Archive of Our Own

There were stories older than either species could remember.

Stories humans told in whispers beside dying fires, and stories vampires told beneath the moon when the night was old enough to make them sentimental. You see, humans & vampires once disagreed about almost everything; humans said vampires had been born from hunger, meanwhile, vampires said humans had been born from fear.

Humans remembered the centuries of bodies left pale and bloodless in the dark, and vampires remembered the centuries of silver, fire, sharpened stakes, and villages that had learned to sleep with their doors barricaded.

Neither side remembered who had started all those problems, perhaps that was why, after long enough, hatred no longer needed a beginning, it only needed someone to inherit it and pass it on. For generations, humans and vampires lived in the same world while pretending they did not.

There were simply rules that were never written down. 

For humans, there were cities where vampires could walk freely after sunset and cities where they could not, as well as villages where humans left offerings of livestock at the edge of the forest in exchange for being left alone. Furthermore, families always made sure to teach their children never to follow a beautiful stranger into the woods.

Likewise to that, vampires had their own warnings, theirs were more straightforward; Never hunt where humans gather, never reveal yourself unnecessarily. Never trust a human. Never let yourself become attached.

The last one was considered particularly important, because hunger could be managed, loneliness could be endured, but affection was dangerous, because affection gave one species something much more vulnerable that the other could take away.

So, the world remained divided, not until Mister Fate grew tired of watching it.

No one knew whether they had always been watching—some said they had sat at the edge of the world for centuries, winding the loose ends of mortal lives around their fingers. Others said they had only noticed humanity and vampirism after one particularly bloody war left so many threads tangled together that even they could no longer tell where one life ended and another began.

Whatever the truth was, one night, Mister Fate reached into the dark and pulled out a single strand—It was thin, and almost invisible, but it was also as red as a drop of blood beneath moonlight.

They wound one end around the soul of a vampire, and the other, they tied around the soul of a human, and then, they pulled—it wasn’t hard enough to hurt any species involved, it was simply firm enough to make them find one another.

Do not get it wrong, though, It was not a command. Mister Fate had never been so cruel as to make love compulsory. The thread did not make a vampire love a human, nor did it make a human obey a vampire, it also did not fully erase the fear, hatred, stubbornness, or incompatibility, because a God who loves their creations must also ensure to never create something that would take away their autonomy. 

Mister Fate simply created something neither side had possessed before—a reason to look back, a reason to hesitate, and the most important one of it all, a reason to wonder whether the person standing on the other side of the old divide was truly a monster.

The first vampires who found their human soulmates said that recognition came instantly; one glance, and that was all it took. There was no proclamation, no voice from the heavens, no glowing mark upon the skin, just the quiet certainty that settled somewhere beneath the ribs—’There. That's them.’

That was how Mister Fate’s thread found its other end, and little by little, the world had changed for the better because of it. 

It wasn’t a perfect change, though, despite the fact that vampires stopped seeing every human as prey, and humans stopped seeing every vampire as a predator. Peace still did not simply come just because everyone suddenly became kind.

It came because enough people found someone they could call their other half—and so, that thread that intertwined souls became a legend.

Vampire children were taught about it alongside their first lessons in feeding, while human children simply heard stories about the mysterious creature who might one day look at them and see something other than food.

As centuries flew by and civilizations grew more modern, the legend of it still hadn’t distinguished, especially because there were songs, poems, and embarrassing romantic stories that older vampires pretended not to know by heart that kept the tale alive.

The most famously known tale, though, were the stories about the soulmate’s blood—Fluixon Aculon vividly remembered the tale like he had just known about it yesterday. 

A vampire could drink the blood of anyone—human, animal, stored, fresh, it didn’t matter. Mister Fate wasn’t cruel to tie them to one lifesource in the name of love, and so, anything digestible could still keep vampires alive.

But what was so peculiar about the tale was how it emphasized one aspect—only one person's blood could truly satisfy them, and that was their soulmate's.

Fluixon explicitly remembered how detailed the tale described it as; It was said that the first taste could bring a vampire to their knees, that it tasted like everything they had spent their life wanting and had never known how to name, and that it could make a vampire’s satiating hunger vanish completely, as their body recognized what the mind could barely comprehend.

So many vampires spoke of that famous tale with a reverence that bordered on ridiculous. To the point it had become a tale that helped bloom an array of opinions, some called it poetic exaggeration, while others insisted that soulmate blood was so extraordinary that no description could possibly do it justice.

Fluixon Aculon had always belonged firmly to the first group. He thought the stories were ridiculous—blood was blood—good blood was good blood, and bad blood was bad blood, that was the end of the story for him.

If soulmate blood really was some transcendent experience that made centuries-old vampires stare dreamily into the middle distance, then surely someone had merely been embellishing. He had never understood why everyone made such a fuss.

…Until the day the thread suddenly wasn’t a legend Fluixon only heard about, and suddenly pulled taut.

Until the day Fluixon looked across a crowded room and forgot, for one impossible second, how to breathe, he remembered the singular word that rushed into his head when purple eyes landed on him—’There.’

Fluixon kept staring, and the world seemed to narrow around the stranger standing on the other side of the room; he had hair as pale as the first drop of snow whenever winter came, and he had eyes as golden as the warm sunset that gave way to Fluixon’s favorite time of the day, nighttime.

He did not know his name yet, in fact, he did not know anything about him. He didn’t know his family, his history, the sound of his laugh, the way he took his coffee—if he drank coffee at all—but Fluixon stupidly thought, like how any lovestruck fool who falls in love at sight does—that none of it mattered.

The thread of fate just knew, and because Fluixon was a vampire, so did he. His heart gave one hard, startled beat, and for once in his life, Fluixon had no clever thought ready—no sarcastic remark, no dry observation, no immediate complaint.

He simply looked at his soulmate—ugh, the word itself felt strange in his head when it popped. For all the teasing stories, all the centuries of vampire folklore, all the ridiculous paintings of lovers reaching toward one another beneath moonlight, Fluixon had never seriously believed he would experience it himself.

But he did, because there he was, his soulmate.

Fluixon Aculon felt something dangerously close to hope. It was such an embarrassing and foreign emotion for him, and he wanted to desperately ignore it, but the thoughts just kept piling up; Perhaps they would get along. Perhaps Fate, for once, had been kind. Perhaps this stranger would be interesting.

Perhaps—before he could finish his thought, the boy looked up, and their eyes met.

Strangely enough, Fluixon almost smiled, but fortunately he didn’t, because he felt himself freeze when the boy started walking over to him. "You're staring." 

Fluixon blinked, his voice sounded like something he had heard from a dream, or was he looking too much into it. "I wasn't." He found himself replying despite the whirlwind of emotions inside his head, he’s so thankful that his sounds steady enough.

The boy’s lips formed an amused smile at that, tilting his head. "You were."

Fluixon suddenly felt another emotion that he is much more familiar with—annoyance. "I was just… looking near your direction."

The boy snorted, "That's generally what staring is, yes." Fluixon's almost smile disappeared instantly, the boy tilted his head. "Hello? Cat got your tongue?” He had the audacity to add.

And just like that, the hope died, Fluixon stared at him for another long second, he stared back, and somewhere beneath Fluixon's ribs, the thread still remained warm and impossibly certain, but a sick, and horrible feeling of irritation grew beside it as he realized one, major factor.

Unfortunately, his soulmate was an asshole.

Fluixon wanted to bury himself into the ground as he decided that all the tales of the thread left one very important factor—Mister Fate had a terrible sense of humor.

—

Fluixon spent the next three days trying not to think about him, and thankfully, it was easier when he did not know the idiot’s name.

There was something comforting about the anonymity of it. He could leave the encounter where it belonged, somewhere between an unfortunate first impression and a stranger who had happened to be particularly irritating.

Then, Thomas ruined that, because Fluixon found Them chattering in one of the quieter corners of State High's library, though quiet was relative. Somewhere on the other side of the room, two students were arguing over a history assignment. A pair of vampires had claimed the window seats, their voices low enough that they blended into the hum of the air-conditioning.

Fluixon deliberately made sure that his soulmate—ugh, it still sounds weird when he thinks about it—the stranger left before he approached his best friend with a scowl that was too deep so early in the morning. “Who was that?” He asked a little too sharply.

Thomas didn’t even flinch at the sound of his voice, and he didn’t even look up at him as his eyes grossed over the stacks of books on the shelves; he just hummed back. “Who’s who?” 

"The one you were talking to.” Fluixon clarified.

Thomas's interest perked up at that as his eyes lifted over to finally look at Fluixon. "Why do you want to know?” He tilted his head knowingly.

Fluixon had to fight every fiber in his body to not go red over the tone Thomas used, as he silently cursed him for reading him like an open-book. “What? Am I not allowed to ask questions now?”

"You never ask questions about humans.” Thomas smiled, Fluixon huffed as he gave him a flat look, mercifully enough, he eventually answered seriously. "His name’s Saparata Theria."

Fluixon blinked; the name was unexpectedly ordinary. Fluixon had spent the last few days imagining that the person Mister Fate had tied to him ought to have a name that sounded more significant, something that belonged in a story. Instead, it was just… Saparata, it sounded like something he’d hear in a botany class. 

Thomas continued, almost absently, "He's in the same year as us, he’s also pretty good academically and athletically." Thomas turned another page. "He's also got a twin."

Fluixon glanced at him, like something suddenly clicked. “Micro?” 

Something in Thomas's expression changed, like he didn’t expect Fluixon to drop any names. "You know him?"

"Yeah, I’ve interacted with him a few times, I think.” Fluixon supplied, no wonder he could swear he had seen that kind of pale hair before, turns out it was just another asshole he shared a class with in sociology. "How do you know him?”

Thomas paused, then let out a very subtle cough as he shrugged with one shoulder. "I’ve just seen him before, no big deal." That answer was strange enough that Fluixon looked at him again.

You see, Thomas had been asking about Micro lately—not often enough to make it obvious, but often enough that the rest of their friends had begun giving him knowing looks whenever the name came up. Fluixon had never bothered asking why, though. There were some things one simply let Thomas figure out on his own.

"Anyway," Thomas said, closing his book as he went back on topic. "That's Saparata, or Saps, for short."

Fluixon nodded—Saps—now it sounded very much like something he’d heard in botany class; he looked through the library windows. The courtyard was visible beyond the glass, bright with afternoon sunlight. Students moved between buildings in small groups, humans and vampires mixed together without anyone giving it much thought.

Somewhere out there was Saparata Theria, his soulmate. Fluixon still wasn't sure how he felt about that, even more so when he remembers that his own school—State High existed because of the thread. 

The school had been built around coexistence, one of the most prestigious institutions in the country precisely because it accepted both species. Human and vampire students attended the same classes, shared clubs and activities, competed against one another, studied together.

It was supposed to be proof that the old hatred could become something else.

Fluixon had never questioned that, it made sense in retrospect, he simply hadn't expected Fate's answer to peace would be someone who annoyed him this much.

—

Ever since then, Fluixon didn’t just think Mister Fate had a terrible sense of humor, he had also concluded that they were another asshole that was playing around in his life and making sure it was miserable.

The first instance was when he had a subject that merged with another class, and loe and behold, that said class had Saparata Theria in it.

Whenever Fluixon would answer, Saparata would deliberately raise his hand and correct him in class. 

Whenever Fluixon excelled in an exam and expected to get the highest grade, the teacher would shock him as they announced that Saparata had beat him on the said examination by one point.

Out of total annoyance from that, Fluixon swore to beat him on the next one by two.

There was another instance where they were paired for a project once and spent the first half of the assignment arguing over how to approach it, only to discover that both of their ideas worked perfectly well. After that, their classmates had to become unfortunate witnesses that neither of them seemed capable of letting the other have the last word.

Fluixon groaned as he dragged both of his hands on his face out of total distraught, because they had just spent half of the time given to them on absolutely nothing. "You could have just said that."

"I did." Saparata shrugged, unbothered by Fluixon’s misery.

Fluixon glared as he snapped his head to look at him. "You didn't."

"I literally did." He merely repeated, Fluixon had to resist the urge to just lunge at his partner and strangle him right then and there, as he grumbled deeply. "You are exhausting."

Saparata smiled at that, "And yet you keep talking to me." That earned him another glare, it also earned him the smallest twitch at the corner of Fluixon’s mouth—he would like to blame that one on his stupid heart. 

As time went on, their dynamic didn’t bloom into friendship, but instead, it bloomed into a strange sort of rivalry that settled between them without either of them consciously choosing it; they competed because they could, they argued because it was easy, and somewhere along the way, Saparata stopped being a stranger.

That should have made things better for Fluixon, because it made the thread more prominent, unfortunately, he didn’t want it to become prominent, because he wanted to remain ignorant to it.

Because of that ridiculous thread, Fluixon knew exactly where Saparata would be during certain parts of the day, and he had come to learn which subjects he took seriously and which ones he pretended not to care about. He knew Saparata had a habit of tapping his pen against the desk whenever he was thinking.

Because of the thread, he had started to figure out these things without ever meaning to learn them, and every time he did, the same quiet certainty remained.

Saparata Theria is his soulmate.

Yet, the worst part was that Saparata seemed completely unaware of the significance of any of it. At least, Fluixon thought he was, because he had nothing to pick out as evidence that he did; Saparata never mentioned the thread, never asked about it, and never behaved as though he felt the same strange pull.

