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The train was packed, businessmen and other-men stood shoulder to shoulder and back to back in the narrow space. Stuffy and sweaty and delightful all the same.
It’s said that summers in Tokyo get exceptionally humid, even if the temperatures aren’t very high. The lack of sea breeze and the stagnant air flow make it feel ten times hotter than it really is, while the winters are supposedly extremely dry. Atsumu didn’t care for any of that, though. Not when his real life was just getting started.
His clothes were all neatly stuffed into a singular bag, right alongside all his belongings and precious momentos he couldn’t leave behind. He made sure to pack only the essentials, as Osamu had demanded, but perhaps a few less important items managed to slip inside, too. The apartment they were going to share was small. Quaint, Atsumu preferred to call it. And when they became millionaires, they’d move out into their own separate homes with marble flooring and European-style bathroom fixtures. Pushed and tossed around, a stranger breathing down his neck, Atsumu still couldn’t keep the bright grin off his face. They were finally on their own, and they were gonna make it big.
After spending so long not doing much of anything, their 20s were the perfect time to spread their wings and broaden their horizons. Osamu had landed a job at a restaurant, already working his way up to become a world-renowned chef, while Atsumu had spent all his savings on a good, high-quality camera that would make him billions in years to come.
So maybe he had no more savings left, and maybe Osamu wasn’t very happy with it. But everyone says to follow your heart, and that’s exactly what Atsumu was doing. His dad’s old Rexoflex brought him a long way, but it had outlived its golden days, and Atsumu needed an upgrade. He was becoming a professional, after all. Squares were so last year. Nobody would take him seriously with one of those. Rectangles were where it’s at.
The change of scenery, the new people surrounding him, everything was a source of inspiration if you looked at it the right way. Atsumu just needed an angle. He’d worked so long searching for his own unique ‘style’, just a bit more and he was sure to have it nailed down. It took time; a couple of years was nothing in the grand scheme of things. There was a certain beauty in it, the slow pace akin to growing. Maturing and morphing and moulding with your photographs, the tangible proof of change. He’d always loved capturing the perfect moment — candid smiles, lingering gazes, when the sun hit just so — finding charm in the mundane.
Atsumu had been holed up in the attic when he first came across his father’s Rexoflex. The twins had broken a vase, and hoping to avoid his mother’s wrath, Atsumu had figured the attic to be the best hiding spot, curling up behind large boxes of old, unused items nobody wanted to throw out. The camera had been at the very top of the pile, dusty and outdated. After figuring out how to work it, keeping it a secret from his mother, and unsuccessfully from Osamu, too, Atsumu discovered something new. It was so much easier to find appreciation in the small and the grand through a camera lens. Suddenly, everything felt worth noticing.
The little hobby cost his mother a lot, he knew from the worried sighs and the resigned slump of her shoulders whenever he begged for more film. She'd bristled when he showed up with his cheater father's camera in hand, insisting her son would never end up like that bastard. Atsumu's heart squeezed, and he gave it up without a fight. It only took a few days for her to come around. See, patience is a virtue.
Patience was also, sadly, not something Atsumu possessed very often. When his work got brushed off and ignored in favour of taking photographs from the so-called ‘big names’, he huffed and groaned and wondered what was so bad about giving him a chance.
It was another disappointing day. Osamu was getting ready to head to work by the time Atsumu returned.
“Any luck?” Osamu asked, grabbing his things and slipping on his shoes. A glare from Atsumu was enough for him to get the hint. “No luck, then. Still not up for a real job?”
“Piss off,” Atsumu murmured, keeping his eyes downcast and his camera close to himself. “They don't realise what they're missing out on.”
Osamu let out a breath. Ever since he started working at that fancy western restaurant, he'd been especially irritable and exhausted. Always chiding Atsumu about this and that, face fixed into a seemingly permanent frown. As annoyed as he was, worry still tugged at Atsumu's heartstrings. “How long do ya think we can really manage like this? Ya need a job, ‘Tsumu.”
Atsumu turned away and left for his room. What did he know? Osamu didn't have a creative bone in his body. Their financial situation may be far from perfect, but every artist has had a struggle period. Atsumu's might have dragged on, but so what? It'll just be all the more rewarding when he finally achieves it, right?
It was a sleepless night. Thoughts of failure and dejection plagued his mind, spread through his entire body like a physical weight, like spores. What if he didn't have it in him? What if all those people were right, and Atsumu was just blindly chasing after a fantasy? If he had to start from scratch, build something up from the ground again, surrender to the same expectations that Osamu was carrying atop his shoulders? Allow himself to be chained down to those stupid notions of what work should be, as if art meant nothing anymore.
When it got too heavy, when his breath turned shallow, and his hands started to tremble, he pressed his palms into his eyes and willed the pain away.
The wind was cold and incessant, distant sounds of traffic filling the air. A short while later, the lighter flickered to life, and Atsumu waited for the tip to take. Smoking wasn’t a habit he took part in often. He could remember the constant smell clinging to his father's clothes, his mother's complaints about his breath. Atsumu didn't want to be like his father, after all.
So with a cigarette plucked between his middle and index fingers, gaze sweeping over the job listings in the previous day's newspaper, he found himself rethinking the choices he'd made in his life. How much could he really sacrifice for this? There’d come a point when his stubbornness would impact Osamu, too, and what’d he do then?
The sun was peeking out over the horizon, the first sunrays flooding the earth. Thoughtlessly, Atsumu lifted the camera, capturing the blinding light. However, when he looked at the picture, there was something so inexplicably off, so captivating. It almost seemed as though it came to life before his very eyes, as the roar of flames, the ethereal gates of heaven itself. Like, at once, Atsumu’s eyes held the power to witness something no human was meant to see. For a brief moment, he was certain he couldn’t breathe. When he glanced up, only the faint movement of the branches was visible.
All doubts vanished, and determination rushed back in its place. There it was, his motivation to keep trying. So long as he manages to get another photograph just as breathtaking and enticing, he’ll die a happy man. Whatever made it so special, Atsumu would figure it out and keep it close to his heart forever.
It was easier said than done. After spending his last remaining money on getting the photograph (alongside a few others he noted as worthy) developed by a friend at the lab, Atsumu was back to square one — begging for attention from companies that wouldn’t spare him a glance. Ignored at the magazine office, ignored when he offered to shoot for an event for scraps. He went to the event, anyway. Atsumu was nothing if not persistent.
Shinsuke Kita was the photographer they did hire. With a perfect posture and precise hands, obnoxiously high prices. He hardly even seemed interested in his surroundings, eyes focused on the lens of his, admittedly, much fancier camera. Shinsuke Kita was a strange man. He had the kind of presence that could silence a room with a single tilt of his head; an immovable force the moment he stepped into it. He listened to Atsumu’s troubles, perhaps out of politeness if nothing else, and suggested he’d give Atsumu some tips another time. A tactful way to get Atsumu to leave him alone.
Atsumu, of course, did not leave him alone. In fact, he shadowed him during the entire length of the event, mentally keeping track of his little tricks and quirks. When Atsumu managed to steal him away for a while, he took the opportunity to show him the photograph (which he always kept in his pocket, just because). While Kita didn’t outwardly react, the sudden glimmer in his gaze gave it away — interest. Atsumu could barely conceal his smirk. It didn’t particularly lead to anything other than some more silence, but Atsumu felt good enough that he’d gotten a reaction out of Kita, anyway.
He returned home in high spirits and with a pep in his step. Osamu’s day hadn’t gone quite as well, apparently.
“We’re poor, ‘Tsumu! Ya think I can pay all these bills on my own while ya fuck around all day?” He seethed, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, hands balled into fists. And, rationally, Atsumu knew. Things wouldn’t change overnight. They’d be out of the apartment by next month if Atsumu didn’t pull himself together. This was a long time coming. He let out a weary sigh.
“What do ya suggest I do?”
“Another waiter’s needed at the restaurant,” Osamu said. And that was that.
His first shift was early in the evening, when the sun was beginning to set, and darkness was threatening to take over. The restaurant was a short walk away from the apartment, a quiet journey between the two. Atsumu had always been good with people, so how hard could a job like this even be?
