A/N: A rewatch of both series prompted this. I'm currently devoured by school but I'll try to get it out when I can. This is my first contribution to the Mai-series, so I hope you find it to your liking. Enjoy!

She's being watched.

The club is packed, a jagged dance of neon blues and reds and purples, but she can feel the eyes on the side of her head like she's in an empty room.

Natsuki shifts, scowls, takes a sip of her drink. The feeling remains. She scans the room but finds nothing for the third time and draws her attention back to her table.

She got dragged to Fuuka despite her protests, Mai already flushed and giggly with a few shots of shitty tequila. Exams were over, evidenced by the constant crick in her neck, and Natsuki, I swear to God if I see you with another book I'm going to burn it.

She mournfully remembers how lightly she took that last threat, and how it ended in a spectacular bout of flames and ash. It's the only reason she's sitting across from Mai now in a dress that's a size and a half too small, drinking something too sweet and strong, trying to hear her across the pounding bass line that's giving her a headache.

She loves Mai, she does, but the way she can use that pout should be illegal.

"Tate-kun says he's sorry he couldn't come, but something came up."

Natsuki doesn't try to look disappointed. "That's a shame."

Mai shoots her a look, taking a sip of something Natsuki isn't sure is actually coke and rum.

"You could try and be friendly."

"I could, but I won't."

Another figure slides in beside her. It's smooth, practiced, and Natsuki has to fight down the smirk but doesn't bother to mask the eyeroll.

"Shouldn't you be on the dance floor, Chie?"

"I could say the same for you, Natsuki-chan. You've just been glowering at your poor drink this entire time." She leans over and takes the straw in her mouth. "Marguerita. Made strong. I give it a seven."

"I'm glad it passes the test. Now get your own."

"I did." A lazy smile is sent her way, an arm stretching out on the booth behind her. "Yours is better."

Chie looks so ridiculously at home here, her hair artfully disheveled and her suspenders tight over her front, and Natsuki wonders not for the first time how in the hell someone can simultaneously be so charming but also such a pain in the ass.

Mai's boyfriend should take notes.

Natsuki scans the room again. There are all manners of people on the dance floor, grinding and sweating against each other, only seen through the staccato bursts of light from overhead. The booths are all far enough away that she can't see into them and the bar is cut off by the massive throng of bodies in the center of the room. Still, the feeling on her temple migrates to her spine like a dozen hot fingers trailing up the middle.

"I'm going for a smoke," she grunts, ignoring Mai's reprimand and Chie's whistle as she tugs her dress down her thighs and picks up her jacket. Who the hell grows an inch at twenty? She'll have to get new bike leathers at this rate.

It's a race to find her cigarette the second she steps out of the club. The seedy neon sign washes her in muted blue as she pulls a strategically placed smoke from her cleavage, reaching instinctively for the expensive lighter in her pocket. That she doesn't have. Because she left it at home.

Fuck.

"Need a light?"

Natsuki never liked the colour red.

It was the colour of autumn, of summer giving way to the eternal grasp of winter. The colour of bruises that flourished underneath collarbones hidden by clothing, and the blinking lights of the countless strip clubs lit up like beacons. The colour of her mother's blood drip-drip-dripping out of the broken windshield like a leaky faucet someone forgot to turn off.

But right now, in the space between the club's sign going dark and flickering back to life, she can see nothing but crimson and wonders how she ever hated it at all.

Her gaze doesn't waver as a flame is held to the tip of her cigarette; she inhales deep, pulling smoke through every part of her, and it's only when it rushes out of her nose in an acrid cloud that she manages to look away from those red, red eyes.

The owner of the lighter smiles and tucks it away.

"You've been watching me," Natsuki says on a hunch, and yes, there it is – that familiar spine-crawling feeling, the one that's been following her all night. Out of the corner of her eye, the person leans against the brick wall.

"I have."

Her voice is soft and lilting but holds a certainty that sends an entirely different shiver down Natsuki's spine.

"Why?"

"I make a point to watch beautiful women."

The neon sign masks her blush, but the mystery woman smiles a little anyway. She crosses her arms over her chest and the night casts shadows across the deceptively broad spread of her shoulders, along the pronounced ridge between bicep and bone. Natsuki glances at her feet – heels, not more than two inches.

