The insurance company you worked for had a reputation for hosting some of the most extravagant Halloween parties. 

Every year, they outdid themselves, turning lavish venues into eerie, haunted wonderlands filled with masked guests, dark costumes, and enough mystery to last until the next morning. This year was no different. 

The theme was a "Haunted Royal Court," and the moment you arrived at the grand mansion, you could feel the weight of the night—luxurious yet unsettling, the perfect setting for an evening that would inevitably end in indulgence.

The chandeliers in the dimly lit entrance hall flickered ominously as you stepped inside, your heels clicking softly on the marble floor. 

Cobwebbed tapestries lined the walls, the candlelight casting ghostly shadows over the guests mingling in their regal, haunted costumes. 

A subtle sense of unease lingered in the air, but you knew that wasn’t just because of the atmosphere. It was because of him.

Kento Nanami.

Last Halloween had been the first–and last–time something had happened between you two. 

The party that year had been just as extravagant, and after hours of drinks and stolen glances, the tension had exploded in a way you hadn’t expected. 

By the end of the night, you’d found yourself in the parking lot, pressed up against his sleek black car, Nanami’s hands gripping your hips while his lips claimed yours in a moment of raw desire. 

His usually composed demeanour had crumbled as the two of you fucked right there, under the cover of darkness, driven by alcohol and an unspoken need that neither of you had ever acknowledged. 

But after that night, things had gone back to normal. 

You didn’t talk about it. Neither of you had brought up the rushed, heated encounter that left your skin tingling for days. In fact…you practically never saw him in the office after that.

Maybe you both had reasons to pretend it didn’t happen, but the memory of his hands on you, his voice strained with lust, had never left your mind.

And now, at this year’s Halloween party, the tension between you was back—stronger than ever.

You adjusted the delicate lace sleeves of your gown, the dark fabric clinging to your curves in a way that felt both seductive and spectral. 

The plunging neckline and sheer accents added a haunting allure, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit dangerous tonight. 

A part of you wanted to see if Nanami would react the same way as last time, if the restraint that held him together would snap again.

As you stepped fully into the grand ballroom, you felt the weight of gazes tracing over you, lingering with curious admiration. 

But one gaze felt different—intense, familiar, like a charged current that sparked every nerve ending to life. 

You didn’t need to look to know it was him. 

Even without meeting his eyes, you could feel Nanami’s attention on you, piercing through the other looks, as if he alone saw through the elaborate dress, the poised demeanour, right to the anticipation simmering beneath.

Adjusting the delicate lace sleeves of your gown, you let your fingers trail along the fabric, subtly drawing attention to the plunging neckline and the way the dark fabric moulded to your curves. 

The gown was intricate yet daring, the sheer lace accents and shadowy hue creating an otherworldly allure that left you feeling more alive than you had in weeks. 

You couldn’t help the shiver of satisfaction as you caught the faintest glimpse of Nanami’s gaze darkening from across the room. 

The way his jaw clenched, the subtle tightening of his grip around the glass in his hand—it was the only confirmation you needed.

You moved with graceful ease, mingling through the crowd, chatting with a few coworkers who complimented your costume or shared a laugh over the elaborate decorations. 

But even as you kept the conversation light and easy, your senses were hyper-focused on him, tracking his every move through the room, waiting to see if he would approach. 

You could’ve sworn that you saw a few of your female coworkers throw subtle glances in Nanami’s direction—though whether out of respect for his commanding presence or curiosity about the mysterious aura he carried, you weren’t sure.

Eventually, you found yourself near his group, standing with a small cluster of colleagues by the dimly lit bar where he was seated. 

The moment stretched taut as you casually joined their conversation, exchanging pleasantries and soft laughter with the others. 

Your body hummed with awareness, every fibre of you attuned to his presence. Yet neither of you acknowledged the other. 

The deliberate silence was its own kind of foreplay, unspoken and electric, drawing out the tension until it felt almost unbearable.

Every now and then, as you sipped your drink or listened to a story from a coworker, you’d feel his gaze drift in your direction, lingering just a second too long. 

You swore you could feel his eyes trailing over the slope of your neck, the bare skin exposed by the daring cut of your gown, down to the curve of your waist.

And each time, your pulse quickened, your heartbeat echoing loud enough that you were sure someone nearby might hear.

The memory of that night in the dark, pressed against his car, his hands possessive on your body, his breath hot and ragged as he murmured your name—it was all there, simmering beneath the surface.

And as you laughed at a joke someone told, you sensed him shifting closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a magnetic pull. 

