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The earth was cold; the ground had frozen into a hard, unforgiving slate, and the creek where Nagiri usually went to catch fish for their blood had thoroughly iced over. He shivered; his threadbare garments did nothing to keep the wind out, not when the temperature plunged this deep. Winter: it was the most miserable season of them all. For an itinerant vampire scrounging out a life at the edges of society, suffering was all but inevitable when the holiday season rolled around. Searching back through his memories, Nagiri couldn’t remember a single winter the likes of which hadn’t been plagued by grief and struggle, in one way or another. It would be no different this year.
And it had only just begun.
Frozen bodies of water and fewer people outside meant food was especially hard to come by for the hard-luck vampire. Finding enough to eat was always a problem, no matter the season; Nagiri was no stranger to hunger. But winter, well, it was another level of grueling altogether. His empty, frigid body screamed for sustenance, for warmth, but there was none to be had. Not for him. Not for a friendless, wanted vampire in Shin-Yokohama.
He pursed his lips; they were dry and cracking in the cold, and they hurt, just like the rest of his body. It seemed, again, like he wouldn’t find anything to eat tonight. Oh, if he waited somewhere long enough, he could probably feed off of a human, yes–slash their thick winter clothes right open and draw out enough blood to survive a while longer, to slake his deepening thirst–but the fact of the matter was, he didn’t want to. The slasher persona had helped Nagiri survive a long while, certainly, but something in him had changed here in this city. And he knew why: when his soul effigy was smashed and that remnant of himself he’d shoved into it returned to his body, that remnant he’d tried so hard to separate from himself, in the hopes of leaving it behind forever, it had introduced back into him the pain of who he was, of what he was. How he lived.
He’d tried, at first, to act as if nothing had changed. Maybe the slasher, he’d hoped, had become strong enough to overwhelm the pitiful, fearful parts of him. There was power in not caring. He’d had more to eat during that ruthless phase than at any other time in his life, because what were humans to him, anyway? Nothing threatening; nothing more than prey. An unfeeling vampire could feed confidently.
Night by night, all his weaknesses were coming trickling back, and they were transforming him again into a creature he abhorred. The vampire Nagiri didn’t want to feel any of it; he didn’t want to remember. But misery, it seemed, was his lot in life. Perhaps it was penance. The cruelty he’d added to the world, coming back to haunt him, to punish him for being this wicked, crooked thing.
It’s probably what I deserve, he concluded silently to himself, sending a bleak and silent gaze over a field of white-touched, frost-bent grass.
He was so empty.
He had to get somewhere warm, or he’d become like the grass, his cold vampire flesh turning stiff and pallid with traces of midwinter rime. But what place would take him in, this time of night, on a holiday? What place was open, and warm, and freely welcomed visitors inside without taking too close a look at their faces? Where would his shabby appearance, poverty, and vampire status not find him greeted with suspicion and disgust? He wasn’t sure. He might spend another night clinging to the outside of a particular laundromat whose alleyway he’d started to frequent, settling himself in the half-warm draughts expelled by the vents that shuttled moist air away from other peoples’ drying clothes.
Better to be there, at least, than out and exposed to this bitter cold, he thought to himself grimly, and set off for the more populated parts of Shin-Yokohama. If he moved quickly enough, he might get a few hours of at-least-not-freezing in.
But oh, he was still so empty.
He arrived to find the laundry vents cold and silent. No one was drying their clothes. Of course they weren’t; the late, black hours before Christmas morning broke was not the time for doing laundry. Nagiri sighed to himself. He was not asking for joy in his life; he’d given up on that. That was for everyone else, everyone gathered with their families, with their friends, celebrating, or already asleep in anticipation for the festivities of the coming day. Joy was not for slashers; he did not need joy. But was it too much to hope for, that he could be warm for a while? That he could stop running, could momentarily cease in his unending search to find a place that, even if it wasn’t necessarily comfortable, at least he could rest his body and not have to endure?
He slammed a palm against the cold alley wall in abject defeat. He could not do this tonight; he did not have it in him. He was too hungry. He was too exhausted, and cold.
And he was empty.
He sunk to his knees. Maybe he’d just let himself freeze out here. Maybe he’d freeze until the morning sun came along–if it ever did–and thawed his thin grey body enough that it could be unstuck from the pavement by whoever came along to scrape him up.
The lights in a window across the street from him blinked merrily. After some minutes of staring longingly at them, he lifted his curled form off the ground and dragged himself up, out of the alley, feeling about as dejected as any vampire could be. He leaned against a darkened store front and thought about the warmth of the sun.
Perhaps it was best he try to eat, after all. He doubted the guilt of it could make him feel any worse than he already did. Blood would warm him. Blood would fill some small crevice in that giant emptiness eating away inside of him. He was an evil creature after all; preying on others was what his body was designed to do.
Perfect; footsteps, a dark figure making its way along the unlit side of the street. The vampire slunk into the shadows. In his destitution, he couldn’t create much more in his palm than a tiny blade, but it might work out if he pulled off a successful ambush. And if things went awry… well, the situation couldn’t get much worse than this.
