been the staple of medicine cabinets of young children's parents everywhere, but not here. Scraped elbows and bruised knees were oft greeted with disgust for the fragility of humans and scoldings to be more careful if he was going to get hurt from it.

He examined the firm grip you held on his hand as you continued to murmur complaints. The tenderness of your chiding hit so deep in Shinsou's bones he thought the knife had severed something.

He shook it off.

"I don't need first aid kits, I heal." He unwrapped the scarf to reveal his newly-healed hand. "You literally brought this up half an hour ago."

You stared at the hand nestled in the scarf. His bloodied, but otherwise unblemished palm stared back at you, as pristine as it had been on the day of his turning.

"See?" He flexed his fingers. "You're so dramatic."

You didn't rise to his taunt. "It sounded like you were hurting," you whispered.

A whirlwind of emotions sprouted within him. He stamped them down, resisting the urge to hold your hand when your fingers skimmed over his skin.

You gazed up at him, brows furrowed. "Does it still hurt?"

Your eyes bore so deep into his, he could only nod. Sighing, your touch smoothed tenderly over his skin, allowing the shoots of emotion to sidestep his self-control and plunge their roots into his heart. You quietly wrapped the scarf back over his hand.

"Stay here," you murmured, before rummaging in the refrigerator. You returned with a bottle of peach-flavoured alcohol, before lightly pressing it into where the wound would have been. Chill anaesthetised the already-fading throb into the familiar numbness from holding something too cold for comfort.

"Why does it still hurt?" you asked.

He shrugged. "Wounds just heal faster," he explained. "There's still pain."

"Then why don't you keep a first aid kit? Painkillers, or something?"

"I stopped feeling a long time ago," he answered honestly.

You frowned. He felt his heart do the same.

This was unfamiliar. Every little thing you did affected him, changed him. From following in his parents' footsteps by living life testing the boundaries of his newfound near-invincibility, to wanting to take care of himself so he never had to see you frown again; it was as if you had the power to dictate every ebb and flow of his emotions. He thought he'd never let someone into his heart again, but it was like you were bracing the door open with the steel toes of your boots, shouldering past him to enter. Then, at some point, he let you.

His honesty now felt like a lie. Whether he liked it or not, you made him start feeling again.

He wondered if he should sit down and think about what that meant. If he should figure out who exactly you were to him, and what he wanted to do with that information. He decided against it. There was more value in doing than thinking.

Decisively, he laid his free hand over yours. You looked up at him in surprise.

Shinsou smiled, softly. "Well, I'm fine now, so..."

You blinked. He stepped toward you. As if you couldn't help it, your gaze fell down to his lips.

Your phone buzzed. You flinched, the hand under his stiffening as if you were doing your best to resist checking your notifications.

Annoyed, he removed his hand. "...you can leave," he tested.

"Good," you responded, eyes distractedly darting to the phone behind you. "Great."

He scowled. Picking up the bottle, he tried not to sulk as he thrust it into your chest. Eyes wide, you scrambled to hold the thing before it could crash to the floor.

"Go, then," he grumbled, turning his attention to the pot. "Take your sugar water with you."

"Wait, what?" you cried, as if finally realising what he'd said. "Are you mad at me? What'd I do?!"

Right away, a multitude of things you had done flashed through his mind like a flipbook. In particular, the 4-dimensional experience of a putrid odour emanating from the bubbling concoction before him. His nose twitched. If the thing sat on the heat for any longer, the scent was going to seep so deep into the walls that they would turn into a scratch-n-sniff for the next decade. Still, he'd be lying if he claimed any of the memories—gross potion included—was the reason he was annoyed.

"Nothing," he conceded. He waved a hand at your phone. "But you should go if you need to."

Right on cue, it buzzed once more.

You twitched, as if tempted to check it. "It's just Grant," you said defensively, before picking up the spatula. "Who, you know, has my future happiness in his hands. Which I wouldn't have to worry about if I had eternal life, like some ungrateful bastards."

He tapped a finger on the counter. "Y'know, I don't get it. Why don't you be happy in the present?"

You just stared at him. "What?"

"Why don't you try to be happy now?" he repeated.

You paused. The second stretched into a moment. You reached to turn the stove off.

"I think Satan's Soup is done."

"Oh, come on, you big baby," you taunted, teasing tone clashing against the steady support you provided in guiding him across the parking lot. "It can't be that bad."

"You try getting bitten by a werewolf," Shinsou complained. He gingerly lifted the bag of ice you'd insisted on bringing to peer at the rapidly spreading bruise, already making its unsightly transition from purple to yellow. It would stop hurting in a minute, he knew, but that didn't make it hurt any less at present.

You failed to hold back a snort. "At least he agreed to do it."

He rolled his eyes. "Ulric would jump at any opportunity to bite anyone." Memories of a late night pub crawl where he destroyed a beer tap sprung to mind. "Or anything," he added, attempting and failing to move his fingers. "He bit through the bone, the bastard. This better goddamned work."

"Aw," you comforted, looking a little more sympathetic. "I know what would make you feel better, an—"

"No."

"I haven't said anything!" you protested.

Unimpressed, he jerked a thumb behind him. "There's a convenience store right there. You would never pass up a chance to get Garigari-kun."

You pouted. "Not true. I was..." Your eyes darted wildly around the carpark. "I was going to..." Finally, your gaze landed on a flyer on his windshield. You ripped it off. "Invite you to the vampire history museum!"

"Ha. Sure. Get in the car."

"No, seriously!" You tugged on his arm for emphasis. He hissed in pain. You cringed. "Sorry. But for real, let's go. If not now, then when? Que sera sera!"

