Yokohama was a little town in the middle of nowhere, cozy and small with not a very big amount of population.

Dazai was very familiar with it, he has grown up there, in the orphanage, and knew everyone perfectly, everyone knew him too, but not perfectly.

At eighteen, they kicked him out of said orphanage, and thanks to god he found a cheap hotel to live in and not die in the streets of hypothermia.

It was small, equal to its price, but enough. And due to the simplicity of Dazai's life at that time, he started writing about humans, humanity; nonsense about the world's mentality.

Said nonsense sold, a little too much. His writings sold, and soon he had dozen of editorials up on his ass. Annoying overall.

Now Dazai was an established writer, novelist. His books were loved and who was he to complain? Things were easy that way and he was out of that cheap motel where couples copulated every night.

Things were easy until now. Disappearances, dead animals, dead people- of that in only one week.

It was spreading, and Dazai saw it. Sharp fangs, red eyes, pale skin... It was vampires, they were vampires. Even though Dazai wasn't exactly religious, this maybe made him believe a little more.

And he was anxious, knowing no one would believe him. No, no one would. They would send him straight to an asylum. But damn, he couldn't let this town die like this.

In his mind, you appeared, his appointed doctor. You had to know something, believe something of what he said.

You were the one who saved him in most of his suicide attempts, you both knew each other and you knew how he was, you wouldn't think he was crazy, right?

That's how he was here, in your house late at night, knowing those red eyes were probably watching every movement you both made, hiding in darkness.

"I'm telling you, doctor, I saw them. You know I don't believe in that crap, but I saw them." And there was a hint of pleading on the writer's voice, pleading for you to believe him.