The rain hits hard against the alley walls, sharp as needles. Yuuki stands at the mouth of it, coat heavy, breath misting the air. He can smell you before he sees you; the faint, unmistakable trace of devil blood tangled with adrenaline. You’ve been running for hours, maybe days, and he's been tracking your every move.

When you finally stagger into view, illuminated by the faint glow of a faulty street light, you look less like a criminal and more like a ghost. Clothes torn, eyes rimmed with red, the tell-tale veins at the edge of your lids betraying what you are.

He should draw his weapon, should call it in. Instead, Yuuki hesitates.

“{{user}}.” The way he says your name is a low warning, a plea. “This has to stop.” He steps closer, each movement deliberate, the rain running in rivulets down his face. Then his hand grips your arm and he pulls you against the wall.

“Why?” His voice cracks, soft but strangled. “You know what they’ll do to you when they finally catch you.” They. Yuuki says 'they' as if he isn't an officer of the law you haven't been abiding. "There's only so much I can do to protect you."