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The attic felt warmer now, the stuffy air wrapping around Luka and Hana like a thick curtain that trapped the smell of dust, old paper, and the faint trace of dried blood that came from her. The TV buzzed in the corner, the low sound of a documentary about tropical forests—leaves rustling, birds calling in the distance—mingling with the silence that had settled between them after her words about the past. Luka sat on the floor, his back propped against the crooked beam next to the mattress, his body heavy with a fatigue that dragged him down like sticky mud. His gray hoodie hung loose on his shoulders, his messy brown hair falling over his sweaty forehead, and his brown eyes blinked slowly, his eyelids fighting to stay open as the weight of the day—college, Anteiku, her touch—crushed him.
Hana was beside him, her strong body still too close, her shoulder pressed against his, her knee brushing his with a firmness he barely registered now. Her touch lingered, cold but steady, her pale fingers resting on his arm, her open palm against the sleeve of his hoodie as if she were trying to hold onto something she didn't understand. He tried to speak, his hoarse voice coming out in an almost inaudible murmur: "Have you… eaten today?" It was a loose question, his exhausted brain too tired to filter, his brown eyes half-closing as he looked at her, her face a blur in his peripheral vision.
She tilted her head, her brown eyes staring at him with an intensity that cut through the air, her black hair falling in loose strands over her neck. "No," she replied, her raspy voice low, almost swallowed by the TV's sound. "I didn't go out. Stayed here." Her tone was dry, but it carried a weight Luka felt even through his foggy mind, and she shifted again, her shoulder pressing harder against his, her knee sliding until it fully touched his, the cold of her skin seeping through the hoodie. "You brought coffee. That's fine for now." Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm, the grip firm as if she needed it to anchor herself.
Luka nodded, a short, slow motion, the exhaustion pulling his shoulders down as he tried to respond. "Okay… good," he murmured, his hoarse voice dragging, his brown eyes closing for a second before opening again, the weight of his eyelids like lead. "I… brought it earlier. Forgot to mention." He hesitated, his body sinking further against the beam, his head sliding slowly until it rested against the wall behind him, the rough wood brushing his messy hair. Her touch was still there, her shoulder firm against his, her knee pressed into his, and he didn't move, the fatigue dulling the instinct to pull back that usually tugged at him.
The silence returned, heavy and warm, the TV's sound filling the space as Luka breathed slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that slowed with each passing second. "Have you… gone hunting today?" he asked, his hoarse voice a mere thread, his brown eyes half-closing as he stared at the ceiling, the crooked beams blurring in his tired vision. It was a vague question, tossed into the air without strength, his mind slipping into a void.
Hana stayed quiet, her brown eyes fixed on him, her face just inches away now, the smell of dried blood and something wild rising from her as she stared. "No," she said, her raspy voice low, her fingers sliding from his arm to his shoulder, the cold touch tracing the fabric of his hoodie. "I stayed here. Waiting." Her tone was vague, almost lost, and she leaned closer, her shoulder pushing against his harder, her knee sliding until it rested almost over his, her solid weight pressing against his exhausted body.
Luka blinked, his brown eyes closing longer now, the fatigue winning as he mumbled something incoherent—a hoarse sound that died in his throat. His head slid further, his body's weight giving way as it fully rested against the wall, his neck bending at an awkward angle, his brown hair sticking to the rough wood. His chest rose in a long sigh, his shoulders relaxing as sleep pulled him under, deep and heavy, the world fading out like a light no one turned back on.
Hana stayed still, her brown eyes narrowing as she watched him, the attic's silence wrapping around them like a net. The TV's sound—a distant roar of some animal in the forest—was the only noise besides his slow breathing, the air escaping in a rhythm she could count if she wanted. He was out, lost in a sleep she knew well, the kind that came after relentless days, the kind she'd seen in her father's eyes after bad hunts. But Luka was different—weak, human, yet there, always coming back, bringing things, staying.
**Hana's Point of View:**
Hana tilted her head, her black hair falling over her face as she looked at him, her brown eyes tracing the lines of his pale face—the dark circles like ink stains, his parted lips letting air slip out, his messy hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. He was out, his body limp against the wall, his shoulder still pressed against hers, his warmth seeping through the hoodie and burning her cold skin. She didn't understand it—the way he stayed, the way he didn't leave, even with the faint smell of fear that sometimes rose from him. But he was there, and the weight of him against her was something she couldn't name, something that tugged at a void she'd carried since the basement, since the days with her parents when touch was rare and warmth was just a scrap of cold cloth.
She shifted slowly, the mattress creaking under her weight as she slid closer, her knee rising to rest over his leg, the contact firm and solid. Her fingers—cold, rough—moved from his shoulder to his neck, brushing the warm skin where his pulse beat faintly but steadily, his heat rising through her broken nails. She hesitated, her brown eyes narrowing as she stared at him, his face so close she could smell him—coffee, sweat, something human that wasn't food but stirred her anyway. Her heart beat faster, a sound she heard in her ears, and she didn't know why, didn't know what this was that kept her there, that made her want more.
