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Ryker tucked themselves further into the wall behind them, pulling their knees to their chest. They could feel themselves shaking heavily, their breathing reduced to quick and ragged panting that had their heart pounding against their ribs. Their eyes, wide and fearful, darted around the ink-black room. They could feel nonexistent eyes on them, watching from every corner, stalking them, waiting for just the right moment to strike. The shadows seemed to twist and move, folding over themselves and crashing down like waves of viscous gel.
Ryker whimpered; a gunshot echoed in their head, making their ears hurt. They could hear footsteps, dozens of them, surrounding them from all sides and coming closer and closer until it felt like there were people walking inside their ears. Distorted laughter reverberated in their mind. A thunderstorm was swirling inside their skull, building and growing, pressing against the inside of their head and threatening to split them right open. Faintly, they could see the neon scribbles on the wall— 8:11, over and over and over again.
Glowing eyes like hellfire blinked at them from the darkness.
Desperate, they clamped their eyes shut and slammed their hands over their ears. There were too many sounds, too much movement, everything hurt and the longer they stayed the worse it got. They couldn’t stay here.
Shakily, they leaped off their bed, barely able to keep themselves upright with how hard they were trembling. Their brain screamed at them that something was behind them as they grabbed their keys but they ignored the urge to whip around, instead very quickly leaving their motel room.
Outside was better. The air was cool and crisp and held a calmness to it, and the dim street lights helped illuminate the petrifying darkness.
They took a deep breath, running their fingers along the sharp metal keys in their pocket. They felt the little orange-shaped keychain that held them together and knew where to head. Shaking themselves alert, they began their trek.
Being outside definitely helped, but they still felt more than a little anxious. They could still feel eyes on them, watching their every move. They took a deep breath and clutched their rosary tight.
They didn’t slow down for a second the entire way there; they still felt like someone was watching them, stalking them, following them. Their hands shook from within their pockets and they flinched every time a branch so much as twitched.
When they reached Accardi’s house, they didn’t bother knocking before retrieving the key from their pocket and letting themselves inside. He definitely wouldn’t be awake at this hour, and there was no point in waking him up just to send him back to bed once they got settled. They nearly knocked over the lavender parasol he normally carried that was leaning against the wall near the door, just barely managing to catch it before it fell. They toed off their shoes, leaving them by the entrance before stepping further inside.
The house was dark and silent, but it didn’t bother them here nearly as much as it had before. Maybe it was the adrenaline finally leaving them, or maybe it was Accardi’s presence in the house, but they felt comforted even when they shut the door behind them and were dropped into blackness.
Or rather, near-blackness. A faint light was shining from the kitchen; dim enough that they could only see it now that it was completely dark. Curious, they squinted into the distance. They couldn’t see around the wall that separated the living room and kitchen, so they began to approach. It was certainly odd for Accardi to be awake at this hour, but they didn’t have any room to judge; they kept later hours themselves. Maybe he was just preparing some tea.
Upon approach, Ryker could hear an odd noise. They slowed to a halt, straining their ears to figure out what they were hearing. Some sort of wet slurping like a running river paired with faint groaning— not distressed groaning, but nearly pleasured, strangely enough— and the occasional drip onto the tile floor.
They could not identify what the noise might be coming from. At first they had thought Accardi had simply left the tap on, but that wouldn’t explain the groaning or dipping. Had somebody broken in?
Carefully, Ryker crept towards the kitchen. As they approached, their hair stood on end and their blood ran cold. Dread pooled in their gut and they got an awful, foreboding feeling that had their trembling returning with fervor. There was a horrible, all-too-familiar smell that permeated the air and made them gag: the sharp, metallic scent of blood.
They leaned around the wall, peering into the kitchen. Barely illuminated by the open fridge stood Accardi, hunched away from them and twitching erratically. He was holding something up to his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose and groaning on every exhale. Something dark dripped onto the floor.
Ryker hesitated. Whatever Accardi was doing, he was certainly enjoying it, based on the
interesting
noises he was making. They felt like they were interrupting a private moment, but they also got the feeling that something
very
bad was happening.
“Accardi?” they quietly called, hesitantly reaching towards him. He instantly whipped around, completely tense and looking as if he had been shocked. Ryker nearly fainted as they took a step back in horror.
