Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 6 - Part 11

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A few days later, Yonekura confessed to both murders, and the visitation restriction was lifted. Akira decided to visit him that Thursday. The morning was clear, but the roads were slick from overnight rain, and the air was thick with muggy heat that made it hard to breathe.

Akira took a half day off from work and went home at noon. He had said he would bring Al with him, but his sour mood since morning had left Al on edge, wondering if he might be left behind after all. Even so, when the moment came, Akira didn’t peel the bat off his shoulder or throw him across the room.

After finishing a simple lunch of cup noodles, Akira stripped off his clothes and pulled on a tank top. Then, from the closet, he took out what looked like a plastic cylinder.

“What’s that?”

“A back brace. I borrowed it from Koyanagi, the one he used when he hurt his back.”

A back brace? Al tilted his head. Was Akira’s back hurt?

Before he could ask more, Akira strapped the oversized brace around his torso—it was clearly too big for him—and then barked, “Turn into a bat.”

Startled, Al quickly shifted. Without hesitation, Akira shoved him into the narrow space beside the brace, packing him in tightly.

“Gyah! Gyah!” Al squeaked. It’s too tight! I can’t move! But Akira snapped, “Make yourself as small as possible!”

Whimpering, Al curled his body into the tiniest shape he could manage. At last, he fit.

So this was Akira’s plan—to smuggle Al into the detention center, hidden in the brace.

“When we get inside, don’t make a single sound,” Akira threatened.

“Kyuu…” Al chirped quietly.

That’s when it hit him. Now might be the time to try it.

Still crammed inside the brace, Al focused—and turned just his face back into human form.

“Akira.”

The moment Al called his name, Akira yelped, “Uwaaah!” and practically leapt into the air.

“W-Where did that voice just come from…?”

“I made head only human.”

Akira tugged open the side of the corset and peered down with an expression like he was inspecting dog poop. He stared at the bat with a human head in utter revulsion.

“…No matter how many times I see it, it’s still creepy.”

Rude, Al thought, but he emphasized the advantage: “Now I can talk. More things I can do.”

“‘More things you can do,’ my ass. You’re just turning into more of a monster.”

That parting jab stung.

“Tch… Because of you, everything’s more complicated,” Akira grumbled under his breath as he got dressed. Then came the sound of the door opening—he must have left the room. Since they were driving to the police station, Al spent the next thirty minutes listening to the engine hum.

The car eventually stopped, and Akira got out. It was almost time to face Yonekura—well, Akira would. Al would just be eavesdropping on the conversation from inside the brace.

Akira walked around, exchanged words—it sounded like he was completing the check-in process for visitation.

“Mind if we have a look under your shirt?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Akira replied, and Al felt the shift as he lifted the shirt.

“Oh, it’s a back brace?”

That must’ve been a police officer asking.

“Yeah. My back’s been acting up lately. I do a lot of standing at work, so this really helps.”

“Ah, I get it. Same here. Okay, could you do a quick turn for me while keeping your shirt up?”

Akira rotated in place. Then, “Alright, you’re good,” came the reply—he’d passed. Akira resumed walking. Only footsteps now—no more conversation. Then came the sound of a door unlocking. Akira’s body gave a small jolt. Al could feel the tension radiating off him.

There was the screech of a chair being dragged across the floor. Akira must have sat down. No one else was speaking, which likely meant Yonekura hadn’t entered yet.

Then, a distant door opened. Footsteps approached.

“Ah, Takatsuka-san.”

Yonekura’s voice.

Hearing it again sent shivers crawling up Al’s spine. That was the voice that had once attacked him.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” Yonekura said.

There was some scuffling, but Akira didn’t respond. Yonekura had probably taken a seat across from him.

“I thought you’d refuse the visit.”

Akira’s voice was clipped and cold. “That’s my line.”

“No, no, come on now. I figured you’d never want to see my face again.”

