Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tobio’s leg is stiff. He tries to move it, but it twinges with sharp pain, and that jolts his heartbeat into high alert.

He holds in a groan as he rouses, trying to remember where he is or what he was doing before he fell asleep. His surroundings don’t make any sense. A futon under his back. A dark, grey, concrete box of a room. A figure watching him from the corner…

He props himself up and blinks to make out who it is, teasing the answer out of blurry eyes and shadow, and his breath stoppers in his throat. The man stands and approaches, moving with fluid, graceful surety.

Oikawa Tooru, in the flesh.

“Am I dead?” Tobio asks. His voice sounds like he just finished gargling gravel.

Oikawa drops a plastic water bottle into his lap. “No.”

Tobio stares blankly down at the bottle, as if he’ll find answers printed on its shiny label, and then lifts his head to stare equally blankly at Oikawa. “Then, you’re alive?”

“I’m walking and talking, aren’t I?” He jerks his head at the water bottle. “Drink that.”

Tobio obeys without thinking. The first drop on his tongue tastes like the sweetest ambrosia. He nearly chokes as he tilts the bottle back and guzzles it, the plastic crinkling in his fist, water spilling out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin. Oikawa crosses to the opposite side of the tiny bedroom and leans against the grey wall.

Once he’s drained the bottle, Tobio wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, sitting in silence for a moment. Oikawa always hated when he asked too many questions. He chooses his next one carefully, his voice smoothed out by the drink. “What happened?”

“You were about to get your blood drained,” Oikawa says simply. “Lucky for you, I was passing by. You got a nasty cut on your leg, by the way. I had to give you stitches.”

The pain from before… Tobio yanks the blanket off his lower half. He’s been stripped down to his underwear, and his right leg is wrapped in a tight bandage from ankle to knee.

Tobio’s curiosity gets the better of him. “How many of them were there?”

“A whole coven. Six.”

“Six vampires?” Tobio can’t stop himself from sounding incredulous. “And you killed them all?”

That finally cracks through Oikawa’s cool expression. He grins, full and crooked, teeth glinting in the dark. “Did you expect anything less, Tobio-chan?”

Tobio-chan. It skewers him straight through the chest. No one had called him Tobio-chan before he’d met Oikawa, years ago, fresh out of high school and eager to learn how to kill the things that had killed his parents. No one has called him Tobio-chan since—

Well.

Since Oikawa’s death.

Tobio swallows around the lump in his throat.

When it becomes clear that Tobio isn’t going to rise to the taunt, the grin slides off Oikawa’s face, replaced by a dissatisfied curl of his lip. “I’ve got things to do, so I’ll be back in a bit. You shouldn’t put weight on that leg.” He steps through the doorway and points to his left. “Bathroom’s right here, if you need it. I’ll go get you more water.” He disappears down the hall, calling back behind him, “Your bag’s right next to you, by the way.”

Sure enough, Tobio’s backpack is easily reachable from his current position, propped up against the closest wall. He tries to check the contents, but he keeps glancing at the doorway instead. The distant noises of Oikawa shuffling around drift down the hallway.

What happened to you? Tobio wants to ask. If you’re alive, why haven’t you come back?

But when Oikawa returns, hauling a huge multipack of disposable plastic water bottles, what Tobio actually asks is, “Where’s my phone? And my knife?”

Oikawa drops the case next to the futon with a heavy thump and the uncomfortable squeaking of plastic bottles jostling together. “I took them off you, of course.”

Tobio’s fingers slip on the zipper of his backpack. “What?” He looks at Oikawa in alarm. “Why?”

Oikawa’s eyes flash coldly in the dim light as they flick down to him, and it sets all of Tobio’s nerves on edge. “Because I don’t know if I can trust you yet.”

Tobio’s heart doesn’t stop pounding until he hears the heavy slam of the front door closing.

The sense of foreboding doesn’t leave him. The next day, Oikawa is nothing less than professional as he unwraps the bandage around Tobio’s leg, but Tobio’s heart beats nervously anyway. He tells himself it’s just because he doesn’t trust this version of Oikawa. The one who played dead for years. The one who disarmed him.

But maybe that’s not fair. He’s also the Oikawa who saved Tobio’s life. The one who woke him up that afternoon with freshly-cooked eggs and rice. The one who helped him hobble to the shower. The one who apparently still buys the exact same pomegranate-scented body wash that he always has. The smell is so branded into Tobio’s brain that just inhaling during his shower had made a confused mix of grief and longing and relief well up in his chest.

Oikawa starts to wash away the blood with gentle pressure, and yeah. Maybe Tobio’s just always been hyperaware of his touch.

Nudges and jabs intended to irritate. Physical blows during sparring practice. A harsh shove out of the way of a vampire’s attack during a hunt. If he was lucky, a hand mussing up his hair.

An embrace. Once.

It had been raining that night. He’d gone off on his own, picked a fight he couldn’t win against a coven of five vampires, and he’d ended up cornered. They’d made quick work of him and left him bleeding out in a rain-soaked alley, slumped against the wall, the fresh vampire bite on his neck spelling out his fate. In less than an hour, he’d Turn and become one of them himself.

Oikawa had found him there, force-fed him sage and garlic antidote crackers, yelled at him for running off without a partner like an arrogant idiot, and then hugged him tighter than Tobio could ever remember being hugged in his life.

