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Yuichirou is no stranger to the stark visage of hunger, his time being reunited with Mika has intimately acquainted him with the raw and biting manifestation of its grip. He has borne witness, in real-time, to the merciless strikes of those gnawing pains that clutch at the stomach.
Their relentless intensity casts a thick blanket of white fury past Mika’s eyes as pains as sharp as the winter winds whisk within his being. They carry with them frozen air and a blinding fury as Mikaela becomes victim to the tempest of January storms. It’s a visual symphony of nature's wrath unfolding in a tumultuous display of both beauty and chaos.
Armed with the full knowledge of the terrifying nature of a starving vampire, Yuichirou remains steadfast by Mikaela's side. He willingly jeopardizes his own life force just to lay a tender hand upon Mika's trembling form.
Yuichirou holds him tenderly, shaky, cold, hands grasped firmly in his warm ones. This steers his gaze away from beyond the tempestuous snowstorm and towards the inviting forest nestled within Yuichirou’s evergreen eyes.
Back when the only sky that hung above them was murky stone and gray dirt, Yuichirou had asked him what his favorite color was. “Green.” Mika had said. The shade that blossomed from budding spring trees and painted the grass that glimmered in the summer sun. A color that they could only dream about seeing again in natural
Green as the light that glows from the lonely dock on the Long Island shore, piercing through the mist and rough waters that exist in Mikaela’s mind. With their hands grasped together, each shared breath orchestrates a miniature sunrise. Green was beautiful, and the color that guided it, but it was only the golden light of daybreak that could coax Mikaela back home.
And only then did Yuichirou force him to satiate his thirst. He wasn't an idiot, he knew the dangers of vampirism. He knew how the pain and hunger could breach even the most fortified of minds, wishing that Mika would not allow himself to become so ravaged. Cyclic damage that Mika willed to be done, then undone. Forever in a constant loop of blinding hunger and self discontent.
Though they'd never openly admit it, an unspoken understanding lingered between them regarding the undeniable pleasure derived from having blood drawn. It was no secret that Mikaela relished the taste of Yuu's blood, finding pure delight in it. Even amidst the numbing cold of Mika's skin, each time those teeth plunged deep into Yuichirou's flesh a profound warmth would unfurl and etch its way through his veins. Sounds of hurried slurping and appreciative moans flood Yuichirou's ears, the closeness of it all an alluring sensation. In those stolen moments, both of them harbored a shared desire for time to slow and linger, allowing them to savor their sinful act. Of course, neither of them would ever admit this.
Then, the comforting thought of tending to his beloved Mika came. It is a notion that satisfies the outermost corners of Yuichirou's mind, still clinging to the fear of being a nuisance. A helpless, defenseless soldier amongst the largest of armies has no name. They can only hope that their lives make the difference in the war, something that Yuichirou can relate to.
It was during the years when Yuichirou believed Mika to be dead that the unfulfilled desire to repay him for all the devotion and sacrifices that Mika had made hit him the hardest. It weighed on his chest, shortening his breath and crowding his mind. He had left Mika to do all the heavy lifting, never taking any of the weight on himself. It had been Mikaela that had kept food on their table. It was Mikaela who sacrificed his blood, who looked out for Yuu, looked out for their family. Even with Mika alive today, this debt still hangs heavy over his head, a cloud that has followed him, and will continue to follow and pour only upon him.
Suffice to say, ensuring Mika's well-being had become Yuichirou's number one goal—a task that he could not fail. It bestowed upon him a sense of purpose, a driving force to continue forward, filling in the absence of a will to live that left scars on his soul. He had found someone to live for, to fight for, and to risk everything for.
But if Yuichirou is not careful, he might become lost to the rough waves and never again come up for air.
Yuichiro had not witnessed the swipe of Guren’s blade–at least not at first. It was only when the edge was mere inches from his face that he reacted, the stark realization dawning upon him that it was already too late. Guren was too fast, too clever. Too much of everything that Yuichirou wasn't.
