Chapter Text
Of all things, it was coffee that smelled almost edible, if he closed his eyes and thought for long enough.
That was why Atemu found himself lingering so long in coffee shops, in his free time, before the hunger became too unbearable. He would never order; the disappointment would reach too deep into his chilled bones. Instead, he found solace in the quiet hum of everyday life that he could occasionally pretend was his own.
And then closing time would come around. A hesitant employee would approach his seat and prod gently with their words until they were acknowledged. Atemu was guided on his way, and that would be the end of humanity until tomorrow, or whenever his schedule allowed for another liaison at such a place.
Night would fall. As it always did.
Most nights, he would find himself whittling away the moonlight in whatever home he’d deemed his own that month. After all, a meal left him sated for at least a couple of days. Others, he would lead away some lonely soul, bite as gently as he could, and leave them at their door with a spell telling them Don’t remember.
Maybe his life would be easier if he did as some others did. Mana, a friend from his childhood, had never had to leave Egypt, as she ran a small stable that evolved over the centuries into a pet rescue. Animal blood did not satisfy for as long, but it was readily available, and an easily hidden sort of prey. If the animals Mana’s institution sheltered were a little more skittish than some others, or if the ‘needle marks’ from vaccinations were oddly paired, no customer nor staff member gave it more than a second glance.
But, those long, stretching years ago, Atemu had made his decision, however regrettable. Fury had blinded his senses, and his first victim had been human. It had not been ignored.
He had travelled from village to village, city to city, outrunning those clever enough to pin him down as the source of the newly made bodies. By the time he had found a way to sneak aboard a ship, and cart himself away from his home in desperation, he had almost gained control of his strength. He fed regularly on quiet sailors susceptible to his primitive thrall until they docked once more, but they had caught on by then. Before they could turn their gazes upon their ominous stowaway, he fled.
And so he had been doing for the past three millennia.
Whether his pursuit was real or of his own paranoid mind depended upon each new voyage, and hardly mattered. He never stayed longer than a season before he was off again, leaving no trace for over-zealous hunters who thought they recognised the signs of his victims.
This was only his third time in Japan, and the last had been during the Edo period. Obviously, the sights of modern Tokyo had been, to say the least, overwhelming, and he had only stayed a couple of weeks, despite the abundant prey, before making his way to a quieter city. He believed it was called Domino – he had a soft spot for games, and seeing a city named after one on the subway map had brought a smile to his face.
Like Tokyo, though, the place had a woeful lack of small, quiet coffee shops. Where he sought a ripple of human movement, most buildings were more like rapids, making him feel like he was drowning as he tried to dodge rocks and eddies of complicated interaction.
The closest cafe to his newest haunt (ha, ha) that fit his standards was a rather bland cube of a place named Sennen Coffee. It was painted stock white with smaller-than-ideal windows hosting childish scribbles of a menu, but it held a steadily small trickle of customers and was only a five minute walk.
After, finally, appraising the place as adequate, and hoping no one saw him standing outside for… however long it had been, Atemu finally made his move towards the glass door. Inside, he was instantly hit with that warm, familiar, only slightly sickly scent he was so used to.
Plants scantly decorated some of the establishment’s barest corners, and tiny round tables sat unassumingly across the gravelly tiles. Where booths should have nestled themselves comfortably against the walls, whoever had the misfortune of designing the place had put awkward collections of metal stools that seemed to look at him desperately, begging like condemned prisoners to get out now.
Still, after three thousand years, Atemu was not overly picky; and most importantly, before he could change his mind, a voice was calling to him.
“Good morning, sir! How can I help you today?”
He turned to examine his addresser. He was a round-faced guy in a company apron, his hands rested complacently on the fake-timber countertop. He had a gentle smile that poked dimples into his cheeks. And his hairstyle was almost exactly the same as Atemu’s.