You dared a sideways glance, catching a glimpse of the way his eyes roamed over you, his expression unreadable but filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without a word, Nanami’s hand brushed against yours—a feather-light touch, barely noticeable to anyone else, but enough to send sparks up your arm. 

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you forgot the others around you, lost in the silent promise that lingered in his gaze.

He stood beside you now, stoic in his ghostly nobleman’s attire, the sharp lines of his suit tailored perfectly to his broad frame. 

His pale makeup gave him a haunting, refined edge, and despite the eerie theme of the evening, Nanami still exuded his usual calm intensity. 

You hadn’t spoken much since you arrived, but his presence was enough to stir the familiar tension. You could feel his gaze on you occasionally, lingering, just as it had last year.

It was almost as if you were playing a game—seeing who would break first.

By the time you needed some air and a break from the meaningless small talk, your heart was already pounding with anticipation. 

You excused yourself from the mingling crowd, stepping toward the grand staircase that led to the quieter, upper levels of the mansion. 

The dim lighting cast long shadows over the bannisters, and the flickering candles added an almost supernatural glow to the space.

As you ascended the steps, you heard the familiar, steady sound of footsteps behind you. 

You didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

Nanami’s presence filled the stairwell as he caught up, his larger frame moving with quiet determination. 

He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the tension building with each passing second.

"You left without saying anything," he finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. 

It wasn’t accusatory, but there was something heavier beneath the words, something that made your pulse quicken.

You stopped on the landing, leaning against the banister with a teasing smile. "Didn’t think you’d notice."

As his steady footsteps echoed closer, your pulse quickened, and you couldn’t resist a sly smile. 

You tilted your head, watching the flicker of something guarded—yet unmistakably intrigued—in his gaze. 

Nanami stopped a few steps below, just close enough that you could see the subtle shifts in his expression, the guarded way he held himself in check. 

His presence filled the narrow stairwell, quiet but commanding, and though he didn’t say anything right away, you felt his gaze take in every detail—the curve of your lips, the way the dark lace of your dress clung to your body.

His mouth quirked as his eyes snapped back up to yours, almost imperceptibly. "I notice plenty."

The words were simple, but the way his gaze swept over you made them feel like a confession. 

He took another step forward, and the dim lighting cast shadows that accentuated his strong jawline, his broad shoulders filling the space with an effortless elegance. 

His suit jacket cut perfectly to fit him, every inch of his appearance meticulously sharp, and for a moment, you almost lost your train of thought watching him approach.

He took another step, and then another, each movement careful, deliberate, like he was savouring every second of closing the space between you.

His eyes never left yours, and you could see the way he drank in every detail—how you stood just above him, the way your gown framed your silhouette against the stairwell’s low light. 

It was almost like he wanted to memorize the sight of you, his stare unwavering, intent.

"You’re making it pretty damn hard not to notice, y/n." He said, his tone low, soft but with an edge that sent a thrill down your spine. 

There was something dangerous in the way he looked at you now, the restraint in his gaze barely holding.

Your lips curved in a teasing smile as he drew closer, the heat in his gaze kindling your own excitement. 

"Funny, I didn’t think you were paying attention."

Nanami’s lips parted, just the slightest bit, and his eyes narrowed, his expression still calm but undeniably intrigued. 

"Is that what you want to believe?" He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your form one more time before returning to your eyes.

Every step he took up those marble steps sent a wave of tension curling through you, the anticipation building to an unbearable peak. 

And then he was only a step away, his gaze still locked with yours, his figure looming with a quiet authority that made the stairwell feel impossibly small.

A soft chuckle slipped past your lips, and you couldn’t help but lean in just a bit, closing the small space between you. 

"You know," you said, your tone laced with challenge, "I almost thought you were avoiding me tonight."

Nanami’s gaze held yours as he finally reached you on the landing, and the corners of his mouth turned up in the slightest of smirks. 

"Avoiding you would be the sensible thing to do," he murmured, the faintest trace of dry humour slipping into his voice. 

"But you’re not very good at doing the sensible thing, are you?"

He let out a soft sigh, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the curve of your neck, the lace edging that skimmed over your collarbone before returning to your eyes. 

"With you," he replied, the restraint in his voice palpable, "it’s difficult."

The confession, quiet yet so unmistakably Nanami, made your heart beat faster. 

You couldn’t help but lean closer, the anticipation thrumming between you both like a live wire. 

"I don’t mind making things difficult," you whispered, your voice just for him.

His fingers brushed along your waist, steady yet unmistakably possessive, as he looked at you with that same intense gaze he wore in the field—sharp, unyielding, and thoroughly focused. 

"I know you don’t." 

