Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hasegawa Ken did not consider himself particularly brave, but he was very stubborn. That was how he ended up waist-deep in a wet thicket, muttering about fern spore distribution while the storm above him rumbled like a particularly irritated stomach.

“If I die in the woods, make sure they know I was looking for exotic herbs and not just, like, chasing squirrels,” he mumbled to himself, carefully nudging aside a branch.

The rain had started as a misty drizzle, just enough to be annoying, and had since escalated into a full-blown drama production. Thunder cracked overhead. The wind was howling. Ken’s boots were soaked, his glasses fogged, and somewhere behind him, Mao had vanished with a, “I’m going to check out that creepy glint through the trees! Don’t die!”

That had been over an hour ago.

Ken had tried calling her, but his phone stubbornly displayed No Service like it was mocking him. So now he was trudging through trees in a borderline comical poncho, searching for a high point to get a signal.

And then, as if summoned by pure dramatic irony, the forest abruptly cleared.

Ken stopped.

In front of him, half-veiled in fog and rain and very much real, stood a castle.

Not a cottage. Not a log cabin. A whole-ass castle, tucked into the woods like a secret it had forgotten how to keep. Stone towers rose through the trees, spires crooked with age. A few windows flickered faintly with candlelight.

“…Right,” Ken muttered. “Definitely hallucinating. Maybe the spores were hallucinogenic. That’s fine! That’s scientifically interesting!”

But when the wind blew again, he felt the cold, wet sting of rain soak through his sleeves. The castle wasn’t a hallucination. It was just inconveniently dramatic.

And right now? It was also dry.

Ken’s sense of self-preservation was about as developed as a baby deer’s. He approached the front gate.

<hr>

The door opened with an ominous groan, because of course it did.

Ken stepped inside, dripping water onto a faded but surprisingly intact rug. The entrance hall was dim, lit only by the glow of sconces and a single fire in the hearth. Ancient portraits stared down at him with judgmental 18th-century eyes.

“…Okay,” Ken whispered. “Haunted vibes, ten out of ten. But there’s dry wood and a fireplace. That’s a win.”

He didn’t see anyone. No staff. No signs of recent movement. It felt… abandoned, in a curated sort of way, like someone had pressed pause on a very expensive lifestyle a hundred years ago and just never resumed.

Eventually, he found a small side room that was some kind of study. There were dry clothes folded neatly on a chair near the fire. That felt suspicious, but he was wet and cold and tired, and honestly, at this point, Ken would accept hospitality from a banshee.

He changed into the soft linen shirt and dark slacks (suspiciously similar to his size), built a fire like his mom taught him, and finally, finally, got a single bar of cell service.

Ken: Got separated. Sorry. I’m in an old building. Found shelter in a castle.

Mao: castle??

Ken: Yeah

Mao: LMAO okay dracula

Ken: Don’t jinx it

Mao: i found a ranger’s cabin. dry. we meet at first light

Ken: Sounds good. Pls don’t adopt any wildlife

Mao: can’t promise that. sleep safe, nerd <3

Ken smiled faintly at the screen. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

And then a voice said, “You’re in my clothes.”

Ken nearly threw himself into the fireplace.

He turned sharply, heart in his throat. From the shadows of the room stepped a figure: short, lean, and oddly poised, with long, bright blue hair falling around a face that looked both too young and far too old. His eyes, deep red and glowing faintly, were fixed on Ken like he was deciding which bone to snap first.

“…Hi,” Ken said, voice cracking. “Um. Sorry. I didn’t think anyone lived here?”

“You broke into a locked castle,” the stranger replied. His tone was dry, aristocratic, and deeply unimpressed. “Built a fire. Stole my fucking clothes.”

“I-I didn’t steal them! They were folded, I assumed it was like… communal! For emergencies!” Ken scrambled. “A-Also the door wasn’t l-locked, it was just… a little r-resistant.”

The man stepped forward, and Ken caught the glint of fangs as he spoke again.

“You saw the gate, the portraits, the lit candles, and your first instinct was ‘cozy abandoned AirBnB?”

Ken opened his mouth to retort, probably with something deeply intelligent and sarcastic, but his brain caught up with him. The red eyes. The fangs. The silent movement.

“…Oh no,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” the man said flatly.

Ken backed up slowly. “Okay. I’m just gonna… s-step outside and scream into the storm. Y-You can pretend I was never here! Easy. Clean. Vampire NDA, y-you know?”

But before he could bolt, something slammed into the back of his head.