He stiffened for a moment, possibilities running through his mind. This could be a fanatic who had been searching for him for years, out of misplaced admiration or disguised malice, hoping to trap him with an attention-seeking ploy. Maybe he was one of those kinds who made red-thread corkboards containing all the photos of Atemu over the decades, inexplicably unageing, and spent all waking hours attempting to track his every movement. Stranger things had happened to him.
As he stared, the stranger’s smile turned confused and uneasy. Or maybe he’s just a random person, he chided to himself, forcing his stiff legs to make their way forward. You’ve lived for three thousand years – you were bound to find someone with the same hair as you once in your lifetime.
“Wow,” the guy said as soon as Atemu was within reasonable distance. “Same hair.”
Atemu blinked. Unless this guy was a very adept liar, or very stupid, this was further proof that the whole thing was, most likely, a coincidence.
His thoughts stalled at the man’s fingers making a small tap against the bench. Right – responding. “Yes.”
This intelligent reply earned a breath of a laugh, which the man tried to hide immediately with a weak cough. A wobbly smile returned to his lips. “Um – so, uh, what would you like?”
Atemu hummed as if thinking, his eyes roaming once more over the small café. No booths, but there was a small table at one of the windows. Perfect for people-watching. He returned his gaze to the cashier’s. “Are any of your tables reserved today?”
The man blinked owlishly. “Um, no – no, we don’t have any reservations. Should I check for your name…?”
Atemu waved a hand, already training his eyes on his chosen seat. “No need. Thank you.”
Before he could take more than a few steps in his prize’s direction, he heard a hastily stifled choke from behind him. Curiosity turned his head back; the worker looked even more flustered, waving – or, more accurately, flapping – an arm in what Atemu assumed to be a placating gesture.
He raised a brow in silent inquiry. The man laughed softly again, his eyes darting between the fake wood grain below his hands and the face of his newest customer as he explained, “Sorry, I was just – you don’t want to order anything?”
Atemu was almost tempted. He had only eaten yesterday, and human food tasted better the closer it was to a meal.
But better did not mean the same, and he shook his head. “I will be fine on my own, thank you. I have some reading to do.”
He didn’t see it as lying exactly – he had a book that he wanted to read, and if most people interpreted his saying so as ‘I have important, career-related work to be doing that involves reading’, that was really their fault. The man reacted predictably, moving his jaw silently for a moment before sputtering out an apology and wishing him well. Just like that, his day was back on track.
Said day went by relatively uneventfully. For a while, he did occupy himself with a trashy romance novel he’d picked up upon his arrival in Japan (thank whatever Gods existed for air travel), which served to refresh his memory on the native language until the sun rose higher, driving more people in and out of the café’s doors. Then, his book became an afterthought to the ever-familiar comfort of varied voices greeting each other, punctuated by the music of joining cutlery. More than once he was, again, tempted to order something – it turned out this place was relatively famous for its cakes, and Atemu had, for three thousand years, nursed an insatiable sweet tooth. He resisted.
He flipped a page absently. The trio behind him were discussing a legal class whose teacher they had less-than-kind words for; the couple sitting where a booth should be were entertaining themselves with an insipid sounding video on the woman’s phone; someone at the counter was attempting to order something that had clearly not been on the menu for months.
Atemu checked his watch. It had been three or four hours, yet the man who had greeted him was still the one dealing with this last customer’s antics. He wondered briefly if it was normal for job shifts to be this long. And why he cared so much.
He snapped his gaze back to the page in front of him. Just in time – the main character was being walked home by the love interest. Thrilling, he thought dryly.
The next time he thought back to the guy was when warm sunlight had started to make its leave of his table. They’ll be closing soon, he presumed, turning another page. Instead of reading through the author’s vapid retelling of a classic “confession in the rain” scene, his thoughts drifted to the identity of the staff member who’d be sent his way. His eyes drifting blindly over the type in front of him, he mused whether it would be his similar-haired stranger.
