Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 5 - Part 1

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Albert Irving woke up, his stomach growling with hunger. It must have been the middle of the night—everything around him was pitch black. When he took a breath, his throat stung sharply. Even his windpipe felt dry as bone. How long had it been since his last "meal"? Twenty days? Thirty…? He had long since stopped bothering to count the days. From the living room, the faint sound of Christmas songs leaked out from the TV. The end of the year was clearly drawing near.

He dragged his body—heavy as lead—out of bed and reached for the smartphone on the bedside table. He called Japan. After a few seconds' delay, the same voicemail message he’d already heard hundreds of times played again. Just like yesterday, the call wouldn’t go through.

In despair, he flung the phone aside and burrowed back under the sheets. Akira wouldn’t answer. Not since returning to Japan... He remembered the days when he lived at Akira’s apartment. Akira would smack him on the head and yell at him constantly, but those days had been fun. The embalming facility, Koyanagi and Tsuno, his friends Mitani and Nukariya… Everyone had been so kind. He never felt the hollow emptiness he had when he was living in that crumbling boathouse near the Gaddis family’s home. Back then, he’d truly felt that he “existed” and was “living” as Albert Irving.

He had regretted it so many times, until the memory wore thin—regretted ever saying he wanted to go back to America. Regretted ever wanting to see his parents’ faces. If only he hadn’t said those things… he would never have been abandoned by the person he loved so dearly.

Knock knock.

There was a knock on the door.

[Al? I heard something—are you okay?]

It was Kyiv’s voice. Al covered his ears.

[Pat’s downstairs. She wants to see you. Won’t you come out?]

If it wasn’t Akira, he didn’t want to see anyone. Honestly, he didn’t even want to hear Kyiv’s voice. Ever since he realized he’d been left behind in America all alone, he’d tried over and over again to return to Japan. He couldn’t board a plane because he turned into a bat during the day—but if he went back the same way he came, returning wasn’t impossible. That’s why he’d begged so many times: [Kyiv, please. I want you to freeze me and send me to Japan.] But all Kyiv ever did was gently refuse: [No, Al. I can’t help you with that.]

[I promised Akira too—we agreed not to send you back to Japan. And I really believe the best thing for you is to live your life here.]

Even so, Al clung to him, pleading desperately:

[I promise I won’t be any trouble. Just send me to Akira’s place. The rest—we’ll figure it out between the two of us.]

Kyiv sighed, hands on his hips, looking utterly at a loss.

[Even if I sent you to Japan, you’d probably just get shipped right back frozen.]

There was no way to know that unless they tried. He wanted to go back right now. So, one day in November, Al prepared a cardboard box big enough for himself, wrote Akira’s apartment address on it, and left a note saying [Please send me to Japan],” then crawled into the freezer. In that cold, dark space, trembling from the chill, he told himself to endure it: When I wake up next time, I’ll be back with Akira… Holding onto that hope with all his heart, Al eventually woke up—on a sofa.

Orange curtains. A familiar striped sofa. Smooth English from the television.

This wasn’t Akira’s cramped room, the one like a doghouse where you had to take off your shoes at the door, where the narrow black sofa served as his bed.

Realizing he hadn't been shipped out but had thawed out naturally, Al flapped over furiously to where Kyiv sat across from him and protested with a shrill cry: “Gyak gyak!! (Why didn’t you send me to Japan?!)” He was livid. But Kyiv just kept repeating, [I can’t do that, Al.]

Maybe the problem was that it was Kyiv. Maybe someone else would listen. If it was one of Kyiv’s acquaintances, they might stop him. But what about a complete stranger? Surely someone he didn’t know—someone with no ties—would agree if he paid them. With that hope in mind, he approached a man he’d just met at the park and asked, [I’ll leave a box with a bat in it on the bench. Please freeze it and send it to Japan.] At first, the man gave him a suspicious look, but when Al offered to pay, he agreed.

Al had felt relieved — this time for sure, he thought, he was finally going back to Japan. But when he woke up from being frozen, he found himself dumped in a trash bin behind a shopping district. The man hadn’t sent him at all. He just threw the frozen bat into the garbage and ran off with the money.

By the time Al realized what had happened, he was jammed waist-deep in the trash can — still in bat form, looking like a baby chick stuck halfway out of an eggshell — and he cried out in frustration. He sobbed loudly, his voice echoing from the garbage. It was humiliating, pathetic, heartbreaking. The tears wouldn’t stop.

