Chapter Text
“I don’t,” is what Atsumu says when a teammate asks him why he hates Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“Did he do something to you?” Bokuto asks as he pulls the tops of his long knee pads to mid-thigh.
“We probably shouldn’t talk about this here,” Atsumu says. He laces up his shoes carefully—right first, then left. Bokuto hums thoughtfully, leg bouncing.
“He’s already out there,” he says, glancing at the locker room door. Atsumu knows exactly where he is and how close, by the prickle on his arms. “He’s probably not gonna come back in.”
“Well, either way,” Atsumu says. “I don’t hate him, okay? He’s fine. We get along fine.”
It’s a lie, and a pretty obvious one at that. Atsumu gets on like a house on fire with the rest of the team, but the house he has with Sakusa is still awaiting arson. But it doesn’t matter if they get along as people, because their synergy on the volleyball court is unaffected by whether or not Atsumu wants to be Sakusa’s best friend. They work together well, and then they snipe at each other on the sidelines, and then they go home.
What happens after that is unimportant.
Okay, maybe it’s a little important.
Bokuto drops the subject, though it seems like he has more to say. Atsumu slaps him on the back hard and gives him a big smile.
“C’mon, you know I love all my hitters equally,” he says.
“You’ve literally said that Hinata is your favorite,” Bokuto says. He slips on his shoes and starts lacing them.
“I love all my hitters besides Shouyou equally,” Atsumu corrects.
Bokuto laughs at that and pats Atsumu on the ass as he passes. “As long as you guys don’t get into a fight.”
“Who’s getting into a fight?” Inunaki asks from across the room, his ears heat-seeking missiles for gossip.
“Me ‘n you,” Atsumu says, more loudly. “Right here, right now.”
“I can’t kick your ass right before practice,” Inunaki says. “See me after so you can get a day to recover.”
“You're hilarious,” Atsumu says. It is hilarious, given what Atsumu spends his off-time doing. “I’d go easy on you, don’t worry.”
Inunaki sticks a leg out to trip Atsumu, which he dodges easily. He snorts and kicks the side of Inunaki’s shoe in retaliation. Inunaki laughs.
Atsumu heads down the hall to the gym, rolling out his shoulders. He warmed up with a run before he got here, but he still does a couple of laps. The coach is out already, talking with Meian, and a couple of the second string guys are already starting some low-key passing drills. Atsumu jogs until he feels his heart rate start to lift, and then he goes to join in with some of the drills.
Sakusa is off by the side, doing his usual pre-practice stretching routine. He’s stretching his wrist against the wall right now, and it’s bent at an angle that makes Atsumu a little sick to his stomach. Then Sakusa stretches out his shoulders, which are just as bendy. It seems like none of Sakusa’s joints are totally connected, the way he can twist and overextend.
Well, it helps on the court, so Atsumu can’t really complain about it. He can complain because it’s Sakusa, and he complains about Sakusa all the time, but he knows better than to get in the way of anything that helps with the game.
Atsumu may have two main priorities in his life, but when he’s playing volleyball he only has one.
Practice goes well, but it’s nothing to write home about. It’s the second of the day, as usual, and afterward Atsumu feels pleasantly sore. Some members of the team have gotten into the habit of stretching after practice together in a big circle, which reminds Atsumu of middle school.
He pays no mind to Sakusa, stretching by himself outside of the circle, legs spread and body almost to the floor. Okay, maybe Atsumu pays him a little mind. It’s only to wonder where Sakusa will be going after practice, and if he’ll try to throw Atsumu off again, like he’s been doing lately. Hopefully he doesn’t stray far from his usual haunts, and Atsumu will be able to catch up to him once he’s gotten all of his stuff ready at home.
He must be staring, because he’s able to tell when Sakusa looks over at him. He’s immediately met by a vicious glare. He narrows his eyes back, but he knows better than to look Sakusa in the eye for more than a few seconds. He turns back to his own stretching.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” Bokuto says quietly from the spot next to him. “You may not hate him but he sure hates you.”
“Lotsa people have hated me,” Atsumu says simply. “Middle school, high school. I don’t care, ‘long as it doesn’t translate to the court.”
And it doesn’t. He sets and Sakusa hits the ball and they talk only as long as necessary to figure out how to improve the combination of the two. A few glares here and there, the odd insult, ignoring each other as much as possible—that’s all fine, and Atsumu’s dealt with much worse. He has a perfectly serviceable relationship with Sakusa when they’re at practice and games. He trusts him as a player. Hell, he could even pretend to like the guy if he absolutely needed to.
The thing is that he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to think about Sakusa at all until later in the night.
Ropes, check. Silver-plated knife, check. Keychain full of embroidered omamori, check. Then, perhaps most importantly, a sleek, polished wooden stake with a wrapped handle.
Atsumu puts on the turtleneck that rises almost to his ears and his thick vest, over which he dons a long, deep red jacket. He slips on his boots, loose at the top but tight at the instep in case he needs to run. He puts on a beanie to cover his bright hair and swings around his little drawstring backpack. Then he heads for the door.
It’s a chilly night, which hopefully means that fewer people will be out on the streets. Atsumu taps down the sidewalk, humming to himself, playing absently with the switch knife in his pocket.
The club is called Zorro Blanco, a dense, crowded affair with music loud enough to spill out onto the street. It’s the kind of place that gets noise complaints, even though the area is full of bars and rowdy izakayas. It’s the kind of place that should give Sakusa Kiyoomi hives.
For hunting, however, it’s the perfect spot.
As he comes up on Zorro Blanco the hairs on the back of Atsumu’s neck prickle. He pauses, nearly causing a kid on their phone behind him to run into his back. He apologizes and narrows his eyes, sweeping the area. The tingling down his spine gets worse and floods into his fingertips. Close.
He crosses the street to stay out of sight of anyone coming out the door and slips the stake out of his backpack, hiding it in his jacket pocket. It’s a safety measure, just in case. Then he waits.