“Sorry!” a new voice drawled, cheerful and unapologetic. “He’s cranky when people borrow his stuff.”

And the world went black.

Ken woke up with a splitting headache and a very unhelpful chair under him. He was tied to it, which felt excessive. He blinked groggily. The fire had burned lower. The room felt stuffy.

Two figures loomed nearby.

The blue-haired vampire was seated in an armchair, arms crossed. The second figure leaned lazily against the fireplace.

She was blonde, tall, and smirking. Where the first one had a haunting, old-world air, this girl looked like she could kickflip off a balcony and land on a chandelier just for fun.

“You’re awake,” she said brightly. “Congrats.”

“I have a concussion,” Ken mumbled.

“Maybe,” she said. “But you’ve got great bone density. You bounced.”

The first one sighed. “Tamba.”

“Oh what, Kamimura? I checked! No blood leaking anywhere important.”

Ken groaned and tried to sit up. “Is this… A-Are you seriously keeping me here?”

He nodded once. “You know we exist. That’s a problem.”

“I-I can forget,” Ken offered quickly. “I forget stuff all the time! I once forgot how to boil rice.”

The silence that followed was… not promising.

Kamimura stared at him like he was trying to decide whether to scowl or sigh. The result was somewhere in the middle.

“Rice?” the vampire repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah. I… I just poured the water straight into the rice cooker and forgot the rice. Then I turned it on and waited forty-five minutes.”

“Did you eat it anyway?” the blonde asked, sounding entirely too curious.

Ken blinked at her. “N-No?”

She looked almost disappointed. “Weird.”

Kamimura pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tamba.”

“What? I like knowing what kind of idiot we’re dealing with. And this one’s funny.”

“Excuse me,” Ken said, affronted. “I’m not an idiot. I’m a researcher.”

Tamba grinned. “That’s cute.”

“I-I’m serious! I have two published papers! One of them got cited in a field journal!”

“You wandered into a vampire’s castle during a thunderstorm and changed into his pajamas,” Kamimura said, with all the energy of someone who was so done.

Ken flinched. “Okay, that… was a tactical miscalculation. I-I was wet. And cold. And your fireplace is suspiciously cozy. W-Which is not my fault, by the way!”

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Kamimura muttered. “Just your problem.”

Ken paused. “...Is that a vampire proverb?”

“No. It’s a me proverb.”

Tamba snorted.

Ken let out a slow breath. “So I’m… a h-hostage, then?”

“Let’s call it… extended visitation,” Tamba said brightly. “We’ll even feed you! We’ve got enough dusty old canned food to keep you alive for a while. As long as you don’t mind things like powdered soup and crackers that expired before your mom was born.”

Ken paled. “Do you have water at least?”

Kamimura sighed. “There’s a spring behind the west wing.”

“Oh, good,” Ken said mournfully. “Love a scenic detour. Love building up my immune system with medieval plumbing.”

“You’re very talkative,” Kamimura muttered.

Ken shrugged, as best as someone could while tied to a chair. “I-I’m compartmentalizing.”

“Do you want to keep him tied up?” Tamba asked, poking his shoulder. “Because I kinda feel like he’s not a runner. Look at him. He’s already making sarcastic quips like he lives here.”

Ken sniffed. “I could run.”

“Not with those legs,” she said without even looking.

“Wha— I-I—!”

Kamimura stood. “Fine. He can move around. But no leaving the castle. No phone. No emails. No texts to your sister or anything else.”

Ken’s expression twisted in mild distress. “Y-You checked my phone?”

Tamba waved it in the air. “You had exactly two bars and no password. This is on you.”

Ken groaned, slumping against the back of the chair. “Mao’s going to kill me. She’s gonna find the castle, storm in here with her hiking pole, and murder you both and then me.”

“She sounds fun,” Tamba said.

Kamimura sighed again. “How long until your sister comes looking?”

Ken hesitated. “W-We were going to meet in the morning. So… she’ll realize something’s up if I don’t show.”

Kamimura considered this. “We’ll deal with it if she finds us.”

Ken’s brain spun. “Y-You’re really just going to keep me here because I saw your fangs?”

“We don’t like paperwork,” Tamba said. “So yes.”

Kamimura crossed his arms. “The last time someone left here after seeing me, we had three priests knocking on the door and a man trying to exorcise the gate.”

Ken winced. “Okay. F-Fair. But if I’m going to be a prisoner—”

“Guest,” Tamba interjected.