After that failed attempt to return to Japan, Al shut himself away. He sealed the cracks in the windows and doors with duct tape to keep Kyiv—who could turn into mist—from entering. He didn’t want to see anyone anymore, didn’t want to speak to anyone. But he held on to one last shred of hope and brought with him only the smartphone Kyiv had helped him contract. One day passed, then two... even without doing anything, time moved on. He grew hungry. Thought he was going to die. But he didn’t.

If he were human, he could die. But he was half-vampire. He couldn't.

If only Akira could see him like this. Then he’d understand—understand that leaving Al behind in America was a mistake. That alone, Al couldn’t do anything. He needed Akira.

Even as Al kept himself shut away, Kyiv would call out to him every day. It only irritated his bitter heart even more. Just like now.

[Enough already, Al.]

Kyiv’s voice, which had been gentle just a moment ago, suddenly turned stern through the door.

[You can throw your little hunger strike all you want, but Akira’s not watching you.]

The shame of having his heart seen through made Al’s ears burn.

[Akira is living his life in Japan—working, eating, just... living. Whether you’re starving to death or not doesn’t matter to him. Stop acting like a child and come out.]

[Leave me alone!!]

Al screamed in a hoarse voice, eyes shut tight.

[It’s because of you! Akira went back to Japan because you were here! If I’d been alone, he wouldn’t have left me! It’s because of you…!]

THUD!

A loud crash shook the room, and Al peeked out from under the sheets. The duct-taped door creaked and slowly, almost in slow motion, tilted inward and collapsed with a BANG, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The hallway outside was bright, but the room was dark. The figure standing in the doorway was cast in shadow. With a click, Kyiv turned on the room’s light and stepped over the fallen door—deliberately, as if making a point.

[Duct tape tricks like that won’t work on me.]

Al's eyes locked onto the large plastic bottle in Kyiv's right hand. Inside, a dark red liquid sloshed gently. He panicked, clamping a hand over his nose and pulling the sheet over his head. …That smell—no, no way…

The hunger that had settled into the background suddenly surged, roaring to life. The sweet scent of blood flooded his mind. He wanted it. He needed it. That rich, thick blood—he wanted it to soothe his parched throat.

The sheet was suddenly yanked back, and Al looked up. Kyiv stood over him, but Al couldn’t care less about the pity in his eyes. His gaze was locked on the contents of the bottle. He sat up in bed, inching closer with just his face, unable to tear his eyes—or nose—away from the delicious, mouthwatering scent. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly it made his head spin with intoxicated dizziness.

When his own hands, unconsciously reaching out for the bottle, came into view, he snapped back to himself with a jolt. Trembling from the gnawing hunger, he yanked the sheet back over his head with a sharp motion.

[Al, you don’t have to hold back. It’s okay to drink,] came the gentle voice of temptation.

[I... don’t want it.]

[But you’re starving, aren’t you?]

[I said I don’t want it!]

His hoarse voice cracked as he shouted. The scent of blood grew even stronger. He wanted it so badly it hurt—so badly he clawed at his head with both hands.

Splat...

Something wet landed on his cheek. Without thinking, his tongue darted out to lick it. Tilting his head, he saw a red, oval stain forming on the sheet, with blood dripping down like a leak in the roof. On instinct, he bit into the sheet, desperately sucking at the blood that had soaked in and now fell in slow droplets.

Suddenly, the sheet was pulled away. Al’s half-open mouth was forced open as the cap of the plastic bottle was popped off and pressed roughly between his lips. He truly didn’t want this—but his body did. His body screamed for it. It thirsted.

At first, Kyiv held the bottle like a mother feeding milk to a baby. But before long, Al grabbed it himself. The blood flowed through his body like rain on a parched desert, soaking into every fiber of his being. Something he normally savored slowly—he drained it in seconds, not leaving a single drop.

Regret followed immediately.

Al hurled the empty bottle. It struck Kyiv on the shoulder, then rolled clattering across the floor.

[W-Why would you do something so low?!]

He was furious at the man who had dropped blood on the sheets on purpose, triggering Al’s instincts.

[Because you were starving. You looked so pitiful, Al,] Kyiv said softly.

Al clenched his molars tight.

[I wouldn’t have minded dying.]

[Even if you don’t eat, all that’ll happen is you’ll suffer. You won’t die,] came the calm reply, grating on his already raw nerves.

[I hate this. I hate it. I want to die...]

He buried his head in his arms, collapsing onto the bed. The vitality now coursing through his body felt like a curse. He wanted someone—anyone—to end it. Then someone could send his dead bat body to Akira. He wanted to make him regret leaving him behind in America for the rest of his life.