It’s not glamorous, hunting like this. Movies would show dramatic chases, hunters vaulting across rooftops after their quarry. In real life, however, Atsumu stands across the street from Zorro Blanco for nearly forty-five cold minutes before anything happens at all, pretending that he isn’t loitering with the intent to fight.
He sees a familiar head of curly black hair, taller than most of the other patrons, followed closely by a shorter young man with a goatee and a hazy look in his eyes. Bingo.
Sakusa is holding the other man’s hand, guiding him subtly down the street. The fact that he’s willing to touch someone that much means he must be hungry. He says something, and the man nods enthusiastically. Then they’re ducking around a corner and down a narrow alley to the side of the building.
The baby hairs along Atsumu’s entire body raise at the proximity. Go time.
Atsumu crosses the dark street behind a tiny car and goes to the corner. The pumping beat from inside the club makes it impossible to hear what they’re saying, but he hears muffled talking. As long as they’re talking, he has time.
He grips the stake in one hand and a knife in the other and starts edging down the alley. There’s a small dumpster, just large enough to hide a couple of people, and he creeps around it, careful to step past a puddle that could give him away.
The street lights don’t stretch very well back here, and as he approaches he hears the low hum of conversation. A little laugh, and then Sakusa’s deep voice. It’s not like him to play with his food, so it’s probably time.
Atsumu rounds the dumpster, taking in the scene as quickly as he can.
Sakusa has the other young man crowded against a wall, hands on either side of him on the brick, mouthing lightly just below his jaw. Fuck. Atsumu shouldn’t have waited. A second more and he’d be too late.
As it is, he’s okay. He raises the knife and takes a step toward Sakusa from behind.
The other man is entirely oblivious, chuckling a little, maybe ticklish, murmuring something.
Atsumu takes a deep breath and brings the knife down, aiming right between ribs.
A hand shoots out to catch his wrist and then, preternaturally quickly, Sakusa is facing him, jerking his arm with the movement. The man against the wall makes a noise of confusion.
“I told you, if you wear those fucking boots I’m going to hear you,” Sakusa snaps, gripping Atsumu’s wrist tightly and twisting.
“Shit,” Atsumu says.
“Can’t you wait two more seconds?” Sakusa complains.
“Are you joking?”
“What’s going on?” the young man asks.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” Sakusa says to him dully. “Wait for me. It’ll only be a second.”
Atsumu wrenches his hand back and reaches into his pocket for an omamori. Sakusa catches the movement, and the moment the little charm is in Atsumu’s grasp he kicks out to stop him from displaying it.
Atsumu dodges, and it’s on. He raises the omamori and Sakusa takes a gasping breath, stumbling back a little.
“Going for that already?” Sakusa grits out, shielding his eyes from what Atsumu knows appears as bright light to him. “Coward.”
“Fresh from the temple,” Atsumu says, snapping the knife out and lunging forward. “Just usin’ my resources.”
Sakusa, despite being repelled by the omamori, manages to deflect Atsumu’s strike, the knife swishing through air. He kicks out at Atsumu's knees and Atsumu has to stay back to avoid it. Atsumu watches as Sakusa’s claws descend.
“Sure you got enough juice for that?” he asks. “I know you're hungry.”
“Just shut up,” Sakusa says.
Sakusa launches himself at Atsumu blindly, squinting in the light of the omamori. It has to hurt, to be so close to it, but Atsumu’s definitely done worse to him. Atsumu makes a noise of surprise as Sakusa strikes out at his hand instead of his body, and he loses his grip on the omamori. It taps to the ground and Sakusa steps on it. There are more where that came from, but they’re all in Atsumu’s backpack.
Atsumu dodges a swipe and jabs at Sakusa’s chest as the momentum carries him by. Sakusa’s other hand slams down on Atsumu’s, but it doesn’t knock the knife from his grasp.
“Oh my god,” the young man against the wall says. Sakusa sighs.
Atsumu kicks out toward Sakusa’s stomach and manages to catch him, drawing out a single grunt as Sakusa stumbles backwards.
“Not gonna make your pet help?” Atsumu asks.
“He’s not enthralled,” Sakusa replies coolly.
Atsumu blinks over in surprise at the young man, which is a mistake. Sakusa takes the opportunity to shoot forward and grab Atsumu by the shoulders, slamming him into the wall. Atsumu’s head knocks into the concrete with a definitive thud, and pain and disorientation flood him from the back of his skull.
“I can’t play with a concussion,” Atsumu reminds Sakusa, as he tries to stab him in the chest.
Sakusa grabs his wrists and digs claws into them, pinning them in place above his head with supernatural strength. Atsumu knows he can’t beat that. Sakusa’s other hand comes up to Atsumu’s throat, fingers curling around it and pressing him into the wall.
Atsumu won’t be able to get to the stake from this position—it’s in his pocket and even if he gets a hand free there’s no way Sakusa will let him complete the movement. Sakusa’s hand presses firmly on Atsumu’s throat, not enough to hurt but enough to keep him in place. Atsumu feels the tips of claws tickling the skin of the back and sides of his neck.
“Quit it,” Sakusa says.
“Nah,” Atsumu says.
“You never win.”
“Well, your lunch is headin’ out already, so I think I just did,” Atsumu replies smugly.
Sakusa’s attention snaps over to the young man, who has just reached the mouth of the alley, phone pressed to his ear and eyes wide. Sakusa rolls his eyes and the hand around Atsumu’s neck presses a little harder.
“Stay the fuck out of this,” he says. “You’re so annoying.”
“Not as annoying as you eatin’ people,” Atsumu says, squinting a little as he feels the first signs of extra pressure in his head. Shit. Sakusa needs to let up a little or Atsumu could actually pass out.
Sakusa doesn’t. “I’m not eating people. How are you so committed and so uneducated at the same time?”
“It’s my M.O.,” Atsumu manages. His face feels tight and it’s getting a little hazy. “Hey, uh, Omi?”