He raised a brow at your incorrect phrase selection. "Don't you need to work on your grant proposal?" The pitch meeting was next week, if he recalled. He kept that to himself.

"Eh," you winked. "I could live a little."

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned in close to study the flyer. "Free entry for vampires and a friend..."

You hurriedly whisked the paper behind your back and threw the car door open. "I'm driving!"

***

It was a considerably large exhibition. The local museum had dedicated a whole two galleries to it, spanning two floors. According to the promotional banners, it was part of ongoing efforts to support vampire awareness week. Ironically, this vampire had not been aware. The exhibits spanned history to modern day, and it seemed more invasive than inclusive to have minute details of their covert activities exposed. Vampires themselves wouldn't have created such a campaign.

Curiously, Shinsou peered at the logos at the bottom of the posters.

Your university's logo sat proudly in the lineup of organisers. That guy, your advisor, he probably had a significant hand in this. He could even be here. At the back of his mind, something about an awareness campaign without consultations with the involved parties struck him as shady.

The misgiving was overshadowed by the sudden irrational belief that your interest in this exhibition could stem from a desire to see him.

"Let's go this way," you declared. Clutching his arm, you tugged him toward the 'Life and Love' section, eyes shifting shiftily. He subtly peeked over your shoulder to see what you were trying to get him away from. 'The Weaponry'.

"Stay close to me," you said warningly. "Don't wander."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, mom."

Not two seconds later, you found yourself distracted by the animals that vampires were thought to have as pets. Animals weren't generally too fond of blood-sucking monsters, but there had been the odd wolf or cat over the years that had been trained to become guards or familiars. Back when he was a kid, they had a family dog. It looked nothing like the fearsome ones in the photos here. Fang was old, and preferred basking in the sun to securing the house from attackers.

Accuracy did not appear to matter to you. You were fully immersed in the photobook of vampire depictions and their menacing companions, cooing over paintings of bloodhounds ravaging raw bones. Enough to not realise when he stepped away and slipped into the forbidden weaponry area.

The room was darker than the rest of the museum was. Decorated to resemble a dungeon, glass cases and explanatory text were illuminated with strategically placed warm lighting, likely to recreate the look of medieval torches. The resulting effect was pretty accurate. Like this room, the basement back at the mansion was similarly fitted with stone walls and spiral stairs, although these stairs led nowhere, while the one at home took him to the kitchen. Museum curating clearly involved a lot of research. He could have mistaken this dungeon for his own.

Except, most glaringly, there weren't hundreds and hundreds of wooden stakes pointing at him when he entered his basement.

Shinsou's gaze lingered over the series of white oak stakes. An ancestor had been killed by one of those. Apparently, the founding member of the Shinsou family had been visiting a hospital after-hours when she ran into some sort of vampire slayer cosplayer who had taken episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer a little too seriously. This was two years ago.

It was strange that a chunk of wood pointed at the right angle could end a millenium-long existence. All life was fragile, it appeared. Shinsou had spent months cursing the frailty of human life since his best friend died in a car accident on the very day he left the mortal realm to become undead, as one does, but perhaps that had been hypocritical.

He leaned down to inspect the display. Strange. One of them really looked like a dick.

Suddenly, warm fingers jerked him away from the glass.

"What are you doing?" you panted, as if you'd been running.

"Looking at the stakes," he replied. "Good to know your enemy. Were you running?"

"I just thought..." You shook your head. "Nevermind."

He smirked down at you, bemused. "I'm not looking to die, you know," he said, enjoying the warmth of your hand on his. "I just don't want to live forever."

You blinked, then pulled a face. Something in his words seemed to strike a nerve.

"What do you have against living forever?" you grumbled. "Do you know what it could do for you?"

This again.

"For you, you mean," he muttered.

Whatever nerve his words had struck before, he seemed to have struck them again.

"You know what? Yes." Letting go of his hand, you folded your arms. "Yes, for me. Call me selfish, but you have no idea how happy I could be if I could chase my dreams knowing that I had all the time in the world."

"'Happy'." He shook his head. "The problem isn't time. It's contentment."

As if you didn't hear him, you walked toward a case of aspen stakes. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Listen to me," he said, pivoting you to face him. "You're chasing an ideal that changes all the time." You turned your face away from him. He stepped into your line of sight. "How can you expect yourself to be happy when the yardstick you use to measure that happiness shifts with your every whim?"

"Stop nagging me." You had turned to stare intensely at the floor, lower back pressed against the glass case. "What do you know? You're not even human!"

He grabbed your arm. He wasn't letting you run from this. "I was human once. I had no choice in how my life ended up. You do."

You craned your neck to glare at him. "Why do you care? Why is my life any of your business?"

He paused. Why did he care so much? Why was he trying so hard? Why did he want the best for you? The answer was clear to every cell in his body, each of them electrified by synapses begging him to gather his courage and finally say it. He opened his mouth.

Words failed him. He stood there, silent, holding onto you like a dinghy to a dock, vision adapting to allow him to make out every detail of the face haloed in spots of warm light, falling deeper into the twin pools of your eyes in silence until a deep flush darkened your cheeks and you writhed out of his grip.

"Let's go to the pop culture section," you said in a rush, avoiding his gaze.

Shinsou watched as you hurried out of the room. He wasn't sure if he'd missed his opportunity to tell you how he felt, or he already did.

Ulric's bite didn't work. None of it worked. Not visiting that priest up in the mountains, not the widely-advertised immortality reversal spell, and definitely not holding a banana peel to the sky on the night of a full moon (though the barely-suppressed Grinch-like beam on your face was all the evidence he needed to prove that one a prank). Progress was slow. Or rather, stationary. It was enough to make him think that family who'd turned back had been a classic case of misinformation and/or myth. Especially since he got nothing out of asking you about their methods.

