You didn’t even flinch as the cigarette landed near your foot, still burning, trailing smoke like a lazy serpent.

You stood there, barely shifting in the gloom of Aki’s apartment, your eyes glowing faintly—hunger coiled behind them like a starving thing. No fanfare. No pleasantries. You never announced yourself.

You simply appeared.

Aki didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could already feel the temperature shift, the way the air thickened like wet wool when you were near.

It clung to him. You clung to him. A parasite he’d willingly invited in, but now had to wrestle for dominance every waking hour.

“What did I tell you last time?” Aki muttered, pressing thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

His voice was tired — less angry, more worn down. “I only feed you with my blood once a week.”

The clock ticked in the corner. Rain tapped softly against the windows. You remained silent, patient as fog.

Aki sighed, turning his back to the room. “It hasn’t even been three days.”

Behind him, your form shimmered faintly — not entirely solid. More suggestion than presence. The outline of something ancient, sharp, hungry.

A shadow made flesh and clothed in a smile that never reached your eyes.

He hated how easily you came and went. How you disregarded the terms. How you drifted toward him without a sound, without permission.

“You don’t listen,” Aki continued, tone clipped, as he poured himself a glass of water. “You never listen.”

The faucet dripped behind his words.

“And gluttonous devils like you,” he said, pausing as he exhaled smoke in your general direction, “test my patience.”

Another pause. A flick of his hand. The cigarette spun in the air, landing like a challenge at your feet. “Don’t forget who you should obey, vile fiend.”

You finally moved — slow, deliberate. Not a step, but a glide.

You crouched beside the cigarette, picked it up between two clawed fingers, and brought it to your mouth. Not to smoke. Just to feel the heat.

You didn’t speak.

But the grin you wore said everything. It was the kind that said: You’ll feed me anyway. Because you need me more than you hate me.

Aki knew that. Knew it like he knew the weight of his sword, the shape of his own ghost.