Shuuichi learned from Maki that the name of the organization Kokichi was affiliated with was DICE. It was shocking to learn of an entire society dedicated to hunting, and one that prospered in the undergrowth of the city, at that. Shuuichi prided himself on being the authority of vampirism, but even he admitted to not knowing every single thing there was on vampires. There were rumors that DICE started coining the term, but Shuuichi knew for a fact that people of his kind didn't care much for labels—"nonhumans" was just as valid as vampires.

Though if DICE really did come up with the name, that would make sense considering Shuuichi's parents, a long time ago, mentioned a new "trend" rising with hunters. He'd look into it later.

Yet in spite of everything, Shuuichi was surprised he didn't learn of DICE's existence sooner. He obviously knew about vampire hunters as a whole, but from his experience, they'd always been loners, or small groups of like-minded individuals that sought out the destruction of the so-called "bloodsuckers." He never once pictured an organization of such people, however, whose numbers easily surpassed hundreds, even thousands.

But if Shuuichi pictured what the leader of such an organization looked like, he imagined someone clever, unsuspecting, yet absolutely frightening all at once. Whether or not Kokichi fit all those aspects of a perfect supreme leader, Shuuichi wasn't yet sure, but he was certain about one thing.

His fate and Kokichi's fate were inexplicably intertwined, ever since childhood. And yet again, Shuuichi grappled with the fact that he had no recollection of ever meeting Kokichi. Not to mention something as grievous as killing his parents in cold blood! But nevertheless, Shuuichi was willing to uncover the truth, because he was a detective first and foremost—long before he was ever a vampire.

All he needed to do was find Kokichi, and convince him of his good intentions, as well as a lack of typical bloodlust. Once he got through to him, he was sure that their feud as hunter and vampire would end just long enough for them to discover the truth of that night, and whether or not Shuuichi's golden eyes were the ones at fault.

With that resolve in mind, Shuuichi gathered his things, and headed out into the night.

.

.

No thoughts. No worries.

Just a single instance in time, where Kokichi reached for the gun around his neck, snapping it to life before Rantaro could even guess at what was going on. Usually, Ouma was composed, thoughtful, and analytical, but in this moment, he abandoned everything except for his instincts. Anything else would only cause him worry, or get in the way.

He couldn't afford any distractions.

"Kokichi—"

BOOM! The gun spoke for him, words morphed and compressed into a silver bullet, soaring through the air as if on wings.

Rantaro screamed as the bullet pierced his shoulder, a spray of red blood releasing and misting over the ground. Kokichi felt some spatter on his face, and he nearly faltered at the horrid realization that he had done that: he had been the one to draw first blood, finalizing the fatal difference between him and Rantaro.

Throwing their friendship to the wind.

"Fuck!" Rantaro hissed, pressing his one hand to the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even through clenched fingers, Kokichi could make out a faint outline of pink in his marred flesh—the place where the silver made contact with his body, writhing from the touch of the anti-vampire material. Pink: a color to remind him that even someone he once regarded as a friend can easily become his enemy if the night called for it. Together with white and red, spink served as a perpetual reminder of everything Kokichi had ever lost.

Of everything he still had yet to lose. "I told you," Kokichi said, in the most teasing tone he could muster. "I want to kill you, you vampiric bastard."

"Kokichi…" Rantaro groaned as he tried to stand up, one eye squeezed shut and the other nearly closed. "Just like that, huh? All those years of friendship down the drain?"

"Straight into the ocean," Kokichi agreed. "Sorry, but I can't make exceptions to the rules—not even for you."

Rantaro chuckled, and straightened himself out, despite the pain. Even in the dark, Kokichi noticed his stylish clothing (striped shirt, black slacks, a dozen piercings in a dozen places) and disheveled hair. He could stare into Rantaro's eyes, spring green and long-lashed, for an eternity.

Yet as much as he dreaded reality, some small part of Kokichi felt validated knowing he'd put an end to the man that killed a dozen of DICE's best hunters.

"It's not that easy, though. Just because I showed you mercy, you think I'll lay down and die once you show aggression?"

Kokichi held the gun steady. His finger was on the trigger, and the end of the barrel stared Rantaro in the face. "You think I'll let you lay a finger on me? Don't delude yourself, Rantaro."

