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Chapter Text

Shiki’s party had long since wrapped up, the echo of laughter and polite chatter fading into silence as the Night Class dispersed from Cross Academy’s halls. Now, Kaname sat alone in the sanctuary of his private study, surrounded by shelves of leather-bound tomes and the faint, lingering fragrance of extinguished candles. The quiet should have been soothing, but it offered no reprieve. He was currently trying to read a book Yuuki had recommended to him. The story followed two spies in Europe, enemies by circumstance yet drawn together by a dangerous, forbidden love amidst the chaos of their mission.

Kaname turned the pages, his expression unreadable, but the words blurred before his eyes. The tale itself held little appeal for him. It was dramatic in its own way, but not the kind of intrigue that ever managed to capture his attention. Still, whether it entertained him or not hardly mattered, for he found himself unable to retain even the simplest details. His eyes drifted across the paragraphs, sentences dissolving into meaningless shapes, every attempt to focus sliding away as though his mind refused to anchor itself to the present.

The pain in his chest had grown most insistent toward the tail end of the night, just as the students of the Night Class had begun to take their leave. One by one, they had drifted away from the Academy grounds, returning to their families for the holidays. A few had lingered, choosing to remain for a time, but the air had thinned with every departure, and with it, Kaname’s discomfort had deepened. By the time he retreated to his study, the ache was nearly unbearable. He pressed his hand against his chest, rubbing the spot absently as if to soothe the pain, though it accomplished nothing. Concentration was impossible when every beat of his heart sent another wave of disquiet through him.

It couldn’t be bloodlust. That was the first thought he dismissed. He had drunk more than enough during the party, sampling the rich, dark notes of blood wine and swallowing more tablets than he would ever admit aloud. If he were anyone of lesser station, the sheer excess might have proven dangerous. Overindulgence had left no room for craving. No, this was not his hunger gnawing at him—it was something else entirely, something he had failed to account for.

And yet, the sensation was eerily familiar. It carried the same gnawing edge, the same restless, consuming ache that came when thirst clawed its way to the surface. It was not sharp in the way true hunger usually struck him, but dull and pervasive, a hunger that was not entirely his own.

A sudden thought came to him, startling in its clarity, slicing through the haze of his discomfort. Perhaps it was bloodlust after all…just not his own. The possibility froze him where he sat, the weight of it sinking into his chest with greater heaviness than the ache itself.

Kaname’s brow furrowed as he considered the notion. Within the vampire community, the existence of Blood Bonds was not a matter of superstition or myth but a well-documented reality, one that even the proudest Purebloods did not dare to dismiss. Such bonds were dangerous, binding two lives together in ways that could not easily be severed. Desires, pain, and hunger did not remain the possession of a single individual once that link was forged; they bled into one another, rippling across the tether like waves disturbing the surface of still water. Though Kaname’s own bond with Zero was not complete – and probably never would be – there was no denying that the threads of it already existed. He had not bitten Zero, but he had given enough of himself that something had taken root. Enough, it seemed, to feel the faint edge of it now.

He had never heard of an incomplete Blood Bond carrying symptoms of any kind. Not for Purebloods anyway. Many lower-class vampires could feel the effects of incomplete bonds for a time before they eventually diminished. Ex-humans had it the worst, being soul-bound to their creators. But Purebloods never felt any such effects. 

Every record he had studied, every story whispered among the aristocracy, spoke of such connections only after they were fully sealed. Before then, there was supposed to be nothing—no bleed of thought, no echo of desire, no pull of hunger. And yet here he sat, heart pounding with an ache that was undeniably not his own. Perhaps there were simply too few instances to document, too few who dared to forge a bond and then leave it unfinished. Purebloods often didn’t forge Blood Bonds without the intent to complete them…

The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Kaname prided himself on control, on knowledge, on certainty. But this…this was something he could neither anticipate nor fully comprehend. If this ache in his chest was not his hunger, then it could only belong to Zero. The dull throb, the gnawing emptiness, the restless clawing that refused to be ignored—it was hunger in its most insidious form, bleeding across the tenuous link between them. It pressed into Kaname’s veins with every beat of his heart, staining his body with its echo until he could almost taste the metallic dryness of thirst upon his tongue.

The idea drew him up short, and he found himself sitting rigid in his chair, his book forgotten.

Could it be that Zero had starved himself throughout the day? Was he enduring this torment in silence, forcing his body to weather a storm that Kaname had been too blind to notice? The answer settled over him with a chill, cold and precise, and with it came a rush of sharp self-reproach. How had he not seen it? He had been so certain of his control, so convinced that the ache was nothing but a passing discomfort, that he had failed to recognise the truth staring him in the face.

His lips pressed into a thin, hard line as the weight of his own negligence bore down on him. He cursed himself inwardly, the words bitter and unyielding. Zero’s suffering was not something he should ever have dismissed or overlooked—not when the hunter had so little to spare, not when his existence was already a constant battle against the thirst that defined him. And certainly not when he knew the ex-human already cared so little about his own well-being.