Very hard, as it turns out. The table he was waiting was a trio of weirdos that carried black umbrellas. And, while that made no difference to him, the most beautiful man ever sitting right in front of him may have distracted him just a little. He had black curls framing his face, twin moles sitting right above one of his eyebrows, porcelain pale skin, and a dark, piercing gaze. Expensive jewellery adorned their necks, ears, wrists, and fingers, carrying luxurious stones Atsumu hadn’t even heard of before. The place was one where only well-off people could dine comfortably, but this felt like a whole other level. Atsumu was caught between jealousy and admiration.
He made sure his smile was extra wide and welcoming as he went through the motions of taking their orders and offering pleasantries. Anything to have an excuse to see him again. But good things can only last so long.
The illusion was shattered the moment he brought out their food. Without missing a beat, the man spoke up. “The shiso is a bit heavy. It overpowers the ume.”
Atsumu blinked, then answered easily. “I'll let the chef know. Anything else?”
The man’s eyes lingered on Atsumu for a moment longer. “No. That’ll be all.”
As if. Really, you’d think the dude hated the ume shiso pasta he himself ordered, given how much he was complaining. After asking twice whether the recipe had been changed, he insisted that the dish was overcooked, too sweet, or had a dull aftertaste. He narrowed his eyes and picked at the food in an almost paranoid manner, and it tested Atsumu’s patience like nothing else could.
“Kiyoomi, stop it,” the man beside him urged, his weird little eyebrows knitting together as he gave Atsumu an apologetic smile. The woman sat between them only shook her head, taking a long puff of her cigarette.
“No, go on, throw it at me. What else? Is the plate not to yer liking, either?” Atsumu taunted, a bite in his voice.
‘Kiyoomi’ clenched his jaw. “Yes, since you insist. I can tell it was put to sit out before being served, the chef went too heavy with the oil, the shiso is so far from fresh it may as well be decomposing, and the acidity lingers longer than it should, making it borderline unedible.”
Atsumu couldn’t fucking believe it. Before he could even muster up a response, some equally as bitchy retort, the man kept going.
“And don’t even get me started on the customer service.”
That did it. “Because I’m the problem here? Not ya, sitting here whining and moaning about stupid fucking oil? Don’t even bother eating out if yer standards are so high and mighty! In fact, never come back here again! Yer banned for life!”
“Ya don’t have the position to ban people, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu murmured, rubbing his temples as if the mere sight of his twin infuriated him. Atsumu had gotten told off, but thankfully, wasn’t fired just yet. Osamu would lose his shit if he had been. “Seriously, were ya not taught manners? Let the customer say what they want, they’re the reason we even get paid.”
“I’m not sucking the dick of some dumbass just because he’s rich!”
Osamu rolled his eyes. “I’m not asking ya to. Just, like, be nice. It’s not so hard.”
Atsumu could go on and on for hours about how nice he could be, and was, but the words died in his throat as another wave of anger washed over him. Kiyoomi should suck his dick. “I’m gonna quit.”
“No, the fuck ya won’t.”
This sucked. No wonder Osamu had been such an ass the last few months, working at that shithole. Dealing with customers like that every single day? Sounded like a modern torture method. Atsumu was so done with it.
He grabbed his camera on instinct as he stepped out for some fresh air. The moon was high in the sky, bathing everything in a silver glow. He passed the communal bathhouse, vibrantly illuminated vending machines, the numerous construction sites. He lifted his camera to snap a photo of the full moon. Perhaps a part of him was hoping to see something akin to that time, but no such luck. Instead, he caught movement in the corner of his eye, a shadow slipping into an alleyway.
An eerie, apprehensive feeling flickered up his spine, sparking at the nape of his neck, the hairs there rising. Goosebumps covered his skin, yet he couldn’t fight the innate urge to investigate. Reckless, he’d been called before. Well, they were right. He made sure to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible as he peered over the wall.
Atsumu had been subject to a bunch of frightening things over the course of his life. Walking in on his brother making out with a guy from their school; the sight was bad enough, but the fear of their family being shamed made it worse. Witnessing his father’s affair firsthand. Earthquakes. His grandmother’s cooking. The peak of the first and last Ferris wheel ride he’d ever been on. Watching crimson blood seep out of someone’s neck in uneven spurts and bursts might’ve just taken the top spot, however.
His heart was a wild thrum in his chest, desperately trying to break free from the confines of his ribs. Maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of messed-up sign for him to start minding his business. Follow Osamu’s lead and keep to himself. His lungs constricted around the thin, warm air, cold sweat gathering on his forehead. His body no longer felt like his own, chest heaving and lips parted in small gasps and— dark, dark eyes staring up at him. His fingers twitched. The flash that suddenly lit up the entire space was bright and blinding, and finally, Atsumu booked it, legs carrying him through the winding streets.
A chase. He was being chased. Was this what life had been preparing him for? The countless hours playing sports, for this? He couldn’t complain. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Adrenaline pumped like liquid fire in his veins, and it hurt, and he couldn’t stop.
The sound of the door slamming shut may as well have echoed through the entire city with how loud it was. Atsumu pressed his back against the grimy wall, panting, trembling, shaking all over. He stumbled to his room and tried not to think about what he’d seen, what he’d… photographed. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Those eyes, the twin moles, the curly hair blending into the night. It was him. Atsumu should’ve known something was off. No normal person acted like that. By the time birds were chirping and the sun was rising, Atsumu hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.
But he’d looked through all the newspapers he’d read since moving here, instead. And there it was, in bright, bold letters. Suspected vampire activity in the area. He’d brushed it off as nonsense back then. After all, who would even believe such things? Somebody smarter than Atsumu, that’s who.
It was only after Osamu made breakfast and told Atsumu to say now if he wanted any, too, that the exhaustion caught up to him and he passed out on the floor, surrounded by the daily mail. He got the picture developed through Ginjima under the table.
“Ya can’t go out, just trust me for once,” Atsumu nearly begged Osamu. It’d be fine if their shifts didn’t extend into the night, famously known as vampire feeding time. Atsumu hadn’t touched his camera since.
“Don’t be a child,” Osamu grumbled.
It was hopeless. Osamu would die tonight in the hands of bloodsucking monsters, and it was all Atsumu’s fault. What kind of older brother was he? “I’m bein’ serious, ‘Samu,”
“No way?” Osamu mumbled. End of that conversation, then. Fucking hell.
The walk there was accompanied by constant glances over his shoulder, left and right, eyes following every shadow. Perhaps he was a tiny bit paranoid. Perhaps he had a near-death experience not even twenty-four hours ago. A shudder ran up his spine. Whatever.
Atsumu would’ve liked to say that after finishing his shift, he and Osamu safely returned home, and Atsumu realised that everything had actually just been a very bad dream. Instead, Atsumu had to work a few extra hours, meaning Osamu went home alone, and Atsumu would be leaving even later into the night. Perfect, huh?
Leaving the restaurant felt like walking into the mouth of the beast, offering himself up as a five-star meal. The wind howled, shadows slithering along building walls as if they were alive, taunting him, mocking him. The streetlights flickered, buzzed, simmering with energy.
The weight of being watched. Atsumu picked up the pace. He was a healthy, athletic young man. He outran that motherfucker once; he could do it again, right? Right?
All hope was lost as he slammed into a brick wall, two figures hovering behind him. His legs felt numb, and he couldn’t even catch his breath from the pure, unadulterated fear coursing through his blood and clouding his mind. He was going to die. And what did he have to show for himself? A failed career?
Gingerly, he turned around, and just as expected, he was wholly cornered. Kiyoomi, and the guy with the weird eyebrows. In that moment, he was prey. With no escape in sight, Atsumu did what he does best — started talking.
“Ya know, I didn’t mean what I said about ya being banned. I don’t even have the authority to do that! Funny, isn’t it? So yer free and welcome to come back, honest. Right hand on the bible. Or— ya guys don’t like that, do ya? Sorry, I meant, like, right hand on the… ya know, point stands. I could even get ya two some discounts. Would ya like that? In fact, yer next meal is on me. And everyone loves a free meal!”