His words were soft, almost indulgent, but his hand tightened ever so slightly, as if warning himself not to give in.

You let your fingers lightly graze the lapel of his jacket, watching as his focus flickered to the touch, his own calm facade beginning to show cracks.

For a moment, the air felt thick, every shared glance and whispered word drawing you further into his orbit. 

The faint lights of the stairwell cast a warm glow, leaving the world outside forgotten, as if you two were the only ones here.

Nanami's hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, his fingers firm and confident as he pulled you flush against him. 

His gaze held yours with a powerful intensity, and the way he looked at you now was entirely unguarded—no walls, no restraint. 

The flickering tension in his eyes had morphed into something resolute, an unspoken promise of what was about to unfold.

Without a word, his hand found the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair with a possessive strength that made your breath hitch. He leaned down, his mouth inches from yours, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, the air thick with the silent demand. 

His lips brushed your ear, his voice low and commanding.

"You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?" His words weren’t a question but a statement, one that sent a thrill through you as his grip tightened ever so slightly.

Before you could answer, his mouth met yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips moved with a hunger you hadn’t seen before, a raw, undeniable desire that left you breathless. 

His other hand slid up your waist, his touch heavy and possessive, fingers digging into your hip as he drew you closer. 

Your breaths became shallow, and you kissed him back desperately, going up on your tippy toes just to get a mere few centimetres closer.

When he broke the kiss, his gaze was darker, the restraint that usually tempered him nowhere to be seen. 

His thumb traced the line of your jaw, his grip firm as he tilted your head to look up at him, his own eyes narrowed in focus.

His voice was a hushed growl, each word laced with an intensity that made your pulse race. 

"God, you are the most beautiful living thing I have ever laid my eyes on," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek, rough and deliberate. 

There was a fierce possession in his gaze, something raw and electric that left you feeling completely at his mercy.

Without another word, his hand slipped beneath the fabric at your waist, fingers splaying across your hip as he lifted you effortlessly against the wall. 

Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, and he pressed against you, his touch steady yet undeniably commanding, his body anchoring yours in place. 

His lips found your neck again, marking a trail along your skin as his grip tightened, each kiss firm–posessive.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

His hand slid higher along your thigh, fingers gripping firmly, as if he were staking his claim on every inch of you. 

The last shred of restraint slipped from him as his hand found its way under your dress, and he hooked his fingers around the fabric, shifting it aside gently only to insert his fingers in you with such dominance. 

As soon as you felt his fingers stretch you out, you let out a loud gasp into the echoing hallway.

His other hand cupped the back of your neck, drawing your mouth to his in another searing kiss, one that left you breathless and desperate for more.

You could feel the controlled power in every movement he made, every flex of his fingers, his touch radiating an intensity that made you feel alive, like you were the center of his world in that moment.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He muttered, his voice a quiet, fervent rasp as his fingers attempted to memorize the feel of your warmth, his restraint slipping more with every word, every touch. 

With a low growl, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling momentarily empty until he undid his belt, his movements steady yet purposeful, his gaze dark with intent. 

The sound of the buckle hitting the floor sent a thrill down your spine, and as he freed himself, the anticipation pooled hot and heavy in your core, building until it was almost unbearable.

His hand slipped up to the back of your neck, threading through your hair before giving a firm tug, tilting your head up so you had to look him in the eyes.

"You want this?" He muttered, his voice a rough, intense whisper that sent a shiver through you.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, laced with all the want and need that had been building up between you two for so long.

And then, with a slow, deep thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. 

The sensation was electric, sparking along every nerve as he began to move, each thrust measured but intense, the pressure building with a relentless rhythm that had you clinging to him, gasping his name.

The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming, each stroke reaching deeper, grounding you even as it felt like you were unravelling. 

Your body become hypersensitive, alive to every rough brush of his fingers, every scrape of fabric against your hot skin. 

The sensation built up in waves, crashing and receding, leaving you on edge, breathless, yet craving even more. 

Each time he pulled at your hair, a sharp spark ignited deep in your core, a flare of pleasure that spread outward, filling you up until it was all you could feel. You arched into him, mouth parting as a moan escaped you, your body yielding to every movement, every rough, deliberate stroke.

His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, your hands tangling in his hair, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you steady. 

Each sound you made seemed to spur him on—his movements gaining intensity, each thrust deliberate, meant to leave you aching in the best way.

He tightened his hold on your hair, tilting your head back to expose the curve of your neck, and his mouth found the sensitive skin there, adding another layer of sensation that left you trembling beneath him. 