“You don’t have to do everything by yourself,” Oikawa had told him, frustrated and upset, his face pressed against Tobio’s wet hair. 

He’s startled out of the memory by a cool, stinging touch to his wound that makes him hiss.

“Oh, shut up,” the Oikawa of the present says, not ceasing his work. He’s finished cleaning Tobio’s wound and is now applying a reddish paste over top of it.

“Healing salve?” Tobio says, surprised. “You have a witch nearby?”

“No. I made it myself.” Oikawa’s mouth twists into a bittersweet smile. “I’m sure it’s not as effective as Kiyoko-chan’s, but it’ll do its job.”

“I didn’t know you knew anything about alchemy,” Tobio blurts out, impressed despite himself. 

Oikawa sniffs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tobio-chan.”

The words hit too close to home. Tobio falls silent, letting his gaze drop back to his wound. 

“How is Kiyoko-chan, by the way?” Oikawa asks. “As beautiful as ever, I’m sure.”

Tobio doesn’t mean to answer as stiffly as he does. “She’s fine.”

Oikawa huffs a sigh, probably dissatisfied with his anemic response, but Tobio doesn’t offer him anything else. As far as Tobio’s concerned, someone who abandoned them without a care in the world doesn’t deserve more.

Oikawa finishes redressing his wound in silence. When he’s finished, he stands up, collecting his jar of salve and the roll of bandages. “I’m going out,” he says quietly, not looking at Tobio. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Tobio waits until he’s left before he tells the empty apartment, “Be safe.” He flops backward to stare up at the ceiling. “Bastard.”

They settle into a routine of sorts. Oikawa apparently still keeps the nocturnal sleep schedule of a vampire hunter, because when Tobio wakes up in the late afternoon (according to the clock on the wall, anyway—the single window in the bedroom is blacked out, so not even a hint of orange sunset can leak in), Oikawa is always in the middle of getting dressed or finishing up breakfast in the kitchen. It’s usually a bowl of rice with an egg, which he delivers to Tobio before changing his bandages and then disappearing into the night. Presumably, he’s going vampire hunting. Tobio hasn’t worked up the courage to ask.

Tobio spends his nights alone and restless. Walking on his injured leg is agonizing, so he stays in place if he can help it, watching infomercials and reruns of dramas on the tiny TV in Oikawa’s bedroom. They blend together into droning background noise, just enough of a distraction to keep Tobio from thinking too hard about his present circumstance.

Oikawa returns every morning, carrying a bag of takeout for Tobio’s dinner. Sometimes he’s roughed up a little, a fresh bloodstain or two darkening his clothes. After a shower, he always changes into the same ratty outfit—a blue T-shirt with a giant, ridiculous, cutesy bunny printed on the front and a pair of sweatpants that have been worn so thin that they have small holes in the seams and at the knees. He’ll clean and dress Tobio’s wound one last time, and then settle onto the small futon alongside him to sleep.

The only time they really spend together is when Oikawa changes his bandages, once in the afternoon and once when he returns in the morning. Oikawa’s always been a chatty person, but he doesn’t seem to know what to say to Tobio anymore than Tobio knows what to say to him. The questions Tobio wants to ask loom over their every conversation, a giant elephant in the room that neither of them wants to touch.

“Who’s your partner now?” Oikawa asks one evening, midway through applying his homemade salve to Tobio’s leg.

“Sugawara-san.” Not that they’re partners anymore.

Tobio keeps that to himself.

Oikawa makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “Suga-chan’s good.” But he can’t resist tacking on, “Not as good as me, of course.”

Tobio glares. “Sugawara-san is better.”

It’s not strictly true; Oikawa’s skills as a vampire hunter are nearly outmatched. Sugawara is good, like Oikawa said, but he can’t hold a candle to Oikawa. But Sugawara’s always been patient with Tobio, even when he’s too blunt or clumsy with his words, something that Oikawa could barely manage on a good day. When they’d first partnered up, after Oikawa’s “death,” Sugawara had offered him nothing but kindness and warmth and understanding.

And what had Oikawa done? Left Tobio behind and let him think he was dead. Sugawara would never do something like that.

Oikawa doesn’t bother arguing with him, just flashes him a knowing smirk, rusty brown eyes full of cocky amusement.

They’re a different color than Tobio remembers.

Cold unease drips down the back of his scalp.

“How’s Yahaba?” Oikawa asks the next evening, as he unwinds the bandage from Tobio’s leg.

“He’s fine.” If you weren’t hiding away here, you would know that already, Tobio thinks bitterly. 

It’s subtle, but a bit of tension leaves Oikawa’s shoulders at the news that his old mentee is still alive and well. Maybe he does still care, after all. It softens Tobio’s heart despite himself, just a little.

After a moment of hesitation, Tobio offers, “He finally asked out that guy he always complained about. The one with the bleached buzzcut. They’re together now.”

“Is that so?” Tobio only catches a flash of Oikawa’s grin before he hides it, ducking his head to finish undoing Tobio’s bandage. “Good for Yahaba-chan.”

Tobio only grunts in acknowledgement, distracted, because something about Oikawa’s teeth had looked strange. Wrong. 

Sharp.

The next evening, Oikawa waits until he’s done applying the healing salve to ask, “Who took over as leader?”