His eyes grow heavy in acceptance, prepared and willing to embrace his fate. He had been stupid, careless–that gnawing flaw that Guren has nagged him about relentlessly.
Even during the early days of his training Guren never went easy on him. Fresh out of Sanguinem, Yuichirou was weak. Weak from the lack of golden sunshine and fresh air, weary from the mourning that racks his soul. Too young to defend himself, too old to let the memory of his family fade away. Children don’t possess the ability to dodge punches or block blades, not that Guren cared.
As Yuichirou reminisces about those days, in a way, he misses the innocence and sure mindedness of his younger self. Despite the time that has passed, still, the tomb remains open–no one having cared enough to close it for him. And yet when Yuichirou looks upon this body, which lies in an old wooden box far too large for his small and scrawny frame, he smiles. Proud of himself for having survived the hell that he has endured.
But why is he thinking of those days at a time like this?
Yuichirou waits with bated breath, ready for the deep cut of a sharp blade on his smooth skin, waiting for the cold bite of air on exposed veins. Except it never came. Instead, he gasps as a strong force pushes him back.
Taking his place stood Mikaela. Yuichirou had only heard the slice of flesh and bone, only saw droplets of dark red blood fly through the air. They glided on a warm summer breeze.
The weather was beautiful today, wasn't it? He’d have to be sure to tell Mika later.
Realization dawns upon Yuichirou. Mika had taken the hit for him, and by the grunts of pain he was making, this was bad. What was a deep cut for Mikaela surely would have been a deadly one for Yuu.
Trying to be as gentle with the vampire, Yuichirou lifts Mika into his arms. His left hand rests against his back, blood steadily steeping from Mika’s clothes and through Yuu’s gloves. His blood is cold, sticky against his palm.
Yuichirou runs. He runs in no particular direction, only choosing to look behind his shoulder only once to ensure that Guren is not following them. To his relief, they seem to be alone. His grip on Mikaela tightens, for he's sure that the shaky motion of his hurried steps is only making Mikaela feel worse.
Pained cries escape his lips as Yuichirou takes a sharp turn.
“Shh.” Yuichirou hushes, his voice soothing. “You're gonna be okay.” He lifts Mikaela’s head to rest just below his chin, wanting to be even closer to the vampire. Soft hair tickles his skin.
“Please be okay.”
The prayer barely escapes his lips, lingering in the air like a whispered promise. To which god he is praying towards, he doesn't know. He just hopes that one of them has bothered to stick around to listen.
Seeking solace in an abandoned high-rise, Yuichirou found safety in high ground. safety, Yet, debris and the absence of stair sections transformed the once-secure stairwell into an obstacle course. Each jump and sway became a precarious dance, a desperate attempt to keep his footing.
The burden of carrying Mikaela proved to be more taxing than Yuichirou had anticipated. As he continued to run up the stairs a protruding rebar met him with its sharp embrace. has caused him more strain than he is used to. A piece of rebar sticks out from the wall of He was moving too swiftly to stop, too preoccupied to dodge. He embraces the wire, wincing as it rips through his clothes and scrapes into his skin and muscle.
Pain blossomed at his side, leading him to falter, and thus releasing Mikaela from his grip. The vampire met the ground with a grunt, to quickly be accompanied by Yuichirou.
The air became saturated with the scent of Yuichirou’s blood, a robust competitor against the aroma emanating from the vampire’s own wound. Attempting to put pressure on the wound, his hand assumes the role of a makeshift tourniquet. But before he could tear off a piece of his undershirt for further aid, his head collides with the concrete floor.
A vice-like hand constricts around his neck, rendering Yuichirous attempt at speaking no more than stuttering and guttural sounds.
“Blood!” Mika gasps out, his raspy, desperate demand. “Blood, now!”
Yuichirou manages to raise a trembling hand towards his neck, just barely enough strength left in his body to lessen the grip Mikaeala has on him just enough to allow him to speak.
“Mika!” Yuichirou cries, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Please, just focus on my voice.”
