Chapter 1 — Midnight Train The last train was always quieter than people expected. Haru liked it that way. Less noise meant fewer performances. People stopped pretending at midnight. Their shoulders slumped, their eyes dulled, and their thoughts drifted openly across their faces. It made them easier to draw. He sat by the window, sketchbook resting on his knee, pencil loose in his fingers. He never drew faces completely—only outlines, shadows, impressions. He liked the idea that no one could accuse him of stealing their likeness when all he took was a feeling. That was when he noticed her. She sat across from him, hands folded neatly in her lap, back straight, eyes fixed on the dark glass of the window. The reflection of the train lights slid across her face again and again, but she never reacted. She didn’t blink. Haru’s pencil paused. He told himself he was imagining it. People blinked. Everyone did. It was involuntary, natural—proof of being alive. Still, he watched for it. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Nothing. “You’re staring,” she said suddenly. Haru jumped slightly, embarrassed. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She turned her head just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye. Her gaze felt heavy, deliberate. “You were,” she said. Not angry. Just stating a fact. “I draw people,” Haru explained. “I guess I forget myself sometimes.” Her eyes flicked to the sketchbook. “Draw me, then.” He hesitated. “I don’t usually—” “Do it,” she said. There was something unsettling about the way she spoke, like she expected obedience without ever raising her voice. Haru swallowed and lifted his pencil. “Stay still,” he said softly. She smiled faintly. “I wasn’t planning on moving.” As he sketched, he became aware of something else. Not just her stillness—but the way the air around her felt cooler, thinner, like standing too close to an open refrigerator. It made the hair on his arms lift. “You’re not scared,” she observed. Haru glanced up. “Should I be?” “That depends,” she replied. “On how attached you are to being safe.” The train roared through a tunnel, plunging them briefly into darkness. When the lights returned, her eyes caught the glow—and for a fraction of a second, they looked red. Not bright. Deep. Old. Chapter 2 — The Smell of Warmth Akane noticed his scent before she noticed anything else. It was subtle, barely there, but unmistakable. Warm. Alive. Human in a way that made her throat tighten painfully. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to breathe through her mouth. “Move,” she said. Haru looked up from his drawing. “Why?” “Because you’re too close.” He frowned slightly. “I didn’t move.” She turned fully toward him now, her expression tight. “Exactly.” He studied her face, the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers pressed into the fabric of her coat like she was restraining herself. “You’re uncomfortable,” he said. “I’m dangerous,” she corrected. Haru laughed quietly. “That’s a strong word for someone sitting politely on public transport.” Her eyes darkened. “You think danger announces itself?” “No,” he admitted. “I think it waits.” That answer surprised her. She looked away sharply, lips pressing into a thin line. “You should get off at the next station,” she said. “Are you?” She hesitated. “No.” “Then I won’t either.” Akane felt irritation flare—quick and sharp. “You don’t understand what you’re playing with.” “Then explain it to me.” She almost did. The urge rose suddenly, dangerously—the desire to tell him everything just to see his expression change. But she swallowed it down. “Curiosity gets people killed,” she said instead. Haru tilted his head. “So does loneliness.” That one hurt. Chapter 3 — Names Are Dangerous They stood on the platform together, rain misting the air and coating the concrete in a dull sheen. Neon signs reflected in puddles like fractured stars. “I’m Haru,” he said after a moment. Akane stiffened. “I didn’t ask.” “I know.” “Then why tell me?” He shrugged. “Because not knowing your name feels rude.” She let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You think manners matter to me?” “I think they matter to you more than you pretend.” She turned to face him fully. Her eyes flickered again—red this time, unmistakably so. “My name is Akane,” she said. “And you shouldn’t say it again.” “Why?” “Because names invite attachment.” Haru smiled slightly. “That’s already happened.” She scoffed. “You don’t know me.” “No,” he agreed. “But I want to.” Rain