So, Fluixon did the same—he just kept quiet about it.

Not until his feeding started becoming a problem.

The blood bank at State High was perfectly respectable. The school took its responsibility toward its vampire students seriously, and the blood supplied to them was clean, safe, and regulated.

Unfortunately, despite the privileges given to him, Fluixon just simply couldn’t find it in him to like it, no matter how many times he had drunk it. He had never particularly liked stored blood in general, but lately, it seemed worse than usual.

He would drink enough to keep himself steady, then find himself hungry again not long afterward, always leaving him with this unsatisfied and unsatiated feeling that clawed his stomach until it growled like there was always something missing.

"You've barely touched it." Cynikka's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, Fluixon looked down, his cup was still nearly full. "...I'm not in the mood."

His twin sister did not buy that excuse one bit. "You said that yesterday."

"I wasn't in the mood yesterday either." Fluixon huffed stubbornly, she sat across from him and watched as he turned the cup between his fingers. "You've been like this for weeks." Cynikka pointed out, if Fluixon looked closer, it was almost laced with concern, which was something very rare in their bond.

"I swear I’m fine, Cyn."

Cynikka clicked her tongue as she shook her head, remaining firm. "You've been saying that for weeks too." Fluixon didn't answer, Thomas sat beside Cynikka, listening without interrupting, eventually he said, "Y’know, you could just get better blood."

"There isn't better blood."

"There is." Fluixon looked at him, Thomas gave him a pointed look, and just from that alone, Fluixon immediately knew what he meant. "No."

Thomas shrugged. "I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"I was thinking."

"You're terrible at it." Cynikka smiled into her drink as she connected the dots—Soulmate blood.

The same tale Fluixon had thought about before the encounter with Saparata, and the same tale that went back further than anyone could trace, saying that it was the only kind of feeding that could truly satisfy the hunger.

 Fluixon had always thought it sounded so romanticized; he had never understood the obsession, because how could anyone’s blood taste different just because of a stupid legend? The only thing blood was good for was that it kept them alive, and that was its only purpose.

Besides, his friends had a tendency to make everything involving their soulmates sound more profound than it probably was, Cynikka was no help, neither was Seraphim—who was a good friend of his that achieved her soulmate earlier than they all had, and was the first one to spread the soulmate blood propaganda—and certainly not Thomas, who fell victim to said propaganda, ever since taken an interest in Micro.

"You'll understand eventually," Cynikka had told him once, Fluixon had rolled his eyes. "I doubt it." She had only smiled in response, as if she could read his mind, because as contradicting as it may sound, the more ordinary blood failed to satisfy him, the more often he found himself wondering whether there really was something different about soulmate blood.

He tried animal blood—that was worse, it had a horrendously bitter aftertaste that he couldn’t get out of his taste buds no matter what else he’d try to eat alongside it. 

He tried telling himself that hunger was simply part of being a vampire and that perhaps he was just being difficult, and only needed to stop growing accustomed to fresher blood and needed to adjust.

Unfortunately, none of it worked, because the hunger remained, and alongside it, Saparata also remained.

That was the part Fluixon didn't like thinking about, because for the nth time that this had been mentioned, Saparata was his soulmate, and according to every story Fluixon had ever heard, the blood of a soulmate was supposed to be the answer to his exact problem.

—

One afternoon, he found himself sitting in the library again, staring through the windows. Saparata was in the courtyard, and he was talking to Micro. The two looked enough alike that Fluixon could immediately tell they were twins now, though their mannerisms were different enough that he had never noticed it at first.

Thomas was somewhere nearby, Fluixon had noticed him too, he was pretending not to watch Micro, and Fluixon almost smiled as he mentally noted to use that as some sort of leverage for Thomas soon. At least he wasn't the only one with a problem.

Unfortunately, his scheming had come to an abrupt stop as Saparata glanced up—their eyes met through the glass.

There was a brief pause, then, Saparata lifted his hand, and had the audacity to wave at him. Fluixon didn’t raise his in response, he just stared like a dumb idiot who couldn’t look away at that small action.

Eventually, Saparata stopped waiting for a wave back and just smiled teasingly—it was small, and it felt like it was almost challenging Fluixon. He felt the familiar pull beneath his ribs, as he lowered his gaze down at the cup beside him.

He sighed as he started to ponder deeply. 

Maybe the stories were true—the thought was embarrassing enough that he dismissed it immediately, but no matter how much he tried to bury it, it always returned eventually. 

….Maybe they weren't; That was the point, wasn't it? He didn't have to believe them, he could simply… find it out for himself.

There was no reason to make it anything more than that, because it was just curiosity, and his ever growing need to satiate his hunger—that was all.

He wanted to know whether the blood really tasted different, whether all the stories were exaggerated, and whether vampires had spent centuries turning something biological into some ridiculous romantic myth. 

If the answer happened to be yes—well, then he would know; Nothing had to happen beyond that.

Fluixon leaned back in his chair, his eyes following Saparata as he disappeared into the building.

He thought about approaching him, he thought about what he might say, he imagined Saparata's expression, and the inevitable question: ’Why?’

Fluixon had no good answer for it—at least, not yet. He looked down at his untouched drink, then he sighed more deeply this time. Perhaps there was another way to approach the problem.

He could spend more time with Saparata, talk to him, find some excuse to be around him, and see whether the opportunity presented itself naturally.

Fluixon picked up his cup, the blood tasted exactly as disappointing as it had ten minutes ago, he grimaced when he tasted it again. Across the courtyard, Saparata had finally disappeared around the corner. Fluixon watched the empty space for another moment. Then, quietly, he admitted the thought he'd been avoiding.

If he wanted to satiate his hunger, then he would have to court Saparata Theria.

But do not get it all wrong, Fluixon Aculon wasn't courting him because he was desperate, he simply wanted answers, and if he had to endure Saparata Theria in the process, then he supposed there were worse fates than that.

… Probably.

— [ 1/5 ] —

Fluixon did not tell anyone that he had decided to court Saparata, and there were several reasons for that. The first was that saying it aloud would make the decision real, and a part of Fluixon didn’t want to acknowledge that.

The second was that Cynikka would never let him live it down.

The third was Thomas.

Thomas was already making a fool of himself over Micro, though he had apparently decided that whatever he was doing did not count as courting either. Fluixon had no desire to give him the opportunity to point out that they were now in the same situation.

Most importantly, however, Fluixon believed that his situation had a perfectly more reasonable explanation for what he was about to do.

Soulmate blood was supposed to be extraordinary; everyone said so, the stories had existed for generations, and every vampire Fluixon knew who had actually tasted their soulmate's blood insisted that no other source compared, and to know whether they were exaggerating, then the sensible thing was to get closer to Saparata.

In other words, court him—the word still made something in Fluixon's pride recoil, so he quickly shook it off his head as he decided that he preferred the term ‘approach.’ That sounded considerably more dignified. 

The opportunity came a few days later.

It was a Saturday, and State High was holding one of its seasonal academic fairs. The main courtyard had been divided into sections for the different departments, with students moving between tables and demonstrations while teachers attempted to maintain some semblance of order.

Fluixon had been dragged there by Cynikka, he wasn't sure why she had decided he needed to attend, but he suspected she simply wanted company. "You've been sulking all week," she said as they walked between the stalls.

"I haven't." Fluixon denied, he might have looked like he was sulking, but if you truly asked Fluixon what he was doing, he was actually creating his master plan of courting attempts for Saparata.

"You have." Cynikka remained firm.

"I've been busy."

"Staring into space doesn’t count as being busy.” Cynikka deadpanned, Fluixon groaned at his sister’s insistence. "I was thinking." He opted to correct.

"About who?" Fluixon stopped walking, Cynikka kept going for another step before turning around, her expression was innocent—far too innocent. Huh, Fluixon doesn’t remember telling his sister about Saparata. “What?” He found himself asking before he could actually process it. 

Cynikka didn’t answer, Fluixon stared at her, "Cynikka."

"What?"

"You know something."

Cynikka shrugged, raising her hands up in defense. "I just asked a question."

"You asked the wrong one." She laughed, Fluixon continued walking, he could feel her following. "You're very defensive." She quipped. 

"I'm not." He denied it at the speed of light. "Sure, sure." Cynikka hummed, he opted to ignore her before he grew more irritated.

The fair stretched across the courtyard ahead of them. Students crowded around the food stalls, some of them carrying drinks or small paper bags from vendors that had been invited onto campus for the event.

Fluixon's attention moved over the crowd, then it stopped as he saw a very familiar figure—Saparata. He was standing near one of the food stalls with Micro, apparently arguing over something on the menu.

Fluixon recognized the expression on his face, he was trying to decide something; Saparata had a habit of looking at menus as though they were academic papers. He read every option, considered each one, then usually chose something he had already eaten before.

Fluixon hated that he had noticed, Cynikka followed his gaze. "Oh." was all she said, but the single word made Fluixon glare at her. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to." She huffed as she crossed her arms. "Fine." Fluixon looked back toward Saparata, then toward the stall. There was a small display of pastries arranged behind the counter.

He recognized one immediately—Saparata liked those pastries. He had mentioned it once during a conversation in class, something about them being difficult to find near school. Fluixon remembered that conversation because, apparently, his brain had decided that remembering useless information about Saparata was now one of its functions.

He approached the stall, Cynikka followed. "Fluixon." Fluixon didn’t look back when he answered. "What?"

"What are you doing?" Fluixon stopped as he grazed his eyes over the array of pastries. "Buying something." He supplied very eloquently.

Cynikka blinked, as she set her gaze on the pastries, which she knew Fluixon did not like—he was very picky with pastries, after all, he usually liked chocolatey ones only. "...For yourself?"

"....Yes." She looked at him, he looked back, and he could tell from her gaze alone that either of them believed the lie. Still, Fluixon bought two, he took the small paper bag and walked away before Cynikka could say anything else.

She caught up with him. "You bought two." Fluixon shrugged, pretending to not know what she meant by that. "I was hungry."

"You don't even eat those."

"I do now."

"Since when?"

"Since today." Fluixon huffed in annoyance, Cynikka was quiet for a very long moment—long enough that Fluixon almost grew worried by it. Then she asked, very, very carefully, "Are you courting Saps?”

Fluixon stopped. "No."

She looked at the bag, then at him. "You're buying him something he mentioned liking."

"I'm buying food—wait, how did you know about Saparata?” Cynikka squinted her eyes at him, “Did you forget I’m Cass’s girlfriend? Of course I know about Saps.”

Before Fluixon could actually process that, because yes, he did forget about his sister’s girlfriend, so what? Sue him for not being updated on his close one’s love lifes, he’s too busy crashing out over his own.

“Plus, you bought two." Cynikka added, gesturing to the small paper bag. "I wanted two." Fluixon defended weakly, he saw the way her expression turned flat at the horrible excuse. "You don't even like those."

Fluixon's expression hardened. "I can change my mind, y’know." Cynikka's mouth twitched."Uh-huh, of course you can."

He started walking again, but Cynikka wasn’t done. "You're going to give it to him."

"No I won't, I'll eat both."

"Like hell you will, I have never seen you eat desserts that aren’t chocolate or red-velvet flavoured."

"Well, congrats, because you’re lucky enough to be alive to see your twin brother do it now.” Fluixon drawled sarcastically, Cynikka furrowed her brows at him in partial offense. "You won't." She continued firmly.

Fluixon looked at her. "Do you ever get tired of talking?"

"Not when I'm right." He hated that she sounded so pleased with herself, when they reached the edge of the courtyard, Cynikka suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder, “Anyway, I’m gonna go wander off and find Cass, okay? I heard she was a booth coordinator.” She hummed happily, and before Fluixon could even nod, she was already skipping away.

So, Fluixon was left there alone—well, not truly alone, because when he scanned the area, he realized that Saparata was still there, but Micro had apparently moved on to another stall, leaving him alone.

Fluixon glanced down at the bag in his hand for a split of a second—this was ridiculous, he was a vampire, and he was perfectly capable of approaching a human. He had been doing it his entire life. This situation was not any different.

…Except it was, because Saparata was not just some human. He was—Fluixon stopped himself, he should stop repeating and thinking about that. He walked toward him, Saparata noticed him almost immediately, his eyebrows lifted. "Fluixon."

"Saparata." Fluixon greeted back stiffly, Saparata’s eyes glinted at his stiff tone, tilting his head slightly. "How come you're here? I didn't know you liked these events."

Fluixon shook his head slightly, "I don't." Saparata glanced behind him. "Cynikka dragged you?"

"Unfortunately." He nodded at that, Saparata chuckled softly at that, "I see." Then, Fluixon held out the paper bag. Saparata looked at it, then at him, his eyes were slightly wider than before. "What?"

"Take it." Saparata didn't move. "What's in it?" He asked suspiciously.

"Food." He answered very, very eloquently. Saparata did not seem to appreciate his eloquent manner, though. "I can see that." He deadpanned.

"Then why did you ask?" Fluixon huffed, feeling every bit of his dignity chip away. Saparata stared at him, Fluixon stared back. Finally, Saparata took the bag.

He opened it, his expression changed—only slightly, though, Fluixon saw it anyway. “You bought me matcha cakes?”

Fluixon shrugged. "You mentioned them."

Saparata blinked at him three times, like he was trying to confirm whether or not he was hallucinating. "...Only once, though." He muttered in disbelief. 

