There’s something about the shadow
growing, slowly – tracing the line
of raised skin, bone; the gentle slash
slipping down your neck under glow.
Something about your hair, the soft
way it falls, tumbling down a curve.

slashing, dancing, the blades that curve
hide from the light, bathe in shadow
and fall in one long stroke, one soft
stroke, following the slipping line
of star shine, moon beams, evening glow.
and down! it comes – one modest slash—

Fingers that trace, caress the slash
of thin clavicle – down the curve
of spine that dips beyond the glow
defined at picture’s edge – a shadow –
light that spills along the ribs that line
The heart – the beat that strikes so soft.

And in the light that strikes so soft
above the arch, a tender slash
of skin and flesh that form the line—
Above it all, the mocking curve –
The teasing curve – hides a shadow
where fires smoulder and stars glow.

in the dark, i see your eyes glow-
golden, harsh – glinting! cold – yet soft
slipping yet from light to shadow
until they shine, each simple slash
smooth like those blades that dip and curve
roughly downwards, a thin red line.

Hearts beat – either side of the line
behind trembling skin, a pale glow
hidden behind the subtle curve,
of the small of back, shadowed soft
by twinning strands. And downwards slash:
Eyes that glow, coldly, in shadow.

Yet even as I trace the line, your whispers soft,
Skin faintly aglow, neck’s gentle slash
A downwards curve…you curve away deeply into the shadow

– A news broadcast.

“In today’s news, we will continue the report on the recent supernatural serial slashings in Ikebukuro.”

“–and above, as of today the number of victims of this demon slasher already total fifty. Because the time of all incidents has been at night, as well as due to a lack of testimony as the victims themselves are only able to provide vague testimony – ”
“Furthermore, five years ago a similar incident occurred – the culprit of that case was never caught. In light of today’s situation, it is likely that they are the same – “

“In addition, given the existence of the “Headless Rider” that appeared in Ikebukuro a year ago riding around with a large sharp weapon in hand, nearby residents’ rumours have begun to implicate its involvement.”

–A program on supernatural and mystical beings.

“Kuchisake-onna, Jinmon-ken, Kabe-onna [TN: various Japanese spirits, see wiki for more info] — as well as this “Headless Rider” all have their origins in urban myths and legends. However, this particular “myth” has, as of last spring, taken on a more modern flavour!”

“…Although it has been ten years since its first sighting, why has it now become a topic for newspapers and broadcasts alike? The answer lies in this image here.”

“This occurred in the midst of the filming for “Fierce shot! Ikebukuro 24 hours”, a program from this very station. Sitting in a police car, our staff incidentally caught this scene on film–”

“Ughh…! What’s this!?”

“Huh? See, over there…That black scythe…maybe it was enlarged on film?”

“What’s that? From a physics point of view, isn’t that movement impossible?”

“But, it’s said that this black rider has something to do with the demon slashing incidents that have been occurring lately…”

(During a Commercial Break)

“We are very sorry for the inappropriate statements made during the broadcast, and offer our most sincere apologies”

– Excerpts from various weekly publications

“A hunt for the bizarre!? The thrilling connection between the Headless Rider and the Slasher!”

“The same culprit as five years ago?”

“The reasons why the culprit behind the serial demon slashings has yet to be caught.”

“A modern day tsujigiri*? The popularity of the Japanese blade.” [TN: tsujigiri -> testing out a new sword on random passerbys. ]

“Ghost? Biker gang? Street performer? Chasing the truth behind the Headless Rider.”

Late February. Deep night. Ikebukuro.

(‘How troublesome…’)

Under a railway overpass a distance off from the Ikebukuro station, a shadow was lost deep in thought.

This wasn’t some metaphor, rather, her body itself was a “shadow”.

A pitch black biking suit ensconced her body, and the bike she rode on was itself encased in a cover of darkness as well.