"You kidding?" you'd scoffed. "You think a newly human family would want to stick around a town known for their rain after years of hiding from the sun?" A shake of your head. "They moved to Hawaii."

Convenient. Shinsou supposed it was his fate that things would never go his way. He was brought kicking and screaming to his own turning, why would his path to reversing it go any smoother?

It definitely didn't help that the person who was supposed to be aiding him was clearly celebrating his failure.

"Are you done celebrating my failure?" he sniped.

Poorly-faked indignance sputtered from the other end of the line. "What? I'm not celebrating! It's raining and I'm here, aren't I, so..."

He held the phone between his shoulder and ear to sort out the mail as you attempted to defend yourself. Bills, flyers... A letter from your university. Shinsou wondered when you got your mail redirected.

"...'s not my fault that there's no deadly nightshade in this region. Ho-ho."

He gave the air in front of him an unimpressed look. "Repeat that to yourself, slowly."

"There's... No... Deadly nightshade... In this... Region... Ho-ho! Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," he said, picking out your letter. "Now get back here, so you can re-re-direct your mail away from my home."

"Ooh, did I get a letter from school?" you gushed.

Warmth tingled down to his fingertips as he ran his eyes over the address under your name. "You did."

"Nice! Gonna re-direct my bills, next."

He narrowed his eyes at the air.

Somehow hearing the pique in his silence, you let out a laugh. "Aw, only joking, Hitoshi-kun. I only gave your address to the university because Grant said he'd send us some resources and I said he could address it to us both."

He blinked.

"I figured you wouldn't mind," you continued.

He didn't. More than that, he felt an overwhelming urge to tell you how he felt. Here, now, elaborate plans be damned. He'd rather have you complain about the time and place of his confession years down the road than not grab onto this feeling and start openly loving you as soon as he could.

He took a breath. "Hey, I—"

"Sorry I didn't ask," you interrupted. "I'll settle it with the post office when I get back." You raised your voice to be heard over the rain. "Anyway, I gotta go. It's pouring here, and I—"

You shrieked. A loud clack reverberated in his ear drums, as if the phone had fallen onto a rock.

He gripped the phone. "Hello?!"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shinsou's heart went cold. He checked his phone. Call disconnected.

He didn't have time to think. His body moved before he could. Shinsou found himself driving on the highway before his brain caught up.

"Exit in two kilometres."

He flipped on his signal. You were out gathering a particular species of nightshade that was rumoured to exist somewhere in the unexplored depths of the Woven Forest. A walk away from the bus stop following a long bus ride, according to your huffy texts a mere two hours ago. In essence, it was far from home. Shinsou cursed himself for not making the trip himself. Even if he sped the entire way there now, it'd be dayfall by the time he arrived. Good for his vampiric sensibilities, not so for emergencies.

If it came to that.

"Turn left."

Cursing himself once more, Shinsou made the turn and stepped on the gas.

***

Woven Forest was infamous for playing host to a myriad of dangerous creatures. There was the venomous Habu snake, with its debilitating bite. The occasional swarm of giant hornets, whose sting hospitalised upwards of thirty people in a month. Redback spiders. Bears. Giant centipedes. And that wasn't counting the bloodthirsty monsters that staked their territory in the thick woodlands where humans would never step foot.

But those threats applied to people, not vampires. Shinsou was fully aware of this as he made his way through the trees. He wasn't afraid. There was nothing in this forest that could kill him.

It wasn't hard to conclude why, then, his undead heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

Panting, he flicked a mountain leech off his umbrella as he tried not to slip over the muddy, entangled roots criss-crossing over the forest floor. He felt like he'd been running for hours. Like he'd checked behind every tree, beneath every patch of undergrowth. You were nowhere to be seen. Everywhere he looked he was faced with more trees. You must have ventured very deep into the forest, on a fool's errand that he'd stupidly let you run alone.

A lonely howl echoed in the distance. Yellow eyes flashed a warning from the bushes. He picked up his pace.

It was getting dark. In fact, light was as good as absent. The sun had long since set, and the dense leaves overhead allowed little moonlight to filter through. Against the impenetrability of the trees, his enhanced night vision was powerless. If he wandered any more than this, he was going to lose his bearings, too.

Desperation mounting, Shinsou wondered if the gods would hear the prayer of a man who'd never spared them a moment's pause till the day he died.

"Shinsou..?"

He spun around. Nestled next to a massive fern lay a crumpled figure, weakly reaching out for him. He didn't need any vampiric powers to know it was you. Leaves crunched noisily as his feet flew toward you of their own accord.

As he neared, the scent of blood filled his nostrils.

"What happened?" He knelt next to you, attempting to assess the damage. The jagged puncture holes in your thigh was the main source of the bleeding, if your blood-stained hands and the broken head of a bident lying next to you were any indication. From the scent it was clear the assailant was long gone, the wound only in this state from your ill-advised removal of the weapon.

He grit his teeth. Resting his umbrella on his shoulder, he slipped off his flannel outershirt and tied it around your wound.

"Where else are you hurt?" he asked.

You blinked at him blearily.

There was no point in asking. You weren't in a state to respond, and whatever first aid he could administer here would be ineffective at best. If he dawdled any more than this, you were going to bleed out. The only thing he could do now was get you to safety.

The pair of trembling hands attached to him refused to do any of what his brain was telling them.

Bloodied fingers brushed against his. "Shinsou..."

His hands roused from their daze.

"I'm here," he reassured, handing you his umbrella. You took it, a little confusedly. Throwing an arm around your shoulders and hooking another under your knees, he scooped you up.