Fluixon didn’t see the problem in that, even if he set aside his courting attempts, it was only basic decency to remember very important things about people you love, their interests were no exception. "So?" 

Saparata looked down at the pastry, then back up at him. "You remembered something I said once."

"Apparently." There was a pause, Saparata's eyes narrowed. "Why?" Fluixon had prepared for this question, he had considered several answers on the way over, but none of them felt particularly convincing now. "...You looked like you wanted one." He supplied dumbly.

Saparata couldn’t hold back his snort on that response. "I didn't tell you I wanted one."

"You didn't have to." He retorted quickly—more genuinely. Even Fluixon himself was surprised at how fast he was able to form an answer at that, because of it. Saparata went quiet. Something about his expression changed once more, but this time, Fluixon couldn't tell what it meant.

Then, Saparata looked down at the bag again. "...Thanks." The sincerity caught Fluixon off guard, he shrugged plainly. "It's nothing."

Saparata smiled faintly. "Right."

"What?"

"Nevermind." Saparata whistled quickly, Fluixon narrowed his eyes. "You're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"Where you clearly have something to say but won't." Saparata didn’t answer at first as he pulled the pastry from the bag. "Maybe." He took a bite, Fluixon watched, he had not realized he was watching until Saparata looked back at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I wasn't."

"You were.”

Fluixon looked away. "Just keep eating, you chud." Saparata laughed, it was quiet, almost under his breath. Fluixon felt something unpleasantly warm settle in his chest—he ignored it.

Saparata took another bite, then he held the pastry toward Fluixon. "Want some?" Fluixon blinked, the action surprised him much more than he cared to admit. "No."

"Why?"

"I bought it for you."

"So?"

"So eat it." Saparata shrugged and continued, Fluixon watched him for another moment, the thread intertwining them had been quiet since he approached, yet Fluixon swore he felt it stir—he didn’t know if he was just hallucinating it.

Fluixon looked away again, he had expected this to feel more significant. Instead, it felt strangely ordinary. Saparata was eating something he liked, and Fluixon had bought it for him. They were standing in the middle of a school courtyard, surrounded by students and noise and sunlight.

He had learned enough from vampire courtship traditions to know that an offering did not have to be grand, it was the thought, the attention, the willingness to notice what another person liked and remember it. He had never really considered those things before, but now he found himself wondering whether Saparata understood what this meant.

He probably didn't; humans didn't have the same recognition. At least, that's what Fluixon believed.

If he remembered the tales correctly, only vampires had the ability to figure out their soulmates just from a single glance, that was why vampires were traditionally expected to court first. It was an old custom, passed down through generations.

He glanced at Saparata. "Is it good?"

Saparata swallowed as he nodded. "Yeah." His voice was a bit muffled since he was still chewing. "Are you sure you don’t want one? You keep looking at it."

"I'm looking at you." The words came out before Fluixon could stop them, Saparata paused, Fluixon did too. For one brief moment, neither of them spoke, then Saparata's mouth curved, his eyes squinted involuntarily as he formed a smile, "Why?"

Fluixon recovered. "Because you're making a mess." Saparata looked down at himself, there was a small flake on his sleeve, he scoffed as he brushed it away. "You could've just said that."

"I did."

"You said you were looking at me."

"Yeah, because of the mess you made.” Fluixon crossed his arms, even though he knew deep down that a single crumb could barely be considered a mess, but still, he needed his dignity if he wanted to continue these attempts of his.

Saparata shook his head. "You're strange."

"So I've been told." They continued walking through the fair, Fluixon didn't realize he had fallen into step beside Saparata until they were already halfway across the courtyard.

They stopped at several stalls, Saparata pointed things out, and Fluixon made comments about it from time to time, but mostly, they spent their time together just bickering. Saparata accused him of deliberately picking the most expensive pen at one of the academic stalls, Fluixon obviously denied it. "You picked it because it looked expensive."

"I picked it because it writes better."

"You haven't even used it, how would you know?”

"I just do.”

 Saparata stared. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does to me." Fluixon smiled, he did not notice that he did, but Saparata did. Fortunately for him, Saparata didn't comment on it. Eventually, they reached the quieter side of the courtyard.

Saparata finished the pastry, he folded the empty paper carefully and tucked it into the bag. Fluixon glanced at him. "You finished it already?”

"Obviously." Saparata answered easily.

“Wow, I didn’t expect that.” Saparata looked at him. "Why does it matter that I did?”

Fluixon didn't answer immediately, because what was he supposed to say? That it mattered because he wanted to know, because he had chosen it specifically for him, because, absurdly, he wanted confirmation that he'd gotten it right, even though this was supposed to be the first step.

Or, maybe, because somewhere beneath all of that was the increasingly uncomfortable realization that he actually cared whether Saparata liked what he'd given him. 

He did not say any of that, instead, he opted to just shrug and say, "It's nothing." Saparata studied him, then he nodded. "Okay."

They stood there for another moment. Then Saparata said, "Thanks, Fluixon." He nodded as he looked at him. "You're welcome." He returned the greeting. 

Then that was it, Saparata walked away, Fluixon watched him go. He waited until he was out of sight before turning around—Cynikka was standing several meters away, despite the fact she said she'd be busy, he already knew from her expression that she had apparently been watching the entire thing.

Fluixon's expression fell. "No." She hadn't even spoken, but when she did, she sounded very disappointed. “You should say sorry to your twin sister for the amount of lies you just told me earlier.”

Fluixon folded his arms. “I said no lie, I just… changed my mind again.” He excused very confidently. It was almost entertaining to hear it. "Plus, he needed company."

Cynikka's smile softened. "Did he now?" Fluixon didn't answer, thankfully, she didn't press. That almost made it worse. Instead, she simply walked past him. "Come on."

Fluixon followed. After a few steps, he looked back toward the courtyard. Saparata was nowhere in sight, Fluixon touched the empty paper bag still folded in his hand—he hadn't realized he'd kept it. He frowned, then shoved it into his pocket.

It was nothing, this was just a step to getting what he'd originally wanted. Actually, he doesn’t even know if his small action contributed to his plan of figuring out if soulmate blood was as good as they said it was, so by every reasonable measure, the attempt had failed.

And yet—Saparata had accepted his offering,had eaten it in front of him, had thanked him, and had spent the afternoon at his side.

Fluixon found himself thinking about the smile Saparata had given him, and whenever he tried to push it away, it always returned.

…Perhaps this would take longer than he'd expected, but that was fine, because for the first time, the idea didn't seem particularly unpleasant.

— [ 2/5 ] —

Fluixon had learned one thing from the first attempt: this whole courting shenanigan is much more rigorous than he thought it’d be.

Well, it wasn’t that he expected the first attempt to be the only attempt. He knew his pastry gift was small enough to be dismissed as courtesy, but it was also personal enough to carry the faintest suggestion of intent, after all, It had been, in every sense that mattered, a courtship offering.

Saparata had accepted that offering, and he had even smiled; he had not, however, done anything Fluixon had expected afterward, which would’ve been an obvious sign that he had understood what Fluixon had been trying to say.

Instead, ever since then, Saparata had simply become more comfortable around him—he sat closer, he lingered after conversations ended, and the most annoying one was that he had started stealing Fluixon's pens without asking and returning them only when he was finished, as though the distinction between his things and Fluixon's things had quietly stopped mattering.

It was infuriating, but Fluixon also had to admit that it was… strangely encouraging, because Saparata had not moved away, if anything, he had moved closer. 

That particular reason was why Fluixon found himself standing in front of a display case on the third floor of State High on a Tuesday morning, staring at a small kitty charm as though it had personally offended him.

It was nothing particularly remarkable.

It was just a gold kitty that uniquely had less hair than the other charms on the table, and it was carved from polished metal. It belonged to the school's old crafting society, whose members sold handmade trinkets every month to raise money for their activities.

Fluixon vividly remembered seeing Saparata looking at it the previous afternoon; he had stopped for perhaps three seconds while waiting for Micro to finish speaking with one of the teachers. Saparata had glanced through the glass, then he had simply walked away.

Yet, that small action was now the reason why Fluixon was standing in front of the craft society's display case at eight in the morning, holding the little golden kitty between two fingers while the student behind the table waited patiently. "Are you buying it?" The student asked politely.

Fluixon glanced up. "Yes."

“Okay, I figured.” The student chuckled, "You've been staring at it for five minutes." They pointed out.

Fluixon’s eyes widened at that, his cheeks dusted a faint pinkish color from being called out so suddenly. "...I was deciding." He defended himself meekly. 

“Sure.” The student smiled as they went along with the excuse. "The kitty charm only costs fifty.” Fluixon nodded as he paid, he slipped the charm into his pocket… and immediately regretted it—not the purchase, but the fact that he was beginning to understand why vampires had developed such elaborate courting traditions in the first place.

A gift wasn't merely a gift, they should be proof of how you care for someone—‘I saw this and thought of you. I remembered. I chose this for you.’—Though consequently, they were also very dangerous things to communicate, especially to someone who was as annoying as Saparata and had already occupied too much space in his thoughts.

Fluixon touched the charm through the fabric of his pocket, then he walked toward class. He mentally noted to himself that he would give it to Saparata after lunch casually, without making any fuss of it.

Though, he also should’ve thought that anything that involved Saparata never happened without a fuss.

—

When it was finally lunchtime, he found Saparata in the courtyard. He was sitting beneath the old jacaranda tree with Micro, one leg stretched out beneath the bench, a book balanced loosely against his thigh.

The morning had warmed considerably as afternoon came, sunlight filtered through the branches overhead, breaking into scattered patches across the stone pavement.

“Oh, there you are." Saparata looked up as Fluixon approached. "Hi, Flux.” 

Fluixon slowed—the nickname was new, only Thomas and his other friends called him that, but putting that part aside, he tilted his head as he asked, "You were looking for me?"

Saparata nodded casually. "I was."

"Why?" Saparata closed his book. "I wanted your notes." He hummed, Fluixon stared at him, there was a very little gnawing feeling in him that was almost akin to disappointment. "...My notes?”

"Yes."

"You could have asked in class." Fluixon deadpanned. 

Saparata gives a half-assed shrug, "I forgot." He said plainly, Fluixon almost scoffed as he folded his arms. "So you’ve been waiting here instead?"

"I knew you'd come eventually." Fluixon narrowed his eyes. That sounded suspiciously like Saparata had known exactly where he would be. 

Coincidentally, he found himself looking at Micro, as if he wanted to clarify that what he was thinking wasn’t bullshit, not until he saw that his expression was basically unreadable, so Fluixon decided he couldn’t trust Saparata’s twin either.

"Fine." He sat beside Saparata, Saparata moved over just enough to make room. Their knees nearly touched as he did so, Fluixon reached into his bag for his notes, and Saparata took them gladly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Fluixon responded simply, Saparata flipped through the pages, and he had the audacity to hold back a laugh. "Wow, you write too much."

Fluixon blinked as his facial expression contorted to something that screamed offense. "You write too little." He retorted. 

"That's because I understand it."

"You literally copied my answers yesterday."

"I wasn’t copying.” Saparata shook his head as he raised his index finger. “I was just checking yours." He clarified.

"...Of course." Fluixon agreed in utter defeat, Saparata smiled victoriously at that. Then, Fluixon suddenly remembered the charm, his hand slipped into his pocket. 

The little golden kitty was cool against his palm, he took it out gently. Saparata's eyes immediately followed the movement. "What is that?"

Fluixon held it between them. "It’s a kitty.” 

Saparata looked at the charm, blinking in slight fascination as it shimmered beneath the sunlight. "For me?"

Fluixon almost said no, the answer had been ready. He could have made some excuse about having no use for it. Instead, he heard himself say, "Yes."

Saparata didn't reach for it immediately, which almost worried Fluixon. "Why?" He asked. Fluixon's fingers tightened around the charm, the answer was at the tip of his tongue: ‘Because you looked at it the other day. Because I remembered. Because I've been thinking about you enough that apparently even a piece of metal reminds me of you.’

He couldn't say any of those, because once again, he didn’t want to make a huge fuss about it. So he shrugged. "You’re fond of cats, aren’t you?”

“...Yeah.” Saparata's eyes flickered as he answered slowly. "You remembered?"

Fluixon looked away, why did Saparata always ask him that? Was it truly rare for people to remember what other people liked? Fluixon could do it as easy as breathing for him. "You make it seem like that’s a hard thing to do." He huffed.

For a moment, Saparata said nothing, then he held out his hand. Fluixon placed the charm in his palm instinctively—their fingers touched, and once again, he swore he felt the thread pull. There was something unmistakable about the sensation, a quiet tightening somewhere beneath Fluixon's ribs, as if an invisible hand had drawn the two ends of something closer together.

Saparata looked down at the charm, and when he turned it over, a tiny ring had been worked into its back. "How much did you buy this for?"

Fluixon shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Saparata’s eyes quickly squinted at that. "It matters to me."

"It was nothing." Fluixon remained firm on keeping it a secret, lest he makes Saparata feel like he owes him something. Saparata looked up. "You don't have to buy me things."

Fluixon met his eyes. "I know." Something shifted in Saparata's expression; he couldn’t tell what feeling shifted, though, because it didn’t seem to be surprise, but it didn't seem to be amusement either.

While he was pondering,  Saparata simply closed his fingers around the charm. "Thank you." The words were quieter than usual, unlike how he had spoken it during the first attempt.