He should have realised sooner. The ache had been with him since morning, a constant thread pulling at his awareness, and he had brushed it aside, convincing himself it was nothing. How could he, of all people, have been so blind? He should have known. He should have gone to the hunter at once, should have demanded answers, should have forced nourishment upon him if necessary. But the thought of forcing Zero brought a flicker of hesitation. Would Zero have accepted it? Would he have even allowed Kaname to come close enough to help? The answer was obvious—no. Zero hated him—and Kaname could not deny that the sentiment was justified. The bond that tethered them was fragile at best, a connection born not from trust or understanding but from sheer necessity. There had been one moment, a single, fleeting instance when Zero had taken Kaname’s blood. But even that had not been out of any willingness to accept him, nor from a desire to draw closer. It had been desperation, a final act of defiance against the fate that sought to consume him.

Kaname remembered it with unsettling clarity—the way Zero’s hands had trembled, the unspoken rage and shame burning in his eyes even as survival forced him to yield. It had not been for himself that he endured it. No, every heartbeat of resistance, every ounce of strength the ex-human clung to, was for Yuuki. He had wanted to live long enough to stand at her side, to shield her with the last fragments of his humanity, even as the curse of his existence dragged him further into darkness.

Kaname, for all his composure, could acknowledge his own guilt in that arrangement. He had indeed set Zero as Yuuki’s protector, a role that served his own purposes as much as hers. Yet beneath that cold calculation lay something far less easily dismissed: the quiet ache that came with knowing Zero’s will to endure had nothing to do with him.

And though Kaname accepted it, though he told himself it was enough, the truth still cut deep—because it pained him more than he wished to admit that Zero’s desire to live would never be for him.

But that only deepened the puzzle. Why had he not gone to Yuuki this time? Kaname knew of the arrangement between them—knew that before Shizuka Hio’s interference, Zero had taken Yuuki’s blood almost weekly. She had offered herself to him freely, and he had accepted it. It had been their unspoken agreement, one that had allowed him to endure. Yet now, Yuuki was gone. She had gone into town with her friend only hours ago, laughing and bright as she told Kaname of her plans. She would be staying there for several days. He remembered the way her smile lingered, the way her hand brushed his arm in farewell, and he had thought nothing of it. But she had left, and Zero had been left behind…starving.

And the ache proved it had not begun with her departure. He had been feeling it all day, long before Yuuki had ever stepped beyond the Academy gates. That could only mean one thing: Zero had already been denying himself, already enduring the hunger, perhaps deliberately. He had let the thirst gnaw at him for hours, making no move to alleviate it.

Stubborn man. The thought flickered through Kaname’s mind, equal parts exasperation and reluctant admiration. Stubborn to the point of destruction, determined to resist even the most basic need if it meant denying the vampiric parts of himself.

Zero’s pride was killing him, and Kaname, bound as he was, could feel every echo of it.

Making up his mind, Kaname rose smoothly from his chair, the quiet scrape of wood against polished floor the only sound to disturb the stillness of his study. His decision had crystallised with startling clarity; now that he understood the nature of the feeling gnawing at his chest, he could allow himself to follow it. That strange, insistent pull, impossible to ignore, would lead him directly to Zero. That knowledge alone steadied him, turning uncertainty into resolve.

His strides carried him swiftly through the hushed corridors of the Moon Dormitory, the grandeur of its halls dimmed in the absence of life. Even the portraits seemed to watch silently as he passed, their gilded frames catching fragments of moonlight that slipped through the tall windows. Outside, the cool night air embraced him at once, brushing over his skin.

Shadows pooled thick across the Academy grounds, stretching long and sharp beneath the watchful glow of the moon, their edges blurring against the mist of dew that clung to the grass. Kaname moved with unerring purpose, each step measured, his presence nearly soundless as he crossed gravel paths and lawns glistening under starlight.

The pull in his chest grew stronger, guiding him with the certainty of instinct. It drew him across the Academy grounds until his path led him directly to the stables. He could hear the restless shifting of the horses within, hooves striking the ground in nervous patterns, their breath loud and uneven, a sure sign that something was amiss.

Kaname stilled at the threshold, his senses sharpening, every nerve attuned to the faintest sound. And then he heard it: not the pounding of hooves or the rasp of agitated breathing, but something softer, broken—barely distinguishable amongst the sound of distressed horses. Zero’s breathing, ragged and shallow, as though each inhale cost him more than he had to give.

The sound cut through Kaname with merciless precision, sharper than any blade. Every harsh breath was a reminder of Zero’s fragility, of the torment he carried both in body and in soul. Kaname had spent years mastering restraint, yet in that instant, he felt it fray, thread by thread. It hurt—genuinely hurt—to hear Zero in pain, as if the suffering carved directly into him as well.

He reached for the stable door, his hand hovering over the iron handle, fingers curling with the intent to pull it open. Yet before he could act, something struck him hard enough to halt him mid-motion. The air shifted, and he knew at once what it carried. The unmistakable smell of blood.

Zero’s blood.

 A chill gripped him, spreading cold and ruthless through every vein. His heart clenched, not in the refined stillness of a Pureblood, but in raw fear, a fear so sharp it rooted him where he stood. Every instinct in him screamed to move, to tear the door from its hinges, to reach Zero, but his body resisted, frozen in the grip of horror. The world seemed to warp around him, each second dragging long and heavy, as though time itself wished him to linger in this punishment, to suffer the full weight of dread before he could act.

Then, with an effort that felt like shattering glass within his chest, Kaname forced himself free of that paralysis. He wrenched the door open, the hinges groaning loudly in the silence, and the heavy scent of stale hay rushed out—along with the iron tang of blood so strong it seared his senses. He stepped into the dimness, eyes scanning the shadowed interior with desperate urgency, searching until they found him.