You huddled your cheek against his chest. It sounded like you were saying something, but it was muffled against the fabric of his shirt. Soothingly, he kissed your forehead.

"Everything's okay. You're okay." He hiked you further up his chest. "We're going home."

You tightened your grip around his neck. The steady thump of your pulse was the only sound he focused on as he started on his trek out of the forest.

He didn't bring you home. He brought you to a hospital.

You were human, after all, situated at the apex of the health insurance pyramid, and it would be inexpedient to not take advantage of it for access to cutting edge medical technology. Granted, you'd griped about not being able to afford healthcare in the past, but he didn't get born into a longstanding vampire empire without possessing significant financial assets. Shinsou had cash. He could afford a hospital stay or two.

Hospital bills were not the problem. Money was not the problem. The problem was you drifting in and out of consciousness in his arms, and him finally busting into the waiting room of the nearest medical centre only for nurses to whisk you away into the depths of the emergency room without so much as a word of reassurance from their pursed lips. He didn't know if you were going to be okay. They didn't seem like they knew, either.

Shinsou didn't know how long he'd paced the halls. Enough for a nurse to suspect ill intention and insist that he go to the vampire waiting area, he supposed.

He waited there for what felt longer than the fifteen minutes it likely was. In that glass room, sealed tight like a sensory deprivation tank so the smell of blood couldn't seep in. Plastered in posters against illegal blood trafficking. Warnings of the consequences of sinking one's fangs into a human. Stickers scolding "This is a hospital!", as if vampires frequently waltzed into hospitals like they were buffets.

In the corner hung a queue number system, split into species. The column for humans flickered weakly, numbers barely visible. There were no vending machines, no water coolers, no friendly maps to the cafeteria. Barely any air to breathe, even, for a human companion, as if reminding him that he didn't need it. He was a monster: a monster who did not need air, and did not have human companions.

Perhaps they were right. Both times he'd come here as a vampire, he waited in this waiting area alone.

When the curtain drew open, he let himself out. The nurses pretended he wasn't following until they could no longer ignore him. Cold eyes barely met his as thin lips reluctantly rattled off the ward number. Arched brows between staff members when he filled in the "species" segment of the form that furrowed into suspicious glares when the attending nurse reported that you had asked to see him.

"Room 1-C, general ward?" Shinsou confirmed, signing on the form.

The nurse guarding the reception shot him a dirty look. "Visiting hours are over, come back tomorrow."

"But—"

"Tomorrow. And word of advice," they rasped, "that's a human, not a blood bag. Feed like that again and you'll never feed again."

He didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say. He didn't see much reason to disabuse them of their prejudices.

As instructed, he returned the next day. You were lying in bed, all patched up, asleep. Shinsou didn't think he would feel relief seeing someone hooked up to a beeping machine, but here he stood, tension leaving him like water from a squeezed rag. The last time he'd run to someone's hospital bed had shown him a much different scene. At least this machine was beeping, your chest was rising and falling, and he didn't have to spend the next year or so getting in his own head running over the millions of ways he could never have prevented your death.

Still, it seemed like you were having a fitful rest. He dragged his chair closer to your bed. Your restless sleep had a similar effect on his heart as he watched you toss and turn. He ran a thumb over your cheek.

A frown knitting your brows, you whispered something indistinct. Shinsou leaned in close.

"...Grant..."

He recoiled. Surely you meant the grant, as in the money you were going to get from the university to fund your studies. Not the man.

You stirred. "...No... Not Shinsou..."

Hearing his name, thoughts of your university advisor dissipated like smoke under a wind machine. He took your hand. "Hey..."

"No!" you shrieked, sitting bolt upright. You immediately hissed in pain, the sudden movement almost tearing the wounded muscle.

"Jesus, lie back down," Shinsou coaxed, gently guiding your shoulder back to the bed. "Are you okay?"

Your eyes took a second to focus on him. Then you threw your arms around his neck.

"Thank God," you murmured. You buried your face into his neck, muffling your mumbles. He rubbed at your back comfortingly. You melted into him.

Suddenly, you stiffened.

"Wait." You drew back. "What are you doing here?"

He pretended that he wasn't hurt as you hurriedly detangled your limbs from his.

"Visiting you?" he replied, adopting his usual sardonic tone. "What's it look like?"

"You don't have to," you sniffed. Shivering slightly, you wrapped your arms around yourself. "It's cold here. You should leave. Now."

The hurt mutated into mild annoyance. He kept his tone light.

"And leave my partner in crime?" he joked, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over your shoulders. "No way."

"I'm not your partner in crime," you protested, dwarfed by his oversized leather jacket. "We're nothing to each other."

Shinsou picked up the jug on the bedside table, resisting every urge to ask if you randomly hugged anyone who was "nothing to you". Water burbled into the hospital-provided mug.

"Are you listening to me? I..." You swallowed. "You shouldn't be here."

"Seems ungrateful toward someone who's been helping me." He offered you the water.

"No," you insisted, shaking your head. "I.. I haven't been helping you."

He paused.

"I never had any intention of helping you." You lifted your head, letting out a mirthless laugh. "Not from the start."

His grip on the mug tightened so hard, he almost heard it crack.

"I've been sabotaging you this entire time," you admitted. "Haven't you wondered why nothing worked?"

Sabotage..?

There were many indications to believe you were right. Sincerity was something humans were particularly bad at faking, and unless you had a flair for acting he was certain you had genuinely tried to help him. Yet, it was undeniable that none of the attempts had worked. Then the call, the injury, the coincidentally-shaped wound on your thigh, two roughed up holes that punctured the juiciest artery... Passers-by clicking their tongues at the vampire carrying a bleeding human to the ER. Medical professionals branding him as the careless abuser of lifestock.