[Do you really want to die that badly?]

A voice as cold as death itself brushed up his spine.

[If you want to die... I’ll kill you.]

Al raised his head, eyes widening in horror.

A gleaming black gun was aimed straight at him.

[It’s loaded with a silver bullet. If I fire this into your heart, you’ll disappear from this world—without a trace.]

Kyiv took a step forward, and Al instinctively backed away. He couldn’t tell what the man with the gun was thinking. But those eyes—those weren’t the eyes you turned on a person. It was the kind of look you gave to a rock, or an insect… something insignificant.

[If… if I die, will you send my body to Akira?]

Kyiv laughed.

[You’re such a fool, Al. If you die, there’ll be nothing left. You’ll just turn to ash and vanish.]

A chill ran through Al’s entire body. He was a half-vampire—death didn’t work the same way for him as it did for humans.

[Poor Al. If it was going to come to this, you should’ve died much earlier. That way, you wouldn’t have had to go through all this pain.]

[W… wait,]

Al shook his head frantically from side to side.

[If I die… Akira will be sad.]

[That’s true. But I won’t tell him you died. That way, Akira will think you’re still happily living in America—and he won’t have to be sad.]

[No! I don’t want that!]

[What don’t you want?] Kyiv asked, taking another slow step forward.

[Whether you give up on life and die, it doesn’t really have anything to do with Akira, does it?]

Al couldn’t answer. He gripped the sheet tightly in his fists. Kyiv’s finger slowly touched the trigger.

[No… that’s not…] Al trembled.

[Let me put an end to your troubled little life.]

[No!!]

Kyiv's finger moved.

With a sudden burst of motion, Al tumbled off the bed. No gunshot rang out. As he hit the floor hard on his backside and tried to scramble upright, Kyiv was already looming before him, tall and unmoving.

[Goodbye, Al.]

His back was to the wall—there was nowhere to run. Realizing that, Al clutched his chest with both hands, right over his heart, and bowed his head. Just in case… just in case it could block even a little bit of the silver bullet. He didn’t want to die…

Bang!

A sharp, light gunshot rang out. Al flinched violently—but… there was no pain. Nowhere hurt.

Lifting his head, he saw a red rose blooming from the muzzle of the gun pointed at him.

Kyiv laughed as Al stared at it, dumbstruck.

[Funny, isn’t it?] he said.

[I remembered seeing something like this a long time ago, so I went and bought one.]

He pressed a button beneath the gun’s grip, and the rose slowly slid back into the barrel. When it was fully hidden, he pulled the trigger again—and pop, the red flower bloomed once more.

Kyiv reached out and gently brushed Al’s cheek with the silk petals.

[Honestly, you’re hopeless, Al. A complete fool.]

He sighed as he spoke.

[You act like a child, sulk and starve yourself just to get Akira’s pity, but that’s not going to solve anything. What you need to do is understand Akira’s feelings—and respect them.]

[But… but…]

Al’s eyelids grew hot, and tears began to run down his cheeks.

[I’m not saying you can never see Akira again, ever.]

Al sniffled, sucking in a loud, hiccuping breath.

[If the day comes when I think you’re ready to go back to Japan, I’ll freeze you and send you to him, any time. …But now isn’t that time.]

Drawing his knees in close, Al curled up into a small ball.

[Do you know why I think now isn’t the right time?]

He shook his head, still looking down.

[Because you’re too dependent on Akira. Even taking your unusual situation as a half-vampire into account, you’ve shown almost no desire to stand on your own. You refuse even the possibility of becoming a full vampire—just because you don’t want to lose the care Akira gives you. Don’t you think that’s wrong?]

[But…] Al tried to argue, but Kyiv quietly shook his head with a solemn expression.

[Love isn’t the same as dependence. Akira may support you, but you need to support him too. If one person bears all the weight, the balance falls apart. The relationship will collapse eventually.]

Then, Kyiv continued:

[Personally, I think it’s better for you to stay in America. The gap in lifespan between vampires and humans is just too great. It’s wiser not to get too deeply involved with them—but I’ve decided to change my stance. If you can become independent, and convince Akira, maybe it’s worth trying to live your lives together. But right now, when you’re sulking over being left behind, staging hunger strikes and crying all day—you’re not ready. You’re not even in a state to have that conversation. …I know you’re lonely. But that’s not enough.]

Al didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to understand it. But… he did understand.

