#fher43

It’s salty. 

Hinata bites her lip hard, because the rain is salty and rich and it eases the burning at the back of her throat in a manner that she’s too familiar with.

Shakily, she swallows. And almost covers her mouth to smother the moan of  pleasure that wishes to exit.

The red liquid that resembles thick wine has an unbelievably exquisite flavor and her instinctual urge is to gulp down as many mouthfuls of it as possible. Like some wild beast, the urge is strong enough to make her want to give in and relish on the blood that seems to call her by name.

“...J-Just wake up,” she whispers, but the sound of rain has made the words inaudible. 

Dreams of blood have never been her favorite, yet, they are the most constant. They’re there when she closes her eyes at night, and when she’s weary enough to let her guard down.

“I want to wake up,” she repeats, her lips pursed. 

She refuses to partake on the metallic flavor that coats her mouth any longer. These times in which she feels a lust for something as horrifying as blood are times in which she becomes stubborn.

This insane craving...it can’t be her. It can’t. 

“Wa-Wake up!” 

“Stay.” 

Hinata gasps, whirling around in surprise. 

But.

A cold hand has settled over her eyes, leaving her blind to this stranger that has made his way into her dream. 

“Stay.”

Whether it’s an imploration or an order, it’s hard to say.

The tone is severe, but not forceful, the word demanding, but at the same time a supplication that lingers in the empty space that is this dreamworld.

There’s familiarity in it that sends shivers down her spine and a rush of emotions she can’t comprehend swamp her from all sides.  

Suddenly, the act of breathing is humanly impossible. 

“Y-You! Let go of me,” she attempts to sound resolute, but her fear is awake and present. The parchness of her mouth doesn’t help.

The strange takes instant note of it. 

“You should drink, you know. It’ll take away the pain you feel here,” a cold finger runs down her neck, where just below a few layers of flesh, her windpipe feels like it’s in flames.

God, this thirst.

“It’ll feel better,” the voice comes again, softer this time, and she’s startled enough to close her eyes beneath his palm and wish herself back to her bed and away from this nightmare that has plagued her for months.

In all those weeks, however, not once has this unknown visitor appeared.

Hinata is terrified by how real the coldness of his hands feel. 

It’s all a dream.

“Wake up, wake up,” she hastens, and the someone she’s never meet speaks again.

Hinata choses to center inwardly and ignore him. It’s the only option, she thinks, since she has no idea how to make him go away. His grip is like steel and she’s too weary to put up a fight.

Just when she’s sure he’ll give up on prolonging her stay, his hands shift and a pair of lips abruptly press against her own.

Gasping in shock turns out to be a terrible course of action, for a tongue that most definitely doesn’t belong to her pushes the rich liquid she’d denied herself into her mouth.

This time, her hands don’t rise to muffle her expressed pleasure, but to tug him closer.

More. She wants more. 

She needs all the blood she can take.

Like glass, her resolution has shattered in the face of a pressure so powerful she’s left grasping for something to hold on to.

Before she knows it, the lips quenching her hunger are gone, the rain has ceased, and her hair isn’t soaked in red.

Hinata finds herself in bed, her breath uneven, her eyes dilated.

Running a hand through her mussed hair, she sighs faintly in relief because she’s back. Back to normal, away from those maddening visions.

“It’s o-okay,” she tells herself. “Just...a dream.”

But her voice is raspy. Her throat is still dry, unsatiated. She can feel her lips, swollen and moist, the aftermath of kissing. Under the sheets, her hands are shaking with a need that refuses to be subdued. 

Outside her apartment, a tall figure walks down the hallway, hands casually shoved in the pockets of his pants.

Slowly, red eyes appear behind dark bangs and rest contemplatively on apartment number 8. 

“...All in due time,” he comments to the girl with moon eyes that can’t possibly hear him any longer. “You thirst will guide you back to me.” 

Just like it did eight decades ago.