That pitch dark bike with no headlights, engine, drive shaft, or license plate was so deeply black that it was as if someone had doused it in a layer of black ink. The darkness of the rider’s outfit was what matched most with the pitch black of the bike.

The light from the street lamps that slid off of the shapes of her and the bike under the overpass appeared ghostly in the dark night.

(‘Really, how troublesome…‘)

This pitch black rider – Celty Sturluson – stood watching a small-time hoodlum tremble in front of her.

This hoodlum was probably in his late thirties, but carried none of the dignity or power one might expect from a person of that age. Celty having recently seen members of other similar organisations and of a similar age was beginning to understand that even between humans of the same age, there could be such large differences.

Celty worked as a transporter in the Ikebukuro area.

Although she didn’t have a permit and therefore couldn’t really advertise, whether they were illegal goods or dangerous goods, she could deliver them quickly and safely. Besides, just in case something happened, she definitely wouldn’t get caught. Which was why even though she didn’t even have a Japanese passport, she had countless numbers of commissioned jobs. Every now and then she’d have a job like delivering the manuscript of a manga to the publishing house that was actually lega, but considering her continued cooperation with Kishitani Shinra with regards to the contracts, the end result was that almost all of the jobs were of the underground variety.

However, she also took some jobs that fell outside the realm of being a transporter, such as searching for people who had run away from home or chasing down debtors.

The job this time was also one such “outside the realm of being a transporter” sort of job…

Other than being scared of some yakuza small-fry, collect the cash that this useless middle aged man had absconded with. That was the job. Originally, it was simple enough…

(‘Really, how troublesome…So troublesome…‘)

These were her bewildered thoughts.

Frighten the hoodlum, take the bag with the money, and the job should’ve been finished.

Brandishing her scythe, all it took was to slash at his clothes before the hoodlum simply collapsed in fear on the ground. Then she dismounted from the bike and took the bag from the man. As to what to do with the man himself, she had received no directions. Even though she could take him with her, she didn’t want to create more problems. Besides, if she took him back to the person who had issued the job, it wasn’t unlikely that a dispute could arise and then she’d be looking at a murder case.

Although her living fees were taken care of by living with Shinra and there wasn’t really a problem…”I don’t want to owe you for something like this.” was what she had said, and so she continued to pay him rent.

The fee from tonight’s job should’ve been enough to cover this months’ rent.

(‘A simple job.‘)

Is how she should’ve been thinking–

However, Celty was frozen stock still, unable to dismount from the bike.

The reason was simple.

A blade.

Because from the hand that Celty held the scythe in, there had suddenly grown a silver blade.

At first, all she felt was shock. After a while, she began to feel the pain.

Staring at the flickering light reflecting off the steel in her wrist, Celty couldn’t quite wrap her head around what exactly had happened — but experience and intuition told her the answer, which was that someone had attacked her from behind.

“Ahh…Eek!”

It seemed like the small-fry had grasped the situation a step ahead of Celty. His eyes were fixed on a point behind Celty’s body, as he moaned in fear.

(‘Ahh…even more troublesome.‘)

There was a person behind her. Moreover, that person had stabbed Celty’s wrist.

If she were a normal person, she would’ve turned to look behind her by now, but compared to humans, she had a much higher tolerance to pain. However, rather than pain, her attention was taken up by the Japanese sword sticking out of her wrist, and so she didn’t turn to look. Besides, Celty’s half-hearted calmness had her hesitating about taking her eyes off of the hoodlum, worrying that the situation may end up being a deadly one.

Once Celty had determined that the hoodlum wasn’t likely to move anywhere anytime soon, she turned the bike around. As soon as she grabbed the handlebars, the bike’s engine made a noise like a living creature, yet the movements which lacked the finesse of a living creature turned 180 degrees on the spot.

In that moment, there was a flash of silver light.

The body of the Japanese sword caught the light from the street lamps, drawing a beautiful arc–

In this manner, the circle formed by the light passed through Celty’s neck.

Celty’s helmet flew soundlessly through the air, and in the space above the neck of the riding suit, all that hung there was a silent darkness.