The roughness, the unrestrained way he claimed you, made every nerve feel alive, sparking with pleasure until it was almost too much.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dark, almost reverent, as his gaze raked over you. "So beautiful…"

Every word, every thrust, pulled you closer to the edge, and as he continued, the pleasure reached a fever pitch, winding tighter until there was nothing but him, the feeling of his body against yours, the raw intensity of his movements. 

And as he drove into you one last time, the release hit, crashing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless, clinging to him as the pleasure pulsed through you in endless, dizzying waves…

—

The next morning, you sat at your desk, barely focused on your work. 

Memories of the night before were still fresh, each one laced with the lingering intensity of every look, every touch, every whispered word. 

You couldn’t shake it—not that you wanted to.

Lost in thought, you glanced across the room at your coworker, Shoko, sitting a few desks over. Gathering yourself, you leaned in her direction, trying to sound casual as you asked, “Hey, Shoko. What do you think about Nanami?”

Shoko looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. “Nanami Kento?” she repeated, a curious edge in her voice. “The company’s old owner?”

You blinked, the words not fully registering at first. “Yeah, I mean… the guy from last night,” you said, a little thrown. “Wait—old owner? How old is he?”

Shoko’s confusion only deepened. 

She tilted her head, clearly wondering if you were joking. 

“What do you mean?” she said slowly, almost cautiously. “Nanami… he’s been dead for, like, twenty years.”

Your stomach dropped, a chill washing over you. 

“Dead?” You managed, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” Erin continued, oblivious to the shock freezing you in place. 

“Apparently, he was murdered. People say his spirit haunts the office building.” She paused, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. 

“And that old mansion where they host the Halloween party every year? He used to live there.”

Your breath caught as the room around you seemed to spin, last night’s encounters replaying in your mind with an entirely new—and chilling—clarity.

You tried to keep your expression steady, but your mind was racing. 

Shoko had already turned back to her work, unaware of the spiral she’d just set off inside your head. 

You took a steadying breath, trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

Did I just… fuck a ghost?

The absurdity of it clashed with the vivid, undeniable reality of what you’d felt last night—the warmth of his hands, the low rasp of his voice, the possessive way he’d held you. 

Everything about Nanami had felt so real, so solid. 

You could still feel the ghost of his fingers on your skin, the way your heart had raced when he whispered against your ear.

Your pulse quickened again, and you stole a glance around the room as if everyone might somehow know, but no one was watching you. 

The memories replayed in your mind, each one taking on a new edge as you recalled his almost otherworldly intensity, the quiet way he’d moved, how he seemed to always appear exactly when you wanted him to… or perhaps, when he wanted to be seen.

You swallowed, trying to shake the thoughts out of your head, but Erin’s words echoed persistently. ‘Murdered twenty years ago. His spirit haunts the office building…’

And then, a detail you’d brushed off last night resurfaced. 

He’d told you that ‘you are the most beautiful living thing he had ever laid his eyes on,’...that phrase had seemed flirtatious then, but now, it felt loaded with an eerie truth.

“The manure must have masked the scent,” you continued.

“Leave it,” he replied. “Perhaps a neighbor will come and find it tomorrow.”

“There’s no one out here for several ri.”

You plucked the baby from its hiding place. Then, with a long, cold finger, checked the baby’s sex and poked the plump flesh of its cheek. It gurgled and squirmed to your touch, but never woke.

“The nerve of you to stay asleep in a monster’s presence,” you teased her, smiling. Nanami opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, “I know.”

Since you began your union as vampires, your husband has created a thousand rules to protect your secrets—never stay too long in a single place, never speak too loudly, never mingle, never answer questions from strangers, never draw attention…

Never develop a bond with humans.

And the result was a lonely, nomadic existence, where your roots stayed shallow every ground you stepped on, and every face you encountered were forgotten as soon as you left.

Not to say your lives were boring, however. Nanami tried his best to keep your lives rich and entertaining.

A scholar from the Muromachi period, Nanami would often fill your head with poems and stories of the life he’s lived before meeting you. Though there was only so much he could say about the same four seasons and the same proud daimyos he once served, and soon you developed a curiosity with how society has changed. Your marriage has been delicate ever since.

(There was even a decade when you separated after a fight about visiting a ‘city’ to see the country’s first ‘western building'—though it drove you both insane because all you had were each other. Since then, he has become less restrictive of your whims.)

So with a resigned sigh, Nanami grabbed a wooden hammer and made his way outside.

“The sun is rising soon,” he said. “I’ll go and seal the windows.”

***

Vampires do not need sleep, but they do need some silence.

