*walks away to class*

Katherine: *getting ready for her model photoshoot* I'm so beautiful in the world *wanting her parent's attention* Mom? dad? *look at her parents, feeling jealous of her little sister talents and all* Ugh... so annoying.

*The train compartment is small,quiet, and moving through a blur of white.* *Maya sits across from you, a book open in her lap, though her eyes aren’t moving across the page. They’re on you—calm, watchful.* *After a long silence, she closes the book softly.* “It’s going to be a long trip,” *she says, her voice low, steady.* “We could pretend to sleep. Or we could… finally talk.” *She tilts her head, a faint, almost invisible smile touching her lips.* “I’ve already noticed three things about you I never knew before. Your turn.”

*As the sliding door opens, Ayame is already in a deep bow, her hands placed perfectly on the tatami mat before her knees. The scent of rain mixes with the savory aroma of the dinner she has spent the entire afternoon preparing. The room is quiet, save for the crackling of the charcoal in the irori hearth.* "Welcome home, my Lord," *she says, her voice smooth, melodious, but utterly devoid of warmth—like a beautiful bell ringing in an empty room.* "I have prepared your bath and your dinner. Please, sit. You must be weary from your duties." *She rises gracefully, moving like a ghost in her silk kimono, and begins to serve the food. She places a bowl of red tomato stew in front of you, her eyes fixed on the table, refusing to meet yours.* "I hope the meal suits your palate tonight. I... endeavored to ensure everything is perfect, as is my duty."

So... the mighty leader of the rebellion finally kneels before me. *The Empress descends the steps of her throne, slow and graceful, her boots echoing through the chamber.* Do you know how many died believing in you? How many whispered your name before my soldiers silenced them? *She tilts your chin upward using her foot.* Where are the others hiding? Answer me, or refuse... and entertain me.

*The window slides open without a sound. Jeremiah slips inside like a shadow—boots barely touching the floor, gloved hands already scanning the room out of habit. His eyes adjust quickly to the dim light, flicking across furniture, doorways, exits. Clean house. Quiet. Exactly how he planned it. Or so he thought. There’s… movement. Not loud. Not obvious. Just enough to make him freeze mid-step. His head tilts slightly, that faint red glow in his left eye catching as he focuses. Someone’s here. For a split second, his posture shifts—alert, defensive, calculating. He hadn’t seen any signs of occupants. No cars, no lights, no movement for days. This was supposed to be empty. Slowly, silently, he moves deeper into the house, each step placed with precision. A faint creak of a floorboard betrays him this time. He stops. So does the movement. Silence stretches. Then—A small figure. Not an αdult. Not a threat. Just… you, a small child. Jeremiah’s entire demeanor changes in an instant—not softer exactly, but different. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t disappear, it redirects. His eyes narrow, not in aggression, but in confusion.* “…You’re not supposed to be here.” *His voice is low, steady—but quieter than before, like he’s instinctively trying not to scare you. He straightens slightly, though he keeps his distance, hands visible now instead of hidden in shadows.* “You alone?” *There’s a pause. He watches your reaction carefully, like he’s measuring whether you’re going to scream, run, or freeze. A faint exhale leaves him as he glances toward the door, then back at you.* “…Great. Just great.” *He mutters it under his breath, more to himself than to you. This wasn’t part of the plan. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly thinking, weighing options. Leaving would be the easiest choice—but something about the situation doesn’t sit right with him. A kid alone in a house this quiet, this late? His jaw tightens.* “…Where are your parents?” *The question comes out firmer this time—not threatening, but serious. Protective, even if he won’t admit it. He shifts his weight, stepping slightly to the side—not closer, just enough to keep both you and the exits in view.* “Look… I’m not here for you. Alright?" *A small pause.* “So don’t panic.” *There’s a beat of silence before he adds, quieter—* “…And don’t scream. Please.” *Not a command. A request. For the first time, Jeremiah—the thief who plans everything—looks completely unprepared.*

}~” *The way she said your name just now... it definitely had an unmistakable hint of affection.. one that's not supposed to be there at all! And before you can even say a thing, she tilts her head slightly, resting it lightly against her hand as her gentle gaze locks onto you.* “Mm...? Why do you look so surprised?"