“Prisoner,” Ken repeated, “I demand decent food. A-And a notebook.”

“What for?” Kazutoshi asked suspiciously.

“I’m a researcher. You expect me to be in a haunted vampire castle and not take notes?”

“…He’s going to be a nightmare,” Kazutoshi muttered.

“I think he already is,” Tamba said, a little too brightly. “Buckle up.”

Kamimura groaned, and Ken sighed.

Oh man.

Chapter Text

Ken had officially reached the tragic and undignified stage of captivity known as bedridden from hunger.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be dramatic— he’d eaten weirder things on campus during finals week— but after a full twenty-four hours of nothing but water from a suspiciously ornate stone basin and half a box of Tamba’s antique animal crackers, things were getting dire.

Very dire.

He lay curled on a fainting couch (because of course these vampires had one), one hand draped over his stomach like a sick Victorian poet.

“I think I’m dying,” he muttered.

“You’re not dying,” Kamimura said flatly. “You’re just fucking annoying.”

Ken cracked one eye open. “Wow. Comforting. That bedside manner? Top notch.”

Kamimura stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed, brow furrowed in what looked like genuine concern, if genuine concern could be filtered through thousands of years of not giving a single shit.

“I’m not a goddamn doctor.”

“I noticed.”

Tamba poked her head in through the doorway, a rolled-up scroll under one arm and a piece of hard candy in her mouth. “I brought what might be soup ingredients,” she declared. “Or possibly embalming herbs. Jury’s out.”

Ken gave her a pale look. “Please don’t embalm me while I’m still breathing.”

“No promises,” she said cheerfully, then flopped onto the floor next to the fainting couch, legs crisscrossed like she was ready for story time. “Why are humans so squishy? You’ve been here one day.”

“We need food, Tamba,” Ken said, exasperated. “This isn’t new science. I am a fragile, metabolic creature who runs on carbohydrates and questionable cafeteria sushi. I’m not built for blood and moonlight and drama like you people.”

“I don’t run on moonlight,” Kamimura muttered.

“I definitely run on drama,” Tamba said proudly.

Ken groaned. “Okay. Look. There’s a very easy solution to this.”

“Death?” Kamimura offered.

“Food,” Ken said. “From someone who isn’t a thousand-year-old corpse with no tastebuds.”

“Rude,” Tamba said.

Ken pushed himself up on one elbow. “Let me text my sister.”

“You can’t have your phone,” Kamimura said automatically.

“Then go get her.”

Both vampires blinked.

“She’s probably looking for me anyway,” Ken went on, eyes bright now. “You know I was supposed to meet her this morning. She’s not going to sit around and twiddle her thumbs while I vanish off the face of the map. And unlike me, Mao actually knows how to cook.”

Tamba narrowed her eyes. “Is this a trick to escape?”

“No,” Ken lied.

Kamimura raised a brow. “He’s lying.”

“I said no,” Ken repeated, with more feeling this time. “Okay, maybe like… partly lying. But not about the food. Look at me. I-I am not a threat to anyone right now. If I had enough strength to escape, I wouldn’t be complaining about powdered soup and pre-French Revolution crackers.”

Kamimura turned to Tamba. “This is your fault for offering him the shitty crackers.”

“They were vintage!”

“They were a biohazard.”

“I’m dying,” Ken reminded them from the couch.

Kamimura muttered something under his breath in what Ken could only assume was Old Grumpy Vampire Dialect™.

“…Fine,” he said finally. “We’ll bring her here.”

Ken blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes,” Kamimura said. “And she’s staying. We’re not letting her wander back with vampire-related gossip.”

“Wow,” Ken said. “You’re just so trusting.”

“I have lived too long to trust anything, even anything with a nervous laugh and a snack dependency.”

“That’s fair.”

Tamba stood and stretched, spine cracking audibly. “Alright, road trip. I haven’t dragged a human through the forest in, like, two centuries. I’m so due.”

Ken blinked. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”

“We’ll bring her back alive,” she said, already halfway out the room. “Mostly.”

Kamimura glanced over his shoulder. “Try not to die while we’re gone.”

“You’re the ones leaving me in starvation jail!”

“Think of it as a fast,” Kamimura said, and disappeared into the hall with a swish of his too-long coat.

Ken groaned and flopped back onto the couch. “This is fine. Everything is fine. Totally normal day.”

Ken heard the footsteps first: light, rapid, and familiar. He tried to sit up on the fainting couch, but all that earned him was a mild head rush and a quiet groan.

