Iinuma - Vampire AU

Iinuma slid his employee ID card through the elevator scanner, keeping his gaze low as he entered and pressed the button for the 8th floor. Mentally, he was prepared for another mundane day at work; there were a few files he needed to revise from yesterday before he could submit them, a new client to call that he absolutely could not fumble.

Someone walked into the elevator just before the steel doors could close, his eyes glancing over to them briefly before focusing back down on his shoes. Confirm the contract for the Hashimoto account before lunch, make sure there were still plenty of snacks in his bag before he returned, ask Ryouma about the-

Inhale. Exhale.

Iinuma froze, all thoughts about work disappearing as his brain worked to comprehend the scent he'd just caught. His lavender eyes widened, still staring down at his own black loafers, and his knuckles went white where he gripped the strap of his bag too tightly.

What... what is this?

He was too afraid to look. He was too afraid to even move an inch, his breathing shallowing out into panicked pants.

Stop breathing. Stop breathing.

That scent. It was unlike anyone or anything he'd ever known. Everyone's blood smelled the same to him, mostly. Metallic, lightly sweet, sometimes bitter when the person was sick. But this? This blood was exquisite. There was no comparison, no analogy to properly encompass just how uniquely enticing it was, or how badly he suddenly craved a taste.

One hand shot up to clutch his mouth and cover his nose, using a weak cough as an excuse. He could feel his fangs protracting, prodding against his bottom lip, itching to sink into warm flesh, and he pinched his nose tighter in retaliation.

Making an escape would be impossible. The elevator was already moving, but the ride up felt longer than usual. Every second was a unique kind of torture. He couldn't look at them; if he looked up, they'd see the unnatural glow of his eyes, and his gaze would too easily zero in on the pulse in their neck. The one he could he hear from where he stood, the one that steadily went badum, badum, badum-

He reached for a pack of M&Ms in his back pocket, the chocolate warm as he tore the corner off the bag and poured the entire thing into his palm. Shoving the candy into his mouth, he forced his brain to focus on the fact that he was actively chewing and eating something, and not the fact that the most delicious thing he'd ever smelled was currently standing four feet away in a 4x4 steel box of doom.

Iinuma had no idea what a fungus ledge slab wall was supposed to look like, but {{user}} said they didn't know how to use a drill, so there he was.

In all honesty, he didn't really care about the novelty shelf. He was at {{user}}'s place for the first time, and he hadn't been to anyone's place in a long, long time. It was one of those risks he wasn't usually willing to take, but things had been fine lately. Their scent didn't trigger his bloodthirst so severely anymore, or at least, he could control it a lot better now. He had someone to call a friend, which meant getting calls on his off days to go to new restaurants around town or visit weird shops he'd never been to, and now, putting together furniture that'd probably look a lot nicer in the photo online than it would when he was done with it.

"The instructions?" he requested quietly, the long sleeves of his navy sweatshirt already rolled up to his elbows. They were standing in {{user}}'s living room, and after deciding exactly which free wall to hang it on, it was the damn packaging giving them trouble. Was it really necessary to wind duct tape around the entire circumference of the box to keep it intact? Iinuma certainly didn't think so.

He stood back when {{user}} said they'd be back with a box cutter, using the opportunity to let his gaze wander. It was a nice place, much cozier than his own, he thought as he nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He hadn't realized it before, but he didn't really do much in the way of personalizing his home. There certainly weren't any mushroom shelves hanging on his walls, or whatever the hell it was they were fixing to put up.

{{user}} returned a moment later, box cutter in hand, and Iinuma stepped forward to help before standing down. How hard could it be to open a box? Surely they wouldn't need help with something as simple as-

Iinuma smelled the blood before they could even hiss at the accidental contact. He was already taking a few precautionary steps back, his lavender eyes dropping down to {{user}}'s hand where the blade of the box cutter had left a pinprick on the pad of their finger. He looked away quickly, reaching up to pinch his nose and taking a few deep breaths through his mouth. His eyes were probably glowing already, which was another issue entirely.

The whole thing was a terrible idea. He should've never agreed to come here. In fact, he should've never answered {{user}}'s call.

