Chapter Text
Kunigami didn’t know how long it had been since she had last left her apartment.
Time had become odd recently, too fluid and foggy and weird, passing by both too slow and too fast simultaneously. Inside her apartment, she could only measure it in the slow crawl of shadows across the hardwood floor and the way the ache in her stomach sharpened and dulled.
The last time she had tried to leave, the sun had stopped her instantly. She had thought she would be okay, being nearly completely covered with clothing and layers of sunblock, but it had still managed to slip beneath the brim of her cap and across the strip of skin between her collar and her jaw. Within seconds, it felt as if she were blistering from the inside out. She’d stumbled back through the lobby doors, ignoring the confused look she got from her landlady, and taken the stairs two at a time, her heart hammering against her ribs at an alarming pace.
She had considered going out at night, the logical decision, but the city didn’t really sleep. Even at two in the morning there were sirens and laughter and the metallic screech of the subway beneath her building, lighting her senses on fire.
And worst of all, there were people everywhere, people with soft throats and pulsing wrists, people with warm blood pumping through their bodies, the smell haunting her even from her apartment.
It had started subtle, a coppery tang in the air that she’d first mistaken for a nosebleed of her own, pressing a tissue to her nostrils and checking for telltale deep red, the smell persisting despite the lack of any. By now, it was constant. It slipped through the cracks in her windows no matter how tightly she shut them, clinging to her curtains, her sheets, her own skin.
A few weeks ago, Kunigami had hated blood.
When she got her first period she had nearly fainted, crying so loudly that even her younger brother, a toddler at the time, was concerned enough that he too joined in. It took hours of her parent’s consoling to help calm them both down, and she had dreaded nothing more each month until she finally got on progesterone.
She’d nearly thrown up during a biology lab once when they were dissecting a pigs heart back in high school, the mere thought of handing an organ that had been responsible for pumping the thick red liquid through a body terrifying to her. She’d left school directly after that, disregarding that it was only second period, spending the rest of the day laid out on the couch and watching Marvel movies with her brothers.
Much to Chigiri’s dismay, she had put a ban on medical dramas and gory horror movies in her presence, the sight repulsive to her despite the constant reminder that it was simply a variation of corn syrup and dye. Whenever her eldest brother would bring up something from one of his nursing school classes, Kunigami would have to get up and leave the table, unable to even look at her food the same.
Blood to her was pain and injury, the reminder that human bodies were as fragile as water balloons, that what kept her alive could come spilling out with a single puncture. It was disgusting to her, the smell and the flow and the clots, each time she could feel the pounding of her own heart more tormenting than the last.
Now it was relief, the only thing she craved and desired. She had no actually confirmation, but she knew in her gut that now it was the only thing that could sustain her, the only thing that could keep her alive.
The shift hadn’t come with a bite mark or anything she could clearly pinpoint and blame, as much as she wanted to. It had been gradual instead, an exhaustion deep in her bones that no amount of sleep she got could fix, a sensitivity to light and smell she had never had before, a headache that pulsed constantly behind her eyes. At first, she had thought it was simply a migraine.
But hen came the hunger, not for any of her normal favorites, not for anything human. She had tried, God, had she tried. Her fridge was full of half-eaten containers, wilted and molding vegetables, a carton of milk she’d forced down and immediately thrown back up two weeks ago. None of it managed to touch the hollow ache inside her.
She spent most of her days now curled into herself somewhere in her apartment: her couch when she wanted to pretend she was just tired, her bed when she tried fruitlessly to sleep it off, the hardwood floor, when she needed something cold against her cheek to remind herself she still had a body.
Her canines ached. That was new. They throbbed with a pressure that made her press her tongue against them compulsively, feeling the edges that seemed sharper than they ever should be. Her skin had gone pale, her undereyes heavy, her skin constantly cold, her vibrant orange hair dulling and graying.
She had tried to look at herself once in her bathroom mirror, wanting to gauge just how corpselike she looked, but her reflection hadn’t shown up no matter what she tried. She’d shut the light off and sat in the dark instead, on the verge of crying for what felt like hours.
Kunigami thought she was going to die soon.
She didn’t mind the thought, entirely, and thought she may prefer that be her fate than what she was currently enduring. If she didn’t feed, the hunger would hollow her out until there was nothing left. If she did, if she let herself become the kind of thing that needed another human’s blood to survive, then something else inside her would die anyway. She would prefer her body to rot away rather than her humanity, if only to allow her memory to stay intact.