Yonekura’s tone was disturbingly lighthearted—hardly how someone should sound when talking to the person they framed for murder. Not a speck of guilt in it.

“I can’t understand what you’re thinking,” Akira said.

“Really? I still think you’re a good guy, Takatsuka-san.”

The conversation didn’t quite connect. What Akira really wanted to know was why Yonekura killed Ishimoto, and why he tried to pin it on him. But Nukariya had warned that asking directly might interfere with the investigation. It could prompt a police intervention.

“So strange,” Yonekura continued in his sluggish rhythm. “Just a little while ago, we were on opposite sides of this table. You were inside, and I was free.”

“…Yeah,” Akira replied tonelessly.

“By the way, how’s work? I mean, you were in lockup for a while, even if you got released.”

“…I wasn’t fired. I’m back at my old job.”

“Wow,” Yonekura said, dragging the syllable. “So even after an arrest like that, they kept you on. You know how it is on TV—‘The suspect is a man in his forties, unemployed’—that usually means the company fired them on the spot, afraid of bad press.”

“…I was lucky to have a good workplace.”

“Sounds like it. Oh, and hey, Takatsuka-san—you’ve got that foreign friend, right? Who was that guy in the reception room, the one who was butt naked?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, you definitely saw him.”

“There was no one there but me.”

Akira stated it flatly. After that, silence fell again.

“Guess I really am messed up somewhere, huh? Oh well. You had friends in high school, huh, Takatsuka-san?”

“Yeah.”

“I figured your only friend was that bat. The one Isahaya accidentally killed.”

Isahaya—he was the director of the orphanage who had passed away. Yonekura had mentioned him once, when he came to ask Akira to give a lecture. But now he was saying Isahaya had killed a bat? Al couldn’t make sense of it. Was this something that happened when they were at the facility? Had Akira kept a bat back then?

“…I had at least one friend.”

“You say ‘one’ like that’s all. You mean that detective guy, right? He seemed like the kind of guy who’s kind to people he lets into his space. Takatsuka-san, you’re a good person. That’s why you attract kind friends.”

“Me, though? I was a total mess,” Yonekura’s voice dipped.

“My life was already the worst from the start. Killing my grandma was kind of my peak, I guess.”

He said it—killing someone—as casually as ordering coffee. Al gulped. And Yonekura continued.

“You remember Hiroaki from the facility, right? That total problem kid who died in an accident. I felt so relieved when he was gone. But with Grandma, that feeling didn’t come. The memories of what she did never left. And after she stopped saying things to me, I wasn’t just ‘a kid with a tragic childhood’ anymore—I was a ‘murderer,’ too. Even before anyone knew I did it, I was a murderer. Later on, I realized just how messed up that is.”

“You…” Akira’s voice trembled. “Did you resent me?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Big time.”

Yonekura answered without hesitation.

“I hated both you and Ishimoto-san. About the same, really.”

Akira was silent. He’d done nothing wrong, was the victim, and yet Yonekura was laying blame like he was the villain.

“It’s just… you and Ishimoto-san, you’d both say my grandma was a good person. Or like, ‘People in the countryside don’t hit their kids.’ I was just a kid, and you were both so nice, so I really believed you—believed that country grannies were kind. But then when I actually started living with her, she was a piece of shit feeding a kid rotten food.”

Al could hear Akira suck in a breath.

“Other people said she was good too. Like Isahaya and Tokura. But I didn’t really care about them anyway. I never liked them much to begin with.”

Yonekura gave a short laugh.

“When it’s someone you don’t care about, their opinion doesn’t matter. But when someone kind lets you down—it hits way harder. You start thinking, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, and it messes you up. Like, ‘What a liar. Screw you.’”

“That’s…” Akira’s voice was shaking again.

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize. I know neither you nor Ishimoto-san meant any harm. But I couldn’t let it go. After I met you again during the Isahaya thing, and saw you just living your life, it got stuck in my head. What would happen if I dragged this person down to the same place I was?”

