middaeg | what is the sesame street number of the day??

Fuuka almost leaves in the time it takes him to respond. He probably wants to be left alone, she thinks to herself. The full moon does strange things, and she wouldn't be surprised if he cloistered himself in his room until this passed. She should probably do the same... but something makes her want to see him. It's a feeling she can't explain.

The corners of her lips briefly tugging upwards, she opens the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her. Her eyes briefly scan the room before focusing on him. Something about him looks off, but she chalks it up to full moon things. She's worried—but that isn't something she's going to say to Makoto. Losing them like they did, it's hard for her to not be at least a bit protective over him.

"How are you feeling?" She asks quietly, making her way towards the bed. He looks terrible. "I... I thought you might like some company."

If he told her to leave, she wouldn't blame him. He was always the type to face his problems on his own, far away from any of them.

Smiling quietly at him, she forces that thought from her mind. "Have you eaten anything yet today? You must be hungry."

Oh Fuuka, you have no idea.

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the mattress. There's a chair at the desk beside his bed; he gestures for her to make herself comfortable.

"Not yet," he says, trying to sound natural. His voice is slightly gravely from staying silent all day. He clears his throat and turns the power off on his headphones.

"Is there food downstairs?" he asks. "Unless you mean you cooked something. In which case... I'm not hungry." He smiles, meaning to set her at ease with some light teasing, but unbeknownst to him, he gave her a peek at his growing fangs.

Pulling the chair out so she can face him, Fuuka takes a seat. He sounds terrible, and a ping of concern hits her. Was he sick (he sounded sick), or was this the result of the full moon.

She gets her answer when he smiles at her.

"Makoto-kun, your teeth..." Her shoulders rise slightly as she stares at him in disbelief. They were all changing, but seeing it so clearly is a bit jarring, even if it answers some questions. It's worrying.

Ah. Looks like the joke hadn't had the effect he'd hoped. Makoto recoils, raising a hand to cover his mouth.

"...yeah." With his eyes averted, his brows furrow together. This is awkward. "Looks like my prediction was correct - vampire," he says softly. "Sometimes I had being right all the time."

He closes his eyes, still avoiding eye contact. "What about you? Anything weird going on?"

Fuuka winces as he recoils, a wave of guilt hitting her full force. Of course he would be uncomfortable with her pointing it out like that. She can only imagine what he's going through.

Pressing her lips in a fine line, she hesitates before she nods, slowly pushing up her sleeve. Lines of pale, silvery scales dot her forearm.

"They showed up this morning," She says reluctantly, looking away from him, apprehension creasing her brow. Her stomach turns at the idea of sharing this with anyone, but if it's him... He probably understands her wanting to keep her changes hidden; she doesn't want to burden anyone with this.

Her words make him open his eyes and look back at her - and there the scales are, shimmering ever so slightly in the low light of his room. Makoto gazes for a few seconds, and then, he reaches out with both hands.

"I can see?" he asks carefully. He knows how he'd just reacted to Fuuka seeing his teeth, so if she doesn't want to show him, he understands. But the glimmer in his eyes says that he finds the scales tantalizingly interesting, maybe even beautiful, and he hopes she extends her arm to let him look.

"What... what does this mean?" he asks, bobbing his hands hopefully. "Dragon, or... something else...?"

Looking back at him quickly, Fuuka blinks a few times in surprise as he reaches out to her. It should be awkward and uncomfortable (and it still is, a bit), but his almost awed curiosity is disarming. He just wants a closer look.

Leaning forward in her seat, she offers her arm out for him to take, her gaze briefly darting away before she focuses it back on him. How had she missed the change in color before? They're such a bright shade of red. Striking.

"I'm not sure. I don't have much to go on yet. The scales are the only thing I've noticed so far. Here," She brings her free hand up to her neck, just above her collar; long nails barely grazing where skin and scale meet. "And here."

She's been terribly thirsty all day, but she attributes that to the heat. No need to mention that.

Edited 2019-08-22 02:46 (UTC)

Makoto accepts her forearm into his hands. His touch is very delicate and very careful, hoping not to cause any disrespect. What's happening to them all is difficult and he knows Fuuka wouldn't be showing her changes to just anyone.

The scales are indeed beautiful. They go with the color of her hair perfectly. His thumbs smooth over them, appreciating the different between soft skin and smooth, cool scales. They suit her.

When she shows off her neck, his eyes dart upward, and his grip on her arm gains just a little bit more pressure. Bite her passes through his mind, but he immediately shoves it down, telling himself he'd never do such a thing.

"I like it," he says with a smile. "They're pretty."

Gliding his thumb delicately over her scales, it's all Fuuka can do to keep from shivering in response. It doesn't quite tickle, but it feels nice, in a weird way that doesn't make much sense. That distracts her enough to miss the look that flashes in Makoto's eyes as they dart to her neck.

"R-really?" She stammers quietly, a rush of warmth coloring her cheeks as her gaze flits between him and a random spot on the wall. "Y... You think so?"

What does she do with this? How is she supposed to react? "I'm glad you like it..." She should probably pull her arm back, but strangely enough, she doesn't feel rushed to do so. Something about having him admire her scales (and, by extension, her) fills her with pride. She isn't going to stop him—not yet.

"Your eyes changed too, didn't they?" Fuuka slowly starts to rise to her feet, leaning toward him. She starts to brings her other hand up brush his hair away, but stops herself.

"...Can I?" She wants to have a better look.

