Chapter Text
The iron gates creaked shut behind him, the sound echoing like a warning across the fog-drenched courtyard.
Kouyou’s chest tightened, every instinct telling him to turn back, yet his feet carried him forward to the towering mansion.
Candles glowed faintly in the windows, shadows dancing against velvet curtains, as if the house itself were watching. Inside, the air was heavy—wine and incense, mingled with something coppery sweet.
His breath caught when he saw him at the top of the grand staircase.
So he was real.
The silhouette that even the darkness seemed to recoil from. Clad in black and red, his presence overwhelming, the kind of beauty that could cut through bone.
The vampire’s voice was a low, velvet drawl. “Did you step into my domain of your own will… or have you strayed, little one?”
Kouyou’s lips parted, words stumbling on his tongue. He wasn’t sure why he had come at all—only that the pull was stronger than fear. Stronger than reason.
The vampire descended the stairs slowly, each step predatory. His hand brushed along the banister, eyes never leaving Kouyou’s face. When he stopped in front of him, the world seemed crushed into silence.
“Your heart,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as though listening. “It’s racing. I can hear every beat.”
Kouyou swallowed hard, heat rising in his throat.
The vampire leaned in closer and whispered—almost tender, almost cruel, “Shall I still it… or make it thunder faster?”
“I—no, I’m—” Kouyou’s fingers tightened unconsciously around the lapel of his coat, as if the fabric could shield him from the intensity in those eyes. The air between them was suffocating, charged, a current humming under his skin.
The vampire circled him once, like a wolf testing the perimeter of its prey, the faintest trace of leather and wine lingering in his wake. His voice was a purr, close to Kouyou’s ear without ever quite touching.
“You have stepped across my threshold without invitation. Do you truly comprehend the gravity of such a trespass?”
Kouyous’s throat bobbed painfully. “I… I didn’t think anyone lived here.”
A low laugh rumbled from the vampire’s chest, rich and dangerous. “People think many things. But thoughts won’t protect you now.”
The candles guttered, shadows stretching high across the walls as the figure stopped in front of him again, closer this time—too close.
Kouyou could feel the faint chill of his breath.
The man himself was cold as marble, yet the pull of him was merciless and magnetic. His fingertip traced down Kouyou’s sleeve, the touch deceptively gentle. “Your pulse betrays you. You say you didn’t mean to be here… but your body tells me otherwise, Kouyou.”
Kouyou’s lips parted, but no protest came. Instead, confusion flickered through his doe eyes before he finally managed to whisper, “H–how do you know my name?”
The man’s smile was faint, merciless, as if the question amused him. “I know every name, Kouyou. Every secret. Nothing hides from me.”
The syllables slid like ice along Kouyou’s spine, leaving him trembling. His breath caught, his voice breaking before he could stop it. “Then—tell me yours.”
The figure leaned closer, his shadow swallowing the candellight, lips brushing dangerously near Kouyou’s ear.
“Akira.”
The name unfurled in the darkness like a curse, low and inevitable.
Kouyou hated the way his chest ached, the way desire tangled with fear until he couldn’t tell one from the other.
The vampire smiled slowly, a predator savoring the moment, and tilted his head toward the sweeping staircase behind him. “Come. Let me show you the fate of those who stray beyond their bounds.”
The silence of the mansion deepened as the vampire turned, his steps soundless on the marble floor. Without waiting, he began to walk, a black silhouette against the flickering light.
Kouyou followed, fear washing over him, though every instinct screamed at him to run.
The hallways were endless—lined with tall mirrors that reflected warped versions of himself, their glass fogged as though recently breathed upon. At first he thought it a trick of the light, until the chill sank deeper.
His own reflection wavered back at him, but the man walking ahead left the glass untouched, absent. Gilded frames, peeling wallpaper, and paintings whose eyes seemed to follow him made the air heavier with each step.
The man paused before one door, resting his hand against the wood. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and when Kouyou glanced too long, he swore he could see the faint trace of veins beneath.
The vampire turned slightly, his expression unreadable. “This house remembers every soul that’s entered. It keeps their whispers… their last breaths. Would you like to hear them?”
Before Kouyou could answer, Akira pushed the door open.
The chamber beyond was lit only by candlelight, the flames swaying though no draft stirred. A long table stretched down the center, set as though for a banquet—but the plates were empty, the glasses filled only with dark red liquid that glistened too thickly to be wine.
Kouyou’s breath stuttered. His heart felt like it might burst free of his chest.
Akira turned his head slightly, lips curving into the faintest smirk as if he heard every frantic beat. “You’re warm,” he said quietly. “It radiates from you. Every room you step into carries your heat. Do you know how intoxicating that is… to something like me?”