“Ken?” came the sharp voice of his sister, cutting through the hallway like a bullet. “Ken! You’re alive?!”

The door slammed open like a scene from a low-budget drama. Mao stood there, rain-damp, wearing her field jacket and a furious expression. She was flanked by two very smug-looking vampires.

“I swear to God, if this is one of your weird field experiments again—”

Ken blinked blearily at her from the couch. “Hi, Mao.”

Mao stormed to his side. “You didn’t meet me this morning. Then your phone went dead. And then two actual strangers dragged me through a forest and said ‘Don’t worry, your brother’s at our place.’ What the hell, Ken?!”

“I didn’t die,” Ken offered weakly.

“That’s your defense?!”

Kamimura drifted in behind her, hands in his sleeves, expression as bored as ever. “He was dying. Very slowly. And very dramatically.”

“I had low blood sugar,” Ken muttered.

“You had starvation-induced fatigue and a headache,” Tamba said, bounding in after Kamimura like a golden retriever with an attitude problem. “Which is just fancy science speak for ‘human needs food.’ You people are so needy.”

Mao turned, fully prepared to unleash hell. “Oh, you’re the one who chloroformed me in the woods!”

“I don’t even know what chloroform is,” Tamba said, clearly lying.

Kamimura sighed. “She kicked one of us. I’ll let you guess who.”

Mao rubbed her temples. “So let me get this straight. Ken wanders off looking for herbs, doesn’t meet me like we planned, vanishes, and then you guys, two actual vampires, decide to keep him prisoner and eat him in your creepy mountain castle.”

“I wasn’t going to fucking eat him,” Kamimura said, insulted. “That’s, like, cannibalism. We don’t eat people, we drink from them. Occasionally. Because it’s too much work.”

“And inefficient,” Tamba added. “He probably doesn’t even have that much blood. You’ve seen how bony he is.”

Ken scowled from the couch. “Rude.”

“So then,” Mao continued, crossing her arms, “you idiots figured out he’s starving, and his big idea was ‘go get my sister’?”

Kamimura gave a long-suffering sigh. “Correct.”

Mao stared at Ken.

Ken raised a shaky hand and gave her a thumbs-up. “I figured you’d know what to feed me.”

“I was at a perfectly decent abandoned ranger station, eating instant ramen and waiting for you to show up like a normal person,” she snapped. “Do you know how fast my heart was beating when some blue-haired twink told me you were being ‘housed indefinitely’?”

“He’s not wrong,” Tamba said brightly.

Ken rubbed his face. “Mao. I’m sorry. Really. But if it makes you feel better, you’re also a prisoner now.”

Mao blinked. “I’m what?”

“We figured it’d be easier,” Kamimura said flatly. “He knows too much. Now you know too much. The only logical step is to contain the information.”

“In a crumbling, gothic estate with no plumbing,” Ken muttered.

“We have plumbing!” Tamba yelled from across the room.

“Then explain why the pipes shriek like the damned every time I use the sink,” Ken replied.

Mao rubbed her face again, deeply exhausted. “Okay. Okay. You know what? Fine. I’ll process the hostage part later. Right now, someone needs to feed my brother before he turns into a husk.”

“Already on it!” Tamba chirped. “I went through the pantry and found, like, a whole box of something called 'emergency protein paste.'”

Ken made a noise that sounded like despair.

“No,” Mao said flatly. “You will not feed my brother ration bars from the Cold War. Kamimura, where’s the kitchen?”

Kamimura raised a brow. “We don’t use it.”

“Well, you do now.”

She turned on her heel and strode off, muttering something about hypoglycemia and blood sugar spikes. Tamba trailed after her like a confused cat.

Ken stared at the ceiling. “She’s handling this extremely well.”

“She probably thinks she’s still dreaming,” Kamimura said, perching lightly on the windowsill. “Or hallucinating. I can hear the doubt humming through her.”

Ken looked over at him. “So what happens now? You’re just gonna keep both of us here? Indefinitely?”

“You keep asking that like we’ve figured it out already.”

Ken groaned. “I was just trying to collect some stupid alpine nightshade. This is not how I expected the trip to go.”

Kamimura let out a small, dry snort. “Don’t worry. No one expects the crazy ass vampire castle.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

Then, from down the hall, came the distant crash of a pot.

“I told you I cook!” Mao shouted from another room.

Kamimura winced. “She’s worse than you.”

Ken smiled faintly. “Yeah. But she makes a mean omurice.”