She's so cute when she blushes, he thinks to himself, knowing she'd be paralyzed with embarrassment if he told her that aloud. Then, the invasive thought strikes him again.

If you ask her, she'll let you. She wants to help. She cares about you. She'll let you bite her, if you ask.

His kind smile wavers. Now he's looking past her at the far wall. Would she? He hates to even ask himself that, but at the same time, he suspects that she would let him. His thumbs smooth over her scales again, down to the inside of her wrist to eventually take her hand in his. This situation is making him feel... what is this feeling, anyway?

"Sure," he says, glancing back at her. He doesn't move to push his hair back on his own. He'll let her do it, if she wants.

There's that feeling again, following the lines his thumb delicately trace on her arm and prickling under her skin. Fuuka is better prepared for it, but that doesn't help her much when he takes her hand in his. She doesn't expect it, her fingers twitching against his as she tries to focus.

Where is her head right now..? Oh, right.

A small smile briefly pulling at her lips, she leans in closer, bringing a hand up to sweep the hair out of his eyes. They really are striking against his dark hair; different than what she's used to, but somehow this suits him as well.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" That particular change. It seems like it might.

Edited 2019-08-24 00:43 (UTC)

Her sweet smile and the delicate touch of her fingertips on his face - there's that feeling again. What is this? In a moment of oddly motivated courage (he had trained himself to be a "badass", after all), his free hand comes up to catch hers and press it against his face. So warm.

"No," he says simply, gazing at her now. In one hand, he had her hand pressed to his face. Their opposite hands were linked together, fingers woven.

"Fuuka," he begins, his voice sounding more anxious than he'd expected it to. "Am I scary like this?" He hesitates, and then continues, "I'm scared to leave my room. What I keep imagining in my head..."

Fuuka takes a slow breath when he presses her hand against his face, her heart hammering in her chest. He isn't usually this forward, and that should raise at least a few red flags. But it's the way that he says her name that sends her reeling. He's afraid...

Tentatively, she fans her fingers out, so that his can rest between them. She has no idea what he must be going through. How can she comfort him? She wants to comfort him, ease his mind of any fears he has.

Fuuka shakes her head slightly. "I don't think you're scary. I'm not afraid. I could never be afraid of you, no matter what happens." Although, imagining things in his head... No, that's not the focus here. She has to do something for him. Something that would assuage his fears. Focus on him.

"Is there anything I can do?" If he's too afraid to leave his room, wouldn't it make sense to bring him what he needs? But she doesn't want to leave him.

She's not afraid. She wants to help.

Staring deeply into her eyes, he pulls on their interlocked hands, trying to draw her closer to him. Makoto was vaguely aware of how wrong this is, how genuine his fear of hurting his friends is and how clearly amorous and flirtatious his behavior is, but the desire for some relief for his cravings is at the forefront of his mind.

If only he could convince himself and Fuuka to let him do this, then the urge would go away. At this point, he'd already convinced himself, and without even realizing it, he'd used a new and untapped power to make it that much easier.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Come here. Sit next to me."

Sit next to him.

He doesn't have to try hard to make Fuuka move, her eyes locked on him as she takes a seat beside him. He wants her to be close, so that is exactly where she will be. He's afraid of what he's becoming, and if she will do anything to dispell those fears that run rampant through his mind.

Makoto will always be Makoto—no matter what's happening to him. She doesn't have to worry what might happen.

Her feet dangling off the side of the bed, she turns to face him, both hands held in his. "...Like this?" She asks quietly, almost expectantly.

"Yeah."

Still gazing at her, he leans in close and brings a hand up to her chin. Unmistakably, the gesture looks identical to an attempt to kiss her, but instead, he tips her chip backwards and shifts his attention to her neck.

Just beneath her turtleneck is that throat that'd looked so tantalizing a minute earlier. All he had to do is reach up, pull it down and bite. Finally, he'd get the thing he'd really wanted this whole thing - it won't just cover up the desire the same way raw meat did. Just reach up, expose her neck...

It's so easy, but something is stopping him. He thinks back to those beautiful scales she showed him. She's turning into something. Makoto is, too...

Wait. No. What the hell is he doing? He blinks and falters. In his head, his true self debates with the vampire, but he doesn't say a word.

Why is it so difficult for her to focus..?

Her shoulders rise slowly as he brings a hand to her chin, a blush rising to her cheeks and spreading to her ears. She closes her eyes out of instinct, held there in suspense, while in the back of her mind, trapped behind a wall of haze, panic begins to build. Something feels wrong about this, but she can't place what, the answer shrouded behind an impenetrable fog.

"... Makoto-kun?" She asks tentatively, her heart still racing in her chest. It's hard to say whether it's the anticipation of what's coming next or fight-or-flight trying to kick in that's the cause.

The vampire inside him is losing. Gently, slowly, his had lets go of Fuuka's chin and he leans backwards. This is crazy. What is he doing? How is she just letting him do it? That isn't like her. The kindness, that part is - but Fuuka is the person they all relied on to point out what they can't see, to be objective and smart. Wouldn't she have said something by now?

"I'm..." he begins, but his voice is quivering and uneasy. The intense desire to snatch her and bite into her skin is still here, but now he's keenly aware of it. It's the full moons. That's what this is.

"Sorry," he stammers as he scrambles off the bed. He walks over to a coat rack in the corner of the room, where his cloak is hanging, and swings it around his shoulders. "Sorry, Fuuka. I've got to go. I - this isn't your fault, alright?"

what is the sesame street number of the day??

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