He took another step closer, closing the space until the fabric of Kouyou’s coat brushed against his chest. Coldness seeped from him—unnatural, bone-deep, the kind of chill that made Kouyou’s body shiver even as something inside pulled him nearer.
Akira’s voice dipped lower, velvet edged with hunger. “This is no place for you… and yet, I cannot bear to picture it without you now.”
They moved deeper into the mansion, each corridor darker than the last. The walls seemed to breathe, the silence broken only by the creak of old wood and the soft brush of fabric as Akiras’s coat shifted when he walked.
The next door opened to a gallery where portraits stretched from floor to ceiling. Faces in oil paint stared down at Kouyou with eyes too lifelike, their gazes hollow and accusing. Some canvases had been slashed, the paint smeared as though clawed open from the inside.
Kouyou froze, uneasy, until Akira’s low chuckle stirred the air. “They despised being remembered like that. But memory is cruel—it outlasts us all.”
Further along, a narrow staircase spiraled downward.
Akira pushed the door only halfway, revealing iron bars glinting in the dark below, the faint drip of water echoing up the stone shaft.
Kouyou’s stomach knotted at the sound, his breath catching as dread pressed sharp against his ribs.
“Don’t fret,” the vampire said with a sly glint. “The cellar is for… other pleasures. You wouldn’t want to see it. Not yet.”
They walked on. Another chamber opened, lined with shelves of leather-bound books. Dust coated most of them, but some spines looked freshly touched, worn by use. A cold draft lingered here, sharper, and Kouyou’s hand brushed instinctively against his own chest, as if to shield the pounding underneath.
Akira’s eyes lingered there for a moment too long, his lips curving in secret satisfaction.
And then—finally—the last door.
When Akira pushed it open, Kouyou’s breath caught. Unlike the rest of the house, this chamber was alive.
Warm candlelight bathed the walls, gold spilling over heavy curtains. The massive canopy bed stood at the center, draped in silks and layered with cushions, an inviting softness that felt entirely out of place in a mansion steeped in shadows.
Akira stepped aside, watching Kouyou’s reaction with faint amusement. “Surprised?” His voice dropped, almost teasing. “You thought you’d find a coffin, didn’t you?”
Kouyou’s lips parted, caught between a laugh and denial.
Akira leaned against the doorframe, lazy and predatory. “There is one,” he admitted with silken ease, “below, in the dungeon. Far less comfortable than this chamber.” His smile darkened. “I keep it only for the sake of tradition.”
The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Kouyou wasn’t sure whether the mansion wanted him to run or sink into the cushions and never leave. He lingered in the doorway, hesitant at first, his fingers tightening on the frame as though the wood might steady him.
But then he stepped inside slowly, the blonde strands of his hair catching the candlelight, glowing like a halo against the darkness. His breath was shallow, but not from fear—something else stirred in him. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the weight of being watched.
Because Akira was watching.
Kouyou’s gaze flicked to him—tall, motionless by the door, his hair long and black, falling in straight lines over his shoulders. It framed his face like a shadow, making the sharp cut of his jaw and the pale gleam of his skin look almost inhumanly perfect.
Beautiful, yes, but beautiful in the way of a storm or a knife—something meant to undo.
Kouyou turned away before that stare could swallow him whole. He touched the edge of the bed instead, the fabric sinking under his hand. The silks were cool to the touch, but the cushions beneath gave like a promise of softness.
“It doesn’t belong here,” he murmured, voice hushed in the golden glow. “The rest of this house feels like it’s dying… but this…” His fingers smoothed over the coverlet, tracing the embroidery absentmindedly. “This is alive.”
Akira’s lips curved faintly. “Or perhaps it only seems alive.”
Kouyou sat on the edge without realizing, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. His blonde strands fell forward, brushing against his cheeks as he looked around the room again, as though expecting it to vanish under his scrutiny.
Every detail pulled him in: the way the canopy folded like midnight curtains, the faint scent of wax and something darker—something that clung to Akira himself.
When he dared another glance, he found the vampire’s eyes fixed on him, unblinking, as if memorizing how the angelic gold of his hair contrasted against the dark silks.
Kouyou swallowed. “Do you ever sleep here?”
Akira tilted his head, long black hair spilling across his shoulder like ink. The smirk that touched his lips was sharp, amused. “Not often. Though I daresay it is far better company than the coffin below.”
A nervous laugh slipped from Kouyou’s throat before he could stop it, and Akira’s smile deepened—slow, deliberate, the kind that promised this room was far from the safe haven it pretended to be.
Kouyou let his fingers linger on the embroidery, tracing the golden threads like a nervous habit. The silence stretched until it became unbearable, and finally he spoke, voice low but steady. “They all whisper about this place, you know? The villagers.”