She imagined the headlines for if she did feed, if she did cave into her desires, about her attacking strangers and bleeding their bodies dry, taking their own lives for the sake of her own. She imagined her family's faces if they saw what she had become, her mother’s, her father’s, her brothers’. She imagined Chigiri’s.
Chigiri.
Kunigami had stared at her phone for a long time before texting her. The screen’s brightness made her eyes sting, but she forced herself to type, her weak hands trembling feebly as she pressed the small buttons. She didn’t want to leave her best friend with nothing when she died, after all.
I’m sorry. Ilobe you.
She didn’t elaborate. What was she supposed to write, that she thought she was turning into some type of mythical monster? She could barely believe it herself. She thought the message was fitting, despite the typos. She wanted her last words to be an expression of her love, at the very least, even if misspelled and typed.
After that, she’d allowed herself to collapse back onto the couch, phone slipping carelessly from her hand to the carpet. The television was on, though nothing played, and the blank screen reflected the room in a dull, black sheen. She couldn’t see herself in it. The couch, the coffee table, the stack of unopened mail, those were there, faint but still visible. But the space where she sat was empty, a dent in the cushions with no corresponding figure. Her throat tightened.
She let her head fall back against the cushions and closed her eyes. If she stayed still enough, maybe the hunger would ebb, maybe her body would give up and shut down. She tried to imagine it as sleep. A long, dark sleep without dreams of throats and pulses and red.
She didn’t exactly mind the idea. There was a relief in surrender, she felt, in not having to fight the thing clawing at her insides anymore. Alone but comfortable, she thought. That would be nice enough for her.
Less than an hour later, the knocking started.
At first, she thought it was part of a dream until it came again, rattling the door in its frame.
“Rensuke!”
Her eyes snapped open, and the hunger flared immediately at the sound of a voice. Warm and familiar, alive and calling for her. Her heart—- or whatever it was that was still functioning in her chest and miserably keeping her alive— lurched.
Another round of pounding. Kunigami pushed herself upright too quickly, and the room tilted. The smell hit her even through the door now, stronger than ever, copper and salt and something comforting. It was tantalizing, calling to her like she was under a spell, and it flooded her senses, almost suffocating.
Go away, she wanted to shout. Please.
Instead, she staggered to her feet. The hunger roared in approval, louder with each stumble she took towards the warm, blood-filled body on the other side of her door.
“Rensuke, please, are you in there?”
Kunigami pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the door. On the other side was the one person she had left, her best friend, her everything. Human and warm and soft, calling for her.
Her canines throbbed.
“I—-” She started, but her voice cracked. It sounded wrong to her own ears, lower and rougher, threaded with something animal.
There was a shuttered sigh of relief from the other side of the door, and the knocking stopped. Chigiri’s voice softened, but the urgency in it remained. “Rensuke, holy shit. Are you okay? Can you open the door?”
Kunigami squeezed her eyes shut. If she opened the door, she didn’t know what would happen. She didn’t trust her own body, didn’t trust the way her mouth was watering and her stomach rumbling. If she opened that door and attacked her best friend, she didn’t know how she could live with herself.
But, if she didn’t open it—--
She imagined Chigiri standing there all night, imagined her leaving eventually, hurt and confused, imagined herself truly alone when the hunger finally won. Worse, imagined Chigiri staying, imagined her finding Kunigami’s body in the morning when it gave out.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob. She had planned to let herself fade out quietly, to let the ache consume her until there was nothing left to fight. She didn’t know what to do now that Chigiri was there.
“Please, Rensuke.” Chigiri’s voice wobbled from the other side of the door.
Kunigami swallowed and the motion burned, her spit doing nothing to ease the dryness of her throat. For a second, she considered pressing her mouth to her own wrist, just to see, just to take the edge off if she could. The thought disgusted her as much as it tempted her.
Monster.
Kunigami’s fingers closed around the knob, the cool metal stable against her trembling hands. She took a breath and turned the handle, the door opening an inch. That was all she allowed at first, just enough for a sliver of hallway light to cut across the dim apartment. Even just the light itself felt foreign, slicing over the floor and up the wall, stopping just short of her bare feet.