Yonekura was finally explaining what Akira had been desperate to know. The details were still unclear, but it was obvious that something had happened back when they were at the facility. One thing was certain—Akira hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Once I started imagining it, I couldn’t stop. It was just too fun.”

“…So you killed Ishimoto-san to turn me into a criminal?”

Akira’s voice was like steel.

“I wanted to clean up my past, you know? My grandma, Ishimoto-san, you—wipe it all out, like it never happened. And I did it, just like I planned. But it didn’t really change anything. I still felt like crap. Then I went back to the countryside, found the house trashed, panicked and dug up my grandma to dump her—but she still got found. And then I got arrested. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

The heavy sigh that followed was probably Yonekura’s.

“It’s your fault, Takatsuka-san.”

The words were thrown like a final verdict.

“It’s all your fault. That time, you told me, a kid, some dumb lie like ‘people in the countryside don’t hit their kids.’ That’s why this happened. It’s your fault.”

That was completely unfair. Al had wanted to say that’s not true, but hiding inside a brace, he had no way to respond.

“I was happiest when I was in the facility.”

Yonekura’s voice murmured, heavy with reflection. Akira said nothing. That silence—he couldn’t speak… because he was hurting.

“Visiting time is over.”

A voice called out. The scrape of a chair came from further away. Yonekura was probably standing up.

“…Kaito, is there anything you want?”

After a pause, loud laughter burst out. “Hahaha, hahahaha!” It was so loud someone else scolded, “Keep it down!”

“You’re still the model student, huh, Takatsuka-san. Just like always.”

After that, Yonekura’s voice was gone. Akira stood up and began to walk. Clack clack clack—hurried footsteps. He stopped briefly, and the sound of his steps changed—perhaps he’d entered another room. Then a curt, “Thank you very much,” and more footsteps followed. The hard rhythm of his soles echoed louder, until the sound of cars outside suddenly swelled. He had likely stepped out of the building.

It seemed Akira had gotten into the car. But the engine didn’t start. The silence stretched.

“Damn it.”

Akira’s voice snapped, followed by a loud thump of something being struck.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Inside the brace, Al tested his voice with a timid, “Ah.” With his head still in human form, he could speak.

“Akira.”

“Shut up!”

Just saying his name got him shouted at.

“Don’t talk. Not a single word from you.”

The intensity of the warning made Al shrink back in silence. There was nothing he could say. He could only huddle there, unmoving in the dark, waiting. After a long while, the engine finally started, and relief flooded through him.

About thirty minutes later, Akira returned to the apartment. The brace was finally removed—but the room was pitch black. Al changed the rest of his body back to human form and checked the time. Just past 7 p.m. Still, it was oddly dark. Peeking out the window, he saw the sky had clouded again despite the earlier sun, and now rain was falling, quiet and steady.

It was too dark to move, so Al switched on the light. Akira’s bag had been thrown on the floor, its contents scattered. They were sure to get trampled like that, so Al gathered them up and placed them neatly on the table.

Akira was in bed. Completely hidden under the blanket, curled into a ball. The slight shifting of the covers as he breathed told Al he wasn’t asleep.

“Akira.”

No response.

“You eat? Dinner?”

Still no answer. Al gently shook the blanket. “Shut up!” Akira shouted.

“You no eat, not good for body.”

“Don’t fuss over me. Missing one meal won’t kill me.”

It really had hit him hard—meeting with Yonekura. The perpetrator had completely dismissed his own guilt and instead attacked Akira, the one who had suffered.

“Akira not bad. Bad is Yonekura.”

“I know that! So shut up! Let me sleep!”

Al wanted to talk more. He wanted to share how he felt. But Akira wouldn’t hear it. He was too deep in his own battle, facing the storm in his heart—and Al couldn’t force his way in.

Then Akira’s phone rang. It was Nukariya. Akira ignored the ringtone. If he answered in the room, Akira would probably yell at him to be quiet. So Al took the abandoned phone and went into the bathroom, sliding his finger across the screen to pick up the call.