Akira’s brows arched slightly, his long black hair shifting as he tilted his head and walked toward the bedpost. “Oh? And what do they whisper?”
Kouyou huffed a breath, as if the memory annoyed him. His blonde strands shimmered in the candlelight as he lifted his chin. “That no one who enters returns the same. That the walls drink blood. That the master of the house wakes hungry every All Hallows’ Eve.”
The vampire’s lips curled, revealing the faintest flash of fang. “Charming.”
“I came to prove them wrong,” the boy went on, sharper now, almost defiant. “To show them they’re just superstitious fools, clinging to fairy tales because they’re too afraid to walk past the gates themselves.”
He hesitated, his gaze flicking across the opulent chamber before resting, inevitably, on Akira again. “…But now I’m not so sure anymore.”
Akira moved closer then, quiet as a shadow, until the bedpost no longer stood between them. His presence filled the space like a tide. “So, you endangered yourself. For their laughter… or for your own vanity?” His voice was silken, dangerous.
Kouyou’s throat tightened, but he refused to look away. “Maybe both.”
The vampire studied him in silence, black hair falling forward to frame eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Then, with a soft laugh that chilled and unsettled all at once, he leaned closer. “Pride can be deadly. But it makes for… fascinating company.”
Kouyou exhaled shakily, the sound almost a laugh, almost a gasp. His hand clenched in the fabric beneath him, the bed sinking further as if trying to claim him. “So which is it?” he whispered. “Am I company… or a meal?”
Akira’s smile was slow, dangerous, as he bent close enough for Kouyou to feel the unnatural cold radiating from him. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice a velvet threat, “you’ll find that tonight, you must be both.”
Kouyou’s breath fogged faintly in the air. He noticed it only when the room grew too still, too cold, as if all warmth had been drawn toward the figure before him. Even standing so close, he radiated nothing but chill.
It clung to Kouyou’s skin, seeped into his bones, yet instead of retreating, he leaned imperceptibly forward, as though some hidden part of him craved the very frost that should have driven him away.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured, voice thin but audible. His blonde hair slipped over his shoulder, glowing like spun gold in the candlelight. He brushed it back almost nervously, fingers trembling. “Do you always feel like this?”
Akira’s smile was faint, cruel in its calmness. “This body is but a shell. Warmth belongs to the living.” His black hair shifted like liquid shadow as he tilted his head, studying Kouyou with unnerving stillness. “And yet… you keep reaching closer.”
Kouyou’s lips pressed into a stubborn line. He straightened on the edge of the bed, forcing his gaze to meet that unblinking stare. “I’m not afraid.”
The vampire’s laugh was low, dark silk unraveling in the air. “Not afraid? Your heart betrays you, little one.” He leaned nearer, close enough that Uruha felt the sting of his cold presence brushing against the heat of his skin. “It stammers like a trapped bird. You tremble, though you try to hide it. And still, you defy me.”
Kouyou swallowed, but his voice didn’t falter. “If I run now, I’ll prove them right. That I was just another fool who came too close. I won’t give them that satisfaction.”
For the first time, something flickered in Akira’s eyes—a trace of amusement, almost approval. “Bold,” he whispered, the word curling like frost in the air. “Foolish. But bold.”
Kouyou shivered as the cold pressed deeper, yet he didn’t move away. His angelic features were set, determination burning beneath the nerves. “Maybe I’m both,” he said softly. “Maybe I’m not afraid of what you are… only of what I might feel if I don’t step back.”
The vampire stilled at that, expression unreadable, his long black hair falling like a curtain as he leaned in, closer still.
The distance between cold and heat shrank to nothing, and the silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Akira’s eyes lingered on him for too long, unblinking, until the silence itself grew heavy. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of centuries, deep and deliberate. “You’re too young.”
Kouyou blinked, startled. “Too young?” His laugh was nervous, incredulous. “You don’t look a day older than me.”
The vampire’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. His hair spilled forward as he leaned against the bedpost, arms folding loosely across his chest. “And yet I’ve watched empires rise and burn. I’ve seen faces like yours… turn to dust. I’ve endured winters that would have shattered your fragile body in a heartbeat.”
He tilted his head, studying the golden halo of Kouyou’s hair with something unreadable in his gaze. “To me, you’re a flicker. A single breath in a long, endless night.”
Kouyou’s throat tightened. The room was warm with candles, yet the words wrapped around him like ice. Still, his stubbornness flared, refusing to let the weight crush him. “If I’m just a flicker,” he said quietly, “why not let me burn while I’m here?”