“Ahh! H-h-hyehh! Eeeeeeeeek!”

The black rider who wanted to kill him (or so the hoodlum thought) was suddenly attacked by the person who had appeared behind them and had their head cut off. Even though he could only judge the scene from his limited field of vision, the newcomer had a movement that could only be described as lightning fast. Pulling out the blade from the rider’s wrist as the bike turned around – or rather, taking advantage of the movement as the blade turned and pulling it out.

Just like the movement of gears in tandem, these two gradually cycled together until they overlapped–

The next moment, the rider’s head separated from the body.

(‘Ikebukuro’s Slasher.‘)

Both Celty and the hoodlum thought about the recent talk shows, turning to face the direction of the shadow.

“Wah!”

Just as Celty thought to confirm her opponent’s appearance, she was suddenly distracted by a terrible shout.

(‘What!? There’s still someone else–?‘)

Flustered, she turned her line of “sight” in the direction of the hoodlum, only to discover that the hoodlum’s eyes had grown quite large, staring at her.

“Uhhhh…I-it’s…it’s still movinggggg!?!?!?”

(‘Ah…‘)

“H-H-HeHeHeHeHead…Head…Head…”

Only then did she suddenly realise.

That she was a headless rider.

Celty Sturluson was not human.

Commonly referred to as a “Durahan” (or “Dullahan”), she was a type of Scottish fairy – one who travelled widely to those who neared their time, informing them of the existence of death.

Carrying their own decapitated head under their arm as they sat on a cart pulled bu the headless horse known as Cóiste-bodhar, they visited the houses of people whose lives were nearing their end. If one were to unknowingly open the door, they would be met by a basin of warm blood – this was the proclamation of death the spirit left is the story that is still passed around the streets in Europe even today.

Another part of the story said that Dullahans were really fallen Valkyries from Northern European myths. As to what the truth was, even she couldn’t discover.

She didn’t know.

Or more correctly, she couldn’t remember.

Back in her home country, some unknown person stole away her “head”, leaving her with no memories of her own existence. It was in pursuit of any leads on the whereabouts of her head that led her to Ikebukuro.

Letting her headless horse inhabit a motorcycle and transforming her own armour into a black rider’s suit, she existed in Ikebukuro for over ten years.

However, in the end, she was unable to find her head like before – now, her thoughts were slowly changing, considering the option of living a new life? – this sort of attitude.

Even though she herself knew that her existence would never be accepted by society, the thought would not stop crying out in her heart.

Crying out “So what?”

Even if society wouldn’t accept her, there were people who would – a lonely yet busy existence for a headless woman.

This was — Celty Sturluson’s existence.

Being snapped out of her thoughts by the man’s shriek, Celty thought about how she was the same as the Slasher…both existences that were strange, but right now she had no time to make the hoodlum quiet down.

Or more precisely, even if the hoodlum continued to make a fuss, there wasn’t a huge problem.

Celty considered the situation, turning her sight in the direction of the silhouette.

In that moment, the fluorescent lamps illuminating the underpass exploded with a bang.

(‘–!?‘)

Even though Celty couldn’t help but panic for a moment, she still could immediately discern that it was the silhouette that had somehow caused the lights to explode. The scene was awash with darkness, making it impossible to rely on one’s eyes. Using a sort of “sight” that wasn’t quite the same as what humans used, Celty’s night vision was far superior compared to that of a human.

Even so, by the time she saw through the darkness, the other person wasn’t there.

Could it be that using the explosion of the lamps as a distraction, they escaped from underneath the overpass? Even if she’d been distracted, that person’s speed was far too fast to be considered normal.

(‘Huh…So a sort-of strong body was a drawback this time.‘)

If Celty had been a regular human being, she would’ve turned around before the opponent had cut off her head to face the “enemy” that wanted to take her life, or at the very least because of “fear” she wouldn’t have let her attention stray. Rather, it had been because Celty knew she wouldn’t die so easily that she’d let her attention wander, resulting in that shadow escaping.