Fluixon swallowed. "You're welcome." He returned the greeting again. Saparata tucked the bird into the inside pocket of his uniform, carefully, as though it mattered.

Fluixon looked away before Saparata could see how pleased that made him, now, he could at least say that this attempt had succeeded.

The thought settled warmly in his chest—just a few more steps, a few more proofs that Saparata was beginning to accept him, and perhaps—he could get closer to reaching his goal

—

After that afternoon, Saparata had begun wearing the charm, Fluixon noticed immediately, despite trying to pretend that he didn't. They were walking between buildings after their final class when Saparata caught him looking. "You like it?"

Fluixon glanced at the little golden kitty. "It's fine."

"You keep looking at it.” Saparata kept talking. “Did you know I named it Joseph? I just thought it’d fit it.”

Fluixon’s expression changed, the corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re giving inanimate charms names?” Saparata nodded, not even slightly embarrassed, “Yeah, I think everything deserves names.”

Fluixon scoffed, “How cute.” He heard the compliment slip out of his mouth before he could stop it, Saparata stopped walking as soon as he registered it. “Oh?” Saparata tilted his head curiously at that, Fluixon blinked, “What?” He had to act dumb to save the already little dignity he had left. 

“You called me cute.” Saparata pointed out matter-of-factly, Fluixon frowned. “I called the charm cute.” 

“That’s weird.” Saparata clicked his tongue as he leaned closer like he wanted to analyze every single bit of Fluixon’s features. "You could have said you liked the charm."

“...I do."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I said it's fine."

"That's not the same thing."

Fluixon stepped closer, “What point are you trying to make here?” He huffed exasperatedly,  Saparata tilted his head further in utter amusement. "I don't have a point to make." He said vaguely.

Fluixon stared at him for a long moment, Saparata smiled and continued walking, and unfortunately, Fluixon followed. He could feel his own irritation turning into something dangerously close to wonder.

This was what Saparata did, he gave him an opening, then closed it when he was so close to getting an answer. He never let Fluixon figure out just exactly how much progress he's making in his attempts at courting—if Saparata even knew about it.

Yet, somehow, that only made Fluixon want to try harder.

—

The next opportunity came two days later, though this one wasn’t planned, so he wasn’t sure if he should count it as an attempt at courting. It was just embarrassingly convenient.

The school had begun preparations for its annual evening festival, and every class had been assigned some small responsibility. Fluixon's class was tasked with decorating one of the western halls, meanwhile, Saparata's class was assigned the courtyard.

Which meant they were supposed to spend the afternoon in entirely different places, Fluixon found this strangely unacceptable.

He told himself it was because the western hall was boring, that was why he left halfway through the decorations—not because he wanted to find Saparata, or because he'd been thinking about him for the last hour—Certainly not, it was just a very convenient coincidence that he found him kneeling on the courtyard steps, struggling with a length of string.

The decorations had already begun to transform the place; lanterns hung between the trees, paper ornaments swayed in the warm breeze, and someone had scattered flowers around the fountain. Saparata was sitting in the middle of it all with a length of string tangled around his wrist.

He looked up when he felt a nearby presence, though his eyes simply narrowed when he registered it was merely Fluixon. "Oh, it’s you."

Fluixon stopped. "You sound disappointed."

"I'm wondering why you're here."

Fluixon shrugged, “I got bored.” 

Saparata tilted his head at that, "Your class is inside, go help them."

"I finished my part already.” That part was only half-true, he did finish some, but that was because he decided to pass along the rest of his responsibilities to a very poor classmate of his, Newkids. 

"You finished?" Saparata repeated out of disbelief. 

"Yes." Fluixon nodded, Saparata looked at the string in his hands. "Then help me."

He stared. "I didn’t come here to become your little helper.” 

"Then why else would you come?” Saparata retorted quickly, and before Fluixon could muster up an excuse, Saparata already made one up for him. “you came to only see me, perhaps?”

That shut Fluixon up much quicker than he cared to admit, he decided to ignore what he just uttered as he begrudgingly sat beside him. "Give me that."

Saparata handed him the string as he smiled victoriously once more, and when their fingers brushed, the thread stirred again. Fluixon was beginning to think it did that deliberately.

They worked in silence for several minutes, Saparata held the lantern while Fluixon tied the string around a branch. "Higher."

"Like this?"

"No."

Fluixon scoffed, "Then show me." Saparata stood. He reached up, took Fluixon's wrist, and moved his hand, Fluixon froze at the action—Saparata was close, very close. His fingers were wrapped lightly around Fluixon's wrist.

His face was only inches away, and oh goodness gracious, Fluixon could smell him—the faint warmth of human skin, the clean scent of soap that he used, and beneath it—blood.

His mouth went dry, Saparata looked up at him. For one terrible moment, Fluixon forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Then Saparata released him. "Like that."

Fluixon stared at the lantern. "Right."

Saparata smiled. "You stopped listening." He pointed out immediately. 

"I was thinking."

"About?"

"The lantern."

"Sure." Fluixon gave him a look, and Saparata laughed. The sound was quiet and genuine. Fluixon felt something in his chest loosen, he hated that too.

They continued their duties anyway. At some point, Saparata began leaning against him whenever they paused, not enough to call attention to it, but just enough that there was always an occasional brush on the shoulder, on the side of his arm, or his knee against Fluixon's.

None of it lasted long, and sue Fluixon for assuming, but he swore none of it was accidental anymore. Fluixon could feel the difference between an accident and a choice.

Saparata was choosing to stay close, and Fluixon—he was choosing not to move away.

—

By sunset, the courtyard was finished.

The lanterns were glowing, the fountain reflected the first stars appearing overhead, and most students who had exhausted themselves decorating it had gone home. Saparata sat on the edge of the fountain, looking at what they'd made. "It looks good."

"It does."

"You did most of it."

"We did." Saparata looked at him, Fluixon leaned against the fountain beside him. "You know," Saparata said, "you're not very subtle."

Fluixon's eyes narrowed, his heart lurched at that—did Saparata finally figure it out. "About what?" He asked cautiously, 

Saparata looked toward the lanterns. "Nothing." He said unfortunately.

Fluixon felt a vein pop at that—he was beginning to suspect Saparata used it specifically because he knew how much it irritated him. "You're doing that on purpose."

"Doing what?"

"Making me ask."

Saparata smiled. "Maybe." Fluixon looked at him. "Then answer."

"How about you ask properly." The words were playful, but Fluixon felt like there was something beneath them—An invitation. A challenge.

Fluixon considered it, then he smiled. "Fine." He turned toward Saparata. "Do you like what I gave you?"

Saparata's expression softened. "Joseph?" Fluixon still thought the name was silly, but he went along with it."Yes."

"I do."

"Do you know why I gave it to you?" Saparata looked at him for a long moment. Then he touched the little golden kitty resting against his chest. "I think I have an idea."

Fluixon's heartbeat stumbled—he had expected teasing, or another evasive answer, anything but that. "What idea?"

Saparata smiled. "You'll have to try harder." Then he stood, Fluixon stared after him. "Saparata." He called in utter disappointment.

He turned. "Goodnight, Flux." He waved off casually, then walked away, just like that. Fluixon remained beside the fountain. For several seconds, he said nothing, then suddenly, he laughed under his breath.

He should have been annoyed—he was, but he was also exhilarated, because that was not rejection, but it wasn't acceptance either, it was something far more dangerous: a challenge.

‘Try harder.’

Fluixon looked down at his hands, he could do that, of course he could—he had spent his entire life being told that vampires knew their soulmates the instant they saw them, that the thread was Mister Fate's promise and that the human on the other end would eventually understand.

But understanding wasn't enough. Saparata wanted proof, so Fluixon will give him proof—he would learn what Saparata liked, he would learn what made him smile, and he would learn what made him trust.

He would court him so carefully, so thoroughly, that eventually Saparata would have no reason left to doubt him.

And somewhere beneath all of that, beneath the pride and the hunger and the ridiculous insistence that this was only about discovering whether soulmate blood was truly as extraordinary as everyone claimed—Fluixon wanted something else.

He wanted Saparata to choose him.

It was such a silly thought, because did all of these feelings really bloom just because of Fluixon’s ever-growing need to satiate his hunger? Or did he just not yet understand how much this whole situation truly mattered?

Well, he wouldn’t be able to decipher any of that just yet, he only knew that when Saparata had walked away, he had wanted to follow.

So he did—not immediately, because by the time he planned to finally leave, Saparata was already long gone. 

It was just that, once the courtyard had fallen completely quiet and the last lanterns swayed gently above the empty path, Fluixon made sure to leave through the same gate Saparata left in, and as he did so, he was already thinking about the third attempt.

— [ 3/5 ] —

Fluixon spent the next few days trying to decide what it meant to be remembered.

It was an irritating question—he had never cared much about it before.

There were plenty of people who remembered him, after all. Teachers remembered him because he answered too many questions. Classmates remembered him because he was difficult to beat at anything he cared enough to attempt. His friends remembered him because he was incapable of going more than an afternoon without finding something to complain about.

But that wasn’t what he meant when he wanted to know what it meant to be remembered, because he wanted to know what it’d feel like to be remembered by one person; more specifically, he wanted to know whether Saparata would remember him, even when he wasn't there.

Fluixon was sure this thought came because of the kitty—joseph, since Saparata still wore it, and whenever Saparata arrived with the little golden charm fastened inside the collar of his uniform, hidden most of the time but occasionally visible when he moved. Fluixon always experienced the same small, ridiculous satisfaction of seeing it. 

But he eventually concluded that it still wasn’t strong enough to seal the deal with his courting attempts. Fluixon wanted something that would make Saparata think of him without having to see him first.

That was what proper courtship was supposed to do. At least, that was what he had gathered from everything he'd seen, read, and heard. 

A courting gift wasn't merely an offering, it was a marker—something chosen because it carried the giver's presence with it, earning a little piece of them that could remain behind. The problem was that Fluixon had no idea what piece of himself he was supposed to give.

The most famous courting gift for something like this was a vampire’s tooth—he remembers that’s what his father did for his soulmate, but he’s also positive that the last one he should take inspiration from for any sort of courting was Elanuelo, and he couldn't exactly just hand Saparata a whole fucking tooth, how would he even get one to begin with?

Not to mention, Cynikka had laughed for nearly five minutes when he'd asked her whether that had ever been an actual vampire custom. "Absolutely not, I’m pretty sure father was just too… y’know.”

Fluixon grimaced, he felt his cheeks dust a shade of pink just from the sheer embarrassment of asking this, and mind you, he still hasn’t officially told Cynikka of his courting attempts. “It’s not like I was considering doing what father did, I was just… curious.” he defended weakly.

Cynikka, being Cynikka, didn’t believe it. “Forgive me for assuming, that’s what anyone would think when someone asks them if it’s good custom to hand your soulmate one of your teeth."

Fluixon frowned. "I was asking hypothetically."

"Of course." She had gone back to what she was doing. Then, after a moment, she'd added, "Why don't you give him something that actually means something?"

Fluixon had stared at her. "What does that mean?"

"Something he'll associate with you."

"That is what I'm trying to do."

"No. You're giving him things he likes, and you’re only considering textbook types of offerings." Fluixon had gone quiet, Cynikka finally looked up. "If you want him to think of you, don't give him something because he likes it and anything generic. Give him something because it belongs to you."

Fluixon frowned as nodded reluctantly—he knew that, and that was the problem! What exactly belonged to him?

—

The answer had come later, unexpectedly, and it had been ridiculous.

The stone was ugly (that would be how I would describe it), but from the shimmer in Fluixon’s eyes, anyone from a mile radius could tell he thought otherwise. 

It was a piece of pale mineral, narrow at the top and widening toward the bottom, with an uneven surface that had been shaped by years of water. It looked vaguely like a tooth—a particularly unfortunate tooth. It was also, objectively, the strangest courting gift Fluixon had ever seen.

That was precisely why he had chosen it.

Among vampires, there was an old belief about dripstone—water formed it slowly drop by drop, not through force, not through violence, but through utmost patience—a little at a time, until something permanent was left behind. Vampires had taken to keeping small pieces of it in their homes centuries ago. 

There was an old saying about it too, one Fluixon had heard his father use when he was young: ‘What is given slowly is what remains.’—Fluixon had never gave much care to it before, but he still nonetheless remembered it very vividly.

Furthermore, there was something else about dripstone. In old vampire folklore, it was associated with hunger. Not the violent kind, but the patient kind that could wait, and could be satisfied only by the right person.

…Actually, Fluixon actually wasn’t quite sure if he remembered the folklore correctly or if he was merely spiralling by this point and was just projecting now, so overall, everything regarding dripstone was, admittedly, a little dramatic, but Fluixon was beginning to suspect that courtship was inherently dramatic, anyway.

So, he had found a small piece from an old artisan's collection, had it cleaned and polished without stripping away its natural shape, and tied a thin black cord through a hole drilled near its narrow end.

He held it between his fingers now. It was cool, and slightly rough against his skin. He wondered whether Saparata would laugh—he hoped he wouldn't.

The most important thought of it all, though; he wondered whether Saparata would keep it.

—

He waited until after classes.

He found Saparata sitting beneath the previously mentioned tree again, reading. The afternoon had turned gold around them, and the courtyard was quieter than usual. The last of the students filtered through the gates while the shadows of the trees stretched long across the stone.

Saparata looked up when Fluixon approached. "You've been looking for me." It wasn't a question, Fluixon stopped in front of him. "How do you know?"