Since the baby woke up screaming, you and Nanami scrambled around the house figuring out how to make it stop. (It’s obvious that the baby’s hungry, but its mother was dead and the cows were out grazing under a sunlit field.)

So you continued to rock the baby side to side, shushing her, soothing her, cursing your frigid, undead tits for their uselessness, while Nanami scavenged the kitchen for something edible.

“Try this,” he said, as he handed you a thin cloth and a bowl of rice porridge. “Use your finger.”

You wrapped the cloth around your pinky, dipped it in the porridge, and brought it to the baby’s lips. She quickly latched to your finger, sucking eagerly. Silent at last.

“I think it’s working,” you said, giggling from the ticklish sensation. But Nanami crossed his arms and shot you a pointed look.

“This baby is a liability,” he said.

“Still, it would be cruel to leave it,” you added. “We agreed to prevent any needless death.”

“Then we leave it in the nearest town.”

“Do you think she would survive the trek?”

“Why wouldn't she? It’s only for two months.”

His tone grew sharper and the weight of weariness dropped on the back of your neck. You dip your finger in the porridge to feed the baby once again.

“Why don't we think about this for a little bit longer?” you said. “You know I don't like arguing with you.”

A sudden tenderness washed over Nanami’s expression. He leans down to press his forehead on your shoulder in consolation. He never liked arguing with you either.

“Of course, darling,” he said. “We have all the time in the world.”

***

By the time the baby could walk and eat solid food, you and Nanami had agreed on what to do with her.

You will take care of the baby to prevent its needless death. (Rule 1: Do not kill humans without reason.)

You may stay in the farmhouse until the baby is old enough to travel. (Waived Rule 42: Do not stay too long in a single place.)

You will leave the baby in the nearest village as soon as she is able. (Rule 4: Do not form bonds with humans.)

Feeding the baby was easier this time. The field was fertile and game was plentiful. You and Nanami would take turns hunting for meat and blood while the other stayed at home to farm and care for her.

It’s been centuries since either of you cooked anything, so it’s a surprise that the baby had an appetite this healthy. (So healthy, in fact, that she would put anything she can grab into her mouth. Including rocks and beetles.)

She was also good at entertaining herself, which is a skill that you envied. To merely look at a thing was satisfying for her: the fireflies in the rice fields, the quiet insects on the ground, the flickering lamps, the falling leaves. Once, she reached out to grab the swaying shadow of a tree branch, but the shadow reappeared on her arm. Much to her amusement.

Nanami enjoyed clever games with her. She would often point at something random and he would tell her what it was. A Sickle. A Goat. A Dandelion. The Moon.

Nanami would smile, and you could tell how much he missed teaching children, while the baby enjoyed the sound of his voice speaking softly to her. They would play this game all night if they could.

Then the sun would rise as you huddled inside the house, Nanami would speak to you about the lack of space in your lives to care for someone else. That you should hurry and find a suitable town that would take care of her.

“Besides, it has only been a year,” he often said, as he gripped the sleeping toddler against his chest. “A short breath of time. It would not hurt us to let her go.”

Of all the skills he had developed over the centuries, lying to himself was his weakest.

***

Summer. Waning Moon. A clear yet humid night.

No place was good enough for the child.

Each time you set foot in any reputable town, Nanami would immediately find something to complain about. So, you would turn back and spend the next few weeks traveling to the next one.

Trips like these were often silent, quick, and purposeful. You and your husband could only travel at night, when humans are most sensitive to outsiders. And with the summer sun rising earlier than usual, there was no time to linger.

Talking and idling was reserved for darker, safer spaces.

Which is why it surprised you that neither forest nor river nor deadly ravine could stop Nanami’s ceaseless yapping to the child, and how often you would take detours to show her something interesting.

Perhaps he realized that his time with her is near, and his scholarly instinct compelled him to pass her all the knowledge that he had.

But the child didn't mind. She loved to listen and babble back. And Nanami's large, cold body gave her relief during the searing summer days. They would travel pressed together body-to-chest, and would talk and talk until she fell asleep in his arms.

You would have joined in if you weren’t so out of breath.

Nanami turned to you, “are you alright, my love?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve barely hunted since we left. It shows.”

He must have been talking about hunting in the towns you visited. You found it difficult to tell him that you've barely hunted at all since the child came into your life. It was hard to reconcile the hypocrisy of taking one life while caring for another.

“I'll be fine. I'll just need more rest than usual,” you replied.

To your relief, your husband doesn’t push it.

“We're getting close to the caves. Let's hold on for a little longer.”