“It’s me. How did the meeting with Yonekura go today?”

“It’s me. Al.”

“Huh? Al?!”

“Akira... ignore phone.”

“Ahh, I see… So you went with him to the meeting too. How did it go?”

Nukariya had accurately predicted that Akira would be hurt. That’s why he’d called—out of worry.

“Yonekura... was bad. Really bad.”

“What do you mean?”

Al gave a brief explanation of the reason Yonekura had confessed during the meeting—why he’d tried to frame Akira. Nukariya was silent for a moment, then responded in disbelief.

“He really killed someone who’d helped him... just for that?”

“Yonekura is the one who did wrong. Akira... shocked. Now sleeping.”

“Well, Akira’s sensitive… I only talked to Yonekura once when we baited him, but I could already tell he was a serious problem. Including the way he commits crimes. That’s why I wasn’t sure it was a good idea for them to meet—but Akira was determined. I want to go check on him, but things are really hectic right now. I’ll drop by when I can. If anything comes up, contact me.”

Nukariya was reliable. He understood Akira well and genuinely wanted to help—but the one who wouldn’t listen was Akira himself.

Maybe Yonekura’s venomous words had shaken Akira’s mind and heart. But if he could just get a good night’s sleep, maybe he’d calm down and be ready to listen. Al hoped so.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, when Al woke to sunlight streaming through the window, Akira was already up. He stood at the kitchen sink, eating ice cream from a cup. There was a convenience store bag by the sink—he must’ve gone out to buy it that morning. Martha had once told Al that Akira ate ice cream when stressed, so just seeing him silently devour it told Al exactly how he was feeling.

“Ice cream? In morning?”

“There’s no problem, nutritionally. I’ll eat lunch.”

Al wanted to argue that ice cream wasn’t really food, but if Akira said he’d eat later, then he figured he shouldn’t push it. Compared to yesterday’s total shutdown, the fact they could even talk was a sign of progress. He chose to take it as a good sign.

Aside from the breakfast ice cream, Akira looked normal. Still, Al couldn’t shake his concern. He turned into a bat and latched onto Akira’s shoulder as he headed out the door for work.

“You don’t need to come till your shift in the evening.”

Akira tried to peel him off, but Al had his claws dug in tight. He wouldn’t let go. Maybe giving up, Akira brought him along to the center. There were two changes of clothes in the staff locker just in case, so showing up in bat form wasn’t an issue.

“Good morning, Takatsuka-kun.”

Matsumura greeted them outside the office. Akira gave a small nod. “Good morning.”

“Did you get to refresh yourself on your half-day off yesterday?”

That made Al realize Akira hadn’t told anyone why he took the day off. Understandable—he wouldn’t want to say he’d gone to meet the man who tried to ruin him. And it was personal anyway, no one needed to know.

“Yeah, more or less.”

“And did Al get to play lots with his master too?”

He hadn’t played with him, but he answered with a cheerful “Gyah!” anyway, and Matsumura, smiling, gave his head a gentle pat.

In the break room, Hatono had already arrived and was eating breakfast. He greeted Akira with a polite “Good morning,” and then turned to Al with an equally crisp, “Good morning, bat.” For whatever reason—maybe a personal quirk—he steadfastly refused to call him by name, always addressing him as simply “bat.”

“What did you do on your half-day yesterday?” Hatono asked.

Akira replied, “Something that can only be done on a weekday.”

It wasn’t a lie. You could only visit the detention center on weekdays.

“Something government-related? Those weekday-only errands can be a pain.”

While they chatted, Kanezaki and Koyanagi arrived almost at the same time.

“Takatsuka-san, did you have something going on yesterday?” Kanezaki asked.

Before Akira could reply, Hatono answered for him, “Something like a government office errand.”

“I was asking Takatsuka-san,” Kanezaki grumbled.

Hatono laughed through his nose. “Does it really matter?”