“Moniwa-san.”

Oikawa breathes out a relieved sigh. “Thank God.” He starts winding a fresh bandage up Tobio’s ankle. “I was afraid you’d say it was Shirabu-kun or something.”

“If Shirabu-san were in charge, I think he would’ve killed Miya-san by now.”

“Miya?” Oikawa’s hand falters midway up Tobio’s calf. “That’s a new name.”

Oh. That’s right. Oikawa wouldn’t know, would he? “He’s new,” Tobio explains. “He’s an amazing hunter.”

Oikawa resumes wrapping, yanking the bandages tight. “I bet I could take him.”

Miya is one of the few hunters that could actually stand a chance against Oikawa in a fight. In fact, Miya might even be able to win. “I don’t know,” Tobio says honestly, trying to picture the two of them sparring.

Oikawa frowns. He doesn’t say anything else as he finishes bandaging Tobio’s leg.

“What about you, Tobio?”

Tobio, who had been zoned out, watching Oikawa dress his injury once again, glances up at him in surprise. Oikawa isn’t looking at him, eyes focused on his work.

“What about me?”

Oikawa shrugs as he rips the end of the bandage off of the roll. “How have you been?”

Tobio flinches. The words land on him like blows. How can he even begin to answer that question? You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Oikawa had told him, but then he’d turned around like a hypocrite and done exactly that, running off on his own and vanishing, letting Tobio think he was dead, leaving behind an empty space and a legacy that Tobio could never hope to live up to. 

More stiffly than he’s answered any of Oikawa’s previous questions, Tobio says, “Fine.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa’s lips purse. “Good for you.”

“It is good,” Tobio shoots back unthinkingly. 

Oikawa scowls up at him, his newly-reddish eyes sparking in anger. “Because you’ve got Sugawara and Miya and everyone else, right?” He stands up, gripping his medical supplies tight. “You’re doing just fine without me, huh, Tobio-chan?”

“I—”

“In fact,” Oikawa says, cutting him off as he turns to leave, “it sounds like you’re all doing just fine without me! I’m relieved,” he says, and he laughs, loud and fake. “For a while there, I thought you’d be upset that I was gone, but I guess I had nothing to worry about!”

He storms out before Tobio can reply, leaving for the night without bothering to say goodbye. The hard slam of the front door rings through the empty apartment.

Tobio wakes that morning to Oikawa joining him on the futon to sleep. He smells like pomegranates and he’s dressed in his worn out sleep clothes. When his eyes meet Tobio’s, they glint unnaturally in the dark.

“Go back to sleep,” he says gruffly.

Tobio reaches out, intending to touch lightly, but when he feels solid, cool skin under his palm, he can’t help but grab on tight, as if Oikawa will fade away like a ghost. Oikawa goes perfectly still.

“You left us.” Tobio’s voice is rough from sleep. “You don’t get to be upset that we’ve carried on without you.”

Oikawa waits a moment before answering. When he does, his words are quiet and serious. “I know. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I expected you all to miss me more, is all.”

“Miss you?” Digging his fingers in, Tobio croaks out, “Oikawa-san, I mourned you.”

The hardness in Oikawa’s expression fractures. “Tobio…”

But it’s too late; Tobio can’t wait any longer. Voice cracking, he finally speaks aloud the question that’s been hovering over them since Tobio first woke up on this futon days ago. “Why did you leave?”

Oikawa closes his eyes. Tobio’s heart beats loudly in his chest, suddenly scared of what he might be about to hear. The silence is heavy, growing more smothering by the second. They lie there for so long that Tobio starts to think Oikawa isn’t going to answer him at all, but then he finally murmurs, “I can’t tell you.”

Tobio can’t tell if the slump in his shoulders is from defeat or relief. “Okay, Oikawa-san.” 

He lets go of his arm and moves to roll over, but he’s stopped by a rough hand on his shoulder. Oikawa grabs him and tugs him close, pulling Tobio against his chest and curling around him. Tobio goes stiff in his arms, his heartbeat ratcheting up in terror, but Oikawa doesn’t do anything but hold him there. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Tobio sucks in a breath, because an apology from Oikawa is even more shocking than a hug.

He doesn’t say, “It’s okay,” because it isn’t, but he doesn’t pull away, either. Instead, he presses closer, takes hold of Oikawa’s bunny shirt, soft from age and wear, and tries to forget about everything except the smell of pomegranates and the steady rhythm of Oikawa’s breathing against his cheek.

That evening, Tobio sits on the futon and eats some leftover takeout for breakfast—he’s the only one eating, as always—while Oikawa changes his bandages again.

“Your injury is looking a lot better,” he says, eyeing it critically. “Does it feel any better when you walk on it?”

“No,” Tobio lies.

Oikawa sighs. “I probably need to tweak the healing salve.” He gives Tobio a rueful smile. “Don’t take Kiyoko-chan for granted, you hear me? Talented witches are worth their weight in gold.”

“I don’t take Shimizu-san for granted,” Tobio says seriously.

Oikawa snorts out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

Tobio waits until he leaves for the night to stumble to his feet.

The apartment is cramped and plain, with cracks on the walls and mold hanging on the tiles and the smell of tobacco soaked into the carpet. There’s the tiny, dark bedroom where Tobio spends most of his time, the cold bathroom with the leaky faucet, the empty entranceway. Tobio’s already searched all of those. That just leaves the kitchen.