***

For the first time in almost a century, you had fallen asleep, and your life as a human swept into your dreams like a cresting wave—your peddler father, your mother who handmade sweets, the cold gaze of the moon as you laid dying, and the constant, burning hunger that followed.

Then the child. Soft and sweet and bright. With honeyed blood and tender flesh. The child. The child.

Nanami’s voice pulled you from sleep, “Darling. Darling, the child.”

You startled awake. Nanami was kneeling before you, a panicked look in his eyes.

The child was nowhere to be found. How could he have lost her? Did he fall asleep as well?

Suddenly you were running, tracking down her warmth like a serpent. You wanted to yell for her to come to you but your tongue hesitates.

How do you call out for a nameless child?

Her trail led you to the mouth of the cave, where the midday sun lashed down the earth like a column of fire.

There she was, five steps away, picking moss from the foot of a tree.

And not too far from her, the pounding hooves of a rushing boar.

You opened your arms. “Come to me, child! Run!”

She turned to you, beamed, and showed you her clump of moss.

Then a figure rushed out into the sun like a slingshot, sweeping the child from the ground and into your arms.

The stench of burning flesh was instantaneous. With a wet thud, Nanami fell to his hands and knees, his skin stripped away, leaving nothing but muscle and bone.

“Kento,” you choked. “My darling.”

He raised his hand, urging you to look away as he recovers. With the sleeve of your kimono, you covered the child’s eyes.

She did not dare to peek through. The look on your face was horrific enough.

The moon came moments later, and new skin crept across his body, spreading from his fingers to his back like frost. Soon, it covered the rest of him, and you were quick on your feet to embrace him at last.

“Kento, my love, you’re alright,” you whimper.

You kissed his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. You'd cover his skin with kisses if it helped him forget the pain. Nanami buried his nose in your hair, kissing your head, inhaling your scent, relieved that he could hold you in his arms for another day.

“I'm fine, sweet wife,” he whispers. “No need for tears. Not in front of the child.”

The child reached out for him, eyes softened by guilt. She handed him her clump of moss as an apology. Nanami accepts the gift and laughs.

After all, she picked the exact type of moss that he said was the most beautiful. How could he be mad to a child that listens?

“Let's go home,” you said, and he nodded.

There was no need to tell him where you meant.

***

Nanami often said that the longer you stayed in one place, the more pieces of yourself would take root, and the harder it would be to leave.

But since you have settled in the farmhouse, the three of you allowed pieces of yourself to decorate every corner.

In the kitchen you would find the child’s favorite food; mushrooms, fiddlehead ferns, and handmade sweets that you spent months perfecting.

Outside the farmhouse is a young garden of moss and stone that your husband would spend years landscaping with the child. They would spend each night with their knees on the soil, shaping each tree and fern and foliage to their liking.

On nights when you would forage with her, she would bring home a new plant to add to the garden.

Living with the child gave endless amusement.

She became you and your husband’s favorite topic, and you would spend the day whispering about her quirks as she slept—the way she would squeeze herself between your bodies in the summer, then push you away during the winter. The clumsy way she writes her name. The soft peach fuzz of her cheek. The way she smiled just like you. The way she brooded just like him.

On idle nights, Nanami would sit at home carving dolls out of wood and sewing soft toys from kimonos. Then the three of you would run around the house laughing and chasing each other with the dolls, making up stories and songs on the spot.

One spring, you gathered in the fields to watch one of the cows give birth. The child buried her face in your chest, unable to stand the sight of the mother cow in pain.

“You can look now,” Nanami said, petting her hair in comfort. She peeked and saw the baby cow curled up in the grass, sleeping while the parent cows attended to their young.

“See?” he said. “The mother and father cows are taking care of her now.”

She watched the cows lick and nuzzle their young.

“So the baby is like me?” she asks, pointing to the calf.

You and Nanami looked at each other, smiled, then turned back towards her.

“Yes, sweet child,” Nanami said. “They're a family just like us.”

***

“You weren’t easy to find,” said a familiar voice.

“It’s by design,” Nanami replied.

You eased your sleeping daughter from your arms and made your way towards the voices.

By the front door stood your husband and a man whose eyes shone like moonlight.

Gojo Satoru, the all-seeing head of the Gojo Clan.

“Oh come on, at least act like you missed me! It’s been forty years!” Gojo said.

“That’s barely half a century.”

Gojo grinned when he saw you. “Look at you, still going strong, I see. There really is hope for love in this world.”

You’re quick to notice someone's absence.

“Where’s your…” you trailed off. What was he? A companion? A lover?

“We fell off,” Gojo answered, sighing dramatically. “Started rambling about turning everyone into vampires. Stupid, I know. If everyone’s a vampire, then who do we eat?”

