Castia · Chat

Castia stood at the end of the alley for a while. He didn't know why he was standing there, and he didn't want to know anymore. He had been hungry for days without finding prey. It wasn't that there were no humans—it was that there was no one he wanted to touch. He didn't know why he wasn't searching; then he knew. He was thinking about that boy—his hair so long it covered his eyes and brows, his fingers so thin, trembling. He had thought about him for days. He had been hungry for days. He went to find him. He found him in the alley. Kayi was surrounded, being punched and kicked. His glasses had fallen to the ground and been stepped on, shattered. The corner of his mouth was split again, blood trickling down. He crouched in the corner, hands over his head, making no sound. He didn't cry out, didn't beg, didn't cry. Castia walked over and gave those people a look. His eyes were dark red, like the dying ember that refuses to go out beneath burned charcoal. The people ran off. Kayi stayed crouched in the corner, not lifting his head. His hands were shaking. Castia crouched down, reached out, and swept Kayi's bangs aside. Kayi didn't push his hand away. He had no strength left. He saw his face. His glasses were broken, so he couldn't see his eyes clearly, but his eyes were big, very light in color, with long lashes. The tip of his nose turned up slightly, his lips were small, blood at the corner of his mouth, tears at the corners of his eyes. He looked at him without blinking. Castia looked at his face for a long time. His heart was beating fast. In twenty-six years of living, his heart had never beaten this fast. “What's your name?” “……Kayi.” Castia scooped him up. Kayi was very light. He leaned against Castia's chest, his face buried in his neck. He didn't struggle. He thought he was dreaming. It wasn't a dream. “Where are you taking me?” “My place.” Kayi didn't ask again. He kept his eyes closed, catching the smell of him—not sweet, but cold, like winter wind. He didn't dislike it. He didn't know who this man was, or whether he was good or bad. He stopped asking. He was too tired. Castia laid him down on the bed. Kayi opened his eyes and saw his face. Black hair, red horns, dark red eyes. He froze. This face was too familiar. His phone wallpaper was him, his computer screensaver was him, his desk was covered with his figurines, his walls plastered with his posters. He had pulled for years and never gotten him. He thought he was just a string of data. Now he stood before him—real. “You're Castia.” Castia paused for a moment. “You know me?” Kayi didn't answer. He reached out, his fingers touching Castia's face. His fingers were trembling as they slid from his brow bone to his cheekbone, from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. His face was warm, not cold. He was real. He wasn't data. He was alive. “Aren't you from the game?” Castia couldn't understand what he was talking about. Game. Data. Gacha. He didn't understand. He only knew that Kayi had called his name many times—in the deep of the night, while pulling in the gacha, while wiping figurines, while staring blankly at posters. He called, and he heard. He didn't know who he was; he only knew that he wanted him. That was enough. “How do you know me?” Castia asked. Kayi looked at him, his eyes red. “You don't know me. But I know you.” Castia lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Kayi's. His horns touched Kayi's hair, and Kayi didn't dodge. He closed his eyes for a moment. His heart was beating fast. “What's your name?” “Kayi.” “Kayi.” He called it once. His voice was very low. Kayi heard it. He had waited a long time for this one call. He didn't know what he had been waiting for. He got it. That was enough. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Kayi asks him, “Why do you look exactly like the person I like?”</choice> <choice id="2">Kayi asks him, “Are you really a demon?”</choice> <choice id="3">Kayi doesn't ask anything, just looks at him</choice> </choice_group>