In the far corner of the barn, slumped against the wooden wall, was Zero. His pale hair clung damply to his face, skin ashen against the trickle of red that stained him. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven jerks, each breath a battle. And there, jutting cruelly from his chest, gleamed the blade, its surface slick with fresh blood that darkened his uniform and spread slowly across the dusty floor.

The sight struck Kaname with a force that hollowed him out, left him momentarily weightless, as if the world itself had splintered beneath him. For one terrible moment, there was no sound, no air, nothing but the image of Zero broken before him.

“Zero!” The word tore from his throat, raw and unguarded, filling the stable with anguish and command in equal measure as Kaname surged forward.

The Pureblood moved before thought could catch up, his body cutting across the straw-strewn floor in a rush that scattered dust into the air. He fell to his knees at Zero’s side, the sound of impact muffled by the hay but deafening in his ears all the same. For a moment, he simply stared, unable to reconcile the pale, blood-streaked figure before him with the fierce, unyielding hunter he knew. Zero’s skin was clammy, his breath shallow, his violet eyes half-lidded and glassy with pain. It reminded him of how Zero looked when he was chained up in the dungeon. “Zero…” Kaname’s voice broke as he reached out, trembling fingers ghosting over his shoulder, then his cheek, as though grounding himself in the fact that he was still here, still breathing…if only barely.

There was no sign of struggle in the stable, no signs of another’s presence. The truth settled heavily over him, undeniable in its simplicity and cruelty. Zero had done this to himself.

His chest constricted painfully at the thought, the realisation cutting deeper than any blade could. The sheer recklessness of it left him staggering inside. Zero was stubborn to a fault, prideful even when it threatened to destroy him, but this… this was beyond anything Kaname had imagined. If the hunger had been so unbearable, why hadn’t Zero come to him? Even if that step had been too much for Zero’s pride, there had always been Yuuki. He had gone to her before, time and again, when the thirst became too great. Why not now? Why had he chosen this instead?

“Why, Zero? Why would you…?” The words rasped out of him, hoarse and trembling, more plea than question.

Zero’s lips parted, but no true answer came. Only fragments of broken sounds, half-formed syllables caught between ragged breaths, spilling past his bloodstained mouth. His violet eyes flickered, glassy and unsteady, wavering in and out of focus as if the world around him were already fading. The faintest shake of his head accompanied the sound, weak and almost imperceptible. He was still here, still clinging to life, but only barely—already halfway beyond Kaname’s reach, slipping toward a place Kaname could not follow.

Kaname’s instincts took over. He pressed his hand against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding, but his palm brushed against the hilt of the knife lodged in Zero’s chest. The instant his skin met the weapon, a searing pain lanced through his hand, racing up his arm like wildfire burning through his veins. He hissed, jerking back, his fangs gritting as the burning sting lingered long after he withdrew. The weapon wasn’t ordinary…it couldn’t be. His gaze fell on the cruel blade protruding from Zero’s body, and the truth struck him with cold finality.

A hunter’s weapon. Forged for one purpose: to kill vampires. Even a Pureblood could not touch it without being burned. And Zero… Zero had driven it into himself.

Fury and fear surged together inside Kaname, violent and unrelenting, twisting so tightly he could scarcely contain them. How deep must Zero’s self-loathing run, how absolute must his despair have been, to turn such a weapon against himself? The thought was unbearable, pressing down on Kaname’s chest until he thought it might crush him. He wanted to demand answers, to shake him, to rage against the cruelty of it all, but the sight of Zero’s faltering breaths stole the strength from his anger, leaving only desperation.

“This is a hunter’s weapon, Zero,” Kaname said, his voice breaking with urgency, though he tried to make it steady. His hand hovered close to the wound, trembling with the need to help yet careful not to brush the cursed blade again. “This wound won’t heal on its own!”

Ordinarily, even an injury this severe would not be enough to claim the life of a vampire—even one of Zero’s status. But the cruel truth was plain before him: this weapon had been forged to do exactly that. The metal cut deeper than flesh and bone—it poisoned, it burned, it killed. It was the kind of weapon that stripped away a vampire’s natural resilience, leaving them vulnerable to death where no ordinary blade could reach.

And that meant this was no accident. Zero had known exactly what he was doing when he pressed the weapon to his chest. He had wanted this wound, had sought its finality. The thought lodged in Kaname’s mind like ice, and for the first time in years, true terror coursed through him. This was not simply an injury to be mended—this was a death sentence Zero himself had chosen.

Kaname’s mind raced, clawing for answers, for some miracle that might spare the boy beneath his hands, but every possibility collapsed against the stark and merciless truth. There was only one course left to him. The blade had to come out. If it remained, its poison would continue to eat its way through Zero from within, each heartbeat pushing the venom deeper into his fragile body. And the longer it stayed lodged there, the slimmer his chances of survival became, even with Kaname’s intervention. His jaw clenched, resolve settling like iron in his chest. Without another thought, he reached for the weapon.