He knew he’d been relying too much on Akira. But he had thought, as long as I love him, that’s enough. Not everyone has a perfect personality or a clean, fairytale romance.

[Eat properly. Start by building a foundation for your life here. Akira left behind everything you need to do that—including me.]

Al wiped at his overflowing tears with his palms.

[…I studied Japanese so hard, you know,] he whispered.

[I know,] Kyiv said, nodding deeply. [Your Japanese is really good.]

[But I feel like I’m starting to forget it, even though I worked so hard. If… if I can’t speak it when I finally see Akira again… I… I…]

His head, lowered in sorrow, was gently patted.

[It’s okay. You can keep studying here. There are plenty of ways to do that.]

[If I’m away too long, maybe Akira will forget about me…]

Kyiv burst out laughing.

[Akira won’t forget you. There’s no way he could forget living with a handful like you. In that sense, being a vampire gives you a big advantage over ordinary guys.]

Still teary-eyed, Al let out a small chuckle.

[Was… being a vampire actually a good thing?]

[Akira’s a complicated guy, you know. If you hadn’t been a vampire, he might not have given you the time of day,] Kyiv replied with a shrug and a playful wink.

Maybe that was true. Akira had taken care of him because he was a pitiful, ragged little vampire with nowhere else to go. Al had always known that deep down. That’s why he’d wanted to remain just pathetic enough—not so much that he’d hate himself for it, but just enough to keep Akira’s attention. But as Kyiv said, that wasn’t love. That was dependence.

[Hey, you two.]

A cool voice cut through the heavy mood. When they turned around, they saw Pat leaning against the doorframe, one leg kicked up against the opposite frame.

[Done with the heart-to-heart?]

She wore a black T-shirt and leather pants, a silver bangle glinting on her wrist. Her distinctive nose and ear piercings were connected by a thin chain—she looked like she'd get pissed if anyone said this out loud, but… she really did resemble a cow.

Al started to get up, wondering why Pat was here, when the feel of the sheet slipping off his knees reminded him he was completely naked. He’d gotten so used to going back and forth between human and bat form without bothering to change that he’d been walking around nude for a while now—and forgotten all about it. As he scrambled to cover his crotch with the sheet, only for Pat to glance down at the gesture with an indifferent look.

[Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen plenty.]

Probably referring to the bodies that arrived daily at the funeral home… Al decided not to think too hard about it. Pat crossed her arms, and the skull ring on her index finger glinted as she pointed directly at him.

[I heard you were on death’s door, but you look pretty lively to me.]

[Thanks to the blood you gave me. I really appreciate it,] Kyiv said with a grateful smile.

Pat just huffed through her nose without uncrossing her arms. [Hmph. I thought it was more serious, so I prepared something extra special—but looks like it won’t be necessary.]

Even though the bottled blood had given him a good boost, Al had gone almost a month without feeding. He could definitely go for a bit more. He’d refused at first, declaring he didn’t want blood—but as Kyiv said, sulking and pretending to be tough didn’t solve anything. It was just childish stubbornness.

[If… if you don’t mind, I’d like to have some,] he said timidly.

Pat snapped her fingers. [Come on in, Gary.]

A man peeked nervously through the broken doorway. He had black hair, black-rimmed glasses, and looked to be in his mid-twenties. He wore a pinstripe shirt and cotton pants—pretty standard, maybe even a little plain for Los Angeles. He was tall, probably about 6'3" (around 190 cm), but unfortunately had terrible posture, hunched over like a wilting plant. He looked like a timid version of Clark Kent.

"Clark Kent" gawked at Al, his mouth falling open. When their eyes met, he flinched and quickly looked away. The awkwardness of the situation hit Al all over again—nearly naked, hiding behind nothing but a sheet. Embarrassed, he pulled the fabric up to his chest like a girl covering up in a romcom.

[You two haven’t met, have you? This is my little brother, Gary. Gary, the naked guy is Albert Irving—he’ll be working part-time with us.]

Still avoiding eye contact, Gary lifted his right hand slightly and said, [Hi, Al.]

[Hi,] Al muttered back, eyes downcast. Why is Pat’s brother here? he wondered.

[So, sis… what am I supposed to do?]

Pat pointed at the bed. [Lie down there on your stomach and stay still for a while.]

“Clark Kent” turned ghost-pale. His jaw started to tremble.

[Th-th-the bed…?!]

[Just shut up and lie down. I could do it myself, but I’ve got work tomorrow and I don’t want to be worn out. You have more stamina—you’ll be fine.]

