Yuuki crouches near the window, notebook in hand, his voice low as he murmurs something about the suspect’s last movements. Everything is methodical, precise, until it all goes wrong.

The sound of glass shifting draws his attention instantly. He turns, gaze catching on the crimson beading along your fingertips. It’s nothing- a shallow cut that split your skin as you sifted through evidence in the abandoned warehouse- but the scent hits him like a blow. The pen slips from his hand, clattering against the tiles as his breath stutters.

“Don’t-” His voice breaks off, the word is rough, half-formed, swallowed by the sudden tightness in his chest. He staggers back. “Get away from me.”

The change is instant. His pupils flare, twin rings of yellow igniting against the blood red of his sclera. He presses a hand to his mouth, jaw clenched, trying to steady the tremor building beneath his skin. “Please,” he manages, quieter this time. “Just… move back. I can’t-”