Just the usual morning in the break room.

Koyanagi and Hatono were first to start work, heading to the prep room as a pair. About thirty minutes later, Akira and Kanezaki handled the next body that arrived. Once everyone had gone out and the break room fell quiet, Al perched by the window and thought.

Last night, Akira had been so down. Even this morning, all he’d eaten was ice cream. But now he was acting completely normal. No scary expressions, no ignoring people.

Had one night of sleep really been enough to settle him down? If so, that would be good—but something felt off. Just slightly wrong. Al couldn’t put his finger on it, and that unease stuck with him all the way until noon.

Lunchtime didn’t follow a fixed schedule, but Koyanagi and Hatono came back first, with Akira and Kanezaki returning about forty minutes later. All four of them had ordered boxed lunches from the facility, but Akira barely ate a third of his before closing the lid. Al, already worried since he’d only had ice cream for breakfast, was watching closely when Kanezaki casually asked, “Oh? You’re not finishing that? Looks like you barely touched it.”

“My stomach’s acting up.”

“Eh, are you okay?”

Kanezaki kept glancing at the boxed lunch. Al had thought he was concerned about Akira’s health—but maybe not. Akira picked up on the true meaning of the glances and offered, “If you don’t mind leftovers, want it? I barely touched the side dishes.”

“Ah—well—I’d feel bad, but… if it’s really okay…”

Kanezaki sounded reluctant, but his eyes said otherwise.

“It’ll just go to waste otherwise.”

“Well, in that case… I’ll take it. Thank you!”

Kanezaki looked genuinely happy to receive the leftovers. Watching this, Hatono muttered under his breath, “Like a hyena.”

Kanezaki didn’t let it slide. “Hey, this is totally legal. I had permission,” he replied, for some reason invoking legality.

“Okay, okay,” Koyanagi said, stepping in to ease the tension.

While those two bickered, Akira quietly slipped out of the break room. Al thought maybe he’d just gone to the bathroom—but he didn’t come back. It started to bother him.

Al hopped to the window, and as part of his usual performance, scratched at the glass with a tiny claw. Koyanagi noticed.

“Wanna go outside?” He asked.

He nodded vigorously to make it clear.

Koyanagi opened the window wide, and Al launched himself into the air. He had a feeling Akira was out on a walk or something and flew to the always-empty courtyard—and sure enough, there he was.

Sitting on a bench.

This spot was tucked away and a little hard to find, so it wasn’t the kind of place funeral home guests would wander into. Al considered jumping onto his shoulder—but the air around Akira was just too melancholic. Instead, he settled some distance away and quietly observed.

Akira wasn’t doing anything. Just sitting. Head down, staring blankly at the shrubbery.

Up until now, when Akira had extra time after lunch, he’d spend it reading foreign academic journals or checking the latest funeral industry news from the U.S. Even his breaks had always been packed with embalming-related tasks.

If all he wanted was to space out, he could’ve done that in the break room. But instead, he chose to be alone. What was he thinking? No—Al knew. It had to be Yonekura. The things Yonekura had said.

After about fifteen minutes, Akira finally stood up from the bench. Break time was almost over. Al flew ahead to the break room. Koyanagi and Hatono weren’t back yet, but someone had kindly left the window slightly open, so he slipped back inside.

“Oh, you’re back,” Kanezaki said, noticing him and approaching. He gently touched Al’s back. Al chirped, “Gyah gyah! (Do your best in the afternoon training!)” but it didn’t land at all.

“Oh, I get it, you like being petted,” Kanezaki said, completely misreading the intent.

That afternoon, Akira and Kanezaki were assigned a case that must’ve required more time than usual. At 5:00 p.m., Kanezaki returned to the break room alone—Akira was still working. Kanezaki left with Hatono soon after, and Koyanagi followed around 5:30. On his way out, he placed Al on top of the lockers in the changing room.

“Not really sure, but Takatsuka-san asked me to let you hang out in this room this evening,” she said.