Chigiri was there on the other side, shifting her weight on her feet anxiously. Her pink-red hair was pulled into a loose, messy tie that was already half-falling apart, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. She was still in the windbreaker they wore for colder seasons in practice, the zipper crooked, the stupid embroidered emblem of their mascot bright against the navy fabric. There were flecks of mud on her white socks, trailing up her calves slightly. She must have come straight from practice, Kunigami assumed.
Her pink eyes widened the second she saw Kunigami. “Oh my God.”
Kunigami was suddenly aware of everything about herself, the way her shirt hung loose on her once-muscular frame and her collarbones jutted out, the faint tremor in her hands that didn’t go away no matter how tightly she clenched her fists, the hollowed-out feeling behind her eyes. She stepped back automatically, keeping the door between them like a barricade.
The hunger surged at the sound of Chigiri’s heartbeat. It was so, so loud, nearly deafening.
How had she never noticed it before? The steady, faithful rhythm under her best friend’s delicate skin, the soft rush of blood through veins that looked almost translucent in the fluorescent hallway lighting. Kunigami could see the faint line of her jugular, the graceful slope of her neck left exposed by the low collar of her jacket, vulnerable and bared and open for her, so tempting and so close and—-
She gripped the edge of the door until her knuckles ached, trying desperately to ignore the watering of her mouth. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Chigiri didn’t step back. She leaned forward instead, stumbling ever so slightly, just a few mere inches closer. Just enough to narrow the gap between them, just enough that Kunigami could see her face clearer and feel the warmth of her breath.
“Rensuke,” She breathed, and the way she said her name, so loving and so heartbroken at the same time, made something twist painfully in Kunigami’s chest.
Before Kunigami could react, say anything more, Chigiri surged forward and pushed the door wider. It swung inward with a dull thud against the wall as she reached out and cupped Kunigami’s face with both hands, like she didn’t believe the ginger was actually there.
Her palms were warm and alive, almost burning against Kunigami’s ice-cold skin. Her touch was gentle, almost painfully so, like Kunigami was a precious object and not a monster. Had she always touched her that way? Had she always looked at her that way?
Kunigami jolted as if struck once she registered the touch, a sharp inhale ripping through her. She knocked Chigiri’s hands away with more force than she intended, stumbling backward. Chigiri recoiled ever so slightly, her hands dropping slowly to her sides.
“Rensuke, I—” She started, but her voice cracked. She swallowed and folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. “I thought you were dead.”
Kunigami almost laughed. “...I’m not.”
“You disappeared,” Chigiri’s gaze swept over her again, slower this time, as if she was taking inventory of the mess of the floors, the darkness, the almost total absence of human life, the disaster Kunigami and her apartment had become. “You stopped answering my calls and texts. You didn’t show up to practice or classes or work, you haven't been talking to anyone.”
Kunigami’s stomach clenched, and she couldn’t decipher if it was from the hunger or guilt. “I was sleeping,” She lied weakly.
“For a month?”
Kunigami didn’t have a response for that. She looked away instead, focusing on the hallway of her complex, the openness of it seemingly taunting her. She tried to shift her gaze once more, but it only locked onto Chigiri’s neck, as if it was magnetic. She struggled to keep her eyes trained on the embroidered logo on Chigiri’s jacket instead, the oddly-shaped pyramid with cartoon eyes and a large smile doing nothing to make her feel any better.
Chigiri’s expression shifted, and she glanced away as well, chewing on her bottom lip. Her bangs fell over her face and concealed her eyes, but Kunigami knew her well enough to know that they were filled with tears. She wanted to reach out, wanted to tuck Chigiri’s hair behind her ear and hug her and tell her it would all be okay, that she was okay, but she knew she couldn’t.
Kunigami could practically feel her heart splinter.
“I kept thinking,” Chigiri said quietly, practically whispering. “What if something happened, like back in highschool? What if you had—-” She broke off, shaking her head like she could physically stop the thought.
The hunger snarled inside Kunigami at the tremor in her voice. Not because it liked the fear, but because it sharpened everything, making Chigiri’s pulse race faster and louder until it was no longe just a steady rhythm but instead a frantic beating echoing against the wall of Kunigami’s skull. Each beat was louder than the last, as if growing closer and closer.