Sakusa raises an eyebrow, and Atsumu realizes that he might need to do something pretty quickly before he loses consciousness. He only has one shot, and it could end very badly, but he has to get at least one free hand. The grip around his neck, to his dismay, tightens. He’s going to have bruises that he’ll have to explain to the team, which means that he’ll probably have to pretend to have a choking kink, which he doesn’t, he swears.
“Rate this one,” he chokes out. “Outta ten.”
He swallows tensely against Sakusa’s palm and then brings his knee up hard. Sakusa blocks it with his own leg, expecting the movement. At the same time, with a practiced movement, Atsumu flips the knife around in his fingers and jams it as hard as he can into the back of Sakusa’s hand.
Sakusa huffs out a sharp breath in pain and his skin audibly sizzles. He pulls back and throws Atsumu to the side by his neck, making him stumble. His glare is murderous. Atsumu feels blood rush back into his head and he gasps, whirling around. Sakusa’s jaw grits and then, with a last, “Fuck you, Miya,” his body retracts in an instant and he is replaced by a small, fluttering bat.
“Fuck you back,” Atsumu snaps. “Who’s the coward now?” The bat, bleeding lightly from the apex of its wing, flaps its way up and out of the alley.
Atsumu watches it go, wondering if he should invest in some kind of hand crossbow. He probably wouldn’t be that good of a shot, and he’d have to waste time he could be spending stopping Sakusa from feeding on innocents learning how to use it. He supposes he’ll just have to let the bat go.
Well, at least he saved that guy with the goatee, who is now completely gone. He may have called the police, which means that Atsumu needs to clear out as soon as possible. Especially since he was technically the one who attacked first.
He vacates the alley and does his best to look entirely unassuming. Their fight wasn’t very loud, so hopefully besides the would-be vampire victim no one else knows he’s here. He power-walks down the street, flipping his knife closed and pocketing it.
He can put that one down as a success, if not a rousing one. One of these days he’s finally going to get the mission from the coalition to stake Sakusa in the heart and be done with the whole situation, but that day is not today. And it might not be tomorrow. Or the next day, or the next time that Sakusa goes out to hunt, or the next time he succeeds and drinks some poor club goer’s blood in an alleyway.
Atsumu has a stake, and he may need to use it eventually, but he also really, really needs an outside hitter with freaky wrists.
Atsumu feels unexpectedly tired as he trudges back to the train and starts back home. Why can’t Sakusa hunt closer to Atsumu’s apartment? It’s a pain in the ass to ride thirty minutes just to walk fifteen more. As the greenish lights of the fluorescents in the train car buzz in Atsumu’s eyes, he thinks that the commute is probably the least glamorous part of the job. Nobody talks about Van Helsing in a carriage going to and from confrontations with Dracula.
He’s dead tired by the time he gets home, thankful not for the first time that he lives alone. He sloughs off his backpack by the kitchen table and starts shedding clothes before he even makes it to his bedroom, tossing them into a pile in the corner for the next time duty calls. The turtleneck makes his hair stick up when he takes it off, and he doesn’t bother fixing it.
He goes to bed at half past one—way too late to not be exhausted at morning practice. He’ll have to power through, because the last thing he wants to do is show Sakusa (who doesn’t have to sleep, of course) that anything he does has an effect on him. The only way this double life works is if he keeps the two in balance. The problem is that he doesn’t know which should take precedence.
No, that’s not it. He knows which one is more important to the world at large. It’s just that it’s not the one he chooses, again and again.
Atsumu feels a little twinge of vindictive satisfaction at the way Sakusa rolls his wrist around repeatedly during practice.
He’s still in top form, slamming balls down to the floor and diving to receive powerful serves; Atsumu made sure that it was Sakusa’s left hand he was stabbing before he tried. Sakusa’s really something to watch, Atsumu thinks, when he’s not out menacing the populace. He sets and Sakusa hits the ball and Atsumu has a vision of him kissing a line down the goatee guy’s neck, getting himself in position to bite without arousing suspicion.
But Atsumu is a professional, and he can put silly things like a deadly rivalry to the side in the name of volleyball.
In the weight room after practice, Atsumu watches as Sakusa gets one of the trainers to help him stretch out his hand. Atsumu wonders if there’s a scar—if there’s a scar anywhere that Atsumu has stabbed or otherwise injured Sakusa. Do vampires scar? How does he heal? Atsumu doesn’t necessarily care that much—his job is eradicating vampires, not figuring them out. Still, he almost wants to ask. Not that Sakusa would answer him.
Atsumu does, in fact, have a few bruises on the sides of his neck from Sakusa’s fingers, and he curses his delicate skin. Fortunately for him, they can be passed off as hickeys, if Bokuto’s wolf whistle when Atsumu arrived in the locker room says anything. Inunaki passed by with a “You got a little something…” and poked his own neck, and Hinata just said “Wow.”
Sakusa got a stab wound and Atsumu gets congratulations. He thinks he knows who wins this one.
Sakusa looks tired by the end of morning practice, which is unusual for him. He really must be running low on blood. Atsumu has interrupted his last few feeding attempts, and he’s probably getting desperate. Desperation is not good for a vampire, but Atsumu has to stay consistent.
“How the hell has he not gone into a frenzy yet?” Osamu asks in Atsumu’s apartment later that evening, a plate of broccoli and chicken half-empty in front of him. “You been lettin’ him feed?”
“He’s pretty tricky,” Atsumu defends.
“You see him literally every day!” Osamu says. “How tricky can he be?”
“I just…”
“He keeps prowlin’ out on the streets and you keep doin’ nothin’ about it, I’m gonna have to do something for you,” Osamu says. “On account of I don’t give a shit about him.”
Giving Osamu a chance to help with Sakusa would solve one problem, at least. It would eventually send Sakusa into a starving frenzy, and then they’d be able to slay him and be done with it. It’d suck for the team for a little while, but they’d figure it out eventually.