With a slow motion, she slipped her arm behind him, her strong muscles shifting as she pulled his body down, his weight giving way easily against her chest. His head fell onto her shoulder, his brown hair brushing her neck, the heat of his forehead burning her cold skin as she held him, her left arm wrapping around his shoulders, her right hand resting on his chest, her fingers splayed against the hoodie. He didn't wake, the sleep too deep, his chest rising and falling against her palm, his heartbeat a rhythm she could feel, a pulse that was alive, warm, different from the silence of the basement.
She stayed like that, her strong body steady against his, her knee still over his leg, her arm holding him as if he were something she didn't want to let go of. Her brown eyes watched him, half-closed in the dim light, the TV's glow casting shadows on his face—the soft lines, the dark lashes against his pale skin, the way his mouth stayed slightly open. She didn't understand it—his warmth, his weight, the way he stayed even knowing what she was. The void inside her, that hole her parents left, that the basement's cold had carved, felt smaller with him there, with his body against hers, and she didn't know why, but she wanted more of it, wanted to hold onto this thing that had no name.
Her fingers rose slowly, brushing his hair, the soft strands slipping between her broken nails as she pulled him closer, his face sinking into her shoulder, the warmth of his breath against her neck. She tilted her head, her nose grazing his forehead for a moment, his smell filling the air—coffee, sweat, life—and she closed her eyes, her body relaxing against his, the mattress sinking under their combined weight. The TV's sound was a distant hum now, the world outside the attic fading as she stayed there, holding him, her arm firm around his shoulders, her hand splayed on his chest, his warmth burning away the emptiness she didn't know how to fill.
She didn't know what this was—this weight, this warmth, this human who didn't leave. But he was there, sleeping against her, and she didn't let go, her brown eyes opening again to stare at him, his face so close she could trace every line if she wanted. Her heart beat faster, the sound echoing in the silence, and she stayed like that, her strong body enveloping his, her touch firm yet gentle, as if he were something she needed to hold onto, something she wouldn't let slip away, at least not now.
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The attic was warm, the stuffy air enveloping Luka and Hana like a dense curtain that trapped the smell of dust, old paper, and the faint trace of dried blood that came from her. The TV buzzed in the corner, its low volume spilling the monotonous sound of a documentary about tropical forests—the rustling of leaves, the distant cry of a bird—a noise that blended into the heavy silence that had fallen between them after she spoke of the past. Luka sat on the floor, his back propped against the crooked beam beside the mattress, his body sinking under a fatigue that seemed to drain the life from his bones. His gray hoodie hung loose on his shoulders, his messy brown hair falling over his sweaty forehead, and his brown eyes blinked slowly, heavy eyelids struggling to stay open as the weight of the day—classes, Anteiku, her touch—pulled him down.
Hana was close, her strong body nearly pressed against his, her shoulder pushing into his with a firmness he barely noticed now, her knee brushing his in a constant contact that his exhaustion dulled from his awareness. Her touch lingered, her pale fingers splayed against his arm, her cold palm resting on the sleeve of his hoodie as if she wanted to hold onto something she couldn't explain. He tried to speak, his hoarse voice escaping in a rough, disjointed murmur: "Have you… gone out today?" It was a vague question, tossed into the air without strength, his brown eyes half-closing as he stared at the ceiling, the crooked beams blurring in his tired vision.
She tilted her head, her brown eyes piercing him with an intensity that cut through the warm air, her black hair falling in loose strands over her neck, clinging to her pale skin with sweat or dampness. "No," she replied, her raspy voice low, almost swallowed by the TV's hum. "Stayed here. You brought coffee. That's enough for now." Her tone was dry, but her fingers tightened slightly on his arm, the cold yet firm touch sliding slowly up to his shoulder, as if she enjoyed feeling his warmth through the fabric. She shifted again, the mattress creaking as she leaned closer, her knee rising to rest over his leg, her solid, cold weight pressing against his jeans.
Luka nodded, a slow, weak motion, the exhaustion dragging his shoulders down as he tried to respond. "Okay… good then," he murmured, his hoarse voice dragging, his brown eyes closing for a second before flickering open again, the weight of his eyelids like stones. "I… don't know how I keep up with this," he added, the words slipping out in a faint thread of sound, his body sinking further against the beam, his head sliding slowly until it rested against the wall behind, the rough wood grazing his messy hair. Her shoulder still pressed against his, her knee firm over his leg, and he didn't move, the fatigue snuffing out any reflex to pull away, the day's weight pinning him to the floor.
