Yuuji’s blood is hot through his skin. Fingers to pulse, he can almost taste it – what they share, what they are, what they aren’t. Brothers. He sees Yuuji always, eyes open or closed, and the curse in him answers, hungry and ferocious.

Sometimes, he’s more animal than human. When they fuck with his teeth deep in Yuuji’s shoulder, it’s all salt and meat and sweat-tang-saliva-sting. It tastes like relief – protection, homesickness, some listless thing finding a purpose, finding a home in brother’s blood-body-soul.

They sleep in a different place every night – in buildings jutting from wasteland like broken teeth, their delicate metal skeletons fraying like unhemmed fabric, in curse-riddled apartments with rotting food out on the tables, shattered dishware and unmade beds.

It’s a tight squeeze, getting their bodies to fit together correctly. There’s blood for that, too, soothing the way, relaxing tense muscles. He helps it coagulate, pooling and clotting, licks it off the decadent canvas of scarred skin. He vows, sometimes in his head and sometimes out loud, to protect this. It’s all he has left.