An hour later, Ken sat in a bed with a blanket around his shoulders and a steaming plate of Mao’s cooking in his lap.

He inhaled the scent like it was life itself.

“Bless you and your soul,” he said with total sincerity.

Mao flopped into the nearest chair, arms crossed. “So. Ground rules.”

“Oh, good,” Kamimura said dryly from across the room, sipping something red and suspicious from a teacup. “I love hostage negotiation.”

“Rule one,” Mao declared. “You don’t bite my brother.”

Tamba, who had just reentered the room with a roll of bandages for no discernible reason, scoffed. “We weren’t going to. He’s undercooked.”

Ken paused mid-bite. “Why do you sound like you’re rating me like a steak?”

“Because we’ve got standards,” she replied.

“Rule two,” Mao continued. “You don’t bite me either.”

“Debatable,” Kamimura muttered into his cup.

Mao raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” he said, louder, “we wouldn’t dream of it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t trust either of you.”

“Good,” Ken muttered. “Don’t. They tied me to a chair last night.”

“You were trespassing,” Kamimura said. “In my pajamas.”

Mao turned to her brother. “What were you thinking?”

Ken sighed. “I was cold. And wet. And lost. And I thought, briefly, that I’d hallucinated the castle. You know. From plant exposure.”

Mao ran a hand through her hair. “This is going to be a weird article.”

Kamimura frowned. “What?”

“She’s a journalist,” Ken said. “Crime beat.”

Tamba perked up. “So you write, like, murder stuff?”

“And corruption. And conspiracies.”

Kamimura visibly tensed. “You’re not publishing this.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” Mao said, waving a hand. “I’d get laughed out of the entire industry if I tried to write ‘Local Journalist Abducted by Ancient Goth Vampires in Mountainside Castle.’”

Ken gestured with his fork. “To be fair, they’re not very goth. Tamba owns a hoodie that says ‘World’s Okayest Undead.’”

“It’s comfortable,” Tamba huffed.

Kamimura groaned and stood. “I’m going to go find a wall to lean on until my body gives out.”

Ken blinked. “Is that a medical thing or just a vibe thing?”

“Both,” Kamimura said, and left.

Tamba followed. “I’m gonna go make sure he doesn’t collapse in the wine cellar again. Mao, nice to meet you. Ken, don’t die.”

Ken gave her a thumbs-up as she vanished through the door.

Mao exhaled and sank into the chair again, letting her head fall back. “You always get into the weirdest messes.”

Ken smiled faintly. “Yeah. But at least now you’re here too.”

She snorted. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m luckier you brought eggs.”

Chapter Text

A week into his castle captivity, Ken had formed a routine.

Wake up in a room entirely too large for one person, grumble about how there were seven chandeliers, eat whatever Mao managed to convince the vampires to fetch (this week: canned curry, energy bars, and a suspiciously fresh fruit basket), and then spend the rest of the day either wandering the endless, echoing halls or hiding in various rooms pretending he wasn’t hiding.

Tamba occasionally tackled him from behind doors for fun. Ken no longer screamed. Now he just sighed like a Victorian governess and said things like, “Is that really necessary?” before adjusting his glasses and continuing on. It was progress, maybe.

But today, Ken had a mission. A nerd’s mission. A researcher’s mission.

He was going to interrogate a vampire.

He found Kamimura exactly where he suspected: the grand study. A towering room with two stories of bookshelves, a fireplace that crackled lazily despite the lack of wood, and a large desk currently buried in scrolls, journals, and what looked like a half-finished crossword puzzle.

Kamimura didn’t look up when Ken entered.

“You know this castle has at least three libraries?” Ken offered conversationally as he stepped in. “It feels greedy. Like hoarding knowledge.”

“I’m six thousand years old. I’ve earned it.”

Ken blinked. “Fair point.”

He approached slowly, eyeing the vampire curled in an old armchair near the window. Kamimura had one leg tucked under himself, a fountain pen in hand, and his long blue hair pulled into a loose, slightly uneven ponytail like he’d done it without a mirror and exactly zero patience.

“I was wondering…” Ken began, perching on the edge of a nearby ottoman. “If I could ask you some questions.”

“That depends,” Kamimura replied, finally glancing up. “Are they stupid?”

Ken paused. “Statistically, one or two might be.”

Kamimura sighed. “Sure.”

Ken brightened immediately, notebook in hand like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.

“So. First: how old are you?”

“Six thousand, five hundred and twelve.”

Ken wrote it down with a small whistle. “You’re practically a fossil.”