The other guy sighed wearily and glanced at Kiyoomi. “You don’t think he would be the reason we need to relocate again, do you?”
“We don’t know that.” Kiyoomi bit back, firm gaze fixed on Atsumu.
“Think about it. He won’t say a word,” he urged, then looked at Atsumu. “Will you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes with an unbelieving scoff. “You trust humans too easily.”
“Come on. If we kill him—” Atsumu’s entire body tensed at those words, “—the area will just be on their radar again. Then we’ll really have to relocate. And I know how much you hate change…”
Eyes narrowing, Kiyoomi paused, seeming to listen to the other’s reasoning. “He has evidence.”
Atsumu piped up, “Honestly, the photo is just a blur. Can’t see nothin’.” Truth was, he hadn’t seen the photo, hadn’t forced himself to look just yet. But they didn’t need to know that.
“Was I speaking to you?” Kiyoomi took a daunting step closer to Atsumu, who quickly and obediently shook his head and shut up. Silent, or silenced?
As the two spoke quietly between themselves, Atsumu took the time to gather his thoughts. He was screwed, but vampire guy number two seemed level-headed and considerate. Maybe he could work with that. He couldn’t stop his eyes from straying to Kiyoomi’s face, though. His long lashes, the slight pout of his bottom lip. A few more moles littered his slender neck, disappearing beneath his shirt.
“You live on one condition, Miya,” Kiyoomi said in a low tone. “You tell no one, you give up your blood should we need it, and you learn your place.”
“Totally. I’m your man.” Atsumu smiled. Still, he had a feeling he wasn’t seeing the last of them.
Atsumu could sense them tracking his every move as he stumbled back home. Hopefully, the thing about vampires having super hearing wasn’t true, because the moment he made sure Osamu was fine and alive, he couldn’t help himself.
“Ya believe in vampires?”
Osamu nearly choked on his drink. He coughed a few times, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “What are ya talking about?”
“Me too. Turns out, they’re very real.” And sexy, he almost added, but figured he should give that one some time.
“What?” Osamu rubbed his eyes.
“I promise, I’m not bullshitting you. I actually…” he shook his head. “Wanna see a photo?”
It’s a good thing vampires don’t have built-in lie detectors, too. Because when Atsumu finally checked the photograph from that night, he couldn’t have been further away from the truth. The shot was clear and vivid — Kiyoomi’s eyes boring straight into the camera, features distinct and laced with hunger. Sticky red blood around his lips, reddened fangs, and reddened skin around the person's neck. Their pained expression. Their hands, fisting at anything they could reach. Kiyoomi’s long, bony fingers gripping their jaw.
A while of Atsumu recounting the relevant and irrelevant events later, Osamu was successfully floored. “And ya didn't think to tell me?! Ya usually can't keep yer trap shut for the life of it, but ya choose to stay quiet on this?”
Who would've thought? Atsumu nodded sheepishly, then sighed. “Ma was right. We should go to church more.”
Osamu held his face in his hands, shoulders slumped. Still processing. “Yeah.”
If there was one thing that made Tokyo so different from Amagasaki, it was the lack of old, rotund women pinching their cheeks and telling them what good boys they were for attending church and helping their mother around the house. It was a welcome change. The twins could only handle so much cheek pinching.
Atsumu rubbed his palms together for warmth, stifling a yawn as the priest's words went in one ear and out the other. He'd heard this tale a thousand times before, and didn't particularly care about it any more than when he was nine and hiding behind the shed in the backyard every Sunday. Osamu was in a similar state beside him, nodding off and flinching awake every few minutes. The choir was more of a lullaby than a tool used to awaken the so-called ‘spiritual devotion’ inside him.
He thought back to the shitshow that the previous week had been, unease a constant presence nowadays. That same light-swallowing gaze flashed in his mind’s eye, and he had to shake his head, as if trying to physically get rid of the sinful images that were sure to follow. Church stuff.
It was almost like they made the service this boring on purpose. Hard not to feel lighter once it’s finally done. Before the two had the chance to actually leave, however, they were approached by a man who looked to be around their age, wearing a bulky suit. Part of the choir, Atsumu recognised. He let out a breath, an unhappy expression on his face.
“Hey. Welcome to the church. You’re new, right?” He spoke in a bored manner, glancing to the side from the corner of his eye.
The twins shared a look, then Atsumu put on his best customer service smile. They will not be getting recruited anywhere. “We are. And yer part of the choir? Ya into singing?”
“Fuck no,” the guy snorted, before quickly schooling his expression into a blank stare again. “Not particularly. It’s my punishment.”
“Punishment?” Osamu echoed. The guy scrutinised them for a moment.
“Well,” he started carefully, voice lower now, “between you and me, I may have gotten caught with… homoerotic content.”
Atsumu couldn’t hold in the sharp bark of laughter that threatened to escape, swiftly covering his mouth with his hand in a futile attempt to stifle it. This dude. “No fucking way.”
Osamu hit his shoulder, turning back to the other with a solemn look. “Very grave, yes.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“Good, ya shouldn’t be,” Osamu rushed to add. “I’m, uh, I am too.”
The guy raised an eyebrow. “Into gay porn?”
“No! Well, yes, but I meant, like, into men.” Osamu’s entire face flushed red, and Atsumu bit back a sigh. He was, too, but it didn’t seem like either of them cared right now. This was getting embarrassing. Get a room.
His name was Suna Rintarou, they came to find out. His religious family had decided to not only put him in the choir but also make him speak to all the newcomers in the church. All for watching two men getting it on. He made them promise to return next week, so it seemed as though he was taking his job seriously. Osamu agreed for both of them instantly.
As more time passed, Osamu was spending more and more time with Suna. And while Atsumu was glad his brother had found interest in someone (seriously, Atsumu had half a mind to ask whether he’d even lost his virginity yet), it didn’t do much to ease the worry in his chest. The possibility of vampires finding out Atsumu had gone back on his word loomed over him, brought about this unusual urge to convince Osamu to quit his job and stay inside and never go out again. He could never ask that of him, though.
Besides that, with the apartment empty more often than not in recent days, Atsumu’s brain seemed to be going haywire from the quiet. Thoughts crawling between the floorboards, thoughts splattering the walls, thoughts dripping from the ceiling. Thinking, thinking, thinking.
His pictures had always lacked something. He knew how to work the lighting to make the composition stand out, understood angles and exposure. Yet no matter what he did, it simply didn’t feel right. Like his heart wasn’t wholly in it. And it was — photography had been his lifeline, the light at the end of the tunnel. Art came from the soul, but his was the blankest slate.
That picture of Kiyoomi, however, held a feeling so much deeper, beyond fear or twisted fascination. He couldn’t stand to look at it for too long, lest he feel the vampire’s presence or the victim’s pain or his own heartbeat as he stood there, captivated. And, side by side, it almost seemed like this and the photograph of that fateful morning were one and the same. Beautiful; worthy. So different, yet so alike in all the strangest ways.
It was an odd feeling, this allure that Kiyoomi had stirred within him. Atsumu couldn’t wrap his head around why he could possibly want to see him again. Why he would’ve liked to have him pose all pretty in front of his camera, and keep the picture as his own forever. Atsumu’s morals were questionable at best, but would he go this far?
Apparently, the universe had it all figured out for him. Because he got home from work one night, only to see Kiyoomi lingering outside the building, fidgeting slightly, the bottom half of his face hidden.
Atsumu knew he should run, or hide, or do anything that wasn’t this. “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear!”
Kiyoomi stared at Atsumu for a drawn-out moment, then spoke. “I need… a favour.”
“Yer not gonna kill me?” Atsumu blinked, then snapped out of it. “For sure, anything ya need.”
A deep sigh left Kiyoomi’s lips. “I need to see the picture. The one you took of… me.”
Huh. Was this a test? Atsumu stuffed his hands into his pockets and pursed his lips. “Oh, yeah, man, it’s gone. Gone. It was blurry, ya know how it is.”
“Miya,” he said, “show me the photo.”
Didn’t have to tell him thrice. Atsumu retrieved the picture and handed it over without another word. He spent a while observing the vampire, the way his eyes didn’t stray from his own face for even a second, the way he seemed to be holding his breath. The silence was oppressive, suffocating as Atsumu waited to be ripped to shreds, or perhaps killed slowly and painfully. An inexplicable look warped Kiyoomi’s features for a mere moment, gone just as quickly.