She's tall.

"That's harassment, you know," she tries half-heartedly, taking another deep drag.

"You're not complaining."

Natsuki bites down on the no, I'm not, tries to change course.

"What's your name?"

"Shizuru. Fujino Shizuru."

"It's… nice to meet you, Fujino-san."

Her smile widens, a glimpse of white teeth. "Please, call me Shizuru."

"Oh, um… okay, Shizuru-san."

"And you?"

"And me, what?"

"Your name? Unless you want me to keep calling you beautiful, which can also be arranged."

Natsuki sputters on her next drag, and her eyes sting from holding in the coughs. Shizuru waits for her to compose herself but doesn't bother to hide the amusement pulling at the edges of her mouth, revealing more shiny teeth that glint like polished stone.

"N-Natsuki."

She won't realize until much, much later that she didn't even offer her family name.

"Well, Natsuki-san, it's a pleasure."

Natsuki stares at the outstretched hand before she takes it, shivering at its strength and size and temperature. She realizes only now that Shizuru isn't wearing a coat against the autumn wind that stirs the purple skirt around her thighs and her fingers reflect that, a touch too cold to be comfortable.

"Shit, you're freezing. Here, take my jacket." She shrugs it off and has to rock up on her toes to drape it over Shizuru's shoulders – she sees a smirk at that – despite it being just a little bit too small. Shizuru's eyes drift down her front as they come so close to touching and a jolt of desire races between her legs. Natsuki sucks furiously on the rest of her cigarette to ground herself, taking a couple quick steps back and flicking the end into a mounted ashtray.

She pointedly avoids the knowing smile and the tongue languidly tracing one very sharp eye-tooth.

"I, uh, need to go to the bathroom. Be right back!"

She all but sprints back into the club and charges for the bathroom, exhaling a solid stream of smoke on the way that makes those in her path cough and scowl. The line is gone and she slams two hands on the counter the second she reaches it, glancing up at herself in the mirror.

Jesus fucking Christ, Kuga, since when were you this awkward?

It's been a long time since she's tried to flirt, sure, but she's never been this awful at it. The slightest shift in Shizuru's stance sends her reeling, the tantalizing glimpse of thigh when her skirt rides up, her cleavage pushed by two strong forearms, the powerful junction of her neck and shoulder—

Those eyes.

She splashes water on her face, ignores the giggles from a drunk in the nearby stall. Her fingers drum on the counter in an orchestra of flesh and sinew.

Is she too drunk for this? Maybe she isn't drunk enough. Natsuki feels like she's on fire from nothing but the brief clasp of hands; she stopped being a blushing virgin a long, long time ago, but the second she shifts her thighs she wonders what exactly she did to deserve this.

A woman walks out of the stall and silently washes her hands. Her blue hair falls oddly around her brow, but Natsuki doesn't mistake the eyes that look at her in the mirror. Red. Again. Not the same shade as Shizuru's, no, not… dark enough. Not as deep.

"Don't go with her."

Natsuki blinks.

"What?"

"That woman you were with." She pumps soap into her palm, twists her hands three times. The automatic tap comes back on. Natsuki sees the tail of a dragon curl around her left bicep and disappear into her dress. "Don't go home with her."

"Wait, how did you—"

"Unimportant. Just go with your friends, Kuga Natsuki. It's safer that way."

Natsuki barely has time to breathe before someone else passes the mysterious woman as she leaves.

"Yo, Kuga, where did you go?"

Chie slings an arm around her shoulder – she smells like alcohol and smoke and Natsuki instinctively runs her tongue along the roof of her mouth, tasting the remnants of the cigarette there. She remembers Shizuru and smoke haloed around her face and eyes too dark to be anything but hungry.

"Uh, just… a smoke. I told you."

"You were gone forever. Mai-chan almost went to go look for you."

Thank God she didn't.

"—anyway, we're going to bounce. You coming?"

Natsuki hesitates. She read Shizuru's invitation loud and clear – her body thrums, caught in between a desire she's felt only a few times in her life and a warning siren in the back of her head. It's faint, easily overwritten by lust, but she glances to her right where the mystery woman just finished washing her hands.