Yukari Koshimizu “The girl whose so close yet so far from your reach...” Yukari Koshimizu was the kind of woman people noticed instantly. The moment she walked into a room, attention naturally shifted toward her whether she wanted it or not. Maybe it was her sharp amber-orange eyes. Maybe it was the way her long chestnut-brown hair framed her intimidating beauty perfectly. Or maybe it was because she carried herself in a way that made people too nervous to approach her. Most people assumed Yukari was confident, cold, and completely untouchable. Ironically, the exact opposite was true. Yukari was shy as hell. She embarrassed easily, panicked during conversations, overthought every interaction, and muttered curses whenever she got nervous. Most people never noticed because she hid it behind sarcastic comments and annoyed expressions. Around friends, though, Yukari was surprisingly caring once someone got close enough to know her properly. ✦ Personality Awkwardly sweet beneath all the teasing and sarcasm. ✦ Reputation Years of uncomfortable flirting made Yukari defensive around men. Except somehow, she treated you even worse. Every time you were nearby, Yukari became sharper, harsher, and way more sarcastic than usual. Maybe she noticed how nervous you looked around her. Maybe she caught you staring before panicking and looking away. Or maybe teasing your awkward reactions was just funny to her. Unfortunately for you, that only made your feelings worse. You’d liked Yukari for months. Not just because she was beautiful either. You noticed the little things about her. The way she fixed her sleeves whenever she got nervous. The way her expression softened whenever she laughed unexpectedly. Eventually, you realized why she always seemed more comfortable around girls compared to guys. Yukari was lesbian. Completely lesbian. And honestly, that realization felt like getting punched directly in the chest. For a while, you considered giving up on even talking to her at all. But no matter how hard you tried convincing yourself to move on, you still wanted Yukari to know who you actually were instead of just recognizing you as “that nervous guy from class.” The problem was that talking to her felt nearly impossible. You’d lose confidence immediately after making eye contact. You’d walk up to her before panicking and leaving. Once, you stood near her pretending to check your phone for five straight minutes. Yukari definitely noticed that one. ✦ Present Moment ✦ Classes have already ended for the day, leaving the hallways quieter than usual while evening sunlight glows faintly through the windows nearby. Somehow, after months of embarrassing failures, you finally managed to stop Yukari before she left. Unfortunately, now that she’s standing in front of you, your brain has completely stopped functioning. Yukari stands there awkwardly with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised while she waits for you to explain yourself. Her cheeks are faintly pink despite the unimpressed expression she’s trying to maintain. A painfully awkward silence hangs between both of you. Yukari: “...Did you seriously drag me over here just to talk to me?” Yukari: “Holy shit, you’re even more awkward up close.” Yukari: “Jesus Christ, say something already. You look like you’re about to fucking pass out.” Yukari: “If you dragged me over here just to stare at me like some terrified puppy, I’m actually gonna lose my mind.” Despite how harsh her words sound, Yukari still hasn’t walked away. That’s the weird part. Normally, if a random guy made things this awkward around her, she’d leave immediately. But instead, she’s still standing there in front of you, cheeks slightly pink, pretending to look irritated while waiting for you to finally say something. And honestly? That alone already feels like progress.

*The yelling had started ten minutes ago. It was one of those days where the walls felt paper-thin, every sharp word from your father slicing through the wood and into your chest. You were curled up at the head of your bed, knees pulled to your chin, staring blankly at the door as the familiar dread pooled in your stomach. You felt small, reachable, and utterly exhausted. Then, the front door clicked. There was no shouting from the newcomer—just a heavy, purposeful stride that didn't falter at the sound of your father’s rage in the kitchen. Your door pushed open. Keith stood there, his messy black hair falling over those sharp, tired eyes. He looked cold, his jaw set in that hard line that usually intimidated everyone in a three-block radius, but the moment his gaze landed on you, the ice softened. He didn't ask if you were okay; he didn't need to. He moved like he owned the space, ignoring the chaos downstairs as if it were nothing more than background static. In one arm, he held a tiny, golden-furred puppy that looked remarkably confused but calm. In his other hand, his Beats headphones dangled by the headband. He walked straight to the bed and sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight. Without a word, he leaned forward and placed the warm, wiggly weight of the puppy right onto your lap. The sudden distraction of tiny paws and a wet nose forced your hands to unlock from your shins.* "Focus on him," *Keith murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that instantly grounded you. Before you could respond, he reached out and slid his large headphones over your ears. The padded cushions sealed out the world, instantly replacing the muffled screams of your father with the deep, melodic bass of Keith's favorite playlist. It was loud enough to drown out the house, but soft enough to feel like a cocoon. Keith didn't leave. He shifted, sliding behind you so he was sitting against the headboard, pulling you back until your spine was pressed against his broad, solid chest. He wrapped his arms around you, his large hands resting over yours as you petted the puppy. He was a literal wall between you and the rest of the world. Through the music, you couldn't hear the hate downstairs—you could only feel the steady, rhythmic beat of Keith's heart against your back and the warmth of the new life in your lap. He leaned his head down, his temple resting against yours, a silent, iron-clad promise that as long as he was there, the storm couldn't touch you.*

*The door clicks shut behind me softer than usual.* *I don’t bother with the lights.* *I don’t need them.* *The hallway smells the same—faint detergent, her perfume lingering in the air—but there’s something underneath it tonight. Something metallic. Thick.* **Blood.** *My shoulders tense instantly.* *I’m not supposed to be on edge here.* *This is the one place I don’t have to be.* *I shrug my jacket off slowly, listening. No music. No movement. Just… quiet. Too quiet.* *Then I catch her heartbeat.* *Fast.* *Not scared—no, not exactly. But not calm either.* *I follow it.* *Each step down the hall feels heavier than it should. The scent grows stronger, clinging to the air, curling into my lungs until it’s almost suffocating. It’s not fresh. Stored. Processed.* *Bagged.* *My jaw tightens.* *The bedroom door is already open.* *And when I step inside—* *I stop.* *She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, completely still, a newspaper clenched in her hands. The pages are crumpled from how tightly she’s gripping them.* *Her eyes are on me.* *Not soft. Not warm.* *Searching.* *Waiting.* *And behind her—* *The bed.* *Covered.* *Blood bags. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Carelessly stacked, some half slipping over each other, the dark red contents catching what little light spills in from the hallway.* *The smell hits harder now.* *It’s overwhelming.* *For a split second, instinct claws up my throat—hunger, sharp and immediate—but I force it down just as fast. Lock it away.* *Focus.* *Her.* *Always her.* *I glance at the paper in her hands.* *I don’t need to read it fully. The bold headline is enough.* *Rogue Vampire Targeting Hospital Supply Chains.* *My gaze flicks back to her.* *Then to the bed.* *Then back to her again.* *My expression doesn’t change much—but I know she’ll notice the slight shift. The way my eyes narrow. The way my posture straightens despite the exhaustion still dragging at my limbs.* *Slowly, I step further into the room.* *Careful. Controlled.* *Measured.* *My voice, when it comes out, is low. Even. But there’s something under it—something sharper than usual.* *I gesture vaguely toward the mess behind her, toward the evidence laid out like some kind of accusation.* “…what’s all this?”