Gluttony

It was and it wasn’t like drinking.

There was nothing sweet about it, nothing to mask the heavy, metallic taste. Blood was blood, and the only thing that ever changed was the taste of the throat that contained it, the taste of soap or sweat or perfume and under that, skin. It was, plain and simple, disgusting.

For some reason, that made Kei feel even worse for craving it so.

It was and it wasn’t like drinking, in that it gave a certain rush of warmth to the insides, a certain cotton-wrapped sense of languid pleasure. It was like wine only in that the more you drank, the better it seemed to get—at least for a while. But Kei (in darker moments of introspection, which only grew more frequent as the years passed) was never sure if this was a result of his vampirism, or simply a result of him--and that was the truly horrific part, the thought that maybe he liked blood for its own sake, that maybe, even if he were not a vampire, he would still crave the taste of it.

He tried not to think about it now, as the hot liquid burned like pleasure down his throat.

Lust

Sometimes, touching Sho was a bad idea.

Not in and of itself, exactly. Sometimes Sho needed to be touched, to be held, to be reassured. He never asked for it, of course, but Kei could see it in his eyes, or in the set of his shoulders, or hear it in the sound of his voice. Sometimes there were no signs at all, but Kei always knew anyway. And then he’d touch Sho’s arm, gently; or smack him playfully; or pull him into an embrace; whatever he needed most at the time.

That was when the bad ideas started.

It was easier when Sho was young; pulling the sturdy boy into his arms was almost as comforting to Kei, like hugging a security blanket. The child Sho grounded him, kept him connected, slowed him down just enough to make life feel real and not like some endless whirling dream.

But Sho the adult could send everything spinning away, and make things feel like another type of dream entirely.

Kei would hold him, and try hard not to wonder what his throat would taste like. Bitter, from the cologne Sho always wore? Salty, like sweat?

Sweet, perhaps?

He tried not to let it go any farther than that, tried to tell himself it was only bloodlust that made him imagine his mouth on the other man’s neck.

As if that were any safer.

Envy

“Just go. You could use a little sun.”

“I’m fine. It’s too hot anyway.”

“It was too hot yesterday, and the day before that.”

“Yeah, and it’ll probably be too hot tomorrow, too.”

Kei stared at Sho, who was pale in the dim indoor lighting. How long had it been since Sho had seen the sun?

“Don’t bitch about things,” Sho said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “I’m accustomed to this.”

And that was the problem, really. Sho kept Kei’s hours like he was doing him a favor. But he could still get up and walk outside whenever he wanted to.

Kei told himself he was just concerned for his friend.

His friend, who could go outside and walk in the sun, but never did, never did.

Kei refused to think the word fool.

Sloth

It was easiest to say nothing. Talking meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering, and Kei didn’t want to remember, not anymore.

So there were days and days and days, and sometimes people came to talk at him, and sometimes doctors came to prod at him, but all Kei noticed was the smooth, blank expanse of the far cell wall.

Eventually, even looking became too much effort, and he would close his eyes, wishing he could sleep.

He was so tired. Just, so tired.

He didn’t want to do anything anymore.

Dimly, the sound of voices reached his ears. Blank, blank.

He didn’t want to remember.

Pride

Banks were overrated, and risky besides. Sure, you got loads of money all in one shot, but security was tight and they kept track of serial numbers, so when you went to spend any of it you more or less left a paper trail any idiot could follow.

Jewelry stores, though… Jewelry stores were the thing. All the pretty baubles could easily be pawned for cold, hard cash later on, and the security tended to be, well, a little on the soft side. Which was stupid, considering the crime rate.

Sho considered the crime rate as he looked down the barrel of his gun at the terrified saleswoman. “Open the showcase.”

It was a vicious world. He was good at living in it.

Really good.

Anger

Happiness is a warm gun, Sho thought wildly. His arm hurt, his arm fucking hurt, and so did a few other places where he’d been shot, though he didn’t have the time to check his injuries now. Apparently he wasn’t the only person in the dilapidated warehouse who knew the secret of happiness.

Warmth like joy spread through him, and he wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream, perhaps, until his throat was raw and unusable, until his voice was silent like Yi-Che’s had been for so long.

He thought of old times and he thought of betrayal.

He rounded a corner and found himself staring into his old friend’s eyes.

Warmth like joy. Like terror. Like pain.

His throat was squeezed tight with anger.

Greed

It all came down to selfishness, in the end.

I want you, I want you to stay… I want you for me… I don’t want… to be alone…

Sho’s blood, everywhere, just everywhere, and Kei thought absurdly, White, why the hell did you wear white? It had soaked the fabric of Sho’s jacket, and was even now soaking into Kei’s clothes as he held him.

I want you to stay, don’t leave me…

Sho was shaking, gasping, trying to breathe. Dimly, Kei realized that the wet sucking noise was the sound of air escaping Sho’s lungs from the hole in his chest.

I want, I want, I want…

It all came down to selfishness, in the end.

Kei lowered his mouth to Sho’s throat just as the other man lost his fight to keep breathing.

I want you for me. I don’t want to be alone.

Sho tasted like blood and sweetness.