For the first time, Akira faltered. His eyes softened—only slightly, only for a heartbeat—but Kouyou saw it, and that alone made his own pulse spike.
“You don’t understand,” Akira murmured, almost to himself, as if forgetting Kouyou was close enough to hear. “You have warmth I can never return. And still I—”
He cut himself off, fangs glinting when he bit his bottom lip. The cold deepened around him, almost mournful.
Kouyou’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Still you what?”
The vampire looked at him then, really looked—through him, into him—and the centuries of solitude in his eyes made Kouyou’s chest ache. “Still I can’t stop myself from wanting to keep you.”
Kouyou’s stillness sharpened, the air around him brittle as glass.
The vampire's voice came softer now, strained as though torn from somewhere deep.
“Do you know how long I’ve walked this earth without faltering? Three hundred and forty years.” His eyes lowered, briefly closing as if even the admission cost him. “And yet the moment you stepped across my threshold… I could smell you. Sweet, unbearably so. Like divinity trapped in mortal flesh. In all my years, nothing—nothing—has undone me like this.”
Kouyou’s lips parted, a flush of heat rushing to his face. Embarrassment tangled with a dizzy, shameful thrill that curled deep in his stomach. He fumbled for levity, desperate to steady himself. “Three hundred and forty?” he scoffed lightly, though his voice wavered. “Ew, you’re old.”
The attempt at mockery fell flat. His smile was too thin, his doe eyes betraying nerves, curiosity flickering bright within their warm brown depths.
He tried to look anywhere but Akira—at the canopy curtains, the cushions beneath him, the glow of candlelight—but the vampire’s gaze pinned him like a shadow across his skin.
Akira chuckled low, humorless, the sound echoing like a crack in the ice. “And yet, despite my age… you tremble, not from fear alone.”
Kouyou’s chest rose and fell too quickly, breath uneven. His hands clenched in the sheets, trying to mask the way his body betrayed him.
“I—” he began, then faltered, unsure if it was denial or confession forming on his tongue.
Akira leaned closer, his hair brushing forward to frame his face. The chill radiating from him sharpened, and Kouyou’s skin prickled with goosebumps.
“You can joke about years, little angel,” he murmured, his lips brushing the air near Kouyou’s ear, “but I can hear the hunger in your heart. Even now. And it mirrors mine.”
Kouyou tilted his chin, feigning composure as he stretched his legs out on the bed, propping himself on his forearms. His golden hair spilled like sunlight across the dark sheets, a careless contrast of warmth against shadow.
“So,” he said, voice almost lazy though his hands still gripped the fabric tight, “you’ve seen empires fall, kings wither, centuries pass… and now you would fixate on a man barely twenty?”
Akira’s lips curved, slow and knowing. “You think age makes you less tempting?”
“It makes you ancient,” Kouyou shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were proud of his jab. “And me? Young enough to unsettle you.”
The words were bold, almost reckless, but his body betrayed him. His shoulders were too stiff, his pulse thundering in his throat, his eyes darting away every time Akira leaned in too close. He tried so hard to look untouchable, and yet the flush creeping across his cheekbones glowed brighter than the candles.
Akira watched, unblinking, black hair falling like a shadow around his face.
And in that stillness—centuries of silence pressed tight around his hollow chest—something cracked.
A flicker. A beat that should not exist.
It startled him, that sudden flutter beneath ribs long emptied of warmth, like a ghost daring to stir inside a coffin. He had endured loneliness so vast it had become part of his marrow, an endless night without reprieve. Yet now—one mortal, golden-haired and trembling with pride and defiance—had undone all that silence in a heartbeat.
“You speak as if your years give you strength,” Akira murmured, voice softer now, dark velvet drawn thin. His eyes lingered on the flush painting Kouyou’s skin, the stubborn lift of his chin. “But all they give me… is reason to want to devour you faster.”
Kouyou’s throat bobbed, though he forced a crooked smirk. “Bold words from someone old enough to be dust.”
Akira laughed, low and dangerous, and stepped closer until the cold rolled off him in waves. His hand rose—not touching, not yet—but close enough that Kouyou felt the chill hover near his cheek.
“Dust, perhaps,” Akira whispered, his chest aching with that strange, unbearable flutter. “But dust has never wanted anything as fiercely as I want you.”
For the briefest instant, the mask slipped. His beauty cracked like glass in a sudden shift of shadow, revealing something raw, feral, wrong. The fine lines of his face twisted, his eyes sinking into a darkness that was not human at all. Candlelight seemed to recoil from him as though the room itself remembered what night it was.
Kouyou’s breath caught, tight as a snare around his lungs. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out the crackle of the candles. His body screamed to move, to run, but for a single frozen heartbeat he could only stare—like prey under the shadow of its predator.