It’s as small and sparse as the rest of the rooms in the apartment, lined with cabinets. The refrigerator is nearly empty, housing only a lonely leftover takeout container and two cartons of eggs. On the counter next to the fridge, though, rests a mini fridge.

Tobio tries to tug it open. He expects a stash of beer, maybe, or a bag of ice, or maybe even some medical supplies.

What he doesn’t expect is for the mini fridge door to stay stubbornly closed, trapped by a combination lock on the handle.

Heart heavy with an inexplicable sense of dread, he switches to looking through the drawers. He’ll do the cabinets next.

He does a rushed job of it, careful not to noticeably disturb the contents of each drawer, his heart pounding the entire time. Oikawa has never once come home early, but that doesn’t mean he can’t; he could come barging in through the door at any minute. Tobio would crack under his perceptive, oddly-colored gaze and Oikawa would find a new, better hiding place for his—

Knife.

It’s there, in the back of the silverware drawer, blending in perfectly where it’s half-buried under the other metal knives. If Tobio hadn’t caught sight of the intricately-carved design on the handle, his gaze might’ve skimmed over it entirely. Tobio’s hand shakes as he digs it out, watching the light catch on its shiny surface.

It’s a little tarnished, its silver blade in need of polishing, but it’ll still do its job. Vampires can heal from normal wounds in a matter of minutes, but wounds inflicted by silver won’t close so easily.

Tobio lets out a slow, quiet breath, as if Oikawa will somehow overhear him, and hugs the dagger to his chest. If his suspicions are correct, he’ll need it.

His leg only gets better as the days tick by. Oikawa’s healing salve—inferior to Shimizu’s as it may be—is still working, and his leg doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as it used to. He makes sure to limp when Oikawa’s there, though, accepting his help to get around the apartment.

One afternoon, he’s sitting at the rickety table against the wall of the kitchen while Oikawa serves up the single bowl of rice he’s finished cooking. He hums to himself as he works, nodding along to the song he can hear in his head. He’s in a good mood today. It sends a pang of guilt through Tobio to go along with his jittery nerves.

His fingers clench so tightly around the silver dagger hidden in his lap that they twinge in pain. He barely feels it.

“I’m out of eggs,” Oikawa says, pouting down at the rice. “I’ll pick some up at the store tonight. Do you want anything else?”

“Meat buns,” Tobio mumbles, a poor imitation of how he’d normally speak. His foot taps against the tiled floor. His shoulders hike up, tight and poised. If he waits any longer he might burst.

Oikawa reaches for the kitchen sink, turning his back, and Tobio makes his move.

He draws the knife and lunges across the kitchen, seizing the back of Oikawa’s shirt and stabbing the dagger down toward his shoulder. Oikawa twists, knocking Tobio back and ducking down enough that the blade slices through air instead of flesh.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Tobio doesn’t give him a chance, making a slash for his throat. Oikawa’s arm whips up to grab his wrist, faster than Tobio remembers. His other hand grabs Tobio’s fingers and crushes them hard enough that Tobio loses his grip; the dagger goes clattering to the ground.

He and Oikawa shove against each other, wrestling for the upper hand, and Oikawa manages to flip their positions so that Tobio’s the one trapped against the counter. Tobio’s free hand scrabbles against the smooth laminate surface, trying to get enough purchase to free himself, knocking against his still-hot bowl of breakfast.

“I see you’re as precise as ever, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, leaning closer, “but the thing is—”

Tobio smashes the bowl against his head.

Oikawa staggers back, clumps of rice dripping down his face, clutching his head. “You brat!” he hisses, reaching out to grab him again. 

Tobio dodges his half-hearted swipe and dives for his dagger, crawling along the kitchen floor until his fingers can close around the cool metal. Oikawa gets ahold of his shirt, but he’s bent forward and off-balance, so Tobio whirls around and kicks out, sweeping his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the floor. Tobio jumps him, feeling his shirt tear as it rips out of Oikawa’s grasp. They both freeze; Tobio stays his hand, the knife millimeters from Oikawa’s throat.

They hold themselves still, chests heaving as they pant. Oikawa’s eyes are lit up not in fear or anger, but excitement, and there’s an answering spark in Tobio, too, setting his nerves on fire. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of a good fight. Sparring with Oikawa was always the best. 

But there’s not just intensity in Oikawa’s eyes. This close, the underlying red in them is much more visible. Tobio hardens his resolve and glares down at him.

“You’re one of them.”

Oikawa’s eyelids dip lazily. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Tobio-chan.”

Tobio scowls. “A vampire.”

“I wondered if you were ever going to catch on,” Oikawa says. He smirks as if he’s the one with the upper hand and not the one with his jugular at knifepoint. “What gave it away?”

“The only window’s blacked out, and you never go out when the sun’s up.” Oikawa’s always been good at distracting his opponents by talking to them, so Tobio keeps his body tense. “You never eat.”

“I do,” Oikawa corrects him, his smirk growing wider. “Just not in front of you.”

Tobio represses a shudder at the image of Oikawa sinking his teeth into the neck of some innocent victim. “And your eyes.”

Oikawa’s smirk falters at that, his lips pursing into a frown. “What about them?”