She could practically see her heart beating. The thin nylon of Chigiri’s windbreaker rose and fell with her breath, and beneath it, Kunigami imagined the muscle working tirelessly, pushing warm, living blood through fragile blue veins. Her gaze dragged upward despite herself, locking onto the delicate column of Chigiri’s throat. The jugular stood out faintly when she swallowed, a tear trailing its way down the pale expanse of skin.
“That was so terrifying for me, Ren. I can’t go through that again,” Chigiri’s voice cracked once more, and this time she made no effort to conceal it or stop herself. Her arms tightened around herself, and she rocked ever so gently back and forth on her heels. “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you again, Rensuke.”
Kunigami tore her eyes away from Chigiri’s throat and forced them downward, focusing instead on the scuffed toes of her cleats. There was still dried mud in the grooves, grass still clinging to the laces. She had definitely come straight from practice—- left early, even. She ordinarily refused to wear her cleats off the pitch, always the Princess and never wanting to damage them even on just the quick walk to the locker room, frequently forcing Kunigami to carry her. Had she ran the whole way here? The thought made something twist painfully in Kunigami’s chest.
Chigiri took another tentative step forward, her pulse roaring in Kunigami’s ears. The ginger stepped back immediately, forcing herself away even when Chigiri’s face crumpled at the rejection.
“You shouldn’t be this close,” Kunigami muttered.
Chigiri’s brows furrowed. “Why?”
Because I can hear your blood, because I want it. Because I don’t trust myself.
Kunigami swallowed hard. “You just shouldn’t.”
It was a coward’s answer, and they both knew it. Chigiri took another cautious step into the apartment, letting the door fall shut behind her this time. The hallway light vanished, plunging them back into darkness.
Up close, even in the dark, there was no hiding anything, not the pallor of Kunigami’s face, not the unnatural sharpness of her teeth when her lips parted, not the way her pupils seemed too large in the dim light. Chigiri’s breath hitched softly as her eyes met Kunigami’s own.
“You look—” She stopped, visibly stopping herself. “You don’t look okay.”
Kunigami almost snapped at her for the understatement. Instead, she let out a hollow exhale. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her tone wasn’t sharp, she wasn’t snapping or angry at Kunigami, but the tiredness in her voice hurt even more than the alternative. Chigiri stepped closer again, slower this time, as if approaching a wounded animal. Kunigami’s back hit the wall.
The hunger flared violently at the proximity, and her senses sharpened to almost painful clarity despite the dark. She could hear Chigiri’s lashes brushing up against her cheeks as she blinked the tears out her eyes, see the slight chapping at the corner of her lips, feel the delicate flutter of her pulse beneath skin that seemed far too thin to protect anything.
Her canines throbbed hard. Harder than they ever had before, a deep, aching pressure in her jaw..
“Rensuke,” Chigiri said softly, searching her face, one of her hands reaching up once more. “What’s going on?”
Kunigami felt something inside herself break.
She surged forward, her hand shooting out and catching Chigiri’s wrist midair. The grip was harsher than she intended, her fingers locking tightly around bone and tendon, small and fragile in her grasp. In the same motion, she yanked it upwards towards her mouth, unhinging her jaw and baring her fangs against the delicate artery barely hidden underneath layers of pale skin.
She could do it. She wanted to do it.
She wanted to feel her teeth breaking the delicate skin, dig her fangs in and drain her dry, feel the first rush of heat flooding her tongue as she finally got the sweet relief of blood coursing through her body.
Chigiri’s breath hitched sharply and she went stone still, the sudden lack of movement stopping Kunigami’s own.
Her fangs hovered a breath away from skin as her entire body trembled. She couldn’t place if it was from fear or hunger or the sheer effort it was taking to control her own movements. The urge was overwhelming, all-consuming, every instinct screaming at her to just bite, to stop the hollow ache in her gut. It took every ounce of energy barely left in her starving body to resist it, to not sink her fangs into the soft flesh in her grasp.
Chigiri's pulse hammered against Kunigami’s senses, jackrabbiting in what could only be sheer terror, but she stood there, her pink eyes wide and glassy and staring straight at her. With a strangled sound, half sob and half growl, Kunigami forced herself to stop. Every muscle in her body protested and her jaw ached from the restraint. Slowly, painfully, she pulled her mouth away, releasing Chigiri’s wrist.
Chigiri stumbled back a step from the sudden absence of pressure when Kunigami let go. Her hand fell to her side. Already, a faint red imprint bloomed around her wrist where Kunigami’s fingers had dug in too hard. It looked obscene against her pale skin, a stark reminder of how delicate and how human she was.