The silhouette of a man passed by his hiding place. Nagiri sprung out of the alley, hand raised in anticipation of his attack; his prey whipped around with astounding speed.
A familiar face.
“Tsujita?”
Nagiri hid his hand in his cloak, hoping, in the darkness, that the man hadn’t seen what he’d been about to do.
“Kantarou?” he rasped. Ah; his vocal cords were freezing up.
“Tsujita!” the man said, and although his face was difficult to make out among the shadows, there was definitely a bright smile in the voice that spoke that name. “Just the man I wanted to see!”
“Wanted to…?”
Warmth, right around his wrist. A hot hand, dragging, pulling him along the slick, ice-laden sidewalk.
Usually he hated how Kantarou did this. He hated it, for sure. But that palm, that kind, inviting palm was the warmest thing he’d touched in days, and it didn’t want to let him go, and Nagiri couldn’t even bring himself to try and disconnect from it.
“My apartment isn’t far!” Kantarou said excitedly, as if this explained what he was doing. And then, “Wow, you’re really cold tonight, aren’t you, Tsujita?”
Nagiri didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to sound desperate, which he’d do, if he spoke. His voice always cracked when the temperature was this low.
A humble building, with white, softly-glowing lights in some windows. Nagiri was led to the door of a flat on a middle level. “Let’s get you warmed up,” Kantarou said, grinning, opening the way and inviting his vampire friend inside.
Nagiri remained silent while Kantarou brought him indoors, drawing him into the living room and sitting him down. The man gave him a look he couldn’t read.
“You don’t have to stay long,” Kantarou told his vampire guest, fiddling meanwhile with the thermostat on the wall, “Not if you’ve got places to go. I’ve been holding on to a gift for you, though, and I wasn’t sure when I’d see you next. I can’t believe I ran into you tonight! What a stroke of luck!”
Kantarou hummed something happily to himself, disappearing into the hallway for a moment.
Nagiri glanced around the flat. It was clean, and empty; Kantarou hadn’t put up any decorations for the holiday season, which surprised him. Perhaps he hadn’t expected guests. It seemed they were alone.
The man emerged from a back room with a heavy-looking bag in his arms. Something inside it made muffled clinking noises as he moved.
“I’m sorry they’re not wrapped,” he said sheepishly. “And I know it’s not much. But I wanted to get you something, at least. So… merry Christmas, Tsujita, for what it’s worth.”
“You didn’t have to do anything for me,” the vampire groused through a set of tense fangs. This was… unusual, to say the least. Gifts made him wary; it seemed to him that something freely given must certainly have unspoken expectations lurking behind it.
Still, he couldn’t help but be curious, and Kantarou struck Nagiri as a man whose simple ways of thinking did not lend themselves to ulterior motives; so he opened the bag anyway, feeling a small, eager thrill that the vampire did not at all want to admit passed through his body.
Blood wine!
He snatched it up and held it up by its neck in the dim light. The sanguine, seductive substance swirled enchantingly behind its glass. Blood wine. He would eat. He would finally, finally–
The bottle dropped out of the vampire’s weak, frigid fingers, shattering at his feet.
Mortification. Profound, resounding mortification.
A pool of deep crimson was spreading along the white floor, small red channels creeping outward, droplets everywhere, everywhere, staining his clothes, his shoes… Kantarou staring, open-mouthed, unspeaking… fear, shame, a sinking feeling. He wanted to disappear. And even more than that, his pitiful self wanted–his face twisting up in a way he couldn’t bear–he wanted to, he wanted to, he wanted to…
“Don’t worry about it!” Kantarou said, and suddenly he was above Nagiri, pressing his palms reassuringly into Nagiri’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up! You just relax and get warm. There are two more bottles in there anyway–since I didn’t know what kind you liked best–and I’ll be sure to get you another to replace that one.”
Nagiri nodded, his face hidden in his hands. He didn’t want Kantarou to see him looking like this. He didn’t want to feel like this.
Kantarou paused a moment, rubbing his chin and gazing at Nagiri.
“Hm!” he said, as if he’d decided on something. “I’ll lend you some of my clothes, and wash yours. I’ve got a spare yukata somewhere that should fit you. Go have a hot bath while I take care of things here; you look like you could use it. You don’t have anywhere you need to be soon, do you?”
The vampire shook his head.
“Good. Then feel free to stay as long as you like.” Kantarou directed a wan smile at him. “I could really use the company tonight.”
The way he said it made Nagiri’s chest swell with sadness, and… something else. He couldn’t explain it, but suddenly he wanted to do something for him, wanted to help him.
“I–I’ll–” he stuttered, before rising to his feet. “I… don’t want to make you take care of my mess,” he said gruffly. “I should at least–”
“No, go, go!” Kantarou said, pushing Nagiri towards the bathroom. “You’re my guest. I’ll handle everything. Go!”
Nagiri expelled an exasperated sigh, but did as he was told.