fell harder, drumming against the metal roof above them. Akane felt the pull again—hunger, yes, but also something worse. Interest. “You should go home,” she said. “I am home,” Haru replied. “Right now.” Chapter 4 — Rain and Red Lanterns They walked side by side through narrow streets lit by red lanterns and vending machines humming softly in the dark. Akane kept her distance, careful not to brush against him. “Why are you following me?” she asked. “I’m walking,” he replied. “So are you.” “That doesn’t mean together.” “It does tonight.” She stopped abruptly beneath a lantern, its red glow washing over them both. “I am not safe,” she said quietly. Haru met her gaze without flinching. “Neither am I.” “You bleed,” she whispered. “So do you,” he said. “Just differently.” For a moment, she thought she might laugh. Or scream. Instead, she reached out and gripped his wrist—hard enough for him to feel it, gentle enough not to hurt. His pulse jumped beneath her fingers. Akane closed her eyes. “Leave,” she said again, more softly this time. Haru didn’t. Chapter 5 — Rules of Hunger “I drink blood,” Akane said. They stood in the narrow alley, rain dripping from fire escapes above them. Haru didn’t react immediately—didn’t laugh or recoil or accuse her of joking. “Okay,” he said finally. She blinked. “That’s it?” “I mean,” he added thoughtfully, “that explains a few things.” She stared at him. “You’re not afraid.” “I am,” he admitted. “Just not enough to run.” Akane exhaled slowly. “I have rules.” “Everyone does.” “I don’t drink without consent.” “That’s… considerate.” “I don’t drink until they beg.” Haru hesitated, then rolled his sleeve up halfway—just enough to reveal pale skin and a steady pulse. Then he stopped. “Not yet,” he said. Her breath caught sharply. “You’re teasing me.” “No,” he replied. “I’m choosing.” The hunger roared inside her, furious and demanding, but something else rose with it—respect. Fear. “You don’t know what you’re offering,” she whispered. “I know exactly,” Haru said. “And I want you to stop if I ask.” Akane looked at him for a long time. “You’ll ruin me,” she said. “Then stay,” he replied. “And let it happen slowly.” She turned away before she could give in. “I’ll see you again,” she said. “You’re assuming,” Haru replied gently. She smiled to herself as she disappeared into the rain. “I never assume,” she murmured. “I predict.”

Chapter 6 — Almost Akane avoided him for three days. That alone told Haru everything. When she finally appeared on the train again, she didn’t sit across from him. She stood near the door, hands clenched at her sides, gaze fixed anywhere but him. “You’re late,” Haru said gently. She didn’t answer. “You said you predict,” he continued. “Your predictions are slipping.” Her jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t sound pleased.” “I’m not,” he said. “I’m relieved.” That made her look at him. Really look. “You don’t understand what you did,” she said quietly. “Showing me your wrist like that.” “I showed you a choice.” “You showed me temptation.” A pause. The train swayed. “Did you think about it?” Haru asked. Akane laughed once, sharp and humorless. “I dreamed about it.” His breath caught. “About my blood?” “No,” she said. “About stopping.” Chapter 7 — Predictable Patterns They began meeting without planning it. Same carriage. Same hour. Same silence that felt heavier each night. “You could change trains,” Haru said one evening. “So could you.” “You don’t want me to.” Akane scoffed. “You’re assuming too much.” “Then correct me.” She didn’t. Instead, she sat beside him—close enough that her sleeve brushed his arm. He felt the chill immediately, like winter slipping under his skin. “Don’t get used to this,” she warned. “I won’t,” he replied. “I’ll depend on it.” Her fingers twitched. “You’re inviting danger,” she said. “I already met it,” Haru answered. “It wears red.” Chapter 8 — The First Taste They didn’t speak when it happened. Akane stopped beneath a bridge, city noise muted above them. She looked at him like she was memorizing his face—every flaw, every softness. “Say it,” she whispered. “I trust you,” Haru replied. That was enough. She drank carefully, reverently, like touching something sacred. Just a few seconds. Just enough. Haru’s knees weakened. She caught him immediately, steady hands gripping his shoulders. “Sit,” she ordered. He smiled faintly. “Bossy.” “Alive,” she corrected, pressing her forehead to his. When she pulled away, she looked… shaken. “I stopped,” she said, almost to herself. “You did,” Haru