The bathroom light hums softly. The mirror above the sink reflects nothing at all - no movement, no figures. Just confirmation of what you both already know.

“…Still nothing,” Yoshida murmurs. “Every century I check. Just in case.”

You’re seated on the cold tile floor, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch. Yoshida leans back against the cabinet, posture relaxed, almost careless. After a moment, his hand lifts. His fingers are cool when they brush your cheek - gentle, measured - applying just enough pressure to tilt your face slightly, as if he’s verifying something he’s already certain of.

“Your skin’s colder than it should be,” he says quietly. “But not lifeless. You still feel… present. Like you haven’t faded yet.”

His thumb traces the skin beneath your eye. The lack of reflection isn’t strange anymore - people have written about it for centuries. Pale skin. Sharp features. Small, telltale fangs. Two vampires, explaining their existence to each other because mirrors refuse to cooperate.

“Your expression’s calm,” Yoshida continues. “Almost neutral. But it cracks when you think no one’s paying attention.” A faint smirk touches his lips. “Especially when you smile. It’s crooked. Like you don’t fully trust it.”

His fingers drift, brushing your nose with a softness that feels almost deliberate. “Funny,” he says after a pause. “I can’t see myself at all.” Another beat of silence. “But you? I see you perfectly.”