Underneath the overpass that had been robbed of light, only the unconscious small-fry and the Headless Rider remained.

From the attacker that had suddenly appeared, Celty felt something terribly jarring. In that moment when the blade had sunk into her wrist, she’d felt as if something discomforting had been trying to get into her body. If it hadn’t been human, but rather, like Celty, was some sort of spirit or demon or monster sort of thing, then she should’ve felt that aura from it before she’d been stabbed. But perhaps it was able to completely conceal the aura, and so she discarded that possibility.

(‘In the end, what exactly was that?‘)

Let alone the thing’s appearance, in that brief fight she couldn’t even guess at the thing’s height – however, there was one thing that left a deep impression in Celty’s mind.

It was before the lamps had exploded…the enemy’s eyes–

Those eyes were bright red, reflecting a twisted light from it that was definitely unnatural–

Thinking back on the human shape and those impossible two large red circles, the female headless rider couldn’t help but shudder a little. It was something she’d seen recently on TV – it reminded her of that terrifying shape of the Greys*. (TN: Greys are alien/ET things. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greys)

(‘What if it really was an alien?‘)

The headless rider whose very presence instilled fear in people thought about Adamski UFOs and the “Light Beams from Unidentified Technology” splitting the Earth in two in that manga, and secretly let out a shiver.

Chatroom

-–The chatroom is empty–-
-–The chatroom is empty–-
–-The chatroom is empty–-
–Saika-san has entered the chatroom–
{Humans}
{Strong}
{Longing}
{Love}
{Longing to love humans}
{Longing for humans to love strength}
{It’s love is longing that’s why it’s strong humans}
{Because, that’s why…}
{…}
{That’s why that’s whywhywhy…}
{I…}
{I, that’s why, long…}
{Love, that’s why, long……….}
{Strength, is, strong, humans…}
{Strong, humans, long, I, love, that’s why…}
–Saika-san has left the chatroom–
-–The chatroom is empty–-
–-The chatroom is empty–-
-–The chatroom is empty–-
–-The chatroom is empty–-
–Setton-san has entered the chatroom–
(……)
(What’s this?)
(A spambot?)
(…So scary.)
(Like an alien.)
(…Speaking about aliens, I think I’m scaring myself.)
(No…that’s…I didn’t say anything of the sort about how aliens are scary!)
–Setton-san has left the chatroom–

Prologue: A breath of crimson
Her love was extremely twisted,
rusted to a degree that no medicine could cure.
Yet that deep tenacious hold–
The truth was that it was both ignorance and foolishness, an extremely shallow way of thinking.

– I like people.
– You ask who? No, that’s not what I mean! I like all humankind!
– What part do I like? Don’t ask me such vulgar questions! It’s all, all of it!
– I like the churning blazing hot blood inside the desperately running body, the bright colour that turns into a torpid black!
– I like the muscle that despite its apparent softness can turn hard, brittle, well-toned!
– I like the bone, that uncomparable fineness, that delicate sharpness, yet so strong and rough!
– I like that tangle of gelatinous cartilage, that trembling yet flexible, supple yet crisp, unmatchable!
– I like the throat which in the moment we touch, produces that bright, clear tone calling out love!
– I like the eyes which in response to our love, overflows with tears!
– But when love has reached its peak…the flesh split aside is what I covet and love!
– Everything, I love everything about mankind! Understand?
– Right, of course I like you too. But, I cannot “love” you.
– But you love me.
– That’s right, it’s utterly one sided.
– You can only love me, but I can love people other than you.
– It’s really such a twisted triangle of relationships.
– Oh? You want to abandon me? You hate me? You want to wring me into cloth rags and discard me?
– But you can only love me, right?
– You can only intoxicate yourself in my strength, right?
– That’s fine, go ahead and love; that’s you’re freedom.
– But I will not love you. No, I cannot love you.
– As long as I am in your hand, I will only be able to love those you wish to cut down.
– Stop. There’s no need to commit hatakiri.
– Finding a person who will love me is such a difficult task…
Her love is straight forward.
Fluid yet keen.
Casting the shadow of those she loves on her own self.
And then cutting it all off–