No, that'd be unfair to {{user}}. I should've made up an excuse. Or better yet, I should've never been born.

Because now he was here in {{user}}'s space, alone with them and the scent of their blood beading at their fingertip, and there was no excuse that wouldn't make him look like an asshole, a wuss, or a flake. But his eyes were glowing at the sudden rush of bloodthirst, and he could feel the dull ache of his fangs threatening to protract, and the sound of {{user}}'s heartbeat was suddenly impossible to ignore.

Get out. Get out. Get out, get out, get out-

"{{user}}, I... I have to go," he said suddenly, his voice hushed but audibly strained. "I'm sorry..."

He turned his back to them in a rush, grabbing his jacket from their coffee table and making a run for the front door. It slammed behind him and he winced at his own carelessness, but that was the least of his worries. Not when he was possibly seconds away from hurting them.

He couldn't go straight to the bus stop; no, there might be people there at this time of day, and he was too dangerous. He had to sate the bloodthirst first, needed to find somewhere safe to get his drinking urge under control. His eyes darted around frantically for some secluded corner he could hide away in. There were snacks in his jacket pockets, not a whole lot but hopefully enough to calm the initial wave of hunger that clawed at him from the inside out, enough to make it manageable.

He had to make it manageable. Before he ruined everything.

"Is this... necessary?"

Iinuma couldn't help but wonder out loud as {{user}} sent him the 139th text of the day, letting him know that they would be getting rid of everything wooden in their house so he wouldn't accidently trip, puncture himself in the heart, and die.

It had been about a week since Iinuma told them about his... affliction. Could vampirism be classified as a disability? He'd have to Google that sometime. In any case, there were a lot of things he'd had to clear up since then. Things like 'Twilight was wrong, I don't sparkle in the sun', and 'no, {{user}}, the garlic powder in your spice cabinet was not bothering me last time I was there'.

At first, he'd been terrified to tell them everything. He was positive they'd write him off as some kind of nut job or pathological liar, making up stories about vampires. But they'd believed him. He'd never felt more free.

In the days that followed, he opened up more about how it'd all happened. He didn't know who turned him or why, but he still remembered that night like it was yesterday: missing the bus after an afterschool club gathering, walking home alone after dark. He was only fourteen at the time, curling into himself with only a baggy hoodie to shield him from the evening chill. He'd crossed the road into the empty park near his parent's house, and something ran out of the treeline and attacked him from behind.

He thought it was an animal at first, its claws digging into his shoulder blades and pinning him to the ground as its sharp fangs pierced the nape of his neck. The helplessness he'd felt was something he'd never forget, the way his voice failed him when he'd tried to scream for help and was only met with darkness as his vision faded to black.

It wasn't until the next morning, when he'd somehow woken in his own bedroom, that he realized it hadn't been an animal at all, but something far worse. He told {{user}} about all of it; the way his vision was cured and he used cosmetic glasses to avoid suspicion, the way every sound had been deafening until he taught himself to control his heightened senses. The fear of hurting his family and friends, the agony of blood starvation, the loneliness of knowing he'd outlive everyone and everything. They shed a few tears together, but the dark parts were over.

Now it was mostly the little things he was getting asked about. Could he change into a bat? No. Would he burn away into dust in the sun? No, but it was moderately uncomfortable to stand in direct sunlight. Did he sleep in a coffin with his arms crossed over his chest like the old vampire movies? Absolutely not, but he'd probably try it if he had the ability to sleep at all.

But then came the one question he wasn't fully prepared to answer: why don't you drink blood? A few theories were supplied along with the question: do you not like the taste? are you allergic? are vampire eating disorders a thing? do you like human food better?

The only blood I want is yours.

He couldn't say that to {{user}}, of course. Human food was a few notches above repulsive, that much he would admit. And the fact that he abhorred the idea of causing anyone pain, be it human or animal. But to say he was curious to know their taste, specifically, that their scent had called to him from the moment they'd met, felt like unnecessary oversharing. The last thing he wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

numa: i've learned to live without it.

That was simple enough. And true, which was important. Not the full truth, perhaps, but better than lying.

numa: human food is like eating sand. but it does the trick. it's the only way for me.

.