"Y-yeah, okay."

She'll talk to her a little bit more, see what happens from there. Natsuki won't let one weird encounter mess up what could probably be the best sex of her life.

But when the three of them step out onto the street, the spot Shizuru had occupied is empty. Natsuki frowns, glancing into the dark interior of the club, but that crawling feeling is gone and in its place a peculiar, foreign loss. Mai tugs her into a taxi, and it's only when they're trudging up to their shared apartment that her friend turns to look at her.

"Hey, didn't you bring a jacket?"

Fuck.

"I can't believe we already have a paper due. It's only been two weeks!"

Mai stretches out over the table, a textbook tented over her head. The two empty coffee cups beside her are crumpled into rough origami shapes, stained brown and black and white.

"Maybe if you didn't slack off so much, you wouldn't be suffering like this."

"I've done more than you so far."

Natsuki scowls at her open laptop, taking another sip out of her mug. This coffee shop prides itself on being open all manners of the night for the struggling university students down the street, complete with couches and lounge chairs. The clock chimes – midnight. She finishes her cup.

"Where's Mikoto?"

"Overnight fieldtrip. Something about exploring? You know how she is."

Natsuki's phone chimes; Chie, a picture of her open psychology book with the caption if I paid you to kill me, would it be homicide or suicide?

Both?

The door jangles. Natsuki doesn't look up from her laptop, doing her best to rearrange a sentence for three extra words, but midway between reaching for Mai's half-full latte she gets the strangest feeling of fingers running down the hollow of her spine.

"A medium coffee, please. Black."

Natsuki jerks like she's been shot. Over Mai's shoulder she sees the same broad shoulders that have been pinning her down in her dreams for weeks, the same chestnut hair she's imagined getting her fingers tangled in. The hugging pair of jeans and knee-high leather boots aren't helping.

"Natsuki, are you okay? You've gone all red."

"I-I'm fine."

The sound of her voice is what does it. Shizuru does a languid sweep of the shop, not fooled at all by Natsuki's hasty retreat behind her laptop. She grins a little, taking her coffee in one outstretched hand, and approaches until she's looming silently over Mai's shoulder.

"You know I can see you, Natsuki-san."

Natsuki straightens out like she hadn't been caught hiding like a child. "Of course you can. I'm right here."

"So you are."

Mai pauses her next sip of her third latte, darting her eyes between the two. Shizuru smiles.

"How fortunate that we run into each other. I have your coat." She rummages in her bag, slung over one hip, and produces Natsuki's leather jacket she had written off as lost. It smells like jasmine and something metal, heavy and dizzying. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"It, uh, it's no problem, Shizuru-san."

Mai nearly sprays coffee out her nose. She grabs Natsuki by the wrist, twisting to look at Shizuru and giving an apologetic smile that works on nearly everyone. "Would you excuse us for a moment? Feel free to sit, we'll be right back."

"Of course."

Natsuki stumbles as Mai drags her to the bathroom, vacating the room by the force of her glare alone. Mai spins her when they're alone, a sly grin eating up way too much of her face.

"That's her?"

"Keep it down, idiot," Natsuki hisses, tugging at her sweater.

"I'm not going to—Natsuki, she's gorgeous. Why the hell didn't you jump on that the second you were alone?"

"Because I have some sense of pride?"

Mai scoffs, leaning against the sink.

"You've been so high-strung since the club I almost bought you a vibrator."

"You wouldn't."

They both knew she would.

"Come on, I'll be your wingman!" Mai slings an arm around her shoulders, bringing them close. "It's been too long since I've had the apartment to myself."

"I have work to do."

"Just talk to her. I promise I won't interfere too much." Mai narrows her eyes. "Unless you don't want to."

Natsuki thinks about a dragon, curling black and protective over one arm. It's safer that way.

Mai softens. "Is this about—"

"No. It isn't."

Natsuki breathes once, sharply, drawing the scent of soap and cleaner through her nose. The overhead light flickers and for a moment she's back in the club, desire punching through her gut like a fist. Shizuru's scent on her coat smells like missed chances. "Let's do it."

Despite her resolve, Mai is the one dragging her back into the shop. Shizuru gives an easy smile when she sees them, lowering the drink from her mouth.