The silence returned, warm and thick, the TV's sound filling the space as Luka breathed slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that slowed with each breath. "You… okay up here?" he asked, his hoarse voice a barely audible whisper, his brown eyes closing again, his body giving in as his head fully rested against the wall, his neck bending at an awkward angle. His chest rose in a long sigh, his shoulders slumping as sleep gripped him, deep and heavy, the world fading into a void he couldn't resist.
Hana stayed still, her brown eyes narrowing as she watched him, the attic's silence settling over them like a net. His breathing was slow now, the air escaping in a rhythm she could measure, the TV's sound—a low roar of some animal in the forest—blending with the faint pulse of his heart. He was out, his body limp against the wall, his shoulder still touching hers, his warmth seeping through the hoodie and burning her cold skin. She tilted her head, her black hair falling over her face as she studied him, his presence so close stirring something inside her she couldn't name.
Here's the English translation of the provided text:
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**Hana's Point of View:**
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Hana shifted her body slowly, the mattress creaking under her weight as she slid closer, her brown eyes fixed on his pale face—the deep, shadowed circles carved beneath his eyes, his parted lips letting air escape in a slow thread, his messy brown hair clinging to his damp forehead. He was out, lost in a heavy sleep she recognized, the kind that came after broken days, the kind she'd seen in her father when hunts were scarce and the basement's cold tightened its grip. But Luka wasn't her father—he was weak, human, warm, and he was there, his body pressed against hers, his heat rising through her cold skin like an echo of something she couldn't quite recall.
She reached out, her cold fingers brushing his neck, his pulse beating faintly but steady beneath her broken nails. The warmth of his skin was different—not the basement's chill, nor the cold cloth her mother spread on the floor for her to sleep on. It was something that soothed, that made the emptiness inside her feel less sharp, less deep. Her heart beat a little faster, a sound that echoed in her ears, but she didn't know why; she only knew that his weight against her, the warmth climbing through her fingers, was something she didn't want to fade now.
With a slow motion, she slipped her left arm behind him, her strong muscles shifting as she pulled his body down, his weight giving way easily against her chest. His head fell onto her shoulder, his brown hair brushing her neck, the heat of his forehead touching her cold skin as she held him, her left arm wrapping around his shoulders, her right hand resting on his chest, her fingers splayed against the hoodie. He didn't wake, the sleep too deep, his chest rising and falling against her palm, his heartbeat a rhythm she could feel, a pulse that filled the silence in a way the basement never had. It was comforting—not the emptiness, not the cold, but something solid, warm, that stayed there.
Her fingers rose slowly, brushing his hair, the soft strands slipping between her broken nails as she pulled him closer, his face sinking into her shoulder, his breath blowing against her neck. She tilted her head, her nose grazing his forehead for an instant, his scent—coffee, sweat, something alive—rising in the air and mingling with the warmth he left behind. She closed her eyes, her body relaxing against his, the mattress sinking under their combined weight. The emptiness inside her, that hole the basement had carved, that her parents had left, felt less heavy with him there, with his warmth against her chest, and she didn't want that to change, not now.
She opened her eyes, her brown gaze locking onto his face, so close she could see the soft lines—the dark circles, the thick lashes, the parted mouth. Her arm stayed firm around his shoulders, her hand on his chest pressing against the hoodie, his warmth rising through her palm like something she needed now. He was different from the basement, different from the silence, different from the nothingness, and his weight against her, the way he stayed there, made the attic feel less empty, less cold. Her heart beat faster, the sound echoing in her chest as she shifted, her knee rising higher, resting over his leg in a contact that felt right.
Then she felt it—a pulse in her back, a pressure climbing her spine, her rinkaku stirring without her calling it. Her eyes changed in an instant, the whites sinking into black, her pupils igniting in bright red, the kakugan flaring in the dim light as the black tentacles emerged slowly, pulsing with red veins that glowed against the faint TV light. Their wet sound cut through the silence, and she let it happen, her black-and-red eyes fixed on him, his warmth still in her hand. The tentacles moved, slithering through the air like living shadows—one brushing his arm, another tracing his waist, a third climbing his back to his shoulder, their sharp tips careful yet possessive, coiling around him in a gesture that was more instinct than intent, as if they wanted to hold onto the warmth he brought.
She tilted her head, her nose brushing his hair again, his scent rising as the tentacles adjusted, the black ones pulsing with red as they settled around him—one on his arm, another at his waist, a third on his back, keeping him there, close, where the warmth wouldn't escape. The rinkaku didn't grip hard, just stayed, the thick tendrils resting against his arms, his waist, his legs, his weight secure against her. His warmth soothed the emptiness, his weight made the attic less lonely, and she didn't want him to move, didn't want the warmth to leave, didn't want to return to the cold alone. Her heart pounded, the sound blending with his breathing, and she stayed there, her strong body holding his, her black-and-red eyes glowing in the dimness, the rinkaku coiled around him like a shadow that wouldn't let go, keeping him where the emptiness couldn't reach.
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