“They’re redder than they used to be. And, in low light—”

He’s cut off by Oikawa’s body contorting under him, taking advantage of his distraction to break free just like Tobio predicted. He digs his toes into the ground and slams Oikawa’s shoulder back against the tiles. Oikawa’s oof turns into a breathy laugh.

“In low light,” Tobio grits out, and Oikawa laughs harder at him, “your eyes glow.”

“Do they now?” Oikawa asks, vampire fangs visible as he grins, wholly amused.

“Yeah. They reflect light like a cat’s.”

Oikawa hums. “I didn’t know that.” He lets out a long breath, his head dropping back against the tiles. His mocking expression dims to something calm and serious. “Are you going to kill me?”

Tobio steels himself. He should—he’s a vampire hunter, after all, with his knife against the enemy’s pulse—but how can he? He just got Oikawa back. Vampire or no, he’s not going to be the reason Oikawa dies a second time.

With a frustrated growl, Tobio tosses the dagger aside. It lands with a chime on the kitchen floor. Oikawa looks up at him warily.

“You saved me.” Tobio rolls off him to sit on the floor in a slump, suddenly exhausted. “Now we’re even.”

Keeping a suspicious eye on him, Oikawa pushes himself into a seated position as well, putting some space between them.

Tobio tilts his head back to stare up at the odd stains on the kitchen ceiling and tries to catch his breath. “How did it happen?”

“How do you think?” Tobio glances over at Oikawa’s unimpressed look. “I got bit. Didn’t have any antidote crackers.” He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, but he won’t quite meet Tobio’s eyes. “Nothing I could do about it, at that point.”

“And you just let us think you were dead.” He speaks dispassionately, but it still ends up sounding like an accusation. 

“We’re the best hunters around.” Oikawa does look at him then, smiling bitterly. “I wasn’t eager to get a silver dagger between the ribs.”

Tobio nods in acceptance. “So, when you disappear at night—you’re going out to kill humans for food?” He braces himself for the answer.

“No.” Oikawa lifts his chin. “I’m going out to kill vampires.” At Tobio’s disbelieving stare, he grins, his eyes alight with that terrifying intensity that’s always sent a shiver down Tobio’s spine. “I’m a vampire hunter,” he says with defiant pride. “What did you expect?”

“But how do you eat?”

Oikawa heaves himself to his feet, brushing rice off his clothes as he crosses the kitchen to stop in front of the mini fridge. He spins the combination lock until it opens with a click, then pulls open the fridge to reveal a collection of bloated medical blood bags, all full of rich, dark red.

“It’s not the most heroic method,” Oikawa says, letting Tobio get a good look inside. “They’re stolen, and hospitals need blood. But this way, I’m not killing humans or Turning them.” He fixes that fierce stare on Tobio again. “I have never drained a human.”

Some uneasy, knotted-up part of Tobio’s chest unties itself. He lets out a quiet breath of relief.

Before Oikawa leaves for the night, he hands Tobio his phone. “Here. Let your friends know that you’re alive.”

Tobio isn’t the best at reading between the lines, but even he can recognize the display of trust for what it is. “Thank you, Oikawa-san,” he says as sincerely as he can. Oikawa waves him off.

Hours later, Tobio stares down at his reflection in the dead screen. He wonders if the others are worried about him. He hopes Sugawara is healing up well.

Ah, well. It’s better this way. If he’s alone, he can’t get anyone else hurt.

He puts the phone in his backpack without turning it on.

“I think I’ll take the night off,” Oikawa announces one afternoon.

Tobio nods and swallows his mouthful of breakfast—conbini pork buns, today. “It’s important to take rest days,” he says.

Oikawa gives him a deadpan stare. “Yes, thank you. I’m the one who taught you that.”

Tobio pouts, but Oikawa’s not wrong. “Could’ve fooled me. You haven’t taken one since I’ve been here.”

“You can thank vampire energy levels for that,” Oikawa says, and Tobio pauses mid-bite. Ever since their fight in the kitchen, their relationship has gone back to the way it used to be. Not easy—it's never been easy between the two of them—but trading glares and sniping banter is familiar in the way their stilted conversations while Oikawa tended to Tobio's leg weren't. It’s so nostalgic and familiar that it’s easy for Tobio to forget that Oikawa’s no longer the human he once knew.

“What do you do when I’m gone?” Oikawa asks.

“I watch TV.”

“That’s it?”

Tobio scowls at him. “What else is there to do?”

“So uncreative, Tobio-chan!” Oikawa cries. Tobio rolls his eyes at the familiar dramatics, fiercely ignoring the tiny spark of fondness in his chest.

He falls silent, contemplating, and Tobio polishes off the last of the meat buns. When Oikawa speaks again, it makes him jump.

“I know! Let’s watch a movie.”

“What kind of movie?” Tobio asks warily, and Oikawa grins at him, devious and fanged.

“You’ll see.”

What Tobio ends up “seeing” is a horror movie. By the midway point, he’s certain it must be the most terrifying one in the whole world. He’s never felt so unnerved by a movie before, drawn in by the protagonists’ dread and terror. The jumpscares are few and far between, but they get Tobio every time, making him jolt away from the screen in panic.

“Why would you want to watch something like this?” Tobio grumbles, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.