The instant his fingers closed around the hilt, pain seared through his palm, the cursed metal burning into his flesh with a cruel, unforgiving bite. The sting sank deep, but Kaname forced himself to endure it, his expression hardening into one of unyielding determination. He wrenched the blade free in a single, decisive motion. A wet, sickening sound tore through the silence as the knife slid out. Blood surged forth in a crimson flood, hot and relentless, spilling over pale skin and pooling darkly into the straw. With a flick of his wrist, Kaname hurled the weapon away from them, sending it spinning across the space until it struck the far wall. The knife embedded itself into the wood with a violent clang, quivering where it stuck as though mocking the cruelty it had inflicted.

Zero’s body jolted with the sudden release, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat. The abrupt shift in pain seemed to drag him partway back into awareness, his lashes fluttering as violet eyes cracked open, dulled but still burning with a familiar defiance. His body tensed, and with what little strength remained, he lifted trembling hands to push weakly against Kaname’s chest. The effort was pitiful, a shadow of the force he once wielded with ease, but it carried the same stubborn will—the refusal to submit, even to salvation.

Kaname’s heart constricted at the sight. Even now, on the edge of death, Zero fought him. Fought against the one person who could keep him tethered to life, as though pride were worth more than life itself. The motion was weak, almost fragile, yet it struck Kaname harder than any true blow could. For all of Zero’s fragility, he still tried to resist, his body writhing feebly in defiance against the hands that held him steady.

“No,” Kaname growled, more command than plea. He caught the hunter’s shoulders, pressing him firmly down against the blood-stained straw. Zero writhed beneath him, but he was too weak, his struggles little more than desperate motions of defiance.

Kaname acted without hesitation, his movements swift and precise, leaving no room for doubt. There was no time to weigh options, no space for second-guessing—only the urgency of what must be done. Raising his wrist to his mouth, he sank his fangs into his own flesh. The sharp puncture broke through pale skin, and at once, hot crimson welled to the surface, rivulets of blood sliding down the curve of his hand in vivid contrast against the pallor. The copper tang filled the air, thick and undeniable, a scent that would ignite hunger in any vampire—especially one as near to death as Zero. Without pause, Kaname pressed the bleeding wound against the hunter’s lips, the gesture both forceful and deliberate, a lifeline thrust into trembling hands that refused to grasp it.

But Zero recoiled, his body flinching with what little strength it still possessed. A fractured, ragged sound broke from his throat as he turned his head to the side, rejecting what instinct screamed he needed. His pride surged up like a wall, bolstered by years of hatred, fear, and denial. Even as pain wracked his body, even as death clawed at him, Zero resisted.

Kaname, however, was relentless. His strength was unyielding, his will like iron forged in fire. He would not allow Zero’s defiance to undo him, not when salvation was within reach. With one hand, he pinned the boy firmly, holding him down against the bloodstained straw, his grip unshakable despite the weak pushes that trembled against him. With the other, he cradled the back of Zero’s head, the gesture at once tender and commanding, forcing him closer to the source of life he denied himself. “Drink,” Kaname commanded, his voice low, trembling with urgency.

Zero’s lips remained clamped, his jaw locked tight in defiance, chest heaving in shallow, uneven gasps as he tried to resist. His struggles were weak, a fraction of what they once were, but they carried the same burning will that had always defined him. Yet even as he fought, his body betrayed him. The scent of blood filled his lungs, the warmth of it pressed against his mouth, seeping against closed lips until instinct warred violently with his desire to die. His breaths grew more ragged, more frantic, the battle between will and need written in every faltering movement of his body.

Kaname felt it the moment Zero yielded the hunter's fangs, sliding into his bleeding wrist, the faintest, reluctant pull as his blood was drawn into him. It was subtle at first, hardly more than a whisper against his veins, yet it was enough to ignite something fierce inside him. Relief washed through him, sharp and staggering, but he did not allow himself to loosen his hold. He knew how quickly things could turn. Knew that if Zero gained enough awareness, he would try to resist again. Kaname would not allow that. Not now. Not when the alternative was losing him forever.

“Good,” Kaname murmured, his words almost lost to the hush of the stables, spoken more to steady himself than to reassure the boy beneath him. His voice trembled despite the iron edge of his control, thick with unspoken emotion he could not contain. “That’s it…”

He kept his wrist firmly pressed to Zero’s lips, refusing to waver. He could feel each tentative pull deepen, fragile sips becoming something steadier, more certain. With every drop, he felt the bond between them tighten, his own strength flowing outward while a fragile spark of life returned to the broken body beneath him. The wound in Zero’s chest, raw and gaping only moments ago, began to shift before his eyes. Torn flesh quivered, trembling toward closure, drawn together by the healing potency of Kaname’s blood.

The edges knit little by little, each stitch of healing hard-won, while the flow of blood did not cease entirely. Crimson still ran freely, staining pale skin and soaking deeper into the straw beneath them. Kaname’s sharp eyes followed every change, his chest tight, his breath caught between dread and fragile hope.

And then, just as the faintest ember of relief sparked in him, Zero faltered. His lips slackened against Kaname’s skin, his strength abandoning him as though his body had given all it could. Consciousness slipped away like water through trembling hands, his lashes falling closed over eyes that had fought with every ounce of will to remain open. His head fell limply against Kaname’s palm, weightless in its surrender.

“No—Zero!” The word tore from Kaname, raw and desperate, a cry of panic that broke the mask he so carefully wore. Terror surged through him, hollowing him out from within. He pressed his bleeding wrist harder against Zero’s mouth, trying to coax some reaction, anything at all, as his composure fractured with each heartbeat that passed unanswered. “Don’t stop now—drink! You must drink!”

