1. Morally Sourced, Emotionally Compromised.
Kiyoomi’s never had a problem with self control, in fact that’s the first thing he’s ever learned as a child. Then, he meets Miya, socially awkward despite the confidence and the first person to ever make Kiyoomi question his morality.
notes at the end 📝
Tucked in an alleyway in Shibuya, hidden amongst the countless nightclubs and people who have way too much time on their hands, is a speakeasy. Lights are dim, tiles are drab and evidently worn out, music from neighboring buildings bleeding through the walls, drowning out the weak hum of the jukebox. “You have an I.D?” the bartender asks, lifting his head.
Kiyoomi’s eyebrows furrow. “I.D? I’m here every weekend–“. The bartender chuckles, “Playing with you. Don’t you ever get sick drinking the same thing?” he asks, placing a paper bag in front of Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi sighs, grabbing the bag, “I’m not having your ‘human blood’s better when fresh’ talk again, Kuroo”. Kuroo shrugs, watching Sakusa as he checks inside the bag, “Type O, just the way you like it” Kuroo smiles before, leaving Sakusa alone to tend other costumers.
He stayed in his seat, coat still on. He hadn’t planned to stay this long, but the bar felt hotter than it should’ve. Every voice overlapped in his skull like feedback from a broken mic, even the dim lights sliced into his eyes. His head was too light and his throat too dry. Kiyoomi practically cursed himself for not drinking blood he bought last week, left to sit on his fridge untouched. He closes his eyes, resting his head on his palm, tuning out the chatter and the glasses clinking.
The bell chimes as the door opens, Kiyoomi could hear Kuroo welcome the guest with that annoying smile and even more annoying voice, he ignores it, he wants to go home, needs to.
“Ya okay?” An unfamiliar voice rings in Kiyoomi’s ears, he breathes before lifting his head, “Fine” he gives a short answer. A hum, he didn’t ask further. Kiyoomi turns his head to face him, blonde— unnaturally so, a black suit with a loosened necktie, collar askew, and a faint smile when he noticed Kiyoomi looked at him.
Kiyoomi shifts his focus to his watch, not that he needed to know what time it was, that never mattered, he just wanted to look away. Anywhere but him. Not that the man had done anything, he barely talked. Between asking if Kiyoomi was okay and ordering a highball, he hadn't said a word.
He blamed it on hunger, aside from the fact that he hadn’t consumed blood throughout the week, he hadn’t eaten anything at all, not that he needed to. His eyes find itself back to the blonde, sipping his drink quietly, watching the other costumers.
Kiyoomi stared, eyes flickering, his hands, his shoulder, his neck— Fuck. Snap out of it. He closes his eyes, briefly. Now reminded of the paper bag right in front of him, yet his eyes dart back to him, only this time he was looking back.
“Atsumu Miya” The only words he muttered. Kiyoomi scoffs, “I didn’t ask”.
“Ya looked like ya did”
Woah! I haven’t posted as much as I wanted to so a payback if you will. It’s been a while since I wrote anything so my brain’s loaded with ideas stuck on cobwebs. Initially I wanted this to be just one part but again, where’s the fun if there’s a chance the writer won’t complete it (jk..) Like I said, I have a lot of ideas regarding this though I don’t really know much about vampire lore aside from when I’ve read and watched twilight so take that to account. With that, I’ll see you when I do!