With a sense of finality, Kiyoomi let out a hum, then turned and started walking away.
“Wait,” Atsumu called out. When Kiyoomi paused, he continued. “Would ya like me to shoot ya someday?”
“No.” He replied and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Atsumu didn’t even get to mention it’d be free of charge.
He had been stewing over that interaction for weeks. It had left him confused and disoriented, yet somehow equal parts inspired. Atsumu wasn’t sure what exactly had changed, but his artistic vision seemed to have shifted. Like, subconsciously, he was trying to seek Kiyoomi out in the lingering shadows of dawn, the sky on a moonless night, the blood-red roses and porcelain tea sets.
A restless energy simmered just beneath his skin, tugging at his urges and desires. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was trying to justify the change, mould it into something more coherent — the vampires didn’t kill him, he was just extremely grateful. Kiyoomi was so interesting and mysterious, no wonder Atsumu wanted him in his portfolio. The aura surrounding him was like nothing Atsumu had experienced before; it was morbid curiosity, the need to learn more about him.
And, really, what was he expected to do when Kiyoomi himself showed up at his apartment again, with the explicit consent to being photographed? Not start jumping around in joy? Sure.
“For real?” He nearly squeaked. He was exhausted after his shift at the restaurant. Osamu was already asleep. But Atsumu could figure it out, even in tight circumstances.
“I pity you, Miya.”
Atsumu brushed him off easily. This felt like the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance for him to finally discover the missing piece in his photography. He instructed Kiyoomi to wait while he went to get his equipment, then insisted that he ‘knows a spot’. They ended up on the rooftop of the apartment building, where the city lights pooled in vibrant patches of colour and the wind mussed their hair and clothes. Kiyoomi was sure to stand out.
“So how come ya changed yer mind?” Atsumu asked idly, a poor attempt at making conversation as he set up his camera and tried to ignore the chill biting at his bones.
“I told you. I pity you.”
Atsumu sighed. “That ya did,” a moment of silence passed, then he paused. “How’d ya know my name? I don’t know yers.”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out when you’re so loud and desperate for anyone to take your pictures,” Kiyoomi murmured. Ouch.
“Ya sure don’t mince yer words…”
It didn’t take long to get into a rhythm. While Atsumu didn’t have much experience with photographing people, Kiyoomi didn’t give him a lot of trouble and was surprisingly cooperative. He allowed Atsumu to feel him up and move him as he pleased, followed instructions, and didn’t complain. And Kiyoomi was gorgeous. In another universe, he would’ve made a great model. It was a privilege to be able to shoot him in this one, too.
To even see him like this, with an ethereal glow surrounding him, pale skin painted in shades of purple and gold, glinting fangs peeking out just a bit between his parted lips, was a blessing like no other. He played around with angles and lighting, focused through it all. He wasn’t even aware of how much time had passed until his film came to an end. The sky seemed brighter, so he’d guess it wasn’t too long until sunrise.
“I’ll drop this off at the lab tomorrow, so feel free to come by that evening, or whenever ya have time,” Atsumu said, a yawn bubbling up in his throat. Kiyoomi only nodded in response.
“So,” Ginjima started, scratching his chin as he held the envelope with the photos inside. “I have some questions.”
Well, that wasn’t good. Atsumu squinted warily. “What?”
Ginjima clicked his tongue, then regarded Atsumu for a long moment. “Who is the vamp? Ya photograph him in the act of murder, and now ya photograph him like this. What’s going on?”
Atsumu should’ve seen this coming. Ginjima had encountered his fair share of vampires, even swearing himself as an ally to some. But it was one thing to see a vampire doing… vampire things, even if they went against society’s rules, and another entirely to see that same vampire doing a photoshoot with the human who could have him tortured, then killed; and the roles reversed just as easily. Humans and vampires don’t make a good pair.
“It’s kind of a long story,” he eventually said. “Any thoughts on the actual pictures?”
“Atsumu, I don't say this lightly, but I believe ya've found yer niche,” Ginjima grinned excitedly. “They're so good!”
Pride swelled in Atsumu's chest. Recognition. “Fuck yeah, lemme see,” he grabbed the envelope. “Yer the best, Gin!”
The pictures were good. Atsumu stared at them for a while, soaking in the fact that this could be it. His own signature style. He could see the reflection of his hard work in them, but more than that, he was focused on the sheer humanity in Kiyoomi’s eyes. If it were compared to the other picture Atsumu got of him, mid feeding, it wouldn’t even look like the same person. He couldn’t wait for Kiyoomi to see these. Atsumu would make it his life mission to give him a proper photoshoot, a full set with a theme and everything. Make it real and perfect. The next day, he set out in search of red roses and little knick-knacks he thought Kiyoomi might appreciate to set the scene.
And then a week passed. Then two more. Maybe Kiyoomi didn’t want to see the photos. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth it, because Atsumu couldn’t have done a good job. Maybe he never cared for that stuff, and Atsumu had read it all wrong. The roses wilted while the pictures gathered dust in his room.
So, all right. What could he really do about it? Selling them would cause more trouble than it's worth, and Atsumu didn’t really want that, anyway. Still, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Have ya ever met a vampire?” Atsumu asked one day, as the three of them were smoking by the dumpsters behind the restaurant.
Suna glanced at Atsumu in thought, then lazily exhaled a plume of smoke, letting it curl upwards and disappear into the night sky. “Here and there. Why? Did you encounter one recently?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Atsumu murmured. “Did a photoshoot for him.”
Osamu's brows furrowed. “Ya saw him again? When was this?”
“Like, some time ago. But he didn't try anything. It was weird,” Atsumu said solemnly, cigarette steadily burning down to the filter. Suna plucked it from his fingers to finish it.
“And ya didn't tell me?” Osamu's voice rose. “How long are ya gonna keep hiding things like this from me?”
Atsumu rolled his eyes. “Can ya fuck off with that?”
Osamu was quick to protest, but Suna cut him off. “Hey, so, tell me about the vampire?”
With a sigh, Atsumu relented to Suna’s peacemaking. He told him all about Kiyoomi, their first meeting, and everything that had happened since. Suna listened, nodding along, though his expression gave nothing away. When Atsumu asked about it, Suna brushed him off, leaving him more annoyed than suspicious.
It was a while until Kiyoomi showed up again. Atsumu almost had to do a double-take, just in case it was a trick of the light.
“Hi,” Atsumu blinked at him owlishly. He tried to locate the trepidation that must’ve been somewhere in his body, but couldn’t seem to.
Kiyoomi offered him a curt nod in response. “Show me the pictures.”
“Yeah, I’m doing great, thanks for asking, how are ya doing?” Atsumu murmured to himself as he motioned for Kiyoomi to follow inside. He rolled his eyes but complied. Before they reached the front door, that is. “What?” Atsumu sharply asked as Kiyoomi stood still just outside the apartment.
“You need to invite me, Miya.”
“Jesus— come in,” Atsumu grumbled. He’d had a particularly bad day of being dismissed and ignored by the magazine office that had promised to hear him out and give him a chance, the customers at the restaurant were particularly uptight and entitled, and he even got told off by the manager, who was usually a pretty nice and composed guy.
He was glad Kiyoomi managed to keep quiet, even when Atsumu could almost physically see the snide remarks he wanted to make about the twins’ living conditions. Just as he was about to hand Kiyoomi the photos, he snatched them back at the last second.
“Yer name,” Atsumu said. The scowl on Kiyoomi’s lips only deepened. “Tell me yer name, and I’ll hand ‘em right over.”
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
Atsumu let out a hum. So that was his name. “And I’m Miya Atsumu. Can I call ya omi?”
“No,” Kiyoomi said, taking the pictures. Whatever. They’ll get there one day.
A heavy silence fell over the room as Kiyoomi regarded the pictures. Just like last time, focused and intense, as if he were transfixed by his own sight. Atsumu lingered awkwardly, swaying on the balls of his feet, suddenly unsure of what he was allowed to do. Whether ten seconds or ten minutes had passed, he didn’t know. But when Kiyoomi finally spoke up, his voice was quiet and raspy.
