Giriko knows the end is close.
He can hear it, feel it, see it. It's written in the haze in Justin's eyes, the way the blond doesn't quite see anything, anymore. It's in the quaver of fanaticism under every word out of the priest's mouth. It's humming under Justin's skin, shaking like he has electricity in his veins instead of blood, and Giriko knows that when it grounds out Justin - at least Justin-as-he-is - isn't going to survive the shock.
He ignores it as long as he can, as much as he can. At first he can tell himself he doesn't care. Justin is convenient and willing and that's it, that's all. But then Giriko starts sleeping on one side of the bed, adjusts around a second presence even when Justin isn't there with him, and the first time he does that he wakes up in a cold sweat of panic.
The nightmares come regular, after that. Giriko is used to nightmares, dreams of death, dreams of darkness and violence and blood, but he's not used to dreaming about someone else. Usually waking is enough to break the spell, to convince himself that he's still alive and that's all that matters. But now he flails sideways, reaches for the other half of the mattress for a body that is only sometimes there, and even when his hand meets skin it's feverish heat instead of comforting warmth he feels.
Justin doesn't sleep, anymore, even when he stays in the bedroom. He stares at the wall, shakes silently with perpetual adrenaline; sometimes he bites his fingers bloody, when he forgets. Sometimes it's not the nightmares that wake Giriko but the laughter, sometimes muffled and sometimes not, from the form next to him. Sometimes he lies awake and still and lets the sound roll over him, tells himself he doesn't care, lies to himself like dragging bloody grooves into his brain, trying to scar belief into the tissue.
Sometimes he rolls over, fast like he's attacking, claps his hand over Justin's mouth and hisses "Shut up Justin," and tries not to listen to the way his voice creaks over the blond's name. He tries to forget the way that Justin is shaking under his hands, laughing and vibrating with that insane electricity even when Giriko's got his mouth covered, and he is pathetically grateful that Justin can't see his face as the blond's hair goes wet with the tears Giriko can't fight back.
With the pressure of awareness bearing down on him, it's no wonder his new vessel collapses under the weight. And in the midst of the bloodlust, as he feels the fibers of his soul tearing under the excess, Giriko starts to laugh.
He never thought he'd go first.