He takes a breath and sips his tea before continuing. “Anyway, I do appreciate Haruka’s shorter hairstyle, but I think I prefer his hair long. I loved the way it emphasized his refined, elegant features. It reminded me of a black, flowing river—quietly reflecting the stars as it streams through rocky passageways in the darkest of night… I should write that down.”
I sit up straight and stare at him—this dramatic little twerp waxing poetic on my couch. He takes another sip of his tea.
“Haruka is married,” I say. “Bonded. For life.”
Hisaki shrugs, unbothered. He shifts his blue eyes toward me. Last week they were green. They’re contacts. “Haven’t you heard? Bonds can be broken.”
“Delusional.” I shake my head, bending to tinker with the damn tension disk on my sewing machine. It keeps sticking. “Get off my couch. Go home.”
“Rude.” Hisaki flips his head so that his ponytail whips like a show horse’s. “Why do you get to freely visit Haruka’s estate whenever you want? I always have to make a formal appointment with that old guard dog of a manservant, and if my request isn’t deemed tangible, I’m denied. How do you achieve this? Tell me your secret.”
I play with the dial, adjust the thread and sit up straight, then gently press the foot of the sewing machine. The material I’m hemming slowly passes under the needle. “Well, let’s see. I respect his bond. I’m not trying to get in his fucking pants—”
“I am not interested in a sexual relationship with Haruka. My intentions toward him are altruistic. He is beautiful and glorious, and I only want what’s best for his grace. He deserves someone who understands his magnificence—who can support him as the leader and king that he is. And that is me. Not the Italian—”
“Nino is half-Japanese.”
“Whatever. Haruka hardly ever leaves his home lately to attend aristocratic events. It deeply concerns me. I simply wish to be by his side.”
I sewed these buttons on this shirt yesterday, but today I’m rethinking the choice. Maybe instead of black, brown would look more modern? Wooden toggles might be interesting—
“TAKAYAMA JUNICHI.”
I jump and lift my foot from the pedal, moving my fingers just in time from being snagged by the needle. My patience is officially shot. “You little asshole—”
“Don’t ignore me. I hate it when you do that—”
“Don’t you ever yell at me like that.” I point hard, staring. “Hisaki, I do not have time for your self-absorbed bullshit today. I need to finish this by five o’clock and I have a gala tonight. Leave. Now.”
He tilts his head. “Really? What kind of gala? For the aristocracy? Why wasn’t I invited—”
“Estoy cansada de decirte—”
“Fine, I’m leaving. I hate it when you speak Spanish. You know I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He stands with his teacup and shuffles his pale, narrow ass toward the door.
He’s a young vampire—only twenty-three years old. There are thousands of teenaged humans and vampires who adore this brat. His music hasn’t hit it big on an international scale yet, but he’s a star in his own right nationally. I listened to his album because he kept pestering me. It’s not bad, but definitely not my thing.
As his elder, I should be nicer to him.
I cannot. He annoys the shit out of me. He’s everything that’s wrong with ranked vampires. Self-important, snooty and prejudiced. He’s barely been alive two decades and already exudes the arrogance of a vampire five times his age.
I tap my foot on the sewing machine again. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Hisaki is still hovering in the doorway. He lifts his chin and clears his throat. “When… when will the jacket I ordered be here?”
I sigh, focusing on the material underneath my hands. “Two weeks.” I almost add, “Don’t come back until then.” But he wouldn’t listen. He comes to my studio every week on Sunday, rain or shine, whether he’s ordered something or not. I have no idea why. I’m just lucky, I guess.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll see you next Sunday.” He washes out the teacup in the small kitchen off the hallway, and soon the door to the main entrance chimes to let me know he’s left.
I sigh, pressing my foot down and threading the material under the needle again. “Pretentious little twerp.”
Without Hisaki there to distract and demand my attention, I finish my client’s shirt early and he’s able to pick it up sooner than scheduled. This is nice because now I have time to stop by the bar and sit with my favorite old vampire before going home and getting dressed for the hospital gala.
Asao is Haruka and Nino’s manservant, but he’s a third-gen vamp. It’s unusual for a ranked vampire to be a servant, but that’s what I love about their entire household. Everything about them is refreshingly unusual. Relaxed.
I lock up my shop and walk down the cobblestoned road of the historical quarter. It’s a pretty, breezy afternoon and the willow trees are fluttering in the wind. I love this sleepy little town. I grew up in Hiroshima, but this place feels more like home to me.
It’s only a five-minute walk before I’m stepping into the bar. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. I hear a chorus of greetings.
“Hey, Jun!”
“Welcome back, Junichi.”
I lift my chin in acknowledgment and smile. The bar is vampire owned. Our aristocracy in Western Japan is pretty tightly knit—but growing. Our realm leaders have gained a lot of attention the past couple months, so now, every vampire and their mother wants to live here.
Asao is waving me down, and I’m surprised to see Nino sitting beside him. No Haruka. Figures. Getting him out of the house the past few weeks has been like trying to coax a cat out of a tree. Usually I can tempt him with a good restaurant recommendation, but lately even that’s not working.
I weave my way through the bar—through the noise of happy chitchat and laughter, glasses and plates clinking, enka music playing low in the background. The air is warm with the scent of grilled veggies and meat, and it makes my mouth water.
“Hey, Jun.” Nino smiles warmly as I sit beside him in the booth. Asao is across from us. “We’re celebrating.”
“What, pray tell?” I ask, grabbing the half-empty pitcher of beer and a glass.
Asao grins. He’s more than a hundred years older than me, but he’s still square and handsome with salt-and-pepper features. He’s obviously had a good life. “Haruka went out today. On his own,” he says, grabbing his beer.
“Really? How the hell did you manage that?”
“We had an appointment with Doctor Davies yesterday to talk about surrogacy options,” Nino says. “While we were there, I asked him about things we could do to cope with all this new attention. He and I talked about it more last night, and he agreed to try. We found a fairly safe activity to get him started.”