At this point, given how long Atsumu has known Sakusa, he should have been able to stop him from feeding enough for him to have gone into a frenzy already. The fact that Sakusa has been playing regularly means that Atsumu is doing a very, very bad job.
“I got it,” Atsumu says anyway. “I’m gonna stop him from feedin’ somehow.”
“That’s not very encouraging,’” Osamu warns.
“I’ll figure it out,” Atsumu says.
“Not sure what there is to figure out,” Osamu says dubiously. “Unless you’ve been lyin’ to me and he’s not really a vampire.”
“Look, I’ll get it done,” Atsumu says. He takes a definitive bite of broccoli. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Okay,” Osamu says, obviously unconvinced. “Just so you know, I see this guy out on the street myself, I’m makin’ it so he can’t get back up.”
“I know,” Atsumu says. “Just don’t do it at a game.”
“I’m not gonna do it in front of a crowd, genius.”
Atsumu sighs. “I got it, okay? Mama hasn’t given any orders either way. I’m waitin’ for that.”
“Well, she will soon. It’s just weird to see you like this,” Osamu says. “You're usually the one all gung-ho about cleanin’ up the streets. Either Sakusa’s some master vampire or you're not really tryin’.”
“I’m tryin’,” Atsumu snaps. He puts down his fork and sits back with a huff. “I’m fuckin’ tryin’.”
“Mmhmm,” Osamu says. “Stop thinkin’ about volleyball. There’s more important things in the world.”
Just because you gave it up, Atsumu thinks but doesn’t say.
“Yeah,” he says instead. “Well.”
They finish the meal in silence, and Osamu just looks tired. Atsumu’s eyes catch on the large, raised scar cutting right across Osamu’s forearm, pink and shiny in the light. There are plenty of other scars, but that one didn’t heal right. Atsumu has a few of his own, though not as prominent. This one usually hides under Osamu’s long sleeves.
Atsumu killed the vampire who did it, which gives him some solace. It was messy, but it was done.
“You and me need to go out,” Osamu says. “Do a hunt together again. Get you back up.”
“I’m up,” Atsumu defends. “It’s just Sakusa.”
“So you admit it.”
“Shut up.”
“Well, we’re due for a new assignment soon anyway. It’s been long enough. No way they ran outta vampires while we weren’t lookin’,” Osamu says. He takes a bite of chicken and chews lazily.
Atsumu huffs out a laugh. “Just waitin’ on Ma’s word. You're gettin’ pretty antsy, huh? What’s up?”
“Nothin’,” Osamu says, and now it’s his turn to get defensive. “It’s just been a while. Don’t wanna get rusty.”
“So you're sayin’ a couple months is all it takes to get rusty,” Atsumu says. Osamu rolls his eyes.
“You're rustier than I am, I bet,” he says. “No wonder you’ve been havin’ so much trouble with Sakusa. You lost your touch.”
“We’ll just have to see the next time we’re out,” Atsumu says.
Osamu rolls his eyes and goes back to eating. “Or you could do your job and stop him every once in a while.”
Atsumu sighs and pushes his plate away. “I’m gonna do my fuckin’ job.”
Osamu, despite the sparkle in his eyes, doesn’t push the point.
When Atsumu and Osamu moved out and both went to Osaka, the entire Miya family decided to uproot and move after them. It was a strange decision, Atsumu thought at the time—both parents and his maternal grandparents decided to leave the home they’d spent the last 20 years in just to follow the twins to an entirely new city.
Keeping the family together, that was the justification. Now that Atsumu and Osamu are adults, now that they can devote more of their time to hunting, they all have to be together so they can coordinate their activity. It doesn’t bother Atsumu, of course—he loves having his parents so close by. But, at the same time, he’d sort of looked forward to starting out by himself. He wonders what would have happened if he and Osamu had moved to different cities.
It doesn’t matter, because that didn’t happen, and now it’s easy for Mama to call them in and give them assignments. If he gets a text from her asking the both of them to come home for a little while, he knows that it’s probably for business, not to hang out. It’s understandable, because the family business dominates his parents’ lives. They’re developing a growing network of contacts around the city, keeping an eye on any and all vampire activity and responding accordingly, and while Osamu and Atsumu have their own careers their parents only work enough to pay bills, along with what the twins send them every so often.
When Atsumu arrives at the house in the suburbs, Osamu is already there, sitting at the kitchen table with their chuckling grandfather. He’s probably making fun of Osamu somehow, and Atsumu is sad he came in too late to get in on the action. He steps into the doorway between the living room and kitchen.
“Hey, scrub,” he greets. Then, more sweetly, “Hi, grandpa.”
“Atsumu!” their grandfather booms. He’s going on 80 but still fairly fit, and he’s always been a large (and controversial) presence. “Good to see you. The both of you.”
“Happy to be back,” Atsumu says. Osamu rolls his eyes quietly. “What’re we talkin’ about?”
“Your brother was just tellin’ me about the restaurant,” their grandfather says. “Heard he got a new pretty little young thing workin’ the counter. I was just sayin’ he’s not gonna get another opportunity like that fallin’ in his lap any time soon.”
“I’m her boss,” Osamu says tiredly.
“Bah,” their grandfather dismisses. “Just fire her first!”
He laughs and Osamu sighs. Atsumu has the feeling this has been going on for a good while.
“Mama around?” Atsumu asks. “Heard she wanted to see us.”
“You in a hurry?” Osamu asks. “Important places to be?”
“I got practice, actually, smartass,” Atsumu says.
“I’ll make this quick,” a new voice says. Their mother is opening the door to her office, just off of the living room. Atsumu’s perfunctory smile for their grandfather turns into a real one. His mother returns it, stepping up and pulling him into a hug. “Since my babies have such important work to be doin’.”
“I was kiddin’,” Atsumu says, returning the hug. “I’d skip.”
“Dad, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to steal my sons for a second,” their mother says.