The silence cracked when Kouyou suddenly pushed himself up from the bed. His movements were sharp, defiant, though his breath came too fast for true confidence. He had to move, had to do something before that gaze hollowed him out completely.
But Akira was already there—between him and the door. Tall, still, a shadow draped in black, his long hair catching the faint glow of the candles. He didn’t reach out, didn’t block him with force. He simply stood, smiling faintly, eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.
Kouyou froze, chest heaving.
The smirk widened, and the vampire tipped his head, just enough for the candlelight to catch on the sharp gleam of his fangs.
For one dizzy second, Kouyou thought his knees would give out. His vision swam, the heat in his face clashing violently with the icy air radiating from Akira’s body. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to stumble backward.
“You move like prey,” Akira said, his voice low, teasing. “Quick, desperate. But still… you run straight into my claws.”
Kouyou’s lips parted, but nothing came out. He hated the way his pulse thundered, hated how Akira’s words wrapped around him like chains.
And then—suddenly—he wasn’t in front of him anymore. He was behind him, close enough that the whisper of cold brushed Kouyou’s neck. “Or perhaps you don’t want to escape at all.”
Kouyou spun, breath sharp, only to find empty air. His heart lurched.
Akira stood again near the bedpost, as though he had never moved. The distance was unbearable, disorienting. Too close. Too far. Both at once.
“You see?” his tone was velvet, cruel in its gentleness. “This is how eternity feels. A constant dance of near and far. Closer than a heartbeat… or centuries away.”
Kouyou’s hands trembled at his sides. He tried to laugh, to shake the tension from his body, but it came out thin, almost broken. The warmth of the candles touched his skin, grounding him for only a breath, until Akira’s cold swept close again—unseen, relentless. Every whisper, every step, every glimmer of fang made him feel as though he stood on the edge of fainting… yet he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t leave.
Kouyou’s chest rose sharply, breath catching in his throat as Akira’s cold pressed against him, vanished, returned again like a tide. For a moment he felt himself slipping, too close to collapse, and then—suddenly—the fire flared.
“Enough!”
His own voice startled him, louder than he meant, but it steadied him, gave him something to hold on to. His golden hair gleamed like a halo in the candlelight as he lifted his chin, eyes blazing despite the tremor in his hands.
“You’re not going to break me,” he said, the words raw, stubborn. “I came here because I don’t believe in your ghost stories. And I’m not going to fall apart just because you think you can whisper and vanish like smoke.”
Akira’s smirk curved slow, indulgent. His long black hair slipped forward as he tilted his head, watching the angel burn. “Oh, but little one…” his voice purred, wickedly calm. “it isn’t the stories you should fear. It’s me.”
Kouyou stepped forward—one bold stride—until he stood almost chest to chest with him. The cold was sharp, biting, but he refused to flinch.
“Then show me,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “Stop circling me like some phantom. If you’re going to do something, then do it.”
For a heartbeat, Akira only stared. And in that stillness, his hollow chest tightened, that impossible flutter returning like a dagger wrapped in silk. He should have laughed. Should have crushed the boy’s arrogance with a flick of his hand. But instead, he leaned closer, until the tips of his fangs caught the candlelight once more. His whisper ghosted over Kouyou’s lips, colder than winter.
“Careful what you ask of me, angel.”
Kouyou’s pulse thundered, his face flushed crimson—but he didn’t back down. Not this time.
Akira didn’t seize him. Didn’t bare his fangs or push him back against the bed. Instead, he extended his hand. Pale, long-fingered, impossibly still. A gesture so elegant it belonged to another century. “Give me your hand, little one,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet stretched thin. “Dance with me.”
Kouyou blinked, thrown off balance more than any threat could have managed. “Dance?” he echoed, the word trembling on his lips.
Akira only waited, the faintest curve of a smile touching his mouth, patient and commanding all at once.
Against his own reason, Kouyou reached out. His slender fingers slipped into Akira’s icy grasp, the contrast so sharp he almost gasped. The cold shot through him like a shiver, yet he didn’t pull away.
And then—he heard it.
Faint at first, like the echo of something long buried: the sweep of strings, the low pulse of a piano, the measured rhythm of a slow waltz. It filled the chamber, though no instrument stood within, no musician hid in the shadows. The sound curled around him, surreal, intoxicating.
Kouyou’s lips parted. “What is that…?” His voice was hushed, as though afraid the music might vanish if he spoke too loud.
Akira’s smirk deepened, eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You hear it too, then.”
“You’re—” Kouyou’s breath caught. “You’re making me hear it.”