He smiled, and Kokichi felt his stomach plummet in response. "Y̢̭͉̱̭͓o̧̳̜̥͔͍u̖̫͢'̨̩̬̬̤r̢̗̪e̬̥̭͢ t̫̟̭̙̗͢h̡͍̲̥ẹ̢ͅ o͎̗͜n̨͙̭̙e̢͖̗̥̲ͅ d̨͚͓̩̞͉e̦͇͜l͙̖̝͢ͅu̡̮̥͈̮d̞̰̗͖͜i̧̳͉̯͍ņ̜̠̜g̬̪͢ y̢̰͕̥̮o͍̰̭͢u̡͖̰͖͕̟r̜͙͙͙͜s̢̞̝̤̥̯e͉̦͜l̰̖̗͉͜f̯̖̮͢.̢̫͍."

Rantaro disappeared at the same time that Kokichi pulled the trigger. The silver bullet passed through a dark cloud of smoke, in the same space where Rantaro had once been, but was now gone—a nefarious grin signalling his intent as he blinked out of existence.

A chill ran up Kokichi's spine, and soon, a voice. "I really tried, Kokichi, Don't say I didn't warn you."

Kokichi ducked, but wasn't quick enough. He felt Rantaro's hands grab a hold of him—slender fingers feeling twice as bony, with iron signet rings acting as a second joint. Kokichi realized now that it was always iron when it came to Rantaro: blood and metal that boiled down to the same treacherous manner.

The feeling of knives resurfaced—was he thinking about Shuuichi? Somehow, in the midst of all this madness, his mind wandered to him, and the silver knives that pierced his skin, as well as the agonizing look on his face when Kokichi cornered him on the rooftops the other day. Maybe because he always envisioned this terrible nightmare—the horrible "what if" in case any vampire got to him—for years now, but having it come true to reality was a different experience altogether.

Rantaro appeared behind Kokichi, hands clamped around his body, drawing him closer to his chest. Then he disarmed him, in a fast-paced motion that could only be described as a command. Rantaro was taller than Kokichi, see, so in order to get near his face or his neck, he had to lean down and mitigate the difference between their height. In doing so, his lips lingered Kokichi's ear, and he whispered in this most honeyed tone: "Drop the gun."

And he did. Kokichi's eyes widened at the realization that he listened to—no, obeyed—Rantaro. The effect was instantaneous, thoughtless, effortless. The sound of the gun clattering to the ground registered distantly in his mind, as did the sensation his fingers felt when he finally let go. The ocean, the shipyard, the warehouse with a dozen corpses in it—none of them seemed to matter. Not when Rantaro was there, and not when his words swayed with power in every syllable. It was an undeniable strength, the kind Shuuichi used before, the kind Kokichi needed to be more wary of in the future, because he'd never been manipulated to this extent, not really. He destroyed lower level scum without blinking before, yet when it came to people like Shuuichi and Rantaro, it was clear that a different approach was needed.

At least, that's what Kokichi would have thought, if he was thinking about anything except for Rantaro. Rantaro's hands, warm and strong, enveloping him; Rantaro's voice, silky and smooth, captivating him.

Rantaro's fangs, white and sharp, biting into him…

...Wait, what? Biting into him?

Do you know that feeling when you wake up in the middle of a deep sleep, coughing and hacking because you were so relaxed you almost stopped breathing? How about the split second in time, where you dive into a pool's deep end, and rising to the surface seems to take an eternity? For a moment, you panic, thinking you'll drown—or in the former case, die a breathless death in your sleep.

That hesitation, that little gasp before breathing steadily, was exactly what Kokichi felt when Rantaro finally bit into him. It had been a dream at first, and the weight of fangs breaking into skin and sinking into flesh was the rude awakening. To any onlooker, it looked as if Rantaro had hugged Kokichi from behind, and Kokichi was highly uncomfortable with it. The reality was more complicated than that. Truthfully, Rantaro bit Kokichi, not on the neck, not on the shoulder, but in the ambiguous space between the two. His mouth was warm, wet, and forceful as he sucked, sucked, sucked the blood from his body.

"Stop!" Kokichi screamed. He tried to resist, but it wasn't easy. Rantaro's arms were the clips on Kokichi's wings—the cage to keep him locked inside. The sound of his voice (quiet murmurs of satisfaction, a cruel laugh in response to his demand to stop) was a spell ingrained in Kokichi's ears—a ghost haunting his soul. Though his senses returned to him slowly, a large part of him succumbed to Rantaro as a whole, daring to sink further when he was already drowning.

He didn't know how much time had passed since then, but the moonlight on the waves began to scintillate, before blurring altogether. The thoughts in his head, both good and bad, floated away as dandelion seeds on the wind. The piercing pain in his body settled into a dull warmth, instead, comforting him where he should have been hurt. Unbidden tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he mustered all the willpower he could to fight back—

"Don't resist," Rantaro whispered against his skin, temporarily removing his fangs from Kokichi's flesh. "It hurts less when you do."