“I look so human…”
Huh. Atsumu peeked over his shoulder. “That’s good?”
Kiyoomi let out a frustrated huff. Atsumu instantly took a step back, not out of fear, but something more akin to recognition. “No, that’s not good. Because I’m not a human anymore, and I haven’t been for a long time now.”
“Shit, okay, I was just asking—”
“Do you know what I am? This,” he pulled out the photo of himself with fangs deep in someone’s neck, and slammed it beside Atsumu’s hand. “You photograph me as a monster, and then you make me look— beautiful. And that’s confusing. Because sometimes, I think that maybe I can be more than this. And then I’m thrust back into the reality that, no, I can’t, that I’ll always be reduced to a monster. And you don’t get to change that.”
Atsumu blanked for a moment, the words rolling around in his brain, taking shapes and meanings he wasn’t sure quite fit. Time felt suspended in space as he searched for something to say, a comforting word, or some display of empathy. All he could manage, however, was a question. “Ya think ya can’t be beautiful just because yer a vampire?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes narrowed into a furious glare, fists clenching and fangs baring. “You don’t know me. I’ve been turned for longer than you’ve even been alive. You don’t know what it’s like, and you definitely don’t know what I feel or think.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Atsumu said, his own tone firm. He reached for the photo from that morning. “See this? My best work yet. And I’ve not been able to capture anything even remotely close to the feeling this brings. Except for the photos I’ve got of ya. Why do ya think that might be?”
“I don’t know, Miya. And I frankly don’t care.”
“Because yer breathtaking, Omi.”
Kiyoomi’s entire body tensed, expression unreadable. The fury in his dark eyes melted away, and Atsumu could make out the faintest shades of umber brown. Everything stilled, and Atsumu waited.
When no reply came, he let out a soft breath. “Want some wine? We have wine.”
Hours passed like the ripples in the water, and sense lost all meaning. In a way, it was like they were friends, not bound by primal urges or their roles in society. Once their blood was warmed by alcohol and their lips loosened, every topic and every adventure was in the cards. Atsumu told him all about the time he almost died as a kid, and Kiyoomi shared his own stupid, childish antics with Komori. Atsumu followed that up with how he thought he’d die that night he caught Kiyoomi feeding, and Kiyoomi had more to say, as well.
“That’s me. In that picture.” He murmured, tapping his finger to the fire-like figure by the trees. Atsumu’s eyes were drooping, limbs heavy, but he perked up all the same.
“Huh? What?”
“It was a few months ago, right? Sunrise,” Kiyoomi spoke slowly, pulling his sleeve up to show where he’d been burned by the sun.
A small gasp left Atsumu’s lips. He frowned, gently reaching out to take his arm. The skin was a bit tender, stained a lavender hue. “Omi…”
“I don’t know what you see in it.”
“It’s sort of divine, don’t ya think? Feels impossible to even put into words.”
Kiyoomi made a sound low in the back of his throat, then shifted to stand. “You said you wanted to do a proper photoshoot for me?”
“Yeah, how’d ya know?” Atsumu grinned, following after Kiyoomi.
“Suna told me. How about now?”
Atsumu nodded enthusiastically, then froze as Kiyoomi started taking his shirt off. Heat spilt over his body, and he couldn’t hide the sudden breathiness in his voice. “Hey, uh, what’re ya doing? I’m not complaining or anything, but I didn’t have that type of photoshoot in mind, though I’m totally down if that’s what ya want to do.”
“Is this not what you wanted, Miya?” Kiyoomi asked, less a question and more of a challenge. And Atsumu had always been competitive.
“Ya should call me Atsumu,” he nearly tripped over himself getting his camera. Who was he to deny a gorgeous vampire who wanted to get naked in his room?
Atsumu couldn’t peel his eyes away from the pale shoulders that were exposed, moles dotting his skin like comets in space. Slowly, more and more of his lean body was revealed to Atsumu's hungry gaze. He was itching to touch, to trail his warm palms over the smooth planes of his chest, feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath. A rosy pink bloomed at the tips of Kiyoomi’s ears, the nape of his neck, and Atsumu had the urge to sink his teeth into it, turn his attention from lavender into aubergine purple.
But he could behave himself. Look, don’t touch. Unsteady hands set up the camera, fumbling just a bit, trying hard to concentrate, and when he finally brought his eyes back up, Kiyoomi was a wet dream materialised. Long, strong legs, firm thighs, only his lower region covered. Unconsciously, Atsumu licked his lips, clearing his throat. He was so fucked. And, sadly, only metaphorically.
“Atsumu, what is your relation to the church?”
It wasn’t often that Atsumu found himself blinking stupidly at a question, every thought evaporating from his head like a bad magic trick. “Sorry?”
Kita sighed, arms folded in front of him atop the desk. “You go weekly, correct?”
“Well, yeah, but just because ‘Samu wants to get into the choir boy’s pants,” Atsumu rolled his eyes. And, shit, maybe he shouldn’t have said that, if the sudden shift in Kita’s expression was anything to go by. “I mean— man. He is an adult man, I just meant— oh, or a woman. Yeah. ‘Cause being gay is a sin and all. We’re followers of Jesus Christ.” He swore he used to be better at lying than this.
“… Atsumu, your brother’s affairs don’t concern me. I’m just wondering if there are any other reasons you might attend, or if perhaps you go to any bible studies, or anything of that sort?”
“Not that I recall,” Atsumu answered. Their meeting was supposed to concern the business of photography, not an interrogation about Atsumu’s spirituality. “Why?”
“Have you ever met a vampire?”
Much more straightforward than the rest of his questions. Atsumu wavered. He’d never intentionally put Kiyoomi, or his weird-eyebrowed but kindhearted cousin, in danger. But at the same time, he didn’t know Kita’s intentions, bad or good. “I don’t believe I have…”
“Do you know a Sakusa Kiyoomi?”
“Nope.”
Kita sighed again. Fuck Atsumu for being cautious, then. “We work to make sure the vampires of Tokyo are safe. The primary vampire hunters in the city come from the church.”
Oh. That only raised more questions.
“We suspected you to be part of it, though from what’s been observed of your interactions with Sakusa, I had my doubts. We had to make sure, however.”
Whoever ‘we’ was supposed to be was still unclear, but so was the entire situation. The church being the catalyst for vampire killings wasn’t all too surprising, but the knowledge made an uncomfortable feeling churn in his stomach all the same. Though he knew it was an irrational thought, he couldn’t stop the word ‘betrayal’ from ringing in his ears over and over again. He didn’t betray Kiyoomi, or anyone for that matter, so why did it seem like his hands were the ones stained with blood?
The next day passed in a blur, and when he snapped back into reality, things started to make a lot more sense. He hadn't caught it at the moment, but Kiyoomi and Suna knew each other. Suna, being a (subversive?) member of the church, had to know something about it, right? It was strange how narrow his world was before he'd moved out here.
He knew Osamu would be heading to the church earlier that day. Wishing Suna luck before the service, he'd said. Urgency thrummed in Atsumu's veins as he slid in through the side door of the building, heading to the little hidden room where Suna always got changed. He regretted that instantly, being met with the sigh of Suna’s legs wrapped around Osamu's middle, lips connected. Ugh. Fucking gross. The Earth continued spinning.
Nevermind. Throughout the sermon, Osamu avoided his gaze. Atsumu couldn’t even tease him when his thoughts were so muddled by the pure hypocrisy of the church.
Weren't they supposed to be holy? Sacred? Was murder holy? Did God preach cruelty and hatred?
Nausea curled in his stomach, bile rose in his throat. It was disgusting. It was inhumane. Atsumu didn’t stand with this. He instructed Osamu to have Suna come over later, before leaving entirely.
When they finally arrived, Atsumu took the time to explain everything: the church, Kita, and Kiyoomi. Osamu glanced between the two of them with wide eyes.
“Oh, yeah. So you know about that now,” Suna murmured, knees pressed against his chest as he picked at his nails. “Sakusa let you do all that? And I can’t even get too close to him…”
Atsumu shook his head. “Why didn't ya say anything? I thought— I don't know, we're friends, aren't we?”