“Why are you being a baby about some made-up monsters on a screen?” Oikawa says, laughter audible in his voice. “We’ve seen worse than this on hunts. You’re cuddling up to an actual vampire right now.”

Tobio sits bolt upright. He hadn’t even realized he’d been moving closer to Oikawa during the movie, but here he is, pressed up against Oikawa’s side like a scared little teenager on a date. It’s humiliating. Flushing hotly, he scoots over, trying to get away.

Oikawa slings an arm around his shoulder before he can escape. “It’s fine,” he says, pulling Tobio back into his space. 

“You’re the worst,” Tobio tells him, rigid under his touch.

“It’s not my fault. I didn’t know you’d be such a scaredy-cat,” Oikawa says, turning to smile meanly at him. Tobio glares back, and then he can’t quite bring himself to look away.

Tobio hasn’t seen him this close since he’d held a dagger against his throat on the kitchen floor, and he finds himself scanning Oikawa’s face, picking out the new scars here and there that he’s collected in their years apart. It's not unusual for vampire hunters to have scars on their necks—a vampire's bite is their best natural weapon, after all—but Oikawa has a nasty, prominent one, the scar tissue thick and jagged against the smooth lines of his throat. This is the bite that Turned him, Tobio is sure of it.

For a horrible heartbeat, he suffers through the impulse to kiss it.

Tobio looks back up at Oikawa's face to find that Oikawa hasn't looked away, either. He’s always been handsome, and even in the pale light of the TV screen it’s still true. His expression has softened into something questioning, almost wanting, and Tobio wonders what Oikawa sees in his expression right now.

Oikawa’s throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes glancing down to Tobio’s mouth, and then he’s sliding his arm off of Tobio and turning back to the movie.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Oikawa says, carefully sober.

Tobio doesn’t have the guts to ask what Oikawa means. He just pulls the blanket even tighter around himself and winces as the character on screen gets slaughtered.

Tobio’s leg is almost completely healed, which means his days here are numbered.

A new question hovers over him, now. What happens next? When he leaves, will Oikawa vanish into the ether again, “dead” once more? Will they trade phone numbers and text each other about the latest vampires they’ve killed?

Where will Tobio go after this, anyway? It’s not like he has a home to go back to anymore.

It’s the middle of the night, and Tobio’s sitting on the futon as usual, watching an infomercial for a special kind of tape, when the door to the apartment crashes open so suddenly it makes him jump. It slams shut a few seconds later, just as harshly, and then distant bangs and thumps echo down the hall.

Heart kicking into overdrive, Tobio fishes his dagger out of his backpack and creeps out into the kitchen, stepping as silently as he can. The scene that awaits him makes his breath catch; Oikawa is leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, his shirt soaked through with blood. His hands are pressed tightly to the wound, so Tobio can’t get a good look at how bad it is, but the amount of blood tells him everything he needs to know.

“Oikawa-san!” he says, dropping the knife and rushing to his side. “Oikawa-san, are you—”

“Stay back!” Oikawa shouts, but he didn't need to say anything. His gaze was enough to make Tobio freeze.

Tobio shudders, icy fear clenching in his chest. Oikawa’s eyes aren’t the rusty brown that he’s gotten used to seeing, no; now, they’re such a bright saturated red, it’s like looking at a neon sign. A warning sign. The mark of a starving vampire.

Oikawa takes a heaving breath. “Tobio, fuck off if you know what’s good for you.”

Tobio sets his jaw stubbornly, fighting back his panic. “But you’re hurt!”

“I just need to drink,” Oikawa grits out, nodding toward the mini fridge.

“What’s the combination?” Tobio asks, striding over to the fridge.

Oikawa tells him, and Tobio manages to pry it open. Inside is a single, half-filled bag.

“That’s it?” Oikawa demands when Tobio hands it over. When Tobio nods, he curses. He snatches the bag away and bites into it, draining it until it’s limp and flat, but the dark patch on his shirt doesn’t stop growing under the hand he keeps flattened against the wound. It clearly wasn’t enough.

What happens next? The answer comes to Tobio, simple and obvious. “Drink from me,” he says in a rush.

Oikawa gapes at him. “What?”

“Drink from me,” Tobio says again. He reaches up, fingers shaking, and undoes the top buttons of his shirt. He steps closer, slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal, and pulls the collar wide, exposing his neck. Those red, red eyes track the movement. “Oikawa-san, it’s okay. Have you ever had fresh blood?”

“Of course not,” Oikawa snaps. His gaze hasn’t left Tobio’s neck. “What are you doing?”

Tobio ignores him, ignores his instincts screaming at him to run, ignores his heart rattling his ribcage, and closes the distance between them. He puts a hand at the base of Oikawa’s skull and pulls him in, tenderly, guiding him toward his neck. “It’s okay.”

Oikawa’s breath goes ragged. “Tobio,” he chokes out, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“You will,” Tobio murmurs. “I trust you.”

“You’re so stupid!” Oikawa says, a little hysterical, but he winds a hand into Tobio’s hair and yanks his head further to the side, baring his neck.

Terror thick in his throat, Tobio swallows and says again, “It’s okay.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Drink, Oikawa-san.”

There’s a fist tightening in his hair, a hand pressed to the small of his back, a tongue on his neck, and Tobio can almost pretend that they’re doing something else entirely until the flash of pain.