"You've like—passed me three times."

Fluixon blinked—did he? He was honestly just pacing around trying to imagine how the scene would go once he gave his gift. "I have not."

"You have." Fluixon considered denying it, then ultimately decided against it. "Fine, I was.”

Saparata closed his book. "Why?" Fluixon reached into his pocket. For the first time since he'd begun this ridiculous endeavor, he felt genuinely nervous. That annoyed him more than anything.

He had fought with Saparata, he had stood close enough to smell his blood and prevent himself from doing anything about it, he had endured being teased, and somehow, handing over a piece of stone felt worse than all of it.

He pulled it out, Saparata stared.

There was an uncomfortably long silence, before Saparata dumbly asked.  "What is that?"

Fluixon's jaw tightened. "Don't be stupid." He opted to answer instead, because Fluixon couldn’t comprehend the fact there’s a person out there who doesn’t know about dripstone. “Also, don’t laugh.” He added.

That made Saparata's eyebrows rise. "I wasn't going to."

"You were thinking about it."

"I was wondering."

"Well?"

Saparata held out his hand, Fluixon placed the stone in it. Saparata turned it over. "...I know what dripstone is." Saparata suddenly informed him, Fluixon blinked in confusion. He didn’t think his thoughts out loud, did he? He suddenly felt more nervous, now. 

Saparata examined the cord attached to the dripstone. "It's weird."

Fluixon sighed. "I knew it." He murmured—mostly to himself—as he buried his face on the palm of his hands. 

"I didn't say I didn't like it." Saparata quickly added. 

"You said it's weird."

"It is." Saparata didn’t deny it, Fluixon sat beside him, he continued examining the stone. "Why this?"

Fluixon looked ahead, he had prepared an answer for this—it’s why he must’ve looked like an idiot when he passed Saparata three times, but everything he practiced fell short as he eloquently said.  "...It's a vampire thing."

Saparata glanced at him. "That explains nothing."

"It's associated with patience." Fluixon tried to specify, though his voice involuntarily cracked out of embarrassment. 

Saparata snorted, "Wow, are you giving me a lesson in geology or something?"

"You don’t learn that shit in geology, dumbass.” Fluixon couldn’t help but grumble, Saparata laughed at how easily he got irritated. "Then what?"

Fluixon looked at him, he didn’t know what his face looked like right now, but it must’ve looked desperately pathetic. "...I wanted you to have something that was mine."

Saparata went quiet at that, the words had come out more honestly than Fluixon intended. He looked down at the stone in Saparata's hand. "I mean—"

"No." Saparata's voice was softer. "Don't take it back." He almost whispered that part. Fluixon stopped, Saparata ran his thumb over the rough edge of the stone. "Something that's yours, huh?”

"...Yes." Fluixon nodded slowly. 

"Why?"

Fluixon swallowed. "Because the other things were things you liked." Saparata looked at him. "This one is something I like, or—something I understand." Fluixon had to look away because Saparata’s gaze felt like it could melt him by this point. 

"Is there even a difference to that?" Saparata hummed quietly. 

Fluixon smiled faintly. "Maybe, maybe not." Saparata looked down again. For once, he didn't tease, he simply slipped the cord over his head. The stone settled against his chest, the same place where Joseph ,the golden kitty, rested. Fluixon stared at it with awe, Saparata noticed. "Too much?"

Fluixon shook his head, "No."

"You looked surprised."

"I am."

"Why?"

Fluixon felt his knuckles turn white as he nervously balled his hands into a fist. "...I thought you'd make fun of it."

Saparata smiled. "I wanted to." He shrugged playfully, Fluixon couldn’t suppress a small laugh at that.. "Of course."

"But I like it." As soon as Saparata said that, the thread warmed around Fluixon’s soul, but it didn’t warrant a reaction out of him, because by this point, he was already used to whatever little actions the thread suddenly did. 

"Good." Fluixon sighed out.

“You said it was associated with patience,” Saparata started once more as he touched the stone again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Fluixon hesitated, his fingers started playing around the sleeves of his sweater as he told the story, "Water takes a long time to make it." Saparata listened. "...Drop by drop, and vampires keep it because… it reminds us that some things are worth waiting for."

Saparata's fingers tightened around the stone. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, then he looked at Fluixon. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Fluixon's heart skipped—he could have said yes, it was the perfect opportunity to do so, but once again, he had an ego as big as a whole civilization, so instead, he answered, “No."

Saparata smiled anyway,  "You're terrible at lying."

Then, silence hung between them, Saparata leaned back against the tree, and the stone remained against his chest.

The longer Fluixon stared at it, the deeper he started thinking that Mister Fate really did have the most terrible sense of humor in the whole universe; what once started as a deep annoyance and utter disappointment for his soulmate, turned into a pathetic attempt at courting with the lame excuse of debunking the soulmate blood theory, then ultimately became… whatever Fluixon was feeling at the moment—something he’d rather not name, right now. 

—

Fluixon discovered very quickly that Saparata had begun carrying it everywhere, just like he does with Joseph the golden kitty.

He saw it during class, during lunch, in the library, and so on and so forth. Once, when they were walking across campus, Saparata pulled the stone out from beneath his shirt and turned it over absently while talking.

It became a familiar sight, just as Joseph had become, except this one was different. The golden kitty reminded Fluixon of Saparata, but the stone reminded Fluixon of himself; now, when Saparata touched it, Fluixon found himself wondering whether Saparata was thinking about him.

I mean, that was the entire point of the gift, wasn’t it? Fluixon should be thankful that it worked—except he wasn’t, because it worked too well, and because the gesture eventually backfired on his dignity at the end, since whenever he caught a glimpse of it, he couldn’t help but feel flustered, as an unprovoked thought always came to his mind: ‘It’s like he carries a part of me everywhere’

Fluixon always slapped himself physically and internally whenever the thought came and passed.

—

One afternoon, Saparata found Fluixon in the library, he dropped into the chair beside him. "You're staring." He suddenly accused him. 

Fluixon blinked, ‘staring at what?’, he nervously thought to himself. "I'm reading."

"You've been on the same page for ten minutes." Saparata deadpanned, his eyes glancing to gesture at the book, Fluixon glanced down, he was, indeed, on the same page.

Fluixon closed the book a little too roughly. "Why are you here?" He opted to divert the topic instead. 

"To bother you."

He scoffed at that, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "At least you're honest." Saparata smiled, he pulled the stone from beneath his shirt. Fluixon's eyes followed it automatically. "You still have that."

"Of course."

"You've been wearing it every day."

"I like it." Saparata shrugged slightly, Fluixon tried not to smile at that, "You don't have to wear it every day."

"I know."

He tilted his head at that, "Then why do you?" Saparata looked at him, and the answer came easily. "Because you gave it to me."

Fluixon went still—something about the simplicity of the answer caught him off guard, Saparata seemed to notice, he tilted his head akin to Fluixon’s "What?"

Fluixon straightened his posture. "Nothing."

"You keep doing that."

"I know."

Saparata smiled. Then, without warning, he reached over and took Fluixon's hand, Fluixon couldn’t even freeze as Saparata simply turned his palm upward and placed the stone against it. "Feel it."

Fluixon looked down in confusion, he could feel everything but the actual stone, to be honest—the mineral was cool, and its rough surface pressed into his palm—but that couldn’t compare to the feeling of Saparata's fingers remaining beneath his.

"...Why?" He was able to croak out the question softly, he couldn’t move because of how firm Saparata's grip was on him, and the lack of distance between them could make Fluixon just explode and die right then and there on the spot. Though, that shouldn’t matter anyway, because even if you subtract those aspects aside, Fluixon thinks he still wouldn’t dare to move at all. 

"Because you said it's yours." Saparata hummed vaguely, Fluixon looked at him to gauge for more answers. "And?"

"And I thought you should remember what it feels like." Something about the sentence made Fluixon's breath catch, Saparata finally released his hand, leaning back to his chair—the absence of the stone and of Saparata’s touch made Fluixon wilt inside, though he didn’t even know about that fact right now. 

Fluixon simply stared into oblivion as he whispered, "You're strange."

“Aren’t you the stranger one with your sweet actions lately?” Saparata smiled. "Plus, you gave me a rock, that is higher in the list of ‘stranger things’ than any of the ones I must’ve done in my whole life."

Fluixon nearly sputtered, thankfully, he was able to regain himself quickly as he deliberately ignored almost half of what Saparata said—hearing comprehension be damned. "It's not just a rock."

"I know."

"Then stop saying it like that.”

"Fine, I'll call it something else, then.” Fluixon blinked as he tilted his head at that. "What is it?"

Saparata thought for a moment. "Mine."

Fluixon blinked once, then twice. “...What.” He replied very eloquently, eloquence seemed to be a brand new thing he has grown accustomed to. 

Just from that singular word, he had also started to feel much better over the fact that his gift had worked very well. After all, this attempt seemed to be the one that brought the most realizations for him—Saparata was becoming comfortable enough to wear something Fluixon had given him, and to keep something that belonged to Fluixon close to his skin.

That was amazing progress, and yet the thing Fluixon wanted most remained out of reach—blood.

He could smell it every time Saparata leaned close, could hear the pulse in his throat whenever they sat together in the quiet, and could feel the hunger stir whenever Saparata laughed too close to him.

But Saparata never offered or even clarified if he’s even aware about the fact that they’re soulmates, not once; Fluixon never asked, but he had made that deliberate decision early.

Soulmates were supposed to choose each other, even with the thread tying them together, it would be pointless if the relationship is born out of lack of autonomy. 

Whatever the old stories said, whatever instincts whispered at the back of his mind, Fluixon would not take what was not willingly given.

So he waited, just like how a dripstone is formed—slowly, and drop by drop.

—

A week later, Saparata came looking for him—that alone was enough to make Fluixon suspicious. He was standing outside the classroom after the final bell when Saparata appeared at the end of the corridor. "Fluixon."

He turned. "What?"

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"You'll see." 

Fluixon stared. "That's not reassuring."

Saparata didn’t care, "Are you coming?" He should have asked more questions. Instead, he followed. They crossed the courtyard and went toward the older wing of the school, where the stonework was darker and the halls were usually empty after classes.

Saparata led him to a small alcove overlooking the gardens, then he stopped. He reached beneath his collar mindlessly, the dripstone was still there. "Why did you bring me here?"

Saparata looked at him. "I wanted to show you something."

"What?" Saparata turned toward the garden. There, along the far wall, an old vine had grown over a section of stone, tiny purple flowers had opened among the leaves. "I found this yesterday."

Fluixon looked at it. “Hyacinths?” Saparata merely nodded,  "Why are you showing me this?"

Saparata smiled. "Because you like strange things."

Fluixon stared, like his mind was still trying to process what was happening, then he said abruptly, “Are you trying to make fun of me?” 

Saparata's shoulder brushed Fluixon's. “No, I’m trying to get to know you, and as of now, all I know is that you like strange things.” He hummed, “...and hyacinths, hopefully.” He added after a short pause. 

Fluixon couldn’t come up with a rational answer to that.

It was so unexpected, and honestly, if he was any lesser, he probably would’ve gone down on one knee and—his thoughts came to a halt as his eyes suddenly fixated on Saparata touching the stone at his chest. "You were right." He started once more. 

Fluixon blinked, "About what?"

"Some things are worth waiting for." Fluixon’s eyes widened as he looked at him, Saparata didn't elaborate, but if Fluixon truly thought about it, he didn’t need to.

The words settled between them, quiet and unfinished, Fluixon felt something in his chest tighten; he didn't know whether Saparata was talking about the stone, he didn't know whether he was talking about them, but he did understand something important.

The courtship wasn't supposed to be a race, nor was it about getting Saparata to surrender; It was about giving him reasons to remember Fluixon, reasons to look for him, and reasons to choose him, and Fluixon hopefully concluded that Saparata was beginning to do exactly that.

Fluixon looked down as he pondered—perhaps three attempts were enough to prove that he was getting somewhere, perhaps the next one would finally be the one that brought him closer to what he wanted.

He just hadn't yet realized that what he wanted was changing, and ironically, the very person that’s the cause of change was watching him from the corner of his eye, knowing something long before Fluixon did.

— [ 4/5 ] —

By the time Fluixon admitted to himself that he needed advice, he had already decided that he would never ask for it directly.

He had never liked being told what to do, after all; asking implied helplessness, it implied that he had reached the end of his own ideas and needed someone else to tell him what to do. So, he spent the better part of the afternoon pretending that he had merely happened to remember that Thomas, Cynikka, and Seraphim usually stayed behind after classes and cooped up around the library

He happened to know which room they used and liked to reserve, he happened to know when they would be there, and he happened to walk in that direction. There was nothing weird about it, because Thomas and Seraphim were his friends, and Cynikka was his literal sister! So, if he were to come inside their room and ask a very hypothetical situation, then that doesn’t count as asking for advice at all.

Fluixon opened the door to an almost empty classroom, and as if on cue, three heads turned.

Thomas was sitting by the window with a book balanced against one knee. Cynikka occupied the armchair beside the shelves, scrolling idly through her phone. Seraphim had claimed the beanbag that their library provided if asked for, half-hidden beneath a blanket despite the weather being perfectly warm.

All three looked at him, and it was almost eerie with how in sync they were, Fluixon lost his trail of thought and forgot to speak up because of it. Thankfully, Cynikka spoke up instead, "You look awful.”