He stared directly at them, his eyes blown wide. His pupils were dilated to the point that his amber-whiskey eyes were almost entirely black. He was holding a half-limp bag up to his mouth, the crimson contents inside leaking onto his gloves and face. His mouth was open as he gasped for breath, showing his red-stained teeth.
Ryker took another step back. Accardi continued to stare at them, unblinking, like a snake stalking a rat. They were near petrified with fear.
Slowly, he blinked at them, and his pupils began to contract. Soon enough they were back to a normal size and he blinked once more before tilting his head.
“Ryker?” he mumbled, seemingly coming back to reality. “Are you alright? You look terrified.”
Ryker was unable to speak. Their jaw slowly creaked open but all that came out was a quiet whimper that made Accardi look concerned. He went to wet his lips before responding but must’ve tasted the lingering blood as he paused to process what he was tasting. Only then did he seem to realize what he was doing; he dropped the blood bag, straightening out of his hunch as it fell to the floor with a wet splat.
“Wait, Ryker,” he stuttered, putting his hands up in a placating gesture, “this isn’t what it looks like, I promi—!”
Before he could finish his sentence, Ryker had turned and bolted, leaving the door open behind them in their haste.
Ryker’s feet slammed against the asphalt as they ran. Broken shards of rock and concrete cut through their socks, piercing through the skin on their feet. Their chest heaved with gasping breaths, making their entire body shake. All they could see was the blood— he was covered in it, all over his hands and chest and mouth like he had pinned some poor person down and ripped out their throat with his teeth.
They stumbled on a pothole, barely catching themselves before falling to the crumbling road. They ducked into a raggedy alleyway, dodging scraps of trash littered along the ground. They wiped tears from their face.
This entire town was full of fucking maniacs. They thought he was different; he was the first person to show them kindness after Leon left them, the first person they trusted again. He had cared , even knowing that the last person to have done so was lying dead in an abandoned church somewhere in France. They had gotten unreasonably attached in their desperation for human connection and now the man they had imagined holding hands with and kissing so tenderly had been drinking blood like it was the nectar of the gods.
Exhausted, Ryker slowed to a halt, doubling over and wheezing heavily before collapsing against a nearby wall. They sniffled and wiped tears from their eyes, recoiling at the stench of garbage from the nearby dumpster. They wanted to break something. Was Accardi a fucking cannibal? Wouldn’t that be funny, if the one person they trusted turned out to be a cannibal.
They thought about the happenings of Rosso Cadere. The mysterious sightings, the strange noises, the disappearances… oh god, is that where the missing people went? Ryker felt like they were going to puke. Did Accardi fucking chop them up and roast them and harvest their blood for—
Suddenly, a quiet scuff from outside the alley. Soft footsteps echoed off the brick walls.
Terrified, Ryker lunged behind the dumpster, straining their ears. What was that noise? They had run easily a mile, there was no way Accardi could’ve found them already, that was impossible—
“Ryker?”
They froze solid. How could he possibly have found them that fast? There were so many twists and turns in these alleyways and he certainly hadn’t followed them out soon enough to watch their path— how?! Maybe, they hoped, maybe he hadn’t found them and was just calling out to make them panic and reveal themselves. Yes, that must’ve been it. If they just ignored him he’d move on to another place and they could make their escape.
They listened as the slow, deliberate footsteps grew closer, closer, then paused. They struggled to visualize where he was.
“Ryker, I know you can hear me.”
Their breath hitched; he was right outside their alley. His voice echoed off the concrete walls and it felt like it was bouncing around inside their skull. They slowly pressed a hand over their mouth, trying desperately to breathe as shallowly as possible. They heard the footsteps start up again, this time coming down their alley.
Their heart felt like it was going to explode. In a moment of clarity, they had a realization that made all their other thoughts grind to a halt:
They were going to die. Accardi was going to find them and kill them, and they were going to die.
Ryker couldn’t contain their sobs any longer. They cried quietly into their hand, clutching their rosary and reciting every prayer they knew in the hopes of a miracle.
They heard Accardi approach. They heard the click of his heels along the concrete. They saw him peek around the dumpster and make direct eye contact.
“There you are Ry, c’mere.” He started to reach forward and Ryker broke.