After Koyanagi left and his presence had fully faded, Al turned human again. He got dressed, went to the office to check in with Matsumura, then came back and changed into cleaning clothes.

Akira was still in the prep room. He’d removed his gloves already, so he must have finished. “If you drink, be sure to say thank you,” he said, pointing at a bottle of waste blood, then left.

It was about time to feel hungry. Even without a word, Akira had prepared blood from a body for him. Al was truly grateful from the bottom of his heart. After offering a silent prayer of thanks to the deceased, he drank quickly, then began cleaning. While he worked, Akira moved the body to the ceremonial hall.

By the time everything was cleaned up, it was past 7:30 p.m. Al figured Akira had gone home already—but no, he was still in the break room. Wearing a suit. Maybe he’d attended a wake.

Akira glanced at the clock on the wall.

“You should go home.”

A polite way of saying don’t come to mine.

But Al couldn’t let that happen. If Akira went home alone, he’d probably curl up under the sheets like the night before, locking himself away like a shut clamshell. Al could already picture it.

“I want talk.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I want now.”

“It’s not urgent.”

“Akira not fine. You force self.”

Akira’s weary face shifted, suddenly expressionless.

“You work hard. You force self.”

“I’m not forcing anything. It’s just my usual workload.”

“Akira heart hurt.”

His mouth twitched.

“Akira heart... has scar. It cry. So…”

“Shut up!”

Akira shouted loud enough to rattle the break room window.

“Akira angry. But true.”

“I told you to shut up!”

His face flushed red—furious, like a demon.

“Akira no get angry to others. But to me, angry.”

“That’s because you never shut your damn mouth!”

“Everyone no know Akira sad. They no understand.”

Akira clenched his teeth, glaring—then suddenly looked away. He grabbed his bag. He was giving up and about to leave. Panicking, Al jumped in front of the door to block his path.

"You're in the way!"

Akira grabbed Al by the shoulders, trying to shove him aside, but Al clung to the doorknob and wouldn’t budge. Akira clicked his tongue in frustration and turned to the other side. He opened the window and threw his bag into the courtyard. Giving up on the door, he was now trying to leave through the window.

"Wait!"

Al clung to Akira’s waist as he put his foot on the window frame. He threw all his weight backward, and Akira’s hand slipped from the frame. With Al as a cushion, he toppled backward into the room, landing flat on his back.

"You’ve got to be kidding me, you little—!"

Still sprawled on top of him, Akira flailed like an overturned turtle. He was heavy, and his back dug painfully into Al’s ribs. When Al finally couldn’t take it anymore and let go, Akira shot up and glared down at him.

"You little shit!"

"You can talk to me tomorrow, I said!"

"If Akira alone, you hide in bed."

"What I do in my own room is none of your business! Why do I have to be watched by you like this?!"

"Now, Akira need is..."

Al paused, trying to think. The emotion was there, swirling around inside him, but he didn’t have the Japanese words for it.

"Akira not bad."

"Of course I’m not! I didn’t do anything wrong."

"Yonekura say Akira is bad. But Akira not bad."

Akira bit his lip hard.

"Akira, this," Al said, tapping the tips of his own finger together.

"Even tip of finger not bad."

"I already know that!"

"But Akira heart trouble. It hurts."

Akira’s clenched fist began to tremble.

"Akira very sad, very hurt. So..."

Finally, he found the right words.

"You take out on me."

"Take it out on you?! You—"

"Akira depend on me."

Akira’s eyes flew open wide with shock. He probably hadn’t realized it himself.

"Not say to others. Only say to me. That is depend."

So Al continued, "I say, Akira not bad. Even tip of finger not bad."

"If it’s about right or wrong, then I’m absolutely not in the wrong!" Akira declared firmly.

"…But I might bear part of the responsibility. I lied. Because I wanted it to be true. But it wasn’t. And if Kaito was hurt and angry because of that—"

His voice twisted painfully.