agreed. Something passed between them then—relief, fear, and something dangerously close to pride. Chapter 9 — After “You should hate me,” Akane said later. They sat on opposite ends of a bench, space between them charged and fragile. “I don’t,” Haru replied. “You don’t know what you’ve given me.” “I know what you didn’t take.” She stared at her hands. “You didn’t flinch.” “I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I wanted you to trust yourself more.” That broke something in her. Akane leaned forward, elbows on her knees, shoulders shaking just slightly. “I’ve hurt people,” she whispered. “Not always by drinking. Sometimes by staying.” Haru moved closer—not touching, just present. “Then stay carefully,” he said. “Like tonight.” She laughed softly. “You make it sound simple.” “It isn’t,” he said. “That’s why it matters.” Chapter 10 — Dependence Akane stopped feeding elsewhere. She told herself it was temporary. Controlled. Logical. But the hunger felt different now—sharper, more specific. “You’re changing,” Haru observed one night. She bristled. “You don’t get to analyze me.” “Then stop proving me right.” She turned on him, eyes glowing faintly red. “You think I need you?” “I think you choose me.” Silence stretched. Finally, she reached for his wrist—not to drink. Just to hold. “Don’t let me cross the line,” she said quietly. Haru met her gaze, steady and warm. “I won’t,” he promised. “But I won’t run either.” Akane closed her eyes, tightening her grip. That was the moment she realized the truth: She wasn’t afraid of hurting him anymore. She was afraid of losing him.

Chapter 11 — Possession Is a Question Akane was the first to notice it. The way people looked at Haru. A classmate laughing too long. A stranger on the train sitting a little too close. None of it meant anything—but Akane noticed everything now. “Do they know you?” she asked one night. Haru glanced up. “Who?” “The girl who smiled at you.” “She smiles at everyone.” Akane’s fingers curled slowly. “You’re careless.” “About what?” “About being wanted.” He met her gaze. “Are you asking me to stop?” She hesitated. That pause was everything. “No,” she said. “I’m asking if you’re mine.” The air tightened. Haru answered honestly. “I choose you.” Her eyes burned red—briefly. Satisfied. Afraid. “That’s not the same,” she whispered. “It’s better,” he replied. Chapter 12 — Control Akane began setting rules. Not about feeding—about him. “Text me when you get home.” “Why?” “So I know where you are.” “You always know.” “That’s different.” Haru obeyed without argument. That frightened her. “You don’t resist,” she said one night. “Do you want me to?” She opened her mouth—then closed it. “No,” she admitted. “I want you willing.” “That’s what this is.” She stared at him like he’d handed her something fragile and priceless. “Say stop if I go too far,” she said. Haru smiled. “You’re already there.” Chapter 13 — Cracks Akane drank too deeply. Not enough to hurt him—but enough to scare herself. Haru’s breath stuttered. She pulled back instantly, horror flashing across her face. “I promised,” she whispered. “I promised myself.” “You stopped,” Haru said, voice unsteady but calm. “You always do.” She shook violently. “One day I won’t.” “Then I’ll still be here,” he replied. “And you’ll still have to choose.” Tears slid down her cheeks—hot, human. “I hate that you trust me,” she said. “I hate that you deserve it.” Chapter 14 — The Word She Avoids “Don’t say it,” Akane warned. “Say what?” “You know.” Haru considered her carefully. “Why are you afraid of it?” “Because love makes monsters careless.” “Or careful,” he countered. She slammed her hand against the wall beside his head—not touching him, never touching when angry. “You don’t get to rewrite me,” she hissed. “I’m not,” Haru said softly. “I’m reading you.” Silence followed. Then, almost inaudible: “Say it anyway.” “I love you.” Akane closed her eyes like she’d been struck. Chapter 15 — Dependency Akane stopped pretending she wasn’t orbiting him. She waited for his messages. Counted the hours. Measured her hunger by his presence. “You’re too important to me,” she said one night. “You say that like it’s a flaw.” “It is,” she replied. “I’ve destroyed cities for less.” Haru took her cold hands in his warm ones. “Then don’t destroy this,” he said. “Guard it.” She leaned her forehead against his. “You’re not afraid of me anymore,” she murmured. “I’m afraid of losing you,” he answered. That was the moment Akane understood: She wasn’t feeding on him. She was anchored.