"I'm glad you came back this time. I almost expected you to leave again."

"I looked for you, when I came back. You weren't there."

"I apologize, Natsuki-san." Shizuru tilts her head the slightest bit, running her tongue over the rim of her cup to catch any wayward drops. "It was cold, yes? I'm afraid my skirt wasn't enough for the wind outside."

"No, it was my fault. I ran into my friend Chie, and then Mai—" Natsuki nearly groans, tugging at a lock of her hair. "I haven't even introduced you yet! This is Tokiha Mai, my roommate."

"And best friend," Mai interjects cheerily, holding one hand for Shizuru to take. "She always forgets that part."

"Seems important, doesn't it?" Mai grins and easily avoids the subtle elbow aimed to her ribs. "Nice to meet you, Tokiha-san. I have a suspicion that you already know my name."

"I sure do, Fujino-san. What gave you that impression?"

"Oh, nothing in particular." Shizuru's smile widens a fraction as she skims over the blush on Natsuki's face, nearly as red as her own eyes. She takes in their matching oversized sweaters, scattered books and humming laptops with a raised brow, eventually coming to rest on the impressive mound of finished drinks at the center of their table. "I'm not incorrect in guessing the two of you are university students?"

"We are," Natsuki sighs, pulling her laptop closer, "third year. We have a history paper due next week."

"History? What sort?"

"Ancient Greek."

"Ara, I could help you with that, if you'd like. My work deals with many of the texts you'll be reading from."

"Oh, Fujino-san, you aren't in school?"

One side of Shizuru's mouth pulls up a little more, revealing the slightest hint of straight teeth.

"I'm flattered, Tokiha-san, but I graduated a few years ago. I work as a curator in a museum these days."

"A curator? That's so cool! Do you get to travel the world searching for artifacts?"

"If only. I'm afraid my life isn't so interesting." The way her lips twitch ever so slightly makes Natsuki doubt that very much. "I spend most of my time in the basement cataloguing and researching. I just finished consulting for a Greek display, actually. It's a happy coincidence."

"No kidding." Mai pops her earphones in. "I'll let you get to it, then. I chose Ancient Egypt. Fewer books to read."

"A wise decision."

Shizuru takes another sip of her coffee while Natsuki fiddles with her laptop, never taking her eyes away. They're deep in a different way this time; still hungry, but… for something else. A darkening of desire much more complex than Natsuki knows, but Shizuru looks at her like she's found the answer if only she be patient.

"So, uh," she shuffles to the side, "I'm writing on parallelism in Greek tragedy. Specifically between animals and humans."

Shizuru settles on the couch, legs tucked neatly underneath her and one elbow up on the back. Her hair, soft as the silk of Natsuki's bedsheets, brushes against the younger woman's exposed clavicle whenever she leans in. For the past few nights she's been imagining the contrast of it, how bright it would look against her pillow.

"You don't like to make things easy, do you?"

"No," Natsuki mutters perhaps more heavily than intended, "I don't."

"Have you picked out a text?"

"Oresteia."

Shizuru's pleased smile makes all sorts of ripples in Natsuki's blood, warming instead of setting aflame. "Let's see what you have here."

Shizuru's body is solid and deceptively cool, each smooth inhale pressing her ribs against Natsuki's shoulder. Her neck is delicate like her wrists, china-doll pale, but the weight of her erases any notions that she's anything akin to fragile. Still, it doesn't stop Natsuki from running her gaze from jaw to collar, calculating the best angles to sink her teeth before she can catch herself.

"You have a good start, but I'll suggest a few edits…"

She reluctantly draws her eyes to the screen and does as told, following Shizuru's finger as it points to various areas on her file. She speaks with an ease of an expert, someone who's spent far too much of her life writing the exact kind of essays Natsuki is struggling with, names of great philosophers and rulers slipping from her tongue without stutter or pause.

She's the first person Natsuki's met that can make a history paper sound sensual. Every word is considered, rolled in her mouth like a fine wine.

"—and around that time, tragedy was seen as a greater form of—Natsuki-san, are you listening?"

Her blinking cursor is stuck a few sentences behind. Natsuki coughs, drawing her gaze away from the serpentine curl of her lips and struggles to catch up, tripping over parallelism twice before finally managing the correct spelling.