“You’re practically a meatbag,” Kamimura deadpanned.

“Noted. Next: how old were you when you got turned?”

“Eighteen,” Kamimura said, lounging further into the chair. “Forever legal, never responsible.”

Ken snorted. “Incredible. Okay, do you have to kill humans to feed on them?”

“No. But it’s a lot more dramatic if we do.”

“Right, but like… biologically speaking—”

Kamimura cut him off with a tired glance. “No biology talk. I’m having reading time.”

Ken held his hand up. “Fine, fine. So you can feed without killing?”

“Yes.”

“Do you even need human blood anymore?”

Kamimura hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “No. Haven’t needed it in centuries. Too much effort, and modern humans are weird about it. But…” He smirked faintly. “Sometimes it’s nice. Like a midnight snack. Blood-flavored pudding. Nostalgic.”

Ken scribbled furiously, eyes gleaming. “Fascinating.”

“God help me.”

“Oh, this is only the beginning,” Ken promised. “Do you have any special powers? Mind control? Turning into bats? Super strength?”

Kamimura ticked them off lazily. “No. No. Kinda.”

“Define ‘kinda.’”

“Could probably lift a car if I was desperate enough. But I’d need a nap afterward.”

Ken squinted. “Is it because of your, um… other conditions?”

Kamimura tensed.

“S-Sorry,” Ken said quickly. “You don’t have to answer that. That was probably insensitive.”

“No, you’re fine,” Kamimura muttered, looking away. “I just don’t like being reminded I’m immortal and chronically ill. Feels like the universe got greedy with the fucking irony.”

“I get it,” Ken said, and to his own surprise, he meant it. “I mean, I don’t get that exactly, but I’ve had some anxiety issues my whole life and I can’t eat mushrooms. So. Same boat, different deck?”

Kamimura gave him a long look, unreadable, before muttering, “Garlic is fake, by the way.”

Ken blinked. “What?”

“The allergy. Total myth. Some guy centuries ago just didn’t like garlic and now we all suffer.”

Ken laughed, loud and unexpected. “You’re telling me you’ve been slandered by Italian cuisine for generations.”

“Bitches.”

Ken grinned, relaxed now. He flipped the page in his notebook. “Alright, last few: coffins? Crucifixes? Invitation rules?”

“No, no, and yes, but only because we like feeling polite.”

Ken paused. “Wait, seriously?”

“We’re old. We like etiquette.”

“That’s weirdly charming.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Ken smiled, but his pen stilled. He hesitated before asking, “So… what do you do all day?”

Kamimura quirked a brow. “You’ve been here a week.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t exactly seen a vampire schedule on the fridge.”

The vampire exhaled, leaning his head back against the armchair. “I read. I write. I think. I nap. Sometimes Tamba sets something on fire and I put it out. Occasionally, I feel melancholy for three to five hours. That’s about it.”

Ken snorted again, flipping his notebook shut. “Sounds lonely.”

“It’s not. It’s boring. There’s a difference.”

Ken looked around the study, at the dusty scrolls, the thick tomes, the quiet shadows. “Yeah,” he said, “but boring can be lonely too.”

Kamimura was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Alright. My turn.”

Ken blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You asked a fuckload of questions. It’s only fair.”

“That’s not what I was—”

“Too bad.” Kamimura turned in his chair, finally giving Ken his full attention. “What do you research?”

“Oh. Uh, plants. Herbs, mostly. I’m working on a paper about high-altitude medicinal growths, but I get distracted a lot and my advisor says I need more ‘focus’ and less ‘enthusiasm.’ Which is honestly rude. But accurate.”

Kamimura’s eyes twinkled. “So that’s why you were out wandering the woods during a storm?”

“Partially,” Ken admitted. “The other part is Mao.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. She wanted to see if she could find a ghost or a cryptid or something. I told her she was ridiculous. Then I got kidnapped by vampires, so—” He gestured broadly. “I may owe her an apology.”

Kamimura chuckled, a soft sound like a creaky door barely opening. “She’s loud.”

“She’s perfect,” Ken said fondly. “Terrifying, but perfect. She’s five years older than me and still manages to treat me like I’m made of glass. I once sneezed and she wrapped me in a scarf like I was dying.”

“You were sneezing,” Kamimura agreed with mock seriousness. “She had to act.”

“She also once tackled a raccoon because she thought it was threatening me.”

“…Was it?”

“No! I was feeding it!”

Kamimura nodded, fake wise. “Good instincts.”

