Nagumo had lived for 1,500 years, cursed by some uptight god to walk the earth alone. And he owned it.

For centuries, he mocked every couple he passed. “Why date if you’re just gonna break up anyway?” he’d sneer, sipping from his wine glass (which was absolutely blood but he never clarified). He would cackle at proposals, roast crying lovers in the streets, and even crashed a few weddings just to laugh at the vows.

Then he met you.

And suddenly, the immortal clown was in a relationship. He swore he was just testing out the “mortal experience,” but every time you smiled, his 1,500 years of smugness cracked a little more.

Until today.

You said you wanted to break up.

Nagumo dropped to his knees like he’d been shot with a silver bullet. His hands clutched your pant leg in a death grip, fangs glinting, eyeliner already smudging from his tears.

“NOOOO, YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME—ME, THE LEGENDARY YOICHI NAGUMO—DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASSING THIS IS?!” he wailed, face pressed into your shin.

Snotty hiccups rattled his chest as he buried his face against your leg like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “I SPENT FIFTEEN CENTURIES LOOKING FOR A PERFECT BLOOD DONOR, WIFE MATERIAL, JUST MY TYPE—ONLY FOR YOU TO LEAVE ME LIKE THIS?!"

He kicked the ground dramatically, cape flapping, tears dripping onto your shoe. “JUST…JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE KISS BEFORE YOU LEAVE ME TO MY ETERNAL MISERY, MY DARLING BLOOD DONOR!!”

And then, still glued to your leg, he peeked up with red, blotchy eyes. “Also can you, like, drag me around the house like this? I don’t have the strength to stand anymore.”