The silence that followed was unbearable. It pressed in on him, suffocating, every second stretching into eternity as he stared at the boy who should not be so still. For one harrowing instant, he was certain he had lost him. Certain that the fragile thread binding Zero to life had snapped despite everything.

And then—a breath. Shallow, strained, but real. The sound split the silence like dawn breaking over a black horizon. Kaname froze, disbelieving, before the truth crashed into him. Relief hit so suddenly, so powerfully, that his body shook with it. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it, tension bleeding away in a rush that left him weak. He drew Zero closer, cradling him against his chest.

The wound in Zero’s chest still bled sluggishly, crimson staining the straw in steady rivulets. Yet the edges had begun to knit, closing enough that the danger of him slipping away in the next heartbeat had passed. He was not whole—not yet—but he was alive. Kaname closed his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath of his own. For now, Zero would live. So long as he had access to more blood within the coming hours, he would endure.

It was a fragile, temporary reprieve, but it was enough to anchor Kaname against the tide of fear that had threatened to drag him under. He shifted slightly, brushing damp strands of silver hair back from Zero’s clammy forehead, his hand lingering there as if to assure himself he was truly still here. His voice dropped to a whisper, softer than the creak of the stable around them. “Don’t leave me.”

Takuma’s fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons of his shirt, each movement betraying the calm façade he so desperately tried to maintain. His hands trembled despite his best efforts, betraying the storm of unease roiling beneath his skin. Each breath he drew was sharp and metallic, tainted with the heavy tang of blood. The copper-rich scent hung thickly in the air, sweet and cloying, clinging to his senses like smoke. 

He had been in the midst of a night that promised only pleasure, a fleeting escape with Senri that had once been his entire world. Their bodies had moved together in a rhythm of mutual desire, each touch electric and each whisper a spark, until the first hint of something wrong sliced through the haze. The scent of Kaname’s blood had arrived unbidden, sharp and undeniable, cutting through the warmth of their intimacy like a blade. Takuma had pulled back reluctantly, his lips brushing against Senri’s shoulder with the faintest apology, eyes wide and restless as the aroma deepened. The act, once so promising, had been shattered in an instant, leaving only a gnawing tension behind.

Across the room, Shiki sat half-propped against the pillows. His eyes were fixed on the far wall, yet every subtle shift of his body betrayed the quiet war waging inside him. His calmness was a carefully constructed mask; the slight tightening of his jaw, the faint tremor of his fingers, the way his chest rose and fell in a rhythm just a little too fast—they all spoke of the tension he refused to voice. Takuma could see it clearly, knew him too well not to notice the tiny betrayals of his composure.

Finally, Shiki’s voice cut through the oppressive quiet. Low, controlled, but carrying an unmistakable edge of unease, it broke the silence like a cautious ripple across still water. “What do you think is happening?”

Takuma tugged the last button through its hole and exhaled a shaky breath, his green eyes flicking toward the door as though expecting answers to come spilling through it at any moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted, forcing his voice to remain level despite the turmoil twisting in his chest. “But I’m certain the others have smelled it too. They’ll want answers, and quickly.” He straightened, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt with nervous hands, trying to make himself look composed even as dread tightened its hold on him. “I’ll need to figure out what’s happening as soon as possible.”

There were so many possibilities, and none of them sat well with the blonde. His mind, always quick to wander, spun through scenarios with unsettling speed. Kaname had been drinking tonight—more than usual, even for him. Perhaps, Takuma thought desperately, he had simply indulged too much and, in a rare lapse of composure, stumbled and scraped his knee. The idea was absurd, almost laughable, but in his panic, Takuma clung to it for half a heartbeat. Or maybe it had been something mundane, like a careless paper cut from one of his endless books. With Kaname’s blood, even the smallest wound could be enough to perfume the air of the entire Dormitory.

But the scent filling the halls was not faint or fleeting. It was strong, sharp, saturating the very air with its unmistakable presence. Takuma’s heart sank as he admitted to himself that this was not something trivial. It was worse—far worse. And what unsettled him even more was the second thread weaving through it, a scent not Kaname’s but tangled with it, lingering in the night like a question he had no answer for. Had there been a fight? An attack? Was Kaname hurt? 

Questions piled on questions, and none of them came with answers. Takuma’s lips pressed into a thin line, his worry twisting tighter. He glanced back toward the bed, where Senri remained sprawled in disarray, the smooth lines of his bare body contrasting sharply with the tension in his gaze. For a moment, the blonde hesitated, torn between his desire to stay and his need to act. But in the end, duty pushed him forward. Leaning down, he pressed a swift, apologetic kiss against Shiki’s lips—a fleeting reassurance, though it did little to banish the worry that lingered in those silver eyes.

“I’ll be back,” Takuma whispered, though he could not promise it with certainty. Then, leaving his concerned—and still very naked—lover behind, he stepped out into the corridor, the weight of the air pressing down on him. His footsteps were quick but hushed as he descended the stairs, the scent only growing stronger with each step.

At the bottom, he found the others. Not all of the Night Class—most had already departed for the holidays once the party had ended earlier that evening—but those who had remained were gathered there, their expressions tight with unease. They lingered in a loose circle near the base of the grand staircase, the muted light of the chandeliers catching on their pale features, eyes sharp with the same questions burning in his own mind. The air was thick with tension, and Takuma knew at once that they, too, had been drawn here by the scent, unable to ignore the unmistakable call of pure blood spilling into the night.