“They don’t want to listen to me ramble anyway,” their grandfather says, waving a hand. He laughs again. “Go, before your mother gets on my case.”
Osamu stands, hiding poorly how grateful he is to be getting away, and joins Atsumu. He gives their mother a hug and she squeezes tight.
“Okay, office,” she says. “Got an assignment for the both of you.”
Atsumu’s excitement flares momentarily. “Can’t wait,” he says.
He and Osamu follow her into the office and she directs them to their usual chairs. The office is a converted space, and while they’ve done a pretty good job it still feels a little stale and empty. There are filing cabinets along the sides, along with some bookshelves, and the window in the back is covered with white blinds. The desk itself is paneled particle board from an office supply store. Their mother rounds the desk and sits.
“I won’t waste your time,” she says. “I know you guys have places to be.”
“Not wastin’ when we’re here with you,” Atsumu says indulgently.
She rolls her eyes. “You keep butterin’ me up and I’m gonna start to think you did somethin’.”
“Never,” Atsumu says. Osamu huffs out a laugh.
“Anyway,” their mother says. “We’ve gotten reports of a vampire that’s been going in and out of pre-frenzy for the past few days. Not sure what caused the frenzy, but we have at least two attacks already. Not fatal, but we can’t wait for a third that could be.”
“Leave it to us,” Atsumu says.
“I haven’t even told you anything about it yet,” his mother chastises.
“We know the deal,” Osamu says. He glances at Atsumu. “Whatever it is, we got it.”
She smiles warmly. “I don’t doubt it.”
She’s compiled a little packet of information, which she astutely gives to Osamu to read and convey to Atsumu. Atsumu would be offended, but he also doesn’t really want to read through a full packet of information about this vampire. He wants to know where to go and who to hunt.
“The frenzy will have changed up his daily habits,” their mother says. “Obviously. But in lapses he might try to go back to his usual business.”
A blood frenzy is a dangerous state for a vampire to be in, impaired cognition and decision-making skills paired with increased bloodlust and heightened supernatural powers. A frenzied vampire’s claws are sharper, eyes are brighter, fangs are pointier, and reflexes are faster. A frenzied vampire is stronger. A frenzied vampire tends to remain that way until taken out.
It’s unfortunate, but it’s part of the job that Atsumu and Osamu have sworn to do.
The briefing is short, because the case is simple. Salaryman doesn’t show up to work, friends can’t find him, and attacks start in the surrounding area. They got a positive visual ID on him and know that he’s the vampire. It doesn’t matter if Osamu and Atsumu can recognize him on sight, because they’ll sure as hell recognize a frenzy.
Atsumu wouldn’t say he’s excited, but it’s been a long time since he was on a good hunt. There’s something thrilling about it, especially when he’s doing it with Osamu. They always worked better together, and it’s been long enough that he misses it. The vigor of the life-or-death struggle. The victory. The knowledge that the streets are safer. Fulfillment of a destiny.
When they have all of the information they need, their mother stands. They know what’s coming, so they do too, and she rounds the desk.
“My beautiful boys,” she says. “Come here.”
She grabs them by the arms and they lean their heads down so their foreheads all touch. Atsumu closes his eyes and lets himself relax.
“You’re so strong, so brilliant,” their mother says. “And burdened with a purpose more important than any of us.”
Atsumu knows the words by heart, but he still lets them wash over him. “It’s a burden you didn’t ask for, but it’s one you’ve borne with grace and diligence.”
“Ma,” Osamu says. Atsumu kicks him in the shin.
“Do your duty and come back to me,” she finishes, and then she kisses each of them on the forehead in turn. Atsumu smiles.
“You got it,” he says.
“We’ll be back,” Osamu agrees.
As they head out of the house, Osamu nudges Atsumu’s arm.
Atsumu smiles. “It’s been a while.”
Osamu smirks. “Yeah. Betcha I get the kill.”
“Betcha you get beat up and I don’t have a scratch when I take ‘em down.”
“What are we bettin’?” Osamu asks.
“The usual,” Atsumu says.
“Fine,” Osamu says. “I get the kill, I win. Even if I get beat up too.”
“Sure,” Atsumu says. “I’ll take those odds.”
It’s not a good bet to make, maybe, because Atsumu knows that Osamu has been on a win streak with his hunts and Atsumu has been caught up on not killing Sakusa. But Atsumu knows he’s one of the best. He’s just been conflicted, lately. Not about hunting vampires. About hunting one specific vampire.
“Monday,” Osamu decides for them. “I’ll swing by at nine.”
“It’s a date,” Atsumu says.
“Ew,” Osamu says.
At practice on Monday Sakusa looks hale and hearty, and Atsumu nearly bites through his cheek. Color returning to Sakusa’s cheeks means some poor person out there had a terrible night, and that makes Atsumu’s hair stand on end. He can’t keep doing this, letting this happen right under his nose.
Sakusa performs even better than usual. He’s already supernaturally strong—literally—and exceptionally fast, but he must have gotten a really good drink because he’s in absolute top form. He dives for a serve receive and pops it up perfectly, he picks up one of Bokuto’s hits with ease, and he slams down a spike so hard it echoes.
“Nice kill,” Atsumu says. Sakusa glances at him, pauses, and then the tiniest glimmer of a smirk passes his lips. It’s gone the next moment and Atsumu’s vaguely impressed look turns to a glare.
You didn’t catch me this time, the smirk says. Looks like you’re not so good after all.
The Miyas are some of the best hunters in the city. Atsumu’s blood burns. If Sakusa were anyone else, he’d be dead already. Atsumu knows that for a fact, and he hates it. He thinks Sakusa might know it, too.
He hates it enough that he gets ready for Osamu ahead of time. By the time his brother is ringing his doorbell, Atsumu is suited up and ready to go. His stake is in his pocket, his knife is in his hand, and his backpack is full. He has an omamori on a string around his neck this time, so it’ll be harder to dislodge.