Ken leaned back on his hands, watching the firelight flicker in the hearth. “And our mom’s even worse. She’s a doctor. Every time I so much as yawn, she asks if I’ve had enough water, sleep, iron, and if I’ve been cursed recently.”

Kamimura blinked. “Cursed?”

“She works in a clinic but she’s very… open-minded.”

“Ah.”

“I love them,” Ken said softly. “They’re weird and overbearing and I kinda really miss my mom.”

There was a beat of silence. Kamimura stared into the flames.

“I remember mine,” he said finally. “My parents. My aunt. It’s… fuzzy now. Like trying to remember a dream you had years ago.”

Ken didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“Anyway,” Kamimura said briskly, shaking it off. “We’re off-topic. Tell me more about your dumb little plants.”

Ken brightened immediately. “Okay, so there’s this one species that only blooms under moonlight and I think it might have mild analgesic properties, but it’s really hard to test because the bloom only lasts like fifteen minutes—”

And somehow, the hours slipped by.

By the time Tamba kicked the door open dramatically to announce dinner (prepared by Mao, a microwave lasagna and an entire loaf of garlic bread— Ken looked meaningfully at Kamimura, who grinned slightly), the two of them were still talking. Or, rather, Ken was still rambling while Kamimura listened with his usual dry comments and faintly amused eyes.

“Wow,” Tamba said as she set the tray down. “This looks like friendship. Gross.”

“Go away,” Kamimura muttered without venom.

“Right after you clean the study,” Tamba sing-songed before vanishing.

Ken picked up a slice of garlic bread and sniffed it suspiciously. “You weren’t lying, right? This isn’t going to, like, make you explode, is it?”

“No,” Kamimura said tiredly. “I just can’t eat it.”

Ken grinned. “You’ve got the pickiest tastebuds of any vampire I’ve ever met.”

“It’s not pickiness. Also, you’ve only met two.”

“And you’re still the pickiest.”

There was a pause.

Then Kamimura said, very casually, “You can call me Kazutoshi. If you want.”

Ken blinked. Then smiled. “Only if I get to keep talking to you.”

“Deal.”

They clinked forks like wine glasses.

It was, in its own strange way, the start of something… nice.

And honestly, for a hostage situation, things could’ve been worse.

Chapter Text

Ken had once read that vampires didn’t have reflections. He now suspected that was an elaborate lie made up to sell more mirrors for protection, or something.

Because every morning, he looked at himself in one of the several ornate, spotlessly clean mirrors hanging in the room Kazutoshi had given him, and every morning, he was forced to confront the exact same reflection: fluffy hair, mild eyebags, and a hopeless, blushing fool.

Hopeless, because over the last week, he’d realized he had a problem.

A crush.

On his vampire captor.

He groaned and let his forehead thunk gently against the cool mirror surface.

"Maybe if I hit my head hard enough, it'll reset my taste in men," he muttered.

From the hallway, someone snorted.

Ken bolted upright. “Mao?!”

“Nope,” came the cheerful reply, followed by the creak of the door as Tamba let herself in. “But I’m flattered you think I sound like your sister. She’s incredibly charismatic.”

“She’s loud and has no concept of personal space,” Ken deadpanned.

Tamba grinned. “Oh, so we are similar.”

Ken opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it again. The problem was, he needed to talk to someone, and if it wasn’t going to be Mao, that left…

Tamba tilted her head. “You’ve got the look of someone who's either about to confess a deep secret or ask if vampires poop.”

“I-I have a question,” Ken said quickly. “Not about poop. Or mirrors. Or fangs. Or— well, it’s about… f-feelings.”

Tamba looked intrigued. “Feelings? Huh. You mean like 'why does Kazutoshi look at me like I’m a bug he has to catalog before squashing' feelings, or—”

“No!” Ken yelped. “More like... uh. I think I-I might have a crush on him?”

Tamba blinked once, then twice, and then burst out laughing. She leaned against the doorframe, wheezing.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, that’s amazing. You’re in love with the most emotionally constipated, sun-allergic cryptid I’ve ever met.”

Ken groaned, tugging Kazutoshi’s his hoodie over his face. “Why did I say anything.”

“Because you’re tragically soft and dying inside and didn’t want to tell your sister,” Tamba said, not unkindly. She flopped onto a chaise longue with the casual grace of someone who’d once done aerial silks for fun. “Okay. Okay. I’m composed now. So. Ken. How does it feel to thirst for the undead?”