Fluixon stepped inside, deliberately ignoring the insult his sister spat like clockwork. "I have a question." He started very steadily, like he was about to present a horrible conspiracy theory proudly. 

Thomas marked his page, as if he has already predicted that he won’t be able to read properly anymore now that Fluixon’s here. "That's worse." 

Fluixon huffed as he very gracefully lifted his middle finger to flip his best friend off.

Seraphim smiled without looking up from her book. "Let him ask." He let out a quiet huff at relief at that, he pulled out the empty chair near the window and sat. For a few seconds, he said nothing, his fingers tapped once against the armrest. "...Hypothetically."

Cynikka immediately laughed, not even bothering to restrain it, Fluixon squinted his eyes at her immediately. "What?" She didn’t reply verbally, instead opting to shake her head as she covered her face with both of her hands.

That just made Fluixon feel even more humiliated. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you only say ‘hypothetical’ things when you're talking about yourself." Cynikka’s voice came out all muffled. 

"I do not."

"You do."

Thomas was already smiling. "Go on." He butted in, allowing Fluixon to go back to the topic. He looked between the three of them and sighed deeply as he prepared himself mentally, there was no point in turning back now.

"Suppose,” He made sure to emphasize that word very carefully before beginning. “...Suppose a vampire had a soulmate."

Thomas snorted. "Every vampire has a soulmate, care to specify?” 

“No.” Fluixon immediately said, he clasped his hands together as he leaned a little forward. "...And suppose the vampire didn't exactly... get along with them." He continued.

Cynikka's eyebrows rose. "That happens." She said as she shrugged with one shoulder.

"Obviously." Fluixon shifted in his chair. "...Now, even with that certain aspect, suppose this vampire started… courting their soulmate, anyway."

Seraphim looked up from her book at that, she did not say anything, neither did Thomas, the only visible reaction was that Cynikka's mouth twitched, Fluixon noticed it. "What now?” He clicked his tongue.

"What, what?” Cynikka blinked innocently, then she waved her hand dismissively before Fluixon could question him further. “Continue on.” 

Fluixon’s face scrunched up at that, he didn’t like being told what to do, so now he didn’t want to. "You have a face." He pointed out stubbornly.

"You should be scared if I don’t have a face, that would be very terrifying, no?” She quipped. 

He sputtered frustratingly at that, "You—don’t play dumb with me, Cyn, you have a face that says you know what I'm talking about."

Cynikka shrugged. "Maybe I am very immersed in your… hypothetical situations, brother. You should be grateful.” 

Fluixon narrowed his eyes, he sighed in defeat as he moved on. "Anyway, suppose that the courting of the vampire was meant for something… beneficial, but it eventually changed along the way.” He winced slightly when he said that, deliberately looking at anything but at his three friends because he could already imagine their expressions. "....Do you think the vampire should continue on?”

All three of them went silent, as if they were genuinely considering and pondering on the hypothetical situations, Thomas was the first one to speak up. "I suppose it depends."

"On what?"

"The vampire, obviously, and the relationship." Thomas supplied, Fluixon leaned back with a quiet gruff at that, that was exactly the kind of answer he had expected and hated. "It also depends on what their first intention was.” 

Fluixon perked up at that, "What if," he continued, "the vampire started courting because they wanted something?"

Thomas glanced at him. "And what did they exactly want?"

"Blood." The word settled between them, no one reacted dramatically. He was almost surprised that they didn’t, but when Fluixon thought about it, he also realized that they’ve been aware of his utter distaste for the available blood banks for a while. Plus, they knew what the bond meant, so they must know where he’s coming from, they probably understood it more than Fluixon did, even.

"So," Thomas said, "this vampire started because they wanted their soulmate's blood."

"Yes."

"And now?" Thomas tilted his head, Fluixon's fingers went still. "...Now they aren't sure." He almost couldn’t believe he got the courage to say that out loud.

Seraphim decided to finally speak up now, “If the blood suddenly stopped being important to this vampire, then something else probably took its place." Fluixon looked at her with a startled expression, as if he never expected her to say that. "...Unless they didn’t, then I think the vampire is just wasting their time." she added thoughtfully. 

"He isn't." The answer came too quickly, but he also said it so quietly that it honestly passed as an exhaled breath. Thankfully, none of them said anything about it, so he quickly corrected himself. "I mean—the hypothetical vampire isn't.”

 Cynikka snorted at that, "Of course, and you know that because?”  He ignored the faint amusement in her voice, he answered with a grumble, “I am very close with this hypothetical vampire.” 

Seraphim closed her book, finally giving all of her attention on the matter. "If the vampire isn’t wasting their time…” She started, her heterochromatic eyes shifted to land on Fluixon’s figure directly,  "...Then they should figure out what they want now."

Fluixon found himself staring at the floor just to avoid her gaze; that was easier said than done, because he had spent weeks carefully building excuses around himself—the blood, the curiosity, the hunger—any of those things were easier than simply wanting someone.

Wanting someone meant there was something to lose, and Fluixon had never been particularly fond of losing. 

Then, as if a light bulb appeared on Fluixon’s head, he abruptly raised his head and immediately looked at Thomas. "How did you court Micro?"

Thomas’s expression changed immediately, his mouth slightly agape. “What—where did that come from?”

Fluixon blinked, as if he only registered how weird his timing must’ve been, “Well, you have been pursuing him, right?” 

Fluixon hummed as he tried to remember the details, he knew that Thomas had been pursuing Micro longer than the time Fluixon found out Saparata was even his soulmate, but he only realized now he had never gotten an update on it.

…Well, unless he did get one, and he was just too busy fixating on his own courting problems to figure it out, I guess he unfortunately can’t blame that on anyone but himself. 

Thomas thought for a moment. "I didn't really have a plan." He admitted it honestly. 

"So what did you do?"

"I spent time with him."

"That's all?"

"Not exactly." Thomas leaned his head back against the wall. "I paid attention to him." He continued. "What he liked, what he didn't; when he wanted me around, when he wanted space; the things he mentioned once and assumed I'd forgotten."

Fluixon's gaze dropped again—that sounded unfortunately familiar. Thomas smiled faintly. "I didn't make a big show of it."

"Why not?"

"Because Micro would've hated that." Thomas's smile widened, it was so simple and cheesy that Fluixon almost laughed, and he would’ve on a normal day, but he couldn’t do that right now, because he realized that he’s starting to relate to how Thomas—or any of his friends, talk about their soulmates more than he’d like to admit. 

Something about that stayed with Fluixon, he had thought about Saparata constantly, but had he ever asked himself why he remembered so much? 

Why did he know which pastries Saparata preferred? Why did he know when Saparata was tired just from the way he walked? Why did he remember every little expression that crossed his face?

Well, Fluixon knew before that those things had begun as information; things Fluixon had collected because understanding his soulmate would make courting easier, but for someone who’s doing this for blood, you’d think they’d forget all of those information the moment their attempts had gotten them so close to their goal. 

Fluixon didn’t, instead, he felt like all the information about Saparata had already been branded onto his brain permanently, and because of that, he wasn't so sure where his beliefs regarding soulmates and everything related to it lies anymore. 

Cynikka spoke next. "Cass was different." Fluixon looked at her—he almost forgot about that information again. "How?"

"I had to be patient."

Fluixon snorted. "You are not patient." Cynikka defended herself, brows furrowing slightly from annoyance. "I can be." 

"Rarely." She threw a cushion at him, Fluixon caught it out of pure instinct, before he stuck his tongue out at his sister, she ignored it and continued on. "She didn't trust easily, so I had to prove that I wasn't going anywhere."

Seraphim nodded. "Jophiel was similar."

Fluixon turned his attention towards her. "Was?"

Seraphim blinked, then briefly corrected herself. "She still is." She looked down at her hands. "Jophiel didn't need someone to impress her. She needed someone who understood her, so that’s what I did when I decided I wanted to court her.” 

Fluixon fell silent—there it was again, the same answer in different forms, it almost creeped him out how horribly similar the courting gestures his friends did, but also uniquely different in their own shape and form, because they were for different people, and they did it for different reasons.

From all of their stories though, Fluixon concluded one thing; choosing someone over and over without demanding that they choose you immediately in return is the most important gesture of love, courting, and the art of soulmates, in general.

Fluixon thought of Saparata again, the thought arrived so naturally that he almost didn't notice it. For a brief moment, he wondered if Mister Fate is actively watching and having the greatest laugh of their life over his misery and existential crisis from the thread they tied upon them. 

After all, he had started all of this for blood, then somewhere along the way, he had begun doing things that had nothing to do with blood—he wanted Saparata to laugh, he wanted Saparata to look for him, he wanted to know what Saparata thought.

He wanted—Fluixon stopped himself, he didn't need to finish that sentence, so, he simply leaned back, staring at the ceiling like he’s personally staring into the eyes of Mister Fate, admitting in defeat: ‘Fine, you win.’

—

They eventually left the room, the sky had turned pale gold over the school grounds, and the last groups of students were beginning to make their way toward the gates.

Fluixon walked with his friends without really listening to their conversation, his thoughts were elsewhere—he kept returning to the same uncomfortable realization.

He thought that maybe there had never been a clean dividing line, maybe there had been no moment when the blood stopped being the reason. It had simply faded into the background while something else quietly took its place.

He was still thinking about it when they reached the courtyard, and then he felt himself slow down after he heard a familiar laugh.  When he turned around to look at something less than twenty feet away from him, was the subject of all of his confusing thoughts: Saparata Theria, his soulmate.

He was with another boy who Fluixon didn’t care about enough to register, and Saparata laughed at what he said. A traitorous thought slipped into his mind: ‘What was he laughing about? How could he stand there, and laugh, and look so beau—’

Fluixon stopped walking as he forcefully shoved the thought away; something cold and unpleasant moved beneath his ribs—It wasn't hunger, he knew hunger.

This feeling was sharper, smaller, and almost childish. He watched Saparata tilt his head while the boy spoke, he watched the way his expression softened, and, against his better judgment, Fluixon wished it were him.

The thought came so plainly that it almost frightened him—he had no right to wish that. Saparata was not his, even if they had the thread tying them, even if Fluixon had started courting him, and even if they were destined to belong to each other.

Fate could tie two people together; it could not make one person choose the other.

He knew that, so why did watching someone else make Saparata laugh bother him? He didn't answer himself, Thomas had noticed him stop. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing." Thomas followed his gaze, his eyes flicked back to Fluixon, Cynikka noticed next, then Seraphim. Oddly enough, none of them teased him, and for that, Fluixon was grateful.

Across the courtyard, Saparata suddenly looked up, their eyes met, and Fluixon's heart and soul gave one hard, humiliating beat.

Saparata smiled—not the broad smile he'd given the other boy, something smaller, something that seemed to belong only to the two of them—he lifted a hand as a small greeting, Fluixon raised his own in response.

The feeling in his chest changed; the jealousy didn't disappear, but it became understandable. 

He didn't want to own Saparata, he didn't think Saparata owed him anything, he didn't even know whether Saparata wanted him, even though he remembered assuming such earlier.

He simply wanted to be the person Saparata chose because Saparata wanted him, not because of some stupid soulmate blood, or soulmate thread, or whatever other jokes Mister Fate had created and made other people pass along for generations. 

And sure, the blood had been the reason he started—he could not deny that, but it wasn't the reason he was still here.

Fluixon looked at Saparata for another moment, then he smiled to himself; he finally understood what the problem had been, he had been trying to figure out how to make Saparata want him, but perhaps that wasn't what courting was supposed to be.

Perhaps it was simply showing someone who you were and giving them every reason to choose you.

Fluixon could live with that, he might even prefer it. He turned back toward his friends—Thomas was watching him, Cynikka was pretending not to, Seraphim had already started walking.

Fluixon simply followed, nobody asked what he had realized, because they didn’t need to. He wasn't ready to say it anyway, at least, not yet, because the word love remained far too large.

There was another word that was more simple, one he could admit to himself: Want.

He wanted Saparata—not his blood, or proof that the stories were true, not even the reassurance that Fate had chosen correctly. He just wanted him.

Perhaps that was why Fluixon found himself thinking about what he could do next—not to get closer to Saparata's blood, but to get closer to Saparata himself; the thought was terrifying, but it was also strangely exciting. For once, Fluixon didn't need an excuse.

He only needed to decide what he wanted to give next.

— [ 5/5 ] —

By the time Fluixon found Saparata after classes, he had changed his mind three times.

The first time, he had decided he would tell him everything. The second, he had decided that perhaps there was no reason to ruin something that was already working. Lastly, the third time, he had stood in front of the mirror in the empty bathroom and told himself that he was being ridiculous.

Then he had left anyway, the fifth—and last, Fluixon had officially concluded this before he changed his mind on this one, too—attempt was not supposed to be complicated.

He wasn't going to bring anything; no pastry wrapped carefully enough to suggest thoughtfulness but casually enough to deny it, no strange little trinket, no object he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing because he wanted something that would stay with Saparata after Fluixon himself had gone home.

The only thing he had was himself, and funnily enough, it felt considerably more vulnerable than any gift he had ever given.

He found Saparata at the far end of the east wing, where the old windows overlooked the gardens. Most students avoided the corridor after classes. The classrooms there belonged to departments that rarely stayed open late, and the hallway had a peculiar stillness to it in the afternoon.