Osamu comes in dressed largely the same, with a dark-wash denim jacket and black pants hiding his gear.
“Thought I was gonna have to wait,” he says. “Looks like someone’s eager.”
“To go on a hunt with my darlingest baby brother?” Atsumu asks. He reaches out to ruffle Osamu’s hair and gets his wrist twisted back for his trouble. “Hey hey hey,” he breathes all at once. “Volleyball hands.” Osamu lets him go and, in the same motion, ruffles Atsumu’s hair instead, pushing his head down a little bit too hard.
Atsumu slaps him away and Osamu jerks his head to the door. “If you're already ready. No time to waste.”
“I’m always ready,” Atsumu says. “I could take down a vamp without any of my kit.”
“What, you carry your stake around everywhere?”
“Maybe I do.”
“Well, hopefully you remember how to use it,” Osamu says. “Since you haven’t for the past few weeks on account of you're in love.”
“Shut up,” Atsumu says. He pushes Osamu to the side as he goes to the door to slip on his boots. Sakusa can shove it. He can walk quietly in them. “I need a hitter, okay? I’m gonna stop him from feedin’ and keep him on the team.”
“That’s not possible,” Osamu says incredulously. “What, you gonna turn him vegan? You gonna put him on soy blood? Gonna rob a blood bank?”
Atsumu huffs. “I’m workin’ on it.”
“You're workin’ on not workin’ on it. Whatever. Let’s get goin’.”
Osamu follows him out the door, closing it with a definitive click. Atsumu can feel his heart rate rising a little at the sound. It’s go time. He looks over at Osamu as they head down in the elevator and winks. Osamu rolls his eyes but there’s a little smile touching his lips. It’s been a long time since they went out to hunt together. They were always better as a pair.
The night is cool and the streets are sparsely populated. The neighborhood with the attacks is sleepy and full of low houses and slightly taller apartments. The attacks all happened in a little shopping district, with small shops and restaurants lining the narrow streets. It’s a cute place, if Atsumu weren’t there on a job.
A few people and motorcycles pass, along with tiny cars that still seem too big for the street. Atsumu glances around at the shops idly. Some of them are closed.
Then hairs on the back of his neck rise slowly and a tingle spreads across them. Osamu is giving Atsumu some looks, each increasing in intensity, until Atsumu meets his eye. Osamu’s gaze is hard and meaningful, and Atsumu takes stock of the situation.
Maybe it’s because he’s so used to feeling the tingle in his chest, the prickling of the hairs all across his body, from being in such close proximity to Sakusa for large portions of the day. Maybe he’s become accustomed to it, to the point that it doesn’t feel strange anymore.
He felt it clearly as they passed the apartment building a few blocks back, but instead of fading as they walked away it stayed, humming in the background in his head, buzzing with proximity and wariness. Osamu feels it too, and he hasn’t been desensitized. Atsumu can tell exactly what the look he’s giving him means.
The likelihood of passing multiple unseen vampires in buildings is very low. They’re spread thinly across the city, and Atsumu and Osamu are lucky to have sensed one at all. It’s not impossible that there’s one on the street somewhere behind them. In fact, that’s the most likely option. Whether or not it means something remains to be seen.
Atsumu nods to Osamu and they both start scouting for a gap between buildings, picking up their pace as they do. If it’s a false alarm, great. If not, well…Atsumu puts his hand on the stake in his jacket pocket.
There’s a thin alleyway coming up, the mouth of which is blocked partially by a gutter spout. There’s no need for subtlety—if they’ve been recognized, they’ve been recognized. Osamu ducks into the alley first, quickly followed by Atsumu, and they press themselves against the wall. A curious pedestrian near them peers in after them but says nothing and continues on their way.
No one else passes. Atsumu’s sure there was more than one person behind them. He looks over to Osamu wordlessly, and Osamu nods. He takes out his own stake in one hand and a switch knife, identical to Atsumu’s but for the character engraved on the handle. His eyes have sharpened to the point of cutting into Atsumu as they wait.
Silence, ringing in the air. The sound of wheels on the road by them, distant chatter. Then, almost imperceptibly, the flutter of tiny wings.
Atsumu’s head pops up and his eyes shoot to the sky. He catches it just as it flaps its way under the edge of the building above them.
“Bat,” he murmurs, just as quietly as the sound of the wings in the air.
“Just one?” Osamu asks with a bit of disappointment.
“As far as I can see.”
“Can’t be in their right mind,” Osamu says. “Comin’ after us like that.”
“Nope,” Atsumu says, eyes still trained on the sky. The bat detaches itself from the overhang and Atsumu sees the edge of a wing. “You think it’s our guy?”
“In this area? Has to be.”
Atsumu smiles. “Incoming.”
The bat drops, its tiny form whipping and snapping suddenly in the air, and Atsumu readies himself. In an instant the sky above them darkens and the silhouette of a large man drops down onto them.
They both duck out of the way, Atsumu throwing himself against the opposite wall with a smile. The vampire lands hard on his feet and whirls around. His eyes are entirely red, from pupil to sclera. Yep. This has to be the right guy.
Osamu huffs out a little laugh and Atsumu sees the knife in his hand. The vampire’s claws and fangs are both out, razor-sharp and shining in the night. He wastes no time lunging at Atsumu with a snarl. A really bad frenzy, then. It’s a wonder this guy was walking the streets.
Atsumu dodges a swipe and responds by shoving his whole weight into the shoulder of the man as he passes. The man is sturdy but he’s off-balance and he stumbles, leaving an opening for Osamu. Osamu flips his knife around in his hand and stabs into the man’s arm to distract him.
Atsumu, in the meantime, pulls his stake and makes to slam it into the guy’s chest. He isn’t surprised when his arm is knocked out of the way by a wildly swinging hand, but it is annoying. The vampire’s attention is split between the two of them, so Atsumu takes the opportunity to try and sweep his feet out from under him.