Chapter 16 — Time Is the Enemy Akane noticed the change before Haru did. It was subtle. A fraction slower climbing the station stairs. A yawn he tried to hide behind his hand. The way his body leaned into sleep instead of fighting it. “You’re tired,” she said. Haru glanced at her, surprised. “Am I?” “Yes.” “You always say things like that.” “Because you always deny them.” They stood beneath the familiar overpass, the city humming softly around them. Akane watched him the way predators watched storms—not with hunger, but calculation. “You age,” she said quietly. Haru smiled. “That’s usually how it works.” “You don’t understand,” she replied. “I don’t mean slowly. I mean constantly.” He studied her face, searching for something. “You’ve known this from the start.” “I’ve never felt it this closely.” Silence stretched between them. “Does it bother you?” Haru asked. Akane didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was steady but thin. “It terrifies me.” He reached for her hand. She let him. “Then why stay?” he asked. “Because leaving would hurt more,” she said. “And I’m tired of choosing the painless option.” That honesty unsettled him more than any confession of hunger. Chapter 17 — The Shape of Forever They sat on the floor of her apartment, backs against opposite walls. Akane didn’t invite people inside. Ever. The fact that Haru was here felt dangerously intimate. “You don’t belong in places like this,” she said. “Why?” “Because I don’t change them. They change me.” Haru looked around. Sparse furniture. Closed curtains. Still air. “It feels lonely.” “It’s meant to.” He turned toward her. “Then why let me in?” Akane hesitated. That pause — that tiny fracture — gave her away. “Because if I didn’t,” she said slowly, “I would never forgive myself.” Haru absorbed that quietly. “You think about the future,” he said. “I try not to.” “But you do.” “Yes,” she admitted. “And every version of it ends with you gone.” He shifted closer. “You don’t know that.” “I know probability,” she replied. “I know time.” “And I know choice,” Haru said. “You choose me every night.” Akane closed her eyes. “That’s what scares me.”

Chapter 18 — The Fear That Isn’t Hunger Akane realized something was wrong the night she didn’t crave his blood. They sat together on the train, shoulders almost touching, the familiar rhythm of steel on rails rocking the city into silence. Haru watched the dark window, his reflection layered over Tokyo’s lights. “You’re quiet,” he said. “So are you.” “That’s different.” Akane studied him. His pulse was steady. Inviting. And yet—nothing inside her surged toward it. “I’m afraid,” she admitted. Haru turned. “Of what?” “Of you leaving,” she said. “And worse—of you staying.” He frowned slightly. “Those don’t cancel each other out.” “They should,” she replied. “But they don’t.” She folded her hands together tightly, as if holding herself in place. “I’ve lived long enough to know patterns,” Akane continued. “Everything I care about becomes fragile. Everything fragile breaks.” Haru listened without interrupting. He always did. That, more than anything, unbalanced her. “You think I’m fragile,” he said. “I think you’re irreplaceable.” He let that settle. “That’s not the same,” he said gently. “It is when time is uneven,” she replied. “You move forward. I remain.” Haru reached out—not to his wrist, not to offer blood—but to her hand. “You don’t remain,” he said. “You choose.” She laughed bitterly. “Choice doesn’t stop decay.” “No,” he agreed. “But it gives it meaning.” She stared at their joined hands, his warm, hers cold. “I don’t want to feed on you anymore,” she whispered. Haru’s breath caught. “Because you don’t want me?” “Because I want you too much,” she said. “And hunger is easier than attachment.” The train slowed. Doors opened. People moved around them, unaware that something irreversible had just been spoken. Haru didn’t let go. “Then don’t make me food,” he said. “Make me a reason.” Akane closed her eyes. That terrified her more than thirst ever had. Chapter 19 — Confession Without Blood Akane dreamed that night. That alone was unusual. She dreamed of Haru standing at the edge of a platform, older, lines around his eyes, hair threaded with gray. He was smiling. Waiting. She woke before she could reach him. The fear stayed. “You’re shaking,” Haru said the next evening when they met. “I don’t shake.” “You are