Saparata was leaning against one of the windows, his book open in his hands. He looked up as Fluixon approached, his eyes immediately dropped to Fluixon's empty hands, a teasing smile appeared. "Nothing today?"

Fluixon stopped abruptly, was he expecting something? Has Saparata gotten so used to the gifts that he’s expecting it now? That honestly made him shiver just thinking about it, because now that he doesn’t have anything, will Saparata still—

"No." He heard himself answer, as if his body took the initiative while his mind was having a storm of overthinking thoughts. 

Saparata laughed quietly, closing his book and placing it beside him. "Should I be worried?"

"...Probably." Fluixon almost smiled, just to prevent himself from showing that if anything, he should be the most worried person in this room. Saparata pushed away from the window. "Is something on your mind?” He asked suddenly,

Fluixon looked at him with widened eyes, he opened his mouth—nothing came out, how did Saparata even know that? Was he that obvious? He felt his fingers clasp onto the ends of his sweater out of nervous habit, he didn’t notice that Saparata’s eyes flickered to it. 

Saparata titled his head, "Hey." He called out, his gaze still fixated on Fluixon’s fingers holding his sweater. “You can tell me anything, Flux.”

Fluixon’s eyes widened at that as he visibly relaxed, the way he said his name so softly helped him a lot, as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

He walked closer to Saparata and stopped by the window he sat on previously. Outside, the gardens were turning gold beneath the late afternoon sun. Somewhere farther down the grounds, students were talking loudly enough that their voices drifted in and out with the wind.

He watched them for a moment, then he said, "Do you remember when we first met?"

Saparata's expression shifted. "Unfortunately." He sighed like he didn’t want to remember it, but they both knew otherwise. Fluixon laughed softly, he rested his hands against the windowsill. "I remember looking at you." The words felt strange already. "I didn't know your name."

Saparata said nothing. "I didn't know anything about you." Fluixon's fingers tightened slightly. "But I knew."

Saparata's eyes moved toward him. "Knew what?"

Fluixon looked at him. "That you were my soulmate."

Silence.

There was something about saying it aloud that made the memory feel sharper—the first moment, and that impossible certainty that came along with it; the instinctive recognition that had struck him before he'd even had the chance to learn the stranger's name.

Fluixon had been awestruck then, he remembered that much, he had thought Fate had finally decided to be kind to him, and then Saparata had opened his mouth and ruined it all. He almost smiled at the memory. "You were awful."

Saparata blinked. "Excuse me?" He suddenly squawked, the soft tension dissolved immediately as his face scrunched up in total offense. 

"You were." Fluixon affirmed solemnly. 

"I don't remember being awful." Saparata defended himself, stepping closer to Fluixon. "You were staring at me weirdly, too!”

Fluixon huffed, “Yeah, and I’m getting to the part where I was gonna explain why.” He murmured, he sat down on the edge of the window as he rested his head on the wall beside it. 

He started again. "I thought I'd made a mistake."

Saparata's voice quieted at that. "About me?"

"About Fate." Fluixon paused—huh, he didn’t mean to correct him so quickly on that, I guess he’s too keen on ensuring Saparata never thinks Fluixon doesn’t want him that his mind doesn’t even need to register it anymore. "I thought there was no way the person I'd been waiting for could possibly be you."

Saparata was quiet, Fluixon could feel him looking at him, but he didn’t want to reciprocate the gaze, he won’t be able to continue on if he did.  "I didn't tell you because..." He hesitated, this was the difficult part. "I was scared I was the only one who felt it.” 

"Felt what?"

"The thread." Fluixon folded his arms as he leaned back against the window. “Do you—do you know what the thread is? Or believe in it?”

Saparata nodded. “It’s about vampires being tied to the soul of humans and vice-versa, right?” He asked for clarification.

Fluixon nodded back to confirm it. "Vampires know about their soulmates immediately as soon as they look at them, but humans don’t.” He said so surely. 

The confession sounded embarrassingly naive now, especially when he was explaining it to his own soulmate. After all, everything he'd ever been taught had suggested that vampires carried the certainty while humans simply... lived with whatever the bond brought them. "So, I thought you'd think I was insane if I told you." 

Saparata's mouth twitched. "You did a pretty good job of seeming insane without telling me." He couldn’t help but say. 

Fluixon’s head abruptly raised at that just to give him a look, his eyes squinting in annoyance. "Wow, thanks, I really needed that right now."

"You're welcome." Saparata smiled casually, a little of the tension eased because of it, but Fluixon’s heart still pulsed nervously. 

He looked down at his hands to see if it was shaking. "I also didn't know what to do with it." His voice became quieter. "I knew you were my soulmate, and then I found out who you were, and..." He laughed once, without much humor. "I was disappointed."

Saparata looked genuinely offended. "That's rude."

"You were annoying."

"I still am."

"I know." Their eyes met, this time, neither of them looked away immediately. Fluixon felt the familiar pull in his soul—the thread, he wondered if Saparata could feel it too, but the thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

Then, he finally confessed the one thing he had been worrying over for so long. "I started courting you because of the blood." There was no easy way to say it, so he said it plainly.

Saparata's expression became more attentive. "I'd heard all the stories, every vampire hears them—How soulmate blood is supposed to taste. How it's different. How nothing else compares."

He shook his head. "I never believed it."

Saparata blinked as he seemed to figure out where Fluixon was going with this. "You wanted to test it."

"Yes." His answer came too quickly, he regretted it immediately. Saparata noticed, but he didn't tease him. Instead, he simply waited. Fluixon swallowed. "I thought if I could get you to trust me enough..." He stopped—the sentence felt uglier halfway through, but if he wanted to be transparent, then he had to say it. "...then maybe you'd let me."

His gaze fell. "I know how that sounds." Saparata remained silent. "And I know I was selfish." Fluixon's fingers curled against the windowsill. "But somewhere along the way, that stopped being what I wanted."

He had thought this would be easier once he reached this part, unfortunately, It wasn't. "I don't know when it happened." His voice was barely above a murmur. "I just know that I started looking forward to seeing you even when I didn't have a reason.” 

He forced himself to look at Saparata again, just to show how sincere he was. “...and I'd find myself wondering what you were doing."

A pause.

"...Who you were talking to..."

Another.

"...Whether you'd be there..." He smiled faintly. "...And then I realized I was even getting jealous."

Saparata's eyebrows rose, and Fluixon immediately looked away. "Don't."

Separate snorted at that. "I didn't say anything."

"You were going to." Fluixon grumbled, Saparata chuckled at his silly response, and he smiled despite himself, then the smile faded as he realized he needed to continue.

 "I don't have any right to be jealous." Fluixon stared out the window. "I’m aware of that.” He hesitated, then admitted, more quietly, "And I can’t help but hate that I’m aware, too, because that means I have to admit that I care."

Saparata's teasing expression disappeared, Fluixon felt his throat tighten. "I don't think I'm courting you anymore because I want something from you." He looked back at him. "I think I'm doing it because I want you to want me."

There it was, the truth.

It was humiliating, and it was frightening, but It was also the simplest thing he'd said all afternoon. He genuinely felt so many heavy boulders lift off of his shoulders after he confessed it. 

He didn’t notice that Saparata's expression softened again, he looked away to stare at nothing as he continued before he could lose his nerve. "And that's why I wanted to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Everything." He took a slow breath. "I don't expect you to give me your blood." Saparata's eyes widened, like he expected Fluixon to say anything but that. "Not because we're soulmates. Not because I started courting you. Not because I think you owe me anything."

Fluixon shook his head. "If you never want to, that's fine." He didn’t notice how Saparata’s expression withered, like he was thinking that meant Fluixon won’t feed off of him, thankfully, the next words he was about to say would reassure him. "But if you ever do..."

Fluixon’s voice faltered, he hated how difficult the words were, so he decided to rephrase it. "If you ever want to let me taste it, I want it to be because you chose to."

Saparata stared at him, Fluixon could feel his own pulse beating in his throat. He had expected this part to feel like a conclusion. Instead, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

He'd finally told Saparata the truth; he'd told him about the thread, the blood, the reason the courtship had started, the reason it had continued. 

He'd given Saparata every reason he had to walk away, because he gave him the greatest opportunity any courtship could offer—a choice to decide for yourself, for your own love.

Saparata’s choice came quickly, because instead of walking away, he moved closer, to the point the distance between them was merely inches away

Fluixon's breath caught at the action, and before he could point it out, Saparata reached up and touched his face. The gesture was gentle enough that Fluixon almost didn't understand it.

All he could do was stare into Saparata's eyes, there was something there—something he couldn't name. "You really thought I didn't know."

Fluixon frowned, his confusion piling up even more.  "Know what?"

Saparata smiled—not the sharp, teasing smile Fluixon knew—it was a smile that Fluixon had only seen now, something that was very akin to fondness. "the thread doesn’t inform just vampires only.” is what he decided to reply with. 

Fluixon's stomach dropped. "...What?” He said dumbly, Saparata's thumb brushed lightly against his cheek. "...Humans know about their soulmates the moment they look at them, too.”

Fluixon stared, the words refused to settle into meaning. "...Really?”

"Yes."

Fluixon must look so dumb in Saparata’s point of view right now, he couldn’t stop his mouth from going agape as he felt his pale face rush with blood, dusting his cheeks pink. “...So, that means—”

Saparata's smile deepened, cutting him off to finish the sentence instead. "I’ve known you were my soulmate the moment you stared at me weirdly, yeah.” 

Fluixon's breath caught. For weeks, he had believed he was the only one carrying the knowledge. The only one who had understood what that first glance meant, and the only one who had been trying to bridge a gap that Saparata didn't even know existed.

And now—Saparata was looking at him as though the entire thing had been obvious, Fluixon could barely form the words. "Then why didn't you tell me?" He sputtered stupidly. 

Saparata leaned closer, close enough that Fluixon could feel the warmth of his breath, his answer was almost a whisper. "Because If I did, then that would mean I wasn’t giving you a choice to figure it out at your own pace, right?”

Fluixon stared at him in utter disbelief, and somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the embarrassment, and the sudden realization that every single one of his carefully planned attempts had been witnessed by someone who understood exactly what he was doing—something else began to dawn.

Saparata had known all along, and he'd chosen to let Fluixon court him anyway.

— [ 5/5 + 1 ] —

For several seconds, Fluixon could do nothing but stare at him.

‘Because If I did, then that would mean I wasn’t giving you a choice to figure it out at your own pace, right?’

The words replayed inside his head over and over to the point it should have annoyed him—it probably would, once his brain caught up. 

Right now, however, Fluixon was too busy processing that Saparata’s reason was so akin to his that he almost wanted to laugh at the sheer irony of it. He was also trying to reconcile the past several weeks with the person standing in front of him.

Saparata had known from the beginning, which meant—"You knew about my courting attempts, then?”

“Yeah.” Saparata's mouth curved. "I believe we've established that."

"...All this time?"

"Yes, Fluixon."

There was something deeply infuriating about how calm he sounded, Fluixon stared at him as the pieces began falling into place one after another; every strange loo, every time Saparata had accepted one of his gifts without asking why, every time he'd seemed to understand more than Fluixon thought he should, and every time he'd let Fluixon come back.

Fluixon had thought himself to be clever—he had thought himself subtle, even. He had spent weeks constructing little excuses around his courtship, carefully disguising every gesture as something that could be dismissed if Saparata rejected it.

Meanwhile, Saparata had apparently been standing on the other side of the game the entire time, watching him, and even worse, enjoying it. "Couldn’t you have at least told me while still allowing me to have a choice?" Fluixon clicked his tongue. 

Saparata nodded, not even bothering to deny the fact. "I could have."

"But you didn't." Fluixon narrowed his eyes on him, Saparata shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

His smile softened. "Because I wanted to know which choice you’d pick; whether it was the fact you actually wanted me, or something else, ultimately."

Fluixon went quiet, his answer struck somewhere deeper than his pride, he looked away in response. "You could've just asked."

"You would've lied." Saparata retorted easily, Fluixon opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out, Saparata raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you?"

"...Probably."

"See?" Fluixon sighed, he couldn't even argue—for all his recent honesty, there were still things he would have hidden if given the opportunity. The first reason he'd started courting Saparata had not been particularly noble.

He'd wanted the blood, and Saparata had apparently understood that before Fluixon had even understood it himself. "You are an awful person." He sighed as he dragged his hands across his face miserably. 

"I know." Saparata flashed him a cheeky smile. "And you've been letting me embarrass myself for weeks." Fluixon continued, despite his voice being muffled because of his hands covering it. 

Saparata tilted his head. "You weren't exactly suffering." he huffed indignantly. 

"I was suffering."

"Buying me pastries, a little charm, and a whole dripstone necklace is what you count as suffering?”

Fluixon stared at him. “Yeah, if I’m doing it for a person that let me believe he didn’t know jackshit about the actions I was doing.” 

Saparata laughed, the sound should have irritated him. Instead, Fluixon found himself smiling—It was ridiculous. He'd come here prepared to confess something he had been carrying around for weeks, convinced he was about to expose the most important secret between them. And yet, all he discovered was that Saparata had known before he had even learned his name.

That wasn't the worst part, though, the worst part was the strange sense of relief that came with it—he didn't have to explain anymore, and he didn't have to wonder whether the person standing in front of him had ever felt that same invisible pull.

“Well then,” Saparata started again, though for some reason, he had this odd expression on his face—an expression that looked like hesitation. “To make it up to you, I should give you the… thing that made you start this whole mess, huh?” 