The vampire doesn’t go down, unfortunately. He plants his feet extra wide and seems to make the snap decision to continue focusing on Atsumu.
He strikes out with his claws, and Atsumu ducks out of the way. He gets a good shot in at the guy’s side, and his knife comes home between ribs. Not enough to kill him, but it’ll hurt and keep him moving a little more slowly. A stain of red, almost black in the dark, starts to blot across the man’s sweater.
The man chokes out a paint-peeling hiss and strikes out at Atsumu again. This one Atsumu parries, in a move he knows from experience will leave a bruise on his forearm in the morning.
He sees Osamu coming up behind the man, and they lock eyes for a moment. Atsumu’s knife cuts just above the man’s wrist as he comes in for another swipe.
“Miya,” the man growls.
“Hear that, ‘Samu? We’re famous,” Atsumu says.
“Fuckin’ pay attention,” Osamu snaps.
The vampire whirls around and swipes out at Osamu with his claws. Osamu ducks out of the way and comes in with his stake. Atsumu kicks the vampire in the knee to get his attention again and as he whirls around, caught between the two of them and unsure which one to focus on, Osamu’s stake finally pierces his chest.
This one was pretty easy, Atsumu thinks, as the man cries out and goes down, Osamu on top of him. Osamu’s hand is firm on the handle of the stake and he drives it in deeper, arm straining. Blood soaks through the man’s sweater and he struggles a bit. It’s no use—Osamu has always had deadly aim.
Osamu gets to his feet and steps back, leaving the stake in place, as a pinpoint of light starts to form around it. They watch as the man’s body stills and the light spreads in a circle, overtaking it. It’s slow at first, and then it finishes all in a flash. Like paper consumed by a flame the man’s body disappears, leaving behind a silhouette of dark ash. Osamu’s stake clatters to the ground. The prickle across Atsumu’s skin dies in an instant.
Atsumu is barely out of breath. He and Osamu are quiet for a moment, a light breeze tickling the top of the ash and making it flutter in the dark. Then Osamu steps forward and picks up the stake, pocketing it.
“Well,” he says. “I got it.”
“I gave it to you,” Atsumu says. “Because I’m nice like that.”
“You didn’t give me shit,” Osamu says smugly.
“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbles. “Let’s sanctify it and get outta here.”
“You do it since I did the hard part,” Osamu says.
“Scrub,” Atsumu shoots back, but he kneels by the thin bed of ashes. He takes a bit of the ash on the tip of his finger and rubs it around with his thumb, and he murmurs a few quiet prayers. He’s rushing it a bit, maybe, because this was a less exciting job than he wanted it to be and he’s a little miffed that Osamu got the killshot. When he’s done he wipes the ash off and stands.
“Done,” he says. Then, with a sigh, he continues. “I don’t have practice next Thursday. I’ll do it then, I guess.”
Osamu smiles. “I got your uniform all ready.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu says. “Next time I’m goin’ out solo.”
“So you can follow Sakusa around and watch him bite people?” Osamu asks as they exit the alley, pocketing all weapons and straightening their clothes.
“So I can get a good hunt in without you breathin’ down my neck,” Atsumu counters.
“Ma’s not gonna give you a solo when she hears how fast we got this one done,” Osamu says.
“All the vampires in the city should go into frenzies one after another and we can be done with all of it,” Atsumu says.
“Then what would you do with your free time?” Osamu laughs. “Anyway, can’t keep your fuckin’ star hitter like that.”
The street is just as quiet as when they left it, and they start the walk back to the train. Atsumu isn’t looking forward to his new upcoming shift at Onigiri Miya, but a bet is a bet and he’s not going to renege. He adjusts his beanie and quiets the faint disappointment in his gut. He can be a good sport.
“Ma text you?” Osamu asks. Atsumu blinks.
“Huh?”
“Did she text you?”
“No.”
Osamu sniffs. “She said we’re gonna be having some kinda meeting soon. Whole team. Didn’t say what about but if it was somethin’ bad they’d say it was an emergency.”
“Not gonna worry about it, then,” Atsumu says.
He doesn’t even notice the hairs on his arms rising until it’s already become a tingle in his fingertips. He blinks, squints at Osamu, and their conversation is cut short. He glances around. They’re coming up on a bus stop, and there’s a couple there. A man and a woman, the man with his back to them, the woman talking gently and approaching in tiny, casual steps.
Her eyes flash red in the night, and Atsumu feels his skin prickle. There we go. She takes the man’s hand—he’s a tiny bit taller than her, with a beanie and glasses. It’s bold to do this at a bus stop, of all places, but it is late and the buses aren’t running anymore. Atsumu nudges Osamu’s arm and he nods silently. He feels the shiver in the air, too, the proximity of a vampire.
“We should keep some tabs on her,” Osamu murmurs. Atsumu nods.
They approach carefully and quietly. The vampire and her presumed target are very close now, and Atsumu watches as they kiss. The kiss quickly trails off to the side of the man’s neck, and Atsumu’s gut twists.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “We can’t just let her do that.”
“No,” Osamu agrees.
The man tilts his head far to the side and leans down a little so the woman has easier access. Atsumu grits his jaw and pulls out his switch knife.
“Don’t be dumb, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says, not a rebuke but a parting note.
“Hey!” Atsumu yells as he starts stomping up to them. The couple jolt and the vampire whirls around. The man slaps a hand to the side of his neck. There’s a trickle of blood. Fuck. They were a second too late.
The vampire’s eyes widen, glowing red-rimmed. She recognizes him. Well, he’s not exactly an unfamiliar face to a good portion of the vampire population. Atsumu wonders if they tell each other stories about him.
“None of that shit out here,” Atsumu says. “Or anywhere.” He zeroes in on the vampire and she takes a step back. The man, hand still on his neck, turns and steps in front of the woman.
“Go away,” he says. Atsumu almost laughs. “I’m willing.”
Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but then pauses. “What?”
“You’re one of the Miyas, right?” the man asks, glancing over at the woman. “So you know.”