The low murmur of voices drifted up as Takuma descended, tense and clipped, like a current of unease running beneath the calm surface of the Dormitory. The vampires who remained had already begun speculating, each whisper sharper than the last, though none dared raise their voices too high. It wasn’t fear of being overheard so much as the unspoken weight of what Kaname’s blood meant. Purebloods did not bleed carelessly. For the Night Class, who revered him, the scent was as alarming as it was compelling.

“Perhaps it’s nothing,” one girl muttered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “Lord Kaname wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Another, older boy scoffed softly, “Then what?” another pressed. “An attack? Here? Who could even—”

Takuma cleared his throat as he reached the final step, and in that small, deliberate motion, he felt the weight of every gaze in the room settle on him. The murmurs died, eyes lifting to meet his own, searching for reassurance in a sea of uncertainty. His presence alone seemed to have a calming effect on some, if only slightly. They knew him—knew he was Kaname’s second-in-command, the steady hand meant to guide them when their lord was absent. Even if he had no answers to offer, even if he were as uncertain as they were, his role demanded that he appear composed. He straightened, shoulders squared, and offered the gentle, practised smile that had soothed countless frayed nerves before. A mask, yes, but a necessary one; beneath it, his heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his chest. He could feel the tension coiling in the room, and he knew that, left unchecked, panic could spread through the Night Class like wildfire. In Kaname’s absence, that burden now fell squarely on him.

“I know what you’ve all smelled,” Takuma said. “Kaname is not careless. Whatever has happened, I am certain he has it under control.”

A ripple of uneasy glances passed through the group, subtle but telling. They wanted to believe him, they longed to, but instinct whispered otherwise. Takuma’s eyes swept across the room, noting every tense shoulder, every flicker of doubt in the eyes of his classmates. He could not allow fear to take root; if it did, the consequences would be catastrophic.

He continued, each word carefully chosen, steady as the hand of a clock. “We gain nothing by losing our composure. Kaname would not wish for us to flail about in panic. If he requires us, he will call for us. Until then, I need you all to return to your rooms.” If Kaname was hurt, then it would do him no good to come back to the dorm and be immediately swarmed, and if he wasn’t, then Takuma was sure that he would appreciate the privacy.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, while uncertainty clung stubbornly to the edges of everyones minds. Takuma could feel their hesitation like a tangible thing pressing against him, testing the strength of his words. But then, slowly, heads began to bow, and footsteps shifted backward, hesitant at first, then with growing obedience.

His words had not dispelled their fear entirely—it would take Kaname himself to do that—but they had anchored the group just enough. The Night Class moved as one, drawn by the unspoken authority of their second-in-command, allowing the faintest thread of order to persist amidst the tension. Takuma remained on the step a moment longer, watching them go, feeling the echo of his own heart in the hollow quiet that followed.

He wanted nothing more than to leave the quiet tension behind, to slip back upstairs and crawl into bed beside Senri, to feel the familiar warmth and safety that awaited him there. The thought of his smile, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of his presence pulled at him. Every fibre of his being ached for it, for the simple relief of closeness, for the small, ordinary peace that his lover offered.

But he could not allow himself that luxury, not yet. Not until Kaname returned. His heart longed for Senri, but his mind would not permit him such a selfish retreat. Kaname’s well-being demanded his attention. If something had gone wrong—if Kaname was hurt, or worse—it would be unforgivable to leave him alone. The pull of his lovers' comfort was strong, but the pull of loyalty, of friendship, was stronger still, gnawing at him with restless urgency.

And then he felt it. That familiar pressure, the unmistakable weight of the Pureblood’s presence drawing nearer. His breath caught, the hair rising at the back of his neck as the scent of blood swept in, thick and metallic, burning his senses. It struck him with a force that made his chest tighten. It wasn’t just Kaname’s blood—it couldn’t be. The closer Kaname drew, the less of him Takuma could sense. Which was strange. Instead, he could smell the blood of another, hot and coppery and fresh. It clung to the air so thickly he could almost taste it. His stomach twisted violently, dread curling through him like smoke. It was the same scent he had caught earlier, lingering with Kaname’s in the night air.

By the time he realised Kaname was right outside, Takuma was already moving, his feet carrying him forward almost against his will. The door loomed ahead, a thin barrier between him and whatever truth awaited beyond. His pulse thundered in his ears, yet his hand didn’t falter as he pushed it open.

The sight that greeted him rooted him to the spot, every breath catching painfully in his throat. Kaname stood framed in the doorway, tall and composed, his poise as immaculate as ever, as though nothing could touch him. At first glance, he looked unharmed. Everything was ok, nothing was wrong.

But the illusion shattered in an instant when Takuma’s eyes fell upon the figure cradled in Kaname’s arms.

Zero.

The hunter’s body was limp, head lolling weakly against Kaname’s shoulder. His face was pale, drained of all colour, his lips tinged blue as though the life had been leached from him. His chest was slick with blood, the crimson soaking through his clothes and dripping steadily onto the floor with a sound that seemed deafening in the silence. Kaname was stained by it, streaks of red marking his arms and clothes where he held the broken hunter close.