"If I bore Natsuki-san, we can always do something else."

"You know very well that isn't the problem."

Shizuru's smile turns a little more honest, a little more pleased. It doesn't stop one chestnut eyebrow from arching. "Really, now? I thought this arrangement was very comfortable."

"It is."

She sees the challenge there, rises to meet it. Her heart thrums with a thrill she thought she'd forgotten.

"Good. Let us continue, then?"

It follows that way for a good hour, Natsuki stumbling only once when she feels Shizuru's fingers toying with the ends of her hair.

"Don't get distracted," a tug she feels down to her toes, "you're almost finished for the night."

"You aren't my mother."

A single finger travels down the back of her neck and sends shockwaves through her bones. "I certainly hope not."

Mai, blinking and bleary-eyed, pulls her headphones out. "I'm going to get another drink. Anyone want something?"

"Another—"

"I'm not getting you an espresso, Natsuki. You're going to replace the blood in your veins with caffeine."

"Would that be so bad?"

"It would be when I'm the one you're keeping up because you can't sleep. I'll get you a latte instead. Anything for you, Fujino-san?"

"No, I'm quite alright. Thank you."

Mai shuffles off, hood flipped up and two sizes too big. Natsuki doesn't realize she's smiling until Shizuru's eyes nearly burn through her temple with the curiosity in them.

"You and Tokiha-san are quite close."

No apprehension, no jealousy. Natsuki nods, rubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"We always have been. She cares too much about everyone, really, and I'm always there when she gets her heart broken. But if she didn't, she wouldn't be Mai."

"It must be nice to have such a close friend."

"It is. She makes sure I don't starve when I have assignments due."

Shizuru laughs – it's a soft sound, more delicate than Natsuki would expect from such an enigmatic woman. She chooses to ignore the desire it shoots both between her legs and to the center of her chest lest it turn into another Fuuka, another night making a fool of herself in front of a beautiful woman. It seems to be a growing trend.

Or maybe it's just this woman.

"Come on, we should finish your essay."

Natsuki groans and lets her head flop back onto the couch, following patternless whorls on the ceiling. A distant clock with numbers mismatched and oddly-skewed to please the modern art students informs her that it's well past one in the morning, nearly two. She tilts her head to the other woman and tries not to stare too hard at the sharp underline of her jaw so close to her tingling mouth.

"Aren't you tired?" she grunts instead, ripping herself away from the near-aristocratic bone structure like a man might cast away a great, persuasive succubus. "It's pretty late."

"My hours are probably even stranger than yours, Natsuki-san."

"Bullshit. You don't even have dark circles."

Shizuru's lips twist into a sly, lazy smirk. "All one needs is concealer and exercise."

"I don't think I'm getting enough exercise these days," Natsuki replies, her pulse relocating between her thighs.

"Really?" Shizuru drawls, her gaze so searing that Natsuki can feel as it travels down every inch of her body. "What a shame. I've heard it's very good at relieving stress. Something a university student has in spades."

"Tons," Natsuki agrees faintly, staring into the colour of fresh blood. Did they suddenly get darker?

"I have your latte!"

Natsuki lets out a breath that's halfway between tortured and relieved; Shizuru barely reacts, shifting her gaze over the slightest amount and letting her smirk fall into a smile, the siren turning so quickly into the nymph that one barely has time to blink.

"Ara, who is this?"

Natsuki lifts her head up a little, throwing a critical glance to the boy standing awkwardly next to Mai. "The latest reject from the circus."

"Natsuki, be nice." Mai scolds, nudging him forward a little. "This is Yuuichi Tate-kun. My boyfriend."

Shizuru unfolds herself from the couch silently, offering him one pale hand. She smiles, but there's something different than the one she's given before, something that pricks the hairs on the back of Natsuki's neck.

"Fujino Shizuru. A pleasure."

Tate reaches out but stiffens the moment they lock eyes, shuddering like a snake's made its home around his spine. She knows all too well how deceptively powerful that grip can be. "Y-yeah."

"How far are you in your essay, Tokiha-san?"

"Not as far as Natsuki," she groans. "I want an expert curator to help me write this stupid thing."