The sight of it made something sour rise in Kunigami’s throat. She had done that.
“I’m sorry,” She managed to choke out, her voice uneven and guttural.
Chigiri sucked in a shaky breath. For a split second, her body seemed to waver, and Kunigami expected her to bolt for the door, her instincts hopefully finally overriding her stubborn loyalty.
She didn’t. She stood there trembling, shoulders rising and falling too quickly, eyes glassy but still locked on Kunigami’s face.
The silence between them stretched for what felt like eternity until Chigiri swallowed and squared her shoulders, taking another step closer. Kunigami’s pulse (if she even still had one) thudded erratically in her chest.
Chigiri reached for the zipper of her practice jacket. The sound was deafening in the quiet apartment as she tugged it down slowly, exposing the collar of her tank top beneath. She tilted her head to the side, bared her neck.
Kunigami’s breath left her in a thin, horrified exhale. “What… Hyo, what are you—”
“You need blood, right?” Chigiri’s voice shook, but she didn’t retreat. Her fists tightened at her sides as if bracing herself. “You can have mine.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Kunigami managed, though her hands twitched involuntarily at her sides. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to close the distance, to hold her in place, to take.
“I do,” Chigiri insisted, though her next inhale hitched sharply. She was terrified, despite how she was trying to mask it, and it radiated off her in waves. “I’ve watched you hurt yourself like this before. I’m not going to let that happen again.”
“You think this is better?” Kunigami demanded hoarsely.
“I think you’re dying.” Chigiri stepped forward again, until there was barely any space left between them. “Please, Rensuke.”
Kunigami’s body moved before her mind caught up.
Her hands came up, gripping Chigiri’s waist, not roughly but firmly, holding the pink-haired girl’s body against her own. Chigiri’s hands found Kunigami’s shoulders in return, steadying herself. Up close, Kunigami could feel the tremors running through her. She was scared, of course she was, but she stayed like that, making no movement to pull away. Her head remained tilted, her throat exposed as an offering.
Kunigami’s vision tunneled. The world narrowed to the fragile line of Chigiri’s jugular, to the rapid flutter beneath skin, the warmth radiating from her body.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kunigami whispered one last time, a final protest against what she already knew she was about to do.
“You won’t,” Chigiri said, though her voice barely held steady.
Kunigami hesitated only a fraction longer, letting out a shaky breath, then her instincts won.
Her fangs descended and pierced the soft flesh at Chigiri’s neck. The skin gave way far too easily, like pressing into overripe fruit. There was resistance for a fraction of a second, and then—
Warmth, flooding her mouth in a rush that stole the breath from her lungs.
The sensation was shocking, less violent than she expected and infinitely more intimate. Chigiri gasped sharply, her body going rigid in Kunigami’s grasp, fingers digging hard enough into her shoulders to bruise. A small, involuntary sound escaped her, a mix of pain and shock.
The first swallow was overwhelming.
It was nothing like she’d imagined and somehow exactly like she had at the same time, metallic and sweet and unbearably alive. It flooded her mouth in a rush that made her knees weaken, spreading down her throat like water returning to a river after a drought. It was thicker than water, smoother than anything she’d ever tasted. The first swallow burned going down—-- not exactly painful, but more overwhelming, like her body didn’t know how to process something it so desperately needed. The hollow hunger inside her recoiled, then opened.
The relief was instantaneous and catastrophic. She hadn’t realized how close to collapse she’d been until the strength came rushing back.
It spread outward from her chest in wave, into her limbs, into her fingertips, into the marrow of her bones. The constant ache that had been gnawing at her for weeks dulled to a distant echo as her vision sharpened further, colors deepening even in the dark room. The weakness in her legs evaporated and she tightened her grip on Chigiri’s waist, adjusting their positioning to allow blood to flow even better into her mouth.
Chigiri made a small, strained sound above her. Not a scream and not quite pain, but instead almost involuntary, simply as if she was enduring something intense and passionate. Her heartbeat thundered against Kunigami’s senses, racing faster, pushing more blood into her waiting mouth.
Too easy.
Kunigami’s hands tightened reflexively at Chigiri’s waist once more. Another swallow, another surge of warmth. The hunger was practically purring now, no longer a feral snarl but a satisfied hum. More, it urged. Just a little more. Take what you need. She offered.