"Yonekura Kaito is the bad one!"

Al shouted.

"He angry about Akira's lie, maybe true. But that not reason. Not enough to kill someone!"

"I know that’s not the only reason. I know he used me as an excuse. But still—"

"Thinking is waste."

Al cut him off deliberately, with force.

"Thinking Akira bad is waste. But Akira can’t stop. So, cry."

Al stood up.

"Akira cry a lot."

Akira stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Cry a lot. Let all tears out."

"I’m not even sad. You think I can cry just because you tell me to?"

"Akira sad. So cry!"

"And why the hell should I let you tell me what to do?!"

"I accept Akira."

Al thumped his chest.

"Akira sad, I hear. I comfort."

Akira’s mouth hung slightly open.

"I come back to Japan. Live with Akira. Live together means support."

Al fumbled desperately for the words.

"I support Akira. I vampire. I not die. So support always. Whole life. Until die."

Akira squeezed his eyes shut.

"So depend on me. Rely on me. It’s okay."

"…Why would I rely on you?"

His voice, which had been shouting a moment ago, now sounded just a little quieter.

"Ishimoto-san didn’t have to die. She worked with Kaito for years, and she was never killed. It’s me. It’s because I embalmed Isahaya that I ended up crossing paths with Kaito, and then..."

"It no matter!"

"How can you say that so certainly?! Ishimoto-san wasn’t someone who deserved to die!"

"Akira not matter! Kill was Yonekura Kaito! Akira not matter! Absolutely not matter!"

Akira twisted his body and clutched his head.

"How can it not matter?! He said it was my fault—"

"Akira maybe have part blame, but still innocent. You go jail. That make even."

Al laid his hand over Akira’s, which was pressed tightly to his head, and softly repeated, "Not your fault."

"Akira not bad. Not bad. Absolutely not bad."

He said it like a spell, over and over, and Akira’s eyelids began to swell. He looked on the verge of tears.

"Akira, cry a lot."

"Don’t order me around!"

"Please cry. I comfort you a lot."

Tears fell from Akira’s eyes in heavy drops, as if something inside had broken. It must’ve been emotions he’d been holding back all along, finally overflowing.

"Akira very sad."

When Al tried to stroke his head, Akira shook it side to side like a stubborn child.

"Because kind. So heart pain."

He said nothing, just kept silently shedding tears. He should say more. Say he’s sad, or angry—but he said nothing, just cried. And that made Al want to cry, too.

"I’m not in the wrong," Akira said, like he was trying to convince himself.

"…Even though I know that, the guilt toward him won’t go away. I knew—better than anyone—that lies could hurt. But I thought I was doing the right thing. I really believed that once he left there, Kaito could be happy..."

At last, the feelings Akira had hidden for so long began to show.

"Past can’t change."

Al gently stroked Akira’s hair.

"I became vampire. Can’t go back human. Can’t do anything about that. But future still here."

Akira’s hunched shoulders trembled.

"I met Akira. So, future still real."

Back when Al had become a vampire, when he was utterly alone and smothered in despair, he never could’ve imagined a future like this. Then suddenly, it hit him. He realized.

Maybe… maybe I’m happy.

To be able to say with confidence that he could support someone, support Akira—and to feel that he truly could—that was happiness.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

His head grew hot, and that warmth overflowed through his tear ducts. Tears poured out, falling and soaking into Akira’s tangled, dark hair.

Akira raised his face. Al’s tears struck his tear-soaked cheeks, scattering with a soft patter.

"…Why the hell are you crying?"

Akira’s fingers brushed away the tears at the corners of Al’s eyes.

He could still worry about someone else even while grieving.

That—was exactly the kind of person Al had fallen for.

"Akira… I love you."

The kindness of Akira’s fingers made Al’s eyes well up again.

"Love you. Love you lots. Love you so much."

Akira didn’t say a word. But he gave a small smile and gently pressed his cheek to Al’s.

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