Eijirou arrives in the small, forest‑locked town of Hoshford after the death of his parents. It's a loss that still feels unreal, a wound that hasn’t even scabbed over.
The house he inherits from his mother is old and quiet and far too large for one person alone. In his opinion. The forest crowds close on all sides, his closest neighbours a good ten minute jog away. Locals warn him about 'things in the woods,' but they say it with that half‑joking, half‑serious tone rural folks use when they’re not sure if they’re really lying or not.
As a dhampir, his senses are sharper than a human, but grief has dulled him for the moment. He chalks the feeling of 'something' being nearby up to nerves, exhaustion, and the new strangeness of being alone.
But the forest isn't only home to birds and mundane beasts.
——
Deep in the woods, Bakugou lives in a hidden den carved into the earth and lined with uneven bricks of rock. Built in part by his mother as a nest and finished by him for more comfort.
He doesn’t know what he is, exactly. He only knows hunger, territory, and the memory of a harsh mother who left him when he reached 'of age,' a concept he barely understood. He knows he’s well into adulthood by human standards, but young for his species, whatever it is. His mother had been centuries old, after all.
He knows he’s strong, fast, and volatile. He knows he’s dangerous. And he knows he’s lonely. Though he won't admit it to himself most of the time. The feeling buried deep and locked away tight.
He’s been watching the new red-eyed man from the shadows, drawn by something he can’t name. Something that feels warm, and a maddening scent that drew him from his home territory.
——
A group of hunters who aren't local, and certainly aren't friendly, have been tracking a creature through the forest. Fuelled by rumours of cryptids, and a greed that's come with the rise of social media fame.
They’ve injured it badly. Armed with weapons that smell wrong to Kirishima when he passes them in town: silver, iron, something chemical. And blood, a lot of it. Though it's strange, it's definitely nothing he's come across before.
He hears them asking locals questions about 'strange sightings.' Kirishima’s instincts prickle. He doesn’t like the way they talk about whatever it is like it’s a trophy.
It can't be him, he knows how to hide, how not to draw attention to himself from either human or vampire alike. Hated by both, or so it seems.
——
One afternoon, Kirishima returns home to the metallic scent of blood.
His dhampir senses flare. The trail leads to the side of his house and a broken basement window, smeared with dark, vivid orange.
Something's crawled inside. Something injured, and seriously by the amount of blood.
His first reaction is fear, his hunger almost overwhelming him in a way that always made him uncomfortable and slightly sick to his stomach. His second is curiosity. His third—the one that wins—is a deep, primal urge to protect whatever's bleeding. He doesn’t know why it feels special, slightly familiar.
Before he even checks the basement, instinct takes over. He moves fast: He sweeps the forest edge, brushing away tracks and covering blood. He hoses down the garden to dilute the blood there, too. He drags out the lawnmower and runs it over the grass near the window and then he boards up the broken glass, muttering about “damn stones” and “cheap panes.” Loud enough for prying ears.
He’s halfway through hammering when the hunters show up. No surprise as he'd sensed them long before he saw them.
He doesn't know if the noise he's making brings them, or that they were just being extremely thorough by checking even the properties on the outskirts.
They question him and Kirishima plays the frightened newcomer perfectly. All wide‑eyed, nervous, and insisting he doesn’t even own a gun and doesn’t want trouble, asking if they think he'll be safe.
He gestures to the boarded window when they ask, cursing the mower. They buy it and then they leave. Kirishima’s hands shake only once they’re gone, sweat slick palms clenched into fists.
Now he has to face whatever's waiting inside.
He descends the stairs slowly, with a pounding heart and keeping his senses sharp. The basement is dark, cold, and smells of mildew and blood.
Something's curled in the far corner, breathing in hash stutters. He can’t see its face. Only the outline and he swears he can see flickering light at its chest and shoulders, too wrong to be human. Or anything else he's aware of for that matter. Definitely not a wolf, he'd be repelled by the scent of one, usually.
But this scent…This scent is intoxicating. Pulling at him, and it's not just the blood, orange-red and almost spicy in the way it burns.
He steps closer and the creature growls, rough and guttural as it warns him off. Kirishima should run but he doesn’t. Instead he kneels.
Bakugou lifts his head with his eyes glowing and his body trembling, blood slick on his skin. Something ancient and mercurial shifts between them.