now.” She hadn’t realized she was gripping his coat until he said it. “I saw the future,” she said. “And?” “You weren’t afraid.” “That’s not new.” She laughed softly. “You don’t understand. In the dream, I was.” He studied her face carefully. “Tell me what you’re not saying.” Akane inhaled slowly. “I’m obsessed with your red,” she said at last. “But it isn’t your blood anymore.” Haru’s expression didn’t change. That was his strength—and her weakness. “What is it, then?” “Your warmth. Your time. The fact that you end—and I don’t.” Silence. “That sounds lonely,” he said. “It is,” she admitted. “Because loving you means watching.” Haru stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him without touching. “Then watch,” he said. “But don’t step back.” “You’re asking me to suffer.” “I’m asking you to stay honest.” Akane swallowed. “I could leave,” she said. “Disappear. Make this clean.” Haru shook his head. “That would hurt forever.” “And this won’t?” “It will,” he said. “But it will also be real.” She stared at him for a long time, searching for fear, doubt—anything she could use as an excuse. There was nothing. Slowly, deliberately, Akane pressed her forehead to his chest. “I won’t drink tonight,” she said. Haru rested his chin lightly on her hair. “You don’t have to.” Her fingers tightened in his shirt. “I’m not hungry,” she whispered. “I’m attached.” For the first time in centuries, Akane understood the truth: Blood had never been the danger. Love was.

Chapter 20 — The Power of Being Finite Haru learned something dangerous the moment Akane stopped feeding. He had always believed power belonged to her—immortality, strength, hunger sharp enough to bend centuries. But standing in her apartment, watching her move with deliberate restraint, he realized something had shifted. She was afraid. “You keep watching me like that,” he said, breaking the silence, “and I’ll start charging rent.” Akane didn’t smile. “You’re quieter when you’re thinking,” she said. “And you’re crueler when you’re avoiding.” She turned slowly. “Say it.” “You’re scared I’ll die,” he said. “Not someday. But because now you actually care.” Her jaw tightened. “You always had a talent for naming wounds.” He stepped closer, not touching her. “You’ve lived forever,” Haru continued. “But you’ve never been powerless. Until now.” Akane exhaled sharply. “You think mortality makes you powerful?” “I think it makes me real,” he replied. “And that terrifies you.” She looked away. “You could leave,” she said. “Marry someone. Grow old. Forget me.” “And you?” he asked. “Would you forget?” “No.” “Then stop pretending this is about mercy,” he said softly. “It’s about control.” Her eyes snapped back to him—sharp, glowing faintly red. “You think I want to control you?” “I think you don’t know how to love without consuming,” he answered. Silence stretched thin. Akane crossed the room in a blink, stopping inches from his face. “I could drink you dry,” she whispered. “Right now.” “I know.” “I could erase you.” “Yes.” “Then why aren’t you afraid?” Haru swallowed—but didn’t step back. “Because you haven’t,” he said. “And because if you do, it will be your choice. Not hunger.” Something in her broke. She turned away suddenly, hands clenched. “I hate that you trust me,” she said. “I hate that it makes me careful.” Haru reached out—hesitated—then rested his hand between her shoulders. “Then be careful,” he said. “Be obsessed. Just don’t disappear.” She leaned into his touch despite herself. “You’re cruel,” she murmured. He smiled faintly. “You like that.” She didn’t deny it. Chapter 21 — When the Monster Is Asked to Stay Akane stood at the shrine alone before dawn. She hadn’t prayed in centuries. The gods had stopped listening long before she stopped believing. Footsteps approached behind her—unhurried, familiar. “You always run when things get difficult,” Haru said. “I prefer the word strategic.” He joined her, hands in his pockets, breath fogging the cold air. “You didn’t answer me last night,” he continued. She stared at the stone fox statue. “You asked a question without a clean answer.” “I asked if you were staying.” “And if I stay,” she said, “I will hurt you.” “And if you leave,” he replied, “you already have.