Everything added up. The entire charade could very well all have been a set up. Prevent him from reverting back to human, so as to frame him as the bloodthirsty vampire, a menace to society.

Perhaps if he were of more logical mind, he would have seen it. But he wasn't, and he couldn't. All he could remember was the way you'd murmured his name in the car as he sped toward the hospital, half-conscious, shaking hands denying biological instinct as they desperately reached for someone who couldn't provide the warmth your chilled body sought.

The tsunami of emotion within him ebbed to a gentle wave.

He placed the mug down. "Did you injure yourself to frame me?" he asked, calmly.

"W-What? No!" you sputtered. "Of course not!"

"Why not?" he shrugged. "You just admitted to sabotaging me."

"Sabotage, I would never hurt you!"

His eyes bore into yours. "Why not?"

You fell silent. The way your face blushed pink against the white sheets told him everything he needed to know about how you truly felt about him, and whether the electricity he'd felt buzzing between you was a product of his imagination.

"Answer me," he said lowly.

Grasping the jacket, you pulled it off you. "You should leave."

"I should leave?" he repeated, incredulously.

"Yes. Seeing you makes me sick." You flung his jacket at him. "Get out."

He caught the jacket before it fell to the floor. "You're lying to yourself."

"That's none of your business," you snapped.

He glowered at you. "You made it my business when you marched up to my door and insisted on sticking to my side day in, day out—"

"Then I regret it!" you screamed. "I rue the day I walked up your street, the day I even considered vampire study," you gripped your leg, knuckles turning as white as the sheets beneath you, "every moment, every step, every decision that led me to you, I regret them all!"

He grabbed your shoulders. "Stop being stubborn for a goddamned second and tell me—"

You wrenched his hands off you. "There's nothing to tell!"

Exasperation reached its peak. "Why are you—"

"Because I hate you!" you screamed.

He flinched.

"I hate you!" you repeated. "I hate you! I hate you so much I can't breathe when I think about you!"

As if holding back tears, you took in a shaky breath. "Please, get out."

Shinsou glared at your quivering hands. None of you attempted to meet each other's eyes.

He could stay quiet. He could accept your words at face value. He could walk out right now and never see you again.

He did none of those things. Instead, he lifted his head to glare at you.

"Fuck you," he said.

You gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

"I said fuck you." He watched as your expression twisted from shock to anger. "Fuck you. Fuck you for dooming me with the knowledge that true love passed me by as a picosecond of my endless existence, that I can't cherish you for every moment of my miserable eternal life, for denying me of loving you for the rest of yours," he swallowed, "and not even letting me know why."

Stunned, your mouth fell agape. Your voice was so quiet, it was almost inaudible. "What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying." His eyes bore into yours as he stepped closer. "I love you."

Wide eyes met his. You stared at him, expression shifting from surprise to understanding, from regret to longing: the exact same longing that lurched in his heart and he was sure showed on his face. Slowly, experimentally, you lifted your hand, as if reaching for his face.

He inched in toward you, until your palm was hovering milimetres from his skin.

Your phone buzzed.

You froze, eyes blinking away the enraptured fog to regain lucidity. He leaned back. The spell was broken. You lowered your hand and averted your gaze.

When you spoke, your voice was cold, unfeeling. Dead.

"That's not my cross to bear."

Shinsou swallowed hard. Nodding slowly, he turned and left the room.

The marigolds were not adapting well to the change in weather. Marigolds thrived in warm climates, and the fiery flowers were struggling to stay abloom amid the first frost of the winter settling uncomfortably atop the clear glass of the greenhouse. In spite of his best efforts.

If one could refer to his recent actions as "best efforts", which they would not. There were various methods to keep marigolds from dying in the cold. Grow lights, for example. Adding mulch to lock in the moisture of the soil. Fixing the broken greenhouse door so the interior could remain warm. Shinsou hadn't done any of that. Recent events left him without motivation to venture down to the basement for food, let alone do more than routine watering of his plants.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew you hadn't meant what you had said. The altercation at the hospital was but the poorly varnished surface to a rotting, termite-infested interior. Your words themselves hadn't upset him. Rather, it was the fact that you were hiding something, something you didn't want to tell him in particular. But you had made abundantly clear. It wasn't his job to find out what it was. You clearly wanted to be left alone, and there was nothing he could do but comply.

Unfortunately, at the cost of his emotional state. He hadn't thought that emotions could feel so tangible until now. He felt the pain almost physically, like the pit of his stomach had been scooped out. Like a hunger nauseated by food, a thirst that couldn't be quenched. He felt laughably isolated, like the lone bottle of yomeishu tucked away in the back of his refrigerator.

He had no one else to blame but himself. Over the past year, he had fortified his heart against invaders after losing the only human who had ever meant anything to him, then proceeded to wheel in a Trojan horse the size of Greece that made no attempt to hide its intentions. It would be amusing how naive he'd been if it didn't hurt so much.

He missed you. He missed him. And he couldn't hide this time. No more sequestering himself away in his large, empty mansion avoiding the places and things weighed down by memories. Not when merely going through the motions had him stopping at the occasional abandoned scarf, redirected mail, pineapple-shaped cutting board, getting vertigo from the emotion that was hell-bent on trying to swallow him whole.

There was so much loss. Living came with too much loss.

He supposed it was better that he learnt his lesson now, one year into forever. Focus on the trees that would tower over him, and not humans who would inevitably be buried beneath the earth. Expend his efforts to plants that would live a hundred years. Fix the door to the greenhouse.

As if on cue, said door swung open. Shinsou jumped.