“Yeah, but you're also newcomers. I can't give that type of information away so easily when it could put so many vamps in danger. I've helped Sakusa and Komori escape some hunters a few times, so we keep in touch. Kita and his husband help out quite a bit with the dealings, too. It's a whole thing…”
“Husband?” The twins exclaimed at once.
Suna raised an eyebrow. “Well, not on paper. Y'know, Aran? Owner of that fancy restaurant you work at?”
Osamu nodded in realisation, but Atsumu hadn’t met the owner yet. Somehow, though, he imagined he'd get the chance sooner rather than later. He exhaled heavily. “Ya've got a whole system, huh?”
“Basically. It's ‘cause Aran is also a vampire that Kita's so dedicated. Like I said, whole thing,” Suna murmured. After a second, his nose scrunched up. “He got naked with you?”
Heat rose in Atsumu’s cheeks. “Yer missing the point…”
That night, Atsumu and Osamu sat in silence as they ate. The warm light flickered over them, and the fridge hummed quietly. Atsumu picked at his rice, thoughts elsewhere, oblivious to the hard line of Osamu’s mouth or the pensive look being sent his way. Finally, Osamu cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, feigning indifference. “Just food for thought. Don’t ya think yer starting to care just a little too much about that vampire?”
“Shit,” Atsumu sighed, slumping in his seat. “I might.”
Time passed uncaring and indifferent. Atsumu had actually started making money with his photography, having been incredibly inspired as of late, though not without worry nagging at him every waking moment. But things were going fine.
There was no news from the church, he hadn’t seen Kita in a while, and Suna had no updates, either. Smooth-sailing. In a flash of delusion, Atsumu almost thought he’d imagined the whole ordeal. That he’d misunderstood, and in reality, it was actually quite sensible and much simpler. He was forced to snap out of it rather quickly.
It wasn’t unusual for Atsumu to run into Kiyoomi these days. When the sun set and the streets were filled with drunk salarymen and clubgoers, the glow of the city leaving every corner alight, it was easy to follow a rhythm, find his own way over to the vampire. This night in particular had different plans for him, it seemed. Because instead of being welcomed with a cigarette or a wordless nod, just as full of understanding, this time, Atsumu was roughly pinned against the dirty alley wall with eyes burning with anger boring at him, one hand beside his shoulder and the other on his chest.
“Omi—”
“What is wrong with you? Do you ever stop and think about anyone but yourself? Do you realise what you’ve done?” Kiyoomi growled, words low and so enraged, Atsumu didn’t think he’d ever seen him like this before.
“What’re ya talking about?” Atsumu managed to get out, heart dropping to his stomach already. Whatever it was, he’d fucked up majorly.
“You sold off those photographs of me?”
“Only the faceless ones that were decent,” Atsumu defended. There were exactly zero pictures of Kiyoomi’s face or of him nude in the magazines, and Atsumu intended to keep it that way. He didn’t think Kiyoomi would get this riled up over some pictures of his back or his hands being put out into the world.
Kiyoomi let out an indignant scoff. He took a step back, running his fingers through his hair. “This was a mistake. I never should’ve— fucking hell, Atsumu.”
“What’s this about?” Atsumu grabbed Kiyoomi’s wrist, a desperate plea for connection, if nothing else. Instead, he was slammed back into the wall.
“The church. Do you know how easy it is to tell a vampire apart from a human, even from the stance or the blood under my fingernails or the fucking fang punctures on my neck that will never fade? My identity is embedded in every crevice of my body, and I can’t go pluck it out like an irritating imperfection just because you wanted to make a quick buck on the side. I can’t crawl out of my skin or run away or discard my urges. Do you realise what you’ve done?” Kiyoomi lashed out, fangs bared as if he were ready to strike, fists clenched tight. Atsumu felt his breath hitch, a familiar stream of fear in his blood. A hushed, treacherous voice in the back of his head was murmuring this is it. Ya’ve really done it this time, ‘Tsumu. This is where ya die, and what have ya got to show for it?
And then, just as Atsumu was bracing for the harsh, unforgiving bite, Kiyoomi’s head landed on his shoulder, body going nearly limp against him. Atsumu gasped, hands instantly coming to cradle Kiyoomi’s head, gently lowering himself into a crouching position with Kiyoomi’s weight on him. “Omi?”
Feebly, Kiyoomi tried to push himself up, only to fall right back into Atsumu’s arms with a grunt.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’ve got ya,” Atsumu whispered, trying his best to calm his own breathing. Kiyoomi was a lot of things, but never weak. Not like this.
“You need to leave…”
“I won’t. Tell me what’s going on.” Atsumu said, carding his fingers through soft black curls.
Kiyoomi let out a strangled sound, as if mimicking a wounded dog. A noise, rough and rumbling, pulled right out of his chest. “Atsumu, I haven’t been able to feed…”
How soon Atsumu went from fearing it to being ready to offer it up himself should’ve alarmed him more than it did. It was a vulnerable position, a power imbalance if he’d ever seen one, but fuck, all of it went out the window the moment Kiyoomi looked up at him with dark eyes clouded with hunger, brows knit together. An expression so pathetic, it would’ve been laughable, had it been anyone else.
Atsumu swallowed, then bared his neck. “Feed on me.”
“I can’t—”
“Ya’ll die otherwise, and I have plenty of blood to spare. We’re in the dark, nobody’s around. It’s just us, so I’m telling ya to do it. Let me make it up to ya. Let me fix everything. Let me start with this, Kiyoomi. Please.”
With a soft curse, Kiyoomi picked himself up, one hand coming to gently hold Atsumu’s jaw. Atsumu could feel the warm puffs of breath, the silent hesitation. He tensed, and in a second, pain shot through him as two fangs pierced his skin. His eyes squeezed shut, and he couldn’t stop his nails from digging into Kiyoomi’s shoulder. Electricity coursed through his body, liquid fire in his veins.
He focused on deep breaths as blood pooled beneath Kiyoomi’s lips. It hurt so good, like the burn of a cigarette against a wrist, like the pull of hair, like the stinging pain of pressing on a bruise. He felt the energy leaving his body, Kiyoomi’s tongue darting out to catch the stray dewdrops of crimson red. Time stilled, the world narrowing down to just them, hidden in the shadows. Their own private sacrament.
“Are you okay?” Kiyoomi turned Atsumu's face to his own, mouths only a hair's breadth away. Atsumu cupped his cheek, then pressed his lips against Kiyoomi’s.
It was hardly a kiss, more teeth and tongue and the lingering taste of iron than anything else. But they held onto each other like men drowning, grasping at nothing and everything, sharing breath and spit and ugly, awful desperation. Kiyoomi’s lips were soft, tender as they bit into Atsumu’s bottom lip and tugged. It was disgusting. It was celestial. Atsumu never wanted to breathe again.
“I won't let anyone hurt ya,” Atsumu promised, lips catching on the shell of Kiyoomi’s ear. Kiyoomi shivered, flushed and shaking and beautiful. “I’ll fix everything.”
Atsumu was quick to throw himself into his work. If the church was using his photos to track down and investigate Kiyoomi, he just had to give them more to work with. It was moments like these when Atsumu was most glad to have such generous people surrounding him. When Bokuto brought around his ‘dark-haired beauty’ friend (Atsumu wasn’t too sure if that was the correct term for them, but he reminded himself he had more important things to tend to), Atsumu swiftly gathered his crew — Osamu, Suna, Kiyoomi, and Kita — to consult, before using up an entire roll of film on him. Akaashi must’ve caught on to the situation at hand pretty soon, but Bokuto, besides being seemingly oblivious as hell, was also simply gone the moment Akaashi got shirtless.
It wasn’t an exact match; Kiyoomi had more muscle on him, body well-built over the centuries he’d been alive for, in comparison to Akaashi’s more slim physique. But they both had black, textured hair, and that was enough. From the correct angles, they could be passed off as the same person.
The fear of losing Kiyoomi to something as cruel as the church was greater than any self-respect Atsumu may have had. He wasn’t one to beg, not really. But he’d found himself at his wits' end, and subsequently, on his knees before Aran.