As soon as Yuichirou’s free hand gently brushes Mikaela’s cheek, he shatters. Crumbling, falling, imploding into a million little pieces. His expression morphs into that of pain and desperation, the kind that Yuichirou had only seen in vampires locked up in the deepest of the JIDA dungeons. an incredibly disheartening look of pain, desperation, and self hatred. Mikaela fights against the intense pain of his wounds, disgust at what he needs, and fears that he will never be forgiven for what he is about to do.
When Yuichirou gazes into those vibrant red eyes, red, the color that he had forced them to become, a wave of warmth envelops his being. In this delicate moment, he realizes that Mikaela owns the key to his heart. When he unlocks his rusty door, the door hinges squeaking from having not been opened in years, he realizes that there is nothing that Yuichirou can do to keep him out.
A soft smile graces his lips as he whispers, “Go ahead, Mika. I trust y–”
Mikaela does not hesitate. The previously scarred skin that bears the scars made by the same hands that hold him now, is broken once again.
The bite always hurts at first. It's an immense, blooming pain that soon morphs into something beyond just the physical sensation. Something pleasurable, something addictive.
He feels Mika’s hand reach back up to his neck–wait, when had he removed it? Strong fingers lace at his nape, crawling and grasping at the hairs at the base of his scalp. His grip tightens, keeping Yuichirou’s neck steady and firm. He is locked in Mikaeala’s embrace, fully dependent on the will of a ravaged vampire.
Yuu gasps, feeling the intimate theft of his blood. Mikaela’s hunger is palpable, evident in the desperate rush of blood that echoes against his ears. It's not just mere drinking; some of the crimson elixir escapes Mika's lips, trailing down Yuu's skin in delicate rivulets. As the warm essence touches him, Yuu shivers. The blood is still warm when it reaches him.
Lifetimes could pass and Yuichirou would willingly let it slip away in the heat of this moment. The closeness of Mika and their connection through shared blood is euphoric. Yuichirou gasps as the hand that was pressed against his neck tightens, Mika’s other hand glides against his own arm, securing him down.
He's not sure how long they stay in this position, but he knows that it's time for Mika to stop when black dots start to appear in his vision. He nudges at Mika’s side.
“Mika…” Yuu pauses, needing to catch his breath. “You can stop now.”
Mikaela does not listen. Instead, he continues to indulge himself as he drinks. Yuichirou gasps as Mika bites down harder, deeper, allowing even more blood to flood out.
Yuichirou tries lifting his free hand to Mika’s chest to push him away. It's a feeble attempt, he realizes, as he's not able to gather enough force to detach Mikaela from his neck.
Blood keeps being drained from his veins. It's reaching a dangerous level, a point that Mika had not reached before. His eyelids are becoming too heavy to keep open.
He attempts once more at trying to move the vampire away from him, but the veil of delirium has become too thick to see through. It's become increasingly indiscernible whether his efforts have yielded anything at all.
Yuichirou can sense the gradual deceleration of his heart. It continues to thump in his ears, beating like a drum against the music of the vampire slurping. Shallow breaths escape his lips as he tries to maintain his composure.
He knows Mikaeala. He also understands what vampires are capable of, but that's not Mika. Mika would never fall, would never intentionally hurt him.
“Mika, please…” Yichirou attempts to say. Doubts are starting to creep into his mind. He feels an icy coldness sink into his skin, the kind of chill that the body exudes to repel sickness. His muscles rebel against his will, constricting and knitting themselves into a state of paralysis and it's here that the realization of his situation dawns on him. He's being drained. There is a starved, feral, vampire attached to his neck and he is being consumed. Soon enough he will be nothing but a hollow shell.
"It's okay," Yuichirou softly promises. He longs to express more, to tell Mika that he forgives him, and to make sure he knows that he never once judged Mikaela for his vampirism and had no intentions of starting now.
He hopes that one day Mika will be able to forgive himself, to release this heavy burden he carries. For Yuichirou has always loved Mikaela, and death is not always the end.