“Am I?” Akira’s tone was a taunt, soft and cruel. He pulled the boy closer, guiding him with effortless grace, until their bodies swayed in rhythm to the phantom melody. His black hair brushed against Kouyou’s temple as he bent near. “Or perhaps your mind is unraveling all on its own.”
Kouyou’s heart pounded against his ribs, wild and unsteady, but his feet moved anyway, carried along by Akiras’s flawless lead. He felt trapped, cherished, devoured all at once—like prey being adored before the bite.
Inside, Akira’s hollow chest constricted, the phantom flutter striking harder than before. The boy’s warmth scorched him, his scent clouding every shred of restraint. He wanted to tear him open, taste him, bury his fangs deep—yet the thought of shattering this fragile fire made something like grief gnaw at him.
He spun Kouyou once, slow, deliberate, catching him again in that iron-cold hold. Their gazes locked, angel-gold against eternal obsidian.
“You move well,” Akira whispered, his lips ghosting dangerously close. “For someone dancing with a monster.”
The waltz swelled, rich and haunting, curling around them like a spell. Kouyou’s breath came unsteady, his feet moving in time though he swore he didn’t know the steps.
And then—out of the corner of his eye—he saw them.
Figures gliding across the chamber floor, dressed in silks and brocades long out of fashion. Women with jeweled chokers, men with powdered wigs, faces pale as wax. Their movements were elegant, yet wrong—too smooth, too silent, as though their bodies were puppets dragged through the rhythm.
Kouyou’s chest tightened. He blinked hard, but when he opened his eyes again, they were still there, circling.
Dancing.
Watching.
His voice cracked. “What in the great heavens—” He swallowed, heat rushing to his face as panic edged his words. “Did my mother slip some cursed root into the stew?”
Akira’s laugh was low, velvet and chilling, curling close to his ear. “Do you truly believe this is but a dream, little angel?”
Kouyou shuddered. His gaze darted to the shadows swirling just beyond Akira’s shoulder, where one pale figure bowed deeply to no one at all, a skeletal grin flashing beneath powdered lips. He wanted to jerk away, to scream, but the vampire’s hand was locked with his, icy and unyielding, guiding him step after step.
And Akira?
He looked calm. Too calm. His features were perfect marble, smooth and composed. Only his eyes betrayed him, pupils blown wide, swallowing the color into black. Hunger and madness churned there, warring against centuries of discipline.
He could feel it—the tension in the vampire’s body, the way each brush of warmth against his chest must have been agony.
Akira was holding back, ironclad control stitched into his very marrow. But that control trembled now, barely contained, as though at any second the dance might shatter into teeth and blood.
Still, Akira bent closer, lips grazing the shell of Kouyou’s ear as the phantom dancers circled them. “Behold them,” he whispered, voice heavy with centuries. “They are but echoes—remnants of lives long gone, yet never dead. You step into my eternity, Kouyou… and eternity never releases its hold.”
His pulse thundered, wild, frantic, his vision swimming as the figures spun faster, their silk skirts sweeping soundlessly across the floor. He could barely breathe, but still, impossibly, he clung tighter to Akira.
The music swelled, darker, heavier.
Kouyou blinked hard as the phantom dancers multiplied—dozens now, swirling gowns and gilded coats, faces blurring into skulls when the candlelight struck them at the wrong angle.
One woman’s jeweled choker snapped open, her head tilting too far back as if her neck had already been broken.
A man bowed low before Kouyou, but where his eyes should have been, there were only hollow pits glowing faintly red.
Kouyou staggered mid-step, clutching at Akira’s cold hand to steady himself. “This isn’t—this can’t be—”
Akira’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “Do you know what night this is, angel?”
Kouyou looked up, wild-eyed. The phantom dancers spun around them faster and faster, skirts and coats brushing his skin though they should not have touched him at all.
“It’s… it’s All Hallow’s Eve,” he managed, though his throat felt tight.
Akira’s smirk glimmered, cruel and knowing. He leaned close, his whisper brushing against Kouyou’s ear, colder than the grave. “Witches’ night. The veil thins. The dead remember their steps.”
Kouyou shivered violently, the phantom music thrumming in his very bones now.
The figures were everywhere—laughing without mouths, clapping without sound, spinning so close he thought they might pull him into their circle and tear him apart limb by limb.
“I—” His voice cracked. “I’m not afraid—”
“Oh, but, you are,” Akira purred, eyes wide, pupils devouring all light. The madness coiled in his voice, though his body remained eerily composed. “And that fear makes you radiant. You wanted to prove yourself grown, superior… yet here you tremble in my arms, a child adrift in a nightmare.”
Kouyou’s breath hitched, shame and fury colliding in his chest. He tried to glare, but the phantom dancers laughed without sound, the walls bending, candles stretching high like melting bodies. The room itself pulsed, alive with dread.