[Stamina isn’t the issue here!!] her brother shouted.

[And it’s two-on-one!]

Apparently, Kyiv was being counted too. Pat’s right lip curled upward in a clear sign of irritation.

[Al’s the only one who needs you. Just get on the bed. Or are you saying you can’t follow my instructions?]

She jerked her chin toward the bed. Gary bit his lower lip, eyes filling with tears.

[That look won't work on me. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how I covered for you when you got caught messing around in Dad’s car with your girlfriend back in middle school. You owe me.]

[I’ve already repaid that debt thirty times over!] Gary shot back.

[What about when that idiot receptionist you liked took in five bodies in one night without thinking, and nearly worked me to death? That debt hasn’t been settled yet.]

Gary threw out his arms in protest.

[Maia’s not an idiot! And she’s my wife now!]

[I’ll say this once, so listen up.]

Pat let out a deep, deliberate breath.

[Are you going to listen to me—or not?]

The glare she fixed on him would’ve sent lesser demons running. Gary, caught like a mouse before a cat, cringed.

[…Sis, I’ve only ever been with girls,] he mumbled, voice wrung dry with despair.

[I know that. Just get on the bed.]

With a swift kick to his rear, Pat sent Gary stumbling over the broken doorframe, wobbling toward the bed. He stopped and looked back at her with a betrayed expression. She met his gaze with eyes colder than the Alaskan winter. Realizing there was no escape, he trudged forward, rounded back hunched in defeat, and climbed onto the bed with the timidity of a newborn kitten.

[…M-Mr. Irving. Um, please be gentle.]

At Gary’s resigned words, Pat narrowed her eyes with satisfaction.

[Al, I’m loaning you this idiot brother of mine. He’s full of blood and healthy, so I’m sure he’ll be tasty. But don’t go killing him or anything, okay?]

So he’d been right after all—Pat’s "special" was her brother’s fresh blood. Gary, her living offering, trembled uncontrollably, flat on his stomach like a sacrificial lamb. Al recalled how, back when he and Akira had visited their place, Gary had completely dismissed vampires—called it all magic. When did that turn into total acceptance?

[Pat, Gary… I really do appreciate the thought, but… I don’t think I can. What you already gave me was enough. Thank you.]

Pat tilted her head, puzzled.

[You don’t have to be so shy.]

[It’s just… my teeth…]

Al opened his mouth and pointed to his canines—short and dull.

[They’re short. They don’t grow out. So I can’t really bite like normal.]

[…Come to think of it, I think Akira mentioned something like that. Well, can’t be helped. Gary, you’re dismissed.]

A The moment he heard that, Gary leapt off the bed and darted out of the room with the agility of a cornered rat.

[What a coward,] Pat muttered, arms still crossed, letting out a sigh at her brother’s high-speed retreat.

[Nothing else to do here, so I’m heading home. Byee.]

She gave a small wave with her right hand and strolled out.

[You were supposed to be helping her out part-time, you know. Since you never showed up, she’s been coming by to check on you. Of course, you were holed up in your room the whole time, so you had no idea.]

Kyiv explained with a dry chuckle.

[Pat knew about your situation from Akira, but she didn’t believe you were actually a vampire. So, I had to give her a little demo—turning into a bat, turning back into a person. Eventually, she bought it. When I told her how bad things had gotten with you, she brought some 'food' and came to check in, hoping it might help even a little.]

Using her own brother’s blood was a bit… questionable, but the fact remained—she was genuinely concerned. All because Al was someone Akira cared about. That alone was enough.

[Her fashion sense and mine will probably never be compatible, but she’s a good person. Akira’s friends tend to be kindhearted types.]

He headed for the stairs, but abruptly stopped, struck by the sudden awareness of how free he felt. Right—he was completely naked. Even if it was just inside the house, that wouldn’t do. He went to the closet, pulled out some clothes, and got dressed. As he did, the rumble of a car engine echoed in from outside.

Al peeled off the anti-Kyiv duct tape from the window and slid it open. Out front, a black car was parked out front, and Pat was just climbing into the passenger seat.

[Ah—thank you!] he called out.

Pat glanced up at him and gave a slight shrug.

He stood there, watching the car Gary was driving roll smoothly out onto the road, and stayed at the window until the sound of the engine faded into the distance.

A breeze drifted in—not cool, but cold—brushing against his cheek. In the month he’d barricaded himself away, autumn had passed into winter. The seasons, unlike him, had steadily moved forward.

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