Ren didn't sleep.
He lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling where shadows crawled like smoke. Every time he blinked, he saw him again.
That white hair.
Those golden eyes.
The way he'd stepped between Ren and death like it meant nothing.
Kazuki.
The name repeated in his mind like a secret he wasn't supposed to know.
He had said it aloud last night—soft, almost whispered. Kazuki didn't react, but something in his eyes shifted. Not surprise. Not fear.
Recognition.
As if he'd been waiting for Ren to remember.
But how could he remember someone he'd never met?
Rain tapped the window now. Cold light spilled over the hardwood floors of the apartment Kyouko had insisted they stay in after the last vampire attack. Reinforced windows. Triple locks. Sigils carved under the doors.
None of it helped. Not really.
Because Ren wasn't afraid of the monsters outside.
He was afraid of the one he was starting to crave.
Kyouko stood at the kitchen counter, cleaning her gun.
Again.
Ren dropped into the chair across from her. "You're not going to say it?"
She didn't look up. "Say what?"
"I came home at 2 a.m. with blood on my collar. You're really going to pretend that's normal?"
She finally met his gaze. Her eyes were sharp—same steel gaze she'd had since she was fifteen and carrying their father's blade. "You're not normal. Neither is the world we live in."
"Kyouko—"
"Was it a vampire?"
"Yes."
"Did you kill it?"
"No. Someone else did."
She froze.
"A vampire," Ren said. "But not like the others. He saved me."
Kyouko set the gun down slowly. "And you didn't kill him why?"
Ren leaned forward. "He didn't try to hurt me. He protected me. He... looked at me like he knew me."
"Ren." Her voice dropped. "You can't afford to romanticize what they are. They're killers. Parasites."
"Not all of them."
"Yes. All of them."
He stood. "You didn't see him. He's not like the others."
She crossed the room in two strides and grabbed his wrist. "They play with your head. That's what they do. Some of them look like they care. That's part of the trap."
Ren pulled away. "He could've killed me. He didn't."
"Yet."
Ren didn't respond. His chest was tight. His skin still felt cold from where Kazuki had vanished into the dark.
After Kyouko left, he went back to the alley.
He didn't know why. Part of him hoped he'd feel it again—the hum in the air, the stillness, the sense that someone was watching from above.
But there was nothing.
Only old brick, silence, and the distant hum of traffic.
Ren leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and whispered:
"I know you're out there."
A gust of wind stirred his hair.
For a moment, he thought he heard footsteps—soft, deliberate.
He opened his eyes.
No one.
But his pulse raced anyway.
Because he was starting to believe something impossible.
Kazuki hadn't followed him.
Ren had started following him.
Later that night, he sketched.
He hadn't drawn in weeks—not since the last attack. But now his hands moved without thinking. Pencil. Shadow. Lines.
It was a face. Pale. Too sharp. Too perfect.
Eyes that burned like gold under moonlight.
Ren stared down at the sketch in silence.
His heart ached.
Not with fear.
But with need.