“Please? Not only will it be free, but I’m also, like, good at it. Kita said so himself,” Atsumu pleaded.
Aran exhaled, hands running over his face as he glanced around self-consciously. “Stand up, Atsumu…”
“I feel like maybe ya didn’t get the severity of it,” Atsumu went on. “Yer a vampire, right? Ya have to feel some compassion, don’t ya?”
“Atsumu.”
“Not only will ya get double the advertising, but ya’ll also help out a vamp in need. And yer favourite employee. Which is me.”
“I’m not going to say no, Atsumu. All I’m asking of ya is to have some subtlety,” Aran sighed. “And yer not my favourite employee. Osamu is.”
“Fuck, I knew it,” Atsumu murmured, if a bit petulant. “Thank ya, though. I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.”
What could he say? He was an opportunist. When the day of Aran’s fancy event at the fancy restaurant for fancy people arrived, Atsumu made sure to wear his nicest, most professional suit. He spent half of the time shadowing Kita, both of them the designated photographers, and the other half listening to what the guests were chatting about between themselves. If any news about a suspected vampire in town had been circulating, these people would know of it.
Atsumu overheard Aran steering the conversation there too, prying out any possible information. As the owner, it only made sense for him to engage with his customers, after all. And while the overall outlook on vampires wasn’t exactly nice, nothing of importance came up. It was a relief, some sort of hope welling up that maybe the church was backing off, that Atsumu’s efforts were making a difference.
Still, he couldn’t stop there, not when the risk was so consuming. Atsumu called in favours and friends and unsuspecting colleagues. Humans with sharp canines, pale skin, that certain build. Every meticulously chosen photograph was mailed out to magazine offices, newspaper agencies, little galleries, and various other freelance projects. Making use of Kita’s connections, mostly. Anything that would get his work into the public eye and pull attention away from whatever photos had interested the church. All while Kiyoomi and Komori lay low.
Atsumu hadn’t expected to become known for piecing humans and vampires together into something warped, unrecognisable, and still somehow familiar. There was something almost voyeuristic about the pleasure he took in it; the tricking, the distortion, and, at the end of the day, the shielding. When he thought about fame and riches, he’d imagined shots of nature and all the clean, untouched things that came with it. Not that he’d find divinity in primal desire. Sacred in its own way.
Greedy wasn’t a word Atsumu would use to describe himself, but it’s only natural that people are drawn to money. With his photography turning into a stable income, it was hard to find anything immediately off, or strange, or abnormal. He’d worked so hard for so long. Why would he turn down new, promising offers? Who was he to decline that? Nowadays, it seemed as though his own photos were following him. Every page and every cover; his work. Opportunities rose with every waking moment, a whole new world opening up before his very eyes.
In hindsight, perhaps he should’ve known things were going too well. Atsumu had never been a particularly lucky person. Despite being reassured that his art was different, progressive, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the truth. Maybe he could’ve lived in delusion for a while longer, if not for Osamu’s sudden wariness.
“They’re everywhere,” he said one night, back from his shift at the restaurant. “Wearing those bulky suits and stuff. It’s weird. I swear there weren’t this many of them before…”
Huh. If he thought back on it, perhaps Atsumu had noticed it, too; the people from the church on every corner. Eyes boring into the back of his head. The discomfort prickling at his skin, whispering warnings. Tracing his footsteps, watching him, studying him.
“Yer just paranoid,” Atsumu had tried to insist. “Now that ya know the truth, it’s normal to be aware of ‘em. We’re fine.” He tried, and tried, and tried. But trying couldn’t possibly get him that far, could it?
He limited his interactions with Kiyoomi. He stopped taking jobs at places he deemed too far from home. He knew he’d made the right call when Ginjima told him about some ‘freaks trying to get me to talk about ya’. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him, wringing every breath from his lungs until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I can’t get a hold of Rin,” Osamu paced around the room with a frown and a crease between his brows. “He’s been gone for weeks now. He hasn’t been at the church, the restaurant, or home. I’m worried, ‘Tsumu.”
That was the moment Atsumu realised. He had fucked up majorly, and now everyone around him was paying the price. His heart sank. Ya’ve done it now, ‘Tsumu, a voice echoed. Ya’ve done it now.
If he could’ve rewound the time, stopped himself from moving here, or entertaining the rude customer at work, or taking that godawful photo of the sunrise, Atsumu would take that leap without a second thought. But it wasn’t that easy. No, it never was. He’d promised to repair all the damage he’d done, and somehow, only managed to make it even worse. An ‘Atsumu classic’, his father would’ve mocked. And he would’ve been right.
How had he done this? How had he broken so much in so little time? Had repair ever been a real option, or was Atsumu chasing his own tail like a naive mutt, thinking, yeah, this time I’ll do something good? How could he have been so stupid? His palms were never meant to hold affection so fragile.
He was ready to give it all up the second he heard loud banging on his door one night. Sacrifice himself, if it meant his loved ones wouldn’t get pulled into the whirlwind any more than they already have. Instead, he was met with the panicked face of Komori.
“Atsumu,” he panted. “Kiyoomi wants to give himself up to the church.”
Twin flames, he thought passively. Fear, adrenaline, and a strange, sharpened determination rushed through his body all at once. If Kiyoomi did that, Atsumu would never forgive him. Because Kiyoomi was a one-of-a-kind soul, so certain of his own monstrosity, as if he wasn’t Earth’s loveliest creation. Someone Atsumu would’ve, maybe, liked to spend the rest of his time with, just for a chance to soak in his presence like a parched floret. “He can’t do that,” he whispered, voice barely audible even to his own ears.
Komori’s expression twisted into something resembling baffled pain. “Yeah, he can’t.”
They found Kiyoomi smoking a cigarette a few blocks away from the church, lit up by the silver moonlight’s glow; ethereal. Just like the first time he’d seen him, in the sunrise. Atsumu didn’t waste any time, wrapping his arms tight around Kiyooi’s middle, as if he’d wither away without his touch.
“Yer not going anywhere,” Atsumu whispered. “I won’t let ya.”
“Atsumu—”
“I’m sorry, I mean it. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. But please, let me be selfish just this once. Ya can’t go in there. I can’t lose ya. Ya were a real asshole at first, but I care too much now, and if ya were gone, I couldn’t live with it.” Atsumu rambled, uncaring of the tears gathering in his eyes. “I think I’m in love with ya.”
It was a shame the city never slept. Traffic and distant laughter and thundering music drowned out the fluttering thud of his heart, so loud, he was sure Kiyoomi could hear it had it been just a bit quieter. Still, he hoped he could feel it against his own chest; that it conveyed his unwavering devotion.
Kiyoomi’s silence was as tense as his posture. “Atsumu, I—”
“Ya don’t have to say it back, Omi. I just want ya to know how I feel. And I know it’s shitty of me, but I can’t help it. Yer too important to me.”
Cool fingers lifted Atsumu’s head from where it was nuzzled into Kiyoomi’s neck. Their eyes met, and the bright moon reflected in them. Kiyoomi swallowed thickly, and then tender lips were slotting between his own, an arm wrapping around his waist. The same way Heaven was described — free from suffering, death, and pain, all in a split second. Eternal peace, if he could get this forever.
“I think I love you, too, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi mumbled. Atsumu’s heart fluttered and swooned, and it was a liberating feeling like no other. ‘Catharsis’, he’d heard somewhere.
“Ya think?”
“You said it like that first.” Kiyoomi’s pretty mouth pulled into a small pout. Atsumu smiled. “You look like a baby.”
“Don’t tease me,” Atsumu sniffled, resting his head back on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “I really am sorry. Don’t go.”
Kiyoomi exhaled softly, running one hand through the short hairs at the nape of Atsumu’s neck, the other up and down his back in a comforting motion. “I know you are. You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
Atsumu let out a shaky breath, feeling his muscles relax just a fraction. They stayed like that for a short while, absorbing the newfound warmth between them. But Atsumu just wasn’t allowed good things, was he?
Suddenly, Kiyoomi’s entire body went rigid, head lifting sharply. “We need to go.”