“No!” They flung their arms up protectively in front of their face, squeezing their eyes shut and turning away. They were shaking hard enough that their teeth rattled in their mouth.
“Please,” they begged, “please, I w-won’t tell anyone, I swear, I’ll s-stay quiet, I promise, just p-please don’t kill me—”
Accardi went silent. Ryker waited with bated breath for him to grab their arm and haul them to their feet and crack their skull open on the wall or squeeze a hand around their throat until they lost consciousness, but he didn’t lay a finger on them. Instead, he stepped back and slowly sat down, giving them space. They eyed him warily while they gasped for breath; he simply gave them a patient smile.
Ryker bit their tongue, kick-starting their brain back into action. They were panicking, they knew that, and that didn’t spell good things for them. Even if he had backed off for now that didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind; they needed to take the opportunity, breathe, and think rationally.
They were painfully aware of Accardi’s eyes on them as they tried to regain control of their breathing. He watched them the entire time and it did not help them calm down any.
As coherent thoughts began to form again, Ryker wanted one thing most of all: answers. What on earth had he been doing? More than that, why?
Gathering their courage, Ryker sat up. Accardi straightened, looking at them expectantly. He had cleaned up a little since their encounter in the kitchen— his hands and face were no longer dripping with blood and he’d thrown on a loose-fitting jacket, but through the part of his buttons his undershirt was still visible, stiffened and stained crimson. His eyes made them shiver.
“What…” they swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how their voice trembled, “What was that?”
Accardi took a deep breath, looking down at the floor. “It’s…” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly (and Ryker definitely did not flinch when he raised his hand), “it’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” Ryker demanded, “because I’ve seen some weird shit in the Basilica, but that was down there. You were the one sane person in this entire godforsaken town, and— and I was paranoid and I could hear footsteps and I felt like someone was watching me so I went to your house because hey! Accardi will make you feel better! He’s normal! He’s good! And I just want to get some goddamn sleep and I walk in and you’re— you’re fucking slurping up blood like some fucking beast and the way you looked at me, like I was gonna be next and I’m just meant to be okay with that?” Ryker had started crying again. They wiped tears from their eyes while they laughed hysterically. “Like, oh yeah, let’s go hang out with the cannibal for dinner! Maybe we’ll get together and have a roast human thigh, it’ll be a grand old time!”
The pair held eye contact for a few too many seconds. Ryker dissolved into sobs, burying their face in their hands.
It took a long time for Accardi to speak. “I understand why you’re afraid,” he said slowly, “but I promise: I don’t want to hurt anyone, least of all you.”
“Then what the fuck were you doing?” they wailed. Accardi visibly winced at their devastation.
“It’s a long story, but just stick with me, okay? It’ll make sense in a minute. Please.”
Ryker slumped back against the wall. There was no way he could possibly make this any worse; they gestured for him to continue.
“About a year and a half ago, I’d say, I was walking home from the store late at night. I was trying to finish up an assignment for my job but I ran out of printer paper and had to go grab some. I was tired and wanted to get home quickly so I could finally sleep, so I took a shortcut through a section of the woods.” He took a deep breath, preparing himself for his next words.
“I don’t know exactly what happened. One moment I was walking peacefully and the next I was on the ground.” Ryker noticed he had a faraway look in his eyes. “There was a man. And he tried to tear out my carotid artery.”
He tilted his head to the side and pulled his collar away from his neck. Ryker felt sick; there was a gnarled, ugly scar on his neck— in the vague shape of teeth, the wound was clearly aggravated and large like whatever was wedged in his flesh had been wriggled and shaken, mangling the area far beyond repair.
“I ended up stabbing him in the heart with a pocketknife. I only survived because Juliek took me to the hospital. When I woke up I was so much stronger than I had been. I could do things I could scarcely even imagine before,” he laughed, but there was no real humor behind it. “But I couldn’t go in the sun without burning. No food ever sated me. I deteriorated to the point I was bedridden.
“Vittorino came over one day. Juliek had been taking care of me then, and he was very reluctant to let anybody else see me, but Vittorino came in anyway. He handed me a book from somewhere in the Basilica and a red bag. I blacked out and when I came back I had drained the entire thing.