"What did you do to this door?" came a condescending voice. "Have you thought to fix it?"

Shinsou heaved a sigh from the depths of his chest. Great timing. The person he really wanted to see right now.

"Hello to you too, Mother."

"Hitoshi, really," said his mother, disgusted eyes flicking to the soil, slightly damp from his recent watering. "How about a hobby?"

He saw no use in pointing out that gardening was, in fact, a hobby. "Can I help you?"

She eyed the garden path with undisguised disgust. "Here?"

Letting a controlled breath out his nose, he straightened and followed the retreating figure into the house. They entered the kitchen, his mother subtly wrinkling her nose at the pristine kitchen. He washed his hands and turned around. She stared at him, an expectant expression on her ageless face. He sighed and moved to pour her a glass of red wine.

"I'll be out of your hair soon," she reassured, delicately flipping through the items in her purse. "Just playing deliveryman for that little friend of yours," she idly waved a hand, "Best Friend-kun."

Life always had a way of figuring out what one was trying to avoid, so as to throw it in their face. Like having one's mother come over unannounced to pile on about a dead friend.

He set the glass before her. "At least remember his name," he grumbled.

"I don't have the capacity to remember every fleeting face that passes me by." She slid a plastic case across the kitchen counter. "Here."

A copy of Monster Hunter Rise for the Switch.

"His family said he always talked about playing this with you."

And then he died before it was released, finished Shinsou bitterly. A lump formed in his throat. Shinsou wondered why grief pounced from such hidden corners.

"How-" He swallowed. "How do you deal with this?"

She sipped from the wine. "This?"

Shinsou kept quiet. He didn't know why he was seeking her advice. She didn't have much wisdom to impart when he was a child; there was no reason to expect any to come gushing forth now. Asking her was a mistake. Falling silent, he smoothed his finger over the plastic cover.

She heaved a sigh.

"Life goes on," she said, setting her wine down. "With or without you."

His head whipped up to face her. She wasn't looking at him, instead poking around in her bag. "The hole they leave may always be there, but you will find another unblemished spot in your heart that you are willing to let go to ruin." Onto the counter appeared a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. "Again, and again, and again."

Almost sympathetically, she looked up at him. "It seems difficult, Hitoshi, but you will find it. You always find it."

Shinsou chewed at his lip. He was doubtful. When there felt like nothing existed but pain, was it okay for him to imagine that the empty space a person bore into his heart could ever be filled, lived with, or put aside enough to live a functioning life?

He didn't know. And he supposed that was the point. People entered lives and left their marks, and it was part of loving to embrace the repercussions.

Shinsou could only stare as his mother put a smoke between her lips. The lighter sparked once, twice, before its flame caught the cigarette. Embers glowed bright orange before they turned to ash.

She breathed in. Smoke blew out. "Best Friend-kun's family lost him too, you know."

Shinsou looked down at the case. Honestly, he had forgotten that his best friend had a family. A human family, whose loss tore a gaping hole in their lives, and were somehow still going. Surviving. Living. For all his principles and logic, his journey of isolation now seemed no more than the easiest way to escape his problems.

His back pocket vibrated. Numbly, he extracted the phone. Unknown number.

Shinsou lifted the phone to indicate his intention to pick up. His mother waved dismissively.

Turning his back to her, he held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Shinsou Hitoshi?" went a floaty voice. "Of the esteemed Shinsou bloodline?"

In spite never seeing or hearing them in person, Shinsou recognised the voice on the other end immediately. His grief dried up. Wariness took over.

There was no point pretending. "How did you get this number?"

"You're a smart guy," laughed Grant spuriously. "I'm sure you already know."

A multitude of ways he gained access to your phone flashed through Shinsou's mind.

He clenched his fist. "What have you done."

"Nothing, nothing!" was the unconvincing response. "I'm just extending an invitation to my lab."

Going over would not be wise. Still, Shinsou checked his pocket for his car keys.

"And why would I go to your lab?" he challenged.

"You want to become a human again, don't you?"

***

'Lab' was an overstatement. It was a dimly-lit room, at most. An office space, perhaps, boxed in by four undecorated white walls. Speckled floor tiles spanned the area, where a desk and a medical examination table sat facing each other, illuminated by a single desk lamp next to the computer and a standing light in the far corner. A door sat off to the side of the desk, next to a window. The blinds were down, suggesting an inner room.

Shelves by the examination table attempted to mimic a makeshift doctor's office, but this was no place to host a patient. It was decidedly unclean. The thick layer of dust and musty scent of abandoned papers shaped up to be a formidable foe to Shinsou's nose. It seemed no one had been here a while. In fact, no one seemed to be here right now. Meaning, you were not on the premises.

Shinsou had mixed feelings about this development. On one hand, he was glad you were safe. On the other, this now seemed like a wasted trip.

The secret door cracked open. "Looking for someone?"

A tall man emerged to lean casually against the door jamb. Shinsou eyed him suspiciously. He was smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, making it evident that this guy and the man on the phone was one and the same. His demeanor turned Shinsou's stomach. That, or the nausea from his loss of appetite was catching up to him.

"No," he responded. "I'm just leaving."

"What's the rush?" Grant asked, spreading his arms. "Maybe the person you're looking for will show up soon."

Shinsou hesitated. The tall man seemed to notice this.

"You know," he simpered, "the university made their offer. For the grant."

Shinsou picked up on the insinuation. You must have gotten it. After all, your proposal was objectively flawless (from his highly subjective point of view), and Grant had apparently said there weren't a lot of competitors in vampire study.

The smugness in the man's expression suggested otherwise.

He rose to the bait. "And?"

