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It was everywhere.
It was splattered on the floor, glimmering and crimson. Drops were coagulating on his pants, and the rusty red color was wholly unappealing on the black denim backdrop. His lavender eyes wandered over the carnage, until their journey ended at the source of the spatter, located at the end of his arm.
He watched, not blinking, not breathing, as another shimmering, dark red drop welled to the surface. He stared as it swelled, soon growing large enough for gravity to take notice, and drag it dancing along the length of the cut. It wasn't long until it plummeted to the ground, airborne for one fleeting moment, before the lone drop was shattered into many, torn apart with a soft plip as it impacted with the floor.
Slowly, hesitantly, he brought the wound to his lips. The pressure he applied was intended to stop the bleeding, but it only encouraged another drop to spill, to coat his tongue with the intoxicating taste of metal, of pennies, of gold and jewels, his blood was so rich...
Cold tears stung at his eyes as he glared accusingly at that which had caused the wound. It looked so deceptively innocent, soft, flexible even. But the edges were crisp and ready to slice through flesh, to sever the layers of skin, to part them and let the red deluge surging just below the surface fall free...
Pain tore through the area of the cut, but it was nothing new. He had felt this before - it was a pain everyone knew, and it always hurt, whether their pride would allow them admit it or not. But still, was it wrong to want comfort? Was it wrong to want the pain, no matter how familiar, how routine, to go away? To be healed and banished by pleasure, and... love?
He stood up, stumbling blindly out of the door and through the halls that followed, his eyes desperately searching for the only one who could banish the pain. He used his free hand to lean against the wall, to pull himself along through his agonized quest down the halls, through room after room, all so empty, so painfully empty and alone, just like him...
It was useless. He collapsed to his knees, his head hanging limply, blonde bangs cascading around his face. It seemed he would be denied the only bit of comfort he ever wanted, ever asked for, even if he needed so much more. The world, the gods, Fate itself was against him. All he had was the taste of blood in his mouth, and the faint, throbbing pain...
Suddenly, the air changed. His heart leapt into his throat. He could feel someone... something dark standing before him. Trembling, he glanced upwards, and saw a pair of feet and a dragging cloak. The feet became long, graceful legs, and the legs became a fit torso clad in a tight black tanktop, which lead up to a powerful neck, and then, a face... a face with violet eyes, soulless, cruel, and beautiful all at once.
And those eyes were staring down at him with cold, detached disinterest.
"What's your problem?" A low voice growled, rumbling through the room and his soul alike, the voice of a tiger, a wolf, a predator, nothing else...
And predators lived on blood.
Had the dark one scented his blood? His pain? His tears? Had he been hunted down, trailed and stalked, the predator waiting until just the right moment to emerge from the shadows and claim him. Him and his blood...
The taller entity leaned down, bringing itself, himself, face to face with him, the wounded one, the doomed one. All he could do was stare into the predator's face, the tears in his eyes distorting his view of the horrific visage, a visage so much like his own...
"Yami..." He murmured around his injury, and slipped the broken flesh out of mouth. He wouldn't resist. If the predator wanted his blood, he would give it freely. In fact, he wanted him to want it. Knowing that something desired him - or at least, a part of him - would make it all worthwhile. It might even make him happy...
He displayed the wound to dark one, and glanced away, hoping he would take the gift and give him one last glimpse of joy, of belonging.
"Huh? Oh... jeeze," Yami Malik rolled his eyes, "We're both far too old for this, and I'm only five!"
"Oh, come on!" Malik whimpered, "Please?"
The yami sighed heavily, and muttering all the while, he leaned forward and kissed Malik's paper-cut better.