“He told me I was a vampire. And of course I didn’t believe him— who would?— but the blood had made me feel so much better and all the other symptoms matched and I didn’t have any other explanation, so…” Accardi trailed off with a shrug.
Ryker just stared at him. What on earth were they hearing? This… was impossible. Vampires? No, Accardi was lying, vampires didn’t exist— this was all just some stupid, fucked up prank and the “blood” was just corn syrup and food coloring and the scar was just special effects makeup and everything was normal.
But that look in his eyes. He looked so genuinely disturbed when he was telling his story— like he could still feel that man’s teeth in his throat. That kind of stare is hard to fake.
Could he really be…?
“Ryker, I know it all sounds crazy, but please believe me.” Accardi held both hands up in a placating gesture. He looked so sad, so hurt, so concerned. It made Ryker’s chest ache.
“...You’re not actually squeamish, are you?” they eventually concluded, sitting up a little straighter. Accardi looked briefly confused before he processed what they meant— the car crash.
“...No, I’m not.”
“Then why did you look so nauseous?”
Accardi grimaced. “I can smell your blood. It’s always there, faintly, but whenever there’s an open wound it’s much more noticeable. It’s almost like an aphrodisiac, I suppose.”
Ryker recoiled slightly; they did not want to hear about how good their blood smelled. Then, a thought popped into their head:
“That’s how you found me so fast, isn’t it? You tracked my scent like some sort of bloodhound.”
Accardi avoided eye contact; he looked guilty. “Yes, I did. I was worried about you. I didn’t want you to get hurt out here.”
Ryker stared at him for a long time. There was a confusing cocktail of emotions swirling in their gut; fear, concern, guilt, all melding together into an awful feeling that nearly had bile rising up their throat and burning them.
“How do I know you won’t attack me?” They were still hesitant. He could kill them in seconds if he wanted to. They had to be able to trust him.
“I can control myself. I’m not an animal.”
“But you kill people,” they exclaimed emphatically. Accardi shook his head.
“I don’t; all the blood I drink is donated. You saw the bag, right?” A nod. “It came from a hospital. Donated blood bags for transfusions and such. I stock up about once a month and I rotate hospitals so nobody falls short on any."
Ryker softened. “...You’ve really put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”
“Of course.” Accardi looked at them so softly, like the thought that they were scared brought him physical pain. “Nobody should have to get hurt just so I can have a meal.”
Ryker looked away. They wanted to trust him, but…
“You’ve slept at my house before. Think about it: if I wanted to hurt you it would’ve been much easier to do it while you were asleep. I know you’re afraid but I promise I won’t hurt you, ever.”
Ryker sighed. They remembered Accardi holding them on the anniversary of Leon’s death, whispering comforting words until their devastated sobs trickled down into quiet sniffling. They remembered the way his face completely flushed when they handed him that little orange. They remembered the way he whispered that sweet French sentence in their ear, his breath curling over their skin and making them shudder.
This was Accardi. He was still a person. Still their friend.
Slowly, they stood up. They brushed themselves off, and offered Accardi a steady hand.
“Just promise me you won’t serve me food with blood in it.”
Accardi looked up at them, his eyes sparkling. He took their hand and hauled himself to his feet
“Might cook your steak a little rare. Force of habit.” Accardi smiled and winked at them. A laugh bubbled up in their chest, making them feel light and giddy.
And if they held Accarid’s hand on the way back, well, that was just between them.
---
Months passed before Ryker really thought about it again. Accardi did his best to keep his needs private— when they went out for dinner he’d still eat and drink and he carried his parasol out in the day and he didn’t bother anyone. He kept himself fed in the comfort of his own home and acted mostly normal otherwise. Despite their original wariness, Ryker had grown used to the situation. Everything was fine.
But later, Accardi started to deteriorate. He looked sick and frail, his eyes and cheeks sunken so deep into his face they cast shadows. He stopped eating, his lips so dry and cracked that they bled wine-red ichor whenever he spoke. They caught him scribbling on his calendar, muttering about feeding times and schedules while crossing out days.
They were worried for him, but he kept insisting he was fine. Clearly he wasn’t, but they couldn’t do anything about it if he didn’t let them. They were at an impasse.