Fluixon blinked once, twice, his brows furrowing as he tried to understand what that meant. “You don’t need to make up anything for me, though?” 

Saparata’s expression immediately fell as he scoffed, “Oh my god, you cannot be this obtuse.” 

Fluixon can, in fact, be that obtuse, he should’ve known that because of the literal fact that Fluixon never clocked the idea of Saparata knowing the whole soulmate thing, too. “Obtuse about what?” 

Saparata sighed as he rolled his sleeves, revealing his wrist, the moment Fluixon stared at it, his fangs involuntarily ached. “You started all of this for your soulmate’s blood, no?” 

“...Yeah.” Fluixon answered quietly as he subtly gulped, the longer he stared at the wrist, the more he could hear the pulse beneath the skin. His hunger had been strangely quiet throughout the conversation, subdued beneath everything else, but now that Saparata had acknowledged it, Fluixon became suddenly conscious of it again.

He swallowed again,  “But, I meant what I said—you don’t owe me anything, so if you don't want to, you don't have to—”

Saparata groaned, cutting him off effectively, he raised his wrist closer to Fluixon. “You also said that you’ll give me a choice, yeah? Well, this is my choice; you’ve earned my blood, so now, It’s up to you if you want to reward yourself for your hard work.”

Fluixon’s eyes widened as he looked away from the wrist to look at Saparata, he wanted to check if he was serious, but surprisingly, all he saw was the fact there was something almost shy in his expression. It was so unlike the Saparata Fluixon had grown accustomed to that Fluixon didn't know what to do with it.

"So," Saparata said slowly, "What’s your choice, Flux?” 

Fluixon's breath caught, that alone should have been enough, but Fluixon being Fluixon, still needed more assurance. "Are you sure?"

Saparata nodded. “More than anything.” He said it so easily it was like Saparata was the one who’ll be getting the reward.

Fluixon had imagined this moment so many times that he'd stopped believing it would ever actually happen, he had imagined sinking his teeth into Saparata's skin,the taste, and the relief he’ll probably feel after suffering with horrible blood banks since forever. But now, standing this close to him, all Fluixon could think about was the fact that Saparata was giving him a choice.

And Fluixon had spent too long learning that wanting something didn't mean he was entitled to it.

So, he stepped closer. Then, slowly, he held Saparata’s arm to turn his wrist upward, just the perfect angle for his fangs to sink in, Fluixon's throat tightened from anticipation, he paused for a moment as he looked at Saparata again seriously. "Tell me if you want me to stop," He quickly said.

Saparata looked at him in utter astonishment, as if he also couldn't believe that this was it, his soulmate’s gonna get a taste of his blood. "I will." He softly affirmed.

Fluixon leaned closer—he could smell him much more clearly now, the scent of warm skin beneath the familiar traces of soap and rain and the faint perfume Saparata always wore. Then beneath all of it was his blood.

Fluixon's instincts recognized it before his mind did, his fangs descended as it slightly grazed Saparata’s skin, then suddenly, he shivered.

Fluixon stopped. "You all right?" He asked immediately, his tone laced with concern. 

"Yes." Saparata nodded quickly, his eyes were almost closed, though, like how one would when they’re trying to not look at something they feel like they shouldn’t see. 

Fluixon was very concerned with that expression. "You moved."

"I didn’t mean to." Saparata said meekly. 

“We really don’t need to do this if you’re not ready—”

Again, for the nth time by this point, Saparata cut Fluixon off as he suddenly leaned forward, their faces only a few inches away from each other. Then, he added a small, desperate whisper that washed away all of Fluixon’s worries. “Bite me, Fluixon.” 

Fluixon's heart thudded—okay, damn, he didn’t need to be told twice—he lowered his mouth to Saparata's wrist again, and sunk his fangs into it as he drank.

—

The world had disappeared.

There was no other way to describe it—one moment, Fluixon was standing in an empty school corridor with Saparata's wrist between his hands, then the next, everything he knew seemed to collapse into a single point.

It was strangely overwhelming and exhilarating; the taste, the heat, the recognition, thehe damn thread that squeezed his soul so hardly it felt like everything inside him was getting sucked out like a vacuum—it all struck at once.

Fluixon had been wrong about the damn soulmate blood tale—actually, maybe every vampire story had been wrong, because none of them had been incapable of explaining the actual feeling, all of the exaggerations felt so plain to whatever he was feeling at the moment, 

The blood was not merely sweet, in fact, Fluixon didn’t even know if there was a word out there that could explain the taste, all he knew was that it tasted so unbelievably familiar.

The simples explanation was that it tasted like him; Fluixon tasted Saparata and, somehow, tasted every memory he'd accumulated of him—the sound of his laughter, the irritation in his voice when he was pretending not to care, the quiet moments when he'd stopped teasing and simply stayed beside Fluixon, the first time he'd accepted the dripstone, the way he'd looked at Fluixon when he'd thought he wasn't being watched.

It wasn't merely blood, it was recognition distilled into something physical. Fluixon's hand tightened around Saparata's wrist, he wondered if he looked genuinely insane in Saparata’s perspective, he was sure he did, because he swore nearly lost himself as he kept on drinking like there was no tomorrow.

Then, he remembered what he said—’Tell me if you want me to stop.’—Fluixon abruptly tore himself away. He stumbled back, breathing hard. Blood slightly dribbled from his mouth as he stared into the two holes on Saparata’s wrist caused by his fangs. 

He felt himself flush from embarrassment as he looked at Saparata to apologize. Instead, his eyes widened even more as he stared at Saparata’s expression—his eyes were half-lidded, his breathing was uneven, and the flush from his face and the widened pupils made him look as crazy as Fluixon must look, too.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. 

Fluixon swore he could still taste him. Saparata’s blood lingered across his tongue, and it was simply impossible to compare to anything else he'd ever consumed. He finally understood why vampires spoke about it with something approaching reverence, he understood why blood banks had always left him unsatisfied.

He also understood why animal blood had begun tasting increasingly foul, and why he'd spent weeks convincing himself he only wanted to know whether the stories were true. Because there had never been any story capable of explaining this, he almost wanted to curse his past self for almost preventing himself from being able to experience this moment.

"God," Fluixon whispered, he didn’t even know he started speaking. Saparata's mouth twitched. "That good?" He said shakily. 

Fluixon looked at him, he should have been able to answer. Instead, the only thing that came out of his pathetic mouth was a breathless, disbelieving sound. "You..." He shook his head, he genuinely couldn’t find any words to explain what he was feeling. 

Saparata smiled, that was the only moment Fluixon was able to regain himself and process the look in Saparata’s eyes—it was filled with so, so, so much need. 

Before he could even verbally point it out, Saparata lowered his bitten wrist and instead, cradled Fluixon’s face to pull him closer to him, he let out a slight yelp from the abrupt action. 

Saparata swallowed, Fluixon could see how blown out his pupils truly were now from this angle.  "Do it again."

Fluixon blinked in utter surprise, his eyes widened at the request, "What?"

Saparata’s thumb shifted to Fluixon’s lips, moving to open it slightly, Fluixon dumbly allowed it as his thumb slightly grazed his fangs, the action sent shivers down his spine. "Do it again, Fluixon." He repeated the request softer this time. 

Fluixon almost laughed, "What—Are you sure? I took quite a lot of blood already—”

"I know." Saparata's gaze remained fixed on Fluixon’s fangs. "But it’s okay, because I loved it." 

Fluixon's breath caught, Saparata still didn’t look away, despite the fact his face had gone warm. "I didn't think I would." He laughed awkwardly. "I thought maybe I was imagining it."

"When you were drinking." Something in his expression made Fluixon's chest tighten. "It felt..." He struggled. "Good."

Fluixon smiled faintly. "That's usually the point."

"No." Saparata shook his head. "You don't understand." His voice was quieter. "It felt really good." Fluixon's smile disappeared, Saparata looked embarrassed now—almost frustrated. "I thought maybe humans just knew who their soulmate was and that was it." 

He glanced down at his wrist. "But there's more." Saparata drew in a breath. "I like being bitten." The words came out so quietly that Fluixon almost thought he'd misheard him. "What?"

Saparata's cheeks darkened. "I like it." Fluixon stared, Saparata covered part of his face with his free hand. "Don't make me say it again."

A slow smile spread across Fluixon's face, he wanted to laugh at the irony of everything—not because of Saparata’s desperation, but because Mister Fate and everyone who made the tales seemed to have missed out on a very important detail. 

If vampires got obsessed with the taste of their soulmate’s blood, then the equivalent of that was humans getting obsessed with the feeling of being bitten by their soulmate. 

Mister Fate’s sense of humor was so generational Fluixon couldn’t even get mad about it anymore, he honestly wanted to applaud him. 

Fluixon must’ve gone quiet for too long as Saparata’s expression changed again, he raised his free hand to lay it on Fluixon’s waist, “Please, Flux.” He whispered, his lips involuntarily trembled, “Can you bite me again?”

Again, Fluixon did not need to be told twice. 

Fluixon moved Saparata’s thumb away from his lips as he leaned in, sealing their mouths together, his fangs gently sunk into Saparata’s bottom lip, and when he did, Saparata made a muffled noise, one of his hands instinctively came up to cradle the back of Fluixon’s head, then shifting to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. 

The feeling of drinking the second time was different, Fluixon knew what to expect now, but that didn't make it easier. If anything, knowing made it worse—he swore he was gonna get drunk on Saparata’s blood at this point, but he wants to selfishly believe that he deserves it, after suffering with horrible blood banks for so long. 

Every reaction Saparata gave him seemed to echo through his own body; when Saparata trembled, Fluixon felt it, when Saparata relaxed into the kiss, something inside Fluixon eased with him, and when Saparata pulled away slightly to breathe only to seal their mouths again, Fluixon wanted to stay there forever.

It was frightening, it was beautiful, and it was far more intimate than Fluixon had expected.

What astonished Fluixon the most, though, was when he finally decided to pull back after a ridiculously long moment, Saparata had the gall to look offended. 

"Why'd you stop?" Saparata frowned, he looked a little funny in Fluixon’s perspective when he said that, because there was quite literally blood dripping off from the bottom of his lips all the way to his chin.

"...You look very overwhelmed." Fluixon pointed out, raising his hand to wipe the blood off Saparata’s chin, The latter shook his head. "I’m not overwhelmed.” 

He was planning to lean in closer again when Fluixon huffed as he leaned away. "Saparata." Fluixon warned him.

Saparata visibly withered, his voice was breathless. "C’mon, I can handle more.” Fluixon stared at him in utter disbelief, his eyes were so bright, and it was filled with something akin to desperation. If Fluixon thought about it more carefully, he honestly looked like a sad, wet puppy.

Fluixon had to inhale deeply, shaking his head firmly. “I think that’s enough, I don’t want you to like—die from blood loss, Saps.” 

Saparata scoffed as he crossed his arms stubbornly, “Weak shit.” He sulked, Fluixon sputtered as his concerned expression turned into offense. “Excuse me? You’re literally dripping with blood from your lips and wrist!” 

“I am, but somehow you’re the one backing out like a total wuss.” Saparata frowned, then immediately shifted as he evaded Fluixon’s punch to his shoulder that he predicted, he laughed brightly. “Fine, fine.” He raised his hands to plead surrender. 

They settled into a short, comfortable silence at that, it gave Fluixon enough time to truly indulge in how warm and content he felt at the moment. 

He had thought he was the one who had been starving; he had thought the blood was the dangerous part, and he spent weeks trying to convince himself that wanting Saparata was merely an extension of wanting what Mister Fate had promised him.

He had been wrong, because now Saparata knew what the bond could give him, and apparently, humans could become just as hungry—perhaps not for blood, but for the feeling—the strange, intoxicating surrender of letting the person tied to their soul take something from them and knowing, somehow, that they were giving it willingly.

Fluixon concluded that he wouldn’t want to have it in any other way, unfortunately, his thoughts came to a stop when Saparata tilted his head to capture his gaze, “Fluixon?” He called him. 

Fluixon blinked, tilting his head just like how Saparata did. “What?”

Saparata’s bleeding lips dared to form a mischievous smile. “Next time, can you bite my neck next—”

Fluixon shuddered, “No, oh my god.” He scowled, “That’s the most dangerous part a vampire can bite, I don’t want to rush you on that part.” He said seriously. 

Saparata laughed at his serious expression, “Chill, I was joking.” He giggled, then, his expression softened, “You know I’d trust you to do it anyway, right?” 

Fluixon’s heart warmed at that, he could feel the thread pulse from ecstasy. “...I guess so.” 

Saparata smiled, then, his eyes glanced towards the window, he watched the sun slowly settle into an orange hue as he realized it was already getting home. “We should go home.” He softly announced, then, his gaze came back to look at Fluixon. “Walk home with me?”

Fluixon simply smiled as he nodded, but he added another thought. “Let’s visit the infirmary, though, I’ll… patch you up.” He said with slight embarrassment as he looked at the utter mess Saparata had on his wrist and lips. 

Saparata merely snorted, “Okay, lead the way.” Then, as they both left the room together, both of them silently realized one thing: perhaps this was the real secret of soulmates. 

Fate hadn't made them perfect for one another, it had only given them the chance to choose, and after all the games, all the arguments, all the carefully disguised attempts at courting—they had finally, unmistakably, chosen each other.