Sure enough, only a few minutes passed before someone shuffled up to his side. “Hi,” they said – someone new. Atemu wondered at his soft disappointment. “We close in like, ten, so, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Atemu glanced at the choice – a tall, dark-haired man with a hand on his hip. There was no doubt about the why behind the decision; he was clearly confident at handling tough customers. Atemu snapped his book shut and tucked it into his bag.
“Thank you,” he told the man as he left, the door giving him a farewell jingle as he slunk back into the oncoming night. He marked day one in Domino a success.
***
Atemu hated how it felt to be hungry.
Though he called it hunger, it was really nothing alike. It was more like a virus, something that fatigued him and made his brain fuzz over and his bones ache the way they should, at his age. It felt like being empty and incomplete – more like a death of the soul than of the body. Every morning without food, he would wake with an extra stiffness, a blankness in his mind, a tiredness tugging invitingly at his heels.
He’d left it too long. He knew that as soon as his eyes cracked open, his borrowed bed already becoming a brick on his back less than a week into his new abode. Day four, was it? Or five?
With an embarrassing amount of effort, he dragged his body upright. Day five, he recalled. Five days without food. That was just plain stupid.
Unfortunately, the landlord for this place was particularly lax about his newest tenant’s contract. It had helped at first, because it had meant a quick feed with little worry about the forgetting spell sticking; weak-willed individuals always fell for it with not much more than a flick of the finger. Now, it meant it would be next month before Atemu would see him again; and he may even be suspicious by then, if he was very unlucky. No, he’d have to find someone new.
After a few minutes roving carefully through his memories of the place, Atemu came up blank. He hadn’t been meeting many recurring people at all, let alone someone he would be confident in enthralling. He resigned himself to having to hunt that night. Meanwhile, he had a day to fill.
He threw on something dark in case he wouldn’t have time that evening to change before night fell in earnest, gave his hair a lazy brush, and hoped he didn’t look too ashen in his starvation. He left his bag behind when the strap tugged too heavily on his weakened shoulder, and plotted an aimless course forward through the city.
His mind began to mist over after a few minutes of walking, and he had almost forgotten entirely about his mission to find somewhere to waste his daylight away by the time he noticed, belatedly, that he was about to crash head-first into a human body.
He couldn’t suppress a grunt as his nose made contact with someone’s shoulder. He stumbled back, his grace momentarily dismantled, and listened to an almost-familiar yelp from the obstacle ahead of him.
He opened his eyes and was met with the concerned, round face of his hair-doppelganger. He flicked his gaze to the sign above them – Sennen Coffee.
A lot of coincidences were happening to him lately.
“Um, sir?” He caught the man’s gaze again. He had been talking. “Can you hear me?”
He managed a relatively audible sound of acknowledgement. “I apologise. I didn’t see you.”
“No, that’s – that’s fine, I’m sorry,” the man’s eyes rounded, “are you sure you’re okay? I can call you a cab or something –“
“I am perfectly healthy,” he assured, though his voice was slightly strained. “I once again apologise for troubling you.”
“No trouble.” The man’s eyes flicked to the door. Atemu followed – his hands were nervously thumbing at a ring of keys. “Would you, um, want to come and sit down? I’m just opening now.”
Their gaze met again. The man swallowed.
With not a second of consideration, Atemu nodded.
The stranger’s lips quirked in a relieved smile. “Okay. Follow me in then, if you’d like.”
Uncertainty crept into Atemu’s skin as he did just that. Spotting the same table from his last visit, he pealed off towards it and hoped he would be left in silence to stew in his regret until it was socially acceptable to be on his way.
“Um.” The word stopped him before he could retreat any further. He heard the shuffle of feet on tiles. “My name is Yugi, by the way. So, just call for me if you need anything.”
Yugi, Atemu tried silently. It was a nice name. He glimpsed back and noticed the newly named man fiddling with his belt buckle. He reminded himself again about the necessity of responding.
“Atemu,” he introduced. “Thank you.”