It’s quick, Oikawa’s vampire saliva doing its job and numbing the hurt immediately. His lips attach to Tobio’s throat and he sucks, gulping down what Tobio’s offering him, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen.

Being a vampire doesn’t sound so bad, Tobio thinks. Not if he’s with Oikawa.

Tobio lets his eyes fall shut as exhaustion wells up inside him. First, his knees wobble. Next, his head goes pleasantly woozy. Finally, he slumps forward, resting his weight against Oikawa, who grips him tighter before suddenly going stiff.

There’s the sound of suction being released, and then a tongue laps at the sore spot on his neck, vampire saliva clotting up the wound, and then Oikawa shoves him away. Tobio stumbles, blinking up in bleary surprise.

Oikawa’s eyes are brown, lucid, and furious.

Voice dripping venom, he says, “You are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

The disgust in each word punches into Tobio. He shrinks back, wilting under Oikawa’s rage.

Oikawa glares daggers at him for another moment, before stomping across the kitchen and banging open a cabinet, tearing through the contents. When he withdraws, he’s clutching a baggie full of crackers—sage and garlic antidote crackers, the same kind Shimizu makes, her signature little crows stamped into the tops.

Tobio’s heart sinks. 

Oikawa pulls one out of the bag and brandishes it at him. “Eat.” When he doesn’t immediately take it, Oikawa’s face twists into a snarl, and he bares his fangs, backing Tobio up against the counter. The bag crinkles like static in his grip. “Now!”

Tobio flinches, but he scowls back at him. “I don’t want to!”

“Tobio, so help me God, I will shove this down your throat. You won’t be able to go home if you’re a fucking vampire!”

“That’s fine!” Tobio says stubbornly.

“What,” Oikawa says, mockingly sarcastic, “you’re gonna stay with me in this shithole forever? Sleeping on the same tiny futon?”

Tobio falls silent, his face burning in humiliation.

Oikawa falters, anger giving way to disbelief. “Don’t tell me that was seriously your plan.” When Tobio looks away, down at the floor, it renders him speechless. They stand in silence, thick and awkward, and Tobio wishes he could disappear.

“You don’t want this,” Oikawa finally says, a strange emotion in his voice that Tobio can’t decipher. “It’s—it’s not worth it, Tobio.”

Tobio closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch Oikawa’s reaction to his next words. “We would be together. That would be worth it, to me.”

His heart sinks as each second drags on without a reply from Oikawa. Finally, a hand touches his, squeezes, and then gently places the antidote cracker in his palm.

Oikawa’s voice is quiet. “Please eat it.”

The unspoken rejection coils in Tobio’s gut. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and pops the cracker into his mouth, eating it without tasting it.

He feels and hears Oikawa move away from him, opening up another cabinet and shuffling things around. After a moment, he returns, dabbing at the fresh bite on Tobio’s neck to clean it.

Without opening his eyes, Tobio says, “I’m not going back to the others.” The cloth stills against his neck, and he knows Oikawa’s listening. “I left on purpose, to go out on my own.”

“And look where that landed you,” Oikawa says fiercely, resuming his cleaning with rough movements. “You would’ve died if I hadn’t shown up and saved your ass.”

Tobio opens his eyes just enough to stare down at the ground and stays quiet as Oikawa smooths healing salve and a bandage over his neck. He starts to pull away, but Tobio tugs at his shirt. “What about you?” he asks, gesturing at the giant, still-wet bloodstain on his side.

“I’m fine,” Oikawa says briskly, trying to shrug him off. “Your blood did the trick.”

Tobio tightens his grip. “At least let me clean it.” When Oikawa hesitates, Tobio adds, “Please.”

Oikawa wordlessly hands over the cloth he’d used to clean Tobio’s neck and strips out of his ruined shirt. Carefully and methodically, Tobio soaks up and wipes down all the blood drying on his skin. The wound, whatever it used to be, is completely gone, closed up and vanished thanks to the potency of vampire healing.

Oikawa watches him silently, and when Tobio glances up from his work, he’s wearing the same questioning, longing expression he had when they’d sat too close during the movie, when something unspoken had passed through them both. Tobio’s movements slow, shyness creeping over him at their proximity, at Oikawa’s shirtlessness, at the intimacy of their touch.

“You’re right,” Tobio says, swallowing. “It’s all healed.” He lets his hand drop away from Oikawa’s waist. “It’d be easier to just wash it in the shower.”

“I’ll go do that, then.” Oikawa pauses, and for an insane moment Tobio thinks he’s going to invite Tobio to join him, but all he does is tack on, “Thank you,” before heading off on his own.

Tobio lingers in the kitchen, trying to steady his breathing.

“You need to go back.”

Tobio nearly chokes on his hard-boiled egg dinner. Coughing, he glares up at Oikawa from his spot at the kitchen table. Oikawa stands in front of Tobio, arms crossed, a no-nonsense look on his face. It puts Tobio on the defensive. “I can’t.”

“No, I can’t go back,” Oikawa says, curling his lip and pointing at the fang that pokes out. “You’re running away for no reason.”

Tobio bristles. “It’s not for no reason!”

“Then what is it?” Oikawa sits down in the chair across from him. “What made you decide to abandon your comrades?”