It was the feeling of the hot water that finished cracking open the knot of grief the vampire had been nursing in his chest all evening; when Nagiri slipped under the bath’s steaming surface, his mental state more fragile than he’d fully realized, the sensation of the warmth around him set off a cascade of emotions he’d spent far too many nights burying. Nagiri shuddered, and then every part of him was shuddering, too; not with cold, but because for the first time in weeks he wasn’t cold, not at all. Every part of him was warm, and brimmed with what felt like life.
“Augh,” he choked, embarrassed to get emotional even though there was no one there to see it happen. The tears that forced their way out of him were distressingly chilly; nothing told him more clearly how dangerously low his core body temperature had sunk. Nagiri didn’t want to think about it. He took a deep breath and dropped his head back until it was totally submerged, in the hopes that this would help clear his mind; and yes, this was calming, this was satisfying. Dare he admit, it was even pleasant.
Perhaps, he speculated, he’d died out in that alleyway. Good things were not for Tsujigiri Nagiri, after all; maybe this was a dream, the final wishful hallucination of a vampire whose entire life had been cursed with cruelty and punishing misfortune. Being invited into someone’s home, being presented with gifts–with sustenance!– and taking a hot, soul-soothing bath… these were undeniably good things, and Nagiri never got good things.
For once the vampire’s wretched luck had not failed him. Somehow, right when he’d most needed him, the one person in all the world willing to take his hand and pull him somewhere better had appeared to do just that.
Kantarou… he was good, too.
Kantarou.
Nagiri’s mind quieted as he considered the man. He drifted for a while in the water, thinking placid thoughts.
Kantarou still didn’t know who he really was. To Kantarou, Nagiri was “Tsujita,” just one of many vampire residents of Shin-Yokohama. And a… a friend, or something. The two of them hadn’t actually spent all that much time together, and yet, when they did, Kantarou was so bright, so eager to draw him into all his antics and keep the vampire by his side. Nagiri didn’t understand it, but for some reason, it seemed Kantarou had come to actually like him. And against all odds, to want to treat him with kindness.
Hm, the broody vampire thought to himself, glaring at the ceiling as he mulled over his situation. Maybe… I don’t mind being Tsujita.
Tsujigiri Nagiri might be destined for a life of unending hardship, certainly, but Tsujita… Tsujita, who was liked, and even trusted, by someone… perhaps, the vampire pondered, Kantarou’s Tsujita could look forward to a few precious breaks from his misery.
Well; only time would tell.
He washed himself, dried himself, and then dressed himself in the crisp, clean yukata Kantarou had left for him. All the oil had come out of his black hair, leaving it softer and smoother than it had been in years; river bathing had never done the vampire any favors. The heat of the bath left his skin looking more pink and lively than usual, too, and he paused to focus on himself in the mirror.
I’m glowing, he thought briefly, before feeling ashamed for having thought such a thing. He stepped out of the bathroom and towards the living room, where he assumed Kantarou was waiting.
Although Nagiri had glimpsed the reality of it for a moment, the vampire did not know, truly, how different a figure he cut following his bath; and the creature Kantarou saw emerge from the dimly lit hallway, with a strong, slender frame draped in elegant folds of shifting grey and black, with his angular head and dark, sharp features held high for once, all but took the man’s breath away.
“What?” Nagiri asked, raising an eyebrow. Kantarou was staring at him, wide-eyed and speechless.
“I–I–I… Uh, I…”
Kantarou gestured, reddening, to a kotatsu that had been moved into the center of the room. A flickering light emanated from a wide, white candle he’d placed atop it, accompanied by two steaming plates of food and a pair of full wine glasses. “Dinner?” the man offered weakly.
This was the last thing Nagiri expected, and he was shocked into silence.
How was he–how was anyone, really–supposed to respond to a situation like this? The psycho slasher Nagiri, of course, would be looking to bend the circumstances to his advantage in such a way that he could get his hungry hands on as much of Kantarou’s sweet blood as possible, before escaping, his hunger sated, into the blackest parts of Shin-Yokohama. But that didn’t seem right. That wasn’t what he wanted at this time.
Well, he thought, swallowing a bitter ball of fear, what would the vampire Tsujita do, then?
He hesitated. Then…
“...Okay…” he murmured, leveling a cautious glance at his host. Kantarou lit up. It struck the vampire that this man was not just pleased to have him there; he was outright overjoyed.
What did I do to deserve this? Nagiri wondered. He wasn’t sure he’d seen anyone direct a face of such unabashed glee at him in the entirety of his life. The sight of it left him aching in a way he couldn’t fathom.
“Come sit down with me!” the man said, and his loud voice was steeped in so much mirth that it pealed in its depths with a laugh.
Nagiri joined him at the kotatsu.
The vampire was still hungry; yes, he was absolutely starving. And yet, in spite of his hunger–and out of everything that confused him that night, Nagiri found this to be the most mysterious thing of all–with Kantarou at his side, the deep emptiness he’d felt all evening suddenly vanished from every corner of his body, before even a single drop of blood wine spilled past his lips.