"Fuck you," Kokichi sneered, belying the languid energy filling his bones. "I'll take you down with me, I swear to God."

"No you won't," Rantaro insisted. "You know you won't. Just be good and you won't have to die."

"Rantaro—"

"After all," he said, fangs hovering over Kokichi's neck, "w͜͟ha̖t̺̰ ̼a̜͇r͈e ̨͚f̬͟ri̖̯e͔nd̳s̢ f͕or̠͔?̨͙"

.

.

Shuuichi wasn't sure why he went to Amagaya Park. Perhaps because it was near Maki's orphanage and he thought of her, or maybe he just wanted to be near the sea. Either way, his attempt to look for Kokichi had failed, and he had no idea where DICE Headquarters was—nor did he completely familiarize himself with Kokichi's scent. All he had were his own keen senses, and the understanding of human behavior patterns at night.

Blood. Blood. Blood. B̏ͧl̖̬̹o͔̰̾oͥ̂dͪ. The scent was overwhelming, to the point where Shuuichi staggered and covered his mouth with his hands. His fangs extended, and his saliva began building at a hungry pace. There was blood, a lot of it, enough to remind him of the large gap in between his last meal and now.

The scent was coming from the shipyard. Shuuichi breathed deeply as he tried to steady himself, reminding himself of the fact that so much blood being spilled could only mean something terrible happened there. There were people in need, and maybe the remnants of a vampire (or a hunter) would be found there, as well.

Staying strong, Shuuichi ran in the direction of the blood trail, in hopes that he'd find more answers than questions, for once.

.

.

Y'know, being bitten by a vampire isn't so bad.

It's kind of like daydreaming, don't you think?

Plus, it's your best friend, Rantaro!

He would never hurt you.

You guys are so close, you're practically brothers!

So why don't you be a good boy and surrender?

W͈̜̟̺͈h͓̟̻̬̬y̪̙̯͈̥ ̪̳̲̠̬d̤̳͓̼̝o̗͈͇̬̠n̖̹͕͖ͅ'̜͙̲͇̭t̘͓͙͔̫ ̙̹̘͕̬y͓̰̺͔̣o̖̙̠̻̟ṵ̹̤̟͚ ̜̬̖͖͚j͉̹̦̲͉u̼̳̱̞ͅs͈̙͎͇͕t͇̬͇̲̦ ͕̹̘̦̩g̫̩̜̫̮i̗̰̝̣ͅv̱̯̮̳͉e̯̯̠̭̖ ̳͈̺̱͓i͉̣̣̲̝n͎̯̯̹̜ ̩̺̬̰̙a͖̟͈̦̣l͔̫̮̱͖r̥̪̬̟̜e͔̙͓̝̺a̹̻̫̰͓d̖̠͇̻̫y͓̠̖̰̪?̭̲̞̙͔

.

.

Shuuichi didn't know what he expected to find. Dead bodies, based on the strength of the scent of blood, was a given. But these many dead bodies, brutalized yet not fed from? Not to mention the familiar white uniforms, white and black (and red) all over?

He wanted to cry. Instead, he studied the positions and conditions of the bodies, deducing that it was the work of a vampire, alright. Yet the lack of bite marks indicated it was more than a simple feeding gone wrong. These were vampire hunters, no matter how young and inexperienced some of them were. They weren't totally helpless humans.

This had to be the work of revenge in its most obvious form. There was no other explanation.

Still, Shuuichi needed to get a sense of how things happened this way. He let the shadows from within creep outwardly, crawling towards the bodies at a steady pace. He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and let the memories of their last moments of life wash over him.

"Misa! Misa, watch out—"

"Lia! Lia, no, no, no! No! Please, no!"

"Die, you goddamn leech! You'll pay for that! You'll pay—"

"Abort mission, I repeat: abort mission! Mutsuki, take Ren and get out—"

"God, no, please no! I haven't done anything wrong! Please don't kill me! Please—"

"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"

Flashes of red and white, together with occasional blackouts, appeared in the back of Shuuichi's mind. Rio getting eviscerated, black, Misa and Lia collapsed behind Yoshitsugu, the new recruits running towards the—red, so much red, Mizuki choking on his own blood, black, white, green—

Green? Shuuichi's heart raced. Green. Black stripes. Iron piercings. Menacing eyes. No regret. No hesitation. This is for Saki. Your lives are penance for Saki's. They must be. It's the only way. You have to die. Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die!

Shuuichi gasped and fell to his knees. As he did, the shadows slinked back to his side, leaving the corpses untouched and whole. There was no mistaking the sights he saw just then: Rantaro Amami had killed all of these people in cold blood, uncaring as they begged for their lives. Worse was that he hadn't bitten into a single one of them, which implied something grave.