“When did that happen?” you asked.

“Two decades ago.”

You looked away, feeling guilty over bringing up a pain this fresh. But Gojo waved his hand, dispelling the awkwardness like mist.

“Anywho, aren’t you gonna let me in? It’s getting bright out here,” he said.

Uneasy, you shared a glance with Nanami. Your daughter was still asleep inside your home.

“I won’t tell anyone about her,” Gojo said. “Obviously.”

Gojo brought with him several presents from the city—books, clothing, paper, ink, and brushes. He also briefed your husband on a few changes in the country. The new emperor, the latest technology, some news of your vampire comrades.

“Ryomen Sukuna has dawned,” he said.

Your spines straightened from the shock. Dawning. To walk towards the fire or the sun to your death. A self-chosen end to a long existence.

“Sukuna of Gifu?” you asked.

“Who else? The little temple kid joined him too.”

“Why?” Nanami asked.

“I mean, he’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t, like, kill himself,” Gojo replied. He was the only one who laughed at what he said.

Most vampires, weary of both immortality and survival, would often cling to ideals that would bring meaning to their struggle.

Some vampires like Shoko turned to science in search of a cure, some like Higuruma fought for social integration, you and Nanami lived for each other.

The monk Sukuna preached in search of a meaningful death, telling his followers that clinging onto life would only add needless suffering, so much that even living itself would lose its meaning. The death of the body is preferable to the death of the soul.

Your daughter took a peek from the corner of your home. Gojo smiles and waves.

“Hey there!” he said. “What got you up so early?”

“The voices,” she replied.

“Is that so? Ah, I’m sorry, miss. We'll keep it down then.”

“I’ll be with you shortly,” you added. Reassured, she returns to the bedroom.

Gojo jerks his thumb in her direction.

“Wow. At that age, she should be in high school,” he said.

You laughed, “You and your modern slang.”

Satoru blinked, “Right…”

That night, you came to learn about modern education.

***

Gojo’s big mouth and even bigger charisma completely sold the idea of a school to your daughter (who, apparently, had been eavesdropping from her futon all this time).

Since then, she has been begging you to let her go to the city and study, day after day, telling you that she is losing time the longer you and Nanami sit and contemplate.

It had only been a year since Gojo visited your home. Have humans always been so impatient?

A part of you understood her desire to go out and explore, to meet new people, to spread her roots and wings in newer places. You too wanted the world to see your daughter and to marvel at her talents and her charm.

But each time your daughter asked, you would see the hurt flash in Nanami’s eyes, as if everything that he had ever taught her wasn’t enough. That despite pouring everything he was into her cup, it still came up empty.

You knew that look on his face, because he would look at you that way all those years ago, whenever you expressed curiosity for the the modern world.

He had always felt things so deeply, and you couldn't blame him. He just wanted to be enough for the people he loved.

The tension in your home reached its peak one summer day, and your daughter grabbed her things and ran away into the sun. Only for her to return shortly after, when she learned from her uncle Gojo that the schools were actually closed.

Now the three of you were seated around the sunken hearth of your home, waiting for someone to break the silence.

Nanami’s arms were crossed, glaring at his rebellious, pouting daughter. They look just like each other.

“You didn't last long,” Nanami said.

“Actually, it's been two weeks,” she replied. “You didn't even look for me!”

“We figured you might need some space,” you added. “How was the city?”

“Overwhelming,” she replied. “But fun… once you get used to it. I saw a car. It's like if a cow had wheels and was made of iron.”

“We know what a car looks like,” Nanami said, the sparkling conversationalist.

Now the three of you are silent again.

“Father,” she spoke up.

“Listen,” he said, at the same time. Then he gestures for her to speak first.

“I wouldn't want to learn anything more about this world if it weren't for you,” she said. “That’s the part of you that you gave me as your daughter.”

Now she gestures for him to speak, but Nanami’s lips tremble.

“I'm sorry,” he said, eventually. “If your mother and I weren't the way we are, perhaps we could have walked a normal life with you.”

Now he had said it, the guilt that ran in the undercurrent of every moment you spent with her. You look away, trying to dull the ache in your chest upon hearing his words.

Your daughter dragged her legs around the sunken hearth to move closer to him, and Nanami was quick to embrace her.

“You'll always walk this path with me, even if you're not there,” she said. “I'll carry your love with me everywhere I go.”

A few nights later, you and your husband watched your daughter disappear in the horizon, making her way into the city, where she would live and study under the protection of your friends.