“That you're a vampire?” Atsumu spits at the woman. To her credit, she doesn’t seem fazed. “Yep.”
“We’re dating,” the man says. “It’s consensual. I let her bite me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu says. He peers into the man’s eyes, searching. “Not gonna trust the word of a thrall.”
“He’s not enthralled,” the woman cuts in. “Look, even if he was.” She glances up at the man and continues: “I release you from my service.”
Atsumu clenches his jaw and watches the man expectantly. He doesn’t look abruptly horrified and he doesn’t run. He looks at Atsumu with the same uncertain glare.
“I let her do it,” the man repeats. “Happy?”
Atsumu just stands there, knife in hand, suddenly befuddled. “That’s…” he starts. Not possible? He supposes it is possible, if he’s hearing it now. Somehow, the thought has never occurred to him, that someone would offer themselves up willingly to be bitten by a vampire. “So you're not bitin’ anybody besides lover boy?” he confirms slowly with the woman.
She shakes her head. “I’m not.”
Atsumu works his tongue around his mouth for a minute and then glances back at Osamu, who’s watching from a bit of a distance. “Right. It’d better stay that way.”
“Or you’ll kill me?” the woman challenges.
“Maybe,” Atsumu replies flatly. He wouldn’t without an assignment from his mother, but this vampire doesn’t need to know that.
The red in her eyes flashes but she says nothing. The man, still a little in front of her, jerks his head a little bit. “Leave,” he says.
A bit of a breeze picks up and ruffles Atsumu’s hair. “I don’t usually let your kind go,” he says. “So you're on thin ice already. Keep it between the two of you. Forever.”
Neither of them responds, staring at him with hard, scared eyes. Usually he likes it when vampires are scared of him. Now, it feels strange. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns. “Also, do that shit inside,” he says. Then he snorts. “Sorry to bother.”
He starts back, catching out of the corner of his eye the woman rushing over to kiss the side of the man’s neck. His hand has rivulets of blood dripping from it, and there’s some on the collar of his shirt. What, is she getting the last drops before it heals? Atsumu shakes his head and storms back over to Osamu.
“What was that?” Osamu asks.
“He offered, apparently,” Atsumu says. “To be a fuckin’ meal.”
“He say that with his own mouth?” Osamu asks. “You sure he wasn’t enthralled?”
“If he was, she let him go,” Atsumu says. “But I don’t think he was.”
Osamu doesn’t look as puzzled as Atsumu feels, but he seems thoughtful. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“You don’t wanna go after her anyway?” Atsumu asks, because Osamu is usually a hardass about these kinds of things.
Osamu stares at the couple for a long moment. “If she’s not attackin’ people, she may as well not be a vampire. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, we hear anything else, we know what she looks like.”
He turns, and Atsumu wonders if he’s the only one who feels weird about this entire thing. He can’t place the odd feeling in his stomach, something nagging at the back of his head that he can’t quite hear. He doesn’t like the sensation.
They leave and Atsumu spares one glance back. The man is cradling the woman’s face and speaking quietly to her. There’s a line of blood down his neck, soaking into his collar. What, did they think they’d just be able to get away with that out on the street? He doesn’t understand the logic at all. Maybe there is none. Maybe she was just hungry.
Atsumu starts getting consistent. Osamu is right. He can’t be complacent when it comes to Sakusa just because he knows him. He has to treat him just like any other vampire he’d catch trying to feed.
Sakusa seems to be trying to avoid a fight. He stays away from his usual haunts, and Atsumu has to track him down straight after practice to figure out where he’s going. And the last fight must have made Sakusa skittish, because he pulls the escape hatch and flutters away whenever Atsumu gets too close.
It’s tiring, but that’s what Atsumu signed up for, and persistence is something he’s always been good at. He and Sakusa barely speak during practice, and Atsumu can feel the mood of the team souring around them. It’s okay. It’s all part of the plan.
He can tell, as one week turns into two and into the beginning of three, that Sakusa’s form is getting worse. That’s okay. It’s all part of the plan.
What’s the plan? Atsumu has no idea.
He definitely needs one. He can tell that he’s just stalling. One of these days Sakusa is going to get a step ahead of him and get a good meal in, and the longer he waits the bigger that meal will need to be. It’s not sustainable, and it will only make Sakusa wilier. The last thing Atsumu needs to be doing is training a vampire to get better at evading him.
As he lies there in bed after another tiring night stalking Sakusa, staring up at the ceiling, unable to work it all the way around in his head, he decides to bring it back to basic principles.
- Sakusa will continue to need blood
- Atsumu cannot let him continue to hunt
- Atsumu, however much he cannot admit it to his family, wants to keep Sakusa alive
- ???
Sakusa needs blood. Atsumu can’t let him have it. Direct contradiction. There’s not much you can do with that kind of impasse. Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and rolls the same few thoughts around in his head over and over, hoping something new might fall out.
It crashes over Atsumu so suddenly he bolts straight up, blanket falling down to his waist. He stares into the dark, eyes wide, as an image of a couple at a bus stop floods his vision.
Sakusa needs blood. Atsumu can’t let him have it—from other people.
It’s so obvious and it’s also ridiculous. And it is, as far as Atsumu can figure out, the only solution.
Shit. He’s never been bitten before. He knows that vampires can sustain on small, regular quantities of blood. He knows, though he doesn’t know all of the details, that he has met at least one vampire who was exclusively feeding from one person. It has to be possible. And what better person in the world than someone who already knows about vampires? Who has the power to stop him if things get out of hand?
Shit. He’s never been bitten before.
He hadn’t ever planned to, to be honest.
Everything is slotting into place, though. Sakusa feeds from him, just a little bit at a time, and Atsumu is a healthy young athlete so he probably won’t miss it. Sakusa stays well-fed, he stays on the team, he doesn’t go out to hunt, and Atsumu has taken care of the problem.
How the fuck is he going to convince Sakusa to do it?