Kunigami felt dizzy with it. Not from lack anymore, but from abundance, her body trying desperately to process the newfound strength pumping through her. Every nerve in her body felt newly lit, hyperaware of the way Chigiri’s skin shifted under her grip, of the way her breath hitched unevenly, the faint scent of sweat and grass still clinging to her from practice.
Strength surged through her limbs as the ache in her jaw dulled, the constant, gnawing hunger disappearing almost completely. Her knees nearly buckled from the relief, but she forced herself to stay upright. Her body was moving automatically, nearly entirely on it’s own, moving against Chigiri’s languidly as she drank her blood. She shifted as she fed, her throat bobbing as it took in as much of the thick red liquid as it could, head and hips moving slowly against her best friend’s body.
Chigiri’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, erratic but strong, too strong. The realization cut through the haze, and Kunigami forced herself to slow, doing her best to control herself.
Each swallow required effort now, not because she didn’t want more, but because she did, so badly. Her fangs were embedded just enough to draw a steady flow. She could feel the pulse against them, strong and insistent. She could feel exactly how fragile it was. It would be so easy for her to keep going, to drink until the shaking stopped, until the world felt fully right again, until Chigiri was limp and lifeless in her arms, foolish to be so trusting of a monster like her.
Chigiri’s grip tightened painfully against her shoulders, her knees giving ever so slightly. “Ren—”
That was enough. Kunigami tore her mouth away as if she’d been burned, breathing heavily.
Her fangs slid free, and for a split second blood welled freely from the twin punctures before slowing. A thin line of blood trailed from Chigiri’s neck, dark and vivid against her pale skin, a few stray dropletts staining her white tank top. The scent was intoxicating, but Kunigami forced herself to step back immediately, putting distance between them before her instincts could drag her forward again.
Chigiri swayed and Kunigami caught her reflexively, horror crashing over her in a tidal wave as she clutched the pink-haired girl’s limp body against her own newly fortified one. “I’m sorry—- Fuck, Hyouma, I’m so sorry—”
“I’m okay,” Chigiri insisted weakly, though her face had gone a shade paler.
Kunigami guided her toward the couch with shaking hands, easing her down carefully. The strength in her limbs felt foreign, grotesque in contrast to Chigiri’s frailness. Guilt coiled tight in her chest, her mouth drying.
There were two small punctures at the base of Chigiri’s neck, blood welling slowly from them before beginning to clot. Kunigami stared at the marks, nauseated, disgusted with what she had done. She knelt in front of her, hands hovering uselessly before she pressed her palm gently against the back of Chigiri’s neck to steady her.
“You didn’t take too much,” Chigiri murmured, attempting a shaky smile. “Don’t worry, stupid Hero.”
“I didn’t,” Kunigami responded immediately, panic lacing her voice. “I stopped. I swear I stopped.”
“You did.” Chigiri reached up with unsteady fingers and touched the side of Kunigami’s face, smearing a faint streak of red across her cheek. “You’re warmer.”
Kunigami hadn’t realized it, but she was. The deathly chill that had clung to her skin for weeks had receded. Her senses no longer screamed. The hunger deep inside her wasn’t entirely gone, just satisfied for the tim being. She felt alive, more than she had in weeks, her skin no longer burning from within and her teeth no longer aching. Even her thoughts felt clearer.
It terrified her how good it felt.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Kunigami whispered.
Chigiri let out a tired huff. “Yeah. Me neither.”
Kunigami reached forward, almost without thinking, and brushed her thumb lightly beneath the puncture wounds, checking that the bleeding had truly slowed. Her touch was careful now, reverent.
Chigiri shivered faintly at the contact but didn’t pull away, weakly carding one of her hands through Kunigami’s hair. The ginger went rigid for a second, suddenly absurdly self-conscious of how long it had been since she’d showered. Chigiri didn’t seem to care, thankfully. She shifted, slow and unsteady, wrapping her legs around Kunigami’s waist and tugging her closer until their bodies pressed together.
Kunigami froze in her embrace. Her arms hovered uselessly at her sides before instinct, human instinct, took over. She folded them carefully around Chigiri’s back, as if holding something precious, scared she would hurt her more if she grasped too tightly.
Chigiri’s face tucked into the crook of her neck, her breath warm against her skin. “Don’t disappear on me again.”