Chatroom
[Demon blade?]
<<That’s right! A demon blade! Does Tarou-san know about it?>>
[Even if you ask if I know or not...Isn't Setton-san really knowledgeable about this sort of stuff?]
(A demon blade…Like a Muramasa blade?)
<<Not quite, Setton-san! That sort only holds misery and bad things. A demon blade isn’t like that at all! It’s like in a manga, where once you pick up the sword, it’ll possess you and you’ll have to keep on cutting people open~!>>
(But…aren’t those usually classified as Muramasa blades?)
[Muramasa blade?]
(Then your head would get cut off!)
[Wizardry? Is it Wizardry [TN:a computer RPG - has a weapon called Muramasa]? Ehh, so Setton-san is a gamer!]
<<Ahh, really, don’t go off topic!>>
[Ah, sorry.]
(My apologies, Kanra-san.)
<<Listen up! Right now, Ikebukurou is flying with rumours about a demon blade! Every night, a strange person sort of monster will appear in alleyways holding a sharp weapon! Even though they haven’t killed anyone yet, they still have swung their blade down on random passerbys!>>
(Isn’t that just being an assailant?)
<<Jeez, I just said it wasn’t! It’s a japanese sword, a japanese sword! Besides, I heard that they’re faster than normal people, it’s impossible to run away before they get cut down! That’s already past the boundaries of being inhuman!>>
(That’s why I asked, why is it a demon blade?)
<<Ehehe, I’m only telling you guys…I heard that a victim saw it…saw that slasher’s face~ One look and it was terrible~!>>
[How terrible?]
<<A pair of eyes, as is they were glowing red, as if their awareness had been snatched away, just as if they’d been bitten by a vampire and were uner their control!>>
(Isn’t that just a vampire? lol)
<<Ehh, stop it, Setton-san! There’s no way that vampires exist!>>
(……)
<<Just kidding~ Just – Kidding ☆ Setton-san. Don’t get angry~!>>
(I’m not, I’m not angry >{ )
[Ahh you're angry lol]
[But since a headless rider actually exists, maybe something like a demon blade exists too.]
(The headless rider…Earlier there was a TV special on it, huh.)
[Right, right, it was a program with that and the green woman thing, a special program on mystical beings.]
<<As long as it’s a program related to the headless rider, Setton-san will definitely notice!>>
[Setton-san is a fan of the headless rider?]
(No……not like that. That’s… the guy who lives with me is a die hard headless rider fan.)
[Guy roommate? Wow, is Setton-san already married?]
(No…Nothing like marriage yet…)
<<Ah, then it’s living together without being married!? Ahhhhhh~!>>
(It’s just a roommate, how did they turn into a lover…? Oh, since we’re on the topic, could it be that you both already know my gender?)
[Uh, it's...female, maybe?]
<<Telling just from the chat, amazing~ Even if it’s feminine, it’s not slutty like a nekama~>> (note: nekama: http://www.statemaster.com/encyclopedia/Nekama a sockpuppet that’s a girl, but is actually a guy pretending to be one: net + okama)
(Alright, I have to wake up early tomorrow, so I should go to bed now~ Good night~)
–Setton-san has left the chatroom–
[Ah, she ran away.]
<<Ran away~>>
Private mode: [......Speaking of nekama, isn't that you, Izaya-san?]
<<So meannnnnnnnn! Tarou-san is sexually harassing me using private mode!>>
[It's a misunderstand! It's just a misunderstanding!]
Private mode: [But but but but but, seriously, what gender is Setton-san?]
Private mode: [Is it someone I know? Karisawa-san?]
Private mode: <<Ah~ It’s a secret~>>
<<Well then, it’s about time for me to sign off too~ Be careful and don’t get possessed by the demon sword ☆>>
–Kanra-san has left the chatroom–
[Alright, good night~]
[...It really was a misunderstanding! I didn't do anything like sexual harassment!]
–Tanaka Tarou-san has left the chatroom–
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–The chatroom is empty–
–The chatroom is empty–
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–The chatroom is empty–
–The chatroom is empty–
–Saika-san has entered the chatroom–
{People}
{Love}
{Mistakes}
{Weakness}
{Longing}
{Love}
{Longing}
{Longing}
–Saika=san has left the chatroom–
–The chatroom is empty–
–The chatroom is empty–
–The chatroom is empty–
–The chatroom is empty–
…