Until one day Ryker ventured over to his house for a movie and some snacks. They let themselves in, as they usually did, kicking off their shoes by the entrance. Accardi sat on the couch, facing away from them with his head in his hands.
“Ryker.” He turned to them and perked up when they entered, but it didn’t help him any— he looked very tired and drained, cadaverous like a reanimated corpse.
“What’s up?” they greeted amicably with a tilt of their head. He slowly rose from his seat, having to steady himself against the arm of the couch before he could stand properly. He tapped his fingers together anxiously.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Ryker stepped towards him, brows furrowing as he tensed at their approach. He was making an odd face, like he was biting the inside of his mouth to stifle something. “What’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth to speak, revealing two knife-sharp fangs that had slid out from his gums just above his human canines. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, looking away and taking a moment before he tried again; this time, no fangs were visible.
“I need your help.”
Accardi’s words set them on edge. “What happened?” they asked feverishly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, it’s nothing actively harmful, I promise,” he assured quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I just…”
He looked almost ashamed with the way he averted his eyes and played with his fingers. It took several moments for him to work up the courage to speak, and when he did, he spoke very quickly, as if the words physically hurt to say. “I ran out of blood packets.”
Ryker blinked confusedly. “What?”
“There must be a shortage because there weren’t as many bags as there normally are in the storage unit. I took a little less than I usually do to make sure nobody ran out but I didn’t take enough. I can’t go out again until next week and it’s already been a little while since I’ve fed and Juliek is out of town, so—”
“Stop.” Ryker interrupted Accardi’s frantic rambling with one firm word. “How long has it been?”
He tapped his fingers on his arm. “Two weeks. Maybe more.”
A knot formed in Ryker’s gut. “Christ Accardi, no wonder you look so bad.” They tenderly brushed a thumb over Accardi’s cheek; he leaned into the contact, closing his eyes.
They started to think: was there a way for him to get blood without raiding a hospital? There were animals, of course, but if the solution were that simple he wouldn’t be drinking human blood in the first place. Juliek was out of town, Vittorino probably had some sort of disease, and nobody else knew. That left…
“Here,” Ryker said before they could talk themselves out of it, “you can feed on me.”
Accardi’s eyes went wide in shock. “Are you sure?” He rubbed a hand over their arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Of course,” they assured, smiling and hoping he didn’t notice the twinges of fear, “just be careful, alright?”
“I— yes, of course.” It was sad how shocked he seemed about them taking five whole minutes to make sure he wasn’t starving.
“So, you’re the expert here,” they began, “where do you think you should, uh… y'know.”
Accardi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not sure. I’ve never fed on someone living before. Maybe here?” He grabbed their hand and flipped it palm up, tapping two fingers on their inner elbow. “Where they draw blood from.”
Ryker hummed, contemplating. “Will you be able to get enough before the blood clots?”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Then what about…” they took his hand and brought it up to their neck, “here?”
Accardi drew his hand back like he’d been burned. “Ryker, that’s an artery, you’ll bleed out if I’m not careful—!”
“And it has the best shot of getting you satiated.” Ryker answered simply. “I trust you.”
He looked them up and down, inspecting their expression. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“...Alright,” he relented, sighing. “Just— stop me if I hurt you.”
There was a touch of awkwardness in the air as Ryker tugged off their sweater. They felt Accardi’s eyes on them, watching them move. They tossed away their shirt, looking up at him carefully. He was very obviously staring at them, looking like the very sight of them had driven him mad with need, and they flushed at the attention, bashfully crossing their arms over their chest.
“Right,” Accardi mumbled, stepping forward. They saw his lips shift to accommodate his fangs as they slid out. He gently grabbed their chin and tilted their head to the side, giving him a better view of their neck. His fangs glittered from within his mouth. They could feel their heart picking up pace, thudding in their chest like a jackhammer. They swallowed thickly.
Accardi leaned in closer. Ryker could feel his breath hot and heavy on their neck. They rested their hands on his hips, hoping he couldn’t feel their subtle trembling.
He inhaled and swiftly bit down on the crook of their neck.
They felt every millisecond as his fangs sank deep into their flesh. Their breath hitched and they gripped tightly onto his hips. He nearly moaned, digging his fingers into their shoulders. Somehow it felt absolutely divine; they wrapped an arm around the small of his back, pulling him closer. All they could feel was the pain-turned-pleasure radiating from their wound, making their head go fuzzy and light. Their body burned from the sinful intimacy of it all, their heartbeat deafening in their ears.