DICE was responsible for Saki Amami's death two years ago. Being friends with Rantaro, Shuuichi knew about his family situation. They always assumed her death was the result of a lone hunter, but Rantaro never accepted it so easily. After years of biding his time, he finally acted out on his instincts.

There was no time left to waste. If DICE was involved, then it would only be a matter of time before Kokichi showed himself. In that case, Shuuichi had to be there to prevent yet another death at the hands of his friend. He noticed a blood trail leading outside, and he wasted no time in following it.

Following his destiny.

.

.

Kokichi wasn't sure how much more of this he could stand. He'd long since surrendered to Rantaro, and as his blood drained out of his body, he wondered when everything would finally stop.

Rantaro didn't seem to want to let go, and his thirst led him to sloppily drink from Kokichi, spilling blood drops between his mouth—staining Kokichi's white clothes red.

Just as Kokichi was about to pass out, he heard a distant voice, and then—

BOOM!

Rantaro hissed, recoiling. Kokichi stumbled out of his grasp, broke free of the haze, and scrambled to stand upright—one hand pressed to his bite mark, the other shaking far too much to be useful.

He glanced up to see Shuuichi Saihara, pointing the gun at Rantaro Amami, a curl of smoke rising from the barrel and disappearing in the wind.

Rantaro cried out once more, hand pressed to his shoulder. "Are you serious? You shot me in the same place Kokichi did earlier!"

"Good," Shuuichi muttered. "Then maybe it'll stick with you this time."

Kokichi wanted to say something, anything, but he lacked the strength to speak. Standing was strenuous on its own that he didn't need to exhaust himself further.

Rantaro, twice shot and newly-gained vitality vanishing, grimaced. "Since when do you sympathize with hunters, Shuuichi?"

"Since when are you a serial killer, Rantaro?" The scene at the warehouse was not going to be forgotten anytime soon. "Also, I need Kokichi alive. If you're going to keep hurting him, I'll keep coming in to stop you."

He laughed chastely, and glanced at the hunter in question. "Who said I was gonna kill him?"

"You certainly weren't going to let him go, what with how much blood you took from him."

As if on cue, Kokichi gasped, and staggered backward, leaning on a rusted shipping container for support. Blood loss had multiple consequences depending on how much was lost, and he wasn't looking forward to finding out just how fucked up he was.

The vampires sensed his weakened state, however. Rantaro scoffed. "Fine, you win. For whatever twisted reason you want to protect this murderer, be my guest. Don't think for a moment that I'll forget this, Shuuichi."

Shuuichi seemed unequally happy as he nodded. "I wouldn't want to."

Rantaro turned his back on them, disappearing in a swarm of black fog as he left. The misama whirled in the wind, before dissipating into the night.

All that remained were Shuuichi and Kokichi. Similar in name and dissimilar in nature, there was a long moment of silence that passed before Shuuichi spoke first. "Before you say anything, let me say this: I know you're tired, I know you're hurt, and I know you lost a lot tonight. So instead of wasting energy arguing, I'm going to heal you, and you're going to listen. Understand?"

Kokichi narrowed his eyes. As much as he wanted to protest, he knew defeat when he saw one. Plus, not talking seemed really, really nice for once. He didn't outwardly say "yes," but he didn't back away when Shuuichi approached him, either. He merely stood in silence.

Shuuichi took that as a "yes," anyway. He lowered the gun and placed it in his back pocket. Then he pushed the longest strands of Kokichi's hair away, so he could inspect the injury in full. Certainly enough, Rantaro left several bite marks on Kokichi's skin, ranging from the crook of his shoulder to the base of his neck. The older wounds were blackened, blood-crusted, and no longer bleeding. The newest teeth marks were red and raw—the image of Rantaro trapping Kokichi from behind still fresh in his eyes. Trails of stray blood flowed down from Kokichi's neck to his collarbones, where it pooled in the jutting bone, exposing his slight and bony frame for what it was.

At some point, in the struggle, Rantaro must have removed Kokichi's usual neck scarf, because it was noticeably missing. Shuuichi tried not to dwell too much on the fact.

"I'll close up the wounds. There's a healing property when I do that, but just in case, I'll give you some supplements from the agency later." There was no question posed in his voice, just an absolute certainty that they'd meet again.

It sickened Kokichi to think about it, but unfortunately, he had no power to resist.

"Here goes," Shuuichi said. Then, he leaned in towards Kokichi's neck, sending a shock of fear and anger up his spine. Was he going to bite him, too? Were all his words up until that point a lie? Was it going to end right before it even began?