Yugi laughed softly. “It’s nothing, really. Um. Enjoy your day.” With a small wave, he started towards the kitchen at the back of the place, and Atemu was returned to his own devices.
He took his seat, closed his eyes, and was quickly reminded of the most pressing downside of hunger: its effect on his thinking.
Where his first time at the café had been out of pure desire, a gentle break from the nature of his life, a place to relax and quiet his mind, now it served as a hunting ground. He found himself leaving his eyes open in slits to examine the passersby through the window, scrutinizing those who ventured inside. None stayed for long. After an hour or so, Atemu realised the thoroughfare was drastically decreased. Perhaps that first time had been a weekend.
He sat with his mind half-wandering for the rest of the day. Barely any humans stepped inside for longer than it took to wait for a coffee to be made, and those who did take tables for themselves were rowdy and eager to discuss their evening plans. He felt emptiness pull at his stomach.
By the time the city lights outside began to turn on to fend off the night, Atemu had come no closer to finding an easy, or even mildly available feed. He began to wonder if he would even be able to stand when he was ushered out of his seat.
He supposed that was the reason, when Yugi’s voice trilled a goodbye to the other staff, he cracked his eyes open once more to inspect him with less than savoury intentions. He thought back on their interactions, and though he resisted, he couldn’t help recall the man’s timidness, and the way his skin flushed…
He shut his eyes again. This café was something he wasn’t prepared to give up just yet, and feeding on one of its members was a surefire way to force himself to move on. He would find someone new, someone random.
And he would have to do it soon. The sun was setting, and his fingers were twitching with anticipation. This time, he didn’t wait to be moved on by the man from before, making his leave earlier to breathe in a few last, lingering moments of daylight. As he’d predicted, he barely had the energy to move away from the doors, let alone return home and change. No matter; he didn’t care all that much about this particular outfit. In fact, he absently noticed an old bloodstain near the neckline; what was one more?
Atemu was well-practiced at finding the best spots for isolated prey, no matter the country, and this city proved no different. Alleys stretched a few blocks away from nightclubs and restaurants, hiding him in shadow as he waited for those feeling too rejected or tired to continue their adventures past midnight. They were easiest, and often weren’t as saturated with alcohol or drugs as their stronger-willed companions, who only showed themselves as the sky was turning grey with dawn. Atemu looked over his nails as he waited for the first few chattering parties to pass; next came the pairs of humans hurrying to not be late, too determined to yank from the street; and, finally, as the moon reached its zenith, the ones he was waiting for.
He didn’t have time to be picky. As soon as he heard footsteps approaching, he crept to the entrance of his darkened lane and watched: A young boy with dark hair, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie; his face was ruddy and wet with tears. Poor thing. Easy prey, he thought traitorously. He stepped out.
“Are you alright?” The boy hesitated – perfect. Atemu took the offered time to hone the spell in his head.
“Who are you?” the boy asked. Atemu just shook his head.
“Come,” he commanded, soft, and immediately the will left the human’s head. His eyes blank, he followed the vampire into the shadows, revealing his neck obediently, and waited as Atemu drank. He took as much as was required, and brushed away the drops he’d missed in his haste. “Thank you,” he said, though the boy wouldn’t hear it. “Now –“
Something sour hit his nose. He gagged, and the boy’s eyes flickered in almost-recovered recognition. Panic made his work sloppy, but he waved a hand and ordered, “Forget this.”
He usually liked to walk his victims home, or at least watch as they did so themselves; but if his nose was correct, he had precious little time, and he simply vanished as soon as he was out of the boy’s eyesight, hoping distantly he would return safely of his own will.
Hungry and weakened, he hadn’t noticed before eating. Now, it seemed ridiculously obvious, and he cursed himself for becoming so bold in unfamiliar territory. Werewolves.
He would be more careful in the future. All to be done now was make a hasty retreat and hope they didn’t smell him as well as he could smell them.
At least he was fed. He would map out their territory tomorrow.