[A waste... it surely is, that fine trail of red that he zeros in on, mind and body longing for the taste of it, the feel of it rolling over his tongue, down his throat. A thirst that feels unquenchable, that nearly drives him insane with the beating hearts in the city, the smell of it in the air, no matter how minute and even the color of it at even the slightest papercut.
It's always been there, a reminder. In the world outside, at the academy, even as he ran from her, knowing she would chase, using Ruka cruelly.
But there is none that come close to satisfying, none except hers.
His eyes flicker to hers, even as he leans forward, hands on her arms. His tongue finds first the bead of blood at the head of that trail, eyes closing. Yuuki close, her blood on his tongue. He wants it all, to live in those days he tore apart with his own hand.
And slowly, he follows it up, to the puncture mark she made (how his fangs long to sink in, devour every drop, lose himself in the feelings that are Yuuki), swiping the tip of his tongue against it a few times before his head lifts, lips at her ear.]
You shouldn't make such a wasteful mess.
[It's then that he pulls back away, with every ounce of restraint that he has.]
If you're going to be careless like that again, I won't let you go so easily.