"Oh, I wouldn't call myself an expert."

"I would."

"How kind, Natsuki-san."

"How did you two meet?" Tate interrupts, leaning forward a little. He's twisting his undersized ring over his finger viciously, pulling at the skin there, its seal dull and worn away.

"None of your—"

"Fuuka," Shizuru answers plainly, her smile curving into something a little more devious. "I'd had my eye on Natsuki-san the entire night, but I didn't manage to steal her away from Tokiha-san until the end."

"Fuuka, Kuga-san? I never thought it would happen."

Shizuru tilts her head, the sickle of her smirk amused. "So that's your family name. Why did you hide it the first time?"

"I… I didn't hide it." Natsuki delivers a swift shin-kick to a giggling Mai. "It just slipped my mind."

"I'm sure you had more important things to think about."

"Yeah, like how to get Fuji—ow!" Mai holds her shin, the second kick more powerful than the first.

There's a slight lull in the conversation, Shizuru dragging a source into place in Natsuki's essay. Her chest brushes against her shoulder and Natsuki's certain she must have angered a deity in a past life to merit this sort of torture.

There are no gods here today; looking away from Shizuru means looking directly at Tate, studying the two of them with a bizarre sort of focus she thought him incapable. He was always the dead-weight hanging from Mai's arm – at least Mikoto works. "Yuuichi," she says suddenly, "what happened to your face?"

His fingers fly gingerly to his split eyebrow, haloed by a purple bruise extending back to his hairline. Maybe he finally got one too many kendo swords to the face.

"I… someone opened a door and didn't see me." His eyes slide briefly to Shizuru who watches him with an odd cross between a smile and a smirk, pulling back to reveal the same sharp teeth Natsuki remembers.

"Is that so?" Shizuru all but purrs, her breath washing down Natsuki's neck. "I hope you reprimanded them."

"They ran away."

"How rude."

Her head tilts up just a fraction and he follows the movement. That spine-crawling feeling comes back, a crackling electricity between them that has Tate considerably out of his depth. Considering she feels like that all the time around the older woman, Natsuki can't blame him completely.

"Well, I think it's an improvement."

Tate breaks his odd stare to glare at her, touching at the bruise again. His ring brushes against it and his wince is poorly masked. "No one asked you, Kuga."

"You got an answer anyway."

The clock chimes three and Shizuru uncurls herself from around Natsuki's side, stretching high to the ceiling and graciously ignoring how everyone stares when she does. "As much fun as I'm having, I'm afraid I should be heading home. I have work tomorrow."

Natsuki springs to her feet, nearly knocking over her new latte. "You didn't mention that!"

"Natsuki-san never asked."

Shizuru hooks her bag over one shoulder and offers a dazzling smile to Mai and Tate. "It was good meeting you, Tokiha-san. Good luck on your essay."

"Thank you for helping, Fujino-san! I hope to see you around."

Shizuru slides her eyes to Natsuki, a small, mysterious smile on her lips. "I think you will."

Natsuki burrows deeper into her sweater, shoving her hands into her pockets at Shizuru's cocked eyebrow. "I'm walking you out."

"How kind. To think people say chivalry is dead."

On their way out, Shizuru takes a half step back, looking at Tate through the corner of her crimson eye. "Don't go playing with any more doors, Yuuichi-san."

Only Natsuki sees how white he goes, rubbed in snow that fell last night from the mountains.

For the third time in an hour, Natsuki hovers over the send button on her phone.

Her essay had come back with a 94, scarcely any red ink, and an impressively detailed paragraph from the professor picking out his favourite parts. The second it was handed back all she wanted was to text Shizuru, her number safe in her phone after their run-in at the coffee shop, but every time she tried, her stomach twisted into an impressive array of knots and loops and she hastily shoved it back in her pocket.

It didn't help for the three nights after, all she dreamt about was crimson eyes and a heat between her legs that woke her up, slick and aching and entirely unsatisfied.

It's too cold to think about any of that now. Natsuki pulls her scarf further over her face and narrows her eyes against the sharp wind, forcing her way down the city streets. A pulsing bass line spills out from one of the nearby clubs and into the downtown core, meshing with the cacophony of city life. She can even hear someone sobbing from their window.