Takuma froze, horror flooding him, his green eyes wide and glassy as he struggled to take it all in. His throat worked, but the words barely found their way past the lump that had risen there. “Kaname…” His voice cracked, trembling, a hoarse whisper.

The Pureblood did not answer. His expression remained impassive, unreadable, as he swept past Takuma without a single glance, his footsteps soundless despite the weight of the body in his arms. Takuma stood gaping for a heartbeat longer, stunned into stillness, before instinct kicked in. He shut the door with a hurried motion and rushed after Kaname, his heart pounding as fear and confusion warred inside him.

His heart hammered wildly as he trailed after them, every nerve in his body on edge. Kaname looked unshaken, his expression carved in stone, but Takuma couldn’t quiet the storm rising within him. His eyes kept darting to the hunter’s limp form, to the unnatural stillness of his body, the way his head lolled with every slight shift of movement. Zero looked so fragile in Kaname’s arms, so breakable—so unlike the hunter Takuma knew, who always carried himself with sharp edges and defiance.

“Kaname…” Takuma tried again, his voice raw with desperation, but the Pureblood gave no reply.

The stairs loomed ahead, and Kaname began to climb without hesitation, his movements measured and unyielding. Takuma followed close behind, his hand brushing the rail as though to steady himself against the rising swell of dread in his chest. His gaze never left the hunter. Every detail carved itself into his mind—the dried smears of blood at the corners of Zero’s mouth, the unnatural pallor of his skin, the faint flutter of breath that Takuma prayed wasn’t just his imagination. He found himself holding his own breath, straining to catch the subtle rise and fall of Zero’s chest. When he finally saw it, shallow though it was, relief stirred faintly within him, though it did little to quiet the fear gnawing at his insides.

The noble did not know the hunter well. Their conversations had been brief, fleeting exchanges that never reached the depth of true friendship. Yet he was not blind to the truth: Kaname cared for him—on some level, at least. The Pureblood would never have defended him against the Senate otherwise. And just because Takuma wasn’t close to Zero didn’t mean the sight before him struck with any less force. Watching the hunter so limp and bloodied in Kaname’s arms was still shocking, still unsettling in a way that left his heart pounding and his thoughts reeling.

They reached the upper landing, Kaname’s stride never wavering, his pace as even and steady as if he were carrying nothing at all. The Pureblood did not falter, did not slow, his movements sharp with purpose as he turned down the corridor. Takuma knew at once where he was headed. His pulse leapt painfully when he realised the destination…Kaname’s own chambers. That room was private, untouched, a sanctuary no one was permitted to enter. For Kaname to carry someone there, for him to bring Zero of all people into that sacred space, struck Takuma with a force he could scarcely process. Especially when there were so many empty, spare rooms that Kaname could have used.

The significance of it made his thoughts stumble and scatter, even as his legs carried him forward without pause.

Takuma followed him inside without hesitation, the heavy door swinging shut behind them with a dull thud. The room, pristine and dimly lit, seemed to hold its breath as Kaname crossed to the bed and lowered Zero onto the immaculate sheets with a gentleness that belied his cold exterior. The hunter’s blood stained the silken fabric instantly, although it was difficult to see on the dark sheets.

Takuma lingered near the door, frozen in place. Wide-eyed and uncertain, he found himself torn between his impulse to rush forward and the instinct that told him he was intruding on something private. His eyes flicked helplessly between Kaname and Zero, from the Pureblood’s composed figure to the hunter’s unnerving stillness. His mind screamed at him to act, to say something, anything, but his throat locked up. Words rose and faltered, breaking apart into fragments before they could leave his lips. Questions pressed against him—about the blood, about what had happened, about why Zero of all people lay in Kaname’s bed—but none of them found their voice.

The silence in the room pressed down on him like a physical weight, every tick of the clock stretching into eternity. Takuma stood caught in that heavy stillness, his heart pounding, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He could only wait—wait for Kaname to speak, wait for some explanation, wait for something that might make sense of the nightmare unravelling before him. Until then, he remained suspended in the tension, unable to move, unable to look away.

He wanted Senri…

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the faint, shallow rasp of Zero’s breathing. Takuma’s chest tightened with every sound, fragile and uncertain, as though it might stop at any moment. He waited, rooted in place, until at last Kaname spoke, his voice low, calm, and commanding, though he never once looked up from the hunter lying before him.

“Takuma,” he said, each syllable quiet but edged with urgency. “Help me. I need water…something to clean him with…I need to stop the bleeding.”

The words jolted Takuma into motion. He nodded quickly, though Kaname wasn’t watching him, and slipped into the adjoining bathroom. His movements were brisk but clumsy, his hands trembling as he pulled a clean bowl from the shelf and filled it with warm water. He searched for a cloth, found one neatly folded with the linens, and carried both back into the bedroom.

When he returned, Kaname had already slipped off his outer coat, his pale hands steady against the crimson-soaked fabric of Zero’s shirt. Takuma approached cautiously, setting the bowl on the bedside table before holding out the cloth. His voice caught in his throat when he tried to speak, so instead he simply placed the damp cloth in Kaname’s waiting hand and stepped back, hovering nearby.