The garden is fine in the mornings;
Beanstalks sway in the wind
And there – those are the roses you pricked your arm on
As you rooted about below for earthworms
- and oh the scolding my mother gave you for the words you used!
White flowers blossom now between the raspberry leaves:
It’ll still be some months until the time
Your face would light up like a child’s
When I walked in with plastic boxes of red berries.

The wind picks up – a good kite flying wind.
Do you remember that time on the beach
when you chased the trailing thread
and laughed helplessly as it danced beyond your reach?

I pause; shoes squeaking on the linoleum that line the aisles.
This is the cereal (although the box has changed a little)
That you would have every morning
And bring to school for afternoon snack.
There’s the apple juice we both drank so much of
We got sick of it and pretended that it was pee.

The setting sun had always been your favourite
(though you liked to pause on the way home
and tilt your head upwards at straggling clouds
and remark that the sky was beautiful in all its colours)
You claimed you liked the colours;
the oranges mixed in with the pinks,
and then you laughed and said wasn’t purple my favourite?

But as I blink towards my brightening window,
I remember you once said
(when your warmth had been pressed tight against me
and your fingers played lightly against mine
while your words blew hair away from your face)
That maybe, this sort of new day was good too.

You know,
I thought of you yesterday,
And today I think I shall think of you too.

She was beautiful in death as she had been in life.

Her brown hair had the appearance of having been brushed lightly with the finest gold, parted neatly down the middle of her scalp as if she had just let it down and combed it before retreating for the night. Her skin was pale; unnaturally so now, but it had once had occasions to flush pink with vibrant life while still carrying the hue of one who spent little time out of doors and the softness that spoke of tender care. Beneath gently shut lids were hidden grey-green eyes that used to dance between the light lashes that framed them.

If one were to peruse that delicate nose or full-bodied still dark-red lips – but no further – perhaps it would not be so bold to say that she was as perfect in death as she had been in life.

If one were not to let one’s eyes stray downwards, to the red-brown cavity that had once been her throat or the ribbons of pale, pale skin that soaked in colour like so many strands of spaghetti in sauce, or the trailing lines, shapes, blurs that led from her very center to everywhere and elsewhere and—

“Just like those old killings,” one of them remarked to the other, pacing his way around the perimeter while a third darted off just as quickly as he had run in to report. An amused expression crept onto his face when he saw his partner doubled over. “Hey now, y’know the regulars hate it when you leave your lunch all over their crime scenes.”

The younger looking of the two straightened, dragging the back of hand against his mouth. His face slowly molded into one of careful distaste rather than outright disgust. “Still not used to it,” he muttered. “Another tough one, huh…Maybe Fen attacked last night. I mean, it was their night and all.” The sooner this case was done with, the better. Even if they closed it as “death by unknown causes”.

“Actually…” He paused, letting the line dangle, teasing.

The rookie took the bait – hook and sinker. “Actually?” he asked.

“A little birdie told me we’ve got our suspect.”

The shadow on the verge of dim and dark grunted in disgust, and melted away. He’d seen enough.

- – -

“Ne, Fuji,” he breathed quietly into the other’s ear.