Except… there aren't any houses here, just businesses. And that sound is far too close to be an apartment.

Natsuki glances cautiously into an alleyway where the crying concentrates, the barest outline of a silhouette, a deeper darkness.

"Hello?"

The figure's head whips around. She can see a red dress, a broken shoe, and the glimmer of wet eyes. Between the stench of garbage and urine she smells something heavier still – blood.

"Hey, are you okay?" The light over the back door flickers on, revealing the slumped woman desperately trying to gather the shredded remains of her dress. Her hands are raw and bloodied, hand-prints on the brick, and her sobs have turned into hiccups that slip past her teeth unbidden.

"No, don't—" but Natsuki has already crouched down beside her, one hand lightly on her arm. There's an ugly purple-red bruise on the side of her neck that bulges outwards. They lock eyes and the guilt there is almost staggering. "I'm s-so sorry."

She staggers to her feet, shrugging off Natsuki's hand with another sob, and stumbles deeper into the alley. She hits something on her way and whimpers an apology, thrown into the wall before she finds her balance and disappears.

"Look at that," comes a voice from the darkness, "she even said sorry. Not that she should be apologizing… you look so much tastier than her."

The entryway to the alley seems like miles away. Natsuki swallows but it's dry and rough, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. A man inches into the halo of light cast by the bulb overhead, his grin a red crescent, and she wonders briefly if she'll even have chance to fight back before she dies.

"Don't be shy. Let me see what you're hiding under that coat." He isn't heavily built, but he walks with a sinuous strength she knows she's seen before. His eyes are as red as his smile but they're tainted with black specks that shift and swirl like tiny fragments of coal. She steps back but he blurs into focus in front of her, one hand ripping her zipper – and her coat – in two.

The cold air breaks Natsuki from her stupor; she breathes into cry out, to call for help, but he clamps one large hand over her mouth before even a whisper comes out. "A feisty one, huh? I like that. Makes for more fun."

She lashes out and finds his ears, an old trick she'd been taught many years ago. His skin is so cold it almost burns to touch but her nails can't even make a dent; she's ripped an ear or two before, back when fights got too rough or too big. They usually come off like poorly cast plastic.

He just laughs, baring bloodied teeth, and chucks her against the wall. Her ruined coat does little to hide her from his hungry gaze, one freezing hand clamping hard around the seashell curl of her hip and the other pressed against her jaw to force it upwards. It's like being pinned in a vice; Natsuki tastes bile as he runs his nose against the line of her neck.

"Are you going to cry?" he rumbles. "She did. It's okay, I won't mind."

She spits in his face instead.

His forehead collides with her nose, spewing blood down the front of her shirt.

"You can't fool me, stupid bitch. I can feel you shaking. Let's see how brave you are when I've ripped out your throat." His tongue collects the blood on her cheek and she bites back a sob, her throat trembling against his palm like a tuning fork. "There it is. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll be gentle… at first."

A soft footstep, almost unheard over the sound of Natsuki's laboured breathing. "I'd advise you put her down, Takeda-kun."

He blinks, almost as if amazed someone would interrupt him, but the second the voice registers his whole demeanor shifts. Natsuki stares as his face crumples into a grimace vicious enough to gut from intent alone, his hands curling into claws that leave uneven scores across the porcelain-fragile flare of her hip.

"Fuck off, bitch. This one's mine."

"Really? Natsuki-san belongs to no one, as far as I know."

Natsuki jerks, but despite only seeing the outline of a silhouette against the city street, her body knows Shizuru's voice as well as her own.

"Shi-shizu—run—"

The man – Takeda – laughs lowly. "She doesn't know?"

"No. But she will." Shizuru takes another step into the darkness, and all Natsuki can see is the crimson gleam of her eyes and the reflection of her teeth as they show in a languid, curving smile. Her tongue comes out, runs along the backs. "I was going to let you go, but you hurt her. That is unforgiveable."

"I don't smell you on her."

"It doesn't matter." Shizuru's face hardens, and her smile becomes more of a baring of teeth. "You have hurt someone important to me. I've watched you terrorize these streets long enough, Takeda-kun. Release her and perhaps I will have mercy."

"You don't know what mercy means."