Instead, Kokichi felt something soft collide with his skin, gently placing itself over the wounds, sending a wave of cool comfort throughout Kokichi's body.

Together with a quiet mwah sound that escaped Shuuichi's lips, Kokichi realized—with equal parts horror and fascination—that Shuuichi had kissed him.

On the neck. Over his wounds.

Somehow, the actually-getting-bitten part hurt less than the knowledge of being kissed.

"What the fuck?!" Kokichi squealed, reinvigorated by Shuuichi's apparent healing properties. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Shuuichi, surprised that Kokichi regained strength so suddenly, remained calm. "I know it's unconventional, but I swear, it works—"

"Are all you vampires such horny bastards?" Kokichi snapped, face red from embarrassment, anger, or fatigue—or maybe some combination of the three. "Or are you and Rantaro special cases?"

"I know you won't believe me, but I'm just as surprised at Amami as you are." He clenched his teeth. "To think that it was DICE behind Saki's death, all this time…"

"You sure are cocky, talking shop with the enemy." Despite the anger in his voice, Kokichi was completely disarmed (Shuuichi had the gun, and Rantaro frisked Kokichi of his multiple daggers at some point) and mostly helpless. Like hell he'd show amnesty to a vampire, though! "Or do you assume I'll be in your debt after this? Is that why—"

Defiant, Shuuichi swooped in for another kiss to Kokichi's wounds, closing up the last gash and giving a final boost to his health. "I wanted to tell you this before, but I really have no intention of hurting you. Or anyone, actually."

Kokichi, disgusted, took another step back. "Am I supposed to believe anything you say right now?"

"Right now, yes."

"You're so annoying. Why don't you die first and see if that doesn't—"

"Don't you want to know the truth?"

Silence. Paused movements. Then, a breathless reply. "What?"

"You said your parents are dead because of me. I don't remember doing that, and I'm sure my actions don't align with that of a killer's."

"Yeah, well, neither did Rantaro's." Kokichi frowned. "So that argument is invalid, since I apparently don't know shit about hidden intentions or whatever."

"Fine. But the rest still holds—neither of us know the full story of what happened that night. And neither of us can figure it out without each other, too."

"What are you saying? Are you suggesting that—"

"—we work together? Yes, I am." Shuuichi sighed. "Unless you're content with never knowing what really happened that night."

"Let's get one thing straight, Shuuichi. We are not friends. We are not allies. What you're asking me to do is a business venture, nothing more, nothing less." He took a step forward, matching Shuuichi's gaze with an unwavering one. "And when I confirm that you're the monster I know you to be, I'm gonna fucking kill you, even if it's the last thing I do."

"And I can't wait to prove you wrong," Shuuichi said. "I'm not a killer."

"We'll see about that. Since you're so set on this truce, tell me something: how can I be sure you're not lying?" Kokichi grinned. "I hate liars."

After a moment's hesitation, Shuuichi reached into his back pockets, and proffered Kokichi's gun. Since no further bullets were fired, he was essentially handing a vampire-killing gun back to its rightful owner. On top of that, in Shuuichi's other hand was Kokichi's phone—the one he left in the detective agency the other day. It looked perfectly fine and not tampered with, and together with the gun, acted as a peace offering meant to officiate their temporary truce.

As Saihara handed back Ouma's belongings, Kokichi noticed his hands: how his palms and fingertips were burning, how the flesh was irritated, and how the skin was peeling away.

It wasn't just the bullets that were made of silver, after all. Though the gun itself was made of a special alloy of mixed materials, there was just enough silver in it to be detrimental to a vampire upon touch.

Shuuichi handled the gun, turned it on Rantaro, and protected Kokichi without so much as a complaint. To think he even bothered returning it to Kokichi, who could very well use it against him later?

Kokichi swallowed hard. He didn't want to feel a twinge of sympathy for Shuuichi, but in this situation, it couldn't be helped.

He was too good of a person for it to be otherwise.

"Hopefully this shows how serious I am."

"Shuuichi—"

"You know where to find me."

Kokichi blinked. "You're not gonna ask about DICE? Or those people that—"

"I trust you to take care of things on your end."

"..."

"Think about what I said, okay? Two minds are, uh, better than one. Even minds as different as ours." With that, Shuuichi backed away from Kokichi, and stepped into a cocoon-like shape of shadows. The tendrils wrapped around their master, enveloping him in their handmade void. Then, he flickered out of existence, leaving nothing behind in his wake.

Kokichi clutched the gun in his hand. Trusting Shuuichi was a mistake, and he knew that.

A mistake he wouldn't soon forget.