Grant pretended to pout. "It was rejected. Didn't want to do vampire study anymore, apparently. Missed the grant acceptance meeting." He shrugged, stalking toward his desk. "Humans are fickle. Emotional."

Shinsou didn't know why he was telling him this, but it didn't matter. Everything about the conversation smacked of a trap.

He eyed the exit, planning his escape. "Aren't you human?"

A drawer opened. A pair of handcuffs emerged.

"Not if you cooperate," Grant grinned.

At that, the man leapt at him, sending them both crashing to the floor. Dust flew into their faces. Shinsou attempted to knee the human in the gut. Grant dodged. He slammed a fist into his cheek. Shinsou felt his lip split open, filling his mouth with blood. Handcuffs clicked over his wrists.

The skin smarted instantly. Silver.

"When was the last time you ate?" he mocked. "You're making it too easy for me."

Distracted by his burning wrists, Shinsou kicked uselessly at his attacker. He felt arms loop under his to drag him to the examination table, where he was unceremoniously deposited.

"You know, I considered helping you. Giving you the methods to turn back into a human, and all that," said Grant, casually releasing one of Shinsou's hands from the cuffs as if having a conversation about the weather over a routine task. "Then I realised, why? Why put myself through this dying vampire hunting business when I could just become one myself? Live forever?"

The snap of the cuffs around the table had Shinsou's brain clicking the events of the past months together like a puzzle.

"You've been sabotaging us," he said, in disbelief.

The human picked up a scalpel. "I did attack my grad student in a forest, didn't I?" Slowly, he ran it over Shinsou's arm, tracing a vein. "You know, they say if soul mates exchange blood, you could turn back." He smiled at him. "Should we try?"

Shinsou swung his freed fist at the man's face. He dodged it with ease, before seizing the hand. He slammed his arm down, holding it to the table.

"Pathetic," he remarked, shaking his head. "You can't even land a punch on me."

Shinsou struggled to break free. The grip seemed inescapable.

Switching to grip the scalpel in his fist, Grant grinned. "Just as well, am I right?"

He drew the blade back and lunged it into Shinsou's arm.

Shinsou screamed in pain. Blood splattered everywhere, pulsing from the severed artery in spurts. Grant clicked his tongue, collecting the liquid in a small, clear cup.

A cloth was roughly pressed to the wound. "All this weakness, for a human. An idiot." Ignoring the wheezing figure on the table, he raised the cup to examine the ruby liquid. "A dumbass who couldn't even kill a vampire who wanted to be killed."

"Watch it," Shinsou growled, through ragged breaths. "That 'dumbass' is..."

A myriad of options teetered on the tip of his tongue. The love of his life. Soulmate. Destined person? They all seemed too permanent, too set in stone, for something that transcended time and stood strong wihout need for promises of forever. A love he didn't need to see to know was there. Tenderness that would warm him in the coldest of nights long after it was gone.

A person capable of guiding his every ebb and flow, silently, thanklessly, from their own corner of the galaxy.

Pain faded to the back of his mind.

"The moon to my tides," he concluded.

Grant shot him a disgusted look. "Poetic." Shaking it off, he tugged Shinsou to a sitting position by his tender arm. He hissed in pain.

"Yeah, yeah." The vampire hunter stuck his neck out. "Now bite me."

"Why the hell would I help you?" snarled Shinsou, trying to even his breathing.

Grant looked bored. "I have the cure to vampirism. Make me immortal and I'll turn you human."

The clean expanse of neck stared back at him. His ticket back to mortality was right in front of him, literally begging to be bitten.

Many thoughts fought for attention in his brain. The copy of Monster Hunter sitting on his kitchen counter. An image of a kid looking exactly like his old friend, running around in a garden flinging mud at his dad. You. They were all clambering for the same conclusion: returning to his past was an escape. Escaping immortality, self-imposed isolation, they weren't quick fixes to loss. If someone had told him he would never have to experience this throbbing in his heart or twist in his gut ever again, as long as he never lived the moment of falling asleep next to his friend when he snuck into the hospital room after hours to play Mario Kart with him while he was recovering from appendicitis, or you running into his arms in the darkness of the night thinking you saw a roach, he would never do it.

Because loss was worth getting used to if he wanted to live. Life was worth living if he wanted to love. And boy, was love worth it.

His mind was made up. He couldn't do this. Especially not if it meant that letting this lunatic loose to terrorise the world for the rest of time.

That said, if he refused, he didn't know if he'd be able to get out of here.

A plan grinded to life in Shinsou's brain.

"Fine," he finally said. "You got a deal. Uncuff me."

Grant scoffed. "Obviously not. You can bite from there."

Shinsou rolled his eyes. "Move closer then."

Visibly excited, Grant shuffled closer, bringing his neck right up to Shinsou's mouth. Shinsou bared his fangs, wondering if he had been this naive as a human.

He sank his teeth into the skin. Blood vessels burst beneath his canines. Instead of sucking, he pulled away, watching as the blood flowed from the wound, streaking down the man's neck.

The hunter leaned back, confused. "What are you—"

Fangs retracting, Shinsou headbutted him. Grant fell back onto the tiles, dazed. Blood continued to stream down his neck, staining the collar of his shirt.

His voice had turned weak. "What the fuck!" he managed to sputter. "I thought you wanted to die!"

Shinsou eyed him. "I never wanted to die. I just wanted to stop losing."

"What?" rasped the man, struggling to catch every other breath. "What kind of- You're still losing!"

Shinsou smiled down at him. "I know."

The main door slammed open.

"Hold it right there!"

Shinsou whipped around. You were standing in the doorway, bandages circling around what he could see of your thigh, arm outstretched in a point. "I've called the cops, vampire hunter! You won't get away with this!"