Kunigami swallowed. “...I won’t.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, the room dim and quiet except for the uneven rhythm of Chigiri’s breathing. Her heart was still beating fast, but no longer frantically, slowly returning to a steady pace.
Kunigami focused on the sound, convincing herschel it was proof that she was okay and alive. Guilt gnawed at her, and the copper tang still lingered in the air, a faint smear of red staining Chigiri’s collarbone.
“I hurt you,” Kunigami muttered quietly.
Chigiri huffed out a soft laugh. “You didn’t.”
Kunigami pulled back just enough to look at her. “You could’ve— I could’ve—-”
“But you didn’t,” Chigiri interrupted firmly, though her eyelids drooped with exhaustion. Despite the slight tremor in her voice, her tone had returned to its normal baseline, bossy and commanding but still music to Kunigami’s ears. “Stop spiraling, dummy.”
“You’re shaking,” Kunigami murmured.
“Yeah, well.” Chigiri tried for a smirk and almost managed it. “You just drank my blood. I think I’m allowed.”
Her attempted reassurance only deepened Kunigami’s guilt. She adjusted her grip, doing her best to support more of Chigiri’s weight. The difference in their strength was jarring. Twenty minutes ago she could barely stand without dizziness, but now she felt powerful, even more so than she had ever previously been. It felt stolen and wrong, the remnants of blood on her tongue sour and heavy in her mouth.
Chigiri shifted again, wincing faintly as the movement tugged at the punctures on her neck. Kunigami’s gaze snapped there immediately. “Does it hurt more now?” She managed to ask, her
voice tight.
“A little.” Chigiri shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not unbearable.”
Kunigami hesitated before leaning forward and pressing her lips gently, carefully, just below the wounds, not quite touching them but close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. Chigiri’s breath caught, her hand tightening in Kunigami’s mess of overgrown hair.
“You don’t get to look that guilty,” She muttered. “I offered.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“It was my choice.” Chigiri slid her other hand up to cup Kunigami’s face, peering into her eyes.
Kunigami exhaled slowly and pulled back, reaching for the throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch. She wrapped it around Chigiri’s shoulders, tucking it close.
“You’re pale,” She tucked a strand of raspberry hair behind her ear, her thumb grazing the golden piercings in her cartilage as she retreated.
“You were paler,” Chigiri shot back weakly.
A ghost of a smile tugged at Kunigami’s mouth before quickly fading. “I feel…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish.
“Better?” Chigiri supplied.
“That’s the problem.”
Taking Chigiri’s blood hadn’t simply helped her, it had felt good, too good for Kunigami to be okay with it. The memory of that first rush, heat flooding her veins as clarity snapped into place, flashed through her mind. Her fangs ached faintly at the recollection, not with hunger but anticipation for her next feeding.
Chigiri watched her carefully, reading the shift in her expression. “Hey,” She said softly, stroking her thumb against the ginger’s jawline.
Kunigami forced her gaze up.
“It’s okay,” Chigiri reassured her. “We’ll figure something out.”
Kunigami looked down at her hands again, unsure of what to say. She opened her mouth to attempt to protest, something, but her fangs caught on her bottom lip and she only managed a strangled, embarrassing noise. Chigiri let out a weak laugh that turned into a cough. Kunigami immediately leaned closer, alarmed.
“I’m okay,” Chigiri insisted again, though her voice was thinner now. “Just a bit dizzy.”
Kunigami stood abruptly. “You need water. Sugar? Something.”
“Rensuke.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She moved toward the kitchen before Chigiri could protest again, her steps unnervingly silent against the hardwood. She grabbed a glass, filled it, hesitated, then added a spoonful of sugar from the jar on the counter, stirring quickly.
When she returned, Chigiri had slumped slightly against the cushions but looked up as soon as she heard her approach. Kunigami knelt again, holding the glass to her lips.
“Slowly,” She instructed.
Chigiri obeyed, taking a small sip, though she scrunched up her face. Kunigami watched every swallow, doing her best to keep her eyes trained on the pink-haired girl’s lips instead of her neck.
When the glass was empty, Chigiri leaned back with a quiet sigh. “See? Not dead.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
“Then stop acting like I am.” Kunigami’s jaw tightened, and Chigiri reached out again, brushing her thumb over the smear of dried blood still streaked along Kunigami’s cheek. “I’m okay, Rensuke. Stop acting like I’m not able to handle myself.”