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to love without taking,” she said. “I don’t know how to want without ruining.” Haru faced her fully now. “Then learn,” he said. “I’m not asking you to be human. I’m asking you to be honest.” She laughed softly. “You make it sound so simple.” “It’s not,” he said. “But it’s deliberate.” She looked at him—really looked. The fragile warmth of him. The way time clung to his skin. “You will age,” she said. “Your hands will wrinkle. Your voice will change.” “I know.” “And one day, I will watch you die.” “Yes.” Her voice shook. “And you still choose me?” Haru reached up, cupping her cold cheek. “I choose the monster who stayed,” he said. “Not the goddess who fled.” Akane pressed her forehead to his. “I am obsessed with your red,” she whispered. “Not because it feeds me. Because it reminds me you’re temporary.” He didn’t pull away. “Then stay obsessed,” he said. “Just don’t make me a memory yet.” She kissed his forehead—not his mouth, not his throat. A promise. Not hunger. For the first time, Akane stayed until the sun rose. And for the first time, it didn’t burn.

Chapter 22 — Others Who Smell Blood Akane sensed them before she saw them. The night felt crowded. Not with people—but with intent. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly. Haru stopped walking. “You said that last time too.” “This time I mean it differently.” He followed her gaze. The alley was empty, but the air felt wrong—too still, like the city itself was holding its breath. “They know about you,” Akane continued. “Not your name. Not your face. But your scent.” Haru frowned. “You’ve never mentioned others.” “Because I avoid them.” “Why?” She hesitated. “Because they don’t stop at obsession. They call it tradition.” A voice cut through the dark. “You’ve gone soft, Akane.” A tall figure stepped into the light, eyes glowing faintly crimson. Another followed. Then another. Haru’s body tensed. “Who are they?” he asked under his breath. “Old mistakes,” she replied. The first vampire smiled at Haru. “That human belongs to you?” “He doesn’t belong to anyone,” Akane snapped. “Then why does he smell like promise?” the second one asked. Haru felt it then—the way their eyes lingered, not with hunger, but entitlement. “You’re wasting him,” the first said. “Blood like that should be preserved.” Akane moved in front of Haru without thinking. “He’s not a resource.” “Everything is,” the vampire replied calmly. “Including you.” Haru’s voice came out steadier than he felt. “Akane, maybe we should—” “No,” she said sharply. “They’re not taking you.” The first vampire tilted his head. “You’d choose a mortal over your kind?” Akane’s answer was immediate. “Yes.” The air shifted. Hostile. Cold. “Then you’ve declared yourself,” the vampire said. “And declarations have consequences.” As they vanished into the night, Akane grabbed Haru’s wrist. “We’re leaving,” she said. “Where?” “Somewhere I can still protect you.” Haru looked at her, heart pounding. “For how long?” he asked. Akane didn’t answer. And that scared him more than the vampires did. Chapter 23 — Obsession Is a Target They hid somewhere Akane hadn’t returned to in decades—a coastal town where the sea blurred time and the nights were quieter. Haru sat on the edge of the futon, watching her pace. “You’re treating me like glass,” he said. “Because you break.” “So do you,” he replied. “You just pretend you don’t.” She stopped. “They won’t stop looking,” Akane said. “They’ll wait. Years, if needed.” “And you?” Haru asked. “Will you keep running forever?” Her silence answered him. “Hear me out,” he said carefully. “What if hiding isn’t protecting? What if it’s proving them right?” She looked at him sharply. “You want to face them?” “I want to matter,” he said. “Not as blood. As choice.” Akane knelt in front of him, eyes burning. “You don’t understand what you’re offering,” she said. “They will test you. Break you. Use you to hurt me.” “Then let them see,” Haru replied, voice steady, “that you didn’t choose me because I was weak.” Her hands trembled as she rested them on his knees. “You are the worst temptation I’ve ever known,” she whispered. “And you’re still here,” he said. She leaned forward, forehead pressing into his chest. “I am obsessed,” she admitted. “And obsession draws predators.” Haru wrapped his arms around her. “Then don’t face them alone,” he said. “Let them see what you’re protecting.” Akane closed her eyes. For the first time, she wasn’t afraid of losing him. She was afraid of what she might become to keep him.