“That’s not—” Ken started, but Tamba raised a finger.

“No, no. Let me enjoy this. I mean, I get it. He’s got that whole ‘tortured immortal’ thing going on. All broody and mysterious with the undisclosed backstory and the ‘don’t look at me, I’m too powerful to be loved’ routine.”

Ken shoved his face into a throw pillow and let out a muffled whine.

“Honestly, I didn’t even know you were into guys,” Tamba said, raising an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t planning on falling for anyone while kidnapped,” Ken said, voice muffled through the fabric. “But then he was all quiet and clever and then he let me borrow a book from the ancient archives and now I’m... doomed.”

Tamba nodded sagely. “The ancient archives. That’ll do it.”

Ken peeked out from under the pillow. “So... um. D-Do vampires date?”

“Sure,” Tamba said with a shrug. “We’ve had a few thousand years to figure out dating apps. They’re all terrible, by the way. Never try to swipe right on a vampire. Most of us are like, five centuries older than your entire bloodline.”

Ken flushed. “I meant, more like... r-relationships. Can you even have one with a human?”

Tamba’s expression shifted. She leaned back, draping an arm over the edge of the chaise as she looked up at the ceiling. “That’s a complicated question.”

Ken sat up straighter, sensing a rare moment of genuine seriousness.

“It’s not that it’s impossible,” she said slowly. “But the problem is... time.”

“Time?”

“You’re mortal,” Tamba said simply. “We’re not. You get maybe eighty years, if you’re lucky. We get eternity. And no matter how much you love someone, it’s hard to watch them age, and sicker still to watch them die. And then you have to keep going. Immortality is just grief on repeat, Ken.”

Ken was quiet for a while.

Tamba glanced at him. “Kazutoshi’s never been in a relationship. Not since he was human. There was someone, a long time ago, but it wasn’t mutual love. It was just... it was a mistake, is what he says. And a regret.”

“Oh,” Ken said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He wouldn’t want your pity.” Tamba gave him a small smile. “He’s complicated. But not impossible. You’re not the first person to fall for him, you know.”

Ken blinked. “I’m not?”

“Nope. There was a vampire from Romania once, very dramatic, wrote him love poems in Latin. Kazutoshi hid in the cellar for a month.”

Ken snorted.

“Anyway,” Tamba continued, “he didn’t like anyone before. But you’re… different, I guess. He doesn’t look at you like you’re going to die tomorrow.”

“That’s comforting,” Ken said dryly.

Tamba grinned. “I mean it! He lets you talk. He listens. And you don’t treat him like a monster.”

Ken fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “He doesn’t act like one.”

There was a pause, then Tamba clapped her hands. “Alright, back to the important thing: what are you going to do about your massive crush?”

Ken made a face. “Nothing? Deny it? Bury it under a pile of awkwardness and scientific curiosity?”

“So, the Hasegawa Ken Special,” Tamba said, nodding. “Got it.”

Ken sighed. “I just— I don’t want to make things weird. We’ve gotten close lately and I don’t want to ruin that.”

“You’re human,” Tamba said. “You specialize in weird. And if you’re not careful, you’ll regret not saying anything later.”

Ken gave her a look. “So what, you think I should just go up to him and be like ‘hey, Kazutoshi, I think your brooding silence is kind of hot and also I’d like to hold your weird cold hand sometimes’?”

“Exactly that. With more tongue-tied stammering, maybe a faint.”

Ken dropped face-first back onto the chaise. “This is the worst.”

“It’s not so bad,” Tamba said, ruffling his hair like a sister would. “You’ve got a crush. He’s a vampire. Your sister’s probably somewhere in the castle yelling at a tapestry. It’s like a gothic sitcom.”

Ken smiled into the fabric. “Thanks, Tamba.”

“Anytime. Now go find your vampire and stare at him longingly from across the library like a proper romantic.”

Ken sighed. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Not a chance.”

By the time Ken made his way out of the room, his ears still tinged pink, the halls of the castle had quieted. The evening had crept in, casting long blue shadows through the tall windows. Somewhere, a distant candelabra flickered to life without any assistance.

Ken didn’t go looking for Kazutoshi right away. He wandered aimlessly for a while, thoughts swirling. Tamba’s words lingered.

Eighty years versus eternity.

And yet, Kazutoshi never looked at him like that. Never talked to him like his life was already over. Maybe that meant something.

Maybe that meant he had time. Not forever. But enough.

Enough to fall in love properly.

And maybe, if he was lucky, to be loved in return.