Grant scrambled to his feet. He glared at Shinsou.

"This isn't over," he wheezed, blood dripping between the fingers pressed to his wound.

Shoving past you, he dashed from the room. Drops of blood marked his escape route.

Rushing to the desk, you rummaged in the drawer, before pulling out a key. You rushed over and uncuffed Shinsou from the table.

"We gotta go, fast," you panted, "I didn't actually call the cops."

Bemused, he sat up and massaged his wrists. "I don't think he'll come back. How'd you know I was here?"

"Grant butt-dialed me." You gave him a suspicious look. "How do you know he won't be back?"

"I didn't seal his wound," he explained. "He might bleed out."

"Oh," you said, unperturbed. "In that case..."

Leaning over him, you pulled the collar of your sweatshirt down to expose your neck.

Shinsou raised a brow, wondering if it was national Humans Offer Themselves To You Day. "What are you doing?"

"You look pale as hell. You looked like this the last time the delivery was late." You shifted closer. "Here. Food. Take it."

Shinsou floundered. "I can't, you don't, ugh." The smell of Grant's blood all over the floor was churning his empty stomach. He laid both hands on your shoulders. "Listen, we should talk."

You blinked, once. Twice. Then you frowned.

Hooking a hand behind his head, you laid your lips on his. He felt his eyes widen, before letting them flutter shut. The sting from his cut faded into white noise as other, more interesting, sensations took over. He swiped his tongue into your mouth. You let out a muffled whine, the vibrations sending tingles down his spine. Running his hand over your hip, he dragged you closer, pulling you onto him. Your body moulded itself to his. Hands ran up his shirt as you bit his lip. He felt the wound on his lip reopen. Breaking contact, he flipped you both over, pinning you under him.

He stared down at you, running a thumb over your cheek. You licked the blood from the cut on his lips off your own.

"I love you, too," you whispered. "Will you drink now?"

He didn't need further invitation. Gently nosing under your chin, he kissed the soft skin there. You interlaced your fingers with his. He gave your neck an experimental nip. You let out a moan.

The sound sent his nerves into overdrive. Nothing in the world could stop him now. Growling, he sank his fangs into your neck, easily siphoning liquid up through his canines, filling his mouth with a warmth he'd never experienced before. It was richer, sweeter than anything he'd had. Like drinking chocolate straight from a fountain.

You squirmed. The movement sent more fresh blood gushing to coat his tongue. It seemed to flow straight into his veins, energising him. He felt stronger. Faster. More powerful. As if your blood filled some sort of energy gauge he never knew he had. He never wanted to stop.

You keened. Fingers weaved themselves into his hair, tightening painfully.

Appeasing pheromones seeped from him. "Almost there, baby," he reassured. He sucked a little harder.

"Shinsou..." you whimpered, weakly. Your fingers slipped from his hair.

Reason smacked him upside the head. Retracting his fangs, he licked the wound to close it. He kissed the tender skin for good measure.

"Sorry," he breathed into your neck. "Got carried away."

Your eyes narrowed into slits, though it was unclear if it was from annoyance or languor.

"Get me out of this dingy lab or I'm calling the cops."

Annoyance. He ruffled your hair in apology. Sleepily, you stuck your hands out, as if asking to be carried.

Maybe there was a bit of languor, too.

He chuckled. Hopping off the table, he gestured in invitation. You jumped into his arms. He buried his cheek in your hair. "You would get your boyfriend arrested?" he teased.

"Not if he gets us Garigari-kun," was the petulant reply.

He smiled and hiked you further up his hip. "Humans got bad taste."

"Did you bring an umbrella?"

Shinsou got out of the car. "It's dark, my moon."

Emerging from the passenger side, you squinted at the sky. "Yeah, but the sun's not fully set." 

He stared out at the horizon. You were right. The beach was dark, yet he found himself staring directly into the deep orange sun in a sudden confrontation that he found himself winning. It was strange, but sunlight hadn't been bothering him for a while now. Perhaps aversion from the sun was something vampires grew out of after their first year, and the vampires around him were just too set in their ways to experiment sunbathing. He'd have to check with his parents.

Either way, it was a strange feeling, seeing sunlight again. He had believed it an unattainable memory of his past. Shinsou smiled. He'd always liked the sun.

"Oh, there it is!" you called, enthusiastically dragging him along to the shore. You flung yourself onto a smooth rock. "It's the Ariel cliff!" you announced. You positioned yourself on the surface, looking out to sea like a seal. "Do I look like her, or what?"

"Uh," he replied.

You crawled back from the edge to sit next to him. "You never say anything nice."

"'Uh' isn't not nice," he rebuked, letting the crash of waves drown out the end of his sentence.

"But I don't look like Ariel?" you pressed, raising your voice to be heard over the sea.

He turned to face you. "I like that you look like you, my moon."

Flushing, you poked at his cheek. "Why do you always call me your moon?"

He grabbed your hand. "You are the moon to my tides." He kissed your palm. "I cannot imagine a life without you."

You scoffed. "Are all vampires this dramatic?"

He only smiled. He'd spent too much of his life denying himself of the simple pleasure of expressing his feelings to the people he loved, and he wasn't going to start again now.

Your expression softened.

A ghost of a touch ran gently over his cheek. "You know you will have to."

He leaned into your touch. "And I will." He took your hand. "But for now, let me enjoy this scenery for a little bit longer."

You stared at him for a moment. He leaned in to kiss you. A chaste kiss, before you broke apart to face the ocean. You lay your head on his shoulder as you both watched the waves crash into the shore, over, and over, and over again.

"What's wrong with Ariel?" you asked.

"I mean, how do you have sex with a mermaid?" he replied.