“That’s my line!” At the flash of hurt on Oikawa’s face, Tobio backtracks, slumping slightly. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Oikawa pointedly does not acknowledge Tobio’s words. “What happened?” he presses, leaning forward and glaring intently, his eyes still pure, cool brown the way they were before he’d Turned. He must still be fully sated from Tobio’s fresh blood.

Tobio glares for a moment longer, but Oikawa doesn’t back down. He’s just as stubborn as Tobio is. It’s part of why they’d made such an excellent vampire hunting team.

Tobio sighs harshly and relents. “I got Sugawara-san hurt, okay?” Oikawa’s only reaction is to raise a quizzical eyebrow, so he continues, “I’ve been pushing myself ever since you… left,” they both wince at that, “and I’ve been taking on bigger and bigger groups of vampires. Sugawara-san’s good, but…”

“He’s not as good as you,” Oikawa finishes for him.

Tobio nods, biting his lip. “About a week before you found me, I went off on my own and got into a fight. When Sugawara-san found me, the vampires turned all their attention on him instead.” He winces at the memory. “He got really, really hurt. Miya-san chewed me out pretty badly. Moniwa-san told me I needed to take a break for a while. And I just thought—” his voice catches, and he has to swallow before he can finish— “that I’m better off by myself.”

“You’re so stupid,” Oikawa says, and then he’s standing up and closing the distance and crushing Tobio in a hug. “I told you, you—”

“—don’t have to do everything by myself,” Tobio says. “I know. I remember.” He lets himself lean into Oikawa's embrace. “Hypocrite,” he mutters. Oikawa stiffens against him, and Tobio curses himself for his clumsiness. “Shit. Sorry. Bad joke. I already said I know it wasn't your fault.”

“No, Tobio.” Oikawa’s fingers grip him just a little tighter. “You were right, though. It was my fault.”

Tobio pulls back. “What do you mean?”

Oikawa pulls back, too, settling onto his knees on the floor next to Tobio’s chair. He keeps one hand wound into Tobio’s shirt. “I had antidote crackers. I chose not to eat them.”

“What?” Tobio gapes at him. “Why?”

“I thought it would make me stronger,” Oikawa says, smiling humorlessly. “I wanted to match the vampire’s strength with their own. And yes, like a hypocrite, I thought I could do it all myself.” He squeezes Tobio’s hand. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that, Tobio. Being lonely really sucks.”

Tobio can only stare down at this incredible, stupid man. “You’re an idiot,” he says in amazement.

Oikawa pouts at him, so comically petulant that Tobio has to stifle the urge to laugh. “You’re one to talk! The others love you. I’m sure even that Miya guy was just angry because you could’ve gotten killed. They’re probably worried sick.”

“They love you, too,” Tobio says softly, and Oikawa’s face falls with grief. Tobio slides off the chair and joins him on the tiles, removing Oikawa’s hand from his shirt so he can hold it in both of his instead. “I don’t think they’d hurt you. Especially if we tell them you’re vegan or whatever.”

Oikawa laughs, a little wetly. “Stupid Tobio-chan. That’s not what vegan means.”

“Come back with me,” Tobio says, and Oikawa’s breath stutters. He looks away. “Come on,” Tobio presses, ducking down to try and catch Oikawa’s gaze. “You really think they could kill you, even if they tried?”

“I know they could!” Oikawa drags the back of his hand over his eyes to dry them. “They’re all extremely competent, those bastards.”

Tobio leans closer, squeezing Oikawa’s hand, trying to look as earnest as possible. “They’d have to kill me, too, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa’s cheeks flush, and his eyes have gone soft and questioning once again. Lifting a determined, steady hand to his jaw, Tobio answers him with a kiss. 

Oikawa makes a vulnerable little sound against his mouth, stiff and unsure, but then he eases up, giving in, and then he’s touching Tobio’s hair, angling his face to kiss him harder, and Tobio’s heart nearly shorts out from happiness and relief. 

Now that they've started, they can't seem to stop; Tobio's wanted this for so long, since before Oikawa left, even, and Oikawa must have, too, if his matching fervor is anything to go by. He’s got Tobio’s shirt rucked up over his stomach by the time he breaks away, panting, to say, “We’re not having sex on the kitchen floor.” He stands up, not bothering to smooth out his ruffled clothes and hair, and offers Tobio a hand. “Come on.” 

Tobio’s face catches fire, but he slides his hand into Oikawa’s without question.

“Kageyama?”

Tobio adjusts the phone against his ear. “Yes, it’s me, Sugawara-san.”

“Oh my God, Kageyama.” Sugawara’s voice is obviously relieved, but instead of saying Thank goodness or It’s so good to hear your voice, he says, “When I see you, I’m gonna sock you a new one.”

Oikawa snorts against the back of Tobio’s hair, snuggling close enough to overhear. “Suga-chan’s the best,” he whispers, sliding his palm down Tobio’s torso.

“That’s fair,” Tobio says to Sugawara, catching Oikawa’s wandering hand in his and shooting him a stern look. Oikawa just sticks out his tongue, annoyingly cute. Tobio is such a goner. 

Sugawara laughs. “Kageyama, please tell me you’re calling because you’re coming home.”

“I’m coming home,” Tobio says, smiling softly to himself. He runs his thumb along Oikawa’s knuckles. “And you might want to save your punch for the person I’m bringing with me.”