“What’s wrong?” Atsumu asked, glancing around quickly. From the shadows, he could make out a couple of figures approaching… And then a couple more, and when he looked again, the realisation set in quickly — they were surrounded. Men and women in padded suits, clutching crosses in gloved hands, some carrying silver weapons that gleamed in the light. Warily, Atsumu stepped in front of Kiyoomi. Because if he’d learned one thing, it was that the mere idea of losing him was so much more terrifying than any alternate outcome. He’d rush where angels fear to tread for even a semblance of a chance to keep Kiyoomi safe.
But Kiyoomi took his arm and pushed him back. Atsumu was about to protest when something whizzed past him, sending Kiyoomi stumbling backwards and gripping his own shoulder with a deafening scream. Everything past that was a blur; the thick, dark red blood seeping out around his fingers, the chanting cries of ‘It burns, it burns’, the weight of his body in Atsumu’s trembling hold. A cacophony of murmurs and noises and a heavy, cloudy veil around his thoughts. Everything was moving too fast, too slow, he couldn’t keep up or comprehend, and— a blinding flash. The hunters hid their faces and grasped their crosses, and Atsumu grabbed Kiyoomi’s hand in an iron grip and ran.
He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, the only remaining words in his mind reminding him to get out, get out, get out. He couldn’t hear anything through the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears, aware of solely the clamminess of Kiyoomi’s palm in his own. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think.
They ended up at a motel, somehow. He knew he couldn’t go back home, lest he lead the hunters right to Osamu and Komori. When consciousness returned to him, he had Kiyoomi shirtless on the bed, orbiting him like a worried mother.
“Are ya sure ya don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“Yes,” Kiyoomi hissed as Atsumu pressed a cold cloth onto the ashy wound. “Give it a week, and I’ll be fine. We heal fast.”
Despite the reassurance, Atsumu couldn’t help but frown at the sight of Kiyoomi’s face scrunched up in pain, fists clenched at his sides, his laboured breathing. “Ya almost died,” Atsumu whispered miserably, the notion settling in like an anchor on his chest.
Kiyoomi let out a grunt in response. His lashes fanned out against his cheeks, and Atsumu had the urge to kiss the crease between his eyebrows.
“Because I wasn’t being careful,”
“What are you talking about?”
Atsumu ran a hand through his hair as he sat down on the bed beside Kiyoomi, glancing at the curtain-covered windows. “I mean, I knew they had been following me. I shouldn’t have been so reckless as to go straight to ya. But I wasn’t thinking, and now look at ya…”
Kiyoomi sighed, sitting up with a wince. He brushed Atsumu away when he tried to stop him. “Atsumu,” he said, cupping his cheek affectionately. “I’m okay. I’ve been hurt worse. And a silver bullet through the shoulder won’t even do any damage to me in the long run. Seriously, their aim was terrible.”
Atsumu huffed out a small laugh. “It’s still in the ballpark.”
“None of this is your fault, okay?” Kiyoomi murmured, eyes flickering down to Atsumu’s lips. “I’d kiss you, but I really can’t move any more, so if you could just— yeah, like that,” his hands settled on Atsumu’s waist as Atsumu moved up the bed to lie down beside Kiyoomi, lips inches apart now.
Dawn came and went, and the two stayed pressed together in the tight space the entire time, sharing body heat and slow, absentminded touches. With time, the adrenaline wore off and left behind only the sour taste of exhaustion and trepidation. It was hard to think about much besides the weariness deep inside their bones. Atsumu only got up once to make sure no sunlight would get into the room, and then returned to bed, next to his rightful place next to Kiyoomi.
He didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was still bright and high outside when the knocking started. Atsumu groaned, then quickly realised that this might be another attack.
“Open the door. You won’t make me do it, will you?” Kiyoomi grumbled.
Atsumu shushed him quickly. “What if it’s the people from the church? One bullet hole wasn’t enough?”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and presumably drifted back to sleep. Atsumu hoped to follow, but couldn’t when the voice on the other side of the wall shouted.
“Tsum-tsum, Aran said you’re in here!”
Huh. The hunters probably wouldn’t call him that. Reluctantly, he left Kiyoomi’s side and opened the door. Bokuto grinned, loudly exclaimed about how happy he was that they were okay, and invited himself inside.
“Wow, it’s dark in here,” Bokuto noted as he handed Atsumu some snacks and a bottle of water. “I was instructed to bring you food and water, and also this.” He pulled out the day’s newspaper.
The first thing Atsumu noticed was the picture — a gritty image of a group of people surrounding two figures. Taken from the outside, putting focus on the guns, the daggers, the crosses, and the damage done. In small letters underneath read Photo by Kita Shinsuke. He read the article attached to it, about the cruelty of the church, their inhumane ‘hunts’, going so far as ‘sacrificing innocent lives’. By Akaashi Keiji. Completely shifting the public’s opinion on the church.
It made Kiyoomi out to be a human victim. Atsumu’s mind buzzed with questions and possibilities. “What is this?”
“Kita is real smart, y’know? He totally gambled on whether this would really happen!”
Atsumu blinked. The flash from that night. It was from Kita’s camera. “Oh, ya guys did that,” he said dumbly.
Bokuto beamed. “Genius, right? I can’t believe it really worked out. It’s a good thing Kita and Aran were there, or it wouldn’t have ended well for you guys. Aran was supposed to take you two away, but decided you were fine after he saw you book it here.”
“Yeah, we’re… We’re okay.”
After the sun set, Atsumu and Kiyoomi gingerly left the motel. Throwing paranoid glances over their shoulders the entire way, they finally returned to the apartment. Kiyoomi was immediately pulled into a hug by Komori, and Atsumu’s relief faltered when he didn’t see Osamu right away. It made a lot more sense when he found him lying down with Suna curled up on top of him, fast asleep. Suna didn’t seem too annoyed at being woken by Osamu suddenly sitting up and crushing Atsumu in a hug.
The three of them claimed Aran and Kita had come by, that they had their own copy of that same newspaper. Atsumu couldn’t ignore the lightness he felt, knowing nobody else was hurt. His shoulders finally dropped, jaw unclenching.
Apparently, when the investigation started, the hunters had found out Suna was connected to it all, and took him in for questioning. Questioning that consisted less of talking and more of holding him in captivity. But at last, he bargained with his kidnapper, insisted he’d act as a spy, and was let go. With a bit of help from Aran, too. A lot of help, maybe.
And then, as if nothing had happened, Suna asked for the remote to the television, and Osamu had to explain that they didn’t own one because they were poor, and pressed that the buttons worked just fine.
A week had passed in quiet. Suna stayed with the Miya twins the entire time, but Kiyoomi swore he’d be alright on his own with Komori.
Aran had closed the restaurant for the evening. Atsumu, Osamu, Kiyoomi, Komori, Suna, Aran, Ginjima, Akaashi, and Bokuto were all to have dinner together, mainly to discuss and talk about everything that had happened.
It had all gone according to Kita’s plan. Now, the church was slowly being criticised more and more, and couldn’t afford to go vampire hunting any longer. All along, the goal was to ‘expose’ them. They couldn’t take down a whole organisation and underground system, but they could force them into a compromise by drawing all eyes to their acts. Kiyoomi’s wound had healed up without much trouble, so besides the emotional scarring, no one was hurt in the process.
Surprisingly, everything was… okay. It felt good, knowing the church wasn’t as untouchable anymore. And when things calmed down, and he stopped waking up in fear, Atsumu was certain he could return to the way things were, but with the addition of a man he loved, and a few more people on his side.
“And yer gonna be my main subject,” he smiled, putting roses in Kiyoomi’s hair.
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes fondly. “No way. I’m not photogenic.”
“Please, that doesn’t matter when yer gorgeous. And, actually, I’m hurt that ya think that would stop me.” Atsumu declared. “I will prove just how pretty ya are, even if yer not human, even if ya can’t touch sunlight. None of that is important.”
Kiyoomi said nothing more, only tilted his head as Atsumu fixed the roses between his curls. This time, when the shutter clicked, it felt a little like salvation. With the moon as his witness, Atsumu vowed to make every photograph of Kiyoomi more beautiful than the last.