"Really?" An eyebrow, poised as ever. "That's amusing, coming from you."

Takeda shoves Natsuki aside and sprints towards the back alley – the pavement cracks as he takes off and leaves the imprint of his foot in his wake. Shizuru is beside him before Natsuki can blink, one hand grabbing his wrist, throwing his entire body like one would a lengthy whip. He dislodges a few bricks when he hits the side of the building but scrambles to his feet like nothing happened, going down again when he fails to intercept the vicious left hook that knocks his jaw out of alignment.

"Running away so easily? I thought you had honour."

"Says the one who spat in Nagi's ash and ran!" He kicks her feet out from underneath her – she uses her momentum to lunge, snatching him by the shirt and hauling him deeper into the darkness. They roll over and over on the ground, great craters in the asphalt, and when Takeda's arm snaps in half Natsuki watches as the bone realigns itself under his skin like a great, writhing mass of insects. "I had to learn alone!"

"So did I."

His thumb hooks in the corner of her mouth, pulling her cheek back over her clenched teeth; Natsuki sees how sharp they really are, little daggers made out of ivory. The skin strains under his grip, but she can't shake him off. A flicker of pain runs across Shizuru's brow.

What the fuck is happening? Natsuki chants in her head as her hands scramble for something to help, anything, as the flesh at the corner of Shizuru's mouth starts to tear. Oh my God, I'm going to die here, we're all going to fucking die, what is happening—a brick, dislodged when Shizuru flung him around like a ragdoll weighing nothing and—no, don't think about that, just breathe, yes, grip tight, and…

The brick knocks Takeda in the temple with a solid crack. It shatters over his face, leaving dust in his hair, and the snarl that rushes through the alley like the roar of an awakening machine is enough to make Natsuki want to crawl under the dumpster. Still, the distraction lets Shizuru to surge upwards, the crown of her head connecting with his jaw and sending blood spraying out of his mouth.

She follows him upwards and in a movement so fast it's nothing but a blur, drives his head down into the ground. There's a crunch, a cry, a grenade of blood and bone. Natsuki's legs sting with the lick of shrapnel.

"Always distracted by pretty women, Takeda-kun," Shizuru notes, stooping down to pick him up by the collar. He goes effortlessly, dangling from her left hand, and glares with eyes identical to her own.

No, not quite… Shizuru's are brighter, bolder, a darkness that runs deeper than just physical. Maybe the stories about demons were nothing but fairytales and fallacies, things to scare children into compliance, but the way Shizuru cocks back her right fist like the judgement of a(n un)holy hammer can't be anything close to human.

When she hits him, there's the sound of cement breaking and a wet tree branch snapping in half. Natsuki nearly throws up as Shizuru's fist is forced through his chest, his whole body rippling with the momentum of it, spraying a halo of near-black blood onto the pavement below. He cries out, too soft to be a scream; Shizuru mutters something that sounds a little bit like a prayer, repentance to the dying, the last rite of someone whose soul left a long time ago. She pulls him close to her, the grind of his broken spine against the brick, and the cadence of her voice sounds almost like a lullaby.

Her arm is black with his blood and there's something shriveled in her hand, something wet and dark and sick, and when she crushes it like one would a defective egg, Takeda gurgles once and goes still.

She pulls her arm out of his chest, dragging ribs and sternum in her wake, letting his body drop carelessly to the floor. Takeda's skin is cracking, flaking like stale pastry, crumbling into a fine grey dust. By the time Shizuru's wiped most of the blood off on his shirt he's nothing but a pile of ash.

"Distasteful," Shizuru mutters, turning only when Natsuki chokes back a retch. Shizuru looks at her like she's scared she'll break her, find whatever soft thing is in her chest and crush it, too, but when Natsuki leans over to vomit she remains at her side until she's too overwhelmed to even support her own weight.

Despite everything, Shizuru's scent is comforting as she ducks under one of Natsuki's arms. She takes care not to smear blood on her, but it's so thick and rich here that it feels stitched under her skin like a wound. "Let's get you cleaned up, yes?"

"Y-you…"

"After, Natsuki-san. I promise you'll get your answers after you're well."

With enough gentle urging Natsuki turns away, and together they track Takeda's dust out into the street.