You closed your eyes and leaned against Nanami’s chest, telling yourself she will be home before you know it.

After all, what’s a few years to spouses that witnessed centuries pass?

***

Looking at your daughter day by day, week by week, you would think that not much has changed. But when you compared how she looked over the years, it was like she was a different woman.

After she had finished her education, she came home looking much older than you did, and much wiser and more intelligent. She still loved to nag and sulk (she is your husband's daughter after all) but she began to carry the same dignified air you would observe from elder vampires.

Now she would spend her days teaching you what she had learned, new ways to keep your gardens and your livestock, stories about her travels to other countries, the things she realized about her life and yours, the men she had loved and eventually left behind.

And for each cycle of season that passed, her hair would turn grayer, the lines in her eyes would grow deeper, and her body would curve forward like a bamboo tree.

Soon, she needed her father’s help to walk, soon she needed her mother’s help to eat. It was a strange feeling. The older she got, the more she resembled her infant self from all those years ago.

One night, Nanami sat beside her as she drank her nightly tea, watching the garden they spent decades tending together.

“Sometimes I wonder why you still returned to us,” Nanami said.

“Why wouldn't I?” she replied. “This is my home. This is my family.”

“You could have made your own home and your own family. You are old enough for that.”

“Too old for that if anything,” she laughed. “You ought to learn to see time the way humans do. You'll break an old lady’s heart!”

“Please. I've lived a thousand years. You'll always be a child to me.”

“That brings me comfort. Knowing you and mother are with me through every step of my life. No human daughters have such privilege.”

She set her tea down and leaned on his shoulder.

“I just can't help but think that you deserve a life where you could bask under the sun,” he said. “Surrounded by those who love you as much as your mother and I do.”

“No one can love me as much as you and mother do,” she replied. “And don't you know, sweet father? The night sky shimmers with the light of a thousand suns.”

***

Autumn Night. Harvest moon.

Your daughter was lying on her futon, clinging on the edge of life. Her hand, which has withered with age, is clasped in between your palms. Nanami is rooted behind you like stone, his hand placed firm on your shoulder, grinding his teeth for strength.

“It's not too late, child,” you said. “We could still turn you.”

Her cheeks swelled into a toothless grin, “Would you be doing this for me or for yourself?”

“For us. As a family.”

“And condemn me to a life of hunger and hunt? Mother, I thought you loved me more than that,” she teased. Though her sense of humor stung. She is your daughter after all.

Silenced by her words, you instead pressed her palm against your cheek, relishing the warmth of her touch.

It had only been seventy years since you made a home with her.

How could it all happen so fast?

“It's hard to make anything matter when you have all the time in the world,” she sighs. “It's because my life is fleeting that I cherished every moment. Now I'm ready for what lies beyond."

Nanami scrunches his nose and turns away, lips trembling. The scent of death was stronger on her now. Earthy, dry, and green, like moss on aging wood.

“It's okay to cry, father,” she continued, addressing your husband now. “This is part of love too.”

***

You and your husband spent the next few nights in solitude.

You ventured out into the mountains, trailing the steps your daughter tread for thousands of days, down to the river where you would bathe together, to the caves where she would hide when she is sad.

You closed your eyes and your smile widened with every step; her scent and warmth still lingered on every stone and ancient tree, telling you that you were right. Not much time had passed. Even when she reached her natural end, she was still gone too soon.

There was still so much life to live with her.

Meanwhile, Nanami stayed at the house with her, preparing her body with all the ancient customs that he knew—salt to cleanse her skin, incense to purify her soul, his tears to tell her she was loved. Then he wrapped her body in a white kimono and placed her on a bed of straws.

When you returned from the mountains, he was standing outside of your home, flickering lamp in hand, exchanging glances with the moon above your rooftop.

“Even with her dying breath she scolded us,” you said, laughing fondly. “She got that from you.”

“She was so quick to let go as well,” Nanami replied. “Always so impatient. She got that from you.”

Nanami tossed the lamp, and the house was quick to catch the fire. It swayed towards the sky as it grew, gentle like a lover’s caress.

Nanami turned to you and took your chin in his fingers, then he pressed his lips softly against yours. You felt a a bright and spirited release, as if he had laid your soul to rest before it even left your body.

“Let's find her in the next life,” he said, and his arrogance amused you.

It never crossed his mind that you should find each other first. To Nanami, not even the claws of death could rip you away from him. He is determined to live every life by your side.

Smiling, you took his hand, and together made your way towards the fire, embracing its cleansing warmth and light.

***

In the deep, eternal night, three sets of hands find each other in the darkness, walking to the dawn of a new life.

end credits song.