“I just—-” Kunigami started, then faltered. “I’m scared of what I might do to you.”
“Don’t be,” Chigiri urged. “You’re still yourself, Hero. You stopped. You were in control.”
“It didn’t feel like it,” Kunigami frowned, shaking her head. “I was just… I was just so hungry. If you hand’t said something I would’ve—- I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop.”
“Ren.” Chigiri said firmly, tilting the ginger’s head up so their eyes could meet. “You did stop. You didn’t attack me, I let you feed off me.”
“But—- I might do it again,” Kunigami insisted. “You don’t know what could happen.”
Chigiri studied her for a long moment, then reached up and pushed a stray strand of ginger hair off her forehead. “Then we just can’t let you get that hungry again.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that all?” Kunigami scoffed.
Chigiri tilted her head slightly, her hair slipping loose around her face. “Yeah. That’s all.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s a start,” Chigiri leaned forward carefully until their foreheads touched, murmuring against her lips. “Just don’t disappear on me again. I want to help you.”
Kunigami closed her eyes. She could still hear Chigiri’s heartbeat, still smell the faint copper lingering in the air. “...I don’t want to turn you into my food supply. I can’t become completely reliant on you. I couldn’t… I couldn't face you if I did, knowing what I’ve done.”
“We can work something out,” Chigiri gently stroked her hair. “Donors or blood banks or synthetic stuff or animals. It’ll be okay.”
“…Okay.” Kunigami reluctantly agreed after a moment.
Chigiri exhaled, the tension easing slightly from her shoulders. “Okay.”
. ݁₊ 🩸⊹ . ݁🥩˖ . ݁
Additional Time:
Kunigami didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment she’d been listening to the steady rhythm of Chigiri’s breathing beneath her, counting the beats of her heart to reassure herself that she was okay. The next, the edges of the room had softened, her head and eyelids heavy in a way they hadn’t been in weeks.
She slept heavy and deep, sprawled half on top of Chigiri on the couch. When she woke, it was to fingers combing through her hair as a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake. She snapped upright anyway, instincts firing before her brain caught up. Her hands braced on either side of Chigiri’s shoulders, eyes scanning her face for any sign that something was off.
“Princess, what’s wrong?” She asked immediately, her voice still rough from the sleep.
Chigiri blinked up at her, her lashes sticking together slightly. “Nothing,” She mumbled. “You were just snoring too loud.”
“I do not snore.”
“You absolutely do.”
Kunigami opened her mouth to argue, then shut it, knowing it was pointless. She forced herself to relax when she saw no sign of arm, just sleepy pink hair fanned across her couch cushions and her mouth fighting back a grin. Chigiri’s fingers were still tangled in her hair.
“How long d’you think you could go without feeding?” Chigiri asked after a moment.
Kunigami frowned. “What?”
“Hypothetically.”
Kunigami shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. “It’s…” She hesitated, doing the math in her head. “It’s been about a month since this started, I guess. Why?”
“Well,” Chigiri’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “You know what’s a reliable source of blood every month?”
“Hyouma,” Kunigami said flatly, though she was fighting back a snort. “You cannot be serious.”
“What?” Chigiri protested, but her shoulders were already shaking with suppressed laughter. “It’s a solution.”
“It’s not—” Kunigami grunted. “That’s not how that works.”
“I mean, it kind of is.”
“It kind of isn’t.”
Chigiri tilted her head, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, it’s ethical, consistent, maybe more eco-friendly… ”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You drank from my neck!”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Kunigami opened her mouth, then paused, considering.
Chigiri grinned wider. “Plus, as long as you don’t get me pregnant—”
“Oh my God, shut the fuck up,” Kunigami groaned, dropping her forehead against Chigiri’s shoulder. Chigiri burst into quiet laughter, her body shaking lightly against the ginger’s.
Kunigami buried her face deeper into Chigiri’s hair, inhaling the faint jasmine scent of her shampoo, pressing a slow kiss into the red-pink strands.
“I’m not feeding off your period,” She said firmly after a moment.
“You’re no fun. At least consider it!” Chigiri pouted, and Kunigami wormed one of her arms around her waist.
“You’d like it?” Kunigami raised an eyebrow.
Chigiri grinned up at her. “Most definitely.”
“...I’ll think about it.”