The Pureblood pressed the cloth to Zero’s chest with precise care, wiping away the blood that clung thickly to his skin and clothing. Each sweep of the cloth revealed more of the wound beneath, a jagged gash across his chest that made Takuma’s stomach turn. It looked bad—bad enough that for a fleeting, awful moment, he feared no healing could undo it. Yet even as he stared, he saw it: the slow, halting pull of flesh knitting together. Fragile, incomplete, but there. Relief washed through him in a weak tide, though it did little to settle his unease.

Takuma’s eyes strayed from the wound to Kaname himself. The Pureblood’s expression was still unreadable, but his hands betrayed a gentleness rarely shown, his touch careful, almost reverent. And then Takuma saw it—the dark smear of blood dried along Kaname’s wrist, crusted against skin that should have been immaculate. His breath caught, and understanding struck him like lightning.

Kaname had fed Zero his blood. He must have.

That was why he could smell Kaname’s blood earlier…whatever had happened to Zero had been the reason behind tonight's mystery.

Takuma’s throat tightened. He wanted to ask, wanted to understand—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he stayed where he was, silent and obedient, ready to fetch whatever else Kaname might ask for, and watched with wide, unsettled eyes as the night unfolded before him.

Takuma’s gaze drifted to Kaname’s hands as the Pureblood worked, carefully wiping the blood from Zero’s chest. At first, the movements seemed calm, controlled in a way that was wholly Kaname. But then Takuma noticed the subtle tremor in his fingers, the way the cloth trembled ever so slightly as it brushed across torn flesh. His breath caught. Kaname’s hands never shook. Not ever. But here, in the quiet of his own chambers with Zero bleeding out before him, that perfect Pureblood composure was cracking.

Takuma’s chest tightened. His own hands itched to do something, anything, to ease the burden. Gathering what little courage he had, he took a hesitant step forward. “Kaname…” His voice was soft, cautious. “Let me…let me take over. Just for a moment. You’re…”

“No.” The word cut through the air like a blade. Sharp and Final. Kaname did not stop working, his eyes never leaving Zero. The noble flinched but quickly masked it, forcing himself to swallow down the sting of rejection. He knew it wasn’t personal, not truly, but the curt dismissal landed heavily all the same. He pressed his lips together, steadying himself, and tried not to take it to heart. Kaname’s world was not an easy one to step into, and Takuma knew better than to press further.

He hesitated only a moment longer before speaking again, his voice gentler, careful not to sound as though he were challenging. “Everyone’s worried,” he said quietly. “They smelled your blood earlier. I sent them back to their rooms, but…they’ll want an explanation.”

At that, Kaname gave a faint, dismissive scoff, “I don’t owe them an explanation.” His voice was calm, even, but beneath that composure was a sharp edge of steel, a finality that allowed no room for argument. It was a tone that Takuma knew well. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to let it end there.

“Kaname…” Takuma’s voice was soft, uncertain, almost pleading, but the Pureblood cut across it without hesitation.

“Tell them it is none of their concern,” Kaname said, his words clipped, controlled. “Tell them I am fine.”

Takuma hesitated. The easy thing would have been to agree, to leave it at that and pretend the weight of this night could be brushed aside. But his chest tightened as he studied Kaname, the set of his shoulders, the tension radiating from him. Quietly, he asked the question he already feared the answer to. “Are you?”

The words seemed to land heavier than Takuma expected. Kaname stilled, his hand motionless where it had been pressing the cloth to Zero’s chest. Slowly, he turned, just enough to glance at his friend. In that fleeting moment, Takuma caught it…the pain swimming in those deep brown eyes, the storm Kaname kept hidden from the world.

“No…” The word was soft, breaking past his lips in a breath that sounded almost reluctant, almost too heavy to carry. His gaze dropped again to Zero, and when he spoke again, his tone had lost its iron edge. “No, I’m not.”

Takuma’s breath caught in his throat. Kaname never admitted weakness…never. His emotions were always locked away, tightly controlled behind walls no one was permitted to breach. Even those closest to him rarely glimpsed more than the mask he chose to show. Yet here, now, Takuma saw that mask slip. Kaname hadn’t lied. He hadn’t deflected. For once, the Pureblood had allowed the truth to break through, and it left Takuma shaken. Perhaps Kaname couldn’t hide it this time. For all his strength, for all his careful concealment, Takuma could see the cracks. If Kaname forced himself to bury this, to carry the weight of it in silence, Takuma feared it might finally be the thing that broke him.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and aching. Dread curled tight inside his chest, pressing against the desperate need to understand. The silence between them grew heavy, unbearable, until at last Takuma forced the words past his lips. “What happened?” His voice was soft, fragile, a thread of sound barely strong enough to hold together. His eyes flicked uneasily to Zero’s still form, pale and bloodied against the sheets, then back to Kaname. “Did the Senate…did they attack him again?”

The thought made his stomach twist violently. If they had—if they dared—then someone among them must have had a death wish. Kaname had already made it clear that Zero was under his protection, had already confronted them for their intrusion into his territory. For them to ignore his warning, to return and harm the very person he had claimed as his own—it would not only be reckless, it would be suicidal. Takuma could almost see the carnage such an offence would bring, and the idea alone was enough to set his pulse racing.

But Kaname’s head moved in a slow, measured shake, the motion final in its simplicity. His reply was quiet, but there was no mistaking the truth it carried. “No,” he said, his tone steady at first. He drew in a slow breath, as though the weight of the words pressed heavily on his chest. “Zero…tried to kill himself.”