Chapter 24 — The Thing She Finally Chose They didn’t come quietly. Akane felt them before dusk—pressure in the air, the wrong kind of stillness. The sea outside the rented house was calm, deceptively gentle, as if nothing ancient was moving beneath it. “They’re here,” she said. Haru looked up from the table. He didn’t ask how she knew. By now, he trusted the truth even when he didn’t understand it. “How many?” “Enough,” she replied. He stood. “Then we don’t run.” Akane turned sharply. “You promised—” “I promised not to be reckless,” he said. “Not invisible.” She stared at him. For centuries, she had faced enemies alone. This—standing beside someone who could not heal, could not regenerate, could not escape time—this was a cruelty she had never allowed herself before. “I will kill for you,” she said quietly. “I know,” Haru replied. “That’s what scares me.” The door opened without a knock. Three vampires stepped inside. Then five. Then seven. The same one from before smiled. “You chose badly, Akane.” “No,” she said. “I chose deliberately.” One of them glanced at Haru. “Is he worth exile?” Akane didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” Silence fell. Then laughter. “You’re willing to lose everything,” the leader said. “Your territory. Your name. Your protection.” Akane stepped forward. “I already lost myself once. I won’t do it again.” Haru felt it then—the shift. The way their attention moved from him to her. Not hunger. Judgment. “You’ll be hunted,” another said. “Forever.” Akane turned to Haru. Her voice softened. “This is the last moment you can leave without regret.” Haru reached for her hand. “I was never safe,” he said. “I was just unaware.” She closed her eyes once. Then she did something none of them expected. She bit her own wrist. Blood—dark, ancient—spilled onto the floor. Gasps followed. Rage. “You renounce us?” one hissed. “I renounce ownership,” Akane said coldly. “Over blood. Over bodies. Over him.” Power surged—not violent, but absolute. The vampires recoiled. “This is obsession,” the leader spat. Akane smiled faintly. “No. This is choice.” When they vanished, the house felt hollow. Haru held her as she sank to her knees. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered. She laughed weakly. “Not the way you think.” She looked up at him. “I chose mortality with you,” she said. “Even if my body doesn’t age.” Chapter 25 — Obsessed With Your Red Time passed. Not gently—but honestly. They moved again. A smaller city. Fewer shadows. Akane fed, but never from Haru again. That line remained unbroken. Sometimes, she watched his hands as he slept. Sometimes, he caught her staring and smiled. “You’re thinking about endings,” he’d say. “And beginnings,” she’d answer. Years layered themselves onto him. Lines formed. His hair lightened. His laugh didn’t. One night, much later, he pressed his wrist to her lips. “Just once,” he said. “So you don’t forget.” She pulled away instantly. “Never.” “You’re still obsessed,” he teased. She met his gaze—steady, aching. “I am,” she said. “With your red. Because it reminds me you end.” He touched her cheek. “And you stayed anyway.” “Yes.” That was the truth. She would watch him age. She would bury him one day. She would survive it. But she would never pretend it hadn’t mattered. When his heart finally slowed decades later, Akane held him—not as prey, not as sustenance—but as love made finite. His last smile was peaceful. And for the first time in her immortal life, Akane mourned without hunger. She left the city before dawn. Some obsessions destroy. Others teach monsters how to stay. And she would carry the memory of his red—not on her lips, but in her heart—forever.

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