Akira spun him sharply, pulling him flush against his chest. His black hair brushed Kouyou’s cheek as he whispered, low and intoxicating, “Tell me again, angel—are you truly not afraid?”
The ballroom was gone. Or maybe it had never been real. The walls pulsed like flesh, candles stretching high and dripping molten wax that looked too much like blood. The phantom dancers twisted grotesquely, their limbs bending backward, faces tearing open into endless grins. A skeletal hand brushed Kouyou’s shoulder, cold as ice.
He screamed. The sound ripped raw from his throat as he stumbled, clutching for anything solid. His body collided flush with Akira’s, and instinct overrode pride—his fingers clawed desperately into the vampire’s shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his coat.
“Stop—stop it, please!” he choked, eyes squeezing shut as another faceless figure leaned in, whispering laughter that burned his ears. “Make it stop!”
He buried his face in Akira’s throat, golden hair spilling against black silk, the warm flush of his cheek pressed into skin colder than stone. His breath came ragged, lips trembling against the hollow of the vampire’s neck.
“Please,” he murmured again, broken and muffled. “Please…”
Akira stilled. For three hundred forty years, nothing had moved him—no prayer, no plea, no touch. But now…
The angel clung to him, lips brushing against his throat with every desperate word. The vibration of Kouyou’s voice against his skin, the heat of his breath, the way that fragile body melted into him in terror—it ripped through Akira like lightning.
His hollow chest twisted violently, the phantom flutter now a hurricane. He clenched his jaw, fangs flashing as control frayed. Every muscle burned with the urge to sink his teeth into the warm pulse beneath Kouyou’s jaw, to taste the blood that sang to him louder than any waltz. His pupils swallowed the world, wide with hunger, madness, need.
Yet his arms moved of their own accord, circling the trembling blonde, pressing him tighter against his chest. He lowered his face into that golden hair, inhaling the scent that had haunted him since Kouyou first crossed his cursed threshold.
A hiss escaped him, sharp and pained, as if restraint itself had become agony. “Little angel…” His voice cracked, half-growl, half-prayer. “Do you fathom what you stir in me?”
Kouyou only shook his head, muffled against his skin, whispering fractured pleas that bled against Akira’s throat, each one undoing him more.
Akira’s fingers dug into Kouyou’s back as if to anchor himself. His breath came sharp, colder than ice, and for the first time since the angel had stepped into the mansion, his composure cracked.
He lowered his head until his lips hovered just above the frantic pulse at Kouyou’s throat. Fangs grazed the skin, feather-light, enough to make it sting. The boy’s warmth flooded his senses, dizzying, intoxicating.
“You make it too easy,” Akira rasped, voice no longer velvet but gravel, frayed by hunger. “You walked into my arms, little angel, trembling… begging.”
Kouyou shuddered violently, fingers clutching at Akira’s shoulder blades as if to hold himself upright. “I—” His voice broke into a sob-like gasp. “I thought you didn’t scare me… I thought—”
Akira let out a low, dark laugh, his mouth moving against the shell of Kouyou’s ear. “I thought you had no fear,” he echoed softly. “You, the great strong man who would prove the village wrong…” He bit the words like a taunt, lips brushing the golden hair at Kouyou’s temple. “And now look at you.”
Kouyou made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a protest, his body pressing even closer for protection he wasn’t even sure existed. His lips moved against Akira’s throat again—fragments of pleas, choked prayers—and every vibration seared the vampire’s self-control raw.
Akira’s pupils widened until only black remained. He tilted Kouyou’s head back with one icy hand, thumb brushing the rapid pulse beneath his jaw. Fangs gleamed in the candlelight, poised.
For a heartbeat, the room was nothing but hunger and heat—the phantom dancers frozen mid-spin, the music a low, throbbing heartbeat in the dark. Then he froze. The flutter in his hollow chest roared into pain.
He closed his eyes, hissed, pulled back just enough that his fangs hovered a breath away from skin. His voice came low, trembling with restraint. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
The phantom dancers blurred at the edges of Kouyou’s vision, the waltz slowing again, but he stayed pressed against the vampire’s chest, half-terrified, half-entranced, caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay exactly where he was.
The silhouettes dissolved, one by one, their gowns trailing into smoke, their powdered wigs collapsing into dust. The grotesque smiles faded, leaving only flickering shadows along the candlelit walls. The music slowed, each note stretching thin, until the last whisper of the waltz faded into silence.
Kouyou’s chest heaved, golden strands plastered to his flushed cheeks. The crushing fear ebbed—but not completely. In its wake came something else, something sharp and unwelcome: curiosity. He tilted his head back, still caught in Akira’s icy grip. His lips parted, eyes wide.