Their eyes fell closed as they leaned into his touch. They panted heavily through their mouth, whining quietly on every exhale. Accardi lapped hungrily at their wound, grazing his tongue over the punctures and making them groan. It felt heavenly; they never wanted it to end, a taste of heaven gifted by sin, a lustful indulgence in pleasurable pain. The way his fangs grazed against their sensitive skin, the way their nerves lit up into deliciously painful spikes that stabbed through them, the way they couldn’t help but arch into his touch—
Their entire body felt like it was floating away, drifting across a river on a cloud of bliss. They were hardly even aware their grip on Accardi was weakening, their fingers falling loose from his hips. They were swimming through a flood of molasses— their every thought was slow and hazy, each feeling multiplied tenfold. They were not aware that they were losing consciousness until they completely blacked out.
---
Blearily, Ryker blinked open their eyes. They slowly processed their surroundings; they were lying on their back in an unfamiliar room, carefully tucked under a thick purple blanket. Their neck and shoulders felt sore, and when they moved a spot in the crook of their neck angrily protested enough to make them hiss. Slowly, they sat up, rubbing their eyes.
Accardi was at the foot of the bed, anxiously pacing back and forth with his arms clasped together behind his back. When Ryker moved, his gaze snapped towards them, and within an instant (quite literally— vampire speed, they guessed) he was at their side.
“Oh, thank god, you’re awake,” he exclaimed, helping pull them out of their daze, “You passed out and I was so worried— are you alright?”
“More than,” they smiled dopily, grabbing Accardi’s hand from where it rested on their lap, “that certainly was… an experience.”
“I’m so sorry,” he quickly began apologizing, “I’ve never fed from a living person before and it was so warm and I got completely carried away—”
“Hey,” Ryker interrupted softly with a squeeze of their hand, “It’s alright. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? Are you in any pain?” Accardi’s eyes darted around their figure, searching for any signs of discomfort.
“I’ve got some bruises, but that’s all.” Ryker playfully batted away his searching hand. “I’m fine, I promise.”
He still looked unconvinced, but he still (however reluctantly) lowered his hand. He looked much better, they noticed; his face was less sunken and more colorful, and his form had filled out, muscles once again visible beneath his skin.
Ryker hoped the apparent blood shortage would be over by the next time he had to feed. He was very dear to them, and they didn’t want to see him suffer.
Unless…?
“Accardi,” they began, suddenly struck by an idea, “how often do you have to feed?”
“Uh,” he paused, “about once a week. Why?”
Ryker did some quick math in their head. “Well, that’s too often for it to be every time, but… if you ever need any blood just ask.”
Accardi was stunned into silence. They took the opportunity to elaborate: “I won’t have you starving yourself again when I’m right here. You mean a lot to me, Accardi, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself for no reason.”
“But Ryker,” he protested, sounding pained,
“I hurt you.”
“You didn’t. Not really,” Ryker assured. “This is embarrassing to admit, but… well, I see why you said it was like an aphrodisiac now.”
The room went silent as Accardi processed that sentence. Then, he started snickering.
“You—” he snorted, “Do you have a thing for biting? Is that what this is about?”
Ryker’s face went red up to their ears. “I— well, uh— that’s beside the point.”
Accardi continued to laugh. Ryker felt themselves getting increasingly red. “Listen! It’s— it’s not all about that.”
“So you admit that part of it is?” He grinned.
“Shush!” Ryker batted at his face. As the laughter faded, they gently grasped his hand again. “I just— I want you to be happy.”
Accardi traced lines across their skin with a single finger. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t choose this.” Ryker idly twirled a strand of his hair. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you already struggle enough with it— don’t give me that look, I’ve seen the way you stare outside on sunny days— so if you’re hurting and I can help then I want to.”
Accardi looked at them like they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He nuzzled into the crook of Ryker’s neck, carefully avoiding setting his weight on their now-bandaged wound.
“That… means a lot to me,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
They lapsed into comfortable silence, tangled in each other's arms and basking in their presences.
"I'm still confident you have a biting kink though."
"Oh, shut up!"