Fuji shifted, strands of black hair drifting across his face. “Mm?” he asked. His face had the contented look of someone who had just woken up from a pleasant nap after a pleasant afternoon of activities, eyes still half-lidded from sleep.

Nate thought it was adorable. Which was exactly why he asked; “You like me, right?”

It was nice when Fuji’s hands strayed possessively over his body, running down his bare back sending shivers up his spine, fingers toying with his hair – eyes that gleamed in the late summer dusk. “Why wouldn’t I?” His casual tone rubbed against a suddenly sharp expression, sparks from the friction falling onto already lit fires.

“Mm,” Nate replied vaguely. A quiet breeze brushed across his back, and he pressed himself a little closer against Fuji’s chest, ostensibly for the warmth. Yeah, he liked it when the arm wrapped around his waist did half the work for him, holding him so tightly that their bodies fit together like they were meant to. Then the moment passed, and he tilted his chin upwards, just enough so that he could meet Fuji’s softening eyes. He grinned. “Kiss me?”

It was nice, he decided again, when Fuji’s eyes turned harder in a strangely pleasant way as he flipped them over on the grass, and satisfied his request as thoroughly as he could ever want.

- – -

His fingers bit deeply into sheets, into shoulders, into flesh. He thrust forward again, and again, and again, hips flexing as warmth pooled at his base. Fingers crept across his chest before they dug into his arms, his back, sharp.

Gradually, gradually, rhythm quickened until it exploded in a stop and

• it was always nice, he thought through the haze, when it felt good.

- – -

Cool morning sun lit the shaded grove from behind, the pale green mesh overlaid against carefully pruned grass a delicate web. Small footsteps tread over top, shattering the strands which sprung back together as the quiet imprints left behind by toes melted away.

A grin broke out across his face as he found what he was looking for. He peered through the bushes in a rustle of leaves brushed over the hum of water.

A pagoda sat prominently in the middle of the pond, a many cornered bridge the sole path to and from its sheltered interior. The roof had been painted a fresh coat of bright green, and the small edifice was enclosed in an equally brightly coloured patterned fence. It was definitely the best place on the entire grounds to take naps without getting caught by the tutor.

“Why’re you here?” A sharp voice broke into his musings accusatorily. For a second, he froze, his heart beat quickening in his ears – was it someone important how off-limits was this place maybe he still had time to run away – before he realized that the voice was nearly as high and boyish as his own.

Buoyed by his own confidence, he pushed past the bushes and stood at the foot of the bridge. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked right back, cockily defiant.

From the bench – he hadn’t noticed the bench from where he’d been crouching before – a boy sat up, hair clearly mussed from uneasy sleep, a book clutched in hand. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “This is mine,” the boy said – and his eyes said so much more.

He listened. It was hard not to listen; a siren’s call could often be found in unsuspecting strangers. “Why’s it yours?” And just as he had to listen, he had to talk.

“Do you know who I am?” The question was almost lazy, worn through by long expected use.

He shook his head. His feet inched closer to the stones of the bridge.

Amusement crept into the voice, reinforcing it with strength and…something. “The fourth prince,” the boy said, his back temporarily turned as he swung his feet down from the bench and onto the floor of the pagoda. “Fujimaru. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Of course,” he began to say – you’re the academy prodigy, skilled in three forms of swordplay and two forms of unarmed, and even those five years your elder can’t best you in all known strategy games from across the kingdom – “I just didn’t realize,” he started saying instead, “that you were so…”

Eyes, expectant, as he shortened the distance between them – and now he saw that the fourth prince was tall; tall and elegant like a prince should be – hair fluttering in the wind as the boy – the prince – reached up to toss a few strands free from his collar, waiting on his words –

taken from him, without a second thought:

“…beautiful.”

– that you were so broken.

- – -

“Why’re you here?”

Words echoed from so long ago in such different circumstances.

The only answer was flashing eyes and teeth and claws and everything else as they sank together

and the only reply was a thousand silent screams.

