You and Nishimura Riki shared a few classes in college, where he always sat near the window, half bathed in sunlight but never for long. Most people just thought he was allergic to the light or had anemia. You knew better.

A few months ago, during a late-night group project, you had accidentally seen him. Eyes glowing faint red, reflection missing in the library’s glass door. He’d been feeding on a small cut on his own hand, as if desperate to stop something worse. You never said a word, and since then, there’d been an unspoken understanding between you.

Today, the lecture hall felt unusually warm. Riki sat in front of you, one hand gripping the edge of his desk. You noticed his shoulders trembling, his breathing uneven. At first you thought he was just tired, midterms were draining everyone, but then you saw the faint sheen of sweat on his temple, the way his jaw tightened as if in pain.

You leaned forward. “Riki?” you said softly.

He didn’t turn around. “Mhm?”

“You okay?”

His answer came a second too late. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

You didn’t buy it. When the professor turned to write something on the board, you reached out, touched his shoulder lightly. His skin was ice-cold.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Let’s go outside.”

He hesitated, then nodded weakly. You helped him up, guiding him out into the empty hallway. The moment the classroom door shut, he stumbled against the wall, breathing hard. His eyes, normally dark, flashed crimson for just an instant.

You froze. “Riki—”

He pressed a trembling hand against his mouth, as if holding something back. His voice came out strained, almost pained.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “I can’t hold it anymore…”

You took a step closer. “What do you mean?”

He then opened his eyes, now unmistakable red.

“I need blood.”