“How… how do you do this?” His voice trembled, but it wasn’t only fear—it was need. “The music. The faces. Was it all you?”
Akira’s smirk lingered, languid and dangerous. “Intrigued, are you?” He leaned close enough for his long black hair to brush Kouyou’s skin. “You should be terrified.”
“I am,” Kouyou whispered, breathless. “But I want to know.”
Akira’s hollow chest constricted again, the phantom flutter twisting like pain. He should have crushed that spark of boldness, but instead—he fed it. And so, softly, it began.
At first Kouyou thought it was only his imagination: a whisper, faint as a breath in the back of his skull. His brow furrowed, and he glanced over his shoulder. No one was there.
But the whisper grew, threads of sound weaving together until it curled against his ear, his neck, his thoughts. Words he couldn’t quite catch, just fragments—his name, promises, laughter.
He shook his head hard, but the voices only multiplied, louder, closer, until his own thoughts drowned beneath them. “Stop—” he gasped, clutching at Akira’s sleeves. “It’s too loud—”
Akira chuckled, low and amused, his eyes glittering with cruel delight. “Do you hear them, angel? My eternity, spilling into your fragile mind? I could make you hear them scream, if I wished.”
Kouyou pressed his palms against his ears, but it did nothing—the whispers clawed deeper, a rising chorus he couldn’t escape. His breath came ragged, shame and panic battling in his chest.
Akira watched him unravel, and though his smile remained, something hollow gnawed beneath it. Loneliness. Centuries of silence, broken only by his own shadows. To see another here, to feel warmth pressed against his cold shell—it was intoxicating, unbearable.
And it hurt.
Because he knew this would not last. Mortals burned bright, but they burned fast. This golden boy was nothing more than a fragile ember in his endless night.
Akira’s hands slid up, closing around both of Kouyou’s wrists. With slow, soft pressure he drew them down from the boy’s ears, prying his palms away from the futile barricade. The movement forced Kouyou’s gaze upward, into pupils wide and endless black.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, voice soft as ash settling. His thumb traced lazy circles over Kouyou’s fluttering pulse, a caress and a claim all at once. “Let me in. Let the whispers tell you what it means to belong to me.”
The whispers swelled until Kouyou’s own thoughts drowned beneath them. He pressed back, chest heaving, fingers still hooked tight in Akira’s sleeves.
“Stop,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Stop it—I don’t—”
Akira bent closer, his lips brushing the golden strands near Kouyou’s ear. “You don’t what?” His tone was silk and steel, patient, merciless. “You don’t want me? Or you don’t want to admit you already do?”
Kouyou squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. “No—no—” His body betrayed him, leaning in even as he tried to recoil. He could still feel the cool echo of fangs at his throat, the phantom press of whispers curling into his mind. His voice came small, fractured. “Show me.”
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Akira’s smirk curved slow and dangerous—and Kouyou saw it.
The way hunger twisted his face, the way a deadly light flared sharp in those endless black eyes. The weight of what he had just invited slammed into him, cold and merciless. His chest seized.
“What have I done—”
Akira’s gaze darkened, his voice a low blade cutting through the air. “As you wish.”
But Kouyou wrenched backward. His heel caught—he stumbed, almost pitched, heart pounding. “Move—just move—”
For a frantic second he was off-balance—then, driven by pure panic, he scrambled forward and barreled toward the heavy door.
“I—no,” he panted, shaking his head, golden hair whipping loose across his face. “I’m not letting you—whatever this is—I’m not staying.”
Akira’s gaze sharpened, voice dropping to a warning growl. “Angel… don’t open that door.”
Kouyou’s laugh broke, brittle, breathless. “You expect me to trust you? To stand still while you ensnare me? No.” His hand fumbled for the latch, knuckles white against the brass. “I refuse!”
The door swung open with a groan that shook the chamber.
For a heartbeat, the hallway beyond was empty—dark, silent. The whispers choked out, swallowed by the dark. Then Kouyou’s breath hitched. His face drained to chalk-white. His entire body locked.
Akira watched from the center of the room, arms folded with calm cruelty. “I warned you,” he said softly.
Before Kouyou could step back, the shadow filling the doorway exhaled—hot, rancid breath gusting against his face, though no features could be seen. The air reeked of rot and earth, the size of the presence towering, monstrous, barely contained by the frame.
The darkness bulged and writhed as if it had veins of its own, pusling slow and hungry, each swell pressing closer. Fingers—or something like it—seemed to stretch from the mass, groping for him, dragging the air with a wet, sucking sound.
The boy stumbled back with a strangled sound. The door slammed shut by itself, the echo rattling through the chamber.