- – -

“Nngh.” He broke away, a look of distaste flickering across his face as he shoved the other away from him. His tongue flickered across his lower lip – and that only brought that same look back.

Fuji blinked at him, unfazed. “Something wrong?”

“Blood.” A pause. “Again.”

“Are you bleeding? Are you hurt somewhere?” The concern that flashed across Fuji’s face was enough to make him want to push Fuji against the wall and kiss him senseless – and maybe do other things too, when they were somewhere a little less open. But just this once – because god it had happened more than just once – he was going to be stern.

“You always taste like blood,” he patiently explained as if Fuji did not know – must know – of this fact himself already. “Other people’s blood.”

“I can’t help it,” he quietly murmured while the hands that he’d been using to pin Nate against the wall dropped as if with a mind of their own. “It’s what I am.”

A sound of frustration began in his chest and worked its way up. His hands inched dangerously close to the tender spot just under the firm line of Fuji’s jaw, as he placed fingers along the bone and pulled their faces closer together. “You should taste like mine,” he breathed, and pressed their lips together, regardless of what Fuji tasted like.

Because Fuji, Fuji was his.

And he was Fuji’s.

- – -

“Shall we go?” The implications hidden behind the words were clear even over now empty yet stained cups that had once held coffee. Coins that fell onto the table were not meant for the café alone.

The girl easily latched onto his arm, her breasts brushing against him for the briefest moment, before they walked out together into the mid-afternoon sun.

- – -

“Is this safe?” Nate set Fuji’s order of green-tea-with-nothing-else-please on the table with a quiet click before joining him with his own kahlua-toffee-cheesecake-and-maybe-caramel-latte.

“There’s still a ways until the witching hour,” Fuji teased gently, looking out over the rim of the cup from which he sampled with appreciation. “And it’d be you in danger, not me.”

It wasn’t fair for Fuji to be tall, beautiful, and adorable when he had to be all at the same time. It usually made it very difficult for him to make any point whatsoever. “You’re a prince,” he pointed out tactfully – or as tactfully as his child-adult mind could manage. “Won’t it be bad if people notice you’re gone?”

A long pause as Fuji rolled the steeped drink over his tongue. “Father always knows if I’m gone,” was his eventual, even reply. “He keeps a watch on me. Since I’m…” Fen. The last word remained unspoken, the real danger in this small café on the city streets.

Uncontrollably, Nate laughed; a rough bark of laughter that came from nowhere and went nowhere except the muggy summer air. “Sorry,” he apologized after he swallowed the moment. “I should’ve known.”

“No,” Fuji said slowly, almost under his breath. “It’s my fault for being what I am.”

- – -

Some days, Fuji will taste the human on Nate’s tongue – the cheap makeup and the cheap perfume and the cheap sex – and it is then his blood rises; his teeth will slip and claws will tear and then the blood on his lips will taste like Nate (mixed with the trollop but he is (almost) used to the taste by now).

A few moments later, with Nate hot and slick around him; a few moments later, gross and sticky; a few moments later

he can’t be bothered enough to care.

- – -

“Ne, Fuji,” he breathed into the other’s ear.

The other was too deep in sleep for response.

“You understand, right? I couldn’t help it. It’s what I am. Right, Fuji? You understand, don’t you?” He didn’t expect a response, just pressed himself a little closer to the other man – vampire, Fen, those that crept during the witching hour – and ran fingers down the unbroken line of throat. It was warm. It was nice, when it was warm.

“It’s not your fault, Fuji. I…it’s mine, isn’t it? It’s mine for being what I am. But you’ll forgive me, won’t you, Fuji?”

He reluctantly pulled himself away from the warmth that he’d soaked himself in, watching dispassionately as it dripped away from him in red rivulets. In two steps, he was leaning against the outside of the wall, letting his thoughts trail tendons to the one who slept ever so deeply inside.

This…is it nice, Fuji? Is it